Though Malfoy hadn’t invited him to do so, Harry, after a moment of consideration, perched himself onto the armrest of the lounge chair he had abandoned in front of Malfoy’s desk. He had no intention of lingering, finding it unnecessary and disruptive to insist on overseeing Malfoy’s work. For now, Harry was solely interested in seeing his decade old signature unboxed.<br/>He didn’t know what to expect. By the way Malfoy’s movements were paced, Harry could almost be led to believe that neither did he. Harry intentionally didn’t speak on it, keeping both his silence and distance.<br/>He still hadn’t managed to piece together Malfoy’s hypothesis to something Harry himself was able to comprehend; neither was he particularly skilled in the comparison of live signatures, depending on the forensics department to carry out the detail work. Especially in the vial, it was an incomprehensible haze of silver threads to Harry. And still, part of him feared the worst; that, despite having just been handled by a wizard at registration, the signature would have rotted in the vial, or in any other way immediately confirming Malfoy’s worst suspicions to someone with a sufficiently trained eye. Harry wanted to be able to see that realization dawn on Malfoy, were that the case.