Thistle and Ginger sat atop the tallest hill in all of Hogsmeade. Looming over the Three Broomsticks, the restaurant boasted enchanted windows and storey-high double-doors, not to mention the absurd drapes, the fairy-inhabited waterfall, and the elf-lain masonry. It was the most expensive wizard-owned restaurant in the country, an extraordinary, magical culinary experience that could not be found anywhere else in Europe, a grand display of potioneering ingenuity and creative spellwork.
Harry hated the place.
Meetings with donors were always scheduled there in the evenings, while brunch with Ministry officials took place there in the afternoons. Each week, Harry found himself surrounded by the most self-important, overdressed people in all of magical Britain — the very same people he loathed most, but was forced to schmooze for donations and favorable legislation.
At least during those meetings, there was a purpose.
Sure, Padma had gotten on her soapbox to offer an in-depth explanation, but still, Harry was not entirely sure why he was being forced on a date with Draco Malfoy, and the more he thought about it, the less sense it made. Malfoy wasn't a known donor, and Harry doubted he would become one after going on a date with his childhood rival.
The whole thing seemed like a waste of time — and gold, since it was going to cost the organization a small fortune.
"It's just for publicity, Harry," Padma had informed him before he trudged out the door. "You'll be fine."
Publicity.
Most of the donations they earned were from the winning side. If they knew he was colluding with the likes of Malfoy, would they continue to donate? Or were they going to lose those funds with the blind hope that former Death Eaters would suddenly be willing to donate to children, many of them half-bloods and Muggle-borns?
"Blood purists may not have values, but they do have gold," Padma had reminded him.
Harry rolled his eyes, even though she wasn't there to see him.
Maybe he'd ask Malfoy to cover the bill. The foundation had not earned a Knut from him — not that Harry knew of, anyway — so it only seemed fair.
At the thought of the wizard, Harry peered down at his wrist, only to be met with an eyeful of his wide, royal blue sleeve. He cursed and shook his arm until it fell to his elbow. Out-of-style or not, he much preferred the pinstripes. At least in those robes, he could see his watch.
He held his arm at an awkward angle to read the time. Malfoy was four minutes late.
Silently, Harry hoped he never showed up at all. At least then, he could tell Padma they didn't go on the date, but he did try.
Unfortunately, his hopes were shattered.
A soft crack! filled Harry's ears, and a mere arm's length away appeared Malfoy, platinum blond locks combed perfectly in place and a satin jacket folded over his arm. He wore a scowl.
"Potter."
"Malfoy."
"You're late."
Malfoy pulled out a pocketwatch. "Five fewer minutes I'm stuck with you. Seems like a win to me."
"Yeah, well I'm not happy to be here —"
Before Harry could finish his retort, a man and woman stumbled out of the restaurant, rocking drunkenly and laughing at themselves for it. They babbled on about something Harry couldn't quite hear, and then they looked up. Frozen, they stared at the two wizards, until finally, the woman pointed at them.
"Is that Harry Potter?" she breathed. "And is that —?"
The man wrapped an arm around her in an attempt to escort her away.
Clearly tipsy, she turned to look at them one last time before whispering to the man, "D'you think they'd mind a picture?"
Her partner muttered something to her and hastened their step, staggering downhill towards the Three Broomsticks. Every few steps, she would twist her neck and gawk back at them.
"Had you been here on time, maybe we would've avoided that," Harry pointed out.
"Or you could've waited inside," Malfoy hissed. His gaze lingered on the inebriated passersby. "Our meeting would've been less . . . public, that way."
"Dunno if you caught the memo, but nothing I do isn't public."
Malfoy rolled his eyes so hard Harry thought they were going to get stuck.
"Ah yes, our great war hero can't go a day without his name in the papers," he growled. He then straightened his posture and his eyes bounced to the gargantuan restaurant doors. "We should go in. Five minutes past a reservation is fashionably late, ten is just rude."
"Maybe we ought to wait ten, then. Wouldn't want to bollocks up your record."
Malfoy scoffed and circled around him, not stopping to wait for Harry, nor looking back to see if he was following. The doors flew open, and Malfoy stepped inside. With a sigh, Harry dragged his feet in tow.
The lobby was as elegant as ever, this evening sporting blue fairy lights and floating candles encased in iridescent bubbles. The first few times Harry had dinners in the place, the changing décor amazed him, but after hundreds of meals, it just felt gimmicky.
The host glanced up at them, his dark eyes widening with surprise.
"Mr. Potter!" he gasped. "Oh, how lovely it is to see you. We were so pleased to hear from Miss Patil that you would be visiting us, it's always such an absolute pleasure to serve you."
"Thanks, Andros," Harry replied. He was rather used to this song and dance; it only ever made him uncomfortable.
Andros's gaze then shifted to Malfoy, and his face fell. "Unfortunately, Mr. Malfoy, I do not have a reservation booked for you. I am sure it was some kind of mistake, but as we are limited to reserved seating tonight, I will need to check with —"
"He's with me," Harry interrupted.
That only seemed to confuse Andros.
"He's . . . with . . ." The host drew his eyebrows together. "Mr. Malfoy is the additional guest you've listed here?"
"Yeah," Harry said dryly. "Believe me, I'm not too chuffed about it either."
Andros still seemed puzzled. "Er — all right then, very good, Mr. Potter. We have a beautiful table for you by the fire . . . right this way."
Harry and Malfoy followed the host, zigzagging through the many buzzing tables. Alas, they didn't buzz for long. Everyone went silent at the sight of them, agog to witness the two enemies in public together, a few even resorting to putting on their glasses.
They were ogled at like zoo animals, caged by public opinion from both sides.
With each step towards their table, Harry felt more and more like the date was a mistake. If it was for good publicity, he certainly wasn't seeing anybody taking it that way.
All he could see was pointing fingers, audible gasps, and the less delicate sorts resorted to low whispers. Even the wait staff seemed shocked, a dozen tennis ball-sized eyes bulging up at him, the elves attached to them wringing their tiny hands.
Harry was used to an audience, but being with Malfoy felt different. His stomach twisted, making him feel so sick he nearly bolted for the door.
"Oi! Harry!" a familiar brogue exclaimed.
In the corner, Oliver and Charlie were waving gleefully at him, grinning. Harry wanted to hide in a hole.
They crossed that room into another, offering Harry just the smallest amount of relief. He could not bear it if Oliver and Charlie were there to make a spectacle of his unfortunate date.
"Here you are, sirs," Andros said, gesturing to a table by the fireplace.
It was indeed a table for two, a bubbled candle floating above.
"Allow me," said Andros, pulling out a chair for Harry. As Harry sat, he did the same for Malfoy.
"Thanks, Andros," Harry said awkwardly.
"My pleasure, sir," the host replied. Wordlessly, he Summoned two menus and placed them in front of each wizard. "Your waiter will be here soon to take your orders, sirs. I personally recommend the muscles to start."
Malfoy made a face at that, which Andros didn't seem to notice as he hurried away.
"We're not getting the muscles," Malfoy spat.
"For once, I agree with you," said Harry. "They're terrible here."
"More than terrible. They once left Theodore Nott in my toilet for nearly six hours."
"Yeah, I er — had a similar experience, myself. But if we are getting something to start, I think we should go for the —"
"Escargot," Malfoy cut in. "They have the best escargot in Scotland — which isn't saying much, but as your little foundation is too cheap to send for a Portkey to France, it will be passable."
"Yeah, sure," Harry said, pushing his glasses up his nose. "I'll erm — get an order of that."
He decided against telling Malfoy he quite liked the escargot too. Hermione forced him and Ron to try it once when the restaurant first opened, and now he ordered it every time he went.
"I recommend the oxtail for your entrée," Malfoy went on, silver gaze fixed on the menu. He glanced up at Harry then. "If you've not had it before."
"I usually get the veal."
"The veal is subpar."
"I always thought it was fine."
Malfoy stared at him, judgment clouding his eyes.
Harry, not wanting to start a scene, cleared his throat and looked back down at his menu. "But if the oxtail is that good, I suppose I'll give it a go."
"I'm not telling you what to order, Potter, I'm merely making a suggestion," Malfoy muttered. "My family comes here often."
"So do I. Most of my meetings are here — political rubbish, for the foundation."
"'Rubbish,'" Malfoy repeated. "Are you telling me the great Chairman Potter doesn't love every aspect of the job?"
Harry shrugged. "I don't think anyone likes every aspect of their job."
"I wouldn't know."
"Because you don't work."
Malfoy nodded, still focused on the menu in his hands, as though he didn't already know exactly what he wanted.
"How is the foundation doing, anyway?" he asked.
"Good," Harry replied, quickly glancing at a passing house-elf. When the house-elf didn't stop at their table, much to his chagrin, he continued. "We er — we earned a lot from the New Year's fundraiser. Had a lot of big donations too, common round the holidays, but it was still more than usual."
"A good trajectory for the year, then?" Malfoy pressed.
It seemed like he was genuinely interested, but Harry doubted that. Surely, he was just putting on airs because they were in a nice restaurant, surrounded by important people, and the last thing a former Death Eater needed to do was to upset the Chosen One in public.
"Sure, but I suspect we won't see much more for a while," Harry said, deciding to tell the truth even if Malfoy didn't care. The topic was safe, after all. "Things tend to slow down once people are out of the Christmas spirit and all that rot."
Malfoy gave a wordless nod.
"How about you?" Harry asked, putting down his menu. He rested his chin in his palm, elbow on the table. "How are er — things?"
"Fine," Malfoy answered stiltedly.
Harry nodded, and silence fell between them.
After a few more moments of staring at the menu, Malfoy put it down the same as Harry had, then turned to look around. "Where is that bloody waiter?"
Harry too took in their surroundings, noting the many chattering tables, the flowing wine, the eyes that darted towards him and Malfoy as they twisted their necks . . .
"It's kind of busy," he pointed out. "Probably just with another table."
"Another table, my arse, it's been ages."
"They'll get here eventually," Harry said. He fiddled with the tablecloth. "You know, I was er — surprised you — erm—"
A loud crack! interrupted him.
"Mr. Potter! Mr. Malfoy! Hoppis's deepest apologies for the wait," the house-elf squeaked. Dressed in a suit and tie, the elf bowed. "Hoppis will be waiting on yous both this evening. Is there a beverage Hoppis can get the sirs to start?"
"Elfin Malbec," Malfoy said crisply. "And not that swill you gave me the last time. The 1884."
An elfin wine from 1884 was going to cost more than a small fortune. In fact, it might have been enough to wipe out an entire vault of one of the foundation's children. Harry cringed at the thought.
Hoppis glanced from Harry to Malfoy and said, "The 1884 Elfin Malbec is fourteen hundred Galleons, sirs. Mr. Potter, Hoppis is afraid your organization has only set aside a quarter that for the meal."
"He's not paying," Malfoy replied swiftly, handing his menu to the elf. Hoppis promptly accepted it.
"Very good! Hoppis will —"
"Oh, come off it, Malfoy, you don't even want to be here," Harry interjected. He waved at Hoppis. "I'll cover it — and the Elfin whatever is fine."
"I said I'm paying," Malfoy insisted through gritted teeth. "I thought I'd made that clear when — " He stopped himself and gave a tight smile. "I can afford the meal. It shouldn't come out of the pockets of orphans."
Harry didn't know what to say. He thought Malfoy had only agreed to the date for a free meal, yet he was offering to pay? It didn't add up, even if Malfoy had offered himself up for auction.
Hoppis glanced from Malfoy to Harry. "Payment can be sorted between the sirs after the meal. Is there something yous would like to start this evening?"
"The escargot," the two of them said in unison.
A warm blush bloomed in Harry's cheeks and he quickly passed his menu to Hoppis, taking the only excuse not to look at Malfoy.
"That is Hoppis's personal favorite." He goggled up at them. "What would yous like for your main course, sirs?"
"The oxtail," they said together again.
Harry wanted to crawl under the table.
"Very good, sirs," Hoppis replied. "And for dessert?"
"The torte," Harry said. "Er — the chocolate one."
"The crème brulée."
Harry was pleased they finally had different orders. He could breathe again.
"Great choices, sirs," the elf said, nodding. "Hoppis will serve the Malbec while you wait."
He then snapped his fingers.
Two wine glasses and a bottle appeared instantaneously, hovering in the air before landing softly on the table before them. A nearby woman howled, pointing at it, shouting at who appeared to be her husband.
"Of course a Malfoy bought it! I told you not to wait, Richard! It'll be forty-seven years until there's another Elfin Malbec that age!"
Hoppis ignored her.
"The Elfin Malbec," he declared.
He snapped his fingers again and the cork floated out with ease, dropping into Hoppis's open hand. He poured them each a glass.
"Hoppis is happy to be of other service, if the sirs would like."
Harry shook his head. "No, we're all right, Hoppis. Thank you."
The elf gave a deep bow and Disapparated with a crack, taking the cork along with him. Just behind them, the woman continued to complain, screeching, "And on our anniversary? It's as if you don't even love me anymore!"
"You don't have to pay, Malfoy," Harry said at once. "It's not like you asked to be here."
Malfoy's eyes darted to his glass, which he lifted to his lips.
"It's nothing to fuss over," he murmured, before taking a sip. "I'd prefer you don't waste any foundation gold."
Harry quirked an eyebrow. "That's actually very thoughtful of you."
"Yes, well, you forget I was once a child displaced by the war," Malfoy retorted. "Just one of the luckier ones in the end."
Harry pressed his lips together and nodded. The white noise surrounding them became the only sound between them for a long while, Malfoy sipping away as they tried not to meet each other's eyes.
How does one make small talk with someone they once hit with a Sectumsempra? Harry didn't know where to start. It felt like so much time had passed already.
"So what have you erm — been up to?" he tried lamely.
"Research, collecting," Malfoy said shortly.
"I thought you didn't work."
"I don't, it's more of a hobby."
"So you do research for a hobby." It didn't make much sense to Harry, but he supposed Hermione did it too. "What d'you study?"
"Alchemy."
"Alchemy?" Harry echoed. "And you do that . . . for fun?"
Malfoy shrugged. "It passes the time. What about you? Do you do anything outside of the foundation?"
"Er — I play Quidditch sometimes still," answered Harry. "Just a hobby league, nothing serious."
Malfoy smirked. "You mean the Prophet was lying when they suggested you were being considered for the international team?"
Harry laughed. "The Prophet's always lying, let's be honest."
"You're telling me."
He nursed his drink and Harry did the same. It had been a long time since he'd seen Malfoy up close. Harry reluctantly admitted to himself that the other man had grown into his sharp features rather well.
He tore his gaze away.
"The wine's good," he said, in an attempt to think of anything other than the fact he thought Malfoy to be attractive. Unfortunately, it wasn't working — not when the blond was straight across from him, reeking of expensive cologne that only he could afford.
"It's their best."
"I'd hope so for fourteen hundred Galleons," Harry said.
Malfoy chuckled lowly, a soft seductive sound Harry wanted to choke out of him. "I've had more expensive wines."
"Where?"
Malfoy shrugged. "France, in the Riviera."
"Of course," Harry muttered.
Another crack! pierced the air. Harry had been quite grateful for a house-elf a number of times, but that moment was in the top three. Breaking his trance away from Malfoy, he watched the elf excitedly hold out a shining, silver platter.
"Hoppis brings the escargot," the elf sang, placing the platter in the center of the table. He lifted the lid; steam billowed out into the atmosphere. "Can Hoppis offer yous anything else while the sirs wait for main courses?"
"No, we're fine," Harry replied, smiling politely.
Malfoy didn't do the same, but Hoppis did not seem surprised, nor bothered by that. Instead, he bobbed his head to Harry's response, and Disapparated once more.
Malfoy began loading his plate with escargot, his movements as dainty as they were back in school. Yet, he was not focused on the appetizer as he dropped the buttery shells onto his plate. He was too intent on glaring at a nearby table.
"Er — you okay?" Harry asked. "They curse you or something?"
"No. They're staring."
Harry turned to see the group of five had, in fact, been staring. They quickly made a show of eating their meals.
"Sorry, didn't notice. Guess when you're me you get used to it," muttered Harry.
"The same is true for me, Potter. You seem to forget the papers make a fool of me as often as they can."
"The papers are bollocks." Harry reached out with his fork, rolled over a shell, and stabbed the snail before ripping into it with his teeth. Grinning, he pointed at the platter with his fork. " These are what you should be on about. They're bloody delicious."
Malfoy's mouth was turned downward in disgust.
"I've seen trolls with better manners."
"Well, maybe when the Prophet writes the inevitable article about tonight, it'll be about how filthy of an eater I am rather than whatever you think they'll spin up about you."
A ghost of a smile adorned Malfoy's lips before quickly fading once more. He poked at his own escargot.
"Earlier you said you were surprised about something. Before the elf showed."
"Er — I'm afraid I don't — oh!" exclaimed Harry, suddenly recalling the moment. "Just to see you at the event. Usually we only have folks sign up that er — were on the other side."
"I see."
"I didn't mean anything by it," Harry quickly amended. "I'm glad you did sign up. Not because I wanted to do this — I mean —" He was going crimson, the air stifling hot. Inwardly, he blamed the blue robes. "I just mean we want to see more . . . pure-bloods joining in. That's all."
"You mean blood purists," Malfoy corrected him.
"Erm — not exactly, I just —"
"I don't buy into all that anymore, for the record," Malfoy said. "It's been a very long time since I did."
"That's good to hear," Harry replied, airing his collar. He wasn't sure how else to respond. What does one say when someone gives up the worst of themselves? Was a congratulations in order?
Malfoy poured himself more wine, then raised the bottle, eyebrows raised too. "More?"
"Please."
As Malfoy began pouring the elixir into Harry's glass, there was yet another crack! Hoppis grinned, two steaming plates floating above him.
"Two oxtails for the sirs!" the elf squeaked.
"That was fast," Harry breathed, leaning back as the elf put the plates in front of them. "It looks great."
Hoppis beamed. "Wonderful, Mr. Potter. Hoppis is pleased to hear that feedback. Is there anything Hoppis can get for you? More wine, perhaps? Hoppis is afraid there is no more of the 1884, but Hoppis can arrange for a stunning Italian —"
"We've got plenty, I think," interrupted Harry, glancing at Malfoy who had set down the bottle, only to stab some more escargot.
"Splendid, just splendid. If yous need anything, give a simple clap and Hoppis will be here for the sirs. Hoppis is at the sirs' service!"
"Thanks, Hoppis."
The elf disappeared, and so did the escargot. Malfoy frowned as it vanished from his fork.
"I was still eating that, the little twit."
"Oh, I can clap him back and —"
"No, it's fine," Malfoy muttered. "I shouldn't fill myself with so much butter anyway."
"Are you sure?"
Malfoy nodded and began poking at the carrots bedded beside his oxtail. Harry, on the other hand, dove right into the protein. He shoveled a forkful into his mouth, eyes widening when it practically melted there. Never had he eaten anything so tender.
"Merlin, this is delicious."
"Told you," Malfoy said, pointing his nose in the air. "Worlds better than the veal."
"I'll give it to you, Malfoy, you were right," Harry conceded. He took another drink of wine and idly noted, "You know, I didn't think you'd actually show up tonight."
"I could say the same for you," Malfoy replied stiffly.
"Padma didn't give me much of a choice, to be honest."
"She did say you'd need some convincing."
Harry frowned. He was hardly the pinnacle of professionalism, but he found it rather tasteless for Padma to say something like that to an event guest. Deciding to keep the thought to himself, he resigned to speaking to her later.
"Just as I'm sure you did," he said.
Suddenly, Malfoy looked rather shifty.
His lips were locked around the edge of his wine glass and he chugged down the Malbec with urgency, irises bouncing towards everything but Harry. It was the type of look he wore in their sixth year at Hogwarts — when he had been plotting against the entire Wizarding World.
Harry narrowed his eyes and stopped prodding at his oxtail. Perhaps, there was more to this story than he thought.
"Malfoy . . ." he started warily. "Were you in on this?"
"Padma and I are friends," Malfoy muttered. "I only agreed to help her."
Harry scowled and dropped the fork onto his plate with a loud clatter, earning several glances from nearby tables. A camera flashed, but he didn't let it stop him. The Prophet could write about whatever they wanted, but he wanted to know the truth. Why woud Padma betray him? And why would Malfoy agree to help?
"I knew nobody betting on you wasn't an accident! Death Eater or not, you're still . . ." He cleared his throat. "Someone would've bid on you, surely."
"Either I'm drunk or that was a compliment, Potter."
"It wasn't an anything," grumbled Harry. "How'd she manage that, anyway? Getting nobody to bid on you?"
"Draught of Disgust," Malfoy replied, crossing his arms. He scowled at the fireplace and added, "It was in the champagne."
"Reverse Amortenia," Harry muttered.
Malfoy nodded, still staring at the crackling flames.
"Did Padma . . . pay you or something?"
Head whipping back towards Harry, Malfoy hissed, "Of course not! I'm not a bloody prostitute."
"It's a publicity stunt, then?"
"I'd very much prefer not to be in the papers."
"Then what the hell do you get out of it? It's not like you —" Harry stopped, and then grinned. There were a lot of reasons he could mock Draco Malfoy, but this was easily going to top the list. "You wanted to do this."
"As if I'd want to be on a date with Harry Potter," Malfoy spat.
"But you do," Harry poked, still grinning. "You're here because you genuinely wanted to be."
"It was a favor for a friend. Nothing more."
"Yeah, Malfoy, because you're one for giving favors, especially to Padma Patil, of all people." Harry leaned back and crossed his arms, smirking. "You wanted a date with me."
Malfoy scoffed and stood, reaching into his jacket pocket. Still, he refused to look at Harry.
"I'm going to go smoke."
Harry chuckled to himself for a moment, reveling in the hilarity of it all as Malfoy headed off for the smoking lounge. Then, he sighed, and stood to follow him. The date, after all, had not been so bad. If Malfoy was legitimately interested in him, perhaps he deserved a chance.
Besides, he was rather good-looking, and it had been a long time since Hogwarts.
Harry slipped into the lounge. Older wizards littered the corners of the room, pipes and cigars hanging from their mouths. They didn't give Harry a second glance in the semidarkness of the room, and Harry didn't pay them much attention either. He was too busy searching for Malfoy.
After circling a few house-elves with trays of appetizers, he finally found him. Amidst the dark reds and blacks of the room, Malfoy loitered by a wingback chair, a cigarette between his fingers.
"Surprised you don't smoke a wooden pipe or something," Harry said, stopping next to him. He pulled out his own pack of cigarettes — a Muggle brand he bought in London — before placing one between his lips and lighting it with the tip of his wand. "You know prerolled cigarettes are a Muggle invention."
"I don't hate all things made by Muggles," Malfoy said darkly. He took a drag. "You've been inside the Manor, you know my family has plenty of Muggle art."
"Didn't exactly have time to admire the paintings last I was there."
Malfoy didn't smile.
Harry cleared his throat, realizing his joke was probably in poor taste. "You know, Malfoy, I was er — I was thinking, since you're so keen on doing favors for people . . ."
The other wizard finally looked at him, but only to glare. "What do you want?"
"Well, there's this Valentine's Day gala thing. It's pretty bloody boring, but I need a date," Harry said nonchalantly. He sucked down some smoke and blew it out of the corner of his mouth, waiting for Malfoy to catch his hint.
"And your point is?"
"I was thinking . . . well, maybe you could be my date."
Something sparked in Malfoy's eyes just then; he quickly masked it by narrowing them, but it was too late. Harry knew Malfoy was interested in him — interested in him enough to embarrass himself in front of everyone at the foundation event, just for a date Harry wouldn't even want to go on. It was, whilst strange, rather flattering.
"Your date," Malfoy repeated.
An ashtray floated by, which Harry flicked his cigarette ash into.
"Yeah. You know, as a favor ," he said.
A smile ghosted Malfoy's lips, only to disappear once more. He really was not keen on seeming happy.
"Fine," he said, feigning sourness. "But you'll owe me."
"Of course."
"And I expect good wine."
"Naturally."
"And chocolates."
"I can manage that."
Malfoy smiled a second time, except this time, it stayed a bit longer.
And Harry found he quite liked it when he smiled — genuinely like that, the kind of smile where he tried desperately to hide his teeth but just could not quite manage it.
Perhaps, Harry thought, he wouldn't mind making him smile like that again.