Harry heaved heavy, determined breaths as he crossed the threshold and into a kitchen. There was one, half discarded meal on the dining table. Harry snarled at it, anger stirring at its meaning. He didn't pause. He headed down a hallway into the living room. The door was ajar and Harry spied Zabini, sprawled languidly and sipping from a large glass of claret, on a hearthrug clearly made of unicorn hide. Indeed, the horn was the base of a small, glass coffee table.