desire .

Inheritance - Chapter Three

Draco stood nervously outside the small block of flats in a pleasant residential street in Caledonian Road, twisting the bottle of wine in his hands and staring at the buzzer panel like it might come to his rescue. No matter how much he tried to convince himself otherwise, this wasn’t a business meeting. This was a date, a proper, grown-up date. And for some reason, despite a lifetime of unshakeable confidence (and not to mention a recent avalanche of cash) he was worrying himself into a bit of a state. All because of one slightly clumsy, rather doddery, dark-haired beauty with a penchant for books written for adolescents.

   “Courage, Malfoy,” he hissed to himself, and rang the doorbell.

   There was a responding buzz and the lock clicked open, allowing Draco to push inside the front entrance into the dim corridor. The stairwell it led directly onto spoke of the council building these flats had probably hosted in a former life, and it made Draco a little uncomfortable. It had occurred to him that he could have offered to take Harry out to dinner somewhere extremely extravagant, but he had seemed so keen on cooking Draco had let it slide. Now, as he made his way up to the fourth floor, he was wondering if he’d made the right decision.

   He shook himself and halted outside Harry’s door. He was being a snob. Just because the exterior was a bit shabby, didn’t mean the inside wasn’t lovely. Much like a certain book publisher…

   He rose his hand to knock, but the door flew inwards before he had a chance. “I was starting to worry you’d got lost,” Harry grinned, standing aside to let him in. He was wearing brown cords and a cream shirt with the sleeves rolled up, over which he’d tied a splotched apron, and, oh dear lord, he was wearing a pair of battered old slippers that for some reason made Draco’s heart flutter like a damn hummingbird.

   “Sorry,” he said bashfully, but Harry was still grinning.

   “Come in come in,” he said, ushering him over the threshold and taking the bottle of red wine Draco held out to him. “Oh, wow, this is very nice,” he said, inspecting the label as he closed the door. In front of them was a small but long kitchen with a serving hatch opening out to a relatively large sitting room and dining area to the left. To the right down the hall Draco could see a bedroom, study and bathroom. It wasn’t large, but the piles of books scattered literally everywhere gave it an immediate sense of cosiness that relaxed Draco somewhat.

   “I’m assuming we have Parkinson to thank for this,” Harry said with a wink, shaking the wine.

   Draco arched an eyebrow. “Actually,” he said honestly. “That’s one of my favourites, I had to track down a specialist wine shop in Blackheath to find somewhere that stocked it.”

   Harry’s grin faded into something more intense as he looked back up at Draco, like he was studying him. “Really?” he said, looking back at the label. “Well, I approve.”

   He placed it on the counter top and went back to the hob at the end of the kitchen, stirring a sauce bubbling in one of the several pots he had on the heat. Draco shrugged his jacket off and looked for somewhere to hang it.

   “Here, try this,” said Harry before he got a chance, spinning around with a wooden spoon dipped in the creamy looking sauce, holding it up for Draco. Goose bumps flurried over his skin as he looked between Harry’s green eyes and the spoon, feeling like this was overtly intimate, but Harry just looked happy and relaxed, eager for Draco’s reaction, so he leant forward and touched his lips and tongue gently to the wood.

   “Blimey,” he said, and blinked in surprise. “That’s amazing.” He licked his lips and swallowed the remnants of the peppercorn sauce.