Chapter 5

August 29, Sunday

I have just made reservations for Potter and myself at Gonzo!, which was awarded by Molly Eats Magazine as one of the best and most expensive restaurants this side of the Pacific. I've only eaten there once, when my father was still alive, and the only thing I vaguely remember about that event was him cracking a joke about our bill being large enough to foot the Ministry's debt.

I also owled Potter Gonzo!'s strict dress code, which I attached here:

Gonzo! Gourmet Churrascaria wishes its guests to comply with the following dress regulations:

Trendy cocktail attire required. Please refer to this season's Haute Homme et Femme catalogue as guide.

Total worth of clothing (jewelry not included) must be equal to the day's gold standard.

No faux gold, semi-precious stones, or fashion jewelry allowed in the premises.

Female diners with a body mass index of 23 and above should be in tasteful black robes.

The manager has the right to refuse entry to guests who do not comply with the abovementioned.

Knowing Potter, he'd probably show up in an ugly Weasley sweatshirt and cut-off trousers from the last decade, so I'll bring an extra trench coat just in case.

6:00pm

Decided at the last minute to give myself a dye job, so I am now a dirty blonde. And not just in terms of hair colour, harhar!

6:30pm

Two buttons left undone, or three?

I'm talking about my trousers, by the way.

7:00pm

Being fashionably late. Merlin knows why I've got the jitters.

August 30, Monday

I had to open the salon today, as closing shop for too many days in a row is bad for business. Hence, my fingers are just about ready to fall off from all the styling, and my weary for Snappy Potter requests heightens at an accelerating rate.

(Note to self: think of the next "It" hairdo, fast!)

Speaking of Potter, well, let's just say that I'm in a right mood today, humming orchestra music while I style and once, belting out "Magic Works" by the Weird Sisters while in the loo.

…in retrospect, it's sort of like how Severus behaved when my late father gave him a chocolate diamond ring "for being a good comrade".

(I think it was my father kneeling that did him in.)

Anyways, last night, in excruciating detail:

I was surprised that Harry and I arrived at almost exactly the same time. He was all military-chic in a navy blue double-breasted robe with gold insignia buttons and deep crimson trousers; I, on the other hand, kept it classy in green velvet robes, a white India silk shirt, black leather trousers, and dragon-hide boots.

(Needless to say, we were a great-looking pair.)

After successfully passing the dress check, I commended his sense of style.

"Oh, this? I got it from Le Petit Prince," he replied.

"A French brand?" I asked, impressed.

"Well, more like a French muggle book illustration," he confessed.

"…I see."

A beautiful Brazilian woman handed us our stop-and-go sign (encrusted in rubies and emeralds, no less) and seated us at our table, right in front of the carnivale show onstage. As we were waiting for the churrascaria to appear on our plates, we whispered our drinks of choice—Potter, a caipirinha with two limes, myself, a cachaça on the rocks—to our designated goblets. Our goblets magically filled, a golden island flower blooming near each of their brims, revealing an engraved coconut straw and a silken drink umbrella.

"What a delightfully expensive place you picked, Malfoy," Potter said dryly as he began to sip his drink.

We chatted aimlessly to break the ice, talking about our schoolmates and professors back at Hogwarts ("Crabbe and Goyle? Two kids, both biological? But…how?") as well as various world affairs ("Americans should be banned in the Wizarding World, period.")

Mid-way through our stuffed hippogriff in macadamia nut reduction, I asked him about his current lifestyle, hoping to get tips on handling bad publicity, boring days, and haters who think you're just a bloody useless trollop.

"Excuse me, but I actually happen to be a very busy person accomplishing very important things," he said, offended.

"Oh, of course. I'm sure the millipedes are forever grateful for your kindnesses towards them," I replied patronizingly.

Harry sputtered. A rather nasty habit, I noticed.

However, as it turned out, he had a lot to sputter about.

"Normally I don't go broadcasting my real job to just anyone, but seeing that my esteem is on the line, I may very well have to," he whispered to my ear.

"Breathe a word about this to anyone, Malfoy, and I'll kill you myself," he warned.

I got a bit excited. I knew he was a super-secret spy, I thought to myself. And if I were to continue associating with him, then I'll be like the wavy-haired lass in the skintight red dress who runs around with him saving the world, like in them muggle James Blond movies!

…anyways.

Potter cleared his throat before proceeding.

"TRAMP is not an organization for millipede rehabilitation, but a funding organization for lobbyists who aim to legalize prostitution in the Wizarding World, thus giving medical cover, union rights, and employment benefits to, ahem, working men and women in our society."

…what?

"We just use silly causes to conceal the true purposes of our charity events. This way, our unpopular stands won't have to garner unwanted press and agitate protesters. It was Hermione's idea," he added modestly.

While I sat there, dumbfounded and speechless for some unknown reason, he continued to ramble on.

"This coming Friday, in fact, we will launch People Opposed to Underwear on Fridays, a support group for young homosexuals who experience bullying and discrimination in schools."

I laughed. "TRAMP and POUF? Only Harry Potter can be so heroic and yet so politically incorrect at the same time!"

"These names make it easier for all of us to keep track, okay?" Harry responded hotly. "I'll have you know, BALD, CHAV, and POOR, despite what they're called, are doing very well in terms of meeting their objectives!"

"Fine, fine," I conceded, still shaking in mirth, "And what happens when a person who believes in commando Fridays actually donates to your cause?"

(A legitimate question, since I myself have questioned the extent of casual Fridays.)

"Well, then it serves him right to be fooled by us like that. Not wearing underwear any day of the year is both disgusting and unhygienic!" Potter responded proudly.

Oh, how I laughed!

"So, what you're saying is, you're actually an…undercover do-gooder?" I asked.

Harry thought about it for a moment. "Well, yeah."

Not a super secret spy, dear diary, but close enough.

We left Gonzo! a little before midnight, buzzed with Brazilian alcohol and stomachs filled with delicious meats. Potter had to arrange for a sack of Galleons to be delivered in order to pay our enormous bill. Outside the restaurant, the moon was full, the wind gentle and sweet smelling.

"Thanks for the great dinner, Potter. You are thus forgiven of your heinous crimes against my reputation," I said generously as I walked away.

"Hey, Malfoy," he called after me, "if I were to humiliate you more in public, would you continue going out to dinner with me as recompense?"

Butterflies.

"No," I answered. Seeing him lower his head in disappointment, I added, "But maybe if you remove the humiliation part and just treat me to nice places, then I will reconsider."

Potter beamed at me, stepping closer, reaching out for my hand. "Wednesday lunch, then?"

Again, I'm a sucker for free meals. "Yes. Lunch sounds great."

And then I kissed him.

~Believe that magic works

Don't be afraid of being hurt

Don't let this magic die

The answer's there, just look in his eyes~

IT'S MY PARCHMENT AND I CAN SING IN IT IF I WANT, DAMMIT!

August 31, Tuesday

Pansy owled this morning regarding the Redhedde contract, as well as some other things:

Draco,

Ginevs (wtf right) won't budge on Severus. She really wants him to be part of this, bad enough to let you off the contract if needed.

I'll keep you posted. Thanks for going to the ball, btw. Blaise told me all about it since you didn't care enough to do so yourself.

Regarding your date with Potter…HE'S GAY? I WANT DETAILS. NOW.

Pansy

I can't be bothered to rehash everything, with all the work in the salon, so I just duplicated last night's entry and owled it to her, along with a trashy paperback novel about a pirate and a virgin mermaid. Merlin knows she needs all the romance she can get.

Also, I want to disembowel Ginny and feed her a whole jar of Ginevs, but anyways.

Talking about Vince and Greg the other night made me think of how long it's been since I last saw the two. Their kids must be about 8 and 9 by now. I should really owl them.

Or I'll just ask Blaise to.

Afternoon

I asked Blaise to contact Vince and Greg and arrange a little get-together. Grabbing some of my parchment and his fruity rainbow quill, he said, "Way ahead of you, sister!"

Did he just call me sister?, I thought to myself.

I told him about Potter's TRAMP thing, since he and his girls would probably be interested in supporting the group and providing information, and Blaise said he would consider it.

I sort of like how the pieces of my life are starting to connect.

September 1, Wednesday

I am to have lunch with Potter later at Cherry Pop, another Molly Eats Magazine rated restaurant. It's rather disconcerting how we have to rely on Molly Weasley's opinions with regard to where we should take our meals.

Everything is topsy-turvy nowadays, innit? I'm dating Potter, the Weasleys are bloody rich, and Severus is a sex god.

Thank Merlin my father isn't alive to see all of this.

Afternoon

My second "date" with Potter exceeded expectations. So much so that I kept a napkin he used as a memento of our time together.

(I'm turning into a girl, save me!)

We talked about Quidditch, rumors that Oliver Wood fashioned his broom after his own appendage (true), gnome hats (passing trend), raccoons (cute, Potter says), virgin mermaids (all mermaids are virgins forever, Potter argues), upside-down mermaids (we both agree: yuck), and wizard dentistry (a doddle), among other things.

For a person who bases his clothing choices on book illustrations, Potter was surprisingly fun and random to talk to.

"So, Potter, since when did you become gay?" I asked him rather brazenly.

"I'm bi, actually. I realized it when I was with Ginny, when I started checking out other guys as well," he chuckled nervously, "I mean, I just think we're free to love whomever we choose, yeah?"

"Yes, I suppose," I said, "you're right."

Even if he was your former arch-enemy?, I thought, ever so melodramatically.

"How about you?" he asked, still nervous.

"I've always known I was gay," I answered. "Hell, half of Slytherin probably is."

"Oh."

We sat silently for a while, picking at our banana splits.

"Hey, Malfoy, do you know that cherries and whipped cream taste better from another person's mouth?" he suddenly asked.

We tried it. And I found out that they do.

September 2, Thursday

I GOT IT. The new IT hairdo.

Sideswept, heavily layered bangs, tufts of spiked hair on the top, an extra-long lock on the left, another one at the back, fringed. In STRIPED monochromatic colors, like black and silver, brown and blonde, red and orange, pink and fuchsia.

I call it, "Rockcoon".

I already owled Pansy to tell her the news (it might help with the Redhedde contract), plus, I asked her to be my first "Rockcoon", all fees waived.

I hope she says yes! I just know that the hairstyle will fit her face!

Afternoon

She replied:

Draco,

I'm in. Will pop in tomorrow morning after I finish my paperwork.

Pansy

P.S. Tell Blaise to come with. I might drag Vince and Greg along.

HURRAH!

September 3, Friday

Vince, Greg, Pansy, and Blaise arrived at the salon early this morning (closed shop again for this occasion), with Vince holding a big bouquet of snapdragons and cherry roses.

"Harry Potter left this on your doorstep. I know, because Blaise told us everything." Greg said, smirking as Vince handed me the flowers. The note said:

Draco,

I can't stop thinking about you (and cherries and whipped cream), so I bought a whole bunch of assorted food and syrups that you might like to try with me (on me?). Pick you up on Sunday morning?

Yours,

Harry

Pansy read it aloud, without my permission if I may add, and they all screamed, circling me like drunken vultures.

"DRACO'S GONNA GET SHAGGED!" They teased.

Yes I am, friends, yes I am.

Afternoon

Rockcoon Pansy, naturally, was a success. The cut managed to tame her mannish jaw and make her look 15 years younger. She chose the Siriusly Black and Fuchsia You! dyes, a combination I didn't initially recommend, but it suited her punkish appearance well and made her look like a hardcore goddess.

"Our dog Garbage has a spiked collar that would look great on you," Greg said excitedly.

"Greg, Garbage has fleas!" Vince chastised, swatting his arm. "Do you want Pansy to catch fleas?"

"No, I guess not…" Greg grumbled.

"Maybe I'll buy my own, Greg, but thank you for the offer," Pansy replied soothingly.

Such adorable friends.

We ordered French pastries and Rose wine to celebrate. We reminisced old times and talked about Greg and Vince's family life. Greg is still the manager of Fancy Floors, a small tile manufacturing and installation company catering to upscale vacation houses in Bath, while Vince takes care of Sabrina, 9, and Salem, 8. In his spare time, he does freelance photojournalism.

"We're just waiting for the Daily Prophet to get back to us about Vince's biggest investigation yet," Greg told us, clutching Vince's hand.

"It's called, 'The Real Housebands of Bath'!" Vince announced proudly.

Dear diary, I simply cannot make this up.

We said our goodbyes at around 11, with Blaise threatening to sleep over if I didn't promise to owl him on Sunday night with all the juicy details.

Well, let's just say that I myself cannot wait for all of Harry's juicy details! Harhar!