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"Restart?" asked Potter, his outstretched hand hanging tentatively in the air between them.
An onslaught of memories of the past couple of years flooded Draco's mind. The fight in the bathroom which had left his chest flayed open; Potter on his knees at the Manor, his fate in Draco's hands; clinging to Potter on the back of a broom as they raced through Fiendfyre, fleeing for their lives. Then came the raw emotions, the longing and want which had always resided deep within him. His futile wish to be close to Potter.
The eight-year common room was deadly quiet as the watching crowd silently held their breath, waiting for Draco's move.
Schooling his face into cool indifference, Draco cleared his throat and extended his own, imperceptibly shaking hand before grasping Potter's. It was warm and steady.
"Restart."