Harry was awake before Ron and Hermione the next morning, as was his habit. For a short while, he had simply lain in bed and stared up at the canopy of his four-poster bed, admiring the spiral of dust caught in the sunlight that crept in at the corners of the curtains around his bed. He was conscious of the fact that, normally, he’d have sprung out of bed and headed down to breakfast already, where he knew Draco was likely either waiting for him or arriving imminently himself. Anxiety kept him pinned in bed a good fifteen minutes longer than normal, however. Eventually, he shook off the clenching sensation in his chest, and threw his curtains open.