She didn't mean food, Draco knew. What he didn't know was how to answer her, since anybody would want more of that. If he said he didn't, he'd probably be insulting her. Not to mention that she'd know he was lying, even if he Occluded with all his might. "Er--"
"That's right," she hissed, clearly warming to her theme. "If you really cared about me, me, you'd have come right after me. You'd have caught up with me in the street!"
"You were gone too fast--"
"You know where I work."
Draco swallowed the lump in his throat. Shite. He could see it now; he should have gone after her. Instead he'd gone home and hung his head like a damned crup, or something. "Look," he said, beginning to feel desperate, "I was taken by surprise, and I needed some time to come to terms--"
Wrong thing to say. "Come to terms!" Rhiannon's eyes almost shot out sparks. "With me not having-- oh, you take the cake, Draco Snape. After everything I told you, about how those gits at Chatham acted over my not having money, you have to come to terms with me not having what you thought I had? Weren't you listening this morning? I don't need this, any of this!"
"It's not like that--"
"It's exactly like that." Rhiannon suddenly raised her voice. "Colin, come over here, would you? I have it on good authority that Adrian doesn't want any scenes. Would you do me a favour and keep one Draco Snape away from me? He's no longer welcome backstage. Or anywhere else I happen to be."
Colin turned to Draco. "Maybe you should leave."
Draco would have stood his ground if he thought it would do any good. Bad strategy, though. It would only make Rhiannon angrier. If she could get any angrier, that was. He didn't know what would help.
But if she really thought that he wanted her only because of what they'd done that day at her house, maybe she needed to hear again what he'd told her then. "I love you," he said softly.
She snorted, and made a gesture for Colin to get on with it.
Colin looked apologetic, but his voice was more emphatic than before when he spoke. "Yeah, time to leave, mate."
That time, Draco didn't argue. He walked away, his step sure and confident, but inside he was faltering as he made his way down corridors and to the alleyway door. It must have shown on his face, since once he was outside, Colin actually put a hand on his shoulder. "Just a lover's tiff," he said. "It'll blow over 'fore you know it."
Lover's tiff. The phrase conjured up images of Rhiannon softly keening as she leaned against the wall of her bedroom. But this was more than a tiff.
The air filled with the acrid tang of smoke as Colin lit a fag and held it loosely between his fingers. But that was nothing to the bitter, choking feeling filling Draco's mind. Filling his heart.
"Want one?" Colin held out his hand, still holding the pack of cigarettes. "Go on. You look like you could use a smoke."
"No," said Draco. He had enough to be going on with, without adding Muggle drugs to the mix. "I just . . ."
Colin stuffed the pack into a pocket. "She'll come around, Draco. I've seen the way she looks at you."
"The way she used to, you mean."
"Ah, fuck it. If she wants to be that way, plenty of other fish in the sea, you know."
Not for me, thought Draco. He gave a brusque nod to end the conversation, then headed down the alley and toward the front of the theatre. Plenty of other fish in the sea . . . what a farce. She was the only one for him, and she couldn't stand him! What was he going to do?
Love potion, he thought at once. And what had Severus just said, about Draco coming to him if he needed a complex brew . . . but no, that was no real solution. In fact, when Draco really thought about it, the whole idea gave him chills. He wanted Rhiannon to really love him, not to be tricked into it.
And anyway, love potions never really worked out. Everybody knew that. All you had to do was pick up an edition, any edition, of the Quibbler to read true-life horror stories about wizards and witches who had tried to conjure love. Not to mention the slightly more scholarly treatment the subject received in the quarterly Brews Gone Bad.
But if magic wasn't the solution, what was? Draco felt like his brain was being stretched in all directions as he thought about it. Think outside the box, that's what Marsha would call it. Outside your comfort zone. Draco was miles outside it, now, because it had just come to him that since Rhiannon was a Muggle, what he probably needed was a Muggle solution. But it was like he'd told Severus earlier. What did he know about Muggle girls?
All right, all right. So he needed someone who would know. Someone who'd been raised around them, who would know what they wanted and how they thought. A Muggle, obviously. So whom did Draco know? Dudley Dursley?
Draco suddenly wished he'd taken the cigarette. Dudley Dursley? What help could he be? Nobody that spherical would have dated much. Dudley probably didn't even know any girls.
By then, Draco had reached the end of the alley. Harry and Severus were standing to one side, looking at the posters advertising L'incoronazione di Poppea. Part of Draco wanted to turn the other way so he could avoid their questions. Avoid them. Be alone. Actually, his skin was itchy; he needed a long shower. But sooner or later he'd have to tell them what he was up against. Especially with Rhiannon working at the pool. They'd be running into her.
"And so?"
That was Harry, of course. Severus had enough decorum not to pry. Out loud, at least. It was more Severus' style to listen in while Harry asked the prying questions. Very Slytherin of him, though Draco decided then and there that they'd have to talk about that touch of Legilimency, earlier.
"It didn't go well," he admitted, sighing.
"It didn't go well?" Harry frowned. "What do you mean?"
Draco winced. "She had me escorted out."
Harry winced as well.
"So I'm trying to figure out what to do now," Draco went on. Well, in for a Knut, in for a Galleon, as they said. "I don't suppose you have any brilliant ideas? I mean, you went to school with girls like her, didn't you?"
"When I was little. Nobody was dating, yet."
"True."
Harry scratched his head. "I don't think I'm the one to ask."
Draco had known that much before he'd ever asked. Who was the right person, though, was a good question. A very good question.
Marsha?
No, no, no.He could ask her anything, he was sure of that much, but he needed somebody younger. Somebody near his own age, really. Somebody who would know what Muggle girls today wanted.
That was when it came to him. For a moment, Draco had a strange urge to smack himself in the forehead. Of course! He knew who would be able to answer all his questions. Somebody who'd thought of herself as a Muggle for more years than she'd known she was a witch. She could help him get the love of his life back!
Of course, convincing her to help him was bound to be an uphill flight, but Draco would figure something out. She had to help him -- she was the perfect solution! Why hadn't he thought of her, sooner?
Oh well, best to not think on that now. He couldn't afford to, simple as that.
He was going to get Rhiannon back, and that was all that mattered. All of a sudden, he knew that everything was going to work out just fine. More than fine. Things this time would be perfect, as they should have been in the first place. He would win Rhiannon's heart, and this time, he'd do it the Muggle way. And she would help him do it. Of course she would. That was what Gryffindors did, right? They rescued people. It was like a compulsion with them; they couldn't even help it!