Poison Ivy || Draco Malfoy

19 - Curry

"What do you want to eat?" I called, hurrying out of the building after him as I wrapped my coat around me.

"Curry." Draco said bluntly, not looking back as he strode on purposefully down the street ahead of me, refusing to slow down.

"Okay," I said breathlessly, trying to keep up. "I think there's somewhere near-"

"I know a place."

I tried not to let myself get irritated by him, but he was making it bloody difficult. I couldn't understand how he managed to get so many women to sleep with him when he acted like this.

He didn't break his pace once; navigating through the crowds on the streets with surprising ease, people steering clear of him as if understanding he was a person who wouldn't stand for being bustled against.

We eventually ended up on an extremely pristine looking street, lined with hellishly expensive showy eateries.

Panic filled me as I realised that he wanted us to eat here. Although my classes were doing well, I couldn't see how I would ever be able to explain to Percy why I was forking out for such an extravagant lunch that didn't involve him.

"Draco, I was thinking more of a takeaway," I said desperately as he hurried up the steps to the most fanciest curry house I had ever seen.

"Relax, Parkinson; it's my treat," he muttered, nodding to the doorman who stood aside for us.

As we stepped inside the immaculate restaurant, full of fancy clothed consumers, I looked down at my ripped jeans and paint splattered top beneath my trench coat and felt horribly and humiliating underdressed.

"Ahhh, Mr Malfoy!"

I looked up to see a short, round, enthusiastic shiny looking man scurrying over to us, dressed in what I could only describe as a penguin suit. "Your usual table, I presume?"

"If you would, Masood," Draco said in a clipped, authoritative voice. "And excuse my... guest," he added, his eyes roaming over my clothing disdainfully, "impractical circumstances caused her to dress this way."

"Not a problem, not a problem!" Masood said quickly, obviously keen to please the Slytherin Prince, "we can always dim the lights over your table."

I felt my cheeks flame in humiliation as Masood continued to lead us to a table at the back of the restaurant; a hidden little booth with poor lighting thanks to me.

"You know we could have gone anywhere!" I hissed at Draco after Masood walked away with my coat; a look of complete disgust on his face as he held it delicately between his fingers as though he was handling a contaminated rag.

"I like it here," Draco shrugged unapologetically, "they do a good curry."

"So do fucking Wetherspoons!" I snapped, trying to sink back in my seat as much as possible from the judging eyes of the restaurant's upmarket clientele. "And they do a great pint and curry deal!"

Draco gave me a withered look, straightening his tie as he did so. "Why are you acting like such a Muggle? I thought you were a Parkinson?"

"What have you got against Muggles, Draco? I asked, narrowing my eyes at him. "Are you seriously telling me that you haven't learnt anything since the war?"

"I was thrown into fucking Azkaban for two years, like you didn't know," he spat vehemently, "you drew the pictures, after all."

I was shocked into silence, not knowing quite what to say. This was the first time he had ever brought the drawings up that had got us in this situation.