He noticed two things about Draco, as he got closer. Firstly, he was stroking his finger gently down the back of a small, fluffy brown owl that had planted itself firmly in front of him. Secondly, when his eyes met Harry’s, his greeting smile had a tight edge, and where he would have normally reached for the coffee to pour Harry a cup, or for the toast to butter him a slice, this morning he simply continued petting the owl. Harry tried to ignore the niggling feeling in his chest. He was being ridiculous - he could pour his own coffee and make his own breakfast - he didn’t need Draco too.