His hand naturally moved through Harry's hair, flipping through strands, lost in his own head. "What is this earning shit? I'm here, aren't I. I'm not the bad guy and maybe I never was. I don't know." His voice was more serious, cooler, like he was withdrawing before rejection, but he resisted the urge to move.
"We can both go," he said, still quiet, but glad for the subject. "Your mum was on the movies that Andrew watched. I look more like my father, but that is obvious. People expect me to be just like him still."