At first, Draco assumed she was merely late. He passed the time watching Roger correct Harry's backstroke as he wondered what he should do when Rhiannon arrived. Somehow, playing cool and aloof didn't seem like it would be a very good move, in the circumstances.
Hmm. If things ran true to form, her uncle would start to yell at her--in public, no less; such terrible manners--when she showed up late. Should Draco rebuke him, perhaps? Rally to her defence?
She might appreciate that, or she might not. And too, more friction with the uncle was bound to work against Draco, since Rhiannon would be living with the man for the rest of the summer . . .
In the end, though, he didn't have to decide: Rhiannon never came to work at all. In fact, a short stocky girl came in and took her place. She rushed past the line of children waiting at the smaller pool like she'd been summoned at the last minute.
She was late, like Rhiannon often was, but Stanley Tilden didn't yell at her, Draco noticed.
So . . . Rhiannon wasn't coming in to work, then? Draco frowned, but eventually decided it was a good sign. She must not want to see him, which of course could only mean that deep down, she cared. If she were truly indifferent it wouldn't bother her to be in Draco's vicinity.
Beside him, Severus stiffened slightly. Probably because Harry had just gone under the water and had come up sputtering something awful. Draco leaned forward, hands tensing, but then he saw that that Roger chap was right there, at the ready, his hands just an inch away from Harry, who managed to right himself without any help.
At any rate, Harry certainly didn't seem alarmed. "Backstroke's a lot harder than crawl," Draco heard him complaining.
"Come on now, float again," said Roger in a coaxing voice. He took Harry's wrist in hand and moved his arm up and back, demonstrating the stroke. Again and again.
Draco couldn't help but shudder. His own swim lessons, long ago, had been proper wizarding ones that involved a great many spells and very little man-handling. But then, Harry didn't seem to mind. He was smiling, even, as he floated there and let Roger move his arm up and back, again.
Well, it only stood to reason that Harry would be soaking all this in with glee, practically. He was making up for a childhood lost. A childhood in a cupboard . . .
Once, those rumours had been like a fine wine, to Draco. Now, he tried not to think about how very awful that must have been.
Or how awful he'd been, to enjoy the idea.
Finally, at half-past, Draco gave up on waiting for Rhiannon. "I'm going to the office," he announced to Severus, who merely nodded and kept his eyes on the pool, as usual.
Stanley Tilden was sitting behind the counter, bent over as he rifled through some files in a drawer.
Draco had to clear his throat. Twice.
Then, the man finally looked up.
"Good morning, Mr Tilden," he said with a smile, keeping his voice casual. He just hoped Rhiannon hadn't mentioned anything about their fight. "Is Rhiannon coming in later on?"
"She took a sick day."
Oh, no. She was upset enough with Draco that it had made her physically ill? Well, Draco could pop straight over and set that right. Just seeing him should make her feel better, he decided. But, best to be sure of her symptoms, he supposed. "Er . . . is she very poorly off, then?"
The man straightened, finally, and scowled. "I didn't say she was sick, Draco, only that she'd taken a sick day."
Oh . . . well, that made even more sense, didn't it . . . she was skiving off work. Draco was a bit surprised that Tilden was letting her, but perhaps she'd pretended to be sick, and Tilden had decided to let her get away with it. Which didn't seem like him, actually.
So Rhiannon must be very depressed indeed, and Tilden knew it.
Well, Draco would make things all right between them. He just needed a spot or two of advice first, so he didn't end up making things worse.
"Was there something else you needed, Draco?" asked Tilden in a very weary voice.
"No, no," said Draco, putting on his very best manners. "Do tell Rhiannon that I'm sorry I missed her, will you? And if you'd be so good, let her know that I wish her well."
"Yeah, I'll tell her." Tilden looked up, his eyes a little bit narrowed. "Do you want to ring her yourself?"
He pushed something toward Draco. A tan-coloured phone.
Draco did want to ring her, but he didn't know what to say. Worse, he didn't know how to use a phone. It probably wasn't very hard, but he wasn't in the mood to make a fool of himself in front of her uncle. Especially not considering that he still had to talk to Granger about all this.
"Ah, no. No, thank you."
Tilden's nostrils flared. "Best not to let a row fester, young man."
Draco raised an eyebrow. "A row? Er . . . did she . . ."
The man shook his head. "No, she didn't say anything, but I know Rhiannon. Well, up to you if you're too proud to ring her first."
He turned away, then, and busied himself with his files.
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Draco was thinking about one thing, and one thing only, as he Apparated back to Devon. Was that dratted letter box still going to be empty?
He rushed through the summer grass, throwing open the door to the cottage, only to be brought up short by the sight that greeted him inside.
Hermione Granger was sitting on the sofa just inside the door, and at her side sat none other than Ron Weasley.
What are you doing here? That was what Draco wanted to ask, but he knew better than to start down that road. Hermione was hardly likely to listen to him for long if he started things out by being rude to her rather uninspired choice of boyfriend.
With that in mind, Draco forced himself to smile. He didn't think it looked terribly enthusiastic, but it was the best he could manage. "Ron, Hermione. How lovely to see you both."
"Oh, stuff it, Mal-- Snape," said Ron, practically leaping to his feet. Hermione stood up too, a good deal more demurely.
"His name's Draco," said Harry as he came through the door. "Remember? We agreed."
"Like hell we agreed." Ron planted his feet apart, his stance screaming that he was spoiling for a fight. "I'd like to know what you think you're playing at, writing Hermione a love letter behind my back!"
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Coming soon in A Summer Like None Other:
Chapter Eighteen: "Slap and Tickle"
Comments very welcome,
Aspen in the Sunlight
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Chapter 18: Slap and Tickle
http://archive.skyehawke.com/story.php?no=13093&chapter=18
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A Summer Like None Other
by Aspen in the Sunlight
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Chapter Eighteen:
Slap and Tickle
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Draco just about choked. He could hardly believe what Weasley had said, what he'd had the gall to suggest! A love letter, of all things! And not just that, but a love letter to Granger.
"Are you off your head?"
"You heard me." Ron widened his stance. "So, the distance between yourself and Muggles isn't as great as you thought, eh? And this matter could not be more personal, what in Merlin's name is that supposed to mean? And how it's all been a revelation to you and such a huge shock to Harry--"