[ What Harry needs happens to be that sofa he's been eyeballing as purposefully as he can in the hopes that Marcone will stop looking at him, contemplating his words, and then reading him like The Chicago Tribune. Barons get smug, wizards get uppity as a result. Things go south and sour, and Harry can't enjoy the benefits of a power nap on that really comfy couch. That's what he needs, yeah...

He'll keep telling himself it's that, and make sure his voice is nice and bright and dismissive and just the right tone for getting this sharp-eyed git off his case. ] Why Baron, it's like you read my mind. Shame on you, spoiling the surprise like that. Now, I have a date with your furniture, you'll have to excuse me.

((OOC: Sleep well! I'm glad you're enjoying it, I'm having so much fun too, ohgosh. ))