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A Series of Malfoy Events	By : Lomonaaeren Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Draco Views: 11220 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. I am making no money from this story.

Chapter List
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Chapter Six—What a Night on the Town
            “You’re fussing more about these robes than you did about the ones I wore to the Crocodiles’ party,” Harry told Malfoy, holding his arms away from his sides as he examined himself in the vast mirror. They were once again in Malfoy’s bedroom, with the not-silver bed and the probably not-gold frame around the mirror gleaming in the faint candlelight. Malfoy bustled around him like Madam Malkin.
            He could probably have a successful robe shop, Harry thought. He certainly had the glare of contempt that said the other person’s hemlines and sleeves were all wrong down pat.
            “Of course I am,” Malfoy said, his words almost indistinguishable around his wand, which he had clutched in his mouth. His hands were busy measuring lengths of conjured fabric against Harry’s Auror robes. He shook his head now and threw away one that Harry didn’t know why he’d bothered with. It was bright blue, not at all close to red. On the other hand, there were also scraps of cloth that looked red to Harry on the floor, so he didn’t know why he would trust his judgment anyway. “We’re about to be seen in public.”
            He paused and stared down at a mustard-yellow scrap against Harry’s robes. Harry stared at it, too, but it didn’t reveal its secrets to him at all.
            Poor Malfoy, getting hypnotized by cloth. He probably shouldn’t open a robe shop at all, since he would stand gaping in front of the wares.
            “The Crocodiles’ party wasn’t public?”
            His words did Malfoy the favor of breaking him out of his hypnotism. He shook his head briskly and moved away from Harry to put the scraps of fabric down on a shelf. “Of course not.”
            “Why not?”
            Malfoy’s eyebrows did the little dance they did whenever someone ventured to disagree with him. Harry waited patiently, feeling like someone standing out a waltz.
            “Because it involved a limited number of people seeing you.” Malfoy’s voice was slow, but Harry didn’t know if that came from pity, contempt, or abstraction in the fabric again. A wonderfully complicated person is Draco Malfoy, Harry thought, and grinned at himself in the mirror. “This will involve potentially unlimited numbers of people.”
            “I don’t know,” Harry said, and pretended to consider. “More people might have passed through that party than would through Diagon Alley in the space of an hour.”
            Malfoy went as still as a heron that had spotted a frog. Harry, disinclined to play the part of the frog, turned innocently to look at him.
            “You think,” said Malfoy, and Harry promptly began counting emphasized words in his head again, “that we are going anywhere near Diagon Alley.”
            “Well, yes,” said Harry. “Because that’s where the most restaurants are. And you’re not stupid.”
            “Explain to me the immediate cause of my non-stupidity, Potter.” Malfoy’s hand was resting on his robe collar now, as if he would like to twist it sideways and choke Harry with it.
            It cost Harry some considerable violence to his instincts to stand there and slowly and naturally breathe instead of turning around to deal with Malfoy. His voice was calm and sedate, though. “Because you would be stupid to try and take an Auror to a restaurant in Knockturn Alley.” He let the words linger between them, then twisted away, incidentally taking Malfoy’s hand away from his robe collar, to beam sociably at Malfoy. “And I know you’re not stupid.”
            Malfoy stared at him with hooded eyes. Harry stared back in interest, wondering if Malfoy was trying to hypnotize him or something.
            He really needs one of those swinging crystals and an evil laugh if he’s going to do that, Harry thought, then reconsidered. Malfoy might still possess an evil laugh. Harry had certainly thought so at Hogwarts.
            “It’s not Diagon Alley,” Malfoy whispered. “Do me the honor of assuming I wouldn’t date anyone stupid, either.”
            Harry tried to work that one out in his head, gave up, and then said, “But I must be stupid, if I’m assuming that all restaurants are in Diagon Alley. Or am I stupid in thinking you would go there and mingle with the peasants?”
            Malfoy frowned and moved a step closer to him. “It’s not me and peasants only. I do acknowledge other kinds of people in the world.”
            “Yes? Like who?” This ought to be interesting.
            “Like the ones I choose to date, and my teammates, and my rivals in the Quidditch league.” Malfoy put a hand on Harry’s ear and turned his head to the side, as if he wanted to examine his eyes or jaw. Harry had to clench his teeth into each other to keep from laughing. It was the way someone in Diagon Alley would examine a broom. “Why would I date other people if I thought they were peasants?”
            He picked up another snatch of fabric and held it out as if he was almost hoping something would make him wake up and decide that it wasn’t right after all. But instead, he laid it against Harry’s skin, and nodded, and breathed, “Perfect.”
            Harry looked down. The cloth was exactly the same shade of blue as one Malfoy had discarded earlier, and he shook his head. “I’ll never understand your taste.”
            Malfoy drew back and stared him in the eyes. “Try,” he said. “Otherwise, you would never understand your own fascination, and that would be a pity.”
            Harry blinked slowly. Then he shook his head.
            “Is that a refusal to try?” Malfoy’s voice had gone low in a way that could be dangerous, and he gripped the side of Harry’s head. Harry hadn’t even noticed his hand moving.
            I’m here to scout for any threats to him, but let’s keep in mind that he’s physically strong and a skilled duelist, Harry thought, and decided to tell the truth. “Not that. It’s just that you gave me one way to respond to the rumors the papers spread, with laughter. And this is another way.”
            Malfoy blinked in a way that suggested puzzlement was for other people. “Not many are likely to admire you in the pure way I do.”
            Pure, Harry thought, and wondered for a moment if Malfoy considered his admiration pure because it no longer contained the hatred it would have back at Hogwarts. But being honest about one thing didn’t mean Harry had to be honest about everything.
            “No,” he said gently, and waited until Malfoy looked at him instead of his inner thoughts as he tried to work out what Harry meant. “The consideration that their words might be sincere.”
            Malfoy looked at him again, then stepped back and sniffed. “I need to enchant your robes this color.”
            And he did, creating a shade of blue that Harry barely had time to study before Malfoy grabbed his shoulders and spun him towards the mirror. “Dare to tell me now that my taste is common,” he breathed.
            Harry could see no difference between the color he wore now and half the colors Malfoy had discarded as unsuitable. But he was hungry, and he suspected arguing with Malfoy would mean standing here for another six hours while Malfoy lectured him about the depth of the sheen and the hang of the cloth.
            “This is nice,” he said.
            “You will need to improve your vocabulary, as well,” said Malfoy. “Nice. The first word might be spectacular, the second impressive, the third astounding…”
            Four, Harry thought happily, and trailed behind Malfoy as he made his way to the Floo, still gesturing and talking.
*
            “Now, you can see.”
            “It’s a very nice view,” Harry agreed, peering out the shining windows in front of him. They had a pattern of silver worked into their glass that was meant to mimic patterns of frost—he thought. Beyond them shone an absolutely pure, clear blue lake. Harry wished Malfoy’s taste ran more to that sort of blue. That was a shade of color he wouldn’t have minded wearing.
            “Nice,” said Malfoy witheringly.
            The restaurant was in another country, Harry thought, from the amount of Floo-hopping they’d done. Well, that was all right. Malfoy’s attacker would have had trouble following.
They were in the restaurant now, what looked like the single solitary building on one mountain out of a range that sloped down to the lake. The lower slopes glowed with green. Harry thought it was also very nice, and better than the robes he’d worn before. Slopes rose above them, rugged and shining with snow.
Harry considered that that was also nice.
The tables were glittering with washes of diamonds and emeralds scattered across and stuck to the surface. Harry’s main thought on that was how uncomfortable it would be to accidentally press your hand down on top of, or how hard to balance a plate or glass on. Malfoy gave him another withering glance when he dared to mention it, and touched his wand to the table. Holes opened up among the gems. Silver flagons rose. They were jointed in such a way that Harry saw they could tip like flowers and let you sip from them. The plates that sat in front of them were similarly immobile, and made of what looked like gold.
Harry nodded and smiled. “How nice.”
It was probably fortunate that a human server actually came to take their order, or Harry strongly suspected he would have found Malfoy’s wand jammed into his ear. He leaned back in the chair and watched.
Malfoy ordered in a strong, decisive tone, with flourishing gestures of his hands that Harry suspected he calculated down to the precise centimeter of movement, and knew he practiced in front of the mirror. That Harry couldn’t understand the language he spoke and so didn’t know what Malfoy was ordering didn’t matter much. The food in this place wouldn’t dare to be other than—
“Don’t say it again.”
Harry blinked, only to realize that the server was gone and Malfoy had apparently homed in on what he might say about the plates and goblets. Harry decided it was time for a countermove. If he’d become that predictable, he wouldn’t stand much of a chance of entertaining Malfoy long enough for the other Aurors working on the case to catch his possible assassin.
So Harry touched the goblet and let it tilt enough that he could drink from it but the liquid wouldn’t run out, and murmured, “Aguamenti.”
Clean, clear water poured from his wand into the glass. Harry took a long drink, shutting his eyes in enjoyment, to lessen the chances that he would burst out laughing and soak the table while he had his mouth full.
“Potter.” This time, Malfoy sounded aghast.
            “Was I not supposed to do that?” Harry sipped again from the water, this time causing a slurping noise that made a few heads turn towards him. But they turned away again immediately, Harry noticed. Well, they probably didn’t have to know a person like him, as Malfoy would probably put it. “Sorry. I was just so thirsty.” He sipped again.
            At least, he did until Malfoy waved his wand and banished the water. “You’re supposed to wait until they bring a drink for you,” Malfoy said between teeth so clenched that it was a wonder he could get them apart enough for Harry to hear the words. “Not just—grab and make your own.”
            “But I’m thirsty,” said Harry, shrilly, and saw the horrified look Malfoy gave him before he could stop himself. It wasn’t enough that he had brought a peasant to dinner, he was probably thinking. It was a whiny peasant.
            Malfoy shook his head and seemed to calm himself down with a huge effort. “The wine will be coming in seconds. See?” he added, and Harry turned his head to see red bubbles forming in his goblet. They stopped long before they were in danger of tumbling over the tipped lip.
            Harry leaned forwards and sipped. He had no idea what it would taste like since he had no idea what wine Malfoy had ordered.
            Now he knew. He spluttered a little and said, “This is nasty.”
            Malfoy’s hand froze on the stem of his goblet for a moment, and he closed his eyes. Harry grinned. He liked the way that Malfoy managed to convey his exasperation with this horrified silence.
            “No,” Malfoy said. “It’s an acquired taste. Try it again. Slowly. You’ll like it.”
            “Why did you order something for me that’s an acquired taste?” Harry sipped again, and shook his head decisively. “No. Sorry. Still don’t like it.”
            Malfoy leaned in and put a hand on Harry’s wrist, searching Harry’s eyes deeply with his own. Harry stared and blinked back. He might have stuck out his tongue, but he didn’t think he’d get away with it. Malfoy was probably hovering on the edge of tolerance as he was. Harry wondered if he should try the wine again.
            But Malfoy pulled back a minute later, and there was a faint, satisfied smile on his lips. He turned around and picked up his fork at the exact moment that napkins and food materialized on the table. Harry poked at the nearest napkin, to be sure it was made of cloth instead of snow. It shimmered with such a pure white color that it seemed to be, except for the delicate silver embroidery in the corners.
            “I knew I couldn’t be mistaken in you.” Malfoy was cutting up his food with a satisfied air that made Harry regret the goblets were rooted to the table. “You have an inner magnificence that peers out through your face when you don’t try to hide it.”
            Harry went still and stared at him. The small bites of food he had taken so far—a few spoonfuls of what looked like tomato soup with small sprigs of green floating in it and some meat so tender it was sliding off the bone onto the bottom layer of soft, fluffy bread—probably lingered in his mouth. He didn’t care.
            “Malfoy,” he said gently.
            “Hmmm? Yes?” Malfoy looked at Harry serenely through the steam curling up from his soup.
            Harry reached out and put a tender hand on his arm. “Are you listening to yourself?” he whispered. “Did you know how much you need help, or is it a new revelation?”
            Malfoy shook his head at him. “You don’t look at yourself from the outside all the time. You can’t. So stop telling me that you know yourself.”
            Well, that was insulting. Harry leaned his elbows on the table—making Malfoy’s eyebrows creep up his forehead—and said, “I know myself.”
            “Did you know that you would enjoy being out with me?” Malfoy gestured around the restaurant. “Here? Did you know you would enjoy the wine?”
            “I don’t enjoy the wine.”
            “I notice that you didn’t deny the rest.” Malfoy really had the most infuriating smile.
            “Very well, then I’ll say it now.” Harry wanted to be good at this case, he wanted to protect Malfoy from whoever wished him harm, he didn’t even want to piss Malfoy off that much as long as it would let him go on being entertaining. But this was enough. He pushed back from the table, noticing that Malfoy’s eyes had swiftly darkened again. “I told you what I think of this, and it’s not good enough.”
            “The restaurant?” Malfoy looked stricken.
            “No,” said Harry. “My vocabulary. The way I talk and think and feel.” He had just seen a way to twist things around so that he might not piss Malfoy off so much but would still get out of here, and it made him feel pretty proud of himself. “You don’t like the words I use to describe something. What makes you think I believe this nonsense that you keep spouting about how inwardly magnificent I am, or whatever you want me to believe right now? You don’t give a damn about what I’m really like. You only want something you can mold in your image.”
            Malfoy stood, but slowly, not in a way that suggested he was going after his wand. Harry let his own hand rest on his wand anyway, just in case, but it would probably look like he just had it on his hip.
            “Glassly duties,” Malfoy whispered.
            “What?” Harry glared at him, hating that he’d been caught off-guard.
            “You’re doing exactly what I asked of you,” said Malfoy, and blinked, his eyelashes catching the light as they rose and fell, making it look as if he had little diamonds on them, too. “Reflecting me back to myself.” He paused and shook his head. “I can’t say I like the image, and I would have preferred a different setting for the first jewel you offered me then this restaurant, but. Well. I can’t blame you for doing as I asked of you.”
            Then, while Harry was still gaping at him, Malfoy bowed and extended his hand. “Would you like to sit down and have the server come back?” he asked, the picture of composed politeness. “This time, I’ll translate for you and you can order what you like.”
            Harry raised his eyebrows. But Malfoy went on standing there with his hand out, as if he didn’t care at all about the stares coming their way this time. His smile had begun to wear a bit thin at the edges, though.
            Harry searched his eyes. They had the same frustratingly incomprehensible look that he had seen Malfoy wear before.
            Malfoy might be joking. Or he might be so self-involved as to really believe the loads of bollocks that he’d dumped on Harry.
            Harry found out that he didn’t know which one was true. And, more to the point, he was hungry and the food had been delicious and he didn’t know how to get home on his own from the restaurant.
            “If you won’t act so horrified the next time I mess up,” Harry said, and rolled his eyes, and took Malfoy’s hand because it was becoming obvious that Malfoy wouldn’t move unless he did, and let Malfoy help him back into the chair. “I will mess up, you know.”
            “One,” Malfoy murmured.
            Harry stared at him, and Malfoy smiled back at him and touched his wand to the table. A server immediately came hurrying towards him, and Malfoy turned the bland smile on the server and rattled something else in the language of this place, then turned towards Harry.
            The revelation burst on Harry like a star exploding.
            Malfoy meant what he’d said, at least about letting Harry order dinner like this. And Harry would get a good meal the way he’d thought he would.
            And Malfoy had a sense of humor.
            Harry smiled back with true appreciation and started explaining what he wanted, throwing in “Peacocks’ tongues and stuffed larks” just to see if Malfoy would translate it and the restaurant had it. And Malfoy translated without a blink, and the server nodded without a blink, and the food was on Harry’s plate a few minutes later.
            Harry found out that peacocks’ tongues were nasty and stuffed larks were nice, and more than that: this game was worth playing out to the end. Not just because Kingsley had assigned him to it, either.
            He wanted to see where the hell Malfoy’s sense of humor and madcap sense of inappropriateness would take him.
*
moodysavage: So Malfoy is not completely shallow and oblivious! But yeah, it’s hard to tell exactly what he’s rooting for.
starr: Harry thinks he’s being impossible in self-defense.
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A Series of Malfoy Events