"Ah." That actually caught him off-guard. Harry's automatic reaction is to nod, smile and take another sip of his pint. Create an opportunity for his brain to whir and buzz, to accurately process the information so he may provide a thoughtful, intelligent response rather than say something foolish he would later regret.

The truth of the matter was that Harry just wasn't used to being dead. It wasn't easy to think of one's life in the past-tense. Regardless of preference or will, funerals and estate sales were not really a cause of concern for those who passed on. Being dead, there was no opening a box and suddenly remembering the importance of specific objects long forgotten, or any way to ensure they were given to the right person.

Harry was actually quite sentimental about his things, or so he discovered in those thirty seconds of drinking and pondering. This was not something he had previously realized.

"No, it's quite alright. You should have it." Fuck. He had taken too long to reply. Not only was the gap of silence rude and uncomfortable, but allowing himself too much time to sit in his feelings had created an uncomfortable knot in his gut. Eggsy was a bright boy, and he knew Harry better than Harry knew he did. The carefully selected mask he worse wouldn't be enough to disguise his emotions.

"I should have left the damned house to you." But he had gotten himself killed before any will could have been changed, not that he would have foreseen a reason to do so. Harry had always believed he would die another day.

First class job. Splendid way to leave the boy with a lasting impression.