Harry couldn’t find it in himself to join in the festivities for the rest of the evening, despite the best effort of his friends to draw him into the fun and games. His mind was still fixed on the moment with Draco earlier. He was torn in two, dissecting each moment and each detail, from the tone of Draco’s voice, his arm pulling Harry in tightly, and the look in his eye. It was this that Harry kept coming back too - it was the odd one out in his mind. Everything had practically screamed that Draco wanted to be closer, everything except his eyes, and what were eyes if not the windows to the soul? That was what all the poets seemed to say, at least.