"I do not hate her." Draco felt like dignity was filling him as he went on in tones of quiet conviction. "I'm going to make things right, and get her back. I love her."
"Three months ago you loved somebody else--"
That had Severus chastening Harry, finally. "Draco's feelings, I do believe, are his own concern. If he wants to continue seeing the young lady socially whatever her heritage, that is his right. He is, in fact, above the age of consent."
Draco swallowed. "Er . . . yes. Yes, I am," he said, deciding he might was well admit it. Better that than to continue having Severus toss out these slightly veiled comments. "Harry told me that you'd figured out about the shampoo, and . . . everything."
"Yes." Severus pushed his hair back from his forehead and spoke in chiding tones. "I was sorry to have missed your seventeenth birthday, Draco. It's usually a cause of great rejoicing, as you know."
Draco turned his face away. He wouldn't have thought that anything could make him feel ashamed of what he'd done, but those words did. It came to him then that he'd only been thinking of himself. Of his needs, wants, dreams, desires. He'd never given so much as a single second's thought to what his seventeenth birthday might mean to his adoptive father. "Oh. I--"
"It's done, now," said Severus, making a brushing motion with his hand. "I would hope that you would remember in future, however, that I am a fully qualified Potions Master. If you have need of a complex brew, I would like to think you would come to me."
"An illegal brew?"
"That one wasn't and you know it. Only the use you put it to was . . . suspect."
It had been more than suspect. A lot more, but if Severus wasn't going to go into it, then neither was Draco. "Well, speaking of your expertise . . ." Clearing his throat, he went ahead and said it. "I don't want to hear any talk about Obliviating Rhiannon. I know, I know, she's not supposed to be aware of magic yet, but it's done now, and I won't stand for any kind of spell that might change the way she thinks, or change her. You . . . you haven't already, have you?"
"Nothing was farther from my mind," said Severus mildly. "Draco, listen to me. The Ministry reserves Obliviate for instances when a significant number of Muggles have seen something inexplicable--at least, by their limited understanding of the word. Unless Miss Miller begins to bandy about what she knows, she will never even come to their attention. And if she does speak far and wide of magic . . ." Severus lifted his shoulders. "You still have very little cause for concern. No-one will believe her, not without a shred of proof. People will assume you a talented magician who managed to pull the woolens completely over her eyes. And seeing that, the Ministry will leave her alone."
"Good."
As far as Draco was concerned, everything was pretty well settled.
Harry, of course, had to bring up the bloody obvious. "Er . . . Rhiannon didn't seem so happy with you this morning. Are you so sure you can get her back just because you er . . . seem to want her?"
Seem to want her. Draco bared his teeth. "Just wait until you fall in love, Potter--"
"You've only known her for two weeks!"
"It only takes two seconds, something you would know if you'd ever once had a girlfriend!"
"Gentlemen," Severus said again, his voice more stern, that time. "I do hope you aren't going to revert to childish squabbling. Not again."
Well, Draco could be the bigger man. Actually, age-wise, he was the bigger man, now. That gave him a rather satisfied feeling. Yes, he'd be the responsible elder brother. The good son.
Though whether Severus would even notice was a good question.
"Dad's right," he said, nodding his head as though he'd given the matter careful thought and had come to the only possible conclusion. "Let's agree not to argue, Harry."
Harry rolled his eyes. "Have you been taking pompous lessons? Oh, that's right. You don't need that kind of lessons, never did--"
"I see that we are indeed not through with childish squabbling."
Draco ignored Severus' long-suffering tones the same as he'd ignored Harry's attempt to be clever. "We've no time for this. We've got to get ready."
"Ready?"
Clearly, Harry had forgotten. Draco would bet his vault that Severus hadn't, but he'd evidently been waiting for Draco to make mention of the tickets bought a couple of weeks back. "For the opera, of course," he said in his smoothest voice. "Rhiannon's performing tonight, remember? I wouldn't miss that for the world."
Harry wasn't through, but at least he sounded like he was really asking this time, instead of spouting off like know-it-all Granger. "How are you going to get her back, Draco?"
That was the least of Draco's worries. He was actually a lot more concerned about how he was going to stand the ribbing in Slytherin if it became known that he was dating a Muggle girl. Ribbing, hell. All that Malshite rubbish from last year would look like child's play in comparison to the barrage of abuse he'd get for something like this. Hmm . . . probably best to keep Rhiannon a secret.
As for getting her back, though . . . Draco didn't need to worry about that, or even plan in advance what to say. He knew her pretty well, after all. He just hadn't known about the one thing. And he was sorry that he'd hurt her feelings by thinking she had magic when she didn't, but now, all he needed was for her to see his point of view. She'd understand that he hadn't meant to hurt her. That he never would hurt her. Ever.
Or, ever again, he thought, almost wincing. He'd hurt Rhiannon that morning, though not intentionally. When he thought about it, he wasn't so sure he would know what to say to her. But showing his uncertainty . . . that wasn't on.
"I'll think of something," he said to Harry, waving a hand as though careless of the entire matter. "So then, are you going to insist on a shower, or will a thorough freshening charm serve? You need to do something, though. You're not fit to be seen at an opera."
Another eye roll. It was a wonder that Harry wasn't getting dizzy. "Weren't you the one who said it was just a small, local production without so much as a proper orchestra?"
"What I said was that Rhiannon deserves better, which she most certainly does." Draco lifted his wand. "Shall I?
The look on Harry's face was a study in contrasts at that moment. Reluctance and determination. Distaste and resignation. "What?" asked Draco. "What?"
"Oh, nothing--"
"Sod your nothing. Let's hear it."
Harry sighed. "It's just . . . Look, no offence. I'm sure she sings really well, but I didn't much like that opera the first time, to be honest."
That opera. It had been selections from more than one. Draco thought better than to call him a plebeian, though. Older brother now, and all that. "Then stay home," he suggested, shrugging.
"No. I'll be there in case . . . er . . ." Rather than say it, Harry glanced down at his shoes.
In case Draco needed him? This time, Draco decided not to let Harry's pessimism bother him. His brother did have that saving-people thing, after all. Harry needed to be needed.
Whereas what Draco needed was Rhiannon back. And for that, he had to get them to the opera sometime this year. Preferably, tonight. "Well, then shower and put on your suit. No time for me to shower afterwards, but that's all right. I prefer a good old-fashioned freshening charm."
Harry moved toward their bedroom door, scoffing. "Since when? You practically live in the shower, sometimes."
Did he? When he was depressed, perhaps. Or when he wanted some time alone. Neither of those was true right now. He was going to make this relationship with Rhiannon work. So what if she was a Muggle? That didn't matter, because she wasn't like a Muggle where it counted. She wasn't afraid of magic, or jealous of Draco having some. She loved magic. Adored it.