Halfway down the next aisle, Severus suddenly did a double-take as he studied a new tin he'd just selected.
"What?" asked Draco.
The Potions Master frowned. "I can't think why there should be disodium phosphate in this. I wouldn't put that in anything meant to be taken by mouth." He placed the tin back on the shelf, and began rummaging through the cart, checking ingredient lists. Shaking his head, he rejected several items, piling them haphazardly back on the nearby shelf.
Harry frowned. "I think we should really put those where they came from."
Draco almost guffawed. That was taking the good son act a bit far, surely. Not that he really thought it was an act. Harry just still had insecurity issues, he thought. Sometimes he tried to discuss them with Marsha, but she was pretty good at steering the conversation back to Draco's own issues. Like intolerance, as she put it. It wasn't, of course. It was just intelligent thinking. It was dangerous for Muggles to know about the wizarding world, that was all. History was full of all sorts of proof, but they didn't teach that version of history at Hogwarts.
That whole line of thought reminded him of Harry's ridiculous insistence that Rhiannon Miller had to be a Muggle. What rubbish. Draco would show him.
"Well, would you look at that," he said as they were standing in line to check out. "No sign of Rhiannon Miller. No sign at all. And to think you said she'd be here."
"I didn't, but that she isn't hardly proves anything."
"You'll see."
------------------------------------------------------
Harry didn't see, though. Severus cast a sly feather-light charm on their purchases, and they set off through the streets of Exeter, heading back towards the theatre where Rhiannon had performed. According to the woman sitting in the box office, though, she wasn't there at the moment. Of course, it took a little while to get that information from her. She hadn't even recognized Rhiannon's name, which Draco thought was a travesty if he'd ever heard one.
"Oh, the amateur opera ensemble," she said when Draco explained that he'd seen Rhiannon Miller in last night's performance. "They use the theatre every other Thursday night. I think they rehearse in a warehouse somewhere around here . . ."
Warehouse? Where merchandise was stored? He thought of those decrepit buildings near the squib home. His beautiful Rhiannon, who deserved to be gracing the stage of London's finest opera house, had to hone her performances in a place like that? Draco almost bared his teeth. "Well, where exactly can I find her, then?"
"I really wouldn't know."
Draco sighed as he fished out his wallet. He knew how to handle people like this. Even the wizarding world had its leeches. He slipped out a few pound notes--fivers, Harry called these ones--and sort of dangled them in front of the woman. "Are you sure about that?"
She stared at him like he was from another world. Hmm. Perceptive of her. "I beg your pardon?"
Muggles truly were dense, weren't they? "Perhaps thirty or forty ounces would freshen your recollection?"
"Pounds," hissed Harry. "God, Draco!"
Oh, right. Well, how was he supposed to remember? They were both measures.
"I'm not hiding information," said the clerk, bristling. "Now, if you don't mind, I've work to do."
Draco was a bit glad, then, that Severus was standing a few paces distant. Nothing was more embarrassing than having one's bribe refused. "Fine, then. We'd like three tickets to Rhiannon Miller's next performance."
Harry groaned. "I don't want to see it again!"
"Yes, well unless I get to come to Exeter alone, I'm afraid you're destined," said Draco, nose held high. Then, to the clerk: "Well?"
"Apologise for insulting me, first."
Draco just about gaped. What? What?
Harry's voice was jolly when he chimed in. "Yeah, Draco, apologise. It's the least you can do after you implied . . . er, scurrilous things about this good woman, here."
"Implied, nothing," said the clerk, her cheeks looking sort of sunken. Like she'd eaten a sour. "Don't want tickets, then? Off with you!"
Draco drew in a deep breath. There was no way some small-minded little Muggle was going to stand between himself and Rhiannon. "I'm sorry if I insulted you--"
"If?"
Draco gritted his teeth. If not for Severus standing so close . . . oh well. Hexing Muggles wouldn't do his standing with the Auror office any good. So he tried again, flashing his most dazzling smile. "I'm sorry that I insulted you, madam. May we please purchase three tickets?"
The clerk was smirking as she took the money and handed them over. Only after Draco had them in hand did he realise his mistake. "Ah, madam. I should have mentioned that we'd like front-row centre."
"Yes, you should have," she said, and with a smart motion, flipped over a sign hanging to her side.
Closed for lunch.
She turned her back on them and disappeared into the theatre.
Draco tucked the tickets into a trouser pocket. "Unbelievable. These . . . people really are very rude creatures."
"Are they," said Severus dryly when they reached him.
Draco grimaced. He should have recalled what fine hearing his father had, but then again, it was hard to remember anything past his burning urge to see Rhiannon again. And now he would have to wait a fortnight. A whole fortnight! If he were a dog, he'd howl.
"Look, maybe my technique needs work, but I'm sure that woman knows more than she's telling. Er, maybe when she comes back out you can use a little . . ." He twirled a finger near his forehead.
"No, I can't," said Severus shortly. "Don't ask again."
"But I have to find Rhiannon! I have to! I have to!"
"Thursday week will be soon enough."
"Maybe by then you'll have got over this weird obsession," said Harry. The prat.
Draco gave him a warning look. "It's no obsession. Oh, by the way, we're definitely going backstage next time. And if either of you tries to stop me again . . . well, I won't be responsible for what happens next."
Severus didn't do much more than shrug, which could mean anything, of course. Harry, with his usual lack of perception, seemed to think it must mean nothing at all. "You're going to let him just threaten us?"
"He didn't do that, precisely." Severus turned to Draco. "No more talk like that, however. Is that understood?"
Draco knew better than to push his luck. He nodded, keeping his eyes cast down so Severus couldn't read the determination in them.
It was a good pose. Calm, collected, self-controlled. But Harry ruined it for him. "Honestly, Draco, this thing of yours is getting out of control. I'm starting to think that you must be the one who's . . . er, had his thinking messed with."
Confunded, he meant. Confunded, him! "Oh, like when your weasel friend said you had to be confused just because you'd come to care about somebody? Like that, Harry?"
"At least I actually knew Severus!"
"Well, you've obviously never been in love," said Draco in a voice even he recognised as nasty. "Must have something to do with this attachment-avoidance syndrome you're working through. And no wonder, considering how little trust you learnt growing up. But don't worry, Marsha will set you right if you just keep at the therapy for another ten, fifteen years--"
"Essays it is," said Severus heavily.
"Wait, no--"
"I didn't say anything!" exclaimed Harry.
"You ridiculed your brother's affections. Again. It's really not very politic, Harry. Unless, by chance, you're trying to drive him into the young lady's arms?"