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A Summer Like None Other

by Aspen in the Sunlight

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Chapter Nineteen:

Everyone Has Issues

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Swimming laps might be the best way to improve his fledgling swimming skills, but after about half an hour, it was also unbelievably dull, despite periodically changing from one stroke to another, as Roger had recommended. Harry kept on anyway, ignoring the ache in his shoulders and thighs.

Only when his muscles actually began to feel sort of squishy from exhaustion did he swim back to his father and lean up against the edge of the pool, eyes closed.

"You're developing an impressive level of endurance. Here, have some water."

Harry cracked one eye and saw that Snape was holding out a metal flask. Harry very nearly laughed; he could just imagine Rhiannon's uncle sending a lifeguard over to complain this time about Snape drinking alcohol in the pool. Harry made sure his back was to the pool office as he took the flask and drained it. "Oh, this really hits the spot. Thanks, Dad."

Snape's shrug sent ripples along the surface of the water.

"Draco's not back, yet?"

Snape gave him a bit of a look, at that. Well, it had been a daft question. "I'm just worried," Harry explained. "What if she throws him over again?"

"We will get him through it, you and I." Snape took the flask back and set it on the concrete surrounding the pool. "That, I presume, is what families do."

"You presume?"

The moment he'd said it, Harry wished he could call the question back. He hadn't meant to pry. Well, actually he had, but he'd wanted to do it in a way that was a lot less obvious.

Snape stiffened, staring off into the distance. "I think you know I didn't have an ideal childhood, by any means."

It was nothing that Harry hadn't heard before, nothing that he didn't know, but he still felt encouraged that Snape would admit to that, rather than grow furious about the question. "Yeah, I know that," Harry said after a moment. "I can't figure out how you learned to be such a great father yourself."

"Experience," said Snape dryly. "My duties at the school no doubt provided some sort of background. Though I wonder that you can call me 'great,' Harry. When I think back I see mistake after mistake."

Harry was a little surprised to hear that Snape saw things in that light. Unless he was talking about the way he used to ridicule and belittle Harry, but that was before Harry had become his son, so it didn't seem to really fit. And it certainly wasn't Snape's fault he'd got addicted to Truthful Dreams; he'd only been taking it to help the Order, originally, and that had just got out of control.

Really, the only other thing Harry could think of was the way Snape had insisted on interrogating Nott himself, after the attack, instead of bringing Harry back to Hogwarts at once. Dumbledore had criticised that. He'd definitely thought it an error in judgement, along with--.

"Well, maybe when your house was in an uproar over you shouldn't have left them to the headmaster to deal with, so you could go back to that alley and collect what was left of my mother's ring," Harry said, shrugging. "But that's not such a bad mistake."

"I'm thinking more of other matters."

Harry would have asked which, but something in Snape's expression was answer enough. Gulping a little, he glanced down at his own arms. "Oh, that. It's not your fault I started to--"

"I didn't say it was my fault," corrected Snape quietly. "I do believe you know what I think of your penchant for assigning yourself unwarranted blame. I hold myself responsible only for my own mistakes, one of which was failing to secure Lucius' portrait as I should have. It's not as though I didn't know what sort of trouble could result."

Harry nodded, feeling like the sun had gone behind a cloud. He didn't want to think about all that. "Um . . . how is Remus doing? You know, with his . . . er, acting?"

"I'll tell you in detail later, but the short answer is, as well as can be expected."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"He thinks his wife is beginning to behave a bit oddly."

"Whose wife?" asked Draco's voice from behind them.

Whirling in the water, Harry saw his brother crouching down at the pool's edge. "How did it go?"

Draco grinned. "Oh, we made up. She even let me help her weed the garden."

Harry tried to picture that. "You weeded?"

Draco patted his trouser pocket.

"Should have known you'd cheat," said Harry, trying for a carefree tone. He knew he ought to be happy for Draco. Really happy. What else could this mean except that Draco was starting to really get over his ridiculous ideas about pure blood meaning something? That was great news, just about the best Harry could think of.

No matter how he tried, though, some small part of him was still a little bit . . . bothered, he supposed, by the whole thing. Draco with Rhiannon just sounded like a phenomenally bad idea to him. It couldn't really work out, could it? Draco was on the rebound from Pansy, and what had he done but found her exact opposite, right down to choosing a Muggle instead of a pureblood? What sort of basis was that for a romance?

Well, at least one of his concerns had been lifted: Harry didn't suppose he could claim to be worried about Draco hexing the girl any longer. That obviously wasn't going to happen.

Draco didn't seem to notice Harry's unease at all; he was too caught up in his own euphoria. "I'll have you know, Rhiannon thought my weeding assistance was brilliant. Now, whose wife were the two of you gossiping about, eh?"

Harry bit his lip, because he knew Draco wasn't going to appreciate hearing that Snape and he had been discussing Narcissa. Not that they really had been, but it might come across that way.

"Lucius'," said Snape in a clipped tone. "We should probably go home where we can speak freely."

Draco leaned forward over the edge of the pool, his grey eyes intense. "You've got news."

"Nothing of great import." Snape shook his head. "But I would still prefer we defer the conversation."

Harry didn't have any trouble reading the longing on his brother's face. On one level it disturbed him, because Draco was worth ten of Narcissa Malfoy. She certainly wasn't going to be thrilled to find out that her son was dating a Muggle. On another level, though . . . Harry could understand Draco wanting to hear how his mum was doing.

Draco loved Narcissa, that much was very clear. He loved her even though she hadn't had the courage to stand up publicly and denounce Lucius and his plot to capture and kill Draco. He loved her even though she'd really hurt him, and he needed to hear whatever small bits of news Remus might have shared about her.

"Well, I've had enough of swimming, anyway," he said, pulling himself up by his hands and standing up as Snape did the same.

Draco rose from his crouch and wrinkled his nose. "I would say so. You're as pruney as an old kappa--"

Snape was towelling off his hair by then; he managed to make some droplets hit Draco on the cheek. Harry thought it was an accident until Snape lowered the towel and inquired, "An old what, did you say?"

"An old . . . cap that's been in the water too long."

Draco grinned, clearly thinking himself clever, but all Harry could ask was when he'd ever seen a cap.

"Rhiannon lent me one to wear in the garden," he replied smartly.

"Oh, because you were working so hard weeding."

Draco looked like he wanted to clout Harry, but only in a good-natured way. "Home, then," he only said. "Let's hear what Severus has to say."

Nodding, Harry made his way to the changing room, leaving Snape and Draco alone at the edge of the pool.

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They ended up grabbing some fish and chips takeaway so they wouldn't have to "waste time making lunch," as Draco put it. Draco even insisted on paying, saying that in the circumstances, he might as well become highly conversant with the odd custom of currency being divided into units of a hundred. That got him an odd look from the cashier and a stern one from Snape, but Draco looked so happy that Harry doubted he'd noticed either one.

Harry's own heart sank a little, seeing that, because he knew, he just knew, that this thing with Rhiannon wasn't going to work out the way Draco obviously wanted.

He felt like a bad brother, expecting gloom that way; he knew he should be happy for Draco. Over the moon with it, really, because the way Draco was speaking to the cashier was proof that the Slytherin boy really was changing for the better. Earlier that summer, he'd treated a clerk in the men's clothing shop like absolute rubbish; it had been clear as day that Draco thought the man was no more worthy of courtesy than a slug. But now, he was being perfectly polite, not a trace of sarcasm about him.

True, he did look like the effort was some kind of strain. But he was making the effort; surely that was what counted? He was being pleasant to a Muggle. What better demonstration could there be, that dating Rhiannon was good for him?

Unfortunately, all that line of thought did was depress Harry further. It proved how important Rhiannon must be to Draco, didn't it? And that just led Harry back to his first worry: that when this didn't work out, since it obviously wasn't going to, Draco was going to be devastated.

Harry sighed inwardly, but managed to say nothing about his dire thoughts. It wasn't right for him to rain on Draco's parade.

For some reason, though, he couldn't seem to push the subject from his thoughts. Well, not until they were back at the cottage, sitting at the table to eat, and Snape began to talk about his meeting with Lupin.

"He's looking well, Harry. He appears to be holding up tolerably under the pressures that a full-time impersonation must impose."

"He's looking well?" Harry felt his eyes narrowing. "I thought you said he was going to be looking like Lucius the whole time."

"He was. I meant that he seemed in good spirits." Snape's nostrils flared. "And I don't appreciate the implication that I'm lying to you."

Harry flushed. "Well, it's just that you made it kind of hard for him to visit me last year. For months at a stretch."

"I was angry with him. You know the reasons for that perfectly well." Snape looked away, his features tense, and spoke in a grudging voice. "However, Lupin is more worthy of respect than I had believed. I would prefer you not visit with him when he is obliged to wear Lucius' body, but other than that, I have no real objection, any longer."

"So, the next time he pops by for potion or something, I can see him?"

Snape gave a curt nod. "As long as he is himself, yes."

"As laudable as Harry's great affection for werewolves is," drawled Draco, "I'm still waiting for some actual news. Is there any?"

Snape turned to look at Draco, who hadn't even started eating yet. "Nothing of great note, though Lupin did mention that Narcissa has seemed tense since shortly after he took up residence in Malfoy Manor."

"Tense?" Draco's brow wrinkled. "I wonder if she suspects."

"Lupin's impersonation cannot be absolutely perfect," said Snape, shrugging. "Hence the fiction that Lucius had been attacked and was not quite himself, afterwards. That alone would be enough to cause your mother some concern. Though I don't know that it explains the physical symptoms Lupin mentioned."

"Physical symptoms?" Draco curled his upper lip. "They'd better not involve claws and fur--"

"Stomach upset," interrupted Snape. "But nothing extreme, it appears. Lupin only knew about it because he spied a bottle of potion on your mother's night table."

"And what was he doing in my mother's bedroom, I'd like to know!"

"I didn't ask."

"Well, next time you see him, be sure you do!"

Snape shook his head. "I'll do no such thing, Draco."

Draco actually sputtered at that. "But what if he-- what if they--"

"He isn't and they aren't."

"How do you know that, unless you ask, preferably after you've dosed his tea with truth serum?"

Harry thought the suggestion was horrid, absolutely horrid, but Snape apparently found it amusing. His lips twitched, just a little, before his expression took on what seemed to be a carefully solemn look. "I know it because I know Lupin, and that's all I'm prepared to say on the matter."

"Yeah, well if I find out later that he'd laid one paw on her, I'll--"

"Be careful what you say," interrupted Snape, a little harshly. "When you apply for an Auror's apprenticeship, they may interview you under truth serum, and ask if you've ever threatened murder and meant it."

"Well, that pretty much blasts my career plans then, since I think I've done it about a thousand times!"

Snape's voice went silky. "Ah, but they'll restrict their queries to your behaviour since you became an adult. You've haven't just acquired new privileges, Draco. There are responsibilities to consider, as well."

"Oh." Draco didn't speak for a few moments, until his voice was calmer, even if it was still rather dark. "Let's just say, then, that if I find out Lupin's been messing about with my mother, I'll be very, very displeased."

Personally, Harry thought Draco's worry about that was ridiculous. Yes, Narcissa Malfoy was stunningly beautiful, but that was only on the outside. Inside, she was a horrible, ugly person, and that was why Remus had said that for all she was attractive, she couldn't possibly attract him.

Oh yeah, thought Harry. No way would Remus want to get involved with the likes of Narcissa Malfoy.

He thought better than to explain all that to Draco, however.

"So, any other news?" asked Draco, his tone a lot more normal, by then.

Snape's own voice went dry. "Lupin believes your mother is doing an insane amount of shopping."

"Oh, she likes to buy things. Nothing strange in that."

"Is it also her practice to take extended trips to the Continent? Alone?"

Draco shrugged. "Sometimes. She prefers French wizard designers to the ones here. And she's got some distant cousins she visits."

"That appears to be in order, then. Lupin and I did wonder if it might mean that she'd realised she was living with an impostor."

"Well, it might," said Harry, alarmed. "And she could betray Remus to Voldemort--"

"Use what passes for your brain," snapped Draco. "She's been living with him for quite some time! She'd never go to the Dark Lord with information like that. He'd blame her for not reporting it sooner!"

"She didn't know!"

"She should have known."

"That would indeed be Voldemort's opinion of the matter," said Snape quietly. "And Narcissa would know that. She's implicated in whatever Lupin does, Harry. Moreover, we have no reason to believe she suspects, not now that we know she periodically takes trips similar to the one she's now proposing."

"Yeah, all right," said Harry, sighing. He just didn't trust Narcissa Malfoy, and felt terrible that Lupin's life could be hanging on her . . . well, not good will, certainly. On her desire to protect herself, maybe.

On her Slytherinness.

Well, Harry did think she was a Slytherin straight through, so if Remus' safety depended on that, he'd probably come through all right.

"So, any word of Voldemort, then?" asked Harry, bracing himself.

Snape merely shrugged. "He's recovered from his mad scheme of having his bone marrow extracted the way you did. The procedure made him ill for a time, but it didn't enhance his magic as he'd wished. He remains baffled as to why you were able to eject him so forcefully from your mind, last year. Lupin reports that he seems in a rather insular mood. He rarely calls him and then, most often sits for hours without sharing his thoughts."

"How does Voldemort call Remus at all?" asked Harry. "Even if your enhanced Polyjuice made Remus end up with Lucius' Dark Mark, it wouldn't really be active, would it?"

"No, it wouldn't."

Draco made a huffing noise. "Oh, honestly. You need it all explained, Harry? The stasis potion, the vat of Dark Marks? Severus has quite a collection by now. Good thing, too. This kind of forgery magic has to be renewed every now and again."

Forgery . . . Harry turned to his father. "But even if you . . . er, stick one onto Remus, it's your mark. It wouldn't burn when Voldemort is calling Lucius, only when he's calling you. Or when he's summoning everyone, I suppose."

"Well-reasoned," said Snape. "Every time I graft a new mark onto Remus, I have to subtly weave Lucius' magical signature through it."

"Highly advanced sorcery," added Draco. "Very impressive. Not many wizards could manage it."

Snape threw Draco a slightly annoyed look. "I couldn't either, not without certain advantages, such as that Portkey Lucius once charmed. Kingsley was good enough to entrust that to Albus, no questions asked."

For a minute, Harry was lost, and then he remembered. Darswaithe under the Imperius curse, trying to kidnap Harry. Draco had sworn that the Portkey they'd found that day had Lucius Malfoy's magical signature written all over it. In retrospect, Harry supposed it was a good thing the Order had nicked the evidence, but had the headmaster been planning such minute details months ago? And why would Snape need that particular object?

"Wouldn't anything Lucius had enchanted work just as well? Remus could just bring something from Malfoy Manor."

"Lupin 'bringing something' of Lucius' would be tantamount to theft, as far as this process is concerned. The transference spells require something created with evil intent and which was freely yielded by the caster."

"Oh. That sounds harder to get."

"Considerably."

"Advanced sorcery, I told you," said Draco, laughing a little. "But you should understand that, Harry. It's like when the warding spells failed at first, because you didn't meet the conditions for living in Dad's quarters."

Harry nodded. "Oh, speaking of Dudley--"

"I wasn't."

"Well, I am. Tuesday, you think, Dad, for that family dinner? We'll eat a little early, so we have time for a good visit before we go to Marsha's office."

To Harry's surprise, Draco began to beam. And not sarcastically, either. His words, though, soon cleared everything up. "How charming. A family dinner. I insist on inviting Rhiannon along. I want her to see that Harry's got a Muggle cousin. Oh, but nobody use that word around her. She doesn't like it."

"I remember," said Harry wryly. He half-expected Snape to tell Draco that a family dinner was just for family. Which Rhiannon wasn't, yet.

"I should be very pleased to get to know your young lady better," Snape merely said. "You've introduced her to side-along Apparition, I take it?"

Draco grinned. "Popped her from one room to another inside her house."

"Just inside a private residence, then?" asked Snape, his tone sharp. "You aren't licensed to Apparate in public without someone who is."

"Just inside her own house," confirmed Draco solemnly, but then he grinned at Harry. "She loved it."

Harry's mouth fell open. He remembered his first side-along, with Snape. He'd very nearly vomited afterwards, the shift had been so . . . unsettling. "She loved it?"

"I told you, she adores anything to do with magic. Took to Apparating like a niffler to digging. She wasn't sick at all, said it felt like butterflies in her stomach, was all." Draco pursed his lips. "She really should have been a witch. It's not fair for the Fates to make her do without, when she loves it so much. But, if I'd fallen for a blind girl, I guess I'd have decided to be her eyes, so . . ."

"You'd have brewed her some Sight Restorative Potion," Harry pointed out.

Draco's face looked stiff when he replied. "Well, there's no potion that grants magic, Harry, and no way to steal it. Not even the Darkest Arts have ever managed that one." He pushed away what remained of his meal. "I know how much she'd like to have some magic, though, if there were any way at all."

"I suppose a lot of Muggles would feel the same." Harry sighed. "That's the big reason why the wizarding world secreted itself in the first place, right? Jealousy? I can see why Rhiannon would feel that way. When my own magic was missing, I know I sure--"

"Oh Rhiannon isn't jealous," Draco interrupted. "She's just enraptured to find magic is real. She always hoped and dreamed it was, you know."

"Then how do you know she didn't take you back just to be near your magic?"

Draco's eyes went cold as he pushed away what remained of his meal. "I think I'll go work on my summer homework. Please do excuse me."

Snape waited until Draco's door had closed, and then spoke in a low voice. "That was close to a taunt, Harry."

Had it been? Harry hadn't meant it like one.

"What did you intend him to reply, to a question like that?"

Snape's voice wasn't quite cold, but it certainly wasn't pleased, either. Harry hurriedly put down his cup of soda. "Um . . . I don't really know."

Snape stared at him for a long moment. "Interesting that you should mention jealousy. I'm beginning to wonder if you might be the one with that particular problem."

Harry gave his father an incredulous look. "You think I want Rhiannon for myself?"

"She is a breathtakingly beautiful young lady."

"Yeah, she is," admitted Harry, though he was still shaking his head. "But it's like Remus said about Draco's mum. I can tell she's very attractive, but she doesn't do anything for me."

Snape went perfectly still, his dark eyes turning into those endless tunnels again, like he was contemplating a complex brew as it simmered before him. Then his expression cleared, and he seemed to see Harry once more. "You compare Rhiannon Miller to Narcissa, do you? I wasn't aware that you disliked Draco's petite amie."

"I don't dislike her. I didn't mean it that way." Harry bit his lip, then remembered to lower his voice in case Draco was eavesdropping. The way Snape was speaking, so quietly, said that he thought that might be the case. "I guess what I meant, saying that to Draco, was just . . . I'd rather she not come along to our dinner with Dudley, that's all."

"I'm surprised you would want to discourage his relationship with her. It can't have escaped your attention what a salutary effect it may have. Is having already, I would say."

"I know, I just . . ." Harry ran a hand through his hair. No point, really, in telling Snape that he was worried that this relationship couldn't work out well, in the long run. Snape had heard it all before, and had told Harry that that was basically Draco's business. And Marsha had said much the same thing, so maybe Harry was actually out of line. "I'll be more careful what I say around Draco. And sure, Rhiannon can come out to dinner with us." He did his best to smile, but from the look on his father's face, he didn't succeed so well.

In fact, by then Snape was wearing a decidedly odd expression. Not one Harry often saw; he looked like he literally had no idea what to say.

Harry felt pretty bad, then. He hadn't meant to cause any kind of upset, to anyone. Not even Draco. "Look, I like Rhiannon just fine, all right? I don't have anything against her."

"Harry . . ." Snape waited until Harry looked up at him. "I believe you, but it still strikes me that you may be feeling rather left out. Romantically. Perhaps your remark to Draco was more a reflection of your own worries in that regard."

It was distinctly nerve-wracking to hear his father talking this way. Harry's love-life, or lack of one, was really his own private business, after all. Still, that last comment was intriguing enough that Harry couldn't let it pass. "My own worries?"

"In your case, that whomever you fall for may return the feeling because of your fame."

Harry blew out a breath. "Yeah, I've thought of that, believe me."

"And Draco, of course, has circumvented any similar question by choosing from outside our world entirely. Not that he was ever remotely famous, but his former last name does have strong associations."

"But not for Rhiannon."

"No, not for Rhiannon."

"Well, good for him if he can forget the war long enough to have a romance," said Harry, trying to mean it. "But I can't."

"You can, Harry," said Snape, sounding just a little urgent, then. "You can have someone."

Harry's voice was flat when he replied. "No, Dad. I really can't."

Snape pushed back his chair and stood up. By then, his expression looked shuttered. "I'm sorry to hear that you think so, but enough of such matters. You have summer homework still to do as well, don't you?"

Harry made a face. "Transfiguration essay."

"Best not to leave your studies until the last minute. A frequent failing of yours."

"Hey, I wasn't even allowed to have my books out, most summers--"

Snape's eyes glimmered. "No, you weren't. But I wasn't referring to summer homework exclusively."

"Oh." Harry got up from the table. "All right, then. I'll get started on it. And I'll tell Draco I'm sorry for saying that--"

"No." Snape held up a hand. "Best to leave that subject alone, Harry. Completely alone. Allow your brother the courtesy of trusting him to not need your interference."

That was what Snape was doing, Harry sensed.

"Yeah, all right," he said, heading towards his room.

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Draco spent Saturday afternoon and evening with Rhiannon, and then all day Sunday.

If not for her job keeping her busy, we probably wouldn't see Draco until September, Harry was thinking by late Sunday night when Draco finally came home.

"What a day, what a day," he said, dropping down onto the sofa next to Harry.

"Problem?" asked Harry, then realised he probably shouldn't have sounded so hopeful about it.

Draco didn't seem to notice, though. "No, not really. I faced down the dreaded first dinner with the parents, that's all."

Snape looked up from where he was working at the table, his gaze suddenly piercing. "You left Exeter?"

"No, no, Mr Tilden had everybody over to his house."

"Good, because you've permission to wander Exeter only."

Draco sat up a little more. "You know, Severus, I don't technically need your permission for anything, these days. Anyway, her parents live in Porlock, which isn't so far; it's just over in Somerset--"

"I know where Porlock is," interrupted Snape. "Don't go there, or anywhere else I haven't warded, without speaking to me."

"Or you'll what?"

Harry drew in a breath and backed up on the sofa. He couldn't imagine talking to his father in that tone of voice, let alone telling him to his face that he didn't have any authority any longer.

"Mourn you," said Snape bluntly.

Draco looked taken aback, even though he protested, "No need for melodrama--"

"Melodrama, is it?" By then, Snape's voice was about as cold and angry as Harry had ever heard. "I can't keep you alive if you insist on taking stupid risks, and it's also not in my power to lay trip wires across all Britain for your convenience. Death, incidentally, should be the very least of your worries. As we have discussed prior, Voldemort will torture you first, for information about Harry. And furthermore--"

"That's enough," said Draco in a dull voice. "I apologise. See how good I'm getting at that? I . . . I wouldn't have gone to Porlock without letting you know, Severus."

"You'll do more than let me know. You won't go at all unless I deem it safe. You're an adult now, Draco. You should be past your problem with impulse control. Are we understood?"

"Yes, sir."

Not a trace of sarcasm about that answer, thought Harry. Snape obviously had got through to Draco.

Snape, though, wasn't through. "I didn't mention this before, Draco, because it wasn't clear to me if your affection for Miss Miller would survive, once you knew she was in fact a Muggle. Now, however, I think I had better tell you."

"Tell me?"

"Your young lady will become a target for the Death Eaters, every bit as much as you are, if her existence becomes well-known."

Oh, God. If Draco had looked ill at the prospect of being tortured, now he looked positively ghastly. His skin took on a green tinge, and he swallowed several times in quick succession.

And then, his voice thick, he said the most selfless thing Harry had ever heard come from his lips. "Best to break it off, then. Until after the war, until--"

"You don't need to do that," said Snape, more softly. "She'll be perfectly safe as long as you take adequate precautions. One of which is to see her only in Exeter, which is free of Death Eater activity and warded to alert me instantly if that should change. And too, it's not as though Lucius Malfoy is still intent on scheming to capture you. Voldemort would no doubt find your knowledge useful, but in truth, the principle threat to you came from Lucius."

"True, but--"

"As long as you don't flaunt yourself, or her, I doubt either one of you would come to Voldemort's attention. Lupin reports that he seems preoccupied with other plans, ones he won't share even with his closest advisors."

Draco frowned. "That's because of the way Lupin went around last year, making it seem like the Death Eaters were betraying one another. I never did think that a very good idea. All it's done is make the Dark Lord decide not to trust another living soul."

"You'll remember that I had nothing to do with hatching that particular plot."

Draco nodded. "No Slytherin would have. So, Rhiannon. Precautions. I stick to Exeter, right. And I guess I don't tell the house about her, after all?"

Harry blinked. "You were going to tell your mates in Slytherin that you'd fallen for a Muggle? Really?"

"Leaving aside the fact that I don't have mates, there, yes, I was."

Snape crossed his arms before his chest. "They'd take that no better than they took your proclamations last year. The ones that got you attacked, if you recall?"

Draco snorted. "As if I could forget, Severus. Well, if you must know, I was planning at first to keep Rhiannon a complete secret, but then Granger got me to admit that, and she went on and on about how that meant I was ashamed of her, deep down, and how Rhiannon would be able to tell that, and--"

"Well, it wouldn't mean any of that rot," said Harry fiercely, a little annoyed with Hermione. "It'd just mean you'd rather not put her in danger. And no offence to either of you, but Slytherin's full of gits who would be only too happy to pass on information to Death Eaters."

"No offence to you, either," said Snape mildly. "Or have you forgotten you're also in Slytherin?"

"He's forgotten about Gryffindors who do the same thing, obviously," added Draco, less mildly.

Harry ignored both of them. "Anyway, I say you'd better keep her a secret. Her being a Muggle isn't even the main point. It's the fact that she's important to you that matters."

"Her being a Muggle is going to make things much worse for her, if any of it gets out, though." Draco nodded. "Of course, my first thought was the better one. I'll keep mum about Rhiannon. Hmm, I suppose I'd better let Granger's parents know something about that. I'll give them a supply of parchment envelopes to use, ones that look like they've been owled off by wizarding shops--"

"What are you on about?"

"Oh, Hermione and I worked out a scheme with owls and post and such. If I set it up right, I can get letters from Rhiannon that other people think are replies to inquiries about my owl-orders. And when I send letters, they'll be inside ones that Hermione owls off to her parents, nothing odd about that, a girl writing home, so that all sorts, then . . ."

"Speaking of Miss Granger, this came for you earlier," said Snape. One flick of his wand, and a letter was wafting across the room to Draco, who began to frown the moment he started reading. "Oh, please."

Harry resisted a strong urge to lean over and see, but he couldn't resist asking. "What?"

Draco tossed the letter onto the table to one side of the sofa. "Hermione's parents can't act as go-betweens for a girl she's never even met, she says."

"Not an unreasonable point of view," observed Snape. "What do you propose to do?"

Draco slanted him a glance. "The way I see it, there's only one thing to do. Hermione's got to meet Rhiannon. Though I don't want the two of them ganging up on me, so Harry had better come along as well. What do you say, Harry? A double date?"

The glint in his eye said that he was looking forward to Ron's reaction.

"No, thanks," said Harry hastily. Ron probably wasn't daft enough to start thinking that Harry was after Hermione, but on the other hand, Ron had thought some pretty daft things in the past.

"Oh, come on. We'll have loads of fun. She's not that Celeste girl, you know."

"You still owe me for that."

"No, I don't. We all went to the seaside on your say-so the next day."

"Oh, yeah." Harry had forgotten he'd already used the favour Draco had promised. And really, some time with Hermione would be good. When Draco and Rhiannon were mooning over each other, Harry could ask her if she'd got that translation rod yet. "All right, on one condition. You can't taunt Ron with it, ever. I mean it. And stop calling it a date. It's friends going out together, that's all."

"That's two conditions."

"Yeah, so be a Slytherin and take the deal before I think of a few more."

Draco gave a slow smile. "Done. Though in my case it most definitely is a date. Let's see, then . . . Rhiannon hasn't got rehearsals on Thursdays; those are for performances, and this is an off week, so I'll write Hermione back and see if we can set something up." He glanced over at Snape. "Is it all right if I send along one of those Portkeys the headmaster gave you?"

"You didn't consult me last time," drawled Snape.

"Does that mean yes or no? I can't tell."

"It means I prefer to be consulted."

Draco's smile faltered. "Yes, sir. I should have. But as these Portkeys will only work for those who've been told about the cottage and seeing that the headmaster laced them with all manner of spells so the Ministry can't even detect their use, I didn't see much cause for concern."

"Perhaps you are learning impulse control if you considered all that." Snape waved a hand. "Include one, yes. But don't help yourself to them, Draco. The headmaster entrusted them to me. You understand?"

"Yes, sir," Draco said again, his voice very low.

Personally, Harry thought he was lucky to have got off without lines. Perhaps Snape thought that wasn't the way to deal with a son now an adult, though. Harry hoped so, anyway, since his own birthday wasn't far off.

He tried hard to sound enthusiastic. "Did Rhiannon get Tuesday off for the family dinner?"

"Oh, she can't come to that, sorry," said Draco, scowling. "She rang that Adrian bloke, but like a complete git, he wouldn't let her skive off rehearsal. On the bright side though, I did learn how to use a phone."

Harry almost laughed. "It's not hard."

"No, but it seems an awful waste having to remember all those numbers that really bear no relation to the person you want to reach. Not like spells, which at least mean something, most times . . ." He grinned, then. "Come to think of it, though, I have Rhiannon's number memorised already. Too bad we can't get one of those, what are they called? Something like mobilicorpus--"

"Mobile," said Harry. And of course they could get one. Harry had used one at Number Twelve, after all, though he was still a little unclear on how the battery had got charged. He decided not to mention all that, though.

No doubt about it, if Draco had access to a phone, he'd be talking to Rhiannon every waking minute, and probably most of the night, as well.

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"Harry," said Piers, smiling slyly as he pulled open the front door. For a moment it seemed like he had eyes only for Harry; Piers' gaze raked him up and down, the look on his face something close to predatory. But then that expression faded and Piers turned to the other men standing on the stoop. "Draco, Mr Snape . . . Come in, please. Dudley said you'd all be visiting, tonight."

Harry hid a frown as he went into the living room. He'd been hoping that he wouldn't have to see Piers at all. Didn't security guards work at night, most of the time?

"Dudley should be home from his job in a few minutes," continued Piers as the door closed with an audible click. "So, have a seat, make yourselves at home. . ." He laughed, a little derisively. "Really, Harry, you are home, you know--"

Harry sat down on the black leather couch in a hurry, ignoring the way its cushy depths tried to swallow him whole. In the next instant, he was feeling quite annoyed with himself. Piers shouldn't be able to make him feel out-of-place like that. But then, it wasn't really Piers' comment that had done that; it was all the history in this room. Even rebuilt and redecorated, even without photos of Dudley looking on from every wall, Harry could feel the weight of the past bearing down on him.

Snape sat down beside him, his lips pursed; Harry didn't know why. No chance to ask, either, because just then, Harry noticed that Draco was still standing.

Harry followed Draco's line of sight to see that Dudley's wide-screen telly was on, the sound turned down low. And Draco was more than staring at it; he actually looked transfixed. Hypnotised, even though the telly at that moment was showing nothing more interesting than a commercial for washing-up liquid.

As Harry watched, his brother's mouth actually began to drop open.

Harry jumped up. "Could you get us all some water, Piers? Or better yet, some Coke or something? With ice?"

Piers shrugged, turning away. The moment he was out of sight, Harry took two steps toward Draco and shook the boy's arm. "Come on, it's just a telly," he said, very low. "I told you about them."

Draco blinked several times, but kept his gaze glued to the set. "It's so . . . I didn't think it would be so bright and colourful . . . And to think, you said their pictures never moved."

"That was when we were talking about photographs. Sit down, Draco--"

"Wait. I want to see how long until it repeats--"

Laughing a little, Harry gave his brother a friendly nudge into one of the two leather easy chairs in the room. "It's not going to repeat. It just keeps changing. Didn't Rhiannon's uncle have the telly on at all this past weekend?"

Draco shook his head, leaning to the side so Harry wouldn't block his view.

Well, perhaps the best way to handle this was to get him used to Muggle technology as quickly as possible. Sighing, Harry picked up the remote control and clicked the channel button a few times, showing Draco how. Then he handed the remote to his brother. "Have a blast."

Draco started methodically cycling through the channels, his eyes looking almost feverish by then.

Harry looked over at Snape, who merely shrugged and patted the seat next to him.

By the time Piers came back, a drink in each hand and a third one sort of caught between his arm and body, Draco had settled on a news programme, but he managed to look away from the telly long enough to take the tall glass Piers was holding out.

To Harry's amazement, Draco didn't even make a face at the prospect of drinking something a Muggle had just prepared. Perhaps he was just too distracted by the images flickering across the television screen? If so, one swallow of the fizzing Muggle soda seemed to cure him of that.

Almost shuddering, Draco hurriedly set it down on a lacquered side table.

When Harry tasted his, he understood. Diet Coke. Draco had ranted about it on the day he'd bought fish and chips for everyone. Apparently Rhiannon ordered it all the time, which Draco found completely baffling. Harry didn't dislike it, though. He drank his portion down thirstily, the leaned forward to set his glass down next to Draco's.

"So, Harry, what's keeping you busy this summer?" asked Piers with a throaty laugh as he sat down in the remaining easy chair and angled his hips into what looked like a languid pose.

Harry kept his eyes averted. After the last time here, he didn't want to say or do anything that would give Piers the idea that Harry could remotely stand him. "Swimming lessons," he said shortly.

A low chuckle. "Swimming lessons, really? But you're already grown-up. From the look of things, into quite a fit young man--"

Harry almost squirmed at the oily way those last three words were delivered.

Snape, in contrast, sat up stiffly, his hands clenching on the glass he'd yet to drink from.

Piers didn't seem to recognise the danger he was courting. His simpering expression didn't change. "And how are you liking your swimming lessons, Harry? Getting a nice tan, are you?" His gaze settled on Harry's lower half. "Trunks, or briefs?"

"Your questions are intrusive and overly personal, Mr. Polkiss," Snape said coldly.

Piers just laughed again, the sound low enough to grate on Harry's nerves. "Oh, but Harry and I are old friends, aren't we?"

"No," said Harry shortly. Perhaps the telly being on was a good thing; he pretended some interest in the news programme Draco was still watching. It was pretty depressing stuff, though: information about a child recently reported missing in Dungannon.

Ignoring him had the effect of shutting Piers up, though, so Harry kept watching the gloomy news report.

Thankfully, Dudley came in just a few minutes later. "Harry, Draco, Professor Snape! How good to see you!" His gaze swept across them. "I see Piers has been making you comfortable--"

"In truth, he's done the opposite," said Snape before Harry could get a word in. "Your flatmate has abominable manners."

"This lot hasn't got much of a sense of humour," protested Piers. "A spot of friendly teasing between me and Harry, Duds, that's all it was."

Dudley's eyes narrowed, which in his over-fat face made them look a little piggish. He looked a lot like Vernon Dursley in that moment, and sounded like him, too. But considering what he said, Harry didn't really mind.

"If you can't be polite to Harry, you'd better find another place to live, Piers! He's going to be coming over just as often as he pleases, and I won't have him made less than welcome, I won't. Got that? I mean it -- one more complaint and you'll be out on your ear!"

Piers jumped to his feet and folded his arms across his chest. "I notice Harry hasn't complained, just his father. Though why somebody his age would need to be adopted is an interesting question--"

"You're really stupid if you think so," said Dudley fiercely. "And anyway, Harry's not much for whingeing about things, but if Professor Snape thought you were out of line, that's good enough for me."

A slight clicking noise announced that Draco had figured out how to switch off the television. "Perhaps we should just leave," he said, each syllable clipped. He must have been paying attention to more than the telly, by the end, there.

As if on cue, Snape and Draco stood up together; Harry, a scant second later.

"Sure," said Dudley. "Er . . . just got in, though. I'll be back down in a moment."

Harry heard him the stairs groaning a little as Dudley lumbered up them.

Piers, as if determined to prove he was as stupid as Dudley had claimed, gave them all a rather nasty smile. Harry thought it was the first sincere expression he'd worn since they'd arrived. Or maybe it just suited his ratlike features. "Well, well. You used to run away from your battles, but at least you didn't let other people fight them for you."

Harry glared. "What I do or don't do is no business of yours."

Draco's voice was equally low and angry as he came to stand beside Harry. "You don't know what you're talking about. And you sure as fuck don't know whom you're talking to--"

"Enough, Draco," said Snape in a level voice. "Mr Polkiss, we will wait outside for Dudley."

Harry thought his father had handled everything pretty calmly, considering, but that was before Piers' face ended up drenched with Diet Coke as they passed him. Snape had been the only one still holding his glass.

Outside, Harry was torn between bursting into laughter and pulling his father into a tight hug, but both impulses dropped away from him when he caught the way Snape was glaring at Draco.

"An accident," Draco was saying, though his eyes were twinkling. "You know, impulse control."

"That sort of accident is for children without proper schooling, not adults going into their final year of it!"

"It's not as though the windows all shattered, Severus."

"It also wasn't any form of accident, was it?" asked Snape, his voice lashing out like a whip.

Harry saw Draco give his wand, thrust deep in his pocket, a little wiggle. "No, sir. But nobody is going to investigate a small splash like that. I am of age."

"Harry's cousin is going to believe that I threw a beverage at his flatmate!"

That seemed to be the real issue, for Snape. Which touched Harry, in a way. He knew that his father didn't usually care what people thought of him, though ever since Rhiannon's reluctant comment at the pool, he had been keeping his hair marginally cleaner. That was for Draco's sake, Harry knew. And now, this concern over what Dudley might think . . . it wasn't about Dudley at all, really.

Harry smiled at his father as he lightly touched his arm. "It'll be all right, Dad."

Sure enough, when Dudley came out a few minutes later, wearing a different shirt--his other had looked a bit soiled--he didn't say anything about the incident. But then, he probably didn't know about it. Would Piers have mentioned it, knowing that Dudley very well might assume Piers had said something else offensive, knowing that Dudley might then proceed to make good on his threat? To kick Piers out?

Harry's smile widened. How could it not? He liked the idea that Dudley would go that far, if it would mean that Harry felt more comfortable visiting. Which reminded him.

"Dudley . . . that thing you said last time about sharing expenses with Piers . . . er . . ." Harry's attempt to be generous ground to a halt, because he'd suddenly remembered how badly Draco had reacted when Harry had offered money. Then again, once Draco had understood that they really were family, his whole attitude had changed.

Dudley was unlocking the driver side door to the blue sedan in the driveway, but he paused to glance up at Harry. "What of it?"

Harry swallowed. He probably should check with his father, he knew, before saying this, since he didn't even have his own vault key, but . . . too late now. "Oh. Um, well, if you kick him out on my account that might leave you a little short, money-wise, and I wanted to say, wanted you to understand . . . um, well, I could help you out, you know. If you needed it . . ."

Dudley opened the car door and reached around to unlock the one behind it. "How's that? Aren't you still in school for another whole year?"

Oh, no . . . Harry felt a small pang of dismay at that. All that time he'd spent with Dudley, back in Snape's quarters, and he'd never mentioned? He just hoped Dudley didn't get too upset with him. "Um, yes, but I inherited quite a lot of money from my father."

Dudley's gaze drifted to Snape, but he wasn't quite as thick as that. "Oh, you mean the other one. I thought he was unemployed, though? And an alcoholic, and--"

Draco made a noise that sounded very slightly like a growl.

"That's all slander," said Harry, carefully keeping his voice calm. Once, not so very long ago, comments like that would have sparked his temper, but the plain truth was that Dudley didn't know any better. "Your parents didn't like my father. I'm dead sure you can guess why."

Dudley ducked his head. "Sorry, Harry."

"It's all right. But if you need some money, Dudley--"

"I won't, not now I'm working." Dudley looked behind him, at Snape and Draco. "You two in the back seat, then? Harry can sit up front with me."

Draco's eyes widened. "You expect me to get in that . . . conveyance?"

"It's not so different from the train," said Harry with a touch of impatience. Actually, he was surprised Draco hadn't been in a car yet, with all the time he spent with Rhiannon. She'd mentioned driving once . . . but then again, Draco had made it clear that his girlfriend would much rather Apparate.

As would Draco, obviously. "Severus has already selected a restaurant and I'm positive he can get us there. All of us."

Snape raised an eyebrow. "In broad daylight in the middle of a busy neighbourhood? I think not, Draco."

"Well, then we can--"

"Get in the car, Draco," Harry interrupted. "After all, Dudley took the Express when he came to see me, and that was a lot more difficult for him than this is going to be for you."

Draco still didn't move, not until Snape gave him a tiny push. Then he capitulated and climbed awkwardly into the car, his jaw set in stoic, almost hateful lines. Harry almost sighed. He'd be willing to bet that Draco would regard riding in a car a grand adventure if Rhiannon were the one driving.

Well, at least Snape wasn't objecting. His expression was solemn as he walked to the other side of the car and got in, himself. Leaning forward, he passed Dudley a piece of parchment on which he'd drawn a rough map. Dudley studied it for a few moments, but then he started driving and got them all to the restaurant without mishap.

Draco held himself stiffly the whole time, even so, and slammed the car door--hard--when he got out.

Harry smiled and waved a hand toward the French seafood restaurant, which was located in a district not too far from Marsha's office. "Dad and I came here yesterday for lunch and made sure they had things that would work for your diet."

Draco huffed a little, but Harry didn't see what he had to complain about. So what if Snape and Harry had enjoyed a fancy meal on their own? He'd gone off for lunch with Rhiannon, as usual.

"Eh, don't worry about my diet," murmured Dudley. "I'm sort of, er-- taking a break from it, for a while."

"Oh, no, you can't do that--"

"Harry," interrupted Snape. That was all he said, but it was enough. Dudley was a grown man, able to make his own decisions about his diet or anything else. Harry knew that, but he was still determined to speak his mind on the subject--but only if Dudley asked.

"Merveilleuse," said Draco, reading the sign above the double doors that led inside. "Somehow I doubt that."

"The restaurant's name is a play on words, since it means marvellous, but mer also means the sea in French--"

Draco lifted his chin. "Yes, I am aware. Unlike some people, I actually do speak French, you realise."

Conceited prat . . . Harry yanked on one of the oars mounted vertically to the door. Odd sort of handle, but it went along with the fishing nets hanging overhead. The waiting area was similarly themed, with everything set up to look like you were aboard a fishing vessel. Harry thought it was charming, but then, he hadn't been out to eat very often, and certainly not to any restaurants like this, not until the day before when Snape had suggested they go "scouting" for a likely eatery.

Draco looked like he thought it was all beneath his standards. Well, maybe he was just annoyed that Rhiannon hadn't been able to come. Or more likely, Draco was regretting that he had to be here. No doubt about it, he'd rather be sitting in the theatre listening to Rhiannon sing the same songs over and over.

When the hostess tried to seat them, Draco hung back from the booth until everyone else was settled. Then, he took the seat farthest from Dudley, picked up his menu, and held it up in front of his face like he thought it was a cross to ward off vampires.

Harry almost sighed. Draco had taken to chatting Muggles up a bit, wherever he met them, ever since he'd had that talk with Hermione. It seemed fairly obvious that she'd told him he needed practice, or something. But he'd hardly said even a single word to Dudley, even though the last time they'd gone to Number Four, Draco had been able to converse with the Muggle boy.

But now . . . you'd never guess he knew what polite behaviour was. Draco looked absolutely disgusted to be in a Muggle restaurant, even to the point of curling his upper lip every time he glanced up from his menu.

Harry didn't understand it at all. How could Rhiannon actually be making everything worse, when it came to Draco and Muggles?

Prat, thought Harry. At that point, all Harry could assume was that the car ride had given Draco quite an upset, and he needed some time to get over it. Snape too, maybe. He didn't seem unsettled the way Draco obviously was, but he was being rather quiet.

Letting Harry take charge, perhaps, since after all, he was the one most keenly interested in a relationship with Dudley. At any rate, the way nobody was talking was beginning to grate on Harry's nerves, so he turned to his cousin and took the initiative. "You've got a job now, you said? What are you doing?"

Dudley's face went a little pink as he pushed his menu over to the edge of the table. "It's not much, but it pays the bills. I stock shelves at a video rental place." He grinned, then. "I get to bring home as many tapes as I like, though, so that part's all right."

Draco's menu made a thudding noise as he set it down a little too forcefully. "How can you have so much in need of repair? Are you that clumsy?"

It took Harry a minute to even follow that. Oh, tapes. Draco must be thinking of spellotape . . . though that certainly didn't explain the blunt question or the edge of antagonism in his voice. Harry leaned over to whisper. "Videotapes, he means. They're like . . . recordings of what you see on the telly, so you can make the same programmes repeat as much as you like."

Draco picked up his water, but he didn't drink it; he just rotated the glass in his hand so the liquid began to swirl in circles. He wasn't looking at his handiwork, though; his grey eyes seemed to be boring straight into Dudley. "How could anybody need even more to watch than what was already showing on all those channels?"

He said it like he thought Dudley was a fat, lazy slob who never did anything but stare at the telly. Which actually wasn't such a bad description of Dudley in years past, but even if it was still true, it wasn't Draco's place to comment on it.

"What's wrong with you?" hissed Harry. "You were with Rhiannon all day, again . . . did you have a row or something?"

Draco folded his hands serenely before him. "Whatever would make you think that? Rhiannon and I get on splendidly."

"Rhiannon?" asked Dudley.

"Draco's girlfriend," said Harry shortly.

"I'm certain I mentioned her last time," added Draco smoothly. "Perhaps watching all those tapes is dulling your memory."

"Draco," rebuked Snape, giving a small shake of his head.

Draco went silent then, and began pretending that the nautical dÈcor was of great interest. Snape tried once or twice to draw him into the conversation, but Draco wasn't having it. He didn't say more than two words in a row until the waitress came by, and then, as if to prove just how superior he was to the rest of the world, he rattled off the snootiest order Harry had ever heard. "PÙchouse to start, piping hot, mind, and then Espadon ‡ la Rouille to follow. Vinaigrette dressing on my salad, and do be sure the chef uses proper Dijon in that, would you? Some restaurants try to make do with German mustard instead, and it's just not done."

It was quite an expensive restaurant, so the waitress merely nodded, showing no expression. "And to drink, sir?"

"Sparkling mineral water. Bring the bottle, and a clean glass, and you may as well take this away, now." Draco shoved his glass of water away.

The waitress pursed her lips that time, but again, gave no real reply. Neither did Snape, but the look on his face spoke volumes. Draco, Harry noticed, kept his gaze carefully averted.

Sighing, Harry ordered next, and then Snape, both of them choosing bouillabaisse with an onion tart for a starter. Harry thought that was pretty funny, since they hadn't consulted about their orders. Maybe the next time they asked the elves to serve what suits, Harry and Snape would be the ones getting matching meals.

Draco didn't say anything about the matching orders, but Dudley's drink request seemed to spark a new round of hostility. "Diet Coke?" he asked, scoffing. "What's the point in Diet Coke, I ask you, when you're also ordering fish slathered in batter and a baked potato, besides? And why do you keep sludge like Diet Coke in the house if you're off your diet, anyway?"

By the end, Draco's voice had grown loud enough that people were turning their heads to stare.

"Draco!" hissed Harry and Snape both, almost at exactly the same instant.

"No, I don't mind," said Dudley, scooping up a piece of bread from the basket the waitress had set on the table. "I'm sticking to the diet soda because the sugary kind would just make it that much harder to go back, later. Besides, I kind of like it."

"Like it?" Completely ignoring his father and brother's attempt at a rebuke the moment before, Draco gave a theatrical shudder. "You have terrible taste."

"Well, then, so does Rhiannon," retorted Harry.

"In point of fact, Rhiannon tastes wonderful," said Draco, giving Harry a vicious little smile. He soon returned to needling Dudley, though. "You don't have a girlfriend, do you? And no wonder. I'd get back on that diet, if I were you. Not that it's likely to do much good, with your breeding--"

Snape yanked his napkin off his lap and tossed it onto the table. "Accompany me to the car, Draco, now."

Draco scowled, but slid out of the booth. With an apologetic glance, Snape did the same. As soon as they were both out of sight, Harry turned to his cousin. "Sorry. I don't know what's got into him."

Dudley just shrugged. "My friends treated you a lot worse, and so did I, so I guess I can hardly complain. Surprised, though. He seemed a lot friendlier the other times, you know."

"Yeah, I know," said Harry, sighing. What had happened to the Draco who had been delighted to show off magic for Dudley, or who had sat in the backyard at Number Four, last time, nodding as he listened to Dudley talk about the finer points of barbecuing steaks? "He's just . . . no idea. Going through something, I guess. But that's no excuse for such rudeness."

Draco came back to the table after a few minutes and didn't say another word throughout the entire rest of the meal. Not one.

Snape also seemed on edge--no mystery, there--but ignored Draco's sulk and conversed easily with Harry and Dudley both. Even so, it was a relief when the meal was over and they all got up to leave.

"Thank you for the dinner, Professor Snape," said Dudley when they were all back at his car. "I . . . I hope we can do it again, soon." Harry saw his cousin swallowing. "All of us."

Draco just stared straight through Dudley.

"Thank you for driving us," said Snape in his most polite tones. "But we have another errand now, and I do believe we'll walk. It was good seeing you, Dudley."

Harry gave his cousin a quick hug, and then caught up with Snape and Draco, who were waiting for him on the corner, by then. "You might at least have said good-bye, Draco," Harry couldn't help but say, his voice more than a little bit critical. "And why did you have to be so completely rude?"

Draco lifted his chin. "The relevant question, surely, is why you should have been so completely polite."

"Because he's my cousin, maybe?"

"Some cousin," muttered Draco.

Harry gritted his teeth. So much for Rhiannon having a salutary effect on Draco's attitudes. Instead, the other boy was right back to hating all things Muggle.

"Yeah, well, I don't care what you think. He's the only cousin I have."

"Better none at all than one like him--"

"Enough, gentlemen," interrupted Snape. "You can save the rest for your respective sessions with the good doctor."

"Draco had better go first," said Harry, lifting his chin the way Draco always did. "Since he's obviously gone 'round the bend."

"I'll go first to let her know how delusional you've got--"

"Enough!" said Snape again, raising his voice that time. "You're giving me indigestion and we're not in a locale where I can easily mitigate the matter, do I make myself clear?"

"Yes, sir," said Draco through his teeth.

"Sure, Dad," said Harry.

Draco made a noise that sounded like pure frustration, but after that, nobody talked until they had reached Marsha Goode's small waiting room.

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Coming Soon in A Summer Like None Other:

Chapter 20: "Doubles"

Comments very welcome,

Aspen in the Sunlight

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