"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.