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A Summer Like None Other

by Aspen in the Sunlight

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Chapter Two:

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A Summer Like None Other

by Aspen in the Sunlight and Mercredi

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Chapter Three:

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A Summer Like None Other

by Aspen in the Sunlight

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Chapter Four:  Balcony View

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A Summer Like None Other

by Aspen in the Sunlight

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Chapter Five:  Food for Thought

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A Summer Like None Other

by Aspen in the Sunlight

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A Summer Like None Other

by Aspen in the Sunlight

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Chapter Seven:  Poolside

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A Summer Like None Other

by Aspen in the Sunlight

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Chapter Eight:  Lessons

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A Summer Like None Other

by Aspen in the Sunlight

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Chapter Nine:  Bewitched

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That evening in Exeter, Harry watched silently as his father rolled out yet another length of golden wire. Standing slightly apart from it, Snape used his wand to make a long, slow arc through the air while he said the same incantation Harry had heard well over a dozen times that night, in street after street.

Only when they were walking away from the Northbrook Pool did Harry speak. "So that's it, you think?"

Snape cast a glance back the way they had come, then indicated the small amount of wire left on the wooden spool in his hand. "I expect we have enough for a few more. Would you like to do them? I think you must know the process by now."

Yeah, Harry did. After two straight hours of watching his father, he thought he probably had it down pat. In theory, at least. Casting the spell himself was another matter. Seeing it successfully performed, over and over, didn't mean he would have any idea as to the correct Parseltongue translation. That was nearly always a matter of trial and error.

Harry wasn't so sure that he wanted to fumble about, figuring out the right words while Snape watched. It was different in class; there, Snape had plenty to do besides pay attention to Harry. But now, he had the man's undivided interest.

That made for a nice change, in some ways, Harry had to admit. He couldn't have a private talk with his father at the cottage, not unless he made a point of excluding Draco. And that was rather awkward. It wasn't like it had been back at Hogwarts, with Snape's quarters large enough that it wasn't so obvious when Harry would rather have their father all to himself.

Hmm. Maybe Draco wanting to go on dates wasn't such a bad thing, in some ways. Getting some time alone with Snape now was like a bit of a bonus, as far as Harry was concerned, especially considering that the man had used the time to teach him nifty new magic.

But now Snape wanted to see him perform the spell. That was a little surprising. "What about the Decree?" Harry asked. He couldn't stop himself from adding the rest. "You did once tell me that you'd heard of it, yeah?"

He almost laughed at the way Snape tried not to smile. He could always tell, now, when his father was doing his best not to let his feelings show. Positive feelings, at least. Snape liked to keep those buttoned up tight, though perhaps not so much as before, Harry thought.

"The Decree poses little issue at present," Snape said, his tone light.

Oh. No wonder he'd said that. "Those diversion spells you started with, to keep anyone from noticing what we say or do, they'll also keep the Ministry from sensing underage magic?"

Snape shook his head. "If the rules were that easy to circumvent, there' d be little point in having them at all. But in your case?" He gave Harry's fingers a rather significant glance.

"Not registered, yeah. I get that." For a second, Harry was struck with an awful sense of responsibility. His magic wasn't just bizarrely strong, or unique, it also gave him some advantages that other wizards didn't have. Of course, there were plenty of wizards with unregistered wands, but a suspicious Ministry official could still perform Priori Incantatem on those, assuming they were found. Harry doubted that a Priori would work on his fingers. He'd bet that they only understood Parseltongue. "Actually, I was thinking more about how you've been so insistent, ever since the spring holidays, that Draco mustn't Apparate alone, and such. You don't want to encourage law-breaking."

Snape shrugged, taking Harry by the elbow to guide him. The trip wire spell cast earlier tickled Harry as they passed through the far edge of it. The sensation, Snape had explained earlier, was the spell announcing that it would discount their presence. He'd gone on to discuss how to delimit trip wire spells, and what the limitations of the technique were. By the end there, he had definitely shifted into full professor mode, but that was all right. In fact, it reminded Harry how much he'd longed for magic during previous summers. He'd thirsted for it. He'd read his books obsessively, when he could get to them. Which wasn't often. That might explain why he'd missed all his classes so much, too . . . well, not Potions, he had to admit.

But this summer, he wasn't missing anything. He was surrounded on all sides by magic, and instead of punishing him for so much as saying the word, his family wanted to talk about it, wanted him to learn more all the time. Harry had got used to thinking of summers as times when he had to stay away from his real home. From his real self. But now, he was home, in more ways than one. It wasn't just that he had a father now, a real father, or a brother too. It was that they accepted him--all of him--even those parts he'd got used to believing would never be welcomed by anyone in his family.

Though come to think of it, even Dudley was all right knowing about his magic, these days. Being magical wasn't something he had to hide from the people he loved, not now. Not ever again.

A sense of gratitude seemed to sweep through him, making him feel like he was wrapped up in a large, soft comforter. Harry sighed a little, happily. He really did have all the things he'd ever wanted, right down to swimming lessons, and someone who would sit on the bleachers and watch him while he floundered about in the water. Someone who would tell him afterwards, that he'd done well. Harry felt even warmer just thinking about it, and realised a bit wryly that the swimming lessons meant a lot more to him than they probably should.

He had a sudden urge to thank Snape again. Not just for arranging lessons, though that was a big part of it. But, no . . . it was more than that. It was everything. For adopting Harry to begin with. For wanting him around. For being there for him, every day since, even when Harry messed up, like with not asking for help a lot sooner after he'd listened to what that awful portrait had to say . . .

"Dad?"

"Hmmm?"

Harry smiled a bit, then just shook his head. He knew well enough that what his father wanted from him wasn't thanks. And maybe Snape was right to think that, Harry suddenly realised. Maybe, in a family, you weren't supposed to be so grateful when people did things for you. He'd talked about that with Marsha, more than once. Being in a family meant that you were supposed to have people you could depend on. People who loved you. People to love, who wouldn't thank you, either, not just for being what you were--a son.

A good son, Harry decided, though he didn't mean that the way Draco liked to think. Harry just knew that he had a lot of reasons to appreciate Snape. An awful lot.

"Is there anything you need, Dad? Anything I can do for you?"

Snape looked a bit surprised by the question, and then, for an instant, almost calculating. "Perhaps there is," he murmured, so quietly that Harry barely caught it. Then, louder, "Yes, I do believe there is."

Harry waited, but the man didn't say anything further.

"Mind telling me what?"

Snape glanced at him as they walked along. "We'll have a late supper together after you've completed the final trip wires. We'll discuss it then. All right?"

Harry nodded, still a little bemused that his father wanted him to cast spells away from the privacy of their cottage. "So why are you being stricter with Draco than with me? I thought you'd want to be everything to be even. You know, fair."

"Fair isn't giving each of you the same things, Harry," drawled Snape. "It's making sure that each of you has what you most need."

That put Harry in mind of the ethics books. Only Draco had had to read them . . . though Harry would get to hear plenty on that topic, if it was going to be a required course for seventh-year students.

"What Draco needs right now," Snape was continuing, "is practice controlling his impulses. Not to mention, an appreciation that the rules do apply to him."

Harry nodded, though he couldn't help but point something out, even as he grimaced slightly. "But don't you think that last part is valid for me, as well? You have been pretty disapproving of people letting me break rules."

Snape didn't smile. "I have. But this is a bit different from letting Draco Apparate alone. You shouldn't imply that I'm allowing you to run wild with unauthorised magic, when in fact you're under close supervision tonight. Besides, Harry . . . you aren't like Draco."

Harry wiggled his fingers a little, raising his eyebrows.

Snape chuckled slightly. "I didn't mean that, not this time. I meant that your character is different. You do disregard the rules at times, yes. Much more than I would like, but you don't do it in order to indulge yourself. You tend to break rules only in aid of others."

"I don't know about that--"

"Do you remember when you used to ask about your invisibility cloak? You wanted it so Draco could use it on the pitch. You didn't ask for yourself."

Harry liked the praise, but didn't feel he could take it under false pretences like this. His father was forgetting something. Something important. "I wanted it later, for myself."

Or maybe Snape wasn't forgetting anything at all. "Yes, in your bid to keep yourself from going dark. You didn't truly want it for yourself at all, Harry. Once again, you were trying to save the rest of us, however misguided the effort. It's as I said. You break rules to help others, or at the very least, to attempt such help."

Attempt such help. A pang of missing Sirius flashed through Harry, but he forced it away from him. There was nothing else to do, though if he could get that mirror back at Hogwarts working, perhaps he could find a way to talk to Sirius and ease this pain. Harry would bet that Marsha would say that was healthier than him deliberately distancing himself from it. Or maybe not. Being a squib, she might find the idea of talking with a dead person a little off-putting.

For now, though, distraction was the order of the day. And what Snape had implied was pretty damned distracting, come to think of it.

"So you approve of that now, do you? My saving-people thing? I thought you thought that was indulging myself."

Snape stopped walking to give him a long, serious glance. "I don't know that approve is apt. But I have come to recognise that it's a part of you. An important part of you."

Acceptance, again. Harry looked up into his father's eyes, not sure what to say. It came to him that quite possibly, that was the nicest thing anybody had ever said to him. Somehow, he didn't think Snape would want to hear as much. It would almost be like calling the man sweet. It didn't quite fit, even if, in his own way, Snape really could be . . . sort of soft, sometimes.

"That's not to say that there's never any need to temper the trait," Snape was adding now, the look in his eyes going stern. "We all have qualities which serve us well in some situations and not others."

"Yeah, I remember." Harry started walking again. "What was it you said, back when we first went to Surrey together? Something about honour and valour having a place, but how it would take more than that to win this war?"

"You were listening."

Harry couldn't keep a thin layer of scorn from his voice. "I always listen to you, Severus."

"Now, perhaps. But back then?" Snape shrugged a little, the gesture looking strangely pleased. "You recall what I said next?"

"About a certain hat? Sure."

Snape looked even more pleased, though he only showed it by means of lightening his gait. Harry knew how to read him, though. He knew the exact moment when the man's pleasure faltered slightly.

"And what would your opinion of that be, after spending some months in my house?"

It wasn't like Snape to fish for compliments, so Harry knew at once that something else was going on. Snape wanted an honest answer. He really wanted to know what Harry thought. "Oh. Well, I really like being in both houses, but that's not what you meant, I think. Um . . . I'm not sure how much stealth and cunning I'm really learning, to be honest. Sometimes it seems like I can figure out a sneaky way of going about things, though. But that was always true. Well, to some extent."

"To some extent," mocked Snape. "One might conclude you had never, for example, spent extensive time in a girl's lavatory working on a secret project."

So he had known all about that. Probably, right down to the cat hair. Well, Snape had said that he and the headmaster had few secrets, and Dumbledore was pretty certain to be aware of most everything going on in the castle. Though Harry would bet his vault that Snape hadn't learned about the Polyjuice fiasco for quite some time after it had happened.

Bet his vault. Draco was rubbing off on him more than he'd realised.

"Slytherin doesn't mean sneaky so much, anyway," Harry said. He wasn't sure why he'd avoided saying "the Sorting Hat," considering how well he and Snape were currently concealed. The diversion spell made sure that nobody would pay attention to anything they said or did. Perhaps all that practice watching what he said at the pool. "I get that now. It's more a different way of figuring out how to get things done."

They'd reached the theatre by then. Snape drew Harry down an alleyway beside it. "The direct approach isn't always the best solution to a problem."

"Like telling Draco he can't come to Exeter, instead of going to all this work to make sure that he'll be safe when he does," murmured Harry.

Snape inclined his head. "Exactly. Yes."

Harry personally thought that criss-crossing Exeter with trip wires to help Draco was short-sighted. What they ought to be doing was curing him of his Rhiannon-obsession, not helping him indulge it still further. Marsha would call it enabling, Harry thought. Except, she wouldn't call it that in this case, since she thought Harry ought to leave Draco to his crazed romance, no matter how it turned out.

He didn't want to believe that Snape thought that same. "You could make him obey you, though. I'm sure you could. About the Apparition."

"And when he gains his license to Apparate when and as he sees fit?"

"Well, he'll still be living in your house and have to follow your rules. You said that yourself."

"He'll be seventeen soon, and of an age to make his own decisions, Harry. It's not as though he's short of funds and unable to establish a separate residence, foolish as that might be while the war is ongoing--"

"Oh, no. I shouldn't have given him Sirius' money, you mean?"

"No." Snape looked impatient. "That was well-done of you. My point is this: I've no desire to drive either of my sons from what is now rightfully their home. Negotiation, remember?"

Yeah, Harry did. And he could see Snape's point. Well, sort of. He'd still rather that somebody would put a foot down here. But clearly, that wasn't going to happen. And Snape was right; being too strict about seeing Rhiannon probably would drive Draco away. So that just wasn't on.

"Shall I continue with the trip wires, then?" asked Snape, his voice still more impatient than Harry would have liked. "Since you've apparently no intention of assisting?"

That made him sound a bit of a prat. Harry didn't like the feeling that Snape might see him that way, just now. "I didn't say that. I'll give the spell my best effort, though you know there are a few that I've never made work."

"Yes, I know. Time will set it all to rights, I've no doubt."

Harry nodded. He thought so, too; his lexicon was growing daily, now, though some of his spells were a little strange, like his firefly-Lumos, as he'd taken to thinking of it. "One thing, though. Are you sure your discretion spell will be enough?"

"I am actually competent in the magical arts," Snape said, his voice very dry. "Or did you need to review my N.E.W.T. results again?"

Harry didn't back down. "I trust your casting. I was just wondering if it would cover my Parseltongue. You know, how the Death Eaters had figured out to locate me by listening for it? I'd hate to draw them here, when the whole point of this is to keep Draco as safe as possible."

"Ah. A valid point." Snape actually looked impressed, Harry thought. And that certainly didn't happen very often. "But the spell will still serve."

Harry waved a hand through the air, wiggling his fingers. "All right. Um . . . nobody will see, but do you want me to hold my wand in hand? On principle?"

"It makes it more difficult to learn a new spell, I think?"

It sure did. Harry had to figure out the right translation and be sure he didn't accidentally let any spell energy flow from his hand into his wand. Which was tricky with new spells, as you never really knew what direction the energy would want to go.

Snape must have read the answer in his face. "No wand at present, then," he conceded. "Though in class I'm afraid there is no alternative. For the time being."

Harry shrugged to say it didn't matter. Or maybe he meant more than that. He didn't like to be different, after all. He'd rather not have everybody aware that he could do wandless magic. That he had to do it, if he wanted his spells to come out right, instead of frighteningly strong. It was bad enough that everyone knew he had to cast in Parseltongue.

He took the coil of wire from Snape and laid a length of it across the alley, easily snipping it with his personal version of Cortus. Carefully angling the ends of the wire to point skyward, as Snape had done, Harry stepped back. Fingers splayed, he waved his arm in an arc.

"Wider. You do want the spell to fill the entire alley."

Harry started over, this time waving his arm more dramatically. Then, it was just a matter of glancing at the snake image etched into his glasses, and saying what the spell meant to him. Bugger the Latin. Sometimes Harry's versions weren't even close to the formal translations.

"Tell ussss if people like us sssslither through here," he tried, bemused when he heard how that came out. People didn't slither, but of course snakes had only one means of movement.

The thin thread of gold at Harry's feet didn't even glow.

Damn.

He was pretty used to his first attempt at a new spell failing, though. Casting in Parseltongue could really be a pain in the arse. Nobody knew that better than him. Ha--it was more like, nobody but him knew it at all.

Sometimes that made him feel pretty much alone, but he couldn't feel that way now, not with his father standing right alongside him, patiently waiting for Harry to test another way of calling forth the spell.

"Don't let men like ussss crosssss you . . ."

That time, he knew even before he finished that the spell would fail. The trip wire wasn't supposed to trap magical folk, after all. It was just supposed to alert Snape--or Harry--if any wizards or witches walked through here. Snape had explained earlier that Draco was likely to want lots of time alone with Rhiannon. Short of hanging about in Exeter several evenings a week, Snape needed a way to know at once if the town ceased to be a place full of Muggles alone.

"Won't Draco trip the wires himself, though?" Harry had asked.

"Exactly why we're using wire. With a physical anchor for the spell, it's possible to exclude specific individuals. I arranged in advance for the wire to ignore you and Draco, as well as myself. Anyone else carrying a wand, registered or no, will trip the wire. So to speak."

Harry had started slightly, halfway through that explanation. "Um. . .you didn't use anything like a lineage potion, I hope."

Snape expression had darkened. "What have I told you about only one of us here being the father?"

Once, Harry would have backed down at that, but he had a firmer sense these days, of where Snape's real limits were. "I'm allowed to look out for you," he insisted. "We're family."

"So we are." Snape paused, but only briefly. "A lineage potion would only link to those named Snape, assuming I am the brewer. However, trip wires by their very nature allow one to be as specific as needs be. All that is required is access to the wands of the wizards one wishes to exclude from the spell."

Harry felt better once he'd heard all that. He did trust Snape, of course, but sometimes he wondered about all the dark magic the man must be familiar with. Too much of it could twist your soul, and he'd hate to think of Snape putting himself at risk like that, even to help Draco.

Especially to help Draco with something like this.

Harry shook himself away from thoughts like that. They'd only make him want to not cast the spell, and that would hardly help his magic flow. So . . . how else to translate Snape's smoothly delivered Avisato Alambrum?

Harry thought, not for the first time, how strange it was that spells always sounded so much better in Latin. But then again, he had no idea how his Parseltongue sounded to others, did he? Other than frightening . . . but actually, most of the students and all of the professors except Aran had got used to him casting using snake language, so he didn't suppose it sounded all that terrifying to them.

"Hissss if you feel more people like usss," Harry tried.

The wire at his feet glowed strongly, becoming like a flash of light. A pale pink flash that swept upward into the sky, licking at the sides of the buildings. And that wasn't all. As soon as he and Snape began walking away, the magical energy spread to fill the alley from side to side. It wasn't even accurate to call these trip wires. They were more like trip fogs. Invisible trip fogs, after that first distinctive flash, but Harry could feel the magic following close on his heels, then when he turned, surging past him to cross the street they emerged onto.

"That's really something," he breathed, the zing of the spell as it rushed past him raising the hairs on the back of his neck. He hadn't felt anything like this when his father had been the one casting, so maybe something had gone wrong? But then again, it seemed like Snape didn't feel the spell when Harry was the one casting it. He was glancing sideways at Harry now, his dark eyes glinting with humour.

"It worked quite well, then, I take it?"

Harry nodded, wondering how far the spell might spread if there were no buildings to stop it. As spells went, it was quite clever, since it filled the wider street outside the alley just as well as the alley itself.

And that zing was still giving him the shivers. Harry rubbed his hands up and down his bare arms, wishing he had robes on.

"You'll get used to it."

Snape was right. Once Harry had figured out the spell, it was a simple matter to lay more trip wires around the streets surrounding the theatre. By the time he'd used up all their wire, thefeelof the spell was a minor irritant, nothing more. Finally, Harry held out the empty wooden spool in his palm. "Did you bring along a second one?"

Harry almost laughed at the incredulous look on his father's face. "We've done all the main thoroughfares, as well as those places your brother is most likely to frequent. Do you want to blanket every inch of the city?"

"No need to be sarcastic."

Snape hid another smile. "Facetious, I do believe."

"Only word in English with all five vowels in order," quipped Harry, startling Snape. "Well, according to Hermione."

"What a useless bit of knowledge," Harry heard his father mutter.

Now it was Harry who was hiding a smile. "So, that late supper?" he asked, to cover it. "How about pizza?"

Snape grimaced, but began walking towards the city centre as he stowed the empty spool in an inner pocket of the long coat he was wearing. "Is that really what you want?"

Harry nodded, but inside he was thinking that Snape's Muggle dress sense was quite odd. The coat was the sort of thing any businessman might wear over his suit on a blustery winter day; it was possibly the closest thing that a men's store might have to a robe, so it was little wonder Snape favoured it, even if it only reached to his knees. But it didn't look right, not in July.

Well, at least Snape didn't wear it when he came to the pool to watch Harry swim.

"So, pizza's really all right with you?"

"It's repulsive, but since you can hardly ask for whatever suits during the summer--"

Snape broke off and suddenly drew Harry back into the shadows of a side-street. A moment later, Draco strolled right past them, his step light and confident. He looked happier than he'd been in a long, long time. Actually, Harry didn't think he'd ever seen his brother looking quite so delighted. Enchanted, even. There wasn't a trace of stress or worry on his face.

Draco was holding Rhiannon by the arm, the touch looking casual but somehow gallant as well. As they crossed the street, walking away from the alley where Snape and Harry were hiding, the two of them were chatting animatedly about how silly it was that people confused Verdi with Monteverdi.

Snape remained dark and still until the pair was long gone, which struck Harry as a little odd. Still, he only asked when it seemed like the coast was clear. "What about the notice-me-not charm you cast earlier? Draco couldn't have seen us, could he?"

"He could have. That spell is designed to provide privacy from outsiders, not among those who share an abode."

"Oh. Well, no harm done. I don't think he did see us." Harry almost scoffed. "I don't think he'd have seen us even if we'd stood in front of him and shouted. He had eyes only for that girl."

Snape muttered a quiet oath. "Still, we should have started here and worked our way towards the pool. It was never my intention to spy on your brother and his date."

Harry wouldn't put it past Snape to spy on either of his sons, date or no, if he thought it necessary in any way. The fact that he didn't seemed to underline something for Harry. "You really do believe that Exeter is safe, then?"

"I wasn't certain, not at first. But after spending more time here . . ." Snape shrugged. "I don't anticipate that Draco will have any problems."

"Then why all the trip wires?"

Snape angled him a glance.

"Right. Better safe than sorry."

"When it comes to you or Draco, most assuredly."

Harry couldn't help but think, then, of the many times he'd concluded that the Dursleys would probably be relieved if he were run over by a speeding lorry. Not to mention the times that Uncle Vernon had threatened to throw him in front of one. Fairly sad, really, that Snape's comment could make Harry feel so loved. It was only an expression of normal concern, the kind of thing any parent should feel.

Harry's arms started itching. His aunt and uncle were long beyond his reach, but damned if he didn't wish he could reach down into the realm of the dead and yank them out of it, just so he could yell at them. Or worse. He should have had someone taking care of him who cared, all along!

"Harry?"

Best to be honest, right? He knew by then that Snape couldn't help him with problems he hid. Well, actually he could, as he was really good at figuring things out, but it was more difficult. "I'd give a lot for a needle right now," Harry said, his voice grating over the admission.

Snape's teeth clicked together. "Because I'm concerned for Draco?"

That was pretty insulting. Maybe Snape wasn't as good at figuring things out as Harry had thought. "No, of course not!"

Snape's hand on his shoulder stopped him from turning away. "Talk."

Harry looked up into his face. "I was just thinking about how you compare to the Dursleys, and what I'd probably do to them if I could get my hands on them."

"Ah. I see." Snape's voice sounded dark, though his comment wasn't. "I don't think you'd do anything at all, Harry."

"Ha. You didn't see Aunt Marge, blown up like a blimp, screaming as she drifted out over Magnolia Crescent."

"You misunderstand. You wouldn't do anything because I'd be in your way."

"Keeping me from the dangers of revenge."

"No, beating you to it."

Harry gaped.

"Just as well they're dead and gone, I think," added Snape, shrugging philosophically.

It took Harry a moment to catch his breath. "What happened to vengeance being so bad for you?"

"I'd make an especial exception for them."

"You didn't, though," said Harry slowly. "You heard how poisonous Uncle Vernon was towards me, and you never--"

"He was dead long before I truly understood what his poison had wrought."

Harry gulped. Part of him wanted to dispute that last bit. He wanted to say that he was fine. That it didn't bother him that his caretakers for so many years would rather he'd never been born. Once, he would have said it. Hell, he might even have believed it. But now that he knew what it was like to have a real parent, now that he knew what he'd missed out on, what he'd been cheated of . . .

"Probably shouldn't feel so good over you wanting to skewer them on your wand," he muttered.

"Anyone would feel that way."

Harry didn't want to waste thought on the Dursleys any longer. "Yeah," he said thickly, trying to come up with something to get them off the topic. "Hey . . . didn't I ward that street Draco turned onto? And I didn't hear any clang, like you said I would, if somebody else magical crossed the trip wires--" He nodded, glad to have it confirmed, once and for all. Not that there'd really ever been any doubt. "Rhiannon Miller's not a witch."

"Definitely, time for that meal," said Snape briskly. He began walking, striding off in the opposite direction from the one Draco had taken, and as he did, he flicked his wand to dissolve the notice-me-not charm he'd cast over himself and Harry earlier. "Mind what you say and do, now."

Harry didn't need the reminder, but said nothing of it. When they came alongside a pub he realised how hungry he was. Pizza would have been great, but he didn't want to hunt up a place that made it. "I could fancy a shepherd's pie," he hinted, slowing his steps. "And a pint."

He actually didn't think that Snape would get him one, but was pleasantly pleased when the man came back from the bar carrying two tall mugs of Guinness.

"Wow. Thanks."

"The least I can do. You spared me the pizza."

Harry chuckled, but not for long. In the next moment, Snape started looking grim. "As well, you'll probably need it once you hear what I'd most like you to do for me."

Uh-oh. Harry didn't have any notion what that might mean. The first thought that flashed through his head was made up of two words: mutual repudiation. But that was just stupid. He wasn't worried about that any longer!

Harry thought better than to start guessing out loud. "If you need something, I'd be glad to help. Whatever it is," he said, meaning every word. The idea that he could do something for this man who'd done so very much for him--it filled him with a sudden sense of excitement. Glee, almost. Until he thought of one thing.

"Oh. Um, if you want me to quarrel less with Draco, I should probably mention that I have been trying really hard already--"

"You have." That felt almost like a well done, at least until Snape continued speaking. "Except in regards to one thing, I should say."

Ha. Harry didn't need to guess about that, did he? "Rhiannon," he said, the name sounding a bit dull. He could guess the rest of it, too. "Yeah, Marsha said I ought to let Draco make his own mistakes."

"Did she."

"No need to be snide," said Harry, almost snappishly. He took a deep breath and tried again. "Sorry, sir. I just meant that she practically lectured me about it."

"And did nothing that she had to say strike you as worthwhile?"

That question had Harry gulping down some beer. "Yeah, some," he grudgingly admitted. "We talked about how maybe I kind of resented this whole romance thing because I feel like we should all be a bit more serious. About . . . er . . ." Conscious of the Muggles all around, Harry lowered his voice. "You know, things of interest to the old crowd."

"Ah."

"God, you're worse than Marsha sometimes, you know that?" Harry blew out a breath that made his fringe fly up, for a second. "She goes on with 'Ah' and 'Mmm-hmm' and 'I see' sometimes, just to make me talk things out more."

"Does she."

"Oh, stop it," said Harry, laughing that time. "You don't have to prod me into talking, you know. You can just ask. So anyway, yeah, we talked about that a bit, and how I love the swimming lessons but almost feel guilty taking time out for them, when I could be working on more important things, and how maybe that's all part of why I want Draco to stop being such a blind git about Rhiannon. 'Cause then he'd give up on this romance deal, see? Though for the record, I would also like to point out that I really do think he's on the rebound and likely to get his heart broken. Again."

Snape took a moment to drink down half his stout, then said in a serious voice, "You know, Harry, your being able to avoid death by drowning is actually quite important."

Harry's laugh that time was a little nervous. "Well, sure. I didn't mean--"

"You did. You constantly discount your own worth except as it relates to helping others."

No doubt about it, the man was worse than Marsha. She sometimes had startling insights to share, too, but they were never delivered so ruthlessly.

"Well, I know I can't help anybody if I'm dead--"

"Merlin preserve me, you're missing the point again," said Snape, sighing as he leaned forward. "You're more than a strategic asset, you idiot child!"

"I know."

"Do you?"

"Yes!" Harry lowered his voice when he noticed a couple of heads turning at his outburst. "It's just hard for me. You don't know. No offence, but no matter how angry you are with my aunt and uncle, you can't know what it's like to be me. I was always, always told how worthless I was and then right at the same time I finally got my first friends ever, people were falling all over themselves just hearing my name. Even Ron did, at first, though I know that's not why he became my friend. And Draco . . ." Harry swallowed, hating the memory. He loved Draco, but there was no denying that even now he was still a bit of a stuck-up supercilious prat. "He tried to get me to ditch Ron for him, did you know that? Before we were ever sorted. All because of my name."

"Draco mentioned that to me, months ago."

"Oh." Harry didn't know why that surprised him; it wasn't like Severus and Draco had never had long talks of their own, after all. "Um, what did he say about it?"

Snape looked like he was about to disclose something rather significant, but then he shook his head. "I think you'd better broach the topic with him yourself, if you wish to know."

"Oh, all right." Their meals came then, a welcome distraction. Harry took one bite and reached for the salt and pepper. Hogwarts cooking had probably spoiled him. Though this wasn't bad.

He finished his drink, a bit bemused at the way Snape took charge of the conversation while they ate. Not that he was complaining. He often thought that he didn't know enough about his father, so it was a welcome change to listen to him tell a few stories about his own school days. Edited, of course, because of their surroundings, but Harry could read between the lines.

Finally, though, it was past half-nine, almost time to go meet Draco, and Harry knew they'd better get back on track. He wasn't sure why Snape hadn't brought the subject of Rhiannon Miller up again. Perhaps he thought they'd settled things? Or maybe, Harry realised with a small pang, he believed Harry was refusing the favour he'd been asked.

"So, Rhiannon," Harry said, the moment there was a lull in Snape's wry comments about his "botany" class back at school. "I guess you don't want me to tell Draco what we found out."

"It's more a case of it being fairly pointless. He'd find a way to explain the alarm not sounding."

True, Harry though, remembering his brother's ridiculous insistence that Rhiannon was sending him coded messages based on the telly. It was pretty difficult to imagine anyone being more in denial than that.

"We're going to tell him about the wires, though, aren't we?"

Snape raised his chin a fraction. "Are you proposing otherwise? You, the advocate of fewer secrets in the family?"

"No, I wasn't suggesting otherwise. It's just that Draco's clever enough to realise on his own that the wires could prove or disprove his wild ideas. So I wondered how he was going to explain it all away, that's all."

"He'll doubtless find a way."

"Yeah," said Harry, glum. "So then, the whole wire thing, it wasn't partly to catch her out." For a little while there, he'd wondered. "That goes without saying, I suppose."

Snape gave him a look as though to indicate that if it went without saying, Harry shouldn't have said it.

"Fine. I'll let him make an arse of himself," Harry finally said. "He's going to feel like we were laughing up our sleeves, though, when he finally figures out what I've known all along."

"On the contrary, you've made your opinion only too plain."

Harry put his hands in his lap so Snape wouldn't see them clench with frustration. "Yeah? Well if you agree with me, then why did you never make that plain, eh?"

"Because I know Draco. If he feels I'm denying him this, his heart's desire, it will only make the young lady all the more attractive to him. In that, he's no different from any other young man his age."

Yeah, Snape had mentioned something like that already, Harry realised. "So you mean you don't think it's a good idea, then, and that's why you don't want to drive them together?"

Snape's hair swayed as he shook his head. "I've no notion if this is a good idea or not. It may well end up hurting Draco terribly, as you surmise. What I do know is that as much as I'd like to be a positive influence on my sons, I've no wish at all to influence their romantic lives. I've seen, all too clearly, the devastation that that sort of meddling can produce."

Harry suddenly knew, without a doubt, that his father was talking about his own childhood. About Hostilian, and . . . with a start, Harry realised that he didn't even know what Snape's mother had been named. Well, one thing was certain. He did know better than to pry into it. Snape would tell him things like that in his own time. Which might well be never, but Harry was willing to accept that.

Some of the other things his father had said, though . . . those were harder to accept. "So you're just going to stay our of our love-lives, no matter what?" he asked, incredulous. "What if I develop a crush on some . . . er--"

He lifted his eyes and willed Snape to read the words in them. Death Eater.

"I can't imagine that."

Good point. "Draco, then."

"To be honest, I can't imagine that, either." Snape's voice went hard. "Don't tell me that you still don't trust him."

"Just making a point."

"I have to deal with situations as they arise," said Snape tightly. "My judgment as to Rhiannon Miller is that I'd be wisest to let Draco make his own decisions. Including, even, wilful ignorance if he so wishes."

"I guess maybe it bothers me because it's so disgusting, this insistence that she must be something she's not." Harry said after a long pause. "It shows just how awful Draco can be, y'know? There's nothing wrong with . . . um, regular folk."

"Something Draco will learn or not, as he chooses."

"Ha. Not with you around, he won't," Harry blurted. "You aren't as bad as him, but you do say things sometimes. Like how they couldn't write to the level of the average student, things like that."

"That comment was in reference to a particularly badly-written text on leukaemia, and you know it."

Snape's voice was tight, but Harry didn't let that bother him. "You do throw scorn about, though, from time to time. Not as much as Draco, not even close, but he looks up to you, and the example you're setting . . . um, could be better."

Snape abruptly drained his mug. "So you've said before. I'll keep your concerns in mind."

Harry thought that could have gone a whole lot worse. The exchange left him feeling generous. "And I won't try to convince Draco anything about Rhiannon," he said, thinking that Marsha had had it right. "Let him make his own mistakes, all right. Though . . . um, when he does find out can you make sure he doesn't do anything drastic?"

"Such as?"

Harry glanced around the interior of the pub, wanting to use words like hex and oblivion. "Mayhem."

"Oh, I doubt his impulse control is as abysmal as that."

Marsha had said something similar, but Harry still wasn't reassured. "Yeah, well, just keep an eye out, is all I'm saying."

"Are you somehow under the impression that I don't do that already? For both of you?"

"I know you do," Harry said quietly. The thought really gave him pause. Snape must think that Draco really needed this romance-fantasy he had going. Needed a break, after the kind of year he'd had. Almost as bad as Harry's own. Or perhaps worse, in some ways. It came to him then that maybe this was one of those times when negotiation wasn't going to work. Snape had warned him that there would be times like that, when Harry would have to accept Snape's decisions as final. All part of having a father.

Snape suddenly glanced over Harry's shoulder. "It's almost gone ten."

Harry jumped up, his chair clattering, and followed his father out of the pub.

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

"And she had a full course of Italian and French and German," Draco was chattering as they all Apparated back to Devon. "Not just the basics you'd need to sing parts, though she did say more than once that she wished her school had had a less rigorous programme in maths and sciences." Draco glanced almost apologetically at Snape. "After what Harry said at the pool, she thinks you're a science teacher. She really hates science."

"Did you tell her that 'science' is your favourite subject?" asked Harry.

Huh. Snape gave him a stern look at that. Harry hadn't thought it had been out of line, as questions went.

"I was more interested in learning about her," Draco said, his voice gone lofty. "And before you go on again about how her education must make her a Muggle, I'll have you know that she never had any way to know she was a witch, all right?"

Harry glanced at his father to see how he was taking this new delusion. No reaction other than a slight warning glance at Harry.

Draco was warming to his theme. "After all, you didn't know, did you? And all the accidental magic children do, well, hers was probably expressing itself mostly through her voice talent."

Harry had to admit, all that sounded a lot less fantastical than Draco's Bewitched nonsense. "So she's a Muggleborn, you think?" he asked, careful to keep his tone neutral. "I mean, if there was nobody around to explain things to her?"

To Harry's surprise, Draco appeared to chew on that for a short while. "Hmm. That is actually possible, I suppose. But I don't think so, no. She's got a patrician look about her that just screams pureblood to me. I really do think that her family's been in hiding since the Middle Ages." His voice dropped to a more thoughtful tone. "You know, if it's a family trait for their repressed magic to manifest itself in song. . . Hmm. If they dropped out of wizarding society so long ago, and used spells to tamp down their magic so that Muggles would never suspect them, they might not have realised for several generations that they're wizards and witches." Draco smiled, looking complacent. "I bet Rhiannon's aunt married that Muggle man because she didn't know any better."

Harry sighed, but tried to make sure his voice didn't come out critically. "So when you said that Rhiannon was talking about her parents being a different 'sort' from her uncle, she meant . . . ?"

"Oh, I read that wrong," Draco admitted, looking as though nothing in the world could dampen his spirits. He flicked his wand to light the fire, and waved the filled tea kettle over to hang above the flames, instead of whingeing, as he usually did, that "somebody" should make some tea. "She doesn't know she's magical so that wasn't what she was talking about. But we chatted quite a bit over our supper--I took her out after her rehearsal, did I mention?"

Harry was very careful to keep his expression blank.

"And she talked about her family quite a lot," Draco went on without missing a beat. Which said something significant, as he was usually more observant. "Her parents are these artistic, Bohemian types. Which perhaps goes along with them being so poor, I don't know. That's right," he said, suddenly scowling. "Her parents are short of funds. You don't need to act like it's a problem for you, Harry."

Realising that his mouth had fallen open, Harry shut it. But the question just wouldn't go unasked. "You don't mind?"

"No," said Draco shortly. "As I was saying, her parents and her uncle don't get on well. They're artists -- ha, potters, Harry, though her mother sang quite a lot when she was younger -- and the way Rhiannon tells it, the uncle distrusts anybody whose efforts aren't grounded in commerce. That's why Rhiannon has to work at the pool! Can you believe it? He doesn't even need the help, but he thinks that her time is wasted--wasted!--on opera, so he only agreed to let her room with them this summer if she quote, learned to work a real job. And she had to room with them if she wanted to participate in the theatre project Adrian runs, since her parents can't afford to put her up in Exeter."

Harry felt winded just listening to all that. Draco just kept on, too, Rhiannon this, Rhiannon that, talking so constantly that Harry could hardly get a word in edgewise. It was a relief when the kettle whistled and Draco waved it over to pour boiling water into the teapot he'd laid out as he'd talked. For one minute, as Draco dug tea boxes out of a crate, he stopped going on about Rhiannon.

"Earl Grey," said Severus, coming to the table to join them. "All right with you two?"

Harry got the shortbread, and sat watching as Draco set the tea to steep. Then he decided it was time his brother knew. Some tiny part of him was hoping that news of the trip wires would bring his brother to his senses, but Harry tried not to let that show. He owed Snape that much.

"Er . . . so you never asked what Dad and I were doing all evening."

Draco sat back in his chair and raised an eyebrow. "Something interesting?"

"Advantageous for you, I should say," Snape answered, reaching for a wedge of shortbread. "Harry and I placed some protections across Exeter. If witches or wizards other than ourselves appear in the city, we'll be alerted. Hence, you'll be able to see the young lady alone more."

Draco blinked. "I . . . I don't know what to say. Thank you, Severus."

"That's what not to say," joked Harry. "I helped too, don't forget."

"Yeah, well you I know I can thank," said Draco, shaking his head. "Though I'm not sure why you'd want to help me date Rhiannon, considering how much we disagree about her."

"Oh, I take back everything I said," said Harry airily, waving an arm as if he didn't have a care in the world. Then, afraid he might be overdoing it, he picked up the teapot to pour as he kept talking. "Maybe you're right and her family has been in hiding so long they've forgotten everything about themselves. No telling, really. Though it is a bit odd that none of them ever got a Hogwarts letter."

Draco was staring, probably wondering if Harry was having him on, or if he'd really changed his mind about Rhiannon. Well, Harry wasn't the one here who was such a bad liar, most times. After a moment, Draco seemed to remember the point Harry had just brought up. "Oh. Yes, the missing Hogwarts letters. More than one, now. Hmm. Must have been a powerful charm they hid behind, way back."

"Yes, must have been," said Harry, deadpan.

He got a suspicious glance for that. And a warning glance from Snape. "Anyway," he quickly added, "if you want to date her you ought to date her, right? Doesn't much matter what I say, as long as she's not a Death Eater or something."

Draco looked like he might gag. "Don't say things like that, Harry. Don't you know it makes me ill to remember how stuck I was on Pansy? I mean, I thought she wanted out, but she didn't, which means when I was kissing her I was kissing somebody that wanted to kill you, and if you don't think that makes me sick then you're just a tosser, aren't you?"

Oh. This rebound thing was even worse than Harry had thought. It was more than Draco merely wanting to be in love. Now it seemed like what he wanted most was to replace Pansy with her exact opposite. Blond hair instead of dark. Tall instead of plump. And most significant of all, a Muggle instead of a witch.

No wonder he'd fallen for her so hard and fast. He was just trying to get away from his memories of Pansy. As far away as possible.

And he didn't even know it.

Harry felt torn apart. Truth to tell, he was more worried than ever, now. He wanted to shake Draco and ask him what he thought he was doing. Or better yet, shake him and tell him what he was doing.

But he'd just promised Severus that he'd stay out of it. That he'd let Draco make his own mistakes.

Harry's stomach started to ache. Draco was going to get horribly hurt, he just knew it. Harry wanted to save him from that.

But his saving-people thing wasn't always the best trait to indulge. He and Snape had just discussed that, and even if they hadn't, what had happened with Sirius was proof enough of it.

"No, I don't think you want to get involved with Death Eaters," he said weakly, aware after the fact what a horrible thing that had been to say, even in jest. "I just meant that your love life is your business, that's all. Sorry."

Draco still looked a bit put out. He spent a moment drinking his tea. "Hmph. Well, don't worry, Potter. I'll still invite you to the wedding."

Harry tried to smile, but couldn't really manage it when he felt his insides knotting up. One date, and Draco was talking weddings. Though perhaps he'd meant that a little sarcastically. Or facetiously. Whatever.

"I thought you'd be interested in the protection spells," he finally said.

Draco shrugged. "It sounded like Severus meant Avisato Alambrum. Lucius used those from time to time. Though of course as they have to be renewed every full moon, they aren't too useful for constructing permanent wards. Plus, they don't work well if the caster uses a lot of other magic around them, so they're pointless around one's own home . . . what?"

"You remind me of Hermione."

Draco made a slight face, but at least it was only a slight one. "I sounded like an encyclopaedia, just then?"

"Well, like you'd lived with this stuff all your life, maybe."

"And she gets all her knowledge from books," said Draco, sounding like he liked things that way. He probably thought it gave him an edge . . . even if he knew full well that Hermione's marks were often better than his own.

Harry was a little surprised that Draco hadn't already picked up on the main point, so he decided to prod him, just a little. "Er . . . you know, Dad arranged for the wires not to sound an alarm for any of us, but I guess we ought to add Rhiannon to that, you think? Otherwise, we might start hearing alarms all the time. Or . . . " Harry turned to his father and tried to act as though they hadn't already discussed all this. "She should have tripped them already, you think? We did really cover Exeter--"

Draco laughed, actually laughed. "You don't know how they work, do you, Harry? Wands trip the wires, not witches and wizards themselves. Now, if you think that a young lady who's never had any idea that she's a witch will be carrying a wand . . ."

Shite. Now that Harry thought about it, Snape had in fact mentioned wands being a focus of the spell.

"Oh." He forced a bright smile to his face. "Well, that's good, then. I didn't want to get a headache from the clanging. Um . . . will she be getting a wand soon, do you think? We'll have to add her to the spell then, I suppose. I mean, if she's a witch. I'm not saying I know for sure."

Draco smiled too, then, just as brightly as Harry had. "Well, that's better. How could you know, really? You don't have a feel for these things, as I have. Raised the way you were . . . oh, but I wanted to talk to you about that, about what it's like to be a wizard child and not know it. I'm trying to figure out the best way to ease Rhiannon into understanding what she really is. She . . ." Draco lowered his voice, sounding almost embarrassed. "She doesn't even believe in magic."

Oh, God. Harry felt even sicker, hearing that. "You don't mean she's like the Dursleys and thinks it's evil, do you?"

"Oh, no." Draco's teeth glinted. "She just doesn't think it's real, and if I just come right out and claim it is, she'll think I've gone 'round the twist."

Harry cleared his throat. "Oh. Er . . . well, I found out it was real when Hagrid showed up with my letter. That probably wasn't the best way. Not sure what to tell you."

Draco shrugged. "Just talking over what it was like for you at Muggle school and such would probably help me. She went to regular schools before she entered Chatham. Oh, that's the music academy she just finished at."

"Sure. I'll tell you what I can," said Harry, mostly because he wanted to please Snape by appearing supportive. Then he remembered Hermione putting on a show of support about the adoption, when she really didn't mean it at all, and he felt ashamed of himself. "Yeah. I can explain a bunch of Muggle stuff to you," he added, trying for more sincerity, that time.

"Good." Draco rubbed his hands together. "I wish now I'd taken some Muggle studies, but who could have guessed I'd ever need it, right? Never thought I'd be in love with a pureborn witch who thinks like a Muggle."

Harry cast their father a desperate glance, but only received a bland expression in return. Clearly, Snape was going to let Draco make his own mistakes. And he expected Harry to do the same.

"About the wires," Draco went on, his voice a little tentative, that time. "I appreciate that, Severus. Um, gold, right? That's quite an outlay so do you think . . . I mean, can I--"

"No," said Snape, the word short and clipped.

"But I wouldn't miss the money and I'm sure it had to have made a dent in your--"

"Do you want to fund your own Christmas present, too?" asked Snape, cuttingly.

"Give it up," said Harry, remembering when Snape had asked him that same thing. "He likes being our dad, Draco. He likes spending money on us. You should have heard him when I offered to pay for my own adoption."

Now Draco was the one gaping. "You didn't. That's idiotic."

"I was mixed-up."

"Yes, you were," said Draco, looking him over. Harry wondered if he was thinking about the vault key that Harry had given Snape. But perhaps that wasn't on his mind at all. "Well, you're better now, I suppose."

You're not, thought Harry. You're as mixed-up as they come. But all he said was, "Come on, then. I'll tell you about Muggle schools, and try to think of all the basic things Rhiannon would expect you to know."

"Wait," said Draco, frowning as he lay on his stomach, his chin propped up on both his hands. In a lot of ways, Muggles were even stranger than he had expected. "You had to sit there and count your words, really? And make sure you had exactly five hundred?"

Harry chuckled. Draco had noticed him doing a lot of that the evening before, and even more of it today. But Harry didn't seem to be making fun, so that was all right.

"When a teacher would say to write five hundred words you could always write a little more or less than that. And nobody would usually count them. You'd just estimate how long five hundred words would be, and you'd figure it works out to a couple of pages. More, if you skip lines."

Sometimes it seemed like the more Harry explained, the more confused Draco felt. He hadn't expected this to be so difficult. After all, he'd done well enough reading that Muggle psychological book. He'd figured most of that out on his own.

But then again, most of that had been about violent trauma, a pretty broad concept to catch onto, especially since Draco had personal experience of it. Bloody wizard's beatings.

Understanding Muggle schooling was a lot harder. This last bit about lines, for example, didn't make any sense at all. "You mean that whenever they set you an essay, they also assigned lines?"

Another chuckle. "Not that kind of lines. See, if you're writing something by hand in the Muggle world, the paper you use usually has lines drawn across it. To help you write straight."

Draco couldn't help but scoff. "How else would a Muggle write except with his hand?"

"I told you already. Typewriters, remember? Computers?"

Oh, right. Those words did ring a bell, but Draco hadn't understood them so well. The computer sounded like it should do maths, but it was actually a lot more like a telly. Draco had finally seen one of those when they'd visited Harry's cousin. And the typewriter sounded positively daunting. How could Muggles remember which button to push for each letter? Draco was sure you'd need a memory charm for something like that. Harry had said that the buttons had the letters written on them, but if you had to look for every letter before you could push it, wouldn't it just be quicker to use a quill?

Pen, he reminded himself. Pencil. Don't say quill in front of Rhiannon.

"All right, but I still don't see why you need paper with lines across it," Draco said, sighing. "Don't they teach penmanship in Muggle schools?"

"Yes, they teach penmanship. But we don't have charmed quills to do our writing for us, you know."

"Most wizards don't have those either," said Draco, holding back a smile. Harry might think he was making fun of Muggles, and whenever he'd thought that in the past day and a half, he'd stopped wanting to explain things. Draco couldn't help but be proud of his special quill, though. The spells on it had been tricky to get right. It had taken him most of a summer, actually, but he usually didn't mention that part when people were impressed with his quill.

"Anyway, why don't they just measure in inches like us when they're setting an essay?"

Harry shrugged. "No idea."

"But if the teacher wanted two pages why wouldn't she just say so to begin with?"

"Because then a lot of people would write extra large so they have to write less. A word count is actually a lot more fair than inches or pages, if you think about it."

"Oh, it is not." It kind of was, come to think of it, but Draco wasn't about to admit that anything in the Muggle world might be superior.

"Oh, yes it is--"

"Imagine that," interrupted Severus dryly from the doorway of their bedroom. "Students writing in large script so they have to write less."

Draco wondered how long he'd been lurking outside the open door, listening.

The interruption obviously didn't bother Harry, who sat up on his bed and chuckled. "See? There you go, Draco. Muggle school's not so different from ours, after all."

Easy for him to laugh. It sounded extremely different to Draco. But he had to wrap his mind around it, strange as it was. Nothing else to do, not if he wanted to understand Rhiannon Miller. He'd never be able to convince her that she was a witch unless they developed some rapport first. And if that meant learning about Muggles . . . well, so be it. She was worth it. She was worth every second.

"I still think Rhiannon's been horribly deprived," he said, sniffing a bit. So tragic that she'd never known her true heritage. "But I'll get it sorted."

Severus and Harry exchanged a brief look, Draco saw. It wasn't lost on him that whatever Harry said, he still did think it unlikely that Rhiannon was any sort of witch. But he had been right helpful all day long, telling Draco all sorts of things that a Muggle-raised girl would expect him to know as a matter of course. Not that Draco had understood everything he'd been told. Some things, Harry had explained several different ways and Draco still didn't feel he was catching on.

He did feel, however, that he'd learned quite a few useful bits, though. The odd things on the wall at the pool changing room made sense, now. Light switches and plugs. Actually, he only really understood the light switches part of that. Like a Lumos without magic, Harry had explained. That made sense, as long as he didn't try to figure out where on earth the false light could be coming from. But plugs? According to Harry, those were filled with something called electricity. Apparently it made Muggle machines run, but when Draco wanted to know what electricity itself was made of, Harry had gone into confusing detours about lightning and a kite, and something called static, and then he'd started blathering on about how everything was made of little balls that were mostly empty space!

Like that could have anything to do with the plugs on the wall, even if it was true, which it obviously wasn't.

The whole conversation about plugs had been daft, really. And useless. Harry had got a bit upset when Draco kept saying that none of those things about lightning and little balls made any sense. Well, I only went to Muggle school until I was ten, he'd protested. I can barely remember what we learned in science.

That was obvious, Draco thought, but he knew better than to say so out loud. No point in making Harry cross again. And anyway, it didn't matter much if Draco knew what Muggles thought, science-wise. Rhiannon hated the subject, so they weren't likely to be discussing it, thank Merlin. Oh, but he wasn't supposed to say thank Merlin in front of her. It was thank God, even though most Muggles didn't believe in God any more than they believed in Merlin!

Strange lot, Muggles.

"It's time for dinner," said Severus now.

"I'm not feeling peckish," said Draco at once. He wanted to learn more about Muggles, even if most of it was nonsensical. Hmm. Maybe it wouldn't have been, if he'd taken a year of Muggle studies along the way. Harry kept talking about "context," and saying how Draco just didn't have enough of it to understand things the way Harry could.

"It's time for dinner whether you're peckish or not."

Draco knew what that meant. He rolled off his bed, sighing a little as he glanced over at his father. "And it's my turn to slave over a hot cauldron. You don't have to look at me like that. I haven't forgotten."

"I'm not aware of looking at you in any particular way."

"Yeah, you're narrowing your eyes just so. It means you're about sixty seconds away from becoming truly annoyed."

"Yes, I'm so annoyed that I took the liberty of cooking in your stead. There's a lamb stew waiting for us." Severus shrugged. "I thought it the least I could do, since you and your brother were so occupied."

"Oh!" Draco couldn't stop a smile from spreading across his face. He was getting a little better at cooking, but the meals he managed to produce were still barely tolerable. The scones he'd tried to make had come out rather like miniature Bludgers, they were so hard.

Severus' cooking wasn't up to Hogwarts standards by any means, but it was a lot better than Draco's. "So if you took my night, does that mean I have to cook tomorrow? I mean, did we just push the schedule back or did we switch nights or--"

"Draco," said Harry, shaking his head.

"What? Dad doesn't want me to thank him, any more than he wanted my Galleons yesterday! And I'm not asking him for anything, all right? I'm just asking a question."

"He is standing right here, you realise," said Severus then.

Harry broke out laughing. "Come on, let's just have some of this stew. The chores'll work themselves out."

Spoken like a true Gryffindor, Draco thought. But if letting things work themselves out might mean he had to cook one less dinner, fine.

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A Summer Like None Other

by Aspen in the Sunlight

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Chapter Twelve:  Something Fishy

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A Summer Like None Other

by Aspen in the Sunlight

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Chapter Thirteen:

Diamonds Aren't a Girl's Best Friend

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A Summer Like None Other

by Aspen in the Sunlight

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Chapter Fourteen:

Magic in the Air

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"Bad dream last night," said Harry the next morning, as soon as he'd poured himself some juice.

Draco stopped spreading lemon curd across his crumpet, and opened his mouth to ask the obvious question, but Severus beat him to it.

"Seer dream?"

"No. No chance of that. Didn't have that pattern or the whirling, or anything. It's just . . . I'm sick of ending up in hospital all the time! I was hoping next year I could give that a miss, you know?"

Draco blinked. "You just said it wasn't a seer dream. So what's this about next year?"

Harry shot him a wry smile. "By seer dream I mean those ones that show me large sections of past and future both. But I've had lots of dreams besides those, that give me a glimpse of what's coming. I dreamed the Slytherins were going to get sick, for instance."

"You might have mentioned that to me," murmured Severus, reaching for the teapot.

"Sorry," said Harry, crumbs flying everywhere as he bit into a slice of crisp toast. Plain, dry toast. Draco almost shuddered. "I didn't know it was really going to happen. The dream was . . . well, it seemed like a regular dream, with things not making much sense, sir. Um, Dad. It was only afterwards that I got it."

Well, at least Draco wasn't the only one still struggling with the issue of names. He knew he should have more sympathy about that, considering, but he didn't. He was glad he wasn't alone.

"So what's going to put you in hospital this time, then?" asked Severus. "I imagine it would be good to make the requisite potions in advance, if possible?"

"No idea. Nobody was saying anything," said Harry, shrugging. "You and Draco were sitting in chairs next to me, and we were all just looking at each other. I can't remember anything besides that."

Sure he could, Draco thought. He just needed prompting. "No casts? Plasters? Bottles of potion on the nightstand?"

Harry wrinkled his forehead like he was thinking hard. "Uh, not sure. My head might have been bandaged. Or, wait, maybe my neck was in a brace, or--"

"Stop," said Severus in a stern voice. And then, to Draco, "You're putting ideas in his mind with questions like that. It's best to let him remember on his own, or not."

"Or pensieve the dream," said Harry. "Like we did that once?"

"Yanking dreams in and out of your mind is a measure best reserved for only the most desperate of circumstances. Which this most decidedly is not. You've merely had a dream. About something that happens to you almost every year, as you yourself admitted."

"But--"

"Didn't I tell you that I only ply magic when it's the best solution? The mind is nothing to tamper with, Harry."

"Especially not your mind," added Draco, nodding.

"Oh, thanks," said his brother, scowling. "Just because you probably got more OWLs than me doesn't mean you're more intelligent, you know. It just means you had more tutors and such."

"Talk to Marsha about your over-sensitivity issues," retorted Draco. "Because I've never mentioned having more OWLs than you. In fact, I don't even know how many you earned. All I meant was that you won't be great shakes as a slayer of the Dark Lord if you end up brain-damaged from irresponsible pensieve use."

Harry's mouth fell open. "Nobody ever told me that using a pensieve could be harmful!"

"It isn't, usually," said Draco, more patiently that time. "But when it comes to dreams, that's something else. And even then it won't hurt you unless you start doing a lot of it."

"Which is why we aren't going to ask Albus for his pensieve every time your dreams prove mildly disturbing," added Severus. "Excellent explanation, Draco. Now, have you any plans today? You were a bit muddled on that point when I picked you up last night. Too many strawberry daiquiris, perhaps?"

Now it was Draco's mouth falling open. "I didn't drink even one."

"I wasn't intending to perturb you so much that you'd lie to me about it," said Severus in a stern voice.

"Rhiannon bought daiquiris and spilled them on the table," added Draco. "I think I got some of it on my sleeve. But I didn't drink any. No chance to."

"Ah. That would account for the smell." Snape lifted his shoulders. "Very well, then. Have you any plans?"

"I wanted to spend the day with Rhiannon."

"Imagine my surprise."

Draco could have done without that droll tone. "The significant word there was wanted," he admitted, wishing his eggs were poached instead of scrambled. Harry had cooked this morning, obviously. He always scrambled the eggs. Well, except for the two times Draco had insisted on poached and had ended up being served eggs that had cracked open into hot water and boiled until they were hard and rubbery. Harry had eaten them and declared them not half bad. Even the memory almost made Draco shudder. "Past tense. She told me Friday that her weekend was wide open, but late last night she said he'd changed his mind and had given her loads of chores to do today. As if she should be doing any menial work. Her uncle's a complete git."

"Let's go to the seaside," said Harry, grinning, the prat. He looked delighted to hear that Draco wouldn't be spending the day with Rhiannon. "Just the three of us. Doesn't that sound grand?"

"Sounds sandy," said Draco, making a face. Harry didn't seem to notice.

"It'll be great! I'd love to practice my strokes somewhere besides that pool."

"Yes, well, we all have our little trials to bear, don't we--"

Harry won the argument, though, with just three words. Well, three words and a glare.

"You owe me."

Draco had a retort ready for that, too, but when he thought about what an absolute cow that Cecile had been, and how Harry had put up with her for Draco's sake, he didn't have the heart to say it.

"Oh, very well. I'll suffer the summer sun on my delicate skin--"

"You seem to be just fine suffering it when Rhiannon's around to admire you."

Draco leaned back, feeling rather pleased by that description of events. "She does admire me, doesn't she?"

"When you're not giving diamond pendants to winos, sure."

Trust Harry to bring that up. Did Draco dwell on all Harry's mistakes? He huffed a little, waiting for Severus to rebuke him, but their father only looked at him a bit sternly before appearing to shrug the matter off.

Draco found that he couldn't do the same. He wanted Severus to think well of him, not regard him as a blithering twit. He wanted Severus to admire him the way the man admired Harry. And wasn't that saying a lot? All at once, Draco almost missed the good old days, when he could stay after Potions class to complain about Harry. Back then, he could always count on Severus for scathing commentary on all subjects Potter.

Not now, though.

Of course, Draco didn't really miss those days. He just got awfully tired of Severus liking Harry more.

Draco raised his chin and addressed his brother. "You know perfectly well that it doesn't matter about the pendant. I could buy a hundred of those and throw them off a cliff, and barely even notice the difference in my vault balance."

"Just because you can waste money doesn't mean you should."

"Ah, but it wasn't a waste, was it? Rhiannon and I had our first real fight and came through it, and we're the stronger for it." Draco wanted to add that the making up had been more than worth the cost of the pendant, too, but he really couldn't, not after he'd told Severus that he wouldn't kiss and tell. There was something that he had to tell, though. "I mentioned the orphanage to Rhiannon and she wants to see it," he said, turning in his chair to look more fully at Severus. "I think I can arrange a visit if I donate a sizeable sum. You'll allow me to take her there, won't you? As long as it's all right with Darswaithe?"

"You didn't explain about magic and squibs, did you?" asked Severus, his frown threatening to turn into a glower.

"No, no. As far as she's concerned, it's just an orphanage taking care of needy children. The Muggle kind. I'm sure I can get Darswaithe to give us a tour and leave out any mention of magic. But of course as soon as she's come to realise that she's actually a witch, I'll explain everything in more detail."

Draco was actually hoping that he'd be able to explain all those details before any visit to the squib home took place, but of course that depended on receipt of the item he had ordered. He wondered when it was going to come.

Severus thought for a moment more. "I see no real difficulty as long as you can persuade Horace Darswaithe to cooperate."

"Oh, he'll love it," said Harry, who had been thinking the whole thing over earlier that morning. "And not just because of the money Draco's going to hand over. It's also that they told us at the home that they're always looking for ways to give the children more exposure to the Muggle world, and what better way than having a Muggle come visit--"

This again? "Will you get it through your thick Gryffindor skull, once and for all, that she's not a Muggle? Honestly, Harry! The mere fact that she likes me ought to be enough to settle the question for you!"

"She doesn't know that you hate Muggles!"

"There is such a thing as instinct," drawled Draco. "And even Muggles have it. She's drawn to me, and she wouldn't be, if she were a Muggle."

"Oh, fine. Whatever," said Harry, clearly not meaning it in the least. "Like I said before, maybe she is actually a witch. The truth is, we don't really know--"

"You don't know. I know everything I need to."

Harry huffed, looking put out. "But my point was that if you talk to Darswaithe in advance and tell him you're bringing a Muggle around to see the place, he'll think she is one. And he'll probably think it's good for the children. Maybe she can give them a little talk about careers in music, or some such. Give them tickets to her show, maybe. That'd be good."

The last two ideas actually were good ones, though of course there'd be no need for Draco to tell Darswaithe that Rhiannon was a Muggle. By the time they visited the home, that particular nasty rumour would have been put to rest. He'd tell Darswaithe that Rhiannon was very comfortable in the Muggle world, that was all. And he'd mention the bit about the children perhaps going to one of her performances. Hmm . . . perhaps he'd offer to fund the outing. That would likely go over well.

"The seaside?" asked Harry.

"Have you a specific beach in mind?"

Harry glanced at their father and shrugged. "I figured we could just wander around at the shore, a bit. Maybe take a taxi to get there if it's a long way to walk. I mean, we know some good parts of Exeter to Apparate into, but the seaside might be a different . . ." He grinned. "Kettle of fish."

Draco would have groaned, but he had a better idea. "Let's find a place that sells fish and chips!"

Harry gave him a look which even a blind man would have recognized as doubtful. "You want fish and chips. You."

"I happen to like it."

"Since when?"

Draco shrugged. "As long as it comes with a proper beverage." He made a face. "Anything but Diet Coke. It's positive sludge."

"Try the regular kind."

"I don't think so."

Severus stood up. "You two go and get ready for a day at the seaside, then."

Harry grinned. "You too. Get your strongest sunblock potion, Dad."

As Severus went into his room and closed the door, Draco grimaced. "Fine and well for him. Mine only lasts so long before the glamour tears loose. With my luck, we'll be in the middle of a large crowd of Muggles when the potion fails, and everybody'll see this great ugly scar on my chest!"

"Just re-apply your lotion every so often, like you do at the pool," said Harry in an overly-patient voice. Easy for him to act like Draco was over-reacting. He didn't have a great ugly scar to worry about!

At least, Draco didn't think that the scar on Harry's forehead was anything to fuss over.

"Come on," said Harry now, pushing back his chair. "I know what'll make you want to spend a day at the beach. There'll be plenty of girls there, right? And like you said before, Merlin, they won't be wearing very much, will they?"

Draco lifted his chin. "That was before I'd met Rhiannon. I only have eyes for her, now, I'll have you know."

Harry let out a low whistle. "No harm in looking, is there?"

"I suppose you'd have to be in love to understand."

"Prat."

"Jealous?"

"Ha."

Draco wasn't quite sure what that reply meant. Hmm, maybe just that Rhiannon wasn't Harry's type. Well, that was good to know, wasn't it?

Not that Draco was worried, in any case. Rhiannon had as good as said that she loved him. Well, she'd mentioned having a love-life, at any rate. And she'd been thinking of Draco when she'd said it. Draco didn't need to be a Legilimens to be certain of that.

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The seaside had been all right, Draco supposed as they arrived back at the cottage that evening. Harry had certainly seemed to enjoy it. He'd actually demanded to be buried in sand, all the way up to his neck, and then had tried to persuade Draco to try it. It's great fun, he had said, laughing, probably at the look on Draco's face.

Draco shuddered just remembering the suggestion. Why would he want to be surrounded by so much grit? Even now, hours later, he could tell that Harry still had bits of sand in his hair!

Well, that was what one got for frolicking surrounded by Muggles. One proper cleaning spell would have taken care of the problem, but they'd had to go without the basics of civilization, just because wizards didn't have any private beaches. Or at least, not any that Draco knew of.

Something he ought to see to, he mused as he entered the cottage. Once he was through with school, perhaps he could buy some shoreline . . . on the other hand, he wasn't that fond of the beach, anyway. So perhaps he oughtn't bother.

"Wonder who sent you a package?"

Draco blinked. It was here already? He only hoped that his instructions had been followed precisely. Quickly Occluding, he tried for a thoroughly bland tone. "Oh, I owl-ordered some new shampoo a few days ago. Special formulation. That chlorine in the pool water is just nasty, you know." Draco casually popped open the box Harry had handed him, and plucked out the stoppered crystal bottle.

"Doesn't look like they sent you very much."

"If it's made right, I won't need much." Draco turned toward their father, and said the one thing guaranteed to make sure that Severus would stay far away from this particular vial. "Your hair's looking a little brittle, lately. Would you care to borrow some of this?"

Severus gave him a rather sardonic look. "Some of us don't need designer hair-care products to make life complete."

"That's not it. I merely want to look my best for Rhiannon. You'd feel the same if you fell in love. Right?"

Harry made kind of a choking noise, which turned out to be a good thing since it got Severus' attention off of Draco. His gaze toward the end there had seemed to be more piercing than sardonic. Almost like he knew Draco was up to something.

Almost.

"Are you quite all right?"

Harry laughed, but he sounded more uncomfortable than amused. "Sure, Dad."

Huh. That was interesting. Draco had joked around with Harry before, about Severus being more interested in Marsha than he let on, but it seemed like on some level, Harry didn't like the idea of Severus with someone.

Well, he hadn't liked the idea of Draco with someone, either, had he?

Draco figured that he just wasn't ready to share his family with anyone. And no wonder--this was the only family Harry had had in years and years. Those horrible Muggles didn't count. On some level, Draco supposed it was no wonder that Harry felt a little upset about Rhiannon, but in time, he'd understand that Draco was still just as much his brother as before.

Nothing was going to change that. Not even Rhiannon.

In fact, once Rhiannon finally understood that she had magic of her own, Draco could tell her everything, and it would be easier for her to understand how important his family was. But to show her that she was a witch . . . first he had to arrange things so he could do some magic in front of her. She'd think it was a series of Muggle tricks, of course. But she'd be relaxed and happy, reliving her own childhood love of magic. She'd be in a state of dÈj‡ vu, and once Draco handed her his wand and she felt it singing to her own magic . . . then he'd be able to tell her everything.

Absolutely everything.

"I think I'll just go see how well this shampoo does," he said, hiding his smile as he headed toward the bedroom.

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Once he was alone in the bathroom, the door securely closed behind him, he sat down on the loo and tilted the bottle back and forth, watching as the amber liquid inside slowly flowed from one side to another. So far, so good. The stuff looked like shampoo, just as he'd specified in his order letter. When he pulled the stopper out of the bottle and gave the contents a good sniff, it smelled soapy, too. To the casual observer, the potion would appear to be fancy shampoo, just as he'd intended.

But of course, the scent was coming from a spell, not from the potion itself. Draco didn't know if the colour and the viscosity were equally artificial, but he didn't care. All that mattered was that his directions had been followed. To the letter.

So far it seemed like he'd got exactly what he'd ordered, but Draco didn't count that for much. You couldn't be too careful when dealing with the likes of the Weasley twins. Their products had a habit of containing surprises, and not always benign ones.

On the other hand, they were businessmen these days, and the vault draft Draco had sent with his letter had been very generous, indeed. Not to mention the Galleons he'd included as an additional incentive. I'd appreciate it if the requested potion included only the qualities specified, he'd written. These few coins shall serve as a partial payment-in-advance to that end. Deal well with me, and I assure you, I shall deal well with you.

For all Draco knew, though, this was nothing but shampoo. Well, one way to find out if he'd got what he'd paid for. Fishing in the box, Draco drew out a slip of parchment and scanned it. For the most part, it looked like a bill of sale. For moisturizing shampoo, provided by a French wizarding firm doing business in Wales, but there at the bottom of the slip was an additional note.

Instructions for use: one drop to restore each day of damage.

Draco would have preferred the directions to be clearer, but given that they had to look like they were intended for shampoo, he supposed that Fred and George had done the best they could. He took them to mean take one drop for each day older you would like to be. That made sense; he'd explained in his letter that he didn't even need to be months or years older. He just needed enough potion to put him over the age of seventeen.

Normally, of course, an aging potion wouldn't be of any use at all to someone in his position. The Ministry monitoring spells couldn't be fooled by such simple means. But Draco's life in the past year had been anything but simple. The wand he was accustomed to using, these days, wasn't one he'd started using when he was young. It had belonged for years and years to someone old enough to be Severus' grandfather. And then it had belonged, unregistered, to Severus.

True, that same wand had been recently registered to Draco, but that didn't mean much. This particular wand had spent most of its existence with other owners. It didn't know Draco well at all. Draco could tell that much, every time he cast a spell.

Of course, if he were eleven trying to masquerade as seventeen, the wand would realise that something was drastically wrong. But it wouldn't notice if Draco suddenly aged three or four weeks.

It was used to older owners, after all.

He couldn't have played this trick with a wand he'd used for years, and it wouldn't have worked on a brand-new wand, either. But circumstances had aligned themselves in his favour, for once. He had in his possession just the sort of wand that this potion could work to fool. One that had been owned before. One that longed for its other owners, actually. One that would be glad to be out of the hands of an underage wizard.

Draco mentally reviewed the calendar and decided that twenty-eight drops should do it. Four complete weeks. It was more than he needed by a few days, but that was all right. He'd take a little too much, just to be safe.

He began to wave his wand to conjure a clean tumbler, but realised just in time that Severus might somehow notice the surge of magic, and wonder over it. That wouldn't do. He wasn't going to have to answer questions about what he was up to. Not that Severus would probably inquire. Draco wasn't going to take the chance.

Draco rinsed out the glass that Harry kept by the sink--so Mugglish to reuse the same one, over and over, but would Harry listen? Of course not. No matter, not now. Draco carefully dripped twenty-eight drops into the glass, counting out loud to make sure he didn't lose track, and then with a silent plea to Merlin, upended the glass and let the potion slide into his mouth and down his throat.

It didn't leave a trace behind, but Draco rinsed the glass out afterwards, anyway.

Then he looked at himself in the mirror. No difference in his appearance, really, but there shouldn't be, not if he'd only aged a month. He didn't even feel different, but he should, surely? Well, there was a low tingle of magic in his belly; the potion was evidently doing something. But what?

He had a sudden, horrifying premonition that he might be about to sprout antlers or some such nonsense. And if he did, those twins would rue the day . . .

But no, nothing strange appeared to be happening.

Which wasn't to say that he was now permanently a month older. There was no way to tell if he was or not, save brandishing a spell outside the wards and waiting to see if doom descended in the form of a warning letter from the Ministry, or in his case, more likely, Aurors come to drag him in to face justice.

No way to tell . . .

Or was there?

His birth date was written on his adoption certificate, wasn't it? Draco hadn't paid it much mind at the time; he'd been too worried about Harry's reaction to his Draco's new surname. He was almost certain, though, that the date had been included somewhere on it.

When he went out to the bedroom, Harry wasn't in there. Moving quickly, Draco fetched his copy from the drawer where he kept it.

He held his breath as he unrolled it. Good thing. When he saw what the certificate said now, he could have whooped for joy, undignified as that would be. Draco Snape, the certificate said in large letters, but the line below, written in a smaller hand, had changed: a minor child born the 8th of July . . .

The year hadn't changed, of course, but his birthday had been moved back exactly twenty-eight days. He was more than old enough to do magic unsupervised from now on. In fact, he was now older than Harry!

Permanently.

Which was as it should be. This wasn't a case of only needing to be older for the few seconds it took to cross an age line, after all. Draco needed his wand to recognise him as older all through the magic show he intended to perform for Rhiannon. And since he'd be able to explain everything to Rhiannon directly afterwards--just as soon as she realised she was in truth a witch--he needed his wand to continue to think of him as over seventeen. He wanted to teach Rhiannon to do the magic she'd always longed for, and for that, he had to be able to demonstrate spells, right?

Spells he wouldn't have to pretend were part of some ludicrous magic "act."

Draco grinned just thinking of it. Who would have thought he'd ever be beholden to a Weasley for anything? And now he was beholden to two of them.

Right up until the moment when he'd looked at his adoption certificate, Draco hadn't been sure that the twins could do as he'd asked. It wasn't as though their own foray into aging potions had gone so well, was it? But they'd been students then, and trying to defeat an age line drawn by Albus Dumbledore himself. No great wonder they hadn't been up to the task.

What Draco had needed was child's play, in comparison. Really, probably not worth the exorbitant price he'd paid. Not in the normal scheme of things. After all, with just a little bit of time and research, Draco could quite probably brew his own aging potion. Brewing it under Severus' watchful eye was another matter, however, so in that sense, the potion-disguised-as-shampoo was worth every last Galleon he'd spent on it.

Draco carefully re-rolled his adoption certificate and put it away, then went back into the bathroom and washed his hair so that the others would hear the shower running. When he came out again, he put his special "shampoo" away where Harry wouldn't run across it, and applied a few drying and styling spells to his hair. Hmm . . . it looked the same as always, and that wouldn't do. There, that was better. Just a little more shine than usual, and he felt ready to go out into the other room and face his family.

Wouldn't you know it . . . the first thing Harry said when Draco emerged was that his hair looked "the same as always."

"I'll have you know, it's a good bit sleeker and smoother just now." Draco chuckled, his mood so elated that he doubted his brother could say anything to spoil it. "Perhaps we should consult some experts as to your own rather distressed hair. Or do you like it sticking up in back like that?"

Harry laughed too. "I guess I must. Aunt Petunia used to cut it short to tame it, and it always grew back overnight. She didn't try cutting it too often, actually. The growing-back part was too upsetting."

It was good, Draco thought, to hear Harry say all that in such a light-hearted tone. Usually when he talked about the Dursleys, his voice went kind of flat. And no wonder, considering the way he'd been treated in that house.

Draco glanced at Severus, and saw that their father was looking rather pleased. Probably because Draco wasn't the only one who'd noticed Harry's tone. Well, Severus noticed everything, didn't he?

Or almost everything. He didn't have any idea about Draco's "shampoo" being something else entirely. Someday, Draco would tell him and they'd have a good laugh about the whole thing. Someday, years from now.

Draco couldn't think ahead that far, not now. He could really only think about tomorrow, when he could see Rhiannon at the pool and casually ask if that evening would be a good time for her to see his magic "act."

He'd show her some magic, all right. It just wouldn't be an act.

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"Oh, that sounds wonderful," Rhiannon said the next day over lunch. This time when Draco had asked her out, the uncle hadn't glowered quite as much. Well, he wouldn't, after the way Draco had behaved during their "man-to-man" talk on Saturday night. Draco had painted Severus as a strict father with high standards--all true, of course--and that had seemed to mollify Stanley Tilden quite a bit. "I'd love to see what sorts of tricks you can do!"

"Are you free this evening?"

"After rehearsal, yes. We should be done by . . ." Rhiannon put her fork down alongside her salad. "Nine, I would think. Earlier, if Adrian isn't in one of his moods."

"Perfect. I'll meet you."

"Are we going to your place, then?"

Draco shook his head. A real pity he couldn't invite her out to Devon, though not for the magic "show," of course. Severus and Harry weren't going to know a thing about that, not if he could help it. "I wish I could invite you to see my home," he said, making no effort to hide his regret. "But it's just not on. Severus is very protective of his privacy, you see. It's difficult to explain unless you understand his personal history, but he just doesn't like to have anyone in his house except a very few people he's known for years."

He'd practiced the explanation in his head several times, and he thought it had come out fairly smoothly, but it had more of an impact on Rhiannon than he'd expected.

Her lips turned down slightly. "Your father doesn't like me."

"No, no, it's not that--"

"It's because my stupid uncle made me say those things about showering!"

"No, Severus understood about that--"

Rhiannon's voice was low and fierce when she interrupted again. "I can hardly blame your father for resenting all that. I knew at the time that I should have told my uncle where he could put his job."

"You need the job so you'll have a place to stay in Exeter," said Draco in as reasonable a voice as he could manage. It was difficult, when what he wanted was to heartily agree that her uncle was a sod. "You can't give up the summer opera opportunity. Of course you can't. Severus understands all about it, I promise you. He doesn't dislike you."

Rhiannon glanced at Draco from beneath her lashes. "You wouldn't lie to me, would you? Not about a thing like that?"

She sounded like it really mattered to her, like it was important that Severus should like her. Or at least, that it was important that he didn't hate her.

"No, I wouldn't lie about that," said Draco, reaching around the side of the small table to take one of her hands. "He doesn't know you very well, but I'm sure he doesn't hold the pool incident against you. And I know he thinks well of your singing talent. Oh . . . that reminds me. We have tickets for this Thursday's performance." Draco frowned. "I wanted to get some seats that would be front-row centre, but that didn't work out."

"I think I'd be nervous to know you're so close."

Draco leaned forward, smiling. "I make you nervous, do I? I'd like to be a lot closer, Rhiannon."

He meant that in several ways. She knew that, he thought. The pink staining her cheeks said as much, but all she said was a quiet, "I meant that it would make me nervous to perform knowing that you were so close."

Draco's smile shifted towards a grin. "Odd. I don't think it'll bother me at all to have an audience of one, tonight."

"Do you want to use the stage? Adrian would probably agree, if I asked him."

"Oh, that would be perfect," said Draco, nodding. He'd thought he might have to rent a hotel room for the magic show, and that wasn't bound to go over so well, considering Rhiannon's issues regarding his wealth. But it had been the best he'd been able to come up with.

"Er . . . do you want me to ask the others if they'd like to stay for your act?" asked Rhiannon, a little tentatively. "I mean, it's a bit odd, a show with just me in the audience."

"I'd much rather be alone with you," breathed Draco.

She blushed again. "All right. I'll talk to Adrian. Thanks for lunch, Draco, but I'd better be getting back to the pool. You know how my uncle hates me to be late."

Draco stood up when Rhiannon did, and dropped a few notes onto the table. Rhiannon gave them a quick glance. Draco hoped she wasn't thinking that the money could have been put to better use, because it couldn't have. He had to eat, didn't he? Well, perhaps he could distract her. "Your uncle approved whole-heartedly when I told him that Severus takes a point per minute for lateness to his class."

"Oh, yes. Uncle Stanley would think that just grand. No wonder he told me that your father wasn't as 'liberal as he had feared,' as he put it."

Draco took her arm as they left the restaurant, but when they made it back to the pool, he had to leave her. He'd rather have stayed for free swim, but it wouldn't do to look like he couldn't bear to be apart from her.

Not even if he couldn't.

At any rate, Severus was waiting for him a few blocks over. He wanted to discuss the last two ethics texts with Draco, as he had to submit a final list of course books to the headmaster, soon. Draco felt a little warm thinking about it. Severus wasn't asking Harry for help with his textbook selections, was he? He was asking Draco, as well he should. What would Harry know about hard choices? His life had been hard, certainly, but he'd never had to turn his back on people he'd once pledged loyalty to.

"See you tonight," said Draco, bending down to give Rhiannon a brief kiss.

She smiled up at him, her eyes sparkling. "I can't wait."

Neither could Draco.

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Draco wasn't sure if he should wait outside for Rhiannon, but since he was going to use the stage afterwards, he thought that might seem a bit odd. This time, when the man named Colin opened the door, he just gave Draco a nod and waved him inside.

Draco took a seat in the same chair he'd used the time before, and watched as Adrian corrected a few of the cast about exactly where they should be standing. "The lighting crew can't read your minds, you know," he said at one point, his voice getting louder with every word. "So you have to fucking know what you're supposed to be doing, or the spotlight'll hit empty stage! Any questions?"

Nobody did have any, Draco noticed.

Well, at least Rhiannon was "hitting her marks," as Adrian put it. Really, she was head-and-shoulders above the rest of the poor sods in the production, and it showed. In her voice, in her posture, in her whole manner of bearing. She was quality. Too good to be on stage alongside Muggles, but that would just have to be borne.

Not for the first time, Draco wondered why wizards hadn't developed a theatre world of their own.

"All right," Adrian finally said, his arms crossed as he scowled at his players. "Rehearsal's over, but for God's sake, Colin, don't light up until you get outside, this time!"

Draco rose to his feet, but paused when he saw Rhiannon going up to Adrian.

"You said I should talk with you afterwards."

Adrian was wearing a bit of a twisted smile, by then. "Oh, you did well enough, tonight. I'll lock the door behind me. You just be damned sure to close it good and tight when you leave, eh?"

"Thanks, Adrian." Rhiannon hesitated slightly. "Er . . . would you like to stay and watch?"

He practically guffawed. "A magic show? I don't think so. I've got a score I'm working on. Have fun with your boyfriend."

With that, he was off.

Bit rude, in Draco's view, but that didn't matter. How could it? This time, when Draco had been termed Rhiannon's "boyfriend," she hadn't said a word in protest.

"So, that's it, then," said Rhiannon as the stage door clanged shut. "Ready?"

Draco grinned. "Of course."

Rhiannon's forehead wrinkled. "But . . . didn't you bring anything with you? I mean, some props? A top hat, a . . . or do you have everything you need up your sleeve?"

Hmm. Good point. Draco wanted her relaxed, and she wouldn't be, not unless he struck her as the kind of magician she'd admired when she was little . . . the Muggle kind. Which meant he would need props, yes.

"Oh, I stowed my things where they wouldn't get in Adrian's way," he invented, Occluding to lend the lie an aura of authority. "Why don't you set up a table for me and a chair for yourself while I fetch them?"

Once he was out of her sight, Draco drew in a deep breath and conjured the kinds of items he thought she'd expect to see. Having her ramble about Muggle magic tricks had certainly helped him understand what she would consider normal.

He still felt a little nervous about using his wand so freely outside the protective wards in Devon, but he'd tried several spells earlier and nothing dire had happened. Of course, with all the magic guarding the cottage, it was possible that Ministry letters couldn't make it through to Severus. But the Ministry would most likely have traced his wand to Exeter, in that case. Aurors would have been sent to warn him personally, or apprehend him, even.

And nothing of the sort had occurred, so Draco did believe that he was perfectly safe using magic freely, now. It was just odd, that was all.

But it was only right. Harry could do all the magic he liked, law or no law, since he didn't even need a wand. Draco still sort of resented that, but he felt better about it, now.

When he went back on stage, he saw that Rhiannon had set a table up and had covered it with a long stretch of black fabric. She was sitting on a folding metal chair positioned front and centre, and was practically bouncing in her seat, she was so excited.

"Close your eyes while I get set up," said Draco, randomly setting items down. Once her eyes were closed, he banished everything except the top hat he'd conjured. That, he placed in the middle of the table. "All right, it's safe now."

"You are good at this," said Rhiannon at once. "That was some quick sleight-of-hand!"

Draco didn't quite know what she was talking about, but he didn't let that bother him. "Observe," he said, trying for the kind of voice he thought a stage performer would use. Confident, but not booming. He picked up the top hat as he spoke. "An ordinary hat such as you might see on any street in London."

"Any street in 1862, maybe."

Draco gave her a mock glare, but she seemed to take it seriously. "Sorry. I'll behave."

"There's nothing inside it," Draco continued, waving the hat in all directions and showing that it was empty. He might have never seen a Muggle magician at work, but he had seen quite a lot of Muggleborns at Hogwarts. Especially when they were just first-years, they talked about how different real magic was from what they'd expected. It didn't take a lot of imagination to realise from their comments that a magic act was mostly made up of words and actions proving that a trick couldn't work, and then making it work, regardless.

Draco shoved his hand inside the hat and moved it around. "Madam, you look like a sceptical sort of person. Would you like to examine this hat for yourself?"

"I certainly would," answered Rhiannon crisply. She took the hat and peered at it from all angles, then handed it back. "Yes, nothing but an ordinary hat. Too big for me, but . . ."

Oh, that was a good idea . . . Draco brandished his wand and waved it theatrically about, hoping he didn't look the way Lockhart used to when he would demonstrate a spell. He didn't want to come across as comical, certainly. "A size smaller, you," he ordered as he tapped the hat. The Latin incantation he said more softly. A shrinking spell, of course, one designed to have a very minimal effect. "Madam, your hat."

Rhiannon blinked as she turned it over in her hands, again. "It does seem a little bit smaller, I suppose. Maybe."

"Try it on."

She did, but demurred, "Well, I was just guessing it was too big, before."

"Oh ye of little faith," boomed Draco. He wasn't sure where he'd heard the phrase, but it seemed to fit. "Not impressed yet, Madam? Perhaps it's time to pull a rabbit from the hat, then!"

Before she could take it off her head, Draco waved his wand and conjured some young rabbits to appear inside the hat. He was quite proud of his conjuring, really. It was properly a seventh-year skill, but he'd mastered it, already. Harry might have dark powers and wandless magic and all the rest, but he was pants at conjuring, he really was. That only stood to reason, though; conjuring was really an advanced form of Transfiguration, which was one of Harry's worst subjects.

Rhiannon gave a little scream as three fat white rabbits, one after another, bounded off the top of her head. "How did you do that?"

"Magic!" said Draco, still in his performer's voice. "You there, rabbit!" he called out, pointing his wand at one of the animals. "Up, up with you! Wingardium Leviosa, I say! Over to the pretty lady with you, and we'll hear no more complaints!"

The rabbit bobbed through the air and dropped into Rhiannon's lap. Once there, it immediately hopped away again, though.

"Shall I fetch it back?"

"N . . . n . . . no," said Rhiannon, a trifle weakly. Actually, she sounded a little dazed. Draco felt rather satisfied by that. Obviously, he was much better on stage than she'd assumed.

"On to the next trick, then!" announced Draco, waving his wand about even more. "Elemental spirits and sprites of the forest, do my bidding! We shall have wind within these walls! A gentle breeze, if you please!"

He murmured one of the weather charms they'd learned that year as he swished his wand back and forth.

Rhiannon's hair fluttered as the magical wind swept through it.

Remembering what he'd told Rhiannon, Draco proceeded to make the table disappear, then, cloth and all.

"And now, for the grand finale--"

Rhiannon abruptly stood up from her chair, shaking her head. "No grand finale, no. I don't think so."

Draco's eyebrows drew together. "What's wrong?"

"What's wrong?" echoed Rhiannon. "I . . . what's going on, that's what I'd like to know! Rabbits appearing out of nowhere, that's one thing, but on my head?"

"Oh. Sorry," said Draco, chagrined. That had been a little intrusive, yes. He hoped they hadn't mussed her hair too much. Though of course she looked as beautiful as ever, to Draco. "Butterflies would have been better?"

She looked at him like he wasn't even speaking English. "You made the rabbit float."

She said that in a tone of voice that was just . . . off, somehow. Like it hadn't been normal, after all, what he'd done. But wasn't levitation a standard Muggle trick? Draco was sure she'd mentioned it to him at some point when she was rhapsodising over magic. "I didn't hurt it, you know."

"Where are the wires?"

"Wires?"

"To make it float!"

Oh. His tricks had been too good, was that it? Draco almost conjured some wires for her, but that wasn't going to help, was it? She knew this theatre far better than he did; she'd know they hadn't been there when he'd started. "I . . . er, I made them disappear."

"Along with the table," she said flatly.

Draco started to speak, but she didn't even let him get the first word out.

"Magicians can't make wind appear like that, either. At least not any I've ever heard of. How did you do it?"

"I . . . er . . ."

"How did you do it?"

Draco thought fast. Not that it did him much good. "Oh, years and years of practice--"

"Do it again. Now."

Something about her tone set the hair on his arms standing on end. "Er . . . I . . . I don't know if the forest sprites are in still the mood. They can be a little temperamental, you know . . ."

Rhiannon took a step closer to him, and spoke very softly. "Please?"

Draco wasn't quite sure why she wanted to see the spell again, but the look in her eyes, the blue so intense now it called to mind the depths of the sea . . . he couldn't resist it. Or maybe it was the scent clinging to her hair that was getting to him. She smelled like a meadow in full bloom, like she was made of freshness and sunshine . . . Or maybe it was her smile, her lips curving in encouragement, even as they seemed to pucker slightly, as if inviting a kiss.

Draco didn't know for certain what part of all that was most persuasive. He only knew one thing, really, and it was that he longed to make her every dream come true.

Starting with the simple breeze she'd asked for. He waved his wand, revelling in the tingle of power flowing through him and into it. About time he could practice magic freely.

Rhiannon's hair picked up again, fluttering and then lifting away from her back and shoulders.

Sighing with evident pleasure, she turned around and around in the breeze, holding out her hands like she was trying to catch the air, or maybe the spell. "Keep it going," she said, her voice not so much flat now as fascinated. "Keep it going . . ."

Draco couldn't, though, not forever. The spell slipped from his grasp after a few more moments. By then he felt drained. Sustaining weather charms really demanded a lot of energy, which was probably a good thing. He'd hate to think what a mess the students would make of Hogwarts if each and every one of them could make it rain for hours on end.

"That's not a trick at all," said Rhiannon as her hair fell back to cling to the simple blouse she was wearing. "Is it."

She said the last part like a statement, not a question.

For his part, Draco wasn't sure what to reply. He'd been taught from an early age never to discuss magic with outsiders. The Ministry might have a lot of nonsensical rules, but that one was actually sound policy, in his view.

But Rhiannon wasn't an outsider, was she? Not really . . .

And she'd asked. She wanted to know. She was ready to know. Merlin's beard, she already knew, didn't she? Draco could see it in her eyes.

He wanted to tell her, wanted to confirm what she'd guessed on her own, but before he could, she was saying it for him.

"Magic is real, isn't it? And you can do it, you can make things appear and make them disappear, and . . . you aren't a stage magician at all, I don't think. You're just a magician."

"That's not a word we use."

Rhiannon stepped closer and ran her hands over both Draco's forearms. His bare skin tingled where she touched it, making Draco all at once happy he'd worn short sleeves, this evening. When she spoke, she sounded like she was wading through dreams. "Magician, no . . . of course not. I used to think about this, you know, witches and faeries and forest sprites, just like you said. I used to make up stories about it in my head. Just stories. But they're all real, aren't they? Tell me, Draco! Tell me if I'm wrong and you've just got an act that could dazzle God himself--"

"You're not wrong," Draco said, pulling her closer.

"They're real?" Rhiannon melted into him.

"Well, witches are, at least. I've never actually met a fairy or a forest sprite, to be honest."

He felt rather than heard her soft gasp. "You're a witch, then."

Draco winced, but since he was holding her so tight, she couldn't see it. "Wrong word, again."

"Oh. Sorry. Warlock, I suppose?"

"Wizard."

"Wizard." Draco wouldn't have thought she could get any closer, but at that, she did, sort of snuggling against him. "Really? Truly? It's not just some sort of joke?"

"I go to a school of wizardry," he said against her hair. "And Severus doesn't teach chemistry. His specialty is Potions."

"Potions." Draco had the feeling that she was searching her memory, looking for snippets of information from stories or legends. Anything, to help her understand. "Do you really brew them in a cauldron?"

Draco laughed a little. "Yes, I really brew them in a cauldron. I'm quite good at that, actually."

"Name something you can make."

"Hmm . . ." He didn't want to mention anything that might frighten her. Though granted, the whole idea of magic seemed to fascinate rather than alarm her. Which only stood to reason. She was no Muggle to run screaming from the idea of wizardry. "Wart-removal potion. I just learned to make it this past year. It's tricky because you need a wand at a couple of points, and it won't come out right if you don't do the spells just so--"

It seemed like Rhiannon was thirsty to know more and more about the world she'd always suspected was there, since she didn't even let him finish his sentence. "And broomsticks, is that true? You fly around on them?"

"I've even got the latest model of Firebolt." Her total lack of reply made him realise how meaningless the claim must sound to her. "Yes, I mean. I can fly on a broomstick. I'm good at that, too. We play a sport at my school that's sort of like . . . er, rugby, I suppose," he said, naming the only Muggle sport he'd heard anything about. "Anyway, it's played completely on brooms, everybody soaring through the air . . ."

Rhiannon stepped back, looking unsettled even though she still seemed astonished and deeply pleased to know that magic was real. "Er . . . what is it that makes you a wizard, then? Just learning the craft at this school, then?"

"No . . . you have to be born with magic." He almost added, and you were, but decided that she might have been dealt enough shocks for one night. Even if she didn't seem particularly shocked.

Besides, learning that he was a wizard was one thing. Finding out that she wasn't what she'd always believed herself to be . . . that was something else again. She'd need to discover that on her own.

Draco could help, but he didn't think he could convince her, not all on her own. She needed to find the truth inside herself.

"Can I . . ." Rhiannon cleared her throat. "Can I see your wand? It's real, right? What am I saying . . . of course it's real."

Draco's plan all along had been to hand her his wand so she could feel it resonating to the thrum of her own magic . . . that wouldn't happen now, of course. She wasn't relaxed and happy and in a receptive state. She was dazed by all of this, though handling it remarkably well. But then, Draco was only confirming what she'd known in her soul, all along.

Magic was indeed real.

He handed her his wand and started to explain. "It channels magic. Wands have cores that come from magical animals. Phoenixes, dragons--"

"Oh, my God. Dragons?"

Perhaps she was more shocked than Draco had realised. She'd suddenly lost a good bit of colour. Draco shrugged, and tried to help her see the world the way he did. The way she should have seen it, all along. "Oh yes. Dragons are real enough. Harry even battled one, once, as part of a magic competition."

"Oh, my God. Dragons," she said again, a little more weakly. She waved the wand then, in sort of an up and down motion, her technique just awful. She held it like it was a knife, actually. The sight of it set Draco's nerves on edge, but he pushed the feeling back. "Are vampires real?"

"Yes, but I've never met one."

"Werewolves."

"I have met one of those." Draco forced himself to focus on the long conversations he'd had with Lupin near the end of term, when they'd been working together to make sure that the werewolf could successfully impersonate Lucius. He still didn't like Lupin very much, but they were on the same side, and Lupin was putting himself at great risk in order to get information that might someday help Harry win this war. So, all things considered . . . "Not . . . not a bad sort of bloke, really."

If he laid so much as a paw on Narcissa, though, Draco would revise that assessment and find a way to make Lupin wish he'd never taken up acting at all.

Rhiannon whistled through her teeth, and sat down again in the folding chair. "You might have told me all this a little sooner."

"Actually, I'm not supposed to tell you at all." Draco shrugged. "You seemed so enamoured of magic, though. Your eyes would glow whenever you talked about it . . . and . . . I just wanted to make you happy, I suppose." That was true, even if it wasn't the whole truth.

"Why aren't you supposed to tell me?"

"We have our own set of laws."

"We?"

"The wizarding world."

Rhiannon shook her head. "So strange to know that it's been there all along, like I used to think." She suddenly laughed. "Your act is awful, by the way."

Draco started. "Come again?"

Rhiannon tilted her head to one side. "Oh, not the magic, obviously. That was bloody marvellous, it was. Start to finish. But your patter, Draco? Nothing but clichÈs. Worse, you sounded like you didn't mean a single word."

"Well, that was the first magic show I've ever done," murmured Draco, a little offended. "I've never even seen a magic show. Well, not the kind you mean."

"You don't show off for each other at that school of yours?"

"Oh, we do, but we do it through duels, or playing tricks on one another."

Rhiannon grinned, looking like she was trying to imagine that, but after a moment, her whole expression sobered. "This is why I can't come to your home, isn't it? There are magical things lying around and I'm not allowed to see them?"

Draco gave a half-shrug, half-nod. "I suppose there are some. Like my broom . . . but I can't invite you home mostly because there's been a privacy spell put on it. You literally can't go there unless you've been told where it is, by the person who cast the spell. Who wasn't me, by the way, so . . . there's nothing I can do about it."

"Oh. Are you going to get in trouble for telling me magic is real? It's not your fault, really. I did figure it out on my own. Well, after you made it obvious, I suppose."

"Just don't let on that you know." Draco went to her chair and knelt beside it, taking her hands in his. "All right? Severus would be furious with me, and he'd probably forbid me to see you again. Not that I'd let him stop me," he added, thinking that since he was over seventeen now, Severus really didn't have any authority over him. "But I'd much rather not have to argue with him, you see?"

"Oh, I won't breathe a word," said Rhiannon, nodding. "Not to anyone. But that's a shame. I'd love to talk to more wizards. I mean, openly."

"You'll be able to, someday." And not because the sodding Statute of Secrecy made an exception for committed, long-term relationships. The Statute didn't even really apply to her, but until Draco could prove that to the satisfaction of all concerned, it was best for her to keep her knowledge to herself.

Well, Rhiannon might not have realised yet that she was a witch, but at least she could see magic for what it was, now. She knew it existed. That was certainly a step in the right direction.

"You didn't know, did you?" Rhiannon asked softly, her fingers caressing his. "Outside the club, that man . . . you really didn't know that he was a drug addict, that he'd pawn that necklace to buy heroin. You come from a different world, and not just because you're rich." She suddenly gasped. "Is that why you're rich? You can make money appear?"

"No, things don't work that way. There are poor wizards, too."

"Oh, all right."

She sounded happy about that, actually. Well, she was daft when it came to wealth. Draco had known that much for a while. Her question, though, reminded him about what he'd decided. He did want to show her that he could do something good for other people.

"Listen, there's a children's home I help support," he said. It wasn't really a lie. He was going to give them a huge pile of Galleons. It would be worth it, to make Rhiannon happy. "I wondered if you'd like to go see it? It's sort of like an orphanage."

"How can it be sort of like one?"

"Oh . . . er, well, don't let on that you know, of course, but it's for children who've been rejected by their families. For not having magic."

Rhiannon abruptly let go of his hands. "Is that common?"

"No, no. Most families take very good care of their squ--" Huh, talking to her made him realise how crude the usual term might sound, to someone who hadn't heard it before. "Of their magic-less relatives," he rushed to correct himself. "But there are some who turn them out. Any decent wizard thinks it's a scandal. But the children need a place, somewhere besides with such a heartless family. So I help support the home. With donations. I want to go visit it again and make sure my money's being put to the best possible use . . . would you like to come along?"

"That's good of you to do something for these children." Rhiannon frowned. "The poor things. Yes, I'll come."

"I'll arrange it," said Draco, nodding as he got to his feet. "Later this week. Perhaps Thursday. We'll go early so it won't interfere with your performance that night."

Rhiannon tilted her head up. "Can I . . . can I see more magic, Draco?"

"As much as you like."

"Without the patter, though." Rhiannon rubbed her hands together. "Can I have another rabbit?"

"I'll even cast a calming spell this time, so it'll sit still on your lap."

Draco would have cast a continence spell as well, if he'd realised just what an effect a calming spell would have on a conjured rabbit. It ended up making a terrible mess. But a cleaning charm took care of that.

Oddly enough, Rhiannon seemed to find Lavare the most impressive spell of all.

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A Summer Like None Other

by Aspen in the Sunlight

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Chapter Sixteen:

No Man is an Island

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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.

"MrSnape," 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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A Summer Like None Other

by Aspen in the Sunlight

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Chapter Seventeen:

Salutations

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Harry's mouth fell open. All the way open. Quite clearly, he couldn't wrap his mind around the fact that Draco had just demanded to go and see Granger.

And this, despite the fact that Draco's meaning had been perfectly plain! "Well?" asked Draco, tapping his foot impatiently. "Is there a problem?"

Evidently there was. Harry started moving his mouth, like he was trying to form words and failing. "Hermione Granger?"

Draco narrowed his eyes. "Didn't I just say as much?"

"But--"

"Oh, for Merlin's sake." Draco gave a sigh, making extra sure it sounded long-suffering. Well, it should! Here they'd been standing about, debating the point for an entire minute, when they should be at the girl's house by now. "How many Hermione Grangers do you know, anyway?"

Draco flushed then, realising that he was waving his arms a bit wildly. He couldn't help it. He wanted to get to Granger's house now, so she could tell him what it would take to get a Muggle-raised girl back.

To get a Muggle girl back, rather. Draco was through trying to make her into a witch. She was what she was, and while the whole matter of her birth was very unfortunate, he could look past it. Because she wasn't really like most Muggles, anyway.

Rhiannon being a Muggle . . . well, she was, but it was practically a technicality, even so.

Dropping his hands to his side, Draco adopted a cool, confident tone. An older-brother-taking-charge tone. Perhaps that would get through to Harry, who was still blinking like he couldn't really believe his ears. "Shall we be off, then? No time like the present."

"Time, I do believe, is the issue," murmured Severus in a meaningful tone.

Draco didn't need to be a Legilimens to know what that meant. "It's not so late," he quickly said. "We can get there in a flash. And anyway, we all know Granger. She's probably still up reading."

"What does your watch have to say?"

Draco didn't want to look at it and find out. "Well, Time to visit Hermione Granger is a bit much to ask, isn't it, when I bought this watch using that paltry sum you call an--"

The look on Harry's face made Draco hurriedly revise his choice of words.

"Er . . . I bought this watch using that rather modest allotment you give us for allowance, Severus. Before I came back into money of my own. It's not like my other watch, which was really quite accurate."

"I'd like to know what it says, all the same," said Severus, his voice silky as he leaned close. Dangerously silky. Quite likely, the allowance comment had been misstep. "Hmm?"

No hope for it, then; the man was going to insist. Sighing, Draco pulled up the sleeve of his suit jacket and glanced down at his wrist. "Time to go to bed," he admitted, making a face.

"Imagine that. People in bed at this hour."

Draco could have done without the sarcasm. "It's not even midnight, you know."

"Nearly midnight on a Thursday," said Harry, who looked to be coming out of his shock. Or daze, more like. He was clearly over it now, though. "Hermione's parents both have to work in the morning, you know!"

No, Draco didn't know. What was more, he didn't care. Besides, it wasn't like it took a great deal of energy to . . . hmm. He didn't actually know what they did. Well, why would he? It's not like he'd ever cared two straws about what some Muggleborn's parents did while she was away at Hogwarts.

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A Summer Like None Other

by Aspen in the Sunlight

and

Mercredi

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Chapter Twenty:

Doubles

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Draco kept ignoring Harry even after they had reached Marsha Goode's office, but strangely enough, he sifted through a stack of magazines and then started reading one, his eyes intent as he turned page after page. Weird, especially since he'd complained about the Mugglishness of their content, before. More than once, in fact.

Now, it seemed like he couldn't get enough of them.

Snape sat down, a disgruntled look on his face, and drew his wand to conjure a vial of something pink and foamy. With a glower directed at Harry and Draco both--which Harry thought was most unfair, in the circumstances--Snape downed the potion and tucked the vial into a jacket pocket.

Not long after, Marsha bustled into the waiting area. "I'm very sorry," she said, checking her watch, "but tonight I'm afraid I'll only have time for one session. I've been asked to consult on a difficult case in hospital, later this evening."

She looked at them a bit expectantly, then.

Harry was the first to realise that she wanted them to decide who would get the session. "Oh, I insist on giving up my place to Draco," he said, sitting back. "The week he's had, I'm sure he needs loads of therapy!"

"Oh, no you don't. You take the session. You need it a lot more!"

"I do not! I wasn't the one insulting Dudley with every breath!"

"No, you spent your time staring at your fork! At those sharp tines!"

"That's because I was seriously considering throwing it at you!"

Snape's deep voice cut across the argument. "I do believe a double session might be a good idea, at this point. See if you can get them to remember that they're brothers." That shut Draco up, Harry saw. But of course, it shut him up as well. "Dr Goode, I take it you have no objection if I step out for an hour? I could do with a pint of something strong."

Harry's jaw dropped open. Snape had never left during one of their sessions before! He always stayed right there in the waiting room.

"Good show, Harry," Draco snarled, the minute the door had closed behind Snape. "You're driving Dad to drink!"

"Oh, like I was the one who just ruined a perfectly good dinner out--"

"Come through, please," said Marsha. "I haven't time to waste, this evening."

Inside her office, Harry took the chair nearest the window and wasn't surprised when Draco took the one furthest away from it. "None of that," said Marsha, shaking her head. "Both of you, on the sofa. Now, what seems to be the matter?"

Instead of answering, Harry opened the drawer where she kept the cinnamon gum he chewed during sessions, and helped himself. Not that he probably needed the almost painful tang of it in his mouth just now; he hadn't been feeling like scratching his arms.

Well, not much.

He did think, however, that if he didn't do something he might give in to temptation and hit Draco. The gum helped him hold down that instinct, though Harry couldn't help but wonder, with dark humour, about the claim that his instincts were generally good.

"The problem?" asked Marsha again, glancing pointedly at the two of them.

"Draco's annoyed that he had to go out to dinner with his family when he wanted to be with Rhiannon, instead."

"Harry's annoyed that somebody was honest, for once, with his cousin."

Marsha leaned forward in her chair, her expression fierce with resolve. "I don't want to hear anything else in that vein. You can talk about your own feelings. You don't ascribe feelings to any other person. Is that clear?"

Yeah, yeah, it was clear. Harry had heard it all before. "All right, fine. I feel that Draco would rather have been with his girlfriend, and was determined to make sure we all knew it!"

"Not true," snapped Draco. "I was perfectly happy to let Rhiannon rehearse tonight. I care about her career, in case it's escaped your notice. I wasn't the one who started things!"

Harry gaped. "What do you call throwing soda in Piers' face?"

"He deserved a lot worse for the way he was talking to you!"

"And what did Dudley do to deserve being called fat, stupid, and lazy?"

"Well, he is all those things, Harry! The only mystery is why you don't see it for yourself!"

"All you see, all you ever see, about anyone, is a bloodline! And Dudley's doesn't measure up!"

"You're damn straight it doesn't."

At that moment, Harry wondered how he ever, ever could have believed that Draco Malfoy could change. And he was thinking Malfoy, not Snape. This, all this . . . it was pure Malfoy. "And to think, Dad had this bizarre idea that dating Rhiannon might actually be a good thing, might make you less of a total racist, but you're ten times worse than before! You used to be able to talk to Dudley without dumping crap all over him, at least."

Draco jerked himself backwards, much as if he'd just been slapped. His eyes went a stormy grey. "You think my problem with him is that he's a Muggle?"

"Well, it's either that or you're having the painters in!"

"What?"

Dr Goode cleared her throat. "That's a reference to a young lady's time of the month, Draco."

Draco clenched his jaw even as a wave of colour swept into his face. "Calling me a girl, are you?"

"No, he's not," said Marsha, holding up a hand. "And we're not going to allow this to degenerate into insults. What Harry was doing, somewhat ineffectually, was expressing frustration with your behaviour. Is that correct, Harry?"

Harry gave a stiff nod and bit down hard on his gum.

"Now, Draco, perhaps you could answer Harry's question."

Draco's forehead furrowed. "Question?"

"Why you decided to insult Harry's cousin. You intimated that something set you off?"

Draco scowled. "Well, I wasn't too happy being forced to get in one of those death-traps after I'd just spent ten minutes watching them crash into each other."

Oh . . . yeah, that news programme had included some footage of a collision on the M5. Not ten minutes of it, though. "You're seriously going to claim that you were terrified of the car, and that's the cause of all this?" Harry's nostrils flared. "I think you'd better give up Quidditch, then. It's a hell of a lot more dangerous than a short ride through Surrey."

"Scared, Potter? You don't want the competition? I'm going to outfly you so hard next year, you'll wake up wondering what year it is!"

"You wish!"

Marsha suddenly got up and yanked open a cabinet door. Fetching something out, she whirled on a heel and tossed it to Harry. He found himself holding what looked like a cylindrical pillow mounted on a padded stick. Another one went flying through the air towards Draco. "Go on," said Marsha, her hands planted on her hips. "Get it out of your systems! I might not have mentioned this yet, but I don't have time for this tonight, and I'm not about to send you back to your father still squabbling like four year-olds. Go on, then, hit each other!"

Immediately ashamed, Harry tossed his pillow-thing onto the coffee table in front of the sofa.

It didn't help his mood that in the same instant, Draco used his to bonk Harry over the head. Hard.

"Ow! You prat!"

Draco hurriedly dropped his to one side, his face flaming. "Er . . . sorry."

"Are you ready to talk like adults?" Her tone spoke volumes. Finally . . . that was what she meant.

"Yes," said Harry, nodding.

"Yes," said Draco, a good deal more grudgingly, in Harry's view.

"Good," said the doctor, sitting back down. "So, Draco. It was your first time in a car, I take it? And it bothered you so very much?"

Draco shoved his hands deep into his pockets. "Well, it didn't help, but I was already pretty annoyed by then."

Harry resisted an impulse to say, Yeah, I noticed. "Piers being a jerk isn't anything to do with Dudley."

Draco closed his eyes then, looking strangely like he was praying. For patience, maybe. "I'm not talking about Piers. You obviously can't stand him, so enough said. It's just . . . I don't understand why you can stand your cousin. He's a horrible person!"

"Because he's a Muggle!"

"No, not because he's a Muggle! I'm in love with a Muggle, Harry. That is not what I meant."

"Oh, that explains why you mentioned breeding."

Draco's eyes snapped open. "I was talking about his parents when I said that, not Muggles in general. Those fucking Dursleys and what they did to you--" Draco slouched down a little. "Their son was part of it. He used to watch his parents lock you in that cupboard, watch them starve you, Harry. Doesn't that bother you?"

Harry clenched his fists. "That wasn't Dudley's fault."

"It's his fault he didn't sneak you some food. He could have. You know he could have. You were treated like nothing growing up, and he was a part of it. Why the hell are you going to so much trouble to include him in your life?"

Harry's mouth went dry, gum or no gum. "That's why you were so upset with Dudley, tonight? Because of me?"

Draco's jaw clenched for a moment. "I know what it's like when someone just stands by and watches something awful going on, Harry. A wizard's beating, for example!"

Oh . . . no wonder Draco was so upset. This wasn't only about Harry, it was about Draco, too. About how he felt about his mother, who had done nothing to stop Lucius' vicious idea of discipline. Who had renounced her parental rights when Lucius had decided Draco was unfit to remain his son . . .

But the two situations were hardly parallel. "Come on, Draco. Dudley was just a child. What was he going to do to stop his parents?"

"Oh, innocent of all of it, was he?" Draco's lips twisted. "I told you, didn't I, that word gets around? That excuse for a cousin used to beat you up and laugh about it!"

Harry spat his gum out into the wrapper and dropped it in the wastepaper basket next to the sofa. "Yeah, he did. But that was before the Dementor attack--"

"You should have let them have him."

"That's a terrible thing to say."

"What about him, still mocking your parents even now, calling your father an unemployed drunk to your face tonight? He's no different from his parents!"

"Yes, he is," said Harry firmly. "Maybe not before, but he is, now. Dudley didn't know that James Potter wasn't everything he'd heard before. He couldn't have known."

"Please," scathed Draco. "Even I knew."

"Draco, you're being quite irrational," said Marsha, who had sat quietly for the last few minutes, apparently content to let Harry and Draco work things out. "You were in a position to know the basic facts about Harry's birth father. Even before Harry survived the Killing Curse as an infant, the Potter family was known and respected. Dudley had no access to any of this information, so of course he believed what his family told him on the matter."

"Still doesn't make him a pleasant person," muttered Draco, turning his face away.

Marsha made him turn back, using nothing but the power of her gentle voice. "You're intelligent enough to know that a single remark, said in innocence, wasn't the real reason you became annoyed with Dudley, tonight. There were other factors at work, I'm sure. The question is, can you identify them, Draco?"

Harry had a sudden thought. "Oh! You didn't like me offering him money, is that it, Draco? You thought that really made him family?"

"Harry," chided Marsha. "It's really not as helpful if you identify Draco's issues for him. You know that."

Harry did; Marsha always made them work out things for themselves.

Draco made a derisive noise. "Oh, you can shower your gold wherever you want, Harry. I don't care. And I knew already that you considered him family. He doesn't deserve it, that's all."

Neither did Draco, if what Harry judged by was behaviour from years earlier. Remembering what Marsha had just said, though, Harry didn't point that out. "Then why were you so much nicer to him, before today?"

"You know why! You didn't trust me and I was trying to change that!"

Defensive, thought Harry, sure there was something else going on. He didn't know what, though. "Yeah, I understand that. But that doesn't explain why you were nice to him two weeks ago, you know."

"A lot can change in two weeks," said Draco, still sounding awfully defensive.

"What has changed, then, Draco?" prompted Marsha. "Think about it, please."

It looked like it took Draco a moment to frame his thoughts. "Um . . . hmm. I guess . . ." He suddenly sighed, crossing his arms in front of his chest. "Two weeks ago I thought they were all the same. You know? I didn't like the way Dudley used to treat Harry, but I figured all Muggles were like that and he couldn't really help it."

"And now?" asked Marsha, her voice still thrumming with kindness.

Draco gave a wry smile. "We haven't talked since I found out Rhiannon was a Muggle, or you wouldn't need to ask." He turned to Harry. "They're not all like your family was, Harry, but I didn't know that until just a few days ago. And . . . and . . . don't you see? That just makes the Dursleys a lot worse, as far as I'm concerned. What they did . . . it wasn't because all Muggles detest magic. It was because they were terrible people, Dudley right along with them. You deserved better than that."

Oh, God. Draco had been trying to defend him, then. From abuse and insults buried in the past, from things that couldn't possibly be changed now. Maybe sheer frustration with that very fact explained why he'd been rude beyond belief.

Harry smiled, too, just as wryly. "What am I supposed to say, thanks? I guess your heart was in the right place . . . but your head was still stuck up your arse, Draco. It doesn't help now to blame Dudley for things that happened when he was a different person, when he was a child. He believed what he was taught." Harry took a deep breath. "Er . . . just like you did, you know."

Draco's eyes glittered almost silver for an instant. "Sometimes, I have a hard time believing you've forgiven me, too."

"Then you ought to be glad to see me forgiving Dudley. It proves I can."

"It proves . . ." Draco's throat muscles convulsed. "Harry, all it proves is that you ought to be angry with us both."

"Don't worry, I was. But I got over it." Harry picked up his pillow-thing again, and gave Draco a very gentle tap across both his legs. "About time you did, too."

Draco gave a stiff nod and met Harry's gaze for only a moment. Then, he turned his face away, his profile looking chiselled from stone.

Hmm . . . probably best not to say what he was thinking, Harry decided. Strange how things turned out, though. Once, Harry would have thought that Draco and Dudley had nothing in common except their dislike of snakes. Now, he could see that the two were similar in much more profound ways. Both taught to hate what was different, growing up. Both finding their own way out of that, and in the same manner, too. Through soul-shattering fear. Dudley, with the Dementors, and Draco, by learning that his original course could only lead to slavery or death.

"Harry, perhaps you could let me finish the hour with Draco, alone," said Marsha calmly.

"Sure." Harry got up, giving Draco one last smile. "Sorry about the painters comment."

Draco gave a strangled laugh, and didn't reply.

Snape wasn't in the waiting room when Harry went out, but he came in just a few minutes later. "Everything all right?"

"Yeah." Harry didn't think it was right for him to say much more than that about why Draco had been so antagonistic towards Dudley. If Draco wanted his father to know about it, he could bring it up for himself. "Um, Draco's just finishing up. How was the pint?"

"I didn't have one. I took a long walk, instead."

"Maybe we can all go for one afterwards."

"You think you and your brother deserve a reward after the appalling evening I've had?"

Harry felt bad, then. Not that he'd done so very much to ruin the evening, compared to Draco, but he could have figured out sooner why Draco had such a bee up his arse. Or, perhaps he couldn't have. The whole thing was slightly twisted. What had looked like increased contempt for Muggles had turned out to be the exact opposite. No . . . nobody could have fathomed that one on their own.

"Maybe you could reward us for talking it out," Harry said. "We did, you know. We're fine, now."

Snape gave him a close look, and then shrugged. "Very well. I passed by a pub, not far from here. We can go there, assuming you can bear the fumes I saw billowing out the door. They don't bother me, of course."

Fumes? Oh, he probably meant smoke. Harry smiled, then picked up a magazine to read while they waited for Draco.

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A polite knock announced Hermione's arrival on Thursday afternoon.

Harry was the first to the door. "We don't get a lot of visitors, you know," he said, grinning. "And you are expected."

"I still thought I ought to knock."

Draco glanced up from the table where he and Severus had a book open sideways so both of them could see it as they scratched out notes on parchment. "Hallo, Hermione."

"Hallo. Good afternoon, Professor Snape." Hermione came closer, no doubt lured by the book. "Ethics? Really?"

"A new required course for all seventh-year students, Miss Granger."

"Do you know yet who will be teaching it, sir?"

"Oh, yes," drawled Snape.

For once, Hermione was a little slow to catch on. First time for everything, Harry thought with a snigger.

"Who, then?"

Draco put his quill down and stared at Hermione, just stared.

Even then, it took her a second more. "Oh, Professor Snape?"

"No, the goat in the Hog's Head!" Draco glared at her. "What's the matter? Don't you think Severus has any ethics?"

"I didn't mean that. I just didn't think he'd ever stop teaching Potions."

"And so I shan't, Miss Granger." Snape stacked his parchments. "It will be a busy year for all concerned."

"Has there been a N.E.W.T. established for ethics, sir?"

Standing, Snape looked down the length of his nose at her. "No, and that's about the only sensible thing the Ministry has done this year, with regard to examinations."

As he stalked off to his bedroom, robes billowing out behind him, Hermione cast a confused glance around. "Did I say something?"

Draco gave his nails a critical glance. "Apart from accusing him of having no sense of morality, you mean?"

"I did not say that!"

Draco laughed, then. "No, you didn't. I was having you on. Though for a moment there you did look like you thought Severus the last person in the world who would be qualified to teach ethics--"

"I just meant that I didn't think he'd leave Potions for it!"

"For someone so clever, she doesn't know what having her on means, does she?" Draco asked Harry.

Hermione laughed too, then, and when Draco grinned at her, she grinned back.

Good to see the two of them getting on, Harry thought. Finally, really getting on, like they were friendly acquaintances, instead of just two people who had decided to avoid fighting because it was bad to have a war zone in your own ranks.

"Well, I'll go get ready. Back in a bit." Draco was almost whistling as he spun on his heel and strolled into his bedroom.

Hermione waited until he'd closed the door, and then turned an astonished gaze on Harry. "Wow. I don't think I've ever seen Draco looking so happy. Well, maybe after Slytherin won the Cup, but when that happened I don't remember thinking that a smile on his face made him seem like a completely different person."

"You want to talk different person? He's practicing chatting up Muggles, now, every chance he gets. And what's more, most of them find him absolutely charming."

Hermione grinned again, then, her eyes sparkling. "I can't wait to meet this Rhiannon. She sounds like she's going to be very, very good for him."

"Whatever you said to him was that. As for Rhiannon . . ." Harry sighed. He didn't want to ruin their evening out the way Draco had ruined the dinner with Dudley, but he did miss having Hermione to talk with. He fetched Sals out of his pocket. "Let's go get her a little sun."

By the time they'd reached the far end of the property, Hermione's eyes were narrowed. She'd obviously read between the lines. "You don't approve of Draco's girlfriend?"

"I didn't say that, exactly."

"Harry, how can you disagree with anything that helps your brother so much? Does she rub you the wrong way, something like that?"

"No, she's really nice. Though she might consider getting to work on time once in a while," added Harry. "It's just, well, you know what happened last year. Don't you think it's a little soon for him to jump back into the water?"

"Interesting analogy."

"Don't you?"

Hermione sighed. "How should I know? All I can say is that if it's good while it lasts, and it's good for him, then you can't ask for much more."

"It's not going to end well. I can tell," Harry insisted. "I knew Pansy was up to no good with those letters, I just knew it, and--"

"You're saying Rhiannon is up to no good, as well?"

"No," said Harry, blowing out a breath. "But, she's not in love with Draco the way he's in love with her, I don't think."

Hermione gave him what looked like a very sympathetic smile. "Oh, Harry. I know you don't want Draco to get hurt, but don't you see? If everybody waited until it was safe to fall in love, nobody would ever fall in love at all."

Harry rolled his eyes. "Yeah, I know, I know."

Hermione rubbed her hands together as if dismissing that topic. "So, where are we going, then? Draco's letter didn't really say. I hope I'm dressed all right for it."

Harry glanced at her, shrugging. Her light blue dress might be just a little bit . . . well, dressy, but not so much that anybody would probably notice. "Rhiannon's going to cook dinner for us at her house. Her uncle's supposed to be out at some kind of meeting, and we thought we could talk freely, you know . . . better than at a restaurant. But first, Draco wants us to go out and pick a video to rent."

"A video." Hermione goggled, just a little. "Draco."

"Yeah, he got his first glimpse of a telly this week and he went mad for it. Oh, but make sure you tell him at some point that there's no need to get a video, because you're sure there's already lots to watch on all those channels."

Hermione raised an eyebrow. "Any particular reason for saying that?"

"Private joke."

Hermione just shook her head. "You two really are brothers."

"You have so many?"

"Believe me, I see plenty of that having dinner at the Burrow."

Harry plucked Sals off the stone wall where she'd been slithering and asked the question that had been preying on his mind all week. "About that mirror book Viktor sent you. How's your Bulgarian translation coming along?"

"Slowly." Hermione sighed. "The translation rod's harder to use than I thought. It only does one line at a time, which doesn't work so well when the sentence is longer than that. Word order gets a bit wonky. I am getting through it, though. I'll owl you as soon as I see anything I think might help you get that mirror working again."

Harry tried not to let his disappointment show. Probably, the Mirror of All Souls was beyond repair. Probably? Hell, definitely. Dumbledore himself had tried and failed. Harry sighed, leaning heavily on the low stone wall marking the edge of the property. Seeing his parents again, talking to them this time, maybe, it shouldn't mean so much to him. He knew it shouldn't. He had Snape, now, and Draco, and even Dudley; he had what he'd always longed for. A family who really cared about him, made up of people who would stand by him, no matter what. Or maybe more importantly, made up of people whom he could love.