Harry had stopped at the threshold, looking around. His senses were screaming at him to run, so he peered inside with seemingly idly curiosity.
There was a threshold, which was unusual for a bar, but it wasn't the same as one surrounding a home. It was sharper, more... rigid. It reminded him of McAnally's in Chicago - Accorded Neutral Territory, as a sign just inside the door claimed. You couldn't pick a fight in Mac's. Any business beyond the icy polite went outside. Or your respective team left you out in the cold for breaking the rules.
"Doesn't seem to be," he said, from the doorway. "Thought I saw a place down the street. We could try it, if it's still there."