Lunch at the Gilded Dragon
One of the last things Draco wanted to do after his stressful morning (and, really, stress ought to be outlawed until at least noon because anytime before that was too fucking early) was go to lunch with anyone because interacting socially with others was going to be a draining task. What made it infinitely worse was that now Draco was going to
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Without any dramatic and sudden change, Draco breathed out an imperceptible sigh and thought to himself that maybe it was all a fluke and he only felt the things he'd always felt for Severus and there was nothing complicating that at all thank Merlin.
And then Severus spoke and for whatever reason Draco's mind . . . disconnected, and he thought he was going to panic.
Ohfuckheknowshe'sgoingtokillmeortellmehejustwantstobefriendsorsomethingandthatshouldbeagoodthingitreallyshould was the first thing to pop into Draco's mind. It took him a moment to realize that Severus was referring to the article and even then, Draco still felt like he'd just inhaled something illegal and was about to fly off into a thousand tiny pieces of oh shit, what now?.
He forced himself to think about Skeeter and what she'd written, the nasty old cow, and he managed a heartfelt laugh.
"Tied any journalists to your bed, lately?" Draco drawled, tone heavy with amusement.
And that was good. Amusement was good. Very . . . not blind panic. Very . . . Draco Malfoy. Also very likely to get him hexed, but that was okay. Draco could handle that.
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Point: the first time she'd mentioned the two of them together, lunch yesterday, there had been quite a reaction.
Point: Draco became quite short when she'd mentioned Snape earlier during today's conversation, specifically concerning relationships.
Point: now that Snape had shown up, Draco had momentarily frozen.
Even when not taken separately, they didn't add up to much. Millicent decided to watch the interactions between the two men very carefully.
In the meantime, what better way was there than to direct the conversation away from Draco's momentary blank?
She couldn't very well say that she wouldn't mind having Snape tied to her bed (and what a nebulous picture that induced), but she was also very sure that Snape couldn't possibly imagine Millicent in the same fashion.
"At least there was a gag in Skeeter's mouth," Millicent pointed out, putting in her two knuts. "Even she knows that our dear professor simply won't tolerate incessant talking."
"Although someone should tell the woman that sex on a stick is rather uncomfortable," she added absently, looking around the room for that bloody waitress. "They simply haven't made one that will fly well enough when your attention is on other things."
Exasperated, she went right on talking. "Really, Draco. What kind of a restaurant is this when they don't have bread on the table? I spent the entire morning with Luna Lovegood. I feel I deserve a little something to munch on."
There. Conversation diverted. No doubt Snape would be much more interested in railing at her about her mentioning such iniquities in a public place than he would musing on Draco's sudden panic.
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His dark eyes snapped to Draco's face when the boy did not greet him immediately with the sharp teasing he'd expected, and Severus watched him, searchingly. He was determined to behave as though Draco's little slip in the journals had never happened. If he ignored it, maybe it would go away.
The laughter at his expense actually relaxed him. It was normal, expected and allowed him to hope it really had been a fluke after all.
The odd, heavy feeling in his abdomen had to do with hunger and lingering embarrassment over the article. It had nothing to do with inappropriate disappointment.
"I should think not," Severus replied dryly to Draco's teasing question. "Journalists babble incessantly over subjects they know nothing about."
He said it with haughty disdain, as though it was a grand joke and he regularly tied anyone to his bed.
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A sardonic brow quirked at her comment about 'sex on a stick'.
"Sex on a broomstick? That does sound exceedingly uncomfortable. A gentleman would never ask a lady such a question," he prefaced his next comment, more than aware that neither of them at this table would ever mistake him for a gentleman. "But I must admit, your familiarity with the topic makes me curious if this knowledge is gleaned from word of mouth or personal experience.
"I won't ask, of course. I prefer Thestrals for flying in any case, or at least I did when Hogwarts had the domesticated herd. Give the beast the direction, and think no more of it, utterly hands-free."
He smirked at her and returned his gaze to his menu with supreme unconcern. Severus could read for hours on Thestral-back. It didn't bother him, though, if the other two thought he was intimating something else. He disliked appearing less knowledgeable or experienced than his companions in any setting, even when he was, and this was no exception.
Millicent's irritation at the wait-staff was not unheard, and he glanced up to look about the restaurant. This was a very exclusive place and generally the service was beyond even his ability to find much complaint. (He could always find some.) There ought to have been a basket of fresh, buttery crumpets on the table by now, a second one ready to replace it the moment the first was empty.
It only took a moment to spot the problem, and his teeth clenched, causing the muscle in his jaw to bulge alarmingly.
No fewer than four waitresses were standing near the door to the kitchens, passing a cloth-covered bread basket back and forth between them, each one giggling harder than the last, casting furtive glances toward their table. Severus made a sound of anger that was almost a growl and had his wand in his hand in a flash.
With the merest of angry flicks, he wordlessly summoned the basket to their table, glowering furiously at the group of waitresses, who were now no longer even smiling, each of them now ghostly white with fear.
"I ought to have bloody stayed home," he snarled angrily, setting the basket louder than necessary on the table.
"My humiliation is by no means complete," he said, turning to his dining companions as though nothing untoward had just occurred. "Oh, no, of course it is not! Have either of you been to the Pensieve Event yet? I stopped by before coming here. That bloody Metamorphmagus impersonated me during a comedic routine at her seventh-year leaving-party--and that was the memory she chose to submit! I've lived over a decade without knowing about it, and now she's replayed it for an entirely new generation to take the Mickey."
If he was in the mood to be honest, she had done a fair job of the impersonation, actually. That didn't matter, though. He could still hear the ringing of that laughter from the memory, mocking him, adding to his anger over the waitresses behaviour now.
He hated to be laughed at!!
Determined, for a change, not to dwell on his own misery, or at least not until he could have a nice long sulk in private, he registered the last of what Millicent had said and snorted.
"The entire morning with Ms Lovegood? Good lord, what possible crime could you have committed to deserve that? I will be having words with that woman when next I see her, myself.
"Only Luna Lovegood could make a genuine threat sound like a comical delusion."
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It only takes a red-headed idiot and Sev to do that nowadays, apparently, Draco thought viciously.
With a mental eye-roll, Draco just sighed.
"Non-sensationalistic journalism . . . isn't that one of the signs of the apocalypse?" Draco asked with a raised eyebrow. "The day we pick up a newspaper telling it like it is, I'll have worn the same outfit two days in a row because I just spent all night fucking Harry Potter into confessing his love for me. I'll make sure to let you both know that the end of the world is at hand," he added with a gracious grin.
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"Please, Draco, honestly! I've been put off my appetite enough today already. The very thought of you and Potter has always churned my stomach, I'd rather not have it so graphically presented just before I eat.
"Why you would even want him in any sense of the word is unfathomable to me. The Bane of my Existence."
He feigned a dramatic shudder and smirked at Millicent, wry humour colouring his voice.
"Then again, the thought of James Potter spinning violently in his grave is rather satisfying."
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"I believe we can all allow that Draco actually wearing the same outfit twice in a row is exactly as likely as Potter confessing his love," she said.
She was not going to point out that the Weasley announcing his love for Draco was even less likely to happen!
"Although I'm sure Draco can think of much more pleasurable ways of slow asphyxiation than a simple gag," she smirked, raising an eyebrow.
Turning back to Snape she continued, "And I rarely take anyone's word for granted, sir. I wouldn't repeat something like the broomstick comment unless I was completely sure of its accuracy."
She took a piece of bread, nodding at Snape in thanks for summoning it. "Besides, the morning with Luna was rather... interesting. Hardly a chore at all. The woman is ... singular."
Singular. Good word. And thank Merlin there was only one of her.
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Effing insane wench, for starters--he was far more angry about her treatment of his 'interview' than Skeeter's article.
"So, Draco, Ms Bulstrode spent her morning teaching Ms Lovegood the finer points of fashion. I spent mine in the company of Know-It-All Granger, though I was in the Hogwarts Library, so it was not a total waste. I even managed to stop by the Pensieve event, as I mentioned.
"You have yet to share how you spent your morning after you ceased laughing over my humiliation?"
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Oh, nothing special. I spent a few minutes in a state of panic over that conversation in the journals, none of them laughing. And then I got into another fight with Ron via journals after he apologized, only he didn't accept my easy out, so we proceeded to . . . get along, after a fashion. And then, like idiots, we decided to get together and have 'invasive questioning' which isn't nearly as fun as it sounds, at which time Weasley turned me down. Again. That makes more times he's rejected me than cats have lives, doesn't it?
Oh yes, that'd go over well. And then Draco might want to add his more recent dramas involving Severus himself, his stupid, snarky, old, ugly, smooth, sexy, oh Merlin not this again . . . self.
Draco shrugged.
"Er . . . well, you know. Morning things. Sat naked on my bed for a while. I have a lovely ceiling, by the way, in my room at the inn. Gorgeous really. And, erm, wrote in my journal and . . . socialized a bit? Nothing special. Really. At all. It was a pretty eventful morning, but I'm fine now. I mean . . ."
Oh, shit.
Merlin why did Draco ramble when he was nervous, more specifically, when he was nervous about or around Sev? Well, to his credit, sometimes he didn't ramble. Sometimes he was just a cunty bitch-bastard thing that made Draco want to kill himself. Sometimes. Sometimes he felt like Severus deserved it.
Draco swallowed, composed himself and wished he'd stayed naked on his bed but then Severus would have gone to fetch him and the thought wasn't nearly as terrifying as it had been days ago. It wasn't such a bad thought, really. Severus was so cute when he was trying to pretend he wasn't checking Draco out and . . .
"Right, so Nymphadora Tonks makes fun of you in her Pensieve memory, then? Is she any good at her impressions?" he asked, not-so-smoothly changing subjects.
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The wine was brought to the table, and Severus waved away the formality of tasting it and scenting it and all that other pretentious shite--he was far too busy pinning Draco under his 'Don't try to hide things from me, boy,' stare to bother with such nonsense.
He did not miss the rambling, nor the clumsy change of subject, and he knew damn well what Draco staring at his ceiling meant, having dragged the boy away from that precise activity almost more times than he had endured the Cruciatus Curse.
Which was saying something.
"Why, Draco, were you staring at your ceiling?" he asked pointedly as he poured them each a glass of the very expensive wine.
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Or at least memories they thought were hysterical, considering Tonks's contribution.
"And that's a quite long pause between the 'and' and 'socialized a bit', Draco," Millicent added, jerking herself away from her thoughts.
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"Because," Draco said with a shrug. "There was quite a remarkable lack of 'socializing' and a rather unhealthy dose of 'being turned down'. Though, in a manner of fairness, Ron Weasley didn't turn me down exactly. For the most part I think I offended his sensibilities when, after answering all of his questions honestly, he asked why he should believe me and I told him that he hadn't given me a reason to lie."
It was a perfectly suitable answer, in retrospect, and Draco felt a surge of anger that Weasley could have been upset by it. Draco had no loyalty to the redheaded git and if anything, he had even more of a reason to distrust him. After all, he was a Weasley, Merlin only knew what someone from that family would do, given the chance, to someone of the Malfoy family.
Feuds were like that, one didn't need reasons to set crops on fire or to seduce an only daughter or to out a gay son. Ron Weasley hadn't been on the spot but Draco had and he would have had every right to lie to save his skin, not that he did. Weasley was acting as if Draco'd committed some terrible crime by being honest enough to say that he wasn't lying to him without making some kind of fool promise to tell the truth always and forever by Morgana's blood.
"What a bloody great git!" Draco breathed, the enormity of it hitting him and making him seethe.
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He didn't even curse, and none of the wine spilt. He was too busy gritting his teeth in seething rage. He slipped his wand out of his other sleeve, mended the glass and his fingers in a lazy wave, before setting the glass down and turning his burning gaze back to Draco.
"I told you that prat wasn't worthy of you," he snarled. Severus knew Draco wanted was yearning for some sort of relationship, but he felt the boy was going entirely the wrong way about it.
In truth, Severus had been prepared to tolerate Weasley if he made Draco happy. This, however, he would NOT tolerate. Draco had enough misery in his life for ten men--Severus would not sit idly by and watch others bring unnecessary, added misery to that lot.
"You do not owe that git explanations, Draco. You do not have to go out of your way to be accommodating to him. I doubt he can wipe his own arse without prior approval of Potter and Granger.
"Effing Gryffindors and their black-and-white morality.
"I'll be having words with Weasley this evening, too. Perhaps I'll do Ms Lovegood a favour and begin with him... it might make me more pleasant when I deal wiht her."
He raised his mended wineglass inquiringly at Millicent.
"Would you care to join me, Ms Bulstrode? It seems Weasley is of the mistaken impression that he can scorn one of ours out of hand."
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well, all right, since a week ago when she assured her mother no, the albatross wasn't violent at all.
"I utterly despise when people do that," she said. "I use 'people' in the loosest sense of the term, of course."
"Feel free to call upon me at any point of the night for Weasley's 'instruction'." She said nothing of Luna, considering how she actually didn't mind the woman. Millicent was also aware that Snape would not miss the exclusion. It wasn't that she preferred one over the other, it was just in a battle between Snape and Luna, Millicent did not want to choose sides.
"I have complete faith in your ability to tear him down to size. I offer my services as a restraining presence and," she tapped her fingers of her formidable hands on the table, "punctuation."
"Draco," she turned towards the blonde. "Does this place have menus, and if so, shouldn't we have gotten them by now?"
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"Lydia obviously doesn't feel the need to work for my usual generous tip today, apparently," he said, loudly enough to be heard by the woman who was always lurking about. "Here," he added, handing Millicent the menu he'd been provided. "I suppose we'll have to share. Like Weasleys."
Oh, but that had felt good. At least, Draco mused, now he felt no need to be on his best behavior for anyone. This time tomorrow he would be back home at Malfoy Manor and with any luck at all, he'd never see another Potter, Weasley, Granger, or anyone else, really, who hadn't been a Slytherin, ever again.
He didn't have to work to impress any of them, though he knew it would be stupid to make himself out to be the villain. The time might come (and this was not a cheerful prospect, but a real one considering last night's events) that he might need their help, or at least their trust in his word.
Though, considering Weasley's reaction earlier, that was quite a bit less likely than Skeeter actually making consensual love to Severus. Which was to say, as soon as Draco found about Severus being a willing participant in any sexual activity, he'd run to Granger and ask her to be the mother of his next child.
Draco felt faint at the thought and told himself that it hadn't been a funny one at all.
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Besides, as he had already admitted to Draco, the fault, truly, rested primarily with himself--he should not have expected better from Lovegood.
"The lobster here is tolerable," he recommended to Millicent. "Though I'm rather partial to the Fillet Mignon as well."
Of course, they were also the two most expensive items on the menu--he was not joking when he told Draco this meal would 'cost' him, not that Draco would notice.
Besides, it was good, and not something Severus would buy for himself for any occasion.
He'd be having the combination meal which provided the lobster and the steak, without needing the menu to choose.
"Lovegood sent me a piece of your birthday cake this morning, with my copy of her blasted paper. How was the Lu'au?"
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