Chapter Text
In a previous life the restaurant had been a computer repairs shop and it still had the old sign above the door. PC Doctor in faded green with a drawing of a man holding a stethoscope against a smoking laptop. In front of the building a slate sandwich board blocked the pavement, advertising the shop’s reinvention into Cereal Monogamist: popup cereal cafe!!
The sound of Tori Amos singing Cornflake Girl greeted Draco as he peered through the condensation-streaked windows and, for the 1000th time, cursed whatever Malfoyian inbreeding had made is physically impossible for him to say ‘no’ to Pansy.
As if summoned by his thoughts, Draco’s phone flashed with a message from ‘Pussy-Patrol-Parkinson’: a string of aubergines, followed by a pair of underpants, a kissy face, a moon, a glass of wine, and a snake. Pansy had been trying to set Draco up with Liam the Underwear Model for months and had eventually enlisted Draco’s son in her ongoing campaign to “replace that broomstick up your bum with something far more pleasant.” Although Scorpius Malfoy remained blissfully unaware of the campaign’s title.
Draco winced again at the memory of Scorpius’ strained reassurances that he “really wouldn’t mind if you wanted to, um, you know, um, meet... someone, a person... you know, for, um... dating, dad.”
The entire exchange had been torturous for both father and son, especially as halfway through Scorpius’ seventh stuttered “er, you know” Draco had been forcibly reminded of Potter at the same age. In his hurry to reject the idea that his darling Scorpius could in any way resemble the muttering, shuffling, gormless teen-Potter, Draco had agreed to the date with Liam — surname, Underwear Model — a man who Pansy had met in a Muggle Gardening Centre and who she insisted would be "goals" for Draco.
Groaning quietly to himself, Draco pushed open the door and almost tripped over a free standing cardboard cutout of a monkey that appeared to be offering Draco a bowl of its own liquid faeces.
A few of the diners glanced up as Draco wrestled the monkey back into place before switching their attention back to slurping pastel coloured cereal out of picnic bowls and showing each other things on their phones. Draco tried not to take this lack of interest to heart, it wasn’t as if he wanted the squishy-faced twenty somethings of Hackney observing him all evening. He repeated this to himself as he shuffled around the artfully rusted IKEA garden furniture that Cereal Monogamist favoured.
The restaurant was already full, diners packed so tightly together than many of them were sitting back-to-back. Tori Amos had been replaced by Neutral Milk Hotel and the barman was indistinguishable from the customers: buried in his own phone, apparently disinclined to make smalltalk. Or serve drinks. Hovering awkwardly, Draco pretended to be absorbed in the extensive cereal menu painted on the wall above the bar. £8 for a bowl of rice crispies seemed like a lot but Draco had always found Muggle currency a little confusing. Maybe the dish involved a few special ingredients? Possibly shavings of truffle or-
“Alright love? Do you have a reservation?” A small woman appeared at Draco’s elbow, she was still wearing a coat and Draco briefly wondered if she was just a helpful diner before noticing that her earrings were made of perspex coated cornflakes.
“Yes, I’m early.” He smiled and was pathetically grateful when she smiled back.
“And what’s the name?”
“Liam.” Pansy had insisted that the reservation be made under Liam’s name, “they’ll only call you Drake, darling, and you know how cross that makes you.” Draco did not personally believe that he looked like a Liam but the waitress’ iPad seemed to believe him as she beamed and pointed towards the back of restaurant.
“Your mate’s already here.”
“Oh. Is he?” Draco doubtfully scanned the five tables squished against the far wall. Three of them already contained couples, while the other two had people who were decidedly not Liam the Underwear Model. One of them was a tall, skinny woman with a prominent chin who was wearing turquoise headphones and the other person was... “Fuck,” said Draco. “That’s not Liam”.
“No-oh?” said the waitress, giving him an uneasy look. “That’s Harry, he introduced himself when he came in.” The words ‘unlike some people’ floated unspoken between them. To think that Draco would see the day when a Muggle was using Harry fucking Potter to lecture him about good manners.
“Obviously there’s been a mistake, I am here to meet a man called Liam.”
“Aren’t you Liam?” The waitress frowned. “The table’s reserved for Liam, I’ll have to make you a new reservation if you’re not him.” She was already reaching for her iPad and — picturing his first date in months vanishing before his eyes — Draco hurried to stop her.
“Sorry, sorry. Of course I’m Liam. I’ll just... go... over... there...” he trailed off, glaring at the top of Potter’s head. Like the rest of the diners, Potter was reading on his phone, and hadn't noticed Draco, yet. There was no cereal in front of him and maybe if Draco spoke slowly and loudly, using only small words, Potter would agree to vacate the table before Liam arrived.
“Drink?” the waitress still seemed a little suspicious of Draco’s Liam-ness.
“Please, yes. Whatever, ah, Harry is having.” The waitress disappeared and Draco squared his shoulders, only to have to immediately curl them back in as he shuffled through the tightly packed restaurant.
He was less than a foot away from Potter when he tripped over a stray rucksack. Throwing his arms out to brace himself, both Draco’s hands slammed down on Potters table and Potter jerked to attention, staring up at Draco with a slightly open mouth. As far as dramatic entrances went it was hard to beat, although given the choice Draco would have preferred to opt for a sneered “Potter” and an artfully raised eyebrow.
“Malfoy. Alright?” Potter’s startled jump had caused his glasses to slip down his nose and he nudged them back into place with a stubby finger.
“Perfectly.” Something in Draco’s back twinged as he straightened up and he decided that this conversation could be had just as easily sitting down. Slipping into the chair opposite Potter he smoothed a hand through his hair and smiled in a way that his mother said made him look ‘dashing’. “There appears to have been some confusion with my reservation I–”
“Couldn’t get one, eh?” Potter nodded sympathetically. “Took me three tries on the website, you know they’re using Java? Who does that?”
With no idea what Potter was talking about, Draco hummed his agreement before trying again. “I do have a reservation, thank you. The man I am meeting made it under his name and the waitress appears to think that he is you, or rather I am him.”
“What?” Potter smiled, shaking his head. “No this is definitely my table.”
“I can assure you, it is not.” Draco didn’t think he’d spoken out of turn, yet Potter’s head snapped up and he glared at Draco.
“This is my table, Malfoy.”
“No, my date reserved–”
“I reserved this table for my date.”
“Look.” Draco swallowed down a rush of rage, tried to choose his words carefully. “I have a date with a man called Liam. The waitress informs me that this table has been reserved under the name Liam. I am therefore waiting for my date, Liam, and I would greatly appreciate it if you could-”
“Drink.” A plastic beaker of amber liquid slapped down in front of Draco. It had cheerios floating in it and Draco looked up at the waitress in horror, only to see her place a matching beaker in front of Potter. Draco’s phone buzzed with a text as the waitress asked “Have you decided what you want to order yet?”
“No we will not be-”
“Hold up Malfoy.” Potter interrupted staring at his own phone for a moment before turning to the waitress. “We need a few more minutes, thanks.”
“Alright.” The waitress smiled at Potter and shot Draco an appraising look before moving away to serve another table as Kelis started making grand claims about the capabilities of her milkshake.
“I can assure you, Potter, that we will not be ordering any food,” said Draco. “Or at least you will not be. I will be ordering food with my date who will be here soon and I’m sure very distressed at the sight of a pint-sized saviour squatting in his seat.”
Much to Draco’s unease, Potter laughed. “Well,” he picked up his drink and held it up to Draco in a toast, “if he’s scared off by a man sitting in a chair he’s clearly not up to handling you. Seems like you’ll be better off without him.”
“Really?” said Draco. “And what about your date? What will he say when he arrives and realises that you have usurped Liam-”
“About that. My date is also with someone called Liam.”
Draco’s mouth shut with a click and pain blossomed from the tip of his tongue. He stared at Potter. “What are you talking about?”
“I’m also on a date with a man called Liam.”
“The same Liam?”
“Probably.” Potter didn’t seem especially distressed by this revelation but Draco’s stomach was in freefall.
“What,” he cleared his throat, “what makes you think that?” How many Liams were there in London? Lots, Draco decided. There must be lots. Lots of Liams who were attracted to men and liked eating cereal and had decided to arrange a date at this particular restaurant on this particular evening.
“Well it seems an unlikely coincidence,” Potter shrugged, giving voice to Draco’s uneasy musings. “But also I just got a text from Hermione,” he waved his phone, “saying that she’s sorry about the Liam thing but “you and Draco need to start getting on, for all our sakes.”” Potter’s cheeks went a bit pink as he read out the last part of the text. Draco filed that away to think about later.
“That doesn’t mean they’re the same Liam,” he tried, wincing at the doubt in his own voice. “My Liam could still be coming.”
“She also says that Pansy texted you.”
“Right,” Draco pulled out his phone, groping unseeingly for his drink as he did so. Pansy and Granger had been friends ever since they got talking at a Magical Menstruation Board Meeting but apart from a few awkward dinners there had never been any real attempt to merge the two groups. Pansy had said that she’d like it if Draco and Potter could spend more than 15 minutes in the same postcode without getting into an argument but she would never... she wouldn’t have...
Sorry but it really is for your own good. The text on Draco’s phone read. If I ever meet an underwear model called Liam I will be sure to save him for you but for now you’ll have to forgive my little deception and spend the evening making friends with Potter xxx Don’t be cross. The text ended with a dancing woman, a cocktail, a beer, and, inexplicably, another aubergine. Draco felt sick.
“She tricked me,” he looked up at Potter. Potter grimaced and took another swallow of his drink.
“Should have known Hermione was up to something, she’s never offered to set me up before.”
“Why did they use the same name, I wonder.”
“To get us sitting at the same table?” The resignation in Potter’s voice made Draco’s shoulders feel tight.
“So you’re fine with this?” he asked.
“What?”
“Being lied to, manipulated, by your friends.”
“Steady on,” Potter sat up, glaring at Draco. “Hermione didn’t lie, she-”
“Did she tell you that she was setting you up on a date with a man called Liam?” Draco sounded like his father, he hated when that happened.
“Yes, but-”
“Allow me to introduce myself,” Draco held out a hand, Potter half reached for it before realising that Draco was joking and scowling at him, “My name is Draco Lucius Malfoy,” Draco persisted. “I am not, nor have I ever been, called Liam.”
“Look it doesn’t matter-”
“Of course it matters.” Draco blinked rapidly and swallowed. His throat clicked. “Granger lied to you and-”
“She didn’t fucking lie, alright?” Finally, Potter was looking as angry as Draco felt. If Draco kept needling him Potter would probably leave and Draco could stay, drowning himself in cheerio-cocktails before going over to hex Pansy for getting his hopes up.
As soon as the thought occurred to him Draco knew it was time to call it a night. Annoying Potter had lost its appeal a while ago, although he’d still hex Pansy, Draco decided as he stood and tossed some Muggle notes on the table.
“Where are you going?” Potter asked.
“Home.”
“We should talk.”
“Why?”
“Well...” Potter shifted in his seat. “They went to all this trouble, Hermione and Pansy, seems like we should at least-”
“We don’t have to do anything,” said Draco, fighting to keep his voice level. “We don’t owe them a thing. They are the ones who lied, dragged us out here with lies and lying promises.”
The corner of Potter’s mouth twitched. “Lies and lying promises?” he asked. “Wow, you’re really upset about this. Aren’t you?”
“Fuck off, Potter," said Draco, turning towards the door. He felt a light tug at his coat, followed by the smack of a falling cereal bowl. He didn’t look back. Behind him Potter shouted Draco’s name again and one of the diners tutted over their spilt cereal. Draco kept walking. He brushed passed the cardboard monkey, felt a sudden hitch behind his belly button, and the world went dark.
***
“Drink.” A plastic beaker of amber liquid slapped down in front of Draco. It had cheerios floating in it and Draco looked up in time to see the waitress place a matching beaker in front of Potter. Draco’s phone buzzed with a text as the waitress asked “Have you decided what you want to order yet?”
He was sitting back at the table, opposite Potter who was put down his own phone and turned to the waitress. “We need a few more minutes, thanks.”
“Alright.” The waitress smiled at Potter and glanced at Draco before moving away.
“What,” Draco blinked rapidly, gazing around him at the restaurant. He didn’t remember sitting back down. Three tables over he could see a woman offering her companion a taste from her bowl of cocoa-pops that Draco was sure he’d knocked onto the floor less than ten seconds ago. That Kelis song was playing again, wasn't someone going to skip it?
“I just got a text from Hermione,” Potter was talking to Draco. “She’s saying she lied about my date to get me here. I think she wants us to make up.”
“What. I...” Draco trailed off, frowning at Potter.
“Yeah, think she might have got Pansy in on it too.” Potter grinned ruefully and ran a hand through his hair.
“How did I get here?” Draco struggled to remember the timestamp on Pansy’s last text to him, 19.36. “What time is it?”
“Are you alright?” Potter was looking concerned.
“The time.”
“What? Oh! It’s, um,” Potter checked his phone again, “twenty to eight.” Four minutes. Surely it had been longer than four minutes. Draco must have fainted, maybe he keeled over once he stepped outside.
“Did I pass out?” Draco asked.
“No,” Potter cocked his head to the side. “You sat down and started banging on about some bloke called Liam, then the waitress brought some drinks over and Hermione texted me. Are you alright?”
“No,” Draco shook his head. “I don’t think I am. Will you cast a Finite Incantatem on me?”
“Why?” Potter’s face moved from concerned to alarmed.
“Please,” Draco swallowed, rubbing his hand across his forehead. “Just cast it Potter.”
“Alright,” Potter fumbled for his wand, pointing it at Draco under the table and muttering the spell. Nothing happened. “Are you going to tell me what’s going on?”
“I...” panic clawed at Draco’s chest and throat. He stood, tipping his flimsy chair over and knocking his new drink onto the floor. “I have to go.” He turned and walked towards the door. Looking over his shoulder he saw Potter start to follow, calling for Draco to wait. Shaking his head one last time, Draco brushed aside the cardboard monkey. Once again, he felt that familiar hitch behind his belly button and the world tipped 90 degrees before disappearing into darkness.
***
“Drink.” Draco looked up in time to see the waitress place a matching beaker in front of Potter. Draco’s phone buzzed with a text as the waitress asked “Have you decided what you want to order yet?”
Potter put down his own phone and turned to the waitress. “We need a few more minutes, thanks.”