Moments

42. Le Chaudron Brisé

A/N: Nearly there...

(997 words)

Draco'd decided that tonight was the night to tell Potter.

The only thing was, Potter was working late, again, and it really was beginning to frustrate him. He knew Potter was under pressure but this was taking the piss. He was off to France in the morning and Potter had promised they'd go out before he left.

He wandered around Grimmauld Place, alone and bored.

He sighed heavily.

Spying Potter's car keys on the side, an idea struck him.

He wrote a quick note and went to find Valpus. The poor Owl didn't have many delivery jobs these days. Draco narrowed his eyes, Valpus looked more rotund than usual.

'You need some exercise...' he muttered. 'When I get back, I'll take matters in hand. Potter's neglecting you.'

Valpus hooted sorrowfully.

'Yes, well, I blame Robards too. He's taking Potter away from us.'

Valpus put his head on one side and raised one of his white eyebrows.

'...that's what I'm doing.'

Valpus hooted encouragingly.

'Yes, take this to Potter.'

Yes, tonight he was going to tell Potter how he felt. It would give Potter time while he was away in France.

Draco hurried to the sitting room and pulled out the Yellow Pages from under the sofa.

He could do this. He felt encouraged. He felt courageous.

He flicked through until he found 'Restaurants'. Initially baffled by the sub-sections, he found 'French' and smiled as a name caught his eye.

He went to the telephone in the hallway, picked up the receiver and carefully put in the number. He held it to his ear cautiously.

Draco wasn't entirely sure how it worked, but when a man said in his ear 'Le Chaudron Brisé' as if it were question, he nearly dropped the phone.

Now, Draco had heard Ron order take-outs; he shouted down the phone, a lot. He's also heard Hermione use it; she just spoke normally.

Draco answered 'bonjour' in a normal voice (once he'd put the receiver back against his ear). Then he blushed and apologised because the man said he didn't need to talk in French.

With a bit of prompting, Draco booked a table for two at eight-thirty and discovered the dress-code was smart. He had no idea how much it was going to cost, but he decided he'd treat Potter whatever. Tonight was a big night. He'd managed to slip in a sly, 'are you a muggle restaurant?', risking that if the man didn't understand, he would just think him odd.

'Yes, sir, though we do accept galleons.'

'Super,' said Draco, 'that solves that.'

'Very good, sir. What name, sir?'

'Er... Malfoy,' he said. Then he changed his mind and blurted out, 'Potter,' in case they recognised his name and got a bit snotty about things.

'Very good, Mr Malfoy-Potter. And may I compliment you on your telephone manner, most proficient, sir.'

'Er, thank you,' Draco mumbled wondering how to correct the misunderstanding, but the man had already put down the telephone.

He decided the 'Malfoy-Potter' was auspicious.

He rushed upstairs, determined that Potter should wear his blue suit because he looked decidedly handsome in it.

Then he swiped up Potter's car keys and drove to the Ministry.

Potter was waiting outside as requested.

He harrumphed at the sight of Draco driving his car. But he got in and Draco passed him his suit.

'You'll have to change as I drive.'

'Where are we going?'

'Le Chaudron Brisé. The address is in the Sav Nap...'

'Sat Nav,' Potter corrected, but he smiled as he changed. Draco kept his eyes firmly on the road.

The restaurant was on the edge of the wizarding neighbourhood but, because of the exclusivity, no one batted an eyelid when Harry Potter walked in or that he was still tucking in his shirttails.

'Mr Malfoy-Potter,' greeted the maître d', sycophantically. 'And Mr Malfoy-Potter.' He gave a discreet bow to Potter.

Draco blushed as Potter raised an eyebrow.

'I took the liberty of allocating you a more secluded table, seeing as the news isn't public knowledge.' He led them to a booth at the back of the restaurant. 'I did enjoy the recent article. Of course, your recent nuptials means it makes rather more sense...' he bowed again and signalled for them to take their seats at an embarrassingly intimate, candle-lit table.

'Ah,' Draco tried. 'About that...'

'Honey...' Potter smirked evilly, indicating to Draco to take his seat first.

Draco knew he must be bright red by now. He wasn't sure he could cope with this. Perhaps this had been the worst idea in his life. Well, maybe not the very worst, but...

'Perhaps I could offer you a congratulatory bottle of champagne on the house.'

'No, it'll be fine, but thank you,' said Potter firmly. 'I'm driving,' he added.

'Your menus...'

'Care to explain?' Potter asked when the maître d' had vanished.

'A misunderstanding,' Draco blushed again. It seemed to be happening a lot. 'On the telephone...'

Potter smiled fondly at him, 'you telephoned?'

'Well, we said we'd go out before I left for France tomorrow.'

'Tomorrow!'

'Yes, I told you.'

'I know, it's just come around rather fast.'

Merlin! They really did sound like they were married, and Draco blushed once more at the thought.

'Thank you,' Potter said gently, reaching across the table, briefly touching his fingertips to Draco's hand. 'It means a lot.'

Draco shuddered at the softness of the touch and looked across the table at Potter, his heart in his mouth. If only Potter knew what he did to him, those little casual touches which sent his blood racing. But with a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach, he knew he couldn't tell Potter, not when he looked in those clear emerald eyes. The man was too oblivious. It would be too much of shock, it would pull Potter's world apart.

With a sinking heart, he scanned the menu and half-heartedly picked the monkfish.

And he decided he was never going to tell Potter.

*****