Luck
Luck
Was it simply luck that had caused him to turn down this street?
Harry gazed up at the house he had only seen in memories, noting that it truly didn’t look any different. It was still dark and rundown and likely shouldn’t be inhabitable, yet there it still stood. His eyes flickered to the dim yellow light that could just barely be seen through a clearly curtained window.
He didn’t have a plan. After all, he hadn’t actually expected to end up here. He wasn’t sure where he’d expected to end up, where he’d been going. Going in without a plan, however, was a fairly common occurrence for him, so he crossed the street and walked up the few steps.
He stood there for a moment, contemplating the peeling door.
What was he expecting? What was he wanting?
He raised a hand and knocked on the door, shoving his hands in his trouser pockets and gazing around the darkening street as he waited. He turned back when, just a few seconds later, the door opened. He looked up—though not nearly as far as he used to do, he had grown, after all—and met the dark eyes, his mouth quirking into a partial smile at the very clear surprise in the man’s face.
“Professor,” he said lightly, pleasantly, still wondering what he was expecting.
“Potter,” Snape said in his own, for him, light and pleasant tone. He stepped back and pulled the door open further. “Drink?”
Harry smiled and inclined his head, stepping into the house.
Perhaps it had been luck after all.
Fin