𝐀𝐅𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐌𝐀𝐓𝐇 | 𝐓𝐇𝐒 𝐁𝐎𝐎𝐊 1

Chapter 2

Chapter Two—Death Eaters Die Hard

Harry awoke from a very pleasant dream he couldn’t quite remember, but it had caused a physical reaction that made his mouth curl up in a smile. Then his nose inhaled something delicious coming from the direction of the kitchen and he snapped open his eyes. What the--?

Then he remembered Draco.

He sat up and sniffed. Definitely something cooking. And it smelled good. He grabbed his glasses from the side table, tossed the covers aside, and trudged out of the bedroom. He rubbed his head and tried to plaster his hair down as he had done thousands of times before with as little success.

His eyes widened. There in his kitchen stood Draco Malfoy cooking breakfast—the Muggle way! He rubbed his eyes under his glasses and looked again. Nope. Not his imagination.

“Hey, Draco,” he said, trying to sound nonchalant.

Draco stiffened and turned his head only halfway. “You sleep late enough. Must be nice.”

Harry ignored the growl. “What’s that you’re at? Smells good. Am I allowed to have some?”

“French toast. And you weren’t kidding. There’s nothing here to eat. Tea’s there, though.” He gestured with the spatula and Harry eagerly dived for the pot and a mug.

He held the warm mug in both hands and inhaled the tangy aroma. Draco said nothing as he continued cooking and flipped the French toast from the pan onto a plate and slid it toward Harry. Harry looked up at Malfoy and grabbed a fork. “You having some?”

“I already ate. Some of us have to get up early and make a living.”

Harry grumbled and dug in, chewing on the sugary, golden bread. He smiled. “It’s good,” he said with his mouth full.

“Yes, amazing the things you learn when you have to.”

Draco watched him eat and Harry felt a little uncomfortable until Draco sat on the chair and drank his tea.

“Going to look for another job today?”

“Have to, haven’t I,” Draco said sharply. “There’re other tea shops.”

“Well,” said Harry, shoveling in the last of the toast, “you can stay here until you get back on your feet.”

“No, thanks. You’ve got enough fame without sainthood being attached to it.”