This certainly wasn't like any summer Draco had ever had. He was used to spending his holidays in Wiltshire, surrounded by luxury, lazing about in a bedroom easily the size of Severus' entire quarters. To still be sharing a room, even during the holidays, was a bit much. The fact that they were still in the castle hardly mattered; he'd be sharing with Harry even after they went to Devon!

Then again, it was a bit nice to have a brother to do things with. Holidays for Draco had most often been lonely times, with only tutors and elves around, except during each night's rather formal dinner. True, he'd had a private Quidditch pitch all to himself, but one-on-none Quidditch just wasn't that much fun. Now he could test his skills against Harry, who really was quite a good Seeker.

Not better than Draco, of course.

But good, yes. Very good. Even with a Firebolt XL under him, Draco had to struggle to get to the Snitch first. And oh, how that was worth it! The look on Harry's face whenever Draco bested him!

Sometimes it was Harry who won their impromptu matches. But that was all right. Those losses made Draco try all the harder the next time they played. He could feel his skills being stretched and sharpened every time he and Harry took to the pitch.

His final Quidditch season at Hogwarts was really going to be something . . . but only if Harry decided to play for Gryffindor once more. The Weasley girl wouldn't present nearly as much of a challenge.

And Draco was looking forward to the challenge of taking Harry on again, in front of the whole school, and this time, winning.

Not that Quidditch completely filled their days. Harry spent every morning helping Severus and Lucinda in the lab. He chopped and minced and diced and puréed whatever Severus said, and because Draco had nothing else to do, he'd got in the habit of helping out as well. Actually, he'd pretty much had to. The whole idea was to assist Severus and Lucinda to improve the Wolfsbane potion. Harry was involved out of concern for his werewolf friend. Severus didn't even really need the assistance, but he knew how much Harry wanted to help.

Draco's motive was just as laudable. Oh, not that he cared about Lupin overly much. He did care, however, about his mother. And at the moment, Lupin's continued safety in his masquerade was important for Narcissa. If the Dark Lord should ever find out about Lupin's double life, Narcissa would come in for her share of blame. And torture, no doubt. No matter that she hadn't known a thing.

So, it was best to keep Lupin's true nature as submerged as they could. It was best that everyone, Narcissa included, believe him to be Lucius. Draco tried hard not to think too much about everything that might mean, but sometimes at night, he couldn't stop himself from running scenarios in his mind. His mother expected a kiss now and again, he knew. He'd seen her lift her hand expectantly to his father, and more rarely, her lips.

Did Lupin follow through on her suggestion?

Draco would shudder in his bed when he thought about it. Lupin would have to, right? It was part of the masquerade. But awful, so awful. Draco didn't want his mother being touched, not even casually, by a half-human creature like a werewolf.

He knew better than to say such things out loud, though. Harry was all right most of the time, but nothing raised his hackles faster than Draco's so-called racism.

Racism, honestly! It wasn't. It wasn't anything of the sort. Draco was just sensible, that was all. Who would want their mother hanging about with a rabid creature who carried a dreadful communicative disease? Not him, that was for certain. But the Wolfsbane potion helped keep the worst traits of the werewolf at bay, so Draco chopped and minced and diced right alongside Harry, all the while keeping his dire thoughts to himself.

Well, almost all the while. He did have limits.

Severus seemed to understand that. Harry had clearly intended to work all day, every day, on the Wolfsbane experiments, and Draco would have done likewise, just to keep up with how things were going, but Severus had put an end to that idea. He'd insisted that he and Lucinda needed to work on their own in the afternoons.

On their own. Now there was a joke. The headmaster kept dropping by on the most daft, transparent excuses Draco had ever heard. The man was sweet on Lucinda; it was clear as day. Draco didn't say anything about it, though, not even in jest. It was one thing to tease Severus a bit about Marsha. As annoyed as Severus might get, he'd never really hold it against Draco.

Draco wasn't so sure about the headmaster. Best to tread carefully there. Draco felt like he was almost at Hogwarts on sufferance, after the way he'd been cast out of classes and then expelled. He'd been reinstated, yes, and most of the time he felt welcome. All those points to Slytherin had helped. But still, he wasn't really comfortable enough to take liberties.

Not like Harry did. He talked to the headmaster like the two of them were old friends, sometimes. And Draco just couldn't see himself ever doing that. Draco would never admit it to anyone--though Severus probably knew--but Dumbledore frightened him a little.

So, mornings for the Wolfsbane and afternoons for Quidditch. Evenings though, most often found Draco and Harry continuing their explorations of the castle. It had more mazelike corridors and dusty nooks and crannies than Draco would have guessed, but of course the Marauder's Map was very helpful in helping them know where they'd explored and where they hadn't.

If Harry would look at it more often, that was.

"We've been in that room before," said Draco, sighing a bit. "Before term ended, even. Don't you remember? We talked about your problem. You aren't still . . . er, sticking yourself, are you? I mean, Severus really did defend you in spectacular fashion. That must have helped you feel better, eh?"

Harry leaned his palm on the storeroom door. "Aran was never the real problem, though. Well, not the cause of that problem, anyhow. Marsha's got me to realise that. Whatever anyone may have said or done to me, the idea to, uh . . . do that to myself, came from me."

Yeah, Marsha was big on the idea that problems came from the inside. Solutions, too. She never let Draco get away with blaming other people for the things he'd done. It was actually pretty frustrating. "You didn't answer my question."

Harry gave Draco what seemed like a wry look. "When would I be sticking myself? Between you and Dad, I seem never to be alone."

Oh. Harry had caught on to Draco's grand plan, then. Not that it was all that grand. Draco lifted his chin a little. "As far as I know, you're alone in the loo." He quirked a grin. "Or maybe you're not. Something you're not telling me?"

"Oh, don't be a prat." Harry rolled his eyes.

Draco refused to let himself get distracted. "You still didn't answer my question. Have you transfigured anything into a needle since term ended?"

Harry's features hardened, which was answer enough for Draco. Harry was still struggling with his problem. Which was probably only to be expected . . . Marsha had lectured Draco about not expecting too much, too soon. But Draco still felt disturbed. "I hope you went to Severus about it," he said quietly. "As soon as you . . . er, came to your senses."

"It was just the once," muttered Harry. "I just . . . look, it doesn't . . . oh, hell. Yes, I did go and talk to Dad about it, all right? He wasn't too happy."

Neither was Draco, but he didn't say so. Marsha had told him that Harry didn't need two fathers. What he needed from Draco, she'd said, was acceptance. Which made a lot of sense, considering how Harry had been treated by his Muggle family. "That's rough."

Harry pursed his lips. "I bet Dad wished he could take away my fingers the way he took away your wand that time."

Draco hadn't thought of that. Denying Harry his magic wasn't really an option, in the circumstances. Severus probably found that pretty frustrating.

Just one more way that Harry stands out, thought Draco. He'd like to be able to do wandless magic. But nobody their age could do such a thing. Nobody except Harry Potter, and he only a half-blood.

Draco sighed.

"Look, I'll try harder not to do it again," said Harry, meaning the needles, not wandless magic. Draco just nodded. "Anyway, enough of that. When we were in here before, I noticed something and wondered about it. Um . . . how's your Latin?"

Draco grinned. Sometimes, he just couldn't pass up a chance to needle Harry. Though perhaps that wasn't the best way to put it. "It's proper Latin, not that church bastardization Muggles started using."

Sure enough, Harry rose to the bait. "Look, Muggle's not an synonym for awful, you know. I thought you and Marsha were working on tolerance--"

"We are," drawled Draco. "Doesn't mean I lack all sense of standards."

Harry made a rude gesture and shoved the door open. "Come in here with me, then. There's something I've been meaning to take a closer look at."

Draco couldn't imagine what. The storeroom had just been filled with old broken desks and the like. He couldn't imagine why Hogwarts would keep such things around. Evanesco or Reparo would take care of the lot. But then again, Filch was a squib. That likely explained the matter.

Though it was still a good question why on earth Hogwarts would employ a squib. Not much use, was he?

Harry pushed past the furniture and pointed at the back corner. "Just like the Mirror of Erised. Well, maybe. I noticed before that it was decorated, but I didn't have time to ask you about it. Can you read what that inscription says?"

Draco gave his brother a superior look. "Can Severus brew?"

Drawing his wand, Draco cast a thorough Pulire to get rid of the dust coating the large mirror's frame, then read the inscription through, thinking about it. "Hmm. It's a bit poetic. Not sure I can recreate the cadence of it, really. Let alone the rhyme scheme."

"I don't care--"

"But I do," said Draco. "What did I just tell you about standards? So, let's see . . ." He paused for a long moment, rubbing his hands together as he worked out a translation. Dratted Latin and its flexible word order. Sometimes you could hardly tell what the original meant, though he was hardly going to admit that to Harry. "Ah. How about this? Herein converse with those of old, yet only those whose hearts you hold. Behold the wonder, yet beware. Beyond is timeless, there not here."

Harry drew close to the mirror and looked about to touch the surface, just as if he'd never heard of residual magic, let alone treating a new artefact with a bit of respect.

Draco put a hand on his arm and shook his head. "Too unpredictable."

"Yeah . . . " Harry glanced at him. "The poem. What does it mean?"

Draco shrugged. "I translated. Interpretation is a different matter completely. Offhand, I'd say it's a mirror designed to show people who have passed on."

Harry blinked. "Oh. Really? Then why is it only showing us?"

"Because it's broken, like the rest of the dross in here?"

"Maybe . . ." Harry suddenly pointed. "Wait, you move over there." He waited until Draco had backed away a few feet. "Huh. Just me, now. Still nothing . . . Er . . . why don't you try?"

"Why don't I not?" said Draco stiffly. "Only those whose hearts you hold, Harry?Like I'd want to see . . ."

"Oh. Sorry." Harry started chewing on his lip. Disgusting habit. Draco decided he'd better look up some sort of hex that would put an end to it. Something to make Harry's lips taste like bile, maybe. He could always lift it again when Harry got a girlfriend.

"You're thinking of Lucius?" asked Harry in a tentative voice.

"Pansy."

"Oh. Yeah, I guess you wouldn't want to talk to her again."

"Not unless I get to reach into the mirror and strangle her." Draco shrugged, then. "Hmm, probably no danger I'll see her, then. I mean, if you only see people you love. All right, I'll try it."

He stepped in front of the mirror and stared into it as Harry moved off to the side.

Then, because it was really more than he could resist, he suddenly gasped and lifted a hand to his heart. "Oh, my. Isn't that quite the sight . . ."

"What, what?"

"The best looking young man Hogwarts has seen in lo these many days," said Draco, imitating the headmaster's turn of speech. "Record-breaking Slytherin Seeker! Winner of not fifty, not a hundred, but a hundred and fifty points to Slytherin. A change of decoration is in order--"

"Oh, shut it," said Harry, glowering. Then he seemed to backtrack a bit. "Look, I'm as happy about that as you are, but if this mirror does really show the . . . er, dearly departed, then I want to get it working." He cleared his throat, his eyes a glinting green even in the dimly lit room as he turned to stare at Draco. "I want to talk to them, you see? Really talk, even if it's only the once and I can never see them again."

"Them?"

Harry turned his face away, his throat convulsing as he answered. "Yeah, them. My parents."

Later that same evening, Snape verified Draco's translation, but he went further than that. "This is the Mirror of All Souls," he told both his sons, shaking his head a little. "It's a rather well-known example of old spells gradually losing their potency. It hasn't worked since the early twenties, I believe. The library likely has more information."

"The nineteen-twenties?" asked Harry.

"No, the fifteen-twenties!"

Harry ignored his brother. It was too bad he hadn't ignored him earlier that day, when they'd been alone in the storeroom.

"You want to see your parents," Draco had repeated, shaking his head as though he didn't much like the idea. "Aren't they basically just strangers to you, though? It's not like you really ever knew them, Harry. You were too young when they died."

"I know them from my truthful dreams."

Not the answer Draco wanted, obviously. His jaw had clenched for an instant. "You're living in a dream if you think that means anything. They're dead, Harry! And you have Severus, now. You shouldn't need anybody else."

"I don't need anybody else. I just want to see them. Is that so terrible?"

"Yes!"

Harry felt his arms start itching. Draco was a fine one to talk! "Oh, sure it is. Yeah, you've never once whinged on about wanting to see your mother, have you? Isn't Severus enough for you?"

Draco had abruptly cast a privacy spell. Then he spoke in a harsh whisper. "Look, you can't blame me for wanting to see with my own eyes that she isn't covered in bite marks or something--"

"You're such an arse," Harry had shouted, fed up. "You know that's not going to happen. You know that Remus wouldn't do a thing like that! Even if he wanted to, which he doesn't, he wouldn't blow his cover and you know it!"

"I know he forgot to take a potion, once upon a time!"

"Oh, shut up." Harry was sick of Draco's thinly veiled comments about Remus and fur, or claws, or his not-so-veiled threats about what he'd do if a werewolf laid so much as a finger on his pure, perfect mother. Not that she was, of course. As far as Harry was concerned, Narcissa and Bellatrix were a matched set in everything but looks. "Do you want me constantly talking about how much I hate your mother, eh? Because I do! Hell, I ought to be the one going on and on about how worried I am. She might figure things out and turn Remus in! She's evil enough to--"

Draco drew his wand. "Don't you call my mother evil!"

"Yeah, well don't call Remus rabid, then! You want to love her, fine. But I love him." Harry lowered his voice to a hiss. "So just shut up!"

And Draco finally had. About Remus, at least. But he was muttering as he slid his wand back into his trouser pocket. Something about how Harry not being afraid of him was bloody inconvenient at times.

The comment broke the tension, at least. And Draco hadn't said anything more about how Harry shouldn't want to see his parents. Maybe being reminded of his mother had made him realise that Snape being enough for them wasn't really the point. They both had other people they cared about. And Harry did care about his parents, even if they'd died when he was very young.

Snape was walking around the mirror now, examining it from all angles, his forehead wrinkling as he waved his wand in a small arc now and again. Harry waited as long as he could, but after a few minutes, he couldn't stand the tension any longer. "What's wrong with it? Can you tell?"

"Just as I said. The magic within it seems very weak at present. And weakening more every year, until eventually there'll be nothing left at all."

Harry flexed his fingers, a sudden thought overtaking him. "So it just needs something to amplify the magic, then. Kind of like a wand does, right?"

Snape whirled, robes flaring, and fixed him with a glare. "You're not to experiment with wanded magic or anything else."

"I was just going to research it. In the library, like you said." Harry took a step closer to the mirror, his hand reaching out to trace across his own image reflected there. "If I come up with any ideas I'll talk them over with you, honest. I did learn things, you know, from that essay you set me. The one about how dangerous it was to work with magical artefacts?"

"I'm not likely to forget. The question is whether you are."

"I said I'd talk with you, whatever I find." Harry swallowed, wondering if his father was about to forbid him to even research the mirror. "I won't experiment on my own. But . . . um, if I come up with something promising, will you help me test it? I mean, if you think it's safe?" Snape was so long answering that Harry bit his lip. "Please?"

Snape's harsh features softened, very slightly. "It's not lost on me why this might be important to you, Harry."

"You don't mind?" Harry glanced up through his fringe, feeling a bit like he was walking along a ledge. He knew he shouldn't feel that way, but he did. Just a little. He knew how this might look to Snape. "I mean, it won't make you any less my dad, if I get a chance to talk to my . . . er, to . . ."

"Don't start calling him James again," said Snape dryly. "'Dad' will do for both of us. Though I do believe you might horrify the man if you mention as much to him."

Harry blinked. He hadn't thought of that, not in a long while. For the past few minutes he'd been worried about what Snape would think of this whole idea. Now, it seemed like those worries had doubled. Or tripled, even. What would his dad have to say about the adoption? Harry'd have to tell him, right? He couldn't keep a thing like that secret.

Slytherins don't show when they're hurt, Draco had said.

Pretending he hadn't been adopted . . . that would be a horrible thing to do to Snape. Harry shivered just thinking about it. Too much like repudiation. No, he'd have to be completely honest with his Mum and Dad. But what would they say in return? It was almost enough to make Harry want to forget about the mirror. What was he going to do if James Potter swam into view and told Harry that he disapproved? What if he called Harry mental? Well, no, he probably wouldn't do that. But he might say what Ron had that time, about Harry having been Confunded . . .

Snape's voice echoed in Harry's mind. Your father loved you. He would want you to have what you need.

Probably true, but still . . . Harry wasn't really looking forward to explaining that he needed Severus.

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The Mirror of All Souls was documented in any number of books, as it turned out. Draco helped with the research. Grudgingly, Harry thought. But the other boy was obviously determined not to leave Harry alone, so the two of them spent hours in the library.

They both avoided all mention of Narcissa and Remus.

Draco had plenty to say on other topics, though. More than once, he went on about how the mirror would be of no use to him, since he certainly didn't love anybody who had died. Not anybody, he stressed. Harry thought his brother was a bit defensive on that point. He wasn't quite sure what was going on. Was Draco worried that he still did love Pansy deep down? Or worse, was he afraid that he might see Lucius in the mirror?

Draco had loved his birth father once, after all. Maybe he still did, a little, even after everything that had happened. Maybe Draco loved and hated him both.

Harry didn't ask. He decided he didn't really want to know.

But of course, if they could get the mirror to work, he might end up finding out.

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Getting the mirror to work, as it happened, was anything but assured. It only took Harry about three days to conclude that much. Draco wasn't very hopeful either, though he did keep plugging away on the problem. Quidditch lost all appeal, and they stopped wandering the castle except to go back to the mirror and examine it minutely, looking for other inscriptions or clues they might have missed. Then they wanted to try some diagnostic spells they'd found. Snape went with them for that, and watched tight-lipped as each boy tried casting them.

But the mirror remained absolutely unresponsive.

Several days after that, Harry slammed a book closed as he sat in the dining alcove. It was useless, wasn't it? He knew by then that brighter minds than his had tried to wake the mirror up, way back in the twenties and thirties, when it had first gone dormant. And they'd all failed, so what had made him think that he stood any sort of real chance? He wasn't brilliant like Hermione.

Good thinking . . . when she came out to Devon to visit, he'd definitely see if she had any ideas.

"Problem?" asked Snape mildly, his footsteps approaching from behind. One hand settled briefly onto Harry's shoulder.

"Yeah." Twisting his neck, Harry glanced up at his father. "I don't think the mirror's going to start working, after all. Which is sort of . . . well, it's kind of rough, that's all. Believing that I might finally get to talk to my parents, and then to have the chance taken away, again?"

Snape sat down in the chair next to him, and nodded as though he understood. Maybe he did. Harry actually wasn't sure. He still hadn't heard much about Snape's own mum and dad. But at least now, he knew better than to ask.

"Well, it could be worse," he said, trying to cheer himself. "I might have got my hopes up about seeing Sirius again, too."

An odd sort of silence seemed to surround him, then. A conspicuous lack of reply, either from Snape right beside him, or Draco who was reading on the couch. He seemed a little too focussed on his book. No banter, not now. It took Harry a moment to sort it all out. "Wait. You think I could see Sirius if we could get the mirror working?"

Snape's hand covered his own and squeezed. "I'm certain you hold him in your heart. Aren't you?"

The question could have been sarcastic, but it wasn't. More . .. rhetorical, Harry guessed. He looked up into his father's face. "Well, sure. I just thought ... you know, the Veil? I figured Sirius wasn't in the usual . . . er, realm, or wherever the mirror connects to."

"That's possible."

Snape sounded like he doubted Harry's analysis, though. Harry's mind went into a whirl. Sirius . . . 

What if he could talk to Sirius? What if he got a chance, finally, to tell him he was so, so sorry for rushing out to the Ministry like that? Tell him he'd never have done it if he'd known what it would lead to?

Harry's heart leapt into his throat. Talking to his parents . . . that was like a fantasy, in a way. He couldn't even really imagine it, since he'd never done it before. But Sirius was someone he knew. Someone who knew him.

Oh, God. Sirius was also someone who knew Snape.

Suddenly, everything seemed a lot more complicated. When Sirius found out that Severus Snape was Harry's new parent, he'd have something to say about it. Something bad, that was for sure. Probably, something unbelievably awful.

But Sirius wasn't going to say anything, not about any of it, was he? Because the bloody mirror was never going to start working. Harry sighed, unsure whether to be relieved or depressed. There was only one thing he was sure of, really.

"It was good of you to help me look for a solution," he told his father, moving his fingers so he could sort of squeeze Snape's for a second. "Even more so, if you were thinking all along that it might show me Sirius."

Snape shrugged. "Why wouldn't I help you? Black can do nothing to me."

"Yeah, because he's . . . dead." Stupid thing to say, Harry knew. But some part of him felt like he was only just then finally, really accepting it. He'd known before that Sirius was gone forever, but deep inside, he'd always sort of thought that the Veil was different, somehow. Sirius couldn't be dead, not the way other people were. He was just . . . missing, and couldn't get back.

But if the mirror could contact Sirius just as readily as anyone else who'd died, then there was no more denying it.

"He's dead," Harry repeated, whispering. He wished he didn't sound so shocked. So . . . mental. 

"Yes," said Snape softly, grasping Harry's hand a little more firmly. Only then did Harry realise he'd been shaking, just a little. He blinked, trying to get away from the awful choking feeling in his throat. "But what I meant was that he can do nothing to us."

"Oh." Harry swallowed a couple of times. He knew there wasn't any point in being unhappy. He ought to think about what he had, not what he'd lost. And he had a lot. What Snape had just said was proof of it. "That's true too, yeah."

Sirius could jump up and down with outrage, or even tell Harry that James would be disgusted, and it wouldn't change how Harry felt about Snape or the adoption. Though it would hurt. A lot, probably.

"Maybe it's just as well that he won't even get a chance to object to all this." Frustrated, Harry snatched his hand back and waved it randomly to indicate where he was living. "Why does the headmaster even keep that stupid mirror around?"

Snape's dark eyes glimmered with sympathy as he leaned back in his chair and folded his hands together atop the table. "I didn't wish to mention this earlier, as it would only have discouraged you. And it was good to see you and Draco working on this project together."

Draco glanced up from his reading. "But?"

"Albus acquired the mirror years ago, hoping to awaken it."

"Oh, great." Harry felt like just banging his head on the table. "If the greatest wizard of the age failed, there's not much hope for me, is there?"

"Thought you were going to be the greatest wizard of the age," said Draco as he set his book aside. "Or so implies a certain prophecy. Giving up so easily, are you?"

"No . . . yes . . . I don't know!"

"Perhaps a break from the problem is what you most need," said Snape. "You can resume your research later during the summer, if you wish. In any case, I hadn't thought to stay in the castle much longer. A holiday in Devon will do us all some good."

"Remus is more important than any holiday." Harry stood up and faced his father. "Shouldn't you and Lucinda keep working on the Wolfsbane?"

"We've done as much as we can for the time being. Several new formulations will be tested over the course of the next few fulls, and Lucinda will be collecting data to help us refine the potion further before we dare risk introducing any changes to Lupin's own dose."

"Yeah, that makes sense." Harry really did appreciate all the work his father had put into the Wolfsbane project. Even if Snape was doing it mainly for the Order and not so much for Remus, he still appreciated it. He tried his best to smile.

Draco made a huffing noise. "Devon was well and good for a week or two during term, Severus, but I'm not sure what we're going to do there for the whole holiday."

"Your summer homework, perhaps?"

"I did start mine already, you know," said Draco, a little snootily. "Harry hasn't done a thing."

"Oh yeah, and I've had nothing at all to do--" Harry suddenly laughed. "You know what's funny? When I lived with the Dursleys I longed to do my holiday assignments. Would have meant reading about magic, see. But um, no, I haven't managed to get to any of it yet. Not this summer."

Draco returned to his previous line of thought. "So I'll do my homework, Severus. And then what? Make daisy chains?"

Snape sighed. "Perhaps we can go to London a time or two to take in an opera or a play, Draco. Will that do?"

"I suppose it will have to."

"You can come along when I visit Dudley," added Harry, doing his best to make it sound like he was doing Draco a giant favour. "We can all go out for pizza. Have you ever had . . . hmm, that might not be so good for Dudley's diet, I guess."

"Ah yes, the diet. I wonder if your cousin's any less spherical."

As comments from Draco went, that one wasn't nearly as cutting as it could be, Harry thought. "I think Devon for the rest of the summer will be brilliant. We can go explore the beach, and maybe we can find a pool where I can have those swimming lessons. And we can hike through the countryside--"

"How uncultured can you be? Hikes, honestly. Talk about Mugglish entertainment."

"And what are operas and plays, you prat? By Muggles, for Muggles." Harry decided that smug was a pretty good feeling, really. "And you like them. You practically worship them. So don't talk to me about Mugglish."

Draco pretended to brush some lint from his sleeve. "Your ignorance is really quite something, Harry. Don't you know that half those actors and singers are wizards and witches just passing as Muggles?" He smirked. "And half the stuff on stage is dross. So you do the maths. I like the wizard half."

Harry really didn't think it was true that half of all performers were wizards in disguise, but he could hardly argue the point, considering he did know that it happened sometimes. Remus had been one such wizard, after all, working years in the West End, developing his acting skills so someday they could be put to good use against the enemies of the Light.

Instead of arguing, Harry shrugged, and said he was going to figure out what to pack for Devon.

It was nice, knowing that this summer, he could just bring what he wanted, and leave the rest of his things at home.

Home.

His home.

Harry kind of hugged the word to himself as he began sorting through the things Snape had bought him.

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Snape had arranged it with the headmaster that while they were in Devon, they'd still all get their mail. A redirecting spell was sending the owls away from the cottage and to Hogwarts. From there, Dobby was putting their post in a box. When Severus opened a matching box in Devon, the letters appeared within.

Harry'd got several letters from Ron and Hermione, though they hadn't been able to come visit yet. Draco didn't get any mail at all the first two weeks, but then a letter came from Gringotts, the heavy paper and embossed seal on it unmistakable. Harry wasn't going to ask about it. None of his business, even if he was responsible for the fact that Draco had a balance there again. An extremely healthy balance, Harry knew. Draco didn't exactly spend money like it was going out of style, but nobody in their right mind would ever call him frugal, either. Even before they'd left Hogwarts he'd begun owl-ordering things like mad, and he'd insisted Severus take him to Hogsmeade so he could have a proper seamstress determine his measurements. After that, new clothes had begun appearing, though not since they'd left the castle.

Of course, for all Harry knew, deliveries were still arriving there and Dobby just wasn't sending them on.

Well, at least none of Draco's new clothes had had gemstone buttons. Draco knew well enough that their father wouldn't stand for it.

Harry was somewhat surprised to see Snape retrieving the Daily Prophet from the box, since he knew his father had no respect for the publication. When asked, the Potions Master had replied that they’d do well to keep up events in the wizarding world since they were currently rather removed from it.

While Harry didn’t take the advice and read the paper, his brother certainly did. One morning as he perused the financial section, Draco nearly choked on his tea.

"Bloody typical!" Draco growled as soon as he'd read the article through. "How can anyone take this drivel seriously, I'd like to know!"

"What is it?" asked Severus in a weary voice. He probably recognised that outraged tone of voice, same as Harry did. Whatever had Draco upset was bound to be something his father and brother found pretty frivolous.

"Walpurgis, that's what," spat Draco. "It's not enough he has to go all tricky and deprive me of my rightful inheritance--"

"Rightful?" scoffed Harry. All his good intentions about leaving the subject of Narcissa alone sailed straight out the window. "What was rightful about it? Your mother killed the man hoping you'd inherit!"

"We don't know that," said Draco, though of course he'd been the one to suggest it in the first place. "All we know is that the goblins decided there'd been foul play. Which was hardly enough to deprive me of my due, but now that mouldy old baby-swapper is getting good press from beyond the grave for it." He slapped the paper with the back of his hand, the motion oddly reminding Harry of those old movies that had men slapping each other with gloves in order to challenge each other to a duel.

"May I?" Severus calmly scanned the unfolded paper. "Ah. I see."

Harry just waited.

"It seems the Wizarding Home for Displaced and Orphaned Juvenile Squibs has just announced their receipt of a very generous posthumous endowment from Walpurgis Black's assets. The Prophet is terming him an outstanding philanthropist, too modest to call attention to his generosity during life."

"A home, I tell you!" shouted Draco, clearly incensed. "A home! My money, gone to a home for squibs!"

"Displaced?" Harry directed the question to his father.

"Abandoned, I suspect they mean."

Harry frowned. His own family hadn't been the soul of kindness, but most people were decent, weren't they? And squibs were just a part of wizarding life. Magic might run in families, but it occasionally skipped over individuals. Everyone knew that. "They shouldn't be abandoned," he murmured, then almost flinched, since he could just hear Draco begin a rant on the subject. Oh, yes they should, Potter. They're squibs!

Draco though, was nodding in vigorous agreement. "Quite right. It's a disgrace, through and through. Proper wizarding culture is absolutely clear on the matter of squibs. I mean, that's part of the reason my family was so upset by Walpurgis' nasty little business schemes in the first place--"

"I thought it was because he was switching Muggleborns into pureblood families, and then if these children ever married they'd be polluting perfect pure precious blood lines," Harry said dryly. "Not out of any concern for the squibs switched out."

Draco shrugged. "That was part of it. But the other half was that family squibs are supposed to be taken care of by the family itself."

Harry did flinch, then. "Murdered, you mean?"

"Oh for Merlin's sake!" shouted Draco, clearly incensed. "No, I don't mean murdered! Are you daft?"

Harry glared. "You said squibs were! Killed, I mean. You even said that pureblood parents wanted a way to tell if their newborn babies were squibs, because infanticide was so much easier than waiting for years to see if a child ends up able to channel any magic!"

"I didn't say it was right," said Draco scathingly. "It's not even intelligent, really. The Furies have a way of getting you back for killing off blood kin, squibs or no. But some families just can't bear the humiliation, and they panic the minute it's clear that a child has no magic. Listen, a big reason why Walpurgis' switching scheme was so frowned upon in my family was because he'd developed those charms that could detect squibs early on. Which would lead to more murders in some families. Not mine, though. I hope that's fucking well clear, now."

"Language, Draco."

Draco gave Snape an irritated glance, but then he nodded.

"So what would your family have done if you'd had a squib brother or sister, then?" asked Harry, honestly curious. He really had just assumed that the Malfoys would kill off any squib relatives. Without a second thought, even.

Draco lifted his shoulders. "Well, you don't want to be seen with them, so they're not in company much. You lodge them in an upstairs suite facing away from the heavily used areas of the grounds, and assign a couple of house-elves to wait on them hand and foot. They're cared for in grand style. I mean, you sort of try to make it up to them, in other ways, so they don't feel so bad about missing out on their magical heritage."

Harry was aghast. "You stick them in a back room and just leave them there?"

"Don't be dramatic, Harry. They're allowed out sometimes. You know, to attend important family functions like weddings and such."

Harry glanced at his father, who merely nodded. In confirmation, it looked, not necessarily approval, but Harry still felt like he'd been stepped on or something. "Sounds a bit like they're shoved in a cupboard," he said, surprised at how rough his voice came out. "And speaking as someone who was shoved into one for having magic, I can tell you that it pretty much stinks to treat a person the same way for not having any."

Draco ran a hand through his hair, pushing it back from his forehead. "They're cosseted and coddled, Potter. It's not the same thing at all. Nobody starves them or anything. And squibs usually like to keep to themselves, anyway. They're ashamed to have no magic--"

"I bet they like to keep to themselves because it's so bloody obvious they aren't wanted!" Harry narrowed his eyes. "It's like Goyle deciding he was stupid just because everyone treated him like he was!"

Snape's own voice was mild. "I don't believe this is a matter you two will agree on. Perhaps it's best to accept that."

Draco nodded, but Harry was too far gone to just give it up. "So if you have a son someday and he's a squib, you're going to treat him like this?"

"Well, I'm certainly not going to farm my own flesh and blood out to a home for squibs," retorted Draco, waving the letter.

"Maybe they're better off there," said Harry heatedly. Suddenly the orphanage didn't sound so horrible, after all. "Yeah, better a group home than staying with families that try to hide them. Maybe they're loved there! Maybe someone cares about them enough to let them see the light of day!"

"Maybe we should just have a look for ourselves," said Draco, his own tones as cool as Harry's had been hot. "Since it is, after all, my money that's funding this shameful enterprise. I think I'd like to see how it's being spent."

"It is not your money," said Snape. "It never was, is that clear? It was Walpurgis Black's fortune and never intended for you until your mother manipulated the old man and then murdered him."

Draco twisted a lip. "As I said, there's no actual proof she did any such thing. And you might remember that when I accused her of that, I was a bit annoyed with her for siding with Lucius against me."

"Oh, come on! You know she did it, Draco--"

"How do I know that? Was I there? Maybe Lucius got wind that Walpurgis might help me and he killed him, eh? Ever think of that?"

"Yeah, well we know the goblins thought it was awfully fishy, and no offence, but everybody knows what a bitch Narcissa Malfoy can be--"

"You shut up about my mother!" shouted Draco, his pale skin flushing. "You think yours was so perfect? Want to hear some Death Eater gossip? I could tell you things that'd make you never want to get that mirror working--"

"Gentlemen," interrupted Snape. "That's enough. There's nothing to be gained from a conversation like this." He levelled a stern look at Harry, who flushed. He knew that Draco loved his mother deeply. No matter that Narcissa Malfoy was one twisted witch.

"Sorry," Harry muttered.

"You should be!"

"Draco!" barked Snape.

"Yeah, yeah, I'll say sorry, too," grumbled the other boy as he turned his face away.

Harry noticed that Draco didn't actually say he was sorry. With Snape still looking grim, though, it was probably best not to push it.

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

Dinner that night was a little tense, with none of them saying very much. Well, Draco did say that he thought that Harry ought to be rebuked for his language, and then Harry said that he hadn't been so much swearing as just telling the truth, which was better than spreading vicious rumours, and then Draco had started icily discussing a wide variety of very nasty hexes they didn't teach at Hogwarts.

At which point, Snape had threatened lines for both of them. They ate most of the meal in absolute silence after that, but by the time Harry served the bread pudding he'd made earlier, they were talking a bit. Snape had seen to that, mentioning what a good season the Montrose Magpies were having, and saying it was probably mostly to do with their new Chaser being so talented. Harry thought that wasn't true at all, and Draco agreed, and only after the two of them were talking their father out of being a Magpie admirer did Harry realise that Snape wasn't one. At all.

"Sneaky," he said.

"Sneaky snarky scheming Slytherin?"

Harry stared at his father. "What?"

"A private amusement," said Snape, his lips twitching. "Draco, tell me how Harry's doing with Apparition lessons."

Harry made a face. "If I see that stupid hoop one more time--"

"He's ready for something a good deal more challenging," interrupted Draco. "Harry can already make it all the way across your property without any trouble at all."

Snape raised an eyebrow. "Then why are you still having him use a hoop?"

"Uh . . . 'cause it annoyed him so much?"

"Prat--"

Draco threw him a superior look. "Well, I did also think it helped with your confidence. But I suppose we can do without it, now. So . . . not to raise a delicate issue, but how about letting us have a look at this home for squibs, Severus? I really would like to see how my . . . er, how the money is being used. Whether you like it or not, I feel like I've endowed the place against my will." His voice went snooty. Again. "Besides, I have a small image problem, as you know. MLE would prefer a certain type for Auror, right? And it looks like I don't fit it--"

"You don't fit it," said Harry bluntly. "You heard Tonks. You have to be able to investigate a crime without prejudice."

"Oh, yes, like Tonks was so magnificently free from all prejudice. It's not like she thought a person's name could make them the murderer, or--"

"So you see the problem, then."

Draco's nostrils flared. "Well, if Severus will let us visit this home, you'll see for yourself how amazingly kind I can be to abandoned squib children. And you can tell all your Auror friends all about it. Or better yet, give interviews to some sympathetic reporter . . ."

Since Draco knew exactly how Harry felt about reporters, that suggestion really didn't help his mood. "You're the one who likes talking to the press. Or lying to them, that is--"

"I was strategising, I'll have you know, and considering what I knew at the time, I thought I was doing the right thing, putting you in your place."

Harry bit his lip to keep from blurting something nasty in reply. Actually, by then he was sorry he'd just called Draco a liar. Of course, Draco had been just that, but he'd been all through this with Marsha. More than once. Good judgment comes from experience, she liked to say. But experience only comes from having used a lot of bad judgment.

Constantly reminding people of their mistakes just wasn't very helpful. Harry had known that before he'd ever discussed it with Marsha, but sometimes Draco made him so angry that Harry talked first and thought later. Draco's superior attitude was just so grating.

But it was less extreme than it used to be. Draco had proven that he could change. Though this idea of it being so noble to hide squib children was really disgusting. "Yes, let's go see this home," said Harry. "Maybe you'll find out that the little squibs are better off there than with families who can't stand them. I mean, if you ask me, Walpurgis wasn't doing such a bad thing switching babies around. I'd have loved to be switched into a wizarding home where I'd've been normal."

"You have been," said Snape dryly. "And you always were normal."

Harry smiled, just a little.

Draco sighed. "What am I supposed to say to you, Harry? I'm sorry your Muggle relatives were slimier than flobberworm pus, all right? Really, I am. But your unfortunate childhood aside, wizard parents have no business foisting their own, even squibs, off onto strangers. I can hardly believe the Ministry allows this sort of thing."

Harry's smile died. "I bet they think it might be this or murder. I mean, in some families."

"It's not unheard of, no," said Snape.

"The home isn't far," said Draco in a wheedling voice. "The paper said Exeter, Severus. That's safe enough, isn't it? Especially considering how you got confirmation that the Dark Lord already had his bone marrow extraction. Too bad he didn't die, but it doesn't sound like he's been feeling too well, does it?" Draco chortled. "Of course, he's a half-blood so I bet he's sicked up plenty of times before, but I personally found it very heartening to hear he's doing quite a lot of it these days."

"I'm a half-blood!"

"Oh, for Merlin's sake!" erupted Draco. "I wasn't even using the term in a negative way, and you jump all over me. Like usual! Are you going to take offence if I say that someone with Muggle heritage probably walked somewhere and didn't Apparate?"

"I just don't much like your obsession with bloodlines."

"I'm far, far from obsessed. In fact, I told you that I knew blood wasn't everything. I did! I said that you were such a brilliant wizard that it couldn't possibly be! And you fucking well didn't listen to a word I said, did you? You don't like me at all!"

"I love you and you know it!"

"Yeah, but you don't like me. You think I don't know it? Severus doesn't even like me that much!"

"I can speak for myself," said Snape, standing up to tower over Draco. Not to intimidate him, though. He stepped close enough to put both his hands on the boy's shoulders, but then seemed to change his mind and pull him up from his chair, instead. As Snape drew Draco into a close embrace, and began speaking very quietly against his ear, Harry figured that this was a private moment and he'd better make a quiet exit.

Later--much later--when Draco came into their dark bedroom, Harry cleared his throat to get the other boy's attention.

"Oh, you're still up?" Draco's voice sounded off, Harry thought. Like he'd just been through a lot. "I'll just be a moment."

"You can spell the lights on, if you like--"

"No, no, I can manage."

Harry thought then that Draco might have been crying a little, and didn't want Harry to realise.

"I do like you," Harry said, hoping he didn't bollocks this up. He'd rehearsed it in his head while he'd waited and waited. "There's loads of things I like about you. You're smart and you say the funniest things sometimes, and you're loyal and I know I can depend on you, and we have great fun together, don't we? I mean, when we're not fighting. It's just . . . I'd like to like you more, Draco. And I could, if you'd just start to see people instead of blood all the time."

Draco sighed in the darkness. "Look, you don't understand. I can't help it. And anyway, half the time it's just a way to identify people. Sometimes when I say that Muggleborn boy in Herbology class, I could just as easily call him that tall boy with black hair. I don't mean anything by it."

Harry thought that over. "Sometimes you do mean something."

"And sometimes I stop your bushy-haired friend at the door and tell her to her face that she's clever, too. There, see? I didn't call her a Muggleborn, that time."

Actually, Draco had, there at the end, but Harry just nodded. Then he realised that Draco couldn't see him. "I liked that. I mean, I liked you when you did that. A lot. I was really proud of you."

"Well, I personally think that Serpensortia was my best moment . . ."

Fishing for compliments, now? Harry decided that Draco must need to hear them. "I was proud of you then, too. Really proud. I wanted to hug you, but you had all those bites and--"

"Didn't stop Severus," said Draco, sounding better by then. "So, guess what he said about Exeter."

"Hmm. That he has to go with us?"

"You know him pretty well." Harry heard the noise of clothing rustling. "It's a bit daft, really. Nobody'll be looking for us in Exeter, for Merlin's sake. And if anything unpleasant happens, we are both competent to Apparate, now. We'd just make our way back here, and nobody could follow. Guess what Severus said to that, though."

That one was harder. "Um, something about how we're not actually licensed yet?"

"Close. Actually, he said . . ." Draco's voice dropped an octave. "I do believe you're only legally allowed to Apparate when accompanied by someone with a license."

Harry could just see it. "Bet he crossed his arms, and stood in that way he does, you know, how he can seem a lot taller than he really is?"

"Yeah, but he cut it out when I accused him of cheating on Marsha."

"What?"

"Well, he said he'd go with us to Exeter, but once he saw us safely to the home for squibs, he would pursue other business, as he put it. So, of course I said he must have a lady-friend, and what would Marsha think about that, and he did his usual, don't you know--"

"Threatened lines."

"Yeah, and then he said that he was actually going to look about for a pool where you could learn to swim."

Harry grinned. "I can't wait. It'll be brilliant. When are we going?"

"Tomorrow, sounds like. But he said that when we get back you have to work on your spell lexicon and I have to start reading some books he's owling for in the morning."

"Books?"

"Aristotle, I think. He was a wizard, you know."

No, Harry hadn't known. He wasn't sure he believed it, either. But Draco obviously needed to. God forbid he should have to read a book written by a Muggle. "Why Aristotle?"

"No idea." Draco yawned. "Well, I think I'll have a shower before bed."

"No singing," said Harry, rolling over. "I'm beat."

"My lovely voice will lull you right to sleep, I promise."

But it didn't, because Draco didn't sing. Just as Harry had asked.

The Wizarding Home for Displaced and Orphaned Juvenile Squibs was located in a large five-story building. Made of red bricks, it was decorated near the top with a wide band of carved faces and symbols that were clearly magical in origin.

Draco was astounded by the sheer ignorance of Muggles who simply overlooked a clue like that, day after day. Granted, the area wasn't exactly bustling; the brick building was situated amid rows of the most decrepit structures he'd ever seen. Large decrepit structures. He was surprised they hadn't been torn down, actually. Though that was an awful lot of work if one had no magic, so perhaps the Muggles had never wanted to bother. Pathetic creatures, when it came right down to it. In fact . . . 

Draco turned to Harry. "Do many er . . . deprived people, live in such awful conditions?" He waved to indicate the buildings all around.

Harry gave him a strange look. "Those are warehouses."

Were-houses? Draco flashed his brother a grin. "Good one, Harry. An orphanage is one thing, but I'm sure the public wouldn't put up with entire blocks devoted to providing homes for people who change with the full moon--"

He stopped when Harry snorted. "Not were, Draco. Wares. As in, merchandise?"

Oh, wares. Well, that was Mugglish in the extreme, wasn't it, a store needing so much space just for storage? Well, if you couldn't shrink or conjure things, or spell together some wizardspace, it would be a problem, he supposed. Though he had to wonder at the utter lack of commerce in the area. Shouldn't there be Muggles rushing to and fro, frantic like bees as they bustled in and out of their storage areas, fetching things to stock their shelves?

Instead, the entire area seemed utterly deserted. There was actually trash scattered along the pavement in places! Draco shuddered, remembering how awful life had been when Severus had taken away his wand. The mess that had developed! Draco couldn't help but feel sorry for any wizarding child condemned to languish in this place, especially after experiencing the vibrancy of the magical world.

He felt a squirmy sort of twist inside his chest that he recognized as his conscience. Poor little squibbies. They deserved better than a dreary Mugglish existence. They should have access to all the magic they liked, in the form of house-elves who would see to their every need and desire.

But this?

Still, their own families had abandoned them, and the squib home itself looked sturdy and clean. Draco's brow wrinkled. Perhaps things had worked out for the best with Walpurgis' money, after all. It was supposed to be Draco's, but he'd still ended up with a fortune in the end. An even larger one, as it turned out. And it had made his brother happy to give him the money. Really happy. Harry was a little strange when it came to finances, Draco thought.

Besides, there might be a way to turn this situation to his advantage. If he could convince the Ministry, or more specifically, MLE, that he was interested in the care and welfare of poor abandoned squibs . . . it would make him a little more attractive as potential Auror material, wouldn't it?

Draco smiled widely, imagining how he could talk about his good works when he was interviewed. How he could rub Tonks' face in them. He'd bet his vault that she'd never bothered going to a squib home to see that the children were looked after properly!

They climbed the front steps and entered a small but well-appointed foyer. Draco's gaze took in the rich mahogany trim around the windows and the Tiffany lamp overhead. Of course he wasn't so crass as to think that material comforts could make up for a lack of real parents. Living with Severus meant a distinct lack of comfort at times, after all, but other things made up for that. Having a father he could trust, for one. Really trust. Severus wouldn't trade Draco's safety and future away the way Lucius had. Severus wouldn't demand he stay loyal to a cause that clearly, could only end in death or enslavement.

But while luxurious surroundings couldn't make up for a lack of parents, they didn't make that lack any worse, either, did they?

Severus tapped a brass bell set on an otherwise abandoned desk. Instead of a clang or chime, the sound of a deep, resonant gong filled the room.

Harry started, but Severus seemed to take it in stride. As did Draco, of course. "I expect the bell detects magical energy so that those working here can know whether a caller is Muggle or magical," he explained, feeling a bit like a professor lecturing those who still had a lot to learn.

"Don't be a pretentious git," said Harry. "I figured that out, myself."

Draco looked down his nose at Harry. Or tried to, anyway. He was taller than his brother, but not by enough to really pull that off. As for pretentious . . . what a load of rubbish. Could he help it if he was well-born and it showed? "They really should have someone here," he said thoughtfully. "A reception area but no one posted near the door to greet guests?"

"Maybe they only answer the bell based on the kind of ring it gives."

Oh, that made sense. "Do you think it's wizards or Muggles who get ignored?"

"Draco," admonished Severus.

"What? Anyone who works here must already know that word. Though you wouldn't know that anyone works here, would you, from the way they've made us wait such a frightful long time--"

"Our receptionist is out buying supplies at the moment," said a woman as she came in through a side door. Her voice wasn't quite icy, but it was definitely frosty. "How can I help you?"

Draco had no end of questions for her. Just how many squibs do you have, here? How old are they? How old when they were abandoned? Do they all know about magic, or were some of them abandoned when they were young enough not to remember? Of course, that wasn't too likely, unless some knowledge of Walpurgis Black's squib-detection spell still existed. Otherwise, parents just had to wait and see.

He didn't ask any of that, though, because Severus had made a slight gesture with his hand. Let me be the one to speak.

"My sons are interested in observing your facility."

The woman's expression became flustered for a moment but her voice, with an accent that Draco couldn't quite place, remained cool. "What is the nature of the boys' interest? Are they--"

"We're not squibs!" Draco exclaimed, horrified at the implication. Did he look like a squib, for Merlin's sake? He wasn't anything as powerful as Harry, but still, wasn't his magical talent apparent to all and sundry, except for Muggles who were entirely too dim to notice things like that? Oh. Perhaps the woman was just a Muggle. One who knew things, and the Ministry let it go on because, after all, someone had to take care of the children tossed out by their own families.

She certainly didn't strike Draco as a wizard. Actually, she couldn't be one. There was Harry with his scar clearly visible beneath his fringe, and she hadn't stared at him or anything, so . . . "We just wanted to look around to settle an argument. You see, Harry here thinks that--"

Severus' hand clamped down on his shoulder in a way that clearly urged him to stop talking. "My sons are each in possession of sizable trusts, Miss--"

"Ms. Volentier. Emmeleia Volentier."

"Pleased to make your acquaintance," said Snape, nodding. "I am Severus Snape, and these are my sons, Harry and Draco. We've recently read about your work here, and the fact that you sustain it by means of bequests. They began wondering whether this institution might prove a worthy outlet for their generosity when they come of age."

As if Draco would ever consider giving his money away to a home for squibs! He'd sooner toss his Galleons into a dragon's nest.

Of course, he knew better than to protest. He certainly didn't need Severus' fingers digging even more sharply into his shoulder, as if warning him to keep quiet. Lucius had often used the possibility of money as a key to gain access to all manner of places. It was only Slytherin.

Besides, in this case it was practically true! Little did Emmeleia Volentier know it, but Draco had already endowed the home for squibs. He'd already "drafted at Gringotts," so to speak! Or almost. That money from Walpurgis Black's vault should have been Draco's, after all.

So the least he could do was see that it was being well-spent, he supposed.

As expected, the woman's attitude changed completely--she was clearly delighted. "Oh, we're honoured that you'd even consider us," she gushed. "This truly is a worthy cause. Most wizards and witches don't even want to think about our existence. I'm highly impressed that two young men such as yourselves would remember those having the misfortune to be born different. So, I imagine you have some questions, then?"

"Several," said Draco dryly.

Harry, of course, was less restrained. "And we'd like to see everything, and meet the children, and--"

Ms. Volentier laughed. "Of course. First things first, though, Mr Potter. Perhaps you could sign the register, all of you? And then I'll take you into my office and give you a brief orientation before we proceed."

Oh. Mr Potter. Severus hadn't given Harry's surname, so the woman obviously had recognised him, and not let on. She still struck Draco as a Mugglish type, though. He could usually tell. Draco wasn't sure what gave them away, but there must be some aura. After all, Ms. Volentier was an attractive woman, slightly exotic – clearly about a quarter African and with long mahoghany curls that totally lacked Granger's frizz. And yet she didn't give Draco that zing of interest that a pretty woman ought. Hmm, since she was working in a home for squibs, maybe she was one. Like Marsha. She'd known all about Harry.

Emmeleia fetched a wire-bound book from the top desk drawer and passed it across to Severus, along with what Draco recognised as a Muggle pen. Harry used them sometimes. He'd tried to convince Draco that they had advantages over quills, even Never-Out Quills, but that was clearly fit only for a laugh.

A laugh that had really annoyed Harry, he remembered.

Severus signed with a flourish and gave the book to Draco next. Draco grinned as he wrote out Draco Snape in his elegant looping script. Since term had ended, he hadn't had a lot of opportunity to see his own name written out. He liked looking at it. Draco Snape. Severus Snape's son. Gazing at it in print made him feel like he really was safe, finally.

"Any day now," said Harry quietly.

Oh. Right. Harry was waiting. And everybody was staring at him, which made Draco wonder, just a bit, how long he'd stood there transfixed, staring at his own name. He must have looked a perfect idiot. Flushing a bit, Draco passed the register to his brother.

"So then, follow me," said Emmeleia, opening the side door she'd come through. Draco spotted a long hallway beyond. "My office is this way--"

"Actually, if it meets your satisfaction, I have business elsewhere," said Severus in his deep voice. "Of course, if your policies state that I should stay . . ." He left the question hanging in the air.

"We don't want him influencing us when it comes to endowments and such," added Draco, thinking himself quite clever to throw that in. "Harry and I want to make up our own minds."

Emmeleia sounded a little surprised by that, but she was hardly going to argue and risk those Galleons, Draco thought. "Yes, of course you're free to leave your sons here with me, Professor," she said.

Professor.

"You're pretty well-informed," said Harry. He'd obviously noticed, too.

Emmeleia just smiled at that.

Severus glanced at them both. "I'll meet you back here at noon, then."

"Let's meet at the pub on the corner," said Harry, pointing. His lack of manners only became all the more apparent when he kept on talking. "All right? That way Draco and I won't be stuck here if we finish early--"

"If we want to discuss our findings on our own," corrected Draco, giving Emmeleia a dazzling smile. "And consider amounts, payment schedules, that sort of thing."

Severus gave him an impatient look, one Draco understood at once. Time to stop playing the money card.

"We'll meet you at the pub, yes," said Draco. "Noonish."

"I'll see that they get there safely, Professor," said Emmeleia. Her voice was amused, like she was aware of some of the undercurrents in the room. "So, shall we?" She gestured toward the waiting hallway.

Draco saw Harry give their father a little wave good-bye as Severus left.

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

Harry was smiling as he looked around the Flying Horse. "Oh, this is nice, don't you think? The Dursleys never did eat in pubs much. Or if they did, they didn't invite me along."

Nice? Draco almost scoffed, but then he turned and saw the look on his brother's face. Bright smile, wide eyes. Almost like he'd just walked into Honeydukes instead of a crowded and slightly run-down Muggle pub. He'd had that look plastered on his face the entire time they'd sat here waiting for Severus.

Harry didn't look happy all that often, thought Draco with an inward sigh. In fact, most of the time his features were slightly strained. Like he was carrying the weight of the whole world on his shoulders. And the worst part was that Harry had reason to feel that way.

All of which meant that Draco didn't have the heart to say anything about the stains on the hardwood floor, or the dingy curtains half-covering the windows. It was one thing to fight with Harry over the things he'd had been saying lately about Draco's mother. Or even over Harry thinking more about his dead father than his living one. Though Draco had to admit, Severus had taken the whole mirror business very well. Ha, he'd probably known all along that nothing could make it work.

But ruining Harry's obvious enjoyment of having lunch in a pub . . . that just wasn't on.

"It'll do," Draco said, refraining from further comment as he plucked a menu from a chrome salt-and-pepper holder on the table. Ugh. The slick, thick parchment--no, it wasn't quite parchment, was it? At any rate, the menu was a bit grimy, like the last person to read it had just eaten chips with his hands. Draco had a sudden strong memory of his mother saying not to touch things if he didn't know where they'd been. But he knew where this had been, didn't he? Muggles had handled it.

It was all he could do not to shudder. The least the pub management could do was see that things were scrubbed down once in a while! But then again, how were Muggles supposed to clean anything, really? Their idea of sanitation was to get everything wet and just rub the dirt around some, until it blended in. Granted, they didn't have much choice about that, since they couldn't do even the simplest Lavare, but it was still sickening. Was it any wonder he hadn't done any cleaning when he'd been without his wand? No point. No point at all.

Draco really wished he didn't even know about Muggle cleaning methods, but they were a little hard to miss, considering his brother's habits. He'd been trying to get Harry to use magic more instinctively, but his brother just kept thinking of rags--rags, honestly!--whenever he spilled his milk or slopped his food.

Thank Merlin he didn't do it all that often.

Draco swallowed, holding himself in his chair only with great effort. Muggles had sat here too, and then somebody had probably come along with a damp rag and spread sweat and who-knew-what-else onto every surface--

"You all right?" asked Harry.

"Yes, of course," said Draco, lifting his chin.

"Don't look it."

Draco huffed. "Well, since you'll probably get offended if I mention that the clientele here does not consist of the kind of people I'm used to--"

Harry's brow wrinkled a bit. "Oh. You're fussing about that? You know, I think it's all in your mind. You did pretty well at the home we just came from. Not that we got to see much, but--"

Not much was an understatement, Draco thought. "Of course I did well," he said, trying to get through to Harry for once. The woman who'd greeted them had turned out to be a squib, they'd learned. "That Emmeleia Volentier was one of us. Missing the most vital part, of course, but for all that, still one of us."

Harry rolled his eyes. "Oh, give it up. Or do you still think Severus is wrong about all us having a common ancestry if you go far enough back? I thought you really respected his scholarship and research and all the rest. So?"

"Genealogy isn't Potions," said Draco, sniffing.

"But do you think he's wrong, or will you admit that even your blood isn't as pure as you used to believe?"

"I'll admit that the idea still makes me ill. Is that enough for you?"

Harry just kept on, like a niffler scenting gold. "This thing you have, it is all in your mind. Think about when Dudley came to visit us, all right? You were great about it. He didn't bother you at all."

That's what you think, thought Draco, remembering the bone-clenching horror he'd fought back several times an hour while the Muggle boy had been living with them. The memory still gave him chills. Actually, being in this pub was bringing all those memories to the forefront of his mind, for he'd had the same thoughts then, too. More than thoughts. He'd tried his level best not to use a chair or seat after Harry's cousin had touched it. He'd gone about stealthily casting cleaning spells, even looking up stronger ones than he usually used.

But it was good that Harry didn't know about any of that, and thought he'd done well with his Muggle cousin. Though why Harry should care about that fat creature was still a mystery to Draco. Too forgiving by half . . . that was Harry.

Draco ignored the little niggle of conscience that reminded him just how many times he'd been the recipient of Harry's forgiveness. Instead, he merely nodded.

He should have known that Harry had all the social grace of a crustacean. Obviously not picking up on Draco's signal that he'd rather not discuss the matter, the other boy was pressing, "So why are you letting it bother you now, Draco?"

Because you're a perfect dolt, Draco almost said. What was he supposed to answer, that being around a Muggle had bothered him just as much then, but he'd done better at hiding it because he'd been so desperate for Harry to start trusting him?

Draco could do without being quite so obviously pathetic. Especially after last night's embarrassing display. He hadn't meant to admit out loud how much he wanted for Harry to really like him, instead of just put up with him.

"Perhaps I'm merely regretting that our visit to the orphanage wasn't all it could have been," he said coolly.

That time, the other boy took the hint. Shrugging, Harry grabbed a menu for himself, humming a bit as he began to read it. He looked like he felt right at home in the pub. Smug about it, even, like it was some kind of advantage to be able to relax and act like it was perfectly normal to be surrounded on all sides by Muggles. Or maybe it was more like Harry faulted him for not feeling nearly as much at ease. Well, in that case he'd have to fault Severus as well.

Or perhaps not, since no matter how ill-at-ease Severus might feel, he'd never, ever show it. Which reminded Draco to school his expression more, and put on his perfect manners. If Severus could tolerate this dung-hill masquerading as a dining establishment, then so could Draco.

He glanced over to where their father was standing at the bar and giving the bartender their order. Yes, Severus looked perfectly composed, if a bit serious. But then, he nearly always looked serious. A good bit of the time he actually looked grim.

Whereas Harry was still looking delighted to be here. "Steak-and-kidney pie sounds good," he said, actually rubbing his hands together at the hideous prospect.

Well, his brother had pretty lowbrow tastes. Half the time they'd ordered whatever suits, Harry had got something that couldn't possibly be termed a proper meal. Draco for one was happy the pub's offerings at least extended to quiche, though really, it was probably going to be day-old with a soggy crust.

The things he put up with!

Still, it was better than having to prepare lunch for themselves, he supposed. That was their pattern out at the cottage. Unlike during their other holidays in Devon, when they'd got most of their food ready-made from the magic crates, Severus was actually making them cook. Cook! It was ridiculous. That Dobby elf would definitely see to their needs. All Harry had to do was say the word, but no, Severus insisted that they could shift for themselves. That they needed to, in fact.

As if he or Harry would ever need to be without proper service. They could afford the best, both of them, even if Severus couldn't.

Though, what Severus had meant by that need comment was probably that he preferred not to disclose the cottage's location to anyone else, even an elf. It was bad enough that Weasley and Granger knew where it was.

Draco had tried saying that Harry should prepare all their meals, since the other boy did, after all, have plenty of experience cooking. All that had got him was a glare from his father and brother both. Well, that and a cool, If you're so in need of experience, Draco, perhaps you should handle all our meals for the remainder of the week.

And Harry, grinning like a twit, had chimed in with something about how bloody brilliant it was to learn by experience. Severus and Harry had both laughed at him, then. Well, Harry had laughed and Severus had worn a half-twisted expression that might have been a smile, but they were both definitely having fun at his expense.

That really should have been punishment enough for his offhand remark that Harry could do all the cooking. But no, Severus being his usual hard-nosed self, he'd actually followed through and made Draco cook every meal for the following three days! So perhaps overcooked watery quiche wasn't such a bad thing.

Severus began to make his way back from the bar.  

Draco glared, still feeling a bit upset about the way his father and brother had reacted to the things he'd cooked for them. More jokes at Draco's expense. Not to mention outright mockery the time they'd mistaken his attempt at vichyssoise for mashed potatoes. Mashed potatoes that tasted off, according to Harry.

Of course, Draco hardly wanted to be good at a Mugglish thing like cooking, but still! So his mood was less than pleasant when he saw what Severus set down in front of him. "Mineral water?" he asked, tempted to grind his teeth. "I told you, I wanted wine!"

"Draco, it's really rude to complain like that when someone takes you out for lunch," said Harry. As if he knew a thing about proper manners. What a prat. Draco loved him and all but . . . what a prat!  

"That's enough, Draco," said Severus in a low, but almost biting tone. "You aren't licensed yet. You shouldn't be mixing alcohol and . . ."

Apparition. Severus didn't actually say the word, but Draco understood. "It's not alcohol, really. It's just wine!"

"Oh, stop whinging on about every last thing," said Harry.

Draco thought that rather unfair, considering he'd hardly complained at all. Had he said a word about the food he was sure to get here? Or the disgusting lack of cleanliness, caused no doubt by the Muggles milling around him? He opened his mouth to do just that, but then he saw the look on Severus' face. A million lines were probably just around the corner. So he merely sniffed in disdain. "I expect they haven't stocked any decent vintages, anyway."

It wasn't lost on him that his father and brother exchanged an exasperated look. Yes, that look. The one that said they could hardly stand him sometimes. It made him wish that he'd spoken his mind. Instead, he'd taken Harry's feelings into account, and where had that got him?

Draco gulped his mineral water, hoping it would loosen the tight feeling in his throat.

It didn't, but his mood improved the moment Severus sat down. Draco almost sniggered at the way the man had gestured with his hand, just as though he was trying to brush robes out of the way. They were none of them wearing robes, of course. Draco was getting pretty used to going about in public without them, what with their weekly trips to Surrey and such, but Severus obviously wasn't.

"So, how was your visit to the home?" asked Severus, glancing at both of them in turn.

Harry shrugged, obviously thinking the same as Draco. There wasn't that much to tell, really. "Well, Em talked to us for a while about their goals and programme, just like she promised."

"Ms. Volentier, Harry," their father corrected.

Harry shrugged. "She said we could call her Em. And you don't mind us calling Marsha by her name. But anyway, after she'd answered all our questions, she introduced us to the director, but he decided not to let us in, after all. Claimed they had a policy against visitors. Ha, as if that could be true, when Em had been just about to show us around!"

Draco's nostrils flared. "Well, was that such a surprise, really? Considering who the director turned out to be?"

Before Severus could even ask, Harry turned to him. "You'll never guess. Well, go on, guess!"

"I thought you just said I never would."

Harry grinned. Draco didn't think the situation was nearly so amusing.

"Darswaithe!" announced Harry.

"Horace Darswaithe?" Severus tilted his head to one side. "Interesting. Did he give a reason for not allowing you entrance?"

"He was looking at me when he refused to admit us," said Draco, a little bitterly. "Apparently, I'm reason enough."

"There was more to it than that," said Harry, turning to Severus. "You see, the children there know all about their heritage; Em made the clear. But it's one thing to know about it and another thing to get a first-hand look at what they're missing. So, wizarding visitors are asked to leave their wands with the director before entering the children's area—"

"Harry," scolded Severus. Draco personally thought that the slip deserved a stronger rebuke, even if Harry had been speaking in a low voice. Mentioning wands when they were supposed to blend in with the Muggles in Exeter!

"Sorry," said Harry, flushing. "But anyway, they take them away. And in our case . . . well, I think Darswaithe felt it would be too unseemly to take ours after what happened before. Not that I'd have given mine away. Draco either, I bet."

"Considering what happened before," said Draco scathingly, "It's outrageous that that man should be working there at all. When Thistlethorne told us that Darswaithe had been put in charge of a home for . . . er, unfortunate children, I thought she meant that he was pushing papers up in some office. But he's actually right there with the children! And this, after he attacked Harry?"

"Yeah, but he wasn't himself that day."

"The man was in fact cleared of all wrongdoing," added Severus mildly, though his expression looked as if he'd tasted something sour. "What is your objection?"

"Family Services ought to have a little more sense, as he's obviously susceptible to . . . undue influence!"

"Everyone is susceptible to that sort of influence, Draco."

"Ha, everybody but Harry," said Draco. He was glad of it, of course. It would be bad, bad news if the Dark Lord could place Harry Potter under Imperius. But still, it was more than a little irritating that Harry could do so many things that Draco couldn't. If anyone should be able to shake off the curse, Draco should! He'd spent enough time under it, what with Lucius for a father!

"Look, I didn't ask to be different from everybody else," snapped Harry. "And maybe Darswaithe was put in charge of that home because there, nobody much would have any reason to want to influence him, all right?" Harry scowled and spoke in a low hiss. "Though I still do think they ought to place those children with actual families."

Harry had no sense of politics. None. "They can't. It would smack too much of the switching scheme, if word of that ever got out."

"Nobody would ever find out--"

"Word always gets out--"

Harry shifted back in his chair to make room for the waitress to set down his food. He tucked in with enthusiasm. Draco looked down at his own meal, rather doubtful about this entire enterprise.

"Well, Darswaithe is doing the best he can, I guess," said Harry after a moment. "From what Em told us, the children are getting a very good public school education. And the ones that don't want to go to university will be able to take vocational training."

"Shocking, shocking." Draco made a tsking sound. "They shouldn't just be cast out of their place in our world."

"It's the best thing for them," said Harry stubbornly. "And it's not like they're being cast out. Em said in the summers they learn a bit about the wizarding world as well. Better than being cosseted like you described. That sounds just awful."

"It's not awful, you ignoramus--"

"Agree to disagree," said Severus. "All right? You two have different outlooks, which isn't too surprising considering your disparate backgrounds. I don't think arguing will settle the matter."

"But what is your view, Severus?" Draco wasn't trying to be difficult. He really did want to know.

"I don't pretend to know how to best run the world's affairs." Severus shook his head. "It's a complex and difficult situation, not the least because the children were abandoned to begin with. Obviously their own families would not be the best place for them, Draco."

That went without saying. Draco didn't think the children should go back to the parents who had thrown them out like rubbish. That wasn't what he'd meant at all.

Severus had a glint in his eye. One that Draco understood the moment the man spoke. "You aren't eating. Something wrong with your food?"

Was there anything right with it? That was the more appropriate question, surely. But Severus was staring at him, and now so was Harry, the two of them ganging up on him. Again. And if Severus could seem at ease in a Muggle establishment, then so could he!

He picked up his fork and separated a tiny flake of quiche from the slice. As he lifted it to his mouth, his nose wrinkled, he suddenly felt ill. The cook had probably touched his food.

"It can't possibly be worse than some things you've eaten," said Harry.

Prat didn't even begin to cover it, thought Draco, though part of him knew that Harry was trying to be helpful, referring to that horrible fairy cake. His brother just didn't have the slightest notion that sometimes it was better to say nothing. No sense of politics.

Hmm. The quiche was tolerably good, as long as he didn't think too much about who had prepared it. So, he wouldn't. Draco forced his mind off the matter of his food. "You should have seen the look Darswaithe got when Harry and I walked in! Of course he doesn't remember the incident in your quarters, but he obviously remembers the investigation that followed. The Ministry obviously told him just what he'd done. He practically tripped over his own tongue apologising!"

"It wasn't anything to laugh at. I felt sorry for him."

"You would," said Draco sourly. Harry was awfully soft-hearted.

His brother shrugged and started eating again. So did Severus, who had ordered a rather plain-looking salad. Draco glanced down at his quiche again, and then bracing himself, ate the rest of it.

When he actually wanted a dessert afterwards, he felt a little bit annoyed with himself.

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

After lunch, they wandered around Exeter a bit. Harry thought it very amusing that Draco wasn't comfortable using the Muggle money Severus had given them before they'd left the cottage. Their allowance, he'd explained, though of course Draco hardly needed one any longer. Not now that he had Sirius Black's vast wealth.

Draco had thought of protesting, but then he decided that with all their trips to Marsha-- rescheduled for Mondays or Tuesdays during the summer--some Muggle money might come in handy.

And Draco certainly wasn't planning to go out of his way to procure any.

When they saw an ice cream shop, Harry decided that he just had to have some. This time, Draco managed to eat a Muggle product without much hesitation, but he might as well not have bothered eating it at all. Muggle ice cream was nothing to write home about. The flavours seemed awfully plain after the fantastic creations they'd made in potions class.

Still, Draco ate his without complaining once. He was a bit irked when Harry never even noticed his perfect manners.

"Here we are," said Severus, gesturing.

Northbrook Swimming Pool, Draco read on the sign.

"They have lessons as well as free-swim times, apparently. I signed both of you up."

Draco's mouth fell open. "I don't need lessons! I had the finest private tutors and a pool all to myself. With waterfalls," he added. Somehow that seemed important, that they know he was used to the best. Or maybe just that he wasn't used to . . . places like this.

"You aren't in a class," said Severus impatiently. "You've merely got what they call a swim pass. Harry has that and lessons both." He passed them both small cards.

Harry stared at his, blinking like it was an entrance ticket to Merlin's library, or something. "Thanks. Really, Dad."

"I'd prefer you not drown in future," drawled Severus. "Or in the alternative, send your friends to steal things from my stores."

Harry smiled a little. "You know I didn't do that. Well, not that time."

Not that time?

Whatever Severus might have said to that was curtailed by the fact that Harry's mood suddenly began to plummet. "Oh, God. I just thought of something awful. Did you tell them I don't know anything? I mean, not one thing?" He chewed his lip. "I hope I'm not with the little kids or something. That'd be kind of embarrassing."

"I'm sure it will be fine," said Severus. "I had words with them about your situation, yes. And if they place you with toddlers, I'll rectify the situation. You start next Monday."

"You don't need to come along," said Draco. "Isn't it obvious that Harry and I are perfectly fine on our own? I'll go with him to lessons and I'll sort them out if they forget he's sixteen."

Harry gave him a suspicious look. "You just want to make fun if I have trouble learning it."

"Well, yes." Draco smiled broadly. "But I promise I'll take measures to save you if you get in real trouble."

"I don't need saving--" said Harry at the same time Severus explained, "They do have lifeguards on duty, Draco."

How Mugglish, thought Draco. Lifeguards instead of flotation charms.

"Can we go in and have a look around?" asked Harry.

That was too much for Draco to take without comment. "No, we can't. It's bad enough that your burning need for swimming lessons is going to drag me into Exeter--" he glanced at the posted lesson schedule. "Three days a week! I've no desire whatsoever to go in now."

"Yes, let's go in," said Severus, narrowing his eyes. "I had a tour earlier of the changing rooms and such. I can show you both around."

"Changing rooms!" Draco could hardly believe his ears. Severus wasn't serious, he hoped. It was one thing to expect him to spend so much time in Muggle company, or get in water they'd probably fouled! Now he was supposed to disrobe in front of them?

"There are private stalls," said Severus dryly. "Come along, both of you."

Harry, of course, was grinning.

But Draco's shock had only just begun. When they reached the main pool, his eyes practically bugged out.

"Oh, for God's sake," said Harry impatiently. "You look like you're about to pass out. What's the problem, now?"

Draco wasn't so sure he'd term it a problem, exactly. He thought he'd known what to expect. Muggles everywhere, right? And there were, of course. But he'd never thought about it. He tried hard not to think about Muggles, no matter how often Harry liked to bring the subject up. But this . . . he was going to have a hard time getting this sight out of his mind.

"Er, no problem," he managed to croak. Clearing his throat helped him get his voice back to normal. His eyes scanned the pool again. The concrete areas surrounding it. The deck chairs scattered about. "There's just . . . er, an awful lot of girls here," he said in a faint voice. His brain told his mouth to shut up, but the message must have got lost en route. "And Merlin, they aren't wearing very much, are they?"

Harry looked around too. "Well, I'm not complaining or anything, but those are just average bathing suits, I think, most of them."

"Not where I come from, they aren't. I've never seen--" Draco felt himself getting hot. Suddenly a swim sounded just the thing. Not that he'd brought any trunks with him. And Severus wouldn't put up with him conjuring a pair. He'd given them a stern lecture about restraint, not to mention the Decree, just before they'd left the cottage. Draco tugged on his collar, wishing he'd at least worn a tee-shirt like Harry had. "You can see their navels," he whispered, unable to believe his eyes. "And they have practically nothing on up top, some of them! I mean, those suits are so thin you can see the outline of . . . er, everything!"

A girl wearing a tight, tiny two-piece suit walked close by and gave him a bit of an odd look, then.

"Shut up before we get thrown out," said Harry, laughing.

"Breathe, you idiot child," Severus said in a low voice.

That, of course, only made Harry laugh all the harder, even as he said, "Look, in a week or two, you'll take it in stride."

Draco shifted on his feet, not so sure of that. In fact, he suddenly decided it was good he wasn't dressed to swim, after all. Might be a bit humiliating, considering the . . . reaction he was having to seeing so many half-dressed--ha, tenth-dressed girls at once. And Harry would never let him live it down, considering these were Muggle girls, after all. So much for his theory about the Mugglish aura leaving him cold!

Draco suddenly felt disgusted with himself. What was he doing? What was his body doing? These were Muggles!

"If it's any consolation, I was somewhat shocked by the attire--or lack thereof--when I came here this morning," said Severus dryly as he turned toward a building and gestured for them to enter. "Harry, stop chuckling. You need to appreciate that this is not the kind of environment Draco and I would ever have encountered before."

Harry laughed again, the total prat. "It's just a pool."

Draco rounded on him as soon as they were out of sight of all those girls. "And what would you know about a pool, eh? I thought your sodding relatives were too cheap to ever take you to swimming lessons!"

Harry stiffened. "Oh, they were, sure. But I got to go sit at Dudley's sessions and watch him learn! And when the staff started wondering why I never had lessons of my own, I got to listen to my aunt tell the swimming teachers that I was allergic to the chlorine they put in the water!"

"Oh," said Draco, feeling dreadful. He wasn't even sure why he'd said such a terrible thing. He knew better than to make jibes about Harry's childhood. Then again, Harry had started it, making fun because Draco couldn't believe that Muggle girls actually walked around with practically nothing on. In public! It couldn't possibly be considered normal. After all, Draco couldn't imagine someone like Granger parading herself --- oh no, he could imagine it after all. Merlin, what he'd give for the discreet use of his wand right now!

Fortunately, something else snapped him out of his musings. Chlorine? Draco had heard of it, but only as part of some fairly rare potions. "You're not serious about the water, are you? Chlorine, honestly? That stuff's caustic, it is--"

"It's very dilute," said Severus. "I verified that earlier when I smelled its presence here."

Draco didn't care. He was still horrified. Well, at least now he had an excuse to stay out of the water. He'd never wanted to go swimming with Muggles, and now he wouldn't have to. "You aren't getting me into water that's been mixed with chlorine. I'd sooner dive into a cauldron!"

Severus took him by the arm and squeezed. It wasn't exactly a fatherly touch. "Discretion, Draco."

Ha. Harry hadn't been manhandled like this when he'd broken the rule about not mentioning anything magical. Then again, perhaps Severus expected more of Draco, who, after all, had been raised to consider the impact of his words before he spoke. "Let go. I'll remember."

"See that you do."

"I'm still not getting in the water, though. I'll sit on a lounger, thank you very much."

"Since you already know how to swim, I suppose that's up to you."

"He just wants to ogle the girls walking past."

"Shut up," snarled Draco. "Is it my fault they're making a spectacle of themselves? Well, is it?"

"Look, I'll get you a swimsuit magazine and you'll see there's nothing even all that unusual about what they're wearing--"

"I get enough magazines at Marsha's--"

Severus sighed. "You two are really being quite tedious. I hadn't thought to spend my summer listening to you squabble."

"Well, is it any wonder I'm a bit put out?" Draco planted his feet. "This whole summer so far has been about nothing but Harry. His obsession with that mirror. His friend with the dread illness. His swimming lessons. His lexicon. His lessons with the hoop, for that matter. What about me? Do I even exist?"

"Of course you exist," said Harry.

"Wouldn't know it," said Draco, sniffing. "When do I get to do something I'd like to do, eh?"

"You'd like to write lines, apparently."

Draco crossed his arms. "Oh, wonderful, Severus. Make the whole summer be about him, and when I dare to mention it, threaten to punish me. Now I really feel like a part of this family, don't I?"

Draco was a little irritated to see Harry tap Severus on the arm. "Look, we're all still adjusting. To loads of things, right?"

Yeah, you just be the good son, thought Draco. The reasonable one, so I'll look even worse.

Severus spoke in a heavy voice. "So what did you want to do, Draco?"

"This!" Draco walked to the bulletin board on the opposite wall, and snatched a notice off it. One that had caught his eye as they'd walked in. "An Evening with Mozart, see? Selections from The Magic Flute. Of course it's just a local production and not likely to be very good, but we can give it a try, can't we? It's tonight. And while we're in town I can pick up some papers and see what's playing in London."

Severus took the flyer and studied it. "Very well, Draco."

Harry tried to look enthusiastic, and failed. Well, he didn't have much culture to speak of. He probably didn't even know that Mozart's music was so magical because the man himself had been a wizard. Not that knowing that would make much difference. Harry just didn't have an ear for fine music.

But Draco did, and he'd been starving for it lately. He was smiling as they left the pool, and this time, it wasn't only because the girls there were wearing so little.

They'd gone shopping when they left the pool. Draco had insisted. He'd said that if they were going to an opera, they were all going to be properly attired, even if it was just a local Exeter production and as awful as one could expect from such things. Opera was still opera, which meant that one wore a suit at the very least, he kept saying.

Not that he managed to get Severus to buy a new suit. He did badger Harry into it, though. Harry found it hard to say no, particularly once Draco offered to pay. Sharing money . . . that meant something to Draco. It meant they were family. So Harry followed Draco into the store the other boy had picked out and even managed not to comment when he imperiously sent Severus off to Gringotts to change more money so that he'd have enough.

Sure didn't take him long to get used to spending pounds as well as Galleons, Harry thought.

"Really a shame we can't wear dress robes," Draco said as soon as Severus had left. "They're so much smarter. But then again, I never have worn wizarding clothes to a play or opera. It's just not done."

"Shh. Discretion, remember?"

Draco waved a careless hand. "Nobody much is listening to us. But that's about to change." Taking charge then, Draco marched up to the clerk and explained what they wanted. He was actually rather rude about it. Not that the clerk seemed to notice. He could probably smell the money about to come his way.

"Now, we haven't much time," said Draco, his chin lifted. "We're to go to the opera tonight, you understand? So we expect everything to be properly fitted at once, or we'll take our business elsewhere. We want suits. Your very finest, in dark grey. And proper shirts and ties as well." Draco smirked, then. "I expect that Harry would like to hang crimson and gold around his neck. However, I'd prefer something more in the green range. Well? What are you waiting for? Hop to!"

"I wouldn't think you'd know so much about Muggle clothes," said Harry out of the corner of his mouth, as soon as the clerk stepped away.

"I don't. I merely know what's appropriate for opera," said Draco in a patronizing voice.

"You said yourself that it's just a small local theatre."

"I don't care. I have standards."

Well, if Draco wanted to enjoy his night on the town--even a town like Exeter--then good for him, Harry decided. He put up with being measured nine ways to Sunday and trying on several different suits, but started feeling irritated again when Draco just had to comment on the new shirt the clerk was sliding from between folds of tissue paper.

"Oh, that has pins in it, doesn't it?" asked Draco, eyeing it closely. "So be sure to get them all out before my brother tries it on. Every last one. It wouldn't do for him to get stuck."

Harry sighed, which Draco apparently took for more than annoyance. "No sense tempting fate," he said in a pompous voice.

"Don't be ridiculous!" snapped Harry. "I can handle it."

"Now, now--"

That was so patronizing that Harry swore he could practically feel the top of his skull blow off, he was so angry. "What? What do you think I'm going to do, grab a pin and spear myself right here in the store?"

Draco's lips suddenly curled back from his teeth as he spun around to face the clerk, who by then was shaking out the shirt. "Heard enough, have you?" He raised his voice. "You know, I thought an establishment like this would have well-trained staff, but it seems not. Do you often eavesdrop on private conversations? I've half a mind to take my business elsewhere, this instant! Well? What's wrong with you? We'll need cufflinks, won't we? Go!"

As the clerk rushed off, red-faced, Draco called after him, "Gold at the very least, mind! Platinum would be better."

Harry was practically speechless. Draco gave high-handed a new name. But the other boy wasn't through yet. The moment he and Harry were alone, he gave Harry's arms a significant look. "You haven't been sticking yourself lately, have you?"

"That's none of your business."

"Wrong," said Draco, almost coldly. "You're my brother and I'm looking out for you whether you like it or not. So?"

"Go shove your head down the loo!"

"What a Mugglish comeback."

"All right," said Harry in the most pleasant voice he could manage. "Shove your wand up your arse, then. Like that one better?"

"Shhh, discretion," mocked Draco, his teeth glinting. But then he appeared to become deadly serious. He narrowed his eyes, staring straight at Harry. "You know, I can only think that your reluctance to talk about it must mean you have been hurting yourself again. And this time, Severus doesn't know. Well, if you think I'll keep a thing like this secret, you can just think again."

"I haven't been doing anything," said Harry, fists clenching. "So don't you start telling Dad that I have. Oh, so that's it. I get it, now. You just want him to think less of me--"

"Like that could ever happen!"

"Oh, yeah, because Severus has always thought so highly of me, right."

Draco's tone of voice changed. All at once he sounded desperate. Or maybe, desperately unhappy. "I have to tell him, Harry. I just have to. Don't you understand? I promised to get you through this, and I know I can't do it by myself. You need your dad, and--"

Oh. Harry smiled a little bit ruefully. It was hard to resent Draco when it was so obvious that the other boy's motives were good. Even if he was pretty obnoxious in the way he went about things. "I haven't stuck myself lately," Harry said in a calmer voice. "Honestly, Draco. You can relax."

The earnest admission didn't seem to mean anything to the other boy. "If you were, you wouldn't tell me, though."

"Oh, for God's sake. You won't believe me unless I say I've been doing it. But what if that's the lie? It could be, you know. In fact, it damned well is!"

"Is it?"

"Of course it is!"

"No of course about it."

That was so pompous that Harry lost his temper. "And how's your own summer been, eh? Iced any more fairy cakes lately?"

Draco gave him a nasty look. "Just for that I'm tempted to demand a crimson and gold shirt for you. But since I have to be seen with you, it won't do for you to like a buffoon."

"I wanted a blue tie, anyway." Harry gave him a superior look. "It's silly to stick to house colours over the summer."

"I suppose it's silly when one's colours are so very garish," said Draco haughtily. Turning away, he ignored Harry after that, but that might have been because it was time for his own fitting.

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

Harry and Draco still weren't talking when Snape arrived and discreetly handed Draco a folded wad of bank notes. It didn't take Draco long, however, to do just as he'd threatened.

He waited only until they'd finished in the shop and were heading out for a bite to eat. Then he said in a casual voice that he thought Harry probably needed to see Marsha a good deal more often, since he'd overreacted to a pinned shirt.

"You're the one who overreacted." Harry turned to his father and briefly explained.

"And of course you just believe him," said Draco. "Whereas with me, you always--"

Snape didn't let him finish. "I don't doubt your word without cause, either. And you know it."

Draco seemed chastened by that. "Yes, sir," he said in a quiet voice. And then, even more quietly, "I was just worried about Harry, that's all."

Harry thought there was more to it than that, but he also thought that maybe Draco needed some real reassurance about the needles. Whatever else was going on, it did seem like his brother was genuinely worried. "Look," he said, drawing Snape and Draco both into a little alleyway. "You name the day and time, all right? And I'll pensieve it out for you to see, and you'll know. I'm not saying I'm . . . er, cured, or anything. I'm just saying, I've managed not to, all right?"

Snape seemed to sigh, slightly. "This isn't the place to discuss the matter."

"Can we borrow it, though?" asked Harry, meaning the pensieve.

"We don't need to," said Draco, obviously understanding. Well, he'd seen Dumbledore's pensieve in the headmaster's office, too. "I believe you."

"Believe me next time you ask, too," said Harry. "If I need help, I'm going to say so."

Draco looked a little bit unsure, but he merely nodded. "All right. Let's just have some dinner. And then we can go back to the shop. Our suits should be ready, by then."

Later, when they went to get them, Harry had to admit that his looked pretty good on him. He smiled and thanked Draco, and tried not to roll his eyes at the way the other boy preened.

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

Harry yawned again, feeling like a nap would be just the thing. The opera Draco had picked was all right, he supposed; his brother certainly seemed to be enjoying it. But the constant singing really wasn't Harry's cup of tea. Maybe he'd appreciate it more if he could understand a word here or there.

"This is surprisingly good," whispered Draco after a fat man wearing some sort of bird costume took a bow and the curtain came down. "Of course, that notice had it half wrong. Some of the little scenes they've put on actually come from The Marriage of Figaro. And really, mixing that one with The Magic Flute is rather bizarre, don't you think?"

Harry really didn't have any sort of opinion about that.

"It's a small company, Draco," said Severus in a deep voice. "A community group, the programme explains. No doubt they designed this production around the singers they had, matching each to the part most appropriate. A full-scale opera might be beyond their capacity."

"Ah. Yes, probably so," murmured Draco, flipping through his programme. He was absently humming a section of a song they'd heard a few minutes before, but fell silent at once as the curtain began to rise.

A young woman walked sedately forward on the stage, her costume a gauzy midnight blue dress, so loose and flowing it might have been a witch's robe. It was even decorated with stars and crescent moons, just like some of the headmaster's outfits, though somehow on her the symbols looked elegant instead of comical.

Her golden-blonde hair streamed all the way down her back, but Harry was slow to notice that because the headdress she was wearing was so striking. Silver, it formed a half-circle behind her head, looking almost like the moon rising over water.

"The Queen of the Night," murmured Draco, leaning forward to rest his hands against the balcony.

Something about his voice sounded odd, Harry thought. When he glanced at his brother it was to see Draco's eyes gleaming, his whole body held in a pose of almost rapt attention.

Well, the song the girl was singing was rather fantastic, Harry thought. He'd never heard anything like it. The notes went so high it was a wonder anybody could hit them. They rippled through the air almost like magic, so it was easy to understand why Draco would look so enchanted. He really did love this kind of music.

Draco kept leaning forward further as he listened. His lips were parted, his breathing shallow, his hands stroking across the balcony in tempo to the notes the girl was singing.

"You're going to fall out of your chair if you aren't careful," said Harry lightly.

Draco gave no sign of having even heard. It was like his whole soul was wrapped around the music.

Harry glanced to the other side, where Snape was sitting with hands sedately folded in his lap. His father merely gave a small shake of his head, as if to say that they should leave Draco to his rapture.

And really, how long could the song last, anyway?

When it ended though, Draco still looked positively enthralled. He didn't take his eyes off the stage as the girl took a bow. His gaze followed her as she stepped back, then followed the curtain that swept down to conceal her.

He turned to his family then, his eyes still sparkling, and said something in tones of reverence. Something Harry certainly wasn't expecting to hear. It was just opera, after all.

But clearly, it was something else to Draco.

"I'm in love," he whispered, barely breathing.

Harry glanced at the curtain, then back at Draco. "You're what?"

Still that same hushed, almost worshipful tone. "In love. With . . ." Draco's fingers rapidly turned pages in the simple program he'd been given earlier. When he found what he was looking for, he sighed with happiness. "With Rhiannon Miller. Even her name is beautiful."

Harry blinked. "It sounds like a pretty regular name to me."

Draco just smiled, looking like nothing Harry could say would bother him, ever again. And that bothered Harry. "Oh, be serious. You can't be in love. You don't even know that girl."

Draco's eyes were still gleaming with an other-worldly light. Harry told himself it was just the dim glow of the lamps on the walls of their box, but Snape's eyes didn't look like that, did they?

"You aren't in love," Harry said again. "That's completely ridiculous."

"Shhh!" said an old lady in the next box over.

Only then did Harry realise that the next song had begun.

Draco turned toward the stage again, his teeth glinting. "Maybe she'll grace the stage with another song." She didn't, though, which meant that Draco's expression fell more and more as the evening wore on.

Harry kept glancing over at his father, who was sitting with folded hands and pursed lips. Harry didn't know what that meant, but he had a feeling that he wasn't the only one feeling worried.

What could Draco be thinking? You couldn't fall in love with someone you'd never met, and anyway, this Rhiannon was a Muggle. Draco should be spouting off his usual nonsense about how much they disgusted him and how a Muggle had probably sat in his chair before him and--

"There she is," said Draco when the cast took their curtain call. He leaned forward again, sighing, his arms draped over the balcony as if he was trying to slide over it so he could be closer to the girl on the stage. "Just look at her."

Rhiannon was still dressed in her Queen of the Night robes, though by then she'd taken off her headdress. Harry had to admit, she was quite beautiful. Tall and blonde and slender, she bowed gracefully and looked the picture of elegance. But what did any of that matter? Draco couldn't be in love!

"Let's see if we can go backstage," said Draco, jumping up as soon as the curtain fell again. He bounced on his heels. "I have to meet her! I have to, I have to!"

Snape stood up and spoke in a low, intense voice. "I think we should return home, Draco."

"But--"

"We haven't been invited backstage," continued Snape. "We will not be calling undue attention to ourselves, Draco."

"Nobody in a pipsqueak theatre like this will care one whit--"

Snape took one step toward his son. "I care. We'll discuss the matter at home."

Draco cast a last, desperate look at the curtain. "Oh, very well. At least I know her name and where she spends her time." He slipped the playbill into a pocket, then patted the fabric covering it. "Exeter Theatre Company. I'll find her. As sure as my name's Mal-- er, Snape." Draco narrowed his eyes when Harry gave him a sharp look. "Habit, all right? I've been saying that my whole life."

He didn't say anything else as Snape led them to out of the theatre and to a dark, deserted alley where they Disapparated.

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

Harry flopped down onto the couch inside the cottage. If Draco had been worried before, about Harry's needles, then now the shoe was on the other foot. Harry was worried about Draco's new . . . fixation. There was no other word for it, and Harry was positive that Marsha would agree with him.

In fact, the whole thing was so sudden and unexpected that all Harry could think was that Draco was doing this on the rebound. He'd decided to replace Pansy, finally. And he'd chosen this Rhiannon on a whim, though of course it didn't seem that way to the other boy.

But yeah, it was definitely a fixation. What else could it be? Draco wouldn't listen to reason. Not about the fact that you might, say, need to actually speak to someone before you decided you were in love, and not about anything else, either. Rhiannon Miller was definitely a Muggle, after all. In other circumstances, liking a Muggle girl might actually be good for Draco. But not like this. Convincing himself that Rhiannon was his true love was just going to lead to more heartbreak for Draco. Harry knew it. And Draco had already had enough disappointments this year.

"How can you be in love with someone you don't even know?" asked Harry as soon as Draco came in and shut the door.

"Because love isn't logical, that's why." Draco brushed his hair away from his face. "You'll understand when you fall for someone."

"You haven't fallen for her."

Draco sat down on the other end of the couch, crossing his ankles. "You don't know anything."

Harry hated to be the one to bring up bloodlines, since he really didn't care about things like that, but in this case, he thought he'd better. Best to nip this in the bud, right? "So you've fallen in love with a Muggle. You expect me just to run with that?"

Draco's nostrils flared. "Are you trying to offend? Rhiannon Miller's a witch if ever I saw one."

Oh, God. This was even worse than Harry had thought. He opened his mouth to retort, but thankfully, Snape beat him to it. "What would make you think that, Draco?"

The Slytherin boy laughed. "Isn't it obvious? No Muggle could possibly sing like that. She's passing, just like Lupin did. I told you, it's very common. Wizards don't have a theatre world of their own, so anybody with talent like that pretty much has to join the Muggle world."

Snape shook his head as he lowered himself into a chair. "Supposition isn't proof, Draco."

Draco put on a stubborn expression as he crossed his arms in front of his chest. "I don't need proof. I know. Haven't you ever just known something, Severus?" Draco sighed. "Oh, fine. What about her name, eh?"

"What about it?"

"Rhiannon happens to be the name of a rather noted Welsh witch," Snape said to Harry.

"There's no reason why a Muggle can't have that name."

Draco bared his teeth, his patience clearly wearing thin. "What's it to you, anyway? I thought you didn't care about blood."

"I thought you did!"

"You can say what you want, Harry. She's a witch and I love her and tomorrow, I'm going to go back to Exeter and find her, just see if I don't! And then you'll know. I'll have her tell you herself!"

"If she's a witch then why didn't she get a Hogwarts letter?"

"It's none of your business if Rhiannon ignored her Hogwarts letter. Not everybody goes, you know."

"Yeah, I know! Like Muggles!"

"Last time I checked, having private tutors didn't make you a Muggle!"

"Last time I checked, singing loudly in Italian didn't make you not one, either!"

Severus suddenly pinched the bridge of his nose. "I do believe that you two have done nothing but squabble since term ended. Perhaps you don't have enough to do. Harry, fetch your spell lexicon--"

"That's his way of telling you to shut the fuck up," said Draco in a thoroughly nasty voice.

"And Draco, you may your begin the reading we discussed," continued Severus without pausing.

"What? This late at night?"

"You appear to have time to fight with your brother."

Harry shot Draco a triumphant look. "Ha. That's his way of telling you--" He caught the expression on his father's face, and instantly felt subdued.

"I'll enjoy reading some Aristotle, in any case," said Draco in a snooty voice.

Snape looked incredulous for an instant. "Aristotle? What are you on about?"

"You said--"

"I said ethics, Draco," Snape corrected, clearly weary.

"I thought you had to mean Aristotle's works on ethics!"

"No. You'll find the books I ordered in one of the magic crates. Read them all, and then come discuss them with me."

"I haven't done anything wrong! Why should I be punished by having to read musty old tomes about ethics?"

Snape's reply was mild. "You aren't being punished. Moreover, you didn't appear to mind when you thought I was assigning Aristotle."

"Well, at least he was a famous wizard and well worth reading--"

"There's no reason to suppose that Aristotle was any sort of wizard, Draco."

Harry couldn't resist. "And no reason to suppose Rhiannon's a witch, either."

"Out, both of you," snapped Snape, all mildness gone. "Work in your room so I can have a modicum of peace in my own home. And for Merlin's sake, stop this incessant bickering!"

Draco snatched some books from a crate, then walked toward the bedroom. "Here's a translation to work on," he muttered as soon as they entered the room. "How do you say total fucking idiot in Parseltongue?"

Harry glanced at the snake etched into the corner of his glasses and said something completely untranslatable.

Draco couldn't eat breakfast the next morning. Too many butterflies in his stomach. How could he want food when in less than an hour, he'd be well on his way to meeting Rhiannon Miller? Miller . . . hmm, he didn't think he'd ever heard of any Millers, but that didn't mean anything. She was still a witch; he just knew it.

He curled his fingers, remembering how Harry had been so insistent that Rhiannon was a Muggle. As if he would be such an expert on the subject. What could he know of bloodlines? Harry hadn't been raised to recognise quality when he saw it. But Draco had, and one thing was certain: Rhiannon was more than merely a witch, she was as pure-blooded as they came.

Draco could hardly wait to get to know her better. Which meant that it was time to announce his plan. "I thought I'd pop over to Exeter this morning."

Harry sighed--loudly, the prat--and set his fork down. "I thought maybe a good night's sleep would cure you."

"Cure me?" Draco leaned back and crossed his arms. "I'm not the least bit ill, I'll have you know."

Severus cleared his throat. "You propose to go alone, do you?"

Draco raised his chin. "Yes, of course. I hardly want the two of you hanging about while I get to know Rhiannon." He glared briefly at Harry. "Though it would do you a world of good to hear from her own lips that she's a witch."

"She's not a witch!"

Draco noticed Severus giving Harry a warning look, and had to resist the urge to smirk.

Harry sighed again, and spoke more softly. "What are you going to do when she tells you there's no such thing as witches, Draco? If she's a Muggle, chances are she won't know a thing about the wizarding world, and when you start talking about it, she'll think you're a real nutter."

"Why is it so hard for you to believe that she's a witch?" Draco wrinkled his forehead, wondering what was really going on. "If you ask me, you're the one who's fixated, Harry. You have some deep, dark psychological need for me to be involved with a Muggle." He huffed a bit. "You think it'd be good for me, I bet. But telling me that Rhiannon's a Muggle isn't going to change the facts of the matter."

"No, it isn't," said Harry in a heavy voice. "Well, you'll know soon enough. She'll tell you herself that she's not a witch, once she understands that you really do think she's one."

Draco frowned. "Hmm. You know, this might get a bit tricky. If she's passing as a Muggle, she might not be willing to admit that she's actually a witch. So she might claim she isn't one, even though she is."

Harry threw his hands upward. "Oh, for God's sake. Now you're convincing yourself that she's a witch no matter what she says! Don't you see that that's what you're doing?"

"And what are you doing?" Draco coolly asked. "Apart from trying to come between me and Rhiannon, that is? As if I'd ever be attracted to a Muggle!"

"Ha. You didn't have any problem finding Muggle girls attractive at the pool, did you now?"

Draco felt his lips curling. "Yes, well  . . . they were flaunting themselves. And what's more, that was just physical. And a bit on the disgusting side, when you think about it. Muggle girls must be awfully hard up, to have to parade about with barely anything on, trying to entice every male in the vicinity. But what I feel for Rhiannon . . . don't you get it, yet? It's love, Harry. True love."

Harry rolled his eyes. Well, fine for him. He'd figure out, sooner or later, that Draco was serious. And that Rhiannon Miller wasn't a Muggle, for Merlin's sake!

Draco rubbed his hands together. "So, Exeter then. I do hope she's rehearsing this morning, but if I have to hang about the theatre and wait until she shows up, that's just what I'll do--"

Severus spoke then, his voice almost too quiet to be heard. "You appear to be forgetting that you aren't yet licensed to Apparate by yourself. Not to mention that Exeter may not be as safe as you assume."

Draco scoffed at both parts of that. "I've been competent to Apparate for years, and you know it--"

"Yeah, but Dad would rather we don't break the law," Harry put in, the little goody-goody. "Remember?"

Draco rounded on him. "Why don't you just throw those fairy cakes in my face, then? Again!"

"I wasn't, but--"

"Sure you weren't. You're just upset that I saw Rhiannon first!" Draco nodded, everything suddenly making perfect sense. "Aha! So that's why you want her to be a Muggle, isn't it? Because you think I wouldn't love her, then--"

"You don't love her--"

"Yeah, well, you sure won't. She's mine."

"You can't call dibs on a person, Draco," said Harry in a heavy tone. "And as for me being upset you saw her first? Please. I don't want a girlfriend, and if I did, it sure wouldn't be one that looked just like your mother!"

Draco stepped back, feeling almost like he'd been hit. His voice came out as a low growl. "You're an absolute troll, Potter, trying to put me off her like that. Well, it won't work, any more than your other ridiculous ploys will. Rhiannon Miller is nothing like my mother!"

"She's tall and blonde and looked pretty snooty to me!"

"She happens to be honey-haired," said Draco, flipping his own white-blond hair back as he spoke. "And Rhiannon's not that tall, I bet. That fancy headdress she was wearing just made it seem that way." He suddenly grinned, feeling wicked. "Besides, my mother's thin as a rail, isn't she? And Rhiannon . . . " A low, whistling sound escaped his lips. "She's nicely curved, in all the right places. Very nicely curved. Mmm, I can't wait--"

"You'll have to," interrupted Severus. "You aren't going to Exeter alone."

"You let Harry and me--"

"I allowed the two of you to visit a Ministry adjunct department by yourselves on condition that you meet me at a specified time and place afterwards. That's a bit different from having you wander the city all by yourself."

"You left us alone when we needed suits--"

"I left you briefly, and only after I had ascertained to my satisfaction that nothing in that shop could pose any danger to either of you."

Draco wasn't about to give up, not on this. "Yes, but you must have thought that Exeter was free of Death Eaters, right? Otherwise you'd never have left us at all."

"You aren't going to Exeter alone, and that's an end to the matter," said Severus flatly, his tone brooking no more disagreement.

Draco's heart felt like it was swelling and aching. He had to get to Exeter today, so he could start convincing Rhiannon that he was the one for her. "But Dad--"

Severus' lips twisted for a moment, which Draco found pretty upsetting, actually. The man never got that look on his face when Harry called him "Dad," but Draco was getting pretty used to seeing it whenever he used the word. No wonder he didn't use it very often. It wasn't fair. Severus was his father, too, but it seemed to Draco that he didn't want to be, much of the time.

Oh, but the man was always very happy to be Harry Bloody Potter's father. And that despite the fact that the other boy wasn't even a real Slytherin. Sometimes, it was all Draco could do not to scream.

Screaming wouldn't help him now, of course.

By then, Severus' expression had returned to normal. His voice was casual as he proposed a solution. "Perhaps we can combine objectives, Draco. It's time we stopped relying on the magic boxes for foodstuffs, so I suggest we visit a grocer's in Exeter. After our shopping is done, I'll be happy to accompany you as you see what we can find out about this Rhiannon Miller."

The last part of that was welcome, of course, but as for the rest? Draco rolled his eyes. "Are you confusing us with elves, Severus? First we have to learn to cook, and now you'd have us actually buy the food to cook with? It's so . . ." He shuddered. "Mugglish."

"It won't kill you," said Harry, a bit smarmily. "After all, if you're so determined to get involved with a Muggle girl, you'd better learn more about how they live. I can answer any questions you have--"

Draco was sure that Harry could. As if being raised as a Muggle had been such a treat. Draco knew it hadn't been. Not for Harry, at least. Hermione Granger didn't seem to mind her upbringing. But then, perhaps she was just too ignorant to realise what a huge liability her Muggle ways were.

Not that Draco needed to know anything more about Muggle customs. He set his teeth in a straight line and spoke through them. "Rhiannon Miller is a witch. A pure-blooded witch, and I don't want to hear you say otherwise, ever again!"

"She's as Muggle as they come--"

"That's it!" said Draco, raising his voice. "Do I insult the people you care about, eh?"

"Yes, as a matter of fact!"

That took Draco aback, but he rallied soon enough. "Oh. Well, they deserve it, don't they, coming down to Severus' private quarters and making all sorts of nasty, evil suggestions, not to mention making bloody brainless assumptions and dashing off letters to Family Services--"

"Look, if I never forgave people for the stupid things they did, I'd still hate you, too!"

Harry would have to have a point. "Oh, fine," muttered Draco. "But Rhiannon's still not a Muggle."

"Is so."

"Is not"

"Is--"

"Gentlemen," interrupted Severus. "Neither of you has anything more than guesses to work with. I strongly suggest we delay this discussion until one of you has actual information."

He sounded like he thought they were both idiots, Draco thought. All because they didn't have any facts. Except, they did. "Her magical voice! You must see that that proves--"

"All it proves is that a good microphone works wonders," drawled Harry.

"Micro--"

"Amplifies voices. Kind of like a wand does for magic. All those performers were using them, I bet, and--"

Draco lifted his chin again. Honestly! Attributing Rhiannon's enchanting tones to nasty Muggle machinery. Harry probably didn't know how offensive he was being, but still . . . "Yes, your judgment on these matters is so very fine that you can't even hear the difference between Italian and German. I'm sure I'll trust you on all things operatic."

"Any more of this and I'll be setting an essay," said Severus. "Is that clear?"

Harry gave a short nod. Draco thought to do him one better, so he answered in his most gracious voice. "Of course, sir. I for one didn't mean to fill your home with . . . what did you call it? Incessant adolescent squabbling?"

It seemed to him that Severus sighed. "This is our home, Draco, not just mine."

"Oh, I know," said Draco, nodding. Hmm, Severus looked like he wondered if Draco really did know that. Which meant it might be a good time to bring up something he'd been meaning to discuss . . . "Well, perhaps if I had my own room I'd feel more like I was athome."

"No. You'll continue to share with your brother."

"Why? I think we know enough about construction now, to add another room--"

Severus practically glowered.

"All right, fine," said Draco. He'd known he couldn't sway Severus on that point. And truth to tell, he didn't care all that much, not now that he was so used to sharing. What mattered now was getting to Exeter and finding Rhiannon. "Everybody all done with breakfast? Good, then let's be off. Are you sure we can't hunt up Rhiannon straight away? No? Well then, shopping first, and after that the theatre. I can live with that. So, where to, Severus?"

All at once, the Potions Master started to look a little bit out of his depth. It was a pretty strange expression on his typically confident--or even arrogant--features. "I didn't think to look for a grocer's yesterday while we were in town--"

"Aha," said Draco, resisting an urge to point in triumph. No point rubbing it in, right? "When you said shopping, you were thinking of something more like Diagon Alley!"

"Yes, but as we're going to Exeter anyway, I think we should simply do our shopping there."

"Why should we?" Draco strove for a reasonable tone. "There's no need. And doesn't it make more sense to shop where we're all comfortable?"

Harry just had to put his two Knuts in, of course. "I'm perfectly at ease at Sainsbury's or Tesco."

"Where we're all comfortable," reiterated Draco. "I bet Severus has never set foot in a Muggle grocer's in his life. And I know I certainly haven't. So how about this: we Apparate to Diagon Alley to stock our pantry, as it were, and then after we've come back here to drop off our purchases, we'll head over to Exeter. Simple."

"Oh, no you don't." Harry was scowling. "We'll find a store in Exeter and you'll do Muggle-style shopping, Draco, so you can see how Rhiannon actually lives. Who knows, maybe we'll even run into her at the store!"

"If we do, it'll mean she's faking. How many times do I have to explain it?"

"You're the one who's faking! Intelligence!"

Draco had a good comeback for that, but Severus held up a hand before he could say a word. He had a feeling that Severus would cancel the Exeter trip altogether if any more arguments erupted, so he held his tongue.

Severus stared at him for a moment, then included Harry in his serious gaze as well. "It's best that we all become conversant with shopping in the Muggle world, in any case. In times of war, we may not be able to rely upon wizarding shops."

That made sense, so Draco nodded.

Harry was smiling broadly as he pushed back his chair. "About time Iget to be the expert on something. Sounds good. So then, I think Muggle clothes are called for--"

"Yes, it's not like we went to Exeter in Muggle dress just yesterday, or like we go every week to Surrey and pretend to be Muggles there, too. Yes, we know absolutely nothing about going unnoticed--"

"I get the point," said Harry dryly. "Can you blame me if it's fun to be in charge, even if it's only of the shopping?"

In charge. Harry really did have a nerve. "Who put you in charge? I think I can figure out how to buy food, thank you very much. I did all right in the suit shop, didn't I?"

"Apart from yelling at everybody in sight and making the clerk burst into tears twice?"

"Draco," said Severus, shaking his head.

"I didn't. His eyes got a bit wet, was all. And what was I supposed to do?" Honestly, the things Harry complained about. "I'd asked for emerald green, clear as day, and he brought me a shade of tie much closer to spring grass! I should just put up with such abysmal service?"

Severus and Harry started doing it again, then. Looking at each other. All but rolling their eyes. Draco huffed. "I'll take charge of the shopping, thank you very much--"

"You'll have the butcher throwing knives over the counter. At us."

"Draco." Severus waiting until the boy looked up at him. "Have you ever purchased food before, even in a wizarding shop? Apart from the occasional sweet, that it?"

Now Draco was the one rolling his eyes. "No, of course not. But how hard could it be?"

"We'll let Harry show us how the Muggles handle such matters."

Harry looked pleased as plum pudding that he'd got his way, and was now in charge, so to speak. "All right, then. Draco, lose that robe. And Dad, you too. Actually, maybe you should change into something a little more casual. Not too many Muggles wear . . . er, quite so many layers. Especially during the summer."

Dad . . . Sure enough, the name didn't make Severus grimace, not when Harry was the one saying it. Draco scowled and marched over to the divan, where he threw himself down with his arms crossed.

Severus was back in a moment, wearing black trousers and a simple button-down shirt in a green so dark it might as well be black. He'd tied his hair back as he often did when they went to Marsha's.

Harry nodded. "So, Exeter. Let's just Apparate to right near that pool, Dad, and then look about for a likely looking store."

Dad . . . That time, Draco was sure that Harry must be saying it on purpose. Rubbing it in.

"And you propose to go at once, do you?"

Harry blinked, clearly lost. "Er . . . yeah. Well, as soon as Draco gets up off the couch."

Severus waved toward the square table where they'd eaten breakfast. After hearing enough there's no house-elf here lectures to last him a lifetime, Draco knew well enough what that gesture meant. None of them were going anywhere until the dishes were done. So, fine. Draco flicked his wand a few times to clean the plates and stack them neatly, then banished the crumbs that were scattered about. Really, household chores weren't too horrible, considering. It wasn't like they were cooking and cleaning the way Muggles did.

But now they were about to shop the way Muggles did. And Harry was going to show them how. Draco sighed, but then he decided it didn't matter. As long as he got to see Rhiannon Miller in Exeter, nothing else mattered. Concentrating on the prospect of that, he let the world melt through him until he was lighter than air and on his way towards his one true love.

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Draco ended up on the opposite side of the road from his father and brother, but that was easily solved. He dashed across, ignoring the noise of tyres screeching and something that sounded like ducks gone insane.

Harry was shaking his head. "You don't know anything, do you? They're honking at you for a reason. You're supposed to look both ways before you cross!"

Draco glanced back at the speeding cars, then made a gesture as though zooming on a broom. What was the big deal? "I've faced worse in competition."

"Draco, you'll let your brother guide you so you can fit in," said Severus in a stern voice.

Hmm, best not to argue any further. Severus might demand they go home directly after shopping, and that wouldn't do. Draco's mind was already racing, figuring out what he'd say when he met Rhiannon. She'd be at the theatre, most likely, rehearsing or something, filling the hall with audible magic. Draco would listen for a while. He'd probably swoon. Too much beauty at once had that effect on him. He'd be happy watching her all day long . . .

But of course she wouldn't want to rehearse hour past hour. Sooner or later, she'd need to take a break, and when she did, Draco would stride forward from the wings, and . . . 

Brilliant performance last night, Miss Miller. I'm a great admirer of your talent. My name is Draco Snape . . .

Draco frowned as Harry led them down the pavement. Draco Snape. He was very happy to have a father he could trust, of course, but that didn't mean that his new name had the same prestige as his old one. Not that Draco would want to be a Malfoy again, ever. Not when it meant . . . no. Absolutely not.

But still, he did wonder how he could smoothly suggest that he had plenty of money. He was used to people just knowing that about him. The moment they heard his name, they'd known. But Rhiannon wouldn't, not straight away . . . Hmm. Maybe he should give his full name when he met her. At least Malfoy was still part of it.

But no, that might sound a bit pretentious. Even at official Ministry functions, one didn't usually give one's entire name--

"Let's walk along High Street," said Harry, interrupting Draco's musings. Draco looked up, startled to realise that the pool was no longer anywhere in sight. He'd been lost in thoughts of Rhiannon.

A few minutes after that, Harry pointed. "See there? A Tesco. They'll have whatever we want. Er . . . what do we want, anyway?"

Draco stared at his brother. "You're the one in charge. But that sorts well, I suppose. It's not as though I would know how the other half eats."

"It's not so very different and you know it," Snape said, the rebuke mild. "I must ask that we keep track of the cost, however. I've only got about fifty pounds at the moment."

"Oh, I've scads left over from buying those suits," Draco said.

Severus turned to glare at him. "I'm responsible for your support, not the other way around."

Draco blinked, a little bit surprised. It wasn't often he offered to share money, and to have it thrown back in his face? "I just meant . . . I told Harry I'd give him money too, if he needed it. I thought that was what families did." His voice sounded very small, even to him, as he finished.

Severus' own voice softened. "Yes. Well done, Draco, and I will remember it. However, I don't need funds from either of you, and hopefully never will."

Oh. Draco understood pride. "All right."

Draco tried not to shudder as double glass doors slid open at their approach and then closed behind them. The way Muggles tried to imitate magic was truly pathetic. And frightening as well. The wizarding world liked to pretend that it kept itself entirely hidden, but Draco knew better. Doors that opened themselves were proof in themselves that some Muggles were well-aware of what one could do with magic. It smacked of jealousy, and that was dangerous.

Jealousy had been a large part of the witch-burnings and other atrocities of centuries past.

Harry grabbed hold of a cart, and pushing it before him, started smiling brightly. "So. Dairy first?"

Merlin's beard, this was worse than Draco had feared. Dairy, of all things. "If you want to purchase some kind of animal, you can be the one to get the milk from her--"

An old lady stopped in her tracks and stared at the three of them.

Draco bit his lip, feeling like a fool, especially when they turned a corner and he saw row after row of cartons labelled milk. Well, how was he supposed to know that Muggles didn't have to get it by hand? They had to wash their dishes by hand, didn't they?

When Harry put a carton into their cart, Draco picked it up and looked it over. He felt a bit off when he couldn't tell exactly what he was holding. This time, however, he thought it best to lower his voice before he commented.

"What is this?" he asked his brother, very quietly.

Harry gave him an odd look and pointed at the large white letters on the carton. "Milk."

Draco gave him what he hoped came off as a superior look. "Well, yes, it's milk. But what kind? Yak? Goat? Sheep? Whale? Canadian caribou? Just for the record, I'm not drinking any wolf's milk. I don't like the associations."

He meant the myth about the founding of wizarding Rome, the one featuring a boy named Remus, but Harry, of course, completely missed the reference. Or maybe he didn't. His expression was rather contemptuous. But when he started talking it seemed like he had something else on his mind.

"You're having me on. Look, I know you didn't want to come here, but you don't have to invent a whole load of . . ."

"Invent?" Draco barked a laugh.

"All those varieties are, in fact, readily available in . . . other kinds of stores," said Severus in a low voice.

"Oh," said Harry, obviously deflated.

"Just you think on that next time, before you start calling names," said Draco haughtily. "So, what is this, then?"

"It's cow's milk."

"How boring."

"There you go, being a git again--"

"That's enough nonsense," interrupted Severus.

Draco didn't say anything more, but he did make a face at Harry once their father's back was turned. Harry ignored him.

After that, Draco didn't ask the origin of the butter and yoghurt Harry popped into the cart. When they started going up and down aisles, though, things got a bit more interesting.

"Oooh," said Harry, suddenly looking like he thought he was at Honeydukes. "I always wanted to try these. Dudley used to gobble them up before I could get a chance."

Draco glanced at the reddish package in his brother's hands. Walkers Shortbread. He thought it was very sad that Harry had been so deprived growing up, but he wasn't quite sure what he could say. Well, there was one thing, perhaps. "Let's get lots." Draco plucked a few more cartons off the shelves, and piled them into the cart. When Harry raised an eyebrow, Draco could only think one thing. "More?" He reached toward the shelf again.

"No, six boxes should be plenty--"

"Six boxes is too much," corrected Severus, putting four of them back.

"But we need lots, don't we, with Ron and Hermione coming tomorrow?"

Draco had been trying to forget the letter that had come through the charmed box a couple of days earlier. Oh, well. It wasn't as though he hadn't known that he'd have to put up with Harry's friends during the summer. He was probably lucky that they hadn't descended even earlier. Apparently Weasley . . . Ron, he reminded himself, had been kept busy de-gnoming his parent's garden. He'd written Harry no end of complaints about it.

Harry had gone down the aisle by then. "Oh, these look very good, and these, and these ones here--"

Severus' deep voice sounded amused. "I can see that the biscuit aisle was a mistake."

At that, Harry coloured slightly. "Well, it's just that I used to watch Dudley eat all these things and I wouldn't get any . . ."

"Be that as it may, I'm quite certain you don't want to end up looking like your cousin did."

"There is that--"

They'd rounded a corner by then and turned down another aisle. Severus nodded briskly as he placed a black and white tin into the cart. McCann's Irish Oatmeal. Draco made another face, and this time, Harry stifled a laugh.

Halfway down the next aisle, Severus suddenly did a double-take as he studied a new tin he'd just selected.

"What?" asked Draco.

The Potions Master frowned. "I can't think why there should be disodium phosphate in this. I wouldn't put that in anything meant to be taken by mouth." He placed the tin back on the shelf, and began rummaging through the cart, checking ingredient lists. Shaking his head, he rejected several items, piling them haphazardly back on the nearby shelf.

Harry frowned. "I think we should really put those where they came from."

Draco almost guffawed. That was taking the good son act a bit far, surely. Not that he really thought it was an act. Harry just still had insecurity issues, he thought. Sometimes he tried to discuss them with Marsha, but she was pretty good at steering the conversation back to Draco's own issues. Like intolerance, as she put it. It wasn't, of course. It was just intelligent thinking. It was dangerous for Muggles to know about the wizarding world, that was all. History was full of all sorts of proof, but they didn't teach that version of history at Hogwarts.

That whole line of thought reminded him of Harry's ridiculous insistence that Rhiannon Miller had to be a Muggle. What rubbish. Draco would show him.

"Well, would you look at that," he said as they were standing in line to check out. "No sign of Rhiannon Miller. No sign at all. And to think you said she'd be here."

"I didn't, but that she isn't hardly proves anything."

"You'll see."

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Harry didn't see, though. Severus cast a sly feather-light charm on their purchases, and they set off through the streets of Exeter, heading back towards the theatre where Rhiannon had performed. According to the woman sitting in the box office, though, she wasn't there at the moment. Of course, it took a little while to get that information from her. She hadn't even recognized Rhiannon's name, which Draco thought was a travesty if he'd ever heard one.

"Oh, the amateur opera ensemble," she said when Draco explained that he'd seen Rhiannon Miller in last night's performance. "They use the theatre every other Thursday night. I think they rehearse in a warehouse somewhere around here . . ."

Warehouse? Where merchandise was stored? He thought of those decrepit buildings near the squib home. His beautiful Rhiannon, who deserved to be gracing the stage of London's finest opera house, had to hone her performances in a place like that?Draco almost bared his teeth. "Well, where exactly can I find her, then?"

"I really wouldn't know."

Draco sighed as he fished out his wallet. He knew how to handle people like this. Even the wizarding world had its leeches. He slipped out a few pound notes--fivers, Harry called these ones--and sort of dangled them in front of the woman. "Are you sure about that?"

She stared at him like he was from another world. Hmm. Perceptive of her. "I beg your pardon?"

Muggles truly were dense, weren't they? "Perhaps thirty or forty ounces would freshen your recollection?"

"Pounds," hissed Harry. "God, Draco!"

Oh, right. Well, how was he supposed to remember? They were both measures.

"I'm not hiding information," said the clerk, bristling. "Now, if you don't mind, I've work to do."

Draco was a bit glad, then, that Severus was standing a few paces distant. Nothing was more embarrassing than having one's bribe refused. "Fine, then. We'd like three tickets to Rhiannon Miller's next performance."

Harry groaned. "I don't want to see it again!"

"Yes, well unless I get to come to Exeter alone, I'm afraid you're destined," said Draco, nose held high. Then, to the clerk: "Well?"

"Apologise for insulting me, first."

Draco just about gaped. What? What?

Harry's voice was jolly when he chimed in. "Yeah, Draco, apologise. It's the least you can do after you implied . . . er, scurrilous things about this good woman, here."

"Implied, nothing," said the clerk, her cheeks looking sort of sunken. Like she'd eaten a sour. "Don't want tickets, then? Off with you!"

Draco drew in a deep breath. There was no way some small-minded little Muggle was going to stand between himself and Rhiannon. "I'm sorry if I insulted you--"

"If?"

Draco gritted his teeth. If not for Severus standing so close . . . oh well. Hexing Muggles wouldn't do his standing with the Auror office any good. So he tried again, flashing his most dazzling smile. "I'm sorry that I insulted you, madam. May we please purchase three tickets?"

The clerk was smirking as she took the money and handed them over. Only after Draco had them in hand did he realise his mistake. "Ah, madam. I should have mentioned that we'd like front-row centre."

"Yes, you should have," she said, and with a smart motion, flipped over a sign hanging to her side.

Closed for lunch.

She turned her back on them and disappeared into the theatre.

Draco tucked the tickets into a trouser pocket. "Unbelievable. These . . . people really are very rude creatures."

"Are they," said Severus dryly when they reached him.

Draco grimaced. He should have recalled what fine hearing his father had, but then again, it was hard to remember anything past his burning urge to see Rhiannon again. And now he would have to wait a fortnight. A whole fortnight! If he were a dog, he'd howl.

"Look, maybe my technique needs work, but I'm sure that woman knows more than she's telling. Er, maybe when she comes back out you can use a little . . ." He twirled a finger near his forehead.

"No, I can't," said Severus shortly. "Don't ask again."

"But I have to find Rhiannon! I have to! I have to!"

"Thursday week will be soon enough."

"Maybe by then you'll have got over this weird obsession," said Harry. The prat.

Draco gave him a warning look. "It's no obsession. Oh, by the way, we're definitely going backstage next time. And if either of you tries to stop me again . . . well, I won't be responsible for what happens next."

Severus didn't do much more than shrug, which could mean anything, of course. Harry, with his usual lack of perception, seemed to think it must mean nothing at all. "You're going to let him just threaten us?"

"He didn't do that, precisely." Severus turned to Draco. "No more talk like that, however. Is that understood?"

Draco knew better than to push his luck. He nodded, keeping his eyes cast down so Severus couldn't read the determination in them.

It was a good pose. Calm, collected, self-controlled. But Harry ruined it for him. "Honestly, Draco, this thing of yours is getting out of control. I'm starting to think that you must be the one who's . . . er, had his thinking messed with."

Confunded, he meant. Confunded, him! "Oh, like when your weasel friend said you had to be confused just because you'd come to care about somebody? Like that, Harry?"

"At least I actually knew Severus!"

"Well, you've obviously never been in love," said Draco in a voice even he recognised as nasty. "Must have something to do with this attachment-avoidance syndrome you're working through. And no wonder, considering how little trust you learnt growing up. But don't worry, Marsha will set you right if you just keep at the therapy for another ten, fifteen years--"

"Essays it is," said Severus heavily.

"Wait, no--"

"I didn't say anything!" exclaimed Harry.

"You ridiculed your brother's affections. Again. It's really not very politic, Harry. Unless, by chance, you're trying to drive him into the young lady's arms?"

Harry flushed. "I'm just trying to keep him from getting horribly hurt when he finds out the truth."

"Well, don't," snarled Draco. "It's your truth, anyway. It's not the truth."

"And you," said Severus, rounding on him, "aren't to score points off Harry by throwing his childhood in his face. That's reprehensible and you know it."

Draco did bare his teeth, then. So it was fine for Harry to insult Draco's mother--though come to think of it, he hadn't done much of that in front of Severus--but Draco wasn't allowed to say a word about Harry's relatives! "He's always complaining about my mother--"

"And you're always bad-mouthing Remus!"

"Essays and lines both?" Severus' gaze challenged each of them in turn.

 "No, sir," said Draco, finally.

"Sorry, sir."

Severus shook his head. "Sir is best left to class, as you both well know."

Right, sure. Draco was going to call the man Dad when all it would get him was one of those half-twisted expressions of dismay. "Let's just go home," he said, sighing. For one second, a vision of Malfoy Manor flashed through Draco's mind. But then he shook it off. He had another home now. A better one, though it was so humble that he sometimes felt stifled there. Still, he wouldn't trade it for the Manor, not for anything.

Even if his father liked to punish them with essays.

It was better than a wizard's beating, after all.

Draco looked depressed, Harry thought as they Apparated into a grassy area a short distance from the cottage. Really depressed, and Harry knew it wasn't because of the essay their father had threatened to assign. No, Draco was upset because he hadn't got a chance to see that girl again. It shouldn't matter so very much; Draco didn't even know Rhiannon Miller. But clearly, it did matter. A lot.

Well, maybe if they were lucky, their father would forget all about the essay, anyway--

No such luck.

"Fourteen inches each on the importance of getting along," said Snape in a hard voice as he thrust open the cottage door and deposited the bags of foodstuffs they'd bought in Exeter. "But first, the pair of you will put this lot away. Without magic, and without squabbling. Is that clear?"

Snape didn't say much else, but he didn't leave them alone, either. Sitting down on the worn couch in the living room, he just watched them as they worked. Harry thought the man looked like he was brooding. About the way Harry and Draco had been fighting so much, probably. That made Harry feel just awful. It was like he'd really let his father down.

Trying to make up for it, Harry didn't say anything critical about the way Draco was stuffing food into the cupboards. He just began discreetly moving milk and butter and such out of the cabinets where Draco had put them, and into the crate spelled to stay cold. His brother didn't seem to notice, which was good, considering. Snape wasn't the only one getting pretty tired of them fighting all the time. Harry was sick of it too, and he knew that a lot of it had been his fault. "Maybe this Rhiannon really is a witch," he said in a low voice. Hmm, that had come out sounding like he doubted it. Which he did, but still..."I mean, she could be, right?"

Draco had been moving sort of slowly as he worked, but that had him stopping completely. "Don't patronise me."

"I wasn't. I really do think... er..."

"You think she's as Muggle as they come, and don't think I don't know it. And if you ask me, that makes you a right--"

Snape cleared his throat rather loudly.

Draco sighed and shook his head. "Never mind. I hardly want to write lines as well." He glanced around at the paper carriers, and seemed satisfied that the work was done when it wasn't, really. "That's it, then. I'll work on the essay in the room. You take the table."

Harry would rather have lain down on his bed to write, but thought it best not to make a fuss over Draco's high-handedness. Who knew, maybe he even thought he was being generous in giving the table to Harry. Though of course, they were wizards. Another table could always be transfigured. Or this one could be shared.

But Draco wanted to be alone, Harry suddenly realised. "All right," he said, nodding as though he thought the idea a good one.

Draco gave him a bit of a disgusted look at that. Harry wasn't sure why, but he decided he'd do best just to ignore it. He put away the rest of the groceries without saying anything, and then sat down and tried to figure out what to write.

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Snape made Harry and Draco work together to prepare dinner. They managed not to squabble at all, though that might have been because they weren't talking much. Harry figured that pass me that spoon didn't really count. At least Draco did his fair share of the work, this time, even if he had worn a rather disdainful expression throughout.

After dinner, Snape read their essays. Out loud, which made Harry cringe a little bit. His had sounded a lot better in his head.

When Snape was done, he stared at each boy in turn. "A little less arrogance would help you get on better with others," he told Draco. Then he turned to Harry. "You, on the other hand, need to be less self-effacing. Things that go wrong are not always your fault, and it's not your responsibility alone to set them right."

Harry bit his lip, wishing the floor would open up and swallow him. He didn't believe that, not completely, not the way his father obviously thought. But he did believe it some, he realised. He couldn't help it.

Snape turned once more to Draco. "How are you progressing through those ethics books?"

Draco stiffened a little. "I've almost finished the first two."

"Good. And your opinion?"

That certainly seemed to take Draco aback. "My opinion?"

Snape looked a little amused. "Yes, your judgment on them as to relative merit--"

"I know what an opinion is!"

"And I would hope you have one, as well," drawled Snape.

Draco practically gnashed his teeth. "What do you want, to know which one helped me most? Because I'm so devoid of personal moral principles, like you said right here in this room after you made me choke down a poisoned fairy cake?"

Harry decided it would be petty to point out that apparently people did make Draco do things, after all. Actually, he was a little alarmed that their father had said a thing as cruel as that to Draco. Not that Harry remembered him saying it, but...

"What I said, and I do believe it was mentioned only in the privacy of my bedchamber, was that your upbringing had never encouraged you to think past advantage to absolutes, and that personal moral principles would stand you in good stead once you made it clear to others that you did in fact possess them."

Draco snorted slightly. "Yeah, well you meant that I didn't have any ethics at all, didn't you? And that's why you gave me such bloody stupid books to read, and why now you're asking what I think of them--"

"In fact, what I'd like to know is which book someone your age would find the most clear and understandable." Snape shrugged. "It's hard for me to gauge."

Harry had a feeling that something odd was going on. "But why would you need to gauge a thing like that?"

"Ah." Snape's expression was a little smug. "I'll be teaching an ethics course next year. Seventh-years only. There will be some hard choices to be made in this war, and Albus and I have decided that part of preparing the students to face it includes preparing them for that, as well."

"Oh... you're trying to figure out which textbook would be best?" Draco started to preen, then. "And you asked me to help you. You wanted my opinion. I see."

Snape gave him a wry glance. "Do you? If you're wondering why I didn't ask Harry to help with this, you might consider that he has more than enough to do in order to complete his spell lexicon. And only he can work on that, you realise."

"Yeah, I realise." Draco sighed a little. "Well, if you really want my opinion, both those books were tripe. I mean, the one by Brookbender was a little more readable than the one by Jamison-something-or-other, but they're both a little soft if what you're looking for is the kind of ethics that would help people make battlefield decisions."

"Try the other two, then," said Snape, his voice calm. "They're written to a much higher level, but since this is a course for seventh-years, I think they'll suit. When you've finished reading them, let me know which one you would prefer the class to use."

Draco nodded as though he'd been given a solemn charge.

"So you aren't going to be teaching Potions, Dad?"

Severus turned to glance at Harry. "Certainly I will. The ethics class will be an additional responsibility."

"Oh. I thought maybe you'd finally got fed up with the Ministry's changes to the Potions curriculum, and--"

"I frankly don't care what changes they make. I shall teach what needs to be taught, and well they know it."

"It's not as though they'll sack him," added Draco in a slightly disdainful voice. "The man who saved Harry Potter, and then took him in as his own son? I don't think so. Severus has carte blanche to ignore every curriculum guideline they might issue."

One glance at Snape told Harry that their father agreed with that assessment. Harry sighed a bit. He knew that Snape didn't think of him as famous Harry Potter any longer, but still...

"Draco, if you'd be so good as to get to that reading, I'd be very appreciative."

When Snape glanced at Harry, the boy knew what was coming. "And I'll get back to my spell lexicon--"

"Actually, I'd like to speak with you alone, about an unrelated matter."

That didn't sound too dire, Harry thought, but he didn't have any idea what his father could want. Unless it was to tell him to stop provoking arguments with Draco. But no, Snape had just said that Harry shouldn't blame himself for everything all the time--

"All right," he said, following Snape into the man's bedroom. He sat down on the edge of the bed, wishing he could feel less tense. It was probably just something about Harry's swimming lessons, or... but then, why was his father closing the door? Why was his expression so solemn as he turned around?

"Something wrong?"

"I sincerely hope not," said Snape, sitting down beside him. "But we're overdue for a talk, you and I."

"Oh, about how Draco and I keep fighting all the time? I'll try harder not to let him annoy me." Harry frowned. "I think you should talk to him, too, about just how annoying he's become. I mean... I'm not trying to put him down, really, but don't you think he's kind of changed since term ended? He used to say the occasional awful thing about Muggles, but he didn't go on about them constantly."

"Constantly is a bit of an exaggeration. That said, it's quite true that Draco is sharing more about his true opinion on the subject."

"Well, tell him to cut it out." Harry sighed. "Ron and Hermione are coming tomorrow. And I just don't need him starting in. Though maybe when they're here, he'll use those perfect manners he likes to brag about."

"Ah, but don't you see?" Snape's lips curled slightly. "He's testing us again."

"Oh..." Harry thought about that for a moment. "Seeing if we'll still love him, even though he thinks these terrible things. Well, I suppose this is better than what he did before."

"Not the least because this time, he's trusting us to accept who and what he really is."

"Did you figure all this out on your own, or did you talk it over with Marsha? But when would you have a chance to talk to her alone?"

"Let's merely say that the good doctor and I have been in contact." Snape grimaced slightly. "Do me a favour and don't mention it to your brother. His insinuations do get tiresome."

Harry nodded. "So if that's all, then--"

"That is by no means all," interrupted Snape. "I didn't ask to talk to you because I needed to discuss Draco. I'd like to know if you've given any thought to talking honestly with your friends when they visit. They don't know about your recent difficulties yet, I trust."

Harry bristled a little. "Look, I may not be able to tell them everything, but I'm not dishonest."

"I didn't mean that." Snape paused, turning to face Harry more fully. "This is difficult, Harry. You're almost an adult, after all, and your friendships are your own concern. But you were the one who convinced me how important those friendships are. We told Miss Granger and Mr Weasley about your wandless magic and your deep powers--"

"We?" Harry made a scoffing sound. "The way I remember it, you didn't want them told about any of it."

"I didn't." Snape shifted restlessly beside him. "Looking back, however, I can see how useful it was for them to know such things."

"You aren't going to go on again about them leaving me alone in Hogsmeade?" Harry slanted his father a glance. "Though I guess the Howler you sent them kind of covered that."

"Don't change the subject," Snape said firmly. "The matter at hand is how much your friends should know, now. They didn't always behave as responsibly as I would have liked, but all in all, it was best for them to understand the extent of your changed powers. You were right about that."

"I was... right." Harry couldn't help but goggle a bit.

"Yes. It all comes down to your instincts. I've learned to respect them, Harry. So what are they telling you now?"

Harry crossed his arms, scooting away a little. "I don't want to talk to Ron and Hermione. Not about this."

"I'm sure you don't. The question wasn't about what you want, however." Snape said nothing for a moment. "Are you wary of their reaction?"

Sighing, Harry forced himself to really think about that. When the answer came, he clenched his fists. Too bad he couldn't just answer yes. He was sure that his father would drop this whole idea if he was convinced that it would end up hurting Harry. But... it probably wouldn't.

"Harry?"

Another sigh, this one more heartfelt. "No, I couldn't really say that I'm worried, exactly. It's not like when I told Ron that I liked being your son. There's nothing about this that would make him... er, turn on me. It's just..."

Snape merely waited.

"It's embarrassing, I guess. It's kind of mental. No, scratch that. It's completely mental, so no wonder I'm going to counselling and all. But I haven't stuck myself since summer started, you know. So I figure I'm over it, mostly, and there's no reason to talk it over, you see?"

Snape gave him a steady, unwavering look. "Being over it, as you put it, would be a good thing if that were really true."

"It is really true!"

Still, that look that made Harry feel like his soul was on display. But no attempt at Occlumency. That was good, at least. "It's true that you haven't used a needle, or scratched yourself, since we've been in Devon, I think. But is it true that you haven't been tempted, Harry?"

Harry felt his face going a bit hot. He cleared his throat. "Um, well... er... sometimes I sit out under that big tree by the fence and wish I could. I... I don't know. It hurt, a lot, but there was something about it that just..." He shrugged, unable to really explain.

"It's an ongoing issue for you. Something like that would have to be," said Snape calmly. "So think again about your friends, and consider what your instincts are saying."

"What's the point of telling them about a thing like this?" Harry asked, frustrated. "I don't want people to know! I didn't even want you to find out, but then I realised I really did need some help, so I had to tell you. But I'm getting help, now, and things are getting better, so--"

"We just discussed the fact that Draco is beginning to more openly share his biased world view with us, Harry. He's letting us see who he really is. Don't you want your friends to truly know you? Not your reputation, but you, flaws and all?"

Harry started twisting his fingers together as he sat there. "This isn't the same as Draco's thing. He thinks his strange ideas about Muggles are perfectly reasonable, right? So no wonder he's willing to throw them about more, now that he's feeling more like we'll stick by him no matter what. But I know I'm wrong to do a thing like this to myself. And anyway, why would I want people to know I'm a nutter?"

Snape reached out and covered Harry's hands with his own, his gentle touch so warm and firm that Harry stopped fidgeting. "You aren't a nutter."

"I meant, they'll think I am! Who wouldn't?"

"Do Draco and I think that about you, hmm?"

"Well, no..." Thinking about that, Harry managed a weak smile. "Um, you know, for all Draco's faults, he never once has said anything like that to me. And he could have, you know. Could have used it to score points during one of our arguments. Could have cut me off at the knees."

Snape's fingers squeezed slightly. He didn't say anything, but Harry knew what they both were thinking. That Draco really did love him, even if he didn't know how to show it very often.

"I guess my friends wouldn't really think I'm a nutter, either," Harry finally said, grumbling a little. For some reason, it hurt to say that. Maybe because, deep down, he thought he was one. "I mean, if they're really my friends they'll understand that things have been really... um, hard for me. Especially lately. Oh, but I don't mean you!" Harry suddenly exclaimed. "I just meant, you know, Samhain and losing my magic and being out of classes for forever and thinking I ought to feel worse about Lucius and--"

"Hush, you idiot child."

One simple sentence, and one which might have sounded critical to anybody else, but to Harry it was like a balm. "Yeah, all right. I guess my friends'll understand. "

"It's best they do. You're a young man who's had too much piled on your shoulders, from far too young an age. Which can't be undone now, unfortunately."

"Unfortunately?" Harry scoffed a bit. "If I'm the only one who can defeat Voldemort, then things just had to be the way they were, right?"

Snape met his eyes and smiled, a little wryly. "In some sense, I suppose. But I don't like to think of you that way. I'm speaking as a father now, not an Order member."

Huh. That was nice. But still... "You're both," Harry said firmly.

Snape nodded. "So, about your friends?"

"Yeah, yeah, I'll tell them. Not that I'd know how to put it." Harry frowned. "I guess I'll figure that out when the time comes."

"How very Gryffindor of you."

Harry grinned a little. He knew his father didn't mind that so much now. Not really. Which didn't make the man any less a Slytherin himself. Actually, that reminded Harry of something. "You didn't ask Draco and not me to help you judge the ethics books just because I need time to work on my lexicon, did you?"

"No. In point of fact I'm fully capable of selecting a text, myself. I thought it might do Draco good to read them all, though."

Harry tilted his head to the side. "Why not tell him from the first that you were going to teach ethics and were looking for a good book?"

"Dr. Goode recommended that he be asked to read them without that knowledge, in hopes that he would apply the information in the books to his own life, rather than distance himself from the exercise." Snape shrugged. "When he took the assignment as though I were singling him out for criticism, I remembered what you had said, Harry. Constantly reminding Draco of his mistakes, instead of encouraging him to progress more still, is likely counterproductive. So I decided to mention the class, after all."

"He liked that," said Harry. "You coming to him for something."

"Yes. I shall have to remember that," mused Snape, his eyes looking like he was turning the idea over in his head.

"Just don't overdo. I do like him, but he's conceited enough already."

"Is he? I'm surprised you haven't realised that a good deal of that is merely a cover for his insecurities."

"Yeah, I know. But sometimes he really is conceited." Harry blinked. "Oh, God. Does your bedroom door automatically ward itself when it's closed, or is Draco hearing every word we say?"

Snape's stare was answer enough for Harry. Of course the door had wards built in.

Harry laughed softly, relieved. Then he remembered something. "Um, when Ron and Hermione come around tomorrow, do me a favour and take Draco out for something."

"Ice cream?" asked Snape, derision in each syllable.

"You really should get over that."

"Should I? To my mind, it's an indication of the kind of judgment Lupin possesses. He'll need flawless judgment in this new role he's taken on."

"Yeah, well Dumbledore's getting regular reports from him still, right?" asked Harry. "He's managed all right, so far. I bet you probably thought that Narcissa would figure it out before this."

"She probably has figured it out and is playing along for reasons of her own," said Snape darkly.

"Hey, maybe the old Lucius wasn't that easy to live with and she's happier now!"

"Maybe." Snape shook his head as though to clear it of dire thoughts. "You were saying? About Draco?"

"About taking him somewhere, just the two of you." Harry thought fast. "Oh, I know. Remember how he wanted to pick up adverts for the shows playing in London? Well, once he saw that Rhiannon girl he forgot all about it. So maybe you could pop out to get those, and take him along. I think it'd be easier to talk to my friends without him around. Especially since he knew about the needle thing before they did."

"I do believe--"

"And anyway," interrupted Harry, determined to have his way on this, "it would be another way for him to feel special, right? He needs to know he's not just some package deal that came with me, but that you love him too. And I'm sure you know I'll be safe enough on my own, as long as I stay right here on your unplottable, Fidelius-protected land."

"It's our land. But as I was saying," drawled Snape, sounding exasperated, "I do believe that's a sound idea, all around."

"Oh."

"You aren't the only one capable of recognising them, you realise." Snape moved a hand to his shoulder and squeezed it lightly. "Of course, you realise. Conceit hasn't ever been one of your problems. So, is there anything else we should discuss? Dr. Goode tells me regularly not to ask about your sessions, but you do know that I'm willing to listen to anything you'd like to share about them, don't you? I'm sure the doctor is quite good at what she does, but her position as a squib would naturally tend to limit her perspective on some things. If you need a wizarding point of view about anything, I am here."

"I know that, Dad." Harry couldn't resist it, then. His father was so close, and talking about being there for him through anything. Willing to listen to Harry, for as long as it took. About anything. It was everything he used to dream about, when he was lying alone in his cupboard. An adult who really, truly loved him.

All he had to do was shift forward a bit, and lean over, resting his cheek on the warm black fabric of his Snape's shirt. The man's arms came around him at once, as Harry had known they would. Harry couldn't help what he thought of next. If I'd had this all along, like I was supposed to, I'd never have wanted a needle like that. I wouldn't have to dread telling my friends that I'm not quite right in the head.

But at least he had a dad, now. A dad who really loved him. The amazing part of that, Harry realised, wasn't that it was Severus Snape who had come to feel that way. No, what really surprised Harry, deep down, was that anybody at all could love a boy like him.

But no, those were the kinds of thoughts Marsha always shook her head at, when Harry drifted towards them during their sessions. "Just because you weren't loved doesn't make you unlovable," she'd say in her quiet, firm way. "The things we suffer when we're young are very scarring, Harry, but we don't have to let them define us."

Very scarring... a funny turn of phrase, considering Harry's forehead. Now, the words made him think of Draco. He'd been scarred, too, from the day he was born. He just didn't have an outward mark to show it.

Harry nodded slightly, his cheek moving against Snape's shirt. Draco might be kind of hard to take at times, but Harry would try harder not to lose his temper with his brother. After all, Draco had already let slip that he didn't feel as though Harry liked him. Or Snape either, for that matter. That was pretty close to feeling unloved, and Harry knew how bad that felt.

"Thanks," Harry said, his throat tightening a little.

"More thanks."

"Yeah, for Marsha. She really is helping, Dad. But as soon as I think I need your perspective on something, I'll come straight to you. For now, though... I'm all right."

"I'm happy to hear that." Snape tightened his arms around Harry, for just one moment more. Then he was standing up and waving a wand for his door to open.

Harry started to go to his room, but thought better of it. "Dinner's over," he reminded his father. "How about we all have some of that shortbread, now?"

"I'd be glad of some tea, but--"

"Oh, come on," said Harry, determined. "No disodium phenate, I promise. Remember the label? Just sugar, flour, butter and, er, one more thing, I think--"

"Salt."

"See, it's as pure as can be. You can have yours with some Oolong."

"Oh, very well," said Snape, in the manner of someone making a large concession. But his eyes were twinkling as though he were very pleased.

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

Ron and Hermione arrived mid-morning the next day, courtesy of one of the Portkeys to Devon that Dumbledore had prepared in advance for Snape. The first thing Harry did--well, after the greetings and hugs--was offer them some Walkers shortbread. He'd found out the night before that it  was every bit as brilliant as he'd expected, better even than the elf-made version served at school. No wonder Dudley had always hogged it all to himself.

When Draco took a wedge, Harry almost laughed. The night before, his brother had had nothing but complaints about the biscuits. They were too crumbly, he'd claimed, making a slight face as he added that Muggles obviously didn't know a thing about baking.

And you do? Harry had almost asked. He didn't want to fight, though. He and Draco had been doing too much of that.

And so now, if Draco was eating his biscuit without complaint... well, maybe he was just trying to be polite in front of their guests. Harry hoped so, anyway.

"So, what's kept you?" Harry asked Hermione. "I didn't think I'd have to wait until July to see you!"

She started twisted a strand of hair around a finger. "I know. But I didn't want to intrude on family time--"

"You aren't!"

Draco, Harry noticed, stayed conspicuously silent.

"And besides, I really neglected S.P.E.W. during the last school year, so I thought I'd better work up some more hats and scarves and such--"

So much for Draco saying nothing if he couldn't say something nice. He scowled as he sat there, his long legs stretched out and crossed at the ankle. "How long is it going to take you to notice that the elves hate that freedom rubbish you keep trying to shove down their throats?"

"Oh, like you care so much about elvish welfare," said Hermione, tossing her hair.

"Oh, that's right. I hate elves," said Draco, not a trace of sarcasm about him. "Free them all, then. Make the little buggers as miserable as possible."

"You hate everyone," said Ron.

Not everyone, Harry thought of saying as he remembered Rhiannon. But he didn't want to remind Draco of her. Not to mention, it wouldn't be very brotherly to bring her up in front of Ron and Hermione. Besides, he had better things to discuss. If Hermione wanted to be immersed in a project, Harry could give her a much better one than helping elves who wouldn't appreciate it. "Say, have either of you heard of something called the Mirror of All Souls?"

Ron shrugged while Hermione shook her head.

Draco raised his voice, which Harry thought ridiculous since their father was just a short distance away, sitting at the square table in the kitchen as he wrote on parchment. "Severus, do you think Harry should be blabbing to his friends about that mirror we found?"

"I found." Draco hadn't even noticed it.

Snape looked up briefly, his gaze intent when it met Harry's. "Miss Granger and Mr Weasley are Harry's long-standing friends, Draco. I'm sure they can be trusted to deal responsibly with any information Harry cares to impart."

Not too subtle, Harry wanted to scoff. Why don't you just remind me outright to tell them about my problem with needles?

Snape's eyes glimmered still further, for just a moment, before he turned to regard Draco. "And too, perhaps a new perspective is what we need."

"I hardly think that a Muggleborn girl is going to shed much light on--"

Harry glared.

"What?" asked Draco with an air of innocence. "She is, you know."

"She's also the most clever witch you'll ever have the luck to meet!"

"I admitted she was clever, myself, and I stand by it," Draco retorted. "That doesn't mean she's going to have the kind of background that would enable her to understand that mirror."

"Like your background was such a lot of help."

"Touché."

"What are the pair of you going on about?" asked Hermione in an exasperated voice. "Are they always like this, sir?"

Snape set aside his quill and leaned back in his chair, his arms crossed, his dark eyes contemplative. "Yes, the bickering does get tiresome. But they're normal children, Miss Granger, and--"

"Children!" exclaimed Harry and Draco as one.

Snape went right on speaking "--and sibling rivalry is, I'm afraid, an ever-present--"

"Dad," said Harry in an over-loud voice.

That stopped him, at least. Snape stared at Harry for a moment. Then he shrugged and glanced once more towards Hermione. "Decorum prevents me from saying much more."

Decorum, Harry almost scoffed. Sure.

Draco actually made a noise that sounded a bit like he was strangling.

Hermione looked like she wanted to chuckle, but she knew it wouldn't be very polite. "Why don't you just tell me about this mirror?"

Harry still thought her tone sounded a little too jolly, but he ignored that. The mirror was what really mattered. He started explaining everything they'd learned so far. That certainly didn't take long.

"What was the inscription, exactly?" Hermione asked, frowning. "I mean, in the original?"

She, of course, could follow it pretty well in Latin, which really showed how clever she was. Unlike Draco, she hadn't had lessons in the language from a young age. Draco looked like he realised that, and it irritated him. When he saw Harry looking at him though, his expression went as smooth as a mask. Creepy, actually.

He rattled off the wording of the inscription in a bored tone.

Hermione looked like she was counting on her fingers as she listened, but it turned out she was just working out her own translation. "Hmm, it sounds like your English version of it is spot on, at any rate."

Draco looked down his nose at her. "I don't mistranslate."

"Of course you do," said Snape without looking up, that time. "Occasionally."

"Severus confirmed that it was the Mirror of All Souls," continued Draco in slightly less haughty tone. "So inscription or no, there's no question that it contacts the dearly departed."

Ron hadn't said much through all that, but now he started shaking his head, his eyes wide with alarm. "If it's used to get in touch with the dead, then it's a dark artefact," he said in a wavering voice. "And in that case, none of you lot should have anything to do with it, especially... er . . ."

Draco bristled. "Especially me, I suppose you mean?"

"Well, you are probably a little, you know, too familiar already with that sort of thing." Ron sounded sheepish, at least, like he knew Draco wasn't pure evil any longer. That was something, at least.

Draco didn't seem to think so. He raised his voice. "And you're too familiar with making ends meet, aren't you?"

"That's enough," snapped Harry. "You said you wouldn't be rude to my friends."

"It would help if he wouldn't be so daft. Dark artefacts . . ." Draco made a scoffing noise. "Are ghosts dark, then? All of them?"

"Well, no, but--"

"It's an oversimplification to claim that any connection to the realm of the dead must be dark by nature," announced Draco in a pompous tone.

Ron looked like he'd just been called a blithering idiot. Which maybe he had, but Harry didn't want his friends fighting. "Listen," he rushed to say. "The mirror has a safeguard built in, right? You can only call those who are in your heart. "

"That's not much of a safeguard," said Hermione slowly. "Whom do you suppose someone like Grindelwald would be able to call?"

Good point. But still... "Maybe your love has to be pure or something. That would keep somebody truly awful from using the mirror, I suppose. And it ought to keep something horrible from coming through."

Draco reached for another biscuit. "I don't think that coming through is the right way to think about what the mirror does, Harry. There's nothing in the inscription to imply any sort of resurrection or flesh-and-blood presence. Whomever you call will speak to you from the mirror. So what would it matter if a nasty sort showed up? The image couldn't actually do anything to anybody."

No? thought Harry, thinking of Lucius' portrait in Grimmauld Place. A children's rhyme came to mind. Sticks and stones can break your bones, but words can never hurt you... But that wasn't true. It wasn't true at all. Words could hurt you; Harry knew that.

Even knowing that, though, couldn't discourage him. He wanted to talk to his parents. And Sirius. He wanted that more than anything. And they would never hurt him, so everything would be just fine. Harry cleared his throat. "Hermione... I really want to get the mirror working again. I didn't tell you about it so we could all have a debate. I thought you might be able to help me. You know, you could research it and figure something out for us."

The girl blushed a rosy pink, as she began twirling a strand of hair around her finger. "Oh. Well, that's flattering, Harry, but if your father already looked into the matter and came up empty, I really can't believe that I'd--"

"Please? You never know."

"How could I research something magical, anyway? The library near my parents' house doesn't cover this sort of thing."

Harry ignored her dry tone. "Dad, didn't you mention a wizarding library in Edinburgh? Would it have a larger collection than Hogwarts?"

"Considerably. And the London Repository of Arcane Knowledge is even more extensive."

"Can you get the headmaster to set something up for Hermione, then? Some kind of owl access, or--"

"I can, but I've already inquired into their collections myself, Harry. To no avail."

"Yeah, but once Hermione starts reading, she might notice something you missed. I mean, she's brilliant. No offence."

"Oh, none taken."

Harry smiled at the sarcasm. "You're both brilliant, all right? I'm just thinking of that new perspective you mentioned, that's all."

Brilliant was an understatement, as it turned out. Hermione had a better idea of her own. As usual. "I'd love access to those libraries," she said, her eyes gleaming. "I'd appreciate anything you could help to arrange, Professor. But it just struck me that the books we need might be at Durmstrang."

Ron turned to stare at her, but Hermione seemed oblivious. Clearly lost in thought, she nodded slightly to herself. "That's right... Viktor mentioned doing an entire course on manipulating mirrors. It's something of a specialty, there. If I can borrow an owl I'll ask him if he can pop over to the library there and see if it has anything about a Mirror of All Souls."

Draco beamed a smile at her, though he slanted a glance at Ron as he did it. "What a simply marvellous idea."

Uh-oh.

"It is not!" erupted Ron, his voice just a little squeaky. "Durmstrang, Hermione? Well, that's proof for you right there, isn't it? Dark, I told you, this whole thing is dark--"

Draco's smile grew even wider. "Are you sure you aren't merely upset about the prospect of her exchanging owl-post with the legendary Viktor Krum, Ron? A genuine Quidditch hero, something you'll certainly never be?"

"Shut up, Ferret--"

"I'd rather be a ferret than a weasel!"

Harry felt a sudden burst of sympathy for his father. Watching people you loved squabble really wasn't very pleasant. "Stop it, both of you!"

Ron pressed his lips together for a moment, then said, "I really do think that mirror is bad news, Harry."

Draco rose gracefully to his feet, shrugging slightly when Ron jumped up to face him. "I thought so too, actually. But not because it's dark, for Merlin's sake. Harry wants to talk to his parents. Didn't think of that, did you?"

"Oh. Parents." The words came out kind of like a croak.

Draco twisted his lips. "Yes, exactly. Now, are you going to object if I say that your girlfriend can use our letter box?" He didn't wait for an answer. "Hermione? The letters will actually be owled from Hogwarts, but I would imagine that Krum's reply to you will go straight to your house."

"Thank you, Draco," said Hermione, a bit primly. She seated herself opposite Snape, smiling a little when he wordlessly passed her parchment and a spare quill.

Draco leaned against the wall, his eyes hooded as he stared at Hermione. And then he started whistling slightly through his teeth, just as though he thought there was more going on than an inquiry about mirrors.

Harry threw his father a pleading look.

"Draco," said Snape, his robes rustling as he stood up. "I do believe you wanted to go to London to investigate what might be playing in the theatres, there. Shall we?"

Draco's mouth dropped open, like he'd forgotten all about that. Probably he had. Once he'd caught sight of that Rhiannon girl, he hadn't had thought for much else. He glanced around the room, obviously weighing whether he'd rather continue to poke at Ron's insecurities, or enjoy an outing with his father.

His need to feel important in his own family evidently won out. "I'll just go change into something more appropriate."

Since the other boy wasn't wearing robes, Harry didn't know what that meant. But perhaps it was just Draco's way of hinting that Snape needed to take off his own robes. Sure enough, Snape went into his bedroom for a moment and then emerged wearing Muggle clothing. Well, what he considered to be Muggle clothing, at any rate. It was a bit odd-looking in Harry's view, but not so much so that it would cause much notice.

Snape paused on the way to the door, his gaze sweeping over Ron, who was standing with his arms crossed, and Hermione, still working on her letter. "Have a good visit with Harry."

Ron's eyes just about bugged out; Hermione actually dropped the quill. And the look on her face was priceless. Harry had to admit, the whole thing was rather funny. Snape, stopping to say something like that? To Gryffindors, no less? But Harry knew why he'd done it.

"They will," he said, knowing that his father would understand. Harry wasn't going to back out. He'd made his decision, and he would tell his friends, hard as it might be. He'd thought about it a lot the night before, and what had helped him feel good about his decision was something that Marsha had said. She'd said it about Snape, but Harry thought the principle would apply equally well to anybody he trusted.

Loved ones can help hold you accountable, she'd explained. They can watch out for signs that you might be reverting to destructive behaviour, and help you steer clear before it gets out of hand. That's one reason you should never regret having told your father and brother about the needles.

Yeah, Ron and Hermione could help hold him accountable, too... but only if they knew what to look for. In fact, his needle problem might never have got so serious if they'd been able to tell what he'd been up to, back near the end of term. Going off by himself all the time... hiding... keeping his arms covered in case anybody should see...

Hermione would never have let clues like that pass her by, not if she'd known more about how Harry was really doing.

As soon as he saw Snape and Draco Disapparate, Harry started feeling itchy all over. Nerves, he told himself. Anxiety. He'd talked about that a lot with Marsha. He tried not to notice how the antsy feeling was concentrated in his arms.

Best to just get it over with, he thought. Tell them everything, now, and put it behind him. That would be the mature thing to do, right? Dithering about it wasn't going to help.

"I've just finished," said Hermione, almost as if on cue. She took a moment to cast a spell that showered sand over the wet ink. Sand that vanished on its own, the moment it had soaked up all the excess ink from the parchment. Huh. Harry usually just let his writings sit until they dried on their own. Once in a while he used a drying spell, but not one like that.

"Old-fashioned magic," explained Hermione, smiling. "They had some lovely spells in ages past. I've set myself a goal of learning a new one every day during the summer."

"You picked up a book in Hogsmeade before term ended?"

"Oh, no." Her smile grew even wider. "Gregory sent me one. As thanks for helping him. The really nice surprise, though, was the fact that the note he wrote showed so much improvement. Hardly any backwards letters. He must be practicing like I told him to."

Her mood seemed to darken as soon as she picked up her letter. She made as though to fold it, but sent Ron a scathing glance instead. "Do you want to read it before I send it along?"

"Yeah, I--" Ron must have caught Harry's warning look, since he dropped his voice. "No, I guess not."

"Good." Hermione rolled the letter up and secured it with a bit of twine, then handed it to Harry, who put it in the wooden box they used to transfer mail.

"So, how about some flying?" asked Ron, clearly trying to distract himself. "Snape must have an old broom I can borrow, eh?"

Harry was sorely tempted to go along with that idea, but he knew he'd better not. Or at least, not yet. "Actually, I wanted to talk to the two of you. Snape taking Draco to London was sort of my idea. We set it up so the three of us could have some time alone."

Hermione instantly began to look concerned. "What is it, Harry?"

He waved them both over to the couch before he answered, and pulled up a chair so he could sit facing them. "Er... well, the thing is..." This was even harder than he'd expected. "You know, I'm not even sure you're going to believe me."

"Believe what, mate?" Ron gave him a serious look. "You know there's nothing you can't tell us."

Well, that was an opening if Harry'd ever heard one. "Um, well... the truth is, there is something I didn't tell you."

"What?" Ron again. Hermione seemed to realise that she ought to wait for Harry to say it in his own good time.

"I... I..." Harry swallowed and tried again. "Maybe I need to lead up to it. Um, you know how I killed Lucius Malfoy?"

"Accidentally killed," corrected Hermione quietly. "In self-defence."

"Yeah, I know. But after that, I started feeling... er..."

Hermione tensed as she sat there, like she wanted to run to Harry's chair and hug him, and was holding herself back only with great effort. "You've nothing to feel bad about, Harry, absolutely nothing," she said fiercely. "Maybe it's a natural reaction but in this case it's not warranted. At all."

Not you, too, thought Harry. "That's just it," he exclaimed, beginning to rub his hands up and down over his bare arms. "I don't feel bad. And right after it happened, everybody kept saying that I shouldn't, like they were expecting that any normal person would, and I started thinking that only somebody truly evil would be able to kill without it bothering him at all, and--"

"Evil!" Ron clenched his fists, so hard that his knuckles gleamed a stark white. "That's rubbish, Harry, rubbish! You aren't evil!"

Harry smiled a little ruefully. "Yeah, I know. It wasn't quite like that. It was more like, I was afraid I might end up evil if I didn't do something about it, and--"

"You could never end up evil."

"Oh, for Heaven's sake, Ron, let him finish what he's trying to say!"

By then, Harry was desperate for it all to be over. "I started sticking myself," he blurted, wincing a little when he heard how baldly that had come out.

They didn't understand, Harry saw with dismay. Probably, they couldn't understand.

"With a needle," he added, sighing. "Over and over in my arms." He held them out as if to show them, but of course there was nothing to show at the moment. Hmm, though his forearms did look a bit red. He must have rubbed them more than he'd realised. But at least he hadn't scratched. Well, that's progress, he told himself.

"You stuck yourself. With a needle." Ron sounded dumbfounded. "Um... how come?"

"Because I felt bad that I couldn't feel bad. Over, you know, Malfoy."

Hermione raised an eyebrow. "But apparently you did feel bad, Harry. Bad enough to punish yourself?"

That was actually a pretty good point, Harry thought. He hadn't looked at it quite like that, before.

"But you're afraid of needles!" exclaimed Ron.

Funny how he sounded just like Draco, sometimes. "Yeah, I am. That was the whole point. I mean, somewhere in there I had this mixed-up idea that being afraid was the real problem and if I could just get used to them everything would be all right. Or... something like that. It's hard to explain."

"I'm sure." Hermione sounded like she was treading cautiously. "Er... so, you do know that it was mixed-up, then?"

"Yeah. Snape got me some help, see. Well, I knew before that, actually, but I couldn't stop. It was like I was, I don't know. Um, compulsive about it. That's the word Marsha uses. Oh, Marsha's my therapist."

Ron leaned forward. "What's a therapist?"

"Oh, honestly, Ronald. Wizards have them, too. It's someone you can talk to when you're having trouble coping, or--"

"But isn't that what a family's for?" Ron frowned, then. "And you have a real dad, now. So why couldn't you just talk to Snape, Harry? Or um, us?"

"I did talk to him. I mean, I do talk to him. But I needed more. And as for you..." Harry shrugged as he sat nervously perched on the edge of his chair. Maybe this was actually the hard part. "I was, you know. Ashamed, I guess. I mean, I knew even when I was doing it that it wouldn't make sense to anyone else." He smiled then, just a little. "But now I can see that it doesn't really make sense at all."

"So you don't, er, stick yourself any longer, then?" asked Hermione.

Harry wished that he could just say no to that, but he'd come too far to start lying now. Or, not lying, really. Misdirecting. He didn't care how Slytherin it might be; when it came to his friends, it would be wrong. "Well, yes and no. I mean, I haven't stuck myself since I was back at Hogwarts, but sometimes I still want to. I mean, sometimes I kind of crave it, and I wish more than anything that I had a needle. I was keeping a needle on me pretty much all the time, back near the end of term. And it felt... I don't know. Like if I had one to use anytime I needed it, I was in control. But now I can't keep one around, in case I'm tempted, right? And..." He sighed. "I miss it."

"Oh, Harry."

Hermione sounded so sad. It made Harry feel guilty. It made him want a needle, actually.

"How can you miss it?" Ron's question was too loud in the small room, though not quite a shout.

Harry thought back and tried to explain. "I don't know... it was like, when I had one, and I'd stuck myself a couple of times, I'd go into this... well, sort of like a trance. There was nothing but me and the needle, and when I'd stick it in, the pain would keep me in this peaceful state where I didn't have to worry about anything. But that was only after a while. After I got really used to doing it."

Ron looked like he felt sick and was trying hard not to show it.

Hermione, on the other hand, was practically glowing with compassion. It might have irritated Harry, except that for once he was glad of it. "But you're better now," she said, her tone more a command than a question.

Harry smiled again. "Yes."

"Good thing you had your dad to go to," said Ron, swallowing. "I don't really understand, Harry, but if you're getting better, that's all that counts."

"And I'm happy you felt you could tell us," said Hermione, nodding. She didn't add finally, but there was a hint of it in her tone.

"Snape's idea." He had to be completely honest, right?

"Really?" Now it was Hermione's turn to widen her eyes in shock.

"Yeah. He won't let on very often, but he does think that the three of us make a good team, you know."

"Three of us." Ron sounded a little satisfied by that. A second later, Harry realised why. "So Draco doesn't know, eh? Well, no wonder Snape got him out of the way like that, then."

"He did that to keep Draco from rubbing it in that he knew first." When Ron scowled, Harry felt like he had to explain. "I didn't tell him, Ron. It's just, he was there when I went down to ask Snape for help, right? He overheard."

"Eavesdropping bastard."

"It wasn't like that."

Ron sat back, huffing a little. "As long as he hasn't been making something of it. Because if he has, I'll knock him into next week, Harry--"

"He's been great," said Harry quickly. "Look, I know what Draco's like. A lot of the time he's a right git, but he hasn't been one about this. Not even once. And when I need him, he's there, Ron."

"Well, he should be, if he's your brother," said Hermione. "Right, Ron?"

"Yeah, all right." Ron took a breath and looked Harry in the eye. "You're sure he's not making fun, or threatening to tell people, or anything else nasty?"

"Whenever he thinks I might be starting up again, he threatens to tell our dad," said Harry wryly. "But he's never once made fun, no."

"That sounds all right, then," said Ron grudgingly.

Hermione had moved past that, by then. "This is why you seemed distant near the end of term?"

"Yeah, and one reason I told you was so you could watch out for that if I start having trouble again," admitted Harry. "Which I don't think will happen, but just in case, I wanted to tell you I might need help. Just keep in mind that I won't appreciate it until afterwards."

"We'll keep an eye out if you start acting oddly," said Hermione, nodding. "Do you want us to tell your father, or...?"

"You might ask to see my arms first, to be sure."

"You weren't using healing spells?"

"Poke yourself enough and they stop working."

"Oh."

"Salves?"

Harry sighed. "Trying to give me ideas? I thought about stealing some."

"No, I just..." Hermione shrugged. "I don't want to do the wrong thing again, Harry. I still feel awful about that letter, you know."

"Don't. Even Snape's forgiven you by now." Harry smiled, the itching in his arms fading now that the worst of it was over. "So, Ron. How about going flying, now? Which broom would you rather use, Snape's old Cleansweep, or Draco's new Firebolt XL?"

"Oh, he gets to choose," said Hermione, smiling like she knew thought a change of subject a very good idea. "Now why is that? Perhaps I'd like to try a Firebolt for once."

"All right. I'll take the Cleansweep and you two can share my own Firebolt and Draco's XL."

That brought her up short. "Really? Er... what is Draco going to say about you lending his broom out?"

"Nothing, if he doesn't find out. And if he does, well, Snape's always reminding him to share it with me."

Ron stood up, bouncing on the balls of his feet, though he thought to ask, "Why didn't he get you one, too?"

"I wanted something else more," admitted Harry, summoning brooms before leading them both outside. "You two, allowed to visit."

"Oh, Snape would have given you that anyway!" exclaimed Ron. "I never would have guessed it, Harry, but he's... a little bit soft when it comes to you. You know what I mean?"

Harry did know. When he thought about it, he felt like he was wrapped in a blanket, drinking cocoa before a warm fire.

"So tell him you want an XL," urged Ron. "You'll need one next year, to play against Draco. You don't want Slytherin winning the Cup again. You are coming back as Seeker, right?"

Harry really hadn't thought about it. Too much else going on. "I have to talk to Ginny about that."

"It's your last year!"

Harry shrugged. He still loved Quidditch, but a lot of other things were more important. "We told everybody that my supposedly wonky magic had messed up my flying, remember?"

"So, tell them that you practiced up over the summer," urged Ron.

"Or tell Ron to stop pressuring you."

"I am actually thinking about it," Harry said. "All right? It's a bit sticky for me. You wouldn't understand. Your family was always sorted into Gryffindor. And Snape likes to see Slytherin win, right?"

"Oh."

"But I really do want to play against Draco. It'd be fun, now." Harry sighed. "I'll figure it out, somehow. Let's just have some fun."

They were all still flying when Snape and Draco returned an hour later. Harry slowed the Cleansweep and landed in front of them. Draco glanced up at his XL. Ron was on it by then, but Draco didn't say anything. He just rolled his eyes and went into the cottage.

"Everything all right?" asked Snape.

Harry nodded, his eyes gleaming. "Yeah, brilliant. So... is Draco going to drag us to a bunch of plays, then?"

Snape grimaced slightly and answered in a low voice. "All he could talk about was Rhiannon Miller and how he wished he had some pull in the Muggle world so that he could see her onstage in the West End, getting the 'acclaim her talent deserves.'"

"So you didn't buy any tickets?"

Snape's shrug looked resigned. "Draco didn't find a single production that suited him."

"Because Rhiannon wasn't in them." Harry sighed, and kicked off the ground, hovering in front of his father. "All right. Well, tell him that he can come fly with us, if he wants. I think Hermione's had enough by now and would be glad of an excuse to stop."

Snape nodded, but Draco never did come out to claim a broom.

Severus insisted on accompanying Harry to his swimming lesson. Draco was expecting that, of course. The Dark Lord might be secreted away somewhere on the Continent, recovering from his bizarre decision to delve into Muggle medicine, but that didn't mean that all England was safe from his followers.

Draco actually thought it very unlikely that anything would happen in Exeter, of all places, but maybe Severus had more than one reason to come with them. And his reasons had nothing to do with the fact that neither Harry nor Draco was officially licensed to Apparate alone. That was just an excuse. No, the other reasons had everything to do with Harry.

Severus had probably noticed, as Draco had, that the closer the promised swimming lessons got, the more nervous Harry seemed to become.

That was understandable, though. If you didn't know how to manage in the water, then gulping down Gillyweed and diving into a lake inhabited by hostile merpeople was a terrible way to start learning. Draco really couldn't even conceive of it. He could remember that day very well. He'd been angry at Harry--ha, at Potter, it was then. --that day. He'd wanted with all his heart to see Harry drown. What he hadn't realised was that Harry was half-expecting to do just that. And yet he'd gone into the water anyway.

Now, just thinking about it gave Draco chills.

"It'll be all right," he said after Harry emerged from a changing stall and stood there shifting from foot to foot. "You'll see. Don't forget what I told you."

With Severus right alongside him, he couldn't be more specific, but he caught the glimmer in Harry's eyes, and thought the other boy understood. Draco wouldn't let him drown, not even if it required casting a buoyancy charm right in front of a pool full of Muggles. Then again, Severus wasn't about to let anything happen to Harry, either.

So it was a bit ridiculous for Harry to be looking so... well, not worried. More like this called up bad memories, maybe. Draco wondered if Harry was thinking of the Second Task, or if he was remembering how his cousin had been the only one in his family to get lessons. That would be a little rough.

"Ten sharp," said Draco, glancing at his new watch. "You'd best get out there."

"Oh, God," said Harry when they all emerged into the sunlight.

Draco followed his line of sight and saw a group of small children grouped against a wrought-iron gate. They seemed to be waiting for something. Draco wasn't sure what, but he did notice that the pool inside the fenced off area  looked like it couldn't be more than two or three feet deep. He almost said, go on, get with your class, Harry, but decided he'd better not. His brother looked upset enough as it was. "I think you're in the big pool," he said instead, and pointed to where a lone young man wearing red swim trunks was waiting.

"Hallo, you must be Harry," said the young man, thrusting out a hand as soon as Harry got close enough. "I'm Roger, your swim instructor. I think you'll want to take off your glasses."

Draco stepped forward and took them, then joined Severus, who had taken a seat on some concrete bleachers. "Damned uncomfortable," muttered Draco, slipping the glasses into his shirt pocket. "Are you sure I can't just . . ." He wiggled his index finger, just a little.

"Be thankful we're in the shade."

Draco was, even though he'd used some sunscreen potion before leaving Devon. Severus' had brewed it specially for Harry and him, but Draco thought it was probably more for him, since he was more prone to sunburn. Not that he'd ever suffered one. His parents had seen to that, just as they'd made sure he'd never sicked up when he was feeling ill.

Severus would probably make him get a sunburn if he misbehaved, Draco thought caustically, memories of Venetimorica making him grit his teeth. Or perhaps not, but the mere idea kept him from trying to surreptitiously draw his wand so he could cast a softening charm on the hard surface beneath his bum.

"That instructor's a bit young, don't you think?"

"Nineteen. He's taught swimming for three years and holds qualifications in that and lifesaving. He trained at--"

"All right, all right," said Draco, holding up his hands to stem the tide of information. "I understand. You didn't just pick a class from a list and sign a vault draft to cover it--"

"Ehem."

"Right," said Draco. It was harder than he would have thought to stop using wizarding references. They just came naturally. "Say, why didn't you tell Harry you'd paid for him to have private lessons?"

"Because I didn't. I merely made certain that he wouldn't be mixed in with much younger children. I suppose he's the only beginner his age, this session."

That made sense, so Draco turned back to watch Harry's lesson. Severus hadn't taken his attention from the pool, not for an instant, which made Draco realise he was being a bit lax. Constant vigilance, like Moody had said at that Order meeting, seemed called for.

Draco tried hard not to laugh when he saw what was going on in the pool. The swim instructor was trying to teach Harry to float on his back, and Harry was really having a time of it. His head kept dipping beneath the water, just enough for ripples to crest over his face. That wasn't so bad, but every time it happened, Harry tensed up, which of course made him really start to go under. Roger's hands, beneath Harry's back, would prop him back up so he could try again. And again.

Really, it was pretty boring to watch.

Draco leaned toward his father and whispered his question. "Why didn't you arrange for normal swimming lessons for Harry? You know. The kind I had." He meant with a proper wizard for an instructor, so the whole process could be helped along through the use of magic. This seemed undignified in contrast. Harry was actually sputtering, now.

Severus leaned back a little and laced his fingers together.

Which meant he needed prompting. "Well?"

The man slanted him a glance. "If you taunt Harry with this you'll get worse than lines. I mean it."

"Oh." Draco felt a little hurt by that. When had he taunted Harry? When lately, that was? Well, he supposed he did like to make it clear how little he thought of the werewolf, but that was mostly because he was worried about his mother. But then again, he probably shouldn't be. Narcissa Malfoy could take care of herself. Ha, she might already have figured out the whole thing and was keeping quiet for reasons of her own. She wanted to be on Draco's side, after all. And she hadn't been able to, not properly, while Lucius was alive and fully capable of denouncing her to the Dark Lord.

Draco got his mind back onto what Severus had just said. "If you think I'm low enough to taunt Harry with the fact that you could have arranged better lessons than this, then you haven't been paying proper attention," he said in his haughtiest voice. "We might not get on all the time, but I don't particularly want to hurt him. If I did, there's no end of things I could bring up."

Severus actually reached out and patted his leg, which Draco thought rather patronising. On the other hand, he also sort of liked it, so he didn't glare or anything.

"I've noticed that, Draco," said the man in a soothing voice. "And Harry himself recently remarked something similar."

All at once, Draco felt uncomfortable. "You want to watch that alliteration," he said, to cover it.

Severus gave his leg one last pat, as if to say that he wasn't fooled.

Draco frowned, only slowly realising that something wasn't right. Severus might not be as wealthy as his sons were, but he wasn't exactly knocking on the poorhouse door, either. "Er... why didn't you arrange better lessons, though?"

Severus flicked a glance at Draco. "I don't think your brother realises this himself, but to Harry these lessons are about more than swimming. It seems to me that what he really wants it to make up for lost time."

It took Draco a moment to follow that line of thought. But then he nodded. "I see... It's like with those biscuits. Harry wanted them because he couldn't have any when he was little."

Severus' features softened slightly. "Exactly. And the kind of lessons you had just wouldn't be the same."

"Did Marsha explain all this to you, or did you reason it out on your own?"

"You doubt my insight into my own son's psyche?"

Draco chuckled. "I don't doubt your ability to dodge a question."

A slight smile ghosted over Severus' features. "I usually have to go without Slytherin banter over the summers."

Clearly, he liked hearing some now. And that made Draco feel warm inside. Yeah, Severus made it clear in a lot of ways that he loved Harry, and even liked him, but he'd never really be able to get on with him the way he could with another Slytherin. No matter that Harry had almost been sorted that way and that he was an honorary Slytherin, these days. It just wasn't the same. Harry was unmistakably Gryffindor.

But Draco was used to that, so he didn't let it bother him.

"You're a good father," he said, quietly, looking down at his own hands.

"To you both, I should hope."

They sat in silence then, both of them merely watching Harry's lesson. Boring wasn't even the word, Draco quickly decided. That Roger bloke was having Harry practice putting his face in the water, now. Harry was blowing bubbles. Talk about undignified.

Draco lost track of that thought when a streak of red beyond the pool caught his eye. He glanced up instinctively to see a girl walking past, her swim suit a modest one-piece, though cut rather high in the leg. Draco almost whistled.

A moment later, he was profoundly glad he hadn't.

"How many times do I have to tell you?" called a tall, thin man who emerged from a doorway labelled Pool Office. "Ten o'clock sharp, Rhiannon!"

Rhiannon? Draco's heart did a flip inside his chest. Leaning forward, he peered more closely at the girl in the distance. Honey-blonde hair worked into a long braid that fell down her back... it could be her, but Draco couldn't be sure. She looked a little different now that she wasn't wearing her Queen of the Night costume.

If it was her, that was.

Draco turned to Severus. "You have this pretty well in hand, I think. Er... is it all right if I wander 'round a bit?"

The sardonic look in Severus' eyes said he wasn't fooled, but he gestured for Draco to go.

Draco dusted himself off as he stood, and sauntered toward the girl, taking the long way so he could figure out what to say to her. By then, she'd unlocked the gate where the small children had been waiting, and had sat down in a ridiculously high chair. Harry had explained on their previous visit that those were reserved for lifeguards.

Rhiannon Miller was a lifeguard?

Draco almost didn't walk the rest of the way over, as he was sure by then that it couldn't be her. But then she spoke, admonishing a child to walk instead of run, and he heard her voice. That same melodic, absolutely enchanting voice. Well, at least now he knew what to say to her straight away.

"I saw you at the opera. You sing wonderfully."

A bright smile curled her lips as she glanced down at him. "Oh, thank you. That's so nice to hear."

Draco smiled too, feeling like a cheering charm was washing through him. Things could not be better, even if he had no idea what to say next. Well, his name might be a good start. "Draco Snape," he said, reaching up to offer her his hand.

Her skin was soft and smooth when she briefly shook his hand. "Rhiannon Miller."

Now what? Draco's tongue felt like it was tied in knots. His stomach, too. What was wrong with him, getting nervous like this? He'd never had this problem with Pansy.

Maybe you didn't really love Pansy, a voice inside him said. Maybe you just thought you did. And this is different because it's the real thing.

"Er... so I'm surprised to see you here," he said. Which was an understatement, of course. He couldn't figure out why she'd be working a job like this. Harry would say it was because she was a Muggle, Draco thought with disgust. Well, there must be some explanation for it. Some other explanation. "The opera doesn't take up all your time?"

"Oh, I wish it could," said Rhiannon, turning in her chair, now. Her smile faded. "I hate working here."

Draco raised an eyebrow.

Rhiannon laughed a little, the sound of it like tinkling bells. Merlin, everything about her was beautiful. Everything.

"I shouldn't complain, I know. It's good of my aunt and uncle to let me stay with them, this summer. I couldn't work with the theatre company, otherwise. And all they ask in return is that I help out at the pool, so . . ." Rhiannon shrugged.

Draco still felt confused. It wasn't a feeling he liked. "Er . . ."

Rhiannon laughed again. "Sorry. My uncle owns the pool, you see."

Oh. That made sense. Her family was in commerce--Draco repressed an urge to shudder--and everyone had to contribute. Well, at least she had the sense to hate it. That probably made it all right.

"I'd mind it less if he actually needed the help," Rhiannon went on. "You see, my family... oh, sorry. Long story."

As far as Draco was concerned, the longer the better. Just listening to her speak was a pleasure. He wanted to see her smile again, wanted the soft feel of her hand in his... "No, tell me. If you like, I mean."

"Well, let's just say that my parents and my uncle don't see eye to eye. They're just... er, different sorts of people, you know?"

Different sorts of people. If that wasn't code for magical versus Muggle, then Draco didn't know what was.

Rhiannon was still speaking. "My mum and dad approve of me devoting my time to singing. I don't think my aunt minds much either, but my uncle insists that I need a real job, as he puts it. The local opera company here was asking for summer interns, and I was lucky enough to get a slot, but I needed somewhere to stay, and that was the deal, that's all. He wasn't going to put me up unless I worked here."

Draco figured the man he'd seen earlier must have been her uncle, then. He'd never heard of a wizard running a pool, so it stood to reason he was a Muggle. The way he figured it, she came from a pure-blood family, but her aunt had married a Muggle. Unfortunate, but it did happen. Even in Draco's own family, things like that had been known to happen.

Draco wondered for a moment if she knew that he was a wizard. Likely not, especially since he'd given his name as Snape. Malfoy was a lot more recognisable. She wouldn't know anything about a Draco Snape unless she read the fine-print announcements of adoption and such in the back of the Prophet.

"So, I'm just here for the summer," he volunteered, deciding to find out why she hadn't gone to Hogwarts. Harry would be sorry he'd made so much of that, once Draco had an explanation. "What about you? Do you go to school near here?"

"Oh, I'm done with all that." Rhiannon smiled. "I turn eighteen in September."

She was older than he was, then, but not by much. It didn't bother Draco, though he still did want to tell Harry why Rhiannon hadn't attended Hogwarts. "Where did you go to school, then?"

Rhiannon's smile faltered. "Oh. I... er, I didn't, really. I learned at home."

Private tutors, just as Draco had thought. Her parents must be well-off, if not the aunt who had married beneath her. He wondered why her parents hadn't just set her up in a flat so she could do the internship. He didn't wonder about that for long, though. Pure-blood families were usually pretty protective of their daughters. Her parents would have wanted her to stay with family. For all Draco knew, they might even have wanted her to have some exposure to the Muggle world.

Kind of like Severus making them shop as Muggles, these days.

"You learned to sing like that at home?"

Rhiannon bristled a little bit. "Why not? My mother sings a bit. Better than I do, actually."

"Can't be done." That had her smiling again, which made Draco warm to the theme. "Oh, yes. I've seen a lot of opera, and I never enjoyed Mozart half so much. Your voice is truly stunning."

A pretty blush pinked her cheeks. "Mozart's my favourite."

"Mine, too." They got to talking opera, then. Draco lost track of the time. All he knew was that he could have stood there talking to her all day long. The noise of a throat being cleared made him remember he wasn't there alone, though.

Turning, he saw that both Harry and Severus were standing on the other side of the fence around the children's pool. For a moment, he was annoyed to be interrupted. But then he realised that he still had his brother's glasses, and thought, this could be fun.

Draco walked the few feet to the fence and passed them over. "Take a good look," he whispered. Then, with a flourish of his hand: "Rhiannon, I'd like to introduce you to my family. That's my father, Severus Snape, and my brother, Harry."

"Pleased to meet you," said Rhiannon, smiling in a distant sort of way.

Draco couldn't help it if his own smile was mischievous. "Severus, Harry, this is Rhiannon Miller. I don't know if you remember, but we saw her sing last Thursday night. Wasn't she marvellous as the Queen of the Night?"

"A pleasure," drawled Severus from behind the fence.

"Hallo," said Harry. Huh, he looked a bit smug. That was annoying. But then again, he was probably going to claim that working here proved Rhiannon was a Muggle. Draco's nostrils flared. Wasn't Harry in for a surprise? Now, however, wasn't the time to discuss it.

Walking back to Rhiannon, Draco lowered his voice. "So, I suppose I'll be seeing you again, sometime. Can't keep me away from a pool during the summer--"

Rhiannon's glance at his trousers and short-sleeved collared shirt was openly curious. "You don't look like you swim much."

Draco's mouth went dry. Frantically Occluding to lend support to his lie, he managed to croak out an answer. "Oh. Er... well, I came today to watch my brother's lesson. Didn't think I'd be allowed in the water."

"We're not open for free-swim during lesson times, true, but nobody will care if you splash about at the other end of the pool."

Draco nodded, though of course he'd much rather come 'round to the children's pool to chat Rhiannon up, than take a solitary swim during Harry's lesson. "Er... are you here every day?"

Rhiannon made a face. "Monday through Friday, ten until three."

Harry's next lesson was on Wednesday. The day after tomorrow. It felt like forever, to Draco.

Rhiannon directed her gaze beyond the fence. "Maybe I can convince Roger to take my chair for a while, so I can have a break."

Draco's heart sped up. Was she hinting that she'd like to spend more time with him, straight away? Was he supposed to offer to take her out somewhere, for a quick bite to eat? No matter that it was barely gone eleven. He suddenly wished he was at the pool alone. His family hanging about was really inconvenient. Draco sighed when it came to him that Harry had already changed back into the clothes he'd come in. "I guess I have to go, then."

He wished he hadn't said it when he saw the look Rhiannon gave him. Obviously he had to go, since his father and brother were standing there waiting for him. Harry was even smirking a little, like he'd seen Draco be a lot smoother than this.

Draco did his best to recover his dignity. "Bye, Rhiannon."

She just nodded, slouching a bit as she turned back to stare at the pool full of children.

They hadn't even walked a block before Draco wanted to turn back to the pool. "I should have asked her out, after all," he said in a thoughtful voice. "Don't you think?"

"Another day will do for that," said Snape.

Draco started shaking his head. "I can't wait. I have to go back, find out what time she gets off for lunch... hmm, maybe she works straight through until three. Well, that's all right; I can wait. I'm not hungry..." He suddenly stopped walking. "I will need some time alone with Rhiannon, I hope you understand. It's safe enough, here. You and Harry can go off shopping or something--"

"Another day," repeated Snape.

"But I have to know that you're going to let me have some time on my own," said Draco, his voice growing frantic. "This won't do at all, this hanging about together all the time--"

"Allow me a few moments to consider the matter before you badger me."

Snape's voice was approaching stern, Harry thought. Draco must have realised that too, since he stopped whinging on about seeing Rhiannon again. Though wasn't it strange that he wanted to see her at all, considering? Harry didn't know what to make of it. Then again, she had been walking around in a swimsuit. Draco wasn't used to seeing girls wearing so little; he'd said so. Maybe he'd been so focussed on her legs and cleavage that he'd yet to realise that she was a Muggle.

Though it wasn't much like Draco to ever overlook things like that, or be slow to figure things out.

As soon as they Apparated into the meadow in front of the cottage, Draco rushed through the door. Harry found him in their bedroom, the wardrobe doors flung wide. He was standing in front of them, actually chewing on his own thumb as he considered the clothes hanging inside. More than that, he was talking to himself. "A casual lunch? Or something fancier? Hmm, maybe best to ask her out for dinner to start--"

He abruptly stopped talking when Harry walked fully into the room.

Harry wasn't sure quite what to say. You're completely off your head didn't seem like such a good idea. "Turns out that swimming's harder than I thought."

Draco kept flipping through his clothes. "Well, the last time you did have fins--"

"More like flippers." Flopping onto his bed, Harry sighed. Then he rolled over onto his side. "I almost thought I was going to drown."

"In the lake?"

"No, in the pool today. Well, at least one thing is finally cleared up."

Draco's voice was cool. Or Arctic, maybe. "And what would that be?"

Oh, God. Harry suddenly felt sick. For a moment there, he'd almost started to believe that Draco didn't care if Rhiannon was a Muggle. Which would be good, considering, even if he was on the rebound from Pansy's horrible betrayal. But now it seemed clear that Draco was persisting in his delusions about the girl.

"Look," said Harry, abruptly sitting up. "Let's just think about this rationally. How many witches do you suppose hold down summer jobs at Muggle swimming pools?"

Draco looked down his nose at Harry. "Well, I don't know. Probably depends on how many have uncles who own pools and insist they work at them in return for a place to stay."

"Her uncle owns the pool?" Harry frowned. "Doesn't that tell you anything?"

"Oh, he might be a Muggle. Why should I care? He's her uncle by marriage, not blood. And in any case, she doesn't seem to like him very much, which shows commendable good taste, doesn't it, and--"

Harry couldn't help saying it. "You're completely off your head."

Instead of getting angry, Draco just shrugged. "So Rhiannon's aunt married a Muggle. So what? I don't happen to think it's a very sound idea, but I'm hardly going to hold it against her."

"Did she say that she was a pureblood with a Muggle uncle?"

"As good as."

"As good as," repeated Harry. "I think you'd better ask her straight out if she's a witch, Draco."

"I think he'd better not," said Snape in a deep voice.

Harry glanced toward the doorway, startled. How long had their father been standing there?

"Suppose she isn't a witch? Bringing the matter up would be awkward at best, and necessitate a Ministry inquiry at worst."

"Suppose she isn't a witch," mocked Draco. "Do you think I spent all those years under Lucius' tutelage without learning how to read people?"

"Yes," said Harry bluntly. "You thought I was awful, remember?"

"Potter, you were awful according to my values of the time," said Draco, eyes glittering. "Now, as regards Rhiannon, she was speaking in the kind of guarded language I'm very well used to. Her parents and her uncle are different sorts, she said. It couldn't have been clearer! She was throwing euphemisms about because she couldn't speak freely, since she must have thought that I didn't know a thing about magic!"

Harry threw up his hands. "Well, if you can't mention it in case she doesn't know, and she can't mention it in case you don't, then how are we ever going to find out the truth?"

Draco shrugged. "I know the truth already, thank you very much."

"No, you don't--"

The other boy's voice shifted to a higher pitch. "Are you saying that it's impossible for her to be a witch, Harry? Well? Are you?"

Harry was about to retort that yes, it bloody well was impossible, but Severus beat him to it. Except, he didn't say that at all. "Introduce your brother again," he said instead. "That should clear the matter up."

"Huh?"

Draco had caught on, though. "Oh," he said, sounding fascinated. "That's spot on, Severus. What a good idea." He grinned in Harry's direction. "I referred to you only as Harry, remember? And your fringe was down over your scar. Still looks plastered to it, in fact. Could be a side effect of that nasty chlorine."

Harry stared in dismay from his father to his brother. "Oh, great. Now my name gets to be some sort of test to see if she's heard of the wizarding world?"

"Not if, Harry," said Draco. He was frowning, though. For a moment Harry hoped it was because he was realising that Rhiannon really might be a Muggle. But, no such luck. "Wait. Maybe that's a bad idea, Severus. People hang all over Harry when they first meet him, and I'm not about to have Rhiannon getting stars in her eyes for anyone but me."

"You're just afraid to find out that she's a Muggle!"

"I don't have to prove anything to you. Not about Rhiannon, or anything else."

"I'll be introducing Harry again myself, if you don't," said Severus, pushing off from the wall. "I want this matter settled so that you two can stop using it as fodder for disagreement."

"Fine, whatever." Draco glanced again at the clothes in his wardrobe. "Can I go back to Exeter to meet her when she gets off work?"

"No."

"But I need to," said Draco in a wheedling voice. "I practically promised--"

"You did no such thing. You'll see her when we go for Harry's next lesson."

"But--"

It seemed to Harry that Draco's interest in the girl was more like an obsession. But he didn't think saying so would make any difference, so he tried to go about things the way a Slytherin would. What would make Draco stop longing to see her so soon? "You know," he said, resting a hand on his brother's arm, "if you rush back there, it's going to seem like you're desperate. Is that the impression you want to give?"

"Oh, Wednesday, fine." Draco made a face, but his expression brightened almost immediately. "Oh, I know! Let's go to Diagon Alley! I want to get her something from Fiery Gems!"

"A present already? That might look desperate, too--"

Draco brushed Harry's hand away. "You obviously don't understand being in love. I'm not going to give it to her for a while, not until we're closer, but I want to be able to say that I bought it for her the first day we met." He glanced toward the doorway. "Take us to Diagon then? Please, Dad?"

Snape's expression went a tad sour. "Perhaps you could try calling me that when you don't want something from me."

"What?" Draco looked astonished. "I don't do that--"

"You do, actually. I can recall only one time when you said it in other circumstances."

Draco glanced from Snape to Harry, his brow wrinkled. "Have you noticed this?"

"Um..."

Draco looked quite upset, then. "I'm sorry." Without saying anything more, he closed the wardrobe doors and sat down on his bed.

He really must be, Harry thought. Draco didn't apologise very often, and right now he looked... well, pretty disturbed, actually. "Look, it took me ages to figure out the names thing--"

"Yeah, and you told me it was none of my business what you called Severus, so stay out of this," said Draco. "I really am sorry, sir. I'd say Dad now, but you'd probably just think that I want something again. Or still. Or..." Draco's voice seemed to break over the last syllable.

"Draco," said Snape in a deep voice as he sat down next to the boy, "I wouldn't have mentioned it if I didn't think it would help you to know. To understand yourself better."

An awful gulping noise. "I'll talk it over with Marsha tomorrow."

"Do that. Yes."

"It's just..." Draco suddenly sighed. "You know. Lucius wasn't the kind of father you are. Not that I called him Dad, anyway. It's just that I'm used to... I don't even know how to explain."

"You don't have to explain." Snape smiled, a little bit wryly. "Though if you would like to, once you think yourself able, I shall be more than happy to listen."

"Thank you," whispered Draco.

By then, Harry was feeling like he should have left the room five minutes earlier. He started to move toward the door, only to see Draco shake his head. "It's all right, Harry. I think you've seen me in worse straits than this."

Venetimorica, right, thought Harry, though he kept his expression carefully blank.

Draco's expression was still troubled as he went on, "So, Severus. With that lot all wrapped up, I don't suppose you'd... er, take us out to Diagon, now? Or let me go alone? I'll be back in three shakes of a dragon's tail, and--"

"I do believe that the purchase of anything from a wizarding shop would be ill-advised until you know for certain that the young lady is aware of our world."

"I am certain--" Draco broke off. When he spoke again, he sounded resigned but resentful. "But you're not, and residual magic and all that. Fine. Though I will note for the record that you're taking Harry's side."

"The side of caution, I would term it."

Draco scowled.

Snape looked more amused than annoyed by that. "Perhaps we an reach some sort of accommodation. I'm a bit surprised you haven't thought of one, already. Though I do realise that your mind at present is filled with... other matters." By the last few words, his voice was filled with mirth.

Oh. Harry felt like a light bulb had just turned on inside his head. Snape was finding Draco's crush amusing. That made Harry wonder if the whole thing was reminding the man of a romance in his own past. Or maybe Snape had never been in love at all, and that was the source of his sympathy.

"Accommodation," said Draco, a little suspiciously. "What do you have in mind?"

"As you mentioned, we're due in Surrey tomorrow. I've no objections to visiting a few Muggle establishments there."

Harry had objections. Plenty of them. This was going to turn out badly, he just knew it. Even if Rhiannon was a witch, Draco had clearly fallen for her on the rebound. He was either going to get his heart broken, or he was going to make an arse of himself when he found out she was a Muggle. Either way, Harry didn't want to stand by and watch it happen.

"We're supposed to visit Dudley," he reminded his family.

Draco sniffed. "And we have so much else to do on a Tuesday. Yes, it's entirely impossible to go shopping and visit your cousin before we drop by Marsha's office."

Put like that, it did sound ridiculous. And Draco had just said your cousin, not your Muggle cousin, at least. "Yeah, I know where the shops are," Harry admitted, trying not to sound grudging about it. "We'll go early and have a look around before we have dinner with Dudley. All right."

Draco nodded, clearly cheered. He didn't even say anything rude about the prospect of eating dinner with a Muggle. That was something, Harry thought. Now, if he could just get Draco to accept the facts about Rhiannon Miller.

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Draco, unfortunately, was being far more emotional than factual. Harry had proof of that the very next afternoon.

"A diamond necklace?" hissed Harry as he stood beside Draco in a jeweller's. "You're joking!"

"It's a pendant," said Draco in a snooty voice. "And no, I certainly am not. Rhiannon's worth every carat."

"Look, when you said you wanted to buy her a gift, I thought you meant a music box or something!"

"Please. As if they even sell those at Fiery Gems."

How would Harry know what they sold? He didn't visit jewellery shops! He turned in appeal to their father, standing close alongside. "You put your foot down about the buttons he likes, remember? Tell Draco he can't buy something like that for a girl he barely even knows!"

Snape shrugged. "The buttons were different. A public lack of discretion. A private gift like this is another matter entirely, and up to your brother. It's his money, after all."

No, it's mine, Harry almost said. He knew that would be a bad idea, though. "Fine. But this is a mistake. It really is. You're not supposed to give diamond pendants to people you've just met!"

"She'll love it," snapped Draco. As if to show Harry, he nodded to the clerk who was hovering. "And she'll need something to hang it from. Let me see a selection of your finest chains."

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"Oh, relax, why don't you?" Draco seemed in good spirits by then, his gait brisk as they made their way to Privet Drive. "What's it to you if I buy my girl a trinket?"

"She's not your girl and that's not a trinket!"

"Are you sure you don't want her for yourself, Harry?"

Harry snorted. "Not my type."

"Then who is?"

"I don't know, all right?"

"And there I had thought we were past quite so much squabbling," remarked Snape in a dry voice.

Harry held in his retort and said nothing more until they were coming up the walk of the newly rebuilt house at Number Four. "Perfect manners," he said then, with a meaningful look at Draco.

His brother nodded, the gesture almost regal.

"Harry!" cried Dudley the minute the door opened. He grabbed Harry in a hug, then let him go just as quickly. Then he was smiling at the others. "Draco. Professor Snape. Good to see you again."

Harry almost gaped, he was so astonished at Dudley's appearance. He'd lost a lot more weight since he'd visited them before Christmas. A tonne. Well, perhaps not literally, but still... "Dudley! You look brilliant!"

"The diet's done wonders, yes," added Draco, with a look towards Harry as if to gloat, See? Perfect manners.

"I started to stall, so I switched to a low-carbohydrate approach," said Dudley. "You know, no sugar, no bread, no noodles, that sort of thing. It got me right back on track." He waved for them to come into the house.

"You'll want to watch that you don't become deficient in niacin," said Snape as he swept inside.

"Yeah, Marsha's got me on some supplements. Don't worry."

Snape's raised eyebrow announced that he was hardly worried about the matter.

"So, the tour first, or dinner?" asked Dudley. "You want to see your old room, Harry?"

"Oh, we stopped by here one night," Harry said. "I noticed there was no more cupboard under the--"

Dudley flushed. "God, Harry. I didn't mean that place. But yeah, I thought you might feel better about visiting me here if that was just gone, so..."

Harry smiled to show that he appreciated it. "So you're going to keep the house? It's kind of big for just one person, I'd think."

"Oh, Piers is living with me, now. He's got a job as a security guard."

"Oh," said Harry, unsure how to take that. He'd never much liked Piers. To say the least. "He's at work now?"

"Yeah, but he'll be home in a bit. Said he's looking forward to seeing you again, Harry."

Harry almost asked why, but decided he didn't really care. To his recollection, Piers had always seemed to enjoy bullying Harry as much as Dudley had. He found it hard to believe the other boy would be keen to turn over a new leaf just because Dudley had.

Dudley showed them around the house, then, clearly proud of how the reconstruction had turned out. Despite the fact that the new home followed the blueprints of the old--with a couple of notable exceptions--Harry found the tour rather fascinating. In many ways the home was the opposite of what it once was. Where Aunt Petunia had filled the house with porcelain bits and chintz pillows and ruffled drapes, Dudley's décor was very plain indeed.

In fact, Harry had a hard time picturing the old clutter crowding these shiny wood floors and stark white walls. Even the kitchen and loo were sleek with brushed steel and glossy wood. Harry couldn't help but comment aloud on how clean everything was. Based on the state of Dudley's childhood bedroom, he'd expected a grand mess. And it's not as though he's ever had to do a single thing for himself around the house before, Harry thought.

Harry didn't think his thoughts were showing on his face, but they must have been, because Dudley suddenly grinned. "Just in case you were wondering, Aunt Marge pays for the cleaning. She says two young men can't be expected to shift for themselves."

Two young men she liked, Harry took that to mean. Aunt Marge had certainly never had a problem watching Harry wash and clean and scrub!

Dudley didn't seem to notice his thought that time. "Well, any road, I know you've got your own home now, Harry, but I thought you should still have a room here." He looked a bit anxious as he gestured to a door. It led into the room that Harry had always thought of as Dudley's second bedroom.

Harry glanced back to his father and brother. Draco looked bored, which was clearly his polite attempt to refrain from looking disgusted. And while anyone else would have thought him uninterested, to Harry's discerning eye, Snape appeared to be examining his surroundings as if he were expected to report his findings.

When Dudley opened the door, Harry was overcome with a vivid memory of the exact sound of numerous locks tumbling out of place. A prickly sensation ran down his arms for just a moment, but the sensation fled the moment he stepped over the threshold. Not Dudley's second bedroom any longer, he thought, a warm feeling washing through him. The room was the same small size as ever, but that was about the only thing it had in common with its previous existence. Now, the walls were painted a familiar shade of crimson and a fancy new set of matched furniture filled the room... including a bed complete with curtains. The room even had gold-coloured drapes and brass lamps.

Harry couldn't help it; he stood there gaping like a fish.

Draco came to his rescue, his voice as dry as Harry had ever heard it. "Well, well, well. Seems to me that you've got a whole Gryffindor room to yourself here, Harry. So next year, our room at in the dungeons is green on both sides."

As Harry came out of his daze, he noticed that Snape didn't appear amused. But before Harry could really question it, the man abruptly suggested that he could do with a cuppa. Harry thought it a terrible suggestion at first. He had serious doubts that Dudley could boil water, but to his shock, his cousin served a passable blend, complete with lemon slices, in colourful cups so large that Harry suspected they'd been designed for soup.

Harry noticed Draco giving his a long stare before putting it near his mouth, but at least he didn't say anything, this time. After all, when Dudley had first waved them over to a huge black leather couch, Draco had made a complete hash of things. The moment they'd sat down, the cushy furniture had squeaked loudly and seemed designed to swallow people into its puffy depths. Draco had pulled a face and asked, too loudly, "Is it supposed to do that?"

Harry had nearly kicked him.

Now, he made an effort to ignore the way Draco was pretending to drink his tea, and asked, "So, Dudley. You must have some plans by now. What are you thinking of, career-wise?"

"Guess I'd better decide soon." Dudley shrugged. "I've been living on Dad's life insurance, and of course insurance paid for all this." He waved a hand. "But that won't last forever, though I thought sharing expenses with Piers would stretch it."

"Good thinking," said Harry, though he'd much rather Piers was nowhere in the picture. He glanced around the room, which seemed a veritable shrine to an enormous telly and assorted entertainment electronics surrounding it on glass shelves. The house might seem bare, but Harry knew that it hadn't been.

"It seemed only fair," Dudley continued, "as Piers helped me decorate and all. He's got a flair for it."

"Does he?" Harry asked weakly, something suddenly occurring to him. Dudley had never had any girlfriends, really. Harry had assumed that was just because he'd been such a fat and unpleasant person. But maybe there was more to the story than that. "Er... are you and Piers, er?"

"No!" Dudley laughed. "Of course not!"

"Oh, sorry," said Harry. "It's just that you said he was living with you, and..." He shut up before he made an even bigger arse out of himself.

"Rooming, I should have said." Dudley shrugged. "I put him up in mum and dad's room. Couldn't bear to take it for myself." The plump boy sighed. "Though I guess you probably know that Piers does play for his own team. I don't care, as long as he doesn't bring his boyfriends around here. He's not allowed overnight guests, see. Terms of his lease. His parents threw him out for having too many wild parties. When I decided to let him live here, I decided he wasn't going to be wrecking the brand-new furniture and such."

Too much information, Harry thought, frowning.

Dudley suddenly frowned as well. "Oh. Is that a problem for you, Piers being gay? I can tell him to make himself scarce until--" He cleared his throat. "Sorry, Harry. Dad would have had a problem with it, I know, but I got the idea from Marsha that wizards didn't care about things like that."

Oh, great. Now Harry couldn't say that he'd rather not see Piers! "Wizard prejudices tend to centre on other things," Harry said, with a sidelong glance at Draco, who gave Harry a superior look in reply.

"Good, because Piers made the dessert, so I'd really hate to tell him he can't have dinner with us."

Harry started. This was just getting worse and worse! He looked toward his father in desperation, for once wishing that the man would use a touch of Legilimency on him. But Snape still seemed intent on studying the house. Harry had the feeling that the man was reaching out with some sort of magic, trying to test if any trace remained of the wards and spells that had once been attached to Number Four Privet Drive.

So when it came to avoiding Piers, Harry was on his own. "Oh. Um, I sort of thought we'd all go out for dinner, Dudley. You know, you, me, Draco, Severus." What he meant to say was, everyone but Piers. He wasn't sure quite how to say it without giving the wrong impression, though.

"Oh, no. No, I can't." Dudley was shaking his head.

"My treat--" Harry didn't have much Muggle money with him but he figured he could borrow some from Draco, who had taken to carrying outrageous sums around. No wonder, if he was going to splurge on diamond pendants and the like. Harry still couldn't believe that their father hadn't put a stop to it.

"I’d really better not, Harry," said Dudley, his voice almost pleading now. "You can't trust restaurants not to sneak a little cornstarch or flour into what they serve you. And they never admit the truth. No, I planned a healthy low-carb dinner. And Piers loves to cook, so he made this custard thing from my diet cookbook."

"But surely just a little bit of flour wouldn't matter--"

"It'd derail my diet for days."

Dudley was still a little pudgy, Harry thought. Plump, even, but he'd made such tremendous progress that Harry couldn't demand things that would set him back. "All right, then." He smiled weakly. "Dinner here sounds great.".

"Let's go out on the back patio and I'll get the barbecue started. I bought some good steaks." Dudley headed out the French doors.

Draco chuckled, leaning close to Harry as he spoke in a very low voice. "Think he'll serve them with that sauce his dad used to make?"

Harry flushed, remembering the letter he'd written but never sent. "Shut up. Don't you dare say that where he can hear you."

"Would I do a thing like that?" Draco sailed past, grinning widely. "So, Dudley. What are the different jobs you've got up for consideration, eh?"

"Mention of this Piers appears to disturb you," said Snape, taking Harry's arm before he could go outside with the others.

Harry was surprised his father had noticed. Perhaps Snape had been paying attention to more than he'd realised, but Harry still didn't want to talk about it. "It's all right. He and I just... never mind."

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As it turned out, Piers didn't get home until just before Dudley was ready to serve. "Harry," he said, smiling in sort of an oily way. Just seeing it gave Harry a creeping feeling. "Good to see you, good to see you!"

Harry didn't see anything good about it. "Piers." he said levelly. Hmm, maybe trying for Draco's so-called perfect manners would be the way to handle this. "I don't know what Dudley's told you. About my new family? This is my father, Severus Snape, and my brother, Draco Snape."

Piers gave Draco a definite appraising glance, looking him up and down in almost the same way Draco looked at girls. Harry would have known then, even if Dudley hadn't said anything, that Piers was attracted to his own sex. The shocking part, though, was that when Piers turned back toward Harry, he gave Harry the exact same kind of appraisal.

And he acted as though he liked what he was seeing. "Dudley did mention your adoption, yeah. But I can't see why you'd need a father now, Harry. You're all grown up."

He said that like he was thinking of all sorts of grown-up things he could do with Harry.

Harry was torn between extreme irritation and complete disbelief. It was more than a little off-putting to realise that Piers was interested in that with him. But then again, he'd given Draco a look and a half, too.

So perhaps Piers was the type who'd hook up with anyone willing. That went along with the stories about wild parties, Harry supposed, but he still thought Piers had a lot of nerve to even consider that sort of overture after the way he'd treated Harry for years.

"I heard you made a special dessert," said Harry, deliberately moving away from Piers. For good measure, he took a seat in a lawn chair, choosing one between his father and Draco. Snape gave him a curious look, but Harry just shrugged in reply.

Dinner turned out to be steaks, grilled vegetables, and a pretty fancy salad. With the custard thing for dessert. Harry didn't much care for it, but perhaps that was because he'd been spoiled by the elves' wonderful crème brulée. Still, Piers kept fishing for compliments, from Harry and Draco both, so Harry finally said that it was tasty.

Draco seemed intent on demonstrating his talent for double-talk. "I've never had anything quite like this," he said, a sly grin creeping across his face.

Piers scooted his chair a little closer to Draco's. "So you like it, then? You really like it."

"I'd have to describe it as... oh, my goodness gracious. What would be the correct term? Singular, that's it."

"Singular?"

Harry could tell that Draco was thinking how stupid Muggles were.

"Without compare," he said, gesturing rather elegantly. "I can honestly say that it's the best low-carbohydrate dessert that's yet to grace my refined palate."

The only one, he means, Harry thought caustically.

Perhaps Draco had overdone that last bit; Piers began to look suspicious. "Yeah? You aren't eating much of it."

"Ah, well, that's the true indication of its quality, don't you know. A tiny taste suffices." Draco rubbed his stomach.

Harry saw their father's lips twitch.

Despite his moment's suspicion, Piers was clearly enraptured by Draco, Harry thought. He was fawning on his every word and looked as though he'd like to be the next thing Draco nibbled. Draco was either oblivious or found the whole thing amusing enough to keep going; Harry couldn't tell.

Either way, Piers was rather pathetic and Harry didn't want to watch any longer. "I'll help with the washing up," he volunteered, picking up a few dishes to cart inside.

"You're a guest here," said Dudley.

"Family," corrected Harry.

"Yeah, but you had to do enough of that when we were little--"

Ignoring him, Harry took the dishes inside and started loading them into the dishwasher. Dudley was still shaking his head when he followed, bringing more dishes. "But Marsha told me not to remind you how we used to treat you, Harry!"

"It's all right."

Unfortunately, Harry's ploy to get away from all things Piers failed a few moments later. Dudley had disappeared to use the loo, and the moment Harry was alone, it seemed, Piers sidled into the kitchen, leaning rather laconically against a counter as he watched Harry bend over to pour washing powder into the machine.

"You're looking good, Harry. Very good."

Harry straightened and turned around. "Oh, cut it out, Piers."

The taller boy's lips curled, just slightly. "Bad memories bothering you, Harry?" He edged a little closer, his fingertips drumming on the countertop. "Haven't you figured it out, though? If I was... a bit antagonistic at times, it was just because my father was a lot like your uncle. No tolerance for Nancy-boys." He grimaced. "I was trying to be, you know. Extra masculine, I guess."

"You were a bully and you know it."

"Kiss and make up?"

Harry scoffed. "As if."

"Don't you understand?" Piers slanted him a glance. "If I picked on you in particular--"

"If?"

"It only meant that I was attracted and didn't know how to handle it, Harry." Piers' teeth flashed in a smile that might have been dazzling in anyone else. Coming from Piers, Harry found it almost repulsive.

"It's not mutual," said Harry, feeling more uncomfortable by the second.

"Oh, that's just hard feelings talking." Piers leaned closer. "I was no worse to you than Dudley, you know, and you've obviously forgiven him--"

"That's enough," said Harry, trying for a stern tone as he leaned away. "I'm not interested, all right? So I'd appreciate it if you'd keep your... whatever, to yourself."

"Think you're better than me, do you?" Piers laughed, the sound a little bit ugly. "You always were a sanctimonious little prat. So what are you interested in, eh? Still talking to snakes?"

Harry wished he'd brought Sals, then. He'd have fished her out of his pocket on the spot. As it was, he was having a hard time controlling his anger.

Perhaps Piers sensed that. He abruptly backed away, though he was smirking. "Well, there are plenty of other fish in the sea, and you're hardly the best-looking bloke around. Take your brother, for instance. He's quite dishy, don't you think? And he didn't seem nearly as uninterested as you're pretending to be."

Not being able to take no for an answer, thought Harry, just proved that Piers was still a selfish bully where it counted. But it was actually amusing that he'd misread Draco's perfect manners for something else.

"Yeah, go talk to Draco," said Harry smugly. "Good idea. See if you can get him to eat some more custard. And then ask him about Rhiannon."

Piers' lips turned down. "Rhiannon."

"Yeah, long blonde hair and sings like an angel. Draco's got it bad for her."

Piers batted his eyes, just a little, going right back into flirtation. "Oooh, that's mean, Harry, dashing my hopes like that. But perhaps you're realising you shouldn't have been so quick to turn me down--"

"Harry, I do believe we'll be late for our appointment if we don't leave soon," said a voice from the kitchen doorway.

Snape. Harry whirled around, feeling just about as embarrassed as he'd ever been. His father, overhearing Piers' suggestive last comment. His face felt hot, his collar too tight.

But for all that, he was grateful for an easy escape. "Yeah, good," he quickly said. "I'll just find Dudley and say goodbye. See you later, Piers."

He felt someone's gaze on his back as he hurried down the hall to look for Dudley, but he wasn't sure if it was his father staring after him, or Piers. What he was sure of was that he suddenly wanted to whirl around and blast Piers with a blood-blister hex. Or something worse. And it wasn't just his wretched come-ons that had made Harry angry; it was his whole childhood and Piers' part in tormenting him. Dudley had really changed, which made him worth forgiving, but Piers... well, Piers was just worthless.

But vengeance was a bad impulse, wasn't it... Harry's arms began to itch something awful.

So much so, in fact, that he decided he'd better make sure he took the earlier session with Marsha, tonight.

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"It sounds to me as though you handled your cousin's flatmate with aplomb," said Marsha, leaning back in her chair.

Harry frowned. "Maybe I didn't explain it right. I mean, it didn't seem that way to me, at the time. He just kept on and on, as if I hadn't already told him to forget it. Is he like that with everyone, do you think? I mean, has Dudley mentioned?"

"Harry," chided the therapist, her eyes warm even if her expression was stern. "You know perfectly well that I can't discuss a word of what Dudley might have said or not, not unless he's asked me to. We've been over this before."

"Yeah, I know." Harry shoved his sleeves up and gave his arms a long scratch, then sighed.

"Would you like some chewing gum?"

Harry nodded. The gum gave him something else to focus on, another physical sensation. Particularly the gum Marsha kept around. Cinnamon-flavoured, the taste of it was so biting that it almost made his eyes water. "Think I can have a couple of packs of this to take with me, get me through the week?"

"We've also talked about the hazards of dependence."

"Yeah, yeah." Harry slouched a little, stretching out his legs. Snape would have rebuked him at once to sit up straight and show the good doctor some respect, but Marsha didn't mind if he relaxed. Not that he could relax much when she prodded him with such uncomfortable questions.

"So Harry, do you feel you were more upset that Piers is attracted to you sexually or that he seemed to expect the same sort of forgiveness that you've shown Dudley?"

"What?" Harry sputtered, the question catching him off guard. "Well, both! I mean, it's not like I have anything against Piers because he's queer and he seems to think I'm physically fit or something. I'm not the sort to hold that against him. It's just--I'm so tired of people only being interested in me in some sick, evil way!"

"You think that Piers is sick and evil?"

Harry sighed. "All right, maybe not evil, not compared to Voldemort and such. But he just as much implied that he used to beat me up because he was attracted to me. That's sick if you ask me. And he thinks I should be flattered about it or something? You know, it's one thing for me to forgive Dudley. He is still family, at least. Not to mention that he doesn't want anything from me. He hasn't even asked me for money and I bet he knows by now that I've got plenty. Piers... yech, I don't even want to talk about him anymore."

"You implied that people only express sexual interest in you negatively. What makes you say that? I haven't got the impression that you think sex is something unpleasant or unwholesome."

Harry scrubbed a hand across his forehead. How did she get that idea? "No, of course not. It's just that lately, I mean, it's almost creepy. First Malfoy and now Piers. What is it about me?"

"Harry, do you mean Lucius Malfoy? You said he didn't harm you in that way."

"Oh he didn't. He just--" Harry sighed again. He really didn't want to talk about this at all. "He just sort of implied that he would, well, that he would have if he'd had the opportunity, you know? And um, later on, he said that I enjoyed it when he made me take off my shirt. Just like Piers implied that I was more interested than I let on. And I'm  not!"

"No," said Marsha gently. "I can see that you're not." Her voice had taken on that soft tone that made Harry feel about six years old. "Clearly those sorts of statements are merely bullying and manipulation and I know that you're clever enough to see that. You have every right to feel violated. We've discussed before that abuse does not have to be physical to be potent."

Harry nodded, though he cringed at the word "violated." It made him sound so weak. He rubbed his arms, trying and, he suspected failing, to seem nonchalant. A change of subject was definitely in order.

"So, Draco'll probably tell you all about it, I guess, but he ran into that Rhiannon girl again. He's still pretending that she must be a pureblood like him, when she's not even a witch."

"You speak in such scathing tones," Marsha softly observed. "Why do you feel so strongly about the matter?"

Ha, trust Marsha to always bring matters right back to Harry. She almost never let him rant about Draco. No, he had to look at himself, she liked to say, because he was the only one he could change. Harry was actually pretty tired of it.

"I told you! It's because it's too soon, anyway. Draco was in love with Pansy for years, and I think he feels like he has to have a girl, so he's latched onto this one, and when he finds out she's a Muggle it's going to be ugly, that's all. Draco's so irrational about her that he might think she tricked him, and you know about his impulse control, and the last thing he needs, if he wants to be an Auror, is a notation that once he attacked a Muggle simply for being one!"

"Oh, I think you need to have more faith in him than that."

Harry scoffed. "What, you think he's going to take kindly to the news that he's been in love with a Muggle?"

"Perhaps not, but I doubt he'll take it as badly as you just implied."

Harry shrugged, feeling mulish.

Marsha smiled, her whole face softening. "I'm more interested in why you feel so invested in the matter."

And just like that, Harry felt something inside him snap. "He's got no business thinking of love when we should all be worried about Voldemort!" he suddenly erupted. "There's no telling what might happen next. There's a war on! I shouldn't even probably have asked for swimming lessons. I should be training harder, not practically taking the summer off!"

"Too much work and no play is no help to anyone. How much help will you be in the war if you've pushed yourself past your limits?"

"Ha. I'm not allowed limits," said Harry bitterly.

Marsha gave his arms a significant glance. "You have them, all the same."

His scratches felt like they were burning, then. Harry laced his fingers together to keep from rubbing them. "Obviously I do," he said tightly. "I just meant that from the moment I started Hogwarts I was being trained for battle! And the worst part was, I was too daft to notice, until my Dad pointed it out."

"So why do you now resent him for providing you with some rest and relaxation?"

Reasonable question, but nothing in his life had ever been reasonable, Harry thought. "It might get somebody killed. What if the one spell I don't learn today is the one I need when the war all comes to a head?"

"I think it's more likely that clear-thinking will be of use. Which brings us back to the idea of too much work. I see this all the time in the academic realm. Quite often, the students who study all the time do worse than those who know when to give themselves a well-needed break. You might consider that Draco is doing what he needs to do."

"Still doesn't change the fact that she's a Muggle," muttered Harry.

"Nor the fact that if she is, you can't protect him from it."

Harry stood up and fished the gum wrapper from his pocket, then walked over to the wastepaper basket and spat his gum out into the foil-covered paper. "I guess I'm used to protecting people," he said when he walked back. "No wonder I feel guilty, just goofing around this summer. Well, I am working on some things," he added, thinking of his spell lexicon. "But I still think that Draco's in for a bad time with this girl."

"What does your father think?"

"He doesn't say too much. But he did tell me that it's likely she's a Muggle, yeah. And he told Draco he had to introduce me as Harry Potter so we'd all know for sure."

"How did you feel about that?"

Without Snape or Draco there, Harry didn't have to worry about anyone's feelings. He had a few choice words about being Harry Potter again instead of just Harry. More than a few.

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Draco was up before Harry on Wednesday morning. Wearing nothing but swimming trunks, he was turning this way and that as he examined himself critically in the mirrors on the inside of the wardrobe doors. Harry blinked, reaching for his glasses, but Draco didn't seem to notice that he was awake and watching.

"Hmm. Maybe blue, after all," said Draco, twirling his wand to make his trunks change colour. "No. I still look awfully pale."

Harry sat up, careful not to be too quiet about it, but Draco didn't seem to mind Harry being there. "What do you think? Should I cast a glamour to give myself a bit of a tan? I didn't like the way Rhiannon said that I didn't look like I swam much."

"You don't look like you'd tan, though," said Harry.

Draco cast a glamour anyway, and then shivered a little. "Oh. No. No, no."

"Doesn't look natural," agreed Harry. Actually, it was ever so slightly greenish in tone. "It's probably interacting with the glamour that your sun lotion pulls up to the surface, you think?"

"Yes, I think. As if I need reminding that if not for Severus' special formulation of sun lotion, I'd have to go about with a big blotchy scar all over my chest!"

Harry shook his head. The scar wasn't red and raw any longer, though it would be a stretch to say that it was hardly noticeable. "It's not that bad. Just kind of . . . large."

"Well, I don't want Rhiannon to see it."

Personally, Harry thought this Rhiannon would be pretty shallow to let something like a scar put her off. On the other hand, he could understand what it was like to feel self-conscious about a scar. At least his could be hidden behind his fringe, most times. Draco couldn't hide his during a swim unless he swam with a shirt on, which would be quite odd.

So perhaps it was just as well that Severus had found a way to mask the scar. The lotion only worked for short periods, but that was better than nothing.

Harry sighed. Draco might be looking forward to the pool, but Harry had reason not to. "So are you really going to introduce me as Harry Potter, like Dad wants?"

"Dad didn't give me much choice."

Harry tried hard to keep his voice level. "What are you going to do if she's a Muggle, Draco?"

"She's not. She's absolutely not, and if you hadn't been raised in such a deprived atmosphere, you'd be able to tell that for yourself. She's got a certain je ne sais quoi."

"Well, I guess we'll know soon."

Not too soon, though, as it turned out. Rhiannon wasn't anywhere to be seen when Harry emerged from the changing rooms to start his lesson, though again, there was a line of children waiting at the wading pool. Harry couldn't resist. "Whatever she is, she doesn't do a very good job here. Late every day?"

Draco glared at him and plucked Harry's glasses off his nose. "Just go blow your bubbles."

Harry headed toward the big pool, where Roger was waiting. This time he felt less nervous about stepping down into the water. As much as it had felt like he might drown during the previous lesson, he'd learned that Roger wouldn't let him. Or Severus or Draco, of course. But this was Muggle swimming, wasn't it, so Harry felt better now that he had a little confidence in his Muggle instructor.

They started with floating again. This time Harry could manage it for a few seconds at a stretch. The trick was to relax. Roger had told him that before, but Harry hadn't really been able to put the advice into practice. After his session with Marsha, though, he had a new perspective on relaxing. It really could be important. Maybe he wasn't wasting his summer, after all.

Though he did wish he could be more actively investigating the Mirror of All Souls. Well, maybe Hermione would find something out once she got some books from Viktor.

"Let's try some kickboard, now," said Roger after a few more minutes of practicing floating. "You need to learn how to kick effectively. Then we'll add arms and you'll be surprised how quickly it all comes together."

When Harry glanced up through the water dripping into his eyes, Draco was still sitting on the concrete bleachers, right alongside their father. He couldn't tell for sure if Rhiannon war around yet, but since Draco just looked bored, she probably hadn't.

"Try putting your face in the water as you kick across the pool," said Roger.

And that was the end of Harry trying to spot what might be going on with Rhiannon. He did notice at one point that Draco was diving into the deep end of the pool. He started swimming laps back and forth, staying well away from Harry's lesson.

Even so, Harry couldn't help but see that Draco looked to be an expert swimmer who knew lots of different strokes.

"You'll get there," said Roger in a bracing voice. Only then did Harry realise he'd been staring. Studiously ignoring Draco then, Harry concentrating on keeping his legs from flopping in all directions as he practiced his kick.

"Good work today," said his instructor after about another half-hour.

Harry climbed out of the pool and shook himself all over, water spraying everywhere until Snape appeared and handed him a towel. Draco got out as well, but then he climbed the ladder to a springboard about a dozen feet above the water, and executed a very smart dive, complete with some kind of a twist.

Oh. Harry got it, then. Sure enough, when he glanced over toward the children's pool, Rhiannon was there, sitting in her lifeguard chair, leaning slightly sideways as if she'd rather sleep. She wasn't looking over at the big pool, though, so Harry figured that Draco's attempt to impress her was going to be a wasted effort.

And that, of course, was bound to be the least of his disappointments, since any moment now Draco would be finding out that she wasn't at all what he'd assumed. Feeling sorry for his brother, then, Harry gave him an encouraging smile and passed him the towel that Snape was holding out. "Really good dive."

Draco shrugged. "Not so hard to learn when you have the right, er, assistance."

Diving charms, Harry figured he meant.

Draco dried his hair and slicked it back with his fingers, then wrapped the towel around his hips. After a moment, he draped it around his shoulders instead. Then he shoved it at Harry. "I think maybe I should do without."

He actually flexed his chest muscles.

But Rhiannon still wasn't watching. As far as Harry could tell, she wasn't even aware that Draco was in the vicinity. Draco looked vaguely frustrated, as though he realised that and didn't know how to counter it.

Harry lowered his voice. "I'm surprised you went swimming instead of going over to talk to her."

Draco made a face. "Well, that lout of an uncle was yelling at her at first. For being late again. Poor breeding on his part, if you ask me. But in any case, I thought I'd better give her some time to forget she was related to such a toad. Besides, I didn't want her to say again that I didn't look like I ever went swimming."

"Perhaps you should mention as well that I wanted Harry present when you dropped his name," said Snape.

"Yeah, that too," Draco said, a bit sourly. When he slicked his hair back again, his hand was shaking a little, but any nervousness he might be feeling didn't show in his voice. "Well, prepare to be dazzled, and not just by her radiance. You're shortly to find out that I know exactly what I'm talking about when it comes to recognising quality."

Rhiannon looked up at the noise of the chain-link gate being unlatched and pushed open. "Oh, hello there," she said, in kind of a careless voice. "Darren, wasn't it?"

Draco pinkened and stood a little bit straighter. "Draco, actually."

"Oh. Sorry."

She didn't sound it, Harry thought.

"You remember my family, I think?" Draco didn't stop walking until he was at the foot of her chair, and then he beckoned Harry closer. But it was Snape he introduced first. "This is my father, Severus Snape. He's a professor."

Rhiannon shifted in her chair, her whole attitude seeming to somehow harden. "Maths?"

Weird guess, Harry thought.

"No." Draco dropped his voice and almost whispered. "Potions."

Rhiannon's blonde eyebrows drew together. "Pardon?"

"Chemistry," Harry rushed to say.

"Oh. Science." Rhiannon's smile was thin. "How nice."

Quite clearly, she didn't think it was nice at all. But the fact that she hadn't heard of anyone teaching potions was proof enough, wasn't it?

Not for Draco, apparently. "And you met my brother already. Harry Potter."

Rhiannon's glance at Harry was entirely disinterested. "Uh-huh."

"The Harry Potter. You know." Draco's voice dropped still further. "Want to see his scar?"

Rhiannon actually recoiled. "What?" Then she glanced at Harry in that way people have, when they're trying not to look at someone in a wheelchair, but they can't help staring. Except, she was looking square at his stomach, and she was braced as though expecting to see some horrible disfigurement across his midsection.

"It's here," said Harry, sweeping his fringe aside. By then, he felt sorry for her. She clearly didn't have a clue what Draco was talking about.

"Oh. That's rather weird." Rhiannon tensed then, as though she hadn't meant to be rude. "Um, car accident, was it?"

"No--"

Draco hadn't said a word since Rhiannon's failure to recognise Harry's name. Harry was starting to feel sorry for him, too. It must be an awful shock. A humiliation, even, since he'd been so intent on proving Harry wrong about everything.

But clearly, Draco was neither shocked nor humiliated. He just looked... thoughtful, actually. Like he was figuring something out. Starting to understand something that had eluded him.

"So I thought you might like to have a bite of lunch with me when you got off," he said, leaning on Rhiannon's tower as he looked up the short distance to where she was sitting. "Three o'clock, wasn't it?"

Rhiannon flicked a glance toward the pool office. "Er... I'm working until five tonight. I just found out."

Harry figured that was her uncle's way of trying to make her show up on time.

"And after that I've got rehearsal."

"Mozart." Draco nodded. "Is that at the same theatre where we saw you perform? Can I take you out for late supper when you're done there, then?"

"I have to get straight home."

Harry thought was torn between feeling bad that Draco was getting nowhere, and a kind of befuddlement that he didn't appear to be perturbed by the fact that Rhiannon was a Muggle.

"Can I watch you rehearse, then?"

This was getting to be embarrassing, Harry thought.

Rhiannon glanced at Snape. And then at Harry. "All of you?"

"No, just me." Draco threw a challenging look at Snape as he said it.

"Hmm. Well, the director does like to hear from people who've seen us perform. Especially if they're knowledgeable about opera." Rhiannon shrugged as though she didn't care one way or another. "Oh, very well. Half-past five at the theatre."

"I'll be there."

"Come to the back door." Rhiannon gave Draco one last absent nod before she turned back towards the children playing in the pool.

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Draco was grinning as he and Harry went into the changing rooms to get dressed so they could leave the pool. "So, that went well, I think."

"You really don't care that she's a--"

"Shhh," said Draco, motioning to some children coming in. They only looked to be about ten or so, and they were chattering with one another. Probably wouldn't hear a word that Harry or Draco would say, but Harry could just hear his father lecturing on discretion.

"But you don't care?"

"Nothing to care about," breezed Draco. "You don't get it yet, do you?"

Leaning over, he whispered in Harry's ear. Just two words, but they made Harry's heart sink like a stone in the deepest sea.

"She's passing."

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.

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, the feel of 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 whinging, 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 another 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 who 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 about. . ."

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 psychology 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.

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

"Come on, now. You don't want to be late for your lesson," said Draco the next morning, shaking Harry's shoulder.

"Tired," complained Harry, burrowing deeper into the blankets.

"Get up!"

Harry groaned and threw his covers off. "Fine, fine! But it's your fault I'm so knackered, you know. You think you might let me get to sleep before two in the morning, tonight?"

"Oh, don't get your wand in a twist. I couldn't rest until I understood Muggle travel, could I?"

"I couldn't rest, you mean."

Draco raised his chin. "What if I want to take Rhiannon somewhere that's too far to walk? What do you want me to do, ask her to hop up on my broom?"

Harry was running a hand through his hair, mussing it worse than usual, but at that, he stopped, an odd look on his face. "You say that, and she might think you mean  something . . . uh, sexual."

Draco chuckled, but then he remembered how Rhiannon had reacted when she'd thought that wand was some kind of sexual reference. Very ladylike, really. Which only went to prove that she couldn't possibly be a Muggle like Harry had been saying. She obviously had standards.

Even her bathing suit was more modest than most of the ones the Muggle girls at the pool had been wearing. Rhiannon might not consciously know that she wasn't a Muggle, but her behaviour spoke for itself. She wasn't loose and easy like Muggle girls obviously were.

She was a proper witch, modest and demure as she was beautiful.

Draco would bet his vault on it.

"Just go make breakfast," said Harry, yawning. "I'll get up for that."

It wasn't Draco's turn. Well, unless the schedule was rearranged on account of Severus cooking the night before. Draco decided it was best not to argue, though. He needed Harry cheerful and talkative, and willing to explain loads more things about Muggle culture. Not that Muggles really had anything that could be called that, but whatever it was they did have, Draco needed to understand it.

What was one more breakfast, really?

Part of being Slytherin, Draco thought, was knowing when to let sleeping dogs lie. He was rather proud of himself that he didn't even complain about having to pour cereal into bowls and add milk.

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

"Hallo," said Draco as Rhiannon came up to the gate where the children were waiting.

Rhiannon smiled brightly. "Draco."

She unlatched the gate and shooed the children in, shaking her head a little as a small red-headed boy tried to slip past her, his hand clutching a bag of crisps. "You know the rules, Dustin. No food in here."

Draco waited until she had hopped up on her tall lifeguard chair. "I thought you said there wasn't any free swim during lessons," he said, glancing at the children splashing about. "But you work every day, watching them?"

Rhiannon shrugged. "This is more of a child-minding service than anything else. Adult free swim starts at one o'clock. Um, Draco? I wanted to apologise that I didn't invite you in on Wednesday night. And after you walked me all the way home, too. But I can't have friends over that late."

Friends. Draco almost made a face, but he didn't want to seem like a prat, so he managed to keep a neutral expression. "Oh, I had to get home, myself," he said, waving a hand to show he wasn't bothered. Which he wasn't, actually. He thought he'd like to meet her parents, and possibly her aunt, all of whom would need to be told about magic, eventually. But the Muggle uncle?

Him, Draco could do without.

Or perhaps not, since less than five minutes later, the man came marching up to the gate and shouted through it. Such abysmal manners. No breeding at all.

Well, at least Rhiannon was only related to him by marriage.

"How many times have I told you the rules for on duty? You're not to read, or file your nails, or chat up friends! You're to watch the children so they don't drown! And for God's sake, start getting here on time! What do I have to do, drag you here at eight when I come in to the office?"

Rhiannon waited until her uncle had stomped away, and then slouched in her chair. "He's always on about something. Honestly, I was only five minutes late, today. And nobody has drowned here, yet."

Draco swept his gaze over the shallow pool where the children were splashing. "Looks to me like you're doing a fine job."

Rhiannon smiled, just a little, even as she said, "Thanks, Draco. But I suppose you'd better go over to the other pool. Before I get sacked."

"He wouldn't. You're family."

"Ha."

She knows she's not really like him, Draco thought.

"Go change and have a swim," added Rhiannon. "Really. If I lose this job, I'll have to drop out of the summer theatre project."

Draco would much rather have talked with her further, but there was no point in getting her in trouble, even if the uncle was a rude, unreasonable type. Rhiannon needed his good will, much as that might rankle.

Actually, she didn't truly need him; Draco would be very happy to arrange an apartment for Rhiannon, and he could afford better than the slightly grotty house he'd walked her to the night before last. But it would be highly inappropriate to suggest such a thing until he knew her better. A lot better.

Or maybe it wouldn't be, among Muggles? Draco didn't know, but he didn't want to take the risk. He was lucky enough that Rhiannon had got over her shock about his "wand" gaffe. And anyway, it would be a bad idea to treat her like he thought she was a Muggle. He was going to give Rhiannon all the consideration and respect due a pure-blooded witch, since that's exactly what she was, little though she knew it.

"What time is your lunch?" he quickly asked. "Perhaps I could take you somewhere and we could talk, then."

Rhiannon glanced back at the cement bleachers where Severus was sitting. "No, no thank you. You're here with your family."

Draco threw her his most winning smile. "Oh, they won't mind if we go off alone."

"Oh, alone?" Rhiannon looked relieved at that. "I thought you meant with your father and brother."

"I didn't, but you know, he doesn't bite," said Draco. "Even if he does teach . . . er, chemistry."

"He looks forbidding, though. Just like--"

"Rhiannon!"

That time, the uncle yelled at her from all the way across the pool complex. Under any other circumstances, Draco would have hexed his mouth off and solved the problem that way. But with Severus watching, the Ministry alert for underage magic, and Rhiannon unaware that Draco's wand was for more than show?

Yes, best to let sleeping dogs lie, Draco thought again as he headed out of the children's area.

"My lunch is at twelve sharp," called Rhiannon after him.

Draco nodded to show he'd heard. And then for good measure, he threw her another smile.

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

"That uncle of hers is a real lout," Draco said under his breath as he sat down alongside his father.

"For expecting her to pay mind to her responsibilities?"

"Oh, she can watch the children and talk both," groused Draco. Sighing, he tugged at his collar. "Hot today."

Severus kept his gaze on Harry as he spoke. "You didn't bring your swim things, I noticed."

Draco huffed, still feeling like he'd been cheated of something precious. Almost an entire hour to talk with Rhiannon, and that uncle had spoiled it. "Why would I have brought them? I thought I'd spend the whole time chatting her up! And now I have to sit here roasting, instead!"

"It's not that warm."

"Says the man who dresses in layers to go to the shower."

That got Severus to look at him, but only for a moment. "If you're so very hot, take off your shirt."

"Oh, sure," said Draco, crossing his arms. "Without the lotion?"

"Harry brought his."

Draco could hardly believe his ears. "I can't possibly use his," he said, lowering his voice to a hiss. "His doesn't have the mugwort I need! You know, to bring back the--"

"I am aware of how that particular plant essence functions, thank you," interrupted Severus, his voice a tad frosty. "Watch what you say."

Draco felt a bit bad, then. It was his own fault if he'd worn the wrong clothes. A nice shirt and trousers . . . he'd looked at himself in the mirror that morning and the glass had cooed at him. It really had. But now he wished he'd put on the sunscreen. It did a lot more than keep him from turning red and blistery. The mugwort in it reached down into his skin and pulled a glamour to the surface. A special glamour that only lasted for limited spans of time, but it was better than nothing. Magically induced scarring was notoriously difficult to conceal. Draco's own spells had done nothing to hide the awful splotch of rough, ridged skin that covered a good portion of his chest. Thank Merlin Severus had known one that worked in conjunction with mugwort, or else Draco would never have been able to take off his shirt at the pool.

"Sorry," murmured Draco. "Your lotion's brilliant. I just wish I'd realised what a prick her uncle was going to be."

"Talk like that isn't likely to endear you to the young lady."

"Oh, I don't think she can stand him, either." Draco had to resist an urge to smirk. "And once I explain everything to her, she'll know why he rubs her the wrong way."

Severus shook his head. "Unlikely, Draco. Whatever his faults, he's family to her. Think about it. You say things about Harry that would be duelling words if you heard anyone else make the same remarks. I'd advise you to let her complain all she likes about her uncle. But if you want her to look on you favourably, you'd best do little more in reply than smile and nod."

Hmm, probably good advice, Draco thought, even if Severus didn't seem to ever have had much luck in the romance department, himself. Hmm. Maybe that had a lot to do with the hair, really. "Oh. I'm taking Rhiannon to lunch at noon," he thought he'd better mention. "Perhaps we could meet back here, afterwards? Free swim opens at one and Harry might want a chance to practice. We haven't used our swim passes yet, you realise."

"Oh, Harry might want a chance to practise. You're thinking only of him, are you?"

Draco shrugged, a small smile playing about his lips. "Well, I did think the two of you might go home for lunch, and then Harry could bring my trunks back. Oh, and my lotion, of course, and then I could get a swim in as well. Or perhaps I'll just lie out in the sun."

"Where the young lady can see you, I've no doubt."

Draco flushed. It was a bit embarrassing that his father found him so obvious. Hmm, maybe Severus had been around the pitch, so to speak, more than Draco had thought. Well, he just hoped that Rhiannon couldn't see straight through him, like that.

 "Harry seems to be coming along," Draco said, glancing down to where his brother was performing an extremely uncoordinated crawl stroke. It looked more like flailing than swimming, but he was managing to stay afloat and make his way across the shallow end of the pool, so Draco supposed it was a start. "Not bad, considering it's just his first week learning."

"Mr Yates characterises his progress as excellent," murmured Severus.

"Yates?"

"The young man instructing."

Oh, Roger, then. Draco nodded. "That only makes sense, really. How long did it take Harry to get the hang of . . . er, the only sport our school offers? He's really good at physical activities."

"And likely to put those talents to use, playing for his own House again, next year."

"Listen to you," scoffed Draco. "His own House. Forgetting something, aren't you? He has two!"

"I know which one he'll play for, if he plays at all."

Draco sat up a little bit straighter. "Well, I for one am looking forward to facing him on the pitch. He's a worthy opponent, and I can appreciate one, after that last match of the year."

"You won't appreciate it as much if our House loses," said Severus, arms crossed, his expression rather forbidding.

"Oh, thanks for having so much faith in me," said Draco in a scathing tone. "I have some talent too, you ought to know."

"Yes, you do. But you've never yet bested Harry in competition, which leads to a rather depressing conclusion for the next year, assuming he takes up the sport again."

"Well, if you're so worried he'll sink us, you could order him not to play," said Draco. Even before Severus replied, though, Draco knew what a terrible suggestion that had been. "No, I know you couldn't do that to him. He's more important than any trophy or score."

"Quite."

"To me, too," said Draco, feeling like Severus might not believe him. "Though I do plan to play like an absolute demon against him. He's not going to lead his team to victory unless he really works for it. Earns it. But . . . er . . . you aren't planning on getting him an XL, are you? For his birthday or anything?"

Severus' voice was mocking, Draco thought. "Am I to understand that you don't wish me to treat you both the same? You don't want things to be even?"

"Not that particular thing," muttered Draco.

"So you propose I should sabotage Harry's chances at victory merely because he'll likely play for a team other than our own?"

"Likely, ha. Try certainly."

"It's by no means certain that he'll play at all." Severus shrugged. "He doesn't seem to want to talk about it, either. But that is no matter. I told him a while ago to take as much time as he needs to decide."

"That's the problem, then," said Draco, turning toward his father. "Harry's worried about disappointing you, I think. He wants to play on the same team he always has, and he's probably pretty worried how you'll feel if that means that our team loses."

"You're not exactly a fount of confidence," said Severus dryly.

"I'm talking for Harry, who when it comes to Qu-- to his favourite sport, is actually a fount of overconfidence," retorted Draco. "I'm sure that we can take him this year. I've improved a lot, and the team is feeling pretty damned confident after winning the Cup and all."

"You're so certain of victory that you just asked me to make sure that Harry doesn't get an XL."

Draco grinned. "Oh, well that's just strategy."

Severus' lips curled, just slightly. "Yes, of course."

"But I do think that if Harry's hesitating, it's because he needs more than just an assurance that he can decide whatever he likes, Severus. You need to tell him that you'll be all right with him playing for his other House. You need to tell him, even, that if that means we lose the Cup this year, you won't resent him for it."

"Oh, I think he knows all that--"

"He needs to hear it."

"I wouldn't want to pressure him to play, Draco. He seemed fairly content to allow Miss Weasley to assume his position this past year."

Draco stared at his father.

"Well, except for that time in the stands when he clearly wanted to join in," added Severus, frowning.

"You see? He's trying to resist for your sake, so he won't have to feel like he's letting you down by not playing for his new House. You'd better talk to him."

"Talk to who?" asked Harry, towelling off his hair as he came up to them.

"Whom," said Draco and Severus at the same time.

Harry glanced at them both, clearly annoyed. "And whom do you need to talk to, Dad?"

"You," said Draco, shifting on his seat so he'd jostle Severus. It was either that or poke him, and he didn't think that would go over so well. "About playing, next year."

Harry sighed. "Ron and the others aren't going to stand for me playing for another House. They just aren't."

"I'm well aware that if you play at all, it will be on the same team as always," said Severus, standing up. "If you've been putting off a decision for fear of my reaction--"

"It's not you," said Harry quickly. Perhaps a bit too quickly, Draco thought, but that impression was lost as his brother kept speaking "It's just, you know. Family means a lot more than anything else, and Draco and I are bound to not get along so well if I'm helping Ron and the others crush him, and--"

Draco felt his eyebrows going up behind his hairline as he stood. "Excuse me? Did you just claim you're going to crush me? Crush me?"

"I said if."

"You meant when, you complete prat!"

"Look, I'm just trying to make sure it doesn't come to that--"

"Oh, it's not going to come to that," said Draco, baring his teeth in a way that usually intimidated his House mates. "You'll be lucky to walk off the pitch at the end of our first match. I guarantee it. And if you say now that you won't play against me, well, I'll just have to conclude you're a coward."

"That's ridiculous!"

"Scared, Potter?"

Harry scoffed out loud. "You wish."

"So, you'll play?"

It was probably Harry's hesitant glance toward their father that settled the matter.

"You obviously wish to," said Snape dryly. "Don't worry about who might win or lose, Harry, or what it might do to the counters. I want you to excel in all your endeavours, whatever that might entail."

"Well, you're going to be disappointed," said Draco. "Harry's not going to excel, not at this. I'm going to wipe the pitch with him, I am--"

"I want you to excel, as well, you idiot child."

"Then you're bound to be disappointed, no matter what," said Draco, laughing that time.

"You know, it's not so nice to threaten me with bodily harm and then start laughing," groused Harry.

Draco made a face. "Oh, were you under the impression that I was nice, Harry? Where did you get that idea?"

Severus held up a hand before Harry could reply. "That's quite enough. Harry will play or not as he chooses, and we will all deal with whatever consequences result. Now, I suggest we do a spot of shopping before we go home. We're running low on perishables."

"Yeah, we're almost completely out of whale milk and yak butter," said Harry under his breath.

Draco ignored that. It wasn't his fault if Muggle stores offered a woefully inadequate selection of goods. Besides, he had an announcement to make. "I'll come shopping with you but I'm not going home afterwards. I've a lunch date with Rhiannon, you see. Just the two of us. Oh, and then when she goes back on duty at one, you and Severus are coming back here for free swim so you can practice your strokes, Harry."

Harry tilted his face up and spoke to his father. "You're coming in the water with me?"

Severus didn't answer that, Draco noticed.

"Be sure to bring along the things I need, Harry," Draco said as they started to leave the Northbrook Pool. "My lotion, yes? You know which one I mean. And one of the extra-fluffy towels in the bottom of the armoire. The regular ones scratch me something awful. And swim trunks and a casual shirt, and do try to be sure the colours don't clash horribly, and--"

"You think I'm some kind of servant, don't you?"

That kind of hurt Draco. "I'd do the same for you."

"Oh, very well," said Harry. "Serve you right if I bring crimson and gold. They go together very well. I should know."

As if Draco had any clothes in those horrible colours.

Then he caught the glint in Harry's eyes. Draco bit his lip, trying to remember if Harry's lexicon included any spells that would let him transfigure colours.

"You wouldn't," he said, almost hissing the words.

Harry laughed yet again. "I practically have to, now. You know, to prove I'm not a coward."

"I'm not wearing--"

"Fine, then come home for lunch and skip your date."

Draco grimaced. He'd do anything for Rhiannon, absolutely anything.

Even, he thought with a dull chill, wear Gryffindor colours.

Draco was back at the pool by eleven fifty, but remembering Severus' advice about being obvious, he decided not to go in until it was twelve on the spot. It wouldn't do for Rhiannon to think he had nothing better to do than hang about waiting for her to get off.

Even if he didn't.

When he tried to go through the entrance building, however, he was stopped by none other than the Muggle uncle. "We're closed for lunch now," the man said, making a curt gesture toward a sign which detailed the pool's hours. He sounded like he doubted Draco could read. The nerve.

Draco was saved from answering by Rhiannon, who stepped into the lobby wearing a pair of snug denim shorts and a short-sleeved shirt that hugged her curves. Draco couldn't help but wonder if she'd had time to really change, or if she'd merely slipped some clothes on over her swimsuit. That thought made him feel a bit hot inside. He could almost imagine how she'd look, pulling up the tan shorts over her bright red suit. Or perhaps she'd stripped the suit off and pulled on some lacy knickers. White? Cream? Maybe black, with little strips of ribbon clinging to her hips . . .

"Uncle Stanley, this is Draco Snape," Rhiannon was saying in a level voice. Introducing him, Draco abruptly realised. He somehow managed to get his mind off what her knickers might look like. "He's the boy who walked me home from rehearsal the other evening. We're going out to lunch together."

Stanley. Draco was fairly certain he'd never heard a more Mugglish name than that one. Still, he tried to put his father's advice to good use. For all he knew, Rhiannon really might be offended if Draco was rude to her family, even if she did complain about them herself.

Bracing himself, Draco thrust out a hand. He knew the gesture looked stiff, but he couldn't help that. "Pleased to meet you," he said. He tried to add sir to the end, but couldn't quite manage it, no matter that he'd been taught all his life to exhibit perfect manners on demand. He hadn't been taught to exhibit them to Muggles.

The Muggle man obviously hadn't been taught manners at all, even if he did shake Draco's hand. But it was a perfunctory sort of gesture. Draco wasn't even sure if the man was aware they'd just been introduced. He was looking only at Rhiannon, his brown eyes narrowed, his mouth a tight line. "Your lunch break is over at one. Not one ten, not one fifteen. Is that clear?"

She nodded and took Draco's arm to guide him out of the building.

"I mean it, Rhiannon!"

Draco had to bite his tongue to keep from saying something in her defence. But Severus was probably right about how she might react if Draco started criticising a member of her family. No matter how odious he was.

"Yes, I understand," she said, rolling her eyes a little. When she started tugging on Draco's arm, he wasted no time in getting them both away from the Northbrook Pool.

"Reminds me of Adrian, sometimes," she grumbled once they were on the street outside. "He's a wonderful director and helped me loads, like I told you, but he can be a real stickler for being on time, too. I wish my uncle would ease off. I get enough of that at rehearsals."

Draco smiled and nodded, just like Severus had suggested.

"Well, enough of that," said Rhiannon briskly. "How about fish and chips for lunch? My treat."

Draco wasn't sure what horrified him most, the prospect of such a vile lunch or the suggestion that she should be the one to pay. "Oh, no, no," he said, glancing up and down the street for anything that resembled a proper restaurant. Pity he hadn't planned this better. He really didn't know Exeter in the least. "I invited you out, so the least I can do is--"

"Don't be a prat about it." Rhiannon stepped up her pace. "You heard my uncle. I don't have a lot of time, and anyway, you paid last time at the café. It's my turn."

Draco was set to argue about that further, but he lost track of the thought--all thought, actually--when the wind picked up Rhiannon's long hair. She'd had it in a loose braid before, but she must have unbound it since she'd seen Draco last.

Sweet Merlin, she was gorgeous. Draco had told Harry that her hair was honey-blonde, but now he saw that it was really made up of a myriad of different hues. Some strands were positively golden; others were almost a reddish shade. Draco wanted to card his fingers through her hair. He wanted to stroke the tresses over her shoulders and run his hands down further, caressing the swell of her breast and the curve of her hips until she moaned under his touch, and--

"You like fish and chips all right, don't you?" asked Rhiannon, breaking across his fast-growing fantasy. "It's one of my favourites."

Draco didn't particularly want to eat fish, but if it was one of her favourites, that settled the matter for him. "Oh, I like it just fine," he said, suddenly deciding that this was probably a case of when in Rome, do as the Romans. She'd been raised Muggle and obviously saw nothing wrong with taking turns, as she'd put it, so Draco could go along, even if it meant pretending he couldn't be happier to eat fried food in a grotty little pub.

A moment later, he was profoundly glad he hadn't complained about her choice of menu. Rhiannon gave him a genuinely warm smile. "Some of the boys I went to school with wouldn't be caught dead eating fish and chips in the park, but I knew you weren't a thing like them."

They were going to eat in a park?

Draco decided he'd do whatever it took to make her happy. Besides, he might be rich, but he wasn't like those people who had hurt her feelings all through her years at her special music school. He didn't think any the less of her for being without adequate funds.

Though he was glad to see that she at least had some pocket change. He didn't want her to spend it on him, of course, but he still thought it a good thing that she wasn't completely destitute. For her sake, though. Not because he cared about things like that.

He didn't. He couldn't, not now.

They ended up getting take-away fish and chips from a small storefront on Beacon Lane. Draco paid close attention to everything, from how she ordered and paid to the fact that she grabbed small packets from a tray on the counter as she left.

He had to repress a shudder at the idea that he was going to eat something that had been stuffed into a paper bag. Talk about grotty. And that wasn't even counting the fact that she was obviously planning for him to drink straight from a plastic bottle. Draco was used to all his beverages being served in a proper glass and garnished as appropriate.

But at least he'd finally get to find out what Diet Coke tasted like.

Rhiannon found a little garden square and plunked herself down on the grass under a towering elm tree. Draco lowered himself to the ground a little more gingerly, and tried not to wince when she fetched the food out of the bag. The fish was actually wrapped in newspaper. How positively . . . Mugglish.

She hummed a little as she laid out the meal on the grass between them. "Vinegar?"

Draco was looking forward to the meal less than ever, but tried not to show it. "Oh. Er . . . yes. Thank you."

She tore open a couple of little packets and sprinkled their contents over the fish, then pushed a portion his way.

To Draco's surprise, the fish was actually quite good. Crispy and light, the fried coating wasn't very oily at all, and the chips were as delicious as any he'd had. Though of course, he didn't eat chips very often.

Diet Coke, on the other hand, was positively horrid. Draco took one swig of the bottle Rhiannon had opened for him and almost gagged. The stuff tasted like one of Severus' concoctions to stop a persistent cough. It even bubbled going down, like potions could sometimes do.

Rhiannon gave him a sympathetic glance. "Sorry. I should have got regular, huh? I didn't think. I just got you what I usually buy."

She actually liked this revolting liquid?

"So, tell me about your magic shows," she said after a moment. "What are your best tricks?"

"Oh, God, I don't know," said Draco, trying to sound as Mugglish as he could. He didn't think it had come out quite right, somehow, but pushed that thought aside as he tried to figure out what kinds of "magic" a Muggle performer might be able to fake. The trouble was, he really didn't have any idea what sorts of tricks stage magicians tended to do. Rhiannon probably knew a lot more about it than he did. He latched onto something she'd said to him before. "Um, making stuff disappear, I guess."

"Not a jet or the Statue of Liberty, though," she said, chuckling.

Draco didn't have the faintest idea what she was talking about, but after a moment he thought he could make sense of the first part. "No, no water," he murmured.

"Water?"

"A jet, you said."

Rhiannon slanted him a glance. "You have an odd sense of humour. But that's all right. I like it. So, what's the biggest thing you can make vanish, eh?"

What would be a reasonable answer, assuming he was only faking magic? "Oh. Er . . . a table, I suppose."

Her expressive blue eyes grew wide. "A whole table? You must be very good."

Shite. He'd guessed too big. "Well, just an occasional table," he added.

Rhiannon laughed. "I don't think I've heard anyone actually use that phrase before. But your trick still sounds impressive." Her voice grew wistful. "I'd really like to see it."

That would be a trick in itself, thought Draco. He'd love to show her some spells and see how she reacted, but he didn't want to get a letter from the Ministry warning him about underage magic. Severus would probably take his wand away. And it wouldn't look good later, would it, to have an infraction on his record. MLE probably didn't want Auror apprentices that had been in trouble, before.

Draco sighed. It was so unfair. He was nearly seventeen, after all. But he was also stuck. "I don't think I have any engagements lined up," he said, shaking his head. Strange how difficult it was to disappoint her. "Otherwise, I'd invite you along to watch me perform."

"Can't you do a trick or two just for me?"

"Uh--"

Rhiannon brushed her hair away from her face. "I know I shouldn't ask." Her smile was a little sad. "It's just . . . oh, it's too silly to even say."

Draco put down the chip he'd been about to eat. "What?"

She looked down at her hands. "I've always adored magic shows. When you showed me that wand the other night, it brought back a lot of memories. You see . . . when I was little, I thought magic was real. I loved watching magicians on the telly. My parents would tell me that it was all done with camera tricks, but I didn't believe them, not until I was . . . oh, pretty old, really."

Draco's breath caught in his throat. "How old?"

"Nine, ten, something like that." She glanced at him, very quickly. "You don't think I'm stupid, do you?"

"No, no, of course not." Draco gave her the warmest, most encouraging smile he could. "Magic's very attractive, right? Wonderful, in all its aspects. Of course you wanted to believe in it."

She stopped looking down so much, then. "It seemed like it ought to really exist! You know, I used to even do occasional magic acts for my parents. Tiny ones, with tricks I'd got from books. That should have been enough to tell me that it was all make-believe, but it wasn't. Deep down, I used to pretend that I really could pull flowers from my sleeve. Well, flowers that hadn't been there the moment before."

It was on the tip of Draco's tongue to tell her that she'd been right about that, about all of it. She was a witch, and this was proof, wasn't it, that deep down in her soul, she'd known as much. Her magic had been struggling to break free, all along.

No surprise, then, that it had found expression in her voice. Magic just couldn't ever be fully leashed, no matter the spells that might have been used, centuries earlier, to repress it in her entire family tree.

"Did you have a wand when you were little?"

Rhiannon laughed as she wiped her hands on a napkin. "Oh, yes. Nothing so grand as yours, which I thought was really beautiful, by the way. Elegant. No, mine was just a formed plastic model, stark black. I got it in a magic set one Christmas. I can't tell you how much I wanted it to really work for me, really do something."

"I understand," Draco murmured.

"So anyway, that's why I was hoping I could see some of your tricks," Rhiannon finished. "Even hearing about them gives me a bit of déjà vu. You know, it throws me back into that state of mind I used to have, when magic was real, and if I tried hard enough, I could make it work for me."

That's it, Draco thought. That's the solution to everything. It's the way to show her who and what she really is. Her love of magic, of magic shows.

All of a sudden, Draco was possessed of a longing . . . no, a burning need, to put his wand into her hand and see how she reacted to it.

But he couldn't do that out of the blue. He had to build up to it, so it would seem natural, so she'd be relaxed and happy when she took hold of his wand.

So she could hear it sing to her as it echoed the magic buried deep inside her.

"I'll do it," he suddenly said, his mind leaping ahead to ways to defeat the stupid underage magic laws. It was so silly that he was allowed to do as much magic as he pleased out in Devon, but here, where he needed it much more, he was being restrained. Well, there were ways around the law, surely. He could nick Severus' wand, for example.

"You'll show me some tricks?"

Not tricks, no. Spells. Real spells. The Statute of Secrecy really wasn't really an issue here, was it? She was a witch, after all. Not even the Ministry could complain about him demonstrating magic in front of someone who by right ought to be part of the wizarding world to begin with.

Though they would complain about the underage magic. Well, Draco would think of something. And if he couldn't, he'd just wait until his birthday had passed.

Ha, take that, Ministry, Draco thought.

"Oh, I'll put on a whole show for you, if you like," he said, smiling broadly. "And I know an awful lot of sp-- er, tricks. I bet some of them will make you believe that magic truly is real."

"It'd be wonderful to see your act." Rhiannon flashed him a grin, her teeth a startling white. "I'd be delighted, really. That's nice of you to offer."

"Oh, my pleasure," drawled Draco, meaning it from the bottom of his heart.

Rhiannon's voice was all at once more enthused than he'd ever heard it. "Can you pull a rabbit from a hat?"

"A whole herd of rabbits."

"And that rope thing, can you do that?"

"Mmm . . . remind me which rope thing you mean?"

"You know, you chop it up into pieces but make it come out whole again?"

All he'd need for that one was a Reparo. "Oh, sure. No problem."

"What about sawing people in half?"

Draco started, sure he must have heard that wrong. But no, she was making a little sawing motion with one of her hands, her gaze expectant as she looked at him. Hopeful, even.

Merlin's balls, she was actually serious!

Draco's stomach started churning. The moment she'd mentioned such a gruesome act, his mind had flown straight to the one topic he tried hard never to think about. Samhain.

He'd arrived in that clearing expecting to see Harry tortured. Worse, he'd been looking forward to it. He'd wondered what the Dark Lord would do to Harry Potter. He'd come up with some ideas, too. Ideas that made him shudder, now.

True, he'd never once thought about seeing Harry sawn in half, of all things, but he'd imagined other things that were just as horrible. Worse, even. And then, what he'd actually seen happen . . . Harry, held fast to the ground as he was stabbed and stabbed and stabbed. Harry's eyes, saved for last. Harry, blinded.

The whole thing had been utterly sickening.

And the worst part of all, perhaps, was that Draco hadn't thought so, not back then. He'd been too caught up in his paradigm shift, too shocked at learning the horrible truth that a life in the Dark Lord's service could only be a life of slavery. Besides, he'd hated Harry, and realising that Harry was braver and stronger than every Death Eater there had only made Draco hate him all the more. It was so unfair. Harry was the enemy, the one who'd scorned his offer of friendship. Who bested him at Quidditch, who spoiled the Dark Lord's plans, who was to blame for Lucius' brief stay in Azkaban. Harry was even at fault for that awful summer when Lucius had been enraged at the loss of an elf.

It wasn't right that he should exhibit pride and confidence while the Death Eaters grovelled at the Dark Lord's feet.

It wasn't right, but it was true, so Draco had done his best to cope. Getting Harry's wand. Befriending him like Severus and Dumbledore had ordered. Telling Slytherin the truth, even though they wouldn't listen.

Any more than he would have listened to someone claiming that a half-blood, any half-blood, was a better bet than the Dark Lord himself. The words raving loony came to mind. No wonder the others couldn't understand. They hadn't been in that clearing. They hadn't seen what Draco had seen.

The torture hadn't bothered Draco so very much at the time, but now, he found the whole thing profoundly sickening. True, he hadn't known back then that Harry would someday be his brother, but perhaps that was just the point. Harry was his brother now, and when Draco thought of what Lucius had done to him, when he thought of the way that he himself had simply stood there watching . . .

It was no wonder Draco was feeling ill.

He told himself that the fish must have been off, but he knew it was really the memories bothering him.

"Draco?"

Oh, right. Rhiannon wanted to know if Draco was in the habit of sawing people in half. Just the thought of it almost made him shudder, which showed how much he'd changed, he supposed. He didn't think it would have bothered him before Samhain. Or not much. "No, I don't do tricks like that."

Pushing his food away, he struggled to find a change of topic. His glance fell on a square sheet of newspaper that the breeze was trying to catch. Draco snatched it up and peered down at the headlines. "Oh," he said in as bright a voice as he could manage. "It says here that they're building a line from Paddington to Bayswater. Looks like a number of houses are going to be demolished to make way for it."

Rhiannon raised an eyebrow. "Very funny."

Draco didn't know what she meant, so he took a closer look at the broadsheet. Then he felt a perfect fool. It wasn't real! Or if it was, it wasn't anything close to current. The date at the top wasn't even in the right century!

"Bit odd they'd be wrapping the fish in newspaper over a hundred years old," he said, keeping his tone light in an effort to cover his confusion.

It must have worked, since that time, Rhiannon chuckled. "Hmm, good point. Say, you think it might be a reproduction?"

Oh. That made sense. Well, some, Draco supposed. "I don't really understand why they'd use newspaper at all, to be honest."

Maybe he shouldn't have been quite that honest. "You haven't had take-away fish and chips before, have you?"

"Uh . . ." Too late now to call his remark back. "No, actually."

She gave a slight sigh, as if that had come as a disappointment. "All right. Well, it's traditional to use newspaper, but then people started thinking the ink might be poisonous, something like that, so now they make special paper and print it with old headlines. I mean, the ink in that is supposed to be safe with food."

"Oh."

"I thought you were joking, that bit about the District Line. But now . . . you've never been on the Tube?"

Draco wasn't sure what the "Tube" was, but he knew better than to ask. It was something he ought to know, clearly, and he felt like he'd made enough gaffes for one date. He made a mental note to ask Harry about tubes later. "No. Can't say as I have."

Her gaze narrowed. "You probably go about in a fancy car. A Bentley, unless I miss my guess."

At least that time he could figure out what she meant by Bentley.  "I've never once been in a Bentley." Or any car, he thought, but didn't say. Well, at least it seemed clear now that whatever this tube was, it involved transport. Draco couldn't imagine what kind, though. It sounded awful.

"That's good. Colin--he was the worst of the rich boys at Chatham, the absolute pits, really--used to brag about his father's Bentley constantly. I can't tell you much I wanted to smack him. People that go on about their money and try to show off how much of it they have . . ." She shuddered, then finished the last of her soda. "So, you said you went to school in Scotland? That's a long way."

She was hinting, trying to find out how he travelled there, Draco thought. She probably thought he'd gone by private car. Had some servant drive him, something like that. Well, this was as good a chance as any to let her see that he wasn't like those prats at Chatham. "Oh, yeah, it takes almost a full day just to get to my school. I go by train, of course."

He'd always thought that taking the Express along with the rest of the students, Muggle-borns included, was a tiny bit common. He'd have preferred to Floo to school. But now, he was relieved that he'd had some experiences Rhiannon would think of as normal.

"And your father teaches there. Um . . . is that just a hobby for him, something like that?"

Draco slanted her a glance, thinking the question a very odd one. "No. Oh, he likes his subject well enough, though. Why would you think it's just his hobby?"

Rhiannon shrugged, the motion a little defensive to Draco's eyes. "Well, in my experience, wealthy people don't work at jobs like that. They're in finance, or investments, that sort of thing."

"Oh," said Draco, catching on. "I think you've got hold of the wrong end, there. Severus isn't wealthy. Only Harry and I are." Then, realising that sounded a little bit daft, he decided he'd better explain. "Harry's father left him a lot of money, you see. And I ended up with a bequest from a distant relative. Bloke I'd never met, actually. But none of that has anything to do with Severus."

Rhiannon's lips thinned. "Your brother's rich, too? He doesn't act it."

"Well, it's kind of complicated, but he didn't know he had any money until just a few years ago. He'd been orphaned, and he grew up with relatives who weren't very nice to him, but then they died too, and Severus adopted him."

"You grew up with money, though."

She said it like it was a character flaw. Those rich kids must have given her a harder time than Draco had realised. Clearly, she didn't trust wealthy people and was overlooking the money, in Draco's case.

"Yes," he simply said.

"But you're adopted, so your parents must have died. But you're rich because of some distant relative, not because of your parents?"

Draco swallowed. He wanted to explain to her that only his father was gone, but he couldn't do that, could he? Remus Lupin's mission was important, and sooner or later, Rhiannon would be taking her rightful place in the wizarding world. He couldn't have her telling people that Lucius Malfoy had died.

"I'm adopted because my own family cut me off," said Draco stiffly. Even now, it was a little hard to contemplate, let alone talk about. But he wanted Rhiannon to know him. "Disinherited me, said I wasn't worthy to bear the family name, and so on and so forth. And I'd known Severus for years, and got on with him really well, so when things at school got a bit rough and I needed a parent, he adopted me, as well."

Rhiannon had looked sympathetic through a lot of that, but by the end her lips were twisting. "Was that before or after you got this bequest?"

It took Draco a moment to understand what she was suggesting. "Oh, no. You've got that wrong. He didn't adopt me because of the money."

"Just seems a bit suspicious, his somehow adopting not just one but two sons with money of their own."

"He thought I didn't have a single Gal-- er, any money. Any money at all. It was only quite a bit later that I got the bequest."

"What about with Harry?"

Draco raised his shoulders. "He didn't adopt him out of greed. You can trust me on that."

"Your father doesn't manage your accounts or investments or anything like that?"

"I take care of all that myself," said Draco, not that there was a lot to do. Thankfully, she didn't ask the same question about Harry. Draco didn't want to lie to her, but he certainly couldn't tell her that Harry had handed control of all his money over to Severus. She'd definitely misunderstand what that was all about.

Not that Draco completely understood it, for that matter. He still thought it had been a really strange thing to do. But then, Harry hadn't been raised with money. Maybe he felt uncomfortable having loads and loads of it. That would certainly explain why he'd been so eager to get rid of his inheritance from Sirius Black.

"I didn't mean to cause offence," said Rhiannon softly, her fingers reaching out to ghost across Draco's bare arm. The touch sent a sizzle of something racing along the surface of his skin. "I suppose I'm just distrustful around anything to do with money, after all those years at Chatham."

"It's all right." Draco supposed that Severus ending up with two wealthy sons did look a bit odd, if you didn't know the larger context. "Er . . . don't take this the wrong way, but it seems like you have some issues when it comes to wealth."

"Yeah. I guess I do." Rhiannon sighed. "Maybe spending time with you will help. I know it's wrong to think that all rich people are alike. You aren't, after all."

It was wrong to think that all rich people were the same, yes. But Draco could hardly blame her for thinking that, could he? He'd gone years assuming that all poor people were worthy of his disdain. But Rhiannon wasn't.

Or Ronald Weasley, he reluctantly conceded. Though he had more reasons to resent Weasley than just his lack of funds. Marsha had made him realise that deep down, he was worried that Harry liked Weasley more than he liked his own brother.

Worried, hell. He knew full well that Harry like Weasley more.

"Sorry," said Rhiannon.

"No, it's all right, really." Draco gave her a little smile as he tried to pull himself back to their own conversation. "Though, maybe I should mention one thing. When it comes to Severus, you're letting the fact that he's a science teacher affect your judgment too, I think."

"Yeah, probably so. I'll work on it."

That sounded hopeful, like she wanted to get on with his family. A good sign. Maybe she'd sensed that the feeling growing between them was stronger than some passing summer romance. Maybe she was thinking that he was the one for her.

Rhiannon lay back, one of her hands tracing patterns in the grass. Her fingernails were neatly filed and polished a pale pink. Somehow, they struck Draco as very feminine.

An urge washed over him, a familiar one. Ever since he'd first seen her, he'd wanted to take her into his arms and touch their lips together. She looked peaceful now. Serene. Happy just to relax with him and enjoy his company.

And because she looked so content, the whole world seemed to glitter, almost as though there really was magic in the air. The breeze grew more languid, wafting the scent of dandelions around them. The sky was bluer, the clouds above a perfect white.

And Rhiannon was more beautiful than he'd thought, impossible as that seemed.

Unable to resist, Draco stretched out beside her, propping himself up on one elbow, and touched his fingers to her lips, tracing them. "You're truly lovely," he whispered, feeling almost worshipful. He'd never felt anything remotely like this with Pansy, or anyone else. Rhiannon was his match; he just knew it, the same way he knew that the sun would set and rise again. It was destiny.

A faint blush rose to stain her cheeks, but she didn't try to evade his gaze.

Her eyes were the deepest blue imaginable.

Leaning over, Draco softly touched his mouth to hers, the kiss slow and careful. But then she parted her lips, inviting more, her arms coming around him to hold him to her.

Sweet Merlin, she tasted like happiness itself. Like sunshine. Daft as that sounded, it was true. Draco had never been near anyone like her, or anyone who affected him this much.

Definitely, she was the one for him.

His head began to spin, the world around him feeling like it was losing substance. The feeling was intense, even stronger than the sensations he'd got last summer when he'd snuck out onto the grounds of the manor to try the Muggle drugs he'd bought when Lucius' back was turned. Those had just made him dizzy, really.

But the kiss made the whole world brighter.

Draco felt like his blood had turned into warmed honey, moving hot and sweet through his veins. And of course it wasn't only his blood reacting to being so near Rhiannon. His heart was swelling too, along with . . . other things.

He tried not to think about that, even as he shifted his hips slightly further away from her. It was too early for that, and he knew it. He wasn't going to lose the most perfect witch the world had ever seen, just because he couldn't control himself. He wasn't going to risk insulting her.

Though since she's been raised to think of herself as a Muggle, an insidious voice inside him began saying, she probably wouldn't be insulted. Muggle girls throw sex around all the time, after all.

No. Draco groaned a little bit as the word ricocheted through his mind. No, no, no. Denying himself was actually painful--he wanted nothing better than to pull her close against him, head to toe, and feel her warm, soft body pressed up against the part of him that was hard and aching, but he wasn't going to do it. He wasn't going to treat her as if she were the Muggle she thought herself.

Draco was going to show her the respect she was due, even if it killed him.

Which it might.

But this was only their second date, so he'd have to wait.

Rhiannon's fingers were tufting through the hair at his nape, her touch gentle, yet somehow urgent. Draco felt his heart beat harder, and moved his own hands to her hips as he kissed her, lying half-atop her by then. Ah, Merlin. He thought he could keep this up forever. There was nothing else that mattered, and nobody besides them in the whole world. Just him, and Rhiannon.

No matter that there had been people milling about in the park before. Draco had forgotten them utterly. Everything had vanished from existence the moment he'd tasted her.

And she felt the same. He could tell. It was all there in her kiss, in the way her breathing had quickened, in the--

Draco felt a pressure on one shoulder and realised that Rhiannon was pushing him away. Not as though to reject him, though. It was just a nudge to get his attention.

He drew back from her, mere inches, and smiled. "Hmm?"

"You're a really good kisser." Stretching her neck up, she quickly moved her mouth against his, just as if she couldn't get enough. "But I have to get back, Draco."

It was on the tip of Draco's tongue to tell her that her job could go hang. He'd be only too happy to get her that flat, and--

Too soon, too soon, he chided himself. Besides, given the remarks she'd made, he thought she'd probably react badly to any overt display of wealth. She'd think he was showing off, when all he meant was to show her that what was his was hers.

But yeah, too soon.

Draco got to his feet and held out a hand to help her up. "All right. Do you work during the week-end?"

If she did, he was planning on going swimming all week-end long, even if the uncle was about and kept them from getting to know one another better. Just being near her would be worth it.

"No, thank God. I've got rehearsal tomorrow morning, though. After that I'm free until Monday."

A hint if ever he'd heard one. Remembering what Harry had said about the things a Muggle might do on a date, Draco diffidently suggested, "Shall we catch a movie, then? And perhaps dinner?"

And dancing, he thought. He wanted to hold her in his arms, wanted to pull her close up against his body as they swayed together.

But he didn't suggest dancing. He didn't want to seem too eager. He could mention it after they'd eaten.

"Sounds brilliant," said Rhiannon as she bent over to gather up the rubbish left over from their meal.

Draco found himself torn. On the one hand, he didn't like to see her playing the house-elf. She shouldn't have to ever do any menial labour. On the other hand, though, the sight of her shorts stretched tight across her bum . . . he couldn't quite bring himself to regret the fact that she was clearing things away.

She popped the rubbish in a bin, then wiped her hands together, her nose wrinkling. "Huh. Should have saved a napkin."

It took every bit of Draco's willpower to stop himself from drawing his wand. One quick cleaning charm was all he needed.

Fucking Ministry, he thought. Well, he might not be able to cast a spell in front of her right now, but he was going to find a way to.

Soon.

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

They got back to the pool at one minute past one. Rhiannon's uncle glared at her, but at least he didn't yell. Rhiannon gave Draco a little wave as she dashed away.

Draco stared after her, wondering if all she had to do was strip off her shorts and top, or if she was going to undress completely, then pull that stretchy red swimsuit up to cover all her bits.

His mouth went dry just thinking about it.

"Can I help you?" asked the uncle, sounding a little bit like he was spoiling for a fight.

A fight Draco wasn't going to give him. No, he was going to be good as Galleons around her family, no matter how much it rankled.

"Free swim opens at one, doesn't it?" he said, stepping toward the pool area.

"I need to see your swim pass."

Honestly. He thought Draco was trying to sneak in? He thought Draco was trying to cheat the pool of the measley two pounds the sign said they charged per day? He didn't think Draco could afford it?

The absolute gall. At least Rhiannon had had the sense to recognise Draco as someone with plenty of funds at his disposal. Even if she did sort of resent them.

Draco fished in his trouser pocket, intending to brandish his pass with a flourish. One problem, though. He didn't seem to have it. Well, he'd just pay his way in, then. He did have plenty of Muggle money with him.

"Draco, what are you doing?"

Turning, he saw that his father and Harry had come in behind him.

"Forgot my pass."

"On top," said Harry, passing over a plain canvas bag.

Draco pulled back the hand holding the ten pound note, then grabbed the sodding swim pass to wield it. The uncle gave a curt nod, and didn't ask to see Harry's pass, which struck Draco as outrageous. But then again, Harry wasn't dating his niece.

However, he did stop Severus from going in.

"Planning to swim this afternoon, are you?"

That was when Draco noticed that Severus was carrying a plain canvas bag as well. It was a bit ludicrous, really, all three of them with matching bags. Ugly ones, at that. Severus had bought them when they'd gone shopping, but Draco hadn't known they were intended for use at the pool. They looked awfully vulgar, in his opinion.

"Yes," said Severus.

"Two quid, then. Far as I remember, you didn't purchase yourself a pass."

"Here, let me," said Draco when Severus began to reach into a deep pocket. "I already have it out."

Draco was a tiny bit surprised when Severus actually let him pay. But it felt good. Harry had been right in what he'd said about money. Inside a family, you wanted to share what you had. Not that Severus needed him to. But it felt good, all the same.

"Didn't think you were really the swimming type, Dad," said Draco as they headed into the men's changing room.

Ha. Dad. Severus couldn't say that Draco was asking for anything this time, could he?

"I do know how."

"Well, of course you do." Draco flashed a grin as he plunked his bag down on a concrete bench. "You've got that fabulous tub hidden away, right? Size of a small pool. Though you know, I have heard some students in other houses claim you'd melt if water ever touched you."

Severus blinked, clearly baffled. "Melt? Why?"

"Actually, I don't know," said Draco, sounding just as confused.

"Wizard of Oz again," said Harry. "The witch melts when she gets water thrown at her."

His tone suggested that that should explain everything, but Draco was still confused. "But why?"

For a moment, Harry stared. Then he chuckled. "Oh. The witch is evil in that one. Well, that witch, at least. Actually, if you read a lot of children's stories, you find out that most witches are cast as evil."

"You can't be serious," said Draco, his eyebrows drawing together. "Really?"

Hmm, he'd have to be careful when he talked to Rhiannon. The plan was taking better shape in his mind, all the time. First he'd impress her with some spells, somewhere off alone, just the two of them. He'd get her back into that state of mind she'd had as a child, when she'd thought--and rightly, too--that there really was such a thing as magic. Then he'd hand her his wand, and when she felt it hum for her, he'd tell her that there was a reason for that, and that she could make it work for her, just as she'd always wanted.

But he wouldn't use the word witch, not right at first. Not until she understood that it didn't mean something bad.

The only part of his plan that needed work, really, was how to avoid getting caught for doing a spot of underage magic out in the open. Too bad he couldn't invite her to Devon so he could do the magic show while he was safely behind the wards.

But he knew better than to even ask. There was no possible way Severus would agree to have knowledge of his secret cottage extended even further.

Draco sighed.

Then he forgot all about his plotting, because by then he'd reached into his bag, past the fluffy white towel folded on top, and he'd seen what Harry had brought him.

Draco snatched out his swim trunks and whirled to face Harry. "You fiend! You absolute fiend!"

Harry tilted his head to the side, obviously trying for an innocent expression. "They're quite nice. What, you don't think so?"

Draco shuddered. The trunks were crimson with a wavy line of gold coursing down each side seam. Gryffindor trunks!

Harry started laughing. "You shouldn't have dared me."

"I didn't!"

"Close enough."

It was a low trick to play on him, low. Draco couldn't even change them back, not here! He was beginning to think of the underage magic laws as the bane of his existence, he really was. But Harry could do all the magic he liked, and without risk of getting caught.

Draco wished, not for the first time, that he could do wandless magic. It got to be so annoying, Harry always having every special talent. New ones kept popping up all the time, in fact. Every year, seemed like. Draco couldn't help but wonder what was coming next, because with Harry's record, he doubted that seer dreams, dark powers, and wandless magic were going to be the pinnacle of his talents.

And look at what he was using his talents for!

"Fix them," Draco said, waving the horrid trunks through the air.

"No."

Ha. Draco knew a way around that. "I dare you to!"

Harry's smile practically split his face, he was grinning so wide. "Oh, but didn't I mention? Dad and I just had a talk about how I shouldn't let people dare me into things I don't want to do. So, I'm afraid you're out of luck."

"You know, you really are a Sl-- a snake at heart!"

"Yeah. It's great fun." And then, in innocent tones--very innocent tones--Harry went on, "But at least the casual shirt you asked for is just a simple white."

Suspicious, Draco pulled it out. His mouth fell open in dismay. "With a crest of a lion on the pocket?"

"Good thing I got so much practice at duplication," quipped Harry. "Though we didn't want it to be a perfect copy of a school symbol, considering, so I tried to make it come out a bit cartoonish."

Draco didn't know that word, but he decided it was a synonym for childish. The lion was soft and rounded, with a silly smile. It looked like a baby lion, actually. The kind you'd see in a child's book of stories. Well, except for the fact that it wasn't moving.

"I'm not wearing this crap," he announced, folding his arms over his chest, turning a beseeching look on Severus, who of course could solve all of this in an instant, if he chose. "And I frankly can't believe you let him do this to me."

"Perhaps I thought it time you expanded your fashion horizon."

So much for beseeching. "Oh, cut the horse shite and tell me what you really thought you were doing," snarled Draco.

"It seemed perfectly equitable to me that if Harry was going to fetch your things, he had some say in what he fetched," murmured Severus, sounding almost kind. Like he hadn't been trying to hurt Draco in any way. "Not to mention, the good doctor explained that this sort of thing, brotherly pranks, would help you bond."

"Bond."

"He did bring your lotion."

Draco rounded on Harry. "Did you mess about with it, too? Well?"

"That would be a bit more than a prank. I wouldn't do something like that."

True enough. Draco knew that Harry wouldn't. Snatching up his bag, Draco marched into a stall and slammed the door.

When he emerged wearing the trunks but with the shirt and towel slung over an arm, his father and brother were both waiting for him. That made sense; Draco's special lotion took a while to start working, and he wasn't about to stroll back out into the common area of the changing room with that horrid scar showing. He didn't like to look at it, himself, so he certainly wasn't going to have some stranger stroll in and gawk at it, or worse, catch it at the moment when the mugwort came to life and pulled the glamour in his skin to the surface of the scar to cover it.

As it turned out, though, nobody else had come in, yet. Maybe free swim didn't get busy until closer to half past, Draco thought.

His gaze was drawn to the large Muggle bandage that was covering a good portion of Severus' left forearm. "Are you sure that won't come off in the water?"

"Yes, I do know how to make things stick," said Severus dryly. Sitting sat down on a bench, he began applying sun lotion to his bare legs. Merlin, but the man was pale. Draco had never realised quite how pale, before, but then, he'd never seen Severus wearing nothing but trunks. They reached half-way to his knees and were about as modest as wizard swimwear got these days, but something about them struck Draco as almost unseemly, all the same. He was just used to seeing Severus so buttoned up. Or wearing nightshirt and robe both, when he was roused from bed.

"Er . . . how long since you went swimming?" he asked, casting about for something to say.

A small wrinkle marred Severus' forehead. "Twenty years, I do believe."

"You don't have to go in," said Draco, thinking that Severus must not care for it much if he'd let decades pass, like that. "I can stick close to Harry in case he has any trouble."

"Hey, I'm doing all right with my lessons--"

"Yes, you are," said Severus, dabbing more lotion onto his hands, then slathering it across his chest. "But you won't have Mr Yates at your side during a free swim period."

"Who's Mr Yates?"

"He means Roger," said Draco.

"Oh." A small smile curled Harry's lips. "He's good, yeah. And you know, he told me he works all day. He'll probably be watching out as lifeguard."

"Yes, but you should have help closer than that. I insist. And while your swimming skills are coming along quite well indeed, Harry, that doesn't mean I feel comfortable about them just yet. As for you--" Severus turned toward Draco. "The presence of the young lady is bound to distract you."

"Like I'm going to let Harry inhale water because I'm looking about for Rhiannon," said Draco, scowling. "Yeah, that'd end up impressing her loads."

"I thought you wanted to lie out in the sun where she could see you."

Draco nodded. "Thanks, then. But I would put Harry first, you know."

"Yes, I do know that."

"Um, so the only real question, is, if nobody's going to sit on the bleachers, what do we do with our . . . things?"

He meant wands. His own was rolled up inside his trousers, which would probably wrinkle since Draco hadn't been able to figure out how to fold them.

"Put everything in here," said Harry, opening up a metal locker where two canvas bags were already stowed, one on top of the other. There was just enough room left for Draco to pile his own bag on top. He looked at Severus again, then at Harry, and frowned. None of them had anywhere to put a wand, and he didn't like the thought of them being out there, defenceless.

Severus must have read his expression. "We'll be fine."

Yeah, Severus could do a little bit of wandless magic. Draco knew that. And of course Harry was brilliant at it by now. But Draco still felt uncomfortable, even if the snake emblem on Harry's trunks would guarantee there'd he'd be able to cast.

"Besides, you've got your amulet," added Harry.

That was true. He wore it all the time. True, it was responsible for his scar, but it was also responsible for saving his life. Literally. If not for the magical emanations of the amulet, Nott and company would have transported him straight to Lucius, the moment they'd killed Pansy.

Huh. For the first time in Draco didn't know how long, he could think of Pansy without fury or despair. Though he wasn't sorry that she was dead.

So yes, Harry was right; the amulet would warn them if any danger approached. Or at least, danger to Draco.

And that wasn't good enough, was it?

"We can't do this," Draco said, feeling like he might start shaking. Exeter was safe and he knew it, but that didn't matter. It was sheer folly to go out there, all three of them without wands. No matter that Harry had his hands. His wandless magic wouldn't be enough, not if several Death Eaters descended on the Northbrook Pool.

Going out there without wands was courting disaster.

Besides, it struck him as an awfully Gryffindor thing to do.

"I'll get dressed again and sit on the bleachers," he said, swallowing. Rhiannon might think him a bit weird if he sat there all afternoon and never went swimming, but that would just have to be borne. "That way at least one of us can . . . er, be prepared. Just in case."

"Admirable," said Severus, his eyes glinting in that way that meant he was pleased. Draco felt absurdly proud of himself. "But not needed. I am, in fact, fully prepared."

His long fingers brushed down the seam of his black trunks, and Draco suddenly understood why they were so long. It wasn't just for modesty. Severus had a wand sheath sewn into the seam, something like that.

Well, that made him feel a lot better. About their safety, and also about Severus' judgment. For a moment there, he'd been pretty shocked . . . but he should have known that Severus would find a way to keep his wand at hand.

"Good then. Let's swim," he said.

He saw Harry whisper something to the locker. Parseltongue Colloportus, probably, and Draco felt good about that, too. He wouldn't want to leave his wand, or Harry's, where a Muggle could get at it.

Harry took off his glasses then, and popped them on top of the locker, then started blinking rapidly. "Huh."

Severus went to him and tilted his face up. "Problem with your eyes? We can resume the Elixir if you feel that your vision is weakening in the least."

"No . . . actually . . . things look exactly the same when I take off my glasses. No more fuzziness, not even a little . . ."

Draco blew out all his breath in a whoosh, though he hadn't realised he'd been holding it for a moment. Ever since Harry had started that blinking. For one second, Draco had been afraid that the punch he'd landed on Harry's eye all those months ago had caused some kind of recurring damage.

But no, it seemed that everything had come out all right.

Finally.

Harry didn't need his glasses at all. Though of course he couldn't leave them off at Hogwarts since he did need the snake image etched into them. But his actual vision was perfect.

Draco sucked in a huge breath. He wanted to hug Harry. Or apologise again for that stupid blow in the first place. Instead, he flashed his brother a grin. "Come on, race you to the pool," he said, and like the Slytherin he was, made sure he got a proper head start.

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

Draco was pleasantly surprised to find out that Rhiannon was perched atop one of the lifeguard chairs overlooking the main pool. He'd have insisted they come to free swim sooner if he'd known that. She'd re-braided her hair, which he counted a shame, and not just because he thought it looked best hanging free. He'd rather have watched her braiding it, her hands reaching behind her head, her chest arching forward as she swayed . . .

Too bad he'd missed it.

Sighing, Draco spread his towel out on the cement near the shallow end of the pool, and not just because that end was nearest her. He also wanted to watch Severus and Harry. Or really, just Severus. Draco couldn't really picture the man swimming, but there he was, stepping down into the water, his long trunks billowing slightly until he was in the pool to his waist.

Strange how the man managed to keep his dignity intact. Despite all the pale, sallow skin showing, when Draco looked at him, he could almost see the usual voluminous robes.

Must have something to do with the forbidding expression, Draco thought. At that moment, he could see why Rhiannon found the man so intimidating. He wasn't even trying to glare, or anything of the sort, but the few Muggles already in the pool moved away marginally as he came forward. Almost as if Severus was putting out some kind of spell that urged them away.

Harry, on the other hand, had no dignity at all. He took the steps down two at a time and then ploughed forward through the water, leaving a wake behind him. He even managed to splash Severus in the chest.

"Sorry," he said, though he obviously wasn't. "Roger told me not to be reticent, though."

"No, no need to be reticent," said Severus as he leaned against the tiled edge of the pool, his arms stretched out to either side for support. Sighing, he let his long body float out onto the water. A bit odd, to see Severus so relaxed.

But it was only a feint. Severus waited just until Harry had come close enough, then gave an abrupt kick of his legs, sending water spraying all over Harry, drenching him.

Harry sputtered and raked his fingers through his fringe to clear it away from his eyes. "I wasn't ready to get wet, yet!"

"Is that reticence I hear?" asked Severus, his voice deep, dark, and humorous.

"You're a real riot, you are," grumbled Harry, but then he flashed Severus a quick smile and moved off so that he could start practicing his crawl stroke across the shallow end of the pool. Occasionally he had to touch down because someone was in his way, but once it became obvious that he was going to swim back and forth, the other people in the pool tended to stay out of his way.

Severus craned his neck back, for just a moment, and glanced at Draco. "So, how was your luncheon with the young lady?"

Draco didn't think she could overhear them over the hubbub of activity in the pool, but he still didn't want to say anything she might take offence to. "Not what I expected."

"Oh?" Severus turned back toward the pool. "Move your towel closer and tell me about it."

Draco rearranged himself so he was lying on his front this time, propped up on his elbows right at the edge of the pool so his head was out over the water. His gaze sought out Harry, who was looking more confident than ever in the water. Which wasn't to say that he didn't flop about awkwardly, on occasion.

"There is room in here for both of us," drawled Severus. Then he lowered his voice. "And I'm certain she'll glance your way just as much if you're wet. More, perhaps."

Draco had been very carefully not looking Rhiannon's way. He didn't want to be like a crup begging for her attention. He tried to keep the eagerness out of his whispered reply, but he didn't think he quite succeeded. "Has she been looking at me, really?"

"Yes, and she appears quite irked that you haven't noticed."

That wouldn't do at all. Draco craned his head up and waited until she was turned his way, then grinned. She smiled back, sweetly enough that Draco felt giddy just seeing it. He wasn't even kissing her, now, but he had the same sense as before, that the colours were brighter and scents more intense.

Even the chlorine in the water smelled pleasant at that moment.

Severus' voice suddenly broke through the spell. " . . . and furthermore, you aren't listening to me at all, are you?"

"Huh?" Draco turned back to his father. "Did you say something?"

"Apparently, nothing of import."

Draco felt himself flushing, and quickly hung his head, brushing his fringe down. "What?"

Severus shook his head. "Never mind. You were going to tell me about your date, I do believe?"

Draco frowned. "I never understood the boys in Slytherin who would gossip about the girls they'd just been out with. And then they'd be surprised when word got around that they'd been telling tales. Very bad strategy."

It was only that, of course, if you wanted to keep dating the same girl. Which had always been the case with Draco. He'd spent years being stuck on Pansy. Ha--he'd wasted those years.

"Anyway, I just thought I ought to establish at the outset that I won't kiss and tell. I wouldn't do that to Rhiannon."

"Very commendable."

Laughter was lurking behind the words. Draco could hear it, and he knew what it meant. Severus thought Draco was getting ahead of himself, there. He didn't think that Draco had so much as kissed Rhiannon, yet.

Draco felt more than a little smug that not only had he kissed her, but that they'd snogged for a good--huh, he wasn't sure how long, really. Long, though. He was sure of that much.

As first kisses went, it had been bloody fabulous.

Still the same droll tone from Severus. "What can you tell me?"

Draco lowered his voice a fraction more. "Well, she took me out for fish and chips. And she paid. I thought that was quite strange. Especially as she knows I'm quite well-off."

Severus gave a small shake of his head. "Oh, Draco. You told her about your money?"

"No. Well, yes, but only after she mentioned it," exclaimed Draco, though quietly. "She said she could tell. And she hates it. She's got money issues." He thought better than to mention the questions she had asked about Severus' motive for the adoptions. "Big ones."

"Well, no relationship is without its problems," said Snape lightly. Like he was trying not to express either approval or disapproval.

"We ate in a park. Sitting on the grass," said Draco. "And if Harry ever asks to get Diet Coke when we go shopping, be sure to check the ingredient list. It tastes like it's based on coal tar, honestly."

"Half the products in the market seem to be chemical stews."

"Well, at least the produce area is probably safe. Though I do wish they had more varieties of things. I like those frutilla strawberries you can get from Chile if you know where to shop, and--"

He stopped talking because Rhiannon's uncle had come up to her and was gesturing vaguely toward Severus as he spoke. Draco strained, but couldn't hear anything, not over the splashing and voices between them. Rhiannon gave a sharp nod, then hopped off her tall lifeguard chair, her gaze seeing out Draco's.

Obviously, her uncle had told her to come say something to him.

And just as obviously, she didn't want to do it.

But she did want to keep her job, even if she hated it, Draco knew, so after a moment's hesitation, she was walking forward, her stretchy swimsuit pulling tightly across her hips as she moved. Draco had to remind himself that staring was really very ill-mannered.

And licking his lips was definitely out.

She came around the corner of the pool, heading straight for him. Except, it seemed it wasn't Draco she needed to talk with. Crouching down on the other side of Severus, she fixed her gaze on him.

"Mr Snape, sir?"

If Draco hadn't been worried by then, wondering what the matter was, he would have thought it amusing that even without being in class with Severus, she knew to call him sir.

As Harry noticed her approach and stood up in the middle of the shallow end, water streaming off him, Severus turned his head to the side to look at Rhiannon. "Yes, Miss Miller?"

She cleared her throat and looked like she could think of a hundred things she'd rather do than what she was doing. Draco wasn't sure if that was because Severus scared her or because her uncle had told her to say something truly awful.

"I'm very sorry, sir, but there's a . . . er, there's a rule against wearing long hair loose in the pool."

Draco almost choked.

"Ah." Severus raised his shoulders slightly. "Well, one must follow the rules, I suppose."

Draco appreciated that comment, more than he could say. Severus was trying to help her feel more comfortable, even though she'd just rebuked him. He didn't want Draco's girl to be anxious around him, any more than Draco wanted her to feel that way.

"Yes," said Rhiannon, still obviously ill-at-ease. Well, no wonder. She thought of herself as a Muggle, and Harry had already explained that where he'd grown up, long hair on men was a little bit unusual. He'd never once seen a Muggle man with hair as long as Dumbledore's, he'd said. So no wonder she hated doing this. It was rude, informing any man that his hair was too long. Let alone a man twice her age. She obviously knew that.

Not to mention, she'd felt intimidated by Severus even before this. Her voice was wavering as she went on. "If you could just tie it back, then?"

Severus' own voice was smooth and calm, almost as though he was casting some sort of spell. Draco doubted there was any actual magic involved, but he knew that Severus could do a lot with voice alone. He had the knack. "Have you something I might use for that?"

"Oh."

By then, Severus' voice was clearly amused. "Yes, I usually prefer to let it hang loose--"

Rhiannon winced, actually winced. Draco wasn't sure why until she went on, her voice very low that time, "I've also been asked to tell you that . . . Oh, God." She leaned sideways to look Draco full in the face. Sorry, she mouthed, and then she returned her attention to Severus and spoke quickly. "I've been asked to request that you shower before getting into the pool. It's actually one of the posted rules, but he hardly ever singles anybody out to actually do it. Please do forgive me--"

And with that, she was rising to her full height. "I'll see if I can find something for you to use for after your . . . er, shower."

She walked around the pool to say something to Roger, then quickly headed toward the pool office.

"I think we can safely assume that shower is a euphemism for something else," Severus remarked, very dryly.

Shampoo, Draco thought. That's what she had meant. Merlin, how completely humiliating, that his girlfriend should have to come over and critique his father's bathing habits.

He couldn't even imagine how Severus felt.

Except, he should have known that Severus didn't often care what people thought of him. Case in point: right then, he seemed to be thinking only of his son.

"If I've set you back with the young lady, Draco--"

Draco waved a hand. "It's all right."

Severus frowned as though he didn't think so, but didn't reply.

Meanwhile, Draco had sat up straight to watch Rhiannon, who had reached the pool office by then. Through the window, he could see her fishing in a drawer. And then she appeared to be having another argument with her uncle. A more heated one, this time, but perhaps that was because they weren't out in the middle of the pool complex.

Rhiannon threw her hands upward, and whirled on a heel, her features tight with anger as she made her way back to where Draco was. By then, Harry had joined his father on the wall, but instead of relaxing against it, he was grasping it with both hands as he floated on his belly and practiced kicking.

Severus was getting splashed all over, but he didn't seem to mind.

Harry stopped kicking when Rhiannon crouched down again to speak to Severus. "I couldn't find anything. But here, you can use mine." With that, she was quickly tugging off the elastic band at the end of her loose braid. Her hair spilled free, the sight glorious. "Uncle Stanley will just have to live with it if I have to jump into the pool to help someone."

Severus pushed off the wall and stood up in the shallow water, his fingers brushing hers as he took the bright red band. "I'll go see to matters, then."

Rhiannon started chewing on her lower lip, her voice barely audible. "Er . . . I am so, so sorry. He never makes me pester customers like this, but now he's saying that you'll have to keep that out of the water." She made a gesture toward the bandage on Severus' arm. "In case it's infected."

Severus raised an eyebrow. "Were it a wound, I feel certain that the heavy concentration of chlorine in the water would see to such concerns."

"You're definitely a science teacher." Rhiannon fiddled with the ends of her hair. "But it's not an open wound, you mean?"

Draco wanted to cringe. Severus had already answered that, and he had a habit of verbally ripping students apart when they asked him to repeat himself. Rhiannon wasn't a student, though. The moment Severus replied, Draco knew he should have had more faith in him.

"Tattoo, I'm afraid. One I'd rather my sons not see," he blithely lied. "A youthful indiscretion. I'm sure you understand."

"Oh . . ." All at once, Rhiannon sounded intrigued. Then she appeared to realise that was inappropriate, and shook it off. "All right, then."

Severus stood up and began making his way back to the pool steps, again moving with that precision that even water didn't seem to disrupt. Rhiannon looked as though she'd like to stay and chat with Draco, but when she glanced back at the pool office, her uncle was standing at the window with his arms crossed. He was too far away for Draco to really see if his eyes were beady, but Draco decided they were.

"Free swim's more trouble than it's worth," muttered Harry as Rhiannon moved off.

"It's not her fault."

Harry started following Severus. Sighing, Draco got up to follow. It was going to look a bit weird, all three of them returning to the changing room at once, but there was no help for it. Severus was the one with the wand.

"You're not leaving?" asked Rhiannon, turning around and coming back, her forehead wrinkled. "Don't, please. I tried to be as tactful as I could."

"Er . . ." Draco tried Occluding his mind, so he could come up with a decent lie about why they were all going back to the men's changing room, but it didn't seem to be working. Whether that was because he didn't want to lie to her, or because it was harder to Occlude without his wand on him, he didn't know.

Thankfully, Harry helped him out. "We're not leaving. None of us showered, that's all."

Rhiannon's forehead smoothed out. "Oh. Well, like I said, it doesn't really matter. My uncle's in high dudgeon today, not sure why--"

Draco shook his head, and managed to follow Harry's lead. He thought he did tolerably well at it. "Severus can be a stickler for rules."

"Figures. Chemistry teacher and all."

"Yeah, when students don't follow his instructions in class, things can explode," said Harry with a straight face. "Any road, we'll be back in a bit. Maybe Draco'll be willing to show you one of his fancy dives. He's ace."

Draco waited until they were in the changing room to punch Harry on the arm. And not lightly, either. "Keep out of it. I don't need any help making Rhiannon like me. I'm doing just fine."

"Thought it would make up for the trunks." Harry wrinkled his nose. "Crimson's not your colour."

"Really," drawled Draco. He waited until Harry had whispered something at the locker, then grabbed his swim bag and kept it as his feet as he sat down to wait for Severus. Harry did the same. Not that they were expecting trouble, but it was just better to be prepared. Or maybe it was something else. Draco needed to know that he had access to magic if needed. Otherwise, he felt almost . . . naked.

Harry didn't talk until a couple of other teenagers cleared out of the changing room, and then, he spoke in a low voice. "Wonder what Dad's using? He didn't bring along any shampoo."

Draco shrugged. He was pretty sure Severus would just conjure some from his stores either at Hogwarts or Devon. Though he'd have to have some stores in the first place, to make that work. "Maybe he's just using soap," he whispered. "Gives a dreadful result, but it does the trick."

"Maybe he's using the same kind of thing he once did to you," said Harry. "He's alone in there; nobody would see."

Comalavare, Draco thought, easily following the reference. 

"I can hear every word you say," called Severus from a nearby stall. Now that Rhiannon wasn't around, he sounded more than a little annoyed.

Draco wisely shut up, and noticed that Harry did the same.

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

They didn't leave the pool until free swim closed at five. Draco had spent the rest of the afternoon alternately swimming, laying out, and executing dives filled with compact twists and turns. He knew his form was good. He could tell that Rhiannon was impressed, though at one point her lips twisted, and Draco wondered if she was realising that he must have had private lessons.

Expensive private lessons.

Draco stopped diving then, and grabbed a sinking stick from a bin near the diving board. He'd noticed them being used earlier. Long plastic rods in jewel-bright colours, they sank very slowly into the water. The trick was to follow one down and try to get it before it hit bottom.

He took it over to where Harry and Severus were treading water and talking. "Game?"

Harry looked a little unsure about the idea, but then he glanced at Roger and smiled a little. "All right. I'm supposed to practice going under the water, though I can't say I much like the idea."

"Severus?"

"I'll throw."

Draco thought that was just a way for him to not have to plunge underwater, but he nodded. He was lucky enough that Severus hadn't insisted on leaving the pool entirely after what had happened earlier. The man's hair had dried by then, and it looked positively hideous. Frizzy, and curling in odd ways.

Maybe Severus let it get so oily to begin with because at least that way, it hung more sleekly. But really, all it needed was a spot of deep-conditioning. That would set it to rights.

Harry and Draco dove after the stick, time and again when Severus tossed it. Draco probably could have got to it first every time, but he thought that might not do much for Harry's confidence, so he didn't try his hardest.

After a while, when they came up for air, Draco shook his head, thinking he'd had enough. Harry swam over to him and poked him in the shoulder. Hmm, probably payback for that punch from before.

Or perhaps not. "Don't you dare do that when school starts."

"Do what?" asked Draco, trying for an innocent tone.

"Throw matches. Not try your very best."

"I told you I'm going to wipe the pitch with you--" Draco sucked in a breath as he understood what Harry hadn't said. "Aha. You've made up your mind. You're going to play again."

"Yeah. Feel a bit bad for Ginny, but this is my last year, and she has one more. Besides, she'll still be on the team, I think--"

"She'll get over it," said Draco, dismissing the entire matter from mind.

It looked like Harry had more trouble letting it go, which made Draco wonder how much of Harry's dithering had been Ginny Weasley-based to begin with. Harry never liked to disappoint anybody. Probably related to his saving-people thing.

When it was time to go, Draco made a point of going up to Rhiannon to say good-bye to her. "I'll meet you tomorrow, then? Outside the theatre?" he asked. He wanted to attend another rehearsal, but didn't want to be pushy about it. "What time?"

"We're usually done by two on Saturdays. Though if Adrian's in one of his moods there's no telling." Rhiannon grabbed a towel from the back of her chair and wrapped it around her hips. "Hang on a second while I find a piece of paper, and I'll write down the number to your mobile."

Draco was glad that Harry had explained those. "I don't have one."

"Oh." She looked rather startled at that. "Well, your home phone, then."

Again, Draco was ready. He'd thought about this in advance, since if they got closer, she was bound to want his phone number. And address, and such. He still wasn't sure what he was going to do about the fact that he couldn't invite her to Devon. But for now, he knew what to say.

He leaned closer, wanting to take her hand. With the uncle lurking about, though, it probably wasn't a good idea. "Severus is a little bit eccentric. We don't have any sort of phone in the summer. He cherishes his holiday and says that if people from the school want to talk to him, they can go to the trouble of coming to see him personally."

Rhiannon looked flummoxed at that. No surprise; Harry had explained that most Muggles couldn't imagine being without a phone.

"It's no problem," he said, leaning forward to drop a kiss on her cheek. By then, he couldn't resist, uncle or no. "I'll just come at two and wait for you."

"Bring a book," said Rhiannon dryly. "Just in case."

Draco didn't have any books that he could let her see. Or at least, not yet. But soon. He just had to introduce her to magic by doing a little show for her. She'd think the tricks were nothing but Muggle nonsense, but once he put his wand in her hand, she'd know better.

And the best part was that while Draco had been splashing about in the pool, he'd figured out a way around the underage magic laws. A foolproof way.

He wrote the letter that night, sneaking out to the table after Harry and Severus were sound asleep. Just a few carefully worded sentences; that was all he needed. He slipped the small square of parchment into an envelope and addressed it. He'd rather have spoken to a school owl directly, but considering how they sent their post from Devon, he didn't have that option.

Draco popped the lid off the charmed box and almost dropped the letter in.

But at the last second, he decided he'd be wiser to include an additional incentive, considering with whom he was dealing. Fetching the letter out again, Draco added a post-script and included five shiny Galleons in the envelope, then charmed it so they wouldn't rattle en route.

Holding his breath, Draco pushed the letter into their post box and quickly closed it. When he opened the box again to check, the letter was gone. Come morning, or possibly even sooner, it would be on its way, held securely in the beak of an anonymous school owl.

Not that the letter itself was anonymous. It couldn't be, not if Draco was going to be able to straighten Rhiannon out.

Draco tip-toed back to bed and tried to sleep, but it was no use. He lay awake thinking. Planning. Dreaming, even. Two days, maybe three, and he'd be able to show Rhiannon some magic.

Including her own.

"Yeah, that does feel better," said Harry, stretching out his fingers a little. He hadn't even realised how much they'd been aching until today, when opening a bottle of salad cream had made him gasp in sudden pain. Snape had at once advised him to go outside and cast a few wanded spells. Sure enough, that had done the trick. Three or four levitation charms later, his hands felt back to normal.

Turning, he saw his father leaning against the cottage door, his eyebrows drawn together. Well, it had to be faced some time. Harry walked over to him.

"What?"

Snape looked as though he didn't much appreciate the tone Harry had used. "You know perfectly well what."

Yeah, Harry did. Of course he did. "I'm not really having trouble managing my powers. It's just that after what happened in your quarters that time, when I was so angry with Draco--"

"My quarters, are they?"

The way Snape asked that broke the tension; Harry chuckled a little. No doubt about it, Severus Snape was a master at more than Potions. Even when he was being fatherly, he had droll commentary down to a fine art. "Home, I meant. Back home. Though I kind of think of this cottage that way, too, you know." Swallowing, Harry thought fast. He hated to disappoint his father, he really did. "Um, well, anyway, my fingers have been feeling fine, and I haven't accidentally loosed anything frightening lately, so I guess I figured, you know, that it probably wouldn't happen again."

"A bit of a risky assumption, I would think."

Harry sighed. "Yeah. I guess it was."

"You guess," repeated Snape in a dry voice. "No one else can manage your dark powers, you realise."

"Deep powers," corrected Harry. "I still don't like that other word."

Snape frowned. "If you had the confidence in yourself that you should, you wouldn't mind my characterising your powers that way. It is the most common phrase to use, you realise."

Harry flushed. "It's not that I think I'm dark, exactly. I mean, I never did really think that. I was just trying to make sure I never could go that way. I didn't want anybody able to use my fear of needles against me."

"You seem able to talk about the issue with more ease, at least."

"Well, Marsha knows her stuff, I guess."

"Either that, or telling your friends has been salutary."

Hmm, maybe that was what was making the difference. Harry hadn't thought about it much before, but looking back, telling Ron and Hermione had probably been a very good idea. And that had been Snape's idea, not Marsha's.

"So you're the one who knows his stuff," said Harry lightly. "I knew you'd be a great father. Just like I wrote on those adoption papers."

Snape shrugged. "If I 'know my stuff,' as you put it, one must wonder why you've ignored my advice regarding your dark powers."

That time, he said dark with a little bit of emphasis, like Harry was just going to have to get used to the word.

"When we were still dueling all the time it was easy to remember to cast something wanded once we called a halt," said Harry, sighing. "But then once I got back into classes I had loads of things to do."

"And you've been worked like an elf this summer."

That time the commentary was more sarcastic than droll, Harry thought. "I've had a lot of free time since summer began," he admitted, sighing. "But I . . . er, forgot."

"You forgot."

"Everybody forgets things sometimes, Dad," said Harry, curling his upper lip a little.

"What a completely brainless response. Worthy of a first-year. A first-year Hufflepuff."

Harry flushed.

"And I don't appreciate the manipulation, either. Don't start complimenting my parenting skills in the middle of a discussion about how lacking they've evidently been. It's akin to Draco calling me Dad only when he wants something."

"He's been trying to stop that," said Harry, his nostrils flaring. "And what's this about not manipulating you? I thought you liked to see me manoeuvre!"

Severus' lips curled. "Ah. I do, yes. But not in this case."

Real helpful, that, thought Harry. But all he said was, "Well fine, then. I did forget. My hands weren't ever hurting and I wasn't having any trouble with accidental magic, so it just didn't seem so urgent, all right?"

"You weren't having trouble with accidental magic because nobody had made you furious enough. Notwithstanding your ridiculous squabbles with your brother."

Harry waved a hand. "Oh, he's just annoying sometimes. It's nothing serious. You forget, I grew up with Dudley, so I know what it's like to have a truly awful brother. Not that he was my brother, but you know what I mean."

"I don't forget," said Snape in a serious voice. "I think about your former home life more than you know."

And talk it over with Dumbledore, too, thought Harry. Or maybe Marsha.

"All right, well I won't forget either," said Harry. "About releasing some of my deep . . . er, dark, I mean, powers. And when we go back to Hogwarts, I'll figure out some way to keep it up. Maybe after my sessions with Marsha we can come out here so I have a safe place to let loose. That'd give me one day a week. Would be enough, I think."

"You expect to need her counsel for that long?"

"Yes." Thinking back to how he'd been afraid that Snape would unadopt him, and then how he'd been so jealous that it burned inside him whenever Snape and Draco would closet themselves together to work on exotic brews . . . not to mention thinking of that portrait of Lucius and what Harry had let it convince him to do to himself . . . Harry didn't have any doubts. "Yes, I want to keep seeing her. I'll let you know when I think I don't need that any longer."

"And you're sure you won't forget again about releasing your powers?"

"I won't, honest."

"Because it occurs to me that this situation isn't so different to the case of, for example, a young man who needs regular dose of some specific potion. What would you say to him if he simply forgot his dosage for days on end and then began to suffer the ill effects of this forgetfulness?"

Harry couldn't quite look his father in the face. "I'd . . . I'd say he'd been very stupid, I guess."

Snape shook his head. "I wouldn't want to call you that, Harry. I would say, however, that you've been immature, at the very least."

Harry smiled a little wryly. "I'd probably also say that this immature young man deserved to suffer the results of his foolishness. But you noticed me flexing my fingers, and straight away told me to go outside to do some wanded magic."

"You'd have reasoned out what to do, soon enough."

Yeah, likely so. But Harry still liked the idea that his father was looking out for him. Even when Harry wasn't perfect. But then again, he didn't have to be perfect. Snape had even said so, in just those words.

"So, I'll go finish making lunch, then--"

Harry stopped talking when the unmistakable sound of someone arriving by Portkey echoed across the meadow. For one instant, he thought that the cottage had been found out by Death Eaters, Unplottable spells and Fidelius aside. His wand still in his hand, Harry raised it and planted his feet, ready for whatever was coming.

But it was Draco's pale features coming into view. "Good thing you gave me a Portkey in case I needed to come back early," he said, shaking his head.

Snape was eyeing Draco rather closely, Harry noticed. "It was little enough trouble to provide one."

Harry smiled. He hadn't realised before, but Snape had a box full of single-use Portkeys, all of them spelled by Dumbledore to work only for people who already knew about the cottage. Snape had given one to Draco that morning, explaining that he thought it prudent, given that Snape planned to pass the day at home with Harry while Draco dallied with the young lady, as he'd put it.

Draco had looked frankly amused at their father's choice of words, but then he'd said, very dryly, "You know, if something unexpected comes up and I need to return home early, I could always Apparate."

"You know what I think of that. In any case, you'll be licensed soon enough," Snape had said in a firm voice.

Draco had only shrugged, saying that he couldn't imagine wanting to leave Rhiannon before one a.m., anyway. He'd arranged to meet Severus at that time so they could Apparate back together.

But here he was, and it was only half-past two in the afternoon!

"Did something happen?" asked Harry. It was kind of strange he'd have to ask, he thought. Surely if Draco had run into some trouble, he'd have mentioned it straight away. Not to mention the fact that the trip wires would have alerted them if any other wizards were present in Exeter . . .

"Well, yes," said Draco, a little faintly. "Nothing serious. Well, actually, it is, but not in any life-threatening sort of way. Unless you really can die from unrequited love."

"Rhiannon threw you over?" Harry thought that sounded a bit odd, since just yesterday the girl had seemed interested in Draco.

"Threw me over?" Draco chuckled. "I hardly think that's likely, Harry. We get along swimmingly, and why shouldn't we? I'm obviously her type. Which makes sense, doesn't it, when you consider that she's lost all knowledge of her own magic. Stands to reason she'd be attracted to someone with quite a lot of it--" He suddenly scowled. "And before you say that in that case she should have started making eyes at you, I'll have you know that she has enough taste to recognise . . . er . . ."

"What? Pure blood?" asked Harry, raising an eyebrow.

"Proper wizarding culture, I was going to say," announced Draco rather haughtily.

Harry wasn't at all sure that that was what Draco had been going to say.

"Why don't you just explain why you've come back so soon, Draco," said Snape, his tone suggesting that he was expecting Harry and Draco to start squabbling now, and he could just as soon do without.

That was enough to help Harry shrug off his annoyance with Draco.

Or maybe what really helped was the way Draco threw him a glance that was almost . . . pleading, then.

"Well, Rhiannon dashed out of her rehearsal to tell me that Adrian was being a real bear, was the word she used, and was going to keep the cast until half-past three--"

"You couldn't have waited?"

"No, there's more." Draco cleared his throat, obviously nervous. Though come to think of it, that much was obvious from the roundabout way he'd been explaining things. "Um, Harry? I know this is a real imposition and so last-minute that it's horribly ill-mannered, as well, but . . . er . . ." Draco gave him a pained smile. "Do you think you could see your way clear to coming out with Rhiannon and me, tonight? You see, her uncle doesn't much like me, I think, and--"

"You think?"

Draco made a face. "Right. It was rather clear, yesterday at the pool. You'd think all that would have been enough to make his point, but now it seems that he's made a new rule for her. If Rhiannon's going to be out past ten o'clock, she has to have a friend along."

Harry almost laughed, that sounded so absurd. "But . . . she's older than you, I thought you said. She's of age! How can he tell her how late she can be out and who she has to spend time with and . . . oh."

"Yes, oh," said Snape, his black gaze hard as he looked from Harry to Draco and back. "As long as she lives in his home, she's subject to his rules. Being 'of age' is beside the point."

"And if she doesn't live in Exeter, she can't do the summer opera project," added Draco, scowling. "So it looks as though I'll just have to put up with her stupid uncle's rules. But at least this proves one thing beyond all doubt. She really wants to go out with me, Harry. Before she'd even told me about this new rule, she'd already arranged for somebody named Cecile to tag along . . . and, well, here's why I came back early . . . Rhiannon wanted me to ask if you'd come along, too."

"Me?" Harry shook his head. "No, no thanks."

"Oh, come on," said Draco, his voice as well as his expression pleading. "Please, Harry. I think she won't want to go out tonight if you refuse to partner Cecile. I mean, she kept saying how she didn't want her friend to feel like a 'third wheel.' Though I don't mind admitting that I didn't quite understand the term, though I could tell what she meant, all right."

"Bicycle," Harry murmured. "I told you about them. Two wheels? Third one's kind of unnecessary."

Draco eyebrows drew together. "Oh. Bicycle. Locked up outside the pool?"

"Yeah, there were some there, I think."

Draco gave what Harry figured was probably his best attempt at a winning smile. It wasn't bad, Harry had to admit. "And you wouldn't want Cecile to feel like one, would you?"

Nice try, Harry thought. "Not much chance of that. You just said that Rhiannon wouldn't go out with you tonight if it was going to mean that."

"She won't go out with me at all, not on a proper date, or at least not until the summer's over and she can go back to live with her parents or . . . or, whatever it is that she's going to do."

"Maybe you should spend more time talking with her," said Harry. "I know . . . why don't you go back and tell her that I can't come, but you'd love to spend the evening with her at her home, so you can get to know her family? Maybe that way, the uncle can get to know you and he'll ease off on these rules."

Harry smiled, feeling like that was a very neat solution, all things considered.

Draco, on the other hand, looked absolutely aghast. "Are you mad? In the first place, if I'm going to enter a private residence, I need to be invited--"

"You're not a vampire, Draco."

"I'm also not so gauche as to impose myself," said Draco, his nose lifted high. "And in the second place, if you think I want to spend my evening in the company of a Muggle, well then, you're daft as a bat, aren't you?"

Harry sighed.

Draco's expression abruptly changed. "Look, maybe I should have said I can't stand the thought of spending time with the man who did all he could to humiliate Severus, yesterday."

"Leave me out of this, if you would," said Snape mildly. "I didn't appreciate the man's attitude, but who's to say how I would react if I was responsible for a niece on the cusp of womanhood, quite obviously attracted to a young man not in her usual social milieu?"

Draco's face abruptly went pink, and Harry had no trouble figuring out why. Cusp of womanhood . . . he almost burst out laughing, himself.

"At any rate," said Draco in a strained voice, "I really did mean it when I said I couldn't invite myself to her house, Harry."

"Now, that would be quite right," said Snape, nodding. "I don't know about Muggles, but by wizarding norms it would be very ill-mannered indeed--"

"I thought you were going to stay out of this."

Snape glanced at Harry, his dark eyes enigmatic. "I don't want your brother using me as a reason for how he proceeds with his petite amie, but I think I did mention that I think it would do the two of you some good to bond."

"Like going out on his date would help us bond. Sure."

"Draco has asked you for a favour."

Shite. Snape would have to put it that way. What was worse was that Harry could see that his father had a point. But that still didn't mean that Harry wanted to be a fourth wheel to this Cecile's third.

He glanced at Draco, his expression apologetic. "I can understand that you need the help, but I don't really want to go on a double-date, even so. I . . . um, I'm not very good with girls."

"It wouldn't be like a date at all," said Draco at once, shaking his head even as he flashed Harry what looked like an encouraging smile. "More like some friends going out, I think. Though Rhiannon and I are more than friends, obviously."

"Yeah, you'll probably go off and snog and leave me wondering what the hell to say."

The look that crossed Draco's face said he had been planning to sneak off alone with Rhiannon. But clearly, if what it took to get Harry to come along was to promise otherwise . . . "I won't, all right? It'll be the four of us. Come on, Harry. I thought I might take Rhiannon dancing after dinner. Don't you want to come out to a club?"

"A club filled with Muggles, you realise."

Draco quirked a smile. "A club filled with Rhiannon. That's all that matters. Look, she told me that Cecile is really very pretty--"

"And has a wonderful personality," finished Harry dryly. "All right, fine. I'll go, if only to stop you from begging for the next five hours."

"I didn't beg," said Draco. "But . . . thanks, Harry."

"You're welcome."

Snape glanced at both of them. "But I'll still meet you an hour past midnight, outside the sweets shop three streets back from the theatre? And we'll Apparate home together."

Draco nodded, though he looked as though he couldn't wait for his birthday. Actually, Harry got the feeling that Draco had several reasons to feel that way. But that wasn't so strange, was it? Harry felt the same way a lot of the time.

It was tough being almost-but-not-quite an adult. Especially for Harry, who'd been given the responsibilities of an adult a long time past. Well, some of the responsibilities, anyway.

Snape nodded, apparently content with everything they'd arranged. "So, have you had any lunch? Harry was just about to put together some sandwiches."

"I think I'm still full from breakfast, actually."

"Yeah, those were good omelettes Dad made," said Harry. Who would have thought that ricotta and rosemary would go really well together? Well, who except a Potions Master. "But I'm still a little peckish. And you should eat before you go meet Rhiannon, right? You don't want your stomach to sound grumbly."

Draco looked horrified at the mere idea. "No, certainly not. Well, make me a sandwich as well, then. Paté de fois gras and do be sure to cut off the crusts, and--"

"If you don't stop bossing me about, I'm going to tint your sandwich crimson-and-gold. You're getting chopped chicken with salad cream, the same as we're eating."

Draco opened his mouth, but perhaps this time he believed Harry about the colours. "Fine," he said shortly. "I need to go freshen up. And then I'll eat, and then, we're going to talk about what you wear to come out with Rhiannon and me. Because that won't do." He pointed at Harry's wrinkled, stained tee-shirt.

"Prat," said Harry.

"Heathen," sniffed Draco.

"Idiot children," said Snape, shaking his head.

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

Harry swung his legs as he sat on the slatted wood bench, and resisted an urge to check his watch again. "Maybe we can leave her a note and go have a drink in a pub," he weakly joked.

"We're staying here until that Adrian lets her out," said Draco, brushing his hair back with a hand. "I don't care if we have to wait another five hours."

"All right, all right." Harry went back to staring up and down the street. Of course, there were loads of things he'd like to talk about with Draco, but he couldn't start conversations about any of them, not here. Classes, Quidditch, even the fact that he had to make sure he kept up with some wanded spells from time to time . . . no, he couldn't let the Muggles passing by overhear any of that.

And until he was just a little older, he couldn't cast a discreet privacy charm, either.

Harry sighed. No doubt about it; he really could understand Draco's impatience to turn seventeen.

"Oh, stop it with the heavy sighs," said Draco, throwing him an irritated glance. "She's only twenty minutes late."

"So far."

"And it's not her fault. She can't ditch out of rehearsal early, not even for me." Strangely enough, Draco looked pleased by that. "She has standards. She has respect for her craft. She's going to be a great success in professional opera. I just know it."

Personally, Harry had thought Rhiannon's performance good but not stellar, but then again, he did know that he wasn't the best judge of mouldy old songs that nobody but stuck-up prats could appreciate, anyway. Though Rhiannon hadn't seemed that stuck-up, come to think of it. She'd definitely been upset with her uncle for making her humiliate Snape, like that.

A topic they could discuss, Harry decided. "Dad took all that pretty well," he said. "You know, what happened at the pool."

Draco's lips twisted. "The real question is if he'll go in the water again."

"Oh, he will," said Harry. "He'll want to be near me in case I need help."

"Bit daft, that." Draco leaned back and crossed his arms. "It's bloody obvious you aren't going to drown. Your lessons are coming along very well, I think."

"Yeah, they are." Harry shrugged, knowing it was true. But still, some part of him liked the idea that his father was so protective. Maybe that was because the Dursleys hadn't cared at all if he'd drowned. If they'd cared, they'd have paid for swimming lessons for him as well, right?

Well, enough of that. Harry tried never to think about the Dursleys if he could avoid it. He was thinking of them more and more lately, though. Marsha's fault, he decided.

"So, what were you and Severus doing outside when I arrived?"

Harry shrugged. He couldn't very well say they'd been discussing his magical needs. "Oh, a little of this, a little of that."

"That clears it all up."

"Talking about my hands, then. That should clear it up. They started aching a bit today. But don't worry; we got it sorted."

Draco slanted him a look, his forehead wrinkling. "Sure?"

"Yeah. Everything's fine."

"Good." A moment later, Draco was rising to his feet. "There she is."

Harry got up too, and saw that Rhiannon was standing outside the stage door in the alley, talking with a tall, thin bloke who looked to be about thirty or so.

Draco scowled. "Don't know who that is."

"Probably someone in the new opera you said she was rehearsing."

"Didn't see him, not when I went to that rehearsal."

Harry didn't know what he could say to ease Draco's obvious jealousy. "Um, maybe that's because he's not there every time. Maybe he's the costume designer. I bet he's gay."

Draco slanted him a glance. "Being interested in fashion doesn't mean that."

Obviously not, considering the way Draco liked to obsess over his wardrobe, as he put it. Though in his case, Harry frankly suspected it was insecurity driving everything. Draco had actually wanted to wear formal clothes out on his date with Rhiannon--the same Muggle suit he'd bought to wear to the opera. Harry had finally managed to convince him that a Muggle girl--or a Muggle-raised girl, as Draco persisted in calling her--would think that very odd.

They'd ended up compromising. Draco was wearing tailored grey trousers instead of jeans, but he'd topped them with a collared short-sleeve shirt made of a clingy knit fabric. Green, of course, but not the usual forest or emerald huge. The shirt was a soft shade of sage which "brought out his eyes," Draco had said.

For all that, though, he'd been frowning as he'd buttoned the collar all the way up. To hide his scar, Harry had assumed, though it had barely showed at all.

Well, Draco was sensitive about it.

He'd looked himself over very critically, then. Only when the mirror had cooed at him had he seemed satisfied.

But now, it looked like his insecurities were going to come roaring to the surface. And all because Rhiannon Miller was talking to another bloke.

"Look, she doesn't seem the slightest bit interested in him, does she?" asked Harry in the most reasonable tone he could. "They're just talking."

"Yeah, maybe," said Draco. Harry thought he still looked a bit disturbed, but at least he had the sense to wipe that expression clear off his features when Rhiannon turned and gave him a little wave. A few moments later, she finished her conversation and made her way over to the bench.

"Harry, I'm so glad you could come," she said, almost gushing. "I know Cecile will be very happy to meet you."

Harry felt like saying something surly in reply. He really had no interest at all in meeting this French girl, or whatever she was. But he also knew he couldn't sabotage Draco's date with Rhiannon.

"Oh, well, a night out on the town sounded like great fun," he said, trying to sound like he meant it.

Rhiannon moved closer to Draco, her smile growing wider, her voice sounding almost sultry. "Hi, again."

Draco grinned and pulled her into his arms.

Embarrassed, Harry looked the other way while they kissed. Not just a hello kiss, either. There was definitely tongue involved. And judging by the small purring noises Rhiannon was making, she liked it that way.

Harry couldn't help but remember his own kissing experiences with Cho. She had certainly never sounded like she was enjoying herself so much.

All at once, he felt very uncomfortable. Draco really seemed to know what he was about, and Harry had basically fumbled his way through from start to finish. It was no wonder he didn't have the slightest interest in getting involved with someone again, so soon after that experience.

And no wonder at all that he wished he hadn't come along to partner this Cecile person.

"Sorry," said Rhiannon breathlessly. She was tapping him on the shoulder, Harry dimly realised. "Didn't mean to let it get out of hand. It's just . . ." She laughed a little, and whispered the rest, though since Draco was less than three feet away, Harry was sure he'd still heard. Perhaps that was even the point. "Your brother here is irresistible."

Harry could have done without hearing that.

And he definitely could have done without Draco's smirk.

But then again, Draco looked really, really happy. And Harry hadn't seen him that way very often. The past year had been awful, and if Draco needed a new romance to get over it . . . if he needed a break, like Marsha had said, well, Harry decided he could hardly begrudge him one.

Particularly when it was likely to be so short-lived, as it was. The second it dawned on him that Rhiannon was a Muggle through and through, he'd drop her like a broken wand.

Harry just hoped that he didn't do anything worse than break her heart. It did look to him like she was . . . well, perhaps not in love. But she was at least partway there. And if Draco got angry with her, if he decided that she been leading him on, pretending she was a witch, or some such nonsense . . . things could get ugly. Very ugly.

He thought of the way Nott had sworn that he'd laugh if Harry claimed that Draco didn't have a violent bone in his body. Nott, who'd lived in the same dormitory with Draco for years and years. He'd known what he was talking about. It hadn't been long after that remark that the whole Venetimorica mess had come up.

Harry almost winced, remembering how it had come up. Literally, Draco bent over that bucket as he paid for his crime.

Well, perhaps he'd learned his lesson.

That didn't mean Rhiannon wouldn't get hurt, however. Draco didn't need poisons, really; his cutting remarks could be enough to wither you. He knew how to be just awful to people; Harry understood that firsthand.

But he wasn't being awful now. He was obviously making Rhiannon very happy. And she was doing the same for him. And given all that, Harry just didn't have the heart to keep on resenting the relationship.

Though that didn't mean he couldn't give a little smirk, himself. "Irresistible, eh?" Harry slanted Draco a glance, speaking lightly. "Good thing the two of you can agree on things."

"Why, you--"

Rhiannon, though, just giggled. It should sound ridiculous, Harry thought. She was older than both of them, after all. But she knew how to carry it off.

"So, where are we meeting Cecile?" asked Draco, grasping her hand and threading their fingers together. "Harry's just dying to meet her. Ever since I mentioned her, he's been clamouring for more information. Blonde, redhead, brunette; short, tall; curvaceous or slender . . . you know, that sort of thing."

Huh. Harry supposed he should have expected a little payback for his own remark. Though that did seem like more payback than he deserved, particularly when Rhiannon's eyes began sparkling as she shot him a glance.

"Oh, you'll just have to wait and see, won't you? I wouldn't dream of spoiling the surprise."

Surprise. That sounded ominous. "Where are we meeting her, anyway?" asked Harry, dispirited.

"Oh, she's coming 'round my uncle's house around five. Uncle Stanley said he wanted to chat with you before we go out, anyway, Draco, so that works."

The look on Draco's face was priceless, though of course he quickly masked it. Harry saw the truth behind his polite smile and slight nod, though. He'd rather eat a mashed flobberworm than have a chat with Rhiannon's Muggle uncle.

But now he was stuck. As far as Harry was concerned, it served him right. He had not wondered if this Cecile girl was curvaceous!

"Er . . . any idea why he wants to talk with me?" asked Draco, his voice tentative.

Rhiannon laughed again, though that time it wasn't quite a giggle. "Why do you think, silly? You mustn't mind him. He's ridiculously overprotective. Has this daft idea that my upbringing has warped my morals, or something."

Harry's eyebrows rose, but that was nothing to the look on Draco's face. Harry could tell, right then and there, that Draco wanted to ask, Has it?

Obviously, Draco would be happy getting more than kisses from Rhiannon.

The Slytherin boy cleared his throat. "What gives him an idea like that? The way you described Chatham, it doesn't seem the kind of place to . . . uh, warp one's morals."

Rhiannon tugged on Draco's hand and talked as they all began to stroll along. "Oh, he likes to talk trash about my parents. Different temperaments completely. I told you, they're artists. And rather . . . free-thinking, we'll say. Though he calls their way of life Bohemian. They named me after a Fleetwood Mac song, after all."

Harry knew he should probably keep quiet, but he couldn't stop himself from speaking. "They named you after a song, really. A song. Isn't that interesting, Draco? And there I'd thought she'd been named after a famous Welsh witch!"

Draco lifted his chin a fraction. "I think it's perfect. Your parents must have known you'd have fantastic levels of musical talent. Bit of clairvoyance there, if you ask me."

Harry almost rolled his eyes, which of course only encouraged Draco to elaborate. "Have you ever felt like people in your family could sense the future, Rhiannon?"

She shrugged. "Mum plays around with a Tarot deck sometimes--"

Harry cut in before Draco could run with that. "So, what's the song called? The one you were named after."

She started singing, very softly. "Rhi-aaaaaaan-non . . . you've heard it, right?"

Harry nodded. It sounded vaguely familiar. He'd probably heard it playing on a radio at some point.

"What about you, Draco?"

Draco gave her an apologetic half-smile. "I don't think so."

"Oh." Rhiannon appeared to be a tiny bit deflated. "Well, anyway, that's why Uncle Stanley wants to talk with you. My parents only just got married about five years ago, and he's seriously concerned I'll end up some sort of . . ." She flashed them both a grin. "Loose woman! Can you imagine, in this day and age? Honestly."

The shock in Draco's eyes was palpable. "Your parents have only been married for five years?"

"Yes, but they've been together for twenty." Rhiannon shrugged. "Marriage isn't really about the piece of paper, you know."

Something clicked in Draco's expression, then. Harry didn't need to wonder what. It was just what they'd all come to understand about adoption, after all. That wasn't about having a certificate "embossed and suitable for framing," either.

"Love and commitment is what really matters, of course," murmured Draco.

"I knew you'd understand." Rhiannon sighed, clearly pleased. "But don't feel you have to let Uncle Stanley know you do. He's very traditional and you'll get on better with him if he thinks you're the same. Not that it matters so much," she added, speaking quickly. "I don't care what he thinks. But if he likes you, it'll make things go more smoothly while I have to live with him."

"I think he already dislikes Draco, though," said Harry.

"Uncle Stanley just dislikes the idea that I might lose my virtue on his watch, as he puts it," said Rhiannon firmly.

"How could you lose your virtue on a watch?" asked Draco.

Rhiannon stopped walking and put her hand to her mouth. It was a moment before she could speak. "Is he always this funny?" she asked Harry.

"Oh, yeah," said Harry. That got him a bit of a glare from his brother.

"About my uncle, though, don't worry," said Rhiannon, turning back to Draco. Her blue eyes were sparkling again, but not with delight this time. It looked more like anger to Harry. "He'll be perfectly satisfied once he speaks to you. Just you see: your accent alone will win him over."

Rhiannon flushed as though she'd perhaps said too much.

"Rhiannon?"

"Oh, very well." She gave a longish sigh. "Embarrassing to admit things like this about your own family, but here goes. I couldn't give a hoot that the pair of you are rolling in wealth--"

Harry gaped.

"Oh, yeah. I told her about your fortune. Meant to mention it to you," said Draco.

Rhiannon sighed. "I shouldn't talk out of turn. But listen, Draco. My parents don't care about things like money and status, and neither do I, but my uncle's cut from a different cloth. Simple as that. He'll love the way you lilt your words."

"Your accent is a bit upper-crust," said Harry, mostly because Draco staring at her like he didn't know what she was talking about.

"Of course it is. Think of where I was raised, for pity's sake," said Draco, clearly annoyed. "Wiltshire," he added in an aside to Rhiannon.

To Harry's surprise, she shuddered a little, then got a determined look on her face, just like she had made up her mind to make the best of a bad situation.

"Your uncle's already heard me speak, though."

That had Rhiannon flushing even more. "Um, yes. And trust me, he's so shallow that your background really would be enough to win him over, except . . . except . . ."

She didn't seem able to say it, but Harry had a sudden flash of inspiration. All at once, he felt embarrassed for her. And more than a little angry, but not at her. Draco had been right at the pool; it wasn't her fault.

"All that fuss and bother over Severus yesterday!" Harry exclaimed, his voice grim. "Your uncle thought he looked dodgy, I bet. Is that the problem?"

"I told him he was a professor at an exclusive school," said Rhiannon, wincing much as she had the day before. "But he couldn't get past the long hair. Said that your father reminded him of my parents, actually. Well, your dad does dress a bit . . . creatively, you know. But it's ridiculous. How Bohemian could he be? He teaches chemistry, for God's sake, not modern poetry or something . . ."

Draco raised his voice, just a little. "Your uncle wants to make sure I'll treat you with proper respect because he assumed that Severus has corrupted my own moral values? Severus? He's off his head, thinking a thing like that."

"Look, he's a git," said Rhiannon desperately. "I'm sorry I even brought it up, but it's better to know how to talk to him, isn't it?"

Draco let go of her hand. "Oh, so you want me to disdain Severus, do you?"

"No, of course not!"

"Then what, exactly, are you proposing?"

Rhiannon looked like she was trying to swallow and having some trouble. "Er . . . don't know, really. I mean, you could try painting your father as very establishment despite the way he comes across. Though I can see that being a hard sell." She sucked in a breath. "You might consider stressing that most of your influences have been more of the Wiltshire variety."

Draco shoved his hands in his pockets. Deep into his pockets. "I'd rather make myself sick up!"

That said a lot, Harry thought. An awful lot.

"I'm very fortunate that Severus was there for me," continued Draco in a calmer voice. "Without him, I'd be-- never mind. I don't even want to think about it. Let's just say that my first father threatened to kill me and meant it, merely because I'd offended those Wiltshire values you're talking about. I'm not about to praise them, not to anyone, not even to get on with your uncle, who frankly sounds like-- never mind."

"I'm sorry." Rhiannon put her hand on Draco's bare forearm and rubbed it up and down. "I'm really sorry. I didn't mean that you should . . . I was just trying to help. I thought if you knew how best to speak to my uncle . . . I should have known better than to be thinking strategy, though. Forgive me?"

Draco remained silent for a moment, but then he shrugged and quickly kissed her again. "Usually I like thinking strategy, actually. This, though . . . it's a matter of loyalty."

"Yes, I can see that," breathed Rhiannon, so softly that Harry barely heard it.

"So your uncle may well hate me."

She shrugged. "You still have the accent. He'll respect that, I guarantee it. And in any case, if he tries to make me stop seeing you, I'll have my father give him a ring."

Harry had been trying to stay out of it, but he thought he'd better jump in before Draco asked something daft, like whether her uncle wanted an emerald or opal ring. "He'd listen to your father?"

"No, but I think he'd realise he'd stepped over the line if he had to listen to my father rail at him for trying to control my love-life, of all things. That wouldn't be reasonable even if Stanley Tilden were my father. Which he's not, thank God."

Draco suddenly brightened, his whole mood seeming to alter, his step swifter and more joyous. And Harry knew why. Two words.

Love-life.

Rhiannon had said love-life.

And Draco, quite clearly, was over the moon.

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

Cecile turned out to be nothing special, as far as Harry was concerned. Shorter than him, with shoulder-length brown hair and a habit of squinting a bit, he supposed the best word to describe her was nondescript. She wasn't ugly, but she didn't do anything for him, either.

Of course, he hadn't been introduced to her under the best circumstances.

On their walk to Rhiannon's house, they'd stopped by a stand selling fruit ices, and then they'd eaten them in a park. Harry couldn't help but notice that Draco absolutely stared at Rhiannon the whole time.

Harry wasn't sure whether to laugh or groan. It didn't take a genius to figure out what Draco was thinking about, after all. Rhiannon's pink tongue kept swirling over the surface of the ice as she licked it.

Harry didn't know if she was trying to be provocative or if that was just how she ate a fruit ice. Either way, it was getting to Draco in a big way.

By the time they reached Stanley Tilden's house, it was ten past five and Cecile was already there.

What ended up happening was that the moment they walked inside, Rhiannon's uncle strode into the front room and more or less demanded that Draco come into his study for a "man to man" talk.

The look on Draco's face was priceless. He'd never been inside a Muggle's house before, and he certainly wasn't accustomed to having a Muggle boss him about. He looked nothing less than outraged, but quickly schooled his features into more pleasant lines as he moved to follow Stanley Tilden from the room.

Harry stared after his brother, worried on so many levels at once that he almost felt winded. Any other Muggle who tried to tell Draco what to do would quickly find himself on the receiving end of a very nasty hex . . . and Draco did indeed have his wand with him. With his impulse control problems, the consequences of such a rash action might not be enough to keep him from making a serious mistake, especially if Rhiannon's uncle said something derogatory about Severus. Maybe Draco's feelings for Rhiannon would help him mind his manners, but they wouldn't help him with the other problem he faced, which was pretending to be a Muggle, himself. Rhiannon's uncle wouldn't have his thoughts clouded with infatuation, as she did. If Draco's remarks didn't quite add up, Stanley Tilden was bound to conclude that something was very, very wrong.

Harry just hoped that Ministry Obliviators wouldn't be needed.

Rhiannon was clearing her throat. Loudly. "Cecile Harris," she said, her tone sounding like it was the third or fourth time she'd said it.

Harry frankly didn't care if he impressed Cecile or not, but neither did he like the idea that she might think him rude. "Hallo," he said, thrusting out a hand. "Harry Potter."

Cecile shook his hand brusquely. "Yes, Rhiannon mentioned that."

Bit snide of her to point that out, Harry thought.

"Harry and Draco go to school up in Scotland. Their father teaches there," said Rhiannon. "Cecile, would you like something to drink?"

"I'll wait until we go out." Cecile moved to sit down, her legs looking a bit stubby when she crossed them. Maybe the shortish skirt she had on was responsible, Harry thought. It was a hideous plaid.

"Harry, something to drink?"

Harry would have liked a glass of water after his sickly-sweet fruit ice, but he didn't want to ask for one, since that would leave him alone with Cecile and he really had nothing to say to her.

As it turned out, he should have asked for the water after all, since Rhiannon's next words were, "Right, then. I'll just go freshen up for dinner then, shall I? Bit of a rough day at rehearsal, it was."

With that, she was gone, and Harry was left staring around at the walls. Huh. There were some photographs of Rhiannon hanging here and there. Harry had an odd flash of jealousy at that. This wasn't even where she lived, and she had her photo scattered about.

Harry was still pondering that when Cecile turned an expectant expression towards him. "Rhiannon said dinner. Where are we going?"

"Oh. Uh . . . don't know, really. I'm just along for the ride." Then, because Cecile was still looking like she wanted more of an answer, Harry turned the question around on her. "What would you like?"

Harry might not have asked if he'd known what a lecture would result. Cecile began holding forth on food for what seemed like forever, including such idiotic topics as exactly why Gujarati cuisine had Punjabi food beat, "hands down," as she put it.

Harry was just glad that he knew she was talking about Indian food.

But at least her obsession with the topic kept them busy for the ten additional minutes it took for Draco to return. He looked . . . well, Harry wasn't sure. Confident to the point of smirking, but something in his silver gaze was troubled, as well. Harry wanted to ask him what had happened, but it wasn't the kind of thing they could discuss in front of Rhiannon's slightly unpleasant friend.

"All set, then?" asked Rhiannon brightly as she came back into the room. She was wearing a gauzy tan skirt topped by a blouse that vaguely reminded Harry of something a gypsy might wear. Or maybe that impression had more to do with her hair, which was held off her face by an olive-coloured scarf doubling as a headband. "Shall we be off?" Then she glanced around and seemed to realise something. "Oh. This is Cecile Harris, Draco. Cecile, this is my boyfriend. Draco Snape."

Draco lost his troubled air completely, hearing that. Or at least it looked that way to Harry. And he only got all the more smug when Cecile gave him a close look. "So you're the one she won't stop talking about."

Rhiannon blushed a little.

Meanwhile, Draco shook the hand Cecile had thrust out.

"French food, then?" suggested Draco, glancing at Rhiannon as if for approval.

But it was Cecile who replied. "Ugh. Too much butter and cream."

"Nouveau cuisine," said Draco in a markedly cooler tone. "Something casual, considering how I'm attired." He turned to Rhiannon. "I don't know Exeter very well. Do you know a place?"

"Within walking distance?" She shook her head. "I could see if my uncle will lend me the car, though."

The man scuppered that plan, though. "Absolutely not," he said, scowling as he stepped out of his office, Rhiannon looking a little crestfallen as she followed him out. "Didn't realise you didn't have a car, though," he said, the comment clearly directed at Draco. Actually, it sounded more-or-less like a challenge. Like Draco damned well should have a car, and if he didn't, something was obviously wrong with him.

Draco shrugged, the motion so smooth that it probably looked natural to everyone else. Harry, though, could tell it was an act. He could also tell the Draco had suddenly started Occluding. No other reason why his lie should come out sounding so offhand. So truthful.

"I told you how strict our father is, sir. I'm afraid he's forbidden me the car until I bring my marks up to his very high standards. Which won't be until the next term ends, of course."

Ha. Draco was playing Stanley Tilden like the man was a violin, or something. Calling him sir no matter how much he detested Muggles, feeding his comments into the man's own apparent strictness with his niece . . . Harry had a sudden feeling that if Draco could make the wizarding public forget his ties to Death Eaters, he could be a very formidable politician.

"Quite right. Quite proper," said the uncle, nodding. "Rhiannon's parents ought to have been a bit more strict about marks, if you ask me. Music's not likely to provide much of a career, and when that happens, you're likely to need some real skills, aren't you?"

By the end, he had switched to talking directly to Rhiannon.

Harry was uncomfortably reminded of his own uncle, complaining to Snape about Harry, while Harry stood right there, listening.

Rhiannon seemed to be used to it, just like Harry had been. "Yes, Uncle Stanley. We'll be leaving now, then."

"Home by twelve-thirty, Rhiannon, is that clear? One minute after and I'm liable to ground you next weekend. I'm not joking."

"Yes, Uncle Stanley," said Rhiannon again, smiling in a way that looked completely false. Harry had the feeling that she meant it to look that way.

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

They ended up walking some ways back toward the theatre, to a Greek restaurant Rhiannon mentioned she'd like to try. Harry liked the food, but he could have done without Cecile contradicting the waiter when he tried to explain some of the dishes to them.

At one point during the evening, he caught Draco's eye and clearly read the message there. I owe you.

Yes, you do, thought Harry. Cecile was turning out to be a real pain. The only thing he liked about her was the fact that she didn't seem interested in him, either. Which meant she probably wouldn't expect him to dance with her later. Or at least, Harry hoped she wouldn't.

Because it definitely seemed that they'd be going to some sort of dance club, later. Draco and Rhiannon had been talking about it for at least ten minutes, by then. Well, when they weren't openly making eyes at each other.

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

Rhiannon had told them of a club she knew of that was trendy but not gauche, she'd claimed. When Harry followed her inside, he saw that she'd been right. The music was loud and the place was crowded, but at least it didn't look like the Slytherin common room after a Hogsmeade weekend.

She grabbed Draco's hand and tugged until he grinned and whirled her out onto the dance floor, a move which looked frankly odd, given the frantic beat of the music that was blaring from enormous speakers set high up into the walls. Once Draco and Rhiannon were with the other people dancing, however, he took up the rhythm and blended right in, except for the fact that he kept hold of one of her hands as they danced.

Harry wasn't sure if he thought that was sweet, or just sort of strange.

"Drink?" he asked Cecile, mostly as a way of keeping them off the dance floor. If she'd been really good-looking and vivacious and exciting, then maybe he'd have wanted to dance with her, even though he'd never much liked it. But as things stood, he could easily do without.

"Huh?" Cecile cupped a hand to her ear, a gesture which was totally unnecessary since Harry couldn't hear what she'd said, either.

"Drink?" he tried again, shouting that time to be heard over the music.

"Maybe a shot of vodka," she said back, actually yelling. Almost screeching, Harry thought. He turned away to blunt the noise, or maybe to hide his surprise. He'd hadn't been thinking of alcohol.

On the other hand, maybe a drink or two would make her personality less grating. Harry nodded and wove his way over to the bar, where he ordered her a double. The barkeep gave him a bit of a look, but didn't ask for identification or anything. Good thing, too. Harry didn't have any.

Probably something he should remedy if he was going to spend much time in the Muggle world, he suddenly realised. Not that he planned to, but Snape had said once that the war might mean they'd have to hide among Muggles.

Cecile wasn't where Harry had left her. He had to hunt for a while, but then he found her in a smallish booth, where she was drumming her fingers on the table. Not that he could hear that. He could only see it.

Too long in the club and he'd go deaf. He just knew it.

Cecile took her drink and downed it in four quick swallows. "Nothing for you?" she shouted.

Harry slid into the booth, sitting opposite her. "Not thirsty."

For a few long moments, they sat there saying nothing. Harry didn't mind it. He was having a good enough time looking around the club. The silence, though, must have got old for Cecile, because after a while she reached across the table to tug on his sleeve.

Inwardly sighing, Harry looked across at her again.

"So, Scotland," she said, still shouting. "Never been."

"It's green," Harry shouted back.

It was ridiculous. Conversation would be almost impossible even if he wanted to talk to her. His ears were actually pounding with the music, now.

Fortunately, at that moment Draco and Rhiannon showed up, panting from their exertions out on the dance floor. Or maybe from something else, Harry thought, a little caustically. He'd lost track of them in the crowd and he wouldn't put it past Draco to take her off for a snog, no matter what he'd promised earlier.

"Sorry," shouted Draco, making a vague motion that could have meant anything. "Thought you'd follow us onto the dance floor!"

"Harry's not much for dancing, I don't think," yelled Cecile.

Draco more-or-less punched Harry in the shoulder. "Sit with Cecile so I can sit next to Rhiannon!"

No hope for it. Harry moved to the other side of the booth.

Rhiannon slid in first, then giggled as Draco scooted in right beside her, so close their legs and hips just had to be touching. "Great club," said Draco, loudly. Even so, Harry could barely hear him. "Great music!"

Rhiannon nodded enthusiastically, but then spotted Cecile's glass. "Oooh. Vodka, right? Sounds brilliant!"

Draco was shifting away from her almost at once. "I'll order us a round then, shall I?"

But Rhiannon was shaking her head. "Don't be daft. You paid for dinner and then paid our way in. The least you can let me do is get the drinks."

"It's no trouble--"

"It's no trouble for me, either," insisted Rhiannon, who proceeded to lower her voice a bit.

Harry was sort of glad the music was so loud, then. He didn't want to listen to Draco and Rhiannon argue. He didn't know what she was saying, but it must have been something scathing, from the way Draco's lips were tightening. After a moment, Draco appeared to deliberately calm himself. He slid out of the booth again so Rhiannon could get out.

She kissed him when she stood up.

Then she turned towards Harry and Cecile. "Come with me," she shouted, the comment clearly directed at her friend. "I need to fix my lipstick!"

Harry really didn't see why she needed Cecile along for that, but on the other hand, if it would get rid of the girl for a while, he was definitely in favour. He slid out of the booth as quickly as he could and sighed once she was gone.

Draco couldn't hear that, Harry knew, but he could certainly see it. "Sorry," he said, not quite shouting that time, but close.

Harry shrugged. He didn't want a romance, anyway, so it was just as well Cecile was the way she was. "Wonder if Rhiannon's going to come back with vodkas all around."

Draco's eyes gleamed. "What do you think Severus would do if we were drunk when he met us?"

Harry shuddered. "Good point," he yelled, since it seemed to him that the music was only getting louder. "No vodka for me, then--"

"Oh, one shot won't do anything, and we have hours left before we meet up with him!"

Hours. Hours with Cecile. Harry grimaced, thinking it just might be worth the lecture from Snape, if it meant he could get good and sloshed for the rest of his time with Cecile. Well, at least Rhiannon did seem very nice. Harry could see why Draco liked her so much, but he was afraid to say so, just in case his brother was still worried about Harry trying to steal her away. It wasn't like that.

"Do you really like the music?"

"Can't hear you!"

Harry took a deep breath and tried again, shouting even more loudly that time. "The music. You really like it?"

Draco's grin was lopsided and almost infectious. It made Harry happy to see his brother so obviously enjoying himself.

"It's wizard!"

Harry almost choked with laughter. Not just from Draco's comment, either. It was also from the way the other boy was practically dancing in his seat. No pretence at perfect manners or aristocratic coolness, now. Draco was bouncing his shoulders up and down in time to the pounding beat, and kind of swaying his neck from side to side. Harry wouldn't have been surprised to find out that Draco was also moving his legs, but of course the table blocked his view. Harry had to resist an urge to lean down and see. The idea of doing that, though, just made him laugh all the harder.

"Good thing they aren't back with those drinks, yet," shouted Draco. "I think you'd spew yours. Probably over Cecile!"

"Couldn't make much difference to her mood," said Harry, laughing again.

"Oh, looks like we're in luck," said Draco, half-standing to peer over the crowd between them and the bar. "Can't be sure, but I think the bartender is pouring something from a blender, and it looks like that was Rhiannon he just talked with--"

"Bit odd she demanded to pay like that," shouted Harry.

Draco shrugged. "She doesn't love me for my money, that much is certain. She hates it. I think she'd much rather I was in her same social class!"

When Harry thought about that, it made perfect sense. It explained the face she'd made at that mention of Wiltshire. It also moved her up a notch, in Harry's view. It would have been awful if her attraction to Draco had been  based, at least in part, on his obvious wealth. But if she disliked the idea that he had boatloads of money . . .

"I bet you've thought of this," Harry shouted, laughing again, "but if she feels that way, you'd better not give her that diamond necklace you bought her--"

Oh, God. Harry couldn't have stuck his foot in worse if he'd tried. Not his fault, really. He'd got used to shouting everything, what with the music blaring so loudly that he could barely hear himself think.

And that was just the trouble: the music had stopped in the middle of his sentence, but Harry had still been yelling.

You'd better not give her that diamond necklace you bought her . . .

Gulping, Harry turned around, hoping Rhiannon was still at the bar, distracted by the task of getting the drinks. No such luck, though. She was about fifteen feet away, two tall, curvy glasses in her hands. Cecile was carrying another two.

Cecile looked darkly amused, like she was thinking, This ought to be good . . . but Harry barely registered that. It was Rhiannon's expression that had him more concerned.

She was clearly aghast. And angry.

For a moment, Harry thought she was going to turn around and leave, just like that. But then she came forward, slamming the drinks down on the table so hard that something pink and frothy slopped onto its surface.

"Strawberry daiquiri?" asked Draco, pasting a weak smile on his face. "Good choice--"

"Shut up," hissed Rhiannon. "I can't believe you. After everything I told you, everything I said, you went out and bought me something dripping with diamonds? What is that if not showing off, just like those prats at school?"

Harry never would have guessed that he'd actually want that screaming loud music back, but he could have done with it, now. He didn't want to hear Rhiannon rail at Draco. In fact, it seemed wrong to sit here listening to it, even if Cecile clearly had just that in mind. She was gesturing for Harry to shove over in the booth.

Instead, Harry rose to his feet and took her firmly by the arm. "I think we'll dance for a bit," he announced, meeting Draco's eyes.

"Yeah, good idea," murmured Draco. "Rhiannon . . . it wasn't like that. Listen to me for a minute--"

That was all Harry heard. He yanked Cecile away from the table and got as far away as he could, as fast as he could, ending up on the edge of the dance floor, impatiently tapping his foot as he wondered how long it would be before they started up the music again.

Cecile handed him one of the drinks she was carrying, and began sipping her own. "Did he really?" she asked, clearly fascinated. "Actual diamonds? You weren't joking?"

The greed in her voice would be hard to miss, thought Harry, disgusted. She'd obviously be very happy to end up with a rich boyfriend. Huh . . . if Rhiannon had been a different sort of person, she'd have bragged to Cecile that Harry was rolling in money, too, and then Harry might have been faced with the unpleasant prospect of a Cecile batting her eyes at him and pretending to be interested.

Ick, yuck.

But Rhiannon wasn't the sort of person to be impressed by wealth. Or expect her friends to be, Harry suspected.

"I think that's Draco's business," Harry said firmly as he reached over the railing to set his drink down on an empty table. It had looked fabulous at first glance, but now, the idea of being anything less than clear-headed? Harry didn't want that. No telling what Draco was going through; for all Harry knew, Rhiannon might be breaking up with him. Harry had to be ready, in case Draco needed him. 

"If it's his business, then you shouldn't have been shouting it to the whole world, should you?" asked Cecile.

About half her drink was gone by then, but Harry wasn't about to make excuses for her behaviour. He gave her the coldest look he could manage. "I think you know that wasn't my intention."

The music started up again, then. Harry neatly plucked Cecile's glass from her fingers, and wasted no time in pulling her out onto the dance floor. It was better than talking to her, after all. In a moment they were surrounded, caught up in a crush of other dancers. Good thing. That way, Harry didn't feel like people sitting at tables were staring at him. They couldn't even see him.

Cecile was an excellent dancer, Harry had to admit a bit later, but as far as he was concerned, it didn't make up for her being a lousy person.

They danced a few times, and then Harry figured long enough had passed that they could return to the booth. When they got there, though, it was occupied by strangers; Draco and Rhiannon were nowhere to be found.

"Huh," said Harry, feeling flummoxed. Cecile didn't hear him, but he didn't particularly care. After what had happened earlier, he wasn't about to start shouting again. Not to mention, his throat still hurt a bit from all the yelling before.

Cecile didn't seem to mind shouting again. "Bet they went outside! Rhiannon wouldn't really want to talk in here, I don't think."

Harry nodded that he'd heard, and for lack of any better idea about what to do, headed toward a couple of empty chairs crammed into a corner. Sitting down, he turned slightly away from Cecile and pretended to be interested in watching the dance floor.

She got the message pretty quickly, and didn't say too much after that.

It seemed like a long time until he spotted Draco and Rhiannon coming back in. Worried, Harry sat up straighter and tried to glean what he could from his brother's expression. Hard to tell, really, what he was thinking. He didn't exactly look grim, but he did look like he was exercising some sort of iron control over himself.

Rhiannon, on the other hand, seemed relaxed enough. Amused, even.

Harry couldn't help but wonder what had gone on outside.

It was only much later that night, when he and Draco were in their beds for the night, that he found out.

"She was really upset about the pendant," Draco muttered, punching his pillow.

Even in the dim moonlight streaming through the window, Harry could see that his brother's forehead was scrunched up.

"She looked all right when the two of you came back in, though."

Draco sighed. And then he sighed again.

"What?"

"I did something that appalled her. But then after I explained, I guess she thought it was sort of sad and funny all at once."

Harry was afraid to ask.

Draco sighed a third time, then threw his blankets off and sat up on the bed, bending over his crossed legs. "She kept talking about the pendant like it was a whole string of gems, so I showed her that it was only a pendant, and then--"

"You had it with you?"

Draco shrugged as he glanced up. "Good luck charm. I wasn't planning to give it to her, or at least, not so soon, until you had to open your big mouth."

"Er . . . sorry about that."

Draco's lips twisted. "I'd like to hold it against you, but I know you didn't mean it. Couldn't help it. Anyway, though, when she saw it she was pretty well horrified even if it was just a single diamond. She started walking down the street, going on about how the money could have been put to much better use, how it could have been used to help people, and how she didn't need any help and how she might be poor but she was managing just fine, thank you very much."

"You knew all that already, though," said Harry, hating the way Draco's voice sounded so . . . so pained.

"You haven't heard the worst part."

Harry braced himself, sitting up with his legs hanging over the edge of the bed. "Well?"

"She just kept talking about how there were people in this world for whom the price of the pendant could make a world of difference, and how if I didn't understand that she wasn't even sure she wanted to know me, and--" Draco winced. "Well, what was I supposed to do when I saw this grubby-looking man sitting on the corner with a sign that said he'd work for food? I mean, really! What was I supposed to do? I thought she was hinting, honestly! So I gave him the pendant!"

Harry's mouth fell open. "You gave him the pendant? The pendant that cost--"

Draco's head shot up. "Yes, I did! Why shouldn't I? Rhiannon didn't want it. Acted like she couldn't stand the sight of it! And she was accusing me of never thinking of anyone except myself, and I decided I'd prove to her that I could do something for somebody in need!"

"All right, all right," said Harry in the most calming voice he could manage. Now that he was over the initial shock of hearing what Draco had done, he was having a hard time not laughing. But that wouldn't help his brother feel any better. "So . . . I'm guessing Rhiannon didn't react so well."

"She called me an idiot," said Draco in a dull voice. "Said that the man was a drug addict, and was going to sell the pendant to buy drugs or booze, and I'd just made his life worse, not better."

"You didn't take the pendant back?"

"He'd run off by then. While Rhiannon was yelling at me." Draco started rocking back and forth over his legs. "It was awful."

Sometimes, Harry thought, it helped a person just to talk. Talk it all out. He'd learned that from Marsha, but he tried not to sound too much like her when he prompted, "But she got over it, obviously."

"After I explained, yes." Draco grimaced. "I told her I'd never seen anybody like that before, and explained a little bit about what life was like in Wiltshire."

Harry gasped. "Not about--"

"No, no, of course not. The manor. The grounds. How it wasn't my fault I didn't know so much about what it was like not to have money, and I'd just been trying to help that man, and I was sorry if I did it all wrong."

Draco stopped rocking and looked over at Harry. His smile was a little rueful. "After I talked for a little while, she seemed to understand that I hadn't given it to him because I was trying to get even with her for not wanting it. And then . . . I, uh, well, I felt like I had to say something that would impress her, so I told her about endowing the orphanage. You know, the squib home? Except, I didn't mention squibs, of course."

Harry cleared his throat. "Um, you didn't really endow the home, Draco. Walpurgis Black did."

"With my money."

"It wasn't, and you know it."

Draco brushed his hair away from his eyes. "Yes, I know you think that. Well, you'll love this part, then. She wants to see it."

"The squib home?"

"Yes, and I think I can arrange a visit if I do make a sizeable donation, so I'm about to endow them again. Of my own volition, this time."

"I didn't get the feeling they let in anybody who wants to come."

"Ha." Draco yawned. "Just you wait and see. You might have plenty of money, but you don't have the slightest idea what you can do with it. Darswaithe will be glad to give Rhiannon and me a guided tour. I guarantee it. Of course, it won't hurt that with him I can apply a little bit of pressure of another sort. He might not actually remember hexing you, Harry, but you can believe he was told about it when they were investigating the incident. And he knows that my own hex took him down. Huh. I probably don't even have to endow the place, after all. I'd bet my vault that I could wrap Darswaithe around my wand with just a few words."

"Draco--"

"Oh, I'll endow it. Don't worry. I'll want them to talk up the donation to Rhiannon, after all. And besides . . ." Draco lay back down, rolling over on his side, facing Harry. "A few well-placed Galleons always make things go so much more smoothly."

It was a wonder Draco could still think that, after the evening's pendant fiasco, Harry thought. But a donation to the squib home was a good idea in any case, so he couldn't get too worked up about it.

Draco stifled another yawn. "Goodnight, Harry."

"Goodnight."

It wasn't, though. Harry dreamed about being in the hospital wing again, Snape and Draco sitting on either side of him, holding his hands.

He woke up in a cold sweat, heart pounding, struggling to remember his dream. But that was all there was to it: just that one scene, flashing through his mind.

Frowning, Harry reached for the vial of Dreamless Sleep he kept in the drawer of his night table.

"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 déjà 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.

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

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 clichés. 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.

"So, how did it go?" asked Harry as he towelled off his hair after his Wednesday morning swimming lesson. "Did Darswaithe agree to let you and Rhiannon visit the home?"

Harry couldn't help but notice that as Draco talked, his gaze kept straying toward the lifeguard chair over at the children's pool. "Of course. All I had to do was give him the vau-- er, the financial draft I'd prepared. He said he'd be delighted to give Rhiannon and me a guided tour. Tomorrow morning, in fact."

Harry frowned a little. "I thought you must be having trouble persuading him. You've been gone longer than I would have expected."

"Oh, that." Draco gave a little laugh. "I told Darswaithe that I wanted it to seem like I'd been to the home quite a bit. Volunteering, you know. So he showed me around again. I saw loads of things they didn't cover that time you and I visited. And he let me stop in and talk with some of the students so it would seem a bit like I knew them, right?"

As far as Harry was concerned, that all added up to one thing. "Must have been one bloody big draft. Just how much are you donating to the home?"

Draco lowered his voice. "Never you mind. I can afford it; that's all that matters."

Harry mentally shrugged. None of his business, really, what the number on the vault draft had been. He sort of agreed with Rhiannon on this one, anyway. Better a sizeable donation to a worthy cause than another diamond pendant. Not that Draco was likely to buy her another one of those, anytime soon. "So, are you and Rhiannon going off for lunch together, then?"

"I think so. I mentioned it when we first arrived this morning. She said she wanted me to try something called a 'samosa.' Personally, I think it sounds hideous."

"No, they're great. I had one, once." Harry smiled just thinking about it. Not all his outings with the Dursleys had ended in disaster, after all. That day had actually been a pretty good one. No accidental magic, nobody yelling at him. Uncle Vernon had even clapped him on the shoulder at one point, and said something vaguely positive. Harry had left the street fair feeling like life might be all right, after all.  

Of course, the very next day Dudley had planted a gum wrapper in Harry's cupboard, and Harry had caught hell for "stealing" Dudley's sweets.

Harry shook off the memories, good and bad. "What are you going to do until she gets off work?"

"He's going to read, I do believe," announced Snape in a hard voice as he walked up. He thrust something out as he spoke. A book, Harry saw. "You forgot this at home."

Harry had wondered where Snape had got to. It seemed like he'd popped back to the cottage while Harry had been distracted talking with Draco.  

"Yes, sir," said Draco, his voice pitched low.

Curious, Harry darted a glance at the title. Values Clarification for Teenagers, it read. Huh. Must be one of the books Snape was considering for the new course he was going to teach. "Didn't you read that one already?"

Draco nodded, looking like he was hoping for some support.

Not likely, not once Harry heard what Snape had to say. "Based on our conversation the day before yesterday, he skimmed it, at best. And why was that? Ten guesses, Harry. Though I hazard you'll need only one."

The look on Draco's face gave everything away. "You read the author's page first, didn't you?"

Draco raised his chin. "Basic research methods. Consider the source."

Obviously, the author was a Muggle. Harry sighed, feeling such a mix of things that he hardly knew how to sort it all out. He was annoyed with Draco, obviously, but proud of his father for considering a text by a Muggle. Snape had his own prejudice to deal with, as Harry well knew; it just wasn't as pronounced as Draco's was.

"Read the text in depth this time, no matter your personal view of the author's credentials. We'll talk again this evening."

Draco reached out to snatch the book, his every movement screaming resentment.  

"Any more bad attitude and you can stay at home from now on while I take Harry to his lessons."

Draco glared. "Don't treat me like a child."

Then don't act like onewas the retort Harry was expecting. Instead, Severus raised an eyebrow. "You aren't seventeen, yet. Or are you?"

Draco opened his mouth, looking as though he had quite a lot to say on that topic. Like he knew something that would shut Severus up straight away, actually. In the end, though, he merely hung his head a little and murmured that he'd read the book properly, this time.

"See that you do," said Severus crisply. "Well, Harry, do you fancy coming back for free swim, then? After lunch?"

"If you'll swim, too. And I mean swim, not just sit in the water."

"You drive a hard bargain."

"Oh, you mean because of--" Harry chewed his lip. He liked the feeling that he could say anything at all to his father, but he had a feeling that some things were better left unsaid. Reminding Severus of what Rhiannon's uncle had said about his appearance . . . no. Definitely not.  

Not for the first time, he wondered . . . really wondered, what Snape had against hair-washing. Maybe he just didn't want to appear to care what others thought of him, since he didn't care.

Draco had fewer reservations when it came to saying things out loud, obviously. The old impulse-control problem, Harry decided. Either that or he was trying to get even for the remark about his age. Which was odd, wasn't it, considering he wasn't seventeen yet.

"If I can stomach this book then you can manage to wash your hair for once," the other boy announced. "And don't threaten me with lines for saying that. It's just the truth."

"Draco," said Harry, shaking his head.

Snape, though, merely narrowed his eyes. "Well, well. If my hair is so very much in need of cleansing, perhaps I'll borrow your very special shampoo."

"If that's what it takes."

Draco's tone sounded more than a little defensive, Harry thought. Almost as if he was cornered and he knew it. Which didn't make any sense, so Harry dismissed it. He had a feeling, though, that he'd been missing some undertones throughout the whole conversation. Well, that was nothing new. Draco and Snape often spoke to each other in strange tones of meaning only a Slytherin could really follow.

A full Slytherin.

"I'm starving," Harry complained. "I swam laps during most of my lesson, and then I did more of them while waiting for you to get back here."

"Be happy your swimming skills are so good. You could have been blowing bubbles the whole time, you know--"

"Prat. That was daft, but Roger only had me do that right at first and you know it--"

"It's an important precursor skill," said Roger, coming up to them.  

Harry felt his cheeks heating a little. He hadn't meant to sound like he was complaining.  

Roger seemed to take pity on him. "Listen, Harry. In my view, you don't properly need lessons any longer. You fall overboard, you won't drown. But more lessons will help you become a stronger swimmer, certainly. That's why I'm starting to insist on so many laps."

"And quite right you are, Mr Yates," said Snape smoothly. "I'm pleased by Harry's progress, but as you said, I'd hardly wish to discontinue lessons."

"Great. So I'll see you on Friday, then." Roger nodded once, then walked towards the children's pool, where he stopped to speak with Rhiannon. Harry frowned, remembering how annoyed Draco had been when "his girl" had talked to that other man outside the theatre.

"Harry and I will be off, then." Snape turned toward Draco. "I'll expect a much better discussion, later this evening, of that book. Read it until your girlfriend has her lunch break, and then again during free swim."

"I thought I'd lie out in the sun--"

Severus' voice all at once became suffused with humour. "You can't read lying down? This is fascinating. I shall have to inform Madam Pomfrey of a possible balance disorder--"

"He just doesn't want to look like a Poindexter."

Harry laughed when his father and brother both turned confused faces his way. "A nerd, a dweeb, a geek--"

"No more slang when we play Scrabble next," said Draco. "You know too many strange words."

"At least I don't make them up, Mr Quizzex."

Draco shrugged. "That's what you get for agreeing to play without dictionary char-- er, I mean, charming dictionaries to verify every word. Anyway, you meant?"

"You don't want to be seen reading. You're afraid people might think you're an egghead. Or a Hermione, I mean."

"Ha, very funny. I'll have you know that I don't mind in the least if people, as you put it, see that I have an intellectual side."

Draco didn't actually tack so, there onto the end, but he was thinking it. Harry could tell.  

"Good," said Snape crisply. "Because I expect a thorough analysis of that book this evening, as I said." He leaned over a little. Not exactly breathing down Draco's neck, but close. "And if I don't get what I want, I'll assign you to read the book once more and report on it in writing."

By the end there, Harry was feeling a little sorry for Draco, even if he had brought this all on himself by giving the Muggle-written book short shrift. Wrapping his towel around his shoulders, he said he'd be back in a flash.

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

Free swim had been both better and worse than the previous time, Harry thought later. Draco had spent most of his time reading, or looking like he was trying to, anyway. His gaze, though, kept wandering away from his book. It was like he was trying to catch Rhiannon's eye, but she was sitting with her back to the main pool, so there wasn't much chance of it happening. But Draco kept trying, all the same, astrange look on his face. Sort of like he was drunk or something, Harry thought. The small smile curling his lips could only be described as . . . well, goofy. Harry didn't know a better word for it.

Of course, Draco didn't constantly look like that. Most of the time his expression was neutral. Guarded, even. But then Rhiannon would shift in her chair a bit, looking like she might turn 'round, and that distant, almost drugged look would slip into Draco's eyes.

Harry didn't know what was going on, but it seemed clear enough that something had happened during Draco's lunch date with Rhiannon. Something that meant a lot to Draco. Maybe she told him that she loves him, Harry thought. Or maybe Draco declared his love, and she liked hearing that, and Draco could tell that she liked it . . .

"Staring at him won't make him stare at her any less," said Snape, moving through the water until he blocked Harry's view of his brother.

"Yeah . . ." Harry cleared his throat, uncomfortable without knowing why. "Um, you think you can let him stop reading for a while? That diving game was good--"

"He's occasionally reading. I'd rather we let him be."

Harry sighed. "All right. It's just . . . what do you think is going on?"

"You really can't guess?" Snape's eyebrows drew together as if he thought he'd said too much. "Why don't we race, you and I? The length of the pool and back, crawl stroke."

Harry knew that his father had changed the subject on purpose, but he didn't really mind. It was better than wondering what was going on with Draco and his goofy smiles. "Race? You and me?"

"That was the general idea, yes."

Harry could have done without the drawl. Or the slight smirk, come to think of it. And while racing didn't sound half bad . . . "I'm just a beginner! You'll wipe the floor with me, like when we play chess. Every time we play chess. I won't stand a chance."

"Come now. Where's your daring? Your defiance of all odds? Do your house proud."

"Houses."

"Yes, you're both. So . . . you're too cunning to risk a loss and the attendant blow to your pride, is that what you mean?"

It hadn't been, but it sounded good. "Yeah."

Snape's voice dropped to a low drawl. "I see. You want incentives."

Harry laughed and splashed a little water his father's way, which made Snape move to one side. "What could those be? Don't you get it? I have what I've always wanted."

"Oh yes, he's cunning, all right," called Draco from where he was stretched out on a towel, his ankles crossed as he lay on his stomach. Harry had the feeling that his brother was posing, just in case Rhiannon happened to turn around.

Snape's teeth glinted. "There's value in reticence, sometimes. Perhaps Harry has concluded that I'll offer better incentives if he doesn't ask for any."

That sounded good, too. Not for the first time, Harry was impressed with the way his father could strategise. "Yeah, that's right. That's what I was thinking."

"I do believe you should study this chapter on lying," said Draco. Loudly.  

"Just make sure you study it. Thoroughly." Snape's voice sounded a little dark, but he seemed to relax when he turned back to Harry. "Now, as for these incentives you've been hinting at . . . what about dropping by Privet Drive again, this time asking your cousin to dine out with us?"

It wasn't lost on Harry that the offer was a significant one. He knew that his father didn't much care for Dudley, and only tolerated him for Harry's sake. Which made it doubly hard to say, "His diet . . . he's supposed to avoid carbohydrates, right? Dudly said it was really hard to do that in restaurants."

Snape snapped his fingers. "That's quite manageable."

Harry widened his eyes. "Really? You mean you can . . . " He lowered his voice. "You know, do something to take all the carbohydrates out of his food?"

"I was actually thinking we could find a restaurant that specialises in salads. A great many edible plants suit his criterion."

"You've taken the time to look into the kind of diet Dudley's on?"

Snape somehow sounded amused and impatient all at once. "You really don't understand my line of work, do you?"

Oh, so it was a Potions thing. Harry decided he was touched, anyway. "Dinner sounds brilliant, but we have to make sure Piers doesn't invite himself out with us. I don't want to spend any time with him."

Snape looked at him closely, then shrugged. "There's no reason he should expect to be invited. He isn't family."

"Well, neither is Dudley. I mean, not to you."

"On the contrary. He's my son's cousin."

Oh. That was a nice way to put it. Harry felt like the pool water had just got a little bit warmer. Though he couldn't help but call over to Draco, "Did you hear that, you eavesdropper? Dudley's your brother's cousin, which makes him your cousin, too!"

Draco gave a little shiver, and didn't reply. His finger looked contemptuous as he flicked it over the pages to turn them. How a finger could look contemptuous, though, was beyond Harry to explain. He just knew that Draco's had.

"Not terribly noble to taunt your brother," said Snape quietly. He gestured for Harry to move with him to the opposite side of the pool. Deeper water; Harry ended up treading it while Snape leaned up against the concrete edge of the pool.

Harry kept his voice very low. "I'm not trying to taunt him. I just want him to wake up and realise he's dating a . . . you know."

"No doubt he will, in his own good time." Snape lifted his shoulders. "So. Shall we race?"

Harry nodded, pushing Draco's problems from his mind. He actually had to Occlude a little bit to make it work. Strange, thinking of fire when he was wet all over. "Yeah, I'll race you. But I want a head start. Half a lap, say."

"I knew you could drive a hard bargain when it suited you. But then, so can I. Suppose I win . . . what's to be my reward?"

Harry tried for an innocent tone, but wasn't so sure he succeeded. "Um . . . we can ask Marsha out for dessert?"

"She'll no doubt be taking dessert with Michael."

Was that Harry's imagination, or had Snape sounded just the tiniest bit annoyed? That didn't make sense, though, considering that Michael was a dog. Hmm . . . maybe Snape was just annoyed at the way Marsha had acted like she had a date, or something, that night. At any rate, Harry did know what his father would consider a good incentive. It had nothing to do with Marsha. "All right, all right. If you win I'll stop trying to make Draco see sense."

"Now that is quite the incentive." Snape raised an eyebrow. "Is it a promise you can keep?"

"Well, I can try."

"Try."

"I can try hard."

"I seem to recall your agreeing to all this, before."

The man's voice had been stern, that time. Stern enough to make Harry feel a bit guilty. "Well, learn by experience, right?" he quipped, even though he wasn't sure how it really applied in this case. "I'll try my best."

Snape gave him a dry look, then motioned for Harry to take the head start he had demanded.

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

Snape had won the race. At some level, that surprised Harry. He'd sort of expected his father to let him win. Maybe Snape had intended to, but had found Harry's incentive too tempting to pass up.  

It didn't really matter, though, since Harry wanted to do what would please his father, anyway. Pestering Draco about Rhiannon's obvious "Mugglishness" wasn't it.

"So, you and Rhiannon are going to the squib home tomorrow?" asked Harry brightly as he slathered some dressing on his salad, that evening. "Is she taking the day off work, something like that?"

"She can't." Draco made a face. "With that uncle of hers, I knew better than to even have her ask. So we're set for eight a.m., before the pool opens. Oh, by the way, both of you are coming along as well."

Harry glanced at his father, only to see Snape looking as surprised as Harry felt. "We are?"

Draco's own voice was airy. "Didn't I mention?"

"You know perfectly well you didn't mention," said Snape, sounding critical.  

"Well, I didn't think you'd mind."

"Draco, what's going on?" asked Harry, exasperated.

"You're coming to the squib home. Is it that difficult to comprehend?"

"Don't be like that. Why would you want us on your date?"

"It's hardly a date--"

"Draco." That was all Snape had to say. His tone said the rest.

Draco sighed. "Darswaithe insisted."

"Why?" That time, Snape and Harry spoke almost in unison.

"Oh, fine." Draco set his fork down with a clatter. "Humiliate me, fine. Go right ahead. Rub it in. The truth is, that stupid, stupid man said he wouldn't take my vault draft unless my father authorised such a sizeable withdrawal. Never mind that Severus doesn't have any control, nominal or otherwise, over my personal holdings. I told him that, but he didn't care. He kept going on and on about how he just had to have parental consent." Draco scowled.

"Of course he did," said Snape. "A a minor can rescind a contract unless a parent provides written consent."

"Yes, well I'm not exactly--"

Strange how Snape's voice could go from casual to menacing in about three seconds' flat, Harry thought. "Not exactly what, Draco?"

Draco heaved in a breath, his eyes going a little bit glassy. Like mirrors, almost.

He's Occluding, Harry abruptly thought. He's lying, and the way Dad's looking at him, I bet he knows . . . 

"I'm not exactly incompetent to handle my own finances. I've been doing it for years."

"Horace Darswaithe is merely behaving in a responsible manner."

Well, that was a more diplomatic way of putting it than what Harry had been thinking . . . namely, that Darswaithe probably suspected Draco would change his mind about the money once he'd got what he wanted. Once Rhiannon had seen the orphanage.

"He's behaving like a right pain in the arse." Draco drummed his fingers on the table, then abruptly shoved them out of sight. "But he did insist. So you'll come along, Severus? Note that I didn't call you Dad, given that I want something at the moment."

Ouch, thought Harry. That probably stings.

If it did, Severus didn't show it. "Yes, I'll come. And you, Harry?"

"Darswaithe didn't demand me, too."

Draco made a gagging sound, but cut it out when Snape gave him a sharp glance. "He didn't demand, no," said the boy in a subdued voice. "But he did wax poetic about how much he'd like to see Harry Potter again and how relieved he was that you seemed to have forgiven him completely for that contretemps at your interview, and what a lovely person you were and how I was really quite lucky to have you for a brother."

No wonder Draco was feeling a bit insecure at the moment. That probably explained the rudeness.  

"I'm lucky to have you for a brother, too," said Harry.

"Oh, please." Draco lifted his chin. "That is, you definitely are, but I don’t delude myself that you really think that. I'm the bad son around here; I'm likely the bad brother, too--"

"You aren't the bad son!" exclaimed Harry.

Draco shook his head like he didn't want to talk about it. Like he'd said too much, already.

"You aren't the bad son," Snape said, his voice as calm as Harry's had been vehement. "There is no such thing. Both you and Harry have good moments as well as less-than-shining ones. Now, I believe Harry needs to spend some time on his spell lexicon while you discuss values clarification with me, Draco."

Harry knew enough to recognise a blatant hint like that. He pushed back his chair and stood up.

Draco obviously wanted to stall, though. "What about the clearing away? My turn, I think."

That's a first, Draco practically demanding to do a chore.

"We'll have an amnesty on household work this evening," said Snape, giving a flick of his wand. The dishes began to sail towards the cupboards, cleaning themselves en route. Harry grinned. Sometimes, he thought he'd never get used to how . . . magical the wizarding world could be.

The charm was obviously lost on Draco, who clearly hadn't even noticed the spell. He was groaning, and rolling his eyes for good measure. "Oh, very well. The book, then. For a Muggle, it had some points to make, I suppose."

"The book isn't a Muggle," drawled Snape.

"Very funny."

"Let's start with the chapter you found the most interesting."

Harry was trying not to overhear--or at least look like he was-- as he walked away, but he almost snorted when he heard Draco's reply. He couldn't help it.

"Oh, that's easy enough to decide. Sexteen."

"Sixteen?"

"Sexteen. His title, not mine. What, didn't you read the book, Dad?"

"I certainly didn't notice any such ludicrous chapter title. But if you wish to discuss the chapter we shall, by all means. Merlin knows, you may well need the information, considering your current liaison with Miss Miller--"

"I told you, I don't kiss and tell," said Draco in a voice so smug it was smarmy.

Harry shut his door and leaned against it, feeling winded by all the undercurrents flowing through that conversation. Or maybe he felt short of breath because of something else. Now he knew what that goofy look on Draco's face had meant, earlier that day at the pool.

Draco had slept with Rhiannon Miller.  

Quite when, Harry wasn't sure, but he was certain of his conclusion. Draco had definitely gone all the way with the girl. That much had been obvious from the tone of voice he'd used, that you don't know as much as you think tone.

It's Draco's business, not yours, Harry told himself. Of course. Being brothers didn't give him the right to pry. But still, Harry couldn't control the awful sinking feeling in his stomach.  

Draco had slept with Rhiannon Miller, and when he found out that she was a Muggle, that he'd touched a Muggle, like that . . . oh, God. Harry had been worried before that Draco might react badly to the truth, but now he was sure that Draco was going to blame Rhiannon for everything. He'd probably kill her. Or maim her, at the least.

He was, after all, the same young man who had tried to poison the last people who had seriously offended him.  

And besides, when you were used to magic being a part of your daily life, you tended to think that what you did to people didn't really matter as much. Magic could undo most damage, so you didn't have to think as hard about not inflicting it in the first place.  

Draco was definitely used to magic solving things.

That wouldn’t matter to the Aurors, though. If Draco levelled his wand at a Muggle, with intent to harm . . .

Harry shuddered, and tried to get his mind off it. Nothing he could do about it at the moment, right? Probably, nothing he could do, full stop. He'd already tried telling Draco that Rhiannon was a Muggle. He'd tried dozens of times. Or seemed like, anyway. And he wouldn't listen, no matter what Harry said.

Draco was going to have to learn the truth for himself.

Harry just hoped that when Draco did, he wasn't alone with Rhiannon Miller.

A couple of hours later, Harry heard the door creaking open. He laid his spell lexicon aside, not that he'd got much done in any case. He couldn't concentrate on spells when he was so worried about his brother. He'd ended up talking the whole thing over with Sals.  

That hadn't done much good. The snake never had really grasped the difference between a wizard and a Muggle, after all.  

"Still up?" asked Draco lightly. The tone sounded forced.

"It's not even gone nine. Of course I'm up. Draco . . ."

"Don't. I don’t want to talk about it."

"It?"

Draco made a scoffing noise as he began to unbutton his shirt. "I can read you like a scroll, Harry. I know what you're thinking."

"You do?"

"Yes. And I'd just like to point out that if you keep playing the good son all the time, it doesn't leave a lot of room for me to be anything except the bad son, all right?"

Oh, that. Harry waved a hand sort of haphazardly. "I'm not that good a son. I mean, I promised Dad something today and I'm about to break it already."

"You're daft, then." Draco shrugged off his shirt, dropping it to the floor as though he still expected a house-elf to tidy for him.  

"I thought you didn't want me to play the good son."

"I also don't want you upsetting Dad for no good reason."

Dad. Harry almost gulped, considering how defensive Draco had been about the name, just a short while ago. But just then, he'd said it easily enough. "I have good reason. It's about Rhiannon. You . . . er . . ."

"I what?"

Harry meant to say something like You have to be prepared in case she's a Muggle like I thought, he really did. But somehow, what came out instead was, "You're sleeping with her, aren't you?"

Draco swivelled his head to stare straight at Harry, his silver eyes glittering. It seemed like it took forever before he replied. When he finally did, his voice was frosty, clear through. "And if I am? What's it to you?"

"I . . . God, Draco. You barely know her!"

"That's for me to judge, surely." Draco turned away and finished changing into his pyjamas. "I can't see that you have any cause for concern."

At that, Harry did gulp.

"Well? Do you?"

When it came right down to it, Harry found that he couldn't break his promise to his father. Not because he couldn't break a promise; he wasn't above that. He couldn't break this one, though, not when it wouldn't do any good. Draco wasn't going to listen to him. But if Harry wasn't going to bring up Rhiannon's Muggle heritage, then he had to say something to explain why he'd just asked what he'd asked!

"Er . . . I, um . . . I was wondering if you took the proper precautions, that's all," he said faintly.  

"Contraception spells?" Draco's eyes went a little bit glassy, again. "Assuming we've gone far enough to need them, what makes you think I could manage them without the Ministry jumping down my wand for unauthorised use of magic? Or did you think I found a way to bring my girl here without either you or Severus knowing?"

"I was thinking more about her." Harry swallowed. "I mean, Muggles have these pills, and there's always condoms--"

"This is really not something I care to discuss."

Harry felt his face flare again. He didn't think he'd ever been so embarrassed.  

"What's got into you, Harry? You don't have perfect manners by any stretch of the imagination, but this is a new low, even for you. If you were dating someone, I guarantee I wouldn't be asking if the girl puts out!"

"I didn't mean that--"

"Merlin's arse you didn't." Draco folded down the covers on his bed and slid underneath them. "She's a wonderful special person and we're in love, and that makes everything right, and that's all that matters. So you're not to give her any knowing looks tomorrow. Is that clear?"

"As if I would!"

"Because you don't know anything, anyway. All you have are assumptions."

By then, though, Harry had a lot more than that. Draco might like to tell himself that he didn't kiss and tell, but if you read between the lines . . . things were clear enough.

"Good night, Draco," he said, trying not to sound as worried as he felt.

"Good night." Draco's own voice was stiff.

It was a long time that night before Harry fell asleep and when he did, his dreams were filled with vague, foreboding images. A gigantic grandfather clock, several storeys tall, making a deep booming noise every time it chimed. Draco, sitting on the floor of his room in Slytherin, parchments scattered all around him as he rocked back and forth, back and forth. Hermione and Ron, arguing earnestly with Harry, saying over and over again, "But Harry . . ."

And Harry wouldn't listen.

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

The next morning they Apparated to Exeter, into the abandoned back alley they usually used, and walked from there to Rhiannon's house. She greeted Draco with a kiss that Harry was pretty sure was supposed to be a peck, but turned into something quite a bit more drawn-out. Her eyes were sparkling when she pulled away.  

"I missed you," Harry heard her whisper.

Draco's hand cupped her backside briefly as he murmured something against her ear.

Harry turned away, embarrassed. It seemed clearer than ever to him that Draco and Rhiannon were lovers, now. The mere fact that he would touch her so familiarly, and in front of Snape, too-- it spoke volumes, it really did.

Harry almost wished Rhiannon's obnoxious uncle was around, since he was pretty sure Draco would keep his hands off the girl in front of him.

"Shall we?" asked Snape, waving toward the door. "It's quite a walk."

Rhiannon glanced at Draco. "Too bad we can't--" She giggled a little, shaking her head as if she'd said too much.  

"Can't what?" asked Harry.

Rhianon's gaze grew flustered as she glanced frantically at Draco, clearly looking for some sort of guidance. "Can't . . . um, take the car. I do know where Uncle Stanley keeps a spare key, but he'd pitch a fit if I used it without permission."

She's lying, Harry recognised. Too bad we can't what . . .  Well, he didn't know what she was talking about, and didn't think he'd probably be able to figure it out.  

"It's not that long a walk," said Draco as he opened the front door and held it for her.  

Rhiannon nodded, but her glance at him as she passed him seemed to hold some secret depth of meaning that escaped Harry.

The pavement wasn't wide enough to walk four abreast, so Draco and Rhiannon led the way, their arms linked together as they all set off toward the squib home. Or orphanage, Harry told himself. Best not to call it that other name, not in front of Rhiannon. Hopefully, Darswaithe would know not to. Draco wouldn't have called her a Muggle, but he'd probably told Darswaithe that she was Muggle-raised, right? That she'd never been to Hogwarts, never even heard of it? That she didn't know the first thing about magic or squibs?

Harry slowed his steps a little to put some distance between Draco and himself, then quietly spoke to his father, walking beside him. "I'm a bit concerned that Darswaithe might say something he shouldn't. I mean . . . well, you know. The statute and all."

"Draco would have been sure to advise him on that, particularly once he knew that I'd been invited." Snape shrugged. "I doubt you have anything to worry about. Especially considering . . ."

"Considering what?"

Snape glanced over at Harry, his dark eyes gleaming. "Don't tell me you didn't notice."

"Notice?"

"The young lady's rather . . . erratic manner of speaking, a few moments past?"

Harry had noticed that, yeah. It would have been hard to miss. But he'd chalked it up to sex. Something to do with sex. Don't you wish we could . . . Harry hadn't seen her face when she'd said that, but she'd probably had bedroom eyes. Harry's throat went tight. This was awful. He wished he could be happy for Draco. Normally, he would be. But to have Draco fall so hard, so fast, for someone he was going to despise when all was said and done? Harry cleared his throat. "So she was a little bit on edge, or nervous, or something. What's that got to do with the statute, anyway?"

"She wasn't nervous. That comment about the car was pure fabrication."

Snape was pretty good at recognising lies, Harry remembered. He'd even known when Hermione had been lying during a seer dream. Not that Harrry could figure out what their talk of it being a long walk had to do with Rhiannon and Draco being lovers. "Um . . . why would she make up stuff about borrowing the car?"

Snape clicked his teeth slightly as he walked along. When he glanced at Harry, ahalf-smile was hovering on his lips. "She'd rather not have walked, yes. Not when she was wishing we could Apparate, instead."

Harry's mouth fell open. "He . . . she . . ." He glanced to the couple ahead of them to make sure they were still intent on their own conversation. Which of course, they were. Draco and Rhiannon had eyes--and ears--only for one another. They were holding hands now, their fingers twined together, their arms swinging in tandem. The whole thing looked like they wanted to find the nearest bed and tumble into it.  

"How do you know?"

Snape shrugged. "It was fairly obvious to me that Draco had demonstrated it to her. And who wouldn't want to Apparate, once they knew it to be an option? I'd guess he's shown her a wide range of spells, by now. Speaking of which, I cast a discreet privacy charm a moment ago.You can speak freely."

Good thing. "Draco can't show her any magic! The Ministry would have a fit!"

"Ah, but your brother has arranged to be a few weeks older. Don't use his new shampoo, by the way, unless you want your birthday to change as well."

That only made Harry gape all the more. "I . . .  what?"

"My privacy charm won't keep this conversation under wraps if your brother turns around and sees you looking so stunned."

Harry clamped his lips together and nodded. By then, Draco and Rhiannon were quite a distance ahead of them, but best to be cautious, right? He struggled to find a normal-looking expression, and was pretty sure he failed. It felt to him as though his face was screwed into tight lines. But maybe that was because he didn't have the slightest idea what to say.

Or maybe he did. "I thought you said that Draco needed to learn that the rules did apply to him. But you've found out he's using illegal underage magic and you haven't done anything about it?"

Snape made a languid gesture, that strange half-smile still lurking in his expression. "Technically, he's not underage any longer. He genuinely is older, as these things go."

"But the aging potion itself, wasn't that illegal?"

"Oh, certainly, since his intent was to circumvent Ministry regulations."

"Which brings me back to him needing to know that that law applies to him!" Annoyed, Harry glanced up at his father. "Why haven't you given him lines or something?"

"Do you want me to?"

"Well, no, but you have to do something, don't you?"

Snape sighed, just a little. "Perhaps when you're a father yourself, you'll understand. There's a great deal going on at once, in this situation, and I have to do as I think best."

"It's best to let him cheat the Ministry?"

"Cheating them by three weeks is not such a serious matter." Snape lifted his shoulders. "And if the result of that is to bring your brother closer to the lady of his choice, I think he'll learn far more from breaking the law than from abiding by it."

Learn more . . . Oh. Learn by experience. Snape never had objected to Draco being involved with a Muggle, and now it seemed like as far as Snape was concerned, the more involved Draco got, the better.  

"After all," Snape continued, "the old adage that familiarity breeds contempt isn't always the case. When it comes to your brother, I think a lack of familiarity is far more the problem. When I realised that he had made himself older so that he could demonstrate some magic to her, and thus share with her his true nature . . ." Snape slowly nodded. "Considering her true nature, I decided I approved of the idea."

Harry smiled, a little wryly. "So he's told her. Which brings us back to the statute. You know, the one about secrecy?"

"Technically he should wait until after marriage to tell her anything, but that's rarely enforced. It's simply not very practical."

"So it's all right to ignore laws that don't make sense?"

Snape angled him a glance. "Ah, that's an old debate, and a complex one. Do the ends justify the means? We'll discuss the matter at length in your upcoming ethics course."

Harry mulled that over for a while. "You aren't angry with Draco, then?"

"Annoyed, perhaps. I'd rather he consulted me before taking a dubious potion. But in the main, in this situation I do believe I'll let him make his own mistakes."

"How'd you know, anyway?"

"I felt a burden lift."

"Excuse me?"

Snape shrugged. "I'm legally his father, which implies a whole range of responsibilities, including magical ones. When those responsibilities came to an end, I could feel it. An odd sensation, but not so difficult to figure out. It also wasn't difficult to realise that Draco's 'shampoo' must have been responsible. He'd been Occluding when he spoke of it, so there was obviously something odd going on. I suspected pheromone enhancers until later that evening, when I realised the truth."

"Pheremone enhancers?"

"Mild aphrodisiacs." Snape's lips were a straight line. Too straight, Harry thought. "You know that word, I think?"

"Yeah." Harry couldn't help it if his voice came out a little rough. He wondered if Snape knew just how involved Draco had got with Rhiannon. Considering that he seemed to know so much else that Draco thought was a secret . . . yeah, Snape probably knew it all.

And Rhiannon knew about magic.

The only one who didn't know what he should was Draco himself.

Harry's thoughts must have shown on his face, since Snape's voice went stern. "You're to stay out of it. As you promised your father."

"Lay it on thick, why don't you?"

"If need be." Snape's stride lengthened. "Perhaps you won't have to hold your tongue for long."

Harry wondered what that might mean, but since Snape had plots inside plots, as Draco had once put it, he was pretty sure he wasn't going to figure it out. Maybe it didn't mean anything, though. Maybe it was just wishful thinking.

Not that Snape seemed to do a lot of that.

That thought made Harry a little sad. Pushing the whole problem from his mind, he watched his father move a hand in his pocket, dissolving the privacy spell. Then they both quickened their pace until they caught up with the others.

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

Harry shuddered a little when they went up the steps and into the waiting room of the squib home. It was as over-decorated as he remembered. Dark woods everywhere, with a glass lamp that was made of bits of coloured glass glued together. That wouldn’t be so bad, he supposed, if the lampmaker--somebody named Tiffany, Draco had seemed to think last time--hadn't used every colour in existence. But she had, and the end result was about as garish a sight as Harry could imagine.

Like the previous time, nobody was in the reception area. But that was no problem; Harry stepped up to the counter and tapped the little brass bell sitting there.

A deep noise echoed through the small room. Like a giant gong had just been struck.

Rhiannon clapped her hands in delight. "Oh, that's marvellous!"

All right, no question about it. Draco had definitely told her about magic. And what was more, she'd taken to it pretty well. If she hadn't, the unnatural noise of that gong would have alarmed her. But no, Rhiannon was grinning ear to ear, clearly enchanted.

She liked the idea of magic. Harry could tell. Well, of course he could. He'd been in her shoes, once.

"Oooh, let me try it!"

Harry moved aside to let her, but one split-second before her finger tapped the metal top of the bell, he realised what was about to happen.  

Too late to stop it, though.

When Rhiannon rang the bell, a tiny tinkling noise resulted. It was exactly the sort of noise one would expect from a small brass bell. The sort of noise you'd get if there was no such thing as magic.

The sort of noise you'd get if the bell thought you didn't know about magic. If the bell could tell you didn't have any, yourself . . .

"That's odd," Rhiannon said, her eyebrows drawing together as she tapped the top of the bell again and again, like a pigeon pecking a hole in a bag, hoping something good would finally come spilling out.

But nothing did.

Ding, ding, ding.

"Wonder why it sounds so different for you and me?" Rhiannon glanced at Harry. "Any ideas?"

Harry chanced a glance at Draco, then, to see that his brother had gone chalk-white.  

Rhiannon followed Harry's line of sight and started. "Draco? What's the matter?"

"It shouldn't-- it didn't-- it doesn't-- it shouldn't--"

"Oh, get over here," said Rhiannon, reaching out her hand to tug on Draco's. "You do it. I want to see how it sounds for you."

Draco tried to pull his hand back. He had a sick look on his face, like he'd just been told he didn't have long to live. Or maybe . . . like somebody he loved had just died.

"Come on," said Rhiannon in a breathy voice, leaning closer to him. "I'll make it worth your while . . ."

That comment seemed to catch Draco off-guard. He relaxed his arm for a moment, and Rhiannon dragged it over so that the edge of his fist pushed the brass top of the bell.

Again, a loud, deep clang echoed through the room.

"Oh, I know," said Rhiannon, nodding. "You, him . . . right. Uh . . . never mind."

She didn't add anything, which Harry pretty much took to mean that Draco had warned her not to discuss magic. He'd probably told her that he wasn't supposed to be mentioning such things, and not to let Harry or Snape find out that he had.

Rhiannon relaxed, leaning a hip against the counter, her posture in direct contrast to Draco's. He was standing ramrod straight, like his legs were locked to keep him upright. Worse, his hands were curled into claws around the edge of the counter. It actually looked like his fingertips were digging into the dark wood.

And the look in his eyes. . . like he might scream, and it was only pride keeping his expression stony.

Snape had moved to stand just behind him, but before he could say anything--though what could he say, with Rhiannon standing right there?--a door opened behind the counter and Emmeleia Volentier came into the reception area, frowning as she smoothed a curly strand of hair behind her ear. "Impatient, are we?" she asked, briskly scooping up the bell and placing it behind the counter. Hard to miss that hint, Harry thought. He braced himself for an even more scathing comment.

It never came, probably because by then, she'd recognised Draco. "Oh. Welcome back, young man."

By the end, she sounded like she was annoyed over all the bell-ringing, but doing her best to hide it. No point in antagonising Draco if he was planning to endow the home, right?  

"Mr Darswaithe is in his office, if your father would be good enough to come through," Emmeleia smoothly added. She obviously knew all about the money issue. "I believe he has something for you to sign, Professor Snape."

Something that didn't need to be signed, Harry thought, since Draco had made himself into an adult a few weeks early. Darswaithe didn't know about that, though, and Snape wasn’t supposed to know about it. But he did know, which made his signature agreeing to the vault draft rather pointless. What a charade.

Emmeleia turned away, but Snape didn't follow her. Stepping forward until he was at Draco's side, separating him from Rhiannnon, he laid a hand on the boy's arm. "Are you going to be all right?" he asked in a low voice.  

Draco nodded, but it looked like he was a puppet on strings, and somebody else was yanking his head up and down.

Snape didn't move away. His dark eyes just kept assessing Draco, his gaze about as steady as Harry had ever seen it. Legilimency? Harry wasn't sure. Probably not, though. Snape didn't use that on his sons. Or not that Harry knew about, at any rate.

"Just go talk to Darswaithe," Draco finally sighed. By then, he was looking a little green around the gills. Not that he had gills, but seeing how he did look, Harry understood the phrase as never before. "We'll wait here."

Snape gave him a last, long look before he pushed open the small door in the counter and followed Emmeleia Volentier into what looked like a long corridor.

As the door clicked shut behind him, Harry reached a hand into his pocket and found the grip of his wand. Just in case.

Draco, though, didn't look likely to do anything drastic. He still just looked sick to his stomach.  

And Rhiannon had noticed. Finally. "Are you going to tell me what's the matter, now?"

"It's nothing."

"Even your father could tell that you were upset about something--"

"It's nothing, I said," snapped Draco, almost baring his teeth.  

But it wasn't nothing. Harry knew that, and Rhiannon obviously knew it, too. "You were fine until I rang the bell."

"Maybe the sound of it got on my nerves."

"Maybe you should tell me the truth!" Rhiannon stamped a foot. "Draco Snape, you knew perfectly well before this that I don't have the kind of . . . of . . . talent you do, so why the big shock the bell went ting-a-ling for me and boom for the rest of you?"

"Quiet," hissed Draco, giving her a warning glance even as his gaze flicked toward where Harry was standing 

It was too painful to watch, Harry decided. Rhiannon was about to get tossed aside like an old sock; the least Harry could do was let her know that she could speak her mind about it. "Don’t worry about me," he said, dropping into an overstuffed chair covered in horrible paisley fabric. "Dad and I both know that you told her. And he knows that it was your shampoo that let you, so--"

"Sweet Merlin," breathed Draco, his voice almost hollow.

"Actually, he didn't seem too angry about it, considering--"

Rhiannon stamped her foot again. "Shampoo? What on earth are you going on about?"

"You can say magic," Harry told her. "You can talk about it as much as you like. We know that Draco told you about it. I mean, about us."

"Oh." Rhiannon seemed to need a moment to think that over. "Well, that's good, then. But Draco . . . what's wrong?"

By the end, her voice was plaintive.

"Nothing," said Draco, finally pushing away from the counter.

"The bell upset you--"

"It didn't."

"Then why do you look like . . . like you've iced over?" When Draco said nothing to that, Rhiannon's nostrils flared. "You're obviously angry. You won't even look me in the eye! Don't tell me it's nothing!"

Harry had heard enough. "Yeah, don't tell her it's nothing, Draco, not when you know well enough that it's not nothing, not to you."

"What's not nothing?" cried Rhiannon, clasping her hands. "Did I do something-- but all I did was ring that bell . . ."

For a moment, Harry was almost convinced that he was watching her in slow motion on the telly. It seemed like her expression changed that gradually, with understanding bit by bit replacing the confusion in her eyes. And not just understanding, either. Indignation.

"The bell. The bell was like that because I'm not the same as you," she said, inhaling sharply. "But you knew that. Except . . . well, I know you knew it! But you're acting like it comes as a shock or something, like--" Her hand flew up to cover her mouth for a second. "Oh, my God. You people are strange about having magic or not, aren't you? Of course you are! It's the whole reason a place like this orphanage would even be needed! And if magical families can end up with children who don't have that kind of talent, then . . ."

Her face went as white as Draco's had, earlier. "Oh. You think that regular people can end up with children who do have magical abilities, don't you?" When Draco didn't answer, her voice went up an entire octave. Harry almost winced. "Don't you?"

"They can," said Draco, his hands shoved into his pockets. He jerked his face oddly, trying to flip his fringe to the side. "I know plenty of witches and wizards who come from Muggle families."

Rhiannon's eyes narrowed. "Muggle!"

"It's just a word we use--" said Harry, but Rhiannon wasn't listening to him.

"And you thought I was one of these . . . half-witches!" Rhiannon accused, pointing a finger at Draco. "You did, you did! Is that why you kept asking me to try spells Monday at lunch? I thought you were joking when you said that if only I tried my very best, I might be able to do a little magic! You thought I was . . . somebody with repressed magic, or something, is that it? Until that bell told you differently! And now look at you, pale and shaking and looking like-- oh, never mind. For you to think this whole time, this whole time-- and then be disappointed!"

Draco made a croaking sound, and then tried again. "Rhiannon--"

"I don't need this," she said, shaking her head. "Muggle . . . what a nasty-sounding word. I don't need any of it, especially not a boyfriend who never saw me for me. You can just go to hell, Draco Snape, and take your damned wand with you. I'm through with you!"

With that, Rhiannon Miller spun on a heel and walked out the door, her head held high.

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

And now.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He'd been right, the condescending prat!

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

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

His wand was suddenly in his hand.

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

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

"Leave her alone--"

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

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

Talk about daft ideas!

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

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

"This! Accio bell!"

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

Harry blinked, then lowered his wand. Finally.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Like he was taking his cue from Draco.

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

So much for perfect manners.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

With magic she'd never, ever have.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

This place that had killed his dreams.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Home," croaked Draco.

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

She's a Muggle.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

That she wasn't magical at all?

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

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

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

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

And out of the question, now. A Muggle!

A cursed Muggle!

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

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

Actually, he had shuddered.

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Oh, thanks!"

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

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

"Oh, yes I would have--"

"Really."

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

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

"Draco?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"That doesn't start until one."

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

Oh, Merlin. Rhiannon. . .

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

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

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

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

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

How could he have been so stupid? So blind?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"You were brooding," said Severus sternly.

"And Draco isn't?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Draco couldn't stand it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Not credible.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Obliviate . . .Draco's heart almost stopped. Oh, Merlin. He'd told Rhiannon about magic, and Harry and Severus both knew it. And now that Draco wasn't with her any longer, one of them would start thinking that it was timeto erase what she knew.

And Obliviate was nothing to fool about with. It often worked as planned, of course, but there was enough risk in that spell to give one pause. Aurors got special training before they were considered competent to pick out individual memories to destroy. What if Severus accidentally erased more than he intended? What if he altered her musical talent? What if he made her forget that she'd ever met a young man named Draco Snape?

Draco didn't want to see Rhiannon end up hurt, but what startled him most was how upsetting it was to think about being erased completely from her life, memories included.

But she's a Muggle, his rational mind reminded him. Why should you care what happens to a Muggle?

He did care, though. In fact, the longer he thought on it, the more he began to care. It wasn't just physical injury due to Obliviate that concerned him. By then, Draco was remembering the way Rhiannon had looked as she'd stormed out that morning.

She'd been hurt. Horribly hurt, and Draco had been the one to hurt her.

Draco bit his lip, conflicting impulses warring within him. It was wrong to be concerned about how a Muggle might feel. He knew that, better than anybody else, perhaps. There was no room for sentimentality, not when it came to Muggles and the threat they posed to wizardkind. The world would be a better place if the lot of them were wiped clean away. Draco knew that. He'd always known it. He'd learned it at his father's knee.

No . . . at Lucius' knee.

His father was Severus, and Severus didn't really hold those same views. Not any longer, at any rate. He had once; he'd spoken to Draco about it. More than once.

Of course, Severus wasn't quite the Muggle-lover Harry was, but he did think that all wizards had Muggle heritage, however distant. The idea of that still made Draco feel almost like fainting. He wasn't part-Muggle, he wasn't!

Draco shook off his thoughts of wizards and bloodlines and Muggles and heritage, because he was really getting quite a long way from the point. He had to make sure that nobody tried to make Rhiannon forget magic, or forget him. Whatever he thought of Muggles, there was one Muggle he didn't want to see harmed.

His legs hurt when he levered himself out of bed, like he'd been tensing them in his sleep. Well, he probably had. His fingers hurt too, the muscles cramping like he'd been clenching his fists.

Dreamless Sleep, it seemed, only kept your mind from dreaming. It didn't make your body relax.

A chill swept over Draco. He knew that magic couldn't solve everything, but he didn't like having it brought home to him. If only it could solve everything! He'd pay any amount requested, if someone could brew an elixir that would grant Rhiannon some magic.

But that was impossible and he knew it. Draco was through with pathetic delusions. She was a Muggle, and he wasn't, so what more was there to be said?

Nothing, that was what.

Though no doubt Harry was still talking about how worried he was, and Severus was still telling him to leave Draco be.

Only one way to find out.

Draco cancelled his silencing spell, wincing a little as he felt the beautiful sensation of magic flowing through him. Rhiannon would never know what it was like to have the warm, honeyed flow of a levitation spell spilling out from her core and into her wand. She'd never feel the hot, almost spicy zing of Incendio, never know the satisfaction of finishing a particularly difficult brew. She'd dreamed of magic her whole life; she deserved to feel it warming her, deserved to understand firsthand how it made life . . . well, worth living.

Was this how it was going to be from now on out, Draco wondered, his wand hand falling gracelessly to his side, a dead weight instead of a part of him. Every spell a reminder of what Rhiannon lacked? Of what she was missing?

And what if she was already missing memories, as well? What if Severus had taken matters into his own hands while Draco had been sound asleep?

Sweet Merlin.

Draco gnashed his teeth, because all at once it seemed to him that he'd been doing everything wrong today, absolutely everything. What had made him run home like a wounded niffler? His first priority should have been to protect Rhiannon from potentially damaging memory-spells! It was his fault she was in danger in the first place! The fact that she was a Muggle didn't change that. Perhaps it should . . . actually, Draco was certain that it should.

But it didn't.

Creeping over to the door, Draco leaned an ear against it. No point in going out there and making demands. If Severus had Obliviated Rhiannon already, reversing the spell was out of the question. Making her remember would be even more hazardous than making her forget. And if Severus had yet to cast the spell . . . well, Draco didn't want to give him any bright ideas, did he?

Though it was rather doubtful that Severus wouldn't have thought of it, by now.

No matter. Draco strained his ears to find out what he could.

Predictably enough, the first thing he heard was Harry talking about him. "He's been in there a long time, don't you think? Maybe one of us should go in and make sure he's all right."

"Maybe both of us should leave well enough alone."

Harry sounded so worried that Draco grimaced. "Yeah, maybe, but . . . look, it's been hours and hours!"

"So it has. Are you under the impression that your brother wants our company?"

Draco could almost see Harry shrugging.

Severus, thankfully, chose that moment to change the subject. "I've been wondering when you would like to take your cousin out to dinner."

Draco almost gagged. He had to endure yet another evening in the Muggle boy's company? So much for his relief when he'd seen Severus finish several yards in front of Harry!

A fact not lost on Harry. "But you won the race yesterday!"

"As you won today's."

Today's? They'd gone off swimming? Draco had wanted to be alone, but he hadn't wanted to be abandoned, even if he had been the one to suggest they go to the pool.

Harry's voice was very dry. "That's hardly the same thing, Dad."

"Then call this a consolation prize, if you will. I believe your next appointment with the good doctor is on Tuesday. Shall we take your cousin out on that evening, or at a time when you won't have an appointment to get to?"

Tuesday, thought Draco, almost frantically. Please, Tuesday. The only thing less appealing than an hour in Dudley Dursley's company was the prospect of two or three hours with him.

Harry was like a dog with a bone, though. "Um . . . well, speaking of Marsha, maybe he's the one Draco should be talking to. Should we get him an emergency appointment, do you think?"

A pause, and then: "What I think is that you need to put yourself in Draco's robes. As I recall, you haven't been very fond of his over-protectiveness towards you."

"This is different!"

"It certainly is. Draco's concern for you derives from the fact that you had placed yourself at risk of significant physical harm. You have less cause than he to suggest that a counsellor might be needed."

"He never suggested one."

"I think you understand the analogy."

"Yeah. But all I meant was--"

"I know you meant well." By then, Severus was using his gentle voice. The one that usually got to Draco, deep down, though he tried his best not to show it. "But so do I. Perhaps you can demonstrate through your own behaviour that you trust your brother to manage his own affairs. Suggesting that this is a situation worthy of emergency therapy is tantamount to saying you fear he may be suicidal."

"More like homicidal."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Stop," said Draco in a low voice.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Really."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I do not hate her." Draco felt like dignity was filling him as he went on in tones of quiet conviction. "I'm going to make things right, and get her back. I love her."

"Three months ago you loved somebody else--"

That had Severus chastening Harry, finally. "Draco's feelings, I do believe, are his own concern. If he wants to continue seeing the young lady socially whatever her heritage, that is his right. He is, in fact, above the age of consent."

Draco swallowed. "Er . . . yes. Yes, I am," he said, deciding he might was well admit it. Better that than to continue having Severus toss out these slightly veiled comments. "Harry told me that you'd figured out about the shampoo, and . . . everything."

"Yes." Severus pushed his hair back from his forehead and spoke in chiding tones. "I was sorry to have missed your seventeenth birthday, Draco. It's usually a cause of great rejoicing, as you know."

Draco turned his face away. He wouldn't have thought that anything could make him feel ashamed of what he'd done, but those words did. It came to him then that he'd only been thinking of himself. Of his needs, wants, dreams, desires. He'd never given so much as a single second's thought to what his seventeenth birthday might mean to his adoptive father. "Oh. I--"

"It's done, now," said Severus, making a brushing motion with his hand. "I would hope that you would remember in future, however, that I am a fully qualified Potions Master. If you have need of a complex brew, I would like to think you would come to me."

"An illegal brew?"

"That one wasn't and you know it. Only the use you put it to was . . . suspect."

It had been more than suspect. A lot more, but if Severus wasn't going to go into it, then neither was Draco. "Well, speaking of your expertise . . ." Clearing his throat, he went ahead and said it. "I don't want to hear any talk about Obliviating Rhiannon. I know, I know, she's not supposed to be aware of magic yet, but it's done now, and I won't stand for any kind of spell that might change the way she thinks, or change her. You . . . you haven't already, have you?"

"Nothing was farther from my mind," said Severus mildly. "Draco, listen to me. The Ministry reserves Obliviate for instances when a significant number of Muggles have seen something inexplicable--at least, by their limited understanding of the word. Unless Miss Miller begins to bandy about what she knows, she will never even come to their attention. And if she does speak far and wide of magic . . ." Severus lifted his shoulders. "You still have very little cause for concern. No-one will believe her, not without a shred of proof. People will assume you a talented magician who managed to pull the woolens completely over her eyes. And seeing that, the Ministry will leave her alone."

"Good."

As far as Draco was concerned, everything was pretty well settled.

Harry, of course, had to bring up the bloody obvious. "Er . . . Rhiannon didn't seem so happy with you this morning. Are you so sure you can get her back just because you er . . . seem to want her?"

Seem to want her. Draco bared his teeth. "Just wait until you fall in love, Potter--"

"You've only known her for two weeks!"

"It only takes two seconds, something you would know if you'd ever once had a girlfriend!"

"Gentlemen," Severus said again, his voice more stern, that time. "I do hope you aren't going to revert to childish squabbling. Not again."

Well, Draco could be the bigger man. Actually, age-wise, he was the bigger man, now. That gave him a rather satisfied feeling. Yes, he'd be the responsible elder brother. The good son.

Though whether Severus would even notice was a good question.

"Dad's right," he said, nodding his head as though he'd given the matter careful thought and had come to the only possible conclusion. "Let's agree not to argue, Harry."

Harry rolled his eyes. "Have you been taking pompous lessons? Oh, that's right. You don't need that kind of lessons, never did--"

"I see that we are indeed not through with childish squabbling."

Draco ignored Severus' long-suffering tones the same as he'd ignored Harry's attempt to be clever. "We've no time for this. We've got to get ready."

"Ready?"

Clearly, Harry had forgotten. Draco would bet his vault that Severus hadn't, but he'd evidently been waiting for Draco to make mention of the tickets bought a couple of weeks back. "For the opera, of course," he said in his smoothest voice. "Rhiannon's performing tonight, remember? I wouldn't miss that for the world."

Harry wasn't through, but at least he sounded like he was really asking this time, instead of spouting off like know-it-all Granger. "How are you going to get her back, Draco?"

That was the least of Draco's worries. He was actually a lot more concerned about how he was going to stand the ribbing in Slytherin if it became known that he was dating a Muggle girl. Ribbing, hell. All that Malshite rubbish from last year would look like child's play in comparison to the barrage of abuse he'd get for something like this. Hmm . . . probably best to keep Rhiannon a secret.

As for getting her back, though . . . Draco didn't need to worry about that, or even plan in advance what to say. He knew her pretty well, after all. He just hadn't known about the one thing. And he was sorry that he'd hurt her feelings by thinking she had magic when she didn't, but now, all he needed was for her to see his point of view. She'd understand that he hadn't meant to hurt her. That he never would hurt her. Ever.

Or, ever again, he thought, almost wincing. He'd hurt Rhiannon that morning, though not intentionally. When he thought about it, he wasn't so sure he would know what to say to her. But showing his uncertainty . . . that wasn't on.

"I'll think of something," he said to Harry, waving a hand as though careless of the entire matter. "So then, are you going to insist on a shower, or will a thorough freshening charm serve? You need to do something, though. You're not fit to be seen at an opera."

Another eye roll. It was a wonder that Harry wasn't getting dizzy. "Weren't you the one who said it was just a small, local production without so much as a proper orchestra?"

"What I said was that Rhiannon deserves better, which she most certainly does." Draco lifted his wand. "Shall I?

The look on Harry's face was a study in contrasts at that moment. Reluctance and determination. Distaste and resignation. "What?" asked Draco. "What?"

"Oh, nothing--"

"Sod your nothing. Let's hear it."

Harry sighed. "It's just . . . Look, no offence. I'm sure she sings really well, but I didn't much like that opera the first time, to be honest."

That opera. It had been selections from more than one. Draco thought better than to call him a plebeian, though. Older brother now, and all that. "Then stay home," he suggested, shrugging.

"No. I'll be there in case . . . er . . ." Rather than say it, Harry glanced down at his shoes.

In case Draco needed him? This time, Draco decided not to let Harry's pessimism bother him. His brother did have that saving-people thing, after all. Harry needed to be needed.

Whereas what Draco needed was Rhiannon back. And for that, he had to get them to the opera sometime this year. Preferably, tonight. "Well, then shower and put on your suit. No time for me to shower afterwards, but that's all right. I prefer a good old-fashioned freshening charm."

Harry moved toward their bedroom door, scoffing. "Since when? You practically live in the shower, sometimes."

Did he? When he was depressed, perhaps. Or when he wanted some time alone. Neither of those was true right now. He was going to make this relationship with Rhiannon work. So what if she was a Muggle? That didn't matter, because she wasn't like a Muggle where it counted. She wasn't afraid of magic, or jealous of Draco having some. She loved magic. Adored it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Then what was that about another race?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Can we talk?"

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

"With the adverts already printed?"

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

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

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

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

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

With that, he was walking away.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She didn't mean food, Draco knew. What he didn't know was how to answer her, since anybody would want more of that. If he said he didn't, he'd probably be insulting her. Not to mention that she'd know he was lying, even if he Occluded with all his might. "Er--"

"That's right," she hissed, clearly warming to her theme. "If you really cared about me, me, you'd have come right after me. You'd have caught up with me in the street!"

"You were gone too fast--"

"You know where I work."

Draco swallowed the lump in his throat. Shite. He could see it now; he should have gone after her. Instead he'd gone home and hung his head like a damned crup, or something. "Look," he said, beginning to feel desperate, "I was taken by surprise, and I needed some time to come to terms--"

Wrong thing to say. "Come to terms!" Rhiannon's eyes almost shot out sparks. "With me not having-- oh, you take the cake, Draco Snape. After everything I told you, about how those gits at Chatham acted over my not having money, you have to come to terms with me not having what you thought I had? Weren't you listening this morning? I don't need this, any of this!"

"It's not like that--"

"It's exactly like that." Rhiannon suddenly raised her voice. "Colin, come over here, would you? I have it on good authority that Adrian doesn't want any scenes. Would you do me a favour and keep one Draco Snape away from me? He's no longer welcome backstage. Or anywhere else I happen to be."

Colin turned to Draco. "Maybe you should leave."

Draco would have stood his ground if he thought it would do any good. Bad strategy, though. It would only make Rhiannon angrier. If she could get any angrier, that was. He didn't know what would help.

But if she really thought that he wanted her only because of what they'd done that day at her house, maybe she needed to hear again what he'd told her then. "I love you," he said softly.

She snorted, and made a gesture for Colin to get on with it.

Colin looked apologetic, but his voice was more emphatic than before when he spoke. "Yeah, time to leave, mate."

That time, Draco didn't argue. He walked away, his step sure and confident, but inside he was faltering as he made his way down corridors and to the alleyway door. It must have shown on his face, since once he was outside, Colin actually put a hand on his shoulder. "Just a lover's tiff," he said. "It'll blow over 'fore you know it."

Lover's tiff. The phrase conjured up images of Rhiannon softly keening as she leaned against the wall of her bedroom. But this was more than a tiff.

The air filled with the acrid tang of smoke as Colin lit a fag and held it loosely between his fingers. But that was nothing to the bitter, choking feeling filling Draco's mind. Filling his heart.

"Want one?" Colin held out his hand, still holding the pack of cigarettes. "Go on. You look like you could use a smoke."

"No," said Draco. He had enough to be going on with, without adding Muggle drugs to the mix. "I just . . ."

Colin stuffed the pack into a pocket. "She'll come around, Draco. I've seen the way she looks at you."

"The way she used to, you mean."

"Ah, fuck it. If she wants to be that way, plenty of other fish in the sea, you know."

Not for me, thought Draco. He gave a brusque nod to end the conversation, then headed down the alley and toward the front of the theatre. Plenty of other fish in the sea . . . what a farce. She was the only one for him, and she couldn't stand him! What was he going to do?

Love potion, he thought at once. And what had Severus just said, about Draco coming to him if he needed a complex brew . . . but no, that was no real solution. In fact, when Draco really thought about it, the whole idea gave him chills. He wanted Rhiannon to really love him, not to be tricked into it.

And anyway, love potions never really worked out. Everybody knew that. All you had to do was pick up an edition, any edition, of the Quibbler to read true-life horror stories about wizards and witches who had tried to conjure love. Not to mention the slightly more scholarly treatment the subject received in the quarterly Brews Gone Bad.

But if magic wasn't the solution, what was? Draco felt like his brain was being stretched in all directions as he thought about it. Think outside the box, that's what Marsha would call it. Outside your comfort zone. Draco was miles outside it, now, because it had just come to him that since Rhiannon was a Muggle, what he probably needed was a Muggle solution. But it was like he'd told Severus earlier. What did he know about Muggle girls?

All right, all right. So he needed someone who would know. Someone who'd been raised around them, who would know what they wanted and how they thought. A Muggle, obviously. So whom did Draco know? Dudley Dursley?

Draco suddenly wished he'd taken the cigarette. Dudley Dursley? What help could he be? Nobody that spherical would have dated much. Dudley probably didn't even know any girls.

By then, Draco had reached the end of the alley. Harry and Severus were standing to one side, looking at the posters advertising L'incoronazione di Poppea. Part of Draco wanted to turn the other way so he could avoid their questions. Avoid them. Be alone. Actually, his skin was itchy; he needed a long shower. But sooner or later he'd have to tell them what he was up against. Especially with Rhiannon working at the pool. They'd be running into her.

"And so?"

That was Harry, of course. Severus had enough decorum not to pry. Out loud, at least. It was more Severus' style to listen in while Harry asked the prying questions. Very Slytherin of him, though Draco decided then and there that they'd have to talk about that touch of Legilimency, earlier.

"It didn't go well," he admitted, sighing.

"It didn't go well?" Harry frowned. "What do you mean?"

Draco winced. "She had me escorted out."

Harry winced as well.

"So I'm trying to figure out what to do now," Draco went on. Well, in for a Knut, in for a Galleon, as they said. "I don't suppose you have any brilliant ideas? I mean, you went to school with girls like her, didn't you?"

"When I was little. Nobody was dating, yet."

"True."

Harry scratched his head. "I don't think I'm the one to ask."

Draco had known that much before he'd ever asked. Who was the right person, though, was a good question. A very good question.

Marsha?

No, no, no. He could ask her anything, he was sure of that much, but he needed somebody younger. Somebody near his own age, really. Somebody who would know what Muggle girls today wanted.

That was when it came to him. For a moment, Draco had a strange urge to smack himself in the forehead. Of course! He knew who would be able to answer all his questions. Somebody who'd thought of herself as a Muggle for more years than she'd known she was a witch. She could help him get the love of his life back!

Of course, convincing her to help him was bound to be an uphill fight, but Draco would figure something out. She had to help him -- she was the perfect solution! Why hadn't he thought of her, sooner?

Oh well, best to not think on that now. He couldn't afford to, simple as that.

He was going to get Rhiannon back, and that was all that mattered. All of a sudden, he knew that everything was going to work out just fine. More than fine. Things this time would be perfect, as they should have been in the first place. He would win Rhiannon's heart, and this time, he'd do it the Muggle way. And she would help him do it. Of course she would. That was what Gryffindors did, right? They rescued people. It was like a compulsion with them; they couldn't even help it!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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 a 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. 

Perhaps, though, acting like he had an interest might be in his best interests now.

"Well, I suppose most people like them have to work, Harry. What do they do, anyway?"

Harry angled his head like he smelled a trick. Or was trying to. "They're dentists."

It took Draco a second to work the word out. Dentists . . . dental charms . . . "Oh. Teeth?" He almost shuddered. They wouldn't have dental charms at their disposal, of course. So they must fix teeth by hand? They spent their days inserting their hands inside of mouths? Muggle mouths?

How positively ghoulish.

Draco managed to shake the thought off. "Well, I can't imagine they have to be fully alert to do that job," he said, shrugging. "Now, listen. You have another swimming lesson tomorrow, which means I'll run into Rhiannon at the pool. So of course we have to visit Hermione tonight. I have to know what to say to Rhiannon tomorrow."

Draco beamed a smile all around, certain that they'd see the logic in his argument. It was the only way to view the matter, after all.

Harry just glowered, though, while Severus shook his head.

This isn't going well, thought Draco, which had to be the understatement of the aeon. Desperation began to crowd every other thought from his mind. "I have to know how to set this right," he said, his voice wavering slightly. And not on purpose, for once. "And Hermione will know how! After all, she's one of them, isn't she?"

Another glower. "She's one of us."

Draco almost rolled his eyes. Really, comments like that ought to be out of bounds, by now. Hadn't he been perfectly pleasant to Granger for months, now? Was it his fault that Muggleborns weren't so welcome in the wizarding world?

He ended up shoving his hands in his pockets. "I never said she wasn't--"

"What you've said, and you've said it at least a thousand times, is that she shouldn't be one of us. That she had no right to go to school with us! That she polluted the air and--"

So Draco had sometimes wished he knew a good breathing charm! He hadn't brought that up in years, anyway. Not since he'd seen how bad the bubble-headed charm really looked in practice. "Oh, please. This isn't about Granger!"

"It's not? You're not demanding to go and see her, after all?"

Severus gave Harry a warning look. About fucking time. But then he gave Draco one as well, which hardly seemed fair. Draco wished he could ignore it and be as sarcastic as Harry had just been--ha, Draco could be more than sarcastic; he could be scathing. But that might just end with Severus abruptly grabbing his arm to side-along him home.

Not the end result Draco wanted, so he tried speaking in a placating tone. Not begging, exactly. Just . . . conciliatory. "Yes, I want to go and see her. And for the record, when I said that Granger was one of them, all I meant was that she can understand this sort of situation much better than I can, Harry." Draco paused for a moment, to let Harry think about that. Really think. When it seemed like Harry had, Draco spoke in a confident, upbeat tone. A let's-get-going tone. "So then, where are we off to? Essex?"

It was the most Mugglish place he could think of, on short notice. And the mere fact that he of all wizards was willing, even eager, to go there, should be enough to convince all concerned that he deserved to get his way, nearly midnight or no.

One hopeful glance towards his father told him differently, however. He recognised the look, the one that said a lecture was imminent. "Draco, as you well know, it is not the done thing to go bursting into private homes in the middle of the night--"

Draco raised his chin, as he hardly needed to be lectured about his manners. He knew perfectly well what the done thing was, and he also knew that the rules didn't really apply here. Honestly! The Grangers were Muggles. And even so, he'd intended to offer them every consideration, since he wasn't daft enough to think that Hermione would talk with him, otherwise. "I did plan to knock, you realise. I do know how. I have heard of it."

Severus raised an eyebrow like he could do without the cheek, but Harry actually growled.

"Listen--" Draco started to say, only to be interrupted. Rudely interrupted. Harry was the one who needed a lecture on manners, obviously!

"Why don't you listen for once? Not thinking about other people's feelings is what got you into trouble to begin with! I don't care how well you knock. Hermione's parents are really nice people, and we're not waking them up."

Draco couldn't stop the words in time. It seemed to him that Harry just wanted to stop him from getting any help with Rhiannon. He'd basically been a pain in the arse about her, right from the first. "So it would be all right to wake them if they weren't so nice? Is that your point?"

"That will be quite enough, Draco." Severus began walking, then, toward the alley they'd Apparated into earlier. Draco stared after him for a moment. He thought about standing his ground, but then realized that was awfully stupid in this case. He was hardly going to demand they Apparate from the pavement in front of the theatre. That certainly wasn't the done thing, was it?

Sighing a little, Draco hurried to catch up with his father and brother. "There's no need to wake anyone," he said, about as earnestly as he could, the moment he was alongside them again. "Granger's parents'll sleep right through everything, I promise. We'll silver message Hermione so she'll come meet us outside, all right?"

"She might be asleep, too--"

Draco glanced at Harry and finally saw the truth about what was really going on. Clear as Lubaantum, it was, though it was hard to believe. Draco actually took a step backwards, very nearly stumbling. No wonder, since his mind was turning cartwheels. "You don't want me to get Rhiannon back, do you? You don't want it at all!"

It looked like Harry was swallowing hard, though in the dim light, Draco couldn't be sure. What he could be sure about was how tired Harry sounded. Tired of the whole subject. Or exhausted, even. "That's not it. It's just too late to go visiting, that's all."

"That's not all."

Harry didn't say anything, just shook his head a little.

"What?" asked Draco, a bit more loudly. "What?"

Harry leaned against the filthy alley wall. "What do you think? You've always been irrational about Rhiannon, but now you've gone barking mad! What makes you think Hermione would want to help with this, after all the rubbish you've spewed out about us versus them, eh?"

Draco felt as if he'd been slapped. He'd never thought of matters quite like that. Actually, he'd assumed that Granger would be overjoyed to help him, because, after all, he'd be asking for help so he could get along with a Muggle. How could Hermione Granger not like that?

For that matter, why didn't Harry like it?

Draco was left to ponder that question, because Severus had taken him by the arm, by then. "You can owl Miss Granger in the morning, Draco. For now, we're going home."

Draco clenched his jaw. What was wrong with everyone? His silver message plan was perfect! He scowled at Harry, who was still leaning against the alley wall, his suit jacket bunching up awfully.

"Don't blame your brother," said Severus calmly. "I don't think it's a good time to pay the Grangers a visit, either."

All that statement accomplished was to make Draco want to scowl at Severus, as well.

No point in doing that, though.

His feet dragging a little, Draco let his father lead him deeper into the alley. Owl Granger . . . if it was the best he could do, then fine. Of course, he had no intention of waiting until morning to owl her. He'd do it the moment they reached Devon. With any luck, she was staying up late reading, and she'd reply straight away, and they could set up an early meeting, something like that.

And really, perhaps it was for the best if Draco spoke to her in the morning, in any case. Right before he went to the pool, so Hermione's advice would be fresh in his mind. He didn't want to upset Rhiannon again, the way he'd upset her a few moments ago backstage.

Something inside Draco almost broke apart, then. Sweet Merlin, he could hardly bear remembering how she'd just looked. Oh, she'd been angry, no doubt, her blue eyes flashing with it, but behind that emotion, there had been another one.

Anguish.

Rhiannon had been hurt. Hurt deeply. So deeply, in fact, that she'd all but denied their love. You'd like to know what I think? she'd asked, every word scathing. I think you just want more of what you had during lunch, that day at my house.

She didn't mean that. She couldn't mean it, couldn't really think a thing like that of him. No, no. Rhiannon didn't really believe that Draco only wanted sex, that Draco had been using her.

She was just saying that because she'd been hurt so very much. It was her way of getting back at him.

Which could only mean that she cared. Really cared. She might not want to, but she did. And knowing that . . . it just about killed Draco, because he cared for her just as much. More, maybe. After all, she hadn't been raised to hate and disdain wizards. She actually liked magic. But h was willing to overlook her Muggle heritage, which was proof in itself, wasn't it, of how very much he cherished her.

He had to get her back. Anything less was unthinkable. He just had to find out how to talk to her, that was all. She was just as much in love as before, and it was up to Draco to make her see that. Pity, really, that he didn't have the faintest idea where to start.

But Granger . . . she would.

Draco swallowed, an entirely new thought striking him. A thought so strange, in fact, that it made him go cold, somewhere deep inside. He wasn't sure he could endure such a thought. It went against all the things he'd learned growing up. Against all the things he'd ever believed. Sure, he'd called Hermione clever a couple of times, and he'd come to understand that she could be helpful, since she could be in classes, looking out for Harry, back when Draco was still stuck in the dungeons.

But for all that, he'd never really wanted her there at Hogwarts. Since she was there anyway, he'd been willing to have her do something useful, that was all.

But now, Draco was thinking something rather different. Or, not thinking it, exactly. Considering it, perhaps.

Maybe it was a good thing, after all, that Hogwarts admitted Muggleborns.

 

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As soon as they were home, Draco sat down at the square table near the kitchen, Severus' quills and a pile of blank parchments near to hand.

His father walked past, going to his room, but turned around at the doorway, his dark eyes a little bit hooded as if he were still considering what to say. Or how to phrase it, perhaps.

"You don't think you should owl her in the morning, as we agreed?"

Draco leaned back in his chair. "You agreed. I didn't." Then another thought struck him and he sighed. "Oh, for Merlin's sake. This might not go out until morning in any case. I can't be sure, can I, unless I go to Hogwarts to put the letter in an owl's beak myself."

Severus didn't reply. He just kept looking at Draco with those dark, unfathomable eyes.

Draco felt himself growing nervous, which didn't happen very often, all things considered. "Ah . . . I don't suppose you'd let me pop over to Hogwarts, just for an instant--"

"At this time of night?"

"Yeah, I might wake up some elves," muttered Draco, before waving a hand. "I know, I know. The summer wards are up. I'll disturb a lot more than elves. Never mind. I'll just pop my post in the box and hope for the best."

Harry had gone straight to their room when they'd got in. Now he came out again, a pair of rumpled pyjamas draped over an arm. "You might want to get a good night's sleep before you try writing Hermione."

Draco could almost see the sense in that, since he felt too tired to argue. But no, this couldn't wait. "Good night," he only said, waving a hand to indicate Severus and Harry both.

Severus took the hint and murmured his own good-night before he went into his bedroom and closed the door with a quiet click.

Harry, of course, missed the message entirely. "Really," he said, sounding so earnest that it was annoying, "if you write your letter in the morning you'll--"

"Miss any chance of seeing Granger before the pool opens," interrupted Draco coolly. Perhaps too coolly, since part of him did know that his brother was only trying to help. "Harry . . . I need to do this. Go to bed." Please, Draco almost added, but before it came to that, Harry finally gave in.

"All right. Good night, then."

Draco waited until Harry also shut his door, then pulled a stack of parchment towards him. But it wasn't a blank stack, as he'd thought. Merlin, he really was tired, wasn't he?

The top parchment was written on, in Severus' hand, and looked to be a rough draft of some correspondence. But there wasn't any salutation or closing, so Draco wasn't sure whom Severus had been writing to.

Your proposed changes are quite frankly absurd, the first paragraph began. Have you consulted with Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry? As I am sure you are aware, decisions that will impact the school should be referred first of all to him. I would also like to know if you have spoken with the appropriate department heads at Magical Law Enforcement. I can't imagine that the Auror Corps would really prefer new apprentices to begin their training so appallingly unprepared. From the tone of your earlier communication, I would hazard a guess that you've yet to speak with a single wizard outside your own organization. Might I point out that such typically bureaucratic bungling is what makes the Ministry of Magic an unparalleled joke among all thinking members of the magical community ?

This isn't merely a matter of technical skill. Your hair-brained suggestion will result in Auror candidates with less discipline of mind, a circumstance which will hinder their progress and effectiveness in any number of ways. No doubt you fail to comprehend this because your own minuscule mind is woefully undisciplined--

The letter stopped there.

Draco pushed the parchment to the side, a little bemused. What was the letter about? Some change afoot in the Auror Apprentice programme, obviously. Draco wished he knew what change.

And why had this draft been left about? The simple explanation was that Severus hadn't finished the letter, and was still considering what to write. What tone to take, perhaps. But nothing was ever that simple with Severus. Plots inside plots. Schemes inside schemes. He'd meant for Draco to see the letter, obviously. But to what end?

Well, Draco wouldn't be able to fathom that out tonight. He had other brooms to fly.

Pulling a blank sheet of parchment towards him, he uncorked the ink pot and dipped a quill. Such a shame he didn't have one of his lovely self-inking quills handy, or better yet, one that would do his writing for him. They were in the bedroom with Harry, and if Draco tried to summon one, Harry would probably pad out in bare feet and ask how things were going. Or more likely, urge him to give it up for tonight.

Draco blinked, as it had suddenly occurred to him that he was procrastinating. Well, it's not like he'd ever written this sort of letter before, was it? He'd written to the half-bloods and Muggleborns in Slytherin, but not really to ask them for help. More to convince them that it was in their best interests to join the winning side of the war. His side, Harry's side. He'd been trying to help them, actually. Help them see that Slytherin didn't have to stand with the Dark Lord, that in fact, standing with him could only lead to slavery or death.

This letter was going to be different. This time, he had to ask for help. Ask Granger, even. Draco didn't know how to start it, so it was little wonder he was still procrastinating.

Well, nothing for it but to write the salutation, right?

Dear Granger . . .

No, no, that set the wrong tone entirely, didn't it? Draco tried to spell the ink off, but it still left a smudge, so he swept that parchment onto the floor and snatched a fresh one from the stack.

Dear Hermione . . .

Not much better. It sounded insincere. Like he was currying favour. Which he was, of course, but he hardly wanted it to look that way to Granger. He had a hard enough time calling her Hermione that she'd smell a rat straight away if he started the letter calling her that. And really, "Dear" didn't quite fit, either.

Draco tossed that parchment to the floor too, and sighing, tried a third time. Third time's a charm, he remembered Harry saying. Draco hoped so, anyway. Before he started writing this time, he thought for a while about wording. And tone. And all the polite pleasantries that this kind of correspondence should include. It wasn't the done thing, after all, to get right to the point when you had a favour to ask. Particularly when you were asking it of someone you'd been less than civil to, in the past.

Hmm . . . considering all he had said in the past, perhaps it wouldn't come amiss to throw in a few mentions of Mugglish things, just as a way to introduce Hermione to the idea that Draco's views might not be quite so adamant as before. They hadn't changed that much, since Rhiannon was really much more like a witch than a Muggle, whatever her bloodlines, but Draco wouldn't mention that. The goal here was to get Granger to talk with him, after all.

Draco's lips moved, murmuring a silent plea to Merlin. And then, another clean sheet of parchment before him, he slowly began to write, using his very best calligraphic script.

To Miss Hermione Granger:

I do hope you are having a lovely summer and that you don't miss school too much. For our part, Harry and I aren't missing it at all. The weather here has been delightful most days, which has given us a good deal of time for flying. I think you can expect the upcoming Quidditch season to be the most thrilling one yet.  

Harry's swimming lessons are going well. He's got a highly skilled coach, a Muggle bloke by the name of Roger who seems very affable; he's always got a bright smile when he sees Harry arriving at the pool.

Harry and I have also spent a spot of time at an orphanage that takes care of abandoned squib children. Absolutely disgraceful the way their own families have cast them off, but at least the wizarding world is doing the best it can for them. I've endowed the home in hopes of making sure it continues to provide a top-notch public school education.

What have you been spending your time on, this summer? I'm sure you have any number of worthy causes on your agenda and that you must be keeping busy. With that in mind, I'll come to the matter most important to me at present.

I've had what one might call a revelation of sorts, I suppose. I must say, I hardly know how to begin explaining just what sort. You and I have had, shall we say, a less than rancour-free relationship in the past. Hence, my news, such as it is, may well shock you. It's taken Harry completely by surprise, after all, and I fancy that he knows me better than do you. The sum of all is this, Hermione: I find that I most urgently need to speak with you. I would prefer not to go into details until we can be face to face, but suffice it to say one thing now: the distance between myself and the Muggle world, I have learnt, is not nearly as great as I once believed.

Would you be willing to discuss the matter with me? I will be more forthcoming once we are together, I promise. Owls can be so impersonal . . . and this matter could not be more the opposite.

Please come to my summer home at your earliest possible convenience. I enclose a Portkey to facilitate matters. If, however, you are unable to travel at present, please do advise me by owl and I will come to you, wherever you may be.

With utter sincerity,

Draco Snape

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The first thing Draco did, when he woke up the next morning, was check the letter box.

No luck. There was nothing in it except their usual delivery of the Prophet.

Harry gave it a dirty look, which was typical of him. Draco had tried to tell him that reading it was a good idea. Even though it was full of misrepresentations and outright lies, if you knew how to read between the lines you could figure an awful lot of things out. But Harry just couldn't get over how he'd been treated by that paper in the past.

The whole thing made Draco feel a bit bad about the way he'd helped Rita Skeeter that one year . . . but he thought better than to say so. It was so long ago, and anyway, apologising was a sign of weakness, wasn't it?

Draco frowned, thinking of how abjectly he'd said I'm sorry to Rhiannon. Well, it was different when you were in love, probably.

Taking the paper out, Draco settled in to read, but had hardly got three words in before he decided he ought to check the letter box again. Just in case he'd missed the letter, somehow.

But no, the box was still empty. Depressingly so.

Well, nothing for it but to wait. It was already gone eight, so the Hogwarts' owls would be flying by now, surely. Grander was probably reading his letter just about now, and any second now she'd dash off a quick reply . . .

Draco's heart sank. No matter how quick she was, he'd have to wait until the redirecting spells did their bit. No owl was coming to Devon.

Bracing himself against the disappointment, Draco tried not to think about what he'd say to Rhiannon later that morning at the pool. The truth was, he didn't have any idea how to proceed, and until he talked to Granger, that wasn't going to change. No point going over it in his head a thousand times.

Instead, Draco tried his best to focus on the newspaper he was holding. He did browse it most mornings, though he didn't read it cover-to-cover. Now, though, he started to. It was either that or whinge.

"Interesting news?" asked Severus as he came out into the main room of the cottage.

"Hmm," said Draco, rather non-commitally. Nothing had really caught his eye. And nothing was likely to, since all he could think about was Rhiannon. And dratted Granger for being so slow, though perhaps he should be blaming owls and redirecting spells and the like.

"No post?" That was asked rather kindly, but Draco was in no mood to talk about it. Or admit, really, how much he needed a Muggleborn's help. He'd said quite enough on that topic the night before. Quite. He shook his head, glancing over the top of the paper at Severus, and felt a sudden need to distract the man from all topics related to Draco's love life. Or lack thereof, at the moment.

And after all, it was Severus' turn to cook.

"I'll have two eggs fried in proper butter, not that yellow fake stuff Harry made us buy, and do be sure the edges are crisp and brown, would you? Oh, and I'd like my toast done medium and served with a good dollop of double cream."

Severus raised an eyebrow. "Cream on toast?"

Harry wandered out, raking his hand through damp hair. Which explained a lot about his usual appearance, in Draco's view. "Yeah, he likes that. Didn't you ever notice, Dad?"

Draco turned a page in the Prophet as though he had much better things to do than debate his breakfast. "I might have only asked for it when Severus was off teaching."

"Might?" asked Severus dryly.

"All right, did." Draco lowered his paper enough to glare. "I knew what you would think of it."

Harry plopped himself down in a chair, his brow wrinkled as he looked from Severus to Draco. "Cream's just butter that hasn't been . . . er, I don't know what they do to it, actually . . . Anyway, it's a bit weird to have it on toast, but what's the big deal?"

Draco could feel himself flushing, and hardened his features to try to stop it. "It's rather a Malfoy tradition."

Harry's eyebrows drew together in clear annoyance. "What's that all about, then? It's all right to act like a Malfoy in front of me, but not in front of Dad?"

Draco made a show of ruffling the broadsheet. "Dad appears to be present. Maybe I just decided food preferences were a rather silly thing to try to lose. After all, haven't I lost quite enough?"

"A father who put out a death warrant on you, you mean?"

"A mother who loves me and can't come visit because she has to pretend to be loyal to your werewolf friend!"

Severus cleared his throat, loudly. "I certainly don't care if you want cream on toast, Draco. Now, since I appear to be taking breakfast orders, have you any preferences, Harry?"

Harry gave a little shrug. "Whatever Draco's having."

"He'll scrape his toast," said Draco with a straight face. "Crumpets for him."

Well, at least that had both his father and brother laughing a bit, and off the subject of Narcissa. Draco tried not to think about her very much. He understood that she'd had little choice but to side with Lucius against him, publicly at least, and he did know that she'd tried to make sure he wouldn't be left destitute when he was disowned, but still . . . when he thought about her, he ached.

He certainly hadn't meant to bring her up.

It wasn't until breakfast had been served that he set the Prophet aside.

Instead of taking it up as he usually did, Severus kept on with his meal. "Anything of note?"

Draco shrugged. "Oh, the usual, you know. Some announcements, a lot of adverts. Oh, and that Percy Weasley made some kind of statement."

Harry made a face. "The Prophet's quoting Percy, now? What about?"

"Oh, just that there's nothing particularly suspicious about the missing half-bloods--"

Harry cut him off. "What missing half-bloods?"

Draco tucked into his eggs before he answered. "You really should keep up with the news a bit better than that, Harry. There was a report saying two students had gone missing earlier in the summer. And then another one this morning. But nothing to worry about."

"Nothing to worry about!" Harry called over to Severus, who was waving his wand to make the eggs flip over in the frying pan. "Did you know that students have been disappearing all summer?"

"Hardly all summer," returned Severus. "But yes, I knew that two students had gone missing a few weeks back."

"What if Voldemort's behind it?" cried Harry. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"Because there was nothing you could have done about it, and no reason to suspect the worst." Waving his wand again,, Severus deftly slid the eggs onto a row of plates laid out in a neat row. "And too, I didn't want to spoil your summer with thoughts of Voldemort unless it was absolutely necessary."

Harry looked like he was bracing himself. "Who's gone missing, anyway?"

"The latest one is a Laura Madley," said Draco. "Hufflepuff, apparently. Three years behind us."

"And the others?"

"Er-- Walter, or Wally, or--"

"Wayne Hopkins and Su Li," said Severus quietly

"They're in our year," gasped Harry, turning to Draco. "And you couldn't remember their names?"

"Well, I don't pay a huge amount of attention to the other houses, Harry!"

Harry turned to his father. "I still can't believe you didn't mention this before!"

"There wasn't much reason to." Severus floated three plates over to the table, then joined them there, though at first he did little more than sip at his tea. "Mr Hopkins and Miss Li were known to be . . . involved, shall we say. All the indications are that they ran away together."

"Skipping out on their last year of school, though?"

"Perhaps the young lady is in the family way."

"Oh."

"So that's why the paper downplayed it!" exclaimed Draco. "Of course. It's terribly gauche, isn't it, to let that happen when you're still in school. You'd think even half-bloods would know better--"

Severus sighed and set his teacup down. "I didn't say that Miss Li was with child, Draco. I was merely speculating."

"Then what about Laura Madley?" challenged Harry.

"This is the first I've heard of her going missing. Draco, the paper please."

Severus read the article closely, not that there had been that much to read. Just a few brief paragraphs, really. Hmm. Perhaps that was telling in of itself, Draco thought. Did the Prophet not want to remind readers that all this might be some plot of the Dark Lord's?

"There's precious little information about Miss Madley," said Severus, laying the paper aside. "It seems Percy Weasley is doing well for himself, however. Assistant clerk to Fudge himself, these days."

Draco sniffed. He knew the Ministry was full of idiots--who didn't?--but he still disliked the idea that a goody-goody snotrag like Percy Weasley was rising through the ranks so fast. "And empowered to hold press conferences, apparently."

Severus' smile was grim. "Oh, that's just the Minister's idea of wiliness, I expect. If he's wrong about there being no connection among these disappearances, Percy will regret making such a strong statement on the matter. Fudge will not doubt disavow the comments."

Harry sounded impatient, like he couldn't care less if Percy Weasley got sacked. "Maybe the other two ran off with each other, who knows? But Laura Madley's too young for that. So what about her? Has a search been started, has--"

Draco recognised that tone and decided enough was enough. "Are you managing MLE now, Harry? The last time I checked, you had yet to so much as apply for an apprenticeship there." Which reminded Draco, actually. He looked for the parchment he had read the night before, but it was nowhere to be seen. Oh, well. "Severus, what's this rot about some proposed change in Auror requirements? You left a draft of a complaint letter lying about."

Severus pinched the bridge of his nose. From the look of things, just thinking about the matter gave the man a headache. "You recall that the Ministry had wished me to revise my curriculum to a much lower standard of competence? Ever since my refusal to do so, they've been putting forth a daft idea that my O.W.L. level is the equivalent of every other school's N.E.W.T. programme." Severus abruptly gave a sigh. "They're proposing that sixth- and seventh-year Potions classes be eliminated from the requirements for the Auror programme."

Harry's eyes widened. "I took a year of Potions that I didn't even need?"

"No, you didn't," barked Severus. "They aren't going to change the requirements. I will stop them, even if it means using my celebrity status as Harry Potter's father, even if it means giving interviews to every paper in wizarding Britain!"

"Quite right," said Draco, nodding in approval. "What can they be thinking?"

"That Dad's Potions classes are really hard," said Harry dryly. He looked just a little bit wistful over the issue, which Draco frankly thought was bad form. Not to mention silly. What was so difficult about brewing?

"Being an Auror is hard," said Severus scathingly. "And make no mistake, you will be taking N.E.W.T. level Potions next year no matter what the Ministry has to say about the matter."

"Yeah, yeah, I know," said Harry, a small smile playing about his lips. "I remember. Any son of yours is going to be a competent brewer, and you're talking real potions, N.E.W.T. level at the very least."

"You find the idea amusing, do you?"

"No, not really. It's just . . . it's sort of, I don't know, endearing . . .?"

"Endearing!"

Draco almost laughed, then, since Severus looked so appalled.

"Well, yes." Harry paused a moment. "It's like you're just a regular dad, see. Potions matter to you. A lot. And doesn't every father try his best to pass on that kind of appreciation? His values, all that?"

Suddenly the conversation wasn't amusing in the slightest. "And allegiances," said Draco sourly. "Why don't you just start talking again about how much I look like Lucius?"

"If you must know, I was thinking of Uncle Vernon and Dudley."

"Oh." Damned impulse control. Draco wished he could call back his words.

Apparently, Harry's admission didn't sit well with Severus, who narrowed his eyes. "Don't compare me to Vernon Dursley, Harry. What heritage was he intent on passing to his son? An inordinate love of puddings?"

"True," said Harry, sighing.

"And furthermore," said Severus, his voice going up a notch, "I don't expect you to excel in Potions merely because I happen to enjoy the subject. The knowledge you gain and the mental discipline required to become a competent brewer will help you in whatever life may hold for you."

"All right, all right. So you're not a football dad. I get it."

"Football dad?"

Football . . . Draco thought back to Harry's explanations about Muggles, to his descriptions of popular sporting events. Though why kicking a round ball about appealed was a good question. "I think he means a Quidditch dad," he said, nodding at Severus.

"No, I most certainly am not," said Severus.

Draco exchanged a swift glance with Harry. Very swift. Funny how he knew what his brother was thinking. When it came to Potions, Severus wasn't really a Quidditch dad, but he wasn't that far off, either. Not that Draco would say as much to Severus.

Harry obviously knew better than to, as well, since he quickly changed the subject. "What about Laura Madley, then?"

Good. A topic Draco felt more in control of. "This is no time for your saving-people thing, Harry," he said, not caring if his words sounded like a lecture. It would be just like Harry to go and do something foolish. Something Gryffindor. And that wouldn't do. "We don't even know if she needs saving. Right, Dad?"

"There's certainly reason to doubt it. The article mentioned a custody battle going on at present. A rather ugly divorce, with Family Services involved--"

"So, there you are then."

Severus kept right on talking. "However, both parents have sworn under truth serum that they have no information about the young lady's whereabouts."

Draco scoffed. "Well, they probably don't. Whoever has her in hiding has an accomplice who can alter memories. Simple."

"Bit scary you think of that straight away," Harry put in. The prat.

"Please. It's what happened with Belladonna, more or less."

"Yeah, but we don’t know that it's what happened here--"

"There may be more to these disappearances," said Severus, "though we have nothing to base suspicion on, at present. However, you may rest assured that I will inquire if Lupin knows anything, later today."

Harry sat up straight, his posture fairly good, for once. "Today?"

"Yes, I'm due to meet him at Hogwarts this afternoon. And no, you may not come."

"But--"

"He'll still be under the influence of Polyjuice."

Draco could see Harry turning that idea over in his mind. The other boy slouched forward, again, resting his forearms on the table. "I understand, but I can handle it--"

"Harry, no," said Severus in what Draco thought was quite a stern voice. He reached across the table, as though to lay a hand atop one of Harry's, but Harry pulled back, out of reach. At that, Severus' voice softened. "It's not a good idea. It really isn't."

To Draco's shock, Harry suddenly stood up and held out both his arms, twisting them so that his inner arms were on full display. His green eyes were blazing as he raised his voice. "Afraid I'm going to start in on myself, are you? Well look, would you? I haven't been doing that, not in weeks and weeks--"

"I know you haven't," said Severus in an odd tone, which made Draco wonder if there were some monitoring spells in use. Or some other magical means of surveillance. Merlin knew, Severus wasn't afraid to keep tabs on him. "But that doesn't mean that additional stress is a sound idea. Wouldn't the good doctor agree?"

Harry scowled and flopped back into his chair. "Yeah, she might. But what does that mean, except that you both think I'm completely messed up?"

"All it means is that you aren't beyond human. We've discussed this before." Severus' voice was almost soothing as he said that, Draco thought, but it became more businesslike as he continued. "Besides, Harry, Lupin and I have some rather critical work to do, to help him survive his current assignment. He doesn't need the distraction of a friendly face."

"Oh." Harry drew in a big breath, though strangely, he ended up looking deflated. "Well, if it'll help win the war, then yeah, all right. But tell him I said 'hi.' Tell him I'd like to see him. When it's, you know, feasible."

"You'll see him again," said Severus, reaching out for Harry's hands again. That time, Harry let him. "But it will have to wait until it won't interfere with his duties to the Order. I think you know that."

"Yeah, I know that."

Draco waited until it looked like the father-son moment was over. "As long as you're carrying messages . . ." He had to swallow before he could go on. "Could you ask him how my mother is, Severus?"

"I will do that, yes." Severus glanced at him, his dark eyes intense. Darker than usual, perhaps. "Of course I will, Draco."

Draco sighed, wishing she would visit. It was out of the question to let her know where the cottage was, of course, but wasn't there any way for them to meet on neutral ground? Or at the very least, she could write. Couldn't she?There were ways to sneak letters about without her "husband" knowing. Not that Lupin would care, but he had to act as though he would care.

Which might make Narcissa shy away from even trying, Draco glumly supposed. This wasn't an emergency any longer. He wasn't a young man set completely adrift from any source of funds, not now. Though he did wonder how she could know that. Had the werewolf mentioned something about Draco getting hold of Sirius Black's fortune? But how would he have known?

Too much time thinking about things like this gave Draco a headache.

"I don't think the Prophet should put so much stress on bloodlines," Harry suddenly said, shoving aside his empty plate. Odd, Draco hadn't noticed him polishing off every last trace of the egg and toast he'd been served. Which only went to show, he decided, that he'd been lost in thoughts of Narcissa for a good while longer than was probably wise.

"They should just report a vanished child!" Harry went on, clearly warming to his theme. "Why do they have to mention that Laura Madley is a half-blood? Only a half-blood, that's what they mean!"

"Oh, that is not what they mean," said Draco. "They're just reporting the relevant facts."

"How is that remotely relevant?"

Draco wasn't sure; it just seemed like it should be. "Er . .. well . . . maybe they're trying to say that the Muggle authorities are also working on the case."

"At the very least, the information may be useful in establishing a pattern," added Severus, which rather annoyed Draco, since he should have thought of that. "For all three missing students to be half-bloods may be significant. I will ask Lupin if he's heard of any plans involving students."

"Wouldn't he have reported it already, if he knows anything at all?"

"Anything critical, certainly." Severus gave a wry smile. "He's not at liberty to contact us very often, as you know. Arranging this afternoon's visit, in fact, was far from simple."

Harry nodded and sighed, looking like he was trying to think of another topic. He found one, too, actually popping open the letter box that Draco had shoved to one side. "Nothing from Hermione?"

"Does it look like there is?" Draco drummed his fingertips on the table. "I almost wish I could stay here and wait."

"Why can't you? I know you were worried about me at first, but I can mange in the water, now. And even if I couldn't, I'm sure Roger's not about to let me drown."

"Yes, well watching you flop about in the water isn't the only attraction at the pool. Rhiannon'll be there, and I wouldn't miss a chance to see her for the world." Draco lifted his chin. "The world. I don't care how angry she still is. Even seeing her from a distance . . . it's like a cheering charm. And I could use one."

"All right, all right. Didn't mean to get your wand in a knot." Harry dedicated himself to his tea after that, Draco noticed.

For his part, Draco was still hoping for a letter. Or for Granger to simply show up. What was wrong with her? Didn't she know how to use a Portkey? That didn't explain much, though. Draco knew she could use a quill. Or more likely at this time of year, a horrible plastic pen.

Draco stared at the letter box, willing it to produce something. It remained empty, though. It was still empty when they Apparated away to Exeter.

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

As it turned out, going to the pool wasn't like a cheering charm at all. Rhiannon wasn't even there.

At first, Draco assumed she was merely late. He passed the time watching Roger correct Harry's backstroke as he wondered what he should do when Rhiannon arrived. Somehow, playing cool and aloof didn't seem like it would be a very good move, in the circumstances.

Hmm. If things ran true to form, her uncle would start to yell at her--in public, no less; such terrible manners--when she showed up late. Should Draco rebuke him, perhaps? Rally to her defence?

She might appreciate that, or she might not. And too, more friction with the uncle was bound to work against Draco, since Rhiannon would be living with the man for the rest of the summer . . .

In the end, though, he didn't have to decide: Rhiannon never came to work at all. In fact, a short stocky girl came in and took her place. She rushed past the line of children waiting at the smaller pool like she'd been summoned at the last minute.

She was late, like Rhiannon often was, but Stanley Tilden didn't yell at her, Draco noticed.

So . . . Rhiannon wasn't coming in to work, then? Draco frowned, but eventually decided it was a good sign. She must not want to see him, which of course could only mean that deep down, she cared. If she were truly indifferent it wouldn’t bother her to be in Draco's vicinity.

Beside him, Severus stiffened slightly. Probably because Harry had just gone under the water and had come up sputtering something awful. Draco leaned forward, hands tensing, but then he saw that that Roger chap was right there, at the ready, his hands just an inch away from Harry, who managed to right himself without any help.

At any rate, Harry certainly didn't seem alarmed. "Backstroke's a lot harder than crawl," Draco heard him complaining.

"Come on now, float again," said Roger in a coaxing voice. He took Harry's wrist in hand and moved his arm up and back, demonstrating the stroke. Again and again.

Draco couldn't help but shudder. His own swim lessons, long ago, had been proper wizarding ones that involved a great many spells and very little man-handling. But then, Harry didn't seem to mind. He was smiling, even, as he floated there and let Roger move his arm up and back, again.

Well, it only stood to reason that Harry would be soaking all this in with glee, practically. He was making up for a childhood lost. A childhood in a cupboard . . .

Once, those rumours had been like a fine wine, to Draco. Now, he tried not to think about how very awful that must have been.

Or how awful he'd been, to enjoy the idea.

Finally, at half-past, Draco gave up on waiting for Rhiannon. "I'm going to the office," he announced to Severus, who merely nodded and kept his eyes on the pool, as usual.

Stanley Tilden was sitting behind the counter, bent over as he rifled through some files in a drawer.

Draco had to clear his throat. Twice.

Then, the man finally looked up.

"Good morning, Mr Tilden," he said with a smile, keeping his voice casual. He just hoped Rhiannon hadn't mentioned anything about their fight. "Is Rhiannon coming in later on?"

"She took a sick day."

Oh, no. She was upset enough with Draco that it had made her physically ill? Well, Draco could pop straight over and set that right. Just seeing him should make her feel better, he decided. But, best to be sure of her symptoms, he supposed. "Er . . . is she very poorly off, then?"

The man straightened, finally, and scowled. "I didn't say she was sick, Draco, only that she'd taken a sick day."

Oh . . . well, that made even more sense, didn't it . . . she was skiving off work. Draco was a bit surprised that Tilden was letting her, but perhaps she'd pretended to be sick, and Tilden had decided to let her get away with it. Which didn't seem like him, actually.

So Rhiannon must be very depressed indeed, and Tilden knew it.

Well, Draco would make things all right between them. He just needed a spot or two of advice first, so he didn't end up making things worse.

"Was there something else you needed, Draco?" asked Tilden in a very weary voice.

"No, no," said Draco, putting on his very best manners. "Do tell Rhiannon that I'm sorry I missed her, will you? And if you'd be so good, let her know that I wish her well."

"Yeah, I'll tell her." Tilden looked up, his eyes a little bit narrowed. "Do you want to ring her yourself?"

He pushed something toward Draco. A tan-coloured phone.

Draco did want to ring her, but he didn’t know what to say. Worse, he didn't know how to use a phone. It probably wasn't very hard, but he wasn't in the mood to make a fool of himself in front of her uncle. Especially not considering that he still had to talk to Granger about all this.

"Ah, no. No, thank you."

Tilden's nostrils flared. "Best not to let a row fester, young man."

Draco raised an eyebrow. "A row? Er . . . did she . . ."

The man shook his head. "No, she didn't say anything, but I know Rhiannon. Well, up to you if you're too proud to ring her first."

He turned away, then, and busied himself with his files.

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

Draco was thinking about one thing, and one thing only, as he Apparated back to Devon. Was that dratted letter box still going to be empty?

He rushed through the summer grass, throwing open the door to the cottage, only to be brought up short by the sight that greeted him inside.

Hermione Granger was sitting on the sofa just inside the door, and at her side sat none other than Ron Weasley.

What are you doing here? That was what Draco wanted to ask, but he knew better than to start down that road. Hermione was hardly likely to listen to him for long if he started things out by being rude to her rather uninspired choice of boyfriend.

With that in mind, Draco forced himself to smile. He didn't think it looked terribly enthusiastic, but it was the best he could manage. "Ron, Hermione. How lovely to see you both."

"Oh, stuff it, Mal-- Snape," said Ron, practically leaping to his feet. Hermione stood up too, a good deal more demurely.

"His name's Draco," said Harry as he came through the door. "Remember? We agreed."

"Like hell we agreed." Ron planted his feet apart, his stance screaming that he was spoiling for a fight. "I'd like to know what you think you're playing at, writing Hermione a love letter behind my back!"

Draco just about choked. He could hardly believe what Weasley had said, what he'd had the gall to suggest! A love letter, of all things! And not just that, but a love letter to Granger.

"Are you off your head?"

"You heard me." Ron widened his stance. "So, the distance between yourself and Muggles isn't as great as you thought, eh? And this matter could not be more personal, what in Merlin's name is that supposed to mean? And how it's all been a revelation to you and such a huge shock to Harry--"

Draco's jaw dropped. In fact, he very nearly drew his wand. "How dare you read my private post!"

"I let him," said Hermione, her voice as cool as Weasley's was hot as she stared straight at Draco. "I had to. Molly Weasley was having a fit at the idea that I planned to Portkey here alone. Oh . . . I was at the Burrow when your letter reached me. And to be quite honest with you, I didn't know what to make of it, either."

"Yeah, so don't play innocent!"

Draco all at once felt ill. "Merlin," he groaned, ignoring Ron and shaking his head at Hermione. "You didn't really think I meant . . . did you?"

"Please," said Hermione scathingly. "You and a Muggleborn? You? Right."

Oh, dear. That didn't bode well.

"Yeah, well I still think the whole thing sounds awfully dodgy!" retorted Ron, who clearly wasn't listening to a word anybody was saying. As usual.

"Oh, for God's sake," said Harry, going over to stand in front of Ron. Putting both hands on his shoulders, he gave his friend a slight shake. "Draco's not interested in Hermione, Ron. Not. Not. Trust me on this one."

As Weasley shrugged Harry off, the dull red flush under his skin went a darker colour, but not from anger. Humiliation, maybe. Draco hoped so, anyway.

And that was before he heard the next idiotic claim to come out of Weasley's mouth. "So what's it all mean, then, all this rot about you being a lot closer to Muggles than you ever knew? Are you one of those children we always hear rumours about? You know, a Muggleborn switched at birth?"

"No, I'm bloody well not a Muggleborn," shouted Draco, aghast. "Switched at birth! How dare you! Do you want to duel, Weasley, is that it?"

"Nobody will be duelling," said Severus calmly. When Draco glanced behind him, his father was giving a tiny shake of his head.

Draco took a deep breath, appalled now not only at the nasty suggestion Ron had made, but also at himself. He hadn't even noticed when Severus had come into the cottage; he'd been too caught up in the conversation. He knew better than to lose track of his surroundings like that. In any sort of real battle, it would be deadly.

At that same moment, Draco felt the gentle brush of his father's mind against his own. Just a touch, the same as had happened two days earlier. This time, though, he didn't misunderstand. Severus wasn't trying to read his mind. No, that was his way of privately showing Draco that Severus was there for him. The others would see a hand on Draco's shoulder, but not this.

Draco relaxed, giving a tiny nod of his own. Severus marked it, he was sure.

Meanwhile, Harry had taken a couple of steps away from Ron. "Draco? I think you'd better just come out with it."

Probably the best thing to do, Draco thought. Knowing that and doing it were two different things, though. It wasn't really Weasley's business, was it? But really, after all this rubbish about love-letters and Muggleborns switched at birth . . . yes, the best thing to do would be to clear everything up, right now.

Draco shoved his hands into his pockets. He was getting a bit weary of explaining himself. He felt like he'd been doing that for weeks, to Harry, and he was only going to have to do a lot more of it in a few moments, if he was going to persuade Granger to recommend a course of action. Instinct had him wrapping one hand around the grip of his wand, but not to wield it. He just felt better when he had it in hand, even though he was still getting used to feel of the maple.

"I invited Hermione here so she could give me some advice," he said, head held high. "If she'd be so good."

"Advice?" That was Hermione, her forehead crinkling up. "About what?"

"You, coming to her for advice!" Ron practically guffawed. "Oh, that's rich!"

There was more ridicule coming; Draco could tell. Weasley was just getting started. Draco stiffened, his arm just itching to draw his wand.

Severus must have sensed how close Draco was coming to losing control of his impulses. "You're a guest in my son's home," the Potions Master announced, his voice severe. When Draco glanced at him, he was levelling something close to a death glare at Weasley. "And it's my home as well. Kindly remember that."

"Yes, sir," murmured Ron, looking down and shuffling his feet.

"Draco, what can I help you with?" asked Hermione again, a little more slowly.

"I need to talk to you alone--"

"Oh, no you don't!"

Ron again. Of course. Jealous idiot. He was looking up now, his eyes flashing as if to warn Draco off.

Which of course meant that Draco had to try his own version of a death glare. "Oh, yes I do," he mocked. But then, because he was awfully tired of pointless argument, he said the rest of it. It was easier than he would have thought, all things considered. "I need a feminine perspective. A Muggle perspective. Because I actually am in love, as it turns out. But not with Hermione. With a Muggle girl, and that's what I need advice about. Satisfied, Weasley?"

Satisfied didn't exactly cover it, Draco thought. Weasley looked floored. Absolutely staggered. His red colour abruptly faded. "You . . . and a . . . Muggle! You're having us on!"

"I'm not."

"You're serious?"

"Perfectly," said Draco. Coldly. "And now, if Hermione will be so kind, we'll be having a private talk. In my bedroom, but if you say one word out of place about it, I'll--"

"Oh, shush, Draco," said Hermione, stepping forward to lay a hand on Weasley's forearm. "Ron's not going to say anything else. Are you, Ron?"

Draco had to hand it to her; she really did know how to wrap the other boy around her finger. He just hoped she understood Muggle girls as well as she obviously understood Weasley.

Weasley shook his head, but he didn't look any too happy. Actually, Draco wouldn't have been surprised if he only waited five minutes and then began to pound on the door, yelling things. He did, after all, have a nasty habit of making the nastiest sorts of allegations.

Severus must have thought something similar. "A game of chess to pass the time," he suggested, his voice edged with hard tones. "What about it, Mr Weasley?"

"Well--"

"Oh, you can't pass that up," said Harry, clearly trying to smooth things over. "And you'd better take the offer while it's good. Er . . . Dad has to leave in a little while, I think."

"Indeed." Severus inclined his head. "I've an appointment at three."

Ron glanced around as if looking for help from some quarter. He certainly didn't get any from Granger.

"Really, Ronald," she said, sighing. "If you don't trust me to be alone in a room with Draco, you should just say so."

"It's not you I don't trust--"

"I'm in love with another girl," said Draco, laughing it off that time. What else was there to do, when Weasley was being so completely ridiculous? "Tell you what. A hundred Galleons if you can manage to keep Severus from completely humiliating you."

"Oh, sure, act like your gold can buy anything you want." Ron practically spat the words.

"But it can't," said Draco calmly. "It can't buy Rhiannon. If it could, I wouldn’t need to talk with Hermione. All right . . . Ron?"

"Oh, fine. Go, fine. But keep the door open, mind--"

"Ronald!"

"Or closed," Weasley hurriedly added. "Whatever."

Draco wasted no time in taking him at his word. He strode into the bedroom, head held high, never once looking behind him.

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

"So . . . you love a Muggle girl," said Hermione doubtfully as soon as Draco had finished casting privacy spells. "Any reason why you didn't just say so in your letter?"

"I didn't think you'd believe me."

Hermione smiled, and not pleasantly. "But I don't believe you. What's this really all about, Draco?"

"That is what it's about," said Draco, sitting down on his bed. He'd have waved her onto Harry's, but he thought he'd get more from the conversation if she was close enough that he could see her expressions up close, so he patted the spot next to him.

Hermione's lips curled upward in sort of a rueful expression as she planted her hands on her hips. "Ron would have a fit. And before you say he's not in here, let me just tell you, I wouldn't put it past him to go outside so he can watch us through the window."

As if a mere window could be any sort of real problem! Shrugging, Draco waved his wand at the window as he murmured an incantation to obscure the glass.

"Oh, that's a nice spell," said Hermione, clearly not meaning it. "Very . . . Slytherin."

"If you aren't going to sit down, I'll stand too," warned Draco, patting the spot beside him, again.

Hermione glanced at his hand, but then backed away to sit down on Harry's bed, after all. "I don't think so," she said, crossing her legs a bit primly. Or nervously, perhaps.

It suddenly struck Draco that he'd never been completely alone with Hermione Granger before. And he had insulted and threatened her rather frequently in the past, so it stood to reason that she might be a little bit uncertain of his true intentions.

Not that she was going to admit to being wary, of course. Her eyes were narrowing, her voice talking on that challenging lilt he'd heard her use to Harry so many times. "After all, you wouldn't like this . . . Rhiannon, did you say, sitting with another boy on his bed, would you?"

Hmm, she did have a point there, which was rather annoying. Hermione was definitely too clever by half. But that was all right, as long as he could get that fine mind of hers working on his problem.

Capitulating, Draco summoned a chair close to Harry's bed. "Oh, I wouldn't like that at all," he said, in a voice that suggested hexes and worse. "You're right."

"Now that's something I never thought I'd hear you say."

One part of Draco knew he might deserve that, but a bigger part of him was offended. Particularly since she said it like he was still the boy he'd been years ago, the one who'd wanted Harry Potter dead. Hadn't she realised yet that he wasn't that person any longer? He'd proved it, hadn't he? "You've forgotten I called you clever, apparently."

"You've called me a lot of things over the years."

Oh, sweet Merlin. Draco got it, then. She wanted an apology. He almost rolled his eyes, because the one thing Hermione had never seemed to him was a typical girl, but here she was, waiting for an apology, just the same as Rhiannon had wanted. Well, Granger could wait all day, if that was her problem. After all, when Draco had said he was sorry to Rhiannon, it hadn't made a whit of difference. Why should he abase himself again?

He wouldn't, not when she'd probably just scoff at it. Far better to approach the matter with a Slytherin retort. "Yes, well I actually must think you clever, seeing as I asked you here so you could give me some advice."

"So you're implying that you didn't actually think those other things, are you?"

"I don't know, do I?" asked Draco, raising his voice. Why not? She had him by the teeth, by then. "Seeing as I love a Muggle girl?"

Hermione abruptly glanced away and worried her lower lip with her teeth. Draco had the feeling that she was thinking, but it looked like an awfully strange way to do it. When she finally spoke, her words came slowly. Which wasn't like her at all, but then again, Draco would bet more than a hundred Galleons that she'd never had to face a conversation like this one, before. "You really love a Muggle, Draco? Truly? That's the reason why you owled?"

Draco nodded, leaning forward and looking her straight in the eye.

Hermione sighed and leaned back on her palms. "All right, I suppose I can swallow that, though it's very difficult." Her voice took on a sardonic note. "I don't think you have any idea how difficult."

Oh, she was finding this difficult, was she?

"But Harry seemed to think it was true," Hermione blithely continued, clearly still thinking her way through the matter. "You wouldn't play a prank like this on Harry, would you? Who thinks of you as a brother?"

Oh, wonderful. If she believed him at all, it would be because of Harry.

"He is my brother," retorted Draco, sitting back in his chair as he gave a long sigh. "Let's not have any of this thinks of you as rubbish. And no, I wouldn't play a prank like this. Why would I want to?"

"I can't think of a single reason."

Draco fought off an urge to say something sarcastic.

"After all, you're only going to make your own life harder with a story like this--"

"If you want to talk hard, what do you think it's been like for me, finding out I was dating a Muggle?"

Hermione had been swinging her legs a bit--they were uncrossed by then--but at that, she went still. "What do you mean, finding out?"

Draco tugged on his collar a little, wishing he could cast a cooling spell. But that would give too much away. As it was, he could tell he must be going red in the face. And that looked worse on him than it did on Weasley, he knew.

"Well . . . I, er . . ."

"Yes?"

Closing his eyes, Draco almost started wishing himself somewhere else. It was humiliating enough that Harry and Severus knew how big an imbecile he'd been; for Hermione Granger to find out as well was galling in the extreme. But there was no way around it. "I thought she was a witch at first, all right?"

Hermione giggled. "Really?"

Draco opened one eye and regarded her balefully. "I'm not telling you these things so you can laugh."

Hermione's grin faltered. "Right, of course. But what would make you think that a Muggle was a witch?"

"She was wonderful, that's what!"

"You can't be a wonderful person without magic?"

Draco bared his teeth, even though all that sort of thing was bad manners. "Well, obviously she can be, but I didn't know that, not then. She was so perfect that I assumed she simply had to be a witch. A pureblooded witch, even, if you must know."

"And there I always thought you were clever too, in your own way."

"Come again?"

Hermione shifted so she could lean forward. "Look, Draco. You used to be a thoroughly foul person as far as I'm concerned, but over the last few months you did make it clear that Harry's important to you, now, whatever was true before. I don't expect you to admit it, but my guess would be that you think he's wonderful."

"Your point being?"

"Harry had a Muggleborn mother. You can't possibly still believe that only purebloods can be wonderful."

Everything she said was true, of course, but Draco didn't like where it was leading. Not one bit. Thankfully, he had an easy way out. "Oh, please. He's Harry Potter, as you well know. If anything is certain, it's that the usual rules don't apply. Not to him."

"Then what's your excuse when it comes to Ron?" she asked crisply, the moment he stopped speaking. "He's pureblooded, but I'd bet my last book that you don’t find him wonderful."

Draco clenched his fists. They were supposed to be talking about how he could get Rhiannon back, not going on about what Draco did or didn't think! Annoyed, he raised an eyebrow in challenge and came back at her with an analogy he knew she wouldn't appreciate. "All house-elves are enslaved creatures, but it doesn't follow that all enslaved creatures must therefore be elves, Granger. There are plenty of other kinds."

Hermione glared at him. "Do you want my help, or not?"

"With Rhiannon, not with whether I find my own brother so sodding wonderful!"

The angry expression in her eyes softened. "Defensive about it, aren't we?"

Of course he was. It was one thing to turn to Harry because strategic advantage dictated him to be Draco's best chance at survival. It was quite another thing to actually like him. Which Draco did, of course. But he still had moments of misgiving about it. How could he not? He'd been raised to think that Harry Potter was the worst thing that had ever happened to the wizarding world!

Well, the worst thing except for Muggles trying to infest it all the time with their semi-magical spawn.

Hermione looked smug by then. "Why don't you just tell me a bit about your girl, then?"

His girl. Draco wished she was. Extending his legs extended in front of him, heels tilted against the floor, he folded his arms across his chest. "Rhiannon's an opera singer." A wonderful one, he almost added. "She went to a music academy for her schooling; she was admitted for her talent, which is quite stupendous, and believe me, I would know. She doesn't like math or science much, and--"

"How did you meet her?"

Oh. Draco had perhaps begun prattling there, a bit. He couldn't help it, though. Rhiannon was wonderful. "She works at the pool. Where Harry has his lessons, you know."

"She helps with those?"

Draco stared at her. "No. I told you, that's Roger's job. Do you think it takes two lifeguards just to keep Harry afloat?"

"All right, all right. Don't get your knickers in a twist. I'm just figuring it all out."

"That's wand in a twist."

All that got him was an impatient look. "If you're going to date a Muggle you'll have to get used to Muggle sayings, you know."

Yes, Draco did know. He'd been all over that with Harry, but he could see that Hermione was never going to believe it, not just on his say-so. Probably best to show her how hard he'd been trying. "Oh, God, do you think so?" he asked, throwing the question out like he said it all the time.

It didn't quite come off that way. When Draco heard himself, he almost cringed. He sounded absolutely dreadful speaking Mugglish.

Hermione must have thought so too; her mouth all at once seemed to compress, like she was trying to hold in a laugh, and having a rather hard time of it. Then she spoke quickly, as if to get herself under control. "What's an opera singer doing working at a pool, anyway?"

Draco folded his hands together and tried to look more composed than he felt. It wouldn't do for Granger to know that he wished he hadn't tried a spot of Mugglish on her. "Well, her uncle owns it. She has to work there so he'll let her stay with him for the summer. Because the opera she's singing at is in Exeter, you see."

Hermione tilted her head to the side. "And you really had no reason to suppose her a witch other than her . . ." She gave him a bit of a smile. "Air of wonder?"

"I definitely did. But . . . they all seem a little daft, now."

"Tell me about them."

"Well, wizards don’t have a theatre world of our own, you know." Oh, perhaps she didn't know. Feeling on firmer ground, Draco started explaining things she would understand if she'd been raised in a proper wizarding household. "That means that if you're interested in the performing arts, you have to fit yourself into the Muggle world as best you can. So, at first I thought she was doing that. Passing herself off as one of them. And then . . . then that started to seem less likely . . ."

He winced, remembering what had come next. "So after that, I started to think that Rhiannon must be a witch without knowing a thing about it. And before you say so, yes, I do know that doesn't make much sense. You should have heard Harry trying to talk me out of it, asking where her Hogwarts letter had got to. We had a lot of arguments."

Hermione started twisting a section of hair around and around her finger. "But that does make perfect sense." She paused, but not as though considering her words. It was more like she was waiting for the right moment to strike. "You didn't want her to be a Muggle, did you, Draco?"

He could feel his expression hardening, becoming granite. "No, I didn't."

"But she is one."

"Is there a particular reason why we're going about in circles?"

That time it did look like she was deciding what do say. "I suppose . . . I'm trying to figure out why you would still claim to love her, now that you know the truth."

Granite? Draco was clenching all over, by then. "Don't call it a claim. I really do love her."

"Are you sure? Perhaps you just can't bear to admit that you were wrong."

Dear Merlin, she was worse than Marsha. Draco's nostrils flared. "Or perhaps I actually am in love. Why wouldn't I be? Muggle or no, she's absolutely perfect."

Hermione snorted.

"Well, perhaps she's not absolutely perfect," admitted Draco with a slight smile. "Rhiannon loathes money, which isn't a terribly rational attitude, is it . . ."

"You know, she really doesn't sound like your kind of girl at all," said Hermione wryly.

"But she loves magic," said Draco earnestly. "Adores it, always has, even though she didn't know it was real. That's part of why I thought she was a witch at first."

"She knows you're a wizard?"

Draco nodded.

Hermione stopped twisting her hair. "Oh. I thought you had Snape's permission to break it to her, and you were wondering the best way. But if she already knows, then why did you need to talk to me, again?"

The hard part, now. Draco leaned forward over his legs. "We rowed something awful. And I've tried to talk to her, but she won't listen. I don't understand Muggle girls, obviously. I thought you could tell me what she wants to hear."

"Perhaps that you're sorry?"

Draco glanced up, just briefly. "Told her that."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, of course I'm sure!"

When he glanced up again, Hermione was giving him what seemed to be a speculative look. "It just doesn't strike me as much of a you thing to say."

At that, Draco felt like snorting. Though he wouldn't, of course. He had better manners. "That shows how much you know," he said, chin high. "It wasn't even my first apology, if you must know."

"You're keeping count?"

Doesn't everyone? Draco hurriedly splayed his hands on his knees before it became obvious that he'd begun counting on his fingers.

Hermione's voice softened, then. "It's just difficult to picture, Draco. You've always been so . . . so proud of your pride."

Draco looked away, his lips twisting. "You haven't been paying attention, Granger. My pride was blasted all to bits when I had to admit to my own worst enemy that I'd chosen the wrong side. And when I recommended that you and Ron come here to see what his wanded magic can really do, since you could be at Harry's side during classes and I couldn't." Not to mention when I wrote to you for help . . .

Looking back at her, Draco cleared his throat. "I did apologise," he said clearly. "Though obviously I can't force you to believe it."

Hermione gave a brief nod. Draco wasn't even sure what it meant, but then she began speaking. "Good for you, then. That's a start."

Maybe she wasn't as clever as he had always thought. "No, it wasn't. She still can't stand the sight of me." He hated the way his voice went plaintive, but he couldn't seem to hold back the awful sound of need. "What do I do?"

"If saying you're sorry wasn't any use, then I don't know."

"Oh, wonderful."

"Since I don't even know what you rowed about in the first place," Hermione said without stopping.

"Oh . . ." Draco sighed, and looked out the window. Or tried to. His spell was still obscuring the view. He should have used a one-sided charm, he thought, annoyed. "I wasn't trying to upset her, but I found out she was a Muggle rather unexpectedly, you see. And . . . well, I was shocked. Of course I was shocked! Anyone would be, after all. But Rhiannon saw how . . . er, upset I was, and reasoned everything out."

"Reasoned everything out?"

"She figured out that I must have thought her magical up until then."

"Oh, dear." Hermione considered that for a moment, then brightened. "You know, she sounds rather clever."

Trust Hermione to think of that.

"Just tell me what to do to make it right," said Draco, turning back to her.

"How could I possibly know how to set that right?"

Draco started speaking slowly, since she seemed to be having such a difficult time understanding the situation. "She's a Muggle girl. And until you were eleven, you thought you were a Muggle girl, didn't you? And since then, every summer, you spend scads of time with Muggle girls, don't you? After all that, I'm sure you understand Muggle girls!"

Clearly, Hermione didn't appreciate his tone. "Are you under some kind of strange delusion that all Muggles are alike, Draco?"

Draco blinked. "Aren't they?"

Hermione frowned. "Of course not. Do you want people to assume all purebloods are alike, and think you must have all the same traits as Ron?"

Draco shuddered. Which probably didn't help his cause any, but by the time he'd realised that, it was too late to call the reaction back.

"Oh, fine," he muttered finally. She was right, of course. He could see that. Obviously, all Muggles couldn't possibly be alike, since Rhiannon was so unlike the great unwashed masses of them. "I don't even know why I thought I needed to talk to you, really," he said thoughtfully. "Rhiannon's sort of a Muggle-in-name-only, if you ask me."

Hermione scooted forward until she was sitting on the edge of the bed. "Are you convincing yourself again that she has magic after all?"

"No, no. I've given up on that." Draco sighed.

"Then what did you mean?"

"It's just . . ." At that, Draco shrugged. "The other girls at the pool were typical Muggles, but not Rhiannon. You could tell."

"What are you going on about?"

Draco's face heated just remembering. "Well, Rhiannon wore a one-piece red swim suit that was cut a bit low in front and a bit high in the leg, if you ask me, but at least most of her was covered up in public. The other Muggle girls . . . sweet Merlin! They wore close to nothing at all! Tiny patches of cloth, completely indecent, but what can you expect? Everybody knows that Muggle girls put out without even thinking twice. All you have to do is buy them dinner, or even a small snack, and--"

Thwack!

Draco's chair skidded back several inches from the force of the blow, his head snapping to the side. Ouch. At least she'd just slapped him, not decked him like last time, but he could swear she'd hit him ten times as hard.

By the time he recovered, jumping to his feet, she was already at the door, yanking on the knob to try to open it. But of course, his privacy wards had included a standard sticking spell. He hadn't wanted Weasley barging in on them in a fit of jealous rage.

Hermione whipped her wand out. "Finite!"

But of course that didn't work. Warding spells wouldn't be much use if any witch or wizard could eliminate them with a simple Finite.

Hermione's next move was to advance on him, her wand still extended. She looked as though she intended to poke him with it.

Honestly, the girl's concept of manners was absolutely atrocious.

Or perhaps not, since she never did actually poke him. She just held her wand at the ready, her shoulders thrown back, her eyes flashing like Harry's did when he was angry. "We're through, here. Let me out. Now."

"Aren't you overreacting a tad? I didn't say you were--"

"What, a slut?"

"No need to be crude--"

"You were."

Draco dragged in a breath. Had he been? It was just the truth, what he'd said. Like saying the sky was blue. "I was just trying to explain that Rhiannon isn't like that."

"And every other Muggle girl is? Honestly! Are you listening to yourself? Well, I can tell by now that you aren't listening to me, so let me out!"

Draco started to draw his wand so he could. By then, he felt a little put out, anyway. All he'd wanted was a little advice, and what had he got but a bunch of lectures and a slap? And a hard one at that. "Fine," he said, not caring that he sounded petulant. "She's not like a Muggle girl anyway, so I don't know why I thought your experience would be of any use." He whispered the key to the wards and lifted them. "There, all gone. Have fun watching Weasley lose at chess!"

"I heard that!" called Weasley from the other side of the closed door.

Hermione laid a hand on the knob again, but she didn't try to turn it. "Yes, I'm sure I couldn't have helped you anyway," she said, her chin lifted as she tucked her wand back away. "You've got girls so well figured out, after all. Why don't you explain things to her the way you just explained them to me? That should work wonders--"

With that, she was flinging the door open.

As she strode through to the little cottage's main room, Draco realised two things all at once. One, while Rhiannon might not be a typical Muggle girl, she was a girl, which meant that know-it-all Granger still might have a good idea or two, and two . . . this was all starting to seem very, very familiar.

He'd made Rhiannon blazingly angry without meaning to. He'd offended her. And now he'd just done the same with Granger, though Merlin knew he didn't really understand how.

It must be a girl thing, flying off the broom like that.

But if that was the case . . . maybe he should pay more attention to understanding girls in general, instead of just Muggle girls.

Huh. That thought led him straight back to Granger. Who else was he going to talk to? A girl in Slytherin, who would merely use the whole conversation to her own advantage, spreading rumours about how soft Draco must have gone, seeing that he was falling in love with Muggles, these days?

No, it was Hermione Granger or nobody at all. But that was all right, even if she was upset with him at the moment. Perhaps, her being upset was all to the good, even. If Draco could get her to keep talking then he might have an idea how to do the same with Rhiannon.

Granger could be like . . . a training broom, he thought. Good practice for Rhiannon. And after the things Granger had said in the bedroom, he actually did have a good idea how to begin with her, at least.

Draco stepped out after her, and went over to the sofa, where she'd flung herself, arms crossed, clearly fuming. One glance around had him see that Weasley and Severus were still playing chess in the dining area, though Weasley seemed to be watching Granger more than the game. He looked as though he might give up on it, actually, which didn't give Draco much time to get her talking to him again, since he certainly wasn't going to consult her at length about girls with Weasley putting in his two-Galleon's worth in.

Well, drastic times called for drastic measures, and at this point, Draco didn't even care that Harry had gone to sit right alongside Granger, and was talking to her quietly . . . probably asking what was wrong. So what if Harry would hear, if everyone would hear? It would all be worth it, if in the end, Draco could get back onto good terms with Rhiannon.

Dropping to one knee, just beside the sofa, Draco rested both his hands on his thigh and looked Hermione Granger straight in the eyes. Or tried to; he had to clear his throat to make her look up. Twice. But when she did, he said it all in one rush, without hesitating. By then, he'd had enough time to run through it in his head, after all. And anyway, when it came to Rhiannon, he really didn't have any pride. That much was glaringly obvious, considering what he was about to say. To Granger.

"I'm sorry, Hermione. I'm very sorry. I didn't mean to offend you, not in the slightest. Will you accept my apology?"

He didn't spare a glance at Harry; Draco kept his gaze centred squarely on Granger, who looked like he'd cast some sort of shock-inducing spell. After only an instant, though, she closed her mouth.

Too bad Weasley didn't. "You're sorry, are you?" Draco heard the scrape of a chair being shoved back. "What did you do to offend her, then?"

"I can handle this, Ron," said Hermione crossly, flicking the other boy a glance.

Severus shut Weasley up much more effectively, and with only a single word. "Check."

Ron glanced from the chess board to his girlfriend and back, clearly unsure what to do. In the end he took Granger at her word, and let her handle matters.

Which she did. With aplomb, Draco had to admit. "Get off your knee," she said in a low, but level tone. "You're lucky Ron didn't think you were proposing."

That comment was a test, Draco sensed. And an invitation to insult Weasley, perhaps . . . or to say something scathing about Muggleborns. Draco stayed silent and kept his expression as impassive as possible as he got up off his knee.

"Sit," said Hermione, patting the cushion next to her.

Oh, so they were allowed to sit side by side as long as it wasn't on a bed?

Draco caught Harry's eye as he sat down.

Harry at once got up, having obviously got Draco's message. Or maybe he was just remembering Severus' occasional lectures on decorum. At any rate, he didn't look amused, or as though he was enjoying seeing Draco having to apologise. Then again, with Harry's apologising-thing, he probably thought it was a completely normal thing to do.

Well, it wasn't normal for Draco. His stomach felt a bit unsettled, actually.

"I'd like you to answer Ron's question," said Hermione quietly as Harry headed back to watch the chess match.

Draco's brow wrinkled. "What I did to offend you? Don't you know? Because I don’t. I was talking about Muggles, not Muggleborns. Do you think of yourself as a Muggle, still?" he asked, quite reasonably, he thought. "If not, I don't see how you could have been insulted."

"My mother is a Muggle," hissed Hermione, leaning closer to him. "How would you like it if I said that Narcissa Malfoy would sleep with anyone who would take her out for a snack?"

Severus and Ron kept right on with their chess game, though Draco would bet that his father, at least, could hear every word. He had better manners than to let on, except perhaps in the way his lips were suddenly looking chiselled from stone.

Ron might not have heard that last bit, but Harry was closer, and obviously needed more lectures on decorum. He suddenly made a noise that sounded like he was strangling, and walking quickly, went into the kitchen. Draco heard the noise of wooden boxes being opened and closed, and bottles clinking against each other.

As for Hermione . . . well, Draco could suddenly see her point. Well, sort of. Pureblooded women had higher standards than she was implying, obviously. Much higher. But she clearly thought the same of Muggle women. So that all sorted.

"All right, then, I am sorry."

"You weren't before?"

Something in her gaze warned him that at this point, only brutal honesty would serve his cause. "Well, I was sorry you were angry at me, but I didn't really understand why you would be."

"You're serious?"

Draco nodded.

"My God, no wonder you need help."

"Thanks," said Draco dryly.

"Butterbeer?" asked Harry brightly. When he extended the tray, Draco saw that Harry's awful pet was wrapped several times around his wrist. Ugh.

Ignoring the snake, Draco took a butterbeer and passed it to Hermione, then took another for himself. "Thank you."

Harry lowered his voice to a bare whisper. "You're making Ron lose, you know. He may not look like he's listening, but he is. Or trying to, at least."

"Perhaps we should return to the bedroom."

Hermione gave him a derisive glance. "I don't think so. I didn't much care for your warding spell."

"Outside, then," said Draco quickly, standing up. "We'll go sit under the oak."

Harry handed his snake to Hermione. "Oh, Sals loves it there. Let her loll about in the sun for me, would you?"

Draco certainly didn't know what that was about. Was Harry trying to urge Hermione out the door? Or did he think that having a snake around would put Draco on edge and somehow keep him from offending Granger again?

Knowing Harry, though, he might just be thinking that Sals needed some sun.

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

"All right," said Granger when she had arranged herself cross-legged on the blanket Draco had transfigured. Nearby, the snake was slithering through the grass in slow circles; Draco looked away, though he tried not to look at Granger, either. "Just how serious are you about this Rhiannon?"

Draco's gaze snapped to hers. "How many times do I have to say I love her--"

"I know you think you love her. But is she a summer romance, or do you see this really going somewhere? Because I don't."

"Well, that was blunt!"

"You should know," retorted Hermione. "Blunt has been your specialty, all along."

That she could think so was vaguely horrifying. Draco's image of himself was as someone a good deal more subtle. More stealthy. But he supposed his remarks about Muggleborns hadn't really been either of those things.

And that was just her point, he soon found out. "Look, Draco. You were really offended that Ron joked you might have been switched at birth. You obviously still find the whole idea of Muggleborns disgusting--"

"Then why am I spending my precious free time talking to one?" There, thought Draco. Find your way out of that.

Unfortunately, she had no trouble managing it. "You tolerate me because you want Harry's respect, and the only reason you're talking to me today is because you're in a bit of a fix."

Draco blew out a breath. "What do you want, a gold-plated apology for every time I ever called you a Mudblood? I don't call you one now! Isn't that enough?"

"It's not about me," said Granger levelly, which was pretty surprising; Draco had assumed she was angling for more grovelling. Not that he'd really done that, of course, he hurriedly told himself; he'd merely knelt. "It's about you, Draco. If you really think it's so repulsive for magic to show up in Muggle families, then you have no business getting involved with a Muggle. Are you thinking you're in this for the long term?"

What a completely rude question! "You have heard me say love a hundred times this morning, haven't you? Don't you know what that is, what it means? Aren't you planning to marry Weasley, after all?"

She burst out laughing. "No, I'm not planning to marry him!"

Draco couldn't have been more stunned if she'd . . . well, drawn her wand and stunned him, actually. "You're not?"

Hermione smiled, the expression more than a little bit amused. "I'm not planning it now, no. I haven't even finished school yet! But I gather you are actually already thinking ahead to that, with Rhiannon?" Her voice dropped to a low, serious tone, no more humour in it. "Then you have to be realistic, Draco. Marriage means . . . well, you know, all that intimacy, which leads to children to consider. Even if you don't marry her, you could still run into that, and--"

She stopped talking, which told Draco that he hadn't schooled his expression quickly enough. And no wonder; the moment she'd mentioned intimacy, his memory had flown straight back to that wonderful afternoon he'd spent at Rhiannon's house. Or, not afternoon. Just her lunch hour, really, but it had been perfect. He remembered the way she'd looked, gasping against the wall as he'd touched her. And then, dear Merlin, her sweet mouth engulfing him . . .

Draco quickly cleared his expression, only to see that Granger was staring at him aghast. "Oh, my God," she breathed, the exclamation sounding entirely natural coming from her. "I hope you used something, because if you didn’t, you might already have a much bigger problem than you think."

It took Draco a second to follow her meaning, probably because in the circles he grew up in, you didn't bandy this kind of information about. It had been nothing short of criminal, criminal, for those Aurors to make him admit under truth serum that he'd had his hand up Pansy's skirt that day. None of their fucking business. And this, of course, was none of hers.

Though he didn't mind correcting her obvious mistake. "I don’t have that problem, Granger."

"How do you know?" Her gaze was piercing as she leaned forward. "Even the best protection can fail. Condoms can break, or--"

Draco had heard that word before, from Harry, though he didn't understand it completely. "What are those, anyway?"

She blushed, a deep rose shade staining her cheeks. "Oh. Er . . . well, you, I mean, the man . . . he, uh, puts it on his, you know," She made a very vague gesture downwards, her voice sounding about as strained as he'd ever heard it. "To catch the, er-- semen."

Draco felt a shudder pass straight through him. He didn't think he'd ever contemplated anything quite so revolting. Oh, well, perhaps a few things to do with the Dark Lord and torture, but this ran a close second.

Granger, meanwhile, seemed absolutely oblivious to what Draco had told her, just a moment before. "You didn't use a condom, clearly, but I hope you planned ahead, because really--"

"I didn't need to," grated Draco, wishing she'd just drop it. "Are you with me, here? There's no problem, no possible way Rhiannon is . . ."

"Contraceptive spells can fail, too."

"I didn't sleep with her, not that way!" Draco all but shouted. Anything, to shut Granger up.

He should have known that was a forlorn hope, at best. "Not that way?"

Draco reached down and began yanking tufts of grass out of the ground. He stopped, though, when he realised how close his hand was coming to Harry's horrid little pet, who was lying coiled up now, tongue flickering out.

He shuddered again, then raised his gaze to Hermione's, and tried to pass the question off as nonchalant. "Do you really want all the details?"

She blushed again, a darker colour than before. "Oh. No, of course not. I just meant, you're sure you couldn't have got her pregnant?"

"So you do want details." Draco waited until she shook her head. "Then take my effing word for it!"

"All right, all right." Hermione held up both hands, and only then did Draco realise that he'd reared up a little bit. She waited until he'd settled back down onto the blanket. "You're obviously more involved than I thought at first, though. Which brings me right back to my point. If this girl's really going to be your future . . . well, what are you going to do? Refuse to have children with her?"

Draco had never given a lot of thought to children, for Merlin's sake. Who did, at his age? Though he had to admit . . . "I don’t like your implication that Rhiannon isn't good enough to be the mother to my children."

"It's your implication, not mine."

"It is not! What have I ever said except that she's wonderful?"

"Only that she's barely a Muggle at all." Hermione's eyes looked a little sad now, as she regarded him steadily. "Draco, don't you see? If you tell yourself that it's all right to love this one Muggle, but all the while you keep on thinking that other Muggles are worthy of nothing but death, then--"

"I never said that." Draco glared at her. "It's just the interbreeding that bothers me, that's all."

She didn't look like she thought that was all, but what she said was, "Are you going to call it that if you have a son or daughter with her? Interbreeding?"

"I didn't mean her!"

"But singling her out like that . . . all it proves is that you'd rather she not be a Muggle. And you're surprised she wasn't too delighted to find out that you feel that way?" Hermione leaned closer again. "Draco, listen. Do you think she's going to leave her entire world to join ours, when she doesn't even have any magic to help her do that?"

Draco stiffened. Of course he didn't think that. Rhiannon would have to continue her singing career, after all . . . hmm, apart from that, he hadn't given much thought to the matter, he had to admit. "No . . ."

"Then you'll have to be in her world, at least part of the time. Go to Muggle functions, be around Muggles. Visit at her parents' home. They're Muggles too, you realise. Is Rhiannon going to be happy having you look down on everybody else in her life? Is this going to work for her, this idea of yours that she isn't really one of them?"

A lead weight settled into his stomach, because he knew the answer to that, didn't he? Rhiannon had made it very plain already.

Hermione was remorseless, leaving him no time to think, no time to breathe. "If you can't accept that she's just as much a Muggle as any other Muggle person, you have got no business whatever taking this any further than you have already. You don’t want to hurt her, do you?"

Draco had been looking at his hands for a while, but that caused him to glance up. "No, I don't."

Her voice became very gentle, then. "Then perhaps you should break this whole thing off before you do."

"Oh, fuck you, Granger," snarled Draco as he yanked himself to his feet and stalked a short distance away. "You're so sure I'll hurt her? Yeah, you thought I was hurting Harry, too, didn't you? Well, you didn't know what you were talking about! Not to mention, your stupid letter on the subject helped get me expelled. Don't act like you know everything about me, because you don't."

"No, I don't," said Hermione quietly, leaning back on her palms and stretching out her legs. "And so?"

"So she's a Muggle," said Draco flatly. "I can deal with it, get used to them . . . to everything. Whatever it takes. You don't understand, Hermione. I can't do anything I know would hurt Rhiannon. I literally can't. It would rip me into little shreds, and I'm sure you know about Slytherins and self-preservation. So that's it, then."

It wasn't, though. Not for Hermione. "What are you going to do if you have children with her, someday?"

Draco glanced down at her like she was barking mad. "Raise them, maybe? At least now I have a decent father to emulate."

"Could you raise a squib?"

"Any child of mine would be highly, highly magical."

"You don't know that for certain," pressed Hermione. "What if one wasn't? Think about it, before you go any further."

Draco didn't want to, because after all, his first, instinctive reaction was a sort of horror of the whole idea. Him, with a squib child? Him.

A vision swam into his mind, of a little girl with Rhiannon's hair, Rhiannon's features . . . Rhiannon's utter lack of magic. She was ensconced in an opulent room, waited on hand and foot by obsequious elves, bowing and scraping, their filthy rags of clothing dragging on the ground as they backed away.

Horrid creatures.

Draco's features hardened. No, no. No child of his was ever going to be cared for by disgusting house-elves, that was for certain. And he definitely wouldn't wish to lock Rhiannon's children away where they couldn't be seen. Too much like what had happened to Harry, and look at the scars that had left. Those same scars on his own child, on Rhiannon's child . . . Draco closed his eyes on a rush of pain.

No, no, when he really thought about it, thought past the things he'd learned growing up to the things he understood now, he saw a different vision. He was holding that little girl on his lap, his hand tenderly stroking her hair as he read to her. A children's book, My Broom Can Zoom . . . and he was nodding, promising to take her up on his broom in the morning, and then Rhiannon was coming in and smiling at the picture they made, sitting together in a wing-backed chair.

Blowing out a breath, he dropped down again to sit opposite Granger. "You're an idiot. I'd love any child Rhiannon gave me, magical or not."

"Even considering that a magical child would only be a half-blood?"

"Harry's a half-blood and you don't notice me having a problem with it, do you?"

"You said yourself that Harry's an exception to every rule."

"Touché," Draco muttered, flopping onto his back. He could tell by then that Granger was going to be no help at all. Not because she was useless, but because she thought he was, and nothing he could say would change that. And the worst part was, he could actually understand why she would feel that way.

"I hate that you're right, you know," he said bitterly, his lips thinning. "About before, and what I might have done if I'd had a child without magic. They can occur, you know, even in pureblooded lines, and I might have--" He suddenly rolled back into a sitting position, his stomach clenching. "Excuse me, please. I need to wash my hair."

"What?"

Draco rose shakily to his feet. "It's a euphemism, Granger. I'm ill, is that clear enough for you? I need to--"

"Wait, wait," said Hermione. Draco wasn't sure quite when she'd stood up, too, but he couldn't fail to notice her hand, suddenly wrapped about his upper arm. "I think . . . you really mean it, don't you?"

Draco just stared at her, weary. "Haven't I been telling you as much, all morning?"

"I thought it was a passing fancy. But I think it's more than that, now. Come on, Draco. I will help you now."

Enough disappointment, and even his manners deserted him. Draco snorted. "Can you? You've been pathetic so far."

"That's right, sweet talk me." Hermione chuckled, tugging his arm until he sank back down onto the blanket. "Now, start over from the beginning, and tell me everything you can about her, and we'll come up with some sort of plan."

"Some sort of plan," he repeated doubtfully.

"I'll get her talking to you, at the very least," said Hermione, strangely making a slashing motion across her chest, first one diagonal and then the other. "The rest is up to you."

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The next morning found Draco, Snape, and Harry all back in Exeter. The pool was open for free swim, but one swift glance inside said that Rhiannon wasn't there. Then again, she didn't usually work on Saturdays.

Her uncle wasn't working either. Or at least, Stanley Tilden wasn't in the office, where Draco often saw him. Instead, some red-headed girl was standing behind the counter, flipping through what looked like a pretty vapid magazine. But then, she looked just as vapid, coming to work wearing nothing but shorts and the top of a two-piece swimsuit. Flesh-coloured, even, so that from a distance you might think she was standing there naked. When you got close enough, though, you could see strings connecting the triangular pieces of fabric together.

Honestly, clothing made of strings. At her place of employment.

Muggle, Draco thought, inwardly sneering the word. This one probably wouldn't even need to be bought a snack before she'd…

Almost at once, though, he realised what he was thinking and forced himself to stop. No, no, no. He and Hermione had gone over this very point, out under the oak tree after they'd finished discussing what approach Draco should take about Rhiannon.

Just because a girl was a Muggle was no reason to assume anything else about her, Hermione had lectured. Rhiannon's own mother was a Muggle, she'd pointed out. Draco simply had to get over this idea that Muggle meant anything except a lack of magic. And what was more, he had to treat the Muggles he encountered with courtesy. He couldn't go about sneering at them, not even on the inside. Rhiannon would pick up on that.

Treat them as politely as you treat anybody, Hermione had lectured. And then, she'd hastily added, Er. . .  as politely as you ought to, I mean.

To which Draco had replied that he had stellar manners when he wanted to use them.

"Better get used to using them, then," had been Hermione's rather cheeky advice. "On Muggles too, don't forget. If I were you, I'd practice on every one I meet."

Despite the cheek, it was very good advice, Draco knew. Rhiannon would expect him to behave politely in company. She'd take it personally if he didn’t.

So, Draco tried. Hard. "Good morning," he greeted the girl, putting on a wide smile. "Lovely weather we're having, isn't it?"

Harry made a noise like swallowed laughter, and quickly said he was going to find Roger to ask him something.

Severus, though, stayed in the office, his presence somehow encouraging.

The girl just glanced up like he'd interrupted her reading and it was bloody irritating. She hadn't even checked that Harry had a swim pass.

Which went to show, didn't it, that some Muggles were as lazy and worthless as he'd always thought. Then again, some wizards weren't worth a bucket of spit either, Minister Fudge being a prime example.

"So, I'll meet you and Harry back here, shall I?" he asked Severus, keeping his tone bright and confident as he stepped away from the counter and towards his father, who was standing at the door to the pool area, his eyes steady.

On Harry, no doubt.

Habit had Draco searching for him, though with the Dark Lord so quiet all throughout the summer, it really didn't seem there was much cause for concern. Harry had found Roger and looked to be chatting him up, so that all sorted well . . .

When Draco glanced away, it was to see Severus staring down at him. "It will be all right, Draco," he said in that deep, soothing voice of his.

Draco had been holding himself together pretty well, he'd thought, but Severus' gentle tones were almost his undoing. "What if she still won't talk to me? I-- I--"

"One way or another, it will be all right," Severus patiently repeated. "Harry and I will wait here for you."

Draco tried to look more cheerful than he felt. "Good, then. Thank you."

A brief pat on his arm, and one more slight smile, and then Severus was turning away to follow Harry into the pool area.

Sighing, Draco shoved his hands in his pockets and exited through the other door, the one that led onto Beacon Lane.

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

The closer he got to Rhiannon's house, the more his steps began to slow, probably because he was rehearsing what he was going to say, over and over inside his head. Pointless, though. Conversations never went the way you were expecting, after all.

Perhaps Severus had been right to insist that Draco influence Slytherin by means of letters . . .

To distract himself from hearing the same conversation again, Draco focussed instead on the news Hermione had brought them the day before. Not that it had been terribly entertaining. Over lunch, after Severus had left for Hogwarts, Harry had asked Hermione if she'd had news from Viktor Krum, if she'd found out anything useful about the Mirror of All Souls.

Weasley had stiffened, clearly still worried about Hermione corresponding with Krum. Draco had to admit, that part had been entertaining. Particularly after he'd had to write Weasley a vault draft for a hundred Galleons, based on the fact that Weasley had in fact kept Severus from beating him in chess. The match had still been going strong when Severus had had to leave.

At any rate, Hermione had reported that Krum had sent her an advanced book on mirrors. Something from Durmstrang's equivalent of a Restricted Section, apparently. The only trouble was, it was written in Bulgarian. Hermione had tried the standard translation charms on the book, but those were really only designed to help with the current spoken version of the language, and the book was old. Very old. "Middle Bulgarian," Hermione had said, shrugging. "I did a little research to find that out. But don’t worry. I've owled for a Slavic translation rod. It's supposed to be able to handle anything written in the last thousand years."

Harry looked like he was about to bite through his lower lip. Obviously, he was still yearning for a chance to talk with his parents.

Well, Draco would like a chance to talk with his mother . . . so perhaps he could understand how Harry felt. On the other hand, Harry had never even really known his parents, so perhaps Draco didn’t understand him so well, after all. At any rate, he still did think that Harry's whole attitude was bound to be hurtful to Severus.

Especially if he kept brooding like this.

Best to change the subject, Draco had thought. "Bit odd, that story about the missing half-bloods--" Thinking about his conversation with Hermione, Draco quickly reworded his comment. "That story about those missing Hogwarts' students. Did you see it, Ron? Your brother was quoted."

Weasley got a slightly dark look on his face. "Yeah, he was. He thinks he's Fudge's right-hand man, these days." He turned toward Harry. "After what you said about being a good brother, you know that bit? Anyway, tried to patch it up with him this summer. Even invited him to the--"

"Ron!" interrupted Hermione, shaking her head.

"Oh, yeah. Right," said Weasley in an odd tone. "Um . . . invited Percy to dinner with us, you know? But no, he has to work. Job's all that matters to him, the prat."

Now it looked like it was Hermione who was deliberately trying for a distraction. "I saw that article, in the Prophet. But you know, in the Muggle world, missing children are just a fact of life. A lot of them are runaways. I've seen a few reports like that this summer, on the BBC."

As distractions went, neither Hermione's nor Draco's had been very well thought-out.  Harry looked absolutely sick by then. "That’s just awful. Oh, God. I hope they're all right, I hope they didn't run straight into trouble--"

"Harry," said Draco, clearly but softly. "You can't save everyone from everything. That's not your burden to bear."

Hermione glanced at Draco quickly, her expression startled in that moment before Draco remembered to school his. He knew what she'd seen on his face: concern for Harry. Or no . . . concern for his brother, quite apart from what his name might be.

Oh, well. Draco told himself he didn't mind so much if she'd seen that. Not after all they'd talked about in the bedroom, and then outside.

Harry seemed oblivious to anything except the missing children. "I bet they have families who love them--"

"You have that too, Harry," said Hermione firmly. She didn't look at Draco as she said it, but she didn't need to. That one look had said it all. She knew. She knew he wasn't on Harry's side just to save his own skin. Not any longer.

Bit embarrassing, that. It was practically un-Slytherin. But probably just as well, in the circumstances. They were all on the same side, now, and it was high time Granger knew that he was in it for good.

"Quidditch," said Ron, slapping Harry on the shoulder. Draco thought he was mad to suggest such a thing at first, but maybe he knew Harry better than either Draco or Hermione did, because Harry gave a ghost of a smile and got up from his chair. Like he was grateful for a distraction. Any distraction.

"We only have three brooms," Draco had said lightly as Harry began passing them out. "I guess that leaves you out, Hermione."

As expected, she didn't think much of his sense of humour. "What did we talk about? Courtesy? Hand it over."

Laughing a little, Draco had.

Now, looking at Rhiannon's house, Draco couldn't help but marvel at how he'd managed to push aside his problems for the rest of the day, yesterday. Chasing the Snitch, the four of them taking turns. Broom races, Draco enjoying the look on Weasley's face when he was soundly trounced. Then figuring out a dinner, since Severus wasn't back yet. He'd still been gone when Ron and Hermione left, still been gone when Harry and Draco had given up on waiting and had gone to bed.

And the worst part was that Draco had woken up with Rhiannon on his mind and hadn't remembered to ask what Lupin might have said about his mother.

But then, Harry hadn't asked after Lupin, either. Which was rather strange, wasn't it? Of course, he might have preferred to ask when he and Severus were alone at the pool. Draco winced, thinking that one over. He had been less than courteous to Lupin over the whole werewolf thing. But who could blame him? Lycanthropy wasn't an issue of blood purity; it was a curse, a disease . . .

"Are you planning to stand there all day?" called a voice, jolting him out of his thoughts.

A voice he recognised. A lovely voice.

Draco glanced up at Rhiannon, who was standing in the open doorway of her home, one hand on the brass knob. Her hair was hanging loose, flowing almost to her waist, a brilliant swath of gold against the emerald green of her strapless sundress. She was, without a doubt, the most breathtaking sight Draco had ever seen.

Even if she was scowling something awful.

Draco walked up the drive, trying to compose his thoughts. When he reached her though, he still didn't have the faintest idea what to say. He couldn't even remember Granger's advice, by then. Or maybe, he was afraid to so much as open his mouth, in case he said the wrong thing completely, in case he made things even worse--

Rhiannon didn't have any trouble figuring out what to say. "What are you doing here? My uncle said you refused to even ring me!"

For a moment he didn't know what she was talking about, but then he remembered. Two things at once, actually. The exchange with Stanley Tilden, yesterday in the pool office, and also, Granger's advice, which had basically boiled down to be honest, Draco. Tell her why you had such trouble realising what she was.

"I've never used a telephone," he said quietly, gaining the top step by then and looking her in the eye. Pity that she backed up slightly, into the house, leaving Draco to hold the door open. "I have the number you gave me, but I didn't know what to do with it. Not exactly."

"Oh." Rhiannon seemed to consider that for a moment. "It's like with that pendant. You don't understand how things are."

Draco hated admitting weakness; he'd been taught to believe that only fools handed weapons to the enemy. But Rhiannon wasn't his enemy, even if she was a-- No, no. Muggles weren't his enemy. Couldn't be, now. That was what he had to try to remember.

Merlin, but it was difficult.

"No, I don't understand much at all. It really is a different world I come from." Draco cleared his throat. "I didn't mean you any offence, Rhiannon. What happened, with the bell . . . I'd like to explain, if I may. If you're willing to listen, if--"

He stopped talking then, sensing that he'd begin to prattle in earnest if he wasn't careful.

"My uncle's not at home." That might have been a bit discouraging, if she hadn't blushed as she said it. Remembering what they'd done the last time they'd had the house to themselves, perhaps?

Draco pushed that thought from his mind. "Could we talk in your back garden?" He didn't care where, as long as she didn't send him packing.

"Oh, just come in, then," she said, crossly that time.

Draco stepped inside and shut the door, then followed her to the sitting room where Harry had waited for him, that time. Rhiannon sat down on a chintz chair and waved him into one opposite, then levelled a glare at him. "Well?"

The truth, Hermione had urged. She knows you're a wizard already, so there's no more reason not to tell her the truth about what that's meant, for you in particular.

Draco drew in a deep breath, his hands clenching inside his pockets. "It's hard to know where to start. The bell, I suppose. Until it rang like that, I thought you were a witch--"

"Yes, I did manage to figure that much out!" interrupted Rhiannon in a voice so scathingly hot that Draco felt burned just listening.

"You don't know why I thought that, though," said Draco quietly. "Rhiannon . . . you're the first girl I have ever known who wasn't a witch."

Her jaw dropped, just a little. "You're joking."

"No, it's true." Draco lifted his shoulders. "I go to a school where magic is taught. All the students are magical. And before I started there, and every summer since, until this year, that is, I lived on my family estate in Wiltshire--"

Shite. Why had he mentioned Wiltshire? For once, though, the reference to money didn't seem to set her off.

"--where I would rarely see anyone except my family and the close circle of friends they frequent. And . . . this is a bit harder to explain, but wizards are sort of . . . divided, into different groups. I come from the one known as 'pureblood,' which means that everybody I descend from, as far back as can be determined, has been magical. No M- . . . er, no non-magical people."

Rhiannon didn't have much reaction to all that; it looked like she was merely listening. But at least she was doing that much.

"Anyway, my parents would only allow me to associate with other purebloods, so I never even had any friends who weren't that, too." He gave her a rueful smile. "When was I going to meet a girl who wasn't a witch?"

She sat back a little more, the fabric across her breasts stretching a little. Draco was trying not to stare, but he was starting to wonder what was holding her dress up. It wasn't as though she could have applied a sticking charm . . .

"But you're out and about in the normal world this summer."

Draco tried not to wince at the world normal. All this was very abnormal for him, but he didn't think it would help his cause to put things quite that way. "Yes, but that's a lot to do with Severus," he explained. "I told you my own parents disowned me. He took me in, Harry too, and decided that we needed to be able to get around in the . . . er, normal world."

Best not to mention the reason for that, Draco decided. He wouldn't want to frighten her with talk of the war, or have to start explaining about the Dark Lord and choosing sides and switching to Harry's, and how Severus decided his sons should be able to hide in the Muggle world, if it came to that . . .

"I still don't see why you'd assume I was a witch, though."

Draco clenched his hands so hard that he felt the tip of a fingernail break off. "It was because of your voice, at first. I've been to operas, lots of them. It was the one non-magical entertainment allowed, in my family. And I have never, ever heard anything remotely so beautiful as your singing. I thought you had to be using magic to produce a sound like that." Draco did his best to shrug. "My whole life I've been more or less taught to look for a magical explanation to anything wondrous."

Rhiannon's lips curled upward, slightly. "You thought my singing was that good?"

"Yes." Draco relaxed a little. "I thought that maybe you were a witch and didn't want to tell anybody about it, since you were obviously trying to fit into the . . . the normal world. And then I started to wonder if you even realised you were a witch. I didn't have any way of knowing that there were girls as beautiful and perfect as you who weren't, you see."

Her gaze narrowed. "Why wouldn't there be?"

The truly hard part, now. "There are, obviously," said Draco, forcing himself not to restrict the admission just to her. "But the way I was raised . . . er, my family liked to look down on Muggles, and--"

"Don't call me that."

Fine. Draco wouldn't. He'd been trying hard to avoid the word, in fact, knowing it could only set him back with her. "All right."

"So, growing up, you thought people like me were, what? Beneath your notice?"

Draco winced. "Something like that."

"I ought to show you the door, this instant." Her tone softened right after she said that, though. "But I don't suppose you'd be here explaining if you still agreed with that point of view. You said it came from your family? This is the family who disowned you?"

"Yes, and maybe I should mention the reason for that, now. I sided with Harry and Severus against them, basically. Over . . . a lot of things, really. But most of them are tied into the idea that purebloods are making a mistake, thinking that way."

That appeared to startle her. "Your father and brother aren't purebloods, too?"

"Severus is, by the way we reckon things, but he says that there's really no such thing, that all wizards have non-magical ancestry. Oh, and Harry's a half-blood. Only his father was born into a magical family. His mother didn’t know she was a witch until she was eleven. Which is quite usual for witches and wizards born to . . . born outside our world."

"Eleven . . . oh, I understand, now. You thought I was a late bloomer?"

"Something like that," said Draco again. "But the main thing is that it was never my intention to insult or belittle you, Rhiannon. I'd never want to hurt you, and I am most sincerely sorry that I did. I don't think you're beneath me. In fact, I can't believe I ever could have thought something like that about a person like you. But I didn't know there were people like you. I couldn't know."

She looked at him through her lashes. "I . . . I should probably apologise, too."

Draco gave a dry laugh. "For?"

"Not letting you explain. I just . . ." Rhiannon leaned forward, her slender fingers stroking her hair back over her shoulders. "It's been a confusing week. Finding out you were a wizard, that magic is actually real . . . I wake up in the middle of the night and I can't believe it. I tell myself all those things you did were just clever tricks, though I know they weren't. And then . . . I just couldn't handle anything else."

Draco thought he knew what she meant. He'd had a confusing week, too. Finding out he loved a Muggle . . . and then accepting everything that came along with that. But he'd never thought about what things must be like for her. "Is there anything I can do?"

"Do?"

"To help you believe it's real? To help it seem . . . less strange?"

"No, that's just something I'll have to get used to in my own time."

Well, that certainly sounded promising, and that was before Rhiannon started laughing, the noise very soft.

"What?"

"Oh . . . when Uncle Stanley figured out we'd rowed, he had a bit of a fit. Told me I ought to do what I could to get you back . . ." She cleared her throat. "He thinks you're a very good catch."

"Because of my money." Well, that explained the man's apparent helpfulness the day before.

"Yes." Rhiannon fixed her gaze on him. "I wouldn't have mentioned it, but I think you know I don't share his views."

Draco gave her a mock frown. "I'm not a good 'catch?'"

"Not because of your money, at any rate." Rhiannon sighed. "He's always going on about how I'll never be able to support myself by singing. And for some reason, I don't think he's very impressed by me at the pool, either. Says if I don't improve my 'work ethic' I'll never be able to make any kind of living."

She wouldn't ever need to work; Draco would see to that. Probably not the right time to mention it, though. "He's wrong about your singing. You're going to take the opera world by storm."

She looked a bit doubtful, but nodded. "And what about you? Have you decided on a career?"

"I want to be an Auror." Her expression didn't change, so Draco tried again. "That's like . . . hmm, I don't know another word for it. It's someone who works for Magical Law Enforcement. Catching dark wizards, that sort of thing."

"Dark wizards."

"Well, there are a few, yes."

Her lips twitched a bit. "Now see, that's funny. All the thinking I've done about wizards, it never occurred to me that you have criminal types, too."

Draco nodded, the things Hermione and he had talked about resonating even more strongly. "Except for having magic, we're just like you." Dragging in a breath, he went ahead and asked the next logical question, though it was harder to say than all the rest. "So . . . would you like to come out with me, again? To dinner this evening, perhaps?"

"I would like to, yes," she said, standing up.

Draco rose to his feet as well.

"I promised Uncle Stanley that I'd do some weeding in the garden, though. I'd better change clothes and get to that. Would you like to stay and help? Er . . . you aren't really dressed for it, but you could talk to me, if you like."

Not dressed for it. Draco almost laughed. He didn't, though. He wasn't going to have her thinking he was making fun. It wasn't that. It was just so interesting to see how her mind worked, how magic never seemed to occur to her. "I'd love to talk with you. But I can transfigure . . . er, change my clothes, you know, using magic." He grinned. "Or I could just banish all the weeds away, if you like. I learned how in Herbology."

"Herbology? I think we call that botany. Um . . . sure, though. I'd rather not weed the garden if there's a way around it. I'll just make some lemonade and we'll sit out there and talk. All right?"

Halfway to the kitchen, she turned around. "I appreciate the weeds thing, but I hope you don't start thinking that I just like you for your magic. That would be every bit as terrible as liking you for your money."

Draco was just relieved to hear that she liked him, full stop. He smiled. "At least you find the magic rather interesting. Your life . . . it's like that for me, too. For instance, I've never had lemonade."

"I'll do it right and make fresh, then. How did you hear of it?"

It was news to Draco that anything except fresh was even possible, but he didn't remark on it. "Oh, Harry swears by it. That and orange juice. Neither one is very well-known in the wizarding world, but Harry grew up away from all that until he was eleven. Anyway, ever since I met you, I've been getting him to teach me a few things I thought I ought to know."

"But not how to use a telephone," she teased.

"No, we forgot about that. But then, Severus doesn't have one."

"I don't like that," she said slowly. "You're always showing up at the pool and such, but what if I want to reach you? What about after you go back to school? Can you get a mobile, you think?"

"I'd love to, but things like that don't work at Hogwarts."

Her expression fell, even as she grabbed some lemons from a basket on the kitchen counter and began to halve them. Draco thought of drawing his wand to make her task easier, but decided that she might find him overbearing if he used magic all the time.

"Well, I suppose letters will have to do, then. You can use the Royal Mail, can't you?"

"We usually use owls."

"Owls?" She all but sputtered. "Draco--"

"I did think of a way, though," he quickly explained. "I've got a friend--" Sweet Merlin, he was calling Hermione Granger a friend.

After the way they'd talked the day before, though, he supposed she actually was one. Not a bad one, either.

"I've got a friend," he started over. "She's a witch, but her parents aren't magical. At any rate, I asked her if they could help with this, and she thought it would be fine. You can mail letters to them and they'll owl them on to me. And once I'm at school, I'll owl them my letters to pass on." Draco quickly spotted a pad of paper and . . . huh, no quill. He made do with some kind of Muggle writing instrument. When it didn't seem to write anything, he turned it around the other way. Still no luck, not even after a good hard shake.

Rhiannon didn't say a word; she just reached over and pulled on one end, separating it into two pieces. Oh. Draco could see a little nub then, oozing with blue ink. Trying for nonchalance again, he finally got the thing working. "Here's her parents' address. But until summer is over, there shouldn't be any reason to need to use it. I don't think I can leave you alone for more than a day at a time."

That last bit was perhaps too eager, but Rhiannon only smiled as she juiced the lemons and mixed in water and sugar. "I've missed you, too. It seems an age since we . . ." She blushed again, her blue eyes sparkling a little before she looked away. "Since that time we had lunch here, alone."

"I remember," breathed Draco, goose bumps rising on his arms, as he thought about her mouth, warm on his skin, and the way pleasure had rushed all through him. Better than his own hand, that was for certain. A lot better. But, considering the way she'd thrown that in his face when she'd got angry . . . Draco suddenly sensed that he was adrift in dangerous waters.

"But just as you don't like me for the magic, I'd hope you know I don't like you for that," he said, nodding, because it was important that she believe him. "I didn't come here thinking about it, even--"

"You didn't like it?"

"I loved it!" exclaimed Draco, before he realised she was teasing him.

"I loved it, too," she said softly. "But . . . maybe that was a little too much, too soon. We should wait. You're right."

Draco hadn't exactly said they should wait, and he didn't particularly care to, but he wanted even less for her to feel that that was all he wanted. For all that though, he suddenly couldn't bear to be standing there alone while she used a long wooden spoon to stir the contents of the pitcher.

"Come here," he said, opening his arms. Rhiannon went into them without hesitation, without protest, and leaned her cheek against his chest. "We'll wait longer, this time. We'll do it right, and get to know each other better, and--"

He stopped talking then, because Rhiannon had made the first move and was kissing him, one of her hands slowly trailing up his back until her fingers began to tease the hair at his nape, the sensation rather like a tickle. Not the kind that made you laugh, though. The kind that made you want to tickle back.

Draco didn’t, though. A little too much, too fast, just as she'd said before, and he wasn't going to give her any cause to doubt him, or doubt his intentions towards her.

Kissing though . . . that much he'd allow himself.

Lemonade was refreshingly tart, Draco later found. But Rhiannon? She was very, very sweet.

Swimming laps might be the best way to improve his fledgling swimming skills, but after about half an hour, it was also unbelievably dull, despite periodically changing from one stroke to another, as Roger had recommended. Harry kept on anyway, ignoring the ache in his shoulders and thighs.

Only when his muscles actually began to feel sort of squishy from exhaustion did he swim back to his father and lean up against the edge of the pool, eyes closed.

"You're developing an impressive level of endurance. Here, have some water."

Harry cracked one eye and saw that Snape was holding out a metal flask. Harry very nearly laughed; he could just imagine Rhiannon's uncle sending a lifeguard over to complain this time about Snape drinking alcohol in the pool. Harry made sure his back was to the pool office as he took the flask and drained it. "Oh, this really hits the spot. Thanks, Dad."

Snape's shrug sent ripples along the surface of the water.

"Draco's not back, yet?"

Snape gave him a bit of a look, at that. Well, it had been a daft question. "I'm just worried," Harry explained. "What if she throws him over again?"

"We will get him through it, you and I." Snape took the flask back and set it on the concrete surrounding the pool. "That, I presume, is what families do."

"You presume?"

The moment he'd said it, Harry wished he could call the question back. He hadn't meant to pry. Well, actually he had, but he'd wanted to do it in a way that was a lot less obvious.

Snape stiffened, staring off into the distance. "I think you know I didn't have an ideal childhood, by any means."

It was nothing that Harry hadn't heard before, nothing that he didn't know, but he still felt encouraged that Snape would admit to that, rather than grow furious about the question. "Yeah, I know that," Harry said after a moment. "I can't figure out how you learned to be such a great father yourself."

"Experience," said Snape dryly. "My duties at the school no doubt provided some sort of background. Though I wonder that you can call me 'great,' Harry. When I think back I see mistake after mistake."

Harry was a little surprised to hear that Snape saw things in that light. Unless he was talking about the way he used to ridicule and belittle Harry, but that was before Harry had become his son, so it didn't seem to really fit. And it certainly wasn't Snape's fault he'd got addicted to Truthful Dreams; he'd only been taking it to help the Order, originally, and that had just got out of control.

Really, the only other thing Harry could think of was the way Snape had insisted on interrogating Nott himself, after the attack, instead of bringing Harry back to Hogwarts at once. Dumbledore had criticised that. He'd definitely thought it an error in judgement, along with--.

"Well, maybe when your house was in an uproar over you shouldn't have left them to the headmaster to deal with, so you could go back to that alley and collect what was left of my mother's ring," Harry said, shrugging. "But that's not such a bad mistake."

"I'm thinking more of other matters."

Harry would have asked which, but something in Snape's expression was answer enough. Gulping a little, he glanced down at his own arms. "Oh, that. It's not your fault I started to--"

"I didn't say it was my fault," corrected Snape quietly. "I do believe you know what I think of your penchant for assigning yourself unwarranted blame. I hold myself responsible only for my own mistakes, one of which was failing to secure Lucius' portrait as I should have. It's not as though I didn't know what sort of trouble could result."

Harry nodded, feeling like the sun had gone behind a cloud. He didn't want to think about all that. "Um . . . how is Remus doing? You know, with his . . . er, acting?"

"I'll tell you in detail later, but the short answer is, as well as can be expected."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"He thinks his wife is beginning to behave a bit oddly."

"Whose wife?" asked Draco's voice from behind them.

Whirling in the water, Harry saw his brother crouching down at the pool's edge. "How did it go?"

Draco grinned. "Oh, we made up. She even let me help her weed the garden."

Harry tried to picture that. "You weeded?"

Draco patted his trouser pocket.

"Should have known you'd cheat," said Harry, trying for a carefree tone. He knew he ought to be happy for Draco. Really happy. What else could this mean except that Draco was starting to really get over his ridiculous ideas about pure blood meaning something? That was great news, just about the best Harry could think of.

No matter how he tried, though, some small part of him was still a little bit . . . bothered, he supposed, by the whole thing. Draco with Rhiannon just sounded like a phenomenally bad idea to him. It couldn't really work out, could it? Draco was on the rebound from Pansy, and what had he done but found her exact opposite, right down to choosing a Muggle instead of a pureblood? What sort of basis was that for a romance?

Well, at least one of his concerns had been lifted: Harry didn't suppose he could claim to be worried about Draco hexing the girl any longer. That obviously wasn't going to happen.

Draco didn't seem to notice Harry's unease at all; he was too caught up in his own euphoria. "I'll have you know, Rhiannon thought my weeding assistance was brilliant. Now, whose wife were the two of you gossiping about, eh?"

Harry bit his lip, because he knew Draco wasn't going to appreciate hearing that Snape and he had been discussing Narcissa. Not that they really had been, but it might come across that way.

"Lucius'," said Snape in a clipped tone. "We should probably go home where we can speak freely."

Draco leaned forward over the edge of the pool, his grey eyes intense. "You've got news."

"Nothing of great import." Snape shook his head. "But I would still prefer we defer the conversation."

Harry didn't have any trouble reading the longing on his brother's face. On one level it disturbed him, because Draco was worth ten of Narcissa Malfoy. She certainly wasn't going to be thrilled to find out that her son was dating a Muggle. On another level, though . . . Harry could understand Draco wanting to hear how his mum was doing.

Draco loved Narcissa, that much was very clear. He loved her even though she hadn't had the courage to stand up publicly and denounce Lucius and his plot to capture and kill Draco. He loved her even though she'd really hurt him, and he needed to hear whatever small bits of news Remus might have shared about her.

"Well, I've had enough of swimming, anyway," he said, pulling himself up by his hands and standing up as Snape did the same.

Draco rose from his crouch and wrinkled his nose. "I would say so. You're as pruney as an old kappa--"

Snape was towelling off his hair by then; he managed to make some droplets hit Draco on the cheek. Harry thought it was an accident until Snape lowered the towel and inquired, "An old what, did you say?"

"An old . . . cap that's been in the water too long."

Draco grinned, clearly thinking himself clever, but all Harry could ask was when he'd ever seen a cap.

"Rhiannon lent me one to wear in the garden," he replied smartly.

"Oh, because you were working so hard weeding."

Draco looked like he wanted to clout Harry, but only in a good-natured way. "Home, then," he only said. "Let's hear what Severus has to say."

Nodding, Harry made his way to the changing room, leaving Snape and Draco alone at the edge of the pool. 

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

They ended up grabbing some fish and chips takeaway so they wouldn't have to "waste time making lunch," as Draco put it. Draco even insisted on paying, saying that in the circumstances, he might as well become highly conversant with the odd custom of currency being divided into units of a hundred. That got him an odd look from the cashier and a stern one from Snape, but Draco looked so happy that Harry doubted he'd noticed either one.

Harry's own heart sank a little, seeing that, because he knew, he just knew, that this thing with Rhiannon wasn't going to work out the way Draco obviously wanted.

He felt like a bad brother, expecting gloom that way; he knew he should be happy for Draco. Over the moon with it, really, because the way Draco was speaking to the cashier was proof that the Slytherin boy really was changing for the better. Earlier that summer, he'd treated a clerk in the men's clothing shop like absolute rubbish; it had been clear as day that Draco thought the man was no more worthy of courtesy than a slug. But now, he was being perfectly polite, not a trace of sarcasm about him.

True, he did look like the effort was some kind of strain. But he was making the effort; surely that was what counted? He was being pleasant to a Muggle. What better demonstration could there be, that dating Rhiannon was good for him?

Unfortunately, all that line of thought did was depress Harry further. It proved how important Rhiannon must be to Draco, didn't it? And that just led Harry back to his first worry: that when this didn't work out, since it obviously wasn't going to, Draco was going to be devastated.

Harry sighed inwardly, but managed to say nothing about his dire thoughts. It wasn't right for him to rain on Draco's parade.

For some reason, though, he couldn't seem to push the subject from his thoughts. Well, not until they were back at the cottage, sitting at the table to eat, and Snape began to talk about his meeting with Lupin.

"He's looking well, Harry. He appears to be holding up tolerably under the pressures that a full-time impersonation must impose."

"He's looking well?" Harry felt his eyes narrowing. "I thought you said he was going to be looking like Lucius the whole time."

"He was. I meant that he seemed in good spirits." Snape's nostrils flared. "And I don't appreciate the implication that I'm lying to you."

Harry flushed. "Well, it's just that you made it kind of hard for him to visit me last year. For months at a stretch."

"I was angry with him. You know the reasons for that perfectly well." Snape looked away, his features tense, and spoke in a grudging voice. "However, Lupin is more worthy of respect than I had believed. I would prefer you not visit with him when he is obliged to wear Lucius' body, but other than that, I have no real objection, any longer."

"So, the next time he pops by for potion or something, I can see him?"

Snape gave a curt nod. "As long as he is himself, yes."

"As laudable as Harry's great affection for werewolves is," drawled Draco, "I'm still waiting for some actual news. Is there any?"

Snape turned to look at Draco, who hadn't even started eating yet. "Nothing of great note, though Lupin did mention that Narcissa has seemed tense since shortly after he took up residence in Malfoy Manor."

"Tense?" Draco's brow wrinkled. "I wonder if she suspects."

"Lupin's impersonation cannot be absolutely perfect," said Snape, shrugging. "Hence the fiction that Lucius had been attacked and was not quite himself, afterwards. That alone would be enough to cause your mother some concern. Though I don't know that it explains the physical symptoms Lupin mentioned."

"Physical symptoms?" Draco curled his upper lip. "They'd better not involve claws and fur--"

"Stomach upset," interrupted Snape. "But nothing extreme, it appears. Lupin only knew about it because he spied a bottle of potion on your mother's night table."

"And what was he doing in my mother's bedroom, I'd like to know!"

"I didn't ask."

"Well, next time you see him, be sure you do!"

Snape shook his head. "I'll do no such thing, Draco."

Draco actually sputtered at that. "But what if he-- what if they--"

"He isn't and they aren't."

"How do you know that, unless you ask, preferably after you've dosed his tea with truth serum?"

Harry thought the suggestion was horrid, absolutely horrid, but Snape apparently found it amusing. His lips twitched, just a little, before his expression took on what seemed to be a carefully solemn look. "I know it because I know Lupin, and that's all I'm prepared to say on the matter."

"Yeah, well if I find out later that he'd laid one paw on her, I'll--"

"Be careful what you say," interrupted Snape, a little harshly. "When you apply for an Auror's apprenticeship, they may interview you under truth serum, and ask if you've ever threatened murder and meant it."

"Well, that pretty much blasts my career plans then, since I think I've done it about a thousand times!"

Snape's voice went silky. "Ah, but they'll restrict their queries to your behaviour since you became an adult. You've haven't just acquired new privileges, Draco. There are responsibilities to consider, as well."

"Oh." Draco didn't speak for a few moments, until his voice was calmer, even if it was still rather dark. "Let's just say, then, that if I find out Lupin's been messing about with my mother, I'll be very, very displeased."

Personally, Harry thought Draco's worry about that was ridiculous. Yes, Narcissa Malfoy was stunningly beautiful, but that was only on the outside. Inside, she was a horrible, ugly person, and that was why Remus had said that for all she was attractive, she couldn't possibly attract him.

Oh yeah, thought Harry. No way would Remus want to get involved with the likes of Narcissa Malfoy.

He thought better than to explain all that to Draco, however.

"So, any other news?" asked Draco, his tone a lot more normal, by then.

Snape's own voice went dry. "Lupin believes your mother is doing an insane amount of shopping."

"Oh, she likes to buy things. Nothing strange in that."

"Is it also her practice to take extended trips to the Continent? Alone?"

Draco shrugged. "Sometimes. She prefers French wizard designers to the ones here. And she's got some distant cousins she visits."

"That appears to be in order, then. Lupin and I did wonder if it might mean that she'd realised she was living with an impostor."

"Well, it might," said Harry, alarmed. "And she could betray Remus to Voldemort--"

"Use what passes for your brain," snapped Draco. "She's been living with him for quite some time! She'd never go to the Dark Lord with information like that. He'd blame her for not reporting it sooner!"

"She didn't know!"

"She should have known."

"That would indeed be Voldemort's opinion of the matter," said Snape quietly. "And Narcissa would know that. She's implicated in whatever Lupin does, Harry. Moreover, we have no reason to believe she suspects, not now that we know she periodically takes trips similar to the one she's now proposing."

"Yeah, all right," said Harry, sighing. He just didn’t trust Narcissa Malfoy, and felt terrible that Lupin's life could be hanging on her . . . well, not good will, certainly. On her desire to protect herself, maybe.

On her Slytherinness.

Well, Harry did think she was a Slytherin straight through, so if Remus' safety depended on that, he'd probably come through all right.

"So, any word of Voldemort, then?" asked Harry, bracing himself.

Snape merely shrugged. "He's recovered from his mad scheme of having his bone marrow extracted the way you did. The procedure made him ill for a time, but it didn't enhance his magic as he'd wished. He remains baffled as to why you were able to eject him so forcefully from your mind, last year. Lupin reports that he seems in a rather insular mood. He rarely calls him and then, most often sits for hours without sharing his thoughts."

"How does Voldemort call Remus at all?" asked Harry. "Even if your enhanced Polyjuice made Remus end up with Lucius' Dark Mark, it wouldn't really be active, would it?"

"No, it wouldn't."

Draco made a huffing noise. "Oh, honestly. You need it all explained, Harry? The stasis potion, the vat of Dark Marks? Severus has quite a collection by now. Good thing, too. This kind of forgery magic has to be renewed every now and again."

Forgery . . . Harry turned to his father. "But even if you . . . er, stick one onto Remus, it's your mark. It wouldn't burn when Voldemort is calling Lucius, only when he's calling you. Or when he's summoning everyone, I suppose."

"Well-reasoned," said Snape. "Every time I graft a new mark onto Remus, I have to subtly weave Lucius' magical signature through it."

"Highly advanced sorcery," added Draco. "Very impressive. Not many wizards could manage it."

Snape threw Draco a slightly annoyed look. "I couldn't either, not without certain advantages, such as that Portkey Lucius once charmed. Kingsley was good enough to entrust that to Albus, no questions asked."

For a minute, Harry was lost, and then he remembered. Darswaithe under the Imperius curse, trying to kidnap Harry. Draco had sworn that the Portkey they'd found that day had Lucius Malfoy's magical signature written all over it. In retrospect, Harry supposed it was a good thing the Order had nicked the evidence, but had the headmaster been planning such minute details months ago? And why would Snape need that particular object?

"Wouldn’t anything Lucius had enchanted work just as well? Remus could just bring something from Malfoy Manor."

"Lupin 'bringing something' of Lucius' would be tantamount to theft, as far as this process is concerned. The transference spells require something created with evil intent and which was freely yielded by the caster."

"Oh. That sounds harder to get."

"Considerably."

"Advanced sorcery, I told you," said Draco, laughing a little. "But you should understand that, Harry. It's like when the warding spells failed at first, because you didn't meet the conditions for living in Dad's quarters."

Harry nodded. "Oh, speaking of Dudley--"

"I wasn't."

"Well, I am. Tuesday, you think, Dad, for that family dinner? We'll eat a little early, so we have time for a good visit before we go to Marsha's office."

To Harry's surprise, Draco began to beam. And not sarcastically, either. His words, though, soon cleared everything up. "How charming. A family dinner. I insist on inviting Rhiannon along. I want her to see that Harry's got a Muggle cousin. Oh, but nobody use that word around her. She doesn't like it."

"I remember," said Harry wryly. He half-expected Snape to tell Draco that a family dinner was just for family. Which Rhiannon wasn't, yet.

"I should be very pleased to get to know your young lady better," Snape merely said. "You've introduced her to side-along Apparition, I take it?"

Draco grinned. "Popped her from one room to another inside her house."

"Just inside a private residence, then?" asked Snape, his tone sharp. "You aren't licensed to Apparate in public without someone who is."

"Just inside her own house," confirmed Draco solemnly, but then he grinned at Harry. "She loved it."

Harry's mouth fell open. He remembered his first side-along, with Snape. He'd very nearly vomited afterwards, the shift had been so . . . unsettling. "She loved it?"

"I told you, she adores anything to do with magic. Took to Apparating like a niffler to digging. She wasn't sick at all, said it felt like butterflies in her stomach, was all." Draco pursed his lips. "She really should have been a witch. It's not fair for the Fates to make her do without, when she loves it so much. But, if I'd fallen for a blind girl, I guess I'd have decided to be her eyes, so . . ."

"You'd have brewed her some Sight Restorative Potion," Harry pointed out.

Draco's face looked stiff when he replied. "Well, there's no potion that grants magic, Harry, and no way to steal it. Not even the Darkest Arts have ever managed that one." He pushed away what remained of his meal. "I know how much she'd like to have some magic, though, if there were any way at all."

"I suppose a lot of Muggles would feel the same." Harry sighed. "That's the big reason why the wizarding world secreted itself in the first place, right? Jealousy? I can see why Rhiannon would feel that way. When my own magic was missing, I know I sure--"

"Oh Rhiannon isn’t jealous," Draco interrupted. "She’s just enraptured to find magic is real. She always hoped and dreamed it was, you know."

"Then how do you know she didn't take you back just to be near your magic?"

Draco’s eyes went cold as he pushed away what remained of his meal. "I think I'll go work on my summer homework. Please do excuse me."

Snape waited until Draco's door had closed, and then spoke in a low voice. "That was close to a taunt, Harry."

Had it been? Harry hadn't meant it like one.

"What did you intend him to reply, to a question like that?"

Snape's voice wasn't quite cold, but it certainly wasn't pleased, either. Harry hurriedly put down his cup of soda. "Um . . . I don't really know."

Snape stared at him for a long moment. "Interesting that you should mention jealousy. I'm beginning to wonder if you might be the one with that particular problem."

Harry gave his father an incredulous look. "You think I want Rhiannon for myself?"

"She is a breathtakingly beautiful young lady."

"Yeah, she is," admitted Harry, though he was still shaking his head. "But it's like Remus said about Draco's mum. I can tell she's very attractive, but she doesn't do anything for me."

Snape went perfectly still, his dark eyes turning into those endless tunnels again, like he was contemplating a complex brew as it simmered before him. Then his expression cleared, and he seemed to see Harry once more. "You compare Rhiannon Miller to Narcissa, do you? I wasn't aware that you disliked Draco's petite amie."

"I don't dislike her. I didn't mean it that way." Harry bit his lip, then remembered to lower his voice in case Draco was eavesdropping. The way Snape was speaking, so quietly, said that he thought that might be the case. "I guess what I meant, saying that to Draco, was just . . . I'd rather she not come along to our dinner with Dudley, that's all."

"I'm surprised you would want to discourage his relationship with her. It can't have escaped your attention what a salutary effect it may have. Is having already, I would say."

"I know, I just . . ." Harry ran a hand through his hair. No point, really, in telling Snape that he was worried that this relationship couldn't work out well, in the long run. Snape had heard it all before, and had told Harry that that was basically Draco's business. And Marsha had said much the same thing, so maybe Harry was actually out of line. "I'll be more careful what I say around Draco. And sure, Rhiannon can come out to dinner with us." He did his best to smile, but from the look on his father's face, he didn’t succeed so well.

In fact, by then Snape was wearing a decidedly odd expression. Not one Harry often saw; he looked like he literally had no idea what to say.

Harry felt pretty bad, then. He hadn't meant to cause any kind of upset, to anyone. Not even Draco. "Look, I like Rhiannon just fine, all right? I don't have anything against her."

"Harry . . ." Snape waited until Harry looked up at him. "I believe you, but it still strikes me that you may be feeling rather left out. Romantically. Perhaps your remark to Draco was more a reflection of your own worries in that regard."

It was distinctly nerve-wracking to hear his father talking this way. Harry's love-life, or lack of one, was really his own private business, after all. Still, that last comment was intriguing enough that Harry couldn't let it pass. "My own worries?"

"In your case, that whomever you fall for may return the feeling because of your fame."

Harry blew out a breath. "Yeah, I've thought of that, believe me."

"And Draco, of course, has circumvented any similar question by choosing from outside our world entirely. Not that he was ever remotely famous, but his former last name does have strong associations."

"But not for Rhiannon."

"No, not for Rhiannon."

"Well, good for him if he can forget the war long enough to have a romance," said Harry, trying to mean it. "But I can't."

"You can, Harry," said Snape, sounding just a little urgent, then. "You can have someone."

Harry's voice was flat when he replied. "No, Dad. I really can't."

Snape pushed back his chair and stood up. By then, his expression looked shuttered. "I'm sorry to hear that you think so, but enough of such matters. You have summer homework still to do as well, don’t you?"

Harry made a face. "Transfiguration essay."

"Best not to leave your studies until the last minute. A frequent failing of yours."

"Hey, I wasn't even allowed to have my books out, most summers--"

Snape's eyes glimmered. "No, you weren't. But I wasn't referring to summer homework exclusively."

"Oh." Harry got up from the table. "All right, then. I'll get started on it. And I'll tell Draco I'm sorry for saying that--"

"No." Snape held up a hand. "Best to leave that subject alone, Harry. Completely alone. Allow your brother the courtesy of trusting him to not need your interference."

That was what Snape was doing, Harry sensed.

"Yeah, all right," he said, heading towards his room. 

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

Draco spent Saturday afternoon and evening with Rhiannon, and then all day Sunday.

If not for her job keeping her busy, we probably wouldn't see Draco until September, Harry was thinking by late Sunday night when Draco finally came home.

"What a day, what a day," he said, dropping down onto the sofa next to Harry.

"Problem?" asked Harry, then realised he probably shouldn't have sounded so hopeful about it.

Draco didn't seem to notice, though. "No, not really. I faced down the dreaded first dinner with the parents, that's all."

Snape looked up from where he was working at the table, his gaze suddenly piercing. "You left Exeter?"

"No, no, Mr Tilden had everybody over to his house."

"Good, because you've permission to wander Exeter only."

Draco sat up a little more. "You know, Severus, I don't technically need your permission for anything, these days. Anyway, her parents live in Porlock, which isn't so far; it's just over in Somerset--"

"I know where Porlock is," interrupted Snape. "Don't go there, or anywhere else I haven't warded, without speaking to me."

"Or you'll what?"

Harry drew in a breath and backed up on the sofa. He couldn't imagine talking to his father in that tone of voice, let alone telling him to his face that he didn’t have any authority any longer.

"Mourn you," said Snape bluntly.

Draco looked taken aback, even though he protested, "No need for melodrama--"

"Melodrama, is it?" By then, Snape's voice was about as cold and angry as Harry had ever heard. "I can't keep you alive if you insist on taking stupid risks, and it's also not in my power to lay trip wires across all Britain for your convenience. Death, incidentally, should be the very least of your worries. As we have discussed prior, Voldemort will torture you first, for information about Harry. And furthermore--"

"That's enough," said Draco in a dull voice. "I apologise. See how good I'm getting at that? I . . . I wouldn't have gone to Porlock without letting you know, Severus."

"You'll do more than let me know. You won't go at all unless I deem it safe. You're an adult now, Draco. You should be past your problem with impulse control. Are we understood?"

"Yes, sir."

Not a trace of sarcasm about that answer, thought Harry. Snape obviously had got through to Draco.

Snape, though, wasn't through. "I didn't mention this before, Draco, because it wasn't clear to me if your affection for Miss Miller would survive, once you knew she was in fact a Muggle. Now, however, I think I had better tell you."

"Tell me?"

"Your young lady will become a target for the Death Eaters, every bit as much as you are, if her existence becomes well-known."

Oh, God. If Draco had looked ill at the prospect of being tortured, now he looked positively ghastly. His skin took on a green tinge, and he swallowed several times in quick succession.

And then, his voice thick, he said the most selfless thing Harry had ever heard come from his lips. "Best to break it off, then. Until after the war, until--"

"You don't need to do that," said Snape, more softly. "She'll be perfectly safe as long as you take adequate precautions. One of which is to see her only in Exeter, which is free of Death Eater activity and warded to alert me instantly if that should change. And too, it's not as though Lucius Malfoy is still intent on scheming to capture you. Voldemort would no doubt find your knowledge useful, but in truth, the principle threat to you came from Lucius."

"True, but--"

"As long as you don't flaunt yourself, or her, I doubt either one of you would come to Voldemort's attention. Lupin reports that he seems preoccupied with other plans, ones he won't share even with his closest advisors."

Draco frowned. "That's because of the way Lupin went around last year, making it seem like the Death Eaters were betraying one another. I never did think that a very good idea. All it's done is make the Dark Lord decide not to trust another living soul."

"You'll remember that I had nothing to do with hatching that particular plot."

Draco nodded. "No Slytherin would have. So, Rhiannon. Precautions. I stick to Exeter, right. And I guess I don't tell the house about her, after all?"

Harry blinked. "You were going to tell your mates in Slytherin that you'd fallen for a Muggle? Really?"

"Leaving aside the fact that I don't have mates, there, yes, I was."

Snape crossed his arms before his chest. "They'd take that no better than they took your proclamations last year. The ones that got you attacked, if you recall?"

Draco snorted. "As if I could forget, Severus. Well, if you must know, I was planning at first to keep Rhiannon a complete secret, but then Granger got me to admit that, and she went on and on about how that meant I was ashamed of her, deep down, and how Rhiannon would be able to tell that, and--"

"Well, it wouldn't mean any of that rot," said Harry fiercely, a little annoyed with Hermione. "It'd just mean you'd rather not put her in danger. And no offence to either of you, but Slytherin's full of gits who would be only too happy to pass on information to Death Eaters."

"No offence to you, either," said Snape mildly. "Or have you forgotten you're also in Slytherin?"

"He's forgotten about Gryffindors who do the same thing, obviously," added Draco, less mildly.

Harry ignored both of them. "Anyway, I say you'd better keep her a secret. Her being a Muggle isn't even the main point. It's the fact that she's important to you that matters."

"Her being a Muggle is going to make things much worse for her, if any of it gets out, though." Draco nodded. "Of course, my first thought was the better one. I'll keep mum about Rhiannon. Hmm, I suppose I'd better let Granger's parents know something about that. I'll give them a supply of parchment envelopes to use, ones that look like they've been owled off by wizarding shops--"

"What are you on about?"

"Oh, Hermione and I worked out a scheme with owls and post and such. If I set it up right, I can get letters from Rhiannon that other people think are replies to inquiries about my owl-orders. And when I send letters, they'll be inside ones that Hermione owls off to her parents, nothing odd about that, a girl writing home, so that all sorts, then . . ."

"Speaking of Miss Granger, this came for you earlier," said Snape. One flick of his wand, and a letter was wafting across the room to Draco, who began to frown the moment he started reading. "Oh, please."

Harry resisted a strong urge to lean over and see, but he couldn't resist asking. "What?"

Draco tossed the letter onto the table to one side of the sofa. "Hermione's parents can't act as go-betweens for a girl she's never even met, she says."

"Not an unreasonable point of view," observed Snape. "What do you propose to do?"

Draco slanted him a glance. "The way I see it, there's only one thing to do. Hermione's got to meet Rhiannon. Though I don't want the two of them ganging up on me, so Harry had better come along as well. What do you say, Harry? A double date?"

The glint in his eye said that he was looking forward to Ron's reaction.

"No, thanks," said Harry hastily. Ron probably wasn't daft enough to start thinking that Harry was after Hermione, but on the other hand, Ron had thought some pretty daft things in the past.

"Oh, come on. We'll have loads of fun. She's not that Celeste girl, you know."

"You still owe me for that."

"No, I don't. We all went to the seaside on your say-so the next day."

"Oh, yeah." Harry had forgotten he'd already used the favour Draco had promised. And really, some time with Hermione would be good. When Draco and Rhiannon were mooning over each other, Harry could ask her if she'd got that translation rod yet. "All right, on one condition. You can't taunt Ron with it, ever. I mean it. And stop calling it a date. It's friends going out together, that's all."

"That's two conditions."

"Yeah, so be a Slytherin and take the deal before I think of a few more."

Draco gave a slow smile. "Done. Though in my case it most definitely is a date. Let's see, then . . . Rhiannon hasn't got rehearsals on Thursdays; those are for performances, and this is an off week, so I'll write Hermione back and see if we can set something up." He glanced over at Snape. "Is it all right if I send along one of those Portkeys the headmaster gave you?"

"You didn't consult me last time," drawled Snape.

"Does that mean yes or no? I can't tell."

"It means I prefer to be consulted."

Draco's smile faltered. "Yes, sir. I should have. But as these Portkeys will only work for those who've been told about the cottage and seeing that the headmaster laced them with all manner of spells so the Ministry can't even detect their use, I didn't see much cause for concern."

"Perhaps you are learning impulse control if you considered all that." Snape waved a hand. "Include one, yes. But don't help yourself to them, Draco. The headmaster entrusted them to me. You understand?"

"Yes, sir," Draco said again, his voice very low.

Personally, Harry thought he was lucky to have got off without lines. Perhaps Snape thought that wasn't the way to deal with a son now an adult, though. Harry hoped so, anyway, since his own birthday wasn't far off.

He tried hard to sound enthusiastic. "Did Rhiannon get Tuesday off for the family dinner?"

"Oh, she can't come to that, sorry," said Draco, scowling. "She rang that Adrian bloke, but like a complete git, he wouldn't let her skive off rehearsal. On the bright side though, I did learn how to use a phone."

Harry almost laughed. "It's not hard."

"No, but it seems an awful waste having to remember all those numbers that really bear no relation to the person you want to reach. Not like spells, which at least mean something, most times . . ." He grinned, then. "Come to think of it, though, I have Rhiannon's number memorised already. Too bad we can't get one of those, what are they called? Something like mobilicorpus--"

"Mobile," said Harry. And of course they could get one. Harry had used one at Number Twelve, after all, though he was still a little unclear on how the battery had got charged. He decided not to mention all that, though.

No doubt about it, if Draco had access to a phone, he'd be talking to Rhiannon every waking minute, and probably most of the night, as well.  

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

"Harry," said Piers, smiling slyly as he pulled open the front door. For a moment it seemed like he had eyes only for Harry; Piers' gaze raked him up and down, the look on his face something close to predatory. But then that expression faded and Piers turned to the other men standing on the stoop. "Draco, Mr Snape . . . Come in, please. Dudley said you'd all be visiting, tonight."

Harry hid a frown as he went into the living room. He'd been hoping that he wouldn't have to see Piers at all. Didn't security guards work at night, most of the time?

"Dudley should be home from his job in a few minutes," continued Piers as the door closed with an audible click. "So, have a seat, make yourselves at home. . ." He laughed, a little derisively. "Really, Harry, you are home, you know--"

Harry sat down on the black leather couch in a hurry, ignoring the way its cushy depths tried to swallow him whole. In the next instant, he was feeling quite annoyed with himself. Piers shouldn't be able to make him feel out-of-place like that. But then, it wasn't really Piers' comment that had done that; it was all the history in this room. Even rebuilt and redecorated, even without photos of Dudley looking on from every wall, Harry could feel the weight of the past bearing down on him.

Snape sat down beside him, his lips pursed; Harry didn't know why. No chance to ask, either, because just then, Harry noticed that Draco was still standing.

Harry followed Draco's line of sight to see that Dudley's wide-screen telly was on, the sound turned down low. And Draco was more than staring at it; he actually looked transfixed. Hypnotised, even though the telly at that moment was showing nothing more interesting than a commercial for washing-up liquid.

As Harry watched, his brother's mouth actually began to drop open.

Harry jumped up. "Could you get us all some water, Piers? Or better yet, some Coke or something? With ice?"

Piers shrugged, turning away. The moment he was out of sight, Harry took two steps toward Draco and shook the boy's arm. "Come on, it's just a telly," he said, very low. "I told you about them."

Draco blinked several times, but kept his gaze glued to the set. "It's so . . . I didn't think it would be so bright and colourful . . . And to think, you said their pictures never moved."

"That was when we were talking about photographs. Sit down, Draco--"

"Wait. I want to see how long until it repeats--"

Laughing a little, Harry gave his brother a friendly nudge into one of the two leather easy chairs in the room. "It's not going to repeat. It just keeps changing. Didn't Rhiannon's uncle have the telly on at all this past weekend?"

Draco shook his head, leaning to the side so Harry wouldn't block his view.

Well, perhaps the best way to handle this was to get him used to Muggle technology as quickly as possible. Sighing, Harry picked up the remote control and clicked the channel button a few times, showing Draco how. Then he handed the remote to his brother. "Have a blast."

Draco started methodically cycling through the channels, his eyes looking almost feverish by then.

Harry looked over at Snape, who merely shrugged and patted the seat next to him.

By the time Piers came back, a drink in each hand and a third one sort of caught between his arm and body, Draco had settled on a news programme, but he managed to look away from the telly long enough to take the tall glass Piers was holding out.

To Harry's amazement, Draco didn't even make a face at the prospect of drinking something a Muggle had just prepared. Perhaps he was just too distracted by the images flickering across the television screen? If so, one swallow of the fizzing Muggle soda seemed to cure him of that.

Almost shuddering, Draco hurriedly set it down on a lacquered side table.

When Harry tasted his, he understood. Diet Coke. Draco had ranted about it on the day he'd bought fish and chips for everyone. Apparently Rhiannon ordered it all the time, which Draco found completely baffling. Harry didn't dislike it, though. He drank his portion down thirstily, the leaned forward to set his glass down next to Draco's.

"So, Harry, what's keeping you busy this summer?" asked Piers with a throaty laugh as he sat down in the remaining easy chair and angled his hips into what looked like a languid pose.

Harry kept his eyes averted. After the last time here, he didn't want to say or do anything that would give Piers the idea that Harry could remotely stand him. "Swimming lessons," he said shortly.

A low chuckle. "Swimming lessons, really? But you're already grown-up. From the look of things, into quite a fit young man--"

Harry almost squirmed at the oily way those last three words were delivered.

Snape, in contrast, sat up stiffly, his hands clenching on the glass he'd yet to drink from.

Piers didn't seem to recognise the danger he was courting. His simpering expression didn't change. "And how are you liking your swimming lessons, Harry? Getting a nice tan, are you?" His gaze settled on Harry's lower half. "Trunks, or briefs?"

"Your questions are intrusive and overly personal, Mr. Polkiss," Snape said coldly.

Piers just laughed again, the sound low enough to grate on Harry's nerves. "Oh, but Harry and I are old friends, aren't we?"

"No," said Harry shortly. Perhaps the telly being on was a good thing; he pretended some interest in the news programme Draco was still watching. It was pretty depressing stuff, though: information about a child recently reported missing in Dungannon.

Ignoring him had the effect of shutting Piers up, though, so Harry kept watching the gloomy news report.

Thankfully, Dudley came in just a few minutes later. "Harry, Draco, Professor Snape! How good to see you!" His gaze swept across them. "I see Piers has been making you comfortable--"

"In truth, he's done the opposite," said Snape before Harry could get a word in. "Your flatmate has abominable manners."

"This lot hasn't got much of a sense of humour," protested Piers. "A spot of friendly teasing between me and Harry, Duds, that's all it was."

Dudley's eyes narrowed, which in his over-fat face made them look a little piggish. He looked a lot like Vernon Dursley in that moment, and sounded like him, too. But considering what he said, Harry didn't really mind.

"If you can't be polite to Harry, you'd better find another place to live, Piers! He's going to be coming over just as often as he pleases, and I won't have him made less than welcome, I won't. Got that? I mean it -- one more complaint and you'll be out on your ear!"

Piers jumped to his feet and folded his arms across his chest. "I notice Harry hasn't complained, just his father. Though why somebody his age would need to be adopted is an interesting question--"

"You're really stupid if you think so," said Dudley fiercely. "And anyway, Harry's not much for whinging about things, but if Professor Snape thought you were out of line, that's good enough for me."

A slight clicking noise announced that Draco had figured out how to switch off the television. "Perhaps we should just leave," he said, each syllable clipped. He must have been paying attention to more than the telly, by the end, there.

As if on cue, Snape and Draco stood up together; Harry, a scant second later.

"Sure," said Dudley. "Er . . . just got in, though. I'll be back down in a moment."

Harry heard him the stairs groaning a little as Dudley lumbered up them.

Piers, as if determined to prove he was as stupid as Dudley had claimed, gave them all a rather nasty smile. Harry thought it was the first sincere expression he'd worn since they'd arrived. Or maybe it just suited his ratlike features. "Well, well. You used to run away from your battles, but at least you didn't let other people fight them for you."

Harry glared. "What I do or don't do is no business of yours."

Draco's voice was equally low and angry as he came to stand beside Harry. "You don't know what you're talking about. And you sure as fuck don't know whom you're talking to--"

"Enough, Draco," said Snape in a level voice. "Mr Polkiss, we will wait outside for Dudley."

Harry thought his father had handled everything pretty calmly, considering, but that was before Piers' face ended up drenched with Diet Coke as they passed him. Snape had been the only one still holding his glass.

Outside, Harry was torn between bursting into laughter and pulling his father into a tight hug, but both impulses dropped away from him when he caught the way Snape was glaring at Draco.

"An accident," Draco was saying, though his eyes were twinkling. "You know, impulse control."

"That sort of accident is for children without proper schooling, not adults going into their final year of it!"

"It's not as though the windows all shattered, Severus."

"It also wasn't any form of accident, was it?" asked Snape, his voice lashing out like a whip.

Harry saw Draco give his wand, thrust deep in his pocket, a little wiggle. "No, sir. But nobody is going to investigate a small splash like that. I am of age."

"Harry's cousin is going to believe that I threw a beverage at his flatmate!"

That seemed to be the real issue, for Snape. Which touched Harry, in a way. He knew that his father didn’t usually care what people thought of him, though ever since Rhiannon's reluctant comment at the pool, he had been keeping his hair marginally cleaner. That was for Draco's sake, Harry knew. And now, this concern over what Dudley might think . . . it wasn't about Dudley at all, really.

Harry smiled at his father as he lightly touched his arm. "It'll be all right, Dad."

Sure enough, when Dudley came out a few minutes later, wearing a different shirt--his other had looked a bit soiled--he didn't say anything about the incident. But then, he probably didn't know about it. Would Piers have mentioned it, knowing that Dudley very well might assume Piers had said something else offensive, knowing that Dudley might then proceed to make good on his threat? To kick Piers out?

Harry's smile widened. How could it not? He liked the idea that Dudley would go that far, if it would mean that Harry felt more comfortable visiting. Which reminded him.

"Dudley . . . that thing you said last time about sharing expenses with Piers . . . er . . ." Harry's attempt to be generous ground to a halt, because he'd suddenly remembered how badly Draco had reacted when Harry had offered money. Then again, once Draco had understood that they really were family, his whole attitude had changed.

Dudley was unlocking the driver side door to the blue sedan in the driveway, but he paused to glance up at Harry. "What of it?"

Harry swallowed. He probably should check with his father, he knew, before saying this, since he didn't even have his own vault key, but . . . too late now. "Oh. Um, well, if you kick him out on my account that might leave you a little short, money-wise, and I wanted to say, wanted you to understand . . . um, well, I could help you out, you know. If you needed it . . ."

Dudley opened the car door and reached around to unlock the one behind it. "How's that? Aren't you still in school for another whole year?"

Oh, no . . . Harry felt a small pang of dismay at that. All that time he'd spent with Dudley, back in Snape's quarters, and he'd never mentioned? He just hoped Dudley didn't get too upset with him. "Um, yes, but I inherited quite a lot of money from my father."

Dudley's gaze drifted to Snape, but he wasn't quite as thick as that. "Oh, you mean the other one. I thought he was unemployed, though? And an alcoholic, and--"

Draco made a noise that sounded very slightly like a growl.

"That's all slander," said Harry, carefully keeping his voice calm. Once, not so very long ago, comments like that would have sparked his temper, but the plain truth was that Dudley didn't know any better. "Your parents didn't like my father. I'm dead sure you can guess why."

Dudley ducked his head. "Sorry, Harry."

"It's all right. But if you need some money, Dudley--"

"I won't, not now I'm working." Dudley looked behind him, at Snape and Draco. "You two in the back seat, then? Harry can sit up front with me."

Draco's eyes widened. "You expect me to get in that . . . conveyance?"

"It's not so different from the train," said Harry with a touch of impatience. Actually, he was surprised Draco hadn't been in a car yet, with all the time he spent with Rhiannon. She'd mentioned driving once . . . but then again, Draco had made it clear that his girlfriend would much rather Apparate.

As would Draco, obviously. "Severus has already selected a restaurant and I'm positive he can get us there. All of us."

Snape raised an eyebrow. "In broad daylight in the middle of a busy neighbourhood? I think not, Draco."

"Well, then we can--"

"Get in the car, Draco," Harry interrupted. "After all, Dudley took the Express when he came to see me, and that was a lot more difficult for him than this is going to be for you."

Draco still didn't move, not until Snape gave him a tiny push. Then he capitulated and climbed awkwardly into the car, his jaw set in stoic, almost hateful lines. Harry almost sighed. He'd be willing to bet that Draco would regard riding in a car a grand adventure if Rhiannon were the one driving.

Well, at least Snape wasn't objecting. His expression was solemn as he walked to the other side of the car and got in, himself. Leaning forward, he passed Dudley a piece of parchment on which he'd drawn a rough map. Dudley studied it for a few moments, but then he started driving and got them all to the restaurant without mishap.

Draco held himself stiffly the whole time, even so, and slammed the car door--hard--when he got out.

Harry smiled and waved a hand toward the French seafood restaurant, which was located in a district not too far from Marsha's office. "Dad and I came here yesterday for lunch and made sure they had things that would work for your diet."

Draco huffed a little, but Harry didn't see what he had to complain about. So what if Snape and Harry had enjoyed a fancy meal on their own? He'd gone off for lunch with Rhiannon, as usual.

"Eh, don't worry about my diet," murmured Dudley. "I'm sort of, er-- taking a break from it, for a while."

"Oh, no, you can't do that--"

"Harry," interrupted Snape. That was all he said, but it was enough. Dudley was a grown man, able to make his own decisions about his diet or anything else. Harry knew that, but he was still determined to speak his mind on the subject--but only if Dudley asked.

"Merveilleuse," said Draco, reading the sign above the double doors that led inside. "Somehow I doubt that."

"The restaurant's name is a play on words, since it means marvellous, but mer also means the sea in French--"

Draco lifted his chin. "Yes, I am aware. Unlike some people, I actually do speak French, you realise."

Conceited prat . . . Harry yanked on one of the oars mounted vertically to the door. Odd sort of handle, but it went along with the fishing nets hanging overhead. The waiting area was similarly themed, with everything set up to look like you were aboard a fishing vessel. Harry thought it was charming, but then, he hadn't been out to eat very often, and certainly not to any restaurants like this, not until the day before when Snape had suggested they go "scouting" for a likely eatery.

Draco looked like he thought it was all beneath his standards. Well, maybe he was just annoyed that Rhiannon hadn't been able to come. Or more likely, Draco was regretting that he had to be here. No doubt about it, he'd rather be sitting in the theatre listening to Rhiannon sing the same songs over and over.

When the hostess tried to seat them, Draco hung back from the booth until everyone else was settled. Then, he took the seat farthest from Dudley, picked up his menu, and held it up in front of his face like he thought it was a cross to ward off vampires.

Harry almost sighed. Draco had taken to chatting Muggles up a bit, wherever he met them, ever since he'd had that talk with Hermione. It seemed fairly obvious that she'd told him he needed practice, or something. But he'd hardly said even a single word to Dudley, even though the last time they'd gone to Number Four, Draco had been able to converse with the Muggle boy.

But now . . . you'd never guess he knew what polite behaviour was. Draco looked absolutely disgusted to be in a Muggle restaurant, even to the point of curling his upper lip every time he glanced up from his menu.

Harry didn't understand it at all. How could Rhiannon actually be making everything worse, when it came to Draco and Muggles?

Prat, thought Harry. At that point, all Harry could assume was that the car ride had given Draco quite an upset, and he needed some time to get over it. Snape too, maybe. He didn’t seem unsettled the way Draco obviously was, but he was being rather quiet.

Letting Harry take charge, perhaps, since after all, he was the one most keenly interested in a relationship with Dudley. At any rate, the way nobody was talking was beginning to grate on Harry's nerves, so he turned to his cousin and took the initiative. "You've got a job now, you said? What are you doing?"

Dudley's face went a little pink as he pushed his menu over to the edge of the table. "It's not much, but it pays the bills. I stock shelves at a video rental place." He grinned, then. "I get to bring home as many tapes as I like, though, so that part's all right."

Draco's menu made a thudding noise as he set it down a little too forcefully. "How can you have so much in need of repair? Are you that clumsy?"

It took Harry a minute to even follow that. Oh, tapes. Draco must be thinking of spellotape . . . though that certainly didn't explain the blunt question or the edge of antagonism in his voice. Harry leaned over to whisper. "Videotapes, he means. They're like . . . recordings of what you see on the telly, so you can make the same programmes repeat as much as you like."

Draco picked up his water, but he didn't drink it; he just rotated the glass in his hand so the liquid began to swirl in circles. He wasn't looking at his handiwork, though; his grey eyes seemed to be boring straight into Dudley. "How could anybody need even more to watch than what was already showing on all those channels?"

He said it like he thought Dudley was a fat, lazy slob who never did anything but stare at the telly. Which actually wasn't such a bad description of Dudley in years past, but even if it was still true, it wasn't Draco's place to comment on it.

"What's wrong with you?" hissed Harry. "You were with Rhiannon all day, again . . . did you have a row or something?"

Draco folded his hands serenely before him. "Whatever would make you think that? Rhiannon and I get on splendidly."

"Rhiannon?" asked Dudley.

"Draco's girlfriend," said Harry shortly.

"I'm certain I mentioned her last time," added Draco smoothly. "Perhaps watching all those tapes is dulling your memory."

"Draco," rebuked Snape, giving a small shake of his head.

Draco went silent then, and began pretending that the nautical décor was of great interest. Snape tried once or twice to draw him into the conversation, but Draco wasn't having it. He didn't say more than two words in a row until the waitress came by, and then, as if to prove just how superior he was to the rest of the world, he rattled off the snootiest order Harry had ever heard. "Pôchouse to start, piping hot, mind, and then Espadon à la Rouille to follow. Vinaigrette dressing on my salad, and do be sure the chef uses proper Dijon in that, would you? Some restaurants try to make do with German mustard instead, and it's just not done."

It was quite an expensive restaurant, so the waitress merely nodded, showing no expression. "And to drink, sir?"

"Sparkling mineral water. Bring the bottle, and a clean glass, and you may as well take this away, now." Draco shoved his glass of water away.

The waitress pursed her lips that time, but again, gave no real reply. Neither did Snape, but the look on his face spoke volumes. Draco, Harry noticed, kept his gaze carefully averted.

Sighing, Harry ordered next, and then Snape, both of them choosing bouillabaisse with an onion tart for a starter. Harry thought that was pretty funny, since they hadn't consulted about their orders. Maybe the next time they asked the elves to serve what suits, Harry and Snape would be the ones getting matching meals.

Draco didn't say anything about the matching orders, but Dudley's drink request seemed to spark a new round of hostility. "Diet Coke?" he asked, scoffing. "What's the point in Diet Coke, I ask you, when you're also ordering fish slathered in batter and a baked potato, besides? And why do you keep sludge like Diet Coke in the house if you're off your diet, anyway?"

By the end, Draco's voice had grown loud enough that people were turning their heads to stare.

"Draco!" hissed Harry and Snape both, almost at exactly the same instant.

"No, I don't mind," said Dudley, scooping up a piece of bread from the basket the waitress had set on the table. "I'm sticking to the diet soda because the sugary kind would just make it that much harder to go back, later. Besides, I kind of like it."

"Like it?" Completely ignoring his father and brother's attempt at a rebuke the moment before, Draco gave a theatrical shudder. "You have terrible taste."

"Well, then, so does Rhiannon," retorted Harry.

"In point of fact, Rhiannon tastes wonderful," said Draco, giving Harry a vicious little smile. He soon returned to needling Dudley, though. "You don't have a girlfriend, do you? And no wonder. I'd get back on that diet, if I were you. Not that it's likely to do much good, with your breeding--"

Snape yanked his napkin off his lap and tossed it onto the table. "Accompany me to the car, Draco, now."

Draco scowled, but slid out of the booth. With an apologetic glance, Snape did the same. As soon as they were both out of sight, Harry turned to his cousin. "Sorry. I don't know what's got into him."

Dudley just shrugged. "My friends treated you a lot worse, and so did I, so I guess I can hardly complain. Surprised, though. He seemed a lot friendlier the other times, you know."

"Yeah, I know," said Harry, sighing. What had happened to the Draco who had been delighted to show off magic for Dudley, or who had sat in the backyard at Number Four, last time, nodding as he listened to Dudley talk about the finer points of barbecuing steaks? "He's just . . . no idea. Going through something, I guess. But that's no excuse for such rudeness."

Draco came back to the table after a few minutes and didn't say another word throughout the entire rest of the meal. Not one.

Snape also seemed on edge--no mystery, there--but ignored Draco's sulk and conversed easily with Harry and Dudley both. Even so, it was a relief when the meal was over and they all got up to leave.

"Thank you for the dinner, Professor Snape," said Dudley when they were all back at his car. "I . . . I hope we can do it again, soon." Harry saw his cousin swallowing. "All of us."

Draco just stared straight through Dudley.

"Thank you for driving us," said Snape in his most polite tones. "But we have another errand now, and I do believe we'll walk. It was good seeing you, Dudley."

Harry gave his cousin a quick hug, and then caught up with Snape and Draco, who were waiting for him on the corner, by then. "You might at least have said good-bye, Draco," Harry couldn't help but say, his voice more than a little bit critical. "And why did you have to be so completely rude?"

Draco lifted his chin. "The relevant question, surely, is why you should have been so completely polite."

"Because he's my cousin, maybe?"

"Some cousin," muttered Draco.

Harry gritted his teeth. So much for Rhiannon having a salutary effect on Draco's attitudes. Instead, the other boy was right back to hating all things Muggle.

"Yeah, well, I don't care what you think. He's the only cousin I have."

"Better none at all than one like him--"

"Enough, gentlemen," interrupted Snape. "You can save the rest for your respective sessions with the good doctor."

"Draco had better go first," said Harry, lifting his chin the way Draco always did. "Since he's obviously gone 'round the bend."

"I'll go first to let her know how delusional you've got--"

"Enough!" said Snape again, raising his voice that time. "You're giving me indigestion and we're not in a locale where I can easily mitigate the matter, do I make myself clear?"

"Yes, sir," said Draco through his teeth.

"Sure, Dad," said Harry.

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.

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

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.

What was a reflection in a mirror, compared to all that?

Draco was right, Harry glumly told himself. He shouldn't need anybody else. His parents were gone; he knew that. Seeing them in the Mirror of Erised hadn't changed it, and seeing them in the Mirror of All Souls wouldn't, either. Even if he could find a way to repair it . . . which he obviously couldn't.

Most likely, he should forget the whole idea and stop wanting things he couldn't have. It ought to be easy for him, really. It wasn't so different from his old stance, was it?

I don't ask for things I won't get, he remembered telling Snape.

Trouble was, he'd got over that, some at least. He had someone he could ask, now. For anything, really. Help, advice . . . swimming lessons. Harry smiled, a little wryly.

"Harry?"

Dragging his thoughts back to the present, Harry tried to remember what else he'd meant to tell Hermione. Rhiannon . . . something about Rhiannon . . . Oh, right. "Draco says his girlfriend really wants to talk to more people with magic, she's apparently fascinated with it, but there are some things you'd better not say in front of her--"

"Well, I wasn't planning to start listing off members of the Order!"

"I know you won't talk about the war. I mean, how could she ever begin to understand it? The thing is, though, she can't stand the word Muggle. She thinks it's some kind of slur."

Hermione's gaze grew sharp. "Not too surprising, seeing as she heard it first from Draco." She held up a hand when Harry would have interrupted. "But I understand he's not quite in that same mindset, now. So . . . what is your father going to do tonight, all alone in the house?"

Harry carefully kept a straight face. "No idea, but ten to one he tells Draco and me to be good when we're leaving."

Hermione chuckled. "Yes, that sounds like him. By the way, what was that about the Ministry and the N.E.W.T.s? Snape sounded . . . well, peeved, actually."

No chance of a straight face at that. Harry grimaced. "He got official word this morning that since his curriculum is way too hard, starting this year only the O.W.L. in Potions will be required to apply to the Auror's programme. He's livid."

"I imagine so." Hermione slanted him a glance. "Why are you the one pulling a face?"

"Why do you think? I could drop Potions now, which you know has only been my dream for years, except, I can't, because my father would never agree!"

"You'll be seventeen soon, and able to decide your course programme for yourself--"

Harry gave her a lopsided smile. "Yeah, but if I drop Potions, I'll never hear the end of it. Can you imagine?" He dropped his voice a full octave and tried to narrow his eyes the way Snape sometimes did. "You are trusting the Ministry to make a wise decision for once in their miserable existence, are you?"

Hermione chuckled, which of course only encouraged Harry to keep on.

"Moreover, you idiot child, I do believe that preparing yourself above and beyond the minimum requirements is by no means an unreasonable imposition . . ."

"Well, he wouldn't exactly be wrong, would he?"

"Oh, thanks for the moral support!" Harry took her by the arm. "Come on, let's go see if Draco's ready."

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

"So, travel arrangements," said Snape almost as soon as Draco emerged from his room. "My supply of Portkeys is not unlimited, therefore--"

"Oh, I still have the shoelace Draco owled me," said Hermione, fishing it out of a side pocket in her dress. "Here, sir. I didn't need to use the keyword, after all."

"You passed your Apparition test!" said Harry, grinning.

"Yes, just the day before yesterday."

"That certainly simplifies matters," said Snape, nodding slightly as if in congratulations. "Keep the Portkey in case of emergency, Miss Granger, and Harry and Draco will have one as well . . ." He quickly passed them each a candy wrapper. "But try not to use them for any casual return. I will Apparate with all of you out to the usual spot in Exeter, and as Miss Granger is licensed, she can supervise your return whenever your evening has ended."

Draco gave a long-suffering sigh. "We don't need supervision, Severus. You know we're perfectly competent."

"Until you are licensed, you are not legally permitted to Apparate in public without someone who is," Snape insisted, his voice one Harry recognised. The stubborn one.

"Oh, you'll both be seventeen really soon," said Hermione. "Just one more week, right, Harry? And Draco, only a few days after that."

Draco's features tightened. "And how would you know anything at all about my date of birth, I'd like to know?"

Hermione coloured slightly. "Oh. I . . . well, I'm a prefect, you see, and--"

"I was a prefect too! It's not got a thing to do with birthdays."

"Well, you weren't a prefect at year's end, and we started making up a birthday list so next year we could do something nice for each person on the right day. House unity thing!"

Draco stared at Hermione for a moment, then appeared to give up on the whole issue. "Oh. Well, you're mistaken, in any case. I happen to be seventeen already, thank you very much, so don't be surprised if I do a spell or two in front of Rhiannon."

Hermione blinked. "Seventeen already? But I was sure Professor Snape said your birthday was after Harry's, and I know I don't have that one wrong!"

"It's fine, Miss Granger," said Snape. "I may have misspoken."

"You, sir? But--"

"It is fine."

No arguing with the firm tone used that time. Hermione obviously sensed that. "Yes, sir."

Snape glanced once at Hermione. "Ah, one more thing, Miss Granger. Your wand. Let me see it for a moment, if you would." Snape cast something across it, then closed his eyes and waved it several times, conjuring a thin stream of gold that quickly faded into thin air.

"Sir?"

"I've added your wand to the trip wires crossing Exeter."

"Alarm spells to tell us right away if any other witches or wizards are in the area," Harry explained as Snape handed Hermione's wand back to her. "Good thinking, Dad."

Snape gave him a mirthless smile. "I do try. Are all of you quite ready, then? I'll side-along Miss Granger so she learns the location. Harry and Draco, you follow."

A few seconds later, the four of them were standing in the alley in Exeter, which was deserted as usual, due to the subtle keep-away spell Snape had cast earlier that summer. Draco straightened out his clothing even though it was impeccable as usual.

"So," said Snape, regarding the three of them, his dark eyes looking pleased, though in the dim light of the alley, Harry couldn't be sure. "Enjoy your evening, all of you. Harry, Draco, be good."

Hermione chuckled, meeting Harry's sideways glance. Harry knew what she was thinking: Definitely a dad.

It was a good feeling to know that finally, she fully realised and accepted that. And that she was happy for him.

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

"Video store's a little far to walk," said Rhiannon a few minutes after they'd arrived at her house. She'd served a round of fresh lemonade she'd made "just for Draco," as she put it, and then they'd all talked for a little while. Harry was pretty impressed that Rhiannon didn't immediately begin pestering everybody with questions about magic. Maybe she really did like Draco for himself, not just that one part.

On the other hand, she beamed with delight when Draco said that Hermione was their friend from school. She obviously knew what that implied, so Harry expected she'd start asking questions sooner or later. Turned out to be sooner, although what she had to say wasn't properly a question.

"So, anyway," said Rhiannon, her hand clasping Draco's as they sat side-by-side on the sofa, "Uncle Stanley said I could borrow the car this evening, but if it's all right, I'd much rather . . . you know. Appear-ate. Er . . . do you all know how?"

"Apparate," corrected Draco. "We do, but it has to be planned a little bit. We can't risk appearing where non-magical people might see us."

"Oh, well." Harry was almost expecting Rhiannon to wheedle, or maybe pout, but she seemed to take it in stride. "Car, then. Shall we?"

At that, Harry gave Hermione a significant glance. She looked a little annoyed, but went ahead and asked, "Why go to a video store at all, though? Isn't there already enough to watch on the telly?"

"Very funny, Harry," growled Draco.

Harry collapsed into laughter. "Sorry. Couldn't resist." And then, to Rhiannon, who was looking perplexed, "That's what Draco said earlier this week when he found out what a telly was."

Rhiannon turned to Draco. "You didn't know what a telly was? But . . . how did you manage to seem so . . . so completely normal when my parents came over?"

Draco shrugged. "I improvised."

"But you know what a telly is," Rhiannon said to Hermione.

"Oh, yes. I didn't realise I was a witch until I was invited to attend Hogwarts. I grew up entirely in the M-- ah, non-magical world."

Harry saw a look of utter relief pass over Draco's face.

"So you've known Draco for five or six years, then?"

"Oh, my, yes," said Hermione, a glint in her eyes that could only be described as mischievous. Or perhaps, even wicked. "I know him quite well, I think. The stories I could tell you! The things he got up to at school!"

Uh-oh. Now Draco looked anything but relieved. Hermione threw a broad smile his way, her eyes positively twinkling, but Harry somehow doubted Draco would read that the way it had been intended.

"I'd love to hear about them." Rhiannon stood up. "How about sitting in the front with me, Hermione? The boys can have the back on the way there."

The girls led the way out of the house, chattering like old friends already.

Draco rose, his legs looking a little bit shaky as he made his way to the door. "Relax," said Harry, laying a hand on his arm for a moment. "You can trust Hermione. She's just having you on, like you did her."

"Wonderful."

"It's not so bad. At least this way, Rhiannon isn't likely to notice that you're afraid of the car."

"I am not afraid," hissed Draco, lifting his chin as he marched straight out of the house and down the steps.

By the time Harry and Draco climbed into the car, Hermione was going on about how Draco had dressed up as a Dementor to frighten Harry, once. She changed some of the relevant details, though. His costume was a simple "demon" now, and she left out the bit about how Harry might have fallen to his death if the trick had worked. She did say, though, with a backwards glance at Draco, "I'm sure he feels quite bad about the whole thing, now."

"Let's talk instead about how you were crying in the bathroom while a troll was loose in the castle," said Draco, crossing his arms.

"Harry, you tell your brother everything?"

"House gossip," corrected Draco.

"Oh, I must hear more about Draco's antics," said Rhiannon, her voice lilting with delight. "The most mischief I've seen him get up to was pretending to be a stage magician."

Hermione turned around in the front seat, grinning. "Really?"

Rhiannon nodded as she signalled and turned a corner.

"And how was his act?"

"Too good, obviously," snapped Draco. "She knew almost at once that play-magic couldn't account for my . . ."

"Tricks?" Hermione sounded just a second or two away from dissolving into laughter.

"Spells," corrected Draco.

"And which spell gave you away, oh Draco the Magnificent?"

"Weather charms--"

"You cast a weather charm and expected her not to realise something was up?"

"It was just a breeze--"

"I was already suspicious before that," added Rhiannon. "On account of the rabbit he made appear inside a hat, while I was wearing it."

At that, Hermione did start laughing out loud. "Didn't you do any research at all, Draco?"

"The books I have available don't cover such esoteric subjects as pretending to do magic," said Draco dryly.

"Good thing," said Rhiannon. "I'm just as glad to know it's real. Now, what else does Draco get up to at this school you all attend? He's a perfect gentleman around me, but I'm sure you must have scads of good stories . . ."

Draco closed his eyes as Hermione began to prattle about how Draco had once tricked Harry into a detention by luring him out to the duel that never was. But then she said he'd more than made up for that by returning Harry's wand to him after it had been stolen.

"And then once, there was this hippogriff named Buckbeak--"

Grimacing, Draco started staring out the window, his expression not easing even when Hermione changed the Buckbeak story to leave out all mention of Draco trying to get the hippogriff executed. She merely said that Draco had been injured.

"Oh, you poor thing!" crooned Rhiannon.

"Yeah, nearly tore my arm off. All because I didn't bow low enough to suit it."

The way Harry remembered it, Draco hadn't bowed at all, but he decided they'd be better off not dredging all that up.

"Well, I'm not at all sure a school should have such dangerous creatures roaming about!"

"Ha. We have to take whole classes devoted to dealing with them," said Draco.

"Well, it's an elective this year, Draco, and I assume you won't be taking it," Harry put in.

"Good, you shouldn't take it, Draco. It's bad enough that you play that broom game that's so dangerous. I'll be worrying about you all year!"

And she doesn't know the half of it, Harry thought, looking out the window. He felt a little guilty about keeping her in the dark about the war with Voldemort and their parts in it. He could tell Draco did as well; he definitely wasn't Occluding when he tried to reassure Rhiannon that he'd be perfectly safe at school.

Luckily, Hermione turned things around by launching into a new tale, but by the time they reached the video store, she seemed to have exhausted her supply of somewhat-edited Draco stories.

"See, not so bad," said Harry under his breath as they got out of the car.

Draco didn't seem to agree; as he awkwardly twisted to exit the back seat, he looked even paler than usual. Maybe that was just from the car ride, though.

"So, what are we in the mood for?" asked Rhiannon as she began to browse up and down the aisles. "Drama, romance, comedy . . . what do you think, Draco?"

He threw her a sardonic look as he caught her hand in his. "My opinion's rather limited, as you might expect."

"Oh . . ." Rhiannon's eyes gleamed. "Right. Um . . . well then . . . horror, maybe? How about this?" She plucked a DVD off a shelf and handed it to Draco.

"Interview with the Vampire," read Draco, one eyebrow raised as he flipped the case over. It didn't take long for him to begin chuckling at what the back said. "Shouldn't this be shelved in comedy? It sounds so utterly ridiculous--"

"I love Rice!"

Draco laughed. "Look, I like rice fine, but this is just rubbish, it is. Mind, I haven't met any vampires personally, but I do know they aren't a thing like this would suggest--"

Harry loudly cleared his throat.

"Oh, right." Draco handed the vampire movie back to Rhiannon, then plucked a few more titles randomly off the shelf. He looked fairly disbelieving as he scanned the cases for information. "People actually want to watch these? They seem awfully . . . dark."

Rhiannon leaned over to see what he had. "Oh, those are, yes. But, it's a bit fun to be scared half to death, now and again, isn't it?"

Draco's fists clenched. "No, it's really not."

When Rhiannon gave him a close look, Draco lightened his tone and affected a laugh. "I don't think I'm in the mood for horror." I get enough of that in real life, Harry could tell he was thinking. "Maybe something more light-hearted, for tonight."

"A date movie." Rhiannon stood on tip-toe and gave Draco a quick peck on the lips. "What a wonderful suggestion."

Feeling like a third wheel by then, Harry moved off to give them some privacy. He wound his way over to Hermione, who had ended up in a section labelled "Classics."

"Anything look good?"

"Hmm, well I was wondering if something to show a little bit of history might be just the thing. The class we had at school left a lot of things out, you know."

Harry did know that, but he didn't much care. Wizard history had been boring enough that he wasn't eager to learn about the Muggle kind. He certainly didn't want to waste the rare chance at a movie on something that might remind him of Binns droning on and on.

"Maybe Casablanca . . ."

Harry glanced at the case, wondering how to put her off the idea. "Um . . . I think we'd better watch something in colour. . ."

"Oh, yes, probably so . . ." Hermione kept musing, picking up one DVD and then another, twisting a strand of hair around one finger as she pondered her choices.

The film they needed, though, stood out to Harry the second he spotted it. "Oh, perfect. We have to rent this one," he said, grabbing The Wizard of Oz. "I told Draco about it once. He and Dad had never even heard of it, can you imagine?"

"And it will give Draco and Rhiannon a context for talking over different perspectives about . . . er, magic tricks."

Trust Hermione to think of that. "Let's go and show them."

Rhiannon giggled when she saw what Harry was bringing. "Oh, precious. Yes, let's. I watched that movie every year growing up, I think. It always made me wonder . . . I'd love to see it again."

Draco made a scoffing noise. "What possible use could this be? Oz isn't even a real place!"

A middle-aged woman halfway down the aisle turned to stare at Draco.

"Shh," said Harry, taking Draco's arm to start him walking toward the registers.

"Oh. Right."

"Let me take it; I have a card here," said Rhiannon. Harry could tell that Draco didn't understand her comment at all, but he let Rhiannon have the movie, and watched the transaction carefully as she rented it.

For the ride home, Rhiannon insisted Draco sit up front with her. She seemed a little shocked when it became obvious he had no idea what a safety belt was for. Even after she explained, Draco didn't want to wear one. Harry had the feeling he didn't want to become trapped in a burning car, something like that. Rhiannon leaned over close to him, lips almost touching, and said just one word: please.

Draco gave her no more argument about buckling up, but he did fumble over the mechanism at first.

When they reached Stanley Tilden's house, Hermione hung back, her fingers on Harry's arm asking him to do the same. By then, she was positively beaming. "She's very nice, just like you said. And they really do seem to get on. If I were you, Harry, I'd relax about it."

Harry murmured something non-committal and headed into the house.

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

Rhiannon's plan for dinner was to make a salad with about a hundred different ingredients, it seemed, a lot of them from the garden behind the house. Thrusting a wicker basket at Harry and Draco, she assigned them both to "go harvesting."

Draco grumbled, once outside, about leaving Hermione in there to gossip about him more.

"She's delighted with this whole thing," said Harry, which probably understated the case. "I don't think you have to worry."

Draco nodded at that, but nonetheless gathered tomatoes, various kinds of lettuce, and herbs in record time.

Rhiannon set Harry to washing everything and assigned Draco to mince some garlic for the dressing as she kept up a running conversation with Hermione, who was slicing rounds of cucumber. By then, the talk had wound around to what it had been like for Hermione, growing up with magic that nobody around her recognised or understood.

Rhiannon started to ask another question, but stopped in mid-sentence, her eyes widening as she swung them from Hermione's chopping block to Draco's. "Oh, my," she said, leaning close to each. "That's . . . very precise, both of you. Don't tell me, they offer a cooking course at Hogwarts?"

The garlic and cucumber looked perfectly normal to Harry . . . but then, he'd been watching people make potions for six years.

Draco had obviously understood her confusion, too. "I told you what our father teaches," he said, deftly sliding the garlic onto the knife and then into the bowl she'd laid out for the dressing. "And believe me, when Severus says mince, you mince. You don't chop, dice, cube, slice or purée. You can't, or your potion will come out green instead of purple."

Hermione nodded. "And if you slice, each and every one had better be exactly the same thickness. Force of habit for us, now, I'm afraid. My mother just shakes her head when I cook."

"Well, it's nice that you still help her with things like cooking -- it must seem so boring after …" Her voice trailed off as she stared at the tomatoes Harry had started to slice. They were half mush.

"Yeah, I'm pretty much crap at potions," he admitted, shrugging.

"Oh, you are not!" said Hermione and Draco, almost at the same time.

"Thanks, but I know it's not really my best subject. Dad knows, too. Shame I can't skive off, now that it's not really required."

Rhiannon smiled reassuringly. "You know, my mum is really taken with herbal remedies and such. I don't mind willow bark tea or Echinacea tablets, but from what Draco has said, the ingredients you have to use? Potions class sounds just vile to me. If I were you, I'd definitely skive off."

That comment led to a discussion of wizarding versus Muggle medicine, though of course nobody said the word Muggle in front of Rhiannon. At any rate, the conversation was decided short-lived as Rhiannon said it would spoil her appetite.

They ate the salads with some garlic bread at the kitchen table. Harry realized the reason they were eating so light when Rhiannon pulled out a box of microwave popcorn and a large bag of gummy candies. Predictably, Draco was fascinated by watching the bag popping in the microwave.

Harry found his brother equally fascinated by the movie -- which turned out to be great fun. Draco watched it with wide eyes throughout, and no small amount of humorous commentary about how inaccurate it all was. He even declared that making the wicked witch Slytherin green was a misguided slur against his house.

"Actually, the green colour of the witch and of Emerald City could be interpreted as symbolic of American paper currency as opposed to the gold bricks in …." Harry bonked Hermione on the head with a sofa pillow to shut her up. She glared, but refrained from literary commentary after that.

The funniest moment came when Draco tried to get the last word in. He turned to Hermione with a straight face and said, "There's just one thing that's still confusing me. Maybe you could clear it up for us, Hermione. Just what were the flying monkeys symbolic of?"

She actually opened her mouth to reply before the others burst into laughter. Rhiannon stepped in right away, "Don't mind them Hermione. Personally, I've never been clever enough to figure out symbolism and such." Then she added with a wink, "I just assumed the flying monkeys were evil on account of all that wicked poo-flinging from on high."

Harry nearly choked on his popcorn at that. So much for Draco's image of the lady-like opera diva, but he was laughing as well, which Harry couldn't fault. His brother needed to loosen up a bit. Another reason why he knew he ought to be supportive of this little romance.

The four chatted a while longer, but curfew loomed before long. As they rose to leave, Hermione turned to Rhiannon with a smile. "I don't know if Draco mentioned this particularly, but my parents wanted me to meet you because they had some concerns about passing mail along for a stranger. I'm very happy to have got to know you, though, regardless of all that. And of course I'll tell them I'd really like them to help you and Draco out."

Draco grinned. "Thank you, Hermione."

He picked up Rhiannon's hand, his fingers stroking over hers. "I'll see you at the pool tomorrow when Harry has his lesson. Are you off at three, as usual? Perhaps we could go to the seaside, or . . . is there anything you'd like to do?"

Harry thought Draco was assuming a lot, there. What if Rhiannon had other plans, or didn't want to spend every bit of her free time with him? It seemed, though, that she did.

"Oh, I have a marvellous idea. Can we go and see that children's home you endowed?"

Hermione spoke in tones approaching disbelief. "Draco endowed a children's home?"

"It's for magical children without magic," said Rhiannon, nodding. "And I wish I hadn't walked out that day. I did want to see how they were getting on."

"Why aren't they in their own homes?" asked Hermione, rather darkly.

Harry took her arm. "They've been abandoned, Hermione. Their families didn't want children who weren't magical. You know what some wizards can be like."

"Do I ever," muttered Hermione. But then she looked at Draco, her eyes softening a little, as if to say that she did know he'd made great strides.

"Tomorrow's a bit soon; I think I'd better let them have a little more advance notice than that. Why don't I try to set something up for Saturday?" Draco looked like he'd forgotten completely than anybody else was around. He literally had eyes only for Rhiannon. "When are you through with rehearsal?"

"Should be by one, but you know Adrian."

Hermione cleared her throat. "I'd like to see this home. And Saturday works for me."

Draco turned his head, staring at her for a moment. Then, he shrugged. "Fine. You're invited, then. And Harry? Do you still want to see the inside of the place?"

"You think they'll let us in again, after last time?"

"Oh, please. Darswaithe wouldn't dream of refusing another large pile of gold." Sucking in a breath, Draco turned back to Rhiannon. "Er . . . sorry."

"If your money helps abandoned children, you'll hear no complaint from me," she said crisply.

"Saturday, then. One o'clock. I'll meet you outside the theatre." Turning, Draco gave Harry a look that was probably supposed to mean something. His eyes were glittering silver. Until he rolled them, that was.

"Oh . . ." Blushing a little, Harry began to usher Hermione towards the front door. "I guess we'll wait for you outside, Draco."

It was a bit annoying that they had to wait a full fifteen minutes. Annoying for Harry, that was. And after they'd been considerate enough to walk a little ways down the street, to give Draco a bit of privacy.

Hermione didn't seem perturbed by the long wait. In fact, she sighed with pleasure as she leaned against a tree. "Draco's really quite the romantic, isn't he? I'd never have guessed."

"Just don't mention it to Ron," said Harry wryly.

"Oh, I didn't mean--" Hermione chuckled. "Now you're the one having me on."

"Hey, I've heard girls in Gryffindor go on about him. They think he's . . . what's the word . . ."

"Dishy," said Hermione, giggling. "I've heard them, too."

"That wasn't the word I was looking for."

"Handsome? Striking? Gorgeous?"

Draco was all that, Harry supposed, but he still didn't like hearing Hermione say it. "What are you doing, practising to make Ron jealous?"

"No, just thinking ahead. Those silly girls in the common room . . . I used to be able to tell them that Draco wasn't worth the time of day, where it really counted. I don't think I'll be able to say that, next year. Not after seeing him with Rhiannon."

Harry snorted. "Oh, yeah. Tell them that Draco's worthwhile inside as well as out. I'm sure that'll go over brilliantly with Ron."

"Oh, stop it. He knows I don't like Draco that way." Hermione tilted her head to the side, and gave Harry a careful look. "Speaking of Ron, though, what about that chess match? Do you think your father threw it on purpose?"

"You know, he's quite clever," Harry drawled. "Don't you think he'd have managed to lose, if that was his plan?"

"Oh, I don't think Snape's pride could take actually losing to a student," mused Hermione. "Let alone a Gryffindor."

All true, but . . . "Why would Snape care if Ron won that money or not?"

"I don't know," Hermione admitted. "I'm only asking because Ron wanted me to. He's not sure your father played his best. Personally, I think he just can't believe he held his own against Snape."

"Tell him he held his own." Harry grinned. "Tell him he ought to demand a rematch sometime, when there's more time to play."

"I'll do that."

A few minutes later, when Draco came out, Hermione pressed her lips together, a strange look on her face. Harry didn't understand it until she spoke. "You've got a bit of lipstick on your face," she said, pointing. "There. And there."

"And there," added Harry.

"Yes, well, we're in love," said Draco, his voice haughty even if he was blushing a little bit. He wiped away the traces of pink with a handkerchief that seemed to appear from nowhere, but then, Draco's wandwork always had been rather clever. It wasn't until they were much further from the house, looking for a dark, unnoticed spot from which to Disapparate, that he spoke again. "Hermione? Thank you for coming."

"Oh! You're welcome."

"And thank you for . . ."

"Creative editing?" Her voice was teasing.

"Yes, that."

"Don't I get any thanks?"

"No," said Draco, glancing at Harry. "Brothers just get taken for granted, mostly."

"Prat."

"No, I'm not. Anyway, I already did something for you today. I wasn't going to mention it, but I bet Marsha would say I should."

Harry thought back, but couldn't figure out what Draco meant.

"Owled a letter off to Arabella Figg, since Severus said she could get it to your cousin." By moonlight, Harry saw Draco's throat convulse a little, like he was swallowing. "Apology for my remarks the other night. And no, not because I've changed my opinion of what went on in that house. It's just . . . I thought you'd appreciate it."

"I do," said Harry, swallowing himself, then. God, Hermione had been more right than she knew. And Severus as well. Rhiannon was astoundingly good for Draco. Even if it all turned out badly in the end.

Harry nodded mentally, deciding he'd do his best to stop worrying about what the future might hold. All anybody really had was today, after all. One today after the next.

"Ready?" asked Hermione quietly, looking from Harry to Draco and back.

"Yeah," said Harry. He wanted to say more to Draco, but he couldn't seem to quite find the words. But with Hermione there, it wasn't the right time, anyway. He threw Draco a smile, though, knowing that his brother would understand.

"That's very good, Harry," said Roger, smiling brightly as Harry reached the wall and neatly flipped himself into a standing position. "I think you've finally got the backstroke licked. Now, four pool lengths of breaststroke, and we'll call it a day. Remember, you need to make your body lift and drop."

"Hate breaststroke," said Harry, panting a little from all the laps he'd already done.

"I know," said Roger. "It's not my favourite, either. But it strengthens muscles that are underused in the other strokes, and if you ever need to swim a really long distance, you may need to turn to it."

"Yeah, all right," ^psaid Harry, pushing off from the wall.

By the time he finished and climbed out of the pool, Rhiannon was over at the bleachers, talking with Snape and Draco. A little surprised, Harry glanced over to the toddlers' pool. Oh, somebody else was covering the lifeguard position. So that was all right, then.

He towelled his hair dry, his feet padding the concrete as he made his way over to where Snape was waiting.

" . . . and my mum and dad are very much looking forward to meeting you," Rhiannon was saying.

Harry gave Draco a questioning look, but Draco gave a tiny shake of his head. Harry took that to mean that no, Rhiannon hadn't mentioned magic to her parents.

Snape obviously had the same concerns. "I'd be pleased to meet them, Miss Miller, but I assume you understand that there can be no real discussion of the school I teach at?"

Rhiannon nodded. "Oh, yes. Draco made that very clear, and I haven't breathed a word about it, of course. They want to meet you because Uncle Stanley mentioned that you had adopted Draco. My parents always wanted to adopt a sister for me, but it never worked out. You're a bit like the road not taken, you see?"

"Yes, I see," murmured Snape, pushing his long hair away from his face. Huh. It was cleaner than usual, even though Snape didn't get in the water during Harry's lessons.

"Do you think that you could come out to Porlock for dinner sometime, then?" Her warm smile included Harry, too. "Perhaps next weekend?"

"I'm sure we shall be delighted," said Snape. "Please advise us of the exact date after you've spoken with your parents again."

"Yes, I will." A shout in the distance had Rhiannon glancing over towards the pool office, where her uncle was glowering. "Back to work, then. I'll see you at one tomorrow, Draco. I'm really looking forward to touring the orphanage properly, this time. 'Bye!"

As soon as Rhiannon was out of hearing range, Draco turned back to Snape. "I know I talked about wanting to go to Porlock, but I didn't put her up to that, honest. The invitation came from her, or her parents--"

Snape shrugged. "I'm sure a trip to Porlock can be arranged. It will merely require some planning."

"Then what has you looking so . . ." Draco lifted his hands. "You're thinking something. I can tell!"

"Something we should discuss at home, I do believe." Snape stood up and began making his way down the concrete steps.

Harry glanced at his brother, but Draco just lifted his shoulders. He obviously didn't know what to make of Snape's last comment, either.

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

"So, what's the matter?" asked Draco, as soon as he'd followed Snape into the cottage in Devon. Harry closed the weathered oak door behind them, but then he decided it was nice enough out to enjoy a little breeze, so he opened up the top half of it again and swung it wide.

"I wouldn't phrase it that way," said Snape, sitting down and crossing one leg over the other. "I do find it interesting, however, that your young lady would want her parents to meet me. Are things becoming serious so soon?"

Draco almost whistled in reply. "Oh, yes and no."

Snape's voice went hard. "Explain yourself at once."

Draco dropped into a chair, too, and grinned like a cat that had lapped up all the cream. "She said she loved me, that's what. Last night, when we were saying good-night."

Harry flopped onto the couch and tried not to say anything discouraging. He'd decided he wasn't going to do that, any longer, though privately, he still did have his worries about the whole thing.

"But I have a year of school left to go, so it's not as though I've popped the question, Severus," added Draco. "That'll have to wait."

"Until you've earned your N.E.W.T.s?"

Draco glanced briefly at Harry, his eyes looking a little shadowed. "Longer than that, I would think. I'm not about to keep my wife a secret, not from anyone. But that means the war will have to be over before I can ask her to marry me. I'm not putting Rhiannon in danger."

"Quite well thought-out, Draco," said Snape in tones of approval.

"Besides, I'd need a proper house, first," added Draco, clearly warming to his theme. "I've thought about how to redecorate Grimmauld Place once the Order's through with it, but really, it's so dark and dreary that the best thing might be to gut it and start over. And then . . . well, I know Rhiannon adores magic, but she's seen very little of it. I'm not sure she'd want to live in an Unplottable location. At any rate, we have a lot to talk about, eventually."

"You'd live in a Muggle house?" asked Harry.

Draco raised his chin. "Why not? I love her." He glanced significantly around the small room then, and Harry got the point. Draco had already got used to living in the cottage--a cottage he had once termed a "hovel." He was more adaptable than Harry had once thought.

A slight rustling sound caught Snape's attention. They didn't always notice when post arrived for them, but sometimes it made more noise than others. With a careless flick of his wand, Snape summoned the letter and glanced down at the seal.

Even from a distance, Harry could see the emblem of a large bird sheltering several smaller ones under her wing. "It's from Family Services?"

"Not quite; it's from the Wizarding Home for Displaced and Orphaned Juvenile Squibs. And it's for Draco." Snape stretched out his hand to give Draco the scroll.

The other boy shrugged as he unrolled the parchment. "Probably telling us to come an hour later or something . . ." The moment he began to read, though, his whole body stiffened. "How dare she! Draco Snape Malfoy, am I?"

Harry decided not to mention that Malfoy actually still was a part of Draco's name. Draco didn't like it to be, Harry knew, but he'd thought it best, for strategic reasons. Oh, hell. It was best, in a lot of ways. Even Harry could see that.

A little frown began to crease the area between Draco's eyebrows, but as he read on, the expression became more pronounced. When Draco was through with the scroll, he flung it to the table so hard that it made a slapping noise. "Wonderful. That Emmeleia bitch says we can't visit the squib home tomorrow."

Harry thought bitch was a bit extreme, considering. "So we'll go when, on Monday night or something? Oh, does Rhiannon have rehearsal?"

"Yes, she does, but according to that," Draco pointed a contemptuous finger at it, "I'm never welcome again. Or Rhiannon."

"There must be some misunderstanding," said Snape, reaching forward to take the scroll. "May I?"

"Surprised it's not a Howler," muttered Draco. "Not that a squib could send one, but I bet she wanted to . . . What? Oh. Yes, go right ahead."

Harry smiled, a little wryly. "Oh, you ask him if it's all right to read his private letters."

"You aren't sorry I read yours, that once," said Snape evenly, his dark gaze flicking up.

"Not now, no." Harry smiled more widely, to show he'd been joking. "I'm very happy that you did."

"If you're quite through reminiscing," cut in Draco, his voice cold, but also threaded with anxiety.

Instead of replying, Snape unrolled the scroll. His brow furrowed. "Interesting choice of words, here. She thinks your interest in the school is prurient? I'm corrupting you both?"

"Us both?"

"Oh yes, you're in there. You should read it, too." Draco sighed. "Fuck. Rhiannon was really looking forward to going back, and with my luck, she'll think they won't let her in because after the bell thing, they know she's a Muggle! I'm sure you can imagine how well that will go over with her."

"Well, you could just tell her the truth--"

"What truth, Potter? I don't have the first clue what Emmeleia Volentier's problem is!"

"The letter doesn't say?"

Snape held it out. "Perhaps you should read it as your brother suggested."

So, Harry did.

Mr Draco Snape Malfoy
care of Professor Severus Snape:

You may be under the impression that money can buy anything, but some things, you will learn, are simply for not for sale. I don't care if you endow the home a hundred times over, we are not amenable to the kind of prurient interest you obviously have in mind. Though perhaps depravity would be the more accurate term. Don't bother to deny it; I know your type.

Therefore, do us the courtesy of never darkening our doorstep again.

You may as well inform your father that I do not appreciate seeing him corrupt his adopted sons with what passes for "civilized" pureblood customs. Perhaps in your case it's unavoidable; you resemble your birth father a great deal, and evidently, not only on the outside. But when it comes to Harry Potter, your father truly should know better.

As for the young lady you brought here to visit us, I was delighted to see that she'd left our facility without a word. That shows backbone; I assume that she had only that moment found some. To hear that she would like to come here again can only mean that you've persuaded her to participate in this barbaric tradition. The entire matter is utterly disgusting, and I can only hope that you come to your senses and begin to treat her with some respect.

At any rate, you are not welcome here, any of you, and don't think that you can persuade Horace Darswaithe to lift the restriction. If you so much as try, I will have no hesitation to tell him what I've found out. He will feel honour-bound to inform WFS of the matter, of course. I can't imagine the results will be pleasant.

Emmeleia Volentier

Deputy Head, Wizarding Home for Displaced and Orphaned Juvenile Squibs

"All right, maybe she is a bitch," said Harry when he'd finished.

"Stop that, both of you," snapped Snape as he glared at each boy in turn. "That's a very offensive term and frankly, one I'd expect from young men about to turn fifteen, not ones already adults or shortly to become so."

"Yes, sir," said Harry, chastened.

Draco, Harry noticed, never did reply. Snape probably noticed, but he let it go.

"Now, she's quite obviously got hold of the wrong end of the wand--"

That certainly got Draco to reply. "Ha. What wand? She's a squib, and this just goes to show--"

"What? What does it go to show?" asked Harry. Loudly.

"Never mind," grated Draco, teeth bared. "It takes a while to break all my old habits of mind, you know, and crap letters like this don't exactly help. Severus, do you know what she's blathering on about?"

"No."

"Marvellous."

Severus held up a hand. "I did notice when we first visited that she seemed . . . rather frosty. Toward you in particular, Draco."

"Oh yes, until I mentioned money, and then she gushed approval."

"There was a trace of sarcasm in it," corrected Snape. "Based on the salutation in this letter, I'd say she recognised you straight away as Lucius Malfoy's son and that mentioning money so prominently only convinced her you were quite a bit like him."

Draco scowled.

"She's misjudged the situation, however--"

"You think?"

"I meant," said Severus tightly, "that she's misjudged me. Her aim, as far as I can discern, was to keep all of us away from the squib home, but instead, she's convinced me to pay her a visit I hadn't intended."

"Oh, please." Draco scoffed. "You think I still want to spend any time there? I'll just have to figure out how to let Rhiannon know it's off. I'm certainly not telling her it's because of my depravity."

"Regardless of how you wish to deal with your petite amie, I consider the mention of Family Services a not-too-subtle threat against our family. I won't have it."

Harry smiled, though the subject at hand wasn't amusing, certainly. "We don't need WFS to make us a family, though."

"No, certainly not, but I still believe in extinguishing a threat rather than letting it sit about like a curse about to be unleashed."

Extinguishing? Harry swallowed back his first thought, which was pretty dire. It was ridiculous, even for an instant, to have his mind jump straight to . . . well, murder. Snape wasn't a Death Eater any longer, after all. And if he hadn't killed Aaron Aran, who really deserved it, he certainly wouldn't do that now.

Would he?

"Well, let us know what she says," said Harry, clearing his throat.

"Let us know?" Draco practically snorted. "Nobody has to let me know a thing. I plan to be right beside Severus when he asks this bi-- busybody, what she thinks she's playing at, saying she knows my type. And she'd better have a damned good explanation, is all I can say, or she'll know more about my type than she ever expected to!"

"I'll be going to visit Emmeleia Volentier on my own, Draco," said Snape calmly.

Draco straightened in his chair. "Oh, no you won't. I know I might have just sounded like my impulse control still needed work, but--"

"That's not it," interrupted Snape, though a second later the edges of his mouth turned up. "All right, perhaps that is indeed part of it. But mostly, I feel she will talk more freely if you aren't present. And I need her to talk freely, Draco. I need to be able to correct whatever misapprehensions she's labouring under."

"Oh, all right," grumbled Draco, sitting back again. "I guess Harry had it right, then. Let us know what she says."

"Oh, I shall," promised Snape, a grim look about him. "I shall."

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Once Snape had left, Harry tried to pass the time by working on his spell lexicon. It was hard to concentrate, though, when Draco kept re-reading the rude letter he'd received.

"Look," Harry finally said, setting aside his scroll, "that one's not like the one Richard Steyne once sent. I don't think you're going to be able to read between the lines and figure out what her problem is."

Draco tossed the letter aside. "Her problem's jealousy, most likely. It's not actually unheard of, you know. A lot of squibs feel that way."

Harry thought of Filch, trying to learn magic through that correspondence course. Ever since he'd seen that, he'd assumed the man's dour, bitter personality had come from disappointment. Which wasn't so far from jealousy, was it? "Yeah, I know."

"And there I thought you'd hate me saying that."

Shrugging, Harry got up to fix them some lunch. "What bothers me is when you judge everybody by one yardstick. Not all squibs are jealous, right? I don't get the feeling Marsha is."

"No, she's not," agreed Draco, following Harry into the kitchen. "Oh, toasted cheese sandwiches? Rather plain fare, isn't it? Oh, well, better make three. You know, one for Severus in case he's not too long."

Harry threw his brother an annoyed look. "You could actually help, you know."

Draco grinned. "Anything need chopping? I know I can do that, at least."

"Rhiannon'll probably expect you to cook whole dinners all by yourself," said Harry. "Like when she has to rehearse a new opera all day, and she comes home famished. And I bet she'll be like Hermione, and not be able to stand the idea of an elf doing all the work."

Draco shuddered, rather theatrically, then sat down and crossed his arms over his chest. "Well, I'll fly over that canyon when I come to it, won't I? Perhaps we'll eat a lot of take-away. I know already that she likes fish and chips. Oh, and samosas."

"You're not such a bad cook, Draco," said Harry as he shredded Swiss cheese. Damn, but it was slow going. Maybe he should figure out a grating spell. Then again, it could just be that his arms were still sore from all those laps.

"Says the boy who spat my attempt at gnocchi into his napkin!"

"Well, I didn't say you were good, did I?" Laughing, Harry decided not to pester Draco about helping with lunch. It would be easier just to insist he cook their dinner, since it was his turn, anyway.

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

Their father arrived home just as Harry was cooking the last of the three sandwiches.

Sitting down with a sigh, Snape flicked his wand to summon two Butterbeers. He set them down with a clink in front of the two filled plates already laid out for Harry and Draco.

Draco raised an eyebrow. "That bad?"

"You have no idea."

"Galliano for you, then?"

Snape's dark eyes glittered, but then he shook his head. "Perhaps after we speak."

"Here, Dad," said Harry, carrying over Snape's plate and a tall glass of water.

Draco sat down opposite Snape, but didn't say anything until Harry had joined them at table. Then, he leaned forward, his hands clasped loosely around his bottle. "And so?"

Snape began rubbing the bridge of his nose. "Miss Volentier's issue with your proposed visit, Draco . . . it's rather personal."

Harry and Draco exchanged a puzzled glance, but it was Draco who spoke. "What's her personal business got to do with me?"

"Quite a lot, actually, though only by proxy."

"Proxy?"

"Perhaps I should begin another way," said Snape, clearing his throat. "You're both acquainted with the facts of life, and--"

Harry almost snorted. As far as he was concerned, Draco was a hell of a lot more acquainted with them than he was.

"I did assume from the word depravity that her problem had something to do with the facts of life, Severus," said Draco, his chin raised. "Though I can't imagine what."

Snape stopped rubbing his nose and took a long drink of water. When he set his glass down, his features looked firm with resolve. "Here it is, then. When we first dropped by the home, Miss Volentier was briefly of the mind that I had brought you there so you could meet some of the young ladies shortly to finish their education there, and . . . select one."

"Select one for what?" asked Harry.

Draco, though, had obviously caught on. "Oh. Oh. Sweet Merlin. I've heard of that, but nobody actually does it any longer. Is she daft? It's positively Victorian!"

"What's Victorian?" Harry looked from Draco to Snape and back, but it was his father who finally answered.

"Pureblooded men have been known to take squib women as mistresses, Harry. Draco's correct that it's a rather antiquated custom, but it's not unheard of, even in the present day."

It took Harry a second to connect that information to Emmeleia's initial coldness towards them, and her accusation that Snape was corrupting his sons. Then, he was pretty well horrified. "What, she thought we'd gone there shopping for one each, or something? We're only sixteen! Or supposed to be," he added with a glare at Draco.

Draco shrugged, but then his features took on a scornful cast. "I suppose that explains her letter, but what on earth was her basis for such a bizarre assumption?"

"Primarily, the fact that you look a great deal like a young Lucius Malfoy. You signed the register as Draco Snape, but as her letter demonstrates, she recognised you straight away as his son by birth."

Draco's eyes narrowed. "What are you getting at?"

Snape closed his own eyes. Obviously, he felt he'd come to the difficult part. "Shortly after your mother became pregnant, Draco, Lucius Malfoy decided he was entitled to a mistress. He met Emmeleia Volentier at a wedding of a distant cousin, and . . . took a shine to her, I suppose. He set her up in a flat of her own and visited her, shall we say, for a few months."

Draco shoved away his lunch plate so roughly that his sandwich nearly slid off it. "That's rubbish, it is. Lucius would Crucio himself before he'd ever, ever lay a finger on a squib woman!"

Ha, thought Harry, his memory whirling back to that horrible time Snape had practically shoved him into a pensieve. You don't have any real idea what goes on at Death Eater gatherings, then, do you?

He almost expected their father to say exactly that, but Snape had a different perspective, entirely. "In terms of bloodlines, hers is as pure as anyone's," he said, his eyes snapping open. "Lucius would have considered her in that light, notwithstanding her lack of magic."

"He'd risk having a child with a squib? I don't think so!"

"And there you had assured me, not too many nights past, that you were conversant with the concept of contraception. Thoroughly conversant, I think you said."

Draco bared his teeth. "Yes, I am, Severus. But even the best charms aren't always fool-proof. According to Hermione, not even . . . barrier methods are without fail."

Snape nodded, the motion a little abrupt. "I am gratified you know as much. However, certain procedures are indeed fool-proof, and she has had them."

Harry was starting to wish he hadn't had a Butterbeer, since his stomach was starting to feel kind of churny, by then. And no wonder. "You mean she had an operation or something, so she couldn't possibly ever have any children?"

"And I thought sucking someone's bone marrow out was disgusting," muttered Draco.

"Why would she agree to that?" Harry shuddered. "I mean, just so she could be somebody's mistress?"

"Ah, well I actually don't know if Lucius insisted or if she'd had the procedure prior, for reasons of her own. As for the other . . ." Severus sighed. "It's not unknown for squib women of a certain social class to participate in such arrangement. What sort of other living could she earn? Jobs for squibs are few and far between. Most such women must either make their way in the Muggle world, or forever remain in their parents' abode."

"But Filch--"

"Is, I assure you, an example of Albus Dumbledore's generous spirit. Most wizarding institutions have no positions on staff for squibs."

Draco frowned. "All right, I can see that with her history, she might jump to conclusions about what Lucius' son was doing at a squib home. But she talked to Harry and me for a while that first day, you know, after you left, Severus. And she never said a word."

"Of course not. By then, she'd concluded that her initial impression had been in error. However, when she saw you standing at the counter with Miss Miller the next time you came . . ." Severus winced slightly. "Your petite amie does bear a passing resemblance to Narcissa, you know. It seemed to Miss Volentier that the past was repeating itself in a new form. She thought that you'd brought your wife-to-be with you in order to include her from the first in your . . . selection of a squib mistress."

"That's completely sickening."

"And it doesn't make sense," added Harry. "Rhiannon rang the bell. Nobody could think her a witch, not after that."

"Miss Volentier wasn't in the reception area when that happened. In fact, I doubt she heard that tiny sound at all through the din of both of you also ringing the bell. At any rate, you may recall that Miss Volentier came back out later, and saw that Miss Miller had left the building? She took that to mean that--"

"That Rhiannon had found her backbone, yeah," said Draco. "Enough to decide she wouldn't put up with me having a mistress."

"Yes, and therefore Miss Volentier was highly disturbed to learn that Miss Miller would like to return to the facility."

"She's disturbed, all right," muttered Draco. He downed half his drink before speaking again. "What a fucking mess."

"Language," said Snape, but Harry could tell his heart wasn't in it.

"Um . . ." Harry ventured a weak smile. "You seem awfully sure of your facts. Mind if I ask how you'd even know all this?"

Draco rolled his eyes. "You really do forget who Severus used to socialise with, don't you? How many times have I told you about Death Eater gossip? Lucius must have bragged about this, I guess. Not that I ever heard a word about it, but I suppose he talked to his mates--"

"Yeah, that explains why Dad let you take Rhiannon to the squib home and never said a thing about the weird ideas that woman might be getting--"

"Plots within plots," snapped Draco. Just a moment later, it was like he'd heard himself and had come to an awful conclusion. "You wanted to cause trouble between us?"

"Draco, I do not always have a plot afoot," said Snape, clearly exasperated. "And I have nothing against Rhiannon Miller. Except for her failure to arrive on time to her place of employment, she seems quite a pleasant young woman. Now, as for Lucius, no, of course he never mentioned any sort of dalliance to me. He didn't 'kiss and tell' any more than you do."

"Thanks," said Draco sourly. "I love being compared to him all the time, I really do."

"Look, Dad didn't mean it that way."

"No, but she did." Draco's lips twisted. "She took one look at me and decided she knew all about me, for no better reason than how I happen to look."

"Welcome to my life," said Harry, very dryly.

Draco stared at him for a moment, then smiled, just a little. "Touché."

"And think, she's only one person. I get that from just about everyone I meet."

"You know," drawled Draco, "I did get the point already. You don't have to actually pound it into my brain like I'm as dense as Crabbe."

"Yeah. Sorry." Harry turned back to Snape. "So how do you know all this stuff, then?"

Snape shrugged, clearly unapologetic. "A touch of Legilimency. It didn't take long to ascertain that her issue was an unpleasant history with Draco's father."

"With Lucius," stressed Draco.

"I was speaking from her point of view, you idiot child."

"Oh." Draco looked a little abashed, but it didn't last long. "But what was so unpleasant? The way you tell it, she got a posh flat and plenty of money out of her deal with Lucius."

"She also got a taste of what he liked to do in bed," Snape said bluntly. "It wasn't to her liking. Eventually his . . . practices became aberrant enough that she wished to end their arrangement."

Aberrant practices . . . yeah, that sounded like Lucius Malfoy, all right. The man was clearly a sadist. Look at the horrible punishments he'd inflicted on Draco, growing up. Harry had seen with his own eyes the vicious satisfaction Lucius had taken in hurting Draco, that awful day in France. Not to mention, the way he'd stared at Harry's naked torso, the way he'd obviously relished the idea of stripping Harry completely naked, later on.

Harry shuddered.

"Oh, what's your problem?" asked Draco scathingly. "You're not the one who was just told he's descended from a sick, pathetic fuck. Not that I hadn't figured that out on my own, mind."

"Who he was doesn't control who you are," said Severus quietly. "You've made your own path in this last year, and it's a better one than he ever set foot on."

Draco looked like he hadn't even heard that. "Oh. Oh, no. You don't think he did awful things to my mother, do you? I . . . I think I'm going to need a stomach-calming draught. And if either one of you mentions that vanishing bucket instead, you'll regret it."

"Hush, Draco," said Snape, reaching across the table to catch one of the boy's trembling hands. "I honestly don't think Narcissa would put up with anything like that."

"Oh, because she's known for standing up to him?" Draco laughed, the sound so bitter that Harry winced. "Like she did this last year, Severus? Renouncing me? Standing alongside him, in public at least, as he did everything he could think of to kill me?"

"Plots within plots," Snape reminded Draco. "Where did you learn the phrase, Draco? From your mother? She evidently decided she could help you more if she didn't openly alienate Lucius."

"Oh, sure, she's as Slytherin as they come," agreed Draco tightly. "But name me one thing, one, she's ever done that proves she could say no to Lucius and make it stick."

Snape's lips curled upwards. "She forced him to give up his mistress."

"I thought you said Emmeleia left Lucius on her own," said Harry.

"She did try," answered Snape. "But Lucius was determined to keep her . . . available. When he blackmailed her to this end, Miss Volentier went to Narcissa for help."

Harry decided then that it was a good thing he wasn't eating. He might have choked. "Narcissa actually gave her some? Why not just kill her on the spot?"

"Because that wouldn't have thwarted Lucius as much as knowing that Narcissa could deny him a mistress who still lived." Snape's eyes glinted. "Quite cunning, the whole incident, really. Miss Volentier needed a means of supporting herself, since her family was insisting she continue her liaison with Lucius. At that time, Walpurgis Black was still conducting his baby-swapping business, but as he was getting on in years, he had a use for an assistant. Narcissa paired them up."

"A squib assistant?" Draco rolled his eyes. "What use would that be?"

"An assistant who could blend into the Muggle world as needed. Miss Volentier can. When she was younger, she was educated at a Muggle school in Canada, actually."

"Then why couldn't she just get a Muggle job?" asked Harry.

"She could have, but it wouldn't have paid nearly as well as Lucius' offer. Beyond that, she'd had a taste of both worlds and evidently preferred ours. And then later, when she wanted to get away from Lucius, there was the blackmail to consider."

Draco leaned back in his chair. "How could Narcissa have put a stop to that, though?"

"Since Miss Volentier herself didn't know the details, I don't know them, either," Snape admitted. "I can only imagine a threat to divorce was involved."

"Oh, yes." By then, Draco was nodding. "And as the wronged party, my mother would have got custody of me. Pureblood vows, all that. Lucius would have done anything to avoid that sort of public scandal. Hmm. I imagine my mother made him take an Unbreakable Vow back then, while she still had the upper hand."

"Is that how Emmeleia got her job at the squib home, then?" asked Harry. "Walpurgis Black?"

"Yes, when he was persuaded to desist from the baby-switching business. He had endowed the home several times before his final bequest. Enough, certainly, to have a great deal of influence over it."

"Speaking of the squib home, I suppose I should go back to the pool and tell Rhiannon that our visit has been cancelled."

"It hasn't been," said Snape gently. "Miss Volentier was rather chagrined once I had convinced her of her error in judgment."

"Oh, she believes I'm not Lucius, now?" sneered Draco.

"You didn't tell her Rhiannon was a Muggle, did you?" asked Harry. "I thought we agreed she'd be safer if that wasn't well-known."

"I hardly expect Voldemort or his minions to visit a home for squibs in search of information about any of us, but since Darswaithe has already been compromised once . . ." Snape shrugged. "I persuaded Miss Volentier that Rhiannon was merely an acquaintance of Draco's and not a romantic interest at all. In fact, she now believes Rhiannon to be squib who wants to visit the home to see what sort of education she might have had if she hadn't been taken in by Muggles."

"The road not taken, yeah . . ."

Draco started. "I hope you also persuaded her not to mention that story to Rhiannon. Or use the word squib, for that matter. Not to mention Muggle."

"I'm afraid you'll have to tell your petite amie that after she left so precipitously last time, the only way you could arrange a tour was to insist she had quite a good reason for one. That should explain why she has to go along with the story that she's magically-impaired. That's the term Miss Volentier prefers to squib, in any case."

"What about Muggle?"

Snape narrowed his eyes and fixed his gaze squarely on Draco. "If you're really intending to continue this relationship for the long-term, your young lady will sooner or later have to reconcile herself to the word. You won't be able to convince everyone of your acquaintance to stop using it."

Draco grimaced, but nodded.

"I do believe I'll have that Galliano, now," said Snape, rising. "And as our lunch has gone cold while we talked, perhaps a reheating charm is in order. Harry?"

"Hey, I was the one who cooked!"

"And that excuses you from mastering new spells in Parseltongue, does it?"

While Harry rolled his eyes and started calling for Sals to help him, Draco smirked.

But not for long.

"You can clear away the cooking mess while Harry reheats the food," said Snape.

Draco sighed, even though it only took him a few waves of his wand to see to it.

When Draco arrived with Rhiannon, Harry, Snape and Hermione were already seated in the lobby of the Wizarding Home for Displaced and Orphaned Juvenile Squibs. Emmeleia Volentier came out to meet them before anyone even approached the dreaded bell.

Her smile, Harry thought, wasn't exactly warm as she glanced over the register Harry and Hermione had signed, but that stood to reason. She was probably a little bit embarrassed about the ugly letter she'd sent Draco.

The least she could do is apologise, thought Harry.

But no, that didn't seem to be her style. Her voice was crisp as she addressed them all. "Welcome back. If the young people will follow me to my office, I'll give you a brief orientation before we proceed with the tour."

Harry thought it was a little impertinent of her to practically dismiss Snape, like that, but maybe it was just as well. Snape had already announced his intention to go to Hogwarts that morning. Whether that was to speak with Dumbledore, or work with Remus again, Harry didn't know. He hadn't asked.

No point, really. As long as Remus had to go about looking like Lucius, Snape would just say no to Harry's requests to see him, wouldn't he?

Oh, hell. Maybe Snape just needed to brew a couple of potions, or something. The cottage wasn't set up very well for that, though Snape had made do a couple of times during the summer. Brewing, for Snape and Draco at least, was obviously an entertaining way to spend a long summer evening. It was less than thrilling for Harry, particularly since Snape basically insisted Harry join in to keep his skills honed.

What skills, Harry had almost asked once, but he'd managed to hold the question in. He wasn't that bad at Potions, after all. He just thought he could do without having to study them during his holiday.

Well, at least the last time he'd whinged on about missing the telly, Draco had actually understood what Harry was talking about.

"Too bad we can't have one," Draco had lamented, pulling a face. Apparently he was going over to Rhiannon's house a lot during her lunch hour, and watching it there. He still found it fascinating, how the pictures could move without any magic being involved.

"I'll see you both at home," Snape said now, interrupting Harry's thoughts. "Be certain to travel back with Miss Granger."

"Yes, Dad," said Draco, rolling his eyes a bit.

Harry grinned. "We'll be licensed, soon enough."

"Until later, then." Snape nodded politely at Hermione and Rhiannon, and then headed towards the outside door. He didn't get far, though. "Mr. Snape," called Rhiannon softly, hurrying to catch up to him. "My parents would like to invite you for next Saturday at six p.m. Would that be all right, do you think?"

"Certainly, Miss Miller."

"Oh, Rhiannon, please."

"Rhiannon, then."

"Wonderful. I'll see you then, if not before."

"If not before?" Hermione quietly asked Harry. "What about the pool?"

"Oh, we'll probably see her at free swim, I guess." Harry shrugged. "But my sequence of lessons is over. Thank God, too. That last session, Roger practically swam me to death."

"No whinging, now," said Draco lightly as Rhiannon joined them again. "You know perfectly well that you begged for those swimming lessons."

"I did not--"

Emmeleia interrupted the banter. "Would you come through now, please?"

The moment her back was turned, Draco made a bit of a face. Harry almost laughed, though privately, he felt sort of sorry for the woman. It couldn't be easy for her to have learned she'd made such a terrible mistake. Snape might not have yelled at her, but he'd probably lectured some, and Harry knew how it felt to be on the receiving end when Snape felt like delivering a scathing assessment of your behaviour.

Besides, that whole story, her history with Lucius? It was really creepy. Harry felt sorry for her, even though it had been pretty awful of her to take it out on Draco like that.

As soon as they were out of sight of the reception area, Emmeleia turned to face the group, her features rather grim. "Your wands, please."

Hermione started.

Probably a bit mean of him, Harry knew, but he couldn't help but think it would be amusing, what was coming next. Snape had thought of all this, of course. He'd remembered that visitors weren't allowed wands in the presence of the children, and that Harry and Draco--Hermione too--would be asked to surrender theirs for the duration of the visit.

And like a true Slytherin, he'd had a contingency plan in mind.

"Oh, sure," said Harry easily, drawing the twig Snape had transfigured to look like an authentic wand. It wasn't, though. With no core, it was nothing but a bit of wood. Emmeleia would have no way of knowing that, however.

Hermione's mouth dropped open a little, but she was too quick-thinking to say what she'd just realised.

Smiling widely, Draco handed over his "wand," as well.

"Miss Granger?"

Hermione looked outraged that she was the only one who had to surrender an actual wand, but she did it without complaint. What could she say, really? She wasn't going to give the game away.

Bit ironic that Harry didn't even need his wand, but got to keep it on him. Then again, he did need it if he was going to cover up any wandless magic. Though he wasn't expecting to need to cast any.

Still, better safe than sorry.

"This way, then," said Emmeleia as soon as she came back from putting their wands away. Harry wondered over that, briefly. What did she use, a Muggle safe, or something? Bit stupid; a simple Alohomora would probably open it. But then, that would require a wand.

Well, for most wizards, anyway. Not for Harry.

A little bit stunned, Harry realised then that he was starting to think like a wizard who didn't need to rely on a wand. Part of him thought it was about time . . . but another part of him almost cringed. One more way for him to be different from all his friends. He wasn't sure he wanted to get used to that. Sometimes, he wanted to be "just Harry" again. He didn't want dark powers and wandless magic and seer dreams and the scariest prophecy ever hanging over his head!

No point in wishes like that, though, so Harry tried to push them aside.

Emmeleia's businesslike demeanour helped distract him. She didn't mince words as she led them through the various parts of the orphanage. Drawn out by Hermione's questions, she began discoursing at length about "the rights and lifestyle realities of the magically challenged."

Harry noticed Rhiannon frowning at the phrase, but really, what could she expect? It was better than the word squib, wasn't it?

"Hogwarts, no doubt, completely glosses these issues over," Emmeleia continued as they made their way up a flight of stairs.

Harry almost snorted. In the first place, she had glossed over this same speech the first time Draco and Harry had met with her, and in the second place, what did she expect? Hogwarts was a school designed to teach witchcraft and wizardry, not instruct everybody about the difficulties facing squibs!

"What issues are you thinking of?" asked Hermione, very politely.

Rhiannon, Harry noticed, was wide-eyed and hadn't said a single word, yet.

"First of all, there are no house elves here. The wizarding staff is permitted wands in case of emergency, but they are strongly discouraged from any use of magic around the children. In fact, everything above the ground floor is a strictly magic-free zone, not least because replacing the electronics on a regular basis would likely sap our entire budget. But also, we feel it important for the children to learn self-sufficiency. Everyone is responsible for cleaning his or her living areas and those older than age thirteen take turns helping in the kitchen as well."

Predictably, Draco sneered at that. "I can accept that too much magic might disable your telly and computators and such, but that's no reason to work the squ—er, magically challenged children as though they are house elves!"

Emmeleia actually smiled. A warm smile, as if she'd just that moment begun to believe that Draco, indeed, wasn't of the same ilk as Lucius Malfoy. As if to underline the point, she called him by his last name. The right one, this time. "They're hardly overworked, Mr Snape. And you must consider the future they will face. Sending them out into the world without any idea of how to fend for themselves would be the real cruelty, surely. We try to impart the skills they'll need for non-magical employment or entrance to university, but their lives would be rather difficult if they couldn't fathom how to use a toaster or clean the loo, or find the proper Tube station."

Draco made a face, but probably more because he didn't know what a Tube station was, than because he had missed her point. At any rate, he didn't say more along those lines.

For his part, Harry thought the policy made perfect sense. He'd resented all the work the Dursleys had forced on him--what child wouldn't?--but looking back now, he felt satisfied knowing that he could do for himself.

Even if he'd never figured out the secret to finding his magic through Parseltongue--hell, even if he had lost his magic completely--he'd have managed to make his way in the Muggle world.

"Electronics?" asked Hermione, clearly intrigued.

"Oh, yes. We have a full computer lab with Internet. I'll be happy to show you as long as you don't touch anything."

Harry couldn't imagine wanting to touch them, since the computers he'd used once or twice in primary school had left him unimpressed. He vaguely remembered something about prompts and cursors and hunting like mad to find the right letters on the keyboard, just so he could type things that didn't make any sense at all . . .

He shook himself out of his reverie to realise that Emmeleia was going on about the layout of the school, now. He already remembered this information from his first visit: the ground floor was reserved for offices and storage and such; the first, for kitchen, library, and infirmary; the second for classrooms, computer room and an advanced science lab; and the third for recreation space. The building's top floor was where the children and live-in staff resided. Emmeleia described it as "divided into shared and private living space."

Harry almost snorted again. Sounded to him like she meant "common rooms and dormitories." He wondered if they had anything like a house system, but he decided not to ask.

"Truly, you fit all the kids into one floor without using wizardspace?" asked Draco, a little haughtily. "They must be packed in like the wands on Ollivander's shelves."

When Emmeleia gave Draco a blank look, Harry took over. "Tighter than tinned sardines, he means."

Emmeleia pursed her lips. Well, it had been a bit of a rude comment, now that Harry thought of it.

"Things on the top floor are perhaps a little cramped, but not as much as you might expect." She turned towards Hermione and Rhiannon as she explained further. "You see, we rarely have more than thirty children at any one time. Currently, there are twenty-two in residence."

"That few?" Evidently feeling more comfortable by then, Rhiannon swept her long hair back over one shoulder as she kept speaking. "Is it so unusual, then, for children in wizard families to be born . . . er, magically challenged?"

"I wouldn't call the incidence terribly rare, no," said Emmeleia, her voice all at once far kinder than Harry had ever heard it. Huh . . . it seemed to him that she liked squibs a lot better than wizards. But with her history, that made a lot of sense, even if it did remind him a bit of Draco preferring his "own kind" to everyone else for so long.

Emmeleia Volentier really was old enough to know better.

"Bear in mind that the Ministry doesn't transfer any orphans to this facility until they are at least eleven and confirmed to be completely magically impaired. And since we're only allowed to house them until they turn seventeen," she continued with a sigh, "we don't have many at once. The positive is that we're able to work closely with those we do serve. For example each child has private counselling once a week."

Harry tried hard to keep his expression neutral, but it was quite a challenge. Therapy once a week, just on account of being a squib? That seemed like . . . well, overkill, basically.

"And we work up a thorough individual medical profile of each child, as well--"

"The impression you gave us on our first visit was that many of the children are abandoned when they don't get their Hogwarts letters," Draco drawled. "Surely, their cowardly, degenerate parents can be forced to supply proper healing histories."

Emmeleia's eyes took on a glint. "Oh, they are, but the records often just present the beginning of the mystery." The petite woman hesitated, but only for a moment. "Rhiannon, what sort of experiences have you had with healers?"

Of course, Rhiannon's expression went rather blank and she turned to Draco, who became flushed with anger. "How dare you ask such a thing?"

The deputy head held her hands out in a placating gesture. "Oh, please do pardon me," she said, not sounding the least bit sarcastic. "I didn't mean to pry. I'll just use myself as an example, then, shall I?"

Harry let out a breath he hadn't realised he was holding. At times, his brother's tendency to be a bit touchy came in handy.

"Many of the children are officially turned over to Ministry guardianship when they fail to register as magical at the age of eleven, but most families are fairly certain of the disability before that. In my case, their first clue was a failed healing charm for chest congestion when I was just a baby."

"Right . . . magical healing doesn't work on er . . . non-magical people," Harry murmured to himself, thinking back to his inability to help Aunt Petunia except by Muggle means. And look at how that had turned out. His donated bone marrow had killed her, more or less.

No, not more or less. It had killed her.

Not his fault, of course. He'd meant only the best, and if he hadn't donated marrow, she'd probably have died soon in any case, but still . . . Harry felt a little icky over the whole thing.

"That's right in general," Emmeleia continued, "but the details are much more complex. After all, most magic can be applied to non-magical persons because the magical energy is generated from within the wizard or witch and applied to the outside target. However, healing magic is a bit trickier, as I'm sure you've been taught."

Yeah, I've been taught, thought Harry, wishing again that he hadn't had to learn it the hard way.

"I don't really follow," said Rhiannon, almost apologetically.

Emmeleia smiled again. "I wouldn’t expect you to be versed in magical theory. To briefly explain, all cast magic involves a transfer of energy between the caster and the target. Well, true healing magic involves the displacement of negative energy from the sick or injured, but the nature of basic light magic will not allow the caster to be harmed by his own spell, so the negativity must be balanced within the magical core of the patient."

"Which is why potions are more commonly used in magical medicine than charms or spells," Hermione gushed. She went on to babble something about the dangers of weakening a patient being less with the relatively external magic of potions which have ingredients to act as catalysts instead of magical cores. Harry just wondered whether it was obvious to everyone else in the room that the majority of the conversation had sailed right over his head. Of course, he wasn't as lost as Rhiannon--she looked positively baffled, by then--but that was hardly to his credit.

Oh, well.

"True, true," Emmeleia agreed. "It all boils down to this: if the patient lacks a viable magical core, healing charms cannot access it to power the magic. Hence, they fail. However, the fascinating part in all this is that the effects seem to be immensely variable from person to person. The theory seems to be that every person, whether magical, magically-impaired, or non-magical, does have some degree of magical core within them--it's a matter of degrees of magic as opposed to all or none."

Harry had heard this theory before--of course it was considered very liberal and controversial, and the pureblood students at school had openly sneered at it, Draco included. Curious what his brother might think of it now, Harry glanced over and saw him giving Rhiannon a look of intense contemplation.

At that, Harry had to suppress a groan. He really, really hoped Draco wasn't going to go back into the mindset of Rhiannon being some kind of witch, after all!

"…and so some of our students here are responsive to some magical charms and others only to potions and others to a combination of non-magical and magical methods and a few to nothing but non-magical medicine. I, myself, fall a bit in the middle. My sterilization surgery was completely non-magical, but I take potions to maintain my hormonal and emotional health."

Hermione let out a strangled gasp, just then. When Harry turned her way, she looked more than a little ill.

Noticing the attention, she stiffened and stammered, "I'm very sorry. I don't mean to be rude . . . I'm just surprised that a woman so clearly non-prejudiced as yourself would choose to have that sort of surgery. Unless, if was for a medical reason, of course."

Emmeleia smiled sadly and moved to stand with her hands clasped behind her back. Her voice was husky when she spoke. "I was sterilized solely so that I could never give birth to a magically-impaired child. I had the surgery willingly at the time, but I was only thirteen years old and was pressured into it by my family and their social circles. I was completely convinced that what I was doing was the responsible and moral choice for wizarding society.

"Obviously, I do not feel the same way now that I'm an adult. I would never, ever coerce any person to deny themselves the right to have children no matter what levels of magical ability might be involved." She shook her head sadly. "At the same time, I can't condemn those of us who don't want to take the chance of cursing their children with a more challenging, painful life."

To Harry, the mood in the room couldn't have been darker if Dementors where tapping at the windows. He was starting to get a headache from it all and he noticed that Hermione was actually sniffling a bit. Draco and Rhiannon also looked more than a little sombre.

Pasting a bright smile on her face, the tan-skinned squib brushed off her white skirt and stood. "Well, I managed to turn the conversation deadly, didn't I?"

"Pardon?" Draco asked.

"Hmmm, oh sorry, Canadian thing, means I got a bit carried away with the serious stuff. Let's all go to my office for a bit, shall we? I've got some biscuits there and sodas in the mini-fridge."

As they trooped off behind her, Harry couldn't help but mull over the previous conversation. He'd never really thought much about squibs and magical genetics; it had always seemed to him that worrying about such things at all was a very Slytherin, prejudiced way to think.

Predictably, Draco had scoffed and called his attitude typical Gryffindor idiocy. "Don't you realize, Potter?" he had asked, months earlier. "It's not snobbery at all. It's concern about the well-being of our children. You rant and rant about how unimportant blood is, but you didn't like it much when you didn't have magic, did you? Well, how would you feel if you knew you'd done that to your own child?"

Harry was a little ashamed now to realise that he'd never bothered to consider how difficult life would be for a wizarding child born without magic--having all that wonder surrounding them but being cut off from it. He found his arms itching just a bit, but managed to resist scratching them in front of the others. Maybe if he could nip off to the loo for a bit, though . . . No, no. Harry shook his head, trying to clear all those thoughts away.

Useless, the lot of them. He couldn't let himself get drawn into doing that again, no matter how tempting it might seem, at times. He just couldn’t. His father would be so disappointed in him. Though of course, he knew what Marsha would say to that. He knew what she had said, the few times Harry had voiced a similar thought. You must do things for your own sake, not for the sake of others, Harry, she would gently advise, her hands clasped together as she leaned forward in her chair. You won't truly stop self-injury entirely, not until you're doing it for yourself.

And yeah, Harry could see that she had a point. Well, sort of. He also thought she didn't really understand how much he loved Snape. He didn't go on about it, after all, though he had talked a lot about how tough it had been growing up without a father, and how Uncle Vernon really, really hadn't counted.

Shaking his head again, Harry realised he'd been wool-gathering for several minutes, by then. He'd barely even noticed when they'd reached Emmeleia's office, and he definitely didn't remember sitting down. Bit scary, really, that he'd lost track like that. Harry made an effort to focus again, grateful to hear that Emmeleia had finally got off the topic of magical bloodlines.

" . . . Yes, Millwood School," she was saying. "In the province of Quebec. My great-grandmother insisted on sending me there and it was absolutely brilliant. Canada and the States have a much better educational system for magical/non-magical integration. I've emulated Millwood here, as much as I can considering this facility is administered through an adjunct office of the Ministry."

Harry had heard all about Millwood School the first time they'd visited. He had to admit one thing: a Muggle boarding school that secretly catered to squibs sounded like a good idea to him. Well, in some ways.

"So then . . ." Emmeleia swivelled her chair to face the wall behind her, and began to rummage in the small-sized refrigerator she had mentioned. "Orange? Strawberry? Grape? I'm afraid I don't have anything except fruit-flavoured sodas just now."

"Anything in the diet range?" asked Hermione, a little bit primly.

"Don't tell me you actually like Diet Coke," said Draco, giving her a look of mock-horror at the mere idea.

Hermione made a face. "No, but you should hear my parents talk about sugary sodas and tooth decay."

"I think I'll skip that, thanks."

Draco was grinning as he said it, though, like all he'd meant was that he got enough lectures at home--though granted, not usually about his teeth. But anyway, he hadn't been making a slur about her parents being Muggles, and Harry could tell that Hermione got that. She grinned right back.

Harry hid his own wide smile, since he wouldn't want Draco to think he was making fun. It wasn't that, not at all. It was just so good to see Draco and Hermione getting along, finally.

Really getting along, instead of just putting up with one another for Harry's sake.

"Strawberry for me," said Harry, mostly for the novelty. He'd never had a that flavour soda before.

Emmeleia extended a bright pink can--the garish colour reminded Harry of Amaelia Thistlethorne, actually, and made him wonder if WFS was going to pay them any more visits. Not much point in that, though, was there? Within a week, Harry would turn seventeen and be a full, legal adult.

Draco was one already, though WFS might not know that unless they took a close look at his paperwork.

Ouch. As Emmeleia's hand brushed against Harry's, a sharp electric sting coursed through his fingers. Afterwards, they felt really sore, and rubbing them didn't really help much. Pressing the cold can of soda did, but just a bit.

Harry sighed, remembering the first time he and Draco had visited here. The same thing had happened, then. Twice, actually, both at times when Emmeleia had touched him in passing. Static electricity . . . Harry didn't know a lot about it, but he had some vague memories of rubbing a balloon against his head in primary school one day, during a science lesson. The static electricity that had built up had made his hair stand up even more than usual. Wool cloth would do the same thing, he remembered; that had been the next part of the day's experiment . . .

Harry's nostrils flared. You'd think the orphanage had wall-to-wall wool carpeting instead of hardwood floors, the way he kept getting shocked! And it wasn't just Harry, either. Draco had sort of flinched when he'd shaken Emmeleia's hand on their first visit, hadn't he? At the time, Harry had assumed that his brother was just being snooty over the squib thing, but maybe he'd gotten one of these stinging pains that touching her seemed to produce.

"Oh, how lovely. Is that a sari?" Rhiannon asked, interrupting Harry's thoughts. Glancing to the side, Harry saw that Draco's girlfriend was admiring a long stretch of crimson cloth embroidered with gold thread.

Emmeleia's brown eyes widened in what looked like alarm. Over a length of cloth? Nah, couldn't be.

But it was, because in the next moment, the woman was jumping to her feet to rush across the room. Hermione made a small noise, almost a squeak, as Emmeleia brushed past her. Harry took that to mean that she'd just got shocked, as well. Maybe Emmeleia was wearing wool, he thought, glancing toward the small woman.

But no, her outfit was clearly made of a lightweight summery sort of fabric. Something did catch his notice, however. As Emmeleia snatched up the cloth and hastily folded it, Harry got a clear view of the box it had been draped over. Or no, not a box . . . clearly, it was a wizarding trunk. Mad Eye Moody had been imprisoned inside one that had looked quite similar.

Harry eyed the woman critically for a moment. What would a squib be doing with a wizarding trunk? Then again, she was from pureblood family, wasn't she? And old Swiss one, Draco had guessed, based on her last name. So maybe the trunk was an heirloom or something.

"I'm sorry," Rhiannon said. "I didn't mean to pry . . ."

"Oh, no, not at all." To Harry's thinking, the woman's tone sounded a bit forced. But perhaps that just showed how paranoid he was becoming. Emmeleia certainly didn't seem the type to be keeping secrets; look at how she'd shared all those details about her medical history. No sense of discretion . . . Harry could easily imagine Snape drawling the words in tones nearing contempt.

"It's just that it's quite old," Emmeleia was going on. "I shouldn't have left it out like that, not in the summer," she said, waving a hand toward the window. "Strong light can damage the delicate fibres."

"It truly was lovely," said Hermione. "I didn't get a close look, though. Was it a sari?"

"Oh, no. It's a 'Goddess Aurora Altar Cloth,' or so I was told when I bought it at the Bizarre Bazaar. In Salem, Massachusetts," she added with a smile that suggested it was a fond memory. "The school took some of us on a field trip there when I was sixteen."

"Salem?" asked Draco, his voice slicing through the air. "The witch trials, that Salem?"

Not this again. "There weren't any real witches burned there, Draco," said Harry.

"There wasn't anyone burned at all," corrected Hermione. "The people convicted of witchcraft were hanged."

"Perhaps so, but the idea that not one was an actual witch is pure propaganda," said Draco, his voice quite cool.

To Harry's surprise, Emmeleia began nodding as she sat back down in the chair behind her desk. "It may well be. No credible evidence of witchcraft in Salem has ever come to light, but it wouldn't be the first time that the government covered up indications of paranormal activity." She gestured toward a poster on the far wall.

When Draco turned his head to look at it, his expression became curiously blank. And no wonder. The poster sported an enormous flying saucer hovering over an expanse of farmland bathed in an eerie, otherworldly light. At the bottom, large type announced, "I want to believe."

"Oh, I love that show," said Rhiannon. "It's my absolute favourite."

Emmeleia and Rhiannon started to enthuse over it together, a conversation which pretty quickly grew too inane for Harry. Muggle government conspiracies covering up evidence of space aliens? Daft stories of people actually being abducted by little green men?

Harry almost laughed, and not just because the whole thing sounded so stupid. It was also incredibly weird that a girl training to sing classical opera could also be so interested in bad science fiction.

He didn't laugh, though. At least this conversation was a lot more amusing than another dull lecture about curriculum or funding, and besides, laughing would be rather insensitive, considering that his brother was looking positively spooked.

Huh. Harry would have expected a Slytherin to be a lot more hardened. Clearly, though, the possible existence of extra-terrestrials was a brand new concept for Draco. And not a welcome one, either.

Harry traded glances with Hermione and very nearly laughed despite his resolve. She looked astonished by the idea that anybody could take such a stupid telly programme seriously.

"Thank you for the tour," said Harry politely, rising to his feet.

Draco shook his head like he was coming out of a daze, but then stood up as well. "Yes, thank you. It was good of you to give us a closer look at the facility."

Emmeleia's glance at him was somewhat critical. Or at least, Harry thought so. "Hopefully you'll conclude that your money is being well-spent."

Harry knew from the look that crossed his brother's face that Draco was thinking of Rhiannon as he answered. "Yes, it does seem so. It's good to be able to put the funds to good use."

Hermione pressed her lips together like she was reining in laughter again. Her expression, however, lost all trace of amusement when Harry began to move toward the door. "Ehem. I think we'd better get our wands back before we leave."

Oh, right. Not too amazing that Harry would forget, since he hadn't given away his wand to begin with. He was a little more surprised that Draco would make the same gaffe, but maybe the idea of space aliens had distracted him.

"Of course," murmured Emmeleia as she pulled open a desk drawer and retrieved Hermione's wand as well as the two decoys she'd been given. They hadn't even been under lock and key?

Hermione's eyes narrowed.

Well, Harry could sympathise. He'd be annoyed if his real wand had been treated so carelessly, plunked into a drawer where anybody could come along and nick it. The least Emmeleia could have done was keep the wands safe from the children, who might well be curious about them!

All Harry could think was that a squib couldn't possibly understand how important a wand could be to a wizard. If she did understand that, she'd never have asked for theirs in the first place.

"There you are," she said, giving Harry's fake wand to Hermione and vice-versa. At least she got Draco's right. As Harry traded with Hermione, he tried not to look too annoyed over the whole thing.

"Well, thank you for visiting," Emmeleia finished, the words clearly a dismissal.

Fine by Harry. He was more than ready to leave, by then.

On Monday, Draco began complaining that since Harry's lessons were over, he wouldn’t see enough of Rhiannon unless they all went to free swim every day.

Harry had no real objection to that. He liked spending time at the pool, especially since now, he could swim as many laps as he felt like instead of the number Roger demanded. He raced Draco a few times, and then both of them raced Severus. It was all great fun, particularly after one of their races degenerated into a water fight.

Severus ended up looking slightly like a drowned rat; the wet look really didn't suit him.

Draco, in contrast, could somehow come across as suave and elegant even when dripping wet. He clearly knew it, too. Harry lost count of the times he preened when Rhiannon happened to be looking their way.

In another sense, though, Harry couldn't help but think that Draco's concern over his appearance was a bit sad, really. He kept applying and re-applying his special sunscreen, and not just to protect his fair skin; he was also making sure that the glamour charmed into it would stay active and keep the scar on his chest hidden.

Harry thought that if Rhiannon really loved him, she wouldn't mind the fact that Draco had a burn mark. Yeah, it was large, but it wasn't such a big deal. Harry had seen it loads of times by then and to him, it just looked like an expanse of puckered skin.

Draco was clearly self-conscious about it, though, and made sure to keep it entirely hidden from his girlfriend.

On Wednesday night, Harry could hardly contain his excitement. Finally, his birthday was close enough to almost reach out and grab. And not just any birthday, but the most important one of all.

Seventeen, at long last. It was all Harry could do not to whoop. He'd finally be an adult. He could get his Apparition license. He could stop worrying that one of his wandless spells would make people wonder why his underage magic wasn't being detected.

Casting Tempus, Harry saw that it was gone eleven, already.

"Well, I'm knackered," said Draco, closing his book with a snap. He sounded a bit like he thought Harry's spell had been some kind of hint. Or maybe not, since he was standing up and stretching. "Bed for me, I think."

"That'll teach you to try to out-fly me after dinner."