"Mild aphrodisiacs." Snape's lips were a straight line. Too straight, Harry thought. "You know that word, I think?"
"Yeah." Harry couldn't help it if his voice came out a little rough. He wondered if Snape knew just how involved Draco had got with Rhiannon. Considering that he seemed to know so much else that Draco thought was a secret . . . yeah, Snape probably knew it all.
And Rhiannon knew about magic.
The only one who didn't know what he should was Draco himself.
Harry's thoughts must have shown on his face, since Snape's voice went stern. "You're to stay out of it. As you promised your father."
"Lay it on thick, why don't you?"
"If need be." Snape's stride lengthened. "Perhaps you won't have to hold your tongue for long."
Harry wondered what that might mean, but since Snape had plots inside plots, as Draco had once put it, he was pretty sure he wasn't going to figure it out. Maybe it didn't mean anything, though. Maybe it was just wishful thinking.
Not that Snape seemed to do a lot of that.
That thought made Harry a little sad. Pushing the whole problem from his mind, he watched his father move a hand in his pocket, dissolving the privacy spell. Then they both quickened their pace until they caught up with the others.
------------------------------------------------------
Harry shuddered a little when they went up the steps and into the waiting room of the squib home. It was as over-decorated as he remembered. Dark woods everywhere, with a glass lamp that was made of bits of coloured glass glued together. That wouldn't be so bad, he supposed, if the lampmaker--somebody named Tiffany, Draco had seemed to think last time--hadn't used every colour in existence. But she had, and the end result was about as garish a sight as Harry could imagine.
Like the previous time, nobody was in the reception area. But that was no problem; Harry stepped up to the counter and tapped the little brass bell sitting there.
A deep noise echoed through the small room. Like a giant gong had just been struck.
Rhiannon clapped her hands in delight. "Oh, that's marvellous!"
All right, no question about it. Draco had definitely told her about magic. And what was more, she'd taken to it pretty well. If she hadn't, the unnatural noise of that gong would have alarmed her. But no, Rhiannon was grinning ear to ear, clearly enchanted.
She liked the idea of magic. Harry could tell. Well, of course he could. He'd been in her shoes, once.
"Oooh, let me try it!"
Harry moved aside to let her, but one split-second before her finger tapped the metal top of the bell, he realised what was about to happen.
Too late to stop it, though.
When Rhiannon rang the bell, a tiny tinkling noise resulted. It was exactly the sort of noise one would expect from a small brass bell. The sort of noise you'd get if there was no such thing as magic.
The sort of noise you'd get if the bell thought you didn't know about magic. If the bell could tell you didn't have any, yourself . . .
"That's odd," Rhiannon said, her eyebrows drawing together as she tapped the top of the bell again and again, like a pigeon pecking a hole in a bag, hoping something good would finally come spilling out.
But nothing did.
Ding, ding, ding.
"Wonder why it sounds so different for you and me?" Rhiannon glanced at Harry. "Any ideas?"
Harry chanced a glance at Draco, then, to see that his brother had gone chalk-white.
Rhiannon followed Harry's line of sight and started. "Draco? What's the matter?"
"It shouldn't-- it didn't-- it doesn't-- it shouldn't--"
"Oh, get over here," said Rhiannon, reaching out her hand to tug on Draco's. "You do it. I want to see how it sounds for you."
Draco tried to pull his hand back. He had a sick look on his face, like he'd just been told he didn't have long to live. Or maybe . . . like somebody he loved had just died.
"Come on," said Rhiannon in a breathy voice, leaning closer to him. "I'll make it worth your while . . ."
That comment seemed to catch Draco off-guard. He relaxed his arm for a moment, and Rhiannon dragged it over so that the edge of his fist pushed the brass top of the bell.
Again, a loud, deep clang echoed through the room.
"Oh, I know," said Rhiannon, nodding. "You, him . . . right. Uh . . . never mind."
She didn't add anything, which Harry pretty much took to mean that Draco had warned her not to discuss magic. He'd probably told her that he wasn't supposed to be mentioning such things, and not to let Harry or Snape find out that he had.
Rhiannon relaxed, leaning a hip against the counter, her posture in direct contrast to Draco's. He was standing ramrod straight, like his legs were locked to keep him upright. Worse, his hands were curled into claws around the edge of the counter. It actually looked like his fingertips were digging into the dark wood.
And the look in his eyes. . . like he might scream, and it was only pride keeping his expression stony.
Snape had moved to stand just behind him, but before he could say anything--though what could he say, with Rhiannon standing right there?--adoor opened behind the counter and Emmeleia Volentier came into the reception area, frowning as she smoothed a curly strand of hair behind her ear. "Impatient, are we?" she asked, briskly scooping up the bell and placing it behind the counter. Hard to miss that hint, Harry thought. He braced himself for an even more scathing comment.
It never came, probably because by then, she'd recognised Draco. "Oh. Welcome back, young man."
By the end, she sounded like she was annoyed over all the bell-ringing, but doing her best to hide it. No point in antagonising Draco if he was planning to endow the home, right?
"Mr Darswaithe is in his office, if your father would be good enough to come through," Emmeleia smoothly added. She obviously knew all about the money issue. "I believe he has something for you to sign, Professor Snape."
Something that didn't need to be signed, Harry thought, since Draco had made himself into an adult a few weeks early. Darswaithe didn't know about that, though, and Snape wasn't supposed to know about it. But he did know, which made his signature agreeing to the vault draft rather pointless. What a charade.
Emmeleia turned away, but Snape didn't follow her. Stepping forward until he was at Draco's side, separating him from Rhiannnon, he laid a hand on the boy's arm. "Are you going to be all right?" he asked in a low voice.
Draco nodded, but it looked like he was a puppet on strings, and somebody else was yanking his head up and down.
Snape didn't move away. His dark eyes just kept assessing Draco, his gaze about as steady as Harry had ever seen it. Legilimency? Harry wasn't sure. Probably not, though. Snape didn't use that on his sons. Or not that Harry knew about, at any rate.
"Just go talk to Darswaithe," Draco finally sighed. By then, he was looking a little green around the gills. Not that he had gills, but seeing how he did look, Harry understood the phrase as never before. "We'll wait here."
Snape gave him a last, long look before he pushed open the small door in the counter and followed Emmeleia Volentier into what looked like a long corridor.
As the door clicked shut behind him, Harry reached a hand into his pocket and found the grip of his wand. Just in case.
Draco, though, didn't look likely to do anything drastic. He still just looked sick to his stomach.
And Rhiannon had noticed. Finally. "Are you going to tell me what's the matter, now?"
"It's nothing."
"Even your father could tell that you were upset about something--"
"It's nothing, I said," snapped Draco, almost baring his teeth.
But it wasn't nothing. Harry knew that, and Rhiannon obviously knew it, too. "You were fine until I rang the bell."
"Maybe the sound of it got on my nerves."