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He turns to leave. Or at least he intends to. One step would truly abandon something of him.
The door creaks again. Louder this time like it was intended for his ears and his ears only to hear.
His body reacts before pride can intervene— a small, involuntary flinch at the sound of wood shifting against hinge. The moment elongates. Escape hovers.
“I’m sorry,” Harry says, stopping himself with a composure that felt as foreign as his encounter with the man. “I was hoping you might help me deliver a message to another occupant of this door. He’s a dear friend of mine.”