"Reasoned everything out?"
"She figured out that I must have thought her magical up until then."
"Oh, dear." Hermione considered that for a moment, then brightened. "You know, she sounds rather clever."
Trust Hermione to think of that.
"Just tell me what to do to make it right," said Draco, turning back to her.
"How could I possibly know how to set that right?"
Draco started speaking slowly, since she seemed to be having such a difficult time understanding the situation. "She's a Muggle girl. And until you were eleven, you thought you were a Muggle girl, didn't you? And since then, every summer, you spend scads of time with Muggle girls, don't you? After all that, I'm sure you understand Muggle girls!"
Clearly, Hermione didn't appreciate his tone. "Are you under some kind of strange delusion that all Muggles are alike, Draco?"
Draco blinked. "Aren't they?"
Hermione frowned. "Of course not. Do you want people to assume all purebloods are alike, and think you must have all the same traits as Ron?"
Draco shuddered. Which probably didn't help his cause any, but by the time he'd realised that, it was too late to call the reaction back.
"Oh, fine," he muttered finally. She was right, of course. He could see that. Obviously, all Muggles couldn't possibly be alike, since Rhiannon was so unlike the great unwashed masses of them. "I don't even know why I thought I'd needed to talk to you, really," he said thoughtfully. "Rhiannon's sort of a Muggle-in-name-only, if you ask me."
Hermione scooted forward until she was sitting on the edge of the bed. "Are you convincing yourself again that she has magic after all?"
"No, no. I've given up on that." Draco sighed.
"Then what did you mean?"
"It's just . . ." At that, Draco shrugged. "The other girls at the pool were typical Muggles, but not Rhiannon. You could tell."
"What are you going on about?"
Draco's face heated just remembering. "Well, Rhiannon wore a one-piece red swim suit that was cut a bit low in front and a bit high in the leg, if you ask me, but at least most of her was covered up in public. The other Muggle girls . . . sweet Merlin! They wore close to nothing at all! Tiny patches of cloth, completely indecent, but what can you expect? Everybody knows that Muggle girls put out without even thinking twice. All you have to do is buy them dinner, or even a small snack, and--"
Thwack!
Draco's chair skidded back several inches from the force of the blow, his head snapping to the side.Ouch. At least she'd just slapped him, not decked him like last time, but he could swear she'd hit him ten times as hard.
By the time he recovered, jumping to his feet, she was already at the door, yanking on the knob to try to open it. But of course, his privacy wards had included a standard sticking spell. He hadn't wanted Weasley barging in on them in a fit of jealous rage.
Hermione whipped her wand out. "Finite!"
But of course that didn't work. Warding spells wouldn't be much use if any witch or wizard could eliminate them with a simple Finite.
Hermione's next move was to advance on him, her wand still extended. She looked as though she intended to poke him with it.
Honestly, the girl's concept of manners was absolutely atrocious.
Or perhaps not, since she never did actually poke him. She just held her wand at the ready, her shoulders thrown back, her eyes flashing like Harry's did when he was angry. "We're through, here. Let me out. Now."
"Aren't you overreacting a tad? I didn't say you were--"
"What, a slut?"
"No need to be crude--"
"You were."
Draco dragged in a breath. Had he been? It was just the truth, what he'd said. Like saying the sky was blue. "I was just trying to explain that Rhiannon isn't like that."
"And every other Muggle girl is? Honestly! Are you listening to yourself? Well, I can tell by now that you aren't listening to me, so let me out!"
Draco started to draw his wand so he could. By then, he felt a little put out, anyway. All he'd wanted was a little advice, and what had he got but a bunch of lectures and a slap? And a hard one at that. "Fine," he said, not caring that he sounded petulant. "She's not like a Muggle girl anyway, so I don't know why I thought your experience would be of any use." He whispered the key to the wards and lifted them. "There, all gone. Have fun watching Weasley lose at chess!"
"I heard that!" called Weasley from the other side of the closed door.
Hermione laid a hand on the knob again, but she didn't try to turn it. "Yes, I'm sure I couldn't have helped you anyway," she said, her chin lifted as she tucked her wand back away. "You've got girls so well figured out, after all. Why don't you just explain things to her the way you just explained them to me? That should work wonders--"
With that, she was flinging the door open.
As she strode through to the little cottage's main room, Draco realised two things all at once. One, while Rhiannon might not be a typical Muggle girl, she was a girl, which meant that know-it-all Granger still might have a good idea or two, and two . . . this was all starting to seem very, very familiar.
He'd made Rhiannon blazingly angry without meaning to. He'd offended her. And now he'd just done the same with Granger, though Merlin knew he didn't really understand how.
It must be a girl thing, flying off the broom like that.
But if that was the case . . . maybe he should pay more attention to understanding girls in general, instead of just Muggle girls.
Huh. That thought led him straight back to Granger. Who else was he going to talk to? A girl in Slytherin, who would merely use the whole conversation to her own advantage, spreading rumours about how soft Draco must have gone, seeing that he was falling in love with Muggles, these days?
No, it was Hermione Granger or nobody at all. But that was all right, even if she was upset with him at the moment. Perhaps, her being upset was all to the good, even. If Draco could get her to keep talking then he might have an idea how to do the same with Rhiannon.
Granger could be like . . . a training broom, he thought. Good practice for Rhiannon. And after the things Granger had said in the bedroom, he actually did have a good idea how to begin with her, at least.
Draco stepped out after her, and went over to the sofa, where she'd flung herself, arms crossed, clearly fuming. One glance around had him see that Weasley and Severus were still playing chess in the dining area, though Weasley seemed to be watching Granger more than the game. He looked as though he might give up on it, actually, which didn't give Draco much time to get her talking to him again, since he certainly wasn't going to consult her at length about girls with Weasley putting in his two-Galleon's worth in.
Well, drastic times called for drastic measures, and at this point, Draco didn't even care that Harry had gone to sit right alongside Granger, and was talking to her quietly . . . probably asking what was wrong. So what if Harry would hear, if everyone would hear? It would all be worth it, if in the end, Draco could get back onto good terms with Rhiannon.
Dropping to one knee, just beside the sofa, Draco rested both his hands on his thigh and looked Hermione Granger straight in the eyes. Or tried to; he had to clear his throat to make her look up. Twice. But when she did, he said it all in one rush, without hesitating. By then, he'd had enough time to run through it in his head, after all. And anyway, when it came to Rhiannon, he really didn't have any pride. That much was glaringly obvious, considering what he was about to say. To Granger.