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.”
***
A few nights after their agreement and mutual spilling of secrets, Harry sat on his bed, waiting for Draco to return from wherever in the castle he had disappeared to. He really needed some help with the calming draught he was supposed to be able to brew effortlessly, and Draco was the best at potions; Hermione had even conceded to Draco’s knowledge of the subject (not to Draco’s face, of course). Harry knew he could still ask Hermione, but for some reason he found himself looking forward to the idea of Draco helping him instead.
Now it was about 9:30 at night, an hour after Draco was normally back in their room. Harry never asked him where he disappeared to, he figured it wasn’t any of his business. Harry had already gone ahead and tried brewing the calming draught once, but it turned out a thick, clumpy green mess and he knew it definitely wasn’t right. He discarded the contents and tried again, producing a nice looking soft blue liquid. If Draco had been there, he thought, Harry would have known if this time it was correct or not.
But Draco wasn’t there.