Harry’s free hand reached for the plate. While he never took it out of Draco’s grip, only steadying it mid air, Harry was also attentive not to brush his hand against Draco’s, no matter how easy it felt.<br/>“Of course,” he breathed, barely aware as he cut Draco another pie.<br/>As soon as Harry had served Draco a portion, and felt sure he had found his balance, Harry was quick to let go. Today wasn’t the day to linger.<br/>Harry would have served Draco the salad, too, had Coote not apparated a vial onto the table, just within Harry's field of vision to his right. It served to interrupt whatever intention Harry had had of seeing the gesture through; instead, he just pushed the dish in Draco’s direction.<br/>“Salad, too?” he asked, though not attentively, eyes already elsewhere.<br/>Harry hadn’t need to confirm the label on the bottle, too familiar with the blue liquid of a headache relief draught. He spoke the gratitude into thin air, vial in hand; it was as if the sight alone of a second dose had made Harry’s headache flare up. “Thank you, Coote.”