With a readiness that was ingrained into him as a child, Harry was quick to clasp his hands together, fingers intertwined with the sole purpose of keeping his hands still. Restless even in childhood, Petunia had often snapped that that energy was better put into a prayer; while Harry had long ago stopped filling those pauses with godly thoughts, the gesture remained an efficient way of stopping his fidgeting.<br/>Malfoy hadn’t asked for his silence, but Harry found that stillness often came intertwined. Just as his movements stopped, so did his train of thought.<br/>For a moment, Harry did still, eyes aimlessly to the ornately carved leg of his desk.<br/>However, as soon as Szczepanski’s mistrust returned to the forefront of Harry’s conscience, both his mind and motions resumed. Thoughtlessly, and through the clasp of his hands, Harry brushed the pads of his thumb across his nailbed, once again wondering what detail both she and Malfoy had missed about the house at Towthorpe.