Harry’s eyes darted between Draco and Buchannan, mind racing. Though neither seemed keen on actively inviting Harry to open the door, none had discouraged. The air felt stifled, seeing in Buchannan the knowledge that months ago, he had given the same recommendation and still Harry had been horribly injured.<br/>So, in that moment, Draco’s words counted double. For a split second, Harry’s eyes returned to Draco, blind trust visible in his gaze, before turning to the door. Hand inches above the knob, Harry spoke another<span style="font-style: italic">Alohomora</span>and the door swung open.<br/>If the stairwell had been dank, the room it led to was<span style="font-style: italic">foul</span>. Undoubtedly closed to the world for decades, the air was stagnant and full of rot, bringing bile to the back of Harry’s throat within moments of opening the door. Immediately, he raised his free arm, nose brushing against the wool of his coat as a breath got caught in his throat, cut short at the smell of that hit him.<br/>Skirted with shelves on all walls, the room was illuminated in washes of spotty blue light, multiple objects shining in Draco’s detection spell. Another light had once again ignited across Harry’s chest, playing tricks on the lenses of his glasses. It made it feel like the room was under water, the air thick to breathe and the pressure heavy on Harry’s lungs.