A Summer Like None Other

aspeninthesunlight

Story Summary:
Family isn't everything, as Harry, Snape, and Draco learn in this sequel to A Year Like None Other. How will a mysterious mirror and a surprising new relationship affect Harry and his new family?
Read Story On:

Chapter 18 - Slap and Tickle

Posted:
08/13/2007
Hits:
2,154

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: A hearty thank you to clauclauclaudia for her fine proofing skills, to Keira and Rose K. Brown for commenting on the drafts, and to Mercredi for brainstorming details of this chapter and upcoming ones.

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A Summer Like None Other

by Aspen in the Sunlight

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Chapter Eighteen:

Slap and Tickle

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Draco just about choked. He could hardly believe what Weasley had said, what he'd had the gall to suggest! A love letter, of all things! And not just that, but a love letter to Granger.

"Are you off your head?"

"You heard me." Ron widened his stance. "So, the distance between yourself and Muggles isn't as great as you thought, eh? And this matter could not be more personal, what in Merlin's name is that supposed to mean? And how it's all been a revelation to you and such a huge shock to Harry--"

Draco's jaw dropped. In fact, he very nearly drew his wand. "How dare you read my private post!"

"I let him," said Hermione, her voice as cool as Weasley's was hot as she stared straight at Draco. "I had to. Molly Weasley was having a fit at the idea that I planned to Portkey here alone. Oh . . . I was at the Burrow when your letter reached me.And to be quite honest with you, I didn't know what to make of it, either."

"Yeah, so don't play innocent!"

Draco all at once felt ill. "Merlin," he groaned, ignoring Ron and shaking his head at Hermione. "You didn't really think I meant . . . did you?"

"Please," said Hermione scathingly. "You and a Muggleborn? You? Right."

Oh, dear. That didn't bode well.

"Yeah, well I still think the whole thing sounds awfully dodgy!" retorted Ron, who clearly wasn't listening to a word anybody was saying. As usual.

"Oh, for God's sake," said Harry, going over to stand in front of Ron. Putting both hands on his shoulders, he gave his friend a slight shake. "Draco's not interested in Hermione, Ron. Not. Not. Trust me on this one."

As Weasley shrugged Harry off, the dull red flush under his skin went a darker colour, but not from anger. Humiliation, maybe. Draco hoped so, anyway.

And that was before he heard the next idiotic claim to come out of Weasley's mouth. "So what's it all mean, then, all this rot about you being a lot closer to Muggles than you ever knew? Are you one of those children we always hear rumours about? You know, a Muggleborn switched at birth?"

"No, I'm bloody well not a Muggleborn," shouted Draco, aghast. "Switched at birth! How dare you! Do you want to duel, Weasley, is that it?"

"Nobody will be duelling," said Severus calmly. When Draco glanced behind him, his father was giving a tiny shake of his head.

Draco took a deep breath, appalled now not only at the nasty suggestion Ron had made, but also at himself. He hadn't even noticed when Severus had come into the cottage; he'd been too caught up in the conversation. He knew better than to lose track of his surroundings like that. In any sort of real battle, it would be deadly.

At that same moment, Draco felt the gentle brush of his father's mind against his own. Just a touch, the same as had happened two days earlier. This time, though, he didn't misunderstand. Severus wasn't trying to read his mind. No, that was his way of privately showing Draco that Severus was there for him. The others would see a hand on Draco's shoulder, but not this.

Draco relaxed, giving a tiny nod of his own. Severus marked it, he was sure.

Meanwhile, Harry had taken a couple of steps away from Ron. "Draco? I think you'd better just come out with it."

Probably the best thing to do, Draco thought. Knowing that and doing it were two different things, though. It wasn't really Weasley's business, was it? But really, after all this rubbish about love-letters and Muggleborns switched at birth . . . yes, the best thing to do would be to clear everything up, right now.

Draco shoved his hands into his pockets. He was getting a bit weary of explaining himself. He felt like he'd been doing that for weeks, to Harry, and he was only going to have to do a lot more of it in a few moments, if he was going to persuade Granger to recommend a course of action. Instinct had him wrapping one hand around the grip of his wand, but not to wield it. He just felt better when he had it in hand, even though he was still getting used to feel of the maple.

"I invited Hermione here so she could give me some advice," he said, head held high. "If she'd be so good."

"Advice?" That was Hermione, her forehead crinkling up. "About what?"

"You, coming to her for advice!" Ron practically guffawed. "Oh, that's rich!"

There was more ridicule coming; Draco could tell. Weasley was just getting started. Draco stiffened, his arm just itching to draw his wand.

Severus must have sensed how close Draco was coming to losing control of his impulses. "You're a guest in my son's home," the Potions Master announced, his voice severe. When Draco glanced at him, he was levelling something close to a death glare at Weasley. "And it's my home as well. Kindly remember that."

"Yes, sir," murmured Ron, looking down and shuffling his feet.

"Draco, what can I help you with?" asked Hermione again, a little more slowly.

"I need to talk to you alone--"

"Oh, no you don't!"

Ron again. Of course. Jealous idiot. He was looking up now, his eyes flashing as if to warn Draco off.

Which of course meant that Draco had to try his own version of a death glare. "Oh, yes I do," he mocked. But then, because he was awfully tired of pointless argument, he said the rest of it. It was easier than he would have thought, all things considered. "I need a feminine perspective. A Muggle perspective. Because I actually am in love, as it turns out. But not with Hermione. With a Muggle girl, and that's what I need advice about. Satisfied, Weasley?"

Satisfied didn't exactly cover it, Draco thought. Weasley looked floored. Absolutely staggered. His red colour abruptly faded. "You . . . and a . . . Muggle! You're having us on!"

"I'm not."

"You're serious?"

"Perfectly," said Draco. Coldly. "And now, if Hermione will be so kind, we'll be having a private talk. In my bedroom, but if you say one word out of place about it, I'll--"

"Oh, shush, Draco," said Hermione, stepping forward to lay a hand on Weasley's forearm. "Ron's not going to say anything else. Are you, Ron?"

Draco had to hand it to her; she really did know how to wrap the other boy around her finger. He just hoped she understood Muggle girls as well as she obviously understood Weasley.

Weasley shook his head, but he didn't look any too happy. Actually, Draco wouldn't have been surprised if he only waited five minutes and then began to pound on the door, yelling things. He did, after all, have a nasty habit of making the nastiest sorts of allegations.

Severus must have thought something similar. "A game of chess to pass the time," he suggested, his voice edged with hard tones. "What about it, Mr Weasley?"

"Well--"

"Oh, you can't pass that up," said Harry, clearly trying to smooth things over. "And you'd better take the offer while it's good. Er . . . Dad has to leave in a little while, I think."

"Indeed." Severus inclined his head. "I've an appointment at three."

Ron glanced around as if looking for help from some quarter. He certainly didn't get any from Granger.

"Really, Ronald," she said, sighing. "If you don't trust me to be alone in a room with Draco, you should just say so."

"It's not you I don't trust--"

"I'm in love with another girl," said Draco, laughing it off that time. What else was there to do, when Weasley was being so completely ridiculous? "Tell you what. A hundred Galleons if you can manage to keep Severus from completely humiliating you."

"Oh, sure, act like your gold can buy anything you want." Ron practically spat the words.

"But it can't," said Draco calmly. "It can't buy Rhiannon. If it could, I wouldn’t need to talk with Hermione. All right . . . Ron?"

"Oh, fine. Go, fine. But keep the door open, mind--"

"Ronald!"

"Or closed," Weasley hurriedly added. "Whatever."

Draco wasted no time in taking him at his word. He strode into the bedroom, head held high, never once looking behind him.

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"So . . . you love a Muggle girl," said Hermione doubtfully as soon as Draco had finished casting privacy spells. "Any reason why you didn't just say so in your letter?"

"I didn't think you'd believe me."

Hermione smiled, and not pleasantly. "But I don't believe you. What's this really all about, Draco?"

"That is what it's about," said Draco, sitting down on his bed. He'd have waved her onto Harry's, but he thought he'd get more from the conversation if she was close enough that he could see her expressions up close, so he patted the spot next to him.

Hermione's lips curled upward in sort of a rueful expression as she planted her hands on her hips. "Ron would have a fit. And before you say he's not in here, let me just tell you, I wouldn't put it past him to go outside so he can watch us through the window."

As if a mere window could be any sort of real problem! Shrugging, Draco waved his wand at the window as he murmured an incantation to obscure the glass.

"Oh, that's a nice spell," said Hermione, clearly not meaning it. "Very . . . Slytherin."

"If you aren't going to sit down, I'll stand too," warned Draco, patting the spot beside him, again.

Hermione glanced at his hand, but then backed away to sit down on Harry's bed, after all. "I don't think so," she said, crossing her legs a bit primly. Or nervously, perhaps.

It suddenly struck Draco that he'd never been completely alone with Hermione Granger before. And he had insulted and threatened her rather frequently in the past, so it stood to reason that she might be a little bit uncertain of his true intentions.

Not that she was going to admit to being wary, of course. Her eyes were narrowing, her voice talking on that challenging lilt he'd heard her use to Harry so many times. "After all, you wouldn't like this . . . Rhiannon, did you say, sitting with another boy on his bed, would you?"

Hmm, she did have a point there, which was rather annoying. Hermione was definitely too clever by half. But that was all right, as long as he could get that fine mind of hers working on his problem.

Capitulating, Draco summoned a chair close to Harry's bed. "Oh, I wouldn't like that at all," he said, in a voice that suggested hexes and worse. "You're right."

"Now that's something I never thought I'd hear you say."

One part of Draco knew he might deserve that, but a bigger part of him was offended. Particularly since she said it like he was still the boy he'd been years ago, the one who'd wanted Harry Potter dead. Hadn't she realised yet that he wasn't that person any longer? He'd proved it, hadn't he? "You've forgotten I called you clever, apparently."

"You've called me a lot of things over the years."

Oh, sweet Merlin. Draco got it, then. She wanted an apology. He almost rolled his eyes, because the one thing Hermione had never seemed to him was a typical girl, but here she was, waiting for an apology, just the same as Rhiannon had wanted. Well, Granger could wait all day, if that was her problem. After all, when Draco had said he was sorry to Rhiannon, it hadn't made a whit of difference. Why should he abase himself again?

He wouldn't, not when she'd probably just scoff at it. Far better to approach the matter with a Slytherin retort. "Yes, well I actually must think you clever, seeing as I asked you here so you could give me some advice."

"So you're implying that you didn't actually think those other things, are you?"

"I don't know, do I?" asked Draco, raising his voice. Why not? She had him by the teeth, by then. "Seeing as I love a Muggle girl?"

Hermione abruptly glanced away and worried her lower lip with her teeth. Draco had the feeling that she was thinking, but it looked like an awfully strange way to do it. When she finally spoke, her words came slowly. Which wasn't like her at all, but then again, Draco would bet more than a hundred Galleons that she'd never had to face a conversation like this one, before. "You really love a Muggle, Draco? Truly? That's the reason why you owled?"

Draco nodded, leaning forward and looking her straight in the eye.

Hermione sighed and leaned back on her palms. "All right, I suppose I can swallow that, though it's very difficult." Her voice took on a sardonic note. "I don't think you have any idea how difficult."

Oh, she was finding this difficult, was she?

"But Harry seemed to think it was true," Hermione blithely continued, clearly still thinking her way through the matter. "You wouldn't play a prank like this on Harry, would you? Who thinks of you as a brother?"

Oh, wonderful. If she believed him at all, it would be because of Harry.

"He is my brother," retorted Draco, sitting back in his chair as he gave a long sigh. "Let's not have any of this thinks of you as rubbish.And no, I wouldn't play a prank like this. Why would I want to?"

"I can't think of a single reason."

Draco fought off an urge to say something sarcastic.

"After all, you're only going to make your own life harder with a story like this--"

"If you want to talk hard, what do you think it's been like for me, finding out I was dating a Muggle?"

Hermione had been swinging her legs a bit--they were uncrossed by then--but at that, she went still. "What do you mean, finding out?"

Draco tugged on his collar a little, wishing he could cast a cooling spell. But that would give too much away. As it was, he could tell he must be going red in the face. And that looked worse on him than it did on Weasley, he knew.

"Well . . . I, er . . ."

"Yes?"

Closing his eyes, Draco almost started wishing himself somewhere else. It was humiliating enough that Harry and Severus knew how big an imbecile he'd been; for Hermione Granger to find out as well was galling in the extreme. But there was no way around it. "I thought she was a witch at first, all right?"

Hermione giggled. "Really?"

Draco opened one eye and regarded her balefully. "I'm not telling you these things so you can laugh."

Hermione grin faltered. "Right, of course. But what would make you think that a Muggle was a witch?"

"She was wonderful, that's what!"

"You can't be a wonderful person without magic?"

Draco bared his teeth, even though all that sort of thing was bad manners. "Well, obviously she can be, but I didn't know that, not then. She was so perfect that I assumed she simply had to be a witch. A pureblooded witch, even, if you must know."

"And there I always thought you were clever too, in your own way."

"Come again?"

Hermione shifted so she could lean forward. "Look, Draco. You used to be a thoroughly foul person as far as I'm concerned, but over the last few months you did make it clear that Harry's important to you, now, whatever was true before. I don't expect you to admit it, but my guess would be that you think he's wonderful."

"Your point being?"

"Harry had a Muggleborn mother. You can't possibly still believe that only purebloods can be wonderful."

Everything she said was true, of course, but Draco didn't like where it was leading. Not one bit. Thankfully, he had an easy way out. "Oh, please. He's Harry Potter, as you well know. If anything is certain, it's that the usual rules don't apply. Not to him."

"Then what's your excuse when it comes to Ron?" she asked crisply, the moment he stopped speaking. "He's pureblooded, but I'd bet my last book that you don’t find him wonderful."

Draco clenched his fists. They were supposed to be talking about how he could get Rhiannon back, not going on about what Draco did or didn't think! Annoyed, he raised an eyebrow in challenge and came back at her with an analogy he knew she wouldn't appreciate. "All house-elves are enslaved creatures, but it doesn't follow that all enslaved creatures must therefore be elves, Granger. There are plenty of other kinds."

Hermione glared at him. "Do you want my help, or not?"

"With Rhiannon, not with whether I find my own brother so sodding wonderful!"

The angry expression in her eyes softened. "Defensive about it, aren't we?"

Of course he was. It was one thing to turn to Harry because strategic advantage dictated him to be Draco's best chance at survival. It was quite another thing to actually like him. Which Draco did, of course. But he still had moments of misgiving about it. How could he not? He'd been raised to think that Harry Potter was the worst thing that had ever happened to the wizarding world!

Well, the worst thing except for Muggles trying to infest it all the time with their semi-magical spawn.

Hermione looked smug by then. "Why don't you just tell me a bit about your girl, then?"

His girl. Draco wished she was. Extending his legs extended in front of him, heels tilted against the floor, he folded his arms across his chest. "Rhiannon's an opera singer." A wonderful one, he almost added. "She went to a music academy for her schooling; she was admitted for her talent, which is quite stupendous, and believe me, I would know. She doesn't like math or science much, and--"

"How did you meet her?"

Oh. Draco had perhaps begun prattling there, a bit. He couldn't help it, though. Rhiannon was wonderful. "She works at the pool. Where Harry has his lessons, you know."

"She helps with those?"

Draco stared at her. "No. I told you, that's Roger's job. Do you think it takes two lifeguards just to keep Harry afloat?"

"All right, all right. Don't get your knickers in a twist. I'm just figuring it all out."

"That's wand in a twist."

All that got him was an impatient look. "If you're going to date a Muggle you'll have to get used to Muggle sayings, you know."

Yes, Draco did know. He'd been all over that with Harry, but he could see that Hermione was never going to believe it, not just on his say-so. Probably best to show her how hard he'd been trying. "Oh, God, do you think so?" he asked, throwing the question out like he said it all the time.

It didn't quite come off that way. When Draco heard himself, he almost cringed. He sounded absolutely dreadful speaking Mugglish.

Hermione must have thought so too; her mouth all at once seemed to compress, like she was trying to hold in a laugh, and having a rather hard time of it. Then she spoke quickly, as if to get herself under control. "What's an opera singer doing working at a pool, anyway?"

Draco folded his hands together and tried to look more composed than he felt. It wouldn't do for Granger to know that he wished he hadn't tried a spot of Mugglish on her. "Well, her uncle owns it. She has to work there so he'll let her stay with him for the summer. Because the opera she's singing at is in Exeter, you see."

Hermione tilted her head to the side. "And you really had no reason to suppose her a witch other than her . . ." She gave him a bit of a smile. "Air of wonder?"

"I definitely did. But . . . they all seem a little daft, now."

"Tell me about them."

"Well, wizards don’t have a theatre world of our own, you know." Oh, perhaps she didn't know. Feeling on firmer ground, Draco started explaining things she would understand if she'd been raised in a proper wizarding household. "That means that if you're interested in the performing arts, you have to fit yourself into the Muggle world as best you can. So, at first I thought she was doing that. Passing herself off as one of them. And then . . . then that started to seem less likely . . ."

He winced, remembering what had come next. "So after that, I started to think that Rhiannon must be a witch without knowing a thing about it. And before you say so, yes, I do know that doesn't make much sense. You should have heard Harry trying to talk me out of it, asking where her Hogwarts letter had got to. We had a lot of arguments."

Hermione started twisting a section of hair around and around her finger. "But that does make perfect sense." She paused, but not as though considering her words. It was more like she was waiting for the right moment to strike. "You didn't want her to be a Muggle, did you, Draco?"

He could feel his expression hardening, becoming granite. "No, I didn't."

"But she is one."

"Is there a particular reason why we're going about in circles?"

That time it did look like she was deciding what do say. "I suppose . . . I'm trying to figure out why you would still claim to love her, now that you know the truth."

Granite? Draco was clenching all over, by then. "Don't call it a claim. I really do love her."

"Are you sure? Perhaps you just can't bear to admit that you were wrong."

Dear Merlin, she was worse than Marsha. Draco's nostrils flared. "Or perhaps I actually am in love. Why wouldn't I be? Muggle or no, she's absolutely perfect."

Hermione snorted.

"Well, perhaps she's not absolutely perfect," admitted Draco with a slight smile. "Rhiannon loathes money, which isn't a terribly rational attitude, is it . . ."

"You know, she really doesn't sound like your kind of girl at all," said Hermione wryly.

"But she loves magic," said Draco earnestly. "Adores it, always has, even though she didn't know it was real. That's part of why I thought she was a witch at first."

"She knows you're a wizard?"

Draco nodded.

Hermione stopped twisting her hair. "Oh. I thought you had Snape's permission to break it to her, and you were wondering the best way. But if she already knows, then why did you need to talk to me, again?"

The hard part, now. Draco leaned forward over his legs. "We rowed something awful. And I've tried to talk to her, but she won't listen. I don't understand Muggle girls, obviously. I thought you could tell me what she wants to hear."

"Perhaps that you're sorry?"

Draco glanced up, just briefly. "Told her that."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, of course I'm sure!"

When he glanced up again, Hermione was giving him what seemed to be a speculative look. "It just doesn't strike me as much of a you thing to say."

At that, Draco felt like snorting. Though he wouldn't, of course. He had better manners. "That shows how much you know," he said, chin high. "It wasn't even my first apology, if you must know."

"You're keeping count?"

Doesn't everyone? Draco hurriedly splayed his hands on his knees before it became obvious that he'd begun counting on his fingers.

Hermione's voice softened, then. "It's just difficult to picture, Draco. You've always been so . . . so proud of your pride."

Draco looked away, his lips twisting. "You haven't been paying attention, Granger. My pride was blasted all to bits when I had to admit to my own worst enemy that I'd chosen the wrong side. And when I recommended that you and Ron come here to see what his wanded magic can really do, since you could be at Harry's side during classes and I couldn't." Not to mention when I wrote to you for help . . .

Looking back at her, Draco cleared his throat. "I did apologise," he said clearly. "Though obviously I can't force you to believe it."

Hermione gave a brief nod. Draco wasn't even sure what it meant, but then she began speaking. "Good for you, then. That's a start."

Maybe she wasn't as clever as he had always thought. "No, it wasn't. She still can't stand the sight of me." He hated the way his voice went plaintive, but he couldn't seem to hold back the awful sound of need. "What do I do?"

"If saying you're sorry wasn't any use, then I don't know."

"Oh, wonderful."

"Since I don't even know what you rowed about in the first place," Hermione said without stopping.

"Oh . . ." Draco sighed, and looked out the window. Or tried to. His spell was still obscuring the view. He should have used a one-sided charm, he thought, annoyed. "I wasn't trying to upset her, but I found out she was a Muggle rather unexpectedly, you see. And . . . well, I was shocked. Of course I was shocked! Anyone would be, after all. But Rhiannon saw how . . . er, upset I was, and reasoned everything out."

"Reasoned everything out?"

"She figured out that I must have thought her magical up until then."

"Oh, dear." Hermione considered that for a moment, then brightened. "You know, she sounds rather clever."

Trust Hermione to think of that.

"Just tell me what to do to make it right," said Draco, turning back to her.

"How could I possibly know how to set that right?"

Draco started speaking slowly, since she seemed to be having such a difficult time understanding the situation. "She's a Muggle girl. And until you were eleven, you thought you were a Muggle girl, didn't you? And since then, every summer, you spend scads of time with Muggle girls, don't you? After all that, I'm sure you understand Muggle girls!"

Clearly, Hermione didn't appreciate his tone. "Are you under some kind of strange delusion that all Muggles are alike, Draco?"

Draco blinked. "Aren't they?"

Hermione frowned. "Of course not. Do you want people to assume all purebloods are alike, and think you must have all the same traits as Ron?"

Draco shuddered. Which probably didn't help his cause any, but by the time he'd realised that, it was too late to call the reaction back.

"Oh, fine," he muttered finally. She was right, of course. He could see that. Obviously, all Muggles couldn't possibly be alike, since Rhiannon was so unlike the great unwashed masses of them. "I don't even know why I thought I'd needed to talk to you, really," he said thoughtfully. "Rhiannon's sort of a Muggle-in-name-only, if you ask me."

Hermione scooted forward until she was sitting on the edge of the bed. "Are you convincing yourself again that she has magic after all?"

"No, no. I've given up on that." Draco sighed.

"Then what did you mean?"

"It's just . . ." At that, Draco shrugged. "The other girls at the pool were typical Muggles, but not Rhiannon. You could tell."

"What are you going on about?"

Draco's face heated just remembering. "Well, Rhiannon wore a one-piece red swim suit that was cut a bit low in front and a bit high in the leg, if you ask me, but at least most of her was covered up in public. The other Muggle girls . . . sweet Merlin! They wore close to nothing at all! Tiny patches of cloth, completely indecent, but what can you expect? Everybody knows that Muggle girls put out without even thinking twice. All you have to do is buy them dinner, or even a small snack, and--"

Thwack!

Draco's chair skidded back several inches from the force of the blow, his head snapping to the side.Ouch. At least she'd just slapped him, not decked him like last time, but he could swear she'd hit him ten times as hard.

By the time he recovered, jumping to his feet, she was already at the door, yanking on the knob to try to open it. But of course, his privacy wards had included a standard sticking spell. He hadn't wanted Weasley barging in on them in a fit of jealous rage.

Hermione whipped her wand out. "Finite!"

But of course that didn't work. Warding spells wouldn't be much use if any witch or wizard could eliminate them with a simple Finite.

Hermione's next move was to advance on him, her wand still extended. She looked as though she intended to poke him with it.

Honestly, the girl's concept of manners was absolutely atrocious.

Or perhaps not, since she never did actually poke him. She just held her wand at the ready, her shoulders thrown back, her eyes flashing like Harry's did when he was angry. "We're through, here. Let me out. Now."

"Aren't you overreacting a tad? I didn't say you were--"

"What, a slut?"

"No need to be crude--"

"You were."

Draco dragged in a breath. Had he been? It was just the truth, what he'd said. Like saying the sky was blue. "I was just trying to explain that Rhiannon isn't like that."

"And every other Muggle girl is? Honestly! Are you listening to yourself? Well, I can tell by now that you aren't listening to me, so let me out!"

Draco started to draw his wand so he could. By then, he felt a little put out, anyway. All he'd wanted was a little advice, and what had he got but a bunch of lectures and a slap? And a hard one at that. "Fine," he said, not caring that he sounded petulant. "She's not like a Muggle girl anyway, so I don't know why I thought your experience would be of any use." He whispered the key to the wards and lifted them. "There, all gone. Have fun watching Weasley lose at chess!"

"I heard that!" called Weasley from the other side of the closed door.

Hermione laid a hand on the knob again, but she didn't try to turn it. "Yes, I'm sure I couldn't have helped you anyway," she said, her chin lifted as she tucked her wand back away. "You've got girls so well figured out, after all. Why don't you just explain things to her the way you just explained them to me? That should work wonders--"

With that, she was flinging the door open.

As she strode through to the little cottage's main room, Draco realised two things all at once. One, while Rhiannon might not be a typical Muggle girl, she was a girl, which meant that know-it-all Granger still might have a good idea or two, and two . . . this was all starting to seem very, very familiar.

He'd made Rhiannon blazingly angry without meaning to. He'd offended her. And now he'd just done the same with Granger, though Merlin knew he didn't really understand how.

It must be a girl thing, flying off the broom like that.

But if that was the case . . . maybe he should pay more attention to understanding girls in general, instead of just Muggle girls.

Huh. That thought led him straight back to Granger. Who else was he going to talk to? A girl in Slytherin, who would merely use the whole conversation to her own advantage, spreading rumours about how soft Draco must have gone, seeing that he was falling in love with Muggles, these days?

No, it was Hermione Granger or nobody at all. But that was all right, even if she was upset with him at the moment. Perhaps, her being upset was all to the good, even. If Draco could get her to keep talking then he might have an idea how to do the same with Rhiannon.

Granger could be like . . . a training broom, he thought. Good practice for Rhiannon. And after the things Granger had said in the bedroom, he actually did have a good idea how to begin with her, at least.

Draco stepped out after her, and went over to the sofa, where she'd flung herself, arms crossed, clearly fuming. One glance around had him see that Weasley and Severus were still playing chess in the dining area, though Weasley seemed to be watching Granger more than the game. He looked as though he might give up on it, actually, which didn't give Draco much time to get her talking to him again, since he certainly wasn't going to consult her at length about girls with Weasley putting in his two-Galleon's worth in.

Well, drastic times called for drastic measures, and at this point, Draco didn't even care that Harry had gone to sit right alongside Granger, and was talking to her quietly . . . probably asking what was wrong. So what if Harry would hear, if everyone would hear? It would all be worth it, if in the end, Draco could get back onto good terms with Rhiannon.

Dropping to one knee, just beside the sofa, Draco rested both his hands on his thigh and looked Hermione Granger straight in the eyes. Or tried to; he had to clear his throat to make her look up. Twice. But when she did, he said it all in one rush, without hesitating. By then, he'd had enough time to run through it in his head, after all. And anyway, when it came to Rhiannon, he really didn't have any pride. That much was glaringly obvious, considering what he was about to say. To Granger.

"I'm sorry, Hermione. I'm very sorry. I didn't mean to offend you, not in the slightest. Will you accept my apology?"

He didn't spare a glance at Harry; Draco kept his gaze centred squarely on Granger, who looked like he'd cast some sort of shock-inducing spell. After only an instant, though, she closed her mouth.

Too bad Weasley didn't. "You're sorry, are you?" Draco heard the scrape of a chair being shoved back. "What did you do to offend her, then?"

"I can handle this, Ron," said Hermione crossly, flicking the other boy a glance.

Severus shut Weasley up much more effectively, and with only a single word. "Check."

Ron glanced from the chess board to his girlfriend and back, clearly unsure what to do. In the end he took Granger at her word, and let her handle matters.

Which she did. With aplomb, Draco had to admit. "Get off your knee," she said in a low, but level tone. "You're lucky Ron didn't think you were proposing."

That comment was a test, Draco sensed. And invitation to insult Weasley, perhaps . . . or to say something scathing about Muggleborns. Draco stayed silent and kept his expression as impassive as possible as he got up off his knee.

"Sit," said Hermione, patting the cushion next to her.

Oh, so they were allowed to sit side by side as long as it wasn't on a bed?

Draco caught Harry's eye as he sat down.

Harry at once got up, having obviously got Draco's message. Or maybe he was just remembering Severus' occasional lectures on decorum. At any rate, he didn't look amused, or as though he was enjoying seeing Draco having to apologise. Then again, with Harry's apologising-thing, he probably thought it was a completely normal thing to do.

Well, it wasn't normal for Draco. His stomach felt a bit unsettled, actually.

"I'd like you to answer Ron's question," said Hermione quietly as Harry headed back to watch the chess match.

Draco's brow wrinkled. "What I did to offend you? Don't you know? Because I don’t. I was talking about Muggles, not Muggleborns. Do you think of yourself as a Muggle, still?" he asked, quite reasonably, he thought. "If not, I don't see how you could have been insulted."

"My mother is a Muggle," hissed Hermione, leaning closer to him. "How would you like it if I said that Narcissa Malfoy would sleep with anyone who would take her out for a snack?"

Severus and Ron kept right on with their chess game, though Draco would bet that his father, at least, could hear every word. He had better manners than to let on, except perhaps in the way his lips were suddenly looking chiselled from stone.

Ron might not have heard that last bit, but Harry was closer, and obviously needed more lectures on decorum. He suddenly made a noise that sounded like he was strangling, and walking quickly, went into the kitchen.Draco heard the noise of wooden boxes being opened and closed, and bottles clinking against each other.

As for Hermione . . . well, Draco could suddenly see her point. Well, sort of. Pureblooded women had higher standards than she was implying, obviously. Much higher. But she clearly thought the same of Muggle women. So that all sorted.

"All right, then, I am sorry."

"You weren't before?"

Something in her gaze warned him that at this point, only brutal honesty would serve his cause. "Well, I was sorry you were angry at me, but I didn't really understand why you would be."

"You're serious?"

Draco nodded.

"My God, no wonder you need help."

"Thanks," said Draco dryly.

"Butterbeer?" asked Harry brightly. When he extended the tray, Draco saw that Harry's awful pet was wrapped several times around his wrist. Ugh.

Ignoring the snake, Draco took a butterbeer and passed it to Hermione, then took another for himself. "Thank you."

Harry lowered his voice to a bare whisper. "You're making Ron lose, you know. He may not look like he's listening, but he is. Or trying to, at least."

"Perhaps we should return to the bedroom."

Hermione gave him a derisive glance. "I don't think so. I didn't much care for your warding spell."

"Outside, then," said Draco quickly, standing up. "We'll go sit under the oak."

Harry handed his snake to Hermione. "Oh, Sals loves it there. Let her loll about in the sun for me, would you?"

Draco certainly didn't know what that was about. Was Harry trying to urge Hermione out the door? Or did he think that having a snake around would put Draco on edge and somehow keep him from offending Granger again?

Knowing Harry, though, he might just be thinking that Sals needed some sun.

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"All right," said Granger when she had arranged herself cross-legged on the blanket Draco had transfigured. Nearby, the snake was slithering through the grass in slow circles; Draco looked away, though he tried not to look at Granger, either. "Just how serious are you about this Rhiannon?"

Draco's gaze snapped to hers. "How many times do I have to say I love her--"

"I know you think you love her. But is she a summer romance, or do you see this really going somewhere? Because I don't."

"Well, that was blunt!"

"You should know," retorted Hermione. "Blunt has been your specialty, all along."

That she could think so was vaguely horrifying. Draco's image of himself was as someone a good deal more subtle. More stealthy. But he supposed his remarks about Muggleborns hadn't really been either of those things.

And that was just her point, he soon found out. "Look, Draco. You were really offended that Ron joked you might have been switched at birth. You obviously still find the whole idea of Muggleborns disgusting--"

"Then why am I spending my precious free time talking to one?" There, thought Draco. Find your way out of that.

Unfortunately, she had no trouble managing it. "You tolerate me because you want Harry's respect, and the only reason you're talking to me today is because you're in a bit of a fix."

Draco blew out a breath. "What do you want, a gold-plated apology for every time I ever called you a Mudblood? I don't call you one now! Isn't that enough?"

"It's not about me," said Granger levelly, which was pretty surprising; Draco had assumed she was angling for more grovelling. Not that he'd really done that, of course, he hurriedly told himself; he'd merely knelt. "It's about you, Draco. If you really think it's so repulsive for magic to show up in Muggle families, then you have no business getting involved with a Muggle. Are you thinking you're in this for the long term?"

What a completely rude question! "You have heard me say love a hundred times this morning, haven't you? Don't you know what that is, what it means? Aren't you planning to marry Weasley, after all?"

She burst out laughing. "No, I'm not planning to marry him!"

Draco couldn't have been more stunned if she'd . . . well, drawn her wand and stunned him, actually. "You're not?"

Hermione smiled, the expression more than a little bit amused. "I'm not planning it now, no. I haven't even finished school yet! But I gather you are actually already thinking ahead to that, with Rhiannon?" Her voice dropped to a low, serious tone, no more humour in it. "Then you have to be realistic, Draco. Marriage means . . . well, you know, all that intimacy, which leads to children to consider. Even if you don't marry her, you could still run into that, and--"

She stopped talking, which told Draco that he hadn't schooled his expression quickly enough. And no wonder; the moment she'd mentioned intimacy, his memory had flown straight back to that wonderful afternoon he'd spent at Rhiannon's house. Or, not afternoon. Just her lunch hour, really, but it had been perfect. He remembered the way she'd looked, gasping against the wall as he'd touched her. And then, dear Merlin, her sweet mouth engulfing him . . .

Draco quickly cleared his expression, only to see that Granger was staring at him aghast. "Oh, my God," she breathed, the exclamation sounding entirely natural coming from her. "I hope you used something, because if you didn’t, you might already have a much bigger problem than you think."

It took Draco a second to follow her meaning, probably because in the circles he grew up in, you didn't bandy this kind of information about. It had been nothing short of criminal, criminal, for those Aurors to make him admit under truth serum that he'd had his hand up Pansy's skirt that day. None of their fucking business. And this, of course, was none of hers.

Though he didn't mind correcting her obvious mistake. "I don’t have that problem, Granger."

"How do you know?" Her gaze was piercing as she leaned forward. "Even the best protection can fail. Condoms can break, or--"

Draco had heard that word before, from Harry, though he didn't understand it completely. "What are those, anyway?"

She blushed, a deep rose shade staining her cheeks. "Oh. Er . . . well, you, I mean, the man . . . he, uh, puts it on his, you know," She made a very vague gesture downwards, her voice sounding about as strained as he'd ever heard it. "To catch the, er-- semen."

Draco felt a shudder pass straight through him. He didn't think he'd ever contemplated anything quite so revolting. Oh, well, perhaps a few things to do with the Dark Lord and torture, but this ran a close second.

Granger, meanwhile, seemed absolutely oblivious to what Draco had told her, just a moment before. "You didn't use a condom, clearly, but I hope you planned ahead, because really--"

"I didn't need to," grated Draco, wishing she'd just drop it. "Are you with me, here? There's no problem, no possible way Rhiannon is . . ."

"Contraceptive spells can fail, too."

"I didn't sleep with her, not that way!" Draco all but shouted. Anything, to shut Granger up.

He should have known that was a forlorn hope, at best. "Not that way?"

Draco reached down and began yanking tufts of grass out of the ground. He stopped, though, when he realised how close his hand was coming to Harry's horrid little pet, who was lying coiled up now, tongue flickering out.

He shuddered again, then raised his gaze to Hermione's, and tried to pass the question off as nonchalant. "Do you really want all the details?"

She blushed again, a darker colour than before. "Oh. No, of course not. I just meant, you're sure you couldn't have got her pregnant?"

"So you do want details." Draco waited until she shook her head. "Then take my effing word for it!"

"All right, all right." Hermione held up both hands, and only then did Draco realise that he'd reared up a little bit. She waited until he'd settled back down onto the blanket. "You're obviously more involved than I thought at first, though. Which brings me right back to my point. If this girl's really going to be your future . . . well, what are you going to do? Refuse to have children with her?"

Draco had never given a lot of thought to children, for Merlin's sake. Who did, at his age? Though he had to admit . . . "I don’t like your implication that Rhiannon isn't good enough to be the mother to my children."

"It's your implication, not mine."

"It is not! What have I ever said except that she's wonderful?"

"Only that she's barely a Muggle at all." Hermione's eyes looked a little sad now, as she regarded him steadily. "Draco, don't you see? If you tell yourself that it's all right to love this one Muggle, but all the while you keep on thinking that other Muggles are worthy of nothing but death, then--"

"I never said that." Draco glared at her. "It's just the interbreeding that bothers me, that's all."

She didn't look like she thought that was all, but what she said was, "Are you going to call it that if you have a son or daughter with her? Interbreeding?"

"I didn't mean her!"

"But singling her out like that . . . all it proves is that you'd rather she not be a Muggle. And you're surprised she wasn't too delighted to find out that you feel that way?" Hermione leaned closer again. "Draco, listen. Do you think she's going to leave her entire world to join ours, when she doesn't even have any magic to help her do that?"

Draco stiffened. Of course he didn't think that. Rhiannon would have to continue her singing career, after all . . . hmm, apart from that, he hadn't given much thought to the matter, he had to admit. "No . . ."

"Then you'll have to be in her world, at least part of the time. Go to Muggle functions, be around Muggles. Visit at her parents' home. They're Muggles too, you realise. Is Rhiannon going to be happy having you look down on everybody else in her life? Is this going to work for her, this idea of yours that she isn't really one of them?"

A lead weight settled into his stomach, because he knew the answer to that, didn't he? Rhiannon had made it very plain already.

Hermione was remorseless, leaving him no time to think, no time to breathe. "If you can't accept that she's just as much a Muggle as any other Muggle person, you have got no business whatever taking this any further than you have already. You don’t want to hurt her, do you?"

Draco had been looking at his hands for a while, but that caused him to glance up. "No, I don't."

Her voice became very gentle, then. "Then perhaps you should break this whole thing off before you do."

"Oh, fuck you, Granger," snarled Draco as he yanked himself to his feet and stalked a short distance away. "You're so sure I'll hurt her? Yeah, you thought I was hurting Harry, too, didn't you? Well, you didn't know what you were talking about! Not to mention, your stupid letter on the subject helped get me expelled. Don't act like you know everything about me, because you don't."

"No, I don't," said Hermione quietly, leaning back on her palms and stretching out her legs. "And so?"

"So she's a Muggle," said Draco flatly. "I can deal with it, get used to them . . . to everything. Whatever it takes. You don't understand, Hermione. I can't do anything I know would hurt Rhiannon. I literally can't. It would rip me into little shreds, and I'm sure you know about Slytherins and self-preservation. So that's it, then."

It wasn't, though. Not for Hermione. "What are you going to do if you have children with her, someday?"

Draco glanced down at her like she was barking mad. "Raise them, maybe? At least now I have a decent father to emulate."

"Could you raise a squib?"

"Any child of mine would be highly, highly magical."

"You don't know that for certain," pressed Hermione. "What if one wasn't? Think about it, before you go any further."

Draco didn't want to, because after all, his first, instinctive reaction was a sort of horror of the whole idea. Him, with a squib child? Him.

A vision swam into his mind, of a little girl with Rhiannon's hair, Rhiannon's features . . . Rhiannon's utter lack of magic. She was ensconced in an opulent room, waited on hand and foot by obsequious elves, bowing and scraping, their filthy rags of clothing dragging on the ground as they backed away.

Horrid creatures.

Draco's features hardened. No, no. No child of his was ever going to be cared for by disgusting house-elves, that was for certain. And he definitely wouldn't wish to lock Rhiannon's children away where they couldn't be seen. Too much like what had happened to Harry, and look at the scars that had left. Those same scars on his own child, on Rhiannon's child . . . Draco closed his eyes on a rush of pain.

No, no, when he really thought about it, thought past the things he'd learned growing up to the things he understood now, he saw a different vision. He was holding that little girl on his lap, his hand tenderly stroking her hair as he read to her. A children's book, My Broom Can Zoom . . . and he was nodding, promising to take her up on his broom in the morning, and then Rhiannon was coming in and smiling at the picture they made, sitting together in a wing-backed chair.

Blowing out a breath, he dropped down again to sit opposite Granger. "You're an idiot. I'd love any child Rhiannon gave me, magical or not."

"Even considering that a magical child would only be a half-blood?"

"Harry's a half-blood and you don't notice me having a problem with it, do you?"

"You said yourself that Harry's an exception to every rule."

"Touché," Draco muttered, flopping onto his back. He could tell by then that Granger was going to be no help at all. Not because she was useless, but because she thought he was, and nothing he could say would change that. And the worst part was, he could actually understand why she would feel that way.

"I hate that you're right, you know," he said bitterly, his lips thinning. "About before, and what I might have done if I'd had a child without magic. They can occur, you know, even in pureblooded lines, and I might have--" He suddenly rolled back into a sitting position, his stomach clenching. "Excuse me, please. I need to wash my hair."

"What?"

Draco rose shakily to his feet. "It's a euphemism, Granger. I'm ill, is that clear enough for you? I need to--"

"Wait, wait," said Hermione. Draco wasn't sure quite when she'd stood up, too, but he couldn't fail to notice her hand, suddenly wrapped about his upper arm. "I think . . . you really mean it, don't you?"

Draco just stared at her, weary. "Haven't I been telling you as much, all morning?"

"I thought it was a passing fancy. But I think it's more than that, now. Come on, Draco. I will help you now."

Enough disappointment, and even his manners deserted him. Draco snorted. "Can you? You've been pathetic so far."

"That's right, sweet talk me." Hermione chuckled, tugging his arm until he sank back down onto the blanket. "Now, start over from the beginning, and tell me everything you can about her, and we'll come up with some sort of plan."

"Some sort of plan," he repeated doubtfully.

"I'll get her talking to you, at the very least," said Hermione, strangely making a slashing motion across her chest, first one diagonal and then the other. "The rest is up to you."

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The next morning found Draco, Snape, and Harry all back in Exeter. The pool was open for free swim, but one swift glance inside said that Rhiannon wasn't there. Then again, she didn't usually work on Saturdays.

Her uncle wasn't working either. Or at least, Stanley Tilden wasn't in the office, where Draco often saw him. Instead, some red-headed girl was standing behind the counter, flipping through what looked like a pretty vapid magazine. But then, she looked just as vapid, coming to work wearing nothing but shorts and the top of a two-piece swimsuit. Flesh-coloured, even, so that from a distance you might think she was standing there naked. When you got close enough, though, you could see strings connecting the triangular pieces of fabric together.

Honestly, clothing made of strings. At her place of employment.

Muggle, Draco thought, inwardly sneering the word. This one probably wouldn't even need to be bought a snack before she'd…

Almost at once, though, he realised what he was thinking and forced himself to stop. No, no, no. He and Hermione had gone over this very point, out under the oak tree after they'd finished discussing what approach Draco should take about Rhiannon.

Just because a girl was a Muggle was no reason to assume anything else about her, Hermione had lectured. Rhiannon's own mother was a Muggle, she'd pointed out. Draco simply had to get over this idea that Muggle meant anything except a lack of magic. And what was more, he had to treat the Muggles he encountered with courtesy. He couldn't go about sneering at them, not even on the inside. Rhiannon would pick up on that.

Treat them as politely as you treat anybody, Hermione had lectured. And then, she'd hastily added, Er. . . as politely as you ought to, I mean.

To which Draco had replied that he had stellar manners when he wanted to use them.

"Better get used to using them, then," had been Hermione's rather cheeky advice. "On Muggles too, don't forget. If I were you, I'd practice on every one I meet."

Despite the cheek, it was very good advice, Draco knew. Rhiannon would expect him to behave politely in company. She'd take it personally if he didn’t.

So, Draco tried. Hard. "Good morning," he greeted the girl, putting on a wide smile. "Lovely weather we're having, isn't it?"

Harry made a noise like swallowed laughter, and quickly said he was going to find Roger to ask him something.

Severus, though, stayed in the office, his presence somehow encouraging.

The girl just glanced up like he'd interrupted her reading and it was bloody irritating. She hadn't even checked that Harry had a swim pass.

Which went to show, didn't it, that some Muggles were as lazy and worthless as he'd always thought. Then again, some wizards weren't worth a bucket of spit either, Minister Fudge being a prime example.

"So, I'll meet you and Harry back here, shall I?" he asked Severus, keeping his tone bright and confident as he stepped away from the counter and towards his father, who was standing at the door to the pool area, his eyes steady.

On Harry, no doubt.

Habit had Draco searching for him, though with the Dark Lord so quiet all throughout the summer, it really didn't seem there was much cause for concern. Harry had found Roger and looked to be chatting him up, so that all sorted well . . .

When Draco glanced away, it was to see Severus staring down at him. "It will be all right, Draco," he said in that deep, soothing voice of his.

Draco had been holding himself together pretty well, he'd thought, but Severus' gentle tones were almost his undoing. "What if she still won't talk to me? I-- I--"

"One way or another, it will be all right," Severus patiently repeated. "Harry and I will wait here for you."

Draco tried to look more cheerful than he felt. "Good, then. Thank you."

A brief pat on his arm, and one more slight smile, and then Severus was turning away to follow Harry into the pool area.

Sighing, Draco shoved his hands in his pockets and exited through the other door, the one that led onto Beacon Lane.

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The closer he got to Rhiannon's house, the more his steps began to slow, probably because he was rehearsing what he was going to say, over and over inside his head. Pointless, though. Conversations never went the way you were expecting, after all.

Perhaps Severus had been right to insist that Draco influence Slytherin by means of letters . . .

To distract himself from hearing the same conversation again, Draco focussed instead on the news Hermione had brought them the day before. Not that it had been terribly entertaining. Over lunch, after Severus had left for Hogwarts, Harry had asked Hermione if she'd had news from Viktor Krum, if she'd found out anything useful about the Mirror of All Souls.

Weasley had stiffened, clearly still worried about Hermione corresponding with Krum. Draco had to admit, that part had been entertaining. Particularly after he'd had to write Weasley a vault draft for a hundred Galleons, based on the fact that Weasley had in fact kept Severus from beating him in chess. The match had still been going strong when Severus had had to leave.

At any rate, Hermione had reported that Krum had sent her an advanced book on mirrors. Something from Durmstrang's equivalent of a Restricted Section, apparently. The only trouble was, it was written in Bulgarian. Hermione had tried the standard translation charms on the book, but those were really only designed to help with the current spoken version of the language, and the book was old. Very old. "Middle Bulgarian," Hermione had said, shrugging. "I did a little research to find that out. But don’t worry. I've owled for a Slavic translation rod. It's supposed to be able to handle anything written in the last thousand years."

Harry looked like he was about to bite through his lower lip. Obviously, he was still yearning for a chance to talk with his parents.

Well, Draco would like a chance to talk with his mother . . . so perhaps he could understand how Harry felt. On the other hand, Harry had never even really known his parents, so perhaps Draco didn’t understand him so well, after all. At any rate, he still did think that Harry's whole attitude was bound to be hurtful to Severus.

Especially if he kept brooding like this.

Best to change the subject, Draco had thought. "Bit odd, that story about the missing half-bloods--" Thinking about his conversation with Hermione, Draco quickly reworded his comment. "That story about those missing Hogwarts' students. Did you see it, Ron? Your brother was quoted."

Weasley got a slightly dark look on his face. "Yeah, he was. He thinks he's Fudge's right-hand man, these days." He turned toward Harry. "After what you said about being a good brother, you know that bit? Anyway, tried to patch it up with him this summer. Even invited him to the--"

"Ron!" interrupted Hermione, shaking her head.

"Oh, yeah. Right," said Weasley in an odd tone. "Um . . . invited Percy to dinner with us, you know? But no, he has to work. Job's all that matters to him, the prat."

Now it looked like it was Hermione who was deliberately trying for a distraction. "I saw that article, in the Prophet. But you know, in the Muggle world, missing children are just a fact of life. A lot of them are runaways. I've seen a few reports like that this summer, on the BBC."

As distractions went, neither Hermione's nor Draco's had been very well thought-out. Harry looked absolutely sick by then. "That’s just awful. Oh, God. I hope they're all right, I hope they didn't run straight into trouble--"

"Harry," said Draco, clearly but softly. "You can't save everyone from everything. That's not your burden to bear."

Hermione glanced at Draco quickly, her expression startled in that moment before Draco remembered to school his. He knew what she'd seen on his face: concern for Harry. Or no . . . concern for his brother, quite apart from what his name might be.

Oh, well. Draco told himself he didn't mind so much if she'd seen that. Not after all they'd talked about in the bedroom, and then outside.

Harry seemed oblivious to anything except the missing children. "I bet they have families who love them--"

"You have that too, Harry," said Hermione firmly. She didn't look at Draco as she said it, but she didn't need to. That one look had said it all. She knew. She knew he wasn't on Harry's side just to save his own skin. Not any longer.

Bit embarrassing, that. It was practically un-Slytherin. But probably just as well, in the circumstances. They were all on the same side, now, and it was high time Granger knew that he was in it for good.

"Quidditch," said Ron, slapping Harry on the shoulder. Draco thought he was mad to suggest such a thing at first, but maybe he knew Harry better than either Draco or Hermione did, because Harry gave a ghost of a smile and got up from his chair. Like he was grateful for a distraction. Any distraction.

"We only have three brooms," Draco had said lightly as Harry began passing them out. "I guess that leaves you out, Hermione."

As expected, she didn't think much of his sense of humour. "What did we talk about? Courtesy? Hand it over."

Laughing a little, Draco had.

Now, looking at Rhiannon's house, Draco couldn't help but marvel at how he'd managed to push aside his problems for the rest of the day, yesterday. Chasing the Snitch, the four of them taking turns. Broom races, Draco enjoying the look on Weasley's face when he was soundly trounced. Then figuring out a dinner, since Severus wasn't back yet. He'd still been gone when Ron and Hermione left, still been gone when Harry and Draco had given up on waiting and had gone to bed.

And the worst part was that Draco had woken up with Rhiannon on his mind and hadn't remembered to ask what Lupin might have said about his mother.

But then, Harry hadn't asked after Lupin, either. Which was rather strange, wasn't it? Of course, he might have preferred to ask when he and Severus were alone at the pool. Draco winced, thinking that one over. He had been less than courteous to Lupin over the whole werewolf thing. But who could blame him? Lycanthropy wasn't an issue of blood purity; it was a curse, a disease . . .

"Are you planning to stand there all day?" called a voice, jolting him out of his thoughts.

A voice he recognised. A lovely voice.

Draco glanced up at Rhiannon, who was standing in the open doorway of her home, one hand on the brass knob. Her hair was hanging loose, flowing almost to her waist, a brilliant swath of gold against the emerald green of her strapless sundress. She was, without a doubt, the most breathtaking sight Draco had ever seen.

Even if she was scowling something awful.

Draco walked up the drive, trying to compose his thoughts. When he reached her though, he still didn't have the faintest idea what to say. He couldn't even remember Granger's advice, by then. Or maybe, he was afraid to so much as open his mouth, in case he said the wrong thing completely, in case he made things even worse--

Rhiannon didn't have any trouble figuring out what to say. "What are you doing here? My uncle said you refused to even ring me!"

For a moment he didn't know what she was talking about, but then he remembered. Two things at once, actually. The exchange with Stanley Tilden, yesterday in the pool office, and also, Granger's advice, which had basically boiled down to be honest, Draco. Tell her why you had such trouble realising what she was.

"I've never used a telephone," he said quietly, gaining the top step by then and looking her in the eye. Pity that she backed up slightly, into the house, leaving Draco to hold the door open. "I have the number you gave me, but I didn't know what to do with it. Not exactly."

"Oh." Rhiannon seemed to consider that for a moment. "It's like with that pendant. You don't understand how things are."

Draco hated admitting weakness; he'd been taught to believe that only fools handed weapons to the enemy. But Rhiannon wasn't his enemy, even if she was a-- No, no. Muggles weren't his enemy. Couldn't be, now. That was what he had to try to remember.

Merlin, but it was difficult.

"No, I don't understand much at all. It really is a different world I come from." Draco cleared his throat. "I didn't mean you any offence, Rhiannon. What happened, with the bell . . . I'd like to explain, if I may. If you're willing to listen, if--"

He stopped talking then, sensing that he'd begin to prattle in earnest if he wasn't careful.

"My uncle's not at home." That might have been a bit discouraging, if she hadn't blushed as she said it. Remembering what they'd done the last time they'd had the house to themselves, perhaps?

Draco pushed that thought from his mind. "Could we talk in your back garden?" He didn't care where, as long as she didn't send him packing.

"Oh, just come in, then," she said, crossly that time.

Draco stepped inside and shut the door, then followed her to the sitting room where Harry had waited for him, that time. Rhiannon sat down on a chintz chair and waved him into one opposite, then levelled a glare at him. "Well?"

The truth, Hermione had urged. She knows you're a wizard already, so there's no more reason not to tell her the truth about what that's meant, for you in particular.

Draco drew in a deep breath, his hands clenching inside his pockets. "It's hard to know where to start. The bell, I suppose. Until it rang like that, I thought you were a witch--"

"Yes, I did manage to figure that much out!" interrupted Rhiannon in a voice so scathingly hot that Draco felt burned just listening.

"You don't know why I thought that, though," said Draco quietly. "Rhiannon . . . you're the first girl I have ever known who wasn't a witch."

Her jaw dropped, just a little. "You're joking."

"No, it's true." Draco lifted his shoulders. "I go to a school where magic is taught. All the students are magical. And before I started there, and every summer since, until this year, that is, I lived on my family estate in Wiltshire--"

Shite. Why had he mentioned Wiltshire? For once, though, the reference to money didn't seem to set her off.

"--where I would rarely see anyone except my family and the close circle of friends they frequent. And . . . this is a bit harder to explain, but wizards are sort of . . . divided, into different groups. I come from the one known as 'pureblood,' which means that everybody I descend from, as far back as can be determined, has been magical. No M- . . . er, no non-magical people."

Rhiannon didn't have much reaction to all that; it looked like she was merely listening. But at least she was doing that much.

"Anyway, my parents would only allow me to associate with other purebloods, so I never even had any friends who weren't that, too." He gave her a rueful smile. "When was I going to meet a girl who wasn't a witch?"

She sat back a little more, the fabric across her breasts stretching a little. Draco was trying not to stare, but he was starting to wonder what was holding her dress up. It wasn't as though she could have applied a sticking charm . . .

"But you're out and about in the normal world this summer."

Draco tried not to wince at the world normal. All this was very abnormal for him, but he didn't think it would help his cause to put things quite that way. "Yes, but that's a lot to do with Severus," he explained. "I told you my own parents disowned me. He took me in, Harry too, and decided that we needed to be able to get around in the . . . er, normal world."

Best not to mention the reason for that, Draco decided. He wouldn't want to frighten her with talk of the war, or have to start explaining about the Dark Lord and choosing sides and switching to Harry's, and how Severus decided his sons should be able to hide in the Muggle world, if it came to that . . .

"I still don't see why you'd assume I was a witch, though."

Draco clenched his hands so hard that he felt the tip of a fingernail break off. "It was because of your voice, at first. I've been to operas, lots of them. It was the one non-magical entertainment allowed, in my family. And I have never, ever heard anything remotely so beautiful as your singing. I thought you had to be using magic to produce a sound like that." Draco did his best to shrug. "My whole life I've been more or less taught to look for a magical explanation to anything wondrous."

Rhiannon's lips curled upward, slightly. "You thought my singing was that good?"

"Yes." Draco relaxed a little. "I thought that maybe you were a witch and didn't want to tell anybody about it, since you were obviously trying to fit into the . . . the normal world. And then I started to wonder if you even realised you were a witch. I didn't have any way of knowing that there were girls as beautiful and perfect as you who weren't, you see."

Her gaze narrowed. "Why wouldn't there be?"

The truly hard part, now. "There are, obviously," said Draco, forcing himself not to restrict the admission just to her. "But the way I was raised . . . er, my family liked to look down on Muggles, and--"

"Don't call me that."

Fine. Draco wouldn't. He'd been trying hard to avoid the word, in fact, knowing it could only set him back with her. "All right."

"So, growing up, you thought people like me were, what? Beneath your notice?"

Draco winced. "Something like that."

"I ought to show you the door, this instant." Her tone softened right after she said that, though. "But I don't suppose you'd be here explaining if you still agreed with that point of view. You said it came from your family? This is the family who disowned you?"

"Yes, and maybe I should mention the reason for that, now. I sided with Harry and Severus against them, basically. Over . . . a lot of things, really. But most of them are tied into the idea that purebloods are making a mistake, thinking that way."

That appeared to startle her. "Your father and brother aren't purebloods, too?"

"Severus is, by the way we reckon things, but he says that there's really no such thing, that all wizards have non-magical ancestry. Oh, and Harry's a half-blood. Only his father was born into a magical family. His mother didn’t know she was a witch until she was eleven. Which is quite usual for witches and wizards born to . . . born outside our world."

"Eleven . . . oh, I understand, now. You thought I was a late bloomer?"

"Something like that," said Draco again. "But the main thing is that it was never my intention to insult or belittle you, Rhiannon. I'd never want to hurt you, and I am most sincerely sorry that I did. I don't think you're beneath me. In fact, I can't believe I ever could have thought something like that about a person like you. But I didn't know there were people like you. I couldn't know."

She looked at him through her lashes. "I . . . I should probably apologise, too."

Draco gave a dry laugh. "For?"

"Not letting you explain. I just . . ." Rhiannon leaned forward, her slender fingers stroking her hair back over her shoulders. "It's been a confusing week. Finding out you were a wizard, that magic is actually real . . . I wake up in the middle of the night and I can't believe it. I tell myself all those things you did were just clever tricks, though I know they weren't. And then . . . I just couldn't handle anything else."

Draco thought he knew what she meant. He'd had a confusing week, too. Finding out he loved a Muggle . . . and then accepting everything that came along with that. But he'd never thought about what things must be like for her. "Is there anything I can do?"

"Do?"

"To help you believe it's real? To help it seem . . . less strange?"

"No, that's just something I'll have to get used to in my own time."

Well, that certainly sounded promising, and that was before Rhiannon started laughing, the noise very soft.

"What?"

"Oh . . . when Uncle Stanley figured out we'd rowed, he had a bit of a fit. Told me I ought to do what I could to get you back . . ." She cleared her throat. "He thinks you're a very good catch."

"Because of my money." Well, that explained the man's apparent helpfulness the day before.

"Yes." Rhiannon fixed her gaze on him. "I wouldn't have mentioned it, but I think you know I don't share his views."

Draco gave her a mock frown. "I'm not a good 'catch?'"

"Not because of your money, at any rate." Rhiannon sighed. "He's always going on about how I'll never be able to support myself by singing. And for some reason, I don't think he's very impressed by me at the pool, either. Says if I don't improve my 'work ethic' I'll never be able to make any kind of living."

She wouldn't ever need to work; Draco would see to that. Probably not the right time to mention it, though. "He's wrong about your singing. You're going to take the opera world by storm."

She looked a bit doubtful, but nodded. "And what about you? Have you decided on a career?"

"I want to be an Auror." Her expression didn't change, so Draco tried again. "That's like . . . hmm, I don't know another word for it. It's someone who works for Magical Law Enforcement. Catching dark wizards, that sort of thing."

"Dark wizards."

"Well, there are a few, yes."

Her lips twitched a bit. "Now see, that's funny. All the thinking I've done about wizards, it never occurred to me that you have criminal types, too."

Draco nodded, the things Hermione and he had talked about resonating even more strongly. "Except for having magic, we're just like you." Dragging in a breath, he went ahead and asked the next logical question, though it was harder to say than all the rest. "So . . . would you like to come out with me, again? To dinner this evening, perhaps?"

"I would like to, yes," she said, standing up.

Draco rose to his feet as well.

"I promised Uncle Stanley that I'd do some weeding in the garden, though. I'd better change clothes and get to that. Would you like to stay and help? Er . . . you aren't really dressed for it, but you could talk to me, if you like."

Not dressed for it. Draco almost laughed. He didn't, though. He wasn't going to have her thinking he was making fun. It wasn't that. It was just so interesting to see how her mind worked, how magic never seemed to occur to her. "I'd love to talk with you. But I can transfigure . . . er, change my clothes, you know, using magic." He grinned. "Or I could just banish all the weeds away, if you like. I learned how in Herbology."

"Herbology? I think we call that botany. Um . . . sure, though. I'd rather not weed the garden if there's a way around it. I'll just make some lemonade and we'll sit out there and talk. All right?"

Halfway to the kitchen, she turned around. "I appreciate the weeds thing, but I hope you don't start thinking that I just like you for your magic. That would be every bit as terrible as liking you for your money."

Draco was just relieved to hear that she liked him, full stop. He smiled. "At least you find the magic rather interesting. Your life . . . it's like that for me, too. For instance, I've never had lemonade."

"I'll do it right and make fresh, then. How did you hear of it?"

It was news to Draco that anything except fresh was even possible, but he didn't remark on it. "Oh, Harry swears by it. That and orange juice. Neither one is very well-known in the wizarding world, but Harry grew up away from all that until he was eleven. Anyway, ever since I met you, I've been getting him to teach me a few things I thought I ought to know."

"But not how to use a telephone," she teased.

"No, we forgot about that. But then, Severus doesn't have one."

"I don't like that," she said slowly. "You're always showing up at the pool and such, but what if I want to reach you? What about after you go back to school? Can you get a mobile, you think?"

"I'd love to, but things like that don't work at Hogwarts."

Her expression fell, even as she grabbed some lemons from a basket on the kitchen counter and began to halve them. Draco thought of drawing his wand to make her task easier, but decided that she might find him overbearing if he used magic all the time.

"Well, I suppose letters will have to do, then. You can use the Royal Mail, can't you?"

"We usually use owls."

"Owls?" She all but sputtered. "Draco--"

"I did think of a way, though," he quickly explained. "I've got a friend--" Sweet Merlin, he was calling Hermione Granger a friend.

After the way they'd talked the day before, though, he supposed she actually was one. Not a bad one, either.

"I've got a friend," he started over. "She's a witch, but her parents aren't magical. At any rate, I asked her if they could help with this, and she thought it would be fine. You can mail letters to them and they'll owl them on to me. And once I'm at school, I'll owl them my letters to pass on." Draco quickly spotted a pad of paper and . . . huh, no quill. He made do with some kind of Muggle writing instrument. When it didn't seem to write anything, he turned it around the other way. Still no luck, not even after a good hard shake.

Rhiannon didn't say a word; she just reached over and pulled on one end, separating it into two pieces. Oh. Draco could see a little nub then, oozing with blue ink. Trying for nonchalance again, he finally got the thing working. "Here's her parents' address. But until summer is over, there shouldn't be any reason to need to use it. I don't think I can leave you alone for more than a day at a time."

That last bit was perhaps too eager, but Rhiannon only smiled as she juiced the lemons and mixed in water and sugar. "I've missed you, too. It seems an age since we . . ." She blushed again, her blue eyes sparkling a little before she looked away. "Since that time we had lunch here, alone."

"I remember," breathed Draco, goose bumps rising on his arms, as he thought about her mouth, warm on his skin, and the way pleasure had rushed all through him. Better than his own hand, that was for certain. A lot better. But, considering the way she'd thrown that in his face when she'd got angry . . . Draco suddenly sensed that he was adrift in dangerous waters.

"But just as you don't like me for the magic, I'd hope you know I don't like you for that," he said, nodding, because it was important that she believe him. "I didn't come here thinking about it, even--"

"You didn't like it?"

"I loved it!" exclaimed Draco, before he realised she was teasing him.

"I loved it, too," she said softly. "But . . . maybe that was a little too much, too soon. We should wait. You're right."

Draco hadn't exactly said they should wait, and he didn't particularly care to, but he wanted even less for her to feel that that was all he wanted. For all that though, he suddenly couldn't bear to be standing there alone while she used a long wooden spoon to stir the contents of the pitcher.

"Come here," he said, opening his arms. Rhiannon went into them without hesitation, without protest, and leaned her cheek against his chest. "We'll wait longer, this time. We'll do it right, and get to know each other better, and--"

He stopped talking then, because Rhiannon had made the first move and was kissing him, one of her hands slowly trailing up his back until her fingers began to tease the hair at his nape, the sensation rather like a tickle. Not the kind that made you laugh, though. The kind that made you want to tickle back.

Draco didn’t, though. A little too much, too fast, just as she'd said before, and he wasn't going to give her any cause to doubt him, or doubt his intentions towards her.

Kissing though . . . that much he'd allow himself.

Lemonade was refreshingly tart, Draco later found. But Rhiannon? She was very, very sweet.

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Coming Soon in A Summer Like None Other:

Chapter 19: "Doubles"

Comments very welcome,

Aspen in the Sunlight

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