Later, when they went to get them, Harry had to admit that his looked pretty good on him. He smiled and thanked Draco, and tried not to roll his eyes at the way the other boy preened.
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Harry yawned again, feeling like a nap would be just the thing. The opera Draco had picked was all right, he supposed; his brother certainly seemed to be enjoying it. But the constant singing really wasn't Harry's cup of tea. Maybe he'd appreciate it more if he could understand a word here or there.
"This is surprisingly good," whispered Draco after a fat man wearing some sort of bird costume took a bow and the curtain came down. "Of course, that notice had it half wrong. Some of the little scenes they've put on actually come from The Marriage of Figaro. And really, mixing that one with The Magic Flute is rather bizarre, don't you think?"
Harry really didn't have any sort of opinion about that.
"It's a small company, Draco," said Severus in a deep voice. "A community group, the programme explains. No doubt they designed this production around the singers they had, matching each to the part most appropriate. A full-scale opera might be beyond their capacity."
"Ah. Yes, probably so," murmured Draco, flipping through his programme. He was absently humming a section of a song they'd heard a few minutes before, but fell silent at once as the curtain began to rise.
A young woman walked sedately forward on the stage, her costume a gauzy midnight blue dress, so loose and flowing it might have been a witch's robe. It was even decorated with stars and crescent moons, just like some of the headmaster's outfits, though somehow on her the symbols looked elegant instead of comical.
Her golden-blonde hair streamed all the way down her back, but Harry was slow to notice that because the headdress she was wearing was so striking. Silver, it formed a silver half-circle behind her head, looking almost like the moon rising over water.
"The Queen of the Night," murmured Draco, leaning forward to rest his hands against the balcony.
Something about his voice sounded odd, Harry thought. When he glanced at his brother it was to see Draco's eyes gleaming, his whole body held in a pose of almost rapt attention.
Well, the song the girl was singing was rather fantastic, Harry thought. He'd never heard anything like it. The notes went so high it was a wonder anybody could hit them. They rippled through the air almost like magic, so it was easy to understand why Draco would look so enchanted. He really did love this kind of music.
Draco kept leaning forward further as he listened. His lips were parted, his breathing shallow, his hands stroking across the balcony in tempo to the notes the girl was singing.
"You're going to fall out of your chair if you aren't careful," said Harry lightly.
Draco gave no sign of having even heard. It was like his whole soul was wrapped around the music.
Harry glanced to the other side, where Snape was sitting with hands sedately folded in his lap. His father merely gave a small shake of his head, as if to say that they should leave Draco to his rapture.
And really, how long could the song last, anyway?
When it ended though, Draco still looked positively enthralled. He didn't take his eyes off the stage as the girl took a bow. His gaze followed her as she stepped back, then followed the curtain that swept down to conceal her.
He turned to his family then, his eyes still sparkling, and said something in tones of reverence. Something Harry certainly wasn't expecting to hear. It was just opera, after all.
But clearly, it was something else to Draco.
"I'm in love," he whispered, barely breathing.
Harry glanced at the curtain, then back at Draco. "You're what?"
Still that same hushed, almost worshipful tone. "In love. With . . ." Draco's fingers rapidly turned pages in the simple program he'd been given earlier. When he found what he was looking for, he sighed with happiness. "With Rhiannon Miller. Even her name is beautiful."
Harry blinked. "It sounds like a pretty regular name to me."
Draco just smiled, looking like nothing Harry could say would bother him, ever again. And that bothered Harry. "Oh, be serious. You can't be in love. You don't even know that girl."
Draco's eyes were still gleaming with an other-worldly light. Harry told himself it was just the dim glow of the lamps on the walls of their box, but Snape's eyes didn't look like that, did they?
"You aren't in love," Harry said again. "That's completely ridiculous."
"Shhh!" said an old lady in the next box over.
Only then did Harry realise that the next song had begun.
Draco turned toward the stage again, his teeth glinting. "Maybe she'll grace the stage with another song." She didn't, though, which meant that Draco's expression fell more and more as the evening wore on.
Harry kept glancing over at his father, who was sitting with folded hands and pursed lips. Harry didn't know what that meant, but he had a feeling that he wasn't the only one feeling worried.
What could Draco be thinking? You couldn't fall in love with someone you'd never met, and anyway, this Rhiannon was a Muggle. Draco should be spouting off his usual nonsense about how much they disgusted him and how a Muggle had probably sat in his chair before him and--
"There she is," said Draco when the cast took their curtain call. He leaned forward again, sighing, his arms draped over the balcony as if he was trying to slide over it so he could be closer to the girl on the stage. "Just look at her."
Rhiannon was still dressed in her Queen of the Night robes, though by then she'd taken off her headdress. Harry had to admit, she was quite beautiful. Tall and blonde and slender, she bowed gracefully and looked the picture of elegance. But what did any of that matter? Draco couldn't be in love!
"Let's see if we can go backstage," said Draco, jumping up as soon as the curtain fell again. He bounced on his heels. "I have to meet her! I have to, I have to!"
Snape stood up and spoke in a low, intense voice. "I think we should return home, Draco."
"But--"
"We haven't been invited backstage," continued Snape. "We will not be calling undue attention to ourselves, Draco."
"Nobody in a pipsqueak theatre like this will care one whit--"
Snape took one step toward his son. "I care. We'll discuss the matter at home."
Draco cast a last, desperate look at the curtain. "Oh, very well. At least I know her name and where she spends her time." He slipped the playbill into a pocket, then patted the fabric covering it. "Exeter Theatre Company. I'll find her. As sure as my name's Mal-- er, Snape." Draco narrowed his eyes when Harry gave him a sharp look. "Habit, all right? I've been saying that my whole life."
He didn't say anything else as Snape led them to out of the theatre and to a dark, deserted alley where they Disapparated.
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Harry flopped down onto the couch inside the cottage. If Draco had been worried before, about Harry's needles, then now the shoe was on the other foot. Harry was worried about Draco's new . . . fixation. There was no other word for it, and Harry was positive that Marsha would agree with him.
In fact, the whole thing was so sudden and unexpected that all Harry could think was that Draco was doing this on the rebound. He'd decided to replace Pansy, finally. And he'd chosen this Rhiannon on a whim, though of course it didn't seem that way to the other boy.
But yeah, it was definitely a fixation. What else could it be? Draco wouldn't listen to reason. Not about the fact that you might, say, need to actually speak to someone before you decided you were in love, and not about anything else, either. Rhiannon Miller was definitely a Muggle, after all. In other circumstances, liking a Muggle girl might actually be good for Draco. But not like this. Convincing himself that Rhiannon was his true love was just going to lead to more heartbreak for Draco. Harry knew it. And Draco had already had enough disappointments this year.