Rhiannon laughed again, though that time it wasn't quite a giggle. "Why do you think, silly? You mustn't mind him. He's ridiculously overprotective. Has this daft idea that my upbringing has warped my morals, or something."
Harry's eyebrows rose, but that was nothing to the look on Draco's face. Harry could tell, right then and there, that Draco wanted to ask, Has it?
Obviously, Draco would be happy getting more than kisses from Rhiannon.
The Slytherin boy cleared his throat. "What gives him an idea like that? The way you described Chatham, it doesn't seem the kind of place to . . . uh, warp one's morals."
Rhiannon tugged on Draco's hand and talked as they all began to stroll along. "Oh, he likes to talk trash about my parents. Different temperaments completely. I told you, they're artists. And rather . . . free-thinking, we'll say. Though he calls their way of life Bohemian. They named me after a Fleetwood Mac song, after all."
Harry knew he should probably keep quiet, but he couldn't stop himself from speaking. "They named you after a song, really. A song. Isn't that interesting, Draco? And there I'd thought she'd been named after a famous Welsh witch!"
Draco lifted his chin a fraction. "I think it's perfect. Your parents must have known you'd have fantastic levels of musical talent. Bit of clairvoyance there, if you ask me."
Harry almost rolled his eyes, which of course only encouraged Draco to elaborate. "Have you ever felt like people in your family could sense the future, Rhiannon?"
She shrugged. "Mum plays around with a Tarot deck sometimes--"
Harry cut in before Draco could run with that. "So, what's the song called? The one you were named after."
She started singing, very softly. "Rhi-aaaaaaan-non . . . you've heard it, right?"
Harry nodded. It sounded vaguely familiar. He'd probably heard it playing on a radio at some point.
"What about you, Draco?"
Draco gave her an apologetic half-smile. "I don't think so."
"Oh." Rhiannon appeared to be a tiny bit deflated. "Well, anyway, that's why Uncle Stanley wants to talk with you. My parents only just got married about five years ago, and he's seriously concerned I'll end up some sort of . . ." She flashed them both a grin. "Loose woman! Can you imagine, in this day and age? Honestly."
The shock in Draco's eyes was palpable. "Your parents have only been married for five years?"
"Yes, but they've been together for twenty." Rhiannon shrugged. "Marriage isn't really about the piece of paper, you know."
Something clicked in Draco's expression, then. Harry didn't need to wonder what. It was just what they'd all come to understand about adoption, after all. That wasn't about having a certificate "embossed and suitable for framing," either.
"Love and commitment is what really matters, of course," murmured Draco.
"I knew you'd understand." Rhiannon sighed, clearly pleased. "But don't feel you have to let Uncle Stanley know you do. He's very traditional and you'll get on better with him if he thinks you're the same. Not that it matters so much," she added, speaking quickly. "I don't care what he thinks. But if he likes you, it'll make things go more smoothly while I have to live with him."
"I think he already dislikes Draco, though," said Harry.
"Uncle Stanley just dislikes the idea that I might lose my virtue on his watch, as he puts it," said Rhiannon firmly.
"How could you lose your virtue on a watch?" asked Draco.
Rhiannon stopped walking and put her hand to her mouth. It was a moment before she could speak. "Is he always this funny?" she asked Harry.
"Oh, yeah," said Harry. That got him a bit of a glare from his brother.
"About my uncle, though, don't worry," said Rhiannon, turning back to Draco. Her blue eyes were sparkling again, but not with delight this time. It looked more like anger to Harry. "He'll be perfectly satisfied once he speaks to you. Just you see: your accent alone will win him over."
Rhiannon flushed as though she'd perhaps said too much.
"Rhiannon?"
"Oh, very well." She gave a longish sigh. "Embarrassing to admit things like this about your own family, but here goes. I couldn't give a hoot that the pair of you are rolling in wealth--"
Harry gaped.
"Oh, yeah. I told her about your fortune. Meant to mention it to you," said Draco.
Rhiannon sighed. "I shouldn't talk out of turn. But listen, Draco. My parents don't care about things like money and status, and neither do I, but my uncle's cut from a different cloth. Simple as that. He'll love the way you lilt your words."
"Your accent is a bit upper-crust," said Harry, mostly because Draco staring at her like he didn't know what she was talking about.
"Of course it is. Think of where I was raised, for pity's sake," said Draco, clearly annoyed. "Wiltshire," he added in an aside to Rhiannon.
To Harry's surprise, she shuddered a little, then got a determined look on her face, just like she had made up her mind to make the best of a bad situation.
"Your uncle's already heard me speak, though."
That had Rhiannon flushing even more. "Um, yes. And trust me, he's so shallow that your background really would be enough to win him over, except . . . except . . ."
She didn't seem able to say it, but Harry had a sudden flash of inspiration. All at once, he felt embarrassed for her. And more than a little angry, but not at her. Draco had been right at the pool; it wasn't her fault.
"All that fuss and bother over Severus yesterday!" Harry exclaimed, his voice grim. "Your uncle thought he looked dodgy, I bet. Is that the problem?"
"I told him he was a professor at an exclusive school," said Rhiannon, wincing much as she had the day before. "But he couldn't get past the long hair. Said that your father reminded him of my parents, actually. Well, your dad does dress a bit . . . creatively, you know. But it's ridiculous. How Bohemian could he be? He teaches chemistry, for God's sake, not modern poetry or something . . ."
Draco raised his voice, just a little. "Your uncle wants to make sure I'll treat you with proper respect because he assumed that Severus has corrupted my own moral values? Severus? He's off his head, thinking a thing like that."
"Look, he's a git," said Rhiannon desperately. "I'm sorry I even brought it up, but it's better to know how to talk to him, isn't it?"
Draco let go of her hand. "Oh, so you want me to disdain Severus, do you?"
"No, of course not!"
"Then what, exactly, are you proposing?"
Rhiannon looked like she was trying to swallow and having some trouble. "Er . . . don't know, really. I mean, you could try painting your father as very establishment despite the way he comes across. Though I can see that being a hard sell." She sucked in a breath. "You might consider stressing that most of your influences have been more of the Wiltshire variety."
Draco shoved his hands in his pockets. Deep into his pockets. "I'd rather make myself sick up!"
That said a lot, Harry thought. An awful lot.
"I'm very fortunate that Severus was there for me," continued Draco in a calmer voice. "Without him, I'd be-- never mind. I don't even want to think about it. Let's just say that my first father threatened to kill me and meant it, merely because I'd offended those Wiltshire values you're talking about. I'm not about to praise them, not to anyone, not even to get on with your uncle, who frankly sounds like-- never mind."
"I'm sorry." Rhiannon put her hand on Draco's bare forearm and rubbed it up and down. "I'm really sorry. I didn't mean that you should . . . I was just trying to help. I thought if you knew how best to speak to my uncle . . . I should have known better than to be thinking strategy, though. Forgive me?"