H/D fic: You Set Fire to the Rain (NC-17) Part 11
Author: icicle33
Title: You Set Fire to the Rain
Characters/Pairings: Harry/Draco, past Harry/Ginny, Ron/Hermione, Andromeda and Teddy
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or any of the other works that I refer to in this story. Please don’t sue me.
Warnings: (For this part only) Jealous!Harry, a slutty waitress, and lots of UST between the boys
Word count: ~ 3000 (for this part)
Summary: After the war, Harry cannot handle the overbearing press and needs to get away. He decides to spend the summer with Andromeda and Teddy in France. When Malfoy shows up too, things get complicated. “Slowly, you were becoming my world, my reason for existence; and yet, I wasn’t even a blotch, not even an insignificant speck in the universe of Draco Malfoy.”
A/N: A big thank you to my lovely betas: ashiiblack and erised_dreams. You ladies are awesome. ♥
Go Back to Parts 1-2 Parts 3-4 Parts 5-6 Part 7 Part 8 Parts 9-10
: :Eleven: :
"It's been weeks. So many weeks since I've wanted you. I know how you move, and how the sunlight makes a shadow on the curve of your cheek, and the shape of your ear. I'm dying. Right here, you're killing me."~LK11
: : :
At precisely 10.15 you showed up in my room, without knocking, of course, and lazily stood in the doorway with one arm propped up against the ledge, greeting me with a slight nod of the head.
You were stunning, posing there so casually as if you knew you were as gorgeous as a model but still too cool to care. You were wearing the tightest black denims that I had ever seen and a silk black and silver striped shirt that fit your lean torso like a glove, clinging snugly to your defined arm muscles and pectorals. You just oozed affluence and sex, so much so that I could barely refrain from licking my lips. Thrown over your shoulder was a handsome leather blazer, which was obviously made from very expensive leather. When you walked over and tossed it on the bed, I was able to peek at the label and saw that it was Hugo Boss. I couldn't help but smile at that. For someone who was so adamantly against Muggles for most of his life, you sure are obsessed with Muggle fashion.
You scrunched your nose at me and motioned at my outfit with distaste. "Potter, you aren't ready yet."
"Huh?"
"I told you to be ready at ten, you obviously forgot." You took a seat on my bed and brushed the imaginary lint off your trousers.
With a shy smile I said, "Oh, I am ready. Let's go."
You furrowed your forehead and scrunched your nose again. "Potter, you can't go dressed like that. We're going to a bar." You sounded positively scandalised.
"Why not?" I shrugged and sat next to you on the bed making sure to keep adequate distance between us. I didn't want to lose control and accidentally act on my urges to jump you. That would have been difficult to explain.
"I always dress like this when I go out in London. No one's ever complained before."
You sighed deeply and eyed my ensemble distastefully again. I didn't understand your problem with my outfit. It was the middle of June and dreadfully hot, so I was wearing a pair of khaki shorts and an over-sized polo shirt with a pair of my old trainers. I had even attempted to run a comb through my hair; I thought I looked nice and couldn't help but blush at your intense stare. I mean I could have worn the short shorts and old Gryffindor tee shirt I had been wearing earlier. This was dressed up for me.
"Oh, Potter," you said, shaking your head. "You really are hopeless, move over."
You got up from the bed with a determined look set on your handsome face and starting rummaging through my wardrobe. Apparently, nothing in my wardrobe met your approval either.
"Hey," I protested. "I have some really nice robes in there. They were quite expensive...I'll have you know."
"I suppose," you said, shrugging one shoulder, "and they would be acceptable if we were going to some lame ministry function in London, but we're in France now. The French are different, much more judgemental and fashionably inclined."
"Well, I don't really care, Malfoy. That's not me."
You raised your eyebrows and looked at me as if I had just said the most ridiculous thing in the world. "Trust me, Potter. You might get away with whatever that is," you said motioning to my outfit, "in London but they won't even let you in the bars here...regardless, of what your name is. The French are very elitist and cultural."
I sighed. "The French sound like right wankers to me."
You waved your hands dramatically in the air and gave me that affronted look again, as if I had just said something entirely absurd.
"I'll pretend you didn't say that. The French are brilliant. They appreciate true class unlike the uptight Brits."
"Um-in case you've forgotten, you're British."
"Details, details, Potter. Now, wait here. I think I have something you can wear." You scurried out the door with a huge grin. "Just change into trousers for Merlin's sake. No one wants to see your pasty thighs."
I couldn't help but chuckle and quickly changed into a pair of my nicer jeans, hoping they would meet your approval.
A blond blur rushed back into the room and threw a silk green button down shirt at me. "Here, I think this should fit you, Potter. It's a little big on me; it's back from my unfortunate pudgy days."
I frowned at you and took the shirt anyway, trying not to be too embarrassed that I was changing in front of you. The shirt felt soft and luxurious against my skin and smelt of lavender. Unfortunately, the sleeves were much too long and the buttons barely fastened.
"Erm..."
"Well, that just won't do," you said frowning. You muttered an unfamiliar spell and instantly the shirt was resized; it now fit comfortably. "Well, I suppose it's not your fault you don't possess my delicate bone structure even if you are a shrimp. That'll just have to do."
"Hey-" I protested. "Did you just call me fat, Malfoy?"
You disregarded my question and pushed me towards the door. "Come on. If we don't hurry all the good birds will be taken by the time we get there."
: : :
The bar, Le Petite Éclair, a ridiculous name I know, was small but charming. I had never noticed it before on any of my walks through town and almost wondered if it had appeared over night. From the outside, it looked like an abandoned coffee shop, but once inside, it was much larger than it appeared. There were two bars, one in the middle of the room, and another that I later learnt was downstairs. There was only one row of backless stools around the main bar and the rest of the room was lined with black tables and silver high-backed chairs. The whole place had a rather modern feel, which was strange for the historic town of Roquebrun. I suppose that was why you liked it there.
As soon as we entered, the hostess greeted you warmly. "Signore Malfoy," she said, "It's so nice to see you again."
"Draco please," you insisted as you returned her warm embrace and kissed her on both cheeks.
"Of course, Draco. Your favourite table has been reserved for you. Francesca will be right with you."
You smiled at her brightly and then dragged me through the crowded room. I couldn't help but blush at the contact and felt a surge of electricity rush to my spine.
"This is a nice place," I said as we sat down, trying to hide my blush.
"It's very popular with the locals. I've been coming here for years."
Before I could respond, a gorgeous woman made a beeline to our table. She had long, dark luscious curls and vivid green eyes that on closer inspection were much more turquoise than green. She smiled a dazzling smile at you, showing off her perfect white teeth, and wrapped you in a warm embrace. My stomach was tightening again. I really had to get over this irrational jealousy of mine; I couldn't keep getting upset every time someone else touched you.
"Ciao Bello," she said.
"Che sopressa! Purtroppo l'ultima volta che avevi visitato qui io non c'era."
You chuckled and looked the woman up and down appreciatively. "Cara Francesca," you said, your eyes shining and a big goofy grin plastered on your face. "Ascoltami. Tu sei il mioieri, il mio oggi. È il mio sempre, inquietudine. Tue sei come il vento che porta iviolini e le rose…Tu sei il mio sogno proibito."
I'm not sure what you said, but it must have been something incredibly charming or romantic because Francesca blushed deeply and rewarded you with an even brighter smile.
"Draco, smettila di parlare italiano, ti stai rendendo ridicolo."
"Oh, how you wound me," you retorted, now chuckling. "So Potter, what do you want this lovely lady to bring you?"
"Erm…I guess a butt-"
You put your hand on my shoulder and glared at me darkly. "Potter, if you think of finishing that sentence with the words butter or beer I will permanently hex 'Virgin' on your forehead in neon letters. We're men for Salazar's sake, not daft schoolboys."
"Right," I said, feeling precisely like an idiotic schoolboy. "I'll have what you're having then."
"Vorrei il solito." You turned to Francesa with that big smile still set upon your face. "Due...per favore."
As Francesca scurried away to fetch our order, I turned to you with what I was sure was a dumbfounded look.
"Erm...that wasn't French, right?"
You rolled your eyes at me. "Good catch, Potter. Aren't you perceptive Oh-Chosen-One? It's Italian, obviously."
I chewed my bottom lip and tried hard not to back down from the intensity of your gaze. God, how I hated looking dumb in front of you. It happened much too often for my liking.
"Uh-I didn't know you spoke Italian."
"I'm a Malfoy," you said with a smirk. "We speak all the romance languages. And Swiss-German. Plus, I know all the dirty words in Russian, Polish, Swedish, and Japanese. I think that's it." You counted off the languages on your fingers looking very impressed with yourself.
"Oh. Well, I-"
"Yes, I know, Potter. You're still working on mastering the English language. But it's not your fault you grew up without culture."
I started to protest, but then Francesca returned with our drinks. She set them down in front of us and leaned over much more than necessary, making sure to parade her ample cleavage in front of you. I felt my blood start to seethe again.
"Molte grazie, amore mio." You reached out to kiss Francesca's hand. She blushed profusely, and I had to control my rage-if not, the glass in my hand was going to shatter.
"Yeah, thanks. I mean gracias...um...no...grazi?"
My cheeks were on fire and I hid my face in my arms. I really had to stop making such an idiot of myself.
You were shaking with laughter beside me, but then Francesca put a soft hand on top of mine and said, "You're very welcome. Your friend Draco is an arse," in perfect English that had only the smallest trace of an Italian accent before walking away. Fuck me.
"Oh, your face, Potter," you teased, still shaking with laughter. "Too priceless."
"I hate you."
You finally stopped laughing and raised your glass to me in a toast. "It's all in good fun. You can get me back next time. Cheers."
Before I met you, I didn't drink often, and when I did, I only drank lager or ale. I rarely drank hard spirits or firewhisky, so it was quite a challenge to swallow the scotch and soda that you had ordered for us. I was proud of myself that I didn't sputter when I took a long sip, but after a couple of gulps, you had already downed yours. Not wanting to look even more foolish, I gulped the rest of my drink with what I hoped wasn't too sour of a face.
"So," I said, trying to break the awkward silence between us. "Why is this place run by Italians if it has a French name?"
You raised your eyebrows at me but didn't roll your eyes this time. "Well, Roquebrun has been mostly a wizarding community for years now, Potter. Most of the wizarding folk live up by Andromeda in Ceps, so as not to attract any attention from the small Muggle population that resides here."
"Oh. I didn't realise," I said, already feeling the scotch burning in my stomach. This was going to be a very bad night if I kept chugging drinks. I probably should have noticed that this was a wizarding establishment anyway; even if the clientele was dressed in fashionable Muggle clothing, there was a large enchanted mural of a knight slaying a dragon on the ceiling. Figures.
"Yes," you continued matter-of-factly. "Francesca and her family have owned this place for years. They spend the year in Italy and the summer here."
"That's nice."
"I suppose. But I think it's time for another drink."
This time, Francesca brought us a double shot of the bar's finest and oldest scotch. I gulped and took a deep breath before bringing the unfamiliar liquid to my lips. It didn't smell so bad; in fact, it smelt quite pleasant. I wasn't used to taking shots, so I hoped not to muck it up.
"To a new beginning," I said as I brought the amber liquid to my lips and took a long gulp. Luckily, I was able to swallow half of the glass without spitting up. Sitting there, I felt like an infant. While you gulped the scotch in one go as if it were no harder than drinking pumpkin juice, I sipped at mine as if it were a nauseating medicine. Ugh. Why do people willingly drink this shit?
"Come on, Potter. Don't cradle the scotch, just drink it. It's time for another round."
"Oi. Sure, Malfoy."
Tilting my head back, I attempted to drink the rest of the scotch casually just as I had seen you do so easily, but this time I failed miserably. I couldn't keep it down and spat the drink all over the table, including on you. My eyes widened and I was absolutely horrified. I thought that you were going to hex me right on the spot, but instead you just started laughing. Hysterically.
"Hell, Potter. We really need to work on your appreciation for fine liquor and tolerance. That's a 40 galleon bottle of scotch you just spit out."
"I'm sorry," I said, wishing I could hide underneath the table and never come out. "I just don't drink hard alcohol much."
You laughed again-that absurd but infectious laugh that I was starting to get addicted to-and then asked Francesca to bring you another scotch and soda and a pint of Guinness for me. I was embarrassed, but thankful that I didn't have to drink any more of that revolting scotch.
: : :
After a few more drinks, my mood started to brighten. We sat there for what felt like hours talking about routine things like Quidditch and Muggle literature. I was impressed to learn that several famous Muggle authors, such as Shakespeare and Oscar Wilde, were actually just wizards posing as Muggles in order to become appreciated. It was really quite astounding how much you knew about a variety of topics, including wine and art history. The bar was full, filled to capacity actually, but it was as if we were the only two people in the entire bar-perhaps even in the entire world. It was a truly magical evening, and I never wanted it to end.
You kept smiling at me and prattling on about all your interests, and even though I was more quiet than usual, I didn't mind because I could have sat there staring at you adoringly and letting you talk for hours. It was as if we were old friends and something I could get used to; I felt pathetic, silly really, for avoiding you for so long. This wasn't hard at all. It was quite easy and Merlin it felt spectacular.
The only damper on the evening was that Francesca kept flirting with you shamelessly. She was practically throwing herself at you. It just didn't seem right that they would let girls like that work at the bar; it was beyond indecent, and I wished I could have hexed those long eyelashes right off her pretty face.
That cow had some nerve. When we were finally getting ready to leave, she sat down in your lap and announced loudly enough for half the bar to hear that she would be getting off at three and had no special plans for the night. It really took all of my self-restraint not to lunge on her right on the spot. Luckily, you just removed her arms from your neck and told her that you were going to have take a rain check. She was obviously disappointed, and I couldn't stop grinning from ear to ear the entire walk home, which was long but necessary considering that we were much too pissed to Apparate.
"Thanks for tonight, Malfoy," I said as we finally made it back to Andromeda's around half past four in the morning. "I really had a good time."
You smiled at me again that beautiful and radiating smile that would haunt my dreams all night and said, "Surprisingly, I did too. Get some sleep, Potter. You're positively sloshed."
To be continued...
Author's Note: Thanks for reading and I'd love to know what you thought of Harry and Draco's little impromptu date. = D
[11] The quote at the beginning of the chapter is by Laura Kinsale and comes from the Prince of Midnight.
~Icicle
Italian translations below for those who are interested:
Ciao Bello. Che sopressa! Purtroppo l'ultima volta che avevi visitato qui io non c'era.
~Hello gorgeous/handsome. What a surprise? Sadly, last time you were here/visited I wasn't here/available/in.
Cara Francesca,ascoltami. Tu sei il mio ieri, il mio oggi. È il mio sempre, inquietudine. Tue sei come il vento cheporta i violini e le rose…Tu sei il mio sogno proibito.
~This is actually from a beautiful Italian song called "Parole, parole" by Mina, which is why Francesca laughs at Draco and then tells him to stop embarrassing himself. It roughly translates:
My dear Francesca, listen to me. You are my yesterday, my today. You are mine always, my restlessness. You are like the wind that brings/moves the violins and the roses. You are my forbidden dream.
Vorrei il solito. Due per favore.
~I'll take/Bring me my usual. Two please.
Title: You Set Fire to the Rain
Characters/Pairings: Harry/Draco, past Harry/Ginny, Ron/Hermione, Andromeda and Teddy
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or any of the other works that I refer to in this story. Please don’t sue me.
Warnings: (For this part only) Jealous!Harry, a slutty waitress, and lots of UST between the boys
Word count: ~ 3000 (for this part)
Summary: After the war, Harry cannot handle the overbearing press and needs to get away. He decides to spend the summer with Andromeda and Teddy in France. When Malfoy shows up too, things get complicated. “Slowly, you were becoming my world, my reason for existence; and yet, I wasn’t even a blotch, not even an insignificant speck in the universe of Draco Malfoy.”
A/N: A big thank you to my lovely betas: ashiiblack and erised_dreams. You ladies are awesome. ♥
Go Back to Parts 1-2 Parts 3-4 Parts 5-6 Part 7 Part 8 Parts 9-10
: :Eleven: :
"It's been weeks. So many weeks since I've wanted you. I know how you move, and how the sunlight makes a shadow on the curve of your cheek, and the shape of your ear. I'm dying. Right here, you're killing me."~LK11
: : :
At precisely 10.15 you showed up in my room, without knocking, of course, and lazily stood in the doorway with one arm propped up against the ledge, greeting me with a slight nod of the head.
You were stunning, posing there so casually as if you knew you were as gorgeous as a model but still too cool to care. You were wearing the tightest black denims that I had ever seen and a silk black and silver striped shirt that fit your lean torso like a glove, clinging snugly to your defined arm muscles and pectorals. You just oozed affluence and sex, so much so that I could barely refrain from licking my lips. Thrown over your shoulder was a handsome leather blazer, which was obviously made from very expensive leather. When you walked over and tossed it on the bed, I was able to peek at the label and saw that it was Hugo Boss. I couldn't help but smile at that. For someone who was so adamantly against Muggles for most of his life, you sure are obsessed with Muggle fashion.
You scrunched your nose at me and motioned at my outfit with distaste. "Potter, you aren't ready yet."
"Huh?"
"I told you to be ready at ten, you obviously forgot." You took a seat on my bed and brushed the imaginary lint off your trousers.
With a shy smile I said, "Oh, I am ready. Let's go."
You furrowed your forehead and scrunched your nose again. "Potter, you can't go dressed like that. We're going to a bar." You sounded positively scandalised.
"Why not?" I shrugged and sat next to you on the bed making sure to keep adequate distance between us. I didn't want to lose control and accidentally act on my urges to jump you. That would have been difficult to explain.
"I always dress like this when I go out in London. No one's ever complained before."
You sighed deeply and eyed my ensemble distastefully again. I didn't understand your problem with my outfit. It was the middle of June and dreadfully hot, so I was wearing a pair of khaki shorts and an over-sized polo shirt with a pair of my old trainers. I had even attempted to run a comb through my hair; I thought I looked nice and couldn't help but blush at your intense stare. I mean I could have worn the short shorts and old Gryffindor tee shirt I had been wearing earlier. This was dressed up for me.
"Oh, Potter," you said, shaking your head. "You really are hopeless, move over."
You got up from the bed with a determined look set on your handsome face and starting rummaging through my wardrobe. Apparently, nothing in my wardrobe met your approval either.
"Hey," I protested. "I have some really nice robes in there. They were quite expensive...I'll have you know."
"I suppose," you said, shrugging one shoulder, "and they would be acceptable if we were going to some lame ministry function in London, but we're in France now. The French are different, much more judgemental and fashionably inclined."
"Well, I don't really care, Malfoy. That's not me."
You raised your eyebrows and looked at me as if I had just said the most ridiculous thing in the world. "Trust me, Potter. You might get away with whatever that is," you said motioning to my outfit, "in London but they won't even let you in the bars here...regardless, of what your name is. The French are very elitist and cultural."
I sighed. "The French sound like right wankers to me."
You waved your hands dramatically in the air and gave me that affronted look again, as if I had just said something entirely absurd.
"I'll pretend you didn't say that. The French are brilliant. They appreciate true class unlike the uptight Brits."
"Um-in case you've forgotten, you're British."
"Details, details, Potter. Now, wait here. I think I have something you can wear." You scurried out the door with a huge grin. "Just change into trousers for Merlin's sake. No one wants to see your pasty thighs."
I couldn't help but chuckle and quickly changed into a pair of my nicer jeans, hoping they would meet your approval.
A blond blur rushed back into the room and threw a silk green button down shirt at me. "Here, I think this should fit you, Potter. It's a little big on me; it's back from my unfortunate pudgy days."
I frowned at you and took the shirt anyway, trying not to be too embarrassed that I was changing in front of you. The shirt felt soft and luxurious against my skin and smelt of lavender. Unfortunately, the sleeves were much too long and the buttons barely fastened.
"Erm..."
"Well, that just won't do," you said frowning. You muttered an unfamiliar spell and instantly the shirt was resized; it now fit comfortably. "Well, I suppose it's not your fault you don't possess my delicate bone structure even if you are a shrimp. That'll just have to do."
"Hey-" I protested. "Did you just call me fat, Malfoy?"
You disregarded my question and pushed me towards the door. "Come on. If we don't hurry all the good birds will be taken by the time we get there."
: : :
The bar, Le Petite Éclair, a ridiculous name I know, was small but charming. I had never noticed it before on any of my walks through town and almost wondered if it had appeared over night. From the outside, it looked like an abandoned coffee shop, but once inside, it was much larger than it appeared. There were two bars, one in the middle of the room, and another that I later learnt was downstairs. There was only one row of backless stools around the main bar and the rest of the room was lined with black tables and silver high-backed chairs. The whole place had a rather modern feel, which was strange for the historic town of Roquebrun. I suppose that was why you liked it there.
As soon as we entered, the hostess greeted you warmly. "Signore Malfoy," she said, "It's so nice to see you again."
"Draco please," you insisted as you returned her warm embrace and kissed her on both cheeks.
"Of course, Draco. Your favourite table has been reserved for you. Francesca will be right with you."
You smiled at her brightly and then dragged me through the crowded room. I couldn't help but blush at the contact and felt a surge of electricity rush to my spine.
"This is a nice place," I said as we sat down, trying to hide my blush.
"It's very popular with the locals. I've been coming here for years."
Before I could respond, a gorgeous woman made a beeline to our table. She had long, dark luscious curls and vivid green eyes that on closer inspection were much more turquoise than green. She smiled a dazzling smile at you, showing off her perfect white teeth, and wrapped you in a warm embrace. My stomach was tightening again. I really had to get over this irrational jealousy of mine; I couldn't keep getting upset every time someone else touched you.
"Ciao Bello," she said.
"Che sopressa! Purtroppo l'ultima volta che avevi visitato qui io non c'era."
You chuckled and looked the woman up and down appreciatively. "Cara Francesca," you said, your eyes shining and a big goofy grin plastered on your face. "Ascoltami. Tu sei il mioieri, il mio oggi. È il mio sempre, inquietudine. Tue sei come il vento che porta iviolini e le rose…Tu sei il mio sogno proibito."
I'm not sure what you said, but it must have been something incredibly charming or romantic because Francesca blushed deeply and rewarded you with an even brighter smile.
"Draco, smettila di parlare italiano, ti stai rendendo ridicolo."
"Oh, how you wound me," you retorted, now chuckling. "So Potter, what do you want this lovely lady to bring you?"
"Erm…I guess a butt-"
You put your hand on my shoulder and glared at me darkly. "Potter, if you think of finishing that sentence with the words butter or beer I will permanently hex 'Virgin' on your forehead in neon letters. We're men for Salazar's sake, not daft schoolboys."
"Right," I said, feeling precisely like an idiotic schoolboy. "I'll have what you're having then."
"Vorrei il solito." You turned to Francesa with that big smile still set upon your face. "Due...per favore."
As Francesca scurried away to fetch our order, I turned to you with what I was sure was a dumbfounded look.
"Erm...that wasn't French, right?"
You rolled your eyes at me. "Good catch, Potter. Aren't you perceptive Oh-Chosen-One? It's Italian, obviously."
I chewed my bottom lip and tried hard not to back down from the intensity of your gaze. God, how I hated looking dumb in front of you. It happened much too often for my liking.
"Uh-I didn't know you spoke Italian."
"I'm a Malfoy," you said with a smirk. "We speak all the romance languages. And Swiss-German. Plus, I know all the dirty words in Russian, Polish, Swedish, and Japanese. I think that's it." You counted off the languages on your fingers looking very impressed with yourself.
"Oh. Well, I-"
"Yes, I know, Potter. You're still working on mastering the English language. But it's not your fault you grew up without culture."
I started to protest, but then Francesca returned with our drinks. She set them down in front of us and leaned over much more than necessary, making sure to parade her ample cleavage in front of you. I felt my blood start to seethe again.
"Molte grazie, amore mio." You reached out to kiss Francesca's hand. She blushed profusely, and I had to control my rage-if not, the glass in my hand was going to shatter.
"Yeah, thanks. I mean gracias...um...no...grazi?"
My cheeks were on fire and I hid my face in my arms. I really had to stop making such an idiot of myself.
You were shaking with laughter beside me, but then Francesca put a soft hand on top of mine and said, "You're very welcome. Your friend Draco is an arse," in perfect English that had only the smallest trace of an Italian accent before walking away. Fuck me.
"Oh, your face, Potter," you teased, still shaking with laughter. "Too priceless."
"I hate you."
You finally stopped laughing and raised your glass to me in a toast. "It's all in good fun. You can get me back next time. Cheers."
Before I met you, I didn't drink often, and when I did, I only drank lager or ale. I rarely drank hard spirits or firewhisky, so it was quite a challenge to swallow the scotch and soda that you had ordered for us. I was proud of myself that I didn't sputter when I took a long sip, but after a couple of gulps, you had already downed yours. Not wanting to look even more foolish, I gulped the rest of my drink with what I hoped wasn't too sour of a face.
"So," I said, trying to break the awkward silence between us. "Why is this place run by Italians if it has a French name?"
You raised your eyebrows at me but didn't roll your eyes this time. "Well, Roquebrun has been mostly a wizarding community for years now, Potter. Most of the wizarding folk live up by Andromeda in Ceps, so as not to attract any attention from the small Muggle population that resides here."
"Oh. I didn't realise," I said, already feeling the scotch burning in my stomach. This was going to be a very bad night if I kept chugging drinks. I probably should have noticed that this was a wizarding establishment anyway; even if the clientele was dressed in fashionable Muggle clothing, there was a large enchanted mural of a knight slaying a dragon on the ceiling. Figures.
"Yes," you continued matter-of-factly. "Francesca and her family have owned this place for years. They spend the year in Italy and the summer here."
"That's nice."
"I suppose. But I think it's time for another drink."
This time, Francesca brought us a double shot of the bar's finest and oldest scotch. I gulped and took a deep breath before bringing the unfamiliar liquid to my lips. It didn't smell so bad; in fact, it smelt quite pleasant. I wasn't used to taking shots, so I hoped not to muck it up.
"To a new beginning," I said as I brought the amber liquid to my lips and took a long gulp. Luckily, I was able to swallow half of the glass without spitting up. Sitting there, I felt like an infant. While you gulped the scotch in one go as if it were no harder than drinking pumpkin juice, I sipped at mine as if it were a nauseating medicine. Ugh. Why do people willingly drink this shit?
"Come on, Potter. Don't cradle the scotch, just drink it. It's time for another round."
"Oi. Sure, Malfoy."
Tilting my head back, I attempted to drink the rest of the scotch casually just as I had seen you do so easily, but this time I failed miserably. I couldn't keep it down and spat the drink all over the table, including on you. My eyes widened and I was absolutely horrified. I thought that you were going to hex me right on the spot, but instead you just started laughing. Hysterically.
"Hell, Potter. We really need to work on your appreciation for fine liquor and tolerance. That's a 40 galleon bottle of scotch you just spit out."
"I'm sorry," I said, wishing I could hide underneath the table and never come out. "I just don't drink hard alcohol much."
You laughed again-that absurd but infectious laugh that I was starting to get addicted to-and then asked Francesca to bring you another scotch and soda and a pint of Guinness for me. I was embarrassed, but thankful that I didn't have to drink any more of that revolting scotch.
: : :
After a few more drinks, my mood started to brighten. We sat there for what felt like hours talking about routine things like Quidditch and Muggle literature. I was impressed to learn that several famous Muggle authors, such as Shakespeare and Oscar Wilde, were actually just wizards posing as Muggles in order to become appreciated. It was really quite astounding how much you knew about a variety of topics, including wine and art history. The bar was full, filled to capacity actually, but it was as if we were the only two people in the entire bar-perhaps even in the entire world. It was a truly magical evening, and I never wanted it to end.
You kept smiling at me and prattling on about all your interests, and even though I was more quiet than usual, I didn't mind because I could have sat there staring at you adoringly and letting you talk for hours. It was as if we were old friends and something I could get used to; I felt pathetic, silly really, for avoiding you for so long. This wasn't hard at all. It was quite easy and Merlin it felt spectacular.
The only damper on the evening was that Francesca kept flirting with you shamelessly. She was practically throwing herself at you. It just didn't seem right that they would let girls like that work at the bar; it was beyond indecent, and I wished I could have hexed those long eyelashes right off her pretty face.
That cow had some nerve. When we were finally getting ready to leave, she sat down in your lap and announced loudly enough for half the bar to hear that she would be getting off at three and had no special plans for the night. It really took all of my self-restraint not to lunge on her right on the spot. Luckily, you just removed her arms from your neck and told her that you were going to have take a rain check. She was obviously disappointed, and I couldn't stop grinning from ear to ear the entire walk home, which was long but necessary considering that we were much too pissed to Apparate.
"Thanks for tonight, Malfoy," I said as we finally made it back to Andromeda's around half past four in the morning. "I really had a good time."
You smiled at me again that beautiful and radiating smile that would haunt my dreams all night and said, "Surprisingly, I did too. Get some sleep, Potter. You're positively sloshed."
To be continued...
Author's Note: Thanks for reading and I'd love to know what you thought of Harry and Draco's little impromptu date. = D
[11] The quote at the beginning of the chapter is by Laura Kinsale and comes from the Prince of Midnight.
~Icicle
Italian translations below for those who are interested:
Ciao Bello. Che sopressa! Purtroppo l'ultima volta che avevi visitato qui io non c'era.
~Hello gorgeous/handsome. What a surprise? Sadly, last time you were here/visited I wasn't here/available/in.
Cara Francesca,ascoltami. Tu sei il mio ieri, il mio oggi. È il mio sempre, inquietudine. Tue sei come il vento cheporta i violini e le rose…Tu sei il mio sogno proibito.
~This is actually from a beautiful Italian song called "Parole, parole" by Mina, which is why Francesca laughs at Draco and then tells him to stop embarrassing himself. It roughly translates:
My dear Francesca, listen to me. You are my yesterday, my today. You are mine always, my restlessness. You are like the wind that brings/moves the violins and the roses. You are my forbidden dream.
Vorrei il solito. Due per favore.
~I'll take/Bring me my usual. Two please.