It's just as Draco is reaching the front door that his own mobile starts to ring. He stops dead, fear flooding through him as he looks at the number calling. It's the house phone he'd insisted his mother get for emergencies. It's been programed into his phone since the day he'd gotten it, but this is the first time the number has ever flashed up on the screen.

His mind immediately goes to the worst place. His mother must be dead. Draco knows she'd gone to her weekly Monday morning ladies tea in Diagon Alley earlier, and if this virus is as contagious as everyone is saying it is? Merlin, it doesn't bear thinking about. He reaches out a hand to steady himself on the fading wallpaper and flips open his phone. With a shaking hand, he brings it up to his ear.

"Hello," he says. His voice comes out stronger than he feels. "Draco Malfoy speaking."

"Master Draco," the voice at the other end of the phone squeaks. It's one of the house elves, Shreeky perhaps, going by the timbre. "You is not to come home."

"What? Why not?" Draco asks sharply. His stomach muscles tense up and he finds himself breathing more shallowly.

"Mistress Narcissa is not well." Draco's knees go weak and he leans more heavily against the wall, before giving up entirely and sinking down to the floor. Potter has made his way out of the dining room, curious, most likely, as to why Draco is talking on the phone in his entrance hall. His eyes go wide when he sees Draco on the floor.

"What?" Draco manages to rasp out, ignoring Potter who is looking at him with question in his eyes.

"Mistress Narcissa is sick. Medi-wizard Burlington is here and will give you the details." There's a scuffling noise on the other end of the phone and then another voice is bellowing down the phone.

"HELLO?" Draco winces, and holds the phone away from his ear.

"Healer Burlington," he says. "You don't have to shout."

"What's that?" Burlington asks at a normal volume.

"There's no need to shout."

"Sorry," Burlington says. "I've not used a fellytone before."

"Tell me about my mother," Draco says. Potter seems to start at this, and even as Draco is staring at the floor, he can see that Potter sinks slowly down until he's sitting opposite Draco.

"Right, yes. She's tested positive for the new R2-O5 virus. From best I can tell, she has a mild case, so there's no need to worry." As if that's going to stop Draco from worrying. "But she is still contagious, so it would be best if you don't come to the manor."

"I— Ok."

"I'm not sure if you've heard, but the wizarding world has gone into lockdown. Acting Minister McGorry has instituted a mandatory two week quarantine period to prevent further spread of the disease." Draco listens without really listening as Burlington repeats much of what Potter had just told him. "Do you have a place to stay?"

"What's that? Oh, yes. I suppose I do." He glances at Potter as he says this. He's not sure if Potter can hear what Healer Burlington is saying on the other end of the phone, but Potter had just said he should stay, so Draco's going to assume that the offer still stands.

"Good. Right now the recommendation is that lockdown should last for two weeks, but that is, of course, subject to change depending on how well we contain the spread of the disease."

"I see."

"I am going to hand the fellytone back over to your most excellent house elf, who I believe has packed you a bag of clothes. Stay safe, Mr. Malfoy. We'll keep you updated on your mother's condition."

"Thank you, Healer Burlington." Another scuffling noise, and then,

"Shreeky has taken the liberty of packing Master Draco some clothes. Healer Burlington says that elves is not going to get sick, so you is not worrying about Mistress Narcissa. We will be taking very good care of her."

"Thank you," Draco whispers.

"How should Shreeky get Master Draco's clothes to him? Where is Master Draco?"

"Uh."

"Healer Burlington says he thinks elves can still disapparate safely, provided no wizards is around, so Shreeky can drop Master Draco's clothes outside of the building where Master Draco is."

"Um, I'm going to pass the phone to someone who can help you with the address," Draco says.

Wordlessly he holds out his phone to Potter, who takes it automatically, and holds it up to his ear. Draco can't hear what Shreeky is saying to him, nor does he care much. He's still processing what Healer Burlington had said. His mother is sick, but at least early signs point to a mild case, which is good. But what if it gets worse? Draco pulls his legs up to his chest, the wool of his suit straining at the knees.

He flinches, but doesn't move as he hears the crack of apparition outside of the house, and then jumps again as there's a second crack. He guesses that was Shreeky delivering his clothes. But he can't bring himself to stand up and get them. He's still trying to get his breathing under control.

"Here," Potter says, suddenly in front of him. He shoves Draco's phone — snapped closed again — into Draco's hands before hurrying away down the stairs.

"Thanks," Draco says faintly, though he's sure Potter's out of earshot. He stares down at the phone, idly thinking how much nicer it is than Potter's, because thinking about that is easier than thinking about his mother. Or the fact that he has to stay here for two weeks — two weeks! — with Potter.

Potter who has now emerged from basement wearing a painter's mask and blue plastic gloves.

Draco stares as he walks down the entrance hall to the door. He's carrying what appears to be a container of cleaning wipes, and is wearing a small frown on his face.

"What's that for?" Draco asks.

"Sanitizing your suitcase so that we can bring it inside safely." Potter's voice is muffled by the mask he's wearing. Draco nods and Potter leaves the house, shutting the door quickly behind him. Draco stays on the floor, idly tracing a finger around the top of his phone.

…

When Potter comes back inside, five minutes later, Draco is still sitting against the wall. Potter glances at him as he walks inside, and the door slams shut behind him. He drops Draco's suitcase on the floor.

"You shouldn't open it for another twenty four hours," he says, reaching up to pull off his mask. "Just to be safe."

"Twenty four hours?" Potter nods. "What am I supposed to wear to bed? I'm in a bloody three piece suit." Potter's mouth twists to the side as he thinks.

"I can lend you pajamas," he says at last. "And some casual clothes, I suppose. In case you wanted to change out of that before dinner."

"Thank you," Draco says. He pushes himself to his feet. "That would be most appreciated."

"I take it you're staying then?"

"If you don't mind," Draco says. "I'll knock a few hundred galleons off my fee in return." He can't bring himself to look Potter in the eye as he does, so instead stares somewhere in the vicinity of his shoulder.

"Do you have any other options?" Potter asks, which makes it sound like Potter does mind. Draco scrunches up his face.

"Not really," he says. "Pansy's in Argentina, Blaise's wife has just had a baby and Theo's in America." He pauses, frowns. "In case it has escaped your notice, Potter, I don't have many friends."

"Oh." Potter's almost cute in his confusion. "What about Goyle?"

"Greg's in Azkaban, no thanks to you."

"What do you mean 'no thanks to me'?" Potter snaps.

"You vouched for me at my trial, but not for him," Draco says, taking a step towards Potter so that he's right in his face, looking down at him when he says it. It's a thing that's bothered Draco for years: Potter's double standards when it came to testifying after the war. Potter takes a step back and regards Draco cooly.

"Well, you never tried to kill me," Potter says. "And he did."

"What?"

"In the Room of Requirement. Both Crabbe and Goyle were throwing around killing curses, but you never—" Potter swallows the last of his sentence, and scratches the back of his head. They're both quiet for a long moment, and Draco knows without asking that Harry's reliving the fiendfyre in his mind's eye too. He can see it in the tension around Potter's mouth. Draco hates that he knows Potter's face well enough to know that, but he had sought out Potter's stupid face in every room they'd been in together for seven years, so he's not surprised that he does.

"I don't know if I ever thanked you," Draco says quietly. He looks down at his shoes. He can still remember how it felt, behind Potter on that broomstick, clutching him so hard Draco had thought he'd never be able to let go.

"For what?"

"Saving my life." Potter gives a half shrug.

"I didn't want you to die," is all he says.

"Like how you don't want me to die now?" Draco asks hopefully. "Which is why you'll let me stay as I have nowhere else to go?" Potter scowls, but looks up and nods. Draco smirks at him. "Good, chivalrous Gryffindor."

"Give me your wand," Potter says, sticking his hand out.

"What?"

"Give me your wand. It's for your own safety."

"You think I'm going to use it?"

"Accidentally. Maybe. I just— It will be safer if I put our wands away somewhere." Draco sighs.

"Fine." He reaches into the inner pocket of his suit jacket and pulls his wand out. He hands it over, watching Potter's face as the other man's hand closes around the wood. He looks… surprised? But of course. This is the wand that Draco had all but given Potter at the Manor, for all he'd tried to hold on to it as Potter had snatched it from his hand. That he'd used at the Battle of Hogwarts. The wand he'd used to kill the Dark Lord. Draco had been surprised when it had arrived in a parcel left on his doorstep a few weeks after He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named had died, but he'd been so grateful to have his wand back, that he hadn't thought much of it. It was his wand after all.

"Thank you," Potter says, pocketing it. He starts to walk away.

"Uh, Potter," Draco says.

"What?"

"Which room did you want me to stay in?" Irritation flickers across Potter's face.

"I don't know," he says. He looks away from Draco, towards the library, for a moment before turning back to him. "Just pick one."

"Any room?"

"Any room that's not mine." He starts to walk away again and then stops. "Or— also don't go in the rooms at the top of the house."

"Fine. And I can't touch this until tomorrow?" Draco points at his suitcase. Potter shakes his head.

"I'll find you something less formal to wear in a bit." Then he walks away, leaving Draco standing in the hallway.

…

Draco climbs to the first floor and starts to look around. There is technically a bedroom on this floor, but it's the same floor as the sitting room, so he's not sure he wants to stay there. The second floor has two rooms, one of which is clearly Potter's, if the clothes strewn about the bed are any indication. Then there are three additional bedrooms on the third floor, though none of them are as large as the ones on the second.

Draco debates for a moment whether or not he wants to be on the same floor as Potter, before he tells himself to stop being stupid. It's just a room. And if it's on the same floor as Potter's, what of it? It's not like it means anything. He just wants the extra space.

He walks into the bedroom and looks around. It feels cold from misuse. The room has a musty smell, even though Draco can't see a speck of dust on any of the furniture. If he had to guess, he would say that the room's decorations had not been updated since the mid 1920s. The wallpaper here is less faded than that in the entrance hall, but is still far from new. Draco can see that it was once a deep emerald green with a woven fleur-de-lis pattern, but the colors are more subdued now. There's a four poster bed with heavy damask curtains against one wall and while Draco half expects there to be a cloud of dust that arrises from the bed when he sits down, there thankfully is none. While the bed linens are old, it seems that they are at least clean.

Along one wall, there are two doors. One is the door to the closet; the other leads to the ensuite bathroom. Draco pushes himself off of the bed, and walks over to it. It's pleasantly large, with both a shower and a bath along with his and hers sinks set into a long countertop along one wall. A mirror runs the length of the cabinet, making the room appear larger than it is. Along the wall opposite the counter, there are several large windows, curtained with sheers, which let in the yellow light from the streetlights outside.

Draco makes his way over to one of the sinks, and splashes water on his face before taking in his reflection in the mirror. He looks tired and his skin feels dry after the two and a half hours in the car. He runs a hand through his hair and it falls limply back down. He tidies it quickly back into its normal side part and then walks back into the bedroom.

He wishes he had something more comfortable to change into, but Potter hasn't stopped by yet with his promise of casual clothes, so he's stuck in his suit. At least he knows he looks good.

…

The playlist for this story can be found here: open. spotify. com playlist/0vRbBCRYnn2jhRjCwX4Ncf?si=bf1727a2a5b74cb7br (remove the spaces)

I will be adding songs to it as I post each chapter, so currently it's 2 songs long, but it will change :)