Harry hid his own wide smile, since he wouldn't want Draco to think he was making fun. It wasn't that, not at all. It was just so good to see Draco and Hermione getting along, finally.
Really getting along, instead of just putting up with one another for Harry's sake.
"Strawberry for me," said Harry, mostly for the novelty. He'd never had a that flavour soda before.
Emmeleia extended a bright pink can--the garish colour reminded Harry of Amaelia Thistlethorne, actually, and made him wonder if WFS was going to pay them any more visits. Not much point in that, though, was there? Within a week, Harry would turn seventeen and be a full, legal adult.
Draco was one already, though WFS might not know that unless they took a close look at his paperwork.
Ouch. As Emmeleia's hand brushed against Harry's, a sharp electric sting coursed through his fingers. Afterwards, they felt really sore, and rubbing them didn't really help much. Pressing the cold can of soda did, but just a bit.
Harry sighed, remembering the first time he and Draco had visited here. The same thing had happened, then. Twice, actually, both at times when Emmeleia had touched him in passing. Static electricity . . . Harry didn't know a lot about it, but he had some vague memories of rubbing a balloon against his head in primary school one day, during a science lesson. The static electricity that had built up had made his hair stand up even more than usual. Wool cloth would do the same thing, he remembered; that had been the next part of the day's experiment . . .
Harry's nostrils flared. You'd think the orphanage had wall-to-wall wool carpeting instead of hardwood floors, the way he kept getting shocked! And it wasn't just Harry, either. Draco had sort of flinched when he'd shaken Emmeleia's hand on their first visit, hadn't he? At the time, Harry had assumed that his brother was just being snooty over the squib thing, but maybe he'd gotten one of these stinging pains that touching her seemed to produce.
"Oh, how lovely. Is that a sari?" Rhiannon asked, interrupting Harry's thoughts. Glancing to the side, Harry saw that Draco's girlfriend was admiring a long stretch of crimson cloth embroidered with gold thread.
Emmeleia's brown eyes widened in what looked like alarm. Over a length of cloth? Nah, couldn't be.
But it was, because in the next moment, the woman was jumping to her feet to rush across the room. Hermione made a small noise, almost a squeak, as Emmeleia brushed past her. Harry took that to mean that she'd just got shocked, as well. Maybe Emmeleia was wearing wool, he thought, glancing toward the small woman.
But no, her outfit was clearly made of a lightweight summery sort of fabric. Something did catch his notice, however. As Emmeleia snatched up the cloth and hastily folded it, Harry got a clear view of the box it had been draped over. Or no, not a box . . . clearly, it was a wizarding trunk. Mad Eye Moody had been imprisoned inside one that had looked quite similar.
Harry eyed the woman critically for a moment. What would a squib be doing with a wizarding trunk? Then again, she was from pureblood family, wasn't she? And old Swiss one, Draco had guessed, based on her last name. So maybe the trunk was an heirloom or something.
"I'm sorry," Rhiannon said. "I didn't mean to pry . . ."
"Oh, no, not at all." To Harry's thinking, the woman's tone sounded a bit forced. But perhaps that just showed how paranoid he was becoming. Emmeleia certainly didn't seem the type to be keeping secrets; look at how she'd shared all those details about her medical history. No sense of discretion . . . Harry could easily imagine Snape drawling the words in tones nearing contempt.
"It's just that it's quite old," Emmeleia was going on. "I shouldn't have left it out like that, not in the summer," she said, waving a hand toward the window. "Strong light can damage the delicate fibres."
"It truly was lovely," said Hermione. "I didn't get a close look, though. Was it a sari?"
"Oh, no. It's a 'Goddess Aurora Altar Cloth,' or so I was told when I bought it at the Bizarre Bazaar. In Salem, Massachusetts," she added with a smile that suggested it was a fond memory. "The school took some of us on a field trip there when I was sixteen."
"Salem?" asked Draco, his voice slicing through the air. "The witch trials, that Salem?"
Not this again. "There weren't any real witches burned there, Draco," said Harry.
"There wasn't anyone burned at all," corrected Hermione. "The people convicted of witchcraft were hanged."
"Perhaps so, but the idea that not one was an actual witch is pure propaganda," said Draco, his voice quite cool.
To Harry's surprise, Emmeleia began nodding as she sat back down in the chair behind her desk. "It may well be. No credible evidence of witchcraft in Salem has ever come to light, but it wouldn't be the first time that the government covered up indications of paranormal activity." She gestured toward a poster on the far wall.
When Draco turned his head to look at it, his expression became curiously blank. And no wonder. The poster sported an enormous flying saucer hovering over an expanse of farmland bathed in an eerie, otherworldly light. At the bottom, large type announced, "I want to believe."
"Oh, I love that show," said Rhiannon. "It's my absolute favourite."
Emmeleia and Rhiannon started to enthuse over it together, a conversation which pretty quickly grew too inane for Harry. Muggle government conspiracies covering up evidence of space aliens? Daft stories of people actually being abducted by little green men?
Harry almost laughed, and not just because the whole thing sounded so stupid. It was also incredibly weird that a girl training to sing classical opera could also be so interested in bad science fiction.
He didn't laugh, though. At least this conversation was a lot more amusing than another dull lecture about curriculum or funding, and besides, laughing would be rather insensitive, considering that his brother was looking positively spooked.
Huh. Harry would have expected a Slytherin to be a lot more hardened. Clearly, though, the possible existence of extra-terrestrials was a brand new concept for Draco. And not a welcome one, either.
Harry traded glances with Hermione and very nearly laughed despite his resolve. She looked astonished by the idea that anybody could take such a stupid telly programme seriously.
"Thank you for the tour," said Harry politely, rising to his feet.
Draco shook his head like he was coming out of a daze, but then stood up as well. "Yes, thank you. It was good of you to give us a closer look at the facility."
Emmeleia's glance at him was somewhat critical. Or at least, Harry thought so. "Hopefully you'll conclude that your money is being well-spent."
Harry knew from the look that crossed his brother's face that Draco was thinking of Rhiannon as he answered. "Yes, it does seem so. It's good to be able to put the funds to good use."
Hermione pressed her lips together like she was reining in laughter again. Her expression, however, lost all trace of amusement when Harry began to move toward the door. "Ehem. I think we'd better get our wands back before we leave."
Oh, right. Not too amazing that Harry would forget, since he hadn't given away his wand to begin with. He was a little more surprised that Draco would make the same gaffe, but maybe the idea of space aliens had distracted him.
"Of course," murmured Emmeleia as she pulled open a desk drawer and retrieved Hermione's wand as well as the two decoys she'd been given. They hadn't even been under lock and key?
Hermione's eyes narrowed.
Well, Harry could sympathise. He'd be annoyed if his real wand had been treated so carelessly, plunked into a drawer where anybody could come along and nick it. The least Emmeleia could have done was keep the wands safe from the children, who might well be curious about them!
All Harry could think was that a squib couldn't possibly understand how important a wand could be to a wizard. If she did understand that, she'd never have asked for theirs in the first place.