A Summer Like None Other

Disclaimer: I don't own these characters or this fictional universe. JK Rowling, some publishers, and some film companies own everything. I'm not making anything from this except a hobby.

Timeline and Caveats: See Chapter 1.

Author's Note: If you'd like to see the wealth of art that was created for A Year Like None Other, please visit the Art Gallery I have set up to display the lovely things fans have created and sent me. The link is on the information page for the story.

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A Summer Like None Other

by Aspen in the Sunlight and Mercredi

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Chapter Three:
A Pub and a Pool

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Instead, the entire area seemed utterly deserted. There was actually trash scattered along the pavement in places! Draco shuddered, remembering how awful life had been when Severus had taken away his wand. The mess that had developed! Draco couldn't help but 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?

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.

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

"My sons are interested in observing your facility."

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

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

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

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

"Ms. Volentier. Emmeleia Volentier."

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Several," said Draco dryly.

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

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

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

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

A laugh that had really annoyed Harry, he remembered.

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

"Any day now," said Harry quietly.

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

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

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

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

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

Professor.

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

Emmeleia just smiled at that.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"You all right?" asked Harry.

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

"Don't look it."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The things he put up with!

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

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

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

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

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

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

Severus began to make his way back from the bar.

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

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

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

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

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

"Oh, stop 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.

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

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

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

"I thought you just said I never would."

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

"Darswaithe!" announced Harry.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Nobody would ever find out--"

"Word always gets out--"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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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.

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

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

"Here we are," said Severus, gesturing.

Northbrook Swimming Pool, Draco read on the sign.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Not that time?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Harry, of course, was grinning.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"See that you do."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Of course you exist," said Harry.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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Coming Soon in A Summer Like None Other: "Balcony View"

Comments very welcome,

Aspen in the Sunlight and Mercredi

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