As for the young lady you brought here to visit us, I was delighted to see that she'd left our facility without a word. That shows backbone; I assume that she had only that moment found some. To hear that she would like to come here again can only mean that you've persuaded her to participate in this barbaric tradition. The entire matter is utterly disgusting, and I can only hope that you come to your senses and begin to treat her with some respect.
At any rate, you are not welcome here, any of you, and don't think that you can persuade Horace Darswaithe to lift the restriction. If you so much as try, I will have no hesitation to tell him what I've found out. He will feel honour-bound to inform WFS of the matter, of course. I can't imagine the results will be pleasant.
Emmeleia Volentier
Deputy Head, Wizarding Home for Displaced and Orphaned Juvenile Squibs
"All right, maybe she is a bitch," said Harry when he'd finished.
"Stop that, both of you," snapped Snape as he glared at each boy in turn. "That's a very offensive term and frankly, one I'd expect from young men about to turn fifteen, not ones already adults or shortly to become so."
"Yes, sir," said Harry, chastened.
Draco, Harry noticed, never did reply. Snape probably noticed, but he let it go.
"Now, she's quite obviously got hold of the wrong end of the wand--"
That certainly got Draco to reply. "Ha. What wand? She's a squib, and this just goes to show--"
"What? What does it go to show?" asked Harry. Loudly.
"Never mind," grated Draco, teeth bared. "It takes a while to break all my old habits of mind, you know, and crap letters like this don't exactly help. Severus, do you know what she's blathering on about?"
"No."
"Marvellous."
Severus held up a hand. "I did notice when we first visited that she seemed . . . rather frosty. Toward you in particular, Draco."
"Oh yes, until I mentioned money, and then she gushed approval."
"There was a trace of sarcasm in it," corrected Snape. "Based on the salutation in this letter, I'd say she recognised you straight away as Lucius Malfoy's son and that mentioning money so prominently only convinced her you were quite a bit like him."
Draco scowled.
"She's misjudged the situation, however--"
"You think?"
"I meant," said Severus tightly, "that she's misjudged me. Her aim, as far as I can discern, was to keep all of us away from the squib home, but instead, she's convinced me to pay her a visit I hadn't intended."
"Oh, please." Draco scoffed. "You think I still want to spend any time there? I'll just have to figure out how to let Rhiannon know it's off. I'm certainly not telling her it's because of my depravity."
"Regardless of how you wish to deal with your petite amie, I consider the mention of Family Services a not-too-subtle threat against our family. I won't have it."
Harry smiled, though the subject at hand wasn't amusing, certainly. "We don't need WFS to make us a family, though."
"No, certainly not, but I still believe in extinguishing a threat rather than letting it sit about like a curse about to be unleashed."
Extinguishing? Harry swallowed back his first thought, which was pretty dire. It was ridiculous, even for an instant, to have his mind jump straight to . . . well, murder. Snape wasn't a Death Eater any longer, after all. And if he hadn't killed Aaron Aran, who really deserved it, he certainly wouldn't do that now.
Would he?
"Well, let us know what she says," said Harry, clearing his throat.
"Let us know?" Draco practically snorted. "Nobody has to let me know a thing. I plan to be right beside Severus when he asks this bi-- busybody, what she thinks she's playing at, saying she knows my type. And she'd better have a damned good explanation, is all I can say, or she'll know more about my type than she ever expected to!"
"I'll be going to visit Emmeleia Volentier on my own, Draco," said Snape calmly.
Draco straightened in his chair. "Oh, no you won't. I know I might have just sounded like my impulse control still needed work, but--"
"That's not it," interrupted Snape, though a second later the edges of his mouth turned up. "All right, perhaps that is indeed part of it. But mostly, I feel she will talk more freely if you aren't present. And I need her to talk freely, Draco. I need to be able to correct whatever misapprehensions she's labouring under."
"Oh, all right," grumbled Draco, sitting back again. "I guess Harry had it right, then. Let us know what she says."
"Oh, I shall," promised Snape, a grim look about him. "I shall."
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Once Snape had left, Harry tried to pass the time by working on his spell lexicon. It was hard to concentrate, though, when Draco kept re-reading the rude letter he'd received.
"Look," Harry finally said, setting aside his scroll, "that one's not like the one Richard Steyne once sent. I don't think you're going to be able to read between the lines and figure out what her problem is."
Draco tossed the letter aside. "Her problem's jealousy, most likely. It's not actually unheard of, you know. A lot of squibs feel that way."
Harry thought of Filch, trying to learn magic through that correspondence course. Ever since he'd seen that, he'd assumed the man's dour, bitter personality had come from disappointment. Which wasn't so far from jealousy, was it? "Yeah, I know."
"And there I thought you'd hate me saying that."
Shrugging, Harry got up to fix them some lunch. "What bothers me is when you judge everybody by one yardstick. Not all squibs are jealous, right? I don't get the feeling Marsha is."
"No, she's not," agreed Draco, following Harry into the kitchen. "Oh, toasted cheese sandwiches? Rather plain fare, isn't it? Oh, well, better make three. You know, one for Severus in case he's not too long."
Harry threw his brother an annoyed look. "You could actually help, you know."
Draco grinned. "Anything need chopping? I know I can do that, at least."
"Rhiannon'll probably expect you to cook whole dinners all by yourself," said Harry. "Like when she has to rehearse a new opera all day, and she comes home famished. And I bet she'll be like Hermione, and not be able to stand the idea of an elf doing all the work."
Draco shuddered, rather theatrically, then sat down and crossed his arms over his chest. "Well, I'll fly over that canyon when I come to it, won't I? Perhaps we'll eat a lot of take-away. I know already that she likes fish and chips. Oh, and samosas."
"You're not such a bad cook, Draco," said Harry as he shredded Swiss cheese. Damn, but it was slow going. Maybe he should figure out a grating spell. Then again, it could just be that his arms were still sore from all those laps.
"Says the boy who spat my attempt at gnocchi into his napkin!"
"Well, I didn't say you were good, did I?" Laughing, Harry decided not to pester Draco about helping with lunch. It would be easier just to insist he cook their dinner, since it was his turn, anyway.
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Their father arrived home just as Harry was cooking the last of the three sandwiches.
Sitting down with a sigh, Snape flicked his wand to summon two Butterbeers. He set them down with a clink in front of the two filled plates already laid out for Harry and Draco.
Draco raised an eyebrow. "That bad?"
"You have no idea."
"Galliano for you, then?"
Snape's dark eyes glittered, but then he shook his head. "Perhaps after we speak."
"Here, Dad," said Harry, carrying over Snape's plate and a tall glass of water.
Draco sat down opposite Snape, but didn't say anything until Harry had joined them at table. Then, he leaned forward, his hands clasped loosely around his bottle. "And so?"