Harry made a face, agreeing. Time had felt warped, the past three hours barely feeling coherent from their workday, separated by both dinner and an aborted intention of heading to bed.<br/>He took a few slow steps away from his desk, pulling his sleeves back down around his wrists. Barred from using magic, Harry had come to smear the ink more frequently, something he had found annoying but not enough to admit it, not yet. Tomorrow he might ask Coote for different ink, but most likely not until he had attempted and failed to scrub to scrub the ink off his hands.<br/>Harry came to a standstill a few yards ahead of Malfoy, turning towards him when the other hadn’t made any sign of moving.<br/>It seemed to cause Harry’s already fuzzy mind to stall, having meant to call it quits for both of them. For a moment, Harry seemed to consider whether or not he was in his right to insist; he didn’t really come to a conclusion, but spoke none the less, a soft surprise in his voice. "You’re not coming?"