Having spent close to two months at the Manor, Harry hadn’t expected to be caught off guard by any lingering haunts of the war. Stepping down the stairs into the cellars was distinctly different than moving around the ground floor, the ingrained discomfort making the hairs on Harry’s neck stand, more so than the cool air of the subterranean floor.<br/>While still not an active part of the conversation, Harry was considerably less leisurely about it all, hands in the pockets of his trousers to keep himself from fidgeting about.<br/><br/>Paul had been pacing the area, eyes to the ceiling. The wards in place here were even more palpable than the ones on the walls of the study, feeling the pressure shift, becoming lighter, if he stepped away from the area altogether.<br/>When he paused, he did so roughly below the centre of Malfoy’s study, twirling his wand as he took a moment to consider the feeling of the magic suspended in the bricks above him.<br/>Then, he scuffed his shoes against the floor, the sudden sound seeming to startle Potter, seeing him flinch in the corner of his eye.<br/>“The wards in the foundation,” he started. It wasn’t a question, not needing Malfoy to confirm that there was another ward radiating from below. “Are they yours or is that from the build of the house?”