Blowing out a breath, he dropped down again to sit opposite Granger. "You're an idiot. I'd love any child Rhiannon gave me, magical or not."
"Even considering that a magical child would only be a half-blood?"
"Harry's a half-blood and you don't notice me having a problem with it, do you?"
"You said yourself that Harry's an exception to every rule."
"TouchÈ," Draco muttered, flopping onto his back. He could tell by then that Granger was going to be no help at all. Not because she was useless, but because she thought he was, and nothing he could say would change that. And the worst part was, he could actually understand why she would feel that way.
"I hate that you're right, you know," he said bitterly, his lips thinning. "About before, and what I might have done if I'd had a child without magic. They can occur, you know, even in pureblooded lines, and I might have--" He suddenly rolled back into a sitting position, his stomach clenching. "Excuse me, please. I need to wash my hair."
"What?"
Draco rose shakily to his feet. "It's a euphemism, Granger. I'm ill, is that clear enough for you? I need to--"
"Wait, wait," said Hermione. Draco wasn't sure quite when she'd stood up, too, but he couldn't fail to notice her hand, suddenly wrapped about his upper arm. "I think . . . you really mean it, don't you?"
Draco just stared at her, weary. "Haven't I been telling you as much, all morning?"
"I thought it was a passing fancy. But I think it's more than that, now. Come on, Draco. I will help you now."
Enough disappointment, and even his manners deserted him. Draco snorted. "Can you? You've been pathetic so far."
"That's right, sweet talk me." Hermione chuckled, tugging his arm until he sank back down onto the blanket. "Now, start over from the beginning, and tell me everything you can about her, and we'll come up with some sort of plan."
"Some sort of plan," he repeated doubtfully.
"I'll get her talking to you, at the very least," said Hermione, strangely making a slashing motion across her chest, first one diagonal and then the other. "The rest is up to you."
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The next morning found Draco, Snape, and Harry all back in Exeter. The pool was open for free swim, but one swift glance inside said that Rhiannon wasn't there. Then again, she didn't usually work on Saturdays.
Her uncle wasn't working either. Or at least, Stanley Tilden wasn't in the office, where Draco often saw him. Instead, some red-headed girl was standing behind the counter, flipping through what looked like a pretty vapid magazine. But then, she looked just as vapid, coming to work wearing nothing but shorts and the top of a two-piece swimsuit. Flesh-coloured, even, so that from a distance you might think she was standing there naked. When you got close enough, though, you could see strings connecting the triangular pieces of fabric together.
Honestly, clothing made of strings. At her place of employment.
Muggle, Draco thought, inwardly sneering the word. This one probably wouldn't even need to be bought a snack before she'dÖ
Almost at once, though, he realised what he was thinking and forced himself to stop. No, no, no. He and Hermione had gone over this very point, out under the oak tree after they'd finished discussing what approach Draco should take about Rhiannon.
Just because a girl was a Muggle was no reason to assume anything else about her, Hermione had lectured. Rhiannon's own mother was a Muggle, she'd pointed out. Draco simply had to get over this idea that Muggle meant anything except a lack of magic. And what was more, he had to treat the Muggles he encountered with courtesy. He couldn't go about sneering at them, not even on the inside. Rhiannon would pick up on that.
Treat them as politely as you treat anybody, Hermione had lectured. And then, she'd hastily added, Er. . . as politely as you ought to, I mean.
To which Draco had replied that he had stellar manners when he wanted to use them.
"Better get used to using them, then," had been Hermione's rather cheeky advice. "On Muggles too, don't forget. If I were you, I'd practice on every one I meet."
Despite the cheek, it was very good advice, Draco knew. Rhiannon would expect him to behave politely in company. She'd take it personally if he didn't.
So, Draco tried. Hard. "Good morning," he greeted the girl, putting on a wide smile. "Lovely weather we're having, isn't it?"
Harry made a noise like swallowed laughter, and quickly said he was going to find Roger to ask him something.
Severus, though, stayed in the office, his presence somehow encouraging.
The girl just glanced up like he'd interrupted her reading and it was bloody irritating. She hadn't even checked that Harry had a swim pass.
Which went to show, didn't it, that some Muggles were as lazy and worthless as he'd always thought. Then again, some wizards weren't worth a bucket of spit either, Minister Fudge being a prime example.
"So, I'll meet you and Harry back here, shall I?" he asked Severus, keeping his tone bright and confident as he stepped away from the counter and towards his father, who was standing at the door to the pool area, his eyes steady.
On Harry, no doubt.
Habit had Draco searching for him, though with the Dark Lord so quiet all throughout the summer, it really didn't seem there was much cause for concern. Harry had found Roger and looked to be chatting him up, so that all sorted well . . .
When Draco glanced away, it was to see Severus staring down at him. "It will be all right, Draco," he said in that deep, soothing voice of his.
Draco had been holding himself together pretty well, he'd thought, but Severus' gentle tones were almost his undoing. "What if she still won't talk to me? I-- I--"
"One way or another, it will be all right," Severus patiently repeated. "Harry and I will wait here for you."
Draco tried to look more cheerful than he felt. "Good, then. Thank you."
A brief pat on his arm, and one more slight smile, and then Severus was turning away to follow Harry into the pool area.
Sighing, Draco shoved his hands in his pockets and exited through the other door, the one that led onto Beacon Lane.
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The closer he got to Rhiannon's house, the more his steps began to slow, probably because he was rehearsing what he was going to say, over and over inside his head. Pointless, though. Conversations never went the way you were expecting, after all.
Perhaps Severus had been right to insist that Draco influence Slytherin by means of letters . . .
To distract himself from hearing the same conversation again, Draco focussed instead on the news Hermione had brought them the day before. Not that it had been terribly entertaining. Over lunch, after Severus had left for Hogwarts, Harry had asked Hermione if she'd had news from Viktor Krum, if she'd found out anything useful about the Mirror of All Souls.
Weasley had stiffened, clearly still worried about Hermione corresponding with Krum. Draco had to admit, that part had been entertaining. Particularly after he'd had to write Weasley a vault draft for a hundred Galleons, based on the fact that Weasley had in fact kept Severus from beating him in chess. The match had still been going strong when Severus had had to leave.