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.

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

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.

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

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.

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

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.