"So, what were you and Severus doing outside when I arrived?"
Harry shrugged. He couldn't very well say they'd been discussing his magical needs. "Oh, a little of this, a little of that."
"That clears it all up."
"Talking about my hands, then. That should clear it up. They started aching a bit today. But don't worry; we got it sorted."
Draco slanted him a look, his forehead wrinkling. "Sure?"
"Yeah. Everything's fine."
"Good." A moment later, Draco was rising to his feet. "There she is."
Harry got up too, and saw that Rhiannon was standing outside the stage door in the alley, talking with a tall, thin bloke who looked to be about thirty or so.
Draco scowled. "Don't know who that is."
"Probably someone in the new opera you said she was rehearsing."
"Didn't see him, not when I went to that rehearsal."
Harry didn't know what he could say to ease Draco's obvious jealousy. "Um, maybe that's because he's not there every time. Maybe he's the costume designer. I bet he's gay."
Draco slanted him a glance. "Being interested in fashion doesn't mean that."
Obviously not, considering the way Draco liked to obsess over his wardrobe, as he put it. Though in his case, Harry frankly suspected it was insecurity driving everything. Draco had actually wanted to wear formal clothes out on his date with Rhiannon--the same Muggle suit he'd bought to wear to the opera. Harry had finally managed to convince him that a Muggle girl--or a Muggle-raised girl, as Draco persisted in calling her--would think that very odd.
They'd ended up compromising. Draco was wearing tailored grey trousers instead of jeans, but he'd topped them with a collared short-sleeve shirt made of a clingy knit fabric. Green, of course, but not the usual forest or emerald huge. The shirt was a soft shade of sage which "brought out his eyes," Draco had said.
For all that, though, he'd been frowning as he'd buttoned the collar all the way up. To hide his scar, Harry had assumed, though it had barely showed at all.
Well, Draco was sensitive about it.
He'd looked himself over very critically, then. Only when the mirror had cooed at him had he seemed satisfied.
But now, it looked like his insecurities were going to come roaring to the surface. And all because Rhiannon Miller was talking to another bloke.
"Look, she doesn't seem the slightest bit interested in him, does she?" asked Harry in the most reasonable tone he could. "They're just talking."
"Yeah, maybe," said Draco. Harry thought he still looked a bit disturbed, but at least he had the sense to wipe that expression clear off his features when Rhiannon turned and gave him a little wave. A few moments later, she finished her conversation and made her way over to the bench.
"Harry, I'm so glad you could come," she said, almost gushing. "I know Cecile will be very happy to meet you."
Harry felt like saying something surly in reply. He really had no interest at all in meeting this French girl, or whatever she was. But he also knew he couldn't sabotage Draco's date with Rhiannon.
"Oh, well, a night out on the town sounded like great fun," he said, trying to sound like he meant it.
Rhiannon moved closer to Draco, her smile growing wider, her voice sounding almost sultry. "Hi, again."
Draco grinned and pulled her into his arms.
Embarrassed, Harry looked the other way while they kissed. Not just a hello kiss, either. There was definitely tongue involved. And judging by the small purring noises Rhiannon was making, she liked it that way.
Harry couldn't help but remember his own kissing experiences with Cho. She had certainly never sounded like she was enjoying herself so much.
All at once, he felt very uncomfortable. Draco really seemed to know what he was about, and Harry had basically fumbled his way through from start to finish. It was no wonder he didn't have the slightest interest in getting involved with someone again, so soon after that experience.
And no wonder at all that he wished he hadn't come along to partner this Cecile person.
"Sorry," said Rhiannon breathlessly. She was tapping him on the shoulder, Harry dimly realised. "Didn't mean to let it get out of hand. It's just . . ." She laughed a little, and whispered the rest, though since Draco was less than three feet away, Harry was sure he'd still heard. Perhaps that was even the point. "Your brother here is irresistible."
Harry could have done without hearing that.
And he definitely could have done without Draco's smirk.
But then again, Draco looked really, really happy. And Harry hadn't seen him that way very often. The past year had been awful, and if Draco needed a new romance to get over it . . . if he needed a break, like Marsha had said, well, Harry decided he could hardly begrudge him one.
Particularly when it was likely to be so short-lived, as it was. The second it dawned on him that Rhiannon was a Muggle through and through, he'd drop her like a broken wand.
Harry just hoped that he didn't do anything worse than break her heart. It did look to him like she was . . . well, perhaps not in love. But she was at least partway there. And if Draco got angry with her, if he decided that she been leading him on, pretending she was a witch, or some such nonsense . . . things could get ugly. Very ugly.
He thought of the way Nott had sworn that he'd laugh if Harry claimed that Draco didn't have a violent bone in his body. Nott, who'd lived in the same dormitory with Draco for years and years. He'd known what he was talking about. It hadn't been long after that remark that the whole Venetimorica mess had come up.
Harry almost winced, remembering how it had come up. Literally, Draco bent over that bucket as he paid for his crime.
Well, perhaps he'd learned his lesson.
That didn't mean Rhiannon wouldn't get hurt, however. Draco didn't need poisons, really; his cutting remarks could be enough to wither you. He knew how to be just awful to people; Harry understood that firsthand.
But he wasn't being awful now. He was obviously making Rhiannon very happy. And she was doing the same for him. And given all that, Harry just didn't have the heart to keep on resenting the relationship.
Though that didn't mean he couldn't give a little smirk, himself. "Irresistible, eh?" Harry slanted Draco a glance, speaking lightly. "Good thing the two of you can agree on things."
"Why, you--"
Rhiannon, though, just giggled. It should sound ridiculous, Harry thought. She was older than both of them, after all. But she knew how to carry it off.
"So, where are we meeting Cecile?" asked Draco, grasping her hand and threading their fingers together. "Harry's just dying to meet her. Ever since I mentioned her, he's been clamouring for more information. Blonde, redhead, brunette; short, tall; curvaceous or slender . . . you know, that sort of thing."
Huh. Harry supposed he should have expected a little payback for his own remark. Though that did seem like more payback than he deserved, particularly when Rhiannon's eyes began sparkling as she shot him a glance.
"Oh, you'll just have to wait and see, won't you? I wouldn't dream of spoiling the surprise."
Surprise. That sounded ominous. "Where are we meeting her, anyway?" asked Harry, dispirited.
"Oh, she's coming 'round my uncle's house around five. Uncle Stanley said he wanted to chat with you before we go out, anyway, Draco, so that works."
The look on Draco's face was priceless, though of course he quickly masked it. Harry saw the truth behind his polite smile and slight nod, though. He'd rather eat a mashed flobberworm than have a chat with Rhiannon's Muggle uncle.
But now he was stuck. As far as Harry was concerned, it served him right. He had not wondered if this Cecile girl was curvaceous!
"Er . . . any idea why he wants to talk with me?" asked Draco, his voice tentative.