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Even Better Raw	By : LauraDoll Category: Harry Potter > General > General Views: 1708 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor any of the characters from the books or movies. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
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- 3
Chapter Three: Sugar on my Tongue

After a day wasted in true teenaged fashion, Harry found himself seated with Draco at a very nice table in a posh Portuguese café nestled in a quiet corner of Diagon Alley. Caldeirao de Lisbon- "Cauldron of Lisbon," featured Portuguese fare for discriminating wizards and witches with Old World tastes, and the menu boasted "fresh and magical" seafood and pasta selections.
"Now this, Potter, is the mark of true Pureblooded cuisine," said Draco haughtily as he studied his menu. "Floating seafood paella, trillion-spiced shrimp mozambique, linguine with enchanted prawns."
Harry's ears pricked up at the word "pureblooded." Draco seemed to use the expression just as liberally now as when he was his father's pawn, and Harry was growing more and more perplexed by his unlikely companion's bewildering sense of priorities.
Harry finally settled on the linguine and prawns, and, closing his menu, he stole a moment to study Draco's face. Pale and regal, it was a bizarre but comely combination of cruelty and vulnerability chiseled in soapstone. The curve of his mouth was together sensual and spiteful, boasting a malice that Harry reasoned Slytherin girls probably found attractive. At least, Pansy Parkinson did.
A plump waiter apparated before them and took their orders. Draco changed his mind four times before finally choosing capellini and mussels with blackened sharkweed.
"Malfoy, where exactly do you stand on the 'Purebloods versus Non-Purebloods' issue nowadays?" Harry ventured at last.
Draco looked up from his wine and let a sweetly wicked smile spread across his face. "I'm sitting here with you, aren't I?"
"No, I'm serious. I don't understand your reasoning. One moment you're denouncing Voldemort and turning your own father in to the Ministry, and the next minute you're spouting how bloody wonderful it is to be a Pureblooded wizard from a Pureblooded family." Harry stabbed impatiently at his fettuccine, spearing several enchanted prawns onto his fork just to get them to stop moving.
Draco twirled his capellini lazily, tasting it, then placing his fork back into his bowl. "I don't owe you an explanation Potter," he said testily.
They continued to pick at their meals in silence, Harry's cheeks flushing with anger and frustration. More than ever, he wanted Draco to go away, far away, and stop his feeble playacting.
"However," said Draco at last, "since I am a gentleman-"
"Oh, please, Malfoy," sighed Harry, rolling his eyes and clattering his fork against his plate.
Draco narrowed his eyes with utter contempt. "Like I was saying, since I consider myself a gentleman, I suppose it would be fair to explain a few of my actions. I'll use little words so you can follow me."
"Ha," snorted Harry. "Go on."
"Let's just say that over the summer, I began to look rather carefully at the path my life was taking. I was raised from birth believing I would follow in Father's footsteps, learning the Dark Arts and eventually becoming a Death Eater."
"And?" prompted Harry through a mouthful of pasta.
"The only problem was, last summer I began to notice that his stories failed to match up with what I'd seen and what I knew was true."
"How so?"
"All sorts of contradictory details began to appear in Father's stories. Pureblooded wizards, serving a Half-blooded wizard who is bent on destroying Mudbloods and other Muggle-born wizards. That's their cause, alpha and omega. Serve Dark Lord, kill Muggles. None of their reasoning made any sense to me. Don't get me wrong, Potter, I'm proud to be Pureblooded. But what's the use in killing everyone who isn't as good as me? If all the Purebloods do away with the Mudbloods and Muggles, then who will we have left to compare ourselves with?"
"Uh, I guess that makes sense," began Harry, "In a sort of demented, masturbatory way."
Draco continued, pausing only to nibble at his dinner. "What confused the issue further was going off to school and seeing Half-blood and Mudblood witches and wizards who are supposed to be my inferiors, yet they're far more powerful than some Purebloods."
"What do you mean?"
"Well, take Emby for example."
"Hermione? What does she have to do with all this?"
"Potter, don't be so thick. She's at the top of our class, and quite possibly the most powerful student witch at Hogwarts. She can out duel anyone, yet she's not a Pureblood. At least, we don't think she's a Pureblood."
"Wait— are you saying that there are wizards and witches who might be Pureblooded but don't know? How could you be Pureblooded and not know?"
Draco ignored Harry's question, opting to continue his lecture, lest he lose his train of thought. "Hundreds of years ago, when all magical peoples were Pureblooded, wizards and witches were persecuted throughout Europe and the Americas by church officials who were feared their magical powers. Thousands of witches died at the hands of frightened and ignorant Muggles, blinded by terror and hatred and acting solely under the guidance of church leaders. But many other witches and wizards hid —and the best way to hide was denial. You're familiar with the story of Saint Patrick?"
"Well, yeah. Didn't he lead the snakes out of Ireland?"
"Wrong, sorry Potter, fifty points from Gryffindor. Patrick was a wizard, a very powerful Pureblooded wizard at that, and incredibly selfish and cruel. He "converted' to Catholicism to avoid persecution by the church, and turned over many members of his family, including his own mum, to the Pope's henchmen. Do you know who those snakes really were, Potter? Those "snakes' were innocent witches and wizards. That's why Salazar Slytherin chose the snake to symbolize the strength, power, and cunning of Pureblood Slytherins. The snake on my school robes commemorates all those who died at the hands of Patrick's betrayal."
Harry was dumbfounded. "Malfoy— I never knew—"
"Well, now you do, and don't you go forgetting, either. You asked me if there are witches and wizards who might be Purebloods, but wouldn't know. I think the answer is yes. Do you even know where the expression "Mudblood' come from?"
"Can't say I've given that one a lot of thought."
"It doesn't refer to the cleanliness of the person's pedigree. Rather, it refers more to how well managed the person's pedigree is. If a powerful witch is born to two supposedly Muggle parents, the odds are, in my opinion, that at least one parent or both, is a Pureblood whose heritage was suppressed by fear and ignorance. Powerful magic doesn't just materialize out of nowhere, Potter. It needs a source, a bloodline. My family kept their bloodline together. They kept records, detailed records, and I am proud of my bloodline. Never ashamed. However, for every family like mine, there were probably five families who ditched their magical items in a trench and assumed Muggle jobs like blacksmithing. That's why people like Emby make me so angry! They're so powerful, yet their ancestors were ashamed of their bloodlines and brought shame to witches and wizards everywhere."
"Okay then, how about someone like me? I'm a half-blood, at least, I think I am."
Draco winced and put his face in his hands. "Dammit, Potter! You're missing the bloody point! Anyway, this is taking far too long. I spent this past summer reading, just taking in information. It just so happens that I learned a few things that made me rethink my father's value system."
"Wait, I thought you said that following your father no longer interested you." Harry poured a second glass of wine for them both, his eyes fixed on Draco. His meal, complete with magical moving prawns, now interested him less than Draco's story.
"Right! I was no longer interested in being a Death Eater. Which means that I wasn't interested in getting caught by a Ministry Auror and thrown into Azkaban. I wasn't interested in being a coward like my father. He was always ranting about the Dark Lord, and how wonderful things would be when the Dark Lord finally defeated Harry Potter and rid the world of Muggles. Then the Ministry would show up and raid the manor, and Father would stand there and blubber, "Dark Lord? What Dark Lord?' Then, invariably, he'd make some lavish donation to the Ministry's Department of Covering Lucius Malfoy's Ass. The man is utterly spineless, Potter. I couldn't do it anymore. Things aren't black and white like when we were eleven. There's Purebloods everywhere, most likely. The Dark Lord is a miserable bastard. His answer to everything was murder, ethnic cleansing. Well, I wasn't going to join up with him, killing people who, for all I know, are Purebloods, waiting for the day that Harry Potter defeats us all. That's humiliating."
"So now what will you do?"
"Well, I don't know. I can't say I'm in a hurry to join up with your band of Gryffindor do-gooders. Time will tell. There's lots of opportunities for a Hogwarts graduate." Draco paused, his eyes paler than usual. "You know, Potter, all my life, my parents told me what I'd be. Now I feel like all those walls have been knocked down. I'm free now, but with all the walls gone, there are no halls for me to walk down, no doors for me to try, no windows to look out of. Do you know what it's like? To be imprisoned by your freedom?"
Harry nodded. "That's how I felt when I found out I was a wizard. I went from being like a caged animal to being to having all the freedoms that normal Muggle kids enjoyed, plus I got to go away and be a wizard. I had no idea what to do with myself. Just go with it, I suppose."
"Well, I'm trying." Draco played with his dinner, his appetite having long since vanished since his heart to heart with Harry. "Promise you won't tell Weasley or Emby about what I said. I can't even believe I shared all this with you, of all people." Draco seemed disappointed in himself, as if he had just fought a long battle and lost miserably.
"It's okay, Malfoy. I won't tell. You know, its not a sign of weakness to tell someone else how you feel. Especially if you've gone 16 years without ever having done so. That takes courage-"
"Potter, I'm warning you. Spare me. Your pity doesn't flatter me."
"Fine then," snapped Harry with renewed impatience. "Let's order dessert and another bottle of wine, you miserable prat."
Draco smiled, the first time that evening. "That's more like it!"
Harry waved the waiter over. "I think we're ready for dessert."
"Excellent! Tonight we have three dessert specials. The first is a truffle ice cream, served with ginger and pumpkin wafers. The second is a lovely dragon's milk cheesecake topped with bananas foster, and we also have a Muggle special of tiramisu. In case you haven't had it before, that's espresso soaked ladyfingers topped with a creamy marscapone layer, then dusted with cinnamon. Do you gentlemen need a few moments?"
"What dessert wines do you have?" asked Draco. "And nothing from Germany, please."
The waiter chuckled. "Very wise, indeed. Tonight we feature a tawny port brewed by the Carvalho wizarding family of Portugal. It's 12 years old, and is excellent with the tiramisu."
"Fine then. Potter?"
"I'll have the cheesecake."
"A carafe of the port, and I'll have the tiramisu."
"Excellent!" said the waiter, clearing their plates with a subtle flick of his wand. "Our sommelier elf will be out with your wine selection momentarily."
Harry watched as the waited disapparated back into the kitchen. The sight never failed to impress him. He turned his attention back to Draco, who was nervously running his left pinky up and down the bridge of his nose.
"Malfoy, what are you doing?"
"Nothing. Can I have your honest opinion about something, Potter?"
"Well, yes, I suppose. What is it?"
"Don't you think my nose is a bit too pointed?"
"No, not really," answered Harry. "I've never really looked at your nose, though. Hold still, and move your hand for a moment." Harry's eyes met Draco's, and for a minute, both boys froze, staring at each other.
Draco certainly was handsome, no doubt about that. His grey eyes, flecked with steel-blue, seemed to glisten in the candlelit dining room. His nose was pointed, yes, but not in a bad way. His skin was dewy; fresh looking, and impossibly clear. Draco seemed to be chiseled from ivory, a tiny Adonis, like a doll come to life. Harry felt his face become very hot, and he made himself look away.
"Potter?"
"Maybe I'm not the person you should be asking, Malfoy," said Harry, forcing an awkward smile. "What does your girlfriend think of your nose?"
"My what?"
"That Parkinson girl who's always hanging on you. Isn't she your—"
"Good God, Potter! That thing?" Malfoy shuddered, and drained the last of the dinner wine into his goblet. "I certainly hope not!"
Harry laughed a genuine, hearty laugh this time. "She's a bit rough on the eyes, isn't she?"
"That's putting it lightly. She's downright bay-at-the-moon ugly. No, Pansy Parkinson is not my girlfriend. No. Absolutely not." Draco shuddered again and emptied his goblet in a single gulp. "Oh my —" His face went pink.
"Perhaps you should slow down, Malfoy?"
"Perhaps you should mind your own business, Potter."
"Maybe I should. Just make sure you know how to get us back to the hotel."
Dessert appeared on their plates a moment later, just as the wizened little sommelier elf came hobbling out of the cellar with their carafe of port. Harry eagerly speared his dessert with his fork; he had tasted Muggle cheesecake before, but had never experienced cheesecake made from dragon's milk.
Topped with warm, gooey bananas foster, it was like an experience like none other. The dragon's milk gave the cheesecake an unusually light texture, but the flavor was twice as rich as anything Harry had ever tasted. His fork dove down for a second and third mouthful without missing a beat.
"Easy, Potter. I don't think that cheesecake is going anywhere," smirked Draco, sipping his wine as Harry shoveled the heavenly cheesecake into his mouth.
"Mmmph. Sorry," said Harry, mouth crammed with creamy goodness. "It's just so good." He looked up at Draco, and when he did, a drippy bit of the bananas foster slipped off his fork and onto his chin.
That's when it happened.
In the years to come, Draco would describe his next action as "An impulse. I acted without thinking."
Draco reached across the table and, with the tip of his index finger, gently dabbed the spilled dessert from Harry's chin. And suddenly, he found that finger, smothered in warm banana and fluffy cheesecake, inside Harry's mouth.
In the years to come, Harry always said the same thing about that moment. "I don't know. It just happened."
Harry watched Draco lean forward, one lithe finger pointed out. He felt that delicate finger sweep gently across his chin. Suddenly, his lips parted, and he seized that finger with his mouth.
It was the sweetest, most delightful thing he'd ever tasted. He bit down ever so slightly, unwilling to release Draco's finger from between his lips. After another moment, he sucked on that finger, ever so gently. Finally, when he began to feel very uncomfortable, he let go.
Draco pulled his hand back slowly. He stared, first at Harry, then down at his finger. It was rather pink, having just been sucked on, and it was sticky, having just been covered in dessert.
"Oh Potter. You shouldn't have done that."
Harry spoke up quickly, his face flushing with embarrassment. "Malfoy, I'm sorry, I don't know what I was—"
"Shh."
Harry sat quite still, very terrified. Seconds passed like hours.
"Potter?"
"Yes?"
"You're going to have to do the other nine fingers, I'm afraid."
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