A Summer Like None Other by aspeninthesunlight
Summary: COMPLETE. Family isn't everything, as Harry, Snape, and Draco discover in this sequel to A Year Like None Other. How will a mysterious mirror and a surprising new relationship affect a father and his two sons?
Categories: Parental Snape > Biological Father Snape Main Characters: .Snape and Harry (required), Draco, Dudley, Hermione, Remus, Ron
Snape Flavour: None
Genres: Angst, Drama, General
Media Type: None
Tags: Adoption, Slytherin!Harry, SuperPower! Harry
Takes Place: 6th summer
Warnings: Character Death, Self-harm
Challenges: None
Series: A Year Like None Other
Chapters: 24 Completed: Yes Word count: 236038 Read: 165720 Published: 21 Dec 2008 Updated: 21 Dec 2008
Bewitched by aspeninthesunlight

Draco was feeling rather pleased when they Apparated back to Devon.

Harry, of course, was determined to make sure that the feeling didn't last.

"Passing?" he demanded the moment the three of them were alone in the meadow. "Look, I know you mentioned it before, but that was when all we knew was that she was on the stage. Now the girl's a lifeguard but she's still a witch passing as a Muggle? Are you mental?"

Draco grinned. Not even Harry's sour mood could spoil his elation. His brother might be dense enough to have overlooked all the clues Rhiannon had strewn about, but Draco had noticed them, every one.

"I take it you don't mean passing fair," drawled Severus.

"This is serious!" objected Harry. Well, he never had been very good at banter, had he?

Draco ignored him. "That's right, Dad," he said. Hmm, the name felt a little bit deliberate. Which of course it had been, but not because he wanted something. Well, actually he did want Severus to agree that Draco could attend Rhiannon's rehearsal, and attend it alone, but that still wasn't why he'd said dad. He'd decided to try to get used to saying it, that was all.

Actually, he wished he hadn't harassed Harry so much about what to call their father. As it turned out, switching what you called someone was trickier than he'd realised.

"You seriously expect us to believe that she's a witch pretending to be a Muggle," Harry was still ranting.

"I don't give a shrivelfig what you believe, Harry. And why do you care, anyway? Since when are you so obsessed by blood?"

"You're the one obsessed by it, so much so that you can't see what's right in front of your face! Rhiannon Miller is a Muggle clear through, and if that's not bloody obvious by now, then you're just a --!"

Severus shook his head and gestured for them to all enter the cottage. "Let's try to do this without insulting one another, shall we?" His cool gaze assessed each of his sons in turn.

"Oh, all right." Harry sounded grudging about it, Draco thought.

"Yes, of course," said Draco in his most pleasant voice. "Dad."

Severus might have concealed a chuckle, or it might have been some sort of grimace, Draco thought. He really couldn't tell. Either way, he decided he'd better not say dad every other sentence, even if he was just trying to get used to calling Severus that.

Only after Harry and Draco were both sitting down did Severus take a seat himself and continue. "So, Draco. What has you so convinced that the young lady is playing at being a Muggle?"

Draco gestured, then cut it out when he realised how wildly he was waving his hands. "Everything, that's what! Talk about obvious. I'm not surprised Harry missed it, seeing as he comes at the whole matter with a priori assumptions--"

"That's his way of calling me stupid without you noticing," said Harry fiercely.

"I do notice quite a bit, you realise."

Harry went right on talking. "But I attend quite a good school, and I know what that means--"

Draco raised his chin. "Then you should know not to let prior assumptions guide your thinking."

"You do, all the time, with your disdain for anything that's not from the wizarding world. And anyway, what's this stupid idea that Rhiannon's a witch, if not an assumption before the facts are known?"

Harry was trying to get a reaction, but Draco wasn't in any mood to give him one. "Ah. Perhaps you have a point. But the facts are known now, so--"

"What facts?"

This was rather fun, Draco thought. The cooler he remained, the more steamed Harry seemed to become. "All the facts you apparently overlooked," he said, folding his hands in his lap as if he hadn't a care in the world. Actually, he didn't. Harry and Severus could think whatever they liked. It wouldn't make a Knut of difference to Draco.

"I apparently overlooked them as well," said Severus, his voice so dry that Draco swallowed. He knew then that he'd better explain.

For all that though, he shrugged, doing his best to come across as cool and unconcerned. "Well, to begin with, she called me Darren."

Severus and Harry exchanged a baffled glance, then looked at Draco, clearly waiting.

Hmm. Draco wasn't surprised that the reference would go over Severus' head, but he'd really expected Harry to catch on. "Don't you remember that time when Granger was visiting you in the dungeons, and your wand wasn't working yet, and she said it was a shame you couldn't just wiggle your nose to do spells?"

"Yeah, now that you mention it. But what does that have to do with--"

"She said that got the idea from some old programme for the telltell--"

"Telly. Short for television."

Draco rolled his eyes. So he didn't remember exactly what it was called. And Harry said that Draco liked to show off! "Didn't I tell you that Rhiannon was speaking in double-meanings with me? See, on that programme, Darren was a Muggle married to a witch. And Rhiannon didn't know for sure, not when she said it, that I'm a wizard, see? So she called me Darren as a test of sorts. I was supposed to catch on that she was wondering if I was a wizard. That's why I mentioned Potions, see? I was trying to be as subtle as she'd been. And no offence, but your name just isn't subtle at all."

"Neither was telling the young lady that I taught Potions."

"But did you see her?" asked Draco, ignoring Snape's frown. Well, not completely. It did quell his urge to bounce up and down with excitement, for example. "Rhiannon got this . . . I don't know, look in her eye, for just an instant. And then she covered it and tried to act as though she didn't know what we were talking about. She did the same thing when I brought up Harry's scar."

"I didn't notice any look in her eye," said Harry.

Draco smiled, all confidence. "Well, that just proves what a fine actress she is. She deserves better than a grotty little stage in Exeter."

Harry actually scoffed out loud. "So basically, your only evidence is the fact that she couldn't be bothered to remember your name. Look, I'm sorry to burst your bubble--"

No he wasn't, thought Draco.

"--but her calling you Darren isn't that big of a deal--"

Draco did bounce, then. He couldn't help it. A person could only hold in so much happiness. Sooner or later, the excess just had to be shared. "But you don't understand!" he exclaimed, grinning. "Darren shows that she's interested in me, too. The way Granger explained it, Darren's wife was a witch! Samantha, I think. And Samantha was very much in love. Rhiannon was putting herself in Samantha's place by calling me Darren!" Draco rubbed his hands together. "She's definitely passing. For all we know, it could be that not even her uncle knows about her magic. And I'm sure she keeps it a secret in the theatre. Very common, as I told you."

"How could her own uncle not know?" asked Harry, clearly exasperated. "Mine did!"

Draco had already thought of that. "Your parents weren't trying to hide their nature, though. Think about Rhiannon's case. She was home-schooled, and no wonder. You can't send your children to wizarding school if your family tradition is to keep the magic something that only a very limited circle of people know about. There are rumours of just that. Families who dropped out of wizarding society during the worst witch-hunts of the Middle Ages, who kept to themselves and kept their magic a deep, dark secret down through the ages." Harry was openly scoffing by then, so Draco made a gesture toward Severus, who understood at once.

"There are indeed such rumours," he said, his voice perfectly level.

Huh . . . Draco had been hoping for a little more support than that. He wanted some sort of sign that he'd convinced Severus, at least. Not that he really cared, but it would be nice to think that his father believed him, if not his brother. Oh, well. It didn't really matter what they thought. All that mattered was Rhiannon.

"The families trying to hide," Draco went on, "only intermarry with each other, but obviously Rhiannon's aunt broke out and married a Muggle. And Rhiannon's starting to chafe against the strictures, too. She wants people to know that she's a witch, but she's not sure how to go about it."

"All this from a name," mocked Harry, crossing his arms as he sat there looking like he was sure he knew everything. "I don't think that some old programme on the telly is so significant."

Draco snapped his fingers. "Bewitched, that was it, that's what it was called. And of course it's significant! Even if they left wands out, it was clearly scripted by someone who knows a bit about our world. And it was promoting mixed marriages. Very irresponsible."

"Says the wizard who's heading straight into a mixed marriage!"

Severus held up a hand just as Draco was about to reply. Hmm, probably a good thing. Draco had been debating whether to call Harry a cretin or an ignoramus. Probably best to desist from name-calling, though, even if Harry was being unbelievably disgusting. Mixed marriage. Honestly!

Severus steepled his fingers beneath his chin, his dark eyes calm when he fixed his gaze on Draco. "You've assembled a rather consistent picture, but--"

"But!"

Severus' eyes glimmered. "Harry is correct that it's a great deal to build upon a mere name, which, after all, could have been nothing more than a slip of the tongue."

"Or a lousy memory."

Draco glared briefly at Harry, then made an effort to adopt his calm façade again. "That's not my only reason. Of course it's not. What about the fact that she attributed Harry's scar to a car accident?"

Harry actually laughed, the prat. "Oh, my scar. The horrible disfigurement on my stomach, you mean?"

"Well, she was looking without looking," said Draco, shrugging, refusing to be drawn. "Did you miss the part when I mentioned that she's an actress?"

"Car accident was a logical guess, I guess," said Harry.

What horrible diction.

"It wasn't a guess at all!" retorted Draco. He briefly wondered why Harry was being so stubborn. Maybe it went along with being a Gryffindor. Well, Draco would show him. "A few days after your adoption was official, the Prophet started running stories about how marvellous it was that you would have a proper father at last. See, they printed all the dirt they'd got from those Death Eaters captured just after Samhain. You know, the things your uncle told them when he was angry at you."

Harry looked like he was gritting his teeth. "Oh, wonderful!"

Draco suddenly wished he hadn't mentioned it, and that was before Harry started yelling. "That's it, that's the last goddamned straw! I've had enough! I want to see that solicitor again, Dad. I want to sue the Prophet like Draco said we could!" Harry paused for a second. "Libel, right? Or slander or something?"

"Unfortunately, truth is a defence to libel," said Severus, his voice gentle. Leaning forward from his position in a chair alongside the sofa, he laid a hand on Harry's shoulder and rubbed, just a little. The look in his eyes wasn't nearly so kind when he glanced over at Draco, though. It was piercing. And specific. Didn't we agree not to mention those stories?

Draco gulped. Oh yeah, they had. He'd forgotten . . . well, no, he hadn't really forgotten. He'd just wanted Harry to believe him about Rhiannon!

Trying to regroup, he cast about for something to say that might make Harry feel a little better. "Er . . . well, at least they held off on printing things about your home life while you were still laid up . . ."

"Amazing amount of discretion for the Prophet," said Snape, practically growling, his lips turning down with displeasure. "But once they had a happy ending to the story, they apparently couldn't resist."

Harry stared straight ahead, obviously dismayed. "So let me get this straight. Things about the Dursleys were in the paper, right down to the fact that he'd told me my father was a drunk who got himself and his wife killed in a car accident?"

"Background for stories about the adoption."

"I feel like I might sick up."

"Exactly why I never mentioned it." Severus turned another fearsome glare on Draco.

Harry started rubbing his arms. Shite, was that ever a bad sign.

 "Look, it was months and months ago," said Draco, his voice desperate. Harry was far from weak, but this needle thing was unpredictable, and Draco had no idea what might push him over the edge into hurting himself again. The thought that he might be responsible for that . . . he shuddered. He'd promised to help Harry get through this, and now what had he done but practically encourage more self-harm, as Marsha called it. "And all it proved was what an arse your uncle was, right?"

"I hate people feeling sorry for me!"

Draco sighed, and glanced at Severus for help, but the man just stared back at him, stone-faced. Obviously he expected Draco to clean up after his own mistakes. Though his hand still was on Harry's shoulder, which told Draco that Severus and Harry would be having a long talk about things, later.

The hand on the shoulder always meant that.

But for now, Draco was on his own. "People know what the Prophet is like, Harry.  Nobody took those stories very seriously. Your mates in Gryffindor obviously never mentioned them, right? They probably thought the paper was making things up so the adoption story would be all the more poignant. Either that, or they assumed that the captured Death Eaters were saying anything they could to get back at you. You had just miraculously escaped the Dark Lord, so it stands to reason they'd be angry, and--"

"Some miracle." Harry started blinking like he was thinking about his eyes. "I'm surprised people didn't all think I'd turned dark with the Parseltongue, then. Considering they knew by then just how much reason I had to be angry, after a childhood like that!"

"But they didn't think you'd turned dark. Nobody believed that, Harry. You know nobody believed it."

Harry clasped his hands together, his fingers interwoven. He was clenching his hands so hard that they were white, actually, but at least he'd stopped acting like he couldn't wait to get alone with something long and sharp. When he spoke, his voice was scathing. "Nobody? You apparently think that Rhiannon Miller believed every word!"

"Well, she doesn't know you," said Draco, trying to sound reasonable.

"So total strangers all think I'm some abused nutter. Great."

Draco swallowed. He'd have to remember that Severus knew what he was talking about when it came to Harry. He really did know him.

"I shouldn't have mentioned that rag of a paper," Draco admitted, sighing as he leaned forward. He decided then and there that he'd better work a bit harder on not fighting with his brother. Telling him about those awful stories . . . well, he'd probably used up any reserve of good-will Severus had towards him. "But those stories, they're nothing more sparks through the Floo, Harry. It's a long time ago, now. And all Rhiannon meant was to let us know that she's read the Prophet."

"Yeah, well I'm glad I didn't," muttered Harry. "Never thought I'd be grateful to have been blind. Though I do think I mentioned how much I hate it when you two keep secrets from me. Especially secrets about me."

Severus' lips turned down even further. "Hmm, yes. You did say as much."

"Yeah, so thanks for paying attention. Both of you."

"Don't blame Draco for this secret," admonished Severus. "I was the one who decided the stories were best left unmentioned. I judged that you had more than enough on your programme."

Harry's forehead creased itself into deep lines. "That was a pretty tough time for me, yeah. But you could have told me later, you know."

"Like, about seven months later, something like that?" asked Draco, hopefully.

All that got him was another fierce look from Severus and a wry shut up from Harry. Well, that certainly seemed like things were getting back to normal. Harry's next comment left no doubt of it, since he went straight back to his crazed ideas about Draco's girl being a Muggle, of all things.

"Listen, Draco. If Rhiannon Miller wanted to drop you a hint that she's a witch, wouldn't it have been simpler for her to just stare at my forehead when you brought up my scar?"

"Oh, who knows why a woman does what she does?"

Harry rolled his eyes. "You have an answer for everything, don't you? Then how about this: if her family's so intent on passing as Muggles, then why is she reading the Prophet at all?"

"I told you! She's resisting their rules."

"Did I mention you were off your nut?"

No point in arguing about Rhiannon any longer; Harry obviously wasn't going to let himself be swayed by reason and logic and common sense. It was time to get this settled. Time to bottle the potion.

Draco turned to their father, deciding that the direct approach was probably the right one. Severus would see right through any manipulation he tried. "I need to go to Exeter tonight, to watch Rhiannon's rehearsal. Shall I Apparate, then?"

Severus' answer, as Draco had half-expected, wasn't exactly encouraging. "Not alone. Not until you're licensed."

Draco gnashed his teeth, not just at the refusal but also at the reminder that he wasn't licensed yet. He couldn't wait for his birthday so he could take the test and be done with it. That law was so stupid! Lots of wizards were obviously capable of Apparating before they turned seventeen. Ha. Probably the law had been drafted with Muggleborns in mind. Though why proper wizards should have to wait just because Muggleborns started learning magic late . . . well, that was the Ministry for you, he supposed. Staffed with imbeciles from top to bottom.

Complete imbeciles.

Well, that couldn't be helped. Not at the moment, at any rate. Pushing his irritation aside, Draco got his mind back onto what mattered now: Rhiannon's invitation to the theatre. How could he let that pass him by?

"We're going to have to work something out," he said, trying hard not to phrase it as a demand. Severus didn't respond so well to those, and this was too important for Draco to make a mistake in his strategy. Like saying dad. That wouldn't go over so well at the moment. "I'll want to take Rhiannon out, you know. Dinner, dancing, the symphony. And I can't always have my family hanging about. I'm sure you understand."

Severus leaned back in his chair. "It's not lost on me that you're to achieve your majority in less than a month, no. But I hope you know that as long as you live in my home, I will expect you to abide by the rules I lay down."

"Exactly why I said we have to come to an agreement." Draco tried not to sound too pleading. Severus respected strength. Assertiveness. Though of course he wouldn't want his sons to be arrogant prats. "I take it that your major concern is my safety, yes?"

Severus nodded, his dark eyes a bit intrigued.

Draco felt like he was chairing an important meeting. Goodness knew, he'd eavesdropped enough to overhear Lucius managing discussions with other wizards. Not to mention Severus and the House meetings he liked to call from time to time.

"So. Why don't we start by agreeing that if I should run into any danger--which is fairly ridiculous in Exeter, I'll add--I'm competent to Apparate myself to safety. Yes?"

"Barring anti-Apparition wards."

Draco laced his fingers together. Good point, but he'd already thought of that. "Oh, but you know how long it takes to assemble those. They have to be laid in several layers, and generally in advance."

"True."

Draco was enjoying himself more and more as this went on.

"So perhaps just a tracking charm should be enough to fully ensure my safety. Harry could cast a wanded one on me, if you like. That should be fool-proof. In the unlikely event that something happens to me, you'd be able to find me straight away."

"I thought we shouldn't have residual magic around a Muggle," said Harry.

"Oh, please. Aren't you paying attention at that fine school you go to? The kind of residual magic we're talking about only attaches to inanimate objects, Harry." Draco had to resist an urge to stick out his tongue. "And for the record, she's not a Muggle!"

His brother was like a dragon with fresh prey. Just wouldn't let it go. "Sure seemed like one to me."

"Do you or do you not understand the concept of passing, Potter?"

"That's enough," said Severus levelly. He even gave Harry a hard look for once. About time. Then he returned his attention to Draco. "Your notion about tracking charms is well-reasoned, but a wanded one is out of the question just now. Harry has yet to learn to cast one at all."

Draco started to feel like the meeting he was chairing had spun out of his control. "But--"

Severus held up a hand. "My own spell-casting should be sufficient. Since I can understand your need for time alone with the young lady, I propose that Harry and I Apparate with you to Exeter, after which we'll go our separate ways. You can join us at an arranged time and place to return home. Will that do, Draco?"

Draco sighed with relief. "Yes. Certainly."

Harry practically snorted. "You're going to let him date her while he's still under this delusion?"

Severus shrugged.

Harry looked frustrated by that, but he didn't say anything more. Maybe he knew there wasn't any point. Well, Draco would show him. Rhiannon had been sounding him out, earlier. With just a little encouragement, she'd probably be willing to open up and admit to being magical. As long as she knew first that he was, as well . . .

That might be tricky, considering that it would be bad form, to say the least, for Draco to simply blurt out that he was a wizard. Especially considering that during the opera rehearsal, there would be Muggles all around.

Rhiannon wasn't one of them, though. Draco was certain of it.

 

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Draco straightened his coat and tie as he stood outside the back door to the theatre, and told himself that his discomfort was due to the way he was dressed. Certainly, he had worn Muggle clothes to the opera before, but he wasn't really going to the opera this evening. This was more of a date, in his view, and he'd feel a lot better in robes that he could swirl just so, to look dashing.

But that wouldn't do for tonight, so Draco transferred the flowers he'd bought to his left hand, and used his right to push open the door. Or try to, anyway. It wouldn't budge.

Draco didn't like the feeling that he was locked out and had to knock, but there was nothing else to be done, not if he wanted to see Rhiannon again tonight, and hear her lovely lilting voice . . .

The door opened to reveal a gangly blond man who looked like he'd probably slept in his faded jeans and shirt. Draco schooled his features to hide his disdain, and simply said that Rhiannon Miller had invited him to watch the rehearsal.

"All right, but for fuck's sake, make sure you keep quiet," said the man, stabbing out the fag he'd been smoking. "Adrian's being a real cunt tonight."

Draco didn't quite follow that, but he did get the basic meaning. "Adrian?"

"Director. I'm Colin, by the way. Come on."

Draco followed the man through a couple of sloping corridors and found himself on the wings of the stage. Colin hastily indicated a folding metal chair. Draco looked around for Rhiannon, but didn't see her anywhere.

"Lighting looks good now," said Colin to a dark-haired man standing a short distance away. Adrian, Draco presumed. That impression was confirmed when the man's bad mood became obvious.

"Snuck a smoke, didn't you? How many times do I have to tell you that I'm allergic? And who the hell is that?"

Draco abruptly found himself stared at by the assorted people on the stage proper. He was glad he'd yet to sit down. Not that he wanted to spend any time in a folding metal chair, for Merlin's sake. Not without at least a handkerchief to spread out on the seat.

"Draco Snape," he said, striding forward to offer his hand.

"Adrian Hendrickson." The director shook hands like he had twelve other more important things to do.

"Rhiannon invited me," Draco added, and then because the man was starting to look so annoyed by that, went on, "I saw a recent performance of your selections from the Magic Flute and The Marriage of Figaro."

"Damned idiot Colin forgot to put that last one on the flyers," said Adrian curtly, glancing to the side.

The gangly blond man needed no other prompting to make himself scarce.

Adrian seemed to already have forgotten he was there, Draco thought, as the man strode back out to the centre of the stage and practically bellowed, "What's taking so long?"

Draco felt like the air whooshed out of his lungs in the next instant, for Rhiannon was hurrying out onto the stage from the other wing. Her long blonde hair was woven through with tiny blossoms. Draco wanted to run his hands through it and toss the flowers aside, then gather Rhiannon into his arms and kiss her until she was weak and breathless in his embrace . . .

"It's still too long," Rhiannon said, sighing. The noise broke Draco out of his fantasy. He looked at her again and saw her do a graceful twirl in front of Adrian.

She meant her costume, Draco realised. The bottom hem of it was dragging along the hardwood floor of the stage. He suddenly wondered what opera they were rehearsing tonight. Rhiannon was dressed in a simple white gown that fell cleanly from her shoulders. She looked like she was supposed to be an ancient Greek or Roman, perhaps.

"I can see that for myself," snapped Adrian. "Well, make a notation of it for Marie, and get that off. And who told you to do up your hair? We're behind schedule."

Rhiannon had turned and was heading back the way she'd come, all without even noticing Draco, when Adrian added in a caustic voice, "Oh, and the next time you want to invite your boyfriend here, do me the courtesy of letting me know, will you?"

"He's not my boyfriend," called Rhiannon over her shoulder as she kept walking away.

Draco couldn't have expected anything different, really. Not yet . . . but it was still difficult to hear that.

"Oh, just stay out of the way and don't interrupt," said the director.

Draco wasn't used to being talked to that way, but he had a feeling that any objection would get him thrown out on his arse. Not that a Muggle could really do anything to him, but if he used the slightest speck of magic, Severus would have kittens. He'd find out, too. Damned Ministry and their underage-magic laws. Draco wasn't behind proper wards now. He'd be caught.

So he merely backed up and blended into the shadows to watch the rehearsal. L'incoronazione di Poppea, he soon figured out, and Rhiannon was playing the title role. It was clearly a stretch for her vocal range, but she was doing quite well with it, he thought, leaning against a concrete pillar as he listened to her perform the final duet. The performance struck him as a bit odd, since by then Rhiannon was wearing snug jeans and a tee-shirt while she pretended to sing with the emperor Nero. But she really was a wonderful actress. After a moment, Draco got lost in the music, or maybe the magic that was her, and forgot that this was only a rehearsal.

After a while, his back began to ache. With a sigh, Draco gave up and sat down on the awful Muggle chair.

 

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"Hope this isn't too dull for words," said Rhiannon, coming over when Adrian announced a ten-minute break. She dragged a free chair over by Draco's, making a clattering noise which hurt his ears. But then she collapsed into the chair, the lines of her body smooth and languid, with her legs very near to his. So that was all right, then.

"I'd give anything for some tea with lemon just about now."

Even better. An opening. "Let me take you out afterwards," said Draco. "You don't really have to get straight home, do you?"

"Well, by ten, anyway. Or my uncle'll pitch a fit." When Rhiannon smiled, a warm, sweet feeling stole all through Draco. Like he'd drunk a pint of cocoa all by himself. "All right, let's. If we have time."

Ten was Draco's own deadline as well, so he nodded. Then, remembering the roses he'd brought, he scooped them up off the shelf where he'd set them. Not just common roses, either. These were expensive miniature ones, their dark pink petals bursting with fragrance.

For his girl, nothing but the best. "For you."

She looked a little startled. And then, a bit concerned about something. "Oh. Er . . . you didn't have to do that."

Draco would have said that of course he had to, since it was their first date, but he didn't want to seem over-eager. Or Merlin forbid, desperate. Harry might be right on that score . . . although not on any others, not when it came to Rhiannon.

"I'd rather have found some flowers as beautiful as you are," he said instead, an impish smile playing on his features. "But alas, they had nothing even close. But I thought that those would do."

She was even more beautiful when she blushed, Draco learned. Just a hint of colour, high on her cheeks, but at least she didn't hesitate over the flowers any longer. She took the bouquet and lifted it to her nose, inhaling deeply. "Well then, thank you. Draco, right?"

"Well, I'm certainly not a Darren." 

If Rhiannon caught his meaning, she didn't show it. "Sorry about that. I'm not so good with names."

"But you remember my brother's."

"Who could forget it?"

Ha, take that, Harry, Draco thought.

But then Rhiannon said, "You did introduce him twice, after all. And when you did . . . er, I was wondering about something. I think he doesn't have the same name as you? Last name."

She was fishing, Draco thought. Seeing what Draco would tell her of Harry Potter? Or maybe she really hadn't recognised the name at all. Well, that would just prove that Draco was right, and her family had kept themselves isolated from the wizarding world.

"We're both adopted."

Her brow wrinkled. "I can't remember for certain, but I think your name matched your father's. Is that right?"

"I changed mine, but Harry didn't want to do that. His own name is too important," Draco hinted.

"Uh-huh," said Rhiannon, sounding like she was losing interest.

Ask about her, Draco thought. "So this new opera is coming along very well, I think. How long have you been rehearsing?"

Rhiannon yawned. "Five weeks, something like that. We're supposed to perform it starting at the end of July."

"You'll be ready. I have to say, I really admire you for taking on the role of Poppea. Not many sopranos could do so well singing mezzo-soprano as well."

A pretty blush suffused her features. "Oh. Well, Adrian insisted I could manage it. I had my doubts, but I couldn't refuse. He did a lot for me this past school year, and--"

School year? "I thought you were taught at home."

Her whole posture seemed to harden. "Oh. Yeah, I know I said that. Sorry. I just don't like talking about my school so much, that's all."

Well, there were things Draco didn't like to talk about, so he could understand that. "Bad memories?"

"Not exactly that," she hedged. "Well, in a way, I suppose--"

"God damn it, ten minutes means ten! Not eleven, not twelve-and-a-half!"

"I'll tell you about it over tea," said Rhiannon, quickly getting up. She set the flowers on her chair, but then bent over to grab them again, her jeans pulling tight across the curve of her derrière. Lovely curve. "I have to dash. Hold these for me? I wouldn't want them to get squashed or anything."

Draco took the roses back, nodding. He didn't mind that she'd apparently lied to him about her school. It only made sense that she'd be a bit embarrassed about that particular issue. She'd probably heard of Hogwarts, but she hadn't been allowed to attend. Draco would certainly be humiliated if he had to admit that he'd gone to Muggle schools.

The rest of the rehearsal was a little boring, since Rhiannon wasn't even out on stage a lot of the time. Draco would have liked it all right if she'd come to sit by him. Even if they couldn't talk--ha, that Adrian would probably bark at them--Draco would be happy just to have her sitting so close. He could watch her breathe, watch the gentle rise and fall of her chest . . .

Instead, he was reduced to watching the two goddesses Virtue and Fortune argue. And neither one of them could hold a candle to Rhiannon. Not in musical ability, and not in beauty.

No, they were nothing but Muggles, but she was magical clear through. He just knew it.

 

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"Marie showed up and pinned up my costume, and we got to talking," said Rhiannon as they were walking away from the theatre later. "Sorry. Didn't mean to abandon you like that."

"No, no, you were working. I understand that," said Draco, feeling magnanimous.

"You looked like you were having a good chat with Adrian, there at the end."

Draco wasn't sure he'd call it good. Just as Rhiannon had mentioned at the pool, Adrian did want to hear from people who had seen his troupe perform. When the rehearsal had ended he'd come over to Draco and asked him some pointed questions. The trouble was, Draco couldn't remember much about the full performance he'd seen apart from Rhiannon's part in it. In his memory, she cast a golden glow over the whole thing, making the other players fade into insignificance.

The way you couldn't see the stars when the sun was out in all its glory.

At any rate, he hadn't liked the feeling he'd got from Adrian: that Draco was a few Sickles short of a Galleon. Draco wasn't used to Muggles looking down on him, certainly. He was even less used to the feeling that he might have deserved the scorn, that once. He'd seen the opera, so he should have been able to answer Adrian's questions more intelligently.

"Your director seems very dedicated," Draco said, spotting a little café that had an air of understated elegance. He opened the door for Rhiannon, and pulled out her chair, only to frown when the waiter handed him a menu first.

What ghastly manners. And it wasn't as though this place was a hole in the wall. Draco had chosen a very nice café, as such things went. Much better than the grotty pub he'd gone to with Harry. With prices to match.

Draco passed the menu over to Rhiannon and took another for himself.

She looked over the top of the menu, her eyes a startling blue that called to mind the deepest sea. Her voice, when she spoke, was hushed. "We don't really need these, do we? We just want tea?"

"I thought you might like a bite to eat as well."

Rhiannon closed her menu, the motion a little abrupt. "I would, yes. Thank you. Why don't you choose, though?"

Now there was the mark of a lady, Draco thought. On the other hand, he didn't have the slightest idea what might tickle her fancy. So that was uncomfortable. But then again, Draco had eaten in the finest establishments--wizarding, all--in France and England both. So how difficult could it be to navigate the offerings of a simple Muggle café?

"Tea with lemon for the lady," he said to the waiter, who was hovering by then. "Plain tea for me. And with that we'd like a light supper. The scallops Florentine for both of us to start, and then a selection of your finest cheeses, I think."

Rhiannon smiled, the expression a little shy. "Thanks for remembering the lemon. It helps my throat after a rehearsal."

"I actually thought you rehearsed in a warehouse," Draco thought to say. "We heard something about that, from the woman who sells tickets."

"Oh, well we did until this week, but then Adrian worked something out with Mr Newhaus, who owns the theatre."

After that, the conversation seemed to stall. Thankfully, the waiter soon arrived with a selection of teas. Rhiannon chose an herbal blend, Draco noticed. He was casting about for a topic to discuss when she set down her teacup and broke the silence.

"I guess I should explain about my school."

Draco folded his hands together beneath the table. This was it, then. She was going to say that she'd dearly wanted to go to Hogwarts but it had been forbidden, and she'd had to make do with a Muggle education. By then, she had to know that Draco was a wizard, right? He'd introduced Harry Potter and mentioned potion-making, after all. He'd said he was no Darren.

"You had a somewhat unusual education, I take it?" he prompted, because Rhiannon seemed reluctant to continue speaking.

She shrugged, then leaned over the table, her whole posture radiating discomfort with the topic. "I don't like to tell people about it, really. Because then they make assumptions about me, and they always get things wrong. Reversed, even."

Better and better. Draco had to struggle not to grin. She seemed sombre, so he schooled his expression, but inside, he was elated. Everything he'd thought about her was true, and Harry was going to have to eat his wand on this one, he really was . . .

"You'll tell me where you attended, though?"

Rhiannon brushed a lock of hair behind an ear. Merlin, she did have the most gorgeous hair. "I probably shouldn't. You're from that world, after all. I can tell. You're one of them."

Oh, she could tell that Draco was quality. That he was a wizard. It became harder not to let his elation show.

"Your clothes, the roses, the way you ordered . . ." Rhiannon sighed a little.

Wait, what? His clothes?

Something was off here, Draco suddenly sensed. They were talking at cross-purposes, because nobody who was trying to say that they knew he was a wizard would cite his Muggle suit as evidence.

Rhiannon seemed fairly upset by the whole thing, too, which struck a jarring note.

"It's all right," Draco said, reaching out across the table to clasp her hands in his. "Whatever it is. You can tell me."

She sighed a little, stretching out her fingers as though not sure they should be holding hands. But she didn't really try to pull away. "I attended the Chatham Academy."

The way she said it, Draco got the feeling that he was supposed to recognise the name.

"In London," she went on. "I thought you'd have heard of it since you love music so much. It's a school for people with talent in the arts, you see."

"Oh, all right." Except, Draco didn't see. "I'm not sure why you wouldn't have told me that to start with, though."

"Well, I thought you'd have heard of it," she said again. "And mostly when I do say I went there, people get these ideas about me. You see, it's a very exclusive school, and quite expensive. I don't like people assuming that I'm rich when I'm not. Most of the students there were, but they had a small group of students who could attend free of charge based on ability alone."

Well, that made sense, all around. Draco had been to a lot of operas, and he'd never heard anybody sing half so beautifully as Rhiannon. And as for her family not having much money, well, she was working at a pool, after all. It only stood to reason that she wasn't rolling in riches. "Your talent is truly stunning. I can easily see them waiving their fees, in order for the chance to work with you."

She blushed again, very slightly. "Thank you. You're a lot more understanding than some of the rich kids who attended Chatham." She made a face. "They acted as though the school was only there for them, you know? Like the scholarship students didn't belong."

Draco could hardly believe someone would think that way. Why, just ten seconds' listening to Rhiannon was enough to prove beyond all shadow of a doubt that she belonged in a special music school that could nurture her. He felt offended on her behalf. "That's outrageous!"

"That's rich kids for you." Rhiannon started slightly. "Oh, but I don't mean you. You're obviously cut from a different cloth."

Draco went still, thinking of all the times he'd thrown the Weasel's poverty in his face. Hmm, that probably hadn't been too fair-minded of him. A person's true worth wasn't related to their vault balance, after all. Just look at Severus. Or Rhiannon.

The feeling that he'd been just like the rich kids who had obviously hurt her, though . . . he didn't like that idea. Time for a new topic. Definitely. "What did you mean, that Adrian had done a lot for you this past school year?"

"Oh. He's one of my music instructors at Chatham. I was in a bit of a sticky situation in my maths class--" She made a face as she pulled her hands free from his. "I hate maths. And science is even worse. But anyway, I was failing maths until Adrian convinced the professor to let me have another go at a couple of tests I'd failed. And he got a tutor from the university to come help me get ready." Rhiannon sat back in her chair, blowing out a breath. "Until that, I was really afraid I might get asked to leave Chatham. You have to do tolerably well in the regular academic core or they don't let you stay on. Especially if they've done you a favour admitting you to begin with."

"I'm sure they were lucky to have you there."

Rhiannon smiled. "Oh, stop now. I was lucky to get a place there, that's the truth."

Well, at least he was clear now on why she hadn't attended Hogwarts. She'd wanted the chance to develop her musical abilities, that was all. She'd probably got her letter and talked it over with her parents and they'd all decided together that Chatham was the best choice, given her particular situation.

It wasn't as though Hogwarts would prepare you to sing lead opera, after all.

She'd probably learned magic from her parents, though since he still did think they were all passing, he'd be willing to bet that they'd only taught her the bare essentials. A pity she hadn't had any chance to go to Hogwarts . . . he did wonder about that, though. Had she never been tempted, even a little, to pour her energy into magic instead of music?

Though of course he was sure that part of her voice talent came from the fact that she had magic inside her. Untapped, perhaps, but it was there. It had to be. So had she ever wanted proper schooling to develop it? Perhaps she had, and her parents had forbidden it.

But how to find out for sure? The last thing he wanted to do, after all, was offend her by implying that she should have gone to a wizarding school.

Hmm. Best to be Slytherin about it. Draco took another sip of tea, then casually asked, "Was Chatham a boarding school?"

"There were some day students, but I boarded." Rhiannon laughed a little. "How could I get to London from here every day, I'd like to know."

She didn't even know about Apparition? Draco could feel his eyebrows lifting. Though of course, maybe she just meant that she wasn't licensed back then. And still wasn't, if her family was insisting that their magical abilities be kept secret . . .

"Well, you know," he said, giving her a conspiratorial look. "There are ways."

She giggled, sounding like she thought he was joking. "Like what? Star Trek transporter?"

Draco didn't know what she meant. He had a sudden feeling that he'd put his foot in it. But he bravely pressed on, flashing her what he thought of as his most charming grin. "If you wish hard enough, you can make it from here to London in nothing flat."

Another giggle. "That might have come in handy."

Draco hid his frown, but inside he was perplexed. He'd given her every opportunity to tell him the truth. There were alone in the café, except for the waiter who had quite properly realised that this was a private conversation and his hovering wasn't desired. And Draco had practically said out loud that he was a wizard.

So why was she still holding back?

Perhaps it was time to be more direct. "You don't believe in magic?"

Rhiannon blinked. "Uh no . . . do you?"

"Sure." Draco flashed her another grin, then lowered his voice just in case that waiter was nosier than he seemed. "Want to see my wand?"

She actually recoiled, her chair skidding backwards a couple of inches. "I thought you were a nice young man!"

She said it like she had thought that and didn't any longer. Even more perplexed, Draco couldn't quite hide his frown, that time. "What . . . Rhiannon, are you afraid of magic?"

A scoffing noise. "Magic . . . if that's some kind of new line you're using to get girls, it's not very good. What's next, you're going to claim there's magic in the air? Do I look that stupid?"

How daft. There wasn't magic in the air at all. It came from inside them. She'd know that, if she'd attended Hogwarts. Actually, she should know that much even if she hadn't. Some things were obvious.

Perhaps they weren't, though, to the completely unschooled. Just how little had her parents taught her, for Merlin's sake?

He suddenly realised why she'd all but jumped back when he'd mentioned his wand. She'd thought he meant his . . . Draco swallowed. This wasn't going well at all, and he really didn't want her thinking he was quite so uncouth as to talk about his . . . and on a first date, no less!

"Look, when I mentioned my wand, I really did mean my wand," he said, pulling it out and placing it on the table between them.

"Oh." Rhiannon blushed, the colour seeping into her cheeks giving her a sort of glow. "Er, sorry. I thought you meant . . . never mind. But . . ." She glanced down at the pale length of the wand, her forehead furrowing. "I don't get it. You're not serious, are you? You carry a wand about with you? What for?"

Draco raised an eyebrow, about as surprised as he'd ever been. So that was the way the wind blew, eh? Well, no wonder she seemed to know so little about magic. The truth was, she didn't know anything at all. For one long moment, Draco wanted to strangle her parents. Hiding your magic from everyone, Muggle and wizard alike, was one thing, but to not even teach your daughter the first thing about her own powers?

With that, the truth dawned on him, and he felt like he might fall out of his chair. She didn't know about her own powers.

She didn't know she was a witch . . .

Perhaps her parents didn't know, either. Not about her, and not about themselves. Perhaps her family had hidden and repressed their magic generations back, the better to hide their special talents. It could even be that they'd employed spells to that effect, hundreds of years ago, spells that would attach to the family line and follow it until the end of time.

Draco had heard stories about that. Legends, he'd always thought them. But they were true, after all. Rhiannon was proof of it.

A girl who could sing like a siren and yet didn't realise that she wasn't anything like the Muggles who stood alongside her on that stage.

She was still waiting to hear why he carried a wand, and Draco knew in that moment that he could lose her, for all time, if he wasn't careful. If she didn't believe in magic, if she didn't have the least idea that it existed . . . well, claiming to be a wizard wouldn't be a very good move, would it? She'd think he was mental.

Best to introduce her gradually to her true heritage. Or at the very least, best to talk to Harry about the matter. He'd been in Rhiannon's position once, more or less. He'd been a wizard and hadn't realised. The only thing that was odd about Rhiannon was that as far as he knew, she wasn't an orphan. She didn't talk as though she was one, at any rate.

Draco forced a laugh. "Oh, the wand. I . . . er, I . . . well . . ."

Merlin be cursed, why couldn't he think of a single thing to say? Harry always called him a bad liar, but he wasn't usually as tongue-tied as all this, was he?

Rhiannon suddenly smiled. "Oh, Draco. After what I told you, about my school, you can't think I'd be such a snob, can you? I love opera, but it's not like I think it's the only thing fit to grace a stage."

It wasn't often that Draco felt completely lost in a conversation, but she'd sure lost him with that remark. He did his best to pretend as though he'd followed every word. "You don't?"

"Of course not." Rhiannon stroked the tablecloth with her fingers, looking as though she'd like to take his hands but was simply too shy. "Silly. There's nothing wrong with being a stage magician."

For another long moment, Draco still felt adrift at sea. Stage magician? What was she on about? When the truth dawned on him, he felt almost nauseated. There were Muggles who pretended to be able to do magic . . . yeah, he had a dim memory of Lucius mentioning something about that. And Harry thought that Muggles weren't jealous of wizards! Why on earth would some of them be stage magicians, if not because they knew perfectly well that a whole magical world existed and they were locked out of it, and they wanted in?

And Rhiannon actually thought he was one of these . . . he all but shuddered.

On the other hand, he didn't have any other way to explain the wand, did he? Not unless he wanted to tell her that magic was real and he could prove it. If only he could prove it. Bloody stupid underage magic laws.

"Well, it's not opera," he said, pocketing the wand again.

She pouted, just slightly. "And there I was thinking you might show me something. A trick. Can you make things disappear?"

Draco's wand hand started itching. Somewhere deep inside, he heard his father lecturing him about impulse control. He needed it now, no doubt about it. Severus wouldn't let him see Rhiannon alone again--or quite possibly not at all--if Draco lost his head and started firing off spells.

But he wanted to conjure her some magic flowers to go with the Muggle ones he'd bought earlier.

He shrugged. "Oh, I can, but you know . . ."

Rhiannon sighed. "I know. I shouldn't have asked. You wouldn't ask me to sing in here, after all, and you probably need your props and such set up just so. Maybe you can let me come watch, sometime. Where do you perform? Children's parties and such?"

"Something like that," murmured Draco, trying to keep matters as vague as possible. He'd have to figure out how to get around the problem of underage magic detectors, he supposed. He wanted to show her some magic. Wanted to show her just what she really was, and watch her eyes light up with wonder. He wanted to put his wand into her hand and help her learn to swish it to and fro.

He wanted to see her blossom into the witch she was inside.

But all that could wait, he decided, until he'd worked out just how to proceed.

He nodded slightly at the waiter when he served Rhiannon first. A pity he had to meet Harry and Severus at ten. It would give them enough time to eat, but not much more. He'd much rather spend longer with Rhiannon.

After all, she was turning out to be much more unusual--and much more special--than he'd dreamed.

The End.


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