Of course he was. It was one thing to turn to Harry because strategic advantage dictated him to be Draco's best chance at survival. It was quite another thing to actually like him. Which Draco did, of course. But he still had moments of misgiving about it. How could he not? He'd been raised to think that Harry Potter was the worst thing that had ever happened to the wizarding world!
Well, the worst thing except for Muggles trying to infest it all the time with their semi-magical spawn.
Hermione looked smug by then. "Why don't you just tell me a bit about your girl, then?"
His girl. Draco wished she was. Extending his legs extended in front of him, heels tilted against the floor, he folded his arms across his chest. "Rhiannon's an opera singer." A wonderful one, he almost added. "She went to a music academy for her schooling; she was admitted for her talent, which is quite stupendous, and believe me, I would know. She doesn't like math or science much, and--"
"How did you meet her?"
Oh. Draco had perhaps begun prattling there, a bit. He couldn't help it, though. Rhiannon was wonderful. "She works at the pool. Where Harry has his lessons, you know."
"She helps with those?"
Draco stared at her. "No. I told you, that's Roger's job. Do you think it takes two lifeguards just to keep Harry afloat?"
"All right, all right. Don't get your knickers in a twist. I'm just figuring it all out."
"That's wand in a twist."
All that got him was an impatient look. "If you're going to date a Muggle you'll have to get used to Muggle sayings, you know."
Yes, Draco did know. He'd been all over that with Harry, but he could see that Hermione was never going to believe it, not just on his say-so. Probably best to show her how hard he'd been trying. "Oh, God, do you think so?" he asked, throwing the question out like he said it all the time.
It didn't quite come off that way. When Draco heard himself, he almost cringed. He sounded absolutely dreadful speaking Mugglish.
Hermione must have thought so too; her mouth all at once seemed to compress, like she was trying to hold in a laugh, and having a rather hard time of it. Then she spoke quickly, as if to get herself under control. "What's an opera singer doing working at a pool, anyway?"
Draco folded his hands together and tried to look more composed than he felt. It wouldn't do for Granger to know that he wished he hadn't tried a spot of Mugglish on her. "Well, her uncle owns it. She has to work there so he'll let her stay with him for the summer. Because the opera she's singing at is in Exeter, you see."
Hermione tilted her head to the side. "And you really had no reason to suppose her a witch other than her . . ." She gave him a bit of a smile. "Air of wonder?"
"I definitely did. But . . . they all seem a little daft, now."
"Tell me about them."
"Well, wizards don't have a theatre world of our own, you know." Oh, perhaps she didn't know. Feeling on firmer ground, Draco started explaining things she would understand if she'd been raised in a proper wizarding household. "That means that if you're interested in the performing arts, you have to fit yourself into the Muggle world as best you can. So, at first I thought she was doing that. Passing herself off as one of them. And then . . . then that started to seem less likely . . ."
He winced, remembering what had come next. "So after that, I started to think that Rhiannon must be a witch without knowing a thing about it. And before you say so, yes, I do know that doesn't make much sense. You should have heard Harry trying to talk me out of it, asking where her Hogwarts letter had got to. We had a lot of arguments."
Hermione started twisting a section of hair around and around her finger. "But that does make perfect sense." She paused, but not as though considering her words. It was more like she was waiting for the right moment to strike. "You didn't want her to be a Muggle, did you, Draco?"
He could feel his expression hardening, becoming granite. "No, I didn't."
"But she is one."
"Is there a particular reason why we're going about in circles?"
That time it did look like she was deciding what do say. "I suppose . . . I'm trying to figure out why you would still claim to love her, now that you know the truth."
Granite? Draco was clenching all over, by then. "Don't call it a claim. I really do love her."
"Are you sure? Perhaps you just can't bear to admit that you were wrong."
Dear Merlin, she was worse than Marsha. Draco's nostrils flared. "Or perhaps I actually am in love. Why wouldn't I be? Muggle or no, she's absolutely perfect."
Hermione snorted.
"Well, perhaps she's not absolutely perfect," admitted Draco with a slight smile. "Rhiannon loathes money, which isn't a terribly rational attitude, is it . . ."
"You know, she really doesn't sound like your kind of girl at all," said Hermione wryly.
"But she loves magic," said Draco earnestly. "Adores it, always has, even though she didn't know it was real. That's part of why I thought she was a witch at first."
"She knows you're a wizard?"
Draco nodded.
Hermione stopped twisting her hair. "Oh. I thought you had Snape's permission to break it to her, and you were wondering the best way. But if she already knows, then why did you need to talk to me, again?"
The hard part, now. Draco leaned forward over his legs. "We rowed something awful. And I've tried to talk to her, but she won't listen. I don't understand Muggle girls, obviously. I thought you could tell me what she wants to hear."
"Perhaps that you're sorry?"
Draco glanced up, just briefly. "Told her that."
"Are you sure?"
"Yes, of course I'm sure!"
When he glanced up again, Hermione was giving him what seemed to be a speculative look. "It just doesn't strike me as much of a you thing to say."
At that, Draco felt like snorting. Though he wouldn't, of course. He had better manners. "That shows how much you know," he said, chin high. "It wasn't even my first apology, if you must know."
"You're keeping count?"
Doesn't everyone? Draco hurriedly splayed his hands on his knees before it became obvious that he'd begun counting on his fingers.
Hermione's voice softened, then. "It's just difficult to picture, Draco. You've always been so . . . so proud of your pride."
Draco looked away, his lips twisting. "You haven't been paying attention, Granger. My pride was blasted all to bits when I had to admit to my own worst enemy that I'd chosen the wrong side. And when I recommended that you and Ron come here to see what his wanded magic can really do, since you could be at Harry's side during classes and I couldn't." Not to mention when I wrote to you for help . . .
Looking back at her, Draco cleared his throat. "I did apologise," he said clearly. "Though obviously I can't force you to believe it."
Hermione gave a brief nod. Draco wasn't even sure what it meant, but then she began speaking. "Good for you, then. That's a start."
Maybe she wasn't as clever as he had always thought. "No, it wasn't. She still can't stand the sight of me." He hated the way his voice went plaintive, but he couldn't seem to hold back the awful sound of need. "What do I do?"
"If saying you're sorry wasn't any use, then I don't know."
"Oh, wonderful."
"Since I don't even know what you rowed about in the first place," Hermione said without stopping.
"Oh . . ." Draco sighed, and looked out the window. Or tried to. His spell was still obscuring the view. He should have used a one-sided charm, he thought, annoyed. "I wasn't trying to upset her, but I found out she was a Muggle rather unexpectedly, you see. And . . . well, I was shocked. Of course I was shocked! Anyone would be, after all. But Rhiannon saw how . . . er, upset I was, and reasoned everything out."