"I told you how strict our father is, sir. I'm afraid he's forbidden me the car until I bring my marks up to his very high standards. Which won't be until the next term ends, of course."
Ha. Draco was playing Stanley Tilden like the man was a violin, or something. Calling him sir no matter how much he detested Muggles, feeding his comments into the man's own apparent strictness with his niece . . . Harry had a sudden feeling that if Draco could make the wizarding public forget his ties to Death Eaters, he could be a very formidable politician.
"Quite right. Quite proper," said the uncle, nodding. "Rhiannon's parents ought to have been a bit more strict about marks, if you ask me. Music's not likely to provide much of a career, and when that happens, you're likely to need some real skills, aren't you?"
By the end, he had switched to talking directly to Rhiannon.
Harry was uncomfortably reminded of his own uncle, complaining to Snape about Harry, while Harry stood right there, listening.
Rhiannon seemed to be used to it, just like Harry had been. "Yes, Uncle Stanley. We'll be leaving now, then."
"Home by twelve-thirty, Rhiannon, is that clear? One minute after and I'm liable to ground you next weekend. I'm not joking."
"Yes, Uncle Stanley," said Rhiannon again, smiling in a way that looked completely false. Harry had the feeling that she meant it to look that way.
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They ended up walking some ways back toward the theatre, to a Greek restaurant Rhiannon mentioned she'd like to try. Harry liked the food, but he could have done without Cecile contradicting the waiter when he tried to explain some of the dishes to them.
At one point during the evening, he caught Draco's eye and clearly read the message there. I owe you.
Yes, you do, thought Harry. Cecile was turning out to be a real pain. The only thing he liked about her was the fact that she didn't seem interested in him, either. Which meant she probably wouldn't expect him to dance with her later. Or at least, Harry hoped she wouldn't.
Because it definitely seemed that they'd be going to some sort of dance club, later. Draco and Rhiannon had been talking about it for at least ten minutes, by then. Well, when they weren't openly making eyes at each other.
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Rhiannon had told them of a club she knew of that was trendy but not gauche, she'd claimed. When Harry followed her inside, he saw that she'd been right. The music was loud and the place was crowded, but at least it didn't look like the Slytherin common room after a Hogsmeade weekend.
She grabbed Draco's hand and tugged until he grinned and whirled her out onto the dance floor, a move which looked frankly odd, given the frantic beat of the music that was blaring from enormous speakers set high up into the walls. Once Draco and Rhiannon were with the other people dancing, however, he took up the rhythm and blended right in, except for the fact that he kept hold of one of her hands as they danced.
Harry wasn't sure if he thought that was sweet, or just sort of strange.
"Drink?" he asked Cecile, mostly as a way of keeping them off the dance floor. If she'd been really good-looking and vivacious and exciting, then maybe he'd have wanted to dance with her, even though he'd never much liked it. But as things stood, he could easily do without.
"Huh?" Cecile cupped a hand to her ear, a gesture which was totally unnecessary since Harry couldn't hear what she'd said, either.
"Drink?" he tried again, shouting that time to be heard over the music.
"Maybe a shot of vodka," she said back, actually yelling. Almost screeching, Harry thought. He turned away to blunt the noise, or maybe to hide his surprise. He'd hadn't been thinking of alcohol.
On the other hand, maybe a drink or two would make her personality less grating. Harry nodded and wove his way over to the bar, where he ordered her a double. The barkeep gave him a bit of a look, but didn't ask for identification or anything. Good thing, too. Harry didn't have any.
Probably something he should remedy if he was going to spend much time in the Muggle world, he suddenly realised. Not that he planned to, but Snape had said once that the war might mean they'd have to hide among Muggles.
Cecile wasn't where Harry had left her. He had to hunt for a while, but then he found her in a smallish booth, where she was drumming her fingers on the table. Not that he could hear that. He could only see it.
Too long in the club and he'd go deaf. He just knew it.
Cecile took her drink and downed it in four quick swallows. "Nothing for you?" she shouted.
Harry slid into the booth, sitting opposite her. "Not thirsty."
For a few long moments, they sat there saying nothing. Harry didn't mind it. He was having a good enough time looking around the club. The silence, though, must have got old for Cecile, because after a while she reached across the table to tug on his sleeve.
Inwardly sighing, Harry looked across at her again.
"So, Scotland," she said, still shouting. "Never been."
"It's green," Harry shouted back.
It was ridiculous. Conversation would be almost impossible even if he wanted to talk to her. His ears were actually pounding with the music, now.
Fortunately, at that moment Draco and Rhiannon showed up, panting from their exertions out on the dance floor. Or maybe from something else, Harry thought, a little caustically. He'd lost track of them in the crowd and he wouldn't put it past Draco to take her off for a snog, no matter what he'd promised earlier.
"Sorry," shouted Draco, making a vague motion that could have meant anything. "Thought you'd follow us onto the dance floor!"
"Harry's not much for dancing, I don't think," yelled Cecile.
Draco more-or-less punched Harry in the shoulder. "Sit with Cecile so I can sit next to Rhiannon!"
No hope for it. Harry moved to the other side of the booth.
Rhiannon slid in first, then giggled as Draco scooted in right beside her, so close their legs and hips just had to be touching. "Great club," said Draco, loudly. Even so, Harry could barely hear him. "Great music!"
Rhiannon nodded enthusiastically, but then spotted Cecile's glass. "Oooh. Vodka, right? Sounds brilliant!"
Draco was shifting away from her almost at once. "I'll order us a round then, shall I?"
But Rhiannon was shaking her head. "Don't be daft. You paid for dinner and then paid our way in. The least you can let me do is get the drinks."
"It's no trouble--"
"It's no trouble for me, either," insisted Rhiannon, who proceeded to lower her voice a bit.
Harry was sort of glad the music was so loud, then. He didn't want to listen to Draco and Rhiannon argue. He didn't know what she was saying, but it must have been something scathing, from the way Draco's lips were tightening. After a moment, Draco appeared to deliberately calm himself. He slid out of the booth again so Rhiannon could get out.
She kissed him when she stood up.
Then she turned towards Harry and Cecile. "Come with me," she shouted, the comment clearly directed at her friend. "I need to fix my lipstick!"
Harry really didn't see why she needed Cecile along for that, but on the other hand, if it would get rid of the girl for a while, he was definitely in favour. He slid out of the booth as quickly as he could and sighed once she was gone.
Draco couldn't hear that, Harry knew, but he could certainly see it. "Sorry," he said, not quite shouting that time, but close.
Harry shrugged. He didn't want a romance, anyway, so it was just as well Cecile was the way she was. "Wonder if Rhiannon's going to come back with vodkas all around."
Draco's eyes gleamed. "What do you think Severus would do if we were drunk when he met us?"
Harry shuddered. "Good point," he yelled, since it seemed to him that the music was only getting louder. "No vodka for me, then--"