What do you want for dinner? the text reads. Draco frowns at his phone. Potter can't be more than a few rooms away and yet he's resorting to this?

Food, preferably, Draco texts back.

Helpful.

I've been told I'm the epitome of help.

Git. Draco smiles at his phone, before tapping out his response.

Tosser.

They're both working on different rooms of the house today, trying to make some sort headway in the renovation process. Draco's in full ghost gnome gear, scouring the solarium so that they might be able to use it soon. It was also one of the smaller rooms of the hidden rooms they'd discovered on Tuesday, so Draco had felt confident tackling it on his own. He'd started on the hidden rooms yesterday by opening up all of the windows in them and blowing the dust outside, but now he's taking the time to clean things more thoroughly, room by room.

All the while he's working, he thinks this could be achieved so much faster with a house elf, but unfortunately they don't have one. Draco wonders idly if his mother could spare one of the Manor elves for a week. Or maybe it would go faster if there were more of them working. After all, if it's just Draco and Harry, the work on the house is going to take forever.

Of course, a small part of him doesn't mind that it's going to take forever, as it means he'll get to see Potter for longer. Maybe in that time he can convince the other man to keep the house. He hopes that once Harry sees the house in its updated condition, he'll like it more.

Not that it matters to Draco whether or not Harry keeps the house. Why would it? Because of course, Draco refuses to admit to himself that it's starting to feel like home to him. There's a thought. Perhaps Potter could sell it to him.

What are you up to? Draco rolls his eyes at his phone.

Cleaning the Solarium.

Want company?

Are you going to be annoying or are you going to help?

I'm never annoying.

Draco refuses to respond to that and instead tucks his phone back into his pocket and turns his attention back to the chair cushion that he's casting scouring charms at.

"Hi," Harry says from the door a few minutes later. Draco gives him an exaggerated groan. "What can I help with?"

"How are your scouring charms?"

"Passable."

"Then that chair is yours." Draco points and Harry makes his way over to the chair.

"What if," Harry says, kneeling down in front of the chair. "We just vanished these and got new furniture?"

"You aren't going to want to use this room in the meantime?"

"How long does it take to get furniture?"

"During a pandemic?" Hermione had called this morning and informed Harry that what they were living through was now considered a pandemic as it had spread worldwide. Draco wants to make a point of using the word so that he appears informed. "I have no idea. Normally, at least a few days."

"Eh," Harry says. "Fuck it." And then he vanishes all of the furniture while Draco, who had spent the better part of his day cleaning most of it, turns to glare at him. Potter's eyes crinkle and Draco knows that he's grinning behind his mask.

"I hate you."

"It's almost five o'clock anyway," Harry says. "Time to stop working." Unspoken is the fact that five o'clock is cocktail hour. "And you haven't told me what you want for dinner."

"I did," Draco protests. "I said I wanted food." Harry scowls at him and Draco finds himself sprawled on the floor, knocked down by a trip jinx.

"That is not why I got into this gnome costume," he grumbles as he picks himself up off of the floor, but Potter is already laughing and walking out of the room. Draco does one last scouring charm on the solarium, making sure to get all the corners. It's all but sparkling now, and as Draco follows Harry out into the sitting room, he feels very accomplished. If only the other rooms were likely to be that easy.

…

"How do you think they got to the hidden rooms while the tapestry was up?" Harry asks Draco over their dinner of spaghetti carbonara that Harry had "whipped up" after Draco had avoided the question of what he wanted to eat for dinner for so long that it had started to get late.

"Through the door?"

"Was there a gap in the tapestry?"

"Maybe it opened when the door appeared. From what I remember, the door would have appeared around the area of the central trunk of the tree, so it wouldn't have been obscured by anyone's face." Draco picks up his wine glass and swirls its contents before taking a sip.

"Do you think," Harry starts to ask before he starts laughing, leaving Draco to stare at him until he manages to collect himself again.

"Do I think what?"

"D'you think the Blacks remembered which room was which based on the corresponding faces on the tapestry? Like, oh, you want the swimming pool? Tap on Regulus's head."

"Oh no," Draco says. "What do we think was under my face?"

"The sex dungeon," Harry says without missing a beat. Draco snorts with laughter in spite of himself.

"It's not a sex dungeon," he protests weakly. "Plus, if anything, I think I would be the solarium."

"As in, ironically, because you're so pale?"

"Oh fuck you, Potter." Draco turns his attention back to his food. Harry's done it again. He's made a delicious dinner, and all Draco could do was watch. Well, that's not strictly true. Draco had brought down the CD player from the sitting room and entertained Harry with music and his commentary on all the songs. This evening's selection had included songs entitled "Everyday I love you less and less," which was easy to describe as being about Harry, even if the opposite might actually be true, and "I predict a riot", which Draco claimed was a commentary on his stay at Grimmauld Place.

"But there haven't been any riots," Harry had protested.

"Yet," Draco had said and Harry had rolled his eyes.

The CD is still playing, now on its second run through for the evening, though Draco has mostly tuned out the music.

"Do you want to find out whose face was over each brick?" Draco asks.

"Only if you want to."

"I'm not sure if I want to find out I'm over the dungeon."

"Sex dungeon," Harry corrects him. Draco rolls his eyes. Harry stares past Draco's shoulder with a hundred yard stare. "I think you were over the secret library. Or at least, in the vicinity of it."

"That's alright then," Draco says. He sits up straight and puffs out his chest. "Draco Malfoy, proprietor of the soon to be muggle fiction library."

…

The weekdays melt into the weekend and before Draco knows it, it's time to watch the police box show again. They take similar positions on the couch, and Draco is sure to sit close enough to Harry that he can take his hand if it gets scary. They're sharing a bottle of Argentinian wine tonight, which makes Draco think about Pansy. He wonders if she's still stuck there or if she had managed to catch a portkey home before international travel had been halted. He had tried texting her a few days ago, but he's received no response thus far, so he can only assume that she is still abroad.

This time when the theme tune starts up, Draco gets a thrill in the pit of his stomach. He looks over at Harry and sees his excitement mirrored on the other man's face.

Draco doesn't find the episode as frightening as the one the week before, so he keeps his hands to himself. He's so enraptured by what's going on in the show, he barely notices that Potter's there at all. When the credits roll, he finally sits back, leaning against the back cushions of the sofa.

"How do we get our own flying police box?" he asks. "Do we just find one and apply undetectable extension charms on it, along with some levitation and propulsion charms?"

"That's very tempting," Harry says.

"You could keep it in the corner of room. It could be a conversation piece." Harry grins at him and Draco feels a flutter in the pit of his stomach, similar to the one at the start of the show, but also different. Thankfully, he's distracted by Pansy texting him to let him know she's back in the UK.

In a series of texts, all in Pansy's appalling text shorthand, she relates the saga of trying to secure a portkey home. Draco shares the funniest of her updates with Harry who laughs appreciatively.

"May I challenge you to a rematch?" Harry asks, pulling out the Monopoly box.

"If you must," Draco says, making an effort to sound put upon while actually relishing the possibility of beating Harry again.

"But first," Harry cries, upending the wine bottle and pouring the last of it into Draco's glass. "More wine."

...

That night, when Draco wakes from his latest nightmare, he finds he's alone in his bed. It clearly hadn't been one of the screaming nightmares then. No, he'd been dreaming about the time Lord Voldemort had killed their muggle studies professor while levitating her above their old dining room table.

Most of the terror at the time had been that he would learn of Draco's fear, and so Draco had stayed as quiet as he could. Seemingly it's the same now in the nightmares about it. His heart is still pounding from the terror of the dream, so he sits up and looks around his room, wishing Harry were there with him. If only it had been one of the ones where he yelled a lot. Then he wouldn't be alone now.

He turns over, wrapping the covers more tightly around himself and tries to calm his breathing. That almost works.

But then he's too hot, so he pushes the covers off of himself and flops onto his back. He stares at the canopy of his bed until he sees patterns in the swirls of embroidery there. And yet, he still can't sleep. Every time he closes his eyes, all he can see is the face of the muggle studies professor. The worst part is, he can't even remember her name. Though maybe he's forgotten on purpose.

He sighs and sits up. He doesn't think he's going to be able to get back to sleep like this. He wonders, idly, if he could successfully sneak into Harry's bed. And then, quite suddenly, that's all he wants to do. But he can't, can he?

His body seems to make the decision for him, because he slides his feet out from under the covers, and stands up. He steals down the hallway and quietly opens Harry's door. The room is quiet. The only noise is Harry's slow and even breathing. Draco makes it across the floor without stubbing his toe for once, and pulls the curtains of Harry's bed aside.

Harry's asleep on the right side of the bed, the side furthest from Draco, sprawled across the pillows with his mouth open. His hand is up by his ear and, as has been the case every other time Draco's come into Harry's room, he's shirtless. Draco hesitates for a moment while he gathers his courage, and then pulls back the covers and slips under them.

The pillows here are cold and unrumpled. Draco eases his head back onto them. Then he rolls over until he's facing Potter. He's close enough that if he reaches out, he could touch him, but he doesn't for fear of waking him. So he just stares, letting his heart rate come back to normal, trying not to think too hard about the fact that it's Harry Potter who has this effect on him. He's certainly not thinking about what Harry might say in the morning when he finds Draco in his bed.

As he watches, Harry shifts in his sleep, turning over until his face is opposite Draco's, though he still doesn't wake. Harry's face is the last thing Draco sees as his eyelids finally start to droop and he falls back asleep.

When he wakes again, he's alone.

…

"Nightmare?" Harry asks when Draco pads into the kitchen on that Sunday morning.

"Yeah, sorry." But Harry just shakes his head, as if to say there's no need to apologize.

"You could have woken me up," he says. "I wouldn't have minded."

"You looked so peaceful." Harry scrunches up his face. Draco lifts one shoulder in a shrug. "I didn't want to disturb you."

"Still," Harry says. "You can in the future."

"Mm," Draco says. "I'll cite this specific morning conversation when you're grumpy because I've interrupted your beauty sleep."

"Exactly." Harry smiles and nods once, then holds out a mug. "Here's your tea. This morning, it's Marco Polo from the fancy French tea place."

"Ta," Draco says taking the mug. He lifts it up to his nose. It smells floral and sweet, and when he tastes it, there's just a hint of bitterness from the black tea under the sweet notes. He likes it immensely. "This might be my new favorite," he says and Harry looks surprisingly pleased with himself.

"More than Earl Grey?"

"More than Earl Grey," Draco confirms. Draco takes his usual seat at the table and Harry sits down as well. Draco leans over his tea, just smelling it for a long moment, relishing in the quiet of the kitchen and in Harry's company. He knows it's only been a couple of weeks, but it feels like a lifetime. He sits up suddenly. It's been two weeks, and yet he's heard nothing more from his mother. With the end of the two week quarantine, should he plan on going home? He wonders if he should call.

"What is it?" Harry asks and Draco explains his thought process.

"Why wouldn't you call?"

"Mother hates the phone."

"But you don't have any other way to contact her?"

"I could write a letter," Draco says. "Though, of course, they take longer. I don't want it to seem like I'm overstaying my welcome."

"Not at all," Harry says. "We've been working. You're welcome to stay as long as you need."

"That's very kind of you."

"Well, I am very nice," Harry says.

"And modest."

"Yes, that too." Harry manages to say that with a straight face, but a second later, he breaks into a laugh. Draco smiles and shakes his head at him.

"Yes, the characteristics I associate with Harry James Potter," Draco says. He holds up one hand, his fingers splayed out in a five. As he lists each thing, he puts a finger down. "Nice, modest, idiotic." Harry reaches across the table and shoves his arm.

"Oi," he says.

"Well, we never said I was nice."

"That's a very good point," Harry says. "We didn't. And you're not." Now it's Draco's turn to shove Harry. But it's strange. Draco doesn't feel the least bit offended. Maybe because he knows that Harry is kidding, even if he might not have made such a similar joke a few weeks ago.

"Hang on," Draco says. He lays his hands flat on the table. "I think I just had a realization."

"Oh dear," Harry says, making a face. Draco kicks him.

"I was going to say I think we might be friends, but now you've gone and ruined it." Harry raises his eyebrows and stares at Draco. He leans back in his chair and crosses his arms and Draco is quite convinced he's gone and messed it up. To hide his disappointment, he brings his mug up to his mouth and takes a large sip of tea.

"Nah," Harry says. "I don't think that's ruined it at all." He leans forward and holds out his hand. Draco puts down his mug and stares at it.

"What are you doing?"

"Hi, I'm Harry Potter. It's nice to meet you."

"Oh, Merlin, Potter. Are you re-enacting the moment we met on the train?"

"Yes?" Harry sounds unsure.

"Don't be daft. We could never have been friends back then. I was a brat and you were, well, you."

"Perhaps if we'd been friends, you wouldn't have been such a brat," Harry says.

"There it is," Draco says. "The modesty is back." Harry sticks out his tongue.