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The first thing Harry noticed was the silence.
Not the kind that settled over a room for a moment before someone spoke.
The kind that lingered.
The kind that had been there for years.
The gates of Malfoy Manor opened with a reluctant groan, and Harry stepped onto the long gravel path leading toward the house.
It had been nearly eight years since the war.
Eight years since he'd last stood here.
The Manor looked exactly the same.
Tall.
Imposing.
Untouchable.
The sort of place that should have been filled with people.
Instead, there wasn't a single light visible in the windows despite the early evening darkness.
Harry frowned.
The Ministry records had listed Draco Malfoy as the sole resident.
He'd assumed that couldn't be entirely true.
Surely there were servants. Guests. Family friends.
Someone.
The front door opened before he could knock.
Draco stood in the doorway.
For a moment, neither of them spoke.
Time had changed him.
The sharp edges of his face had softened slightly. His hair was longer than Harry remembered, falling carelessly across his forehead. He looked older.
Not old.
Just tired.
"Potter."
"Malfoy."
Draco stepped aside.
Harry entered.
The silence followed him inside.
His footsteps echoed against polished floors.
The entrance hall was immaculate.
Spotless.
Empty.
No voices drifted from distant rooms.
No movement came from the upper floors.
Nothing.
Harry found himself glancing toward the grand staircase.
"Expecting someone?" Draco asked.
Harry looked back at him.
"No."
A pause.
"It just feels like there should be people here."
Something unreadable crossed Draco's face.
Then it disappeared.
"There used to be."
The words landed heavier than Harry expected.
Draco turned and started walking.
Harry followed.
The Manor was beautiful.
It was also strangely lifeless.
Like a museum someone still happened to live in.
Their meeting took less than twenty minutes.
A routine Ministry review.
A few signatures.
Several documents.
Nothing important.
When they were finished, Harry gathered the parchment and stood.
Draco remained seated.
The dining room table could have comfortably fit thirty people.
Only two chairs were occupied.
For some reason, Harry couldn't stop noticing that.
"Well," he said awkwardly. "That's everything."
"Excellent."
Neither moved.
Harry's eyes drifted toward the untouched end of the table.
Then to the second teacup sitting beside Draco's elbow.
Cold.
Unused.
He frowned.
"Expecting company?"
Draco looked at the cup.
For the first time that evening, he smiled.
It wasn't a happy smile.
"No."
Harry suddenly wished he hadn't asked.
Harry should have left.
The papers were signed.
The Ministry had what it needed.
There was no reason to stay.
Yet somehow he remained standing beside the table, fingers resting against the folder tucked under his arm.
Draco seemed content to ignore him.
Or perhaps he simply wasn't in a hurry for Harry to leave.
The thought caught Harry off guard.
The silence stretched between them.
Not uncomfortable.
Just... quiet.
Eventually Draco rose from his chair.
"I assume the Ministry isn't paying you by the hour."
Harry snorted.
"Definitely not."
"Then you're wasting your evening."
"Maybe."
Draco paused.
A faint crease appeared between his brows.
"Maybe?"
Harry shrugged.
"I haven't decided yet."
For a second, Draco looked almost amused.
Then he picked up both teacups and carried them toward a side table.
Harry watched him rinse the untouched cup before placing it carefully beside the sink.
Not because it needed cleaning.
Because it was part of a routine.
A habit.
Something he did every day.
The realization settled uneasily in Harry's chest.
"Do you always make two?"
The question slipped out before he could stop it.
Draco froze.
Only for a second.
Then he continued rinsing the cup.
"Sometimes."
Harry instantly regretted asking.
"Sorry."
Draco set the cup down.
"You apologize far too much these days, Potter."
"You make it sound like that's a bad thing."
"It's unsettling."
That earned a laugh.
A real one.
Small, but real.
To Harry's surprise, Draco smiled in response.
The expression transformed him.
Not completely.
The tiredness remained.
But for a moment Harry could see the boy he'd known at Hogwarts.
The one who smirked instead of smiled.
The one who always looked certain of himself.
The smile faded quickly.
Still.
Harry had seen it.
And somehow that felt important.
His gaze wandered around the room again.
The dining room was enormous.
Too enormous.
A house built for generations.
For families.
For celebrations.
Now it felt hollow.
"Do you ever use the rest of it?"
Draco followed his gaze.
"The Manor?"
Harry nodded.
"Not really."
"Why?"
Draco looked away.
"Because most of it feels haunted."
The answer was so honest that Harry forgot how to respond.
Draco laughed softly.
A bitter sound.
"Don't look so shocked."
"I'm not shocked."
"You are."
Harry opened his mouth.
Closed it.
Draco's smile widened slightly.
"There are rooms I haven't entered in years."
"Why?"
The question came out gentler than Harry intended.
For a moment Draco simply stared at the dark window beside them.
When he finally spoke, his voice was quiet.
"Because some things are easier to leave untouched."
Harry didn't know what those rooms contained.
Memories.
Ghosts.
Regrets.
Maybe all three.
But suddenly the Manor made sense.
The silence.
The empty halls.
The second teacup.
Draco wasn't living in the house.
He was surviving it.
And Harry found that far more difficult to ignore than he should have.
Harry left ten minutes later.
Draco walked him to the front door.
Neither mentioned the conversation in the dining room.
Neither mentioned the second teacup.
Or the empty rooms.
Or the fact that Harry had stayed nearly an hour longer than necessary.
The evening air was cool as Harry stepped outside.
"Goodnight, Potter."
Harry turned.
Draco stood in the doorway, one hand resting against the frame.
For a brief moment, illuminated by the warm light spilling from the entrance hall, he looked impossibly alone.
"Goodnight, Malfoy."
The door closed.
Harry remained where he was.
The gravel crunched beneath his shoes as he stared at the Manor.
One lit doorway.
A massive house.
One person inside.
The image followed him all the way home.
—
Three days later, Harry found himself standing outside Malfoy Manor again.
He blamed Ron.
Not because Ron had actually done anything.
But because blaming himself felt ridiculous.
Harry stared at the parcel tucked beneath his arm.
A book...
A stupid book.
One he'd come across while wandering through a second-hand shop in Diagon Alley.
He should have kept walking.
Instead, he'd remembered the library.
Remembered how worn the books had looked compared to the rest of the house.
And before he'd realized what he was doing, he'd bought it.
Now he was here.
Like an idiot.
The gates opened.
Harry almost turned around.
Unfortunately, it was too late.
The front door had already opened.
Draco stepped outside.
His expression shifted from confusion to suspicion in less than a second.
"Potter."
Harry raised the book awkwardly.
"Hi."
Draco narrowed his eyes.
"Why are you here?"
Good question.
Harry wished he had a better answer.
"I found this."
Draco glanced at the parcel.
"And?"
"And I thought you might like it."
The silence that followed was painful.
Harry considered Apparating directly into the North Sea.
Finally, Draco descended the steps.
"You came all the way here to give me a book?"
When he said it out loud, it sounded significantly worse.
Harry rubbed the back of his neck.
"Maybe."
Draco stared at him.
Then at the book.
Then back at him.
For a moment Harry thought he might laugh.
Instead, something softer appeared in his expression.
Something cautious.
Something almost hopeful.
It vanished so quickly Harry wasn't sure he'd imagined it.
Draco accepted the parcel.
Their fingers brushed.
Neither reacted.
At least not visibly.
"You could have sent an owl."
"I know."
Another pause.
Neither moved.
The wind stirred the trees lining the drive.
Somewhere in the distance, a bird called out.
Draco looked down at the book in his hands.
Then back at Harry.
"You came all this way anyway."
Harry shrugged.
"Guess so."
For the first time since opening the door, Draco smiled.
Small.
Genuine.
The kind of smile Harry suspected very few people got to see anymore.
And somehow that made the trip feel worth it.
"Would you like tea?"
Harry blinked.
Draco appeared equally surprised by his own question.
The invitation hung between them.
Fragile.
Tentative.
A chance.
Harry smiled.
"Yeah."
This time, when Draco stepped aside to let him in, Harry followed willingly.
The Manor felt different the second time.
Not warmer.
Not exactly.
But less intimidating.
Perhaps because Harry wasn't there on Ministry business.
Or perhaps because he knew what hid beneath the silence now.
Draco led him into a smaller sitting room instead of the dining room.
The change surprised Harry.
The room was still elegant, but it looked lived in.
Books were stacked on a side table.
A blanket had been abandoned over one arm of the sofa.
An empty mug sat beside a half-finished newspaper.
For the first time, the Manor felt like someone's home.
Draco disappeared briefly through a doorway.
Harry heard cupboards opening.
The clink of porcelain.
Water boiling.
Ordinary sounds.
The sort that should have felt out of place in Malfoy Manor.
Instead, they made something in Harry's chest loosen.
A few minutes later, Draco returned carrying a tray.
Harry's gaze immediately landed on the teacups.
Three.
Draco stopped.
Looked at the tray.
Then muttered something that sounded suspiciously like a curse.
Harry bit the inside of his cheek.
"Three?"
Draco closed his eyes.
"Forget you saw that."
"I'm not sure I can."
The tips of Draco's ears turned pink.
Actually pink.
Harry would have paid good money to witness it again.
Draco set the tray down with considerably more force than necessary.
"There are usually two."
Harry raised an eyebrow.
"I noticed."
"Clearly."
The awkwardness lingered for a second.
Then, unexpectedly, Draco laughed.
A real laugh.
Short.
Quiet.
But genuine.
Harry found himself smiling back before he could stop himself.
Something shifted.
Not dramatically.
Just enough.
Like a door opening a fraction wider.
They settled into opposite ends of the sofa.
Tea between them.
Conversation came slowly at first.
Safe topics.
Work.
The Ministry.
Mutual acquaintances.
Harry learned that Draco had abandoned politics entirely.
Draco learned that Harry still hated paperwork.
Neither revelation was particularly shocking.
As the evening stretched on, however, the conversation became easier.
Lighter.
Hours passed without either of them noticing.
Eventually Harry glanced toward the window.
Dark.
Completely dark.
He frowned.
"What time is it?"
Draco checked the clock above the fireplace.
"Half ten."
Harry stared.
"I got here at six."
"Your observational skills remain exceptional."
Harry laughed.
Then something occurred to him.
He looked around the room.
At the books.
The blanket.
The abandoned newspaper.
The signs of life.
"You spend all your time in here, don't you?"
Draco followed his gaze.
For a moment he didn't answer.
Then he nodded.
"Mostly."
"Because the rest of the Manor feels haunted?"
A shadow crossed Draco's face.
"Something like that."
Harry hesitated.
He wasn't sure why he asked.
Only that he wanted to understand.
"Which room is the worst?"
Silence.
The fire crackled softly.
Draco stared into the flames.
Long enough that Harry thought he wouldn't answer.
When he finally spoke, his voice was barely above a whisper.
"My mother's."
Harry immediately wished he could take the question back.
Draco didn't look angry.
If anything, he looked tired.
The kind of tired that settled into a person over years.
"She loved this house," Draco said quietly.
"Even after everything?"
A sad smile touched his lips.
"Especially after everything."
Harry didn't know what to say to that.
Draco looked toward the fire again.
"I haven't opened her room since she died."
The words hit Harry like a physical blow.
Because suddenly all the empty rooms weren't just memories of the war.
They were grief.
Years and years of grief.
Locked behind closed doors.
And Draco had been carrying it alone.
Harry swallowed hard.
"I didn't know."
Draco shrugged.
"Most people don't."
The answer was simple.
Matter-of-fact.
As if there was nobody left who would have asked.
For some reason, Harry found that heartbreaking.
For a long moment, neither of them spoke.
The fire crackled softly between them.
Draco's gaze remained fixed on the flames.
Harry couldn't stop thinking about the Battle of Hogwarts.
About the forest.
About a woman kneeling beside him while Voldemort waited for an answer.
A woman who had every reason not to care whether Harry Potter lived or died.
Yet she had.
"Narcissa saved my life."
The words slipped out before Harry could stop them.
Draco blinked.
Slowly turning toward him.
"What?"
Harry looked down at his tea.
"I never really told you."
Draco stared.
"No."
Of course he hadn't.
There had never been a reason.
Never been a time.
Harry let out a quiet breath.
"In the forest."
Understanding flashed across Draco's face.
His expression went completely still.
Harry continued.
"After Voldemort hit me... she checked whether I was dead."
Draco didn't move.
Didn't even blink.
"And she lied."
The room seemed impossibly quiet.
Harry remembered it perfectly.
The cold ground beneath him.
The fear.
Narcissa Malfoy's voice.
The question she'd asked.
Was Draco alive?
Not whether Voldemort had won.
Not whether Harry was dead.
Only Draco.
"She knew I was alive," Harry said softly. "I know she did."
Draco lowered his gaze.
Harry wasn't sure he'd ever seen him look so vulnerable.
"She wanted to get back to you."
The words came out almost as a whisper.
Draco swallowed.
Hard.
For several seconds, neither of them spoke.
Then Draco laughed once.
A broken sort of laugh.
"That sounds like her."
Harry smiled faintly.
"Yeah."
Another silence.
This one gentler.
"I don't think people talk about her enough," Harry admitted.
Draco looked up.
Harry held his gaze.
"Everyone talks about heroes from the war."
Draco's expression tightened slightly.
"Potter..."
"No."
Harry shook his head.
"I'm serious."
The firelight reflected in Draco's grey eyes.
"If your mother hadn't lied, Voldemort would've known I was alive."
Draco didn't say anything.
"I wouldn't have made it back into the castle."
Still nothing.
Harry leaned back against the sofa.
"Narcissa Malfoy helped end the war."
The statement hung in the air.
Simple.
Undeniable.
True.
Draco looked away first.
Harry noticed the shine in his eyes.
Not tears.
Not quite.
Just emotion he clearly wasn't accustomed to showing.
"Most people wouldn't agree with you."
Harry snorted.
"Most people didn't see what happened."
That earned the smallest smile.
For a while they sat in comfortable silence.
Eventually Draco spoke.
"So that's why you came back?"
Harry frowned.
"What?"
"The book."
Draco's fingers traced the edge of his teacup.
"The tea."
A pause.
"The conversation."
Harry considered the question.
Part of him wanted to deny it.
To pretend there was a more reasonable explanation.
Instead, he told the truth.
"Partly."
Draco looked at him.
Waiting.
Harry shrugged.
"I think I realized how little I actually knew about you."
The words surprised both of them.
Harry saw it in Draco's face.
Because it was true.
For years, Draco had been reduced to a name.
A rival.
An enemy.
A former Death Eater.
But sitting here now, Harry couldn't reconcile any of those labels with the man across from him.
The man who still set out a second teacup.
The man who couldn't bear to enter his mother's room.
The man living alone in a house filled with ghosts.
And for the first time, Harry found himself wondering how many other things he'd gotten wrong.
About Draco.
About the war.
About everything that came after.
Outside, the wind rattled softly against the windows.
Inside, neither of them seemed eager for the evening to end.
Harry came back the next week.
And the week after that.
The first few times, he brought excuses.
A book he'd stumbled across in a shop.
A newspaper article he thought Draco might find interesting.
A bottle of tea leaves from a small shop in Diagon Alley.
By the fifth visit, neither of them bothered pretending.
Draco simply opened the door and stepped aside.
Harry walked in.
That became their routine.
Some evenings they talked for hours.
Others they sat in silence, reading in the sitting room while the fire crackled nearby.
Harry discovered that Draco had a dry sense of humour when he wasn't trying to be insufferable.
Draco discovered that Harry was incapable of sitting still for more than twenty minutes.
It was strangely easy.
Months passed.
Autumn gave way to winter.
And somehow Harry found himself looking forward to the Manor.
Looking forward to Draco.
One evening, snow drifted past the windows in thick white sheets.
Harry sat curled into one corner of the sofa with a book balanced on his knee.
Draco occupied the other end.
For nearly an hour neither of them had spoken.
The silence felt comfortable now.
Lived in.
Harry turned a page.
Then another.
Then paused.
"You're staring."
Across the room, Draco blinked.
"I wasn't."
"You were."
Draco looked entirely unapologetic.
Harry snorted.
"You're terrible at lying."
"I learned from the best."
Harry threw a cushion at him.
Draco caught it effortlessly.
For a second, he looked so pleased with himself that Harry had to fight a smile.
The moment lingered.
Soft.
Warm.
Different.
Harry felt it before he understood it.
The shift.
The way his chest tightened unexpectedly.
The way he noticed Draco's smile.
The way he found himself watching him when he thought Draco wasn't looking.
Dangerous territory.
Harry quickly returned to his book.
His eyes remained fixed on the same sentence for nearly five minutes.
—
A few weeks later, Harry arrived to find Draco standing in the entrance hall.
Waiting.
That alone was unusual.
What was even more unusual was the nervousness written across Draco's face.
"Everything alright?" Harry asked.
Draco hesitated.
Then nodded.
"No."
Harry immediately straightened.
"What happened?"
For a moment it seemed as though Draco might change his mind.
Instead, he turned toward the staircase.
"Come with me."
The words echoed through the Manor.
Harry followed without question.
They climbed two flights of stairs.
Passed several closed doors.
Continued down a quiet corridor.
Draco stopped in front of a door at the very end.
Harry recognized it immediately.
Not because he'd seen it before.
Because he knew.
Narcissa.
Draco stared at the handle.
His hand hovered above it.
Then fell away.
Then returned.
For the first time since Harry had known him after the war, Draco looked afraid.
Not of danger.
Of grief.
"Draco?"
The name slipped out naturally.
Neither of them commented on it.
Draco swallowed.
"I haven't been inside since she died."
Harry's chest tightened.
The corridor felt impossibly still.
"I know."
"I thought..." Draco laughed weakly. "I thought eventually it would become easier."
His eyes never left the door.
"It didn't."
Years.
All those years.
Harry stepped closer.
Not enough to crowd him.
Just enough.
"You don't have to do it alone."
Draco closed his eyes.
The words seemed to hit him harder than Harry intended.
When he opened them again, they looked suspiciously bright.
Without another word, Draco grasped the handle.
The door opened.
Dust danced through the air.
The room beyond looked frozen in time.
Books lined the shelves.
A silver hairbrush rested atop a dressing table.
A half-finished knitting project sat beside an armchair near the window.
As though Narcissa had simply stepped out for a moment.
Harry heard Draco's sharp intake of breath.
Years of grief condensed into a single sound.
The room wasn't haunted.
It was loved.
Every object spoke of someone who had mattered.
Someone who still mattered.
Draco stepped inside slowly.
His gaze moved across the room.
The photographs.
The books.
The blankets folded neatly over the bed.
Harry remained near the doorway.
Giving him space.
Eventually Draco picked up a framed photograph from the bedside table.
A younger Narcissa smiled from behind the glass.
Beside her stood a teenage Draco.
Both of them laughing.
Harry had never seen that version of him before.
Carefree.
Happy.
Alive in a way the war had stolen from all of them.
Draco stared at the photograph.
Then spoke quietly.
"She would've liked you."
Harry blinked.
"What?"
A faint smile touched Draco's lips.
Still looking at the photograph.
"Mother."
The statement caught Harry completely off guard.
"She would've thought you were horribly reckless."
Harry laughed softly.
"Fair."
"And entirely too stubborn."
"Also fair."
Draco finally looked at him.
Something vulnerable sat openly in his expression now.
No masks.
No walls.
Just honesty.
"But she would've liked you."
For a moment Harry couldn't speak.
Because suddenly this wasn't about Narcissa.
Not entirely.
It was about Draco letting him in.
Into the Manor.
Into the grief.
Into the parts of himself he'd spent years hiding.
Harry stepped forward.
Carefully.
Slowly.
Until he stood beside him.
Their shoulders brushed.
Neither moved away.
Outside, snow continued to fall.
Inside, something that had been locked away for years finally began to heal.
After that night, something changed.
Not all at once.
Neither of them mentioned it.
Neither of them dared to.
But it was there.
In the way Draco's gaze lingered a little longer.
In the way Harry found himself smiling before he even reached the Manor gates.
In the way they sat closer together on the sofa without seeming to notice.
Or perhaps they noticed.
And simply chose not to say anything.
Winter settled over the countryside.
The Manor looked different beneath the snow.
Softer.
Less imposing.
More like a home.
Harry spent Christmas at the Burrow.
New Year's with friends.
Yet somehow, every celebration felt incomplete.
A thought that irritated him immensely.
Because he knew exactly why.
And exactly who.
The realization arrived one evening in January.
Not during some dramatic moment.
Not during a grand revelation.
Harry was washing dishes.
That was it.
Washing dishes.
One second he was staring out of the kitchen window.
The next he was thinking about Draco's smile.
About the way he tucked his hair behind his ear when he was reading.
About how proud Narcissa would've been of the man he'd become.
About the fact that Harry wanted to tell Draco every insignificant detail of his day.
The silence that followed was immediate.
Harry lowered the plate in his hands.
"Oh."
That explained a lot.
"Damn it."
—
For three days, Harry avoided the Manor.
It was pathetic.
He knew it.
The problem was that now he understood why he'd kept coming back.
Why the silence there felt comforting.
Why leaving always felt disappointing.
Why seeing Draco smile had started to feel important.
Because somewhere along the way, he'd fallen in love with him.
Completely.
Hopelessly.
And apparently without noticing.
By the fourth day, Harry was miserable.
By the fifth, he gave up.
If he was going to be an idiot, he could at least be an honest one.
—
The Manor door opened before Harry could knock.
Draco looked annoyed.
Harry almost laughed.
It was the most alive he'd looked all week.
"Five days."
Harry blinked.
"What?"
"You disappeared."
The accusation came far too quickly.
As though Draco hadn't intended to say it out loud.
For a second they simply stared at each other.
Then Draco looked away.
Harry's heart nearly stopped.
Because underneath the annoyance was something else.
Hurt.
"You noticed."
Draco's jaw tightened.
"Of course I noticed."
The answer was immediate.
Instinctive.
Honest.
Neither of them seemed prepared for it.
The cold air suddenly felt much sharper.
Harry swallowed.
"I didn't mean to stay away."
"No?"
"No."
Draco folded his arms.
Waiting.
Harry had faced dragons.
Dark wizards.
Death itself.
Somehow this felt worse.
"I was trying to figure something out."
Grey eyes met his.
"What?"
Harry laughed nervously.
Immediately hated himself for it.
Then took a breath.
Another.
And told the truth.
"You."
The annoyance vanished.
Confusion replaced it.
"Me?"
Harry nodded.
The words were there now.
No taking them back.
"I kept trying to understand why this place started feeling more like home than my own flat."
Draco didn't move.
"I kept trying to understand why I looked forward to seeing you more than anyone else."
Silence.
The kind that changed everything.
Harry's pulse hammered against his ribs.
"I thought it was because I was worried about you."
Draco's expression softened.
Just slightly.
"But it wasn't."
The wind stirred the snow around them.
Neither seemed to notice.
Harry took one step forward.
Then another.
"I came back because I wanted to be here."
A pause.
"With you."
Something fragile flickered across Draco's face.
Hope.
Disbelief.
Fear.
All tangled together.
Harry recognized it because he felt exactly the same.
For a long moment neither spoke.
Then Draco laughed quietly.
Not because anything was funny.
Because he looked overwhelmed.
"You're an idiot."
Harry smiled.
"I've been told."
"You took five days to figure that out?"
"I wanted to be sure."
Draco shook his head.
The fondness in his expression nearly destroyed Harry.
"You absolute idiot."
This time Harry laughed.
And suddenly Draco was laughing too.
The sound echoed softly through the winter air.
Warm.
Real.
When the laughter faded, neither looked away.
The distance between them felt very small now.
Very easy to cross.
Harry's gaze dropped briefly to Draco's mouth.
Then returned to his eyes.
Draco noticed.
Of course he noticed.
His breath caught.
The world seemed to narrow around them.
Snow falling quietly.
The Manor standing behind them.
Years of grief.
Years of mistakes.
Years of surviving.
And somehow they had ended up here.
Together.
Slowly, giving Draco every chance to pull away, Harry lifted a hand.
His fingers brushed Draco's cheek.
Draco leaned into the touch immediately.
As though he'd wanted to for a very long time.
Harry's heart ached.
In the best possible way.
"Draco."
The name was barely a whisper.
Grey eyes met his.
Soft.
Certain.
"Harry."
And then Draco kissed him.
Gentle.
Careful.
Like something precious.
Harry kissed him back without hesitation.
Without doubt.
Without fear.
The kiss was warm despite the cold.
Brief.
Perfect.
When they finally pulled apart, neither moved very far.
Foreheads resting together.
Breathing the same winter air.
For the first time in years, Draco looked completely at peace.
Harry smiled.
"So..."
Draco raised an eyebrow.
"So?"
"Tea?"
For a second Draco stared at him.
Then he laughed.
Bright and genuine.
The most beautiful sound Harry had ever heard.
"Come inside, Potter."
This time, Harry followed him home.