Dining Out in Style...Sort Of

Dining Out in Style...Sort of

"Draco, I'm home!" Harry called into the house.

He was greeted by silence.

"Draco? Are you here?"

No answer.

"That's funny. I could have sworn he said he'd be home," Harry said to himself.

"You know, the first sign of insanity is talking to yourself."

Harry spun around and looked into the kitchen where the voice came from. Draco sat at the table, arms crossed and a scowl on his face.

Uh-oh, not a good sign.

"Hi, honey," Harry said, trying to be casual, despite his growing dread.

"Don't you honey me, Harry Potter. You're late," Draco growled.

Harry gulped nervously. Draco's tone didn't bode well for our green-eyed hero.

"Sorry?"

"You're sorry? That's it?"

"Er, very sorry."

"Oh, that's just great. My boyfriend is late and doesn't even have an excuse."

Harry smirked. "Who are you talking to, Draco? First sign of insanity, remember?"

"Only when it comes from you, Harry," Draco retorted.

"What's wrong, anyway? I told you this morning I might be late coming home."

At this Draco pouted. "I'm hungry."

Harry goggled. "That's it?"

There was a pause before Draco said, "Very hungry."

The stormy mood was broken as Harry burst out into gales of laughter. Draco frowned. He didn't really like being laughed at.

"If you're quite finished," he said in an insulted tone.

"Sorry," Harry managed to say as he controlled his laughter. "Why didn't you just make something to eat?"

"I don't want to."

"Why not?"

Draco shot a pointed look at Harry. "It's Friday."

Harry looked confused. "So?"

"We agreed we'd go out for dinner tonight."

"Oh." Harry looked a bit lost for words. "Okay, I'll just go shower and then we can go out."

"I need to shower, too," Draco protested.

Harry raised an eyebrow in what he hoped was a suggestive manner. "We'll just have to shower together, then, won't we?"

~*~

A good deal later, Harry was standing in the bathroom shaving, since he'd neglected it that morning and Draco was outside.

"Where are we eating tonight?" he called into the bedroom, as he cleaned up his razor and rinsed the shaving cream down the sink.

"At the-"

"Wait, why can't I pick the restaurant?" Harry interrupted.

Draco raised a sculpted eyebrow. "Because, Harry dear, you are an uncultured plebeian. Do you even know the name of the new French restaurant in Diagon Alley?"

"Why do we have to eat French food? I was thinking pizza," Harry said as he walked into the bedroom.

Draco just looked at him in shock. In his shock, he let go of the towel around his waist. Not that Harry minded that.

"Draco?"

Nothing.

"Er, Draco?"

Finally, Draco came back to his senses.

"Are you suggesting that you want me, Draco Malfoy, to go to a fast food pizza place?"

Harry shrugged. "What's wrong with that?"

Draco sniffed. "Malfoys do not go to places like that."

"Well, where do you want to eat, then?"

Draco turned back to the wardrobe and said haughtily, "The new French restaurant in Diagon Alley, of course. Chez Henri."

"Okay."

Harry turned to the bed and scrunched his eyebrows.

"Draco, what's this?"

"What's what?" Draco's voice sounded slightly muffled, as he had his head in the wardrobe.

"This pile of clothes on the bed," Harry said, pointing.

"Oh. It's what you're wearing to the restaurant."

"You picked out my clothes?" Harry cried indignantly.

Draco finally took his head out of the wardrobe and raised his eyebrows. "You don't expect me to go to Chez Henri with you in something you picked out yourself, do you?"

Harry opened his mouth to protest, but Draco continued, "Face it, Harry. We both know you have horrible fashion sense. I picked out your clothes to save time. I would've made you change anyway."

Harry was about to argue, but he knew it was true. Instead, he just put on the clothes. He had to admit they were quite nice. The green shirt brought out his eyes and complimented the khaki pants very well. They would even match his dark grey coat.

Harry scowled at his reflection slightly. Draco just always had to be right.

~*~

One argument and one apparition later, Harry and Draco were standing in the restaurant waiting to for a table. Harry had expected them to need a reservation but Draco had just dropped his name and the maitre d' had bent over backward to check about a table.

Harry looked around the restaurant and noticed it was extremely elegant. Only the best for Draco, of course.

Speaking of which, it seemed to Harry that many of the restaurant's customers were looking at his boyfriend. Not that he could really blame them. Draco looked gorgeous in his black shirt and pants. They hung off his body as if they had been placed in the most perfect way.

No, Harry knew that they had reason to look, but he didn't like it. He scowled at a few of the diners and casually slipped an arm around Draco's waist. The corners of Draco's mouth curved up a bit but he didn't smile. He never smiled out right in public. He did shift closer to Harry, though, and that more than made up for it.

The maitre d' came back shortly and led them to a private table near the back and sat them down.

" 'ere are your menus, Monsieur Malfoy. I will be back with ze wine list in a moment."

Draco nodded and waved the maitre d' away.

"What do you want to eat, Harry?"

Harry looked at the menu and realized it was all in French. He squinted at it and came to a conclusion. He didn't know how to speak French.

"Er, I guess I can try the es-car-got."

Draco looked up from his menu and raised a cultured eyebrow.

"You sure you want snails, Harry?"

"Snails! Eww!" Harry cried, drawing the attention of a few diners. He flushed a little and hid his face with his menu. After more squinting at menu, Harry decided he'd have to give up.

"Draco, what do they have that's normal?"

Draco laughed.

"Nothing. It's a French restaurant. But I know something you'll like."

Harry nodded. It wasn't as if he could do anything else. He folded up his menu and sat back in his chair, content to fiddle with his napkin.

When the maitre d' came back Draco casually announced they were ready to order.

"Ah oui, Monsieur Malfoy. What will it be?"

"I'll have the Blanquette De Veau, and my boyfriend here will have the Emincé de Volaille sauce Roquefort."

The maitre d's eyes widened slightly at the word 'boyfriend' but he showed no other reaction.

"Of course, Monsieur Malfoy. And to drink?"

"Your best Cabernet sauvignon, please."

"Bien sure, monsieur. It won't be long."

~*~

Then, the maitre d' left and Draco and Harry talked about their days. The rest of the meal was spent in idle chitchat and banter. When it came time for the bill, Harry looked at Draco with an expectant look on his face.

"What?"

Harry raised an eyebrow. "Aren't you going to pay the bill?"

Draco's eyes widened. "What? Me?"

"Well, yeah," Harry said, shrugging. "I mean, you picked the place."

Draco's cheeks, which had been flushed a moment before, went as white as snow. "But I- I-" He lowered his voice to a whisper. "I didn't bring any money."

Harry put on a fake shocked expression, but in his panic Draco didn't notice it wasn't real.

"Did you expect me to pay, then?"

Draco nodded.

"How did you know I'd bring any money?" Harry asked.

Draco's eyes widened even further at that. "You did, right, Harry? Tell me you brought money."

Harry drew out the suspense for a moment before breaking down and laughing at the expression on his boyfriend's face.

"Of course, I did, Draco. Don't worry, I'll get the bill."

Draco let out a sigh of relief. "Thank Merlin. I thought I was going to have to wash dishes or something. Do you know what dish soap would do to my hands? They'd get all pruney and wrinkly."

Harry chuckled as he dolled out the Galleons to pay for the expensive food.

Draco scowled. "That wasn't funny, you know."

Harry grinned. "Yeah, it was. You should've seen your face."

Draco scowled harder. "Let's just go, all right."

Harry chuckled again. "Sure, Draco. Let's leave."

~*~

The two men arrived back at their flat and promptly flopped down on the sofa.

"I'm stuffed," Harry declared.

"You liked the food, then?" Draco asked, leaning his head against the back of the sofa.

Harry took in the pale expanse of throat that Draco's position exposed. "Yeah, what was the stuff anyway?"

"Yours was chicken fillet and mine was veal stew," Draco replied without even opening his eyes.

Harry made a noise of acknowledgement and decided that Draco was absolutely edible. "You know, I think I could use some more dessert," he said with, what he thought, was a seductive tone.

"You just had chocolate mousse at the restaurant. Besides, you just said you were stu-"

Draco trailed off as he opened his eyes and saw the look of desire in Harry's eyes.

"Oh," he said slowly, "You mean, that kind of dessert."

Harry nodded and grabbed his hand. Before Draco knew what was happening, Harry had pulled him off the sofa and towards the bedroom, sacrificing elegance for speed.

"This is hardly dignified," Draco grumbled as he was tugged along.

"Maybe so, but it's faster."

Draco didn't have a response to this because he couldn't deny it. It wouldn't have mattered anyway, because in a few moments he lost the ability to speak coherently at all. And a Malfoy speechless is a happy Malfoy.