Harry smiled, feeling like that was a very neat solution, all things considered.
Draco, on the other hand, looked absolutely aghast. "Are you mad? In the first place, if I'm going to enter a private residence, I need to be invited--"
"You're not a vampire, Draco."
"I'm also not so gauche as to impose myself," said Draco, his nose lifted high. "And in the second place, if you think I want to spend my evening in the company of a Muggle, well then, you're daft as a bat, aren't you?"
Harry sighed.
Draco's expression abruptly changed. "Look, maybe I should have said I can't stand the thought of spending time with the man who did all he could to humiliate Severus, yesterday."
"Leave me out of this, if you would," said Snape mildly. "I didn't appreciate the man's attitude, but who's to say how I would react if I was responsible for a niece on the cusp of womanhood, quite obviously attracted to a young man not in her usual social milieu?"
Draco's face abruptly went pink, and Harry had no trouble figuring out why. Cusp of womanhood . . . he almost burst out laughing, himself.
"At any rate," said Draco in a strained voice, "I really did mean it when I said I couldn't invite myself to her house, Harry."
"Now, that would be quite right," said Snape, nodding. "I don't know about Muggles, but by wizarding norms it would be very ill-mannered indeed--"
"I thought you were going to stay out of this."
Snape glanced at Harry, his dark eyes enigmatic. "I don't want your brother using me as a reason for how he proceeds with his petite amie, but I think I did mention that I think it would do the two of you some good to bond."
"Like going out on his date would help us bond. Sure."
"Draco has asked you for a favour."
Shite. Snape would have to put it that way. What was worse was that Harry could see that his father had a point. But that still didn't mean that Harry wanted to be a fourth wheel to this Cecile's third.
He glanced at Draco, his expression apologetic. "I can understand that you need the help, but I don't really want to go on a double-date, even so. I . . . um, I'm not very good with girls."
"It wouldn't be like a date at all," said Draco at once, shaking his head even as he flashed Harry what looked like an encouraging smile. "More like some friends going out, I think. Though Rhiannon and I are more than friends, obviously."
"Yeah, you'll probably go off and snog and leave me wondering what the hell to say."
The look that crossed Draco's face said he had been planning to sneak off alone with Rhiannon. But clearly, if what it took to get Harry to come along was to promise otherwise . . . "I won't, all right? It'll be the four of us. Come on, Harry. I thought I might take Rhiannon dancing after dinner. Don't you want to come out to a club?"
"A club filled with Muggles, you realise."
Draco quirked a smile. "A club filled with Rhiannon. That's all that matters. Look, she told me that Cecile is really very pretty--"
"And has a wonderful personality," finished Harry dryly. "All right, fine. I'll go, if only to stop you from begging for the next five hours."
"I didn't beg," said Draco. "But . . . thanks, Harry."
"You're welcome."
Snape glanced at both of them. "But I'll still meet you an hour past midnight, outside the sweets shop three streets back from the theatre? And we'll Apparate home together."
Draco nodded, though he looked as though he couldn't wait for his birthday. Actually, Harry got the feeling that Draco had several reasons to feel that way. But that wasn't so strange, was it? Harry felt the same way a lot of the time.
It was tough being almost-but-not-quite an adult. Especially for Harry, who'd been given the responsibilities of an adult a long time past. Well, some of the responsibilities, anyway.
Snape nodded, apparently content with everything they'd arranged. "So, have you had any lunch? Harry was just about to put together some sandwiches."
"I think I'm still full from breakfast, actually."
"Yeah, those were good omelettes Dad made," said Harry. Who would have thought that ricotta and rosemary would go really well together? Well, who except a Potions Master. "But I'm still a little peckish. And you should eat before you go meet Rhiannon, right? You don't want your stomach to sound grumbly."
Draco looked horrified at the mere idea. "No, certainly not. Well, make me a sandwich as well, then. Pat� de fois gras and do be sure to cut off the crusts, and--"
"If you don't stop bossing me about, I'm going to tint your sandwich crimson-and-gold. You're getting chopped chicken with salad cream, the same as we're eating."
Draco opened his mouth, but perhaps this time he believed Harry about the colours. "Fine," he said shortly. "I need to go freshen up. And then I'll eat, and then, we're going to talk about what you wear to come out with Rhiannon and me. Because that won't do." He pointed at Harry's wrinkled, stained tee-shirt.
"Prat," said Harry.
"Heathen," sniffed Draco.
"Idiot children," said Snape, shaking his head.
------------------------------------------------------
Harry swung his legs as he sat on the slatted wood bench, and resisted an urge to check his watch again. "Maybe we can leave her a note and go have a drink in a pub," he weakly joked.
"We're staying here until that Adrian lets her out," said Draco, brushing his hair back with a hand. "I don't care if we have to wait another five hours."
"All right, all right." Harry went back to staring up and down the street. Of course, there were loads of things he'd like to talk about with Draco, but he couldn't start conversations about any of them, not here. Classes, Quidditch, even the fact that he had to make sure he kept up with some wanded spells from time to time . . . no, he couldn't let the Muggles passing by overhear any of that.
And until he was just a little older, he couldn't cast a discreet privacy charm, either.
Harry sighed. No doubt about it; he really could understand Draco's impatience to turn seventeen.
"Oh, stop it with the heavy sighs," said Draco, throwing him an irritated glance. "She's only twenty minutes late."
"So far."
"And it's not her fault. She can't ditch out of rehearsal early, not even for me." Strangely enough, Draco looked pleased by that. "She has standards. She has respect for her craft. She's going to be a great success in professional opera. I just know it."
Personally, Harry had thought Rhiannon's performance good but not stellar, but then again, he did know that he wasn't the best judge of mouldy old songs that nobody but stuck-up prats could appreciate, anyway. Though Rhiannon hadn't seemed that stuck-up, come to think of it. She'd definitely been upset with her uncle for making her humiliate Snape, like that.
A topic they could discuss, Harry decided. "Dad took all that pretty well," he said. "You know, what happened at the pool."
Draco's lips twisted. "The real question is if he'll go in the water again."
"Oh, he will," said Harry. "He'll want to be near me in case I need help."
"Bit daft, that." Draco leaned back and crossed his arms. "It's bloody obvious you aren't going to drown. Your lessons are coming along very well, I think."
"Yeah, they are." Harry shrugged, knowing it was true. But still, some part of him liked the idea that his father was so protective. Maybe that was because the Dursleys hadn't cared at all if he'd drowned. If they'd cared, they'd have paid for swimming lessons for him as well, right?
Well, enough of that. Harry tried never to think about the Dursleys if he could avoid it. He was thinking of them more and more lately, though. Marsha's fault, he decided.