Trust Hermione to think of that. "Let's go and show them."
Rhiannon giggled when she saw what Harry was bringing. "Oh, precious. Yes, let's. I watched that movie every year growing up, I think. It always made me wonder . . . I'd love to see it again."
Draco made a scoffing noise. "What possible use could this be? Oz isn't even a real place!"
A middle-aged woman halfway down the aisle turned to stare at Draco.
"Shh," said Harry, taking Draco's arm to start him walking toward the registers.
"Oh. Right."
"Let me take it; I have a card here," said Rhiannon. Harry could tell that Draco didn't understand her comment at all, but he let Rhiannon have the movie, and watched the transaction carefully as she rented it.
For the ride home, Rhiannon insisted Draco sit up front with her. She seemed a little shocked when it became obvious he had no idea what a safety belt was for. Even after she explained, Draco didn't want to wear one. Harry had the feeling he didn't want to become trapped in a burning car, something like that. Rhiannon leaned over close to him, lips almost touching, and said just one word: please.
Draco gave her no more argument about buckling up, but he did fumble over the mechanism at first.
When they reached Stanley Tilden's house, Hermione hung back, her fingers on Harry's arm asking him to do the same. By then, she was positively beaming. "She's very nice, just like you said. And they really do seem to get on. If I were you, Harry, I'd relax about it."
Harry murmured something non-committal and headed into the house.
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Rhiannon's plan for dinner was to make a salad with about a hundred different ingredients, it seemed, a lot of them from the garden behind the house. Thrusting a wicker basket at Harry and Draco, she assigned them both to "go harvesting."
Draco grumbled, once outside, about leaving Hermione in there to gossip about him more.
"She's delighted with this whole thing," said Harry, which probably understated the case. "I don't think you have to worry."
Draco nodded at that, but nonetheless gathered tomatoes, various kinds of lettuce, and herbs in record time.
Rhiannon set Harry to washing everything and assigned Draco to mince some garlic for the dressing as she kept up a running conversation with Hermione, who was slicing rounds of cucumber. By then, the talk had wound around to what it had been like for Hermione, growing up with magic that nobody around her recognised or understood.
Rhiannon started to ask another question, but stopped in mid-sentence, her eyes widening as she swung them from Hermione's chopping block to Draco's. "Oh, my," she said, leaning close to each. "That's . . . very precise, both of you. Don't tell me, they offer a cooking course at Hogwarts?"
The garlic and cucumber looked perfectly normal to Harry . . . but then, he'd been watching people make potions for six years.
Draco had obviously understood her confusion, too. "I told you what our father teaches," he said, deftly sliding the garlic onto the knife and then into the bowl she'd laid out for the dressing. "And believe me, when Severus says mince, you mince. You don't chop, dice, cube, slice or purÈe. You can't, or your potion will come out green instead of purple."
Hermione nodded. "And if you slice, each and every one had better be exactly the same thickness. Force of habit for us, now, I'm afraid. My mother just shakes her head when I cook."
"Well, it's nice that you still help her with things like cooking -- it must seem so boring after Ö" Her voice trailed off as she stared at the tomatoes Harry had started to slice. They were half mush.
"Yeah, I'm pretty much crap at potions," he admitted, shrugging.
"Oh, you are not!" said Hermione and Draco, almost at the same time.
"Thanks, but I know it's not really my best subject. Dad knows, too. Shame I can't skive off, now that it's not really required."
Rhiannon smiled reassuringly. "You know, my mum is really taken with herbal remedies and such. I don't mind willow bark tea or Echinacea tablets, but from what Draco has said, the ingredients you have to use? Potions class sounds just vile to me. If I were you, I'd definitely skive off."
That comment led to a discussion of wizarding versus Muggle medicine, though of course nobody said the word Muggle in front of Rhiannon. At any rate, the conversation was decided short-lived as Rhiannon said it would spoil her appetite.
They ate the salads with some garlic bread at the kitchen table. Harry realized the reason they were eating so light when Rhiannon pulled out a box of microwave popcorn and a large bag of gummy candies. Predictably, Draco was fascinated by watching the bag popping in the microwave.
Harry found his brother equally fascinated by the movie -- which turned out to be great fun. Draco watched it with wide eyes throughout, and no small amount of humorous commentary about how inaccurate it all was. He even declared that making the wicked witch Slytherin green was a misguided slur against his house.
"Actually, the green colour of the witch and of Emerald City could be interpreted as symbolic of American paper currency as opposed to the gold bricks in Ö." Harry bonked Hermione on the head with a sofa pillow to shut her up. She glared, but refrained from literary commentary after that.
The funniest moment came when Draco tried to get the last word in. He turned to Hermione with a straight face and said, "There's just one thing that's still confusing me. Maybe you could clear it up for us, Hermione. Just what were the flying monkeys symbolic of?"
She actually opened her mouth to reply before the others burst into laughter. Rhiannon stepped in right away, "Don't mind them Hermione. Personally, I've never been clever enough to figure out symbolism and such." Then she added with a wink, "I just assumed the flying monkeys were evil on account of all that wicked poo-flinging from on high."
Harry nearly choked on his popcorn at that. So much for Draco's image of the lady-like opera diva, but he was laughing as well, which Harry couldn't fault. His brother needed to loosen up a bit. Another reason why he knew he ought to be supportive of this little romance.
The four chatted a while longer, but curfew loomed before long. As they rose to leave, Hermione turned to Rhiannon with a smile. "I don't know if Draco mentioned this particularly, but my parents wanted me to meet you because they had some concerns about passing mail along for a stranger. I'm very happy to have got to know you, though, regardless of all that. And of course I'll tell them I'd really like them to help you and Draco out."
Draco grinned. "Thank you, Hermione."
He picked up Rhiannon's hand, his fingers stroking over hers. "I'll see you at the pool tomorrow when Harry has his lesson. Are you off at three, as usual? Perhaps we could go to the seaside, or . . . is there anything you'd like to do?"
Harry thought Draco was assuming a lot, there. What if Rhiannon had other plans, or didn't want to spend every bit of her free time with him? It seemed, though, that she did.
"Oh, I have a marvellous idea. Can we go and see that children's home you endowed?"
Hermione spoke in tones approaching disbelief. "Draco endowed a children's home?"
"It's for magical children without magic," said Rhiannon, nodding. "And I wish I hadn't walked out that day. I did want to see how they were getting on."
"Why aren't they in their own homes?" asked Hermione, rather darkly.
Harry took her arm. "They've been abandoned, Hermione. Their families didn't want children who weren't magical. You know what some wizards can be like."
"Do I ever," muttered Hermione. But then she looked at Draco, her eyes softening a little, as if to say that she did know he'd made great strides.
"Tomorrow's a bit soon; I think I'd better let them have a little more advance notice than that. Why don't I try to set something up for Saturday?" Draco looked like he'd forgotten completely than anybody else was around. He literally had eyes only for Rhiannon. "When are you through with rehearsal?"