A/N: Tah-dah! Here you go! As promised, a chapter rife with answers! Okay, so it's only a few answers but there you go. Nyah! Hee...And it's longer than the last one too! A little...
Disclaimer: Nope, not mine. Well, except for a minor character. Or two. Yeah, two. Unless we're talking the waiter, as well...ummm. Yeah. Harry Potter and its characters are Rowling's!
Matchmakers, Inc.: Dinner
By: Kaoru2.50
The walls were paneled with a smooth dark wood and hung with beautiful paintings in bold colors. The soft lighting glistened off the windowpanes in ripples, framed by the rich velvet of curtains held back by golden tassels. The glasses atop the clothed table sparkled and the silver fairly shone. Harry decided he was way beyond being out of his league in such an environment. A glance at Malfoy showed the calm face of a man completely within his element. It was comforting to know that, beneath the table, the taller man was clenching his hand tightly, a sure sign that Malfoy was as uncomfortable as Harry. The animosity Parkinson projected toward Zabini with every glare did little to ease the tension around the table. Only Seamus seemed oblivious to the strained atmosphere, rambling on in his usual fashion. Not knowing what else to do, and having only one hand with which to do it, Harry pulled a menu over and flipped it open. He stared at it for a full minute before he realized the entire thing was written in French. Fantastic. With the way his luck was running, the waiter would choose now of all times to show, before he could get the chance to ask Malfoy to translate.
Harry turned slightly and had just opened his mouth to speak when he was interrupted. "May I take your orders, please?" Harry grit his teeth. Of course. If he'd still been in school, Trelawney would have been proud. Turning his eyes back to the menu, Harry tried to make some sense of it before his turn came to order. Malfoy, Parkinson, and even Zabini ordered their meals without a trace of accent that Harry could discern. Malfoy's foot kicking his shin lightly alerted him to the fact that the waiter had asked for his selection. Harry's mouth went dry. The three former Slytherins were looking at him expectantly, as though it never occurred to them that some people couldn't understand French. His last hope lay in Seamus but a glance at his Irish friend revealed a face as confused as his own. Seamus shrugged. The waiter cleared his throat impatiently. Harry felt the panic rising up, the need to not embarrass himself almost overwhelming. He caught the confused look that passed between Parkinson and Malfoy and blurted out the first thing that came to his mind. "Chicken alfredo."
Seamus nodded. Apparently, it was an acceptable answer to him. A snort came from the other side of the table, though, and Harry blushed. Zabini's mouth was covered by his hand but Harry didn't need Legilimency to know the darker man was laughing. Parkinson made no attempt to hide her amusement at the situation, her gentle laughter at his expense deepening the flush that had spread across his face. The waiter frowned as he looked down his long nose at the group. Seamus leaned over. "It sounded good to me." Malfoy shifted closer to Harry. "Chicken alfredo is Italian, Potter," he said quietly. "Why didn't you tell anyone you couldn't read French?" His blush seemed a permanent addition to his features. Harry wanted to sink low in his chair but knew it would only make matters worse. Malfoy squeezed his hand gently and calmly answered for him. "Poulet roti, gratin daupinois and…white wine, Potter?" Harry nodded, still too uncomfortable to speak. It didn't help that every time Parkinson glanced in his direction, she launched into a new round of giggles.
The waiter turned to Seamus, who said simply "I'll have the same," before striding away. "Alright, then, Malfoy," Seamus grinned. "What did we order?" A look of disgust settled on his face. "We didn't get fish eggs or snails, did we?" Malfoy's brow rose and he lifted his water glass to his lips, taking a small sip before he answered. "Roast chicken and scalloped potatoes," he replied smoothly. Seamus nodded. "That's okay then, though I might have actually enjoyed frog's legs." Parkinson started to laugh again, shaking her head. "If I may ask, Finnigan," Zabini said, "why the bloody hell did you make reservations for a French restaurant if you can't even speak the language?" Harry glared at his friend. It was true. The other man could speak as much French as Harry could, which was limited to a total of three words. Seamus' grin faltered a bit before he answered. "Dean used to bring me here all the time. He spoke French fluently." Zabini had the grace to look away.
Parkinson's smile faded and she reached for her napkin, spreading the white cloth across her lap as she said, "Congratulations, Zabini. You have just managed to ruin the moment and hurt yet another innocent man." There could be no doubt what the dark haired woman had meant. Harry could feel Malfoy tense beside him. He slid his gaze to meet Seamus' eyes. These were the people he hoped to match up? His friend only smiled at him, before lifting and examining a fork. "Looks like they've gotten new silverware since the last time I came," he remarked idly. His four companions stared at him, speechless. The arrival of their orders saved them from having to respond. Harry wanted to laugh and was barely able to suppress the urge. What did someone say to such a random statement?
Harry lifted his fork left-handed and carefully brought a bit of the potato to his mouth. It hadn't quite reached his mouth when he heard someone answer Seamus' strange remark. "This silverware is nice though, isn't it, Finnigan?" Parkinson said, holding up the knife she'd been using to cut into her veal. "And so sharp. Perfect for cutting and slicing. Maybe even for stabbing someone in the back, wouldn't you say?" she asked innocently. Harry's potato fell to his plate as he stared at her in shock. Tremors of pain rippled up from his fingers as Malfoy gripped his hand more tightly, but Harry barely noticed. Zabini's face hardened into a frown but he showed no other sign that he even heard the jibe. Harry's eyes flew to Malfoy. The blond looked uncomfortable and chewed his chicken slowly, as though it were not the tender meat the hero knew it to be.
Desperate to change the topic of conversation to one less volatile, Harry asked the first question that came to mind. "How's work, Zabini?" The only thing that kept him from slapping his forehead at the stupidity of the question was Malfoy's death grip on his hand. Zabini sent him a strange look but answered anyway. "Work is going well, though we are having problems with several new employees." At this point, Parkinson jumped into the conversation. "Oh, I know exactly what you mean! New employees never pay any attention to the rules and traditions of a company." She sighed melodramatically and nodded sadly to Malfoy. "Like this new guy we hired. Fantastic at casting the spells but never gives a thought to his, shall we say, sleeping habits." Harry's eyes widened as he caught on to her meaning and he looked at Malfoy. A blush tinted his cheeks a pink that grew darker with each word though he continued to eat as though nothing were amiss.
"According to office rumor, the man has shagged every girl on the third floor and is well on his way to completing the fourth. With most of the girls being married or otherwise attached, you can just imagine the angry visitors we get in the main office. But then, infidelity is a habit that seems to be catching on lately. Don't you agree, Zabini?" Harry hurriedly gulped his wine, drinking half the glass at once. Zabini's frown had darkened with each shot Parkinson fired. Malfoy wasn't even pretending to eat anymore. He had instead wrapped both hands around Harry's smaller one beneath the table and was watching the exchange, white teeth chewing nervously on his lower lip. Harry tore his gaze away to look at Seamus. The Irishman appeared unconcerned that his would-be match was apparently headed for disaster. He chewed thoughtfully on his meat and smiled knowingly at Harry, who became more confused.
Pansy smiled to herself. Just because Zabini was helping Draco didn't mean she'd forgive him so easily and she'd make sure he knew it. When the dark man suddenly stood, glaring daggers at her, she hid her surprise. When he grabbed her wrist and excused the two of them from the rest of the group, however, Pansy realized she'd crossed some line. She refused to move, staying firmly in her chair. Draco's eyes were wide and it was clear he wanted to say something but seemed unable to form any words. Long fingers tightened around her wrist, pulling insistently. Zabini bent closer to whisper so only she could hear, "Get up and come with me before I do something to embarrass us both." Pansy's eyes narrowed in anger, but the man wasn't through yet. "I have no problem with dragging you from this room." He pulled on her wrist once more on her wrist, letting her know it was no empty threat. She slid her chair back and stood slowly, nodding to her companions and followed the angry man from the room.
Draco was panicking. "Finnigan!" he cried standing quickly. "You can't just let him take her!" He looked down at Potter. The brunet was pulling his hand insistently, forcing the former Slytherin to resume his seat. "Finnigan," he said more calmly, though not without a hint of his earlier panic, "tell me what's happening." Seamus grinned broadly and relaxed back on his chair, sipping the wine from the delicate glass. "A breakthrough," he replied, still smiling in a self-satisfied way. Draco turned, confused, to Potter. The other man seemed just as mystified and only shrugged. Apparently deciding to trust his long-time friend, Potter resumed eating. Not knowing what else to do, Draco followed suit, casting worried looks in the direction in which Pansy and Zabini had disappeared.
Pansy grew more nervous with each room they passed. Finally, Zabini opened a door and was satisfied with the room. Set aside for mothers to nurse their infants, the room was held several plush chairs and a comfortable looking settee. More importantly, it was empty of people. Zabini pulled her inside and shut the door behind them. Pansy pretended interest in a black and white photo of a smiling mother and child, until she heard the click of the door's lock. She whirled around only to find a very angry Zabini advancing upon her. Hiding her fear, she glared back. Who did he think he was, locking her in this room and threatening her like some kind of barbarian? Pansy started to speak, intent on asking just that, but her voice was drowned out by his. "You will not speak, only listen." Her eyes narrowed. "Sit," he demanded. Pansy stubbornly stood her ground. "I don't--" Zabini stalked closer, his long body towering over her own petite figure.
No one could call Pansy Parkinson stupid. She wasn't Granger-smart, but she had common sense and used it frequently. She was a woman who knew when to pick her battles, knew when it was time to do what was required of her. Sitting down on the nearest chair was what was required of her now and she did it with all haste, though not without grace. Zabini stood before her, glaring down with anger still flashing in his almond-shaped eyes. "Let's get one thing straight, Pansy Parkinson," he said between clenched teeth. "Never was it my intention to hurt Draco." Pansy snorted derisively. "Is that what you--" "Shut up!" Pansy shut up, blinking in surprise.
Blaise dragged a chair to sit directly in front of her. He settled into the cushions and began speaking once more in a measured tone. "I know what Draco thought happened. After so long, I finally make love to him, only to have him wake alone. He finds me, but in the arms of a woman." Pansy said nothing but her look spoke volumes. Blaise sighed feeling the anger drain away as quickly as it had taken over. He rubbed his hands down his face and leaned back to stare at the ceiling. "My family is an old one, and pure-blood, with everything that implies. You of all people should know that usually means an arranged marriage." He held up a hand, stopping the questions he knew were coming.
"I spent the better part of a year trying to convince my mother that a union between my family and that of my fiancée, Arina Carilo, would not be in our best interests. Finally, she consented and broke off the engagement. That was the day I finally allowed myself to be with Draco as I had wanted for so long." Blaise paused remembering the happiness he'd felt and sighed wistfully. Pansy was staring at him, still silent but not as furious. "The next morning, I received an urgent message from my mother. It seemed my former intended hadn't taken the news of our broken engagement well. I went to my mother's house to convince her that this was what was best. Almost as soon as I arrived, Arina...for lack of a better phrase, attacked me. Apparently, she thought she could change my mind by showing off her ...best assets." He was interrupted by stifled laughter that quickly died away. "That was when Draco arrived." Blaise fell silent.
"So," Pansy started slowly, "why didn't you ever tell this to Draco?" Blaise shook his head. "I tried, but he wouldn't listen. Then he disappeared for so long, I thought I would never get the chance to explain it all." Pansy frowned. "That girl is why you waited so long to sleep with Draco?" He nodded. "If there was no way to get out of the marriage, I didn't want to let Draco be hurt because of it." Pansy leaned back in her chair, running her fingertips over the soft cloth of its arm. "Why didn't you just tell Draco from the start?" There was a long pause and she looked up to meet Blaise's eyes. He spoke slowly, voice rough with the emotion he rarely shared. "I thought, if there was a chance, no matter how small, that I could be happy, I should take it. I thought Draco could bring me that happiness and I could give him happiness in return. I didn't want to lose that chance."
For long moment, the two former housemates stared at each other. "Where is she now?" Pansy asked quietly without breaking eye contact. "Madrid, Spain. She found someone older and richer to marry, and forgot me quickly. I haven't heard from her in two years and I don't expect or want to." Pansy leaned forward dropping her head into her hands. Blaise stood and walked to the door. He'd unlocked when he heard a quiet shuffling sound. He held his breath, feeling Pansy's presence a little ways behind him. "I'm sorry," she whispered so softly he thought he might have imagined it. Blaise said nothing, but he nodded. He opened the door and led a subdued Pansy down the hall. When he made to return to the dining area, Blaise was surprised to find Pansy's small hand on his sleeve. "I'm not very hungry anymore. I need to think." She paused, then asked, "Will you come walking with me?" Blaise hesitated, but nodded and followed her to the restaurant's entrance.
She stopped him one more time before they left. "Did Finnigan know about all this?" Confused, the former Slytherin nodded. "Of course. Dean Thomas told him. The man confronted me about it almost seven months after it happened." Pansy glared back into the restaurant, in the general direction of where they had left the other three men. "That bloody bastard!" she exclaimed. "He knew! He knew all along!" She stalked out of the building, followed by Blaise, who nodded a farewell to the over-friendly doorman, and muttering fiercely about sneaky Irishmen.
Seamus watched as Parkinson and Zabini paused at the entrance and continued on. He grinned. Nothing was more satisfying than the success of a well-executed plan. The waiter came and silently collected the empty plates littering the table. The sandy-haired man stood and looked around. Harry had paid for the bill and taken a nerve-racked Malfoy home nearly a half hour ago. The dining area was empty except for the busboys wiping down tables and stacking chairs atop the cleaned surfaces. Seamus was alone again. He sighed and headed for the door. It was times like this that made him wish for Dean the most. It was times like this that made him down eight bottles of straight whiskey. The cool night air rushed against his face and Seamus looked up in surprise. The door leading outside the restaurant was open, held wide by the same grinning doorman that had flirted with him earlier.
"Mind if I walk you home?" the man asked. Seamus shook his head and grinned. "Sure, why not," he replied. "Try to keep up, mate," he said as he walked past. "I've got heartache to get over and if you don't keep me distracted, I'll be waking up tomorrow with one hell of a hangover and an apartment full of empty bottles." The other man laughed and followed close behind. "I'm game," he answered. "The name's Brian Anders. Nice to have finally caught your eye." Seamus snorted. "Oh, and arrogant, too. Are you sure we're not related?" he asked jokingly. Brian smiled. "God, I hope not!"
A/N: Hmmm. That last part didn't come out like I wanted it to. Just so you all know, nothing happens! Between Seamus and Brian, I mean. So don't get your hopes up or start ragging on me. Because NOTHING happens. Nothing, got it? Okay, as long as we're clear on that, here're my shout-outs. Thanks to fifespice, firefly 12, MorteDolce, azamystic, Emerald Cat, silverpen 18, To lo sai inc., Fuelled by Ramen, MiraiYume, and LadyDragonWolfKnight for the reviews! I like knowing that people read my story.
