The sight of the knife made Harry’s insides churn, probably even more so at Malfoy’s hesitation. It didn’t feel surgical at it had at the Ministry, or when he had had his blood drawn at St. Mungo’s. Looking at Malfoy, Harry struggled to differentiate if his discomfort was due to him or the context.<br/>Harry perfectly understood Malfoy’s hesitation, and the necessary amount of mutual trust they were so tentative to exhibit.<br/>"Yeah," he said, certain despite the way his face had paled. Harry would gladly take that first step, just one among many incremental signs of trusts. In a moment of shared vulnerability, Harry turned his hand, baring the back of his hand.<br/>While Harry had never considered that he could draw his own blood, he was sure he wouldn’t be able to keep his hand steady. Harry didn’t look down at the lettering carved into his skin.<br/>"I’ve lost my tolerance for it with age," Harry smiled, the joke ill-timed but genuine. Thinking about Umbridge’s detentions made him light-headed, only now years later. He might have been able to draw his own signature once, but he had grown unable to stomach the sight.<br/>Not allowing either of them to linger, Harry turned his hand over, extending it another bit for his joint to go taut.<br/>"It’s fine, Coote’s here to catch me if I faint." His smile remained, albeit just a tug at the corner of his mouth, his attention on Malfoy. "Go ahead."