His wild black locks were everywhere.
Of course, they always were, but that night, they were remarkably unkempt. Draco had always found it endearing, yet he never would tell him as much. They were, after all, nothing serious.
"I have to get back to the manor."
"Oh."
Draco cocked an eyebrow, but he didn't stop buttoning his trousers. It was the first time Harry had ever protested him leaving after they frolicked in the bedsheets, and he wasn't sure what to make of it.
"What's your problem, Potter? Going soft for me, are you?"
"No," Harry scowled.
"Sure. Well, don't worry. We can do this again soon." Draco winked at him and reached out to squeeze his hand.
That was when he felt it.
Harry's magic crackled against his, and suddenly, his locks were even more mussed than before.
He should've stayed that night. But he didn't.