There were only a few times in Draco's life when he'd felt like time was standing still. The first day he'd ridden a proper broom. That evening in the clearing on Samhain, watching Death Eaters grovel, one and all, while Harry Potter stood proud and defiant. The moment he'd heard Severus claim him as his son for the first time. The instant he'd seen the pit of snakes in France, and had realised what Lucius meant to do to him.

And now.

As Rhiannon shoved past him, her long blonde hair sailing out behind her, Draco felt as if not just time, but the whole world had frozen solid, himself included. He began to shiver as the blood in his vessels turned to icicles. Sharp icicles that were stabbing him everywhere, from the inside out.

He hadn't known the world could hold so much pain.

Gasping with the force of it, he lurched forward and grabbed the counter with unsteady hands, only to realise that his brain must be frozen, too. He should go after her, he should make sure she was all right, he should--

A sudden, horrid thought began clanging inside his mind, over and over. But she's a Muggle, she's a Muggle, she's a Muggle, she's a Muggle--

He opened his mouth wide, struggling for breath, but it seemed like he couldn't suck any in, no matter how he tried.

Finally a groan escaped him, an ugly noise that made it sound like he was going to sick up any instant. Or at least, Harry must have thought so, since he suddenly moved close enough to start patting Draco's shoulder, the touch tentative. Hesitant, almost.

It was as if he were concerned but trying not to show it. Just as he'd been concerned all along. Because he'd known, all along, hadn't he? He'd known about Rhiannon!

He'd been right, the condescending prat!

Draco's groan changed to a snarl as he whirled around. "Don't," he warned in a low voice, panting as he finally found a way to start breathing. "Don't say it. Don't start."

He didn't need to hear I told you so. Harry had told him so, over and over, and he'd been right about everything, but they both knew that. "So no point in saying it," added Draco, his voice so high and shrill that he almost winced. Instead, his rage came pouring out another way.

His wand was suddenly in his hand.

"No!" shouted Harry, drawing his own as well. He held it levelled on Draco.

For a moment, Draco was too shocked to speak. He looked down the length of Harry's wand and remembered what Harry's dark powers could do, and then he managed to gasp out his question. The only question, really. "What in Merlin's name is your problem now?"

"Leave her alone--"

Draco barely heard him. "Drawing your wand on me, on me! What are you thinking? Are you thinking?"

Harry's wand hand remained rock-steady. "Yeah, well just leave her alone and we'll be fine. I mean it, Draco. It's not Rhiannon's fault you got such bloody daft ideas stuck in your head, so don't even think about hurting her--"

Talk about daft ideas!

"Oh, shut up," snarled Draco, suddenly understanding. Knowing what Harry was thinking, though, only made Draco angrier. "I'm not going to hurt her! You, maybe, if you say another word like that! You thought I had my wand out to-- for fuck's sake, Harry!"

His brother didn't back down. "What's your wand out for, then?"

"This! Accio bell!"

It came sailing into his hand, leaping out from behind the counter, where Emmeleia had stowed it.

Harry blinked, then lowered his wand. Finally.

Hardly mollified, Draco slammed the desk bell down onto the counter and started banging it over and over, using a fist instead of a finger. A loud, discordant clanging noise began to echo through the reception area, each booming noise overlapping the next until it felt like his head would split open. But that was better than it being frozen.

The door behind the counter was flung open suddenly, Emmeleia Volentier looking truly annoyed, not that Draco cared. She moved the bell again, this time actually locking it in a drawer. Just as well. Looking at the thing, let alone touching it, had actually made Draco feel faintly ill. Why did they have to have a Muggle-detector disguised as a bell, anyway?

He wished he'd never seen the stupid thing. He wished he'd never come here, or heard of Walpurgis Black and his evil baby-switching schemes.

Baby switching . . . Maybe that was it. Maybe Rhiannon had been switched at birth, but it had gone wrong somehow, and she'd ended up a witch in a Muggle family instead of--

No, no, no. The bell put an end to that theory. Fucking bell.

By then, Draco had had enough. "Severus!" he shouted, leaning over the counter to see if the man was down that long corridor. So what if his perfect manners were nowhere to be seen, this once? He didn't care what Emmeleia Volontier thought of him. She was just a squib. And anyway, he was never coming back here again.

Darswaithe emerged into the corridor, his bald spot shining. Severus was right behind him, but instead of the expression of near-panic that Darswaithe wore, he looked calm.

Like he was taking his cue from Draco.

That was both a relief and an annoyance, Draco thought. It would have been nice to have someone else take charge. To have someone else straighten out the hash Draco had made of everything. He almost wished that Severus would say something. As it was, Draco couldn't think of a smooth way to explain why he'd been slamming his fist down on that bell like that.

So much for perfect manners.

"We're leaving," Draco announced without preamble as his father strode forward into the reception area. "Now."

If Severus had seemed somewhat passive the moment before, he certainly reacted to that. But not in any way Draco could complain about.

"Leaving, yes," he said smoothly, angling his head toward where Emmeleia stood, then returning his gaze to Darswaithe. Draco felt gratitude sweeping through him as his father went on, saying everything Draco should have had the presence of mind to include. "Something urgent has come up, as I'm sure must be apparent. Do excuse us."

Darswaithe slowly blinked. Well, he never had been very quick on the uptake. "You don't want the tour we discussed yesterday? Er . . . weren't you bringing a guest?"

Draco really didn't want to talk about it. Not to anyone, and certainly not to some third-rate civil servant who had no better sense than to let himself get placed under Imperius. If he was going to talk to anyone, it would be Severus. Though that probably wasn't on, either. Draco didn't think he could bear it.

He wanted to be alone. And away from here. Away from everyone.

But there was Darswaithe, standing there like a perfect idiot, waiting for Draco to explain where Rhiannon was. Well, it was none of his business.

Draco had no intention of telling him anything, but Emmeleia put an end to those plans. "The young man's guest was here earlier. She appears to have left." She made a show of looking left and right as though to demonstrate that fact. Kind of supercilious of her, Draco thought, his wand hand itching a bit.

Well, at least that was one impulse he could manage to control. By then, he was wishing he could have been more circumspect with the bell. But no use crying over cast spells.

"She's indisposed," he said shortly, the truth of that statement hitting him even as he said it. Rhiannon was indeed indisposed. Permanently. She'd never get better, never be the kind of girl he wanted. The kind he deserved.

Rhiannon was never going to be any different than she'd been all along.

When he thought of how she had been, though, pain swept through him again. Terrible pain, though now it wasn't made of icicles. Heat, maybe.

Oh, Merlin. Rhiannon. . . the way her eyes shone in sunlight. The timbre of her laugh. The things they'd done together, yesterday at her house. The way she'd touched him, her hands so beautifully smooth that he thought he'd die. The rasp of her delicate tongue against his most sensitive flesh. Her fascination with magic . . .

With magic she'd never, ever have.

Draco went cold inside. Again. "We're leaving," he said once more, turning his back on everyone. "I'm not spending another minute here."

Of course not. He couldn't bear this, all these eyes on him. Darswaithe and that squib woman might not know exactly what was wrong, but Harry and Severus did, and suddenly, the weight of their stares was just too much to bear. Draco was of half a mind to stare right back, give them a taste of their own potion. But then it came to him that for all he felt stared at, they weren't staring, not really. They certainly weren't acting like they thought he was some sort of freak they had to study in order to understand, for instance.

Take now, for example. One brief sympathetic glance, and then Harry was looking away while Severus' dark eyes were hooded, his gaze steady but not oppressive. Concerned, but not the way Harry had been. Severus wasn't worried that Draco was going to pull his wand on Rhiannon. No, he was worried about Draco himself.

Just as a father probably should, but the hair on Draco's arms stood on end as he thought about it. He might have made a terrible fool of himself, but the idea that Severus was worried about him . . . that was almost worse. He wasn't some mewling kitten in need of love and support. He was an adult, now. A grown-up. And Severus knew that, but thought that Draco couldn't handle this setback?

There was nothing Draco couldn't handle, except maybe hordes of Death Eaters out for his blood, but he had Harry for that.

He didn't even really need therapy. He was going because Severus had insisted. And because . . . well, dosing the Slytherins with Venetimorica had been a bit mental. Self-destructive, even. Draco could see that now. But he wasn't going to do anything like that again, so he could probably stop going to Marsha.

Hmm. . . he wasn't sure that he wanted to, though. Sometimes she was all right to talk with, even if she was just a squib.

Well, he could decide about Marsha later. What mattered now was getting away from this place.

This place that had killed his dreams.

Draco started walking away, quickly, desperate for some fresh air.

"Mr Snape," called Darswaithe from behind him. "The vault draft. Your father signed his consent, but I'll certainly return it if you've changed your mind about endowing the home--"

Draco stopped in his tracks. The money was nothing to him. Literally. He'd never miss it, but if he left without saying another word, Darswaithe might decide to do something pathetically noble, like owl him the stupid draft. And Draco didn't want to see it again, ever. He never wanted to think about this place, or remember that horrible bell that had ruined everything.

He turned around halfway, just enough to meet Darswaithe's gaze with the corner of his own. "I haven't changed my mind."

Darswaithe's brow furrowed, making his bald spot stand out more. "But you seem a trifle upset--"

A trifle? A trifle? Draco suddenly had an insane urge to laugh. He might even have given in to it, if not for the fear that it might turn into more of a cackle. The last thing he needed was for Harry to start oozing pity. Pity!

Nobody pitied him. Nobody, ever. He wasn't pitiful. He wasn't.

He put on the coolest, most aloof expression he could muster. The one he used to wear when Lucius was delivering one of his condescending lectures. And he put on the voice that went with the face. The smooth tones he would use whenever he had to force himself to engage in polite conversation with someone probably not worth knowing well. "I've changed my mind about visiting, but you do good work here and I'm sure you'll put the funds to excellent use. Now, if you'll excuse me?"

Severus gave him a swift, critical glance. Worse, Draco felt a slight pressure brushing at the fringes of his consciousness. Legilimency! Draco immediately began thinking about water. Not calm expanses of it, like he'd used at first when Severus had taught him to Occlude. No, Draco's own image was more turbulent. Frothing, churning waves, the sea roaring all around him, the tang of salt air in his lungs . . .

The hint of pressure vanished, Draco successfully pushing Severus out of his thoughts, just as he'd finally learnt to do after days and days of intense lessons. Except this time, it didn't take much effort. Which didn't make too much sense, actually. What was the point in Leglimising someone if you didn't apply the spell with enough force to get your way? And what was the point in making your mental presence so bloody obvious? Severus was a good enough Legilimens to enter with stealth. Perhaps not perfect stealth, but better than that, at any rate.

The whole thing was irritating, mostly because Draco didn't understand it. Severus always had plots inside plots, which meant that something interesting was certainly going on, but Draco couldn't quite determine what. So of course he was annoyed.

On the other hand, things could be worse. How would he feel if Severus had been trying to fully read his mind? It had been more like he'd wanted to get a sense of Draco's thoughts. Huh. One couldn't even call the action sneaky, since Severus had made no effort to conceal his probing presence.

Draco didn't know what to make of it, but he felt too tired to argue the matter. Tired, and depressed. He just wanted to be alone. Completely alone, and away from this dreadful place.

He walked out then, not waiting to see if Severus or Harry followed him. But then, he didn't need to turn around for that, did he? He knew they'd be just behind him.

Harry with his pity, with his quick glances saying that Draco had been very stupid, and his comments suggesting that Draco was going to become even stupider--telling him not to go and attack Rhiannon, of all things! As if he would ever, ever--

But she's a Muggle, she's a Muggle--

Draco bit back a scream at the thought, and gripped his wand tightly, his hands buried in his pockets by then.

"Draco," said a low voice behind him. Severus' voice. Harry, it seemed, had the sense to keep his mouth shut for once.

"Home," croaked Draco.

Oh, Merlin. When he thought about the cottage, just one thing came to mind. He'd wanted to take Rhiannon there. Had longed for it, in fact. If he'd been the secret-keeper, he might just have broken, and told her about Devon so he could show her where he lived. But could you draw a Muggle inside a Fidelius oath?

She's a Muggle.

Draco's mouth went absolutely dry. Gripping his wand even tighter, he squeezed his eyes closed and tried to Disapparate. Into a hole, maybe. He wanted to huddle somewhere small and dark, and try to forget what he'd learned. Or forget her, maybe. Forget she'd ever been. Forget he'd known her.

Forget he'd fallen in love with someone so utterly, completely inappropriate.

But his attempt to melt away and go somewhere else failed. Of course it did. He couldn't concentrate properly. He could barely even think.

Fine wizard he was, letting something like this interfere with his magic! She wasn't worth it. How could she be?

"Home," he said again, his voice desperate as he opened his eyes and looked around for his father. "Severus--"

He almost cringed when the older man came close, but the moment Severus' arm looped warmly about his shoulders, Draco realised how messed up he was starting to get. He'd asked for Severus' help, but somehow, he'd expected the man to respond with Lucius' typical disdain. That tsking noise. Long blond hair swaying back and forth as Lucius shook his head. Really, Draco, he would say. Are you such a poor wizard that you can't manage on your own? At your age? It seems I've wasted all those years of school fees . . .

But Severus didn't speak that way, of course. His arm around Draco was firm and supportive, and all he said was one word. "Come."

It was nice to have a father, Draco decided then. A real father. Someone who would understand you even if you didn't explain. Someone who cared more about you than about what the wizarding world would think.

Draco started trembling. What if he hadn't found out the truth? What if he'd gone back to Hogwarts and had told them all about Rhiannon, and one of his fellow Slytherins--Zabini, probably--had taken it on himself to investigate, and had found out that she wasn't magical after all?

That she wasn't magical at all?

He could just hear it now. That voice, taking on a sing-song cadence. Malshite's dating a Mug-gle, Malshite's dating a Mug-gle . . .

Severus drew him closer, his whole presence screaming care. Or maybe even love. Some, at least. Draco didn't fool himself that Severus would ever love him the way he loved Harry, with whom he'd had all that bonding after the bone marrow operation and then again after Samhain, but he did think that Severus must love him, too. A little.

The thought scared him, actually. So he tried not to think about it, even though he knew that Severus wasn't Lucius. Severus wasn't a vicious, horrible person who used love as a weapon to control people.

It didn't matter that Severus wasn't like that, though. Or that Harry wasn't like that at all. Every time he thought about being loved, he started to shake inside. Except when it had come from Rhiannon. Romantic love was different.

And out of the question, now. A Muggle!

A cursed Muggle!

Draco closed his eyes, slumping as he let Severus Disapparate them both.

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The cottage had never looked so welcoming, Draco thought as it came into view. Actually, he didn't think he'd ever regarded it as particularly welcoming before. It certainly wasn't his idea of a proper summer retreat. The place was too old and worn. Tatty, even. The first time Draco had seen it, it had been all he could do not to shudder.

Actually, he had shuddered.

Now, though, things were different. Oh, the place was no more fit for habitation, even if it was a little larger. Somehow, though, that didn't seem to matter as much, not now. All that mattered at the moment was that he was finally home.

"All right, now?" asked Severus as he let go of Draco's shoulders. "You've had quite a shock."

"Oh, yes, quite," sniped Draco. "You might have told me--"

"I did tell you," said Harry calmly, his form still shimmering a bit after the Apparition. Draco had to grit his teeth at the thought that perfect Harry Potter hadn't needed any help returning to Devon.

Draco turned his back on him and stomped into the cottage, intending to go straight to his bedroom and lock the door. Once Harry and Severus followed him inside, though, he found he had more to say. A lot more.

"Yeah, well you know I didn't believe you!" shouted Draco, rounding on his brother. "I'd have believed Severus!"

"Oh, thanks!"

"You blame me for saying that?" Draco bared his teeth. "He understands bloodlines." Which brought him back to Severus. Draco rounded on him, his hands clenching so hard that he thought his bones might crack. "You didn't say a word, not one single word!"

Severus didn't act like a man who had just been accused of letting his son down. He merely lifted his shoulders in a shrug. "You wouldn't have believed me either, Draco."

"Oh, yes I would have--"

"Really."

There wasn't much sarcasm in the comment, but there was enough to make Draco really think about himself. About his motives. About how hard he'd tried to find some magic in Rhiannon, how he'd made up story after story to explain why she was lacking any.

A long moment passed, and then another, Draco staring at the stone floor until it started to blur. Finally, he raised a stricken face.Severus was right. He wouldn't have believed the truth, because he wouldn't have wanted to believe it. Truth to tell, he still didn't want to believe a thing like that about Rhiannon. Who would? The stark facts of the matter were too horrible to believe!

"Draco?"

Harry again, his voice so concerned, so loving, that it made Draco want to hit him. The feeling only increased when his brother kept speaking.

"Er . . . you know what?" Harry began shuffling sideways as he spoke. And he had the gall to call Draco a bad liar! "I think I'll take Sals out for a while, work on my spell lexicon--"

Of all the transparent excuses Harry could have come out with, that was the one guaranteed to annoy Draco the most. Oh yes, Harry's spell lexicon. Because he had easy access to his dark powers. Because he had so much magic that he was overflowing with it.

So unfair that Rhiannon didn't have any at all.

Draco rounded on Harry. "What, you think I can't deal with this? You think I need time alone, is that it? Time alone with my father?"

If Harry had a scrap of decency, he'd have denied it. But of course he had to indulge his honest streak. "Well, you do seem under a lot of stress at the moment. I'm sure you need to talk to someone about it."

"Like you were sure I was going to hurt Rhiannon?" Draco curled a lip, yanking his hands out of his pockets to fold them over his chest. He knew the gesture looked defensive--he and Marsha had talked about what she called "body language"--but he couldn't stop himself from standing there with his arms crossed. He felt better, now. More in control. "You don't know anything, Harry. You don't know me. I don't need to talk to Severus! I don't need anyone! I don't need anything, either! Though I wouldn't say no to a drink right now. The pair of you can leave me alone, is that clear? Just . . . go to free swim, or something!"

"That doesn't start until one."

Like Draco needed to hear that. He knew Rhiannon's schedule better than Harry did, obviously.

Oh, Merlin. Rhiannon. . .

Draco whirled on a heel and made for his bedroom, slamming the door behind him. Wand out again, he locked it with his best wards. Severus could make a hash of them in under a minute, of course, and Harry could blast right through them if he wanted to, but neither one of them was likely to force his way in. Draco had said that he wanted to be alone, and they'd respect that--

Or not, as it turned out, since at that moment Draco heard a noise that he recognized as Severus' knock. Harry's was more of a bang. No decorum. Not that Draco was feeling like he had lot of that, just now. "What?" he shouted through the closed door. "What!"

It turned out to be Harry, after all. "Draco--"

"Leave me alone!" shouted Draco, though by then it was more of a scream. "Leave me alone or I'll--" Draco abruptly clamped his lips together. It might make him feel better to say something vicious, but it wouldn’t do any of them any real good, would it? And anyway, he didn't want to threaten Harry, even if it was almost too much to bear that Harry had known, that Severus had known, that the two of them had probably been giving each other looks all along over how stupid Draco had been.

Draco slumped. He usually prided himself on proper posture; it was part of projecting the correct image to the world. I'm the one in control, here, and no setback, no matter how daunting it may seem, can change that in the least. That was the aura he'd been taught to project, but he couldn't maintain it now.

How could he have been so stupid? So blind?

"Just go away," he said in a lower voice as he leaned against the creaking wood of the door. He felt defeated, clear through. "Please, Harry."

Harry did, but he didn't go far. "I can't believe you aren't demanding he open the door so he can talk to us. To you," he complained, his voice clearly audible even though it sounded like he was facing away from the door, now. "Dad . . ."

"I suggest we treat your brother as the adult he is," said Severus in a calm voice.

The adult he is. That was right; Severus knew. He knew everything.

Draco found it mildly unbelievable that the man was taking it so much in stride. After all, the last time Draco had done something illegal, Severus had actually made him eat poison over it.

On the other hand, aging himself a little bit wasn't quite the same thing as sending toxic sweets to the other students in his house. Draco felt better when he thought about it like that.

"The adult he is," said Harry with a glimmer of something in his voice. Not humour, not exactly. "He may have aged himself, but he's not that much older than me. Anyway, being a little older doesn't make him invulnerable, so I think you ought to go in and talk with him--"

Harry stopped talking so abruptly that Draco thought Severus must have raised a hand to demand silence. "He wants to be alone, Harry. And in the circumstances, that might be the best thing for him."

Best thing for him?Draco straightened to his full height, gritting his teeth. So he seemed like a man that needed to lick his wounds, now, did he? Like he was some sort of lion? Like he was a cursed Gryffindor?

But that wasn't what Severus had meant, it turned out.

"Best thing?" echoed Harry. "Look, when I was upset that Ron had been such an idiot, you wouldn't let me hide in my room. You called it brooding, and came and got me and made me play Wizard's Scrabble, and--"

"You were brooding," said Severus sternly.

"And Draco isn't?"

"He may be, but he also has some thinking to do."

Thinking to do? Draco scoffed out loud, then clapped a hand over his mouth. Then again, Severus probably knew he was eavesdropping, even if it had yet to occur to Harry. So that "thinking to do" comment had been intended for his ears, not his brother's.

Severus believed that Draco ought to have some thinking to do . . .

But that idea was even dafter than Harry's insane notion that Draco was going to draw his wand on Rhiannon. What was there to think about? Nothing! Rhiannon Miller was a Muggle!

Draco decided he'd heard enough. He didn't care what else his father had to say, and he certainly didn't care to listen to any more blather from Harry, who was going on about things Marsha had told him, now. Lines of communication, something like that. It was all a lot of rubbish. There were times when a man just needed to be alone. All alone. And this was one of them.

Draco cast a silencing spell across the door, then paused a moment to think. With Harry so disgustingly concerned, Draco wouldn't put it past him to send Sals slinking in here to check on Draco. So perhaps a breachment spell as well, Draco decided.

Once that was done, there seemed nothing left to do. Whatever had been holding Draco upright abruptly vanished. It was as if his bones all at once turned to mush. Draco actually staggered as he made his way across the room and toward his bed. He didn't think he'd ever been so tired before. Collapsing atop his covers, he rolled on his side, pulling a plush pillow over his face. He felt like he was sinking deep into the mattress, being swallowed by softness and warmth and oblivion.

It was only his body that was exhausted, though. His mind was alive and alert, and kept spinning into thought.

Rhiannon. Her face, her hair, her eyes. The sound of her voice when she sang. The soft noises she'd made every time that Draco had kissed her . . .

Draco rolled onto his other side, muttering curses. This was awful! He didn’t want to think or remember; he wanted to sink into the oblivion the bed had promised! He wanted all this pain to go away.

Even if it meant that he had to go away with it.

Merlin, did Fate have no mercy? His silencing charm had worked well enough, but what use was it? He could still hear voices in his head. Not just Rhiannon's, either. Harry's voice was there, and Severus', the one swimming in compassion, the other calmer. Fatherly.

Draco couldn't stand it.

Right now, Harry and Severus were just reminders of how Draco had let love cloud his judgment. How he'd made an absolute fool out of himself, in fact. A lovestruck fool. Severus and Harry might not have been laughing at him, but they'd known the truth that he'd been too blind to see.

Suddenly the bed wasn't the least bit comfortable. Draco started hurting all over, like he'd been trampled. Like he'd been stomped on from head to toe. Like his pride had been stripped away, layer after layer of it, until it was left bare and bleeding. But of course, he should feel that way, after he'd been so phenomenally stupid.

Falling in love with a Muggle girl! Lucius would be rolling in his grave, if he had a grave. As it was, that statue was probably cracking apart, or something.

Not that Draco cared about that. The only thing that bothered him was the fact that on this issue, Lucius was right! Falling in love with a Muggle was beyond irresponsible. In any other pureblood, he'd have called such conduct heinous. Or worse.

And Draco had done more than just fall in love with a Muggle girl. He'd let that Muggle kiss him, touch him. He'd let her get down on her knees, her hands caressing his thighs, her fingers tugging at the top button on his trousers . . .

Draco shoved his knuckles into his mouth and bit down on them. It was that, or scream. He was thinking after all! What was he, a sodding Hufflepuff? A weak-minded fool?

Well, even the strongest individual needed outside assistance now and again. That was what magic was for, wasn't it? Nobody with an ounce of brains would put up with a missing bone, not when skele-grow could set it right. And if Draco needed something to settle his mind . . . well, that was only to be expected. He had been dealt a terrible blow, after all, finding out that the most perfect girl in the world wasn't even a part of his world.

So . . . something to help him stop all this thinking. The answer to that was easy enough, and it was as close as Harry's bedside drawer. Or in this case, since Draco was too tired to get up, as close as a summoning charm.

Thank goodness that Harry was finally back to taking normal-strength potions! Not that five-times normal strength sounded bad, come to think of it. But even his impulse control problem wasn't enough to make him that reckless. At least, he didn't think it was. Good thing he didn't have to find out.

Draco downed a good swallow of his brother's Dreamless Sleep potion, and after that, he felt much better. He wasn't going to think, no matter what Severus said. He was going to sleep, and for once, the girl of his dreams wasn't going to be in them.

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As plans went, that one didn't work so well. Oh, he didn't dream, certainly; Severus' potion making couldn't be faulted. He woke up thinking of Rhiannon, though.

Dreamless Sleep or no, he woke up with her name hovering on his lips. He was actually whispering it.

Draco sat up and hung his head in his hands as fresh pain washed over him. He'd thought he'd known what it was to feel his own heart breaking. When Pansy had died, he'd been devastated. And then when he'd found out that she'd played him for a fool, all along, his heart had broken all over again.

This was worse, though. A lot worse. Maybe because this time, he had no-one to blame but himself. With Pansy, he'd had her attackers to hate, though of course he hadn't known at the time just who they were. And then he'd had her to despise. She'd tricked him. Their whole romance--the last few months of it, at any rate--had been nothing but a sham. A scheme. A plot.

He couldn't say that about his relationship with Rhiannon. She hadn't been trying to fool him into thinking she was something she wasn't. Draco had done that himself, all on his own.

When he thought now of the stories he'd made up in an effort to believe her magical, he felt his stomach churn. Telling Harry that she must be passing as a Muggle . . . and then insisting that she was a witch who didn't know about magic! His rationalisations seemed pathetic, now. Pathetically thin. Incredible, in fact, in the truest sense of the word.

Not credible.

And Draco had believed them, one after another, no matter that each had been more ludicrous than the last. He'd believed them with his whole heart. He'd been looking forward to the day when he could laugh in Harry's face, and say, I told you so.

Instead, Harry was the one who could say that to him, if he wanted.

He hadn't said it yet, which mildly amazed Draco when he thought about it. Harry had seemed so condescending earlier. At least, Draco had thought that at the time. Looking back on it, though, he couldn't really point to anything to support that idea. He had the feeling now that he hadn't been thinking straight, and no wonder. Draco had taken some pretty hard falls from his broom before, and hearing that bell hadn't been too different, actually. He'd been abruptly jolted out of his element, and into another world.

So perhaps it only stood to reason that he'd taken Harry's concern the wrong way.

Though he still didn't much care for Harry thinking that he might hex Rhiannon.

Harry hadn't bragged about how clever he was to have figured out she was a Muggle, though -- that was the point. He hadn't gone on about Draco being blind and stubborn about all things Rhiannon, even though Draco had been unmistakably blind and stupid.

Well, that went to show how good a brother he was, Draco decided, nodding as he rolled to sit up. Harry was being the good son with that, of course, but for once, Draco didn't resent him for it. He was grateful for it, actually. If Harry had got smarmy about the whole thing, Draco might have hexed him, right there in the reception area of the squib home, and then Harry might have fought back with some stronger-than-usual magic, and then they'd have had to end up Obliviating Darswaithe and Emmeleia.

Severus, no doubt, wouldn't have been too happy about that entire sequence of events.

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."

"More like homicidal."

The prat. The absolute prat. He still thought that Draco was going to do something awful to Rhiannon? How dare he!

Caution went out the window. Before Draco could think twice, he'd yanked open the bedroom door and stomped out into the sitting room. "I am not homicidal, you complete fucking imbecile. I could never hurt Rhiannon, never, and if I hear you say again that I will, I'll hex your mouth shut for a week! Just see if I won't, just see." Draco yanked his wand out and held it with his arm stretched fully out. "Well? Nothing to say?"

"I have something to say," interrupted Severus, reaching out a hand to push Draco's wand down. "Don't threaten your brother again. And cease using such foul language."

Draco should have heeded that stern tone, but at that moment, he couldn't possibly. "Fuck my language!"

"So it's to be Bocalavare, is it?"

"Oh, you think I'm five years old, do you?"

"Trust me when I say that I know exactly how old you are."

That gave Draco pause. But then again, it was supposed to. He gave Severus a brusque nod, and in a show of good faith, pocketed his wand.

Glancing at his brother, Draco saw that Harry seemed to be giving his next words some careful thought. About time.

"I really think Rhiannon's a nice person, Draco. And I don't want to see her get hexed. I'm just concerned, you know--"

So much for good faith. Oh, not that Draco was about to cast anything. No, his wand stayed firmly lodged in his pocket, but his mind began leaping ahead to find something, anything, that would make Harry stop saying such brainless things.

He found it, too. Of course he did. And after all, there was no point in eavesdropping if you didn't use what you heard to advantage. That was practically Draco's credo. He suddenly rounded on Harry. "Yeah, I'm concerned, too," he said in a falsely considerate voice. So false, in fact, that Harry's eyes narrowed. "About you. How is your addiction to stabbing yourself coming along, eh? Let's talk about that. If the three of us should be concerned about anybody's mental health, it ought to be yours!"

Damned impulse control. Draco regretted his words the moment he heard them emerge, and that was even before Harry paled, or Severus said in a low, warning tone, "If you're trying to prove you can be ruthless, you've succeeded admirably."

Shite. Somehow, that had come out all wrong. He'd just wanted to warn Harry off. He'd just wanted them both to know, Harry particularly, that Draco certainly wasn't the one who needed his head looked into.

Pretty terrible way to get that across, though. Even he could see that. He almost said fuck under his breath, but the look on Severus' face stopped him.

Harry's expression, meanwhile, had hardened into something almost frightening. "I deserve to have that thrown in my face, don't I? After all, it was completely unreasonable of me to tell you that Rhiannon was a Muggle. It was just the truth, and I wanted you to know from the first what sort of wind you were flying into, but talk about uncalled for! Just like I'm out of line now, wanting you to get some help if you need it. I don't even know how you put up with me--"

"Stop," said Draco in a low voice.

But Harry didn't. He took a step nearer Draco, his fists clenching. "Never mind that the last time you were seriously annoyed you tried to poison people. Oh, no. I have no reason at all to suppose that Rhiannon might be in danger. Hell, I should probably be boiled in oil for even letting the thought cross my mind! At the very least I should take up stabbing myself again, since you were kind enough to remind me about that--"

"Stop it, Harry!" shouted Draco. "I'm sorry, all right!"

Harry snorted. "Oh, yeah. If you ask me, you're only sorry that Dad heard you say something that terrible. But I'd just like to point out one thing. I may have some serious problems, but at least in my way of dealing with them, I was only hurting myself! It's not like I ordered the elves to make some fairy cakes, and then tried to pin the blame on them when things went pear-shaped--"

When Severus' hand settled atop Harry's shoulder and squeezed, Harry's voice finally trickled to a halt. In fact, he looked to be gulping, and that was even before Severus began speaking, his voice sharp enough to cut.

"That's quite enough. We're not going to do this any longer, is that clear? To pull each other's problems out in times of strife, and use them like weapons . . . I grew up with a father who did that to me, and so did you, Draco. And Harry, your uncle wasn't much better. In fact, it seemed to me that he was in the habit of complaining about you to anyone who would listen. I can't imagine that any of us particularly enjoyed such treatment at the hands of family."

"No," said Draco, feeling shaken by then, and not just because of the way Harry had been speaking. Severus almost never mentioned his father. That he would do so now really showed that things were spiralling out of control.

Harry's lips were clamped together, but he shook his head.

Sighing, Severus looked from Draco to Harry, and back. "It's what you learned to do, growing up, and in some respects it's a Slytherin trait besides, to look for weaknesses to exploit, but we really ought to reserve it for enemies. Not loved ones."

Feeling chastened, Draco gave a little nod. He noticed that Severus didn't press Harry for some sign of agreement, but then again, it had been Draco who had started the viciousness. This time, at least.

A long moment passed, and then finally, Harry seemed to find his voice again. "Don't bring up the needles again, Draco. I have it under control."

Draco nodded again, but thought that a little reciprocity was in order. "Fine. But then you shouldn't bring up Rhiannon's safety again. I have that well under control."

"Really."

It was probably the open doubt in Harry's voice that pushed Draco back over the edge into anger. He was trying to imitate Severus' droll tones, and failing. From a sixteen-year-old, the sarcasm wasn't thought-provoking, it was offensive. "Yes, really. I love Rhiannon, for your information, and nothing can change that. Nothing ever will change that, you sanctimonious . . . prick! So stop saying that I'm going to murder her! I'm going to marry her, if you want to know!"

Harry's mouth dropped open. "You're . . . what? Oh my God, are you making up some new bizarre reason why she's not really a Muggle? Going to claim the bell got it wrong, are you?"

"She's a Muggle, all right. I love her anyway," announced Draco coldly. Funny, until the moment before, he'd still been thinking that he could manage to give her up. But that wasn't on; he saw that now. So what if she was a Muggle? She wasn't like the other ones. He should know. She was special.

"She's a Muggle and you love her anyway," said Harry, still in that same tone. He clearly didn't believe a word Draco was saying.

"Yes, she is, and yes, I do." Draco nodded, the motion emphatic, and then because Severus was being so quiet, he glanced the man's way.

Much good it did him. Severus was wearing a guarded look. Like he was shocked and hiding it. Or maybe, like he had plenty to say but he wasn't going to say it.

Yeah, that sounded about right. Learn by experience, probably. If he thought Draco was making a mistake, he wasn't going to say so.

Harry had no such compunction. In fact, no decorum at all. "You and a Muggle. That sounds like a stable basis for a relationship. Are you going to tell her that you hate her and everything she stands for? That you hate everyone she's ever loved?"

"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.

Really, when you looked at it like that, she was barely a Muggle at all.

Though of course he didn't expect anyone else in Slytherin to see things that way.

"You may use my bathroom, if you wish," said Severus.

Draco couldn't help it; his mouth fell open from the shock. Talk about offering bait to a niffler! He'd hinted plenty of times that he wanted to have a swim in Severus' wizardspace tub back at Hogwarts, and he'd always been rebuffed. That Severus would offer his shower now . . . it told Draco something fairly significant.

For all Severus' attempts to act as though he didn't care one way or another whether Draco got Rhiannon back, he did care. He wanted to see them together.

Draco's impulse to make a shampoo joke flew straight out the window. Probably it would have been a bad move in any case, considering that his own special bottle of "shampoo" hadn't fooled Severus for so much as a day. He still felt lucky that the man hadn't had more to say on that topic. "Er . . . no," he refused, feeling like he was grasping after some way to be courteous, some way that kept slipping away. Because what he had to say wasn't particularly charming, but it was the truth: Harry wasn't the only one not fit to be seen, just now. Well, maybe Draco could sort of smooth his way into the topic. "I, er, I wouldn't want to keep you from it. Your shower, I mean."

Shite. That hadn't been very smooth at all. "I just meant, er . . . just how long were you and Harry swimming? You both look awfully knackered."

Harry flashed a toothy grin. "We didn't go swimming."

"Then what was that about another race?"

"We went outside and flew. Dad may be the better swimmer, but I've got him beat when it comes to brooms."

No doubt about it; Harry was a superb flyer. Almost as good as Draco, in fact. But to crow about it, like this, was a bit much. "Of course you have him beat! You have a Firebolt and he's still riding a Cleansweep Two that looks like it's growing things, it's so old!"

"In point of fact, I borrowed your XL." Severus gave Draco a thin smile. "I do hope you don't mind."

Draco glanced at his father and swallowed. There he'd been trying to spare the man embarrassment, and he'd ended up adding to it, instead. Severus had been on the superior broom and had still lost the race? Well, it had happened to Draco as well, although not every time. "No, I don't mind." Uncomfortable, he made a show of looking at his watch. "It's already half-past, you realise."

Harry gave him another doubtful look, but then went off to have his shower. Severus stayed with Draco for a moment more. "Are you certain this is what you want to do?"

Draco raised his chin. "Why wouldn't I be?"

"Because your declaration of love sounded almost as though you were letting Harry goad you into it."

"I . . ." Draco cleared his throat. "It's been a confusing day. But that part is clear. It's about all that is, if you want the truth. I . . ." His voice dropped to a whisper. He didn't want Harry to hear the rest. But Severus had to have had a girlfriend at some point, right? Granted, he wasn't the most handsome man in the world, but he had definite presence. "I'm not exactly sure what to say to Rhiannon. I don't suppose you have any ideas?"

Severus shook his head, his lank hair swaying with the motion. "I know very little about Muggles, Draco. Quite likely, your brother is the one you should be asking."

"He knows a lot, but not about this." Draco lifted his shoulders. "You know, about what a girl would want to hear. You should hear him talk, sometimes. The only time he ever kissed a girl, he made her burst into tears, and--"

Severus' frown seemed to grow more pronounced. "Illuminating as I find that, I'd prefer you not break faith with Harry. Didn't he tell you that in confidence?"

Hmm. As far as Draco could recall, Harry hadn't said that, not specifically, but he might have thought it went without saying.

"Just . . . be yourself, Draco," Severus added. "There's little point in anything else."

Maybe so, but being himself was what had got him into this fix in the first place. Draco nodded, though, before he went into the bedroom to freshen up and change.

------------------------------------------------------

Oh, Merlin. Rhiannon's singing was so beautiful that Draco had almost been able to forget his problem whenever she was on stage, but what was he going to do, now? The curtain had come down for the final time, and there she was, taking her bows, looking as gorgeous as ever, her Queen of the Night costume setting off her long blonde hair.

Time to go backstage, to see her alone, and Draco still didn't have the faintest clue what he was going to say to her.

He had no doubt, however, about what to say to Harry, who had risen from his seat the minute Draco had, clearly intending to stay right by Draco's side. It was as if he'd smeared himself with a sticking potion.

"You should wait out front," Draco said, his gaze trained on the stage. "I'm doing this alone."

Harry looked reluctant, but at least he didn't argue. Meanwhile, Severus gave Draco an encouraging nod. After that, there was nothing for it but to make his way down the aisle and up the side stairs that led to the stage area. Colin was standing there, chatting with people milling nearby after the performance. When he saw Draco, he waved for him to go on up.

Unfortunately, Rhiannon was far less welcoming. She was standing backstage, Adrian at her elbow, and when she saw Draco, the look in her eyes was cold enough to freeze a Basilisk. "What do you want?"

"Can we talk?"

"No." Rhiannon made a show of turning more fully towards Adrian. "Now, as I was trying to explain, if the new opera isn't ready, we should do one more performance of Mozart."

"With the adverts already printed?"

Rhiannon's eyes narrowed. "Well, Colin's probably got them wrong again. They were wrong for this show, after all. We can correct the dates and anything else, and--"

"It's very easy to ignore finances to focus on art, but it's not very practical, Rhiannon--"

Draco didn't particularly want to interrupt, since it might make him look even worse to Rhiannon, but he wasn't about to stand here all night listening to them debate the starting date for Monteverdi. "I really do need to talk with you."

"The last thing I need is to talk with you, though." She tossed her head as she said it.

Adrian gave Draco a critical glance, and for a moment Draco was fairly sure he was about to be ordered out. But then the older man shrugged. "I can't have scenes backstage, Rhiannon. Take care of this."

With that, he was walking away.

Rhiannon's lips were a straight, set line as she turned to face Draco. "Fine. You've got your way. And you made me look bad in front of my director. So, thanks for that."

Oh, this was getting off to a brilliant start. Well, at least he hadn't brought her expensive flowers again. Or worse, another diamond. What did she want, though? Draco wished he knew. All he could think of was one thing. It was hard to say, even though he did love her. "I . . . look, I want to apologise, all right?"

She didn't appear swayed. "So, go ahead."

With Muggles milling about, there was no question of Draco being very specific in any apology. "I wasn't trying to hurt you, Rhiannon. And I'm sorry--very sorry--that I did. I misunderstood something, that's all. I shouldn't have."

"You shouldn't have," she agreed, but she wasn't smiling. "Is your next line going to be that you won't do it again?"

Draco felt baffled. How could he possibly do it again? He knew now that she was a Muggle! "No, of course I won't. Why would you think--"

"Oh, you'd like to know what I think?" Her fabulous dress made a swishing noise as she headed toward an alcove at the far end of the backstage area. When she reached it, she whirled around, fists clenched. "I think you just want more of what you had during lunch, that day at my house."

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 fight, 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!

Life suddenly seemed more hopeful than it had a few minutes ago. Hopeful, and urgent as well, because now that he'd found such a wonderful solution, Draco couldn't wait to get started. Who cared that it was past eleven at night? Harry's swim lesson was at ten the next morning, and by then, Draco needed to be ready to talk with Rhiannon!

He grabbed both Harry's shoulders. "Let's go, right now, to-- er, where does Granger live, anyway?"

Harry jerked himself out of Draco's reach and righted his glasses. Only then did Draco realise that he'd given his brother quite a jolt. And perhaps, not strictly in the physical sense.

Severus quirked an eyebrow as if he found Draco's question highly interesting.

Harry, meanwhile, looked simply speechless. Though it didn't last. "Hermione?"

"Yes, Hermione," Draco said, nodding eagerly. "That's right, Harry. You've got to get me to Hermione Granger! Now."