Protection (Drarry)

Chapter Two

"What?! And drip on the carpet? It'll go moldy!"

"It's my bloody house, Malfoy! I don't care if it goes moldy!"

"Well that's just perfect, isn't it? You inherit my ancestral house and you don't even care enough to look after it." Harry couldn't decide if Malfoy was serious or just set on annoying him in every way possible for as long as they were doomed to live together.

"Fine!" Harry yelled back. "Hang on."

He stomped up the stairs and pulled open the linen cupboard. Grabbing a towel he turned around and kicked open the bathroom door.

Malfoy yelped.

Harry threw the towel in at waist height without looking and turned back to the stairs, taking smug delight at what he mentally chalked up as one score in his favour.

Ten minutes later, Malfoy entered the kitchen, looking relaxed in black tracksuit pants and a black t-shirt, toweling his hair. Harry blinked in surprise, realising that he had never seen Malfoy in Muggle clothes before. If he had been told to guess, he would have said Malfoy didn't own any.

"Your transparent attempts to perve on me are pathetic, Potter," Malfoy said with a smirk. "You need to get over your schoolgirl obsession."

Harry reminded himself that he owed Narcissa Malfoy a life debt, took several deep breaths, and counted to ten.

"Tea, Malfoy?" he asked politely.

Malfoy looked taken aback, before nodding. "I'll make it," he said curtly. "Where are the teabags?"

"Cupboard above the kettle," Harry answered, flicking open the Daily Prophet. It was more of the usual. News on the rebuilding efforts, interviews with Ministry officials, and the latest captured Death Eaters. It was a shame that the latter was mainly additional news on Death Eaters who had already been caught. New captures were dwindling.

After a few moments he realised that Malfoy was swearing quietly under his breath. Turning around, he saw him struggling with the teabag, hitting it with his wand.

Harry frowned before realising what was going on. He laughed and stood up, walking over to the bench.

"They're Muggle teabags," he explained, opening the packet for Malfoy and dropping the sachet into a mug.

Malfoy glared at the teabag like it had personally insulted him. "What's the point in that?" he muttered furiously.

"Well, technically they're quicker to use than magical teabags," Harry offered pragmatically. "There really is no point in a teabag jumping through the air to dive artistically into a mug of water."

"Fun to watch though," Malfoy said, casting a wry glance at Harry. Then he seemed to suddenly remember that he hated Harry, and resumed glaring at the wall in front of him.

Harry sat back down at the table, running his hands through his hair and mentally added a third stroke on the tally of regretting his offer to share his living space with Malfoy.

Surprisingly, Malfoy didn't take the tea back up to his room, but sat opposite Harry at the table. Harry cast a glance up at him, but he was staring out the kitchen window. Harry wondered what it would be like to live with Malfoy if they were friends. If the relaxed comment that Malfoy had just let slip was anything to go by, it was possible for Malfoy to have a friendly conversation with someone, which was something that Harry would have refused to believe if anyone had suggested to him. For the first time it occurred to him that Malfoy's friends might actually like him, instead of simply being too stupid to figure out anything else to do with their time. He studied Malfoy over the top of the Daily Prophet, wondering what there could possibly be to like about Malfoy.