It was all he could do not to shudder. The least the pub management could do was see that things were scrubbed down once in a while! But then again, how were Muggles supposed to clean anything, really? Their idea of sanitation was to get everything wet and just rub the dirt around some, until it blended in. Granted, they didn't have much choice about that, since they couldn't do even the simplest Lavare, but it was still sickening. Was it any wonder he hadn't done any cleaning when he'd been without his wand? No point. No point at all.
Draco really wished he didn't even know about Muggle cleaning methods, but they were a little hard to miss, considering his brother's habits. He'd been trying to get Harry to use magic more instinctively, but his brother just kept thinking of rags--rags, honestly!--whenever he spilled his milk or slopped his food.
Thank Merlin he didn't do it all that often.
Draco swallowed, holding himself in his chair only with great effort. Muggles had sat here too, and then somebody had probably come along with a damp rag and spread sweat and who-knew-what-else onto every surface--
"You all right?" asked Harry.
"Yes, of course," said Draco, lifting his chin.
"Don't look it."
Draco huffed. "Well, since you'll probably get offended if I mention that the clientele here does not consist of the kind of people I'm used to--"
Harry's brow wrinkled a bit. "Oh. You're fussing about that? You know, I think it's all in your mind. You did pretty well at the home we just came from. Not that we got to see much, but--"
Not much was an understatement, Draco thought. "Of course I did well," he said, trying to get through to Harry for once. The woman who'd greeted them had turned out to be a squib, they'd learned. "That Emmeleia Volentier was one of us. Missing the most vital part, of course, but for all that, still one of us."
Harry rolled his eyes. "Oh, give it up. Or do you still think Severus is wrong about all us having a common ancestry if you go far enough back? I thought you really respected his scholarship and research and all the rest. So?"
"Genealogy isn't Potions," said Draco, sniffing.
"But do you think he's wrong, or will you admit that even your blood isn't as pure as you used to believe?"
"I'll admit that the idea still makes me ill. Is that enough for you?"
Harry just kept on, like a niffler scenting gold. "This thing you have, it is all in your mind. Think about when Dudley came to visit us, all right? You were great about it. He didn't bother you at all."
That's what you think, thought Draco, remembering the bone-clenching horror he'd fought back several times an hour while the Muggle boy had been living with them. The memory still gave him chills. Actually, being in this pub was bringing all those memories to the forefront of his mind, for he'd had the same thoughts then, too. More than thoughts. He'd tried his level best not to use a chair or seat after Harry's cousin had touched it. He'd gone about stealthily casting cleaning spells, even looking up stronger ones than he usually used.
But it was good that Harry didn't know about any of that, and thought he'd done well with his Muggle cousin. Though why Harry should care about that fat creature was still a mystery to Draco. Too forgiving by half . . . that was Harry.
Draco ignored the little niggle of conscience that reminded him just how many times he'd been the recipient of Harry's forgiveness. Instead, he merely nodded.
He should have known that Harry had all the social grace of a crustacean. Obviously not picking up on Draco's signal that he'd rather not discuss the matter, the other boy was pressing, "So why are you letting it bother you now, Draco?"
Because you're a perfect dolt, Draco almost said. What was he supposed to answer, that being around a Muggle had bothered him just as much then, but he'd done better at hiding it because he'd been so desperate for Harry to start trusting him?
Draco could do without being quite so obviously pathetic. Especially after last night's embarrassing display. He hadn't meant to admit out loud how much he wanted for Harry to really like him, instead of just put up with him.
"Perhaps I'm merely regretting that our visit to the orphanage wasn't all it could have been," he said coolly.
That time, the other boy took the hint. Shrugging, Harry grabbed a menu for himself, humming a bit as he began to read it. He looked like he felt right at home in the pub. Smug about it, even, like it was some kind of advantage to be able to relax and act like it was perfectly normal to be surrounded on all sides by Muggles. Or maybe it was more like Harry faulted him for not feeling nearly as much at ease. Well, in that case he'd have to fault Severus as well.
Or perhaps not, since no matter how ill-at-ease Severus might feel, he'd never, ever show it. Which reminded Draco to school his expression more, and put on his perfect manners. If Severus could tolerate this dung-hill masquerading as a dining establishment, then so could Draco.
He glanced over to where their father was standing at the bar and giving the bartender their order. Yes, Severus looked perfectly composed, if a bit serious. But then, he nearly always looked serious. A good bit of the time he actually looked grim.
Whereas Harry was still looking delighted to be here. "Steak-and-kidney pie sounds good," he said, actually rubbing his hands together at the hideous prospect.
Well, his brother had pretty lowbrow tastes. Half the time they'd ordered whatever suits, Harry had got something that couldn't possibly be termed a proper meal. Draco for one was happy the pub's offerings at least extended to quiche, though really, it was probably going to be day-old with a soggy crust.
The things he put up with!
Still, it was better than having to prepare lunch for themselves, he supposed. That was their pattern out at the cottage. Unlike during their other holidays in Devon, when they'd got most of their food ready-made from the magic crates, Severus was actually making them cook. Cook! It was ridiculous. That Dobby elf would definitely see to their needs. All Harry had to do was say the word, but no, Severus insisted that they could shift for themselves. That they needed to, in fact.
As if he or Harry would ever need to be without proper service. They could afford the best, both of them, even if Severus couldn't.
Though, what Severus had meant by that need comment was probably that he preferred not to disclose the cottage's location to anyone else, even an elf. It was bad enough that Weasley and Granger knew where it was.
Draco had tried saying that Harry should prepare all their meals, since the other boy did, after all, have plenty of experience cooking. All that had got him was a glare from his father and brother both. Well, that and a cool, If you're so in need of experience, Draco, perhaps you should handle all our meals for the remainder of the week.
And Harry, grinning like a twit, had chimed in with something about how bloody brilliant it was to learn by experience. Severus and Harry had both laughed at him, then. Well, Harry had laughed and Severus had worn a half-twisted expression that might have been a smile, but they were both definitely having fun at his expense.
That really should have been punishment enough for his offhand remark that Harry could do all the cooking. But no, Severus being his usual hard-nosed self, he'd actually followed through and made Draco cook every meal for the following three days! So perhaps overcooked watery quiche wasn't such a bad thing.
Severus began to make his way back from the bar.
Draco glared, still feeling a bit upset about the way his father and brother had reacted to the things he'd cooked for them. More jokes at Draco's expense. Not to mention outright mockery the time they'd mistaken his attempt at vichyssoise for mashed potatoes. Mashed potatoes that tasted off, according to Harry.