Andrew would be lying if he said his tendency towards panic attacks and his general hypervigilance hadn't gotten worse since losing his magic. It had become all the more precious to him since the things he was put through for stealing what was rightfully his and once he'd gotten out of Azkaban with the other Mudbloods and Blood Traitors he thought that he'd never have to argue his worth as a wizard again. Life was a bitch though and now it had bitten him and given him rabies; what worth did he have now as a wizard without magic? That so-called gift that he hadn't believed he possessed when he first heard about the Wizarding World through that invitation letter to Hogwarts. He'd been dismissive of the first letter because how could there be anything special about him, but it had turned out to be true - he had magic and maybe finally a way to drag himself out of the cesspit of his environment, something about him that wasn't subpar and written into the fabric of more low-income, lower-class, council house statistics.
His wand had been cut price but that hadn't really mattered to him; he wouldn't need money when he had magic. Then he went to school and no, actually, it still mattered that he didn't have anything to his name that wasn't secondhand and cheap as chips but apparently the blood in his veins wasn't even good enough either. Back on the bottom rung of the social ladder and even then it hadn't mattered much to him, when the slurs that sometimes came his way were without context and comparatively easy to brush off, when he had friends, actual storybook friends who wanted to hang out with him without being high or with ulterior motives. It didn't matter that a portion of the Wizarding World thought that he was scum because he'd grown up around that and at least here there was a portion of people who didn't care who his parents were, but then the War happened and Andrew shook hands with square one.
The dark times were at once shadowed and too clear in his mind, the whispers he heard around the corners came through clearly and the shapes he saw move out the corner of his eye weren't easily written off as falling mortar or the dart of a quick insect anymore. Andrew felt himself whittled down to the raw core of his being and he managed to uphold in the new life he'd had since he'd left the estate but he couldn't take much more, didn't have the physical or spiritual or psychological defenses anymore, and the loss of his magic had scoured him clean.
He appreciated that he wasn't the only one going through this and he was going to grab hold of whatever thin thread of camaraderie he was offered, especially if it came with substance abuse. He'd ventured out towards the greenhouses in jeans and a hoodie under the loose covering of his robe, his clothing an arsenal in its own right. He caught sight of the girl who'd been the sliver of light in his darkness and waved a hand in greeting as he approached, reaching out and taking the offering and sitting down as he took a drag, easy and practised like riding a bicycle. He passed it back as he exhaled. "Thanks for this." he said, and it was genuine even through the dead tone of exhausted misery he'd been labouring under recently. "I'm not really into weed. You said you had something harder? I don't have much to pay you back with though, we could work something out?"