"The only reason I didn't tell him everything was because you ought to," added Draco. "Plus, it wasn't the right time. Severus hadn't calmed down yet from what Lucius did to us. I was afraid that if he heard about Aran too, he'd go kill the man. Not that I'd care, but I'd rather not have to go visit Severus in Azkaban."
Draco paused, but when Harry said nothing, pressed, "But he's calm now. Time to tell him."
"Yeah," said Harry thickly. "Tomorrow, I guess. Or the next day."
"Harry--"
"Where's the Snitch?" interrupted Harry. "Let's play another match."
Draco gave him a look like he knew Harry was changing the subject, but instead of arguing, he opened his fist and tossed the Snitch high.
Much later, Harry touched down on the XL and wiped his face with his sleeve. "Whew. I'm starving."
"I think that was the idea," said Draco dryly as he traded brooms and began to walk back to the cottage. Harry almost expected his brother to pester him again about telling Severus, but Draco had something else on his mind by then. "There, did you see? That flash of black in the window." He pointed. "Severus has been watching us the whole time, but he doesn't want us to know so he just now turned away. Ten to one he pretends to be reading or something when we go in."
Harry jumped on the change of topic. Anything rather than think about his problems with Aran. "Ten to one I can get him to 'fess up."
"Oh, the boy thinks he's Slytherin--"
"Just follow my lead. Start limping now."
"What?"
Harry ignored his brother and pulled the door open. "Dad, come quick! Draco crashed something awful--"
Snape flung a book aside and rushed to his feet. "I didn't see any crash!"
"Ha, you were watching us," said Harry. "I knew it!"
The Potions Master glowered. "That is singularly not amusing."
Harry had the grace to look a little abashed. "Yeah, all right. I just meant, you don't have to pretend you weren't watching us." Thinking a new subject might be a good idea, he said brightly, "What's that I smell? Soup?"
"Gizzard soup with dumplings made of patÈ de foie gras."
"That's goose liver," said Draco.
"Ewww." Harry made a face. "Oh, yuck. Can I have a grilled cheese sandwich instead? Please?"
Draco scoffed. "For Merlin's sake, Harry, he's jesting. Though if you tell him I've crashed again when I haven't he might actually serve it. Not that I'd mind the patÈ; it sounds lovely. Gizzard soup is a bit plebeian, though . . ."
Draco sat down then, cradling his new broom in his lap. For a moment he just caressed the fine, dark wood, but then he started examining every straw like he had to be sure the XL was still in perfect condition. When Harry and Snape sat down at the table to eat the beef-and-barley soup the elves had sent, Draco didn't even look up.
"Draco, if you could desist from worshipping your broom for five minutes?" hinted Snape.
"I'll be there in a second--"
"Now."
"Ha. Slave driver's right, all right." Grinning, Draco joined them at the table, but not before he'd carefully leaned his broom alongside Harry's.
After lunch was over, Harry didn't have to be ordered outside again. By then, he'd figured out that their father really did want them to relax. Instead of Quidditch, though, Harry and Draco decided to test the XL against the Firebolt and see how much of a speed advantage it had. They traded brooms halfway through to see if a different rider would affect the results.
All the while, the snitch buzzed around playfully, trying to tempt them. At one point it even stuck a wing in Harry's ear as he hovered. "Go away," laughed Harry, batting at it.
Draco pulled up to hover alongside him. "I think the XL's advantage shows up more in sprints than long flights."
"Well, Quidditch has both kinds of flying." Harry glanced sideways and down. "Hmm. He's watching us again. You don't suppose he thinks anything could happen to us out here, do you?"
Draco considered that for a moment, his silver eyes looking all around to survey the empty Devon countryside. "I think he's just feeling fatherly after . . . er, nearly losing us," he finally concluded.
"Yeah, it could have been bad. But you were great, Draco. I don't even really know how to thank you--"
"Don't make me listen to your thanking-people thing, that's how." A sudden breeze pushed Draco's hair back. "You already thanked me, anyway, Harry."
"All right." Harry started heading down, looping in slow circles as they descended.
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Dinner that night was a less than festive affair, and not just because by then Harry was feeling pretty tired after so much flying. He kept trying to figure out how to tell his father about his problems with Aran. Putting it off wasn't going to help anything, he knew. But since he didn't really want to ruin their holiday, either . . . he just kept putting it off.
As it turned out, Snape was the one who brought it up. Though, like a Slytherin, he took his time getting to the point.
"So, I don't have as much time with you both as I used to," he began, sipping at his wine and looking over the top of the glass at both of them. "I miss chatting each night about your progress in your studies. How are your classes going?"
Draco gave Harry a tell him look, but Harry ignored it. Setting down his emptied wine glass expectantly, Draco grimaced when it refilled itself with sparkling water instead of a second glass of wine.
"Neither one of you has anything to say about your classes?" asked Snape.
That time, Draco didn't even bother glancing Harry's way. "Well, McGonagall's lectures are as dry as ever. I don't suppose you'd speak to her about that, Severus?"
"No, I don't suppose I would."
"No matter. I can only understand one word in four anyway, on account of her lowbrow accent--"
Harry wished Draco would cut out the snobbery, but after his brother had jumped in like that with an answer to their father's question, he didn't have the heart to rebuke him. Of course, Snape didn't let Draco's diversion divert him for long.
"Are you still struggling in Transfiguration, Harry? I recall it's not your area of greatest strength."
"No, it's not, and having to figure out every incantation on my own doesn't help."
"What about Defence, though?" asked Snape in a voice that was, perhaps, just a little too smooth. Harry couldn't be sure. "That must make up for your difficulties in Transfiguration, since you're naturally disposed to the subject."
Harry smiled and nodded. Snape couldn't know anything, right? Aran had forgotten all about Harry's defiance, and the headmaster wouldn't have said anything, not when the far more important matter had been getting Harry home safely. "Oh yeah, Defence is great. Aran's an idiot, of course. No doubt about that at all. Letting Lucius Malfoy into Hogwarts for a parent-teacher conference when even the Prophet got it right that Draco's not his son any longer! You told the headmaster to leave him to you, though. What are you planning to do to him?"
Snape smiled very thinly as though he knew Harry was changing the subject. As though he knew why.
Harry felt like somebody had just walked over his grave. He shivered, and tried to conceal it by snatching up a knife and buttering an entire slice of bread.
"I've told him," lamented Draco. "One bit at a time, but will he listen?"
"Quiet, Draco," snapped Snape. "Harry, you'll find out in due time how I plan to proceed with Aaron Aran. So then, Defence is great, is it? You aren't having any problems acquiring the material?"
Harry forced a laugh. "Problems? Well, the Parseltongue spells are a pain as much there as anywhere else, but apart from that Defence is a snap. You know me."
"Yes, I know you," said Snape in what Harry could only think as an ominous voice.
From across the table, Draco was giving him a stern look now, like Harry should really catch a clue and start talking.