"I'm sorry, Hermione. I'm very sorry. I didn't mean to offend you, not in the slightest. Will you accept my apology?"
He didn't spare a glance at Harry; Draco kept his gaze centred squarely on Granger, who looked like he'd cast some sort of shock-inducing spell. After only an instant, though, she closed her mouth.
Too bad Weasley didn't. "You're sorry, are you?" Draco heard the scrape of a chair being shoved back. "What did you do to offend her, then?"
"I can handle this, Ron," said Hermione crossly, flicking the other boy a glance.
Severus shut Weasley up much more effectively, and with only a single word. "Check."
Ron glanced from the chess board to his girlfriend and back, clearly unsure what to do. In the end he took Granger at her word, and let her handle matters.
Which she did. With aplomb, Draco had to admit. "Get off your knee," she said in a low, but level tone. "You're lucky Ron didn't think you were proposing."
That comment was a test, Draco sensed. And invitation to insult Weasley, perhaps . . . or to say something scathing about Muggleborns. Draco stayed silent and kept his expression as impassive as possible as he got up off his knee.
"Sit," said Hermione, patting the cushion next to her.
Oh, so they were allowed to sit side by side as long as it wasn't on a bed?
Draco caught Harry's eye as he sat down.
Harry at once got up, having obviously got Draco's message. Or maybe he was just remembering Severus' occasional lectures on decorum. At any rate, he didn't look amused, or as though he was enjoying seeing Draco having to apologise. Then again, with Harry's apologising-thing, he probably thought it was a completely normal thing to do.
Well, it wasn't normal for Draco. His stomach felt a bit unsettled, actually.
"I'd like you to answer Ron's question," said Hermione quietly as Harry headed back to watch the chess match.
Draco's brow wrinkled. "What I did to offend you? Don't you know? Because I don't. I was talking about Muggles, not Muggleborns. Do you think of yourself as a Muggle, still?" he asked, quite reasonably, he thought. "If not, I don't see how you could have been insulted."
"My mother is a Muggle," hissed Hermione, leaning closer to him. "How would you like it if I said that Narcissa Malfoy would sleep with anyone who would take her out for a snack?"
Severus and Ron kept right on with their chess game, though Draco would bet that his father, at least, could hear every word. He had better manners than to let on, except perhaps in the way his lips were suddenly looking chiselled from stone.
Ron might not have heard that last bit, but Harry was closer, and obviously needed more lectures on decorum. He suddenly made a noise that sounded like he was strangling, and walking quickly, went into the kitchen.Draco heard the noise of wooden boxes being opened and closed, and bottles clinking against each other.
As for Hermione . . . well, Draco could suddenly see her point. Well, sort of. Pureblooded women had higher standards than she was implying, obviously. Much higher. But she clearly thought the same of Muggle women. So that all sorted.
"All right, then, I am sorry."
"You weren't before?"
Something in her gaze warned him that at this point, only brutal honesty would serve his cause. "Well, I was sorry you were angry at me, but I didn't really understand why you would be."
"You're serious?"
Draco nodded.
"My God, no wonder you need help."
"Thanks," said Draco dryly.
"Butterbeer?" asked Harry brightly. When he extended the tray, Draco saw that Harry's awful pet was wrapped several times around his wrist. Ugh.
Ignoring the snake, Draco took a butterbeer and passed it to Hermione, then took another for himself. "Thank you."
Harry lowered his voice to a bare whisper. "You're making Ron lose, you know. He may not look like he's listening, but he is. Or trying to, at least."
"Perhaps we should return to the bedroom."
Hermione gave him a derisive glance. "I don't think so. I didn't much care for your warding spell."
"Outside, then," said Draco quickly, standing up. "We'll go sit under the oak."
Harry handed his snake to Hermione. "Oh, Sals loves it there. Let her loll about in the sun for me, would you?"
Draco certainly didn't know what that was about. Was Harry trying to urge Hermione out the door? Or did he think that having a snake around would put Draco on edge and somehow keep him from offending Granger again?
Knowing Harry, though, he might just be thinking that Sals needed some sun.
------------------------------------------------------
"All right," said Granger when she had arranged herself cross-legged on the blanket Draco had transfigured. Nearby, the snake was slithering through the grass in slow circles; Draco looked away, though he tried not to look at Granger, either. "Just how serious are you about this Rhiannon?"
Draco's gaze snapped to hers. "How many times do I have to say I love her--"
"I know you think you love her. But is she a summer romance, or do you see this really going somewhere? Because I don't."
"Well, that was blunt!"
"You should know," retorted Hermione. "Blunt has been your specialty, all along."
That she could think so was vaguely horrifying. Draco's image of himself was as someone a good deal more subtle. More stealthy. But he supposed his remarks about Muggleborns hadn't really been either of those things.
And that was just her point, he soon found out. "Look, Draco. You were really offended that Ron joked you might have been switched at birth. You obviously still find the whole idea of Muggleborns disgusting--"
"Then why am I spending my precious free time talking to one?" There, thought Draco. Find your way out of that.
Unfortunately, she had no trouble managing it. "You tolerate me because you want Harry's respect, and the only reason you're talking to me today is because you're in a bit of a fix."
Draco blew out a breath. "What do you want, a gold-plated apology for every time I ever called you a Mudblood? I don't call you one now! Isn't that enough?"
"It's not about me," said Granger levelly, which was pretty surprising; Draco had assumed she was angling for more grovelling. Not that he'd really done that, of course, he hurriedly told himself; he'd merely knelt. "It's about you, Draco. If you really think it's so repulsive for magic to show up in Muggle families, then you have no business getting involved with a Muggle. Are you thinking you're in this for the long term?"
What a completely rude question! "You have heard me say love a hundred times this morning, haven't you? Don't you know what that is, what it means? Aren't you planning to marry Weasley, after all?"
She burst out laughing. "No, I'm not planning to marry him!"
Draco couldn't have been more stunned if she'd . . . well, drawn her wand and stunned him, actually. "You're not?"
Hermione smiled, the expression more than a little bit amused. "I'm not planning it now, no. I haven't even finished school yet! But I gather you are actually already thinking ahead to that, with Rhiannon?" Her voice dropped to a low, serious tone, no more humour in it. "Then you have to be realistic, Draco. Marriage means . . . well, you know, all that intimacy, which leads to children to consider. Even if you don't marry her, you could still run into that, and--"
She stopped talking, which told Draco that he hadn't schooled his expression quickly enough. And no wonder; the moment she'd mentioned intimacy, his memory had flown straight back to that wonderful afternoon he'd spent at Rhiannon's house. Or, not afternoon. Just her lunch hour, really, but it had been perfect. He remembered the way she'd looked, gasping against the wall as he'd touched her. And then, dear Merlin, her sweet mouth engulfing him . . .