When Harry had left for the Manor, he had been aware of the fact that Draco and Connor were still deep at work, even as the department had started to empty out for the evening. He hadn’t been by to say his goodbyes, feeling quietly reassured he and Draco would find each other, one place or the other; Harry might as well go to Draco’s, having come to find Coote as willing to let him inside as Grimmauld was to Draco.<br/>His muscles growing sore from the physical evaluation of this morning, the stiff antique sofas in the drawing room had little appeal, and instead, Harry had withdrawn to the sunroom and the plush pillows of the garden sets.<br/>They were in the depths of Autumn, and while the sunroom had changed considerably since the sunny afternoons of August, the room had no less charm. It was dark beyond the windows, but cozied up with a blanket and a cuppa, Harry was just as well at ease as he had been this summer. While he had brought with him a book, he had eventually asked Coote to turn on the wireless; for the past hour, Harry had listened to a qualifying game of Quidditch between two Italian teams, neither of which he could pronounce the name of. Head lulled back against the backrest, mug cradled between his hands, Harry had successfully pushed the impressions of the day abay, allowing for a merciful break from his own thoughts.