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: Many thanks to Rose K. Brown, who betaed this many, many times while it was in development, and to Keira, who also read it through and helped me. Their comments resulted in a much improved chapter.

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A Summer Like None Other

by Aspen in the Sunlight

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Chapter Seventeen:

Salutations

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Harry's mouth fell open. All the way open. Quite clearly, he couldn't wrap his mind around the fact that Draco had just demanded to go and see Granger.

And this, despite the fact that Draco's meaning had been perfectly plain! "Well?" asked Draco, tapping his foot impatiently. "Is there a problem?"

Evidently there was. Harry started moving his mouth, like he was trying to form words and failing. "Hermione Granger?"

Draco narrowed his eyes. "Didn't I just say as much?"

"But--"

"Oh, for Merlin's sake." Draco gave a sigh, making extra sure it sounded long-suffering. Well, it should! Here they'd been standing about, debating the point for an entire minute, when they should be at the girl's house by now. "How many Hermione Grangers do you know, anyway?"

Draco flushed then, realising that he was waving his arms a bit wildly. He couldn't help it. He wanted to get to Granger's house now, so she could tell him what it would take to get a Muggle-raised girl back.

To get a Muggle girl back, rather. Draco was through trying to make her into a witch. She was what she was, and while the whole matter of her birth was very unfortunate, he could look past it. Because she wasn't really like most Muggles, anyway.

Rhiannon being a Muggle . . . well, she was, but it was practically a technicality, even so.

Dropping his hands to his side, Draco adopted a cool, confident tone. An older-brother-taking-charge tone. Perhaps that would get through to Harry, who was still blinking like he couldn't really believe his ears. "Shall we be off, then? No time like the present."

"Time, I do believe, is the issue," murmured Severus in a meaningful tone.

Draco didn't need to be a Legilimens to know what that meant. "It's not so late," he quickly said. "We can get there in a flash. And anyway, we all know Granger. She's probably still up reading."

"What does your watch have to say?"

Draco didn't want to look at it and find out. "Well, Time to visit Hermione Granger is a bit much to ask, isn't it, when I bought this watch using that paltry sum you call an--"

The look on Harry's face made Draco hurriedly revise his choice of words.

"Er . . . I bought this watch using that rather modest allotment you give us for allowance, Severus. Before I came back into money of my own. It's not like my other watch, which was really quite accurate."

"I'd like to know what it says, all the same," said Severus, his voice silky as he leaned close. Dangerously silky. Quite likely, the allowance comment had been misstep. "Hmm?"

No hope for it, then; the man was going to insist. Sighing, Draco pulled up the sleeve of his suit jacket and glanced down at his wrist. "Time to go to bed," he admitted, making a face.

"Imagine that. People in bed at this hour."

Draco could have done without the sarcasm. "It's not even midnight, you know."

"Nearly midnight on a Thursday," said Harry, who looked to be coming out of his shock. Or daze, more like. He was clearly over it now, though. "Hermione's parents both have to work in the morning, you know!"

No, Draco didn't know. What was more, he didn't care. Besides, it wasn't like it took a great deal of energy to . . . hmm. He didn't actually know what they did. Well, why would he? It's not like he'd ever cared two straws about what some Muggleborn's parents did while she was away at Hogwarts.

Perhaps, though, acting like he had an interest might be in his best interests now.

"Well, I suppose most people like them have to work, Harry. What do they do, anyway?"

Harry angled his head like he smelled a trick. Or was trying to. "They're dentists."

It took Draco a second to work the word out. Dentists . . . dental charms . . . "Oh. Teeth?" He almost shuddered. They wouldn't have dental charms at their disposal, of course. So they must fix teeth by hand? They spent their days inserting their hands inside of mouths? Muggle mouths?

How positively ghoulish.

Draco managed to shake the thought off. "Well, I can't imagine they have to be fully alert to do that job," he said, shrugging. "Now, listen. You have another swimming lesson tomorrow, which means I'll run into Rhiannon at the pool. So of course we have to visit Hermione tonight. I have to know what to say to Rhiannon tomorrow."

Draco beamed a smile all around, certain that they'd see the logic in his argument. It was the only way to view the matter, after all.

Harry just glowered, though, while Severus shook his head.

This isn't going well, thought Draco, which had to be the understatement of the aeon. Desperation began to crowd every other thought from his mind. "I have to know how to set this right," he said, his voice wavering slightly. And not on purpose, for once. "And Hermione will know how! After all, she's one of them, isn't she?"

Another glower. "She's one of us."

Draco almost rolled his eyes. Really, comments like that ought to be out of bounds, by now. Hadn't he been perfectly pleasant to Granger for months, now? Was it his fault that Muggleborns weren't so welcome in the wizarding world?

He ended up shoving his hands in his pockets. "I never said she wasn't--"

"What you've said, and you've said it at least a thousand times, is that she shouldn't be one of us. That she had no right to go to school with us! That she polluted the air and--"

So Draco had sometimes wished he knew a good breathing charm! He hadn't brought that up in years, anyway. Not since he'd seen how bad the bubble-headed charm really looked in practice. "Oh, please. This isn't about Granger!"

"It's not? You're not demanding to go and see her, after all?"

Severus gave Harry a warning look. About fucking time. But then he gave Draco one as well, which hardly seemed fair. Draco wished he could ignore it and be as sarcastic as Harry had just been--ha, Draco could be more than sarcastic; he could be scathing. But that might just end with Severus abruptly grabbing his arm to side-along him home.

Not the end result Draco wanted, so he tried speaking in a placating tone. Not begging, exactly. Just . . . conciliatory. "Yes, I want to go and see her. And for the record, when I said that Granger was one of them, all I meant was that she can understand this sort of situation much better than I can, Harry." Draco paused for a moment, to let Harry think about that. Really think. When it seemed like Harry had, Draco spoke in a confident, upbeat tone. A let's-get-going tone. "So then, where are we off to? Essex?"

It was the most Mugglish place he could think of, on short notice. And the mere fact that he of all wizards was willing, even eager, to go there, should be enough to convince all concerned that he deserved to get his way, nearly midnight or no.

One hopeful glance towards his father told him differently, however. He recognised the look, the one that said a lecture was imminent. "Draco, as you well know, it is not the done thing to go bursting into private homes in the middle of the night--"

Draco raised his chin, as he hardly needed to be lectured about his manners. He knew perfectly well what the done thing was, and he also knew that the rules didn't really apply here. Honestly! The Grangers were Muggles. And even so, he'd intended to offer them every consideration, since he wasn't daft enough to think that Hermione would talk with him, otherwise. "I did plan to knock, you realise. I do know how. I have heard of it."

Severus raised an eyebrow like he could do without the cheek, but Harry actually growled.

"Listen--" Draco started to say, only to be interrupted. Rudely interrupted. Harry was the one who needed a lecture on manners, obviously!

"Why don't you listen for once? Not thinking about other people's feelings is what got you into trouble to begin with! I don't care how well you knock. Hermione's parents are really nice people, and we're not waking them up."

Draco couldn't stop the words in time. It seemed to him that Harry just wanted to stop him from getting any help with Rhiannon. He'd basically been a pain in the arse about her, right from the first. "So it would be all right to wake them if they weren't so nice? Is that your point?"

"That will be quite enough, Draco." Severus began walking, then, toward the alley they'd Apparated into earlier. Draco stared after him for a moment. He thought about standing his ground, but then realized that was awfully stupid in this case. He was hardly going to demand they Apparate from the pavement in front of the theatre. That certainly wasn't the done thing, was it?

Sighing a little, Draco hurried to catch up with his father and brother. "There's no need to wake anyone," he said, about as earnestly as he could, the moment he was alongside them again. "Granger's parents'll sleep right through everything, I promise. We'll silver message Hermione so she'll come meet us outside, all right?"

"She might be asleep, too--"

Draco glanced at Harry and finally saw the truth about what was really going on. Clear as Lubaantum, it was, though it was hard to believe. Draco actually took a step backwards, very nearly stumbling. No wonder, since his mind was turning cartwheels. "You don't want me to get Rhiannon back, do you? You don't want it at all!"

It looked like Harry was swallowing hard, though in the dim light, Draco couldn't be sure. What he could be sure about was how tired Harry sounded. Tired of the whole subject. Or exhausted, even. "That's not it. It's just too late to go visiting, that's all."

"That's not all."

Harry didn't say anything, just shook his head a little.

"What?" asked Draco, a bit more loudly. "What?"

Harry leaned against the filthy alley wall. "What do you think? You've always been irrational about Rhiannon, but now you've gone barking mad! What makes you think Hermione would want to help with this, after all the rubbish you've spewed out about us versus them, eh?"

Draco felt as if he'd been slapped. He'd never thought of matters quite like that. Actually, he'd assumed that Granger would be overjoyed to help him, because, after all, he'd be asking for help so he could get along with a Muggle. How could Hermione Granger not like that?

For that matter, why didn't Harry like it?

Draco was left to ponder that question, because Severus had taken him by the arm, by then. "You can owl Miss Granger in the morning, Draco. For now, we're going home."

Draco clenched his jaw. What was wrong with everyone? His silver message plan was perfect! He scowled at Harry, who was still leaning against the alley wall, his suit jacket bunching up awfully.

"Don't blame your brother," said Severus calmly. "I don't think it's a good time to pay the Grangers a visit, either."

All that statement accomplished was to make Draco want to scowl at Severus, as well.

No point in doing that, though.

His feet dragging a little, Draco let his father lead him deeper into the alley. Owl Granger . . . if it was the best he could do, then fine. Of course, he had no intention of waiting until morning to owl her. He'd do it the moment they reached Devon. With any luck, she was staying up late reading, and she'd reply straight away, and they could set up an early meeting, something like that.

And really, perhaps it was for the best if Draco spoke to her in the morning, in any case. Right before he went to the pool, so Hermione's advice would be fresh in his mind. He didn't want to upset Rhiannon again, the way he'd upset her a few moments ago backstage.

Something inside Draco almost broke apart, then. Sweet Merlin, he could hardly bear remembering how she'd just looked. Oh, she'd been angry, no doubt, her blue eyes flashing with it, but behind that emotion, there had been another one.

Anguish.

Rhiannon had been hurt. Hurt deeply. So deeply, in fact, that she'd all but denied their love. You'd like to know what I think? she'd asked, every word scathing. I think you just want more of what you had during lunch, that day at my house.

She didn't mean that. She couldn't mean it, couldn't really think a thing like that of him. No, no. Rhiannon didn't really believe that Draco only wanted sex, that Draco had been using her.

She was just saying that because she'd been hurt so very much. It was her way of getting back at him.

Which could only mean that she cared. Really cared. She might not want to, but she did. And knowing that . . . it just about killed Draco, because he cared for her just as much. More, maybe. After all, she hadn't been raised to hate and disdain wizards. She actually liked magic. But h was willing to overlook her Muggle heritage, which was proof in itself, wasn't it, of how very much he cherished her.

He had to get her back. Anything less was unthinkable. He just had to find out how to talk to her, that was all. She was just as much in love as before, and it was up to Draco to make her see that. Pity, really, that he didn't have the faintest idea where to start.

But Granger . . . she would.

Draco swallowed, an entirely new thought striking him. A thought so strange, in fact, that it made him go cold, somewhere deep inside. He wasn't sure he could endure such a thought. It went against all the things he'd learned growing up. Against all the things he'd ever believed. Sure, he'd called Hermione clever a couple of times, and he'd come to understand that she could be helpful, since she could be in classes, looking out for Harry, back when Draco was still stuck in the dungeons.

But for all that, he'd never really wanted her there at Hogwarts. Since she was there anyway, he'd been willing to have her do something useful, that was all.

But now, Draco was thinking something rather different. Or, not thinking it, exactly. Considering it, perhaps.

Maybe it was a good thing, after all, that Hogwarts admitted Muggleborns.

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As soon as they were home, Draco sat down at the square table near the kitchen, Severus' quills and a pile of blank parchments near to hand.

His father walked past, going to his room, but turned around at the doorway, his dark eyes a little bit hooded as if he were still considering what to say. Or how to phrase it, perhaps.

"You don't think you should owl her in the morning, as we agreed?"

Draco leaned back in his chair. "You agreed. I didn't." Then another thought struck him and he sighed. "Oh, for Merlin's sake. This might not go out until morning in any case. I can't be sure, can I, unless I go to Hogwarts to put the letter in an owl's beak myself."

Severus didn't reply. He just kept looking at Draco with those dark, unfathomable eyes.

Draco felt himself growing nervous, which didn't happen very often, all things considered. "Ah . . . I don't suppose you'd let me pop over to Hogwarts, just for an instant--"

"At this time of night?"

"Yeah, I might wake up some elves," muttered Draco, before waving a hand. "I know, I know. The summer wards are up. I'll disturb a lot more than elves. Never mind. I'll just pop my post in the box and hope for the best."

Harry had gone straight to their room when they'd got in. Now he came out again, a pair of rumpled pyjamas draped over an arm. "You might want to get a good night's sleep before you try writing Hermione."

Draco could almost see the sense in that, since he felt too tired to argue. But no, this couldn't wait. "Good night," he only said, waving a hand to indicate Severus and Harry both.

Severus took the hint and murmured his own good-night before he went into his bedroom and closed the door with a quiet click.

Harry, of course, missed the message entirely. "Really," he said, sounding so earnest that it was annoying, "if you write your letter in the morning you'll--"

"Miss any chance of seeing Granger before the pool opens," interrupted Draco coolly. Perhaps too coolly, since part of him did know that his brother was only trying to help. "Harry . . . I need to do this. Go to bed." Please, Draco almost added, but before it came to that, Harry finally gave in.

"All right. Good night, then."

Draco waited until Harry also shut his door, then pulled a stack of parchment towards him. But it wasn't a blank stack, as he'd thought. Merlin, he really was tired, wasn't he?

The top parchment was written on, in Severus' hand, and looked to be a rough draft of some correspondence. But there wasn't any salutation or closing, so Draco wasn't sure whom Severus had been writing to.

Your proposed changes are quite frankly absurd, the first paragraph began. Have you consulted with Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry? As I am sure you are aware, decisions that will impact the school should be referred first of all to him. I would also like to know if you have spoken with the appropriate department heads at Magical Law Enforcement. I can't imagine that the Auror Corps would really prefer new apprentices to begin their training so appallingly unprepared. From the tone of your earlier communication, I would hazard a guess that you've yet to speak with a single wizard outside your own organization. Might I point out that such typically bureaucratic bungling is what makes the Ministry of Magic an unparalleled joke among all thinking members of the magical community ?

This isn't merely a matter of technical skill. Your hair-brained suggestion will result in Auror candidates with less discipline of mind, a circumstance which will hinder their progress and effectiveness in any number of ways. No doubt you fail to comprehend this because your own minuscule mind is woefully undisciplined--

The letter stopped there.

Draco pushed the parchment to the side, a little bemused. What was the letter about? Some change afoot in the Auror Apprentice programme, obviously. Draco wished he knew what change.

And why had this draft been left about? The simple explanation was that Severus hadn't finished the letter, and was still considering what to write. What tone to take, perhaps. But nothing was ever that simple with Severus. Plots inside plots. Schemes inside schemes. He'd meant for Draco to see the letter, obviously. But to what end?

Well, Draco wouldn't be able to fathom that out tonight. He had other brooms to fly.

Pulling a blank sheet of parchment towards him, he uncorked the ink pot and dipped a quill. Such a shame he didn't have one of his lovely self-inking quills handy, or better yet, one that would do his writing for him. They were in the bedroom with Harry, and if Draco tried to summon one, Harry would probably pad out in bare feet and ask how things were going. Or more likely, urge him to give it up for tonight.

Draco blinked, as it had suddenly occurred to him that he was procrastinating. Well, it's not like he'd ever written this sort of letter before, was it? He'd written to the half-bloods and Muggleborns in Slytherin, but not really to ask them for help. More to convince them that it was in their best interests to join the winning side of the war. His side, Harry's side. He'd been trying to help them, actually. Help them see that Slytherin didn't have to stand with the Dark Lord, that in fact, standing with him could only lead to slavery or death.

This letter was going to be different. This time, he had to ask for help. Ask Granger, even. Draco didn't know how to start it, so it was little wonder he was still procrastinating.

Well, nothing for it but to write the salutation, right?

Dear Granger . . .

No, no, that set the wrong tone entirely, didn't it? Draco tried to spell the ink off, but it still left a smudge, so he swept that parchment onto the floor and snatched a fresh one from the stack.

Dear Hermione . . .

Not much better. It sounded insincere. Like he was currying favour. Which he was, of course, but he hardly wanted it to look that way to Granger. He had a hard enough time calling her Hermione that she'd smell a rat straight away if he started the letter calling her that. And really, "Dear" didn't quite fit, either.

Draco tossed that parchment to the floor too, and sighing, tried a third time. Third time's a charm, he remembered Harry saying. Draco hoped so, anyway. Before he started writing this time, he thought for a while about wording. And tone. And all the polite pleasantries that this kind of correspondence should include. It wasn't the done thing, after all, to get right to the point when you had a favour to ask. Particularly when you were asking it of someone you'd been less than civil to, in the past.

Hmm . . . considering all he had said in the past, perhaps it wouldn't come amiss to throw in a few mentions of Mugglish things, just as a way to introduce Hermione to the idea that Draco's views might not be quite so adamant as before. They hadn't changed that much, since Rhiannon was really much more like a witch than a Muggle, whatever her bloodlines, but Draco wouldn't mention that. The goal here was to get Granger to talk with him, after all.

Draco's lips moved, murmuring a silent plea to Merlin. And then, another clean sheet of parchment before him, he slowly began to write, using his very best calligraphic script.

To Miss Hermione Granger:

I do hope you are having a lovely summer and that you don't miss school too much. For our part, Harry and I aren't missing it at all. The weather here has been delightful most days, which has given us a good deal of time for flying. I think you can expect the upcoming Quidditch season to be the most thrilling one yet.

Harry's swimming lessons are going well. He's got a highly skilled coach, a Muggle bloke by the name of Roger who seems very affable; he's always got a bright smile when he sees Harry arriving at the pool.

Harry and I have also spent a spot of time at an orphanage that takes care of abandoned squib children. Absolutely disgraceful the way their own families have cast them off, but at least the wizarding world is doing the best it can for them. I've endowed the home in hopes of making sure it continues to provide a top-notch public school education.

What have you been spending your time on, this summer? I'm sure you have any number of worthy causes on your agenda and that you must be keeping busy. With that in mind, I'll come to the matter most important to me at present.

I've had what one might call a revelation of sorts, I suppose. I must say, I hardly know how to begin explaining just what sort. You and I have had, shall we say, a less than rancour-free relationship in the past. Hence, my news, such as it is, may well shock you. It's taken Harry completely by surprise, after all, and I fancy that he knows me better than do you. The sum of all is this, Hermione: I find that I most urgently need to speak with you. I would prefer not to go into details until we can be face to face, but suffice it to say one thing now: the distance between myself and the Muggle world, I have learnt, is not nearly as great as I once believed.

Would you be willing to discuss the matter with me? I will be more forthcoming once we are together, I promise. Owls can be so impersonal . . . and this matter could not be more the opposite.

Please come to my summer home at your earliest possible convenience. I enclose a Portkey to facilitate matters. If, however, you are unable to travel at present, please do advise me by owl and I will come to you, wherever you may be.

With utter sincerity,

Draco Snape

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The first thing Draco did, when he woke up the next morning, was check the letter box.

No luck. There was nothing in it except their usual delivery of the Prophet.

Harry gave it a dirty look, which was typical of him. Draco had tried to tell him that reading it was a good idea. Even though it was full of misrepresentations and outright lies, if you knew how to read between the lines you could figure an awful lot of things out. But Harry just couldn't get over how he'd been treated by that paper in the past.

The whole thing made Draco feel a bit bad about the way he'd helped Rita Skeeter that one year . . . but he thought better than to say so. It was so long ago, and anyway, apologising was a sign of weakness, wasn't it?

Draco frowned, thinking of how abjectly he'd said I'm sorry to Rhiannon. Well, it was different when you were in love, probably.

Taking the paper out, Draco settled in to read, but had hardly got three words in before he decided he ought to check the letter box again. Just in case he'd missed the letter, somehow.

But no, the box was still empty. Depressingly so.

Well, nothing for it but to wait. It was already gone eight, so the Hogwarts' owls would be flying by now, surely. Grander was probably reading his letter just about now, and any second now she'd dash off a quick reply . . .

Draco's heart sank. No matter how quick she was, he'd have to wait until the redirecting spells did their bit. No owl was coming to Devon.

Bracing himself against the disappointment, Draco tried not to think about what he'd say to Rhiannon later that morning at the pool. The truth was, he didn't have any idea how to proceed, and until he talked to Granger, that wasn't going to change. No point going over it in his head a thousand times.

Instead, Draco tried his best to focus on the newspaper he was holding. He did browse it most mornings, though he didn't read it cover-to-cover. Now, though, he started to. It was either that or whinge.

"Interesting news?" asked Severus as he came out into the main room of the cottage.

"Hmm," said Draco, rather non-commitally. Nothing had really caught his eye. And nothing was likely to, since all he could think about was Rhiannon. And dratted Granger for being so slow, though perhaps he should be blaming owls and redirecting spells and the like.

"No post?" That was asked rather kindly, but Draco was in no mood to talk about it. Or admit, really, how much he needed a Muggleborn's help. He'd said quite enough on that topic the night before. Quite. He shook his head, glancing over the top of the paper at Severus, and felt a sudden need to distract the man from all topics related to Draco's love life. Or lack thereof, at the moment.

And after all, it was Severus' turn to cook.

"I'll have two eggs fried in proper butter, not that yellow fake stuff Harry made us buy, and do be sure the edges are crisp and brown, would you? Oh, and I'd like my toast done medium and served with a good dollop of double cream."

Severus raised an eyebrow. "Cream on toast?"

Harry wandered out, raking his hand through damp hair. Which explained a lot about his usual appearance, in Draco's view. "Yeah, he likes that. Didn't you ever notice, Dad?"

Draco turned a page in the Prophet as though he had much better things to do than debate his breakfast. "I might have only asked for it when Severus was off teaching."

"Might?" asked Severus dryly.

"All right, did." Draco lowered his paper enough to glare. "I knew what you would think of it."

Harry plopped himself down in a chair, his brow wrinkled as he looked from Severus to Draco. "Cream's just butter that hasn't been . . . er, I don't know what they do to it, actually . . . Anyway, it's a bit weird to have it on toast, but what's the big deal?"

Draco could feel himself flushing, and hardened his features to try to stop it. "It's rather a Malfoy tradition."

Harry's eyebrows drew together in clear annoyance. "What's that all about, then? It's all right to act like a Malfoy in front of me, but not in front of Dad?"

Draco made a show of ruffling the broadsheet. "Dad appears to be present. Maybe I just decided food preferences were a rather silly thing to try to lose. After all, haven't I lost quite enough?"

"A father who put out a death warrant on you, you mean?"

"A mother who loves me and can't come visit because she has to pretend to be loyal to your werewolf friend!"

Severus cleared his throat, loudly. "I certainly don't care if you want cream on toast, Draco. Now, since I appear to be taking breakfast orders, have you any preferences, Harry?"

Harry gave a little shrug. "Whatever Draco's having."

"He'll scrape his toast," said Draco with a straight face. "Crumpets for him."

Well, at least that had both his father and brother laughing a bit, and off the subject of Narcissa. Draco tried not to think about her very much. He understood that she'd had little choice but to side with Lucius against him, publicly at least, and he did know that she'd tried to make sure he wouldn't be left destitute when he was disowned, but still . . . when he thought about her, he ached.

He certainly hadn't meant to bring her up.

It wasn't until breakfast had been served that he set the Prophet aside.

Instead of taking it up as he usually did, Severus kept on with his meal. "Anything of note?"

Draco shrugged. "Oh, the usual, you know. Some announcements, a lot of adverts. Oh, and that Percy Weasley made some kind of statement."

Harry made a face. "The Prophet's quoting Percy, now? What about?"

"Oh, just that there's nothing particularly suspicious about the missing half-bloods--"

Harry cut him off. "What missing half-bloods?"

Draco tucked into his eggs before he answered. "You really should keep up with the news a bit better than that, Harry. There was a report saying two students had gone missing earlier in the summer. And then another one this morning. But nothing to worry about."

"Nothing to worry about!" Harry called over to Severus, who was waving his wand to make the eggs flip over in the frying pan. "Did you know that students have been disappearing all summer?"

"Hardly all summer," returned Severus. "But yes, I knew that two students had gone missing a few weeks back."

"What if Voldemort's behind it?" cried Harry. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"Because there was nothing you could have done about it, and no reason to suspect the worst." Waving his wand again,, Severus deftly slid the eggs onto a row of plates laid out in a neat row. "And too, I didn't want to spoil your summer with thoughts of Voldemort unless it was absolutely necessary."

Harry looked like he was bracing himself. "Who's gone missing, anyway?"

"The latest one is a Laura Madley," said Draco. "Hufflepuff, apparently. Three years behind us."

"And the others?"

"Er-- Walter, or Wally, or--"

"Wayne Hopkins and Su Li," said Severus quietly

"They're in our year," gasped Harry, turning to Draco. "And you couldn't remember their names?"

"Well, I don't pay a huge amount of attention to the other houses, Harry!"

Harry turned to his father. "I still can't believe you didn't mention this before!"

"There wasn't much reason to." Severus floated three plates over to the table, then joined them there, though at first he did little more than sip at his tea. "Mr Hopkins and Miss Li were known to be . . . involved, shall we say. All the indications are that they ran away together."

"Skipping out on their last year of school, though?"

"Perhaps the young lady is in the family way."

"Oh."

"So that's why the paper downplayed it!" exclaimed Draco. "Of course. It's terribly gauche, isn't it, to let that happen when you're still in school. You'd think even half-bloods would know better--"

Severus sighed and set his teacup down. "I didn't say that Miss Li was with child, Draco. I was merely speculating."

"Then what about Laura Madley?" challenged Harry.

"This is the first I've heard of her going missing. Draco, the paper please."

Severus read the article closely, not that there had been that much to read. Just a few brief paragraphs, really. Hmm. Perhaps that was telling in of itself, Draco thought. Did the Prophet not want to remind readers that all this might be some plot of the Dark Lord's?

"There's precious little information about Miss Madley," said Severus, laying the paper aside. "It seems Percy Weasley is doing well for himself, however. Assistant clerk to Fudge himself, these days."

Draco sniffed. He knew the Ministry was full of idiots--who didn't?--but he still disliked the idea that a goody-goody snotrag like Percy Weasley was rising through the ranks so fast. "And empowered to hold press conferences, apparently."

Severus' smile was grim. "Oh, that's just the Minister's idea of wiliness, I expect. If he's wrong about there being no connection among these disappearances, Percy will regret making such a strong statement on the matter. Fudge will not doubt disavow the comments."

Harry sounded impatient, like he couldn't care less if Percy Weasley got sacked. "Maybe the other two ran off with each other, who knows? But Laura Madley's too young for that. So what about her? Has a search been started, has--"

Draco recognised that tone and decided enough was enough. "Are you managing MLE now, Harry? The last time I checked, you had yet to so much as apply for an apprenticeship there." Which reminded Draco, actually. He looked for the parchment he had read the night before, but it was nowhere to be seen. Oh, well. "Severus, what's this rot about some proposed change in Auror requirements? You left a draft of a complaint letter lying about."

Severus pinched the bridge of his nose. From the look of things, just thinking about the matter gave the man a headache. "You recall that the Ministry had wished me to revise my curriculum to a much lower standard of competence? Ever since my refusal to do so, they've been putting forth a daft idea that my O.W.L. level is the equivalent of every other school's N.E.W.T. programme." Severus abruptly gave a sigh. "They're proposing that sixth- and seventh-year Potions classes be eliminated from the requirements for the Auror programme."

Harry's eyes widened. "I took a year of Potions that I didn't even need?"

"No, you didn't," barked Severus. "They aren't going to change the requirements. I will stop them, even if it means using my celebrity status as Harry Potter's father, even if it means giving interviews to every paper in wizarding Britain!"

"Quite right," said Draco, nodding in approval. "What can they be thinking?"

"That Dad's Potions classes are really hard," said Harry dryly. He looked just a little bit wistful over the issue, which Draco frankly thought was bad form. Not to mention silly. What was so difficult about brewing?

"Being an Auror is hard," said Severus scathingly. "And make no mistake, you will be taking N.E.W.T. level Potions next year no matter what the Ministry has to say about the matter."

"Yeah, yeah, I know," said Harry, a small smile playing about his lips. "I remember. Any son of yours is going to be a competent brewer, and you're talking real potions, N.E.W.T. level at the very least."

"You find the idea amusing, do you?"

"No, not really. It's just . . . it's sort of, I don't know, endearing . . .?"

"Endearing!"

Draco almost laughed, then, since Severus looked so appalled.

"Well, yes." Harry paused a moment. "It's like you're just a regular dad, see. Potions matter to you. A lot. And doesn't every father try his best to pass on that kind of appreciation? His values, all that?"

Suddenly the conversation wasn't amusing in the slightest. "And allegiances," said Draco sourly. "Why don't you just start talking again about how much I look like Lucius?"

"If you must know, I was thinking of Uncle Vernon and Dudley."

"Oh." Damned impulse control. Draco wished he could call back his words.

Apparently, Harry's admission didn't sit well with Severus, who narrowed his eyes. "Don't compare me to Vernon Dursley, Harry. What heritage was he intent on passing to his son? An inordinate love of puddings?"

"True," said Harry, sighing.

"And furthermore," said Severus, his voice going up a notch, "I don't expect you to excel in Potions merely because I happen to enjoy the subject. The knowledge you gain and the mental discipline required to become a competent brewer will help you in whatever life may hold for you."

"All right, all right. So you're not a football dad. I get it."

"Football dad?"

Football . . . Draco thought back to Harry's explanations about Muggles, to his descriptions of popular sporting events. Though why kicking a round ball about appealed was a good question. "I think he means a Quidditch dad," he said, nodding at Severus.

"No, I most certainly am not," said Severus.

Draco exchanged a swift glance with Harry. Very swift. Funny how he knew what his brother was thinking. When it came to Potions, Severus wasn't really a Quidditch dad, but he wasn't that far off, either. Not that Draco would say as much to Severus.

Harry obviously knew better than to, as well, since he quickly changed the subject. "What about Laura Madley, then?"

Good. A topic Draco felt more in control of. "This is no time for your saving-people thing, Harry," he said, not caring if his words sounded like a lecture. It would be just like Harry to go and do something foolish. Something Gryffindor. And that wouldn't do. "We don't even know if she needs saving. Right, Dad?"

"There's certainly reason to doubt it. The article mentioned a custody battle going on at present. A rather ugly divorce, with Family Services involved--"

"So, there you are then."

Severus kept right on talking. "However, both parents have sworn under truth serum that they have no information about the young lady's whereabouts."

Draco scoffed. "Well, they probably don't. Whoever has her in hiding has an accomplice who can alter memories. Simple."

"Bit scary you think of that straight away," Harry put in. The prat.

"Please. It's what happened with Belladonna, more or less."

"Yeah, but we don't know that it's what happened here--"

"There may be more to these disappearances," said Severus, "though we have nothing to base suspicion on, at present. However, you may rest assured that I will inquire if Lupin knows anything, later today."

Harry sat up straight, his posture fairly good, for once. "Today?"

"Yes, I'm due to meet him at Hogwarts this afternoon. And no, you may not come."

"But--"

"He'll still be under the influence of Polyjuice."

Draco could see Harry turning that idea over in his mind. The other boy slouched forward, again, resting his forearms on the table. "I understand, but I can handle it--"

"Harry, no," said Severus in what Draco thought was quite a stern voice. He reached across the table, as though to lay a hand atop one of Harry's, but Harry pulled back, out of reach. At that, Severus' voice softened. "It's not a good idea. It really isn't."

To Draco's shock, Harry suddenly stood up and held out both his arms, twisting them so that his inner arms were on full display. His green eyes were blazing as he raised his voice. "Afraid I'm going to start in on myself, are you? Well look, would you? I haven't been doing that, not in weeks and weeks--"

"I know you haven't," said Severus in an odd tone, which made Draco wonder if there were some monitoring spells in use. Or some other magical means of surveillance. Merlin knew, Severus wasn't afraid to keep tabs on him. "But that doesn't mean that additional stress is a sound idea. Wouldn't the good doctor agree?"

Harry scowled and flopped back into his chair. "Yeah, she might. But what does that mean, except that you both think I'm completely messed up?"

"All it means is that you aren't beyond human. We've discussed this before." Severus' voice was almost soothing as he said that, Draco thought, but it became more businesslike as he continued. "Besides, Harry, Lupin and I have some rather critical work to do, to help him survive his current assignment. He doesn't need the distraction of a friendly face."

"Oh." Harry drew in a big breath, though strangely, he ended up looking deflated. "Well, if it'll help win the war, then yeah, all right. But tell him I said 'hi.' Tell him I'd like to see him. When it's, you know, feasible."

"You'll see him again," said Severus, reaching out for Harry's hands again. That time, Harry let him. "But it will have to wait until it won't interfere with his duties to the Order. I think you know that."

"Yeah, I know that."

Draco waited until it looked like the father-son moment was over. "As long as you're carrying messages . . ." He had to swallow before he could go on. "Could you ask him how my mother is, Severus?"

"I will do that, yes." Severus glanced at him, his dark eyes intense. Darker than usual, perhaps. "Of course I will, Draco."

Draco sighed, wishing she would visit. It was out of the question to let her know where the cottage was, of course, but wasn't there any way for them to meet on neutral ground? Or at the very least, she could write. Couldn't she? There were ways to sneak letters about without her "husband" knowing. Not that Lupin would care, but he had to act as though he would care.

Which might make Narcissa shy away from even trying, Draco glumly supposed. This wasn't an emergency any longer. He wasn't a young man set completely adrift from any source of funds, not now. Though he did wonder how she could know that. Had the werewolf mentioned something about Draco getting hold of Sirius Black's fortune? But how would he have known?

Too much time thinking about things like this gave Draco a headache.

"I don't think the Prophet should put so much stress on bloodlines," Harry suddenly said, shoving aside his empty plate. Odd, Draco hadn't noticed him polishing off every last trace of the egg and toast he'd been served. Which only went to show, he decided, that he'd been lost in thoughts of Narcissa for a good while longer than was probably wise.

"They should just report a vanished child!" Harry went on, clearly warming to his theme. "Why do they have to mention that Laura Madley is a half-blood? Only a half-blood, that's what they mean!"

"Oh, that is not what they mean," said Draco. "They're just reporting the relevant facts."

"How is that remotely relevant?"

Draco wasn't sure; it just seemed like it should be. "Er . .. well . . . maybe they're trying to say that the Muggle authorities are also working on the case."

"At the very least, the information may be useful in establishing a pattern," added Severus, which rather annoyed Draco, since he should have thought of that. "For all three missing students to be half-bloods may be significant. I will ask Lupin if he's heard of any plans involving students."

"Wouldn't he have reported it already, if he knows anything at all?"

"Anything critical, certainly." Severus gave a wry smile. "He's not at liberty to contact us very often, as you know. Arranging this afternoon's visit, in fact, was far from simple."

Harry nodded and sighed, looking like he was trying to think of another topic. He found one, too, actually popping open the letter box that Draco had shoved to one side. "Nothing from Hermione?"

"Does it look like there is?" Draco drummed his fingertips on the table. "I almost wish I could stay here and wait."

"Why can't you? I know you were worried about me at first, but I can mange in the water, now. And even if I couldn't, I'm sure Roger's not about to let me drown."

"Yes, well watching you flop about in the water isn't the only attraction at the pool. Rhiannon'll be there, and I wouldn't miss a chance to see her for the world." Draco lifted his chin. "The world. I don't care how angry she still is. Even seeing her from a distance . . . it's like a cheering charm. And I could use one."

"All right, all right. Didn't mean to get your wand in a knot." Harry dedicated himself to his tea after that, Draco noticed.

For his part, Draco was still hoping for a letter. Or for Granger to simply show up. What was wrong with her? Didn't she know how to use a Portkey? That didn't explain much, though. Draco knew she could use a quill. Or more likely at this time of year, a horrible plastic pen.

Draco stared at the letter box, willing it to produce something. It remained empty, though. It was still empty when they Apparated away to Exeter.

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As it turned out, going to the pool wasn't like a cheering charm at all. Rhiannon wasn't even there.

At first, Draco assumed she was merely late. He passed the time watching Roger correct Harry's backstroke as he wondered what he should do when Rhiannon arrived. Somehow, playing cool and aloof didn't seem like it would be a very good move, in the circumstances.

Hmm. If things ran true to form, her uncle would start to yell at her--in public, no less; such terrible manners--when she showed up late. Should Draco rebuke him, perhaps? Rally to her defence?

She might appreciate that, or she might not. And too, more friction with the uncle was bound to work against Draco, since Rhiannon would be living with the man for the rest of the summer . . .

In the end, though, he didn't have to decide: Rhiannon never came to work at all. In fact, a short stocky girl came in and took her place. She rushed past the line of children waiting at the smaller pool like she'd been summoned at the last minute.

She was late, like Rhiannon often was, but Stanley Tilden didn't yell at her, Draco noticed.

So . . . Rhiannon wasn't coming in to work, then? Draco frowned, but eventually decided it was a good sign. She must not want to see him, which of course could only mean that deep down, she cared. If she were truly indifferent it wouldn't bother her to be in Draco's vicinity.

Beside him, Severus stiffened slightly. Probably because Harry had just gone under the water and had come up sputtering something awful. Draco leaned forward, hands tensing, but then he saw that that Roger chap was right there, at the ready, his hands just an inch away from Harry, who managed to right himself without any help.

At any rate, Harry certainly didn't seem alarmed. "Backstroke's a lot harder than crawl," Draco heard him complaining.

"Come on now, float again," said Roger in a coaxing voice. He took Harry's wrist in hand and moved his arm up and back, demonstrating the stroke. Again and again.

Draco couldn't help but shudder. His own swim lessons, long ago, had been proper wizarding ones that involved a great many spells and very little man-handling. But then, Harry didn't seem to mind. He was smiling, even, as he floated there and let Roger move his arm up and back, again.

Well, it only stood to reason that Harry would be soaking all this in with glee, practically. He was making up for a childhood lost. A childhood in a cupboard . . .

Once, those rumours had been like a fine wine, to Draco. Now, he tried not to think about how very awful that must have been.

Or how awful he'd been, to enjoy the idea.

Finally, at half-past, Draco gave up on waiting for Rhiannon. "I'm going to the office," he announced to Severus, who merely nodded and kept his eyes on the pool, as usual.

Stanley Tilden was sitting behind the counter, bent over as he rifled through some files in a drawer.

Draco had to clear his throat. Twice.

Then, the man finally looked up.

"Good morning, Mr Tilden," he said with a smile, keeping his voice casual. He just hoped Rhiannon hadn't mentioned anything about their fight. "Is Rhiannon coming in later on?"

"She took a sick day."

Oh, no. She was upset enough with Draco that it had made her physically ill? Well, Draco could pop straight over and set that right. Just seeing him should make her feel better, he decided. But, best to be sure of her symptoms, he supposed. "Er . . . is she very poorly off, then?"

The man straightened, finally, and scowled. "I didn't say she was sick, Draco, only that she'd taken a sick day."

Oh . . . well, that made even more sense, didn't it . . . she was skiving off work. Draco was a bit surprised that Tilden was letting her, but perhaps she'd pretended to be sick, and Tilden had decided to let her get away with it. Which didn't seem like him, actually.

So Rhiannon must be very depressed indeed, and Tilden knew it.

Well, Draco would make things all right between them. He just needed a spot or two of advice first, so he didn't end up making things worse.

"Was there something else you needed, Draco?" asked Tilden in a very weary voice.

"No, no," said Draco, putting on his very best manners. "Do tell Rhiannon that I'm sorry I missed her, will you? And if you'd be so good, let her know that I wish her well."

"Yeah, I'll tell her." Tilden looked up, his eyes a little bit narrowed. "Do you want to ring her yourself?"

He pushed something toward Draco. A tan-coloured phone.

Draco did want to ring her, but he didn't know what to say. Worse, he didn't know how to use a phone. It probably wasn't very hard, but he wasn't in the mood to make a fool of himself in front of her uncle. Especially not considering that he still had to talk to Granger about all this.

"Ah, no. No, thank you."

Tilden's nostrils flared. "Best not to let a row fester, young man."

Draco raised an eyebrow. "A row? Er . . . did she . . ."

The man shook his head. "No, she didn't say anything, but I know Rhiannon. Well, up to you if you're too proud to ring her first."

He turned away, then, and busied himself with his files.

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Draco was thinking about one thing, and one thing only, as he Apparated back to Devon. Was that dratted letter box still going to be empty?

He rushed through the summer grass, throwing open the door to the cottage, only to be brought up short by the sight that greeted him inside.

Hermione Granger was sitting on the sofa just inside the door, and at her side sat none other than Ron Weasley.

What are you doing here? That was what Draco wanted to ask, but he knew better than to start down that road. Hermione was hardly likely to listen to him for long if he started things out by being rude to her rather uninspired choice of boyfriend.

With that in mind, Draco forced himself to smile. He didn't think it looked terribly enthusiastic, but it was the best he could manage. "Ron, Hermione. How lovely to see you both."

"Oh, stuff it, Mal-- Snape," said Ron, practically leaping to his feet. Hermione stood up too, a good deal more demurely.

"His name's Draco," said Harry as he came through the door. "Remember? We agreed."

"Like hell we agreed." Ron planted his feet apart, his stance screaming that he was spoiling for a fight. "I'd like to know what you think you're playing at, writing Hermione a love letter behind my back!"

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Coming soon in A Summer Like None Other:

Chapter Eighteen: "Slap and Tickle"

Comments very welcome,

Aspen in the Sunlight

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