Coveting Thy Enemy
Chapter Three: Present and Past
Harry watched as Draco Malfoy starting putting his things away in his guest room. “I know it’s not the accommodations you’re used to, Malfoy, but it’s the best I’ve got.”
Draco looked up from neatly folding the last of his clothing. “It’s fine, Potter. It’s not like I have much choice, anyway.” He then placed the folded clothing in the lower drawer of the bureau and went back to his now enlarged trunk.
Harry shook his head at the irony of the whole situation before replying, “I think we had better get any insults out of the way now. After all, if you’re going to stay here, we’re going to have to at least be civil to each other.”
Draco began placing his collection of figurines on top of the bureau, and with his back facing Harry so that he couldn’t see his smirk, he said, “Fine, you’re an arsehole Potter. You have terrible taste in clothing, you need a haircut, and your over exaggerated morals are nauseating.” He then turned around to see Harry’s expression. He was shocked to see a smile spread across the Gryffindor’s face.
“Are you finished?”
“I might be. I’ll let you know if I think of something else,” Draco smirked again.
“Okay, it’s my turn. You’re a spoiled, egotistical prat. Your clothing is gaudy, you wear too much gel in your hair, and your cologne simply reeks.” Harry said, his arms crossed, with a smile still on his face.
“I guess I deserved that,” Draco replied, grimacing when Harry nodded in agreement. “All right. I’ll try to be civil, but if I slip every now and then, just remember that I’m a Malfoy.”
Harry nodded again. “Why not, you’ve been using that excuse for years.” He then crossed the room to look at the figurines Draco had carefully placed on the bureau. Fingering each one in turn, he asked, “Why are they all green?”
“You really are uncultured, aren’t you? They’re jade. And yes, I do like green; I’m a Slytherin after all,” Draco answered, taking a figurine off of Harry, careful not to touch the other man. “This one’s from Egypt. It’s very expensive, and one-of-a-kind.” He placed the elephant-shaped figure back on the bureau.
Draco sat on a bar stool watching Harry prepare dinner. Looking at the clock, he counted: one, two, three. He had been here three hours. Three hours with Potter, and they had not killed or maimed each other yet. Wonders never cease. Shifting his focus back on Harry, he had to admit that the man knew his way around a kitchen. Draco himself had never had to cook. When he was growing up, they had always had house elves to do the menial chores, and it was no different when he had settled down with Corinna. He had to admit, Potter was right when he had said he was spoiled. He was spoiled rotten as a child, at least with everything money could buy.
When it came down to it, the only one who had ever shown him any real affection was his mother. His father, may he burn in the seventh layer of hell, had always treated him as a clay figurine, trying to mold him into a carbon copy of himself. He knew very little about his father’s demise, being that he couldn’t remember the entire year in which it had occurred, but he knew he himself was responsible in some way. His mother couldn’t really tell him what happened the night his father died because she had not been there, but Severus had told him that Harry Potter had been there with him. He was told that his father had tried to kill him with the Avada Kedavra, but it had reflected back on himself. Draco had to admit that this was probably the case, since he had a lightning bolt-shaped scar on his chest to prove it. As to why it ended up hitting his father, that he didn’t really know. He realized that he could probably ask Harry about it, but since he had just gotten there and the whole situation was new, he decided to ask at a later time.
Draco’s musings were interrupted when he heard a door slam and somebody rushed into the kitchen and hugged Harry. “Good evening, love,” the man said, kissing Harry on the cheek. “Daddy’s home.” Harry backed away from the man a little and slanted a gaze to Draco, whose eyes had turned the color of mercury.
Seeing Harry’s gaze, the man turned around. “Harry, you didn’t tell me we were having company,” he said. He held his hand out to Draco, which Draco shook rather halfheartedly. “Hello, I’m Craig Hutchinson, and you are?”
Craig’s eyes narrowed for a bit as he gazed at the silver-haired man seated at his counter. Then his eyes widened suddenly, “Hey, you’re that writer, aren’t you?”
“Pleased to meet you. I’ve read all of your books. Harry had the complete set before I moved in,” he said. He was setting the table now, placing three sets of settings on the mahogany surface.
“You have my books?” Draco asked, looking at Harry now.
“Yes,” Harry admitted. He was placing bowls of salad on the table now.
Draco got up and sat at the table, waiting for the other two men to join him. After finishing the table settings, they sat down and began eating. “So, I hear you and Harry were friends at Hogwart’s,” Craig said, trying to make civil conversation.
“I guess you could say that, “ Draco answered, raising one slim eyebrow in Harry’s direction.
Harry figured he better bite the bullet. “Malfoy, I mean, Draco is going to be staying with us for a while, Craig.”
“Really?” Craig asked his expression changed from one of civility to one of anger. “And when were you planning on telling me this?”
“Well, it wasn’t planned, really. You see, Draco’s in a spot of trouble, and Professor Dumbledore, that’s my old Headmaster at Hogwart’s, asked me to look after him.”
“He can’t look after himself?” Craig asked, eyeing the silver-haired man that sat across from him.
“You better believe I can look after myself, I’m not a child,” Draco replied, getting angry with the brown-eyed man. “Besides, it would seem that this place is Harry’s, so I don’t think you have much to say about the matter.”
“The hell I don’t. Tell him Harry, tell him that this place belongs to the both of us,” Craig said, his voice had taken on a pitch that Harry had never heard before.
“He’s right, Draco. We both share the bills,” Harry said simply.
“Okay then,” Draco said, standing up, “I can see that I’m not welcome, so I’ll just pack my things and leave.”
Harry grabbed the Slytherin by the arm and pushed him back down into his chair rather forcibly. “You’re not going anywhere,” he said. He eyed Craig with his sternest look. “Draco is in trouble, and he’s staying here.” He then looked back and forth between both men, “Furthermore, you’re both being childish.”
Craig let his fork drop into his plate, “Fine, but I really don’t like you,” he said, giving Draco a glare.
“Touché,” Draco replied simply.
Harry put his head in his hands and groaned. How was he going to survive this constant bantering? He never thought he would ever be forced into a situation like this one. Having Draco Malfoy walk back into his life after five years was one thing, but now having his present lover and his Draco at each other’s throats . . . Wait a minute, his Draco? Where the hell did that come from?
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