Severus and Harry exchanged a brief look, Draco saw. It wasn't lost on him that whatever Harry said, he still did think it unlikely that Rhiannon was any sort of witch. But he had been right helpful all day long, telling Draco all sorts of things that a Muggle-raised girl would expect him to know as a matter of course. Not that Draco had understood everything he'd been told. Some things, Harry had explained several different ways and Draco still didn't feel he was catching on.
He did feel, however, that he'd learned quite a few useful bits, though. The odd things on the wall at the pool changing room made sense, now. Light switches and plugs. Actually, he only really understood the light switches part of that. Like a Lumos without magic, Harry had explained. That made sense, as long as he didn't try to figure out where on earth the false light could be coming from. But plugs? According to Harry, those were filled with something called electricity. Apparently it made Muggle machines run, but when Draco wanted to know what electricity itself was made of, Harry had gone into confusing detours about lightning and a kite, and something called static, and then he'd started blathering on about how everything was made of little balls that were mostly empty space!
Like that could have anything to do with the plugs on the wall, even if it was true, which it obviously wasn't.
The whole conversation about plugs had been daft, really. And useless. Harry had got a bit upset when Draco kept saying that none of those things about lightning and little balls made any sense. Well, I only went to Muggle school until I was ten, he'd protested. I can barely remember what we learned in science.
That was obvious, Draco thought, but he knew better than to say so out loud. No point in making Harry cross again. And anyway, it didn't matter much if Draco knew what Muggles thought, science-wise. Rhiannon hated the subject, so they weren't likely to be discussing it, thank Merlin. Oh, but he wasn't supposed to say thank Merlin in front of her. It was thank God, even though most Muggles didn't believe in God any more than they believed in Merlin!
Strange lot, Muggles.
"It's time for dinner," said Severus now.
"I'm not feeling peckish," said Draco at once. He wanted to learn more about Muggles, even if most of it was nonsensical. Hmm. Maybe it wouldn't have been, if he'd taken a year of Muggle studies along the way. Harry kept talking about "context," and saying how Draco just didn't have enough of it to understand things the way Harry could.
"It's time for dinner whether you're peckish or not."
Draco knew what that meant. He rolled off his bed, sighing a little as he glanced over at his father. "And it's my turn to slave over a hot cauldron. You don't have to look at me like that. I haven't forgotten."
"I'm not aware of looking at you in any particular way."
"Yeah, you're narrowing your eyes just so. It means you're about sixty seconds away from becoming truly annoyed."
"Yes, I'm so annoyed that I took the liberty of cooking in your stead. There's a lamb stew waiting for us." Severus shrugged. "I thought it the least I could do, since you and your brother were so occupied."
"Oh!" Draco couldn't stop a smile from spreading across his face. He was getting a little better at cooking, but the meals he managed to produce were still barely tolerable. The scones he'd tried to make had come out rather like miniature Bludgers, they were so hard.
Severus' cooking wasn't up to Hogwarts standards by any means, but it was a lot better than Draco's. "So if you took my night, does that mean I have to cook tomorrow? I mean, did we just push the schedule back or did we switch nights or--"
"Draco," said Harry, shaking his head.
"What? Dad doesn't want me to thank him, any more than he wanted my Galleons yesterday! And I'm not asking him for anything, all right? I'm just asking a question."
"He is standing right here, you realise," said Severus then.
Harry broke out laughing. "Come on, let's just have some of this stew. The chores'll work themselves out."
Spoken like a true Gryffindor, Draco thought. But if letting things work themselves out might mean he had to cook one less dinner, fine.
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"Come on, now. You don't want to be late for your lesson," said Draco the next morning, shaking Harry's shoulder.
"Tired," complained Harry, burrowing deeper into the blankets.
"Get up!"
Harry groaned and threw his covers off. "Fine, fine! But it's your fault I'm so knackered, you know. You think you might let me get to sleep before two in the morning, tonight?"
"Oh, don't get your wand in a twist. I couldn't rest until I understood Muggle travel, could I?"
"I couldn't rest, you mean."
Draco raised his chin. "What if I want to take Rhiannon somewhere that's too far to walk? What do you want me to do, ask her to hop up on my broom?"
Harry was running a hand through his hair, mussing it worse than usual, but at that, he stopped, an odd look on his face. "You say that, and she might think you mean something . . . uh, sexual."
Draco chuckled, but then he remembered how Rhiannon had reacted when she'd thought that wand was some kind of sexual reference. Very ladylike, really. Which only went to prove that she couldn't possibly be a Muggle like Harry had been saying. She obviously had standards.
Even her bathing suit was more modest than most of the ones the Muggle girls at the pool had been wearing. Rhiannon might not consciously know that she wasn't a Muggle, but her behaviour spoke for itself. She wasn't loose and easy like Muggle girls obviously were.
She was a proper witch, modest and demure as she was beautiful.
Draco would bet his vault on it.
"Just go make breakfast," said Harry, yawning. "I'll get up for that."
It wasn't Draco's turn. Well, unless the schedule was rearranged on account of Severus cooking the night before. Draco decided it was best not to argue, though. He needed Harry cheerful and talkative, and willing to explain loads more things about Muggle culture. Not that Muggles really had anything that could be called that, but whatever it was they did have, Draco needed to understand it.
What was one more breakfast, really?
Part of being Slytherin, Draco thought, was knowing when to let sleeping dogs lie. He was rather proud of himself that he didn't even complain about having to pour cereal into bowls and add milk.
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"Hallo," said Draco as Rhiannon came up to the gate where the children were waiting.
Rhiannon smiled brightly. "Draco."
She unlatched the gate and shooed the children in, shaking her head a little as a small red-headed boy tried to slip past her, his hand clutching a bag of crisps. "You know the rules, Dustin. No food in here."
Draco waited until she had hopped up on her tall lifeguard chair. "I thought you said there wasn't any free swim during lessons," he said, glancing at the children splashing about. "But you work every day, watching them?"
Rhiannon shrugged. "This is more of a child-minding service than anything else. Adult free swim starts at one o'clock. Um, Draco? I wanted to apologise that I didn't invite you in on Wednesday night. And after you walked me all the way home, too. But I can't have friends over that late."
Friends. Draco almost made a face, but he didn't want to seem like a prat, so he managed to keep a neutral expression. "Oh, I had to get home, myself," he said, waving a hand to show he wasn't bothered. Which he wasn't, actually. He thought he'd like to meet her parents, and possibly her aunt, all of whom would need to be told about magic, eventually. But the Muggle uncle?