It was a little odd not seeing his mother that week. He knew she was lurking around somewhere, but just where exactly he wasn't all too sure of. What he was sure of was that, like he thought, his things were slowly going missing, either packed up or already shipped to Andromeda's. It was starting to make things more real. It was also starting to frustrate him to no end because she'd disappeared his socks and while he knew he had a lot of them he still needed at least one pair to wear to work. "Mother!"

She didn't answer him. Which meant Draco had to go sockless to work that Thursday. An awful day really. His shoes gave him blisters, his grip was all wrong because he didn't like how his shoes felt now there was no barrier cushioning the weird material and he didn't get to his favourite lunch spot because even the thought of walking up all those stairs was making his feed throb.

He ended up lying on the grass, a few of his teammates muttering something about Draco finally losing it as he willed lunch to go that little bit faster. Potter, naturally, drawn to his suffering like a moth to a flame, found him not even five minutes in. Flopping next to him like he didn't have socks and wasn't unable to climb the many stairs to their little nook, Potter started pulling on his jumper. Not a good thing in Draco's opinion. Sure, their uniforms were thrown through the ringer, but compared to what Potter usually wore this was the only decent thing Draco knew he owned.

"Out with it," Draco sighed.

Potter sat up. "I've been thinking."

"Obviously."

Draco got a glare for that, Potter turning back to his jumper when he repeated, "I've been thinking. So, right, so I know Andromeda is your aunt and she's offered and all that but, I mean, she has Teddy. And Teddy's a baby and they're hard work and, like, I know you're good with him and I know she'd probably be happy for the help and stuff but-"

"Could you get to the point?"

"I have a spare room," Potter bit out.

Draco let that register. He sat up. "You're joking." Potter couldn't possibly be saying what he thought he was.

Yet, "I mean, I have the space-"

"You hate me," he reminded Potter. "I'm not overtly fond of you either."

"I don't think you have to like someone to live with them," Potter mumbled.

"You say that because no one you've lived with-" He would have finished, but the look Potter sent him coupled with the fact Potter had outright stated, more than once, he wasn't fond of his muggle relatives held his tongue. "What I'm trying to say is that it won't be preferable to either of us."

"It's better than being woken up at six in morning every day. Maybe earlier. Teddy's started to have trouble sleeping through the nights."

"Well," Yes that would be something difficult to live with but, "I can deal with that. He's family."

"Yes but you don't have to is what I'm saying," Potter insisted. "I mean, maybe it'll be awful. Or maybe it'll be just like Hogwarts. I mean, it's not like we'll be sharing a room, and we've already seen each other at our worsts so…"

Oh. Draco hadn't thought of it like that. Not the things Potter was saying, since that was utter crap. But the things he wasn't. The reasons, maybe, for why it would be better living with Saint Potter than his aunt. Andromeda was family, but Potter was right, she had Teddy to look after. If Draco moved in she'd definitely be keeping an eye on him. Which meant she'd probably notice the nightmares when they came, since the walls there were rather thin. He had a short temper sometimes too. At home he could just find somewhere small with a lock and shake it out, but Andromeda's wasn't as spacious.

He liked Andromeda. He liked Teddy and Andromeda. He didn't think he wanted to ruin that.

Potter, on the other hand, what was there to lose? They weren't friends. Sure, they spent their lunch breaks together, but that was merely because Draco's wand was with Peters whenever he entered the stadium so he couldn't hex Potter away. If they fought, the worst Potter could do was kick him out. A daunting idea, but maybe the peace between now and then Draco could do what any other person his age was doing and just look for somewhere else. Somewhere that was his own.

"If Weasley so much as looks at me funny," Draco threatened.

"He won't," Potter promised. "He doesn't even live there. Him and Hermione have a place in Diagon."

So just him and Potter. Joy. "I'll tell Andromeda."

Potter nodded, and before he left work that night had an address scribbled on his hand he felt like slapping Potter for.

Of course, of course Potter had Grimmauld Place. He felt like an idiot remembering the fact he'd been there when Kreacher had told them. Of course Potter, too, wouldn't give it up. Hero complex and all. He probably thought he was honoring… honouring Sirius or whatever. Ridiculous idiot.

Mother was pleased anyway. He didn't know if it was the idea that him and Potter were finally getting on, since that meant no more awkward family outings after Quidditch matches, or just the fact that he seemed to have taken some adult action in his own living situation but she was more than on board with the idea of him moving into Grimmauld Place.

Draco less so when, that next day, after he'd gone home and fetched the first of many boxes, he apparated outside of a London townhouse that was only slightly better than the manor. Slightly.

Potter had changed when he answered the door. He thrust a key at Draco too, taking his box off him. "Go get the others, I'll put this one in the living room and you can sort them later."

Which was that.

It took the good portion of the evening to move everything. It would have taken less, but, again, his mother had already moved some of his things to Andromeda's, which meant going there, battling through Teddy who wanted to nothing more than to stick to Draco's legs, grabbing his things and apparating back to start the whole process again.

He'd never been happier that it was Saturday the day after. Just looking at all the boxes he had was giving him a headache, and he was pretty sure some of this stuff wasn't even his. Proven so when he peered in one box and found a few of mother's things inside. Her newer things. Things his father would throw out as soon as he got home.

It was a little daunting waving mother off. Mainly because this wasn't a sleepover. Draco was living here now. Away from her. She seemed to know that too, kissing his cheek around ten times before leaving him standing at the door. "Write Draco," she told him.

He waved her off with a nod, watching her disappear.

Potter was hauling one of the boxes up to the second floor when Draco finally joined him. He grabbed another, following Potter through familiar halls until he came to one of the guest bedrooms. "Good choice," Draco told him. "I think if you gave me my great Aunt's room I would have vomited."

"You met her?" Potter asked.

Draco nodded, scouring the halls on his way back down for that damn portrait. Last time he'd been here she'd been tutting about his blond hair. She, at least, thinking he looked more like his father than her side of the family. Something he was sort of thankful for, and honestly wouldn't mind hearing again except it looked like someone had knocked out the wall his great Aunt's portrait had stood on and replaced it with another.

"I'm thinking about painting this place," Potter told him later, the two of them awkwardly huddled around the stove as Draco took notes on how not to burn their dinner. "Maybe replacing some of the furniture."

Draco hummed, realising after a moment that Potter probably thought he had an opinion about those things. He was living here after all. But it was more than that he supposed. Blood purity and all that crap. "Burn this place to the ground for all I care. Just make sure your next flat has room for two or else I will be moving in with Andromeda." Nothing in here had any value. Nothing except-

"No!" that was screamed behind them, something grey and wrinkled attaching itself quite comically to Potter's leg. "Master must not let harm come to our house. Master promised."

"Oh for," Potter shook his leg slightly, Kreacher hanging on all the more tighter. "For Gods sake Kreacher I've already told you nothing's happening to the house. Malfoy was just being dramatic."

Whether it was the joke finally cottoning on, or Kreacher's vault of pureblood names finally opening itself back up Kreacher let go of Potter almost immediately, his giant eyes drying up as soon as they landed on Draco. "Master Malfoy," Kreacher repeated, something almost like awe in his voice. Maybe once upon a time he would have enjoyed that. Enjoyed the fact that Kreacher knew him, that he remembered him and what his family was worth. But all Draco saw when looking at Kreacher was his aunt Bellatrix. The orders she'd given him and how he'd gone behind Potter's back to do it. So even if Kreacher bowed, almost grovelled, welcoming Draco to his new home, promising him undying loyalty, Draco didn't believe him.

He certainly wouldn't be taking advantage of having a house elf around again that was for sure, so Potter's warning not to mess around with Kreacher was well meaning but useless. Draco would gladly survive on his own than ask for help from this house elf.

Things were quiet after dinner. Potter left him to unpack and Draco had a new room to get used to. One that smelled of mould and, weirdly of those weird pustle things Weasley's brothers used to sell in their joke shop. Draco wondered if they still had it. He wondered a lot what had changed since he'd last been to Diagon. He didn't even go there to withdraw money anymore, mother having him set up a separate account somewhere closer to home in case his father, well, in case his father ever got out of Azkaban and tried to move Draco under his thumb again. There was nothing worse, his mother had told him, than not having money to escape with. He needed to know his own worth, he needed to have something separate that his father couldn't touch, and if it meant they didn't have to go to Diagon every other week that was just an added bonus to both of them.

The mattress was hard, the walls peeling. This whole place looked like it was dying. But it wasn't unsalvageable. In fact, where once he might have complained, even cried, being forced to sleep here for even one night Draco looked at it now anew. It was a chance to start over. A project, like mother's nursery was, to do something with his time. He might not be here for the long run, but surely Potter wouldn't complain if Draco managed to fix that awful smell coming from somewhere in this place.

It wasn't completely a lost cause anyway. It was large enough to house almost everything he owned, the wardrobe a little questionable, but, again, nothing he couldn't fix. London wasn't anywhere he didn't know either. He might be more used to the long stretches of grass when looking out his window, but father often used to bring Draco to London when mother was too busy to watch him, or something important was going on at the Ministry and father wanted him to bear witness. London was… nice. Expensive. A little drab in places, but Draco didn't have to limit himself to the city. He was a wizard after all, who could apparate to more familiar places if need be.

The point was, Grimmauld Place wouldn't be the worst place he'd ever lived.

At least during the day. At night it was a completely different story.

It was one thing to sleep in an empty manor he'd grown up in his whole life, and quite another to lay his head down on a pillow that seemed to want to suffocate him. The noises were different here. The walls were all wrong. Things that used to comfort him at home couldn't do so here. His desk wasn't by the window yet, and the window itself was on the wrong side of the room. The door didn't lock properly, the handle looking like it had been blasted off its hinges. Something was gurgling, and Draco, in his half asleep state, didn't know if it was the bathroom down the hall or a death eater drowning someone in an aguamenti spell. Maybe both, who knew.

He didn't sleep well put it that way, waking more exhausted than he had been the day before and hoping fixing some of the problems in his room would help him sleep better tonight.

Potter was awake when he trudged downstairs. It was both weird and not seeing him in his pyjamas. More weird because he was in them so close to Draco than in them at all. Usually they were on opposite ends of the hall when Saturday rolled around, Draco often threatening to find the Hufflepuff common room just because he'd heard rumours it was near the kitchen when he did roll out of bed.

Potter seemed to find it weird too, the pair of them usually dressed and dealing with an excitable Teddy when they were at the manor. No Teddy this morning however. Just a plate of toast and the Prophet loudly telling the world Lucius Malfoy was being released next week in Potter's hands.

"What are you up to today then?" Draco asked, just to keep things amiable. He couldn't start his first day off in Potter's house being an ass and they both knew it.

The paper crinkled as Potter turned a page, "Might find some new boots. I think I grew a bit."

"Unlikely," Draco heard himself mutter. He waited a second, praying it was too quiet to be heard before continuing with, "I was hoping to ask whether you'd mind if I decorated my room. Nothing too ostentatious, just something that doesn't make it look like I'm living in a coffin."

"Go for it," Potter told him. "Pick up some paint samples if you go out too, I really need to actually start on this place."

Which was actually a relief since if Potter had actually tried to remedy anything his efforts hadn't shown. "I will. And I promise, no green." He still liked the colour, just not the one that haunted his dreams, and green at night all looked the same. Too dark, too morbid.

He heard Potter huff, the noise almost resembling a chuckle as he turned another page, silence overtaking the rest of breakfast.

Draco escaped not long after that. Making sure he had his key he toured the muggle shops of London for a while before apparating somewhere more familiar. The town not far from the manor had a few DIY stores he'd seen on occasion. He'd never really had a reason to look in before, and the prospect now almost had him a little excited. He knew the colours would have to be approved by Potter, but the possibilities when staring down an aisle of paint were thrilling when he forgot about that.

His room at home had been dark. Everything at the manor was dark. It was either old stone or wallpaper he was sure still had some poisonous ingredients residing in its formula, old greens and yellows having been there since his father's father laid them down.

Grimmauld was much the same, but Potter wasn't a pureblood, so Draco had hope that the blues he snatched samples of might make it to the final cut.

He jumped on a few mattresses after that. Maybe had a look at the bookshelves and tables. Definitely bought a new plate set after the one he'd seen this morning had chips in the sides. His attention got caught on one plate in particular, a weird cartoon sun grinning back at him. It was meant to be stupid, he knew that, and most likely the muggles who bought it were getting it as a joke gift. For all his life Draco had been eating off plain, boring plates because that was what adults did. But as an adult now, with money that was his own and plates he needed to buy, he couldn't see the harm in getting something stupid.

He'd still hex Potter to next century if he commented on them however, so Draco picked up some plain ones too, investigating the mugs and cups before carefully counting his muggle money out. He had to say he was getting better at that too. Pounds were easier to understand than galleons as well, mathematically wise, the notes certainly didn't weigh him down either.

All in all he felt pretty good when he went home. Well, sort of good. He accidentally ended up apparating outside of the manor before remembering he didn't live there. But once he was back at Grimmauld his spirits lifted once more. Mother would be fine after all. Father wasn't being released for another few days, and Andromeda had promised to keep an eye on things. She was probably enjoying the quiet, holed up in her nursery or knocking down another few walls before father could stop her.

Regardless, there was something rather freeing going back to a home he knew his mother wouldn't be inside. Sort of like being at school. There, Draco could do or say whatever he liked, within reason, and not be shunted off to his room or be threatened with his father's involvement if he did something wrong. Then again, this home had Potter in, so was Draco really free? Potter was, arguably, worse than his mother. If not him then the other two Draco had no doubt Potter was reporting back to every night like some sort of palace guard. Why they weren't here already was a mystery. Even now, as Draco walked into Grimmauld, the most he could hear was Kreacher cleaning the floors.

Strange.

But maybe Potter had told them to hold off. He was the 'savior of the wizarding world', Draco was barely worth Potter's energy to them. They probably figured Potter could handle him. That, or they didn't know about this arrangement. Which, again, Draco wasn't so certain of since he was sure all three of them had something strange going on.

Maybe that was it. If Potter was going to be spending most nights at Weasley and Granger's then maybe he didn't care to warn them that he had an almost homeless Death Eater at his other property. Just because Potter had been there this morning, after all, didn't mean he hadn't apparated out last night and reapparated this morning from Granger and Weasley's. Or, just Weasley's he supposed since Granger was officially tying herself to an army of redheads for the rest of her life.

"Would Master Draco-"

"Bah!" He hadn't even heard Kreacher sneak up on him, not that the house elf cared.

Even as Draco skirted around him, heart racing, Kreacher continued, "-like Kreacher to put his purchases away? Kreacher would be most honoured to serve Master Draco."

Draco just bet he would the vile thing. "I'm fine." he was tempted to get to higher ground. But he was pretty sure house elves could climb. Dobby certainly had no trouble jumping on father's bed when he thought they were all out for the day. He made a shooing motion in the end, Kreacher's ears flattening to his head as he toddled off to some other part of the house, Draco's heart settling once more.

He tossed the paint samples on the table, unwrapping his plates and putting them on the highest shelf he could. There was no way Draco was chancing Kreacher getting his hands on them. He clung to Black family heirlooms like they were gold dust, and granted some were. But still, these were decidedly not fancy in any which way, and Draco would be damned if they were thrown out because of it. It would mean a few awkward stretches, maybe kneeling on the bench to reach them, but Draco was willing to sacrifice his pride for it. It wasn't like he had any left after all.

He looked through the fridge after that, sighing when he realised he should have gotten food while he was out. At least it would give him something to do tomorrow. For tonight, Draco was happy enough lounging on the path just outside Grimmauld and wait for a pizza.

Potter found him there, his shadow blocking out the sun that was probably giving him a nasty burn. "God it's like living with a cat," was how he knew it was Potter and not some random muggle that had tutted at him before stepping around him. "Am I going to find you napping in front of the windows too?"

"I ordered food. I wasn't sure the muggles could see this place with the Fidelius." if it was still in place. His mother and him hadn't needed to know the address since they'd already visited but who knew, maybe it was still around.

"Right," Potter's shadow nodded, a brief bit of sun dancing across Draco's eyelids before darkness replaced it once more. "Well, erm, shift a little until I can get in."

He sat up, moving away from the gate enough for Potter to reach around and open it, "You know a please wouldn't kill you," he grumbled, lying back down.

"And sun cream wouldn't kill you," Potter said, still very much too close. He was only a little farther away when Draco heard, "We better be splitting it."

"Piss off." He should have ordered his own. Or left a note. Or actually had enough food in so Draco didn't have to order in his first official day of living at Grimmauld Place.

Despite Draco's polite attempt at telling him they weren't sharing, Potter was adamant he was going to get at least one slice. Hounding Draco from the moment he got in until he was happily sitting in one of the moldy armchairs munching something that looked very much like his well earned dinner.

"Pig," Draco scoffed, finishing the box.

"I'm a professional Quidditch player, I need the calories." Potter finished off the last of his slice. "Besides, you're just as bad as me. Don't think I didn't see your eyes light up when the deserts were brought out."

"What child isn't happy at the prospect of cake Potter?" And sure, maybe he didn't get it at home. Maybe his father only gave it out when they were having dinner guests over, or if it was definitely from a pureblood bakery, but his point still stood. Any and every kid alive loved the idea of desert and that was just a fact. "Besides, I need the calories too."

He tossed his box onto the floor, almost jumping a mile, again, when Kreacher appeared out of nowhere and swooped it up. His toes were literally curling, suspended from where Draco had dragged them from the floor, until Kreacher was gone.

"I'm going to go to bed," Draco decided, whatever good mood he'd been in definitely gone now. "I left paint samples for you, and a mattress should be coming tomorrow so if you hear a van before I do don't let them leave it in a puddle." Even if the weather had been nice lately he didn't trust London.

"Sure," Potter said, Draco quickly leaving the living room before the mould decided to start growing on him. He had just made it to the stairs when he heard a quiet, "Night then," he wasn't all too sure had been said. This place creaked like nothing else after all, and Draco had definitely heard something whisper through the halls last night.

With a mattress on the way, he set to quickly rectifying what he could in his room. There was no possible way he was suffering through what he had last night. He tried several different types of reparo on that damn lock before giving up and settling for enlarging his bookcase from home and making sure he could drag it to the door even full. The gurgling down the hall he could do nothing about without actually investigating what the cause was, and no doubt they'd have to call someone else in for it to be a proper job so Draco turned to the windows instead. If he wanted air, he could just step outside his room. It wasn't like it was hot right now. Not at night anyway, and Draco would gladly suffer heatstroke than feel something cold running up his back, like the blankets were being slowly dragged from his bed. So he gummed it up. He'd asked a muggle all about draughts and bought himself some fancy sticky stuff that definitely seemed to keep the worst of the breeze out.

He'd need to actually start cleaning tomorrow. Definitely talk Potter into painting next weekend, but all in all it wasn't a bad job when Draco was done with it all. Save the mattress. But he was burning that first thing tomorrow so he supposed he could suffer through another night.

Or so he told himself. He kept feeling like there were things crawling over him. Despite the bookcase barricading the door too, that didn't mean Draco couldn't hear things. Like that tapping on his glass as rain started up. That bloody gurgle again that had him covering his ears. He almost cried, that was how bad it grew. The late hour and lack of light had him near praying on his bed for the sun to come up.

He was on his side, a pillow over his ear and trying to will himself to sleep when he heard a creak on the landing. His skin started tingling in a way that made his toes curl as it came again, closer to his door. Then again, footsteps walking down the hall. Then cursing, Draco sighing onto his back as he recognised Potter's annoying voice. He cracked a smile. That was probably the first time he'd been happy to hear Potter in his life.

Potter didn't stay on the landing. Nor did he come back upstairs once Draco heard him go down. In fact, when Draco ventured down after realising he wasn't going to sleep even with the sun up, he found Potter sitting at the kitchen table, paper in hand and looking, for all intents and purposes, rough. Quite like how Draco felt really.

Draco grabbed some parchment along with his toast, sliding it in front of Potter. "Write a list of what you want, I'm going out again."

Potter did, ingredients Draco had never heard of popping up until the list was certainly more than he could carry. "They deliver if you ask," Potter told him.

"They'd bloody better."

He saw Potter's lips quirk as he jotted a few more things down, "I could always come with you. You don't look like you've been to many food shops."

"Rude." If true. His mother usually went while he was at work, and when he wasn't at work he usually just went to the local butchers or grocers or wherever mother sent him to that day. "I suppose. But after my mattress arrives. I knew it was going to rain."

Which meant the pair of them were stuck waiting by the window most of the morning until a van pulled up, circling the street four times before a man got out no doubt checking the numbers. Draco ran out before he pulled away, eagerly snatching his mattress and telling Potter to stop being such a baby and help.

"If you didn't want your slippers to get wet then you should have put your bloody shoes on." It wasn't like the mattress was opened up either, but it was still too long for him to comfortably get through the gate and the front door on his own.

"If you'd give me a second-"

"We don't have a second-"

"It's got the plastic wrap on, just put it down it won't get wet-"

"You don't know that!"

They got it upstairs eventually, Draco pushing his old mattress off in favour of his new. He'd have to wash his sheets just to be sure they weren't contaminated by some magical strain of bed bugs, but things were finally starting to look up. Is what he would have said had he went to the shops on his own. Instead he went with Potter, which meant losing him half the time and the rest of it spent in aisles he had no idea even existed before this very moment.

He hadn't known food shops could be this big. So much variety too, and meals he didn't even have to prepare himself. Did they have a microwave?

"You'll hate it," Potter said, appearing like a spectre as he dumped a new load of food into their trolley.

"You don't know that."

Potter gave him a look, "I hate it, and I grew up with scraps for the first half of my life. Trust me, put it back."

He almost put it into the trolley just to be spiteful. But he supposed Potter knew more about this place than he did. Just this once. So instead he tried to find things he did know. Like vegetables. Maybe some cake too since that was actually right next to the vegetables and mother wasn't around to tell him he couldn't eat a full one on his own anymore.

He didn't get anymore comments on his food choices, so Draco had to have done something right. Potter was right about them delivering too, meaning Draco's hands were free, save the cake he insisted he could carry home separately. He definitely didn't let Potter get any of it this time, ignoring the fork waving dangerously close to his 'happy birthday' icing to hide on his new mattress.

It was a long day after that. Draco avoided Kreacher as he slipped down to do washing. He hid behind a door when he heard little house elf feet wander a little too close to where he was hanging his washing up. He lounged for a while, then realised the living room was disgusting and ended up lying in a cleanish looking spot in front of a window.

"I was joking yesterday," Potter said, a plate of something looking suspiciously like Draco's cake on it as he stepped over Draco's body. "Do you actually just lounge in patches of sunlight?"

"Shouldn't you know that? You are my very own personal stalker." The shop lady had said five, that was only an hour and a half away now. Urgh he was hungry. "Also, we both know you don't know how to make a joke so I don't know why you'd think I would have known that."

"Ha ha," got garbled up as he removed the evidence of his thieving. "And I didn't stalk you." He turned, then turned back, fork still hanging from his mouth, "And even if I was stalking you I had a good right to."

Draco refused to be drawn into an argument. He knew Potter wasn't trying to start one either, otherwise Potter would be foaming at the mouth and the pair of them would be tousling like school boys. So instead of going the usual route he would once have taken in school, Draco said instead, "It's my charming personality isn't it? I know you're enamoured with me, but we have to draw a line somewhere."

"Git," Potter scoffed, wandering off to somewhere in the house.

Draco was first out, again, when the delivery driver pulled up. He was already chomping on one of his biscuits, dragging the last bag inside when Potter trudged down, the two of them figuring out where to put things now there were two of them instead of one. Kreacher wasn't very helpful. He'd found the plates Draco had bought, and like Draco thought did not like them. But, like any good house elf, he wouldn't remove them himself, especially if they were unused, so he resorted to dropping hints that Draco very much did not appreciate.

"What plates?" Potter asked.

"Stay out of this Kreacher," Draco told him again when that damned thing tried climbing onto the bench to make a grab for them. "They're mine and they're staying. That's not even good storage space."

"Plates go in the cabinet," Kreacher still insisted. "Mistress-"

"Mistress isn't here and my plates go in the cupboard."

"Master Draco should use the cupboard for his sweets. Plates must be on display." So they could be accidentally smashed on their way or in a 'cleaning accident'.

"There's no way I'm putting my food up there. I can't even reach it, and I'm taller than Potter so it's better used for this."

It took some arguing, and eventually Potter stepping in, sending Kreacher off to do something he looked pervertedly happy about, but Draco's plates stayed. He did have to show them to Potter however, Potter biting his lip and nodding, before putting them back with only a small snigger. "It's fine," Potter said, "Kreacher tries to throw out something of mine every other week. If he tries to again just send him off to polish something sentimental. He seems to calm down after a while."

Draco nodded, finishing unpacking the last of his tins into the pantry.

Dinner was a quiet affair after that. Well, almost quiet. Potter insisted on using Draco's plates, and while he didn't like the undercurrent of laughter every other bite, he did enjoy seeing a cartoon sun staring up at him when he'd finished eating. It reminded him that he wasn't at home. That father wouldn't be taking this off him, calling him a muggle lover or something worse.

He cleaned them himself, hiding them back in the top cupboard before telling Potter, "We're painting next weekend," and hiding out in his room.

Work was a little weird. For one, it was strange having breakfast with Potter in their uniforms. Even more was Potter asking him if he'd remembered his shin pads since Potter had forgotten his. That second one more because Draco knew exactly where Potter had left his shin pads at home. Like he could visualise it, and it wasn't something he thought he'd ever do in regards to Potter.

Other than that things were fairly normal. Draco managed to get a nap at lunch, he did his plays and ran his laps, and only at the end of it did he notice that something was wrong. That something being, "Is everything okay?" Peters, not one of his teammates, Peters was pulling him aside to ask him that.

Then it hit him, and Draco didn't know how to take that question after that. He stuttered out a "Fine." But on his way home he couldn't help telling Potter, "Peters asked if I was alright. Like he cares." Like he thought Draco might not be alright because his father was getting out of Azkaban. Like anything other than Draco defecting back to his dark ways was on the cards now the patriarch of the Malfoy family was rejoining society.

"He knows you're not a total pillock," Potter told him. Which didn't seem right again. What did was, "He also probably figures if he's nice to you, you won't come after him when you finally get your revenge on us lowly peasants."

Draco nodded, that explanation settling his stomach. "Two more days."

Two more days that seemed to fly by as exhaustion finally had him sleeping through the night in his new home. Potter looked better to come Wednesday, but maybe that was because he'd finally shaved. Whatever the case, it didn't feel like an extraordinary day when Thursday came. Draco woke up, he went to work, he napped, and then he went home. It was only at home that he realised father would be back home by now. Mother would have picked him up at noon. He would be in his usual chair right now. Or in bed. Either or he would be complaining. Screaming maybe because they still had money, they still had the family name so why were they living like muggles. Father hadn't been there when the Ministry took their house elves for interrogation. They hadn't been there when Draco and mother realised house elves had no problem confessing to things that went on in their masters' homes once their owners had been forced to free them. Father didn't care that just the thought of someone else other than mother or him in their home had Draco wanting to be sick.

Draco hoped mother got out of there fast.