Wasn't from what I could tell, but you'll understand, wine tends to be named and is less often you know... what's in it, if it's not apparent when you taste it. Could be rice, could be barley, could be fruits, could be anything!

Goes down smooth, and that's what matters!

( There's been some rough rough stuff to drink over the last few years. )

Cup sized bowls? Like lower teacups, with no handle?

( Lily and Hermione both have introduced him to the idea of teacups in their particular usages, so he has a baseline to compare.

Teacups of alcohol. It's all fair. Though as her own offer, her own bringing up of the memory potion hits, his shoulders relax, and his features settle into a softened, smiling version of his usual cheer. )

Miss Hermione, we'd both be honoured. Beyond honoured. The both of us... we want to remember. Everything.

( Which is not strictly... kind. It's painful. It hurts. It's wonderful. It's beautiful. It's bloody.

He wouldn't give up a moment of what he recalls of the last few years for all but the return of those who can never come back — and after resurrection becoming a reality he intimately participates in here? No. He wouldn't wish that on them either, not the horror of recalling their own deaths, not the binds that tie. )