No, they were nothing but Muggles, but she was magical clear through. He just knew it.
------------------------------------------------------
"Marie showed up and pinned up my costume, and we got to talking," said Rhiannon as they were walking away from the theatre later. "Sorry. Didn't mean to abandon you like that."
"No, no, you were working. I understand that," said Draco, feeling magnanimous.
"You looked like you were having a good chat with Adrian, there at the end."
Draco wasn't sure he'd call it good. Just as Rhiannon had mentioned at the pool, Adrian did want to hear from people who had seen his troupe perform. When the rehearsal had ended he'd come over to Draco and asked him some pointed questions. The trouble was, Draco couldn't remember much about the full performance he'd seen apart from Rhiannon's part in it. In his memory, she cast a golden glow over the whole thing, making the other players fade into insignificance.
The way you couldn't see the stars when the sun was out in all its glory.
At any rate, he hadn't liked the feeling he'd got from Adrian: that Draco was a few Sickles short of a Galleon. Draco wasn't used to Muggles looking down on him, certainly. He was even less used to the feeling that he might have deserved the scorn, that once. He'd seen the opera, so he should have been able to answer Adrian's questions more intelligently.
"Your director seems very dedicated," Draco said, spotting a little cafÈ that had an air of understated elegance. He opened the door for Rhiannon, and pulled out her chair, only to frown when the waiter handed him a menu first.
What ghastly manners. And it wasn't as though this place was a hole in the wall. Draco had chosen a very nice cafÈ, as such things went. Much better than the grotty pub he'd gone to with Harry. With prices to match.
Draco passed the menu over to Rhiannon and took another for himself.
She looked over the top of the menu, her eyes a startling blue that called to mind the deepest sea. Her voice, when she spoke, was hushed. "We don't really need these, do we? We just want tea?"
"I thought you might like a bite to eat as well."
Rhiannon closed her menu, the motion a little abrupt. "I would, yes. Thank you. Why don't you choose, though?"
Now there was the mark of a lady, Draco thought. On the other hand, he didn't have the slightest idea what might tickle her fancy. So that was uncomfortable. But then again, Draco had eaten in the finest establishments--wizarding, all--in France and England both. So how difficult could it be to navigate the offerings of a simple Muggle cafÈ?
"Tea with lemon for the lady," he said to the waiter, who was hovering by then. "Plain tea for me. And with that we'd like a light supper. The scallops Florentine for both of us to start, and then a selection of your finest cheeses, I think."
Rhiannon smiled, the expression a little shy. "Thanks for remembering the lemon. It helps my throat after a rehearsal."
"I actually thought you rehearsed in a warehouse," Draco thought to say. "We heard something about that, from the woman who sells tickets."
"Oh, well we did until this week, but then Adrian worked something out with Mr Newhaus, who owns the theatre."
After that, the conversation seemed to stall. Thankfully, the waiter soon arrived with a selection of teas. Rhiannon chose an herbal blend, Draco noticed. He was casting about for a topic to discuss when she set down her teacup and broke the silence.
"I guess I should explain about my school."
Draco folded his hands together beneath the table. This was it, then. She was going to say that she'd dearly wanted to go to Hogwarts but it had been forbidden, and she'd had to make do with a Muggle education. By then, she had to know that Draco was a wizard, right? He'd introduced Harry Potter and mentioned potion-making, after all. He'd said he was no Darren.
"You had a somewhat unusual education, I take it?" he prompted, because Rhiannon seemed reluctant to continue speaking.
She shrugged, then leaned over the table, her whole posture radiating discomfort with the topic. "I don't like to tell people about it, really. Because then they make assumptions about me, and they always get things wrong. Reversed, even."
Better and better. Draco had to struggle not to grin. She seemed sombre, so he schooled his expression, but inside, he was elated. Everything he'd thought about her was true, and Harry was going to have to eat his wand on this one, he really was . . .
"You'll tell me where you attended, though?"
Rhiannon brushed a lock of hair behind an ear. Merlin, she did have the most gorgeous hair. "I probably shouldn't. You're from that world, after all. I can tell. You're one of them."
Oh, she could tell that Draco was quality. That he was a wizard. It became harder not to let his elation show.
"Your clothes, the roses, the way you ordered . . ." Rhiannon sighed a little.
Wait, what? His clothes?
Something was off here, Draco suddenly sensed. They were talking at cross-purposes, because nobody who was trying to say that they knew he was a wizard would cite his Muggle suit as evidence.
Rhiannon seemed fairly upset by the whole thing, too, which struck a jarring note.
"It's all right," Draco said, reaching out across the table to clasp her hands in his. "Whatever it is. You can tell me."
She sighed a little, stretching out her fingers as though not sure they should be holding hands. But she didn't really try to pull away. "I attended the Chatham Academy."
The way she said it, Draco got the feeling that he was supposed to recognise the name.
"In London," she went on. "I thought you'd have heard of it since you love music so much. It's a school for people with talent in the arts, you see."
"Oh, all right." Except, Draco didn't see. "I'm not sure why you wouldn't have told me that to start with, though."
"Well, I thought you'd have heard of it," she said again. "And mostly when I do say I went there, people get these ideas about me. You see, it's a very exclusive school, and quite expensive. I don't like people assuming that I'm rich when I'm not. Most of the students there were, but they had a small group of students who could attend free of charge based on ability alone."
Well, that made sense, all around. Draco had been to a lot of operas, and he'd never heard anybody sing half so beautifully as Rhiannon. And as for her family not having much money, well, she was working at a pool, after all. It only stood to reason that she wasn't rolling in riches. "Your talent is truly stunning. I can easily see them waiving their fees, in order for the chance to work with you."
She blushed again, very slightly. "Thank you. You're a lot more understanding than some of the rich kids who attended Chatham." She made a face. "They acted as though the school was only there for them, you know? Like the scholarship students didn't belong."
Draco could hardly believe someone would think that way. Why, just ten seconds' listening to Rhiannon was enough to prove beyond all shadow of a doubt that she belonged in a special music school that could nurture her. He felt offended on her behalf. "That's outrageous!"
"That's rich kids for you." Rhiannon started slightly. "Oh, but I don't mean you. You're obviously cut from a different cloth."
Draco went still, thinking of all the times he'd thrown the Weasel's poverty in his face. Hmm, that probably hadn't been too fair-minded of him. A person's true worth wasn't related to their vault balance, after all. Just look at Severus. Or Rhiannon.
The feeling that he'd been just like the rich kids who had obviously hurt her, though . . . he didn't like that idea. Time for a new topic. Definitely. "What did you mean, that Adrian had done a lot for you this past school year?"
"Oh. He's one of my music instructors at Chatham. I was in a bit of a sticky situation in my maths class--" She made a face as she pulled her hands free from his. "I hate maths. And science is even worse. But anyway, I was failing maths until Adrian convinced the professor to let me have another go at a couple of tests I'd failed. And he got a tutor from the university to come help me get ready." Rhiannon sat back in her chair, blowing out a breath. "Until that, I was really afraid I might get asked to leave Chatham. You have to do tolerably well in the regular academic core or they don't let you stay on. Especially if they've done you a favour admitting you to begin with."