"Don't whine," Draco said, "it's unbecoming."
"You're just angry I won't have dinner with your mother."
Draco scowled. "I know. You've made that abundantly clear." He shrugged off Harry's placating touch, turning away from him and pulling the covers tighter to his chest. Harry stared up at the ceiling. "I only wish you respected some tradition."
Harry turned on his side, leaning his head on one hand and holding a lumos over their heads.
"We're not exactly traditional, are we?" Draco didn't smile, cheeks pink. He practically smoked at the ears. Harry thought quickly. "Look, I know it's important to you, but understand my hesitance to feign politeness all through—"
"I had drinks with your friends," Draco spat the word, glaring at Harry over his shoulder, "and I haven't developed a rash, have I?"
"Harry sighed. He couldn't believe what he was about to do, but it was a sacrifice he had to make. Maybe it really was time.
"All right." His teeth clenched as he spoke, his entire body resisting the idea of acquiescence.
Draco stared straight into him, pale eyes piercing in the dim light. "Really?"
"I'll do it." Harry whispered. "For you."
"Draco smirked. "Ha," he said, "I knew the guilt would work." He turned back around. "Bloody typical Gryffindor."