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: I owe the chapter title to Ernest Hemingway, who got it from John Donne, far as I can tell. Also, in this chapter, I didn't dream up the interesting chapter title Draco mentions; it came from a book called TA for Teens which my mom made me read, a long time ago. As always, I offer grateful thanks to Rhonda and clauclauclaudia for reading this more than once and giving me their suggestions.

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A Summer Like None Other

by Aspen in the Sunlight

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Chapter Fifteen:

It Tolls for Thee

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"So, how did it go?" asked Harry as he towelled off his hair after his Wednesday morning swimming lesson. "Did Darswaithe agree to let you and Rhiannon visit the home?"

Harry couldn't help but notice that as Draco talked, his gaze kept straying toward the lifeguard chair over at the children's pool. "Of course. All I had to do was give him the vau-- er, the financial draft I'd prepared. He said he'd be delighted to give Rhiannon and me a guided tour. Tomorrow morning, in fact."

Harry frowned a little. "I thought you must be having trouble persuading him. You've been gone longer than I would have expected."

"Oh, that." Draco gave a little laugh. "I told Darswaithe that I wanted it to seem like I'd been to the home quite a bit. Volunteering, you know. So he showed me around again. I saw loads of things they didn't cover that time you and I visited. And he let me stop in and talk with some of the students so it would seem a bit like I knew them, right?"

As far as Harry was concerned, that all added up to one thing. "Must have been one bloody big draft. Just how much are you donating to the home?"

Draco lowered his voice. "Never you mind. I can afford it; that's all that matters."

Harry mentally shrugged. None of his business, really, what the number on the vault draft had been. He sort of agreed with Rhiannon on this one, anyway. Better a sizeable donation to a worthy cause than another diamond pendant. Not that Draco was likely to buy her another one of those, anytime soon. "So, are you and Rhiannon going off for lunch together, then?"

"I think so. I mentioned it when we first arrived this morning. She said she wanted me to try something called a 'samosa.' Personally, I think it sounds hideous."

"No, they're great. I had one, once." Harry smiled just thinking about it. Not all his outings with the Dursleys had ended in disaster, after all. That day had actually been a pretty good one. No accidental magic, nobody yelling at him. Uncle Vernon had even clapped him on the shoulder at one point, and said something vaguely positive. Harry had left the street fair feeling like life might be all right, after all.

Of course, the very next day Dudley had planted a gum wrapper in Harry's cupboard, and Harry had caught hell for "stealing" Dudley's sweets.

Harry shook off the memories, good and bad. "What are you going to do until she gets off work?"

"He's going to read, I do believe," announced Snape in a hard voice as he walked up. He thrust something out as he spoke. A book, Harry saw. "You forgot this at home."

Harry had wondered where Snape had got to. It seemed like he'd popped back to the cottage while Harry had been distracted talking with Draco.

"Yes, sir," said Draco, his voice pitched low.

Curious, Harry darted a glance at the title. Values Clarification for Teenagers, it read. Huh. Must be one of the books Snape was considering for the new course he was going to teach. "Didn't you read that one already?"

Draco nodded, looking like he was hoping for some support.

Not likely, not once Harry heard what Snape had to say. "Based on our conversation the day before yesterday, he skimmed it, at best. And why was that? Ten guesses, Harry. Though I hazard you'll need only one."

The look on Draco's face gave everything away. "You read the author's page first, didn't you?"

Draco raised his chin. "Basic research methods. Consider the source."

Obviously, the author was a Muggle. Harry sighed, feeling such a mix of things that he hardly knew how to sort it all out. He was annoyed with Draco, obviously, but proud of his father for considering a text by a Muggle. Snape had his own prejudice to deal with, as Harry well knew; it just wasn't as pronounced as Draco's was.

"Read the text in depth this time, no matter your personal view of the author's credentials. We'll talk again this evening."

Draco reached out to snatch the book, his every movement screaming resentment.

"Any more bad attitude and you can stay at home from now on while I take Harry to his lessons."

Draco glared. "Don't treat me like a child."

Then don't act like one was the retort Harry was expecting. Instead, Severus raised an eyebrow. "You aren't seventeen, yet. Or are you?"

Draco opened his mouth, looking as though he had quite a lot to say on that topic. Like he knew something that would shut Severus up straight away, actually. In the end, though, he merely hung his head a little and murmured that he'd read the book properly, this time.

"See that you do," said Severus crisply. "Well, Harry, do you fancy coming back for free swim, then? After lunch?"

"If you'll swim, too. And I mean swim, not just sit in the water."

"You drive a hard bargain."

"Oh, you mean because of--" Harry chewed his lip. He liked the feeling that he could say anything at all to his father, but he had a feeling that some things were better left unsaid. Reminding Severus of what Rhiannon's uncle had said about his appearance . . . no. Definitely not.

Not for the first time, he wondered . . . really wondered, what Snape had against hair-washing. Maybe he just didn't want to appear to care what others thought of him, since he didn't care.

Draco had fewer reservations when it came to saying things out loud, obviously. The old impulse-control problem, Harry decided. Either that or he was trying to get even for the remark about his age. Which was odd, wasn't it, considering he wasn't seventeen yet.

"If I can stomach this book then you can manage to wash your hair for once," the other boy announced. "And don't threaten me with lines for saying that. It's just the truth."

"Draco," said Harry, shaking his head.

Snape, though, merely narrowed his eyes. "Well, well. If my hair is so very much in need of cleansing, perhaps I'll borrow your very special shampoo."

"If that's what it takes."

Draco's tone sounded more than a little defensive, Harry thought. Almost as if he was cornered and he knew it. Which didn't make any sense, so Harry dismissed it. He had a feeling, though, that he'd been missing some undertones throughout the whole conversation. Well, that was nothing new. Draco and Snape often spoke to each other in strange tones of meaning only a Slytherin could really follow.

A full Slytherin.

"I'm starving," Harry complained. "I swam laps during most of my lesson, and then I did more of them while waiting for you to get back here."

"Be happy your swimming skills are so good. You could have been blowing bubbles the whole time, you know--"

"Prat. That was daft, but Roger only had me do that right at first and you know it--"

"It's an important precursor skill," said Roger, coming up to them.

Harry felt his cheeks heating a little. He hadn't meant to sound like he was complaining.

Roger seemed to take pity on him. "Listen, Harry. In my view, you don't properly need lessons any longer. You fall overboard, you won't drown. But more lessons will help you become a stronger swimmer, certainly. That's why I'm starting to insist on so many laps."

"And quite right you are, Mr Yates," said Snape smoothly. "I'm pleased by Harry's progress, but as you said, I'd hardly wish to discontinue lessons."

"Great. So I'll see you on Friday, then." Roger nodded once, then walked towards the children's pool, where he stopped to speak with Rhiannon. Harry frowned, remembering how annoyed Draco had been when "his girl" had talked to that other man outside the theatre.

"Harry and I will be off, then." Snape turned toward Draco. "I'll expect a much better discussion, later this evening, of that book. Read it until your girlfriend has her lunch break, and then again during free swim."

"I thought I'd lie out in the sun--"

Severus' voice all at once became suffused with humour. "You can't read lying down? This is fascinating. I shall have to inform Madam Pomfrey of a possible balance disorder--"

"He just doesn't want to look like a Poindexter."

Harry laughed when his father and brother both turned confused faces his way. "A nerd, a dweeb, a geek--"

"No more slang when we play Scrabble next," said Draco. "You know too many strange words."

"At least I don't make them up, Mr Quizzex."

Draco shrugged. "That's what you get for agreeing to play without dictionary char-- er, I mean, charming dictionaries to verify every word. Anyway, you meant?"

"You don't want to be seen reading. You're afraid people might think you're an egghead. Or a Hermione, I mean."

"Ha, very funny. I'll have you know that I don't mind in the least if people, as you put it, see that I have an intellectual side."

Draco didn't actually tack so, there onto the end, but he was thinking it. Harry could tell.

"Good," said Snape crisply. "Because I expect a thorough analysis of that book this evening, as I said." He leaned over a little. Not exactly breathing down Draco's neck, but close. "And if I don't get what I want, I'll assign you to read the book once more and report on it in writing."

By the end there, Harry was feeling a little sorry for Draco, even if he had brought this all on himself by giving the Muggle-written book short shrift. Wrapping his towel around his shoulders, he said he'd be back in a flash.

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Free swim had been both better and worse than the previous time, Harry thought later. Draco had spent most of his time reading, or looking like he was trying to, anyway. His gaze, though, kept wandering away from his book. It was like he was trying to catch Rhiannon's eye, but she was sitting with her back to the main pool, so there wasn't much chance of it happening. But Draco kept trying, all the same, a strange look on his face. Sort of like he was drunk or something, Harry thought. The small smile curling his lips could only be described as . . . well, goofy. Harry didn't know a better word for it.

Of course, Draco didn't constantly look like that. Most of the time his expression was neutral. Guarded, even. But then Rhiannon would shift in her chair a bit, looking like she might turn 'round, and that distant, almost drugged look would slip into Draco's eyes.

Harry didn't know what was going on, but it seemed clear enough that something had happened during Draco's lunch date with Rhiannon. Something that meant a lot to Draco. Maybe she told him that she loves him, Harry thought. Or maybe Draco declared his love, and she liked hearing that, and Draco could tell that she liked it . . .

"Staring at him won't make him stare at her any less," said Snape, moving through the water until he blocked Harry's view of his brother.

"Yeah . . ." Harry cleared his throat, uncomfortable without knowing why. "Um, you think you can let him stop reading for a while? That diving game was good--"

"He's occasionally reading. I'd rather we let him be."

Harry sighed. "All right. It's just . . . what do you think is going on?"

"You really can't guess?" Snape's eyebrows drew together as if he thought he'd said too much. "Why don't we race, you and I? The length of the pool and back, crawl stroke."

Harry knew that his father had changed the subject on purpose, but he didn't really mind. It was better than wondering what was going on with Draco and his goofy smiles. "Race? You and me?"

"That was the general idea, yes."

Harry could have done without the drawl. Or the slight smirk, come to think of it. And while racing didn't sound half bad . . . "I'm just a beginner! You'll wipe the floor with me, like when we play chess. Every time we play chess. I won't stand a chance."

"Come now. Where's your daring? Your defiance of all odds? Do your house proud."

"Houses."

"Yes, you're both. So . . . you're too cunning to risk a loss and the attendant blow to your pride, is that what you mean?"

It hadn't been, but it sounded good. "Yeah."

Snape's voice dropped to a low drawl. "I see. You want incentives."

Harry laughed and splashed a little water his father's way, which made Snape move to one side. "What could those be? Don't you get it? I have what I've always wanted."

"Oh yes, he's cunning, all right," called Draco from where he was stretched out on a towel, his ankles crossed as he lay on his stomach. Harry had the feeling that his brother was posing, just in case Rhiannon happened to turn around.

Snape's teeth glinted. "There's value in reticence, sometimes. Perhaps Harry has concluded that I'll offer better incentives if he doesn't ask for any."

That sounded good, too. Not for the first time, Harry was impressed with the way his father could strategise. "Yeah, that's right. That's what I was thinking."

"I do believe you should study this chapter on lying," said Draco. Loudly.

"Just make sure you study it. Thoroughly." Snape's voice sounded a little dark, but he seemed to relax when he turned back to Harry. "Now, as for these incentives you've been hinting at . . . what about dropping by Privet Drive again, this time asking your cousin to dine out with us?"

It wasn't lost on Harry that the offer was a significant one. He knew that his father didn't much care for Dudley, and only tolerated him for Harry's sake. Which made it doubly hard to say, "His diet . . . he's supposed to avoid carbohydrates, right? Dudly said it was really hard to do that in restaurants."

Snape snapped his fingers. "That's quite manageable."

Harry widened his eyes. "Really? You mean you can . . . " He lowered his voice. "You know, do something to take all the carbohydrates out of his food?"

"I was actually thinking we could find a restaurant that specialises in salads. A great many edible plants suit his criterion."

"You've taken the time to look into the kind of diet Dudley's on?"

Snape somehow sounded amused and impatient all at once. "You really don't understand my line of work, do you?"

Oh, so it was a Potions thing. Harry decided he was touched, anyway. "Dinner sounds brilliant, but we have to make sure Piers doesn't invite himself out with us. I don't want to spend any time with him."

Snape looked at him closely, then shrugged. "There's no reason he should expect to be invited. He isn't family."

"Well, neither is Dudley. I mean, not to you."

"On the contrary. He's my son's cousin."

Oh. That was a nice way to put it. Harry felt like the pool water had just got a little bit warmer. Though he couldn't help but call over to Draco, "Did you hear that, you eavesdropper? Dudley's your brother's cousin, which makes him your cousin, too!"

Draco gave a little shiver, and didn't reply. His finger looked contemptuous as he flicked it over the pages to turn them. How a finger could look contemptuous, though, was beyond Harry to explain. He just knew that Draco's had.

"Not terribly noble to taunt your brother," said Snape quietly. He gestured for Harry to move with him to the opposite side of the pool. Deeper water; Harry ended up treading it while Snape leaned up against the concrete edge of the pool.

Harry kept his voice very low. "I'm not trying to taunt him. I just want him to wake up and realise he's dating a . . . you know."

"No doubt he will, in his own good time." Snape lifted his shoulders. "So. Shall we race?"

Harry nodded, pushing Draco's problems from his mind. He actually had to Occlude a little bit to make it work. Strange, thinking of fire when he was wet all over. "Yeah, I'll race you. But I want a head start. Half a lap, say."

"I knew you could drive a hard bargain when it suited you. But then, so can I. Suppose I win . . . what's to be my reward?"

Harry tried for an innocent tone, but wasn't so sure he succeeded. "Um . . . we can ask Marsha out for dessert?"

"She'll no doubt be taking dessert with Michael."

Was that Harry's imagination, or had Snape sounded just the tiniest bit annoyed? That didn't make sense, though, considering that Michael was a dog. Hmm . . . maybe Snape was just annoyed at the way Marsha had acted like she had a date, or something, that night. At any rate, Harry did know what his father would consider a good incentive. It had nothing to do with Marsha. "All right, all right. If you win I'll stop trying to make Draco see sense."

"Now that is quite the incentive." Snape raised an eyebrow. "Is it a promise you can keep?"

"Well, I can try."

"Try."

"I can try hard."

"I seem to recall your agreeing to all this, before."

The man's voice had been stern, that time. Stern enough to make Harry feel a bit guilty. "Well, learn by experience, right?" he quipped, even though he wasn't sure how it really applied in this case. "I'll try my best."

Snape gave him a dry look, then motioned for Harry to take the head start he had demanded.

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Snape had won the race. At some level, that surprised Harry. He'd sort of expected his father to let him win. Maybe Snape had intended to, but had found Harry's incentive too tempting to pass up.

It didn't really matter, though, since Harry wanted to do what would please his father, anyway. Pestering Draco about Rhiannon's obvious "Mugglishness" wasn't it.

"So, you and Rhiannon are going to the squib home tomorrow?" asked Harry brightly as he slathered some dressing on his salad, that evening. "Is she taking the day off work, something like that?"

"She can't." Draco made a face. "With that uncle of hers, I knew better than to even have her ask. So we're set for six p.m. Oh, by the way, both of you are coming along as well."

Harry glanced at his father, only to see Snape looking as surprised as Harry felt. "We are?"

Draco's own voice was airy. "Didn't I mention?"

"You know perfectly well you didn't mention," said Snape, sounding critical.

"Well, I didn't think you'd mind."

"Draco, what's going on?" asked Harry, exasperated.

"You're coming to the squib home. Is it that difficult to comprehend?"

"Don't be like that. Why would you want us on your date?"

"It's hardly a date--"

"Draco." That was all Snape had to say. His tone said the rest.

Draco sighed. "Darswaithe insisted."

"Why?" That time, Snape and Harry spoke almost in unison.

"Oh, fine." Draco set his fork down with a clatter. "Humiliate me, fine. Go right ahead. Rub it in. The truth is, that stupid, stupid man said he wouldn't take my vault draft unless my father authorised such a sizeable withdrawal. Never mind that Severus doesn't have any control, nominal or otherwise, over my personal holdings. I told him that, but he didn't care. He kept going on and on about how he just had to have parental consent." Draco scowled.

"Of course he did," said Snape. "A a minor can rescind a contract unless a parent provides written consent."

"Yes, well I'm not exactly--"

Strange how Snape's voice could go from casual to menacing in about three seconds' flat, Harry thought. "Not exactly what, Draco?"

Draco heaved in a breath, his eyes going a little bit glassy. Like mirrors, almost.

He's Occluding, Harry abruptly thought. He's lying, and the way Dad's looking at him, I bet he knows . . .

"I'm not exactly incompetent to handle my own finances. I've been doing it for years."

"Horace Darswaithe is merely behaving in a responsible manner."

Well, that was a more diplomatic way of putting it than what Harry had been thinking . . . namely, that Darswaithe probably suspected Draco would change his mind about the money once he'd got what he wanted. Once Rhiannon had seen the orphanage.

"He's behaving like a right pain in the arse." Draco drummed his fingers on the table, then abruptly shoved them out of sight. "But he did insist. So you'll come along, Severus? Note that I didn't call you Dad, given that I want something at the moment."

Ouch, thought Harry. That probably stings.

If it did, Severus didn't show it. "Yes, I'll come. And you, Harry?"

"Darswaithe didn't demand me, too."

Draco made a gagging sound, but cut it out when Snape gave him a sharp glance. "He didn't demand, no," said the boy in a subdued voice. "But he did wax poetic about how much he'd like to see Harry Potter again and how relieved he was that you seemed to have forgiven him completely for that contretemps at your interview, and what a lovely person you were and how I was really quite lucky to have you for a brother."

No wonder Draco was feeling a bit insecure at the moment. That probably explained the rudeness.

"I'm lucky to have you for a brother, too," said Harry.

"Oh, please." Draco lifted his chin. "That is, you definitely are, but I don't delude myself that you really think that. I'm the bad son around here; I'm likely the bad brother, too--"

"You aren't the bad son!" exclaimed Harry.

Draco shook his head like he didn't want to talk about it. Like he'd said too much, already.

"You aren't the bad son," Snape said, his voice as calm as Harry's had been vehement. "There is no such thing. Both you and Harry have good moments as well as less-than-shining ones. Now, I believe Harry needs to spend some time on his spell lexicon while you discuss values clarification with me, Draco."

Harry knew enough to recognise a blatant hint like that. He pushed back his chair and stood up.

Draco obviously wanted to stall, though. "What about the clearing away? My turn, I think."

That's a first, Draco practically demanding to do a chore.

"We'll have an amnesty on household work this evening," said Snape, giving a flick of his wand. The dishes began to sail towards the cupboards, cleaning themselves en route. Harry grinned. Sometimes, he thought he'd never get used to how . . . magical the wizarding world could be.

The charm was obviously lost on Draco, who clearly hadn't even noticed the spell. He was groaning, and rolling his eyes for good measure. "Oh, very well. The book, then. For a Muggle, it had some points to make, I suppose."

"The book isn't a Muggle," drawled Snape.

"Very funny."

"Let's start with the chapter you found the most interesting."

Harry was trying not to overhear--or at least look like he was-- as he walked away, but he almost snorted when he heard Draco's reply. He couldn't help it.

"Oh, that's easy enough to decide. Sexteen."

"Sixteen?"

"Sexteen. His title, not mine. What, didn't you read the book, Dad?"

"I certainly didn't notice any such ludicrous chapter title. But if you wish to discuss the chapter we shall, by all means. Merlin knows, you may well need the information, considering your current liaison with Miss Miller--"

"I told you, I don't kiss and tell," said Draco in a voice so smug it was smarmy.

Harry shut his door and leaned against it, feeling winded by all the undercurrents flowing through that conversation. Or maybe he felt short of breath because of something else. Now he knew what that goofy look on Draco's face had meant, earlier that day at the pool.

Draco had slept with Rhiannon Miller.

Quite when, Harry wasn't sure, but he was certain of his conclusion. Draco had definitely gone all the way with the girl. That much had been obvious from the tone of voice he'd used, that you don't know as much as you think tone.

It's Draco's business, not yours, Harry told himself. Of course. Being brothers didn't give him the right to pry. But still, Harry couldn't control the awful sinking feeling in his stomach.

Draco had slept with Rhiannon Miller, and when he found out that she was a Muggle, that he'd touched a Muggle, like that . . . oh, God. Harry had been worried before that Draco might react badly to the truth, but now he was sure that Draco was going to blame Rhiannon for everything. He'd probably kill her. Or maim her, at the least.

He was, after all, the same young man who had tried to poison the last people who had seriously offended him.

And besides, when you were used to magic being a part of your daily life, you tended to think that what you did to people didn't really matter as much. Magic could undo most damage, so you didn't have to think as hard about not inflicting it in the first place.

Draco was definitely used to magic solving things.

That wouldn't matter to the Aurors, though. If Draco levelled his wand at a Muggle, with intent to harm . . .

Harry shuddered, and tried to get his mind off it. Nothing he could do about it at the moment, right? Probably, nothing he could do, full stop. He'd already tried telling Draco that Rhiannon was a Muggle. He'd tried dozens of times. Or seemed like, anyway. And he wouldn't listen, no matter what Harry said.

Draco was going to have to learn the truth for himself.

Harry just hoped that when Draco did, he wasn't alone with Rhiannon Miller.

A couple of hours later, Harry heard the door creaking open. He laid his spell lexicon aside, not that he'd got much done in any case. He couldn't concentrate on spells when he was so worried about his brother. He'd ended up talking the whole thing over with Sals.

That hadn't done much good. The snake never had really grasped the difference between a wizard and a Muggle, after all.

"Still up?" asked Draco lightly. The tone sounded forced.

"It's not even gone nine. Of course I'm up. Draco . . ."

"Don't. I don't want to talk about it."

"It?"

Draco made a scoffing noise as he began to unbutton his shirt. "I can read you like a scroll, Harry. I know what you're thinking."

"You do?"

"Yes. And I'd just like to point out that if you keep playing the good son all the time, it doesn't leave a lot of room for me to be anything except the bad son, all right?"

Oh, that. Harry waved a hand sort of haphazardly. "I'm not that good a son. I mean, I promised Dad something today and I'm about to break it already."

"You're daft, then." Draco shrugged off his shirt, dropping it to the floor as though he still expected a house-elf to tidy for him.

"I thought you didn't want me to play the good son."

"I also don't want you upsetting Dad for no good reason."

Dad. Harry almost gulped, considering how defensive Draco had been about the name, just a short while ago. But just then, he'd said it easily enough. "I have good reason. It's about Rhiannon. You . . . er . . ."

"I what?"

Harry meant to say something like You have to be prepared in case she's a Muggle like I thought, he really did. But somehow, what came out instead was, "You're sleeping with her, aren't you?"

Draco swivelled his head to stare straight at Harry, his silver eyes glittering. It seemed like it took forever before he replied. When he finally did, his voice was frosty, clear through. "And if I am? What's it to you?"

"I . . . God, Draco. You barely know her!"

"That's for me to judge, surely." Draco turned away and finished changing into his pyjamas. "I can't see that you have any cause for concern."

At that, Harry did gulp.

"Well? Do you?"

When it came right down to it, Harry found that he couldn't break his promise to his father. Not because he couldn't break a promise; he wasn't above that. He couldn't break this one, though, not when it wouldn't do any good. Draco wasn't going to listen to him. But if Harry wasn't going to bring up Rhiannon's Muggle heritage, then he had to say something to explain why he'd just asked what he'd asked!

"Er . . . I, um . . . I was wondering if you took the proper precautions, that's all," he said faintly.

"Contraception spells?" Draco's eyes went a little bit glassy, again. "Assuming we've gone far enough to need them, what makes you think I could manage them without the Ministry jumping down my wand for unauthorised use of magic? Or did you think I found a way to bring my girl here without either you or Severus knowing?"

"I was thinking more about her." Harry swallowed. "I mean, Muggles have these pills, and there's always condoms--"

"This is really not something I care to discuss."

Harry felt his face flare again. He didn't think he'd ever been so embarrassed.

"What's got into you, Harry? You don't have perfect manners by any stretch of the imagination, but this is a new low, even for you. If you were dating someone, I guarantee I wouldn't be asking if the girl puts out!"

"I didn't mean that--"

"Merlin's arse you didn't." Draco folded down the covers on his bed and slid underneath them. "She's a wonderful special person and we're in love, and that makes everything right, and that's all that matters. So you're not to give her any knowing looks tomorrow. Is that clear?"

"As if I would!"

"Because you don't know anything, anyway. All you have are assumptions."

By then, though, Harry had a lot more than that. Draco might like to tell himself that he didn't kiss and tell, but if you read between the lines . . . things were clear enough.

"Good night, Draco," he said, trying not to sound as worried as he felt.

"Good night." Draco's own voice was stiff.

It was a long time that night before Harry fell asleep and when he did, his dreams were filled with vague, foreboding images. A gigantic grandfather clock, several storeys tall, making a deep booming noise every time it chimed. Draco, sitting on the floor of his room in Slytherin, parchments scattered all around him as he rocked back and forth, back and forth. Hermione and Ron, arguing earnestly with Harry, saying over and over again, "But Harry . . ."

And Harry wouldn't listen.

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The next morning they Apparated to Exeter, into the abandoned back alley they usually used, and walked from there to Rhiannon's house. She greeted Draco with a kiss that Harry was pretty sure was supposed to be a peck, but turned into something quite a bit more drawn-out. Her eyes were sparkling when she pulled away.

"I missed you," Harry heard her whisper.

Draco's hand cupped her backside briefly as he murmured something against her ear.

Harry turned away, embarrassed. It seemed clearer than ever to him that Draco and Rhiannon were lovers, now. The mere fact that he would touch her so familiarly, and in front of Snape, too-- it spoke volumes, it really did.

Harry almost wished Rhiannon's obnoxious uncle was around, since he was pretty sure Draco would keep his hands off the girl in front of him.

"Shall we?" asked Snape, waving toward the door. "It's quite a walk."

Rhiannon glanced at Draco. "Too bad we can't--" She giggled a little, shaking her head as if she'd said too much.

"Can't what?" asked Harry.

Rhianon's gaze grew flustered as she glanced frantically at Draco, clearly looking for some sort of guidance. "Can't . . . um, take the car. I do know where Uncle Stanley keeps a spare key, but he'd pitch a fit if I used it without permission."

She's lying, Harry recognised. Too bad we can't what . . . Well, he didn't know what she was talking about, and didn't think he'd probably be able to figure it out.

"It's not that long a walk," said Draco as he opened the front door and held it for her.

Rhiannon nodded, but her glance at him as she passed him seemed to hold some secret depth of meaning that escaped Harry.

The pavement wasn't wide enough to walk four abreast, so Draco and Rhiannon led the way, their arms linked together as they all set off toward the squib home. Or orphanage, Harry told himself. Best not to call it that other name, not in front of Rhiannon. Hopefully, Darswaithe would know not to. Draco wouldn't have called her a Muggle, but he'd probably told Darswaithe that she was Muggle-raised, right? That she'd never been to Hogwarts, never even heard of it? That she didn't know the first thing about magic or squibs?

Harry slowed his steps a little to put some distance between Draco and himself, then quietly spoke to his father, walking beside him. "I'm a bit concerned that Darswaithe might say something he shouldn't. I mean . . . well, you know. The statute and all."

"Draco would have been sure to advise him on that, particularly once he knew that I'd been invited." Snape shrugged. "I doubt you have anything to worry about. Especially considering . . ."

"Considering what?"

Snape glanced over at Harry, his dark eyes gleaming. "Don't tell me you didn't notice."

"Notice?"

"The young lady's rather . . . erratic manner of speaking, a few moments past?"

Harry had noticed that, yeah. It would have been hard to miss. But he'd chalked it up to sex. Something to do with sex. Don't you wish we could . . . Harry hadn't seen her face when she'd said that, but she'd probably had bedroom eyes. Harry's throat went tight. This was awful. He wished he could be happy for Draco. Normally, he would be. But to have Draco fall so hard, so fast, for someone he was going to despise when all was said and done? Harry cleared his throat. "So she was a little bit on edge, or nervous, or something. What's that got to do with the statute, anyway?"

"She wasn't nervous. That comment about the car was pure fabrication."

Snape was pretty good at recognising lies, Harry remembered. He'd even known when Hermione had been lying during a seer dream. Not that Harrry could figure out what their talk of it being a long walk had to do with Rhiannon and Draco being lovers. "Um . . . why would she make up stuff about borrowing the car?"

Snape clicked his teeth slightly as he walked along. When he glanced at Harry, a half-smile was hovering on his lips. "She'd rather not have walked, yes. Not when she was wishing we could Apparate, instead."

Harry's mouth fell open. "He . . . she . . ." He glanced to the couple ahead of them to make sure they were still intent on their own conversation. Which of course, they were. Draco and Rhiannon had eyes--and ears--only for one another. They were holding hands now, their fingers twined together, their arms swinging in tandem. The whole thing looked like they wanted to find the nearest bed and tumble into it.

"How do you know?"

Snape shrugged. "It was fairly obvious to me that Draco had demonstrated it to her. And who wouldn't want to Apparate, once they knew it to be an option? I'd guess he's shown her a wide range of spells, by now. Speaking of which, I cast a discreet privacy charm a moment ago.You can speak freely."

Good thing. "Draco can't show her any magic! The Ministry would have a fit!"

"Ah, but your brother has arranged to be a few weeks older. Don't use his new shampoo, by the way, unless you want your birthday to change as well."

That only made Harry gape all the more. "I . . . what?"

"My privacy charm won't keep this conversation under wraps if your brother turns around and sees you looking so stunned."

Harry clamped his lips together and nodded. By then, Draco and Rhiannon were quite a distance ahead of them, but best to be cautious, right? He struggled to find a normal-looking expression, and was pretty sure he failed. It felt to him as though his face was screwed into tight lines. But maybe that was because he didn't have the slightest idea what to say.

Or maybe he did. "I thought you said that Draco needed to learn that the rules did apply to him. But you've found out he's using illegal underage magic and you haven't done anything about it?"

Snape made a languid gesture, that strange half-smile still lurking in his expression. "Technically, he's not underage any longer. He genuinely is older, as these things go."

"But the aging potion itself, wasn't that illegal?"

"Oh, certainly, since his intent was to circumvent Ministry regulations."

"Which brings me back to him needing to know that that law applies to him!" Annoyed, Harry glanced up at his father. "Why haven't you given him lines or something?"

"Do you want me to?"

"Well, no, but you have to do something, don't you?"

Snape sighed, just a little. "Perhaps when you're a father yourself, you'll understand. There's a great deal going on at once, in this situation, and I have to do as I think best."

"It's best to let him cheat the Ministry?"

"Cheating them by three weeks is not such a serious matter." Snape lifted his shoulders. "And if the result of that is to bring your brother closer to the lady of his choice, I think he'll learn far more from breaking the law than from abiding by it."

Learn more . . . Oh. Learn by experience. Snape never had objected to Draco being involved with a Muggle, and now it seemed like as far as Snape was concerned, the more involved Draco got, the better.

"After all," Snape continued, "the old adage that familiarity breeds contempt isn't always the case. When it comes to your brother, I think a lack of familiarity is far more the problem. When I realised that he had made himself older so that he could demonstrate some magic to her, and thus share with her his true nature . . ." Snape slowly nodded. "Considering her true nature, I decided I approved of the idea."

Harry smiled, a little wryly. "So he's told her. Which brings us back to the statute. You know, the one about secrecy?"

"Technically he should wait until after marriage to tell her anything, but that's rarely enforced. It's simply not very practical."

"So it's all right to ignore laws that don't make sense?"

Snape angled him a glance. "Ah, that's an old debate, and a complex one. Do the ends justify the means? We'll discuss the matter at length in your upcoming ethics course."

Harry mulled that over for a while. "You aren't angry with Draco, then?"

"Annoyed, perhaps. I'd rather he consulted me before taking a dubious potion. But in the main, in this situation I do believe I'll let him make his own mistakes."

"How'd you know, anyway?"

"I felt a burden lift."

"Excuse me?"

Snape shrugged. "I'm legally his father, which implies a whole range of responsibilities, including magical ones. When those responsibilities came to an end, I could feel it. An odd sensation, but not so difficult to figure out. It also wasn't difficult to realise that Draco's 'shampoo' must have been responsible. He'd been Occluding when he spoke of it, so there was obviously something odd going on. I suspected pheromone enhancers until later that evening, when I realised the truth."

"Pheremone enhancers?"

"Mild aphrodisiacs." Snape's lips were a straight line. Too straight, Harry thought. "You know that word, I think?"

"Yeah." Harry couldn't help it if his voice came out a little rough. He wondered if Snape knew just how involved Draco had got with Rhiannon. Considering that he seemed to know so much else that Draco thought was a secret . . . yeah, Snape probably knew it all.

And Rhiannon knew about magic.

The only one who didn't know what he should was Draco himself.

Harry's thoughts must have shown on his face, since Snape's voice went stern. "You're to stay out of it. As you promised your father."

"Lay it on thick, why don't you?"

"If need be." Snape's stride lengthened. "Perhaps you won't have to hold your tongue for long."

Harry wondered what that might mean, but since Snape had plots inside plots, as Draco had once put it, he was pretty sure he wasn't going to figure it out. Maybe it didn't mean anything, though. Maybe it was just wishful thinking.

Not that Snape seemed to do a lot of that.

That thought made Harry a little sad. Pushing the whole problem from his mind, he watched his father move a hand in his pocket, dissolving the privacy spell. Then they both quickened their pace until they caught up with the others.

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Harry shuddered a little when they went up the steps and into the waiting room of the squib home. It was as over-decorated as he remembered. Dark woods everywhere, with a glass lamp that was made of bits of coloured glass glued together. That wouldn't be so bad, he supposed, if the lampmaker--somebody named Tiffany, Draco had seemed to think last time--hadn't used every colour in existence. But she had, and the end result was about as garish a sight as Harry could imagine.

Like the previous time, nobody was in the reception area. But that was no problem; Harry stepped up to the counter and tapped the little brass bell sitting there.

A deep noise echoed through the small room. Like a giant gong had just been struck.

Rhiannon clapped her hands in delight. "Oh, that's marvellous!"

All right, no question about it. Draco had definitely told her about magic. And what was more, she'd taken to it pretty well. If she hadn't, the unnatural noise of that gong would have alarmed her. But no, Rhiannon was grinning ear to ear, clearly enchanted.

She liked the idea of magic. Harry could tell. Well, of course he could. He'd been in her shoes, once.

"Oooh, let me try it!"

Harry moved aside to let her, but one split-second before her finger tapped the metal top of the bell, he realised what was about to happen.

Too late to stop it, though.

When Rhiannon rang the bell, a tiny tinkling noise resulted. It was exactly the sort of noise one would expect from a small brass bell. The sort of noise you'd get if there was no such thing as magic.

The sort of noise you'd get if the bell thought you didn't know about magic. If the bell could tell you didn't have any, yourself . . .

"That's odd," Rhiannon said, her eyebrows drawing together as she tapped the top of the bell again and again, like a pigeon pecking a hole in a bag, hoping something good would finally come spilling out.

But nothing did.

Ding, ding, ding.

"Wonder why it sounds so different for you and me?" Rhiannon glanced at Harry. "Any ideas?"

Harry chanced a glance at Draco, then, to see that his brother had gone chalk-white.

Rhiannon followed Harry's line of sight and started. "Draco? What's the matter?"

"It shouldn't-- it didn't-- it doesn't-- it shouldn't--"

"Oh, get over here," said Rhiannon, reaching out her hand to tug on Draco's. "You do it. I want to see how it sounds for you."

Draco tried to pull his hand back. He had a sick look on his face, like he'd just been told he didn't have long to live. Or maybe . . . like somebody he loved had just died.

"Come on," said Rhiannon in a breathy voice, leaning closer to him. "I'll make it worth your while . . ."

That comment seemed to catch Draco off-guard. He relaxed his arm for a moment, and Rhiannon dragged it over so that the edge of his fist pushed the brass top of the bell.

Again, a loud, deep clang echoed through the room.

"Oh, I know," said Rhiannon, nodding. "You, him . . . right. Uh . . . never mind."

She didn't add anything, which Harry pretty much took to mean that Draco had warned her not to discuss magic. He'd probably told her that he wasn't supposed to be mentioning such things, and not to let Harry or Snape find out that he had.

Rhiannon relaxed, leaning a hip against the counter, her posture in direct contrast to Draco's. He was standing ramrod straight, like his legs were locked to keep him upright. Worse, his hands were curled into claws around the edge of the counter. It actually looked like his fingertips were digging into the dark wood.

And the look in his eyes. . . like he might scream, and it was only pride keeping his expression stony.

Snape had moved to stand just behind him, but before he could say anything--though what could he say, with Rhiannon standing right there?--a door opened behind the counter and Emmeleia Volentier came into the reception area, frowning as she smoothed a curly strand of hair behind her ear. "Impatient, are we?" she asked, briskly scooping up the bell and placing it behind the counter. Hard to miss that hint, Harry thought. He braced himself for an even more scathing comment.

It never came, probably because by then, she'd recognised Draco. "Oh. Welcome back, young man."

By the end, she sounded like she was annoyed over all the bell-ringing, but doing her best to hide it. No point in antagonising Draco if he was planning to endow the home, right?

"Mr Darswaithe is in his office, if your father would be good enough to come through," Emmeleia smoothly added. She obviously knew all about the money issue. "I believe he has something for you to sign, Professor Snape."

Something that didn't need to be signed, Harry thought, since Draco had made himself into an adult a few weeks early. Darswaithe didn't know about that, though, and Snape wasn't supposed to know about it. But he did know, which made his signature agreeing to the vault draft rather pointless. What a charade.

Emmeleia turned away, but Snape didn't follow her. Stepping forward until he was at Draco's side, separating him from Rhiannnon, he laid a hand on the boy's arm. "Are you going to be all right?" he asked in a low voice.

Draco nodded, but it looked like he was a puppet on strings, and somebody else was yanking his head up and down.

Snape didn't move away. His dark eyes just kept assessing Draco, his gaze about as steady as Harry had ever seen it. Legilimency? Harry wasn't sure. Probably not, though. Snape didn't use that on his sons. Or not that Harry knew about, at any rate.

"Just go talk to Darswaithe," Draco finally sighed. By then, he was looking a little green around the gills. Not that he had gills, but seeing how he did look, Harry understood the phrase as never before. "We'll wait here."

Snape gave him a last, long look before he pushed open the small door in the counter and followed Emmeleia Volentier into what looked like a long corridor.

As the door clicked shut behind him, Harry reached a hand into his pocket and found the grip of his wand. Just in case.

Draco, though, didn't look likely to do anything drastic. He still just looked sick to his stomach.

And Rhiannon had noticed. Finally. "Are you going to tell me what's the matter, now?"

"It's nothing."

"Even your father could tell that you were upset about something--"

"It's nothing, I said," snapped Draco, almost baring his teeth.

But it wasn't nothing. Harry knew that, and Rhiannon obviously knew it, too. "You were fine until I rang the bell."

"Maybe the sound of it got on my nerves."

"Maybe you should tell me the truth!" Rhiannon stamped a foot. "Draco Snape, you knew perfectly well before this that I don't have the kind of . . . of . . . talent you do, so why the big shock the bell went ting-a-ling for me and boom for the rest of you?"

"Quiet," hissed Draco, giving her a warning glance even as his gaze flicked toward where Harry was standing

It was too painful to watch, Harry decided. Rhiannon was about to get tossed aside like an old sock; the least Harry could do was let her know that she could speak her mind about it. "Don't worry about me," he said, dropping into an overstuffed chair covered in horrible paisley fabric. "Dad and I both know that you told her. And he knows that it was your shampoo that let you, so--"

"Sweet Merlin," breathed Draco, his voice almost hollow.

"Actually, he didn't seem too angry about it, considering--"

Rhiannon stamped her foot again. "Shampoo? What on earth are you going on about?"

"You can say magic," Harry told her. "You can talk about it as much as you like. We know that Draco told you about it. I mean, about us."

"Oh." Rhiannon seemed to need a moment to think that over. "Well, that's good, then. But Draco . . . what's wrong?"

By the end, her voice was plaintive.

"Nothing," said Draco, finally pushing away from the counter.

"The bell upset you--"

"It didn't."

"Then why do you look like . . . like you've iced over?" When Draco said nothing to that, Rhiannon's nostrils flared. "You're obviously angry. You won't even look me in the eye! Don't tell me it's nothing!"

Harry had heard enough. "Yeah, don't tell her it's nothing, Draco, not when you know well enough that it's not nothing, not to you."

"What's not nothing?" cried Rhiannon, clasping her hands. "Did I do something-- but all I did was ring that bell . . ."

For a moment, Harry was almost convinced that he was watching her in slow motion on the telly. It seemed like her expression changed that gradually, with understanding bit by bit replacing the confusion in her eyes. And not just understanding, either. Indignation.

"The bell. The bell was like that because I'm not the same as you," she said, inhaling sharply. "But you knew that. Except . . . well, I know you knew it! But you're acting like it comes as a shock or something, like--" Her hand flew up to cover her mouth for a second. "Oh, my God. You people are strange about having magic or not, aren't you? Of course you are! It's the whole reason a place like this orphanage would even be needed! And if magical families can end up with children who don't have that kind of talent, then . . ."

Her face went as white as Draco's had, earlier. "Oh. You think that regular people can end up with children who do have magical abilities, don't you?" When Draco didn't answer, her voice went up an entire octave. Harry almost winced. "Don't you?"

"They can," said Draco, his hands shoved into his pockets. He jerked his face oddly, trying to flip his fringe to the side. "I know plenty of witches and wizards who come from Muggle families."

Rhiannon's eyes narrowed. "Muggle!"

"It's just a word we use--" said Harry, but Rhiannon wasn't listening to him.

"And you thought I was one of these . . . half-witches!" Rhiannon accused, pointing a finger at Draco. "You did, you did! Is that why you kept asking me to try spells Monday at lunch? I thought you were joking when you said that if only I tried my very best, I might be able to do a little magic! You thought I was . . . somebody with repressed magic, or something, is that it? Until that bell told you differently! And now look at you, pale and shaking and looking like-- oh, never mind. For you to think this whole time, this whole time-- and then be disappointed!"

Draco made a croaking sound, and then tried again. "Rhiannon--"

"I don't need this," she said, shaking her head. "Muggle . . . what a nasty-sounding word. I don't need any of it, especially not a boyfriend who never saw me for me. You can just go to hell, Draco Snape, and take your damned wand with you. I'm through with you!"

With that, Rhiannon Miller spun on a heel and walked out the door, her head held high.

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Coming Soon in A Year Like None Other:

Chapter 16: "No Man is an Island"

Comments very welcome,

Aspen in the Sunlight

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