Disclaimer: Once upon a time there was a great author who published a series of seven books and got rich. She wasn't me. The End.

"And the psycho twin who's left still didn't realize he hadn't already ordered the 4 boxes of Shrinking Solution and he wouldn't buy anymore and I tell you, if he-!… oh, wow…" Ginny's irate voice, earlier ranting about her day at the Weasley Wizarding Wheezes, turned to wonder and then trailed off as she walked the door of the gorgeous eatery Harry held open for her.

The aristocratic restaurant, "Vivant Pour la Magie," situated in a remote area of Diagon Alley, had high cream-colored ceilings and dark paneled wood crisscrossing the wide roof. The storm-cloud-purple walls were accentuated by the wood tables, the wood being the same finish as the panels. The cream drapes framing the gold-plated windows only added to the atmosphere, and the dim light coming from the thousands of candles placed theatrically throughout the room completed the picture.

"Like it?" Harry grinned, taking her breath away and cupping her hand in his. He led her to the front desk, where a man with a curly mustache sat looking around the empty dining room for something of interest with a bored expression on his blank face.

"Good evening," Harry told the man pleasantly.

"Do you have a reservation?" the maître d said in an embellished French accent, skipping all pleasantries. He looked down his short nose with a frown. Ginny felt as though the man could tell she was a Weasley, could tell she wasn't of the richest, that he could tell her robes were second-hand.

And I don't like it one bit, she thought grimly, gripping Harry's hand a little tighter.

"Yes, I do, actually Mr. …" Harry paused to look at the name plate on the counter. "Mr. DuPont." His voice was cool, as he noticed the way he glared at his hopefully-soon-to-be-fiancée. "Look under Potter, for 7 o clock."

The man turned to the book. "You're not on the list," DuPont informed Harry condescendingly.

"What?!" Harry exclaimed, shocked. He explicitly remembered walking into the restaurant and writing his name on the list. "Let me see that!" He seized the reservation book from the surprised French and peered down at it.

"Look!" he exclaimed, pointing to the only-written on spot on the papers. Ginny and DuPont both leaned over his shoulder.

Sure enough, there was Potter.

But it didn't appear that way to DuPont. "No!" he shrieked, "That is Potté! Look, there is no r, there is only a smudge!"

Harry always knew he'd regret his terrible handwriting.

Ginny glared at DuPont.

DuPont glared back. Then he pointed to the door. "Out!"

"But there's no one here!" Ginny exclaimed indignantly.

"I'm sorry," DuPont said, looking everything but sorry, "But until the Pottés get here, we're not excepting any impromptu engagements."

Harry choked at how close DuPont came to unknowingly telling Ginny what they were really here for. She shot a curious glance in his direction, and then turned back to the host.

"Screw you!" Ginny spat at him, and dragged Harry out of the bistro which suddenly didn't seem so appealing as before. As they passed through the door, they saw a tall, demanding, salt-and-pepper haired man and a short, giggling, frosted-blonde lady enter and walk towards DuPont.

No, that wasn't right. They were walking towards Andy Riddle, as the name-plate now read.

"Hello, my name is Andy Riddle and I'll be your host tonight. Do you have a reservation?" The maître d said in a smooth British accent.

Harry's jaw dropped.

"Yes, we're the Pottés," the man informed DuPont/Riddle imperiously, as the simpering lady laughed at the name.

The host blinked. "You've got to be kidding me," Ginny heard him mutter under his breath. He raised his voice to a normal tone. "Bu-but," he stuttered, "I only made you up to get rid of the so-called Boy-Who-Lived and his blood-traitor girlfriend!"

"Too right you are, m'boy, I'd despise eating in the same room as two freaks like that!" Mr. Potté said with a shake of his head.

Enraged, Harry started back to Riddle to give him a piece of his mind, but Ginny caught his arm and turned him around. "Stop it," she told him softly, sliding her arms around his neck, "He's not worth it."

"No, he's not," Harry told her, wrapping his arms about her waist, "But you are." He swept down to give her a chaste kiss, but was interrupted by the dignified but disgusted maître d.

"Excuse me, but I work at a restaurant, not a hooker's club!" Riddle informed them, obviously disgruntled.

"You must not get much action, then," Harry told him with a perfectly straight face. He and Ginny waited till Riddle walked back inside the restaurant before bursting into laughter. Hand in hand, they meandered back down the street in search of a friendlier restaurant.

Hey guys, sorry for the long wait till I updated! I didn't like it very much, but here you go. It felt a little choppy to me. That could be just me, though, as I'm a perfectionist. Okay, a few things:

Vivant Pour La Magie means Live for the Magic

Potté is pronounced Pot-tay.

DuPont actually means Lives by the Bridge.

All right then, thank you so much for reading! Please review!

Mischief