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 Notes: Thanks must go to clauclauclaudia for her helpful beta job. Having help checking the chapters over really does make for a much improved fic!

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A Summer Like None Other

by Aspen in the Sunlight

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Chapter Eleven: Muggle Studies

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"Wait," said Draco, frowning as he lay on his stomach, his chin propped up on both his hands. In a lot of ways, Muggles were even stranger than he had expected. "You had to sit there and count your words, really? And make sure you had exactly five hundred?"

Harry chuckled. Draco had noticed him doing a lot of that the evening before, and even more of it today. But Harry didn't seem to be making fun, so that was all right.

"When a teacher would say to write five hundred words you could always write a little more or less than that. And nobody would usually count them. You'd just estimate how long five hundred words would be, and you'd figure it works out to a couple of pages. More, if you skip lines."

Sometimes it seemed like the more Harry explained, the more confused Draco felt. He hadn't expected this to be so difficult. After all, he'd done well enough reading that Muggle psychology book. He'd figured most of that out on his own.

But then again, most of that had been about violent trauma, a pretty broad concept to catch onto, especially since Draco had personal experience of it. Bloody wizard's beatings.

Understanding Muggle schooling was a lot harder. This last bit about lines, for example, didn't make any sense at all. "You mean that whenever they set you an essay, they also assigned lines?"

Another chuckle. "Not that kind of lines. See, if you're writing something by hand in the Muggle world, the paper you use usually has lines drawn across it. To help you write straight."

Draco couldn't help but scoff. "How else would a Muggle write except with his hand?"

"I told you already. Typewriters, remember? Computers?"

Oh, right. Those words did ring a bell, but Draco hadn't understood them so well. The computer sounded like it should do maths, but it was actually a lot more like a telly. Draco had finally seen one of those when they'd visited Harry's cousin. And the typewriter sounded positively daunting. How could Muggles remember which button to push for each letter? Draco was sure you'd need a memory charm for something like that. Harry had said that the buttons had the letters written on them, but if you had to look for every letter before you could push it, wouldn't it just be quicker to use a quill?

Pen, he reminded himself. Pencil. Don't say quill in front of Rhiannon.

"All right, but I still don't see why you need paper with lines across it," Draco said, sighing. "Don't they teach penmanship in Muggle schools?"

"Yes, they teach penmanship. But we don't have charmed quills to do our writing for us, you know."

"Most wizards don't have those either," said Draco, holding back a smile. Harry might think he was making fun of Muggles, and whenever he'd thought that in the past day and a half, he'd stopped wanting to explain things. Draco couldn't help but be proud of his special quill, though. The spells on it had been tricky to get right. It had taken him most of a summer, actually, but he usually didn't mention that part when people were impressed with his quill.

"Anyway, why don't they just measure in inches like us when they're setting an essay?"

Harry shrugged. "No idea."

"But if the teacher wanted two pages why wouldn't she just say so to begin with?"

"Because then a lot of people would write extra large so they have to write less. A word count is actually a lot more fair than inches or pages, if you think about it."

"Oh, it is not." It kind of was, come to think of it, but Draco wasn't about to admit that anything in the Muggle world might be superior.

"Oh, yes it is--"

"Imagine that," interrupted Severus dryly from the doorway of their bedroom. "Students writing in large script so they have to write less."

Draco wondered how long he'd been lurking outside the open door, listening.

The interruption obviously didn't bother Harry, who sat up on his bed and chuckled. "See? There you go, Draco. Muggle school's not so different from ours, after all."

Easy for him to laugh. It sounded extremely different to Draco. But he had to wrap his mind around it, strange as it was. Nothing else to do, not if he wanted to understand Rhiannon Miller. He'd never be able to convince her that she was a witch unless they developed some rapport first. And if that meant learning about Muggles . . . well, so be it. She was worth it. She was worth every second.

"I still think Rhiannon's been horribly deprived," he said, sniffing a bit. So tragic that she'd never known her true heritage. "But I'll get it sorted."

Severus and Harry exchanged a brief look, Draco saw. It wasn't lost on him that whatever Harry said, he still did think it unlikely that Rhiannon was any sort of witch. But he had been right helpful all day long, telling Draco all sorts of things that a Muggle-raised girl would expect him to know as a matter of course. Not that Draco had understood everything he'd been told. Some things, Harry had explained several different ways and Draco still didn't feel he was catching on.

He did feel, however, that he'd learned quite a few useful bits, though. The odd things on the wall at the pool changing room made sense, now. Light switches and plugs. Actually, he only really understood the light switches part of that. Like a Lumos without magic, Harry had explained. That made sense, as long as he didn't try to figure out where on earth the false light could be coming from. But plugs? According to Harry, those were filled with something called electricity. Apparently it made Muggle machines run, but when Draco wanted to know what electricity itself was made of, Harry had gone into confusing detours about lightning and a kite, and something called static, and then he'd started blathering on about how everything was made of little balls that were mostly empty space!

Like that could have anything to do with the plugs on the wall, even if it was true, which it obviously wasn't.

The whole conversation about plugs had been daft, really. And useless. Harry had got a bit upset when Draco kept saying that none of those things about lightning and little balls made any sense. Well, I only went to Muggle school until I was ten, he'd protested. I can barely remember what we learned in science.

That was obvious, Draco thought, but he knew better than to say so out loud. No point in making Harry cross again. And anyway, it didn't matter much if Draco knew what Muggles thought, science-wise. Rhiannon hated the subject, so they weren't likely to be discussing it, thank Merlin. Oh, but he wasn't supposed to say thank Merlin in front of her. It was thank God, even though most Muggles didn't believe in God any more than they believed in Merlin!

Strange lot, Muggles.

"It's time for dinner," said Severus now.

"I'm not feeling peckish," said Draco at once. He wanted to learn more about Muggles, even if most of it was nonsensical. Hmm. Maybe it wouldn't have been, if he'd taken a year of Muggle studies along the way. Harry kept talking about "context," and saying how Draco just didn't have enough of it to understand things the way Harry could.

"It's time for dinner whether you're peckish or not."

Draco knew what that meant. He rolled off his bed, sighing a little as he glanced over at his father. "And it's my turn to slave over a hot cauldron. You don't have to look at me like that. I haven't forgotten."

"I'm not aware of looking at you in any particular way."

"Yeah, you're narrowing your eyes just so. It means you're about sixty seconds away from becoming truly annoyed."

"Yes, I'm so annoyed that I took the liberty of cooking in your stead. There's a lamb stew waiting for us." Severus shrugged. "I thought it the least I could do, since you and your brother were so occupied."

"Oh!" Draco couldn't stop a smile from spreading across his face. He was getting a little better at cooking, but the meals he managed to produce were still barely tolerable. The scones he'd tried to make had come out rather like miniature Bludgers, they were so hard.

Severus' cooking wasn't up to Hogwarts standards by any means, but it was a lot better than Draco's. "So if you took my night, does that mean I have to cook tomorrow? I mean, did we just push the schedule back or did we switch nights or--"

"Draco," said Harry, shaking his head.

"What? Dad doesn't want me to thank him, any more than he wanted my Galleons yesterday! And I'm not asking him for anything, all right? I'm just asking a question."

"He is standing right here, you realise," said Severus then.

Harry broke out laughing. "Come on, let's just have some of this stew. The chores'll work themselves out."

Spoken like a true Gryffindor, Draco thought. But if letting things work themselves out might mean he had to cook one less dinner, fine.

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"Come on, now. You don't want to be late for your lesson," said Draco the next morning, shaking Harry's shoulder.

"Tired," complained Harry, burrowing deeper into the blankets.

"Get up!"

Harry groaned and threw his covers off. "Fine, fine! But it's your fault I'm so knackered, you know. You think you might let me get to sleep before two in the morning, tonight?"

"Oh, don't get your wand in a twist. I couldn't rest until I understood Muggle travel, could I?"

"I couldn't rest, you mean."

Draco raised his chin. "What if I want to take Rhiannon somewhere that's too far to walk? What do you want me to do, ask her to hop up on my broom?"

Harry was running a hand through his hair, mussing it worse than usual, but at that, he stopped, an odd look on his face. "You say that, and she might think you mean something . . . uh, sexual."

Draco chuckled, but then he remembered how Rhiannon had reacted when she'd thought that wand was some kind of sexual reference. Very ladylike, really. Which only went to prove that she couldn't possibly be a Muggle like Harry had been saying. She obviously had standards.

Even her bathing suit was more modest than most of the ones the Muggle girls at the pool had been wearing. Rhiannon might not consciously know that she wasn't a Muggle, but her behaviour spoke for itself. She wasn't loose and easy like Muggle girls obviously were.

She was a proper witch, modest and demure as she was beautiful.

Draco would bet his vault on it.

"Just go make breakfast," said Harry, yawning. "I'll get up for that."

It wasn't Draco's turn. Well, unless the schedule was rearranged on account of Severus cooking the night before. Draco decided it was best not to argue, though. He needed Harry cheerful and talkative, and willing to explain loads more things about Muggle culture. Not that Muggles really had anything that could be called that, but whatever it was they did have, Draco needed to understand it.

What was one more breakfast, really?

Part of being Slytherin, Draco thought, was knowing when to let sleeping dogs lie. He was rather proud of himself that he didn't even complain about having to pour cereal into bowls and add milk.

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"Hallo," said Draco as Rhiannon came up to the gate where the children were waiting.

Rhiannon smiled brightly. "Draco."

She unlatched the gate and shooed the children in, shaking her head a little as a small red-headed boy tried to slip past her, his hand clutching a bag of crisps. "You know the rules, Dustin. No food in here."

Draco waited until she had hopped up on her tall lifeguard chair. "I thought you said there wasn't any free swim during lessons," he said, glancing at the children splashing about. "But you work every day, watching them?"

Rhiannon shrugged. "This is more of a child-minding service than anything else. Adult free swim starts at one o'clock. Um, Draco? I wanted to apologise that I didn't invite you in on Wednesday night. And after you walked me all the way home, too. But I can't have friends over that late."

Friends. Draco almost made a face, but he didn't want to seem like a prat, so he managed to keep a neutral expression. "Oh, I had to get home, myself," he said, waving a hand to show he wasn't bothered. Which he wasn't, actually. He thought he'd like to meet her parents, and possibly her aunt, all of whom would need to be told about magic, eventually. But the Muggle uncle?

Him, Draco could do without.

Or perhaps not, since less than five minutes later, the man came marching up to the gate and shouted through it. Such abysmal manners. No breeding at all.

Well, at least Rhiannon was only related to him by marriage.

"How many times have I told you the rules for on duty? You're not to read, or file your nails, or chat up friends! You're to watch the children so they don't drown! And for God's sake, start getting here on time! What do I have to do, drag you here at eight when I come in to the office?"

Rhiannon waited until her uncle had stomped away, and then slouched in her chair. "He's always on about something. Honestly, I was only five minutes late, today. And nobody has drowned here, yet."

Draco swept his gaze over the shallow pool where the children were splashing. "Looks to me like you're doing a fine job."

Rhiannon smiled, just a little, even as she said, "Thanks, Draco. But I suppose you'd better go over to the other pool. Before I get sacked."

"He wouldn't. You're family."

"Ha."

She knows she's not really like him, Draco thought.

"Go change and have a swim," added Rhiannon. "Really. If I lose this job, I'll have to drop out of the summer theatre project."

Draco would much rather have talked with her further, but there was no point in getting her in trouble, even if the uncle was a rude, unreasonable type. Rhiannon needed his good will, much as that might rankle.

Actually, she didn't truly need him; Draco would be very happy to arrange an apartment for Rhiannon, and he could afford better than the slightly grotty house he'd walked her to the night before last. But it would be highly inappropriate to suggest such a thing until he knew her better. A lot better.

Or maybe it wouldn't be, among Muggles? Draco didn't know, but he didn't want to take the risk. He was lucky enough that Rhiannon had got over her shock about his "wand" gaffe. And anyway, it would be a bad idea to treat her like he thought she was a Muggle. He was going to give Rhiannon all the consideration and respect due a pure-blooded witch, since that's exactly what she was, little though she knew it.

"What time is your lunch?" he quickly asked. "Perhaps I could take you somewhere and we could talk, then."

Rhiannon glanced back at the cement bleachers where Severus was sitting. "No, no thank you. You're here with your family."

Draco threw her his most winning smile. "Oh, they won't mind if we go off alone."

"Oh, alone?" Rhiannon looked relieved at that. "I thought you meant with your father and brother."

"I didn't, but you know, he doesn't bite," said Draco. "Even if he does teach . . . er, chemistry."

"He looks forbidding, though. Just like--"

"Rhiannon!"

That time, the uncle yelled at her from all the way across the pool complex. Under any other circumstances, Draco would have hexed his mouth off and solved the problem that way. But with Severus watching, the Ministry alert for underage magic, and Rhiannon unaware that Draco's wand was for more than show?

Yes, best to let sleeping dogs lie, Draco thought again as he headed out of the children's area.

"My lunch is at twelve sharp," called Rhiannon after him.

Draco nodded to show he'd heard. And then for good measure, he threw her another smile.

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"That uncle of hers is a real lout," Draco said under his breath as he sat down alongside his father.

"For expecting her to pay mind to her responsibilities?"

"Oh, she can watch the children and talk both," groused Draco. Sighing, he tugged at his collar. "Hot today."

Severus kept his gaze on Harry as he spoke. "You didn't bring your swim things, I noticed."

Draco huffed, still feeling like he'd been cheated of something precious. Almost an entire hour to talk with Rhiannon, and that uncle had spoiled it. "Why would I have brought them? I thought I'd spend the whole time chatting her up! And now I have to sit here roasting, instead!"

"It's not that warm."

"Says the man who dresses in layers to go to the shower."

That got Severus to look at him, but only for a moment. "If you're so very hot, take off your shirt."

"Oh, sure," said Draco, crossing his arms. "Without the lotion?"

"Harry brought his."

Draco could hardly believe his ears. "I can't possibly use his," he said, lowering his voice to a hiss. "His doesn't have the mugwort I need! You know, to bring back the--"

"I am aware of how that particular plant essence functions, thank you," interrupted Severus, his voice a tad frosty. "Watch what you say."

Draco felt a bit bad, then. It was his own fault if he'd worn the wrong clothes. A nice shirt and trousers . . . he'd looked at himself in the mirror that morning and the glass had cooed at him. It really had. But now he wished he'd put on the sunscreen. It did a lot more than keep him from turning red and blistery. The mugwort in it reached down into his skin and pulled a glamour to the surface. A special glamour that only lasted for limited spans of time, but it was better than nothing. Magically induced scarring was notoriously difficult to conceal. Draco's own spells had done nothing to hide the awful splotch of rough, ridged skin that covered a good portion of his chest. Thank Merlin Severus had known one that worked in conjunction with mugwort, or else Draco would never have been able to take off his shirt at the pool.

"Sorry," murmured Draco. "Your lotion's brilliant. I just wish I'd realised what a prick her uncle was going to be."

"Talk like that isn't likely to endear you to the young lady."

"Oh, I don't think she can stand him, either." Draco had to resist an urge to smirk. "And once I explain everything to her, she'll know why he rubs her the wrong way."

Severus shook his head. "Unlikely, Draco. Whatever his faults, he's family to her. Think about it. You say things about Harry that would be duelling words if you heard anyone else make the same remarks. I'd advise you to let her complain all she likes about her uncle. But if you want her to look on you favourably, you'd best do little more in reply than smile and nod."

Hmm, probably good advice, Draco thought, even if Severus didn't seem to ever have had much luck in the romance department, himself. Hmm. Maybe that had a lot to do with the hair, really. "Oh. I'm taking Rhiannon to lunch at noon," he thought he'd better mention. "Perhaps we could meet back here, afterwards? Free swim opens at one and Harry might want a chance to practice. We haven't used our swim passes yet, you realise."

"Oh, Harry might want a chance to practise. You're thinking only of him, are you?"

Draco shrugged, a small smile playing about his lips. "Well, I did think the two of you might go home for lunch, and then Harry could bring my trunks back. Oh, and my lotion, of course, and then I could get a swim in as well. Or perhaps I'll just lie out in the sun."

"Where the young lady can see you, I've no doubt."

Draco flushed. It was a bit embarrassing that his father found him so obvious. Hmm, maybe Severus had been around the pitch, so to speak, more than Draco had thought. Well, he just hoped that Rhiannon couldn't see straight through him, like that.

"Harry seems to be coming along," Draco said, glancing down to where his brother was performing an extremely uncoordinated crawl stroke. It looked more like flailing than swimming, but he was managing to stay afloat and make his way across the shallow end of the pool, so Draco supposed it was a start. "Not bad, considering it's just his first week learning."

"Mr Yates characterises his progress as excellent," murmured Severus.

"Yates?"

"The young man instructing."

Oh, Roger, then. Draco nodded. "That only makes sense, really. How long did it take Harry to get the hang of . . . er, the only sport our school offers? He's really good at physical activities."

"And likely to put those talents to use, playing for his own House again, next year."

"Listen to you," scoffed Draco. "His own House. Forgetting something, aren't you? He has two!"

"I know which one he'll play for, if he plays at all."

Draco sat up a little bit straighter. "Well, I for one am looking forward to facing him on the pitch. He's a worthy opponent, and I can appreciate one, after that last match of the year."

"You won't appreciate it as much if our House loses," said Severus, arms crossed, his expression rather forbidding.

"Oh, thanks for having so much faith in me," said Draco in a scathing tone. "I have some talent too, you ought to know."

"Yes, you do. But you've never yet bested Harry in competition, which leads to a rather depressing conclusion for the next year, assuming he takes up the sport again."

"Well, if you're so worried he'll sink us, you could order him not to play," said Draco. Even before Severus replied, though, Draco knew what a terrible suggestion that had been. "No, I know you couldn't do that to him. He's more important than any trophy or score."

"Quite."

"To me, too," said Draco, feeling like Severus might not believe him. "Though I do plan to play like an absolute demon against him. He's not going to lead his team to victory unless he really works for it. Earns it. But . . . er . . . you aren't planning on getting him an XL, are you? For his birthday or anything?"

Severus' voice was mocking, Draco thought. "Am I to understand that you don't wish me to treat you both the same? You don't want things to be even?"

"Not that particular thing," muttered Draco.

"So you propose I should sabotage Harry's chances at victory merely because he'll likely play for a team other than our own?"

"Likely, ha. Try certainly."

"It's by no means certain that he'll play at all." Severus shrugged. "He doesn't seem to want to talk about it, either. But that is no matter. I told him a while ago to take as much time as he needs to decide."

"That's the problem, then," said Draco, turning toward his father. "Harry's worried about disappointing you, I think. He wants to play on the same team he always has, and he's probably pretty worried how you'll feel if that means that our team loses."

"You're not exactly a fount of confidence," said Severus dryly.

"I'm talking for Harry, who when it comes to Qu-- to his favourite sport, is actually a fount of overconfidence," retorted Draco. "I'm sure that we can take him this year. I've improved a lot, and the team is feeling pretty damned confident after winning the Cup and all."

"You're so certain of victory that you just asked me to make sure that Harry doesn't get an XL."

Draco grinned. "Oh, well that's just strategy."

Severus' lips curled, just slightly. "Yes, of course."

"But I do think that if Harry's hesitating, it's because he needs more than just an assurance that he can decide whatever he likes, Severus. You need to tell him that you'll be all right with him playing for his other House. You need to tell him, even, that if that means we lose the Cup this year, you won't resent him for it."

"Oh, I think he knows all that--"

"He needs to hear it."

"I wouldn't want to pressure him to play, Draco. He seemed fairly content to allow Miss Weasley to assume his position this past year."

Draco stared at his father.

"Well, except for that time in the stands when he clearly wanted to join in," added Severus, frowning.

"You see? He's trying to resist for your sake, so he won't have to feel like he's letting you down by not playing for his new House. You'd better talk to him."

"Talk to who?" asked Harry, towelling off his hair as he came up to them.

"Whom," said Draco and Severus at the same time.

Harry glanced at them both, clearly annoyed. "And whom do you need to talk to, Dad?"

"You," said Draco, shifting on his seat so he'd jostle Severus. It was either that or poke him, and he didn't think that would go over so well. "About playing, next year."

Harry sighed. "Ron and the others aren't going to stand for me playing for another House. They just aren't."

"I'm well aware that if you play at all, it will be on the same team as always," said Severus, standing up. "If you've been putting off a decision for fear of my reaction--"

"It's not you," said Harry quickly. Perhaps a bit too quickly, Draco thought, but that impression was lost as his brother kept speaking "It's just, you know. Family means a lot more than anything else, and Draco and I are bound to not get along so well if I'm helping Ron and the others crush him, and--"

Draco felt his eyebrows going up behind his hairline as he stood. "Excuse me? Did you just claim you're going to crush me? Crush me?"

"I said if."

"You meant when, you complete prat!"

"Look, I'm just trying to make sure it doesn't come to that--"

"Oh, it's not going to come to that," said Draco, baring his teeth in a way that usually intimidated his House mates. "You'll be lucky to walk off the pitch at the end of our first match. I guarantee it. And if you say now that you won't play against me, well, I'll just have to conclude you're a coward."

"That's ridiculous!"

"Scared, Potter?"

Harry scoffed out loud. "You wish."

"So, you'll play?"

It was probably Harry's hesitant glance toward their father that settled the matter.

"You obviously wish to," said Snape dryly. "Don't worry about who might win or lose, Harry, or what it might do to the counters. I want you to excel in all your endeavours, whatever that might entail."

"Well, you're going to be disappointed," said Draco. "Harry's not going to excel, not at this. I'm going to wipe the pitch with him, I am--"

"I want you to excel, as well, you idiot child."

"Then you're bound to be disappointed, no matter what," said Draco, laughing that time.

"You know, it's not so nice to threaten me with bodily harm and then start laughing," groused Harry.

Draco made a face. "Oh, were you under the impression that I was nice, Harry? Where did you get that idea?"

Severus held up a hand before Harry could reply. ""That's quite enough. Harry will play or not as he chooses, and we will all deal with whatever consequences result. Now, I suggest we do a spot of shopping before we go home. We're running low on perishables."

"Yeah, we're almost completely out of whale milk and yak butter," said Harry under his breath.

Draco ignored that. It wasn't his fault if Muggle stores offered a woefully inadequate selection of goods. Besides, he had an announcement to make. "I'll come shopping with you but I'm not going home afterwards. I've a lunch date with Rhiannon, you see. Just the two of us. Oh, and then when she goes back on duty at one, you and Severus are coming back here for free swim so you can practice your strokes, Harry."

Harry tilted his face up and spoke to his father. "You're coming in the water with me?"

Severus didn't answer that, Draco noticed.

"Be sure to bring along the things I need, Harry," Draco said as they started to leave the Northbrook Pool. "My lotion, yes? You know which one I mean. And one of the extra-fluffy towels in the bottom of the armoire. The regular ones scratch me something awful. And swim trunks and a casual shirt, and do try to be sure the colours don't clash horribly, and--"

"You think I'm some kind of servant, don't you?"

That kind of hurt Draco. "I'd do the same for you."

"Oh, very well," said Harry. "Serve you right if I bring crimson and gold. They go together very well. I should know."

As if Draco had any clothes in those horrible colours.

Then he caught the glint in Harry's eyes. Draco bit his lip, trying to remember if Harry's lexicon included any spells that would let him transfigure colours.

"You wouldn't," he said, almost hissing the words.

Harry laughed yet again. "I practically have to, now. You know, to prove I'm not a coward."

"I'm not wearing--"

"Fine, then come home for lunch and skip your date."

Draco grimaced. He'd do anything for Rhiannon, absolutely anything.

Even, he thought with a dull chill, wear Gryffindor colours.

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Comments very welcome,

Aspen in the Sunlight and Mercredi

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