Harry was walking in a slow and steady rhythm, his hand in his pocket. It might’ve looked like a force of habit to strangers, but Hermione knew that his hand was on the dagger. She bit her lip nervously, watching him approach the house. Harry stepped onto the property, but no one seemed to notice his presence. He took a few steps forward, shifting his weight awkwardly. There was dead silence disrupted only by the rustle of leaves.