Having finally accepted defeat over the several classics both Kreacher and Draco had recommended for him to read, Harry had instead spent the afternoon lazily flipping through today’s Prophet. It laid across his lap, and as a result of that across Draco’s leg, as Harry absentmindedly rubbed the stubble covering his cheek, a thoughtless attempt to narrow his thoughts down on the words on the parchment.<br/>It had almost worked.<br/>He had read through most of the paper before his attention ran dry and he shifted, the change of his breathing marking a nondescript end to that ordeal. His posture relaxing, Harry pushed both hands beneath the brim of his lenses to rub at his eyes.<br/>“I think I’m gonna get dressed,” he muttered into his own palms. When Harry dressed for a second time, he had only done so in his flannel bottoms, but the prospect of leaving the bed came with the promise of a chill.