"I think they look at you more often than you realise." Harry says, turning the vase a degree more, so that the light from the window hits the petals, making the droplets of water on them shine.
He nods, dusting off his hands, and glancing around the room again, "I have to wait you have a very nice room, Abigail. Much nicer than your brothers." He grins, "I've been in jail cells nicer than Eward's room..."