He wished they lived together, Draco couldn’t help but think miserably, glancing down at the potato in his hand and taking a half-arsed strip of its skin off. Harry had finally moved in with Black and Lupin, and Draco had found it impossible to refuse when Mrs Weasley had invited him to come and live at the Burrow - he could hardly go back to his parents after all. Though he was sure they would slither out of it, they were currently in the centre of a legal storm, what with the group of Death Eaters they had been found to be harbouring under their roof. Not that he particularly wanted to go back. He loved them, but he thought maybe some distance and time would do his parents good - perhaps it would make them think over their actions and ideology and have some kind of revelation. He lived in hope.