Draco was light on his feet, a honed skill he had learned while sneaking about his own home in some vain attempt to avoid the Death Eaters during the war. He ducked behind a shelf, sure that he had not been seen yet. There was a continued sound of muffled footsteps on the carpet, a rustle of fabric. Potter was on the move, searching still for whatever had brought him here. He had not noticed Draco.