"I'm not wearing--"
"Fine, then come home for lunch and skip your date."
Draco grimaced. He'd do anything for Rhiannon, absolutely anything.
Even, he thought with a dull chill, wear Gryffindor colours.
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Comments very welcome,
Aspen in the Sunlight and Mercredi
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Chapter 12: Something Fishy
http://archive.skyehawke.com/story.php?no=13093&chapter=12
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A Summer Like None Other
by Aspen in the Sunlight
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Chapter Twelve: Something Fishy
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Draco was back at the pool by eleven fifty, but remembering Severus' advice about being obvious, he decided not to go in until it was twelve on the spot. It wouldn't do for Rhiannon to think he had nothing better to do than hang about waiting for her to get off.
Even if he didn't.
When he tried to go through the entrance building, however, he was stopped by none other than the Muggle uncle. "We're closed for lunch now," the man said, making a curt gesture toward a sign which detailed the pool's hours. He sounded like he doubted Draco could read. The nerve.
Draco was saved from answering by Rhiannon, who stepped into the lobby wearing a pair of snug denim shorts and a short-sleeved shirt that hugged her curves. Draco couldn't help but wonder if she'd had time to really change, or if she'd merely slipped some clothes on over her swimsuit. That thought made him feel a bit hot inside. He could almost imagine how she'd look, pulling up the tan shorts over her bright red suit. Or perhaps she'd stripped the suit off and pulled on some lacy knickers. White? Cream? Maybe black, with little strips of ribbon clinging to her hips . . .
"Uncle Stanley, this is Draco Snape," Rhiannon was saying in a level voice. Introducing him, Draco abruptly realised. He somehow managed to get his mind off what her knickers might look like. "He's the boy who walked me home from rehearsal the other evening. We're going out to lunch together."
Stanley. Draco was fairly certain he'd never heard a more Mugglish name than that one. Still, he tried to put his father's advice to good use. For all he knew, Rhiannon really might be offended if Draco was rude to her family, even if she did complain about them herself.
Bracing himself, Draco thrust out a hand. He knew the gesture looked stiff, but he couldn't help that. "Pleased to meet you," he said. He tried to add sir to the end, but couldn't quite manage it, no matter that he'd been taught all his life to exhibit perfect manners on demand. He hadn't been taught to exhibit them to Muggles.
The Muggle man obviously hadn't been taught manners at all, even if he did shake Draco's hand. But it was a perfunctory sort of gesture. Draco wasn't even sure if the man was aware they'd just been introduced. He was looking only at Rhiannon, his brown eyes narrowed, his mouth a tight line. "Your lunch break is over at one. Not one ten, not one fifteen. Is that clear?"
She nodded and took Draco's arm to guide him out of the building.
"I mean it, Rhiannon!"
Draco had to bite his tongue to keep from saying something in her defence. But Severus was probably right about how she might react if Draco started criticising a member of her family. No matter how odious he was.
"Yes, I understand," she said, rolling her eyes a little. When she started tugging on Draco's arm, he wasted no time in getting them both away from the Northbrook Pool.
"Reminds me of Adrian, sometimes," she grumbled once they were on the street outside. "He's a wonderful director and helped me loads, like I told you, but he can be a real stickler for being on time, too. I wish my uncle would ease off. I get enough of that at rehearsals."
Draco smiled and nodded, just like Severus had suggested.
"Well, enough of that," said Rhiannon briskly. "How about fish and chips for lunch? My treat."
Draco wasn't sure what horrified him most, the prospect of such a vile lunch or the suggestion that she should be the one to pay. "Oh, no, no," he said, glancing up and down the street for anything that resembled a proper restaurant. Pity he hadn't planned this better. He really didn't know Exeter in the least. "I invited you out, so the least I can do is--"
"Don't be a prat about it." Rhiannon stepped up her pace. "You heard my uncle. I don't have a lot of time, and anyway, you paid last time at the cafÈ. It's my turn."
Draco was set to argue about that further, but he lost track of the thought--all thought, actually--when the wind picked up Rhiannon's long hair. She'd had it in a loose braid before, but she must have unbound it since she'd seen Draco last.
Sweet Merlin, she was gorgeous. Draco had told Harry that her hair was honey-blonde, but now he saw that it was really made up of a myriad of different hues. Some strands were positively golden; others were almost a reddish shade. Draco wanted to card his fingers through her hair. He wanted to stroke the tresses over her shoulders and run his hands down further, caressing the swell of her breast and the curve of her hips until she moaned under his touch, and--
"You like fish and chips all right, don't you?" asked Rhiannon, breaking across his fast-growing fantasy. "It's one of my favourites."
Draco didn't particularly want to eat fish, but if it was one of her favourites, that settled the matter for him. "Oh, I like it just fine," he said, suddenly deciding that this was probably a case of when in Rome, do as the Romans. She'd been raised Muggle and obviously saw nothing wrong with taking turns, as she'd put it, so Draco could go along, even if it meant pretending he couldn't be happier to eat fried food in a grotty little pub.
A moment later, he was profoundly glad he hadn't complained about her choice of menu. Rhiannon gave him a genuinely warm smile. "Some of the boys I went to school with wouldn't be caught dead eating fish and chips in the park, but I knew you weren't a thing like them."
They were going to eat in a park?
Draco decided he'd do whatever it took to make her happy. Besides, he might be rich, but he wasn't like those people who had hurt her feelings all through her years at her special music school. He didn't think any the less of her for being without adequate funds.
Though he was glad to see that she at least had some pocket change. He didn't want her to spend it on him, of course, but he still thought it a good thing that she wasn't completely destitute. For her sake, though. Not because he cared about things like that.
He didn't. He couldn't, not now.
They ended up getting take-away fish and chips from a small storefront on Beacon Lane. Draco paid close attention to everything, from how she ordered and paid to the fact that she grabbed small packets from a tray on the counter as she left.
He had to repress a shudder at the idea that he was going to eat something that had been stuffed into a paper bag. Talk about grotty. And that wasn't even counting the fact that she was obviously planning for him to drink straight from a plastic bottle. Draco was used to all his beverages being served in a proper glass and garnished as appropriate.
But at least he'd finally get to find out what Diet Coke tasted like.
Rhiannon found a little garden square and plunked herself down on the grass under a towering elm tree. Draco lowered himself to the ground a little more gingerly, and tried not to wince when she fetched the food out of the bag. The fish was actually wrapped in newspaper. How positively . . . Mugglish.