Coveting Thy Enemy

Chapter 17:

Author's Note: For the life of me, I can't think of a good title for this chapter. Oh fair readers, I need your help! I like to keep my title for this fic. to one or two words. It just worked out that way the first few chapters, so I stuck to it. If you can think of a good title and you plan on reviewing this chapter, please let me know. I'll make sure to praise you in chapter 19 (probably not 18 because it's almost finished and will be uploaded shortly).

Harry couldn't help but to be amused at Draco's behavior, even though he knew the Slytherin had spent most of his life separated from the Muggle world. Draco could probably count on one hand the number of times he had been outside the safety of his seclusion; so, to him, this was an escape to or an escape from reality of sorts. Harry observed his wide-eyed stare at the people milling around them on the street. "What's wrong, Draco?" he asked, the amusement quite apparent in the pitch of his voice.

Draco was eyeing a group of teenagers about their own age. One of them had a bright purple mohawk and a chain that attached from an earring in his left ear to one in his nose. Draco looked at Harry, almost frightened, "Are all Muggles this weird?" he asked, still craning his neck around to people watch.

"They'd probably think we're the weird ones," said Harry. He put his arm around the blonde boy's shoulders and pushed him toward the taxi that was waiting.

They had gone to Hogsmeade like they were supposed to, but only for Harry to exchange money at Gringott's. They had then walked to Diagon Alley and crossed through the hidden portal to London. They were now on their way to a restaurant Hermione had mentioned to Harry some time ago. Since Harry knew little of London, he figured that this place was their best bet.

Draco was looking out the foggy window of the taxi at the scenery as it flashed by, wearing a similar expression as earlier in the street. He swallowed rather audibly. He had never ridden in a Muggle car before, and if truth be told, he was feeling a little nauseous. To keep himself from vomiting and embarrassing himself, he struck up a conversation. "Do you live anywhere around here?" he asked Harry, realizing he knew very little about Harry's life away from Hogwarts.

"Not too far," Harry replied. "I live in Whinnery."

"Are you going back there after you graduate?"

"No!" Harry answered rather loudly with a vehement shake of his head.

Draco looked concerned at Harry's change in moods. He had heard rumors about Harry's Muggle relatives, but he had never put much stock in gossip. "Was it that bad, then?" he asked and slid his hand across the leather seat on top of Harry's. Harry looked down at that hand and turning his over, he laced his fingers through Draco's.

"Yea, it was that bad," he stated simply, not looking in Draco's eyes.

"Did they. . . Did they abuse you?" Draco asked. Abuse was the only thing he could think of since he had been living with his father for seventeen years. He couldn't seem to meet Harry's eyes either.

"No," said Harry, realizing Draco was talking about himself, "not physically, anyway. Most of the time they either ignored me or treated me like a slave."

Draco looked at him then and their eyes met. "Is it true? The rumors, the cupboard beneath the stairs?"

"Yea."

Draco looked at him sadly, shaking his head in disbelief. "They'll just let anyone raise kids, won't they?" he asked, but he seemed to be talking to himself.

Harry liked how Draco handled the situation. He didn't look at him with pity like everyone else did. But, then again, if anyone could understand his situation, it was Draco, whose own childhood was probably a lot worse.

If there was one thing Draco's parents had taught him, it was good table manners, observed Harry. He watched as Draco meticulously cut his meat with a knife and fork. Draco seemed to have a grace about him that wasn't learned, however, but innate. Harry could imagine the silver-haired boy as a baby. He would be a tow-headed little boy with very serious eyes. He probably always ate his strained peas, and most likely never needed a bib.

Draco put down his knife and fork and leaned back in his chair, his arms folded, meeting Harry's gaze. "You're staring at me," he accused.

Harry blinked and grinned. "I was just noticing how graceful you are," he said and blushed.

Draco rolled his eyes. "Yes, it's such a manly trait, isn't it? You should be noticing how incredibly rakish and sexy I am."

"I noticed that a long time ago," admitted Harry. "But really, who taught you such etiquette? It couldn't have been your father."

Draco's face took on a sad strain. "My mother. She was always a lady. She wanted to make sure I grew up to be a gentleman, even if my father was breeding me as a Death Eater."

"You talk about her in the past tense."

"Well," Draco replied, "I'll probably never see her again. She won't leave my father."

Harry was glad Draco was opening up to him, even if it was making him a little sad. "So, you're not going back home either?"

"No."

"Well then, what are you going to do after you graduate?"

"I'm not sure, you?"

"I was thinking of going into Auror training," Harry answered.

Draco looked surprised. "You mean you're not going to play professional Quidditch? You could, you know."

This was really the first time Draco had admitted Harry's skills on the pitch, and Harry was rather pleased. "I doubt it. My father played for England for a year, though. Dumbledore told me about it a couple of years ago. It may be an idea for you, though."

Draco shook his head, "Naw."

"Why not?"

"Because, the only one I was ever interested in playing against was you, Harry." Draco said and ducked his head adorably. Harry wasn't sure whether he blushed just then, or if it was just a flicker of the candlelight.

"Well, that's good. I don't know if I would like you being out of the country so often."

Draco pushed himself up to the table and grabbed both of Harry's hands, almost knocking over the crystal water goblet Harry was reaching for. "You mean, you've thought about that?"

"Thought about what?"

"Us, in the future."

Harry hadn't realized he had let so much slip. "Well, yea, haven't you?"

Draco shook his head. "It all just seems too good to be true. Sometimes I'm afraid I'm going to wake up and it will all have been a dream."

"Well, Draco, stop dreaming," said Harry softly. He pulled Draco's hands up to his mouth and gently kissed his knuckles one by one, noting Draco's silver eyes glazing into the stormy color he always liked.

"So, this is serious then?" Draco asked in a whisper.

"I hope so," said Harry, releasing Draco's hands, "Don't you?"

Draco nodded. "Yes. But, we need to have a long talk."

"We are talking."

"No, I mean somewhere more private," he said, looking around the dimly lit room at the people at tables nearby.

Harry was hoping Draco would mention something like that. It would make phase two of his plan so much easier. "Okay, you have your own room. We'll go there. But, what do we need to talk about?"

"About how we're going to handle the rest of this year," Draco replied, flashing Harry a look he didn't quite understand.

When they left the restaurant, they never expected to get accosted. They had been living in the wizarding world so long, they had taken certain things for granted. Well, Muggles weren't always as accepting as wizards, and they definitely were more inclined to attack that which they considered abnormal. When Harry and Draco exited the little restaurant, they were still basking in the closeness they had shared. Not yet willing to give it up, they held onto each other's hands as if their lives depended on it.

"Hey look, Jake, what do we have here?"

Harry and Draco looked about in shock, their eyes resting on two boys who looked about their age. One was a short, wiry kid. He wore a scruffy leather jacket over top of an even scruffier once-white T-shirt. He held a switchblade in his hand, flicking the blade in and out rather nonchalantly. His eyes, however, glowed with an unadulterated hatred that Draco and Harry had never seen each other wear, even when they admittedly despised each other the last six years.

The boy flipped his greasy, shoulder-length hair out of his eyes and gestured to his companion with his knife. "Well, what do you think?"

His friend was a monster. He stood well over six-feet and must have been the brute force of the two. He was dressed similarly to the wiry guy, also wearing a leather jacket, which made Harry wonder if they were part of a gang. The second boy, who must have been Jake, shook his closely shaved head. "I dunno, Bill. Looks like a couple of faggots to me."

Draco and Harry were dumbfounded. If they were thinking straight, all they would have to do was walk back into the restaurant and wait for the two thugs to leave, but they weren't. The thugs advanced on them slowly, and Harry and Draco, without realizing it, scuttled slowly to their left away from them. When they were past the restaurant's plate glass windows, the smaller thug flung his body against Harry, crashing him against the brick wall of the building.

The boy flipped open his knife and held its blade against Harry's neck. Draco lunged at the boy, but the bigger brute grabbed him by the waist, holding his arms down at the elbows.

"Let him go!" yelled Draco. He had never been this frightened before, not even during his Death Eater training that past summer. He could see the pulse in Harry's neck throbbing against the edge of the knife.

"I know, Jake. Let's show your pretty little boyfriend there what we do to arse bandits."

"Oh, I don't know Bill. I don't think he'd like that," said the boy holding Draco. "I think he wants in on the action. Don't you, pretty boy?" he asked, and let go of Draco only to push against the wall by Harry. His face hit the wall hard enough to sting. The bigger guy was slower than the other one, though, and Draco had Seeker's reflexes. He grabbed his wand out of the back of his jeans and flung himself around. "Petrificus!" Jake couldn't even register shock before he hit the ground. Draco turned to the guy who was holding Harry. Fear was just beginning to register on the thug's face when Draco lifted his wand.

"Hey, I thought I told you you weren't welcome in this part of town?" Draco looked to see a police officer strolling toward them. He let out a sigh of relief. He had been so mad at the guy who was holding up Harry, he was afraid of what he might have done.

The greasy-haired thug flipped the blade of his knife in and backed away from Harry. "No problem, officer," he said, backing away even farther. Before the officer could reach them, he bolted down the alley next to the building.

"Sorry about that, guys," the officer said, walking up to them. "That gang's been getting bold lately. They know this section is well covered, but they still risk it every once in a while. Did they steal anything?"

Harry had finally collected himself enough to speak. "No, we're fine," he mumbled.

"I hope so," said the officer. "I'm only on foot patrol, or I would have taken him in." His eyes finally lit on the big guy on the ground. He jerked his head up and eyed them suspiciously. "What did you two do? He's not dead, is he?"

Draco shook his head. "No. Just unconscious he'll come around in a little while."

The cop seemed to believe him. "Okay. Well, you two better get out of here. Normally, I'd have to bring you in for questioning, but it seems like that guy got what he deserved. Besides, I'm sure you were only defending yourselves." He didn't even have to finish his sentence because Draco and Harry were walking as quickly as they could away from the scene.