desire .

Inheritance - Chapter Three

   “Sounds like you knew her pretty well?” Draco asked, sipping his beer. It was quite strong, but he didn’t really mind that just then. He was already feeling looser.

   Harry shrugged. “Pretty well,” he said. “I was an intern when I first met her. She wanted to know why someone who hadn’t bothered to get a degree thought they knew better about book trends. I told her I just did, and she supported me with my first pitch.”

   “That went well I take it?” Draco asked, pulling out an interesting looking volume below a framed photo of Harry with a proud looking older man and a big, shaggy dog. His dad maybe?

   Harry was smirking when Draco glanced back, eyes firmly on his stakes. “If you consider several million pounds as successful then, yeah, not bad.” Then he did give his attention to Draco, a marginally more sober look on his face. “I was about the same age as you I think when that happened, so if I can survive in that shark tank, so can you.”

   That left an opening for Draco to ask a question he’d been dying to know the answer to; Harry was frustratingly absent on social media so the usual stalking channels hadn’t helped Draco thus far. “How old are you now then?” replacing the book.

   “Twenty three,” said Harry, flipping the steaks, then laughed at the obvious surprise on Draco’s face. He’d been thinking at least twenty seven. “I know, I know,” Harry said with an eye roll. “I think I’ve secretly been forty since I turned thirteen, I keep hoping this middle-aged chic will pay off, but so far it’s just making me consider getting a cat.”

   Draco laughed, but once he’d got over his shock he’d realised this was actually brilliant. There wasn’t so much between them age-wise after all, and suddenly he didn’t feel so nervous.

   “Well, I’m the trust-fund brat who everyone seems to expect to blow the company’s riches on hookers and cocaine or whatever little Chelsea fuckboys do these days,” he said, coming back to rest on the kitchen doorframe again. “Honestly, re-writing your budget was the only useful or interesting thing I’ve been able to do since I got pulled from uni.”

   Harry leaned against the worktop and sipped his own beer. “I can’t thank you enough for that,” he said. Draco tried to wave him off but he shook his head earnestly. “No, they’ve been looking for a chance to bully me out since I joined, and with Morwenna’s passing-” he swallowed in genuine remorse. “They didn’t even allow a minute to grieve before they were conspiring how to pull my funding.   And I may know about books, but finance – ptsh!” He laughed. “Not a chance. So, yeah, thanks.”

   He chewed the inside of his cheek and glanced coyly at Draco, before going back to the hob.   Draco rubbed the back of his neck and finished the last of his beer. “Well, if it weren’t for you I think they’d have a good case for arguing I have about as much value as a garden gnome, and if they ran me out how do you think my great aunt’s company would fare then? I think we both owe you for giving me something to care about.”

   Harry opened the oven and pulled out some heavenly smelling potatoes. “Alright,” he conceded, pleased. “We’re even. Now make yourself useful and open up that obscenely expensive wine you brought us.”

   “Who says I brought it for you?” Draco joked, finding a cork screw and wine glasses with ease in the small kitchen. He didn’t mind if they were going to brush over what they had already done for one another, he felt like rehashing it would sully it almost. “I just didn’t want to end up drinking cheap plonk from Sainsbury’s.”

   “Hey,” cried Harry, untying his apron and dishing up the potatoes around the steaks and steamed veg. “There’s nothing wrong with Sainsbury’s I’ll have you know.”