A Summer Like None Other by Aspen in the Sunlight -----------------------------------------------------Chapter One: The Mirror of All Souls -----------------------------------------------------This certainly

wasn't like any summer Draco had ever had. He was used to spending his holidays in Wiltshire, surrounded by luxury, lazing about in a bedroom easily the size of Severus' entire quarters. To still be sharing a room, even during the holidays, was a bit much. The fact that they were still in the castle hardly mattered; he'd be sharing with Harry even after they went to Devon! Then again, it was a bit nice to have a brother to do things with. Holidays for Draco had most often been lonely times, with only tutors and elves around, except during each night's rather formal dinner. True, he'd had a private Quidditch pitch all to himself, but one-on-none Quidditch just wasn't that much fun. Now he could test his skills against Harry, who really was quite a good Seeker. Not better than Draco, of course. But good, yes. Very good. Even with a Firebolt XL under him, Draco had to struggle to get to the Snitch first. And oh, how that was worth it! The look on Harry's face whenever Draco bested him! Sometimes it was Harry who won their impromptu matches. But that was all right. Those losses made Draco try all the harder the next time they played. He could feel his skills being stretched and sharpened every time he and Harry took to the pitch. His final Quidditch season at Hogwarts was really going to be something . . . but only if Harry decided to play for Gryffindor once more. The Weasley girl wouldn't present nearly as much of a challenge. And Draco was looking forward to the challenge of taking Harry on again, in front of the whole school, and this time, winning. Not that Quidditch completely filled their days. Harry spent every morning helping Severus and Lucinda in the lab. He chopped and minced and diced and pured whatever Severus said, and because Draco had nothing else to do, he'd got in the habit of helping out as well. Actually, he'd pretty much had to. The whole idea was to assist Severus and Lucinda to improve the Wolfsbane potion. Harry was involved out of concern for his werewolf friend. Severus didn't even really need the assistance, but he knew how much Harry wanted to help. Draco's motive was just as laudable. Oh, not that he cared about Lupin overly much. He did care, however, about his mother. And at the moment, Lupin's continued safety in his masquerade was

important for Narcissa. If the Dark Lord should ever find out about Lupin's double life, Narcissa would come in for her share of blame. And torture, no doubt. No matter that she hadn't known a thing. So, it was best to keep Lupin's true nature as submerged as they could. It was best that everyone, Narcissa included, believe him to be Lucius. Draco tried hard not to think too much about everything that might mean, but sometimes at night, he couldn't stop himself from running scenarios in his mind. His mother expected a kiss now and again, he knew. He'd seen her lift her hand expectantly to his father, and more rarely, her lips. Did Lupin follow through on her suggestion? Draco would shudder in his bed when he thought about it. Lupin would have to, right? It was part of the masquerade. But awful, so awful. Draco didn't want his mother being touched, not even casually, by a half-human creature like a werewolf. He knew better than to say such things out loud, though. Harry was all right most of the time, but nothing raised his hackles faster than Draco's so-called racism. Racism, honestly! It wasn't. It wasn't anything of the sort. Draco was just sensible, that was all. Who would want their mother hanging about with a rabid creature who carried a dreadful communicative disease? Not him, that was for certain. But the Wolfsbane potion helped keep the worst traits of the werewolf at bay, so Draco chopped and minced and diced right alongside Harry, all the while keeping his dire thoughts to himself. Well, almost all the while. He did have limits. Severus seemed to understand that. Harry had clearly intended to work all day, every day, on the Wolfsbane experiments, and Draco would have done likewise, just to keep up with how things were going, but Severus had put an end to that idea. He'd insisted that he and Lucinda needed to work on their own in the afternoons. On their own. Now there was a joke. The headmaster kept dropping by on the most daft, transparent excuses Draco had ever heard. The man was sweet on Lucinda; it was clear as day. Draco didn't say anything about it, though, not even in jest. It was one thing to tease Severus a bit about Marsha. As annoyed as Severus might get, he'd never really hold it against Draco. Draco wasn't so sure about the headmaster. Best to tread carefully there. Draco felt like he was almost at Hogwarts on sufferance, after the way he'd been cast out of classes and then expelled. He'd been reinstated, yes, and most of the time he felt welcome. All those points to Slytherin had helped. But still, he wasn't really comfortable enough to take liberties. Not like Harry did. He talked to the headmaster like the two of them were old friends, sometimes. And Draco just couldn't see himself ever doing that. Draco would never admit it to anyone-though Severus probably knew--but Dumbledore frightened him a little.

So, mornings for the Wolfsbane and afternoons for Quidditch. Evenings though, most often found Draco and Harry continuing their explorations of the castle. It had more mazelike corridors and dusty nooks and crannies than Draco would have guessed, but of course the Marauder's Map was very helpful in helping them know where they'd explored and where they hadn't. If Harry would look at it more often, that was. "We've been in that room before," said Draco, sighing a bit. "Before term ended, even. Don't you remember? We talked about your problem. You aren't still . . . er, sticking yourself, are you? I mean, Severus really did defend you in spectacular fashion. That must have helped you feel better, eh?" Harry leaned his palm on the storeroom door. "Aran was never the real problem, though. Well, not the cause of that problem, anyhow. Marsha's got me to realise that. Whatever anyone may have said or done to me, the idea to, uh . . . do that to myself, came from me." Yeah, Marsha was big on the idea that problems came from the inside. Solutions, too. She never let Draco get away with blaming other people for the things he'd done. It was actually pretty frustrating. "You didn't answer my question." Harry gave Draco what seemed like a wry look. "When would I be sticking myself? Between you and Dad, I seem never to be alone." Oh. Harry had caught on to Draco's grand plan, then. Not that it was all that grand. Draco lifted his chin a little. "As far as I know, you're alone in the loo." He quirked a grin. "Or maybe you're not. Something you're not telling me?" "Oh, don't be a prat." Harry rolled his eyes. Draco refused to let himself get distracted. "You still didn't answer my question. Have you transfigured anything into a needle since term ended?" Harry's features hardened, which was answer enough for Draco. Harry was still struggling with his problem. Which was probably only to be expected . . . Marsha had lectured Draco about not expecting too much, too soon. But Draco still felt disturbed. "I hope you went to Severus about it," he said quietly. "As soon as you . . . er, came to your senses." "It was just the once," muttered Harry. "I just . . . look, it doesn't . . . oh, hell. Yes, I did go and talk to Dad about it, all right? He wasn't too happy." Neither was Draco, but he didn't say so. Marsha had told him that Harry didn't need two fathers. What he needed from Draco, she'd said, was acceptance. Which made a lot of sense, considering how Harry had been treated by his Muggle family. "That's rough." Harry pursed his lips. "I bet Dad wished he could take away my fingers the way he took away your wand that time."

Draco hadn't thought of that. Denying Harry his magic wasn't really an option, in the circumstances. Severus probably found that pretty frustrating. Just one more way that Harry stands out, thought Draco. He'd like to be able to do wandless magic. But nobody their age could do such a thing. Nobody except Harry Potter, and he only a half-blood. Draco sighed. "Look, I'll try harder not to do it again," said Harry, meaning the needles, not wandless magic. Draco just nodded. "Anyway, enough of that. When we were in here before, I noticed something and wondered about it. Um . . . how's your Latin?" Draco grinned. Sometimes, he just couldn't pass up a chance to needle Harry. Though perhaps that wasn't the best way to put it. "It's proper Latin, not that church bastardization Muggles started using." Sure enough, Harry rose to the bait. "Look, Muggle's not an synonym for awful, you know. I thought you and Marsha were working on tolerance--" "We are," drawled Draco. "Doesn't mean I lack all sense of standards." Harry made a rude gesture and shoved the door open. "Come in here with me, then. There's something I've been meaning to take a closer look at." Draco couldn't imagine what. The storeroom had just been filled with old broken desks and the like. He couldn't imagine why Hogwarts would keep such things around. Evanesco or Reparo would take care of the lot. But then again, Filch was a squib. That likely explained the matter. Though it was still a good question why on earth Hogwarts would employ a squib. Not much use, was he? Harry pushed past the furniture and pointed at the back corner. "Just like the Mirror of Erised. Well, maybe. I noticed before that it was decorated, but I didn't have time to ask you about it. Can you read what that inscription says?" Draco gave his brother a superior look. "Can Severus brew?" Drawing his wand, Draco cast a thorough Pulire to get rid of the dust coating the large mirror's frame, then read the inscription through, thinking about it. "Hmm. It's a bit poetic. Not sure I can recreate the cadence of it, really. Let alone the rhyme scheme." "I don't care--" "But I do," said Draco. "What did I just tell you about standards? So, let's see . . ." He paused for a long moment, rubbing his hands together as he worked out a translation. Dratted Latin and its flexible word order. Sometimes you could hardly tell what the original meant, though he was

hardly going to admit that to Harry. "Ah. How about this? Herein converse with those of old, yet only those whose hearts you hold. Behold the wonder, yet beware. Beyond is timeless, there not here." Harry drew close to the mirror and looked about to touch the surface, just as if he'd never heard of residual magic, let alone treating a new artefact with a bit of respect. Draco put a hand on his arm and shook his head. "Too unpredictable." "Yeah . . . " Harry glanced at him. "The poem. What does it mean?" Draco shrugged. "I translated. Interpretation is a different matter completely. Offhand, I'd say it's a mirror designed to show people who have passed on." Harry blinked. "Oh. Really? Then why is it only showing us?" "Because it's broken, like the rest of the dross in here?" "Maybe . . ." Harry suddenly pointed. "Wait, you move over there." He waited until Draco had backed away a few feet. "Huh. Just me, now. Still nothing . . . Er . . . why don't you try?" "Why don't I not?" said Draco stiffly. "Only those whose hearts you hold, Harry? Like I'd want to see . . ." "Oh. Sorry." Harry started chewing on his lip. Disgusting habit. Draco decided he'd better look up some sort of hex that would put an end to it. Something to make Harry's lips taste like bile, maybe. He could always lift it again when Harry got a girlfriend. "You're thinking of Lucius?" asked Harry in a tentative voice. "Pansy." "Oh. Yeah, I guess you wouldn't want to talk to her again." "Not unless I get to reach into the mirror and strangle her." Draco shrugged, then. "Hmm, probably no danger I'll see her, then. I mean, if you only see people you love. All right, I'll try it." He stepped in front of the mirror and stared into it as Harry moved off to the side. Then, because it was really more than he could resist, he suddenly gasped and lifted a hand to his heart. "Oh, my. Isn't that quite the sight . . ." "What, what?" "The best looking young man Hogwarts has seen in lo these many days," said Draco, imitating the headmaster's turn of speech. "Record-breaking Slytherin Seeker! Winner of not fifty, not a hundred, but a hundred and fifty points to Slytherin. A change of decoration is in order--"

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

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," said Draco, scoffing. Harry ignored his brother. It was too bad he hadn't ignored him earlier that day. "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 dreams." Not the answer Draco wanted, obviously. His jaw 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 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 sometimes. 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 wrinkled as he waved his wand in a small arc now and again. Harry waited as long as he could, but after a few minutes, he couldn't stand the tension any longer. "What's wrong with it? Can you tell?" "Just as I said. The magic within it seems very weak at present. And weakening more every year, until eventually there'll be nothing left at all." Harry flexed his fingers, a sudden thought overtaking him. "So it just needs something to amplify the magic, then. Kind of like a wand does, right?" Snape whirled, robes flaring, and fixed him with a glare. "You're not to experiment with wanded magic or anything else." "I was just going to research it. In the library, like you said." Harry took a step closer to the mirror, his hand reaching out to trace across his own image reflected there. "If I come up with any ideas I'll talk them over with you, honest. I did learn things, you know, from that essay you set me. The one about how dangerous it was to work with magical artefacts?" "I'm not likely to forget. The question is whether you are."

"I said I'd talk with you, whatever I find." Harry swallowed, wondering if his father was about to forbid him to even research the mirror. "I won't experiment on my own. But . . . um, if I come up with something promising, will you help me test it? I mean, if you think it's safe?" Snape was so long answering that Harry bit his lip. "Please?" Snape's harsh features softened, very slightly. "It's not lost on me why this might be important to you, Harry." "You don't mind?" Harry glanced up through his fringe, feeling a bit like he was walking along a ledge. He knew he shouldn't feel that way, but he did. Just a little. He knew how this might look to Snape. "I mean, it won't make you any less my dad, if I get a chance to talk to my . . . er, to . . ." "Don't start calling him James again," said Snape dryly. "'Dad' will do for both of us. Though I do believe you might horrify the man if you mention as much to him." Harry blinked. He hadn't thought of that, not in a long while. For the past few minutes he'd been worried about what Snape would think of this whole idea. Now, it seemed like those worries had doubled. Or tripled, even. What would his dad have to say about the adoption? Harry'd have to tell him, right? He couldn't keep a thing like that secret. Slytherins don't show when they're hurt, Draco had said. Pretending he hadn't been adopted . . . that would be a horrible thing to do to Snape. Harry shivered just thinking about it. Too much like repudiation. No, he'd have to be completely honest with his Mum and Dad. But what would they say in return? It was almost enough to make Harry want to forget about the mirror. What was he going to do if James Potter swam into view and told Harry that he disapproved? What if he called Harry mental? Well, no, he probably wouldn't do that. But he might say what Ron had that time, about Harry having been Confunded . . . Snape's voice echoed in Harry's mind. Your father loved you. He would want you to have what you need. Probably true, but still . . . Harry wasn't really looking forward to explaining that he needed Severus.

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

Draco had plenty to say on other topics, though. More than once, he went on about how the mirror would be of no use to him, since he certainly didn't love anybody who had died. Not anybody, he stressed. Harry thought his brother was a bit defensive on that point. He wasn't quite sure what was going on. Was Draco worried that he still did love Pansy deep down? Or worse, was he afraid that he might see Lucius in the mirror? Draco had loved his birth father once, after all. Maybe he still did, a little, even after everything that had happened. Maybe Draco loved and hated him both. Harry didn't ask. He decided he didn't really want to know. But of course, if they could get the mirror to work, he might end up finding out.

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Getting the mirror to work, as it happened, was anything but assured. It only took Harry about three days to conclude that much. Draco wasn't very hopeful either, though he did keep plugging away on the problem. Quidditch lost all appeal, and they stopped wandering the castle except to go back to the mirror and examine it minutely, looking for other inscriptions or clues they might have missed. Then they wanted to try some diagnostic spells they'd found. Snape went with them for that, and watched tight-lipped as each boy tried casting them. But the mirror remained absolutely unresponsive. Several days after that, Harry slammed a book closed as he sat in the dining alcove. It was useless, wasn't it? He knew by then that brighter minds than his had tried to wake the mirror up, way back in the twenties and thirties, when it had first gone dormant. And they'd all failed, so what had made him think that he stood any sort of real chance? He wasn't brilliant like Hermione. Good thinking . . . when she came out to Devon to visit, he'd definitely see if she had any ideas. "Problem?" asked Snape mildly, his footsteps approaching from behind. One hand settled briefly onto Harry's shoulder. "Yeah." Twisting his neck, Harry glanced up at his father. "I don't think the mirror's going to start working, after all. Which is sort of . . . well, it's kind of rough, that's all. Believing that I might finally get to talk to my parents, and then to have the chance taken away, again?" Snape sat down in the chair next to him, and nodded as though he understood. Maybe he did. Harry actually wasn't sure. He still hadn't heard much about Snape's own mum and dad. But at least now, he knew better than to ask.

"Well, it could be worse," he said, trying to cheer himself. "I might have got my hopes up about seeing Sirius again, too." An odd sort of silence seemed to surround him, then. A conspicuous lack of reply, either from Snape right beside him, or Draco who was reading on the couch. He seemed a little too focussed on his book. No banter, not now. It took Harry a moment to sort it all out. "Wait. You think I could see Sirius if we could get the mirror working?" Snape's hand covered his own and squeezed. "I'm certain you hold him in your heart. Aren't you?" The question could have been sarcastic, but it wasn't. More . .. rhetorical, Harry guessed. He looked up into his father's face. "Well, sure. I just thought ... you know, the Veil? I figured Sirius wasn't in the usual . . . er, realm, or wherever the mirror connects to." "That's possible." Snape sounded like he doubted Harry's analysis, though. Harry's mind went into a whirl. Sirius . . . What if he could talk to Sirius? What if he got a chance, finally, to tell him he was so, so sorry for rushing out to the Ministry like that? Tell him he'd never have done it if he'd known what it would lead to? Harry's heart leapt into his throat. Talking to his parents . . . that was like a fantasy, in a way. He couldn't even really imagine it, since he'd never done it before. But Sirius was someone he knew. Someone who knew him. Oh, God. Sirius was also someone who knew Snape. Suddenly, everything seemed a lot more complicated. When Sirius found out that Severus Snape was Harry's new parent, he'd have something to say about it. Something bad, that was for sure. Probably, something unbelievably awful. But Sirius wasn't going to say anything, not about any of it, was he? Because the bloody mirror was never going to start working. Harry sighed, unsure whether to be relieved or depressed. There was only one thing he was sure of, really. "It was good of you to help me look for a solution," he told his father, moving his fingers so he could sort of squeeze Snape's for a second. "Even more so, if you were thinking all along that it might show me Sirius." Snape shrugged. "Why wouldn't I help you? Black can do nothing to me." "Yeah, because he's . . . dead." Stupid thing to say, Harry knew. But some part of him felt like he was only just then finally, really accepting it. He'd known before that Sirius was gone forever, but deep inside, he'd always sort of thought that the Veil was different, somehow. Sirius couldn't be dead, not the way other people were. He was just . . . missing, and couldn't get back.

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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."

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"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 go 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

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been one such wizard, after all, working years in the West End, developing his acting skills so someday they could be put to good use against the enemies of the Light. Instead of arguing, Harry shrugged, and said he was going to figure out what to pack for Devon. It was nice, knowing that this summer, he could just bring what he wanted, and leave the rest of his things at home. Home. His home. Harry kind of hugged the word to himself as he began sorting through the things Snape had bought him.

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

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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!

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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."

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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' 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--"

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"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--"

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"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

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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.

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"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 bollix 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 start to just 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."

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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. Chapter Three: A Pub and a Pool ------------------------------------------------------

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

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Draco was astounded by the sheer ignorance of Muggles who simply overlooked a clue like that, day after day. Granted, the area wasn't exactly bustling; the brick building was situated amid rows of the most decrepit structures he'd ever seen. Large decrepit structures. He was surprised they hadn't been torn down, actually. Though that was an awful lot of work if one had no magic, so perhaps the Muggles had never wanted to bother. Pathetic creatures, when it came right down to it. In fact . . . Draco turned to Harry. "Do many er . . . deprived people, live in such awful conditions?" He waved to indicate the buildings all around. Harry gave him a strange look. "Those are warehouses." Were-houses? Draco flashed his brother a grin. "Good one, Harry. An orphanage is one thing, but I'm sure the public wouldn't put up with entire blocks devoted to providing homes for people who change with the full moon--" He stopped when Harry snorted. "Not were, Draco. Wares. As in, merchandise?" Oh, wares. Well, that was Mugglish in the extreme, wasn't it, a store needing so much space just for storage? Well, if you couldn't shrink or conjure things, or spell together some wizardspace, it would be a problem, he supposed. Though he had to wonder at the utter lack of commerce in the area. Shouldn't there be Muggles rushing to and fro, frantic like bees as they bustled in and out of their storage areas, fetching things to stock their shelves? Instead, the entire area seemed utterly deserted. There was actually trash scattered along the pavement in places! Draco shuddered, remembering how awful life had been when Severus had taken away his wand. The mess that had developed! Draco couldn't help but shudder at how dreary life must be for any wizarding child condemned to languish in this place, especially after experiencing the vibrancy of the magical world. He felt a squirmy sort of twist inside his chest that he recognized as his conscience. Poor little squibbies. They deserved better than this Mugglish existence. They should have access to all the magic they liked, in the form of house-elves who would see to their every need and desire. But this? Still, their own families had abandoned them, and the squib home itself looked sturdy and clean. Draco's brow wrinkled. Perhaps things had worked out for the best with Walpurgis' money, after all. It was supposed to be Draco's, but he'd still ended up with a fortune in the end. An even larger one, as it turned out. And it had made his brother happy to give him the money. Really happy. Harry was a little strange when it came to finances, Draco thought. Besides, there might be a way to turn this situation to his advantage. If he could convince the Ministry, or more specifically, MLE, that he was interested in the care and welfare of poor abandoned squibs . . . it would make him a little more attractive as potential Auror material, wouldn't it?

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Draco smiled widely, imagining how he could talk about his good works when he was interviewed. How he could rub Tonks' face in them. He'd bet his vault that she'd never bothered going to a squib home to see that the children were looked after properly! They climbed the front steps and entered a small but well-appointed foyer. Draco's gaze took in the rich mahogany trim around the windows and the Tiffany lamp overhead. Of course he wasn't so crass as to think that material comforts could make up for a lack of real parents. Living with Severus meant a distinct lack of comfort at times, after all, but other things made up for that. Having a father he could trust, for one. Really trust. Severus wouldn't trade Draco's safety and future away the way Lucius had. Severus wouldn't demand he stay loyal to a cause that clearly, could only end in death or enslavement. But while luxurious surroundings couldn't make up for a lack of parents, it didn't make it worse, either, did it? Severus tapped a brass bell set on an otherwise abandoned desk. Instead of a clang or chime, the sound of a deep, resonant gong filled the room. Harry started, but Severus seemed to take it in stride. As did Draco, of course. "I expect the bell detects magical energy so that those working here can know whether a caller is Muggle or magical," he explained, feeling a bit like a professor lecturing those who still had a lot to learn. "Don't be a pretentious git," said Harry. "I figured that out, myself." Draco looked down his nose at Harry. Or tried to, anyway. He was taller than his brother, but not by enough to really pull that off. As for pretentious . . . what a load of rubbish. Could he help it if he was well-born and it showed? "They really should have someone here," he said thoughtfully. "A reception area but no one posted near the door to greet guests?" "Maybe they only answer the bell based on the kind of ring it gives." Oh, that made sense. "Do you think it's wizards or Muggles who get ignored?" "Draco," admonished Severus. "What? Anyone who works here must already know that word. Though you wouldn't know that anyone works here, would you, from the way they've made us wait such a frightful long time--" "Our receptionist is out buying supplies at the moment," said a woman as she came in through a side door. Her voice wasn't quite icy, but it was definitely frosty. "How can I help you?" Draco had no end of questions for her. Just how many squibs do you have, here? How old are they? How old when they were abandoned? Do they all know about magic, or were some of them abandoned when they were young enough not to remember? Of course, that wasn't too likely, unless some knowledge of Walpurgis Black's squib-detection spell still existed. Otherwise, parents just had to wait and see.

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He didn't ask any of that, though, because Severus had made a slight gesture with his hand. Let me be the one to speak. "My sons are interested in observing your facility." The woman's expression became flustered for a moment but her voice, with an accent that Draco couldn't quite place, remained cool. "What is the nature of the boys' interest? Are they--" "We're not squibs!" Draco exclaimed, horrified at the implication. Did he look like a squib, for Merlin's sake? He wasn't anything as powerful as Harry, but still, wasn't his magical talent apparent to all and sundry, except for Muggles who were entirely too dim to notice things like that? Oh. Perhaps the woman was just a Muggle. One who knew things, and the Ministry let it go on because, after all, someone had to take care of the children tossed out by their own families. She certainly didn't strike Draco as a wizard. Actually, she couldn't be one. There was Harry with his scar clearly visible beneath his fringe, and she hadn't stared at him or anything, so . . . "We just wanted to look around to settle an argument. You see, Harry here thinks that--" Severus' hand clamped down on his shoulder in a way that clearly urged him to stop talking. "My sons are each in possession of sizable trusts, Miss--" "Ms. Volentier. Emmeleia Volentier." "Pleased to make your acquaintance," said Snape, nodding. "I am Severus Snape, and these are my sons, Harry and Draco. We've recently read about your work here, and the fact that you sustain it by means of bequests. They began wondering whether this institution might prove a worthy outlet for their generosity when they come of age." As if Draco would ever consider giving his money away to a home for squibs! He'd sooner toss his Galleons into a dragon's nest. Of course, he knew better than to protest. He certainly didn't need Severus' fingers digging even more sharply into his shoulder, as if warning him to keep quiet. Lucius had often used the possibility of money as a key to gain access to all manner of places. It was only Slytherin. Besides, in this case it was practically true! Little did Emmeleia Volentier know it, but Draco had already endowed the home for squibs. He'd already "drafted at Gringotts," so to speak! Or almost. That money from Walpurgis Black's vault should have been Draco's, after all. So the least he could do was see that it was being well-spent, he supposed. As expected, the woman's attitude changed completely--she was clearly delighted. "Oh, we're honoured that you'd even consider us," she gushed. "This truly is a worthy cause. Most wizards and witches don't even want to think about our existence. I'm highly impressed that two young men such as yourselves would remember those having the misfortune to be born different. So, I imagine you have some questions, then?"

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"Several," said Draco dryly. Harry, of course, was less restrained. "And we'd like to see everything, and meet the children, and--" Ms. Volentier laughed. "Of course. First things first, though, Mr Potter. Perhaps you could sign the register, all of you? And then I'll take you into my office and give you a brief orientation before we proceed." Oh. Mr Potter. Severus hadn't given Harry's surname, so the woman obviously had recognised him, and not let on. She still struck Draco as a Mugglish type, though. He could usually tell. Draco wasn't sure what gave them away, but there must be some aura. After all, Ms. Volentier was an attractive woman, slightly exotic - clearly about a quarter African and with long mahoghany curls that totally lacked Granger's frizz. And yet she didn't give Draco that zing of interest that a pretty woman ought. Hmm, since she was working in a home for squibs, maybe she was one. Like Marsha. She'd known all about Harry. Emmeleia fetched a wire-bound book from the top desk drawer and passed it across to Severus, along with what Draco recognised as a Muggle pen. Harry used them sometimes. He'd tried to convince Draco that they had advantages over quills, even Never-Out Quills, but that was clearly fit only for a laugh. A laugh that had really annoyed Harry, he remembered. Severus signed with a flourish and gave the book to Draco next. Draco grinned as he wrote out Draco Snape in his elegant looping script. Since term had ended, he hadn't had a lot of opportunity to see his own name written out. He liked looking at it. Draco Snape. Severus Snape's son. Gazing at it in print made him feel like he really was safe, finally. "Any day now," said Harry quietly. Oh. Right. Harry was waiting. And everybody was staring at him, which made Draco wonder, just a bit, how long he'd stood there transfixed, staring at his own name. He must have looked a perfect idiot. Flushing a bit, Draco passed the register to his brother. "So then, follow me," said Emmeleia, opening the side door she'd come through. Draco spotted a long hallway beyond. "My office is this way--" "Actually, if it meets your satisfaction, I have business elsewhere," said Severus in his deep voice. "Of course, if your policies state that I should stay . . ." He left the question hanging in the air. "We don't want him influencing us when it comes to endowments and such," added Draco, thinking himself quite clever to throw that in. "Harry and I want to make up our own minds." Emmeleia sounded a little surprised by that, but she was hardly going to argue and risk those Galleons, Draco thought. "Yes, of course you're free to leave your sons here with me, Professor," she said.

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Professor. "You're pretty well-informed," said Harry. He'd obviously noticed, too. Emmeleia just smiled at that. Severus glanced at them both. "I'll meet you back here at noon, then." "Let's meet at the pub on the corner," said Harry, pointing. His lack of manners only became all the more apparent when he kept on talking. "All right? That way Draco and I won't be stuck here if we finish early--" "If we want to discuss our findings on our own," corrected Draco, giving Emmeleia a dazzling smile. "And consider amounts, payment schedules, that sort of thing." Severus gave him an impatient look, one Draco understood at once. Time to stop playing the money card. "We'll meet you at the pub, yes," said Draco. "Noonish." "I'll see that they get there safely, Professor," said Emmeleia. Her voice was amused, like she was aware of some of the undercurrents in the room. "So, shall we?" She gestured toward the waiting hallway. Draco saw Harry give their father a little wave good-bye as Severus left. -----------------------------------------------------Harry was smiling as he looked around the Flying Horse. "Oh, this is nice, don't you think? The Dursleys never did eat in pubs much. Or if they did, they didn't invite me along." Nice? Draco almost scoffed, but then he turned and saw the look on his brother's face. Bright smile, wide eyes. Almost like he'd just walked into Honeydukes instead of a crowded and slightly run-down Muggle pub. He'd had that look plastered on his face the entire time they'd sat here waiting for Severus. Harry didn't look happy all that often, thought Draco with an inward sigh. In fact, most of the time his features were slightly strained. Like he was carrying the weight of the whole world on his shoulders. And the worst part was that Harry had reason to feel that way. All of which meant that Draco didn't have the heart to say anything about the stains on the hardwood floor, or the dingy curtains half-covering the windows. It was one thing to fight with Harry over the things he'd had been saying lately about Draco's mother. Or even over Harry thinking more about his dead father than his living one. Though Draco had to admit, Severus had taken the whole mirror business very well. Ha, he'd probably known all along that nothing could make it work.

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But ruining Harry's obvious enjoyment of having lunch in a pub . . . that just wasn't on. "It'll do," Draco said, refraining from further comment as he plucked a menu from a chrome saltand-pepper holder on the table. Ugh. The slick, thick parchment--no, it wasn't quite parchment, was it? At any rate, the menu was a bit grimy, like the last person to read it had just eaten chips with his hands. Draco had a sudden strong memory of his mother saying not to touch things if he didn't know where they'd been. But he knew where this had been, didn't he? Muggles had handled it. It was all he could do not to shudder. The least the pub management could do was see that things were scrubbed down once in a while! But then again, how were Muggles supposed to clean anything, really? Their idea of sanitation was to get everything wet and just rub the dirt around some, until it blended in. Granted, they didn't have much choice about that, since they couldn't do even the simplest Lavare, but it was still sickening. Was it any wonder he hadn't done any cleaning when he'd been without his wand? No point. No point at all. Draco really wished he didn't even know about Muggle cleaning methods, but they were a little hard to miss, considering his brother's habits. He'd been trying to get Harry to use magic more instinctively, but his brother just kept thinking of rags--rags, honestly!--whenever he spilled his milk or slopped his food. Thank Merlin he didn't do it all that often. Draco swallowed, holding himself in his chair only with great effort. Muggles had sat here too, and then somebody had probably come along with a damp rag and spread sweat and who-knewwhat-else onto every surface-"You all right?" asked Harry. "Yes, of course," said Draco, lifting his chin. "Don't look it." Draco huffed. "Well, since you'll probably get offended if I mention that the clientele here does not consist of the kind of people I'm used to--" Harry's brow wrinkled a bit. "Oh. You're fussing about that? You know, I think it's all in your mind. You did pretty well at the home we just came from. Not that we got to see much, but--" Not much was an understatement, Draco thought. "Of course I did well," he said, trying to get through to Harry for once. The woman who'd greeted them had turned out to be a squib, they'd learned. "That Emmeleia Volentier was one of us. Missing the most vital part, of course, but for all that, still one of us." Harry rolled his eyes. "Oh, give it up. Or do you still think Severus is wrong about all us having a common ancestry if you go far enough back? I thought you really respected his scholarship and research and all the rest. So?"

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"Genealogy isn't Potions," said Draco, sniffing. "But do you think he's wrong, or will you admit that even your blood isn't as pure as you used to believe?" "I'll admit that the idea still makes me ill. Is that enough for you?" Harry just kept on, like a niffler scenting gold. "This thing you have, it is all in your mind. Think about when Dudley came to visit us, all right? You were great about it. He didn't bother you at all." That's what you think, thought Draco, remembering the bone-clenching horror he'd fought back several times an hour while the Muggle boy had been living with them. The memory still gave him chills. Actually, being in this pub was bringing all those memories to the forefront of his mind, for he'd had the same thoughts then, too. More than thoughts. He'd tried his level best not to use a chair or seat after Harry's cousin had touched it. He'd gone about stealthily casting cleaning spells, even looking up stronger ones than he usually used. But it was good that Harry didn't know about any of that, and thought he'd done well with his Muggle cousin. Though why Harry should care about that fat creature was still a mystery to Draco. Too forgiving by half . . . that was Harry. Draco ignored the little niggle of conscience that reminded him just how many times he'd been the recipient of Harry's forgiveness. Instead, he merely nodded. He should have known that Harry had all the social grace of a crustacean. Obviously not picking up on Draco's signal that he'd rather not discuss the matter, the other boy was pressing, "So why are you letting it bother you now, Draco?" Because you're a perfect dolt, Draco almost said. What was he supposed to answer, that being around a Muggle had bothered him just as much then, but he'd done better at hiding it because he'd been so desperate for Harry to start trusting him? Draco could do without being quite so obviously pathetic. Especially after last night's embarrassing display. He hadn't meant to admit out loud how much he wanted for Harry to really like him, instead of just put up with him. "Perhaps I'm merely regretting that our visit to the orphanage wasn't all it could have been," he said coolly. That time, the other boy took the hint. Shrugging, Harry grabbed a menu for himself, humming a bit as he began to read it. He looked like he felt right at home in the pub. Smug about it, even, like it was some kind of advantage to be able to relax and act like it was perfectly normal to be surrounded on all sides by Muggles. Or maybe it was more like Harry faulted him for not feeling nearly as much at ease. Well, in that case he'd have to fault Severus as well.

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Or perhaps not, since no matter how ill-at-ease Severus might feel, he'd never, ever show it. Which reminded Draco to school his expression more, and put on his perfect manners. If Severus could tolerate this dung-hill masquerading as a dining establishment, then so could Draco. He glanced over to where their father was standing at the bar and giving the bartender their order. Yes, Severus looked perfectly composed, if a bit serious. But then, he nearly always looked serious. A good bit of the time he actually looked grim. Whereas Harry was still looking delighted to be here. "Steak-and-kidney pie sounds good," he said, actually rubbing his hands together at the hideous prospect. Well, his brother had pretty lowbrow tastes. Half the time they'd ordered whatever suits, Harry had got something that couldn't possibly be termed a proper meal. Draco for one was happy the pub's offerings at least extended to quiche, though really, it was probably going to be day-old with a soggy crust. The things he put up with! Still, it was better than having to prepare lunch for themselves, he supposed. That was their pattern out at the cottage. Unlike during their other holidays in Devon, when they'd got most of their food ready-made from the magic crates, Severus was actually making them cook. Cook! It was ridiculous. That Dobby elf would definitely see to their needs. All Harry had to do was say the word, but no, Severus insisted that they could shift for themselves. That they needed to, in fact. As if he or Harry would ever need to be without proper service. They could afford the best, both of them, even if Severus couldn't. Though, what Severus had meant by that need comment was probably that he preferred not to disclose the cottage's location to anyone else, even an elf. It was bad enough that Weasley and Granger knew where it was. Draco had tried saying that Harry should prepare all their meals, since the other boy did, after all, have plenty of experience cooking. All that had got him was a glare from his father and brother both. Well, that and a cool, If you're so in need of experience, Draco, perhaps you should handle all our meals for the remainder of the week. And Harry, grinning like a twit, had chimed in with something about how bloody brilliant it was to learn by experience. Severus and Harry had both laughed at him, then. Well, Harry had laughed and Severus had worn a half-twisted expression that might have been a smile, but they were both definitely having fun at his expense. That really should have been punishment enough for his offhand remark that Harry could do all the cooking. But no, Severus being his usual hard-nosed self, he'd actually followed through and made Draco cook every meal for the following three days! So perhaps overcooked watery quiche wasn't such a bad thing. Severus began to make his way back from the bar.

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Draco glared, still feeling a bit upset about the way his father and brother had reacted to the things he'd cooked for them. More jokes at Draco's expense. Not to mention outright mockery the time they'd mistaken his attempt at vichyssoise for mashed potatoes. Mashed potatoes that tasted off, according to Harry. Of course, Draco hardly wanted to be good at a Mugglish thing like cooking, but still! So his mood was less than pleasant when he saw what Severus set down in front of him. "Mineral water?" he asked, tempted to grind his teeth. "I told you, I wanted wine!" "Draco, it's really rude to complain like that when someone takes you out for lunch," said Harry. As if he knew a thing about proper manners. What a prat. Draco loved him and all but . . . what a prat! "That's enough, Draco," said Severus in a low, but almost biting tone. "You aren't licensed yet. You shouldn't be mixing alcohol and . . ." Apparition. Severus didn't actually say the word, but Draco understood. "It's not alcohol, really. It's just wine!" "Oh, stop whingeing on about every last thing," said Harry. Draco thought that rather unfair, considering he'd hardly complained at all. Had he said a word about the food he was sure to get here? Or the disgusting lack of cleanliness, caused no doubt by the Muggles milling around him? He opened his mouth to do just that, but then he saw the look on Severus' face. A million lines were probably just around the corner. So he merely sniffed in disdain. "I expect they haven't stocked any decent vintages, anyway." It wasn't lost on him that his father and brother exchanged an exasperated look. Yes, that look. The one that said they could hardly stand him sometimes. It made him wish that he'd spoken his mind. Instead, he'd taken Harry's feelings into account, and where had that got him? Draco gulped his mineral water, hoping it would loosen the tight feeling in his throat. It didn't, but his mood improved the moment Severus sat down. Draco almost sniggered at the way the man had gestured with his hand, just as though he was trying to brush robes out of the way. They were none of them wearing robes, of course. Draco was getting pretty used to going about in public without them, what with their weekly trips to Surrey and such, but Severus obviously wasn't. "So, how was your visit to the home?" asked Severus, glancing at both of them in turn. Harry shrugged, obviously thinking the same as Draco. There wasn't that much to tell, really. "Well, Em talked to us for a while about their goals and programme, just like she promised." "Ms. Volentier, Harry," their father corrected.

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Harry shrugged. "She said we could call her Em. And you don't mind us calling Marsha by her name. But anyway, after she'd answered all our questions, she introduced us to the director, but he decided not to let us in, after all. Claimed they had a policy against visitors. Ha, as if that could be true, when Em had been just about to show us around!" Draco's nostrils flared. "Well, was that such a surprise, really? Considering who the director turned out to be?" Before Severus could even ask, Harry turned to him. "You'll never guess. Well, go on, guess!" "I thought you just said I never would." Harry grinned. Draco didn't think the situation was nearly so amusing. "Darswaithe!" announced Harry. "Horace Darswaithe?" Severus tilted his head to one side. "Interesting. Did he give a reason for not allowing you entrance?" "He was looking at me when he refused to admit us," said Draco, a little bitterly. "Apparently, I'm reason enough." "There was more to it than that," said Harry, turning to Severus. "You see, the children there know all about their heritage; Em made the clear. But it's one thing to know about it and another thing to get a first-hand look at what they're missing. So, wizarding visitors are asked to leave their wands with the director before entering the children's area" "Harry," scolded Severus. Draco personally thought that the slip deserved a stronger rebuke, even if Harry had been speaking in a low voice. Mentioning wands when they were supposed to blend in with the Muggles in Exeter! "Sorry," said Harry, flushing. "But anyway, they take them away. And in our case . . . well, I think Darswaithe felt it would be too unseemly to take ours after what happened before. Not that I'd have given mine away. Draco either, I bet."." "Considering what happened before," said Draco scathingly, "It's outrageous that that man should be working there at all. When Thistlethorne told us that Darswaithe had been put in charge of a home for . . . er, unfortunate children, I thought she meant that he was pushing papers up in some office. But he's actually right there with the children! And this, after he attacked Harry?" "Yeah, but he wasn't himself that day." "The man was in fact cleared of all wrongdoing," added Severus mildly, though his expression looked as if he'd tasted something sour. "What is your objection?" "Family Services ought to have a little more sense, as he's obviously susceptible to . . . undue influence!"

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"Everyone is susceptible to that sort of influence, Draco." "Ha, everybody but Harry," said Draco. He was glad of it, of course. It would be bad, bad news if the Dark Lord could place Harry Potter under Imperius. But still, it was more than a little irritating that Harry could do so many things that Draco couldn't. If anyone should be able to shake off the curse, Draco should! He'd spent enough time under it, what with Lucius for a father! "Look, I didn't ask to be different from everybody else," snapped Harry. "And maybe Darswaithe was put in charge of that home because there, nobody much would have any reason to want to influence him, all right?" Harry scowled and spoke in a low hiss. "Though I still do think they ought to place those children with actual families." Harry had no sense of politics. None. "They can't. It would smack too much of the switching scheme, if word of that ever got out." "Nobody would ever find out--" "Word always gets out--" Harry shifted back in his chair to make room for the waitress to set down his food. He tucked in with enthusiasm. Draco looked down at his own meal, rather doubtful about this entire enterprise. "Well, Darswaithe is doing the best he can, I guess," said Harry after a moment. "From what Em told us, the children are getting a very good public school education. And the ones that don't want to go to university will be able to take vocational training." "Shocking, shocking." Draco made a tsking sound. "They shouldn't just be cast out of their place in our world." "It's the best thing for them," said Harry stubbornly. "And it's not like they're being cast out. Em said in the summers they learn a bit about the wizarding world as well. Better than being cosseted like you described. That sounds just awful." "It's not awful, you ignoramus--" "Agree to disagree," said Severus. "All right? You two have different outlooks, which isn't too surprising considering your disparate backgrounds. I don't think arguing will settle the matter." "But what is your view, Severus?" Draco wasn't trying to be difficult. He really did want to know. "I don't pretend to know how to best run the world's affairs." Severus shook his head. "It's a complex and difficult situation, not the least because the children were abandoned to begin with. Obviously their own families would not be the best place for them, Draco." That went without saying. Draco didn't think the children should go back to the parents who had thrown them out like rubbish. That wasn't what he'd meant at all.

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Severus had a glint in his eye. One that Draco understood the moment the man spoke. "You aren't eating. Something wrong with your food?" Was there anything right with it? That was the more appropriate question, surely. But Severus was staring at him, and now so was Harry, the two of them ganging up on him. Again. And if Severus could seem at ease in a Muggle establishment, then so could he! He picked up his fork and separated a tiny flake of quiche from the slice. As he lifted it to his mouth, his nose wrinkled, he suddenly felt ill. The cook had probably touched his food. "It can't possibly be worse than some things you've eaten," said Harry. Prat didn't even begin to cover it, thought Draco, though part of him knew that Harry was trying to be helpful, referring to that horrible fairy cake. His brother just didn't have the slightest notion that sometimes it was better to say nothing. No sense of politics. Hmm. The quiche was tolerably good, as long as he didn't think too much about who had prepared it. So, he wouldn't. Draco forced his mind off the matter of his food. "You should have seen the look Darswaithe got when Harry and I walked in! Of course he doesn't remember the incident in your quarters, but he obviously remembers the investigation that followed. The Ministry obviously told him just what he'd done. He practically tripped over his own tongue apologising!" "It wasn't anything to laugh at. I felt sorry for him." "You would," said Draco sourly. Harry was awfully soft-hearted. His brother shrugged and started eating again. So did Severus, who had ordered a rather plainlooking salad. Draco glanced down at his quiche again, and then bracing himself, ate the rest of it. When he actually wanted a dessert afterwards, he felt a little bit annoyed with himself.

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After lunch, they wandered around Exeter a bit. Harry thought it very amusing that Draco wasn't comfortable using the Muggle money Severus had given them before they'd left the cottage. Their allowance, he'd explained, though of course Draco hardly needed one any longer. Not now that he had Sirius Black's vast wealth. Draco had thought of protesting, but then he decided that with all their trips to Marsha-rescheduled for Mondays during the summer--some Muggle money might come in handy. And Draco certainly wasn't planning to go out of his way to procure any.

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When they saw an ice cream shop, Harry decided that he just had to have some. This time, Draco managed to eat a Muggle product without much hesitation, but he might as well not have bothered eating it at all. Muggle ice cream was nothing to write home about. The flavours seemed awfully plain after the fantastic creations they'd made in potions class. Still, Draco ate his without complaining once. He was a bit irked when Harry never even noticed his perfect manners. "Here we are," said Severus, gesturing. Northbrook Swimming Pool, Draco read on the sign. "They have lessons as well as free-swim times, apparently. I signed both of you up." Draco's mouth fell open. "I don't need lessons! I had the finest private tutors and a pool all to myself. With waterfalls," he added. Somehow that seemed important, that they know he was used to the best. Or maybe just that he wasn't used to . . . places like this. "You aren't in a class," said Severus impatiently. "You've merely got what they call a swim pass. Harry has that and lessons both." He passed them both small cards. Harry stared at his, blinking like it was an entrance ticket to Merlin's library, or something. "Thanks. Really, Dad." "I'd prefer you not drown in future," drawled Severus. "Or in the alternative, send your friends to steal things from my stores." Harry smiled a little. "You know I didn't do that. Well, not that time." Not that time? Whatever Severus might have said to that was curtailed by the fact that Harry's mood suddenly began to plummet. "Oh, God. I just thought of something awful. Did you tell them I don't know anything? I mean, not one thing?" He chewed his lip. "I hope I'm not with the little kids or something. That'd be kind of embarrassing." "I'm sure it will be fine," said Severus. "I had words with them about your situation, yes. And if they place you with toddlers, I'll rectify the situation. You start next Monday." "You don't need to come along," said Draco. "Isn't it obvious that Harry and I are perfectly fine on our own? I'll go with him to lessons and I'll sort them out if they forget he's sixteen." Harry gave him a suspicious look. "You just want to make fun if I have trouble learning it." "Well, yes." Draco smiled broadly. "But I promise I'll take measures to save you if you get in real trouble."

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"I don't need saving--" said Harry at the same time Severus explained, "They do have lifeguards on duty, Draco." How Mugglish, thought Draco. Lifeguards instead of flotation charms. "Can we go in and have a look around?" asked Harry. That was too much for Draco to take without comment. "No, we can't. It's bad enough that your burning need for swimming lessons is going to drag me into Exeter--" he glanced at the posted lesson schedule. "Three days a week! I've no desire whatsoever to go in now." "Yes, let's go in," said Severus, narrowing his eyes. "I had a tour earlier of the changing rooms and such. I can show you both around." "Changing rooms!" Draco could hardly believe his ears. Severus wasn't serious, he hoped. It was one thing to expect him to spend so much time in Muggle company, or get in water they'd probably fouled! Now he was supposed to disrobe in front of them? "There are private stalls," said Severus dryly. "Come along, both of you." Harry, of course, was grinning. But Draco's shock had only just begun. When they reached the main pool, his eyes practically bugged out. "Oh, for God's sake," said Harry impatiently. "You look like you're about to pass out. What's the problem, now?" Draco wasn't so sure he'd term it a problem, exactly. He thought he'd known what to expect. Muggles everywhere, right? And there were, of course. But he'd never thought about it. He tried hard not to think about Muggles, no matter how often Harry liked to bring the subject up. But this . . . he was going to have a hard time getting this sight out of his mind. "Er, no problem," he managed to croak. Clearing his throat helped him get his voice back to normal. His eyes scanned the pool again. The concrete areas surrounding it. The deck chairs scattered about. "There's just . . . er, an awful lot of girls here," he said in a faint voice. His brain told his mouth to shut up, but the message must have got lost en route. "And Merlin, they aren't wearing very much, are they?" Harry looked around too. "Well, I'm not complaining or anything, but those are just average bathing suits, I think, most of them." "Not where I come from, they aren't. I've never seen--" Draco felt himself getting hot. Suddenly a swim sounded just the thing. Not that he'd brought any trunks with him. And Severus wouldn't put up with him conjuring a pair. He'd given them a stern lecture about restraint, not to mention the Decree, just before they'd left the cottage. Draco tugged on his collar, wishing he'd at least worn a tee-shirt like Harry had. "You can see their navels," he whispered, unable to believe his eyes. "And

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they have practically nothing on up top, some of them! I mean, those suits are so thin you can see the outline of . . . er, everything!" A girl wearing a tight, tiny two-piece suit walked close by and gave him a bit of an odd look, then. "Shut up before we get thrown out," said Harry, laughing. "Breathe, you idiot child," Severus said in a low voice. That, of course, only made Harry laugh all the harder, even as he said, "Look, in a week or two, you'll take it in stride." Draco shifted on his feet, not so sure of that. In fact, he suddenly decided it was good he wasn't dressed to swim, after all. Might be a bit humiliating, considering the . . . reaction he was having to seeing so many half-dressed--ha, tenth-dressed girls at once. And Harry would never let him live it down, considering these were Muggle girls, after all. So much for his theory about the Mugglish aura leaving him cold! Draco suddenly felt disgusted with himself. What was he doing? What was his body doing? These were Muggles! "If it's any consolation, I was somewhat shocked by the attireor lack thereof--when I came here this morning," said Severus dryly as he turned toward a building and gestured for them to enter. "Harry, stop chuckling. You need to appreciate that this is not the kind of environment Draco and I would ever have encountered before." Harry laughed again, the total prat. "It's just a pool." Draco rounded on him as soon as they were out of sight of all those girls. "And what would you know about a pool, eh? I thought your sodding relatives were too cheap to ever take you to swimming lessons!" Harry stiffened. "Oh, they were, sure. But I got to go sit at Dudley's sessions and watch him learn! And when the staff started wondering why I never had lessons of my own, I got to listen to my aunt tell the swimming teachers that I was allergic to the chlorine they put in the water!" "Oh," said Draco, feeling dreadful. He wasn't even sure why he'd said such a terrible thing. He knew better than to make jibes about Harry's childhood. Then again, Harry had started it, making fun because Draco couldn't believe that Muggle girls actually walked around with practically nothing on. In public! It couldn't possibly be considered normal. After all, Draco couldn't imagine someone like Granger parading herself --- oh no, he could imagine it after all. Merlin, what he'd give for the discreet use of his wand right now! Fortunately, something else snapped him out of his musings. Chlorine? Draco had heard of it, but only as part of some fairly rare potions. "You're not serious about the water, are you? Chlorine, honestly? That stuff's caustic, it is--"

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"It's very dilute," said Severus. "I verified that earlier when I smelled its presence here." Draco didn't care. He was still horrified. Well, at least now he had an excuse to stay out of the water. He'd never wanted to go swimming with Muggles, and now he wouldn't have to. "You aren't getting me into water that's been mixed with chlorine. I'd sooner dive into a cauldron!" Severus took him by the arm and squeezed. It wasn't exactly a fatherly touch. "Discretion, Draco." Ha. Harry hadn't been manhandled like this when he'd broken the rule about not mentioning anything magical. Then again, perhaps Severus expected more of Draco, who, after all, had been raised to consider the impact of his words before he spoke. "Let go. I'll remember." "See that you do." "I'm still not getting in the water, though. I'll sit on a lounger, thank you very much." "Since you already know how to swim, I suppose that's up to you." "He just wants to ogle the girls walking past." "Shut up," snarled Draco. "Is it my fault they're making a spectacle of themselves? Well, is it?" "Look, I'll get you a swimsuit magazine and you'll see there's nothing even all that unusual about what they're wearing--" "I get enough magazines at Marsha's--" Severus sighed. "You two are really being quite tedious. I hadn't thought to spend my summer listening to you squabble." "Well, is it any wonder I'm a bit put out?" Draco planted his feet. "This whole summer so far has been about nothing but Harry. His obsession with that mirror. His friend with the dread illness. His swimming lessons. His lexicon. His lessons with the hoop, for that matter. What about me? Do I even exist?" "Of course you exist," said Harry. "Wouldn't know it," said Draco, sniffing. "When do I get to do something I'd like to do, eh?" "You'd like to write lines, apparently." Draco crossed his arms. "Oh, wonderful, Severus. Make the whole summer be about him, and when I dare to mention it, threaten to punish me. Now I really feel like a part of this family, don't I?" Draco was a little irritated to see Harry tap Severus on the arm. "Look, we're all still adjusting. To loads of things, right?"

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Yeah, you just be the good son, thought Draco. The reasonable one, so I'll look even worse. Severus spoke in a heavy voice. "So what did you want to do, Draco?" "This!" Draco walked to the bulletin board on the opposite wall, and snatched a notice off it. One that had caught his eye as they'd walked in. "An Evening with Mozart, see? Selections from The Magic Flute. Of course it's just a local production and not likely to be very good, but we can give it a try, can't we? It's tonight. And while we're in town I can pick up some papers and see what's playing in London." Severus took the flyer and studied it. "Very well, Draco." Harry tried to look enthusiastic, and failed. Well, he didn't have much culture to speak of. He probably didn't even know that Mozart's music was so magical because the man himself had been a wizard. Not that knowing that would make much difference. Harry just didn't have an ear for fine music. But Draco did, and he'd been starving for it lately. He was smiling as they left the pool, and this time, it wasn't only because the girls there were wearing so little.

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