Obliviate . . .Draco's heart almost stopped. Oh, Merlin. He'd told Rhiannon about magic, and Harry and Severus both knew it. And now that Draco wasn't with her any longer, one of them would start thinking that it was timeto erase what she knew.
And Obliviate was nothing to fool about with. It often worked as planned, of course, but there was enough risk in that spell to give one pause. Aurors got special training before they were considered competent to pick out individual memories to destroy. What if Severus accidentally erased more than he intended? What if he altered her musical talent? What if he made her forget that she'd ever met a young man named Draco Snape?
Draco didn't want to see Rhiannon end up hurt, but what startled him most was how upsetting it was to think about being erased completely from her life, memories included.
But she's a Muggle, his rational mind reminded him. Why should you care what happens to a Muggle?
He did care, though. In fact, the longer he thought on it, the more he began to care. It wasn't just physical injury due to Obliviate that concerned him. By then, Draco was remembering the way Rhiannon had looked as she'd stormed out that morning.
She'd been hurt. Horribly hurt, and Draco had been the one to hurt her.
Draco bit his lip, conflicting impulses warring within him. It was wrong to be concerned about how a Muggle might feel. He knew that, better than anybody else, perhaps. There was no room for sentimentality, not when it came to Muggles and the threat they posed to wizardkind. The world would be a better place if the lot of them were wiped clean away. Draco knew that. He'd always known it. He'd learned it at his father's knee.
No . . . at Lucius' knee.
His father was Severus, and Severus didn't really hold those same views. Not any longer, at any rate. He had once; he'd spoken to Draco about it. More than once.
Of course, Severus wasn't quite the Muggle-lover Harry was, but he did think that all wizards had Muggle heritage, however distant. The idea of that still made Draco feel almost like fainting. He wasn't part-Muggle, he wasn't!
Draco shook off his thoughts of wizards and bloodlines and Muggles and heritage, because he was really getting quite a long way from the point. He had to make sure that nobody tried to make Rhiannon forget magic, or forget him. Whatever he thought of Muggles, there was one Muggle he didn't want to see harmed.
His legs hurt when he levered himself out of bed, like he'd been tensing them in his sleep. Well, he probably had. His fingers hurt too, the muscles cramping like he'd been clenching his fists.
Dreamless Sleep, it seemed, only kept your mind from dreaming. It didn't make your body relax.
A chill swept over Draco. He knew that magic couldn't solve everything, but he didn't like having it brought home to him. If only it could solve everything! He'd pay any amount requested, if someone could brew an elixir that would grant Rhiannon some magic.
But that was impossible and he knew it. Draco was through with pathetic delusions. She was a Muggle, and he wasn't, so what more was there to be said?
Nothing, that was what.
Though no doubt Harry was still talking about how worried he was, and Severus was still telling him to leave Draco be.
Only one way to find out.
Draco cancelled his silencing spell, wincing a little as he felt the beautiful sensation of magic flowing through him. Rhiannon would never know what it was like to have the warm, honeyed flow of a levitation spell spilling out from her core and into her wand. She'd never feel the hot, almost spicy zing of Incendio, never know the satisfaction of finishing a particularly difficult brew. She'd dreamed of magic her whole life; she deserved to feel it warming her, deserved to understand firsthand how it made life . . . well, worth living.
Was this how it was going to be from now on out, Draco wondered, his wand hand falling gracelessly to his side, a dead weight instead of a part of him. Every spell a reminder of what Rhiannon lacked? Of what she was missing?
And what if she was already missing memories, as well? What if Severus had taken matters into his own hands while Draco had been sound asleep?
Sweet Merlin.
Draco gnashed his teeth, because all at once it seemed to him that he'd been doing everything wrong today, absolutely everything. What had made him run home like a wounded niffler? His first priority should have been to protect Rhiannon from potentially damaging memory-spells! It was his fault she was in danger in the first place! The fact that she was a Muggle didn't change that. Perhaps it should . . . actually, Draco was certain that it should.
But it didn't.
Creeping over to the door, Draco leaned an ear against it. No point in going out there and making demands. If Severus had Obliviated Rhiannon already, reversing the spell was out of the question. Making her remember would be even more hazardous than making her forget. And if Severus had yet to cast the spell . . . well, Draco didn't want to give him any bright ideas, did he?
Though it was rather doubtful that Severus wouldn't have thought of it, by now.
No matter. Draco strained his ears to find out what he could.
Predictably enough, the first thing he heard was Harry talking about him. "He's been in there a long time, don't you think? Maybe one of us should go in and make sure he's all right."
"Maybe both of us should leave well enough alone."
Harry sounded so worried that Draco grimaced. "Yeah, maybe, but . . . look, it's been hours and hours!"
"So it has. Are you under the impression that your brother wants our company?"
Draco could almost see Harry shrugging.
Severus, thankfully, chose that moment to change the subject. "I've been wondering when you would like to take your cousin out to dinner."
Draco almost gagged. He had to endure yet another evening in the Muggle boy's company? So much for his relief when he'd seen Severus finish several yards in front of Harry!
A fact not lost on Harry. "But you won the race yesterday!"
"As you won today's."
Today's? They'd gone off swimming? Draco had wanted to be alone, but he hadn't wanted to be abandoned, even if he had been the one to suggest they go to the pool.
Harry's voice was very dry. "That's hardly the same thing, Dad."
"Then call this a consolation prize, if you will. I believe your next appointment with the good doctor is on Tuesday. Shall we take your cousin out on that evening, or at a time when you won't have an appointment to get to?"
Tuesday, thought Draco, almost frantically. Please, Tuesday. The only thing less appealing than an hour in Dudley Dursley's company was the prospect of two or three hours with him.
Harry was like a dog with a bone, though. "Um . . . well, speaking of Marsha, maybe he's the one Draco should be talking to. Should we get him an emergency appointment, do you think?"
A pause, and then: "What I think is that you need to put yourself in Draco's robes. As I recall, you haven't been very fond of his over-protectiveness towards you."
"This is different!"
"It certainly is. Draco's concern for you derives from the fact that you had placed yourself at risk of significant physical harm. You have less cause than he to suggest that a counsellor might be needed."
"He never suggested one."
"I think you understand the analogy."
"Yeah. But all I meant was--"
"I know you meant well." By then, Severus was using his gentle voice. The one that usually got to Draco, deep down, though he tried his best not to show it. "But so do I. Perhaps you can demonstrate through your own behaviour that you trust your brother to manage his own affairs. Suggesting that this is a situation worthy of emergency therapy is tantamount to saying you fear he may be suicidal."