Draco felt like the air whooshed out of his lungs in the next instant, for Rhiannon was hurrying out onto the stage from the other wing. Her long blonde hair was woven through with tiny blossoms. Draco wanted to run his hands through it and toss the flowers aside, then gather Rhiannon into his arms and kiss her until she was weak and breathless in his embrace . . .
"It's still too long," Rhiannon said, sighing. The noise broke Draco out of his fantasy. He looked at her again and saw her do a graceful twirl in front of Adrian.
She meant her costume, Draco realised. The bottom hem of it was dragging along the hardwood floor of the stage. He suddenly wondered what opera they were rehearsing tonight. Rhiannon was dressed in a simple white gown that fell cleanly from her shoulders. She looked like she was supposed to be an ancient Greek or Roman, perhaps.
"I can see that for myself," snapped Adrian. "Well, make a notation of it for Marie, and get that off. And who told you to do up your hair? We're behind schedule."
Rhiannon had turned and was heading back the way she'd come, all without even noticing Draco, when Adrian added in a caustic voice, "Oh, and the next time you want to invite your boyfriend here, do me the courtesy of letting me know, will you?"
"He's not my boyfriend," called Rhiannon over her shoulder as she kept walking away.
Draco couldn't have expected anything different, really. Not yet . . . but it was still difficult to hear that.
"Oh, just stay out of the way and don't interrupt," said the director.
Draco wasn't used to being talked to that way, but he had a feeling that any objection would get him thrown out on his arse. Not that a Muggle could really do anything to him, but if he used the slightest speck of magic, Severus would have kittens. He'd find out, too. Damned Ministry and their underage-magic laws. Draco wasn't behind proper wards now. He'd be caught.
So he merely backed up and blended into the shadows to watch the rehearsal. L'incoronazione di Poppea, he soon figured out, and Rhiannon was playing the title role. It was clearly a stretch for her vocal range, but she was doing quite well with it, he thought, leaning against a concrete pillar as he listened to her perform the final duet. The performance struck him as a bit odd, since by then Rhiannon was wearing snug jeans and a tee-shirt while she pretended to sing with the emperor Nero. But she really was a wonderful actress. After a moment, Draco got lost in the music, or maybe the magic that was her, and forgot that this was only a rehearsal.
After a while, his back began to ache. With a sigh, Draco gave up and sat down on the awful Muggle chair.
------------------------------------------------------
"Hope this isn't too dull for words," said Rhiannon, coming over when Adrian announced a ten-minute break. She dragged a free chair over by Draco's, making a clattering noise which hurt his ears. But then she collapsed into the chair, the lines of her body smooth and languid, with her legs very near to his. So that was all right, then.
"I'd give anything for some tea with lemon just about now."
Even better. An opening. "Let me take you out afterwards," said Draco. "You don't really have to get straight home, do you?"
"Well, by ten, anyway. Or my uncle'll pitch a fit." When Rhiannon smiled, a warm, sweet feeling stole all through Draco. Like he'd drunk a pint of cocoa all by himself. "All right, let's. If we have time."
Ten was Draco's own deadline as well, so he nodded. Then, remembering the roses he'd brought, he scooped them up off the shelf where he'd set them. Not just common roses, either. These were expensive miniature ones, their dark pink petals bursting with fragrance.
For his girl, nothing but the best. "For you."
She looked a little startled. And then, a bit concerned about something. "Oh. Er . . . you didn't have to do that."
Draco would have said that of course he had to, since it was their first date, but he didn't want to seem over-eager. Or Merlin forbid, desperate. Harry might be right on that score . . . although not on any others, not when it came to Rhiannon.
"I'd rather have found some flowers as beautiful as you are," he said instead, an impish smile playing on his features. "But alas, they had nothing even close. But I thought that those would do."
She was even more beautiful when she blushed, Draco learned. Just a hint of colour, high on her cheeks, but at least she didn't hesitate over the flowers any longer. She took the bouquet and lifted it to her nose, inhaling deeply. "Well then, thank you. Draco, right?"
"Well, I'm certainly not a Darren."
If Rhiannon caught his meaning, she didn't show it. "Sorry about that. I'm not so good with names."
"But you remember my brother's."
"Who could forget it?"
Ha, take that, Harry, Draco thought.
But then Rhiannon said, "You did introduce him twice, after all. And when you did . . . er, I was wondering about something. I think he doesn't have the same name as you? Last name."
She was fishing, Draco thought. Seeing what Draco would tell her of Harry Potter? Or maybe she really hadn't recognised the name at all. Well, that would just prove that Draco was right, and her family had kept themselves isolated from the wizarding world.
"We're both adopted."
Her brow wrinkled. "I can't remember for certain, but I think your name matched your father's. Is that right?"
"I changed mine, but Harry didn't want to do that. His own name is too important," Draco hinted.
"Uh-huh," said Rhiannon, sounding like she was losing interest.
Ask about her, Draco thought. "So this new opera is coming along very well, I think. How long have you been rehearsing?"
Rhiannon yawned. "Five weeks, something like that. We're supposed to perform it starting at the beginning of August."
"You'll be ready. I have to say, I really admire you for taking on the role of Poppea. Not many sopranos could do so well singing mezzo-soprano as well."
A pretty blush suffused her features. "Oh. Well, Adrian insisted I could manage it. I had my doubts, but I couldn't refuse. He did a lot for me this past school year, and--"
School year? "I thought you were taught at home."
Her whole posture seemed to harden. "Oh. Yeah, I know I said that. Sorry. I just don't like talking about my school so much, that's all."
Well, there were things Draco didn't like to talk about, so he could understand that. "Bad memories?"
"Not exactly that," she hedged. "Well, in a way, I suppose--"
"God damn it, ten minutes means ten! Not eleven, not twelve-and-a-half!"
"I'll tell you about it over tea," said Rhiannon, quickly getting up. She set the flowers on her chair, but then bent over to grab them again, her jeans pulling tight across the curve of her derriËre. Lovely curve. "I have to dash. Hold these for me? I wouldn't want them to get squashed or anything."
Draco took the roses back, nodding. He didn't mind that she'd apparently lied to him about her school. It only made sense that she'd be a bit embarrassed about that particular issue. She'd probably heard of Hogwarts, but she hadn't been allowed to attend. Draco would certainly be humiliated if he had to admit that he'd gone to Muggle schools.
The rest of the rehearsal was a little boring, since Rhiannon wasn't even out on stage a lot of the time. Draco would have liked it all right if she'd come to sit by him. Even if they couldn't talk--ha, that Adrian would probably bark at them--Draco would be happy just to have her sitting so close. He could watch her breathe, watch the gentle rise and fall of her chest . . .
Instead, he was reduced to watching the two goddesses Virtue and Fortune argue. And neither one of them could hold a candle to Rhiannon. Not in musical ability, and not in beauty.