In retrospect, it takes him an embarrassing amount of time to catch on. Harry places himself next to Draco, who hops up to sit on the deck bannister and looks down at him. Neither of them pay much attention to the group at large, and Harry tries his best to ask all the right questions without being distracted by the still unidentifiable yet unmistakable inky lines of a tattoo high up on Draco's thigh, just peeking out from under her skirt. The thing is, Harry has never been great at small talk, and he knows this. He doesn't have it in him to "play it cool" or leave the ball in the other person's court, no playful games of flirting back and forth. It's usually just Harry, being painfully obvious about his crush, and the fifty-fifty chance that the object of his affections finds this charming. But,  this is going really well, he thinks at some point. Draco asks him who he gets his curls from, and as Harry explains that the curls are his dad's, but his eyes are his mom's, she takes the opportunity to reach out and twist her fingers into one of the ringlets behind his ear. And really, he should have known the game was rigged from the moment he had let her pour wine into his mouth, but the realisation doesn't hit him until they're interrupted by the rest of the group, who have finished their smokes and are moving back inside. They filter through one by one, until a distressingly handsome guy with dark skin pauses in the doorway. 