___<br/><br/>Draco hadn’t been far off it, when he questioned whether or not he was allowed to leave the bed; they had barely been up before they were back in it.<br/>Harry’s hair was still damp from the shower, dressed in clean flannel pyjamas and wrapped in his housecoat, trying to fight the chill the June morning air still carried with it. Coote had opened the windows when he had brought them their breakfast and reluctantly served it on the fresh sheets.<br/>Harry felt rarely at ease, one foot drawn up beneath him, the plate of eggs (scrambled rather than fried to protect the white cotton) and ham precariously balancing on his thigh.<br/>“What did you use to do for your birthday?” Harry asked, breaking the silence that had fallen on them, but picking back up a comment Draco had made in the shower; how he didn’t usually do anything remarkable on his birthdays.<br/>Harry’s eyes found Draco, genuine interest in his gaze. “Growing up.”