It was bare in a way Harry didn’t think he had ever seen it - bare stone walls, floor and ceiling, except for a huge, frosted window that flooded the room with light. In the middle of the room, sat with his legs crossed and surrounded by piles of books, was Draco. Their eyes met, and Harry was struck by the others deliberately blank expression - Draco glanced down briefly to the open book in his lap, before looking back at Harry and standing gingerly, as if his legs had gone to sleep. The book that had been in his lap now dangled by his side. Harry approached carefully, like he had when he’d found a skittish stray cat in his garden once. He stopped when they were six feet apart.