The List [the director's cut]
Title: The List
Author: tari_sue
Prompt Number: 155
Rating: R
Pairing(s): H/D
Summary: Draco needs to get married before he turns 30 in order to claim an inheritance. With the help of his little black book and restaurant owner, Harry Potter, Draco dates as many women as possible in order to find the one worthy of being his bride.
Warnings: None really - just a bit of swearing, sex, the usual
Word Count: 21,504
Betas: A million thanks to the amazing
crazyparakiss,
oddnari and
winnett for their fabulous beta skills; this fic is so much better now thanks to them.
Disclaimer: The characters contained herein are not mine. No money is being made from this fiction, which is presented for entertainment purposes only.
Author's Notes: This is my entry for the 2009 hd_career_fair for
dampfnudl’s wonderful prompt.
The original, shorter, version of the fic can be found here:
http://community.livejournal.com/hd_career_fair/11116.html
This version has been improved beyond belief by the wonderful
winnett, who should probably get a co-author credit for all her hard work and invaluable help.
* * *
Name: Wendy Fitz Patrick
Age: 24
Occupation: Primary School Teacher
Description: Pretty, blonde, petite - almost ideal candidate for a Malfoy! Irritating voice though. Like, really irritating.
Family: Good old English family, pureblood line mostly untainted.
Notes on the date: The waiting staff became extremely rude when they discovered I was a Malfoy. I think they over-charged me, especially as our food was cold! You’d think this treatment would better by now - the war ended over ten years ago and still I am treated appallingly! Wendy has one of those squeaky little-girl voices I can’t stand!
Pros: Good looks, good family, plenty of money, not too stupid.
Cons: The voice. She thinks I’m an idiot because I let them get away with treating me like that in the restaurant. In addition, her eyes are too close together.
Score: 7/10
* * *
Name: Veronica St John
Age: 26
Occupation: Healer
Description: 5ft 8, blonde, blue eyes. Um - good skin?
Family: Top notch! These are the pure-bloods to beat all pure-bloods.
Notes on the date: What date! They turned me away from the bloody restaurant and she went home in disgust! I’ll never get another date with her now; Mother is going to kill me.
Pros: Good family, extremely wealthy
Cons: She never wants to see me again. Her feet were massive anyway - like flippers.
Score: 6/10
* * *
Name: Pauline McAlistair
Age: 23
Occupation: Student - studying for a Masters in Transfiguration.
Description: Blonde, extremely pretty, curly hair, blue eyes - almost my height though!
Family: So-so. A few impurities in the bloodline but they were quite some time ago. They have done their best to make up for it since (her father was a DE and is currently in Azkaban).
Notes on the date: The Malfoy name is so unpopular in Wizarding England that I thought I’d take her to a Muggle restaurant. She was not impressed; seems the apple has not fallen far from the tree and she is not a Muggle-lover!
Pros: Intelligent, so good for the gene pool.
Cons: Trying to steer clear of the whole Death Eater thing, reputation already in ruins. Far too tall.
Score: 5/10
* * *
Name: Genevieve DuBois
Age: 22
Occupation: Trainee Gossip Columnist for Witch Weekly
Description: Short, dark-blonde hair, brown eyes, pretty-ish.
Family: Very old family, not involved in the war on either side so nice and neutral!
Notes on the date: Decided to risk Potter’s restaurant (Undesirable No.1, what a stupid name for a restaurant, is there no end to the man’s ego?) as he is in America opening restaurant No.2 (I wonder if they’ll call that one Undesirable No.2?). Haven’t tried it before as I didn’t want to risk running into Potter…
Pros: Good family
Cons: Very young for her age, talks incessantly and for some reason seems to be obsessed with Potter. Does she not know that Potter is a poof? It’s not just something we used to sing at him for a laugh you know (well, actually, is was, but hey, turned out to be true!). Mouth is too big. Very thin - like a swizzle stick.
Score: 7/10
*
“I’m afraid we have no free tables, Mr Malfoy,” the hostess said smugly. “Undesirable No.1 is very popular. You really do have to book in advance.”
“I did book in advance; I booked a table weeks ago!” Draco said through gritted teeth. He did his best to remain calm but he couldn’t quite rein in his irritated tone.
“I’m sorry, but we are fully booked tonight. I have a table free…” she ran her finger down the page and then turned it over and kept going, “… two months Tuesday.” He didn’t imagine the glee in her voice at turning him away. A picture of seventeen-year-old Harry Potter smirked down at him from the original Undesirable No.1 poster on the wall.
“No! It has to be tonight. I have a date tonight, you see?” He gestured towards the petite blonde next to him. “Two months’ time is no good.”
“Well, there is nothing I can do about it. Good evening.” The waitress gave him a triumphant smile of dismissal that told Draco there had been no mix up with his reservation at all - they simply didn’t want ex-Death Eaters in this establishment.
“Can we speak to the manager?” Genevieve asked innocently, fluffing her hair and looking around trying to catch a glimpse of said manager.
“No!” Draco said quickly. “Um, no need for that! I doubt he’s even in the country at the moment,” he blathered on, mentally kicking himself for coming here.
“Actually-” the waitress smirked at him.
“Actually, he got back from the States a day early,” Potter’s voice spoke up from behind them. “What seems to be the problem?” Draco barely covered his groan before plastering a smile onto his face and turned to greet the other man.
“There seems to be no record of our reservation,” he said, trying to be civil. Damn it all, what gave Potter the right to have grown into that jaw since Draco had last seen him? He could almost be considered good looking these days, especially with those broad shoulders in that suit! Almost.
“Yes, I’m afraid we don’t have a table available for this… gentleman,” the waitress didn’t even try to keep the contempt from her voice at that last word. She was obviously delighted that Potter was there to back her up.
“I’m sure we must be able to squeeze Mr Malfoy and his date in somewhere, Rosanna,” Potter replied with a forced smile of his own. “Is my usual table free?”
“Harry, that one’s reserved,” the waitress hissed, now looked highly affronted.
“Yes it is; reserved for me. As Draco and I went to school together I think he can be my guest, don’t you?” Potter was frowning a little now.
“You’re friends with that?” She looked appalled at the idea of her hero mixing with Death Eater scum like Draco Malfoy. “He’s a bloody Death Eater!” she whispered, obviously under the impression that Draco could no longer hear her.
“Do you think that I of all people am not aware of that, Zanna? Did you know that Draco and his mother saved my life twice during the war?” Potter said, drawing the waitress away from the guests slightly.
“Well, no, but…”
“I’ll not have prejudice in this restaurant,” Potter said firmly. “The war is over and we will not wage another one. If you have a problem with this you can speak to me in private later." The girl nodded and looked about ready to cry. Potter’s expression softened. “Take five, Zanna, I’ll cover for you out here.” He put a comforting arm around the girl and pushed her in the general direction of the kitchens. Draco sighed, he should have known Potter couldn’t keep up the ‘big tough boss’ routine for long.
After the hostess left, Potter turned back to Draco and Genevieve with his best professional air. “Sorry about that, Mr Malfoy, she takes these things a little personally," he said as he took their coats. “If you’d like to follow me, I’ll show you to your table.”
“Thank you, Potter.” Draco deliberately left off any ‘mister’ from Potter’s name; he wasn’t sure how to cope with the other man being civil to him, let alone offering them his own private table.
They followed Potter to the other side of the restaurant and Draco took the opportunity to take in his surroundings. He had expected either ostentatious opulence or cheesy Muggleness, but was surprised to discover neither. The floor was polished oak and the light-coloured walls had some rather splendid frescos of various people, including Professors Dumbledore, Lupin and Snape. The windows, which were charmed to show a different location each night, looked out over the Grand Canal in Venice. If you listened hard enough, you could even hear the gentle lapping of the water.
“So, Draco, how have you been?” Potter asked as he held out a chair for Genevieve. Draco blinked and stared at him for a moment; he couldn’t remember hearing Potter use his first name before.
“I’m fine, thank you, Potter. And yourself?”
“Oh, I’m doing well enough, thanks.” Harry's grin reached his eyes. “Are you going to introduce me to your girlfriend?”
“Certainly,” Draco scowled back at him. “Potter, this is Genevieve. Genevieve, Potter.”
“Call me Harry, please.” Harry smiled as he shook the girl’s hand.
“Oh, well, it’s Gena!” she gushed grabbing at his hand and hanging on for dear life. “It’s wonderful to meet you, Harry! I can’t believe I’m actually meeting Harry Potter!” she simpered. “Draco, you never told me you knew The Chosen One!” To his credit, Potter blushed, which raised him slightly in Draco’s estimation. The fact that he actually looked rather attractive with the colour on his cheeks had no effect on Draco at all, obviously.
“Look, er, I have to get back to the other diners,” Potter said as he handed them menus. “It was good to see you again, Malfoy.”
As soon as Potter disappeared, Genevieve started talking, “You never told me you were friends with Harry Potter! What’s he like?”
“Oh yes,” Draco replied after a heartbeat, a cunning plan forming, “Potter and I go way back.”
* * *
Name: Jacinta Smythe-Bryant
Age: 26
Occupation: Model
Description: Brunette. Medium height. Gorgeous.
Family: Nouveau Riche. Need I say more?
Notes on the date: One of Genevieve’s friends - the idiotic woman seems to have told all her friends that I know Harry Potter, which at least means I’m back in the game. Unfortunately, Genevieve’s friends are all about as bright as she is, and Jacinta may well be the worst of the lot! They seem to be a bunch of Potter fangirls. Again, why are these women all obsessed with a man who would probably break out in a cold sweat at the idea of touching them in a sexual manner?
Pros: Very attractive.
Cons: Brain the size of a pea. Her mother is very fat - I suspect it may be hereditary. Plus, she has strange ears.
Score: 7/10
* * *
Name: Tiffany Beauchamp (n.b. pronounced Beach-um)
Age: 25
Occupation: Actress
Description: Redhead. About 5ft 8.
Family: Long line of squibs (Merlin forbid!), as far as I know.
Notes on the date: Another friend of Genevieve, probably only here to meet Potter. Her head was on a permanent swivel trying to find the git, she reminded me of an owl. I kept expecting her to drop a letter in my dinner. The fact that the windows made it look like we were on top of Snowden made the bird impression even more realistic.
Pros: Decent sense of humour.
Cons: Fangirl. Ginger. Brown eyes. Freckles. Short neck.
Score: 6/10
* * *
Name: Caroline Marchmont
Age: 30
Occupation: Breeds horses.
Description: Horsy. Brownish/blondish hair, long face. Doesn’t take much care of her appearance.
Family: Excellent. So good in fact that this one is already Mother approved - this whole disaster was her idea!
Notes on the date: Her only topic of conversation is horses! This ‘gel’ is so posh she makes me feel common!
Pros: Mother likes her - probably thinks she is good breeding stock!
Cons: If it looks like a horse, smells like a horse, and laughs like a horse, it probably is a horse! Enormous arse. Too Posh.
Score: 4/10
*
“…So anyway, Tarquin said Dumbledore’s Boy was only fit for the knackers yard, which is quite simply preposterous, and I really don’t know what he would know about the matter anyway, he’s absolutely hopeless on a horse but he thinks he knows more about it than me, which is frightfully ridiculous because Daddy bought me my first pony when I was just a little gel and I’ve been riding ever since…”
Caroline Marchmont had to be the most boring woman on the planet, and Draco should know, he’d dated a fair few of them lately. If she didn’t stop to draw breath soon she would drop dead for want of oxygen, though her enormous gob would probably still keep talking even then.
“…I mean, we are a horse-loving family, Algernon was as good as born in the saddle; horses are practically in our blood, don’t yeh know!” Well, that would certainly explain the horsy face, tiny brain and massive backside, Draco thought as he stabbed at his piece of sirloin with his fork and pretended it was his date’s head.
“Is there something wrong with the steak?” an amused voice asked from behind him. “If it’s not up to standard I can take it back to the kitchen, although Chef may take it as a personal insult and bring down the wrath of the Irish on your head.”
“Um, no, no, the food is lovely, really!” Draco quickly stopped attacking his dinner and turned to face Potter. Finally! This was the third date he’d brought to Potter’s restaurant since last week and this was the first time Potter had actually been here since that first evening. What was the point of trying to impress his dates by knowing the Bloody Chosen One if said Bloody Chosen One couldn’t be bothered to put in an appearance? Moreover, this one wasn’t even part of the fangirl set! She probably couldn’t care less about Potter - he only had two legs and no tail, as far as Draco knew.
“Malfoy. So, who is your date this evening?” Potter asked, giving him a funny look.
“This is Caroline Marchmont, her parents are the Gloucestershire Marchmonts. They have a lovely estate near Tetbury.”
“What, Highgrove?” Potter looked like he was making a joke, but Draco wasn’t entirely sure what the joke was.
“No-” Draco started to say and then looked at his date in shock as she interrupted him.
“Oh, yes, we’re quite close to Highgrove actually. Daddy plays golf with Charlie; it’s all part of his Muggle Relations Programme, you know? And of course Princess Anne doesn’t live far away, Zara is a close personal friend of mine, and she’s not a bad horsewoman either!” Of course. Draco had heard that the Muggle Royals lived somewhere around there, come to think of it, but it hadn’t really interested him.
“Uh, right.” Potter looked perplexed. “So, are you Draco’s girlfriend then?” The man really was quite stupid.
“Oh, well, not quite! We only just met tonight; Mummy and Auntie Cissa thought we’d get on splendidly!” She was a stupid bitch too; why did she have to tell Potter every little detail of his life?
“You’re cousins?”
“Distant,” Draco said quickly. “We’re very distant cousins, that’s all.”
“Oh lord yes, nothing indecent going on here!” Caroline snorted. Hell, she even laughed like a horse. “I say!” she peered at Potter with her watery blue eyes, “You’re that Potter chap, aren’t you?”
“Yes; you’re eating in my restaurant.” Potter looked irritated, no doubt miffed that she wasn’t fawning all over him.
At that moment a loud crash came from the direction of the kitchen followed by a lot of swearing, although the only bit Draco could really make out was, “You stupid, fecking arse!” followed by further crashes.
“I’ll leave you to enjoy your dinner.” Potter gave them a tight smile before walking hurriedly towards the kitchen.
“I say, what a strange little place this is!” Caroline stated loudly. “And how very quaint, the windows look like we’re in Cornwall or something.” Then she went back to her food and her monologue about horses.
Draco sighed in resignation.
* * *
Name: Angelica Betty
Age: 18
Occupation: Wants to be a model
Description: Prettyish but nothing to write home about. A little on the chubby side, but could just be puppy fat.
Family: Bunch of nobodies
Notes on the date: Where the hell do I begin?
Pros: Knows how to stand up for herself? Ambitious?
Cons: Completely fucking mental. Tits are too big.
Score: 0/10
*
“Betty? I don’t think I’ve heard of the Bettys?” Draco was making a futile attempt at conversation - he honestly didn’t think he had a single thing in common with this girl.
“My father runs a haberdashery shop just off Diagon Alley,” she replied, sounding bored, as she reached for a breadstick.
“Oh. Right. How very enterprising of him.” He wracked his brains for something else to say.
The stony silence was becoming intolerable. The girl was probably just way too young for him; they had absolutely nothing in common. She was into some sort of Muggle activity called ‘skateboarding’ that he’d never heard of, and she had something called an ‘Ex Box’, which made him wonder what it was now if it wasn’t a box anymore. She made him feel old, and he was only 29!
“So, Angelica, what do you do?” he desperately dragged out what he hoped was a safe topic of conversation.
“I’m a model, or trying to be anyway.” She started breaking the breadstick into tiny bits.
“A model? Interesting.” Draco reached for his rather expensive glass of red wine.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” she replied defensively.
“Oh, well, nothing! I’m… I was just…” he attempted to backtrack.
“Just what?” She was glaring at him now.
“Nothing! Um, so what do you want to be if you can’t be a model?” Draco asked in his best placating voice.
“Why shouldn’t I be able to be a model?” It hadn’t worked.
“Well, er, it doesn’t always work out for everyone, does it? You know, contingency plans and all that…”
“Yeah, well what do you want to be when you get tired of being a prick?” Her voice was becoming quite loud and shrill; people were starting to stare.
“Being a prick is working out just fine for me, thanks,” he muttered, willing her to quiet down.
“Yeah? Well being a model will work out just fine for me!” No, that was actually louder.
“What if it doesn’t? I’m only suggesting a backup plan.” He was about to give up trying to be nice.
“Why shouldn’t it? Jacinta’s doing well!”
“Yes, but Jacinta is beautiful.” Draco winced as he heard the words coming out of his mouth before he could stop them. He’d been skirting around saying this and now he’d as good as blurted it out without thinking.
“Are you saying I’m not beautiful?” she screeched indignantly.
“It’s not that you’re ugly or anything, you’re actually quite pretty. But models usually tend to be stick-thin and gorgeous don’t they?” Draco's attempt to placate her only ended up digging a deeper hole. He didn’t even see the glass of wine coming until it was dripping from his hair and into his eyes.
“Well you’re no oil painting yourself are you? You’re just some skinny old Death Eater!” she screamed at him. “I only came out with you because Gena said you were friends with Harry Potter!” She leapt up from the table and grabbed her bag.
“What the fuck did you do that for? This is one of my best shirts! You insane fucking bitch!” he exclaimed in dismay as he mopped at his shirt.
“Insane am I? Well at least I’m not stupid enough to sit here any longer with an arrogant tosser like you!” With that said stormed out, leaving Draco with red wine dripping down his front.
“Malfoy, do you want to use my flat to get cleaned up?” an amused voice said from behind him. Typical, why was bloody Potter always around when he was at his worst? Grimacing, Draco got up and followed the bastard out.
*
“Will the wine stain your hair?” Potter asked innocently as he ushered Draco into his flat above the restaurant and closed the door.
“Stain my hair? I certainly hope not! Why should it stain my hair?” Draco was horrified; surely wine couldn’t stain hair?
“Well, because red wine stains everything; my Aunt Petunia wouldn’t let it in the house, they always drank white. I usually drink red now, I think it’s some sort of rebellion.” For some reason he seemed to think that Draco actually gave a crap about his ridiculous Muggle family.
“I’d have thought pink wine would have been more your sort of thing, Potter,” Draco replied snidely.
“I don’t mind some rosés, but I prefer a nice Chianti,” Potter said, making a strange fuffing noise with his teeth and sniggering. Damn, the pillock had been easier to wind up at school.
“Well, where can I clean up?”
“The bathroom is just through there,” Potter led him through to the bedroom and pointed at the bathroom door. “I’ll lend you a shirt - it might be a little big across the shoulders and around the neck, but it will do until you get home.”
“You’re lending me a shirt? Why?” Draco asked suspiciously.
“Because you have red on you?” Potter sounded sarcastic. “Look, I assume you would rather not go around with a wet shirt on? Magic’s good, but that shirt is going to need house-elf attention if it’s ever going to be wearable again and if you dry it you’ll make it worse. Stop being a wanker.” Potter took a shirt from his wardrobe and tossed it at Draco. “Or you could always go shirtless.”
Draco glowered at him as he caught the shirt and did his best to walk into the bathroom with dignity. “No peeping, Potter. I know you’re probably just trying to get a sneak peak of me with no shirt on.”
“Yeah, in your wet dreams, Malfoy,” Potter laughed. Git.
Potter’s bathroom was a little on the small side, but surprisingly rather nicely done out in a mixture of black, white and chrome. Draco managed to get most of the red wine off him; his hair would be perfect once more with a proper wash and a few charms. Potter had a ridiculous number of washing products, nearly as many as Draco himself, although you’d never think it to look at the state of his hair. Although if Draco were honest, Potter’s hair really wasn’t looking that bad these days.
Unless Twiggy could work her own expert brand of house-elf magic upon his shirt, it was ruined, which he was more than a little pissed off about and would be sending the silly bint the bill. Potter’s shirt was indeed a little too big for him, but he consoled himself with the knowledge that at least he hadn’t had to borrow trousers, because they would have been far too short.
He exited the bathroom and took a quick peek at Potter’s bedroom - a little on the small side and rather predictably decorated in cream and dark-red. The bed was massive, seemingly too big for the room, although the boxes everywhere didn’t help. It looked like Potter was either moving in or moving out, probably the later, Draco concluded, on the basis that the flat wasn’t very big.
The living room was comfortable-looking with a couple of large sofas facing some sort of big silver rectangle on the wall and a door going through to a kitchen. There were more boxes full of stuff in here, haphazardly packed and disordered. The tosser was still there, sitting at a smart desk writing something and prodding at some sort of muggle device with numbers. Draco managed to peer over his shoulder before Potter looked up and, for some strange reason, gave him a lopsided smile.
“So, I’m guessing you are either really good or really bad with women, and if tonight’s performance is anything to go by it must be the latter.” Potter shook his head and carried on writing, if that scrawl could be called writing.
“What makes you say that? I’ll have you know that I’m the perfect gentleman and women love me, which is more than I could say for you!” Draco folded his arms and glared at Potter.
“Women love me, Malfoy, I just don’t happen to love them - not in a sexual way anyway. If you are a perfect gentleman and women love you however, then how come you seem to be in here with a different woman every night? And do I really have to remind you that your latest date poured a rather expensive glass of wine over you?” Potter smirked, a look which rather suited him.
“A minor glitch, I assure you. The woman is clearly insane.” Draco sniffed.
“Insane to have gone out with you in the first place?” Potter prodded a few more buttons on his Muggle device.
“Oh ha bloody ha. I don’t know how you cope with being so funny.” Draco surreptitiously peered over Potter’s shoulder to see what he was doing, briefly noticing the way the black hair curled at the nape of his neck.
“I don’t know how you cope with such brilliant comebacks,” Potter muttered as Draco studied what Potter was doing.
“I don’t know how you manage to keep your business afloat when you can’t even remember to carry a number to the correct column!” he exclaimed. Honestly, what the hell was Potter trying to do here?
“Huh?” Potter had adopted the trademarked confused look that Draco remembered from school.
“Your sums,” Draco indicated Harry’s scribblings, “they don’t add up, and they never will the way you’re trying to do them.”
“What’s wrong with the way I’m doing them?” Harry ran a hand through his hair making it stand up on end in a slightly adorable way, also reminiscent of school. Not that Draco found Harry adorable or anything, adorable wasn’t really a word he used at all…
“Budge up,” he sighed at Potter. He took Harry’s seat at the desk and started running a few arithmetic charms on the page, making adjustments in pencil as he went. Potter leant over him and watched every thing he was doing with fascination. Draco was a little disturbed by the nearness of the other man - he could smell his aftershave and even felt his inky hair tickle his ear.
“That’s what’s wrong with the way you were doing it.” Draco quickly moved away and tried to will himself not to be affected by Potter. “Don’t you have an accountant to deal with this sort of thing?”
“Yes, of course I do! I’m just having a little trouble getting hold of him at the moment so I thought I’d check the figures myself.” Potter looked slightly uncomfortable but Draco chose to ignore it.
“Well, you were doing a sterling job, well done!” Sarcasm was great.
“They don’t exactly teach maths at Hogwarts you know.” Potter bristled. Maybe he was still easy to wind up after all.
“Arithmetic. I went to the same school as you and I can do it,” Draco replied in his best smug voice.
“Git,” Potter mumbled.
“Funny way to pronounce ‘thank you’.” Draco raised an eyebrow at him.
Potter gave him a considering look. “Thanks,” he said quietly. “Why do you care if my numbers add up though?”
Draco shrugged. “One good turn,” he indicated the shirt. “I guess I’m just not as dastardly as you like to think. Besides, yours is just about the only Wizarding restaurant in London that will let me through the door these days; can’t have you going under now, can I?”
Potter laughed, looking startled. “No, I guess you can’t. Um, look, Malfoy, I have some rather good single malt over here, if you’d care for one.” Potter gave him a shy smile that did funny things to Draco’s insides.
“Stop trying to hit on me, Potter. Just because I helped you with primary-level mathematics doesn’t mean I want into your pants.”
“No problem, Malfoy. Just because I’m homosexual doesn’t mean I want in your pants. So is that a no to the whisky?”
“I prefer Islay…”
“Talisker.”
“Close enough. It would be rude to say no, don’t you think?”
“Very.” Potter got up and routed a bottle of whisky and two glasses out of one of the boxes.
“I didn’t know you were a whisky man,” Draco said, watching him.
“An ex-lover of mine was a Chaser for the Pride of Portree. He taught me to appreciate the finer aspects of whisky,” Potter said with a grin as he sat back down.
“I don’t mind a nice drop of Talisker,” Draco found himself grinning back.
“So, are you going to tell me why you have a different girlfriend for every night of the week?” Potter asked as he poured two generous measures.
“Potter, just because I have condescended to drink your whisky does not mean that we are friends. Even if we were friends, I would not have to tell you all the minutiae of my life,” Draco said as he accepted the glass and took an appreciative sniff.
“So that’s a no then?” the nosy bastard pressed.
“You always were a nosy bastard, weren’t you?” Draco took a sip of his drink.
“Yup. My life could have been so much easier if, to quote Nev, I’d ‘learnt to keep me neb out’. Then again, Tom Riddle might still be running around killing people,” Potter said, sounding like an arrogant tosser.
“Oh, that’s right, play the ‘I killed a Dark Lord’ card. If you don’t mention it every five minutes someone might forget. Knowing about my marriage plans will not make the blindest bit of difference to you, Potter.” Draco scowled.
“Marriage plans?” Potter’s eyebrows went up.
Bugger it, one sniff of whisky and Draco’d spill everything. “Oh for fffu-… look, Potter, if you must know, I’m getting married, ok?” It wasn’t exactly a secret, he just didn’t like telling Potter stuff.
“Right. Who to? I mean, correct me if I’m wrong here, but marriage normally suggests one girlfriend, not lots. Is this some sort of wild oats thing? Does your fiancée know?” Potter sounded indignant on behalf of some woman he’d never met and who didn’t even exist.
“I don’t have a fiancée,” Draco sighed, rubbing his temples. Conversation with Potter was trying at the best of times.
“Isn’t that a rather necessary component to a wedding?” Potter must have been being stupid on purpose to annoy him.
“Hence all the women,” Draco said slowly, as if explaining to a small child.
“Huh? So what, you’ve just decided that you want to get married now and you’re auditioning potential brides?” Potter sounded incredulous.
“Well, yes, I suppose you could put it like that,” Draco shrugged.
“I suppose the notion of falling in love and then deciding to get married is just too weird and Muggle for you?” Those green eyes were watching him like he was some sort of strange insect.
“Not at all. In an ideal world we would all fall in love and be able to marry that person, but in this little place I like to call reality - I don’t think it’s somewhere you visit often - we can’t always have what we want. I have to get married and produce an heir. If I want to claim my inheritance from Great Uncle Leopold, I need to be married by the time I’m thirty. So yes, I’m ‘auditioning’ potential brides. I will be thirty in June, I can’t afford to waste time.” How did Potter do this to him? Why did he always find himself telling the git every little thing?
“Why didn’t you just start looking sooner?”
“Uncle Leo only died a few months ago, I wasn’t aware of this stipulation on my inheritance.” There was no point in fighting it, he might as well just spill.
“And do you really need the money that badly?” Potter sounded doubtful.
The smell of good food was wafting up from the restaurant down stairs, reminding Draco that he hadn’t had the chance to eat much of his dinner. “I don’t suppose I could get the rest of my dinner sent up here could I?” he replied, changing the subject.
“What?”
“My food? I had just ordered the monkfish when that silly little tart threw wine at me, I wouldn’t mind trying it,” he replied coolly, staring levelly at Potter.
“Fine! I’m sorry, ok? I am a nosy bastard, I fully admit it,” Potter laughed before summoning a rather decrepit looking house-elf and requesting two monkfish. “I can help if you want,” he continued, not letting it rest.
“Help with what?”
“Finding you a date of course.”
“How and why would you help me?” Draco didn’t care if he sounded suspicious, Harry Potter didn’t offer to help Draco Malfoy for no good reason.
“I know a lot of nice women who might be suitable. You can carry on bringing your dates here and I’ll turn on the whole ‘Boy Who Lived’ thing and big you up a bit.”
“What makes you think I need your help?” Draco pretended to study the pile of Muggle books Potter seemed to be using as a coffee table.
“Well,” Potter’s eyes strayed to Draco’s damp hair, “things don’t look like they’ve been going too well from where I’ve been standing.”
“You still haven’t told me why you want to help,” he said again.
“Call it a peace offering. Maybe you can help me with my accounts some time.” Potter gave him one of those puppy dog looks that seemed to get him whatever he wanted.
“I thought you said you had an accountant?”
“I do. He’s a bit, er, well, that is to say - I’m not sure he’s all that good.”
At that point the house-elf reappeared with food and cutlery for both of them and Draco suddenly realised, to his horror, that Potter didn’t have a dining table and he would actually be expected to eat this off his lap.
“Look, what have you got to lose? It’ll be fun.” Potter’s cheerful tone sounded a little forced as he picked up a fork and started to dig in to his fish.
“You and I don’t have fun together, Potter, and accounts are never for fun.” Draco picked up a fork with a look of distain and then made a point to pick up a knife as well. How could Potter run a classy restaurant with absolutely no table manners? Or even a table? “In case you have forgotten, we are not friends. Besides, Malfoys are not accountants.”
“We could be, though, friends I mean, couldn’t we?” Potter persisted.
“Why?”
“Why not?” The puppy-dog look again. Damn it.
“Ok,” Draco sighed, “Why not, as you say. You have yourself a deal, Potter. I’ll show you how to add up and you can make me look good. Sound fair? You should advertise this - ‘Come to Potter’s restaurant; get a bride and chips for under ten galleons!'”
“Would sir like anything on the side with that?” Potter asked with a snigger.
Draco forced a laugh and they shook on it. Draco ate the rest of his food in silence, still trying to convince himself that Potter had no effect on him.
* * *
Name: Beatrice Dalrymple
Age: 24
Occupation: none
Description: Short dark hair, blue eyes.
Family: Snooty bastards. Lord and Lady Snotty of Snooty Land.
Notes on the date: YAWN! Beat is one of those people with a lot of opinions that she thinks everyone else should listen to and then agree with.
Pros: She’s attractive - has nice hair and all her own teeth.
Cons: YAWN YAWN YAWN! Too short. Too snooty. Too boring. She has those funny, cold blue eyes and a very big nose.
Score: zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz/10
*
“So, what was wrong with this one?” Potter raised his eyebrows. They were in Potter’s flat once more, sampling a rather nice twenty-one-year-old portwood Balvenie.
“Where should I begin?” Draco raised just one eyebrow in return.
“I thought you’d like Beatie!” Potter whined. “She’s attractive, she’s intelligent, she’s very well up on pretty much everything. Admittedly, she can be a little intense, but she means well. And she’s as pure-blooded as they come and a Slytherin. He folded his arms and actually looked a little sulky.
“She tried to convince me to vote for Adrian Pucey in the next election!” Draco exclaimed in self-defence, waving his arms in the air for emphasis. “Is that really the way you think a first date should go? When I told her that I remember Pucey from school and I wouldn’t vote for him if it were a contest between him and Fudge, she gave me an hour-long lecture on how Fudge was the worst Minister in history. I never even said I was voting for bloody Fudge, the man retired over a decade ago.” He shook his head to emphasise the idiocy of this.
“She just has issues she feels very strongly abo-”
“I know,” Draco interrupted. “She made sure to tell me all about them - all of them - over dinner. From Muggle Rights to rubbish disposal to space travel. I heard the lot.”
“No you didn’t,” Potter gave an exaggerated sigh. “You were nearly asleep when I walked past and asked if everything was all right with your meal. I only did it to stop your face from landing in your soup.” Potter’s eyes were twinkling - was the bastard laughing at him?
“Well that says it all really, doesn’t it? I was falling asleep and we were still only on the soup.” Draco grumbled.
“Actually, you still have some soup here.” Potter reached over and ran his thumb over the corner of Draco’s mouth to get the soup off before sitting back down looking completely unconcerned. Draco managed to restrain himself from licking Harry’s thumb - just. He took a large gulp of his whisky.
* * *
Name: Vanessa Menzies (n.b. pronounced ‘Mingy’)
Age: 22
Occupation: Secretary P.A.
Description: Frizzy browny/blondy hair - looks a bit like Granger.
Family: Scottish.
Notes on the date: So we got off on the wrong foot when I mispronounced her name, then I mistakenly thought she was a secretary when it is apparently pronounced ‘Pee Aayyy’ these days.
Pros: She has a nice backside - it’s good to see it leave!
Cons: Stupid, stuck-up, know-it-all cow. Too tall - can’t have a wife taller than me! Eyes are too far apart. Really bad teeth.
Score: 5/10
*
“Oh come on, you can’t possibly have disliked Nessa; everyone loves her! She’s beautiful, funny, smart. If I were into girls, I’d date Ness like a shot.” Potter was shaking his head with a general air of disbelief as he shot off cleaning and tidying spells around the restaurant. It was after hours and Potter had sent everyone home for the night as he finished off.
“Yeah, well you’re not into girls, are you? So what the bloody hell would you know?” Draco scowled at him, he hated people talking down to him. He had been allowed to remain in the restaurant, perched by the bar, and give Potter the details of his miserable date as he cleared up.
“I know she’s a good friend, so just watch your mouth.” Evidently, nobody had ever told Potter that it was rude to point a wand at people as he swung round and did just that.
“She’s a stuck-up cow.” Draco leant back against the bar and crossed his legs. Potter baiting really was fun.
“That is a bit rich coming from a Malfoy!” Potter started with the righteous indignation, hands on his hips in a classic Mudblood Granger pose.
“She is a puritanical, black-hatter! She looks down her nose at everyone because they are not as pure and noble and bloody Scottish as she is. You missed a bit.” Draco indicated the bar he was leaning against where Potter hadn’t yet cleaned.
“That sounds racist to me, Malfoy.” Potter shot a spell at the bar, sweeping off everything which wasn’t supposed to be on it, including Draco who nearly fell off his stool.
“My Great Grandmother was Scottish, I’ll have you know.” He glared at Potter as he adjusted his suit jacket and tried to make it look like he intended to stand up.
“So why do you have such a problem with Nessa being Scottish?” Potter’s wand directed a broom to start sweeping the floor.
“I don’t have a problem with her being Scottish! I don’t like people who look down their noses at me for being English, or for being me.” Draco crossed his arms across his chest and tried not to look petulant. “If I’m racist then so is she. Moreover, she may be a wonderful friend to you, but she thinks you should be ‘cured of your homosexuality’ with the ‘love of a good woman’, did you know that? Apparently, it is just laziness.” He’d like to see Potter stick up for the stupid cow now.
“Her parents were Muggles; it’s just the way she was brought up.” Potter plonked himself down on the stool next to Draco - obviously, he would stick up for anyone who wasn’t a Malfoy.
“Really? I bet Granger doesn’t think that. I seem to remember getting into a hell of a lot of trouble for acting ‘the way I was brought up’. If I can get over it then so can she.” Draco put on his best smug face.
“You know, you’re kind of cute when you sulk.” Potter ruffled Draco’s hair. Unbe-bloody-lievable!
“Poof.”
“Git.”
* * *
Name: Jemima Alderney
Age: 26
Occupation: Artist
Description: Straight black hair cut into a short bob. Blue eyes, fair skin. Very striking. Slim but not too skinny.
Family: The Alderneys of Alderney.
Notes on the date: I love this girl, I’d marry her tomorrow! She reminds me of Pansy. She has a wicked sense of humour and is extremely intelligent. Unfortunately, she is not really into men and only came on the date to keep her father happy. Pity.
Pros: Brilliant, funny, clever, beautiful, gorgeous.
Cons: Dyke.
Score: 9/10 (point off for not finding me attractive!)
*
“Well of course Jem is gay, she doesn’t make a secret of it!” Potter laughed as he glanced over Draco’s shoulder. They were in Potter’s poky flat again as Draco looked over the accounts.
“She shouldn’t lead a chap on! Why did she agree to the date if she had no chance of being interested?” Draco folded his arms indignantly.
“Maybe same reason you did - didn’t your mothers organise this one?” Harry reached over and plucked a stray blond hair off Draco’s shoulder.
“That’s not the point. Get me another drink.”
“Help yourself. You can fill me up too.” Potter grinned at him. Draco felt his cheeks heat up at the innuendo and quickly turned his attention back to the accounts.
“You know, Potter, these accounts really don’t make much sense.”
* * *
Name: Euphemia de Montfort
Age: 22
Occupation: Florist
Description: Blonde, bubbly, petite.
Family: What can I say, they’re the De Montforts. Doesn’t get much better than that!
Notes on the date: There is touchy feely and then there is touchy feely! I do not appreciate being groped! Especially not in public!
Pros: Great family, very pretty.
Cons: The woman cannot keep her hands to herself! I feel violated! Huge tits, not a fan of huge tits, they get in the way. Especially when she is otherwise so damned skinny!
Score: 6/10
*
They were just eating their main course when Draco felt a foot slide up his leg. He nearly dropped his fork. He glanced at his date who seemed to be quite innocently eating pasta beside him. He’d been irritated enough when she’d dragged her chair around to be closer to him rather than opposite anyway; now it seemed the goal had been so she could cop a feel.
A few minutes later, there was a hand on his knee. Just sitting there, on his knee. He decided to ignore it and hoped she would get the hint, which turned out to be a mistake.
The hand started to inch higher. Draco was left in a predicament. If he continued to ignore her, she would eventually make it to his crotch, but if he mentioned it, how would he explain the fact that he’d ignored it in the first place? And this was a respectable restaurant, even if it did belong to Potter, he could hardly jump up and screech, ‘unhand me, wench!’. What was one supposed to say in these circumstances anyway? ‘Excuse me, you seem to have misplaced your hand’? ‘You appear to have a hold of my cock’?
In the end, Draco did the only thing he could do - he bolted to the gents’. Potter found him there ten minutes later, trying to transfigure the window into a door.
“I think you should know that my restaurant is protected against transfiguration attempts, so please leave my windows alone.” Potter leant back against the doorframe wearing that amused expression he always seemed to have around Draco these days. “Your date is looking a little lonely, and as the charms are of the Taj Mahal tonight, she is doing rather a good Princess Di impersonation.”
“Is she? Good. Who’s Princess Di?” Draco figured she was probably some Muggle but really didn’t care.
“Don’t be catty.”
“I’m operating in the interests of self-preservation. Actually, I’d rather she wasn’t lonely, I rather she found someone else to grope. There, happy?” Draco kicked the wall in exasperation.
“Ok. Well you can at least go an tell her you don’t think it’s going to work out, rather than trying to do a runner like some sort of cowardly little arsewipe.” Potter straightened up to his full height, which wasn’t very impressive.
“You’re the bloody Gryffindor, you tell her.” Draco moved forward and poked Potter in the chest.
“She’s not my date!” Potter protested.
“She’s your friend,” Draco pointed out.
“Actually, she’s Seamus’s friend,” Potter stated, looking triumphant.
“Finnigan? You discussed this with Finnigan?” Draco narrowed his eyes and glared at Potter, making the little midget take a step back so that he was pressed against the doorframe. How dare he discuss Draco’s business with that poncy little Irishman!
“He wanted to know why you were eating here so much; I told him you were looking for a girlfriend.” Potter said, holding his hands up as though that made it ok that he’d been sharing details of Draco’s private life with his stupid friends.
“How did he know I was coming here in the first place? Do you sit around with your friends and talk about me?” Draco asked crossly. He glared at another patron who chose that moment to walk into the bathroom; the man left hurriedly.
“Why yes, we have no other topic of conversation actually.” Draco assumed that was supposed to be sarcasm, Gryffindors were shite at sarcasm, nearly as bad as Americans; not that he knew any Americans. “Seamus is the chef. He cooks your dinner; didn’t you realise that?” Potter continued, frowning at Draco.
“I’m surprised he hasn’t blown the place up!” Draco said, aghast, taking a step back and bumping against a urinal, which promptly instructed him to wash his hands. “What on earth possessed you to employ Finnigan?”
“I didn’t have much choice, he’s my partner!” Harry laughed, flicking on a tap to shut the urinal up. There was a sudden funny feeling in the pit of Draco’s stomach. “Anyway, he happens to be very good, or have you not enjoyed your food here?”
“It’s not bad I suppose.” Draco had to admit that, before he discovered the identity of the chef, he’d thought the food excellent. He was stung by the news that Potter had a lover - he’d been half convinced that Potter was flirting with him, but it would seem not. Not that he cared or anything…
“Good, well you’d better get back to your date then before word gets around that you hang out in men’s toilets with a known homosexual!” Potter laughed as he steered Draco towards the door.
To his relief, Euphemia had got the hint by the time he got back to the table, although she kept shooting glares between him and Potter.
* * *
Name: Effie MacRae
Age: 29
Occupation: Teacher
Description: Brown hair, brown eyes. Tall.
Family: A fairly prestigious Highland Clan.
Notes on the date: Went well enough. I quite like her, she is smart and funny. Apparently she teaches my cousin, Teddy.
Pros: Top personality.
Cons: Not the prettiest of girls and far too tall. Tits are too big (is that a nice way of saying fat?) and she has brown eyes. I quite like dark hair, but nice striking black hair, like Jemima, not boring brown like Effie. Also, too old.
Score: 7/10 (all on personality)
*
“What’s wrong with Effie? I thought you two would get on, she totally has your evil sense of humour!”
“I do not have an evil sense of humour!” Draco huffed as he threw himself onto Harry’s sofa, which was finally devoid of boxes. He never did come up with a good way of asking about the whole box situation and why Harry was living in this crappy flat. Were they friends now? Was it ok to ask? Or had he left it too long, would it look really weird if he asked now that the boxes were gone? Fucking protocol.
“Seriously?” Harry handed him a Laphroaig with an amused look. Why did the bugger always look amused when he looked at him? He was supposed to look intimidated.
“Well, not that evil. Look, your friend is lovely - I wish we’d had Defence teachers like her rather than some of the nutters we did have - but can you honestly see her as Mrs Malfoy? I think not. Besides, she has brown hair.”
“Have you ever thought you might be too picky? We can’t all be as pretty as you.”
“Did you just call me pretty?”
* * *
Name: Cecily O’Dowd
Age: 25
Occupation: Mediwitch
Description: Nice curly blonde hair, brown eyes. Medium height.
Family: Good old Irish family.
Notes on the date: Quite liked this one. Unfortunately, she seems to be of the misguided opinion that Cecily should be shortened to Cissy.
Pros: Intelligent, witty (evidently a Ravenclaw), pretty, fun.
Cons: I refuse to be intimate with anyone with the same (shortened) name as my mother! Really noisy eater.
Score: 7/10
*
“Oh come on Malfoy, Cecily is fun, smart and pretty. I was so confident with this one!” Harry exclaimed in exasperation as he put their drinks down on the pub table. It was Potter’s night off and they’d met up in the Leaky Cauldron after Draco’s date.
“She’s very nice, Potter, don’t get your knickers in a twist!” Draco sighed, checking to make sure the glass was clean before taking a sip.
“What’s wrong with her then? She even has blonde hair!” Potter pulled up a chair and took a long sip of his beer.
“Her eyes are brown.” Draco was doing his best not to look at Potter’s beer-foam moustache.
“You have got to be kidding me? You’re turning her down because her eyes are brown?” Potter was giving him one of those looks that said he thought Draco was slightly insane.
“That and the name thing.”
“What name thing?”
“Come on, Potter! She has the same name as my mother! That would just be too weird!”
“Your mother’s name is Narcissa, not Cecily,” Harry said, slowly, as though explaining it to a child.
“Cissy. They’re both Cissy, you pillock.” Draco gave him a playful smack about the head.
“Ah.” Harry pretended to rub where Draco had hit him, but his laughter gave him away.
“And she sounds like a pig when she eats,” Draco added.
* * *
Name: Luna Lovegood
Age: 28
Occupation: Musician
Description: Insane. Blonde, blue eyes, medium height.
Family: I think we’re cousins somewhere along the line, but since when has that ever stopped pure-bloods?
Notes on the date: I have a feeling Loony Lovegood was not Harry’s original choice of blind date for me tonight - he can’t possibly hate me that much! It’s not that there’s anything wrong with her exactly, she’s just Lovegood! I get the impression that she was there to do Potter a favour.
Pros: Pretty. Kind to small animals - even the ones that don't exist.
Cons: Odd.
Score: 5/10
*
“I remember you from school. You weren’t very nice, were you?” Luna gave him one of those unfathomable looks that slightly bothered him. Maybe she had a point - Mad Auntie B had locked her in the cellar for ages after all. He pretended to study the menu so he wouldn’t have to look at her, although he knew this menu pretty well by now,
“I don’t think I ever even spoke to you.” He glanced up and gave her his most winning smile, the one that even worked on that old cow Umbridge. It had no effect.
“I think that proves my point rather than yours don’t you? It’s the nargles you know, they made you cranky. Harry always liked you though, not that I think he ever realised it. Do you think the haggis is freerange? I wouldn’t like to think the poor little things had suffered. Do you like Harry?” Luna’s conversation flowed from topic to topic in a way that gave Draco a headache trying to follow it.
“Potter is all right I suppose. A haggis is not an animal.” He signalled the waiter over, desperate to get this over with a fast as possible.
“Yes, that’s what I thought. You’d make a very attractive couple, you know. There were haggis in the forbidden forest at Hogwarts, they’re very shy.”
“I’m not gay.”
“You’re strange.” She shut her menu and smiled benignly at him before ordering the mushroom stroganoff from the specials board.
*
“Just no, ok Potter? Don’t even go there.”
* * *
Part 2 | Part 3
*
Author: tari_sue
Prompt Number: 155
Rating: R
Pairing(s): H/D
Summary: Draco needs to get married before he turns 30 in order to claim an inheritance. With the help of his little black book and restaurant owner, Harry Potter, Draco dates as many women as possible in order to find the one worthy of being his bride.
Warnings: None really - just a bit of swearing, sex, the usual
Word Count: 21,504
Betas: A million thanks to the amazing
crazyparakiss,
oddnari and
winnett for their fabulous beta skills; this fic is so much better now thanks to them.
Disclaimer: The characters contained herein are not mine. No money is being made from this fiction, which is presented for entertainment purposes only.
Author's Notes: This is my entry for the 2009 hd_career_fair for
dampfnudl’s wonderful prompt.
The original, shorter, version of the fic can be found here:
http://community.livejournal.com/hd_career_fair/11116.html
This version has been improved beyond belief by the wonderful
winnett, who should probably get a co-author credit for all her hard work and invaluable help.
* * *
Name: Wendy Fitz Patrick
Age: 24
Occupation: Primary School Teacher
Description: Pretty, blonde, petite - almost ideal candidate for a Malfoy! Irritating voice though. Like, really irritating.
Family: Good old English family, pureblood line mostly untainted.
Notes on the date: The waiting staff became extremely rude when they discovered I was a Malfoy. I think they over-charged me, especially as our food was cold! You’d think this treatment would better by now - the war ended over ten years ago and still I am treated appallingly! Wendy has one of those squeaky little-girl voices I can’t stand!
Pros: Good looks, good family, plenty of money, not too stupid.
Cons: The voice. She thinks I’m an idiot because I let them get away with treating me like that in the restaurant. In addition, her eyes are too close together.
Score: 7/10
* * *
Name: Veronica St John
Age: 26
Occupation: Healer
Description: 5ft 8, blonde, blue eyes. Um - good skin?
Family: Top notch! These are the pure-bloods to beat all pure-bloods.
Notes on the date: What date! They turned me away from the bloody restaurant and she went home in disgust! I’ll never get another date with her now; Mother is going to kill me.
Pros: Good family, extremely wealthy
Cons: She never wants to see me again. Her feet were massive anyway - like flippers.
Score: 6/10
* * *
Name: Pauline McAlistair
Age: 23
Occupation: Student - studying for a Masters in Transfiguration.
Description: Blonde, extremely pretty, curly hair, blue eyes - almost my height though!
Family: So-so. A few impurities in the bloodline but they were quite some time ago. They have done their best to make up for it since (her father was a DE and is currently in Azkaban).
Notes on the date: The Malfoy name is so unpopular in Wizarding England that I thought I’d take her to a Muggle restaurant. She was not impressed; seems the apple has not fallen far from the tree and she is not a Muggle-lover!
Pros: Intelligent, so good for the gene pool.
Cons: Trying to steer clear of the whole Death Eater thing, reputation already in ruins. Far too tall.
Score: 5/10
* * *
Name: Genevieve DuBois
Age: 22
Occupation: Trainee Gossip Columnist for Witch Weekly
Description: Short, dark-blonde hair, brown eyes, pretty-ish.
Family: Very old family, not involved in the war on either side so nice and neutral!
Notes on the date: Decided to risk Potter’s restaurant (Undesirable No.1, what a stupid name for a restaurant, is there no end to the man’s ego?) as he is in America opening restaurant No.2 (I wonder if they’ll call that one Undesirable No.2?). Haven’t tried it before as I didn’t want to risk running into Potter…
Pros: Good family
Cons: Very young for her age, talks incessantly and for some reason seems to be obsessed with Potter. Does she not know that Potter is a poof? It’s not just something we used to sing at him for a laugh you know (well, actually, is was, but hey, turned out to be true!). Mouth is too big. Very thin - like a swizzle stick.
Score: 7/10
*
“I’m afraid we have no free tables, Mr Malfoy,” the hostess said smugly. “Undesirable No.1 is very popular. You really do have to book in advance.”
“I did book in advance; I booked a table weeks ago!” Draco said through gritted teeth. He did his best to remain calm but he couldn’t quite rein in his irritated tone.
“I’m sorry, but we are fully booked tonight. I have a table free…” she ran her finger down the page and then turned it over and kept going, “… two months Tuesday.” He didn’t imagine the glee in her voice at turning him away. A picture of seventeen-year-old Harry Potter smirked down at him from the original Undesirable No.1 poster on the wall.
“No! It has to be tonight. I have a date tonight, you see?” He gestured towards the petite blonde next to him. “Two months’ time is no good.”
“Well, there is nothing I can do about it. Good evening.” The waitress gave him a triumphant smile of dismissal that told Draco there had been no mix up with his reservation at all - they simply didn’t want ex-Death Eaters in this establishment.
“Can we speak to the manager?” Genevieve asked innocently, fluffing her hair and looking around trying to catch a glimpse of said manager.
“No!” Draco said quickly. “Um, no need for that! I doubt he’s even in the country at the moment,” he blathered on, mentally kicking himself for coming here.
“Actually-” the waitress smirked at him.
“Actually, he got back from the States a day early,” Potter’s voice spoke up from behind them. “What seems to be the problem?” Draco barely covered his groan before plastering a smile onto his face and turned to greet the other man.
“There seems to be no record of our reservation,” he said, trying to be civil. Damn it all, what gave Potter the right to have grown into that jaw since Draco had last seen him? He could almost be considered good looking these days, especially with those broad shoulders in that suit! Almost.
“Yes, I’m afraid we don’t have a table available for this… gentleman,” the waitress didn’t even try to keep the contempt from her voice at that last word. She was obviously delighted that Potter was there to back her up.
“I’m sure we must be able to squeeze Mr Malfoy and his date in somewhere, Rosanna,” Potter replied with a forced smile of his own. “Is my usual table free?”
“Harry, that one’s reserved,” the waitress hissed, now looked highly affronted.
“Yes it is; reserved for me. As Draco and I went to school together I think he can be my guest, don’t you?” Potter was frowning a little now.
“You’re friends with that?” She looked appalled at the idea of her hero mixing with Death Eater scum like Draco Malfoy. “He’s a bloody Death Eater!” she whispered, obviously under the impression that Draco could no longer hear her.
“Do you think that I of all people am not aware of that, Zanna? Did you know that Draco and his mother saved my life twice during the war?” Potter said, drawing the waitress away from the guests slightly.
“Well, no, but…”
“I’ll not have prejudice in this restaurant,” Potter said firmly. “The war is over and we will not wage another one. If you have a problem with this you can speak to me in private later." The girl nodded and looked about ready to cry. Potter’s expression softened. “Take five, Zanna, I’ll cover for you out here.” He put a comforting arm around the girl and pushed her in the general direction of the kitchens. Draco sighed, he should have known Potter couldn’t keep up the ‘big tough boss’ routine for long.
After the hostess left, Potter turned back to Draco and Genevieve with his best professional air. “Sorry about that, Mr Malfoy, she takes these things a little personally," he said as he took their coats. “If you’d like to follow me, I’ll show you to your table.”
“Thank you, Potter.” Draco deliberately left off any ‘mister’ from Potter’s name; he wasn’t sure how to cope with the other man being civil to him, let alone offering them his own private table.
They followed Potter to the other side of the restaurant and Draco took the opportunity to take in his surroundings. He had expected either ostentatious opulence or cheesy Muggleness, but was surprised to discover neither. The floor was polished oak and the light-coloured walls had some rather splendid frescos of various people, including Professors Dumbledore, Lupin and Snape. The windows, which were charmed to show a different location each night, looked out over the Grand Canal in Venice. If you listened hard enough, you could even hear the gentle lapping of the water.
“So, Draco, how have you been?” Potter asked as he held out a chair for Genevieve. Draco blinked and stared at him for a moment; he couldn’t remember hearing Potter use his first name before.
“I’m fine, thank you, Potter. And yourself?”
“Oh, I’m doing well enough, thanks.” Harry's grin reached his eyes. “Are you going to introduce me to your girlfriend?”
“Certainly,” Draco scowled back at him. “Potter, this is Genevieve. Genevieve, Potter.”
“Call me Harry, please.” Harry smiled as he shook the girl’s hand.
“Oh, well, it’s Gena!” she gushed grabbing at his hand and hanging on for dear life. “It’s wonderful to meet you, Harry! I can’t believe I’m actually meeting Harry Potter!” she simpered. “Draco, you never told me you knew The Chosen One!” To his credit, Potter blushed, which raised him slightly in Draco’s estimation. The fact that he actually looked rather attractive with the colour on his cheeks had no effect on Draco at all, obviously.
“Look, er, I have to get back to the other diners,” Potter said as he handed them menus. “It was good to see you again, Malfoy.”
As soon as Potter disappeared, Genevieve started talking, “You never told me you were friends with Harry Potter! What’s he like?”
“Oh yes,” Draco replied after a heartbeat, a cunning plan forming, “Potter and I go way back.”
* * *
Name: Jacinta Smythe-Bryant
Age: 26
Occupation: Model
Description: Brunette. Medium height. Gorgeous.
Family: Nouveau Riche. Need I say more?
Notes on the date: One of Genevieve’s friends - the idiotic woman seems to have told all her friends that I know Harry Potter, which at least means I’m back in the game. Unfortunately, Genevieve’s friends are all about as bright as she is, and Jacinta may well be the worst of the lot! They seem to be a bunch of Potter fangirls. Again, why are these women all obsessed with a man who would probably break out in a cold sweat at the idea of touching them in a sexual manner?
Pros: Very attractive.
Cons: Brain the size of a pea. Her mother is very fat - I suspect it may be hereditary. Plus, she has strange ears.
Score: 7/10
* * *
Name: Tiffany Beauchamp (n.b. pronounced Beach-um)
Age: 25
Occupation: Actress
Description: Redhead. About 5ft 8.
Family: Long line of squibs (Merlin forbid!), as far as I know.
Notes on the date: Another friend of Genevieve, probably only here to meet Potter. Her head was on a permanent swivel trying to find the git, she reminded me of an owl. I kept expecting her to drop a letter in my dinner. The fact that the windows made it look like we were on top of Snowden made the bird impression even more realistic.
Pros: Decent sense of humour.
Cons: Fangirl. Ginger. Brown eyes. Freckles. Short neck.
Score: 6/10
* * *
Name: Caroline Marchmont
Age: 30
Occupation: Breeds horses.
Description: Horsy. Brownish/blondish hair, long face. Doesn’t take much care of her appearance.
Family: Excellent. So good in fact that this one is already Mother approved - this whole disaster was her idea!
Notes on the date: Her only topic of conversation is horses! This ‘gel’ is so posh she makes me feel common!
Pros: Mother likes her - probably thinks she is good breeding stock!
Cons: If it looks like a horse, smells like a horse, and laughs like a horse, it probably is a horse! Enormous arse. Too Posh.
Score: 4/10
*
“…So anyway, Tarquin said Dumbledore’s Boy was only fit for the knackers yard, which is quite simply preposterous, and I really don’t know what he would know about the matter anyway, he’s absolutely hopeless on a horse but he thinks he knows more about it than me, which is frightfully ridiculous because Daddy bought me my first pony when I was just a little gel and I’ve been riding ever since…”
Caroline Marchmont had to be the most boring woman on the planet, and Draco should know, he’d dated a fair few of them lately. If she didn’t stop to draw breath soon she would drop dead for want of oxygen, though her enormous gob would probably still keep talking even then.
“…I mean, we are a horse-loving family, Algernon was as good as born in the saddle; horses are practically in our blood, don’t yeh know!” Well, that would certainly explain the horsy face, tiny brain and massive backside, Draco thought as he stabbed at his piece of sirloin with his fork and pretended it was his date’s head.
“Is there something wrong with the steak?” an amused voice asked from behind him. “If it’s not up to standard I can take it back to the kitchen, although Chef may take it as a personal insult and bring down the wrath of the Irish on your head.”
“Um, no, no, the food is lovely, really!” Draco quickly stopped attacking his dinner and turned to face Potter. Finally! This was the third date he’d brought to Potter’s restaurant since last week and this was the first time Potter had actually been here since that first evening. What was the point of trying to impress his dates by knowing the Bloody Chosen One if said Bloody Chosen One couldn’t be bothered to put in an appearance? Moreover, this one wasn’t even part of the fangirl set! She probably couldn’t care less about Potter - he only had two legs and no tail, as far as Draco knew.
“Malfoy. So, who is your date this evening?” Potter asked, giving him a funny look.
“This is Caroline Marchmont, her parents are the Gloucestershire Marchmonts. They have a lovely estate near Tetbury.”
“What, Highgrove?” Potter looked like he was making a joke, but Draco wasn’t entirely sure what the joke was.
“No-” Draco started to say and then looked at his date in shock as she interrupted him.
“Oh, yes, we’re quite close to Highgrove actually. Daddy plays golf with Charlie; it’s all part of his Muggle Relations Programme, you know? And of course Princess Anne doesn’t live far away, Zara is a close personal friend of mine, and she’s not a bad horsewoman either!” Of course. Draco had heard that the Muggle Royals lived somewhere around there, come to think of it, but it hadn’t really interested him.
“Uh, right.” Potter looked perplexed. “So, are you Draco’s girlfriend then?” The man really was quite stupid.
“Oh, well, not quite! We only just met tonight; Mummy and Auntie Cissa thought we’d get on splendidly!” She was a stupid bitch too; why did she have to tell Potter every little detail of his life?
“You’re cousins?”
“Distant,” Draco said quickly. “We’re very distant cousins, that’s all.”
“Oh lord yes, nothing indecent going on here!” Caroline snorted. Hell, she even laughed like a horse. “I say!” she peered at Potter with her watery blue eyes, “You’re that Potter chap, aren’t you?”
“Yes; you’re eating in my restaurant.” Potter looked irritated, no doubt miffed that she wasn’t fawning all over him.
At that moment a loud crash came from the direction of the kitchen followed by a lot of swearing, although the only bit Draco could really make out was, “You stupid, fecking arse!” followed by further crashes.
“I’ll leave you to enjoy your dinner.” Potter gave them a tight smile before walking hurriedly towards the kitchen.
“I say, what a strange little place this is!” Caroline stated loudly. “And how very quaint, the windows look like we’re in Cornwall or something.” Then she went back to her food and her monologue about horses.
Draco sighed in resignation.
* * *
Name: Angelica Betty
Age: 18
Occupation: Wants to be a model
Description: Prettyish but nothing to write home about. A little on the chubby side, but could just be puppy fat.
Family: Bunch of nobodies
Notes on the date: Where the hell do I begin?
Pros: Knows how to stand up for herself? Ambitious?
Cons: Completely fucking mental. Tits are too big.
Score: 0/10
*
“Betty? I don’t think I’ve heard of the Bettys?” Draco was making a futile attempt at conversation - he honestly didn’t think he had a single thing in common with this girl.
“My father runs a haberdashery shop just off Diagon Alley,” she replied, sounding bored, as she reached for a breadstick.
“Oh. Right. How very enterprising of him.” He wracked his brains for something else to say.
The stony silence was becoming intolerable. The girl was probably just way too young for him; they had absolutely nothing in common. She was into some sort of Muggle activity called ‘skateboarding’ that he’d never heard of, and she had something called an ‘Ex Box’, which made him wonder what it was now if it wasn’t a box anymore. She made him feel old, and he was only 29!
“So, Angelica, what do you do?” he desperately dragged out what he hoped was a safe topic of conversation.
“I’m a model, or trying to be anyway.” She started breaking the breadstick into tiny bits.
“A model? Interesting.” Draco reached for his rather expensive glass of red wine.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” she replied defensively.
“Oh, well, nothing! I’m… I was just…” he attempted to backtrack.
“Just what?” She was glaring at him now.
“Nothing! Um, so what do you want to be if you can’t be a model?” Draco asked in his best placating voice.
“Why shouldn’t I be able to be a model?” It hadn’t worked.
“Well, er, it doesn’t always work out for everyone, does it? You know, contingency plans and all that…”
“Yeah, well what do you want to be when you get tired of being a prick?” Her voice was becoming quite loud and shrill; people were starting to stare.
“Being a prick is working out just fine for me, thanks,” he muttered, willing her to quiet down.
“Yeah? Well being a model will work out just fine for me!” No, that was actually louder.
“What if it doesn’t? I’m only suggesting a backup plan.” He was about to give up trying to be nice.
“Why shouldn’t it? Jacinta’s doing well!”
“Yes, but Jacinta is beautiful.” Draco winced as he heard the words coming out of his mouth before he could stop them. He’d been skirting around saying this and now he’d as good as blurted it out without thinking.
“Are you saying I’m not beautiful?” she screeched indignantly.
“It’s not that you’re ugly or anything, you’re actually quite pretty. But models usually tend to be stick-thin and gorgeous don’t they?” Draco's attempt to placate her only ended up digging a deeper hole. He didn’t even see the glass of wine coming until it was dripping from his hair and into his eyes.
“Well you’re no oil painting yourself are you? You’re just some skinny old Death Eater!” she screamed at him. “I only came out with you because Gena said you were friends with Harry Potter!” She leapt up from the table and grabbed her bag.
“What the fuck did you do that for? This is one of my best shirts! You insane fucking bitch!” he exclaimed in dismay as he mopped at his shirt.
“Insane am I? Well at least I’m not stupid enough to sit here any longer with an arrogant tosser like you!” With that said stormed out, leaving Draco with red wine dripping down his front.
“Malfoy, do you want to use my flat to get cleaned up?” an amused voice said from behind him. Typical, why was bloody Potter always around when he was at his worst? Grimacing, Draco got up and followed the bastard out.
*
“Will the wine stain your hair?” Potter asked innocently as he ushered Draco into his flat above the restaurant and closed the door.
“Stain my hair? I certainly hope not! Why should it stain my hair?” Draco was horrified; surely wine couldn’t stain hair?
“Well, because red wine stains everything; my Aunt Petunia wouldn’t let it in the house, they always drank white. I usually drink red now, I think it’s some sort of rebellion.” For some reason he seemed to think that Draco actually gave a crap about his ridiculous Muggle family.
“I’d have thought pink wine would have been more your sort of thing, Potter,” Draco replied snidely.
“I don’t mind some rosés, but I prefer a nice Chianti,” Potter said, making a strange fuffing noise with his teeth and sniggering. Damn, the pillock had been easier to wind up at school.
“Well, where can I clean up?”
“The bathroom is just through there,” Potter led him through to the bedroom and pointed at the bathroom door. “I’ll lend you a shirt - it might be a little big across the shoulders and around the neck, but it will do until you get home.”
“You’re lending me a shirt? Why?” Draco asked suspiciously.
“Because you have red on you?” Potter sounded sarcastic. “Look, I assume you would rather not go around with a wet shirt on? Magic’s good, but that shirt is going to need house-elf attention if it’s ever going to be wearable again and if you dry it you’ll make it worse. Stop being a wanker.” Potter took a shirt from his wardrobe and tossed it at Draco. “Or you could always go shirtless.”
Draco glowered at him as he caught the shirt and did his best to walk into the bathroom with dignity. “No peeping, Potter. I know you’re probably just trying to get a sneak peak of me with no shirt on.”
“Yeah, in your wet dreams, Malfoy,” Potter laughed. Git.
Potter’s bathroom was a little on the small side, but surprisingly rather nicely done out in a mixture of black, white and chrome. Draco managed to get most of the red wine off him; his hair would be perfect once more with a proper wash and a few charms. Potter had a ridiculous number of washing products, nearly as many as Draco himself, although you’d never think it to look at the state of his hair. Although if Draco were honest, Potter’s hair really wasn’t looking that bad these days.
Unless Twiggy could work her own expert brand of house-elf magic upon his shirt, it was ruined, which he was more than a little pissed off about and would be sending the silly bint the bill. Potter’s shirt was indeed a little too big for him, but he consoled himself with the knowledge that at least he hadn’t had to borrow trousers, because they would have been far too short.
He exited the bathroom and took a quick peek at Potter’s bedroom - a little on the small side and rather predictably decorated in cream and dark-red. The bed was massive, seemingly too big for the room, although the boxes everywhere didn’t help. It looked like Potter was either moving in or moving out, probably the later, Draco concluded, on the basis that the flat wasn’t very big.
The living room was comfortable-looking with a couple of large sofas facing some sort of big silver rectangle on the wall and a door going through to a kitchen. There were more boxes full of stuff in here, haphazardly packed and disordered. The tosser was still there, sitting at a smart desk writing something and prodding at some sort of muggle device with numbers. Draco managed to peer over his shoulder before Potter looked up and, for some strange reason, gave him a lopsided smile.
“So, I’m guessing you are either really good or really bad with women, and if tonight’s performance is anything to go by it must be the latter.” Potter shook his head and carried on writing, if that scrawl could be called writing.
“What makes you say that? I’ll have you know that I’m the perfect gentleman and women love me, which is more than I could say for you!” Draco folded his arms and glared at Potter.
“Women love me, Malfoy, I just don’t happen to love them - not in a sexual way anyway. If you are a perfect gentleman and women love you however, then how come you seem to be in here with a different woman every night? And do I really have to remind you that your latest date poured a rather expensive glass of wine over you?” Potter smirked, a look which rather suited him.
“A minor glitch, I assure you. The woman is clearly insane.” Draco sniffed.
“Insane to have gone out with you in the first place?” Potter prodded a few more buttons on his Muggle device.
“Oh ha bloody ha. I don’t know how you cope with being so funny.” Draco surreptitiously peered over Potter’s shoulder to see what he was doing, briefly noticing the way the black hair curled at the nape of his neck.
“I don’t know how you cope with such brilliant comebacks,” Potter muttered as Draco studied what Potter was doing.
“I don’t know how you manage to keep your business afloat when you can’t even remember to carry a number to the correct column!” he exclaimed. Honestly, what the hell was Potter trying to do here?
“Huh?” Potter had adopted the trademarked confused look that Draco remembered from school.
“Your sums,” Draco indicated Harry’s scribblings, “they don’t add up, and they never will the way you’re trying to do them.”
“What’s wrong with the way I’m doing them?” Harry ran a hand through his hair making it stand up on end in a slightly adorable way, also reminiscent of school. Not that Draco found Harry adorable or anything, adorable wasn’t really a word he used at all…
“Budge up,” he sighed at Potter. He took Harry’s seat at the desk and started running a few arithmetic charms on the page, making adjustments in pencil as he went. Potter leant over him and watched every thing he was doing with fascination. Draco was a little disturbed by the nearness of the other man - he could smell his aftershave and even felt his inky hair tickle his ear.
“That’s what’s wrong with the way you were doing it.” Draco quickly moved away and tried to will himself not to be affected by Potter. “Don’t you have an accountant to deal with this sort of thing?”
“Yes, of course I do! I’m just having a little trouble getting hold of him at the moment so I thought I’d check the figures myself.” Potter looked slightly uncomfortable but Draco chose to ignore it.
“Well, you were doing a sterling job, well done!” Sarcasm was great.
“They don’t exactly teach maths at Hogwarts you know.” Potter bristled. Maybe he was still easy to wind up after all.
“Arithmetic. I went to the same school as you and I can do it,” Draco replied in his best smug voice.
“Git,” Potter mumbled.
“Funny way to pronounce ‘thank you’.” Draco raised an eyebrow at him.
Potter gave him a considering look. “Thanks,” he said quietly. “Why do you care if my numbers add up though?”
Draco shrugged. “One good turn,” he indicated the shirt. “I guess I’m just not as dastardly as you like to think. Besides, yours is just about the only Wizarding restaurant in London that will let me through the door these days; can’t have you going under now, can I?”
Potter laughed, looking startled. “No, I guess you can’t. Um, look, Malfoy, I have some rather good single malt over here, if you’d care for one.” Potter gave him a shy smile that did funny things to Draco’s insides.
“Stop trying to hit on me, Potter. Just because I helped you with primary-level mathematics doesn’t mean I want into your pants.”
“No problem, Malfoy. Just because I’m homosexual doesn’t mean I want in your pants. So is that a no to the whisky?”
“I prefer Islay…”
“Talisker.”
“Close enough. It would be rude to say no, don’t you think?”
“Very.” Potter got up and routed a bottle of whisky and two glasses out of one of the boxes.
“I didn’t know you were a whisky man,” Draco said, watching him.
“An ex-lover of mine was a Chaser for the Pride of Portree. He taught me to appreciate the finer aspects of whisky,” Potter said with a grin as he sat back down.
“I don’t mind a nice drop of Talisker,” Draco found himself grinning back.
“So, are you going to tell me why you have a different girlfriend for every night of the week?” Potter asked as he poured two generous measures.
“Potter, just because I have condescended to drink your whisky does not mean that we are friends. Even if we were friends, I would not have to tell you all the minutiae of my life,” Draco said as he accepted the glass and took an appreciative sniff.
“So that’s a no then?” the nosy bastard pressed.
“You always were a nosy bastard, weren’t you?” Draco took a sip of his drink.
“Yup. My life could have been so much easier if, to quote Nev, I’d ‘learnt to keep me neb out’. Then again, Tom Riddle might still be running around killing people,” Potter said, sounding like an arrogant tosser.
“Oh, that’s right, play the ‘I killed a Dark Lord’ card. If you don’t mention it every five minutes someone might forget. Knowing about my marriage plans will not make the blindest bit of difference to you, Potter.” Draco scowled.
“Marriage plans?” Potter’s eyebrows went up.
Bugger it, one sniff of whisky and Draco’d spill everything. “Oh for fffu-… look, Potter, if you must know, I’m getting married, ok?” It wasn’t exactly a secret, he just didn’t like telling Potter stuff.
“Right. Who to? I mean, correct me if I’m wrong here, but marriage normally suggests one girlfriend, not lots. Is this some sort of wild oats thing? Does your fiancée know?” Potter sounded indignant on behalf of some woman he’d never met and who didn’t even exist.
“I don’t have a fiancée,” Draco sighed, rubbing his temples. Conversation with Potter was trying at the best of times.
“Isn’t that a rather necessary component to a wedding?” Potter must have been being stupid on purpose to annoy him.
“Hence all the women,” Draco said slowly, as if explaining to a small child.
“Huh? So what, you’ve just decided that you want to get married now and you’re auditioning potential brides?” Potter sounded incredulous.
“Well, yes, I suppose you could put it like that,” Draco shrugged.
“I suppose the notion of falling in love and then deciding to get married is just too weird and Muggle for you?” Those green eyes were watching him like he was some sort of strange insect.
“Not at all. In an ideal world we would all fall in love and be able to marry that person, but in this little place I like to call reality - I don’t think it’s somewhere you visit often - we can’t always have what we want. I have to get married and produce an heir. If I want to claim my inheritance from Great Uncle Leopold, I need to be married by the time I’m thirty. So yes, I’m ‘auditioning’ potential brides. I will be thirty in June, I can’t afford to waste time.” How did Potter do this to him? Why did he always find himself telling the git every little thing?
“Why didn’t you just start looking sooner?”
“Uncle Leo only died a few months ago, I wasn’t aware of this stipulation on my inheritance.” There was no point in fighting it, he might as well just spill.
“And do you really need the money that badly?” Potter sounded doubtful.
The smell of good food was wafting up from the restaurant down stairs, reminding Draco that he hadn’t had the chance to eat much of his dinner. “I don’t suppose I could get the rest of my dinner sent up here could I?” he replied, changing the subject.
“What?”
“My food? I had just ordered the monkfish when that silly little tart threw wine at me, I wouldn’t mind trying it,” he replied coolly, staring levelly at Potter.
“Fine! I’m sorry, ok? I am a nosy bastard, I fully admit it,” Potter laughed before summoning a rather decrepit looking house-elf and requesting two monkfish. “I can help if you want,” he continued, not letting it rest.
“Help with what?”
“Finding you a date of course.”
“How and why would you help me?” Draco didn’t care if he sounded suspicious, Harry Potter didn’t offer to help Draco Malfoy for no good reason.
“I know a lot of nice women who might be suitable. You can carry on bringing your dates here and I’ll turn on the whole ‘Boy Who Lived’ thing and big you up a bit.”
“What makes you think I need your help?” Draco pretended to study the pile of Muggle books Potter seemed to be using as a coffee table.
“Well,” Potter’s eyes strayed to Draco’s damp hair, “things don’t look like they’ve been going too well from where I’ve been standing.”
“You still haven’t told me why you want to help,” he said again.
“Call it a peace offering. Maybe you can help me with my accounts some time.” Potter gave him one of those puppy dog looks that seemed to get him whatever he wanted.
“I thought you said you had an accountant?”
“I do. He’s a bit, er, well, that is to say - I’m not sure he’s all that good.”
At that point the house-elf reappeared with food and cutlery for both of them and Draco suddenly realised, to his horror, that Potter didn’t have a dining table and he would actually be expected to eat this off his lap.
“Look, what have you got to lose? It’ll be fun.” Potter’s cheerful tone sounded a little forced as he picked up a fork and started to dig in to his fish.
“You and I don’t have fun together, Potter, and accounts are never for fun.” Draco picked up a fork with a look of distain and then made a point to pick up a knife as well. How could Potter run a classy restaurant with absolutely no table manners? Or even a table? “In case you have forgotten, we are not friends. Besides, Malfoys are not accountants.”
“We could be, though, friends I mean, couldn’t we?” Potter persisted.
“Why?”
“Why not?” The puppy-dog look again. Damn it.
“Ok,” Draco sighed, “Why not, as you say. You have yourself a deal, Potter. I’ll show you how to add up and you can make me look good. Sound fair? You should advertise this - ‘Come to Potter’s restaurant; get a bride and chips for under ten galleons!'”
“Would sir like anything on the side with that?” Potter asked with a snigger.
Draco forced a laugh and they shook on it. Draco ate the rest of his food in silence, still trying to convince himself that Potter had no effect on him.
* * *
Name: Beatrice Dalrymple
Age: 24
Occupation: none
Description: Short dark hair, blue eyes.
Family: Snooty bastards. Lord and Lady Snotty of Snooty Land.
Notes on the date: YAWN! Beat is one of those people with a lot of opinions that she thinks everyone else should listen to and then agree with.
Pros: She’s attractive - has nice hair and all her own teeth.
Cons: YAWN YAWN YAWN! Too short. Too snooty. Too boring. She has those funny, cold blue eyes and a very big nose.
Score: zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz/10
*
“So, what was wrong with this one?” Potter raised his eyebrows. They were in Potter’s flat once more, sampling a rather nice twenty-one-year-old portwood Balvenie.
“Where should I begin?” Draco raised just one eyebrow in return.
“I thought you’d like Beatie!” Potter whined. “She’s attractive, she’s intelligent, she’s very well up on pretty much everything. Admittedly, she can be a little intense, but she means well. And she’s as pure-blooded as they come and a Slytherin. He folded his arms and actually looked a little sulky.
“She tried to convince me to vote for Adrian Pucey in the next election!” Draco exclaimed in self-defence, waving his arms in the air for emphasis. “Is that really the way you think a first date should go? When I told her that I remember Pucey from school and I wouldn’t vote for him if it were a contest between him and Fudge, she gave me an hour-long lecture on how Fudge was the worst Minister in history. I never even said I was voting for bloody Fudge, the man retired over a decade ago.” He shook his head to emphasise the idiocy of this.
“She just has issues she feels very strongly abo-”
“I know,” Draco interrupted. “She made sure to tell me all about them - all of them - over dinner. From Muggle Rights to rubbish disposal to space travel. I heard the lot.”
“No you didn’t,” Potter gave an exaggerated sigh. “You were nearly asleep when I walked past and asked if everything was all right with your meal. I only did it to stop your face from landing in your soup.” Potter’s eyes were twinkling - was the bastard laughing at him?
“Well that says it all really, doesn’t it? I was falling asleep and we were still only on the soup.” Draco grumbled.
“Actually, you still have some soup here.” Potter reached over and ran his thumb over the corner of Draco’s mouth to get the soup off before sitting back down looking completely unconcerned. Draco managed to restrain himself from licking Harry’s thumb - just. He took a large gulp of his whisky.
* * *
Name: Vanessa Menzies (n.b. pronounced ‘Mingy’)
Age: 22
Occupation: Secretary P.A.
Description: Frizzy browny/blondy hair - looks a bit like Granger.
Family: Scottish.
Notes on the date: So we got off on the wrong foot when I mispronounced her name, then I mistakenly thought she was a secretary when it is apparently pronounced ‘Pee Aayyy’ these days.
Pros: She has a nice backside - it’s good to see it leave!
Cons: Stupid, stuck-up, know-it-all cow. Too tall - can’t have a wife taller than me! Eyes are too far apart. Really bad teeth.
Score: 5/10
*
“Oh come on, you can’t possibly have disliked Nessa; everyone loves her! She’s beautiful, funny, smart. If I were into girls, I’d date Ness like a shot.” Potter was shaking his head with a general air of disbelief as he shot off cleaning and tidying spells around the restaurant. It was after hours and Potter had sent everyone home for the night as he finished off.
“Yeah, well you’re not into girls, are you? So what the bloody hell would you know?” Draco scowled at him, he hated people talking down to him. He had been allowed to remain in the restaurant, perched by the bar, and give Potter the details of his miserable date as he cleared up.
“I know she’s a good friend, so just watch your mouth.” Evidently, nobody had ever told Potter that it was rude to point a wand at people as he swung round and did just that.
“She’s a stuck-up cow.” Draco leant back against the bar and crossed his legs. Potter baiting really was fun.
“That is a bit rich coming from a Malfoy!” Potter started with the righteous indignation, hands on his hips in a classic Mudblood Granger pose.
“She is a puritanical, black-hatter! She looks down her nose at everyone because they are not as pure and noble and bloody Scottish as she is. You missed a bit.” Draco indicated the bar he was leaning against where Potter hadn’t yet cleaned.
“That sounds racist to me, Malfoy.” Potter shot a spell at the bar, sweeping off everything which wasn’t supposed to be on it, including Draco who nearly fell off his stool.
“My Great Grandmother was Scottish, I’ll have you know.” He glared at Potter as he adjusted his suit jacket and tried to make it look like he intended to stand up.
“So why do you have such a problem with Nessa being Scottish?” Potter’s wand directed a broom to start sweeping the floor.
“I don’t have a problem with her being Scottish! I don’t like people who look down their noses at me for being English, or for being me.” Draco crossed his arms across his chest and tried not to look petulant. “If I’m racist then so is she. Moreover, she may be a wonderful friend to you, but she thinks you should be ‘cured of your homosexuality’ with the ‘love of a good woman’, did you know that? Apparently, it is just laziness.” He’d like to see Potter stick up for the stupid cow now.
“Her parents were Muggles; it’s just the way she was brought up.” Potter plonked himself down on the stool next to Draco - obviously, he would stick up for anyone who wasn’t a Malfoy.
“Really? I bet Granger doesn’t think that. I seem to remember getting into a hell of a lot of trouble for acting ‘the way I was brought up’. If I can get over it then so can she.” Draco put on his best smug face.
“You know, you’re kind of cute when you sulk.” Potter ruffled Draco’s hair. Unbe-bloody-lievable!
“Poof.”
“Git.”
* * *
Name: Jemima Alderney
Age: 26
Occupation: Artist
Description: Straight black hair cut into a short bob. Blue eyes, fair skin. Very striking. Slim but not too skinny.
Family: The Alderneys of Alderney.
Notes on the date: I love this girl, I’d marry her tomorrow! She reminds me of Pansy. She has a wicked sense of humour and is extremely intelligent. Unfortunately, she is not really into men and only came on the date to keep her father happy. Pity.
Pros: Brilliant, funny, clever, beautiful, gorgeous.
Cons: Dyke.
Score: 9/10 (point off for not finding me attractive!)
*
“Well of course Jem is gay, she doesn’t make a secret of it!” Potter laughed as he glanced over Draco’s shoulder. They were in Potter’s poky flat again as Draco looked over the accounts.
“She shouldn’t lead a chap on! Why did she agree to the date if she had no chance of being interested?” Draco folded his arms indignantly.
“Maybe same reason you did - didn’t your mothers organise this one?” Harry reached over and plucked a stray blond hair off Draco’s shoulder.
“That’s not the point. Get me another drink.”
“Help yourself. You can fill me up too.” Potter grinned at him. Draco felt his cheeks heat up at the innuendo and quickly turned his attention back to the accounts.
“You know, Potter, these accounts really don’t make much sense.”
* * *
Name: Euphemia de Montfort
Age: 22
Occupation: Florist
Description: Blonde, bubbly, petite.
Family: What can I say, they’re the De Montforts. Doesn’t get much better than that!
Notes on the date: There is touchy feely and then there is touchy feely! I do not appreciate being groped! Especially not in public!
Pros: Great family, very pretty.
Cons: The woman cannot keep her hands to herself! I feel violated! Huge tits, not a fan of huge tits, they get in the way. Especially when she is otherwise so damned skinny!
Score: 6/10
*
They were just eating their main course when Draco felt a foot slide up his leg. He nearly dropped his fork. He glanced at his date who seemed to be quite innocently eating pasta beside him. He’d been irritated enough when she’d dragged her chair around to be closer to him rather than opposite anyway; now it seemed the goal had been so she could cop a feel.
A few minutes later, there was a hand on his knee. Just sitting there, on his knee. He decided to ignore it and hoped she would get the hint, which turned out to be a mistake.
The hand started to inch higher. Draco was left in a predicament. If he continued to ignore her, she would eventually make it to his crotch, but if he mentioned it, how would he explain the fact that he’d ignored it in the first place? And this was a respectable restaurant, even if it did belong to Potter, he could hardly jump up and screech, ‘unhand me, wench!’. What was one supposed to say in these circumstances anyway? ‘Excuse me, you seem to have misplaced your hand’? ‘You appear to have a hold of my cock’?
In the end, Draco did the only thing he could do - he bolted to the gents’. Potter found him there ten minutes later, trying to transfigure the window into a door.
“I think you should know that my restaurant is protected against transfiguration attempts, so please leave my windows alone.” Potter leant back against the doorframe wearing that amused expression he always seemed to have around Draco these days. “Your date is looking a little lonely, and as the charms are of the Taj Mahal tonight, she is doing rather a good Princess Di impersonation.”
“Is she? Good. Who’s Princess Di?” Draco figured she was probably some Muggle but really didn’t care.
“Don’t be catty.”
“I’m operating in the interests of self-preservation. Actually, I’d rather she wasn’t lonely, I rather she found someone else to grope. There, happy?” Draco kicked the wall in exasperation.
“Ok. Well you can at least go an tell her you don’t think it’s going to work out, rather than trying to do a runner like some sort of cowardly little arsewipe.” Potter straightened up to his full height, which wasn’t very impressive.
“You’re the bloody Gryffindor, you tell her.” Draco moved forward and poked Potter in the chest.
“She’s not my date!” Potter protested.
“She’s your friend,” Draco pointed out.
“Actually, she’s Seamus’s friend,” Potter stated, looking triumphant.
“Finnigan? You discussed this with Finnigan?” Draco narrowed his eyes and glared at Potter, making the little midget take a step back so that he was pressed against the doorframe. How dare he discuss Draco’s business with that poncy little Irishman!
“He wanted to know why you were eating here so much; I told him you were looking for a girlfriend.” Potter said, holding his hands up as though that made it ok that he’d been sharing details of Draco’s private life with his stupid friends.
“How did he know I was coming here in the first place? Do you sit around with your friends and talk about me?” Draco asked crossly. He glared at another patron who chose that moment to walk into the bathroom; the man left hurriedly.
“Why yes, we have no other topic of conversation actually.” Draco assumed that was supposed to be sarcasm, Gryffindors were shite at sarcasm, nearly as bad as Americans; not that he knew any Americans. “Seamus is the chef. He cooks your dinner; didn’t you realise that?” Potter continued, frowning at Draco.
“I’m surprised he hasn’t blown the place up!” Draco said, aghast, taking a step back and bumping against a urinal, which promptly instructed him to wash his hands. “What on earth possessed you to employ Finnigan?”
“I didn’t have much choice, he’s my partner!” Harry laughed, flicking on a tap to shut the urinal up. There was a sudden funny feeling in the pit of Draco’s stomach. “Anyway, he happens to be very good, or have you not enjoyed your food here?”
“It’s not bad I suppose.” Draco had to admit that, before he discovered the identity of the chef, he’d thought the food excellent. He was stung by the news that Potter had a lover - he’d been half convinced that Potter was flirting with him, but it would seem not. Not that he cared or anything…
“Good, well you’d better get back to your date then before word gets around that you hang out in men’s toilets with a known homosexual!” Potter laughed as he steered Draco towards the door.
To his relief, Euphemia had got the hint by the time he got back to the table, although she kept shooting glares between him and Potter.
* * *
Name: Effie MacRae
Age: 29
Occupation: Teacher
Description: Brown hair, brown eyes. Tall.
Family: A fairly prestigious Highland Clan.
Notes on the date: Went well enough. I quite like her, she is smart and funny. Apparently she teaches my cousin, Teddy.
Pros: Top personality.
Cons: Not the prettiest of girls and far too tall. Tits are too big (is that a nice way of saying fat?) and she has brown eyes. I quite like dark hair, but nice striking black hair, like Jemima, not boring brown like Effie. Also, too old.
Score: 7/10 (all on personality)
*
“What’s wrong with Effie? I thought you two would get on, she totally has your evil sense of humour!”
“I do not have an evil sense of humour!” Draco huffed as he threw himself onto Harry’s sofa, which was finally devoid of boxes. He never did come up with a good way of asking about the whole box situation and why Harry was living in this crappy flat. Were they friends now? Was it ok to ask? Or had he left it too long, would it look really weird if he asked now that the boxes were gone? Fucking protocol.
“Seriously?” Harry handed him a Laphroaig with an amused look. Why did the bugger always look amused when he looked at him? He was supposed to look intimidated.
“Well, not that evil. Look, your friend is lovely - I wish we’d had Defence teachers like her rather than some of the nutters we did have - but can you honestly see her as Mrs Malfoy? I think not. Besides, she has brown hair.”
“Have you ever thought you might be too picky? We can’t all be as pretty as you.”
“Did you just call me pretty?”
* * *
Name: Cecily O’Dowd
Age: 25
Occupation: Mediwitch
Description: Nice curly blonde hair, brown eyes. Medium height.
Family: Good old Irish family.
Notes on the date: Quite liked this one. Unfortunately, she seems to be of the misguided opinion that Cecily should be shortened to Cissy.
Pros: Intelligent, witty (evidently a Ravenclaw), pretty, fun.
Cons: I refuse to be intimate with anyone with the same (shortened) name as my mother! Really noisy eater.
Score: 7/10
*
“Oh come on Malfoy, Cecily is fun, smart and pretty. I was so confident with this one!” Harry exclaimed in exasperation as he put their drinks down on the pub table. It was Potter’s night off and they’d met up in the Leaky Cauldron after Draco’s date.
“She’s very nice, Potter, don’t get your knickers in a twist!” Draco sighed, checking to make sure the glass was clean before taking a sip.
“What’s wrong with her then? She even has blonde hair!” Potter pulled up a chair and took a long sip of his beer.
“Her eyes are brown.” Draco was doing his best not to look at Potter’s beer-foam moustache.
“You have got to be kidding me? You’re turning her down because her eyes are brown?” Potter was giving him one of those looks that said he thought Draco was slightly insane.
“That and the name thing.”
“What name thing?”
“Come on, Potter! She has the same name as my mother! That would just be too weird!”
“Your mother’s name is Narcissa, not Cecily,” Harry said, slowly, as though explaining it to a child.
“Cissy. They’re both Cissy, you pillock.” Draco gave him a playful smack about the head.
“Ah.” Harry pretended to rub where Draco had hit him, but his laughter gave him away.
“And she sounds like a pig when she eats,” Draco added.
* * *
Name: Luna Lovegood
Age: 28
Occupation: Musician
Description: Insane. Blonde, blue eyes, medium height.
Family: I think we’re cousins somewhere along the line, but since when has that ever stopped pure-bloods?
Notes on the date: I have a feeling Loony Lovegood was not Harry’s original choice of blind date for me tonight - he can’t possibly hate me that much! It’s not that there’s anything wrong with her exactly, she’s just Lovegood! I get the impression that she was there to do Potter a favour.
Pros: Pretty. Kind to small animals - even the ones that don't exist.
Cons: Odd.
Score: 5/10
*
“I remember you from school. You weren’t very nice, were you?” Luna gave him one of those unfathomable looks that slightly bothered him. Maybe she had a point - Mad Auntie B had locked her in the cellar for ages after all. He pretended to study the menu so he wouldn’t have to look at her, although he knew this menu pretty well by now,
“I don’t think I ever even spoke to you.” He glanced up and gave her his most winning smile, the one that even worked on that old cow Umbridge. It had no effect.
“I think that proves my point rather than yours don’t you? It’s the nargles you know, they made you cranky. Harry always liked you though, not that I think he ever realised it. Do you think the haggis is freerange? I wouldn’t like to think the poor little things had suffered. Do you like Harry?” Luna’s conversation flowed from topic to topic in a way that gave Draco a headache trying to follow it.
“Potter is all right I suppose. A haggis is not an animal.” He signalled the waiter over, desperate to get this over with a fast as possible.
“Yes, that’s what I thought. You’d make a very attractive couple, you know. There were haggis in the forbidden forest at Hogwarts, they’re very shy.”
“I’m not gay.”
“You’re strange.” She shut her menu and smiled benignly at him before ordering the mushroom stroganoff from the specials board.
*
“Just no, ok Potter? Don’t even go there.”
* * *
Part 2 | Part 3
*