The blood potion was everything Severus had promised it would be—disgustingly vile to taste but undeniably filling. He had left instructions with Remus and Tonks to administer it once every week. Any sooner and Draco would "lose his shapely figure". Any later, and he would lose control. Having finally realized that they weren't going to let him die no matter how much he wanted to, Draco began the long, difficult process of both learning to accept his vampire self, and how to control it.

"There's too many bloody rules!" he exclaimed one evening as Remus began schooling him on the truth behind vampire legend. "I can't go out in sunlight or I'll burn up—that one I get. But honestly, no evenings outdoors at the full moon? What is that about?"

"Precautionary, only," Remus replied, both bemused and frustrated. Teaching Draco was turning out to be a trying task. The boy was stubborn, uncontrollable, and prone to whining. Yet his outbursts could be rather amusing at times. "The full moon is the calling card for werewolves, after all. And everyone knows vampires and werewolves don't mix well."

Draco rolled his eyes. "Alright, what next? Are you going to tell me that garlic will send me packing or that I don't have a reflection anymore?"

"Garlic has no effect whatsoever. That's a ridiculous myth thought up centuries ago by superstitious peasants. As far as the reflection, have a look for yourself." He pointed across the room to a mirror that stood covered in the corner. Draco stood and made his way over to it. The hand he raised to draw back the cover was shaking, and he prayed Remus couldn't see it.

Clenching his jaw, Draco drew back the sheet and—there he was, reflected just as he should be in the mirror's surface. He sighed, and then his eyes grew wide as he leaned closer to the glass. His eyes had changed colour. They were no longer their glistening silver, but a dark and stormy grey. Light shadows could just be seen beneath his eyes, and his skin seemed even paler than it used to.

"Not as horrible as you thought, is it?" Remus asked, coming to stand behind Draco, his hand resting on the blonde's shoulder. "It isn't as awful as the legends make it out to be, Draco." Their eyes met in the mirror, and Draco knew that Remus would never lie to him.

Draco began to look forward to his daily visits from Remus and Tonks. There was something comforting about their presence, something that made him feel safe and unworried about what his future held. On the fourth day—or night, he was never quite sure—it wasn't Remus or Tonks who brought him his potion. It was Potter.

"Thank you," Draco mumbled, taking a deep breath before downing the potion in one long swig. Potter looked at him oddly for a moment or two. "What?"

"Did…did you just thank me?" Potter asked. Draco nodded.

"Is that really so hard to believe? Times change, Potter. And I….owe you."

The silence was thick between them. Potter took the empty potion bottle and headed for the door. He paused, his hand on the door frame.

"You're welcome," he muttered, closing the door behind him.

It was Potter who brought him his potion for the rest of the week. On the eighth day, Draco finally decided to ask why.

"Remus and Tonks are away on Order business," was Potter's answer. To Draco's surprise, the brunette continued his explanation without further coaxing. "They won't be back for some time. They've left a month's supply of the blood replacer. When it gets low, I'm supposed to contact Snape so he can brew some more."

Draco nodded. Drinking his potion with only a slight grimace—he was getting used to the taste now—and handing the empty bottle back to Potter. He watched the former Gryffindor as he headed to the door, paused, and turned back to face him.

"It's dark out," he said. He paused for a moment or two, then continued on as though he hadn't realized he needed further explanation. "I could give you a tour, if you'd like." Draco looked up at him, surprised. He hadn't left his room once since he'd woken on the first day. He hadn't realized Potter trusted him enough to see his surroundings. Though, perhaps Potter was hoping that showing Draco the exits would coax him into leaving of his own accord.

"I'd like that," Draco replied. "If it's not too much trouble."

"Not at all. It's gotta get boring, sitting in here all the time." Draco shrugged. He stood, stretching his muscles and rolling his shoulders back. He saw Potter's eyes, frozen on his chest. He looked down at the scarlet stain covering his shoulder and the left side of his chest. Oh, that. "I'll get you something else to wear," Potter muttered, leading the way out of the room. Draco followed without a word. Potter walked down the hall and opened a door on the right.

It was a bedroom. Draco looked around thoughtfully, taking in the hastily made bed and photos on the dresser. An eleven-year-old Potter smiled and waved cheerily up at him, flanked by Weasley and Granger in front of the Hogwarts Express. He looked up at the sound of a closet door opening. The twenty-three-year-old version of the carefree boy in the photo was searching through a rack of shirts. Draco realized with a heavy jolt that he was standing in Potter's bedroom.

"Here," Potter said, offering up a t-shirt and a pair of dark coloured jeans. "They're nothing fancy, but they'll be comfortable."

"They're fine," Draco replied, taking the clothes. "Thanks." Potter nodded.

"I'll show you the bathroom."

Draco changed slowly, watching his reflection as he removed his blood-stained shirt. His muscles were more defined now, rippling beneath alabaster skin. He pulled the t-shirt over his head, smiling at the colour. Emerald. How thoughtful. The jeans were snug, but not uncomfortably so. He wondered if Potter always bought pants too long for him, or if these were the one exception. They were just the right length for Draco, who was several inches taller than Potter. He ran a hand through his blonde hair, tossing it ever so slightly to get it back into place.

Potter was leaning against the wall when Draco left the bathroom. He looked up as the door opened and seemed almost to force himself from looking the blonde over. Draco made note of that, planning to ponder it while he sat in the cozy darkness of his room during daylight. Potter turned and nodded towards the far end of the hall, leading Draco out into the rest of the house.

"So, this is the sitting room. The telly's there if you ever want to watch anything. Nothing worthwhile ever on, but…and, er, through here's the kitchen." Draco followed the brunette through the rather basic sitting room into the kitchen, blinking in surprise at how nice it was. Potter must have spent small fortune on it. "It's rather like my sanctuary. I love to cook, and I didn't want to spare any expense when I had it remodeled. Hermione had to take over the budget after a bit—she was afraid I would empty my whole vault on it. Probably would have, too…" Draco grinned, loving the commentary Potter provided with his little tour. He didn't think he'd heard the man talk this much as long as he'd known him.

'A shame, really,' Draco thought. 'He's got a nice voice.' He glanced down as he followed Potter through to the next room. 'Nice arse, too.'

"And then here's the dining room," the former Gryffindor said, resting his hands on the back of one of the six chairs.

"You've got a nice place, Potter," Draco admitted, still wondering what in Merlin's name had brought on the decision of Potter having a nice arse. Another one to add to the list of things to think over later on.

"Thanks, Malfoy." Draco nodded. Harry motioned towards the door way leading into the sitting room. "Would you wanna sit down?"

"Sure." They sat opposite each other—Draco at one end of the sofa and Harry in his favourite arm chair. The silence was heavy for several long moments, yet not oppressive. A sort of truce had fallen between them, unspoken yet dually acknowledged by them both. Draco took the opportunity to really study Potter.

He wasn't the same lanky boy he'd been at school. He'd finally filled out properly, his biceps toned enough to be noticed without flexing but not obnoxiously so. He was still wearing those ridiculous glasses and Draco vaguely wondered if he'd ever considered charming his eyes to be rid of them. It would be much easier to see the deep, shining emerald without those pesky black frames—Draco stomped that train of thought before it could go any farther. What was wrong with him today?

"So…erm…" Potter was drastically searching for something to say. Draco had to fight hard to keep from laughing. It was rather entertaining to see Potter scramble for words. "This is…awkward."

"Only because we're making it that way," Draco conceded. "Conversation is never awkward on its own. It is those involved who allow it to become such. Just because we were enemies in school and are now forced under the same roof doesn't mean there should be any sort of forced communication. We don't have to pretend to be best mates."

"I wouldn't say we were enemies…"

"Hated each other, then."

"Hate's a strong word."

"What word would you prefer I use, then?"

"Disliked." Draco laughed. He couldn't help it. Potter really was rather amusing. The former Gryffindor grinned. "Alright, so maybe that's a bit of an understatement."

"You think?"

"There might have been times when I….Alright, I hated you most of the time. But I still wouldn't say we were enemies. Voldemort and I are enemies. I wouldn't put you on the same level as him."

"Where would you rank me, then?"

"As a rival, perhaps. Someone I was always determined to beat. Wouldn't you say that fits nicely?"

Draco nodded. "I'd have to agree with you, Potter."

"It's Harry. The last name thing makes me feel like I'm twelve again."

"Right. Harry."

"Draco." Silence fell again. Draco glanced at the clock. It was four thirty. The sun would be rising soon.

"I should get back to my room. I mean the room—"

"It's yours," Harry said. "For as long as you want it."

"Thanks."

"You're welcome." Draco stood and left, heading back down the hallway to his room. He paused outside the door, looking back down the hall towards the sitting room. He shook his head and closed the door behind him as he slipped back into the darkness of his day time prison.

Author Note

So we have a bit of friendly interaction between the boys. Hm... I wonder what that will lead to. *wink* What do you lot think?