At ten to seven, they settle down on the sofa in front of the television in the sitting room, leaving about a cushion's worth of space in between them. They've brought along the rest of the bottle of wine and it sits on the coffee table in front of them.

"So what's this show about?" Draco asks, settling back into the cushions. He pulls his legs up and crosses them in front of himself.

"Aliens," Potter says. "And time travel, I think?"

"It's not scary, is it?" Potter snorts with laughter and Draco turns his head to glare at him. "I don't like scary things."

"If it gets scary, you can hold my hand." Draco's mouth goes dry and all he can manage is a nod in response. He almost hopes it is scary now. Oh Merlin, what is he? A third year Hufflepuff? He needs to get a grip.

"For a wizarding house," Draco says. "You've a lot of muggle technology."

"It's useful," Potter says. "I added outlets to all of the rooms when I had the house wired a few years ago."

"Oh, I'll bet Walburga loved that," Draco says.

"She might have had a silencing charm placed on her for several days." Potter looks guiltily delighted as he says this.

"Why don't you do that all the time?" Draco asks. He's not even been here a week yet and he's already tired of the painting's outbursts.

"Too hard to maintain," Potter says. "She fights back. I don't know how wizarding paintings work, but I could swear she has her own magic." He scrunches up his face in irritation and Draco can't help but think he looks cute when he does that.

"Well, we'll get her down eventually," Draco says. Sooner rather than later, or so he hopes. It's the first thing he's going to do once the biohazard suits arrive. "What are you going to do with her once she's off the wall?"

"I don't know. Burn her?"

"Oh, Potter, that's harsh. She's just a painting." Potter turns his entire torso to face Draco as he says,

"She's a hateful woman who calls my friends horrible names and constantly insults my roombas."

"I constantly insult your roombas, Potter," Draco says, not to let Walburga have the monopoly on that.

"Yes, but I don't hate you." Well that's a first. "Whereas she's a bitch."

"And now on the BBC," the television says, interrupting their conversation. "The premiere of Doctor Who." Potter grins excitedly at Draco before turning his attention to the screen. Draco shifts slightly in his seat but turns his gaze to the television as well. He would almost rather they continued their conversation, but Potter wants to see this show, so he's going to give it a chance.

As he watches, the screen turns a purplish blue color and it appears that they're hurtling through circles of purple clouds. As the drums start up on the soundtrack, a muggle police box appears, spinning through the clouds.

Draco's not sure what he had been expecting, but he's completely enthralled. When the first of the plastic mannequins had started to move, Draco had yelped and reached out for Potter's hand. He hadn't let go, even when the Doctor had appeared and helped Rose to safety. The entire forty five minutes passes entirely too quickly and as the end credits roll, Draco reluctantly lets go of Potter's hand.

"What did you think?" Potter asks. "Not too scary?"

"Some bits were," Draco pauses, searching for the right word. "Tense."

"My hand is aware." Draco flushes, but Potter just smiles at him. "What now then?" Draco glances down at his watch, he sees that it's still only eight, which is far too early to go to bed.

"Exploding snap?" he suggests. He's not entirely sure why he suggests a game he hasn't played since Hogwarts, but it sounds more fun than chess or gobstones.

"How about a muggle game?" Potter suggests. Draco doesn't know any, and he says as much. Potter's eyes gleam behind his glasses as walks over to the cabinet that the television is in and pulls open another of the doors. Inside is a pile of boxes. Potter pulls one out and brings it over to the coffee table.

"Monopoly?" Draco asks, reading the top of the box. "The fast dealing property trading game. Are you sure you want to play this, Potter?"

"Oh yes. I'm sure." Draco shrugs.

"Alright then." He picks up the wine bottle and pours a measure of it into his glass. "We might need more wine though."

…

"I propose a trade," Potter says. He's sitting on the floor on the other side of the coffee table, but as he says this, he leans forward and rests his elbows on the table, steepling his fingers and staring intently at Draco. Draco's taken to Monopoly quite quickly and through a combination of lucky rolls and good business sense (or so he tells himself), he has amassed a line of hotels along the red and yellow properties. Potter, meanwhile has piecemeal ownership of things. He has some houses on green and hotels on orange.

They're listening to an album of Potter's on the CD player that sits by the window, rather than using the pod whatchamacallit that they'd used the night before for music. It's a muggle band Draco's vaguely heard of, whose songs have a sort of pop-punk feel, with lots of guitars and drums. Potter seems to know all the words and has been occasionally singing along.

"Go on then," Draco says. "What are you offering?"

"These two railroads." Potter picks up Fenchurch St. Station and Kings Cross Station and proffers them. "In exchange for your shirt." Draco's eyebrows shoot up.

"I beg your pardon," he blurts out. Potter's face splits into a grin.

"I'm just trying to lighten the mood. You're being so serious." He places the railroads back on the table in front of him.

"Of course I'm being serious," Draco says. "I want to beat you."

"But it's a game," Potter protests. "You're supposed to have fun!" He reaches over and picks up the wine bottle, emptying the last of it in his glass.

"Beating you is fun."

"Touché." Potter grins and then starts to hum along with the song that's playing. His eyes get a far away look and he idly taps out the drumbeat on his thigh. I want you to stay, I want you to stay with me, the lead singer intones. Draco wonders if Potter's aware of the lyrics.

"Point taken, though," Draco says, forcing himself not to think about the song. He reaches up and pulls his tee shirt up and over his head in one swift motion. "I want to beat you. Hand them over." But Potter's just staring at him, mouth slightly agape. Draco makes a grabbing motion with his hand. "Your railroads. Give them to me." Potter just blinks at him. "Oh, you want the shirt itself?" Draco throws his shirt on top of Potter's head. That seems to snap the other man back to his senses.

"It wasn't a real trade," he splutters, pulling the shirt off of his head. But Draco notices that he doesn't offer to give it back.

"You wanted a trade," Draco says. "You said the sacred words. 'I propose a trade'." Draco uses air quotes and everything. Potter laughs.

"Fine, fine," he says and hands over the two cards. Draco beats him rather quickly after that but Potter still doesn't give his shirt back.

"More wine?" Potter asks, picking himself up off the floor and moving back to sit next to Draco on the sofa.

"But you finished it," Draco points out.

"I have more downstairs."

"Is this when you tell me about your hidden wine cellar?"

"It's not exactly hidden."

"Oh shit. I was kidding. You really have one?" Draco turns and stares, eyes wide in surprise.

"Fully stocked and everything," Potter says, nodding.

"I knew I chose the right place to quarantine." Potter looks over at him as he says this and gives Draco a small smile. At that moment, Draco shivers as the cold of the drawing room gets to him at last.

"May I?" He indicates his shirt.

"Oh, god. Yes. Sorry."

"It's alright," Draco says. "You were just enjoying the view." It must be the wine that's made him this bold. There's no other explanation for it. He reaches over and pulls his shirt out of Potter's hands. Potter hasn't responded to his comment and Draco's starting to feel like he wants the floor to open up and swallow him. He takes his time putting his shirt back on, using the opportunity to hide his face while he pretends to struggle with his sleeves. When he reemerges, Potter is standing by the door.

"Let's get some more wine," he says. "C'mon." And if it comes down to me and him, the CD player sings as Draco follows Potter out into the hall. You know I'd kiss you better.

…

The wine cellar is, predictably, under the house. Potter leads Draco to a door in the kitchen, that Draco had assumed was another pantry. When he opens it, they're met with a musty, earthy smell as the cool, damp air hits them. There are wooden stairs that lead down into the dark. Potter flips a switch, illuminating several exposed lightbulbs that hang down from the low ceiling, and starts down the stairs. Draco follows.

As they turn the bend in the stairs, the cellar opens up beneath them. Draco can't help it. He gasps. There must be more than a thousand bottles down here, all neatly arranged on shelves. They go on for almost further than the eye can see.

"I didn't realize the Black Family had such good taste," Draco says. He walks over to one of the shelves and picks up one of the bottles, squinting down at the label.

"They didn't," Potter says. "These were my dad's. They showed up in my Gringott's vault when I came of age and I transferred them over here so they'd be easier to get to. I've been adding to it slowly, but the vast majority came from my parents."

"So you added this wine cellar to the house?" Draco looks up in time to see Potter shake his head.

"It was already here, but it was empty. I think Mundungus must have emptied it out."

"Mundungus?" Draco asks but Potter just waves his hand to show that Draco doesn't need to know who that is.

"How does a 1991 Burgundy sound?"

"Weren't you eleven in 1991?"

"Yes, what of it?"

"You said these were your dad's? But wasn't he…?" Draco trails off, realizing too late that it's insensitive to remind someone that their parent is dead.

"He was part of some club that sent wine to his vault once or twice a year," Potter says. "And it's just never ended. Now the wine shows up in this cellar."

"Handy."

"I'm running out of space though." Potter reaches up and scratches the top of his head. It makes his hair stick up where his fingers have passed. "I can't drink it fast enough."

"I can help you with that," Draco says quickly. Potter catches his eye and he grins.

"Yes, well, let's start right now." Potter jerks his head in the direction of the stairs and they make their way back up to the kitchen.

…

"Why is it green?" Potter wails.

"Why is what green?" Draco asks. They've finished about half of the new bottle of wine and Draco's feeling very mellow. They're laying head to head on the rug in the sitting room, staring up at the ceiling. It's a nice ceiling, surrounded by a crown molding that Draco's decently sure Harry will want removed, even if he hasn't asked about it yet.

"The stupid tapestry."

"I don't know why you dislike green so much. Your eyes are green."

"What do my eyes have to do with anything?"

"They're pretty."

"Oh?" There's a rustling noise and then the top of Potter's head comes into view. And those green eyes meet Draco's, upside down.

"I mean just look at your eyelashes. Lovely." Draco reaches up and cups the side of Potter's face with his hand. As Draco watches, Potter's pupils dilate slightly in the dim light. Slowly, Draco takes his hand away.

"Draco, I think you're drunk."

"And you're not?" Potter sighs and turns back over, resting his head next to Draco's, still upside down. If Draco were to turn his head, his nose would hit Potter's cheek. He's almost tempted to do it.

"Perhaps just a little," Potter allows. "No thanks to you."

"No thanks to me? It's your wine cellar." Draco reaches up above his head and swats Potter on the shoulder.

"Hey," Potter says, turning his head. His nose presses into Draco's face and Draco breathes in sharply. "Oh. Sorry." He turns his head away again.

"I think," Draco says, hating the way that his voice shakes. "That I should go to bed." He sits up. The room spins a bit and Draco's not sure if that's from the alcohol or from the blood rushing away from his head. Either way, he takes a moment to collect himself before he pushes himself to his feet. Potter stays laying on the rug, watching him. His face is inscrutable but Draco thinks he might look slightly disappointed.

"Goodnight, Potter," Draco says.

"Harry," Potter says. "Please call me Harry." Draco stands for a moment, staring at his feet, before he nods.

"Goodnight, Harry," he says. The name feels strange in his mouth, but if that's what Potter wants, he'll do it. Because right now, after this much wine, with Potter staring up at him from the floor with his hair fanned out around his face, Draco thinks he would do just about anything for the man. Which is precisely why he needs to leave before he does something he regrets. He flees.

…