The next morning, Harry awoke with a headache that felt like the Cruciatus curse’s younger brother. He rolled over in bed, groaning.
“You’re awake.”
Harry nearly jumped out of his skin at the sound of Draco’s voice. “I guess,” he replied. He looked up to find Draco sitting cross legged on his bed, scribbling away on some parchment. “What time is it?”
“About half six in the morning,” Draco replied casually. “Are you still feeling,” he paused, “confident?” The smirk on Draco’s face was enough to send Harry into oblivion.
“That was real?” Harry asked. “I had hoped I had dreamt all of that.”
“Why’d you hope that?” Draco asked, putting his quill down.
“Because I made a fool of myself,” Harry replied, a bit shocked Draco had asked him to elaborate. Maybe it was just to humiliate him further.
“Well,” Draco said, standing up and straightening his shirt. “I quite like a man with confidence.”
***