Harry’s eyes darted up at the sudden movement in his peripheral vision. It wasn’t real surprise that showed in his expression, not in any true sense of the word. He hadn’t forgotten where he was, and he hadn’t expected anybody else to enter through the kitchen doorway; and still, he found every new sliver of Malfoy to be continuously unexpected. Harry had never considered what Malfoy might look like at 8 o’clock in the morning, and yet there he was.<br/>"’Morning," Harry returned with a smile, leaning back into the chair to better eye Malfoy as he approached.<br/>His forearms still rested at the edge of the table, letting the envelopes slide between his fingers, the edges tapping against the tabletop as if to straighten their alignment; in reality, none of them budged, firmly strung together with twine.<br/>"I did," he replied, and despite his restless sleep, that remained the truth. Had he known what else to do to pass the time, Harry would probably not even have attempted to sleep. It didn’t reflect poorly on anything but his own upturned circadian rhythm.<br/>With the stack of letters, Harry tapped at the side of his half-full cup, the tea in it cloudy with milk.<br/>"Thank you," he added, to both the question and the gesture, small but not unnoticed. Harry’s smile widened another fraction, genuinely appreciative.<br/>As soon as Harry tossed the letters aside, the quill and inkpot disappeared off the dinette, undoubtedly Coote making room at the small table for his Master from somewhere out of sight. "How’re you feeling about it all today?"