They didn’t speak to one another on their journey down to the great hall - with the castle silent but for the soft snores coming from the portraits, it felt as if even a whisper from their lips would attract the attention of everyone and thing within the castle, living, dead, and inanimate. Harry kept the map held between them, so they could both watch the slow progress of Voldemort’s dot as he paced his way carefully and slowly around the great hall. Harry imagined him peering about at the night’s sky above, the candles hovering in midair, the house flags hanging from the rafters, the empty house tables either side of him, and the faculty table at the head of the hall. What was he thinking, Harry wondered. Did he miss it still? Did he long for the day he could call the castle his?