She certainly didn't strike Draco as a wizard. Actually, she couldn't be one. There was Harry with his scar clearly visible beneath his fringe, and she hadn't stared at him or anything, so . . . "We just wanted to look around to settle an argument. You see, Harry here thinks that--"
Severus' hand clamped down on his shoulder in a way that clearly urged him to stop talking. "My sons are each in possession of sizable trusts, Miss--"
"Ms. Volentier. Emmeleia Volentier."
"Pleased to make your acquaintance," said Snape, nodding. "I am Severus Snape, and these are my sons, Harry and Draco. We've recently read about your work here, and the fact that you sustain it by means of bequests. They began wondering whether this institution might prove a worthy outlet for their generosity when they come of age."
As if Draco would ever consider giving his money away to a home for squibs! He'd sooner toss his Galleons into a dragon's nest.
Of course, he knew better than to protest. He certainly didn't need Severus' fingers digging even more sharply into his shoulder, as if warning him to keep quiet. Lucius had often used the possibility of money as a key to gain access to all manner of places. It was only Slytherin.
Besides, in this case it was practically true! Little did Emmeleia Volentier know it, but Draco had already endowed the home for squibs. He'd already "drafted at Gringotts," so to speak! Or almost. That money from Walpurgis Black's vault should have been Draco's, after all.
So the least he could do was see that it was being well-spent, he supposed.
As expected, the woman's attitude changed completely--she was clearly delighted. "Oh, we're honoured that you'd even consider us," she gushed. "This truly is a worthy cause. Most wizards and witches don't even want to think about our existence. I'm highly impressed that two young men such as yourselves would remember those having the misfortune to be born different. So, I imagine you have some questions, then?"
"Several," said Draco dryly.
Harry, of course, was less restrained. "And we'd like to see everything, and meet the children, and--"
Ms. Volentier laughed. "Of course. First things first, though, Mr Potter. Perhaps you could sign the register, all of you? And then I'll take you into my office and give you a brief orientation before we proceed."
Oh. Mr Potter. Severus hadn't given Harry's surname, so the woman obviously had recognised him, and not let on. She still struck Draco as a Mugglish type, though. He could usually tell. Draco wasn't sure what gave them away, but there must be some aura. After all, Ms. Volentier was an attractive woman, slightly exotic - clearly about a quarter African and with long mahoghany curls that totally lacked Granger's frizz. And yet she didn't give Draco that zing of interest that a pretty woman ought. Hmm, since she was working in a home for squibs, maybe she was one. Like Marsha. She'd known all about Harry.
Emmeleia fetched a wire-bound book from the top desk drawer and passed it across to Severus, along with what Draco recognised as a Muggle pen. Harry used them sometimes. He'd tried to convince Draco that they had advantages over quills, even Never-Out Quills, but that was clearly fit only for a laugh.
A laugh that had really annoyed Harry, he remembered.
Severus signed with a flourish and gave the book to Draco next. Draco grinned as he wrote out Draco Snape in his elegant looping script. Since term had ended, he hadn't had a lot of opportunity to see his own name written out. He liked looking at it. Draco Snape. Severus Snape's son. Gazing at it in print made him feel like he really was safe, finally.
"Any day now," said Harry quietly.
Oh. Right. Harry was waiting. And everybody was staring at him, which made Draco wonder, just a bit, how long he'd stood there transfixed, staring at his own name. He must have looked a perfect idiot. Flushing a bit, Draco passed the register to his brother.
"So then, follow me," said Emmeleia, opening the side door she'd come through. Draco spotted a long hallway beyond. "My office is this way--"
"Actually, if it meets your satisfaction, I have business elsewhere," said Severus in his deep voice. "Of course, if your policies state that I should stay . . ." He left the question hanging in the air.
"We don't want him influencing us when it comes to endowments and such," added Draco, thinking himself quite clever to throw that in. "Harry and I want to make up our own minds."
Emmeleia sounded a little surprised by that, but she was hardly going to argue and risk those Galleons, Draco thought. "Yes, of course you're free to leave your sons here with me, Professor," she said.
Professor.
"You're pretty well-informed," said Harry. He'd obviously noticed, too.
Emmeleia just smiled at that.
Severus glanced at them both. "I'll meet you back here at noon, then."
"Let's meet at the pub on the corner," said Harry, pointing. His lack of manners only became all the more apparent when he kept on talking. "All right? That way Draco and I won't be stuck here if we finish early--"
"If we want to discuss our findings on our own," corrected Draco, giving Emmeleia a dazzling smile. "And consider amounts, payment schedules, that sort of thing."
Severus gave him an impatient look, one Draco understood at once. Time to stop playing the money card.
"We'll meet you at the pub, yes," said Draco. "Noonish."
"I'll see that they get there safely, Professor," said Emmeleia. Her voice was amused, like she was aware of some of the undercurrents in the room. "So, shall we?" She gestured toward the waiting hallway.
Draco saw Harry give their father a little wave good-bye as Severus left.
------------------------------------------------------
Harry was smiling as he looked around the Flying Horse. "Oh, this is nice, don't you think? The Dursleys never did eat in pubs much. Or if they did, they didn't invite me along."
Nice? Draco almost scoffed, but then he turned and saw the look on his brother's face. Bright smile, wide eyes. Almost like he'd just walked into Honeydukes instead of a crowded and slightly run-down Muggle pub. He'd had that look plastered on his face the entire time they'd sat here waiting for Severus.
Harry didn't look happy all that often, thought Draco with an inward sigh. In fact, most of the time his features were slightly strained. Like he was carrying the weight of the whole world on his shoulders. And the worst part was that Harry had reason to feel that way.
All of which meant that Draco didn't have the heart to say anything about the stains on the hardwood floor, or the dingy curtains half-covering the windows. It was one thing to fight with Harry over the things he'd had been saying lately about Draco's mother. Or even over Harry thinking more about his dead father than his living one. Though Draco had to admit, Severus had taken the whole mirror business very well. Ha, he'd probably known all along that nothing could make it work.
But ruining Harry's obvious enjoyment of having lunch in a pub . . . that just wasn't on.
"It'll do," Draco said, refraining from further comment as he plucked a menu from a chrome salt-and-pepper holder on the table. Ugh. The slick, thick parchment--no, it wasn't quite parchment, was it? At any rate, the menu was a bit grimy, like the last person to read it had just eaten chips with his hands. Draco had a sudden strong memory of his mother saying not to touch things if he didn't know where they'd been. But he knew where this had been, didn't he? Muggles had handled it.