Title: Harry and Draco Go to Kentucky Fried Chicken
Summary: Draco has a craving, and Harry does his best to fulfill it.
Disclaimer: All Harry Potter characters herein are the property of J.K. Rowling and Bloomsbury/Scholastic. No copyright infringement is intended.
Warning(s): slight crack; mpreg
Deathly Hallows compliant? I suppose, but no reference to the book appears in the story. Definitely not compliant with the epilogue.
Word Count: ~3,800
Author's Notes: Any resemblances to Harold and Kumar Go to White Castle are completely intended (but it's not necessary to have seen the film to understand the story).
Written for florahart's prompt, unexpected/ridiculous/flustering complications or problems, watermarks, Kentucky Fried Chicken, photography, planks, and palindromes.
The keys jingled in the lock when Harry pushed open the door to the flat he shared with Draco. He braced himself for an accusatory you're late, but it didn't come. Chirpy voices talking about chicken emanated from the living room, suggesting that Draco was once again rather enthralled by the telly. Harry toed off his shoes and dutifully hung up his coat. His keys landed in a small bowl where they mingled with Draco's.
He smiled upon entering the living room; Draco was sprawled out on the sofa, cushions tucked against his body in strategic places, and his feet were propped up on the coffee table. It was a familiar sight these days.
Resting his hands on Draco's shoulders, Harry bent down to kiss his cheek. "How're you?"
Draco grasped his wrists and pulled Harry's arms down and around himself. "You're late." There was a hint of petulance in his voice, but it barely masked the disappointment underneath.
Harry's heart twisted sharply. A flare-up of anger would have been easier to deal with and to set aside than knowing Draco had missed him. "I'm sorry. Ron asked me if I'd have a quick bite with him—you know that Hermione's gone this week, so he's been a bit mopey—and...I don't know. Took longer than I thought." One of his hands sought the prominent curve of Draco's belly, sweeping over it. "Should've paid more attention to the time."
Draco sighed; whether it was in pleasure over the ministrations or in lingering disappointment over the admittedly thin excuse, Harry didn't know. He bent to nuzzle Draco's neck, determined to show that he was sorry and wanted to make up for it. When Draco sighed again, it was definitely a sign of enjoyment.
"I missed you, too, you know. Sometimes I wonder if—" Harry stopped when Draco's body stiffened. "What—what is it?" He tried to pull away, wondering what he'd done or said wrong, but Draco's hand tightened on the back of his neck, holding him in place.
Draco sniffed Harry's jumper. "Have you been smoking Gillyweed with Weasley?"
Fuck, Harry thought. Dammit, Ron had promised that spell would get rid of any lingering smell or other evidence and--fuck. His head dropped to Draco's shoulder. No use denying it. "Yeah. We did."
Draco twisted around with impressive speed, kneeling on the sofa to face Harry. "You wanker! I can't believe you'd—argh!" He punched Harry's shoulder.
"Hey!" Harry rubbed the sore spot.
Draco glared at him. "It's completely insensitive of you and the Weasel to have a nice smoke when you bloody well know I can't join you!" One hand gestured to his stomach.
"Please tell me you at least used a sobriety charm before Apparating over here." Draco sniffed Harry again.
"I did. So, you're mad because—hmph!"
Draco had pulled Harry close and was kissing him within an inch of his life. An insistent tongue swept into Harry's mouth again and again. He felt his higher brain powers shut off one by one as his blood rushed south, but wait a minute, wasn't Draco angry and what was going on here....
Harry extricated himself with some difficulty. "What was that?"
"Most people call it kissing," Draco replied dryly. He licked his lips. "Pity. Seems like Weasley's sobriety charms are actually quite thorough."
Harry stared. "Did you just try to get some sort of second-hand high from kissing me?"
Draco waved dismissively. "I'd say a high would be hard to come by, but maybe a little taste..."
"Yes, you are."
"Am no—you know, maybe I am. Maybe it's your baby's fault." Draco crossed his arms.
"It's our baby, and he's not at fault for anything." Harry's voice softened as he spoke.
Draco looked off to the side. He bit his lip, and frowned. Slowly uncrossing his arms, he said, "I'm hungry."
Harry breathed deeply. This was as much of an indication that things were okay between them as he was going to get. Draco had always been able to go from one extreme to another where his mood was concerned, but the pregnancy seemed to have added some extra speed to that process—a swiftness that sometimes left Harry's head swirling. But he was happy to go along with it. Glad, even. It had been a long day, and all he wanted was to sit down next to Draco and have a bit of a snuggle. And maybe a snog. He wouldn't say no to some shagging later on either.
"Did you have the leftovers that were in the fridge?" Harry asked.
"Yes, but that wasn't all that much."
"Well, I could nip down to—"
"I want KFC," Draco interrupted him, eyes flicking to the telly.
Draco nodded at the advert that was currently playing. "KFC."
Harry numbly watched a pair of crispy, fried chicken legs tumble across the screen. "That's Muggle fast food."
"I know, but don't you think it looks delicious?"
That was it; Draco had finally gone round the bend. "It's Muggle fast food," Harry repeated.
"There's a KFC shop in Union Street. Let's go." Draco clambered off the sofa, tugging at Harry's sleeve.
"You want to go now? You're not serious!"
"Oh, but I am. And I dare say you owe me a favour or three." Draco looked at him pointedly.
Harry realised he'd never win this argument. "I'll bring the car round while you're getting ready."
Draco gave him a dazzling smile. "Perfect."
"I can't believe it," Draco said for the third time.
"Well, it's not their fault, really," Harry replied. Again.
Draco looked longingly into the empty shop, his nose pressed right up against the glass that separated three deserted tills, a brightly-lit menu, and two tables from the pavement. "Of all days, it had to be today."
"It's not as if they chose for their kitchen to burn down." Even if the overly apologetic tone of the note taped to door did sound a little suspicious to Harry.
"D'you want pizza instead, maybe? Seems to be a popular place right there." Harry gestured to the shop next to KFC.
Draco finally moved away from the glass. "No."
"There's a McDonald's somewhere around here, if you insist on Muggle fast food. And they have these little chicken things, too."
"But I really want KFC," Draco replied with sagging shoulders and a slight pout.
Harry looked up and down Union Street in the hope of locating an establishment that might offer something that suited Draco's appetite. The only thing he noticed, however, were throngs of teenagers in various states of inebriation.
"Harry! I just remembered—" Draco clutched his arm, his previously dull eyes shining with deep joy. "There's a KFC in Leicester Square! I'm sure of it."
"You mean Leicester Square in London?"
"And you want to go there. Now. Even though it is already 9 o'clock."
Draco tugged on Harry's sleeve in an attempt to drag him along, presumably back to where they had parked the car. "Yes," he answered impatiently.
"Hold on a minute," Harry said. "Remember how we can't Apparate right now because of the, um, you know what? And remember that that's also the reason why Flooing is out of the question? Because I think we've both had enough of spending entire days in front of the toilet. So the only way we can go is taking the car, and it's a four hour drive to London."
Maneuvering Harry into the gap between two houses, Draco stepped close enough to settle his hands on Harry's hips. "Please?"
Draco wasn't playing fair, Harry decided, because that open, hopeful look in his eyes was difficult enough to resist even without the warmth that emanated from his hands. He also found the illusion produced by the glamour Draco was wearing too perfect—not only did it hide Draco's belly, it even took away any sensory impressions that might point to its existence. While this was necessary for venturing out among Muggles, Harry found it disconcerting.
He studied Draco for another moment, and almost wanted to laugh. There was no way he could deny Draco's request, and what exactly did that say about him? You're completely whipped, mate, he heard Ron's voice in his mind.
"Okay," Harry said slowly.
For the second time that evening, Draco's smile was enchanting. After casting a quick look around, he kissed Harry briefly. "Thank you."
The dark countryside flew past Harry, the road occasionally bathed in harsh light by a street lamp or cars going by in the opposite lanes. He stole glances at Draco every so often, his heart in his throat every time. Draco was dozing in the passenger seat, slightly curled in on himself. He was using his cloak as a blanket, and had tugged it up to his chin, a few fingers still loosely holding on to the collar. There was an air of innocence about him. It was an unfamiliar sight as Draco usually smiled or smirked at Harry, and if he was lucky, gazed at him with longing. Lately, however, there had been too many frowns and scowls.
Harry sighed. Maybe this outing would help—not to get things back on track because Harry didn't like to think that they had swayed that far off the path yet, but to push them forward towards a balance where the content moments outweighed the frustrating ones. If only this assignment that had led them to Plymouth would bloody hurry up and end. Harry was sick of sitting in a little cubicle eight hours a day, and in the three months he'd worked "undercover" in the Muggle investment firm, he had discovered no traces of a secret Goblin money-laundering scheme that was supposedly the financial backbone of the company. It was a miracle that, so far, no one had discovered that Harry didn't know the first thing about finances. He thanked whoever had invented the Confundus Charm every single day.
A subdued cough interrupted his thoughts. Harry thought it had come from Draco, but his sleep seemed undisturbed. This was odd. He might be a bit tired, but he was not exhausted to the point where he was hallucinating.
The cough returned a few minutes later, louder this time. Harry's eyes instinctively flicked to the source of the sound and found himself looking at the dashboard. Looking back at the road, Harry remembered that Arthur had installed all kinds of visual and auditory clues with which the car would communicate various problems to him. Glancing between the road and the dashboard, Harry tried to make out what was wrong, hoping that it wasn't anything serious.
The coughing was growing more insistent—a sort of continuous wheezing and croaking—when Harry finally located the culprit: there was a miserable-looking car on the petrol gauge, one of its tyres pointing to a little "almost empty" sign.
Harry groaned. This was just his luck—half-way between Plymouth and London, on a rather deserted stretch of the M5, and only minutes away from complete standstill. Draco was going to kill him.
Once the engine started sputtering, he directed the car to the hard shoulder. He rested his head against the steering wheel, trying to come up with a strategy of breaking the news to Draco in the gentlest way possible.
Much too soon, Draco made sleepy noises that indicated he was waking up. "We there yet?" he mumbled.
Squaring his shoulders, Harry turned to look at him. "Not exactly."
Draco sat up and surveyed their surroundings. "Why are we parked on the motorway?"
"Um. You see, the things is this," Harry began.
Draco's brows knit together.
"We're out of petrol." Better to get it out and over with quickly.
Harry nodded, trying to look as apologetic as possible. "I'm sorry. I didn't realise we were running low. Actually, we weren't, but all these enhancements Arthur installed consume more fuel than a usual car, and—"
Draco cut him off with a wave of his hand. "So we're stuck here?"
"Sort of." Harry braced himself for the berating that was sure to follow, but didn't expect Draco to push open the car door and climb out. "Where are you going?"
"To take a piss. If you remember, babies and bladders don't mix too well." Without waiting for a reply, Draco slammed the door.
Harry winced. So much for using the trip to mend things.
"It's our only option," Harry said for the fourth time.
"I hate the Knight Bus. It's practically a death trap. And do you have any idea what all that jostling will do to me?" Draco's hand stroked over his belly for emphasis.
Harry loathed arguing, especially over things that couldn't be changed. "I promise I'll make you as comfortable as possible. But unless you want to be stuck in this car all night, without anything to eat or drink, we have to catch the Knight Bus."
Draco stared out the window for half a minute. "Fine."
Harry stuck his wand out the car window, having little desire to possibly get run over by the lorries hurtling past.
"Is that better?" Harry added another cushioning charm to the cot on which Draco had stretched out.
"A little. However, I don't think it changes the basic configuration of this set-up."
The Knight Bus took a particularly sharp turn, and the resulting sway of the cot deepened the lines on Draco's already pinched face. "Oh no, you will not." He pressed one hand against the side of his stomach. "There. That's better."
"His foot made a too-close acquaintance with my ribs." Draco grimaced. "Imagine a large bowl filled with water. Then add a ball to that bowl that's almost, but not quite, as big as said bowl. Then think of someone beginning to shake the bowl back and forth. What do you think happens to the ball?"
"It gets tossed around?"
"Exactly. That's exactly what's happening in here." He patted his belly. "With the added bonus that the baby has two perfectly functioning arms and legs that he uses to let me know that all this moving around isn't pleasant."
Harry squeezed Draco's hand. "I'm sure we'll be there soon."
"We better be." He kept hold of Harry's hand.
The next time the Knight Bus ground to a stop, a tall blond man with curly hair came onboard, giggling to himself in a way that indicated a state of being so drunk he was off his face.
Draco was craning his neck around Harry to get a better look at the newcomer. His eyes widened, and he whispered excitedly, "Isn't that Harris Fitzpatrick?"
"The beater for the Pride of Portree?" Harry squinted at the blond man who was trying to sit down on a cot three rows down from Harry and Draco, but kept missing it, presumably because he saw at least two cots.
"Yes! He was the featured player in last month's Quidditch Today."
Draco gasped. "You don't remember? Didn't you look at—I mean, read the article?"
"Read the article? Draco, I think we can both agree that we don't subscribe to that magazine for the articles."
Draco smacked his lips. "Do you think he'd give me an autograph?"
Harry didn't like the way Draco's gaze was roaming over Fitzpatrick's admittedly rather fit body. "I doubt he'd even remember his name right now."
"It's worth a try." Draco straightened up and slid off the cot.
Harry took hold of his arms. "I thought you were uncomfortable? And I don't think it's a good idea to walk through the bus while it's moving. Death trap, remember?"
Draco's eyes remained fixed on his target. "There are times when a man has to be ready to make certain sacrifices," he announced gravely and wiggled out of Harry's grasp.
The fabric of Draco's cloak slipped through Harry's hands as if it was made out of silk, and for a few dazed moments, Harry watched Draco's progress from one swaying cot to another, navigating them with his usual grace. Draco was just about to reach for the pole that connected Fitzpatrick's cot to the floor and roof of the bus when Harry snapped out of his numb state.
He launched himself across the bus, nearly tripping over his own feet twice in the process, and wrapped an arm around Draco's waist. In response to the annoyed glare he received, Harry managed, "I—you—" before deciding sod it and kissing Draco in the most possessive way he could muster.
Draco's initial sounds of protest died down fast. His hands climbed up to Harry's face, one settling on his nape while the fingers of the other hand--oh Merlin, yes—ran lightly over the skin behind his ear.
When Harry and Draco finally disembarked from the bus in an alley off Leicester Square, their clothes were rather dishevelled and they both had stupid grins on their faces.
"So, where to now?" Harry asked, checking to make sure his shirt was buttoned right, even if no one was going to notice with his thick jacket on.
"Hmm. I think KFC's over by the Swiss Centre." With a wave of his wand, and a slight shimmer in the air, Draco's figure reverted to its pre-pregnancy form. He looked quite pleased with the result. "Let's go. I'm positively famished at this point."
Harry's smile widened. "Are you sure? You were doing some rather impressive ravishing just a little while ago."
"That was merely for starters. It's time to move on to the main course." Draco's cloak flapped about him as he set off at a brisk pace.
"So this is it." Harry observed, looking up at the illuminated red banner, which seemed much brighter than the one in Plymouth.
"Yes," Draco replied reverently. "I didn't think it would be this big."
They stood in front of the shop, bathed in the white neon light spilling out from inside. A few people were seated at the tables inside, all of them involved in animated conversations. It seemed as if the shop offered a refuge from the chilly air. Like a radiant beacon in a dark night.
A radiant beacon? Now Harry was really beginning to hallucinate. It was time to bring this outing to a hopefully satisfying end.
"Shall we?" he asked, holding the door open for Draco.
Apparently Draco knew exactly what he wanted because he made a beeline for one of the tills without looking at the menu.
"Hello, welcome to KFC. My name is Anna. How can I help you?" A young girl intoned.
"The Big Night In Bucket, please." Draco sounded breathy.
Harry wondered what this bucket might entail.
"That'll be 13.99," Anna informed them after punching a few keys on the till.
Harry blinked. That seemed rather a lot for a few pieces of chicken. As he collected his change, he noticed that Anna kept adding boxes and little paper bags with chips and small dough balls to their tray.
"Uhh, how much did you order?" He quietly asked Draco.
Two pink spots appeared on Draco's cheeks. "I told you I was famished."
As the crowning point of the ensemble, Anna heaved a large bottle of Pepsi onto the counter.
"And I'm really thirsty, too," Draco added hastily.
"Right." Harry's voice quivered with barely restrained laughter. He picked up the tray. "Where do you want to sit?"
"Outside. By the fountain."
"It's December. And past midnight. Maybe we should stay in here." Harry looked around for a free table.
Undeterred, Draco continued walking towards the exit. "So? We both have wands. Which are good against the cold and belligerent Muggles."
Harry shook his head, but followed Draco out the door.
Six pieces of chicken, two packets of chips, one small bowl of baked beans, quite a few onion rings, and half of the bottle of Pepsi later, Draco licked his fingers and then leaned back against the bench with a contented sigh.
"Good?" Harry asked, still working on his two mini breast fillets and handful of chips.
Folding his hands on top of his belly, Draco mused, "Not simply good. Perfect."
Harry smiled. He'd been enjoying their impromptu picnic much more than expected—the food wasn't too bad, and the Warming spell and the Notice-Me-Not Charm were keeping them in a well-heated bubble all to themselves.
He wrapped up the leftovers, of which there weren't too many aside from the little sugary balls—dough nuts, Draco had corrected him—which they had decided to keep for later.
Harry leaned against Draco. "I think it might be time to give up on investment banking. Or the pretend version of it, rather."
"Really?" Draco snuggled closer to Harry.
"I think so. There's nothing illegal going on in that company if you ask me, and...well, you're not too keen on spending more time in Plymouth than we already have, are you?"
"Not exactly," Draco replied evenly. "They don't even have a proper Wizarding district."
"Right. So, what do you think?"
Draco grabbed the front of Harry's jacket and bestowed a very salty kiss on his lips. "Best thing I've heard all week."
Relief washed over Harry. Once they were back in London, he'd go back to his boring but predictable desk job, allowing for more time to spend with Draco. And soon, with the baby. Harry's heart clenched at the thought. "It's done, then."
Draco hummed his agreement. A few minutes passed in silence, or as much silence London could offer. Then Draco stirred somewhat restlessly, and turned to Harry to say, "You know, I've never tried Wimpy..."