Author: @idearlylovealaugh
Prompt: Diagon Alley, date night
Description: Where better to celebrate a special occasion than the fanciest restaurant in town?
Rating: T
The atmosphere at Le Cochon Peint justified its reputation as the most fashionable and hard-to-come-by reservation in Diagon Alley. On a Saturday night in June almost every table was occupied by elegantly dressed witches and wizards, and a number of those heads turned as a young, attractive couple was shown to a table in nearly the exact center of the restaurant. The man, tall and strikingly ginger, pushed in the chair of his petite, bushy-haired companion in an unobtrusive display of chivalry before taking his seat amid the buzz of interested chatter from diners seated nearby.
“Quite the place,” Ron remarked, glancing around as the napkin in front of him sailed elegantly into the air, unfolded itself from it’s complicated swan design and drifted neatly onto his lap.
“It’s lovely,” Hermione agreed, smiling at him warmly. “I’m so glad we finally made it here. I’ve been hearing about it for months!”
“Seems like the right kind of place for an anniversary dinner,” he reasoned. “These posh drinks are alright, really,” he added thoughtfully, swirling around a ruby-coloured concoction he had ordered at the swanky bar in the restaurant’s lobby.
“That bartender thought you were quite alright, too, I think,” Hermione replied slyly.
“She was just being friendly,” Ron scoffed, though his ears pinked ever-so-slightly. “And she got a lot friendlier after she heard me give my name to the bloke at the front,” he added skeptically.
“The maître d’,” Hermione supplied automatically.
Ron smiled knowingly at her as he shook his head. “Right.”
“Besides, I doubt she needed to hear your name to know who you are,” she conjectured.
“The red hair I’ll grant you, but these robes are brand-new!” he joked. His eyes glowed with warmth as he watched her laugh. “Have I told you how bloody gorgeous you look tonight?”
She flushed, feeling slightly absurd to be so pleased. “Yes, but you also told me that last week after I went twelve rounds with Crookshanks and the bath, so I’m not sure I trust your judgement.”
“Hmmmm, I stand by that statement,” he mused, regarding her appraisingly.
“You’re ridiculous - I was drenched!” Hermione cried in amusement, remembering the soaked and disheveled state she had been in.
“Exactly,” he replied, mischief in his eyes. “I….”
“Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, what a delight!”
A booming voice cut him off as a florid man in ostentatious golden robes planted himself beside their table. Hermione glanced around self-consciously as he heartily shook Ron’s hand and feigned an elaborate kiss on her own. Every head in the restaurant seemed to have swiveled in their direction and was watching the scene with interest. “I have the honor to be the proprietor of Le Cochon Peint and please allow me to say that we are so, so gratified to have you dine with us this evening, and we hope that everything is to your express liking. If either of you have a particular appetite tonight, please permit me to communicate it to the chef. He will be more than happy to cater to your every whim.”
Hermione, still caught off guard, demurred. “Oh no, I’m sure the regular menu is…”
“We want to make sure we have the pleasure of your patronage again. Perhaps we could have a quick snap for our Wall of Fame?”
A slender, nimble man appeared to materialize out of thin air by his elbow and before they were fully aware of what was happening, they were enveloped in a explosive puff of purple smoke, the cameraman deftly slipping away with what was assuredly a picture of a supremely dumbstruck Ron and Hermione.
“Fantastic,” the manager beamed. “And when you return, perhaps you would be inclined to bring a friend? A very close and well-known friend?” he finished with an insinuating smile. And with one more effusive “Fantastic!” he was gone in a swirl of shimmering fabric.
Ron and Hermione could only gape at each other for a moment, before Ron set his jaw angrily.
“That was …”
“Ridiculous,” she supplied, shielding her burning face with the leather-bound menu.
“That’s not what I was going to say,” Ron grumbled under his breath, still glaring in the direction the manager had retreated.
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