Dudley ducked his head. "Sorry, Harry."
"It's all right. But if you need some money, Dudley--"
"I won't, not now I'm working." Dudley looked behind him, at Snape and Draco. "You two in the back seat, then? Harry can sit up front with me."
Draco's eyes widened. "You expect me to get in that . . . conveyance?"
"It's not so different from the train," said Harry with a touch of impatience. Actually, he was surprised Draco hadn't been in a car yet, with all the time he spent with Rhiannon. She'd mentioned driving once . . . but then again, Draco had made it clear that his girlfriend would much rather Apparate.
As would Draco, obviously. "Severus has already selected a restaurant and I'm positive he can get us there. All of us."
Snape raised an eyebrow. "In broad daylight in the middle of a busy neighbourhood? I think not, Draco."
"Well, then we can--"
"Get in the car, Draco," Harry interrupted. "After all, Dudley took the Express when he came to see me, and that was a lot more difficult for him than this is going to be for you."
Draco still didn't move, not until Snape gave him a tiny push. Then he capitulated and climbed awkwardly into the car, his jaw set in stoic, almost hateful lines. Harry almost sighed. He'd be willing to bet that Draco would regard riding in a car a grand adventure if Rhiannon were the one driving.
Well, at least Snape wasn't objecting. His expression was solemn as he walked to the other side of the car and got in, himself. Leaning forward, he passed Dudley a piece of parchment on which he'd drawn a rough map. Dudley studied it for a few moments, but then he started driving and got them all to the restaurant without mishap.
Draco held himself stiffly the whole time, even so, and slammed the car door--hard--when he got out.
Harry smiled and waved a hand toward the French seafood restaurant, which was located in a district not too far from Marsha's office. "Dad and I came here yesterday for lunch and made sure they had things that would work for your diet."
Draco huffed a little, but Harry didn't see what he had to complain about. So what if Snape and Harry had enjoyed a fancy meal on their own? He'd gone off for lunch with Rhiannon, as usual.
"Eh, don't worry about my diet," murmured Dudley. "I'm sort of, er-- taking a break from it, for a while."
"Oh, no, you can't do that--"
"Harry," interrupted Snape. That was all he said, but it was enough. Dudley was a grown man, able to make his own decisions about his diet or anything else. Harry knew that, but he was still determined to speak his mind on the subject--but only if Dudley asked.
"Merveilleuse," said Draco, reading the sign above the double doors that led inside. "Somehow I doubt that."
"The restaurant's name is a play on words, since it means marvellous, but mer also means the sea in French--"
Draco lifted his chin. "Yes, I am aware. Unlike some people, I actually do speak French, you realise."
Conceited prat . . . Harry yanked on one of the oars mounted vertically to the door. Odd sort of handle, but it went along with the fishing nets hanging overhead. The waiting area was similarly themed, with everything set up to look like you were aboard a fishing vessel. Harry thought it was charming, but then, he hadn't been out to eat very often, and certainly not to any restaurants like this, not until the day before when Snape had suggested they go "scouting" for a likely eatery.
Draco looked like he thought it was all beneath his standards. Well, maybe he was just annoyed that Rhiannon hadn't been able to come. Or more likely, Draco was regretting that he had to be here. No doubt about it, he'd rather be sitting in the theatre listening to Rhiannon sing the same songs over and over.
When the hostess tried to seat them, Draco hung back from the booth until everyone else was settled. Then, he took the seat farthest from Dudley, picked up his menu, and held it up in front of his face like he thought it was a cross to ward off vampires.
Harry almost sighed. Draco had taken to chatting Muggles up a bit, wherever he met them, ever since he'd had that talk with Hermione. It seemed fairly obvious that she'd told him he needed practice, or something. But he'd hardly said even a single word to Dudley, even though the last time they'd gone to Number Four, Draco had been able to converse with the Muggle boy.
But now . . . you'd never guess he knew what polite behaviour was. Draco looked absolutely disgusted to be in a Muggle restaurant, even to the point of curling his upper lip every time he glanced up from his menu.
Harry didn't understand it at all. How could Rhiannon actually be making everything worse, when it came to Draco and Muggles?
Prat, thought Harry. At that point, all Harry could assume was that the car ride had given Draco quite an upset, and he needed some time to get over it. Snape too, maybe. He didn't seem unsettled the way Draco obviously was, but he was being rather quiet.
Letting Harry take charge, perhaps, since after all, he was the one most keenly interested in a relationship with Dudley. At any rate, the way nobody was talking was beginning to grate on Harry's nerves, so he turned to his cousin and took the initiative. "You've got a job now, you said? What are you doing?"
Dudley's face went a little pink as he pushed his menu over to the edge of the table. "It's not much, but it pays the bills. I stock shelves at a video rental place." He grinned, then. "I get to bring home as many tapes as I like, though, so that part's all right."
Draco's menu made a thudding noise as he set it down a little too forcefully. "How can you have so much in need of repair? Are you that clumsy?"
It took Harry a minute to even follow that. Oh, tapes. Draco must be thinking of spellotape . . . though that certainly didn't explain the blunt question or the edge of antagonism in his voice. Harry leaned over to whisper. "Videotapes, he means. They're like . . . recordings of what you see on the telly, so you can make the same programmes repeat as much as you like."
Draco picked up his water, but he didn't drink it; he just rotated the glass in his hand so the liquid began to swirl in circles. He wasn't looking at his handiwork, though; his grey eyes seemed to be boring straight into Dudley. "How could anybody need even more to watch than what was already showing on all those channels?"
He said it like he thought Dudley was a fat, lazy slob who never did anything but stare at the telly. Which actually wasn't such a bad description of Dudley in years past, but even if it was still true, it wasn't Draco's place to comment on it.
"What's wrong with you?" hissed Harry. "You were with Rhiannon all day, again . . . did you have a row or something?"
Draco folded his hands serenely before him. "Whatever would make you think that? Rhiannon and I get on splendidly."
"Rhiannon?" asked Dudley.
"Draco's girlfriend," said Harry shortly.
"I'm certain I mentioned her last time," added Draco smoothly. "Perhaps watching all those tapes is dulling your memory."
"Draco," rebuked Snape, giving a small shake of his head.
Draco went silent then, and began pretending that the nautical dÈcor was of great interest. Snape tried once or twice to draw him into the conversation, but Draco wasn't having it. He didn't say more than two words in a row until the waitress came by, and then, as if to prove just how superior he was to the rest of the world, he rattled off the snootiest order Harry had ever heard. "PÙchouse to start, piping hot, mind, and then Espadon ‡ la Rouille to follow. Vinaigrette dressing on my salad, and do be sure the chef uses proper Dijon in that, would you? Some restaurants try to make do with German mustard instead, and it's just not done."
It was quite an expensive restaurant, so the waitress merely nodded, showing no expression. "And to drink, sir?"