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Pansy had spared no expense. She had told him that an official courting between them needed to be proper, even if it came out of her father’s pocket. Apparently he was just happy that she was going to be with a pureblood, because he thought that her ‘acting out’ during the war would have led to something ‘much less desirable’ for her. That's as detailed as she got with it, and Ron didn't really want to spend any more time thinking about what her father actually found preferable in a partner for her.
An entire restaurant in Paris had been rented out for the occasion, she'd sent him to get new dress robes tailored, and an official invitation had been printed and sent to both party’s families to signify the beginning of an official courting.
It was much more extravagant than their previous less official dates, which mostly consisted of doing homework in the back nook of the Hogwarts library and snogging by the lake after curfew.
Although, for all that preparation and set-up and money… They were only there for a few hours, eating their courses and holding polite conversation while listening to the live five-piece band that Pansy’s mother had requested play while they ate. It was terribly high class, and Ron almost used the wrong fork about six times. He only remembered because every time he went to pick it up, Pansy kicked his shin under the table so hard he’d swear he’d bruise.
All in all, it was deemed a successful outing. Her parents had been pleased that he'd returned her to their doorstep at 9pm sharp, and he'd moseyed off downtown to meet his girlfriend for the second time that night after she’d promptly slipped out her bedroom window.
“You did use the wrong spoon to eat the caviar,” Pansy snickered around the straw of her chocolate milkshake, leaning back into the diner's booth.
“What!?” Ron spluttered, pushing his own empty milkshake glass away. His drink was strawberry, though it was unrecognizable after he’d chugged it down - he was still deathly hungry after eating that sorry excuse for a six course meal. Those portion sizes were jokes. He'd already ordered a burger meal, and Pansy only made fun of him a little bit. “You said you'd kick me if I fucked up with the bajillion utensils they gave us.”
“No, I said I'd kick you if you fucked up with your forks. There were only three spoons and you said you were confident in them, I suppose I’m being courted by a liar,” Pansy swung her feet under the table, feet not reaching the ground. They periodically brushed against Ron's “Although I’m lucky you remembered it was a spoon for caviar in the first place. If I'd made you think you needed to use a fork it would have been disastrous.”
Ron scoffed, rolling up the sleeves of his dress robes. They'd stayed in their fancy clothes for the evening, too excited to run off and act like teenagers. There was no time to change into normal clothes. “There was no one in that place but us, love.”
“I would've been devastated,” Pansy tilted her chin up, but the blush on her cheeks gave her away. Pet names always got to her.
Ron only smirked, kicking his legs up on the cushion beside her and laying his arms over the back of the booth. “As if.”