The stark change of subject made Harry’s smile waver, not as much out of worry as it was out of confusion. Draco’s words meant nothing to him, until they did; the moment of realisation was visible, Harry’s eyes briefly darting up to Draco’s hair.<br/>Harry paused, uncertain how to interpret the tone Draco took with him, finding that it elevated his heartrate. Of course, Harry understood what Draco was fussing about, but only doing so through context. Harry had no recollection of charming Draco’s hair up. By now that little spell could almost be considered muscle memory, and he wouldn’t deny it if pressed about it.<br/>Harry considered denying the allegation, anyway.<br/>“Yeah. You’re right,” he eventually agreed, easily. Draco’s recommendations were perfectly ingrained in Harry’s consciousness, and after a month of due diligence, Harry trusted that Draco knew it wasn’t a matter of being lazy about it.<br/>Subsequently, Harry had a hard time caring.<br/>“Did you get it out of your hair alright?” he instead asked, something he thought to be a more reasonable point of contingency. Draco had left for the night with this hair still tied up, and though it wasn’t a permanent charm, Harry could imagine it being finicky to the unfamiliar.<br/>Aware of the deflection from the point, Harry’s smile went crooked, interested in hearing how much of last night Draco was willing to acknowledge in daylight. “You can usually just comb it out, but I’ll admit it might not have been my tidiest work.”