Harry's heart skipped a beat at how definitive the refusal had been, immediately serving to remind Harry that this was nothing more than a business transaction. They were still, in every sense of the word, strangers, and the mere suggestion that Draco's ruffling of Harry's hair had been fun and easy suddenly felt stupid.<br/>It made Harry's stomach turn, knowing he had overstepped suddenly feeling like he had wholly misjudged the tone they could have with each other in private.<br/>His lips parted to apologize, wanting to soothe the kink it had left in the flow of their conversation, but he never got a chance to do so.<br/>Immediately, it seemed, Draco's hands were against his own midriff and Harry could do little but to gawk. Unable to follow the quick, intentional pace Draco maintained, it took Harry a heart beat to catch up.<br/>Then, he blushed.<br/>His eyes immediately darted upwards, flustered by having looked, as if Draco himself had not brought attention to the state of his shirt. It was nothing else than a costume change, just how ruffling up Harry's hair had been purely aesthetical; yet Harry's lips remained parted, mind occupied by the implications that he was supposed to have done<span style="font-style: italic">that</span>to Draco's shirt.<br/>"Okay," he croaked helplessly, not knowing what else was appropriate to say. His mind was still playing catch up, desperately trying to picture their supposed embrace, Draco's hands in Harry's hair, Harry's at Draco's fly. It was too much, especially given the rap on the wrist for becoming too familiar. Too familiar indeed, Harry thought.<br/>Harry hardly felt present in his own body when he continued. "Ready, then?"