The door at the end of the corridor was both familiar and unfamiliar. Familiar, in that he knew its shape, knew its handle, knew what laid beyond it, and knew, should he try, he would be unable to open it. Unfamiliar though, in that it was if he was seeing it through glasses with the wrong prescription, in that the way the light bounced off its panels didn’t feel quite right, and in that the corridor beyond it was a complete mystery to him. All of this paled however, in comparison to the almost overwhelming feeling of desire that unspooled in his belly at the sight of the door, and the thought of what lay beyond its threshold. If he could just reach his hand out and touch the handle - if he could just push it open and step forward, he would have it. Harry’s fingers were just a hair’s breadth from its mahogany panelling, all it would take was for him to lean just slightly forward onto his toes and he would feel the grain of the wood against his skin. He was so close, if he just -.