For once, Snape didn't chide Draco for his language. "What is it?"
"Dinner with her parents," groaned Draco. "Day after tomorrow. I guess that's off, now. And I did want you to meet them."
"I know," said Snape in a soothing voice. "Draco, I have nothing whatsoever against Miss Miller. She seems a personable young lady and I will be happy to welcome her into our family should the time ever come. For now, though, your safety and hers must prevail, and there is no sense in your losing sleep over the day's events. Tomorrow may bring new trials."
"Another attack?" asked Harry, feeling his palms grow clammy.
"Or additional information about this one," said Snape grimly. "Draco, do you require a potion?"
"No." Draco sat down on the couch. "I'll try to sleep. Harry, you go and share the room with your cousin. He did pretty well with everything, but he might wake up upset."
Dudley might, Harry knew. A Muggle sleep aid wasn't Dreamless Sleep potion, after all, and the destruction of the Ministry could call to mind memories of what had happened to Number Four last year. Besides, this might be Draco's way of saying that he'd like some time to talk with Snape. "All right, I'll take your bed," said Harry, yawning a little.
"Clear your mind before you sleep," advised Snape.
"Constant vigilance, yeah." Harry nodded, and padded off to his bedroom, leaving his father and brother alone.
------------------------------------------------------
Just after lunch the next day, the Floo suddenly flared to life.
Harry tensed, standing up from the table, noting that Draco had drawn his wand as soon as the noise began. Clearly, the attack on the Ministry had them both on edge. This could just be their father returning . . . or it could be somebody else entirely.
Grimacing as he stood ready to cast, Harry wished their father hadn't taken Dudley off earlier that morning. On the other hand, he was really grateful to Snape for the help. He'd got in contact with Marsha, and had asked for her assistance with helping "young Mr Dursley find alternate accommodations, preferably in a place far removed from Surrey."
Dudley had been a bit worried about finding another job, but Harry told him that if he had any trouble, he just had to let Marsha know he needed some money to tide him over. After all, what good was Harry's vault if he didn't use it to help the people he loved?
That last word had made Dudley blubber a bit, which Harry found embarrassing. Then again, Dudley might be surprised to hear that Harry loved him, after everything that had happened when they were younger. That was all past, though.
And unimportant, compared to being ready to face the person trying to Floo into the dungeons.
The flames whooshed in the grate, and then began flashing green as largish boxes wrapped in plain brown paper tumbled out.
"Stay back," warned Draco in a low voice, motioning Harry farther away from the fireplace. Harry was sort of offended by that, since he was more prepared than Draco to protect them, after all. But then he saw that Draco was stepping back, too, and Harry swallowed, telling himself that his brother was just concerned for his safety.
Five parcels later, the fire in the hearth abruptly died.
Draco gave the boxes a critical glance, then shrugged. "Probably our gifts, but best to be certain, I suppose." He began casting, checking for hexes and curses and such.
Harry felt something like a slow burn of anger begin in his belly. Draco was his brother, and he loved him and all that, but sometimes he could be mind-bogglingly selfish. "Their son was killed, just last night! I hardly think the Weasleys have nothing better to do than pack up a lot of stupid presents--"
"They aren't stupid. They're coming-of-age gifts, which means they're important. Any wizarding family would understand that," said Draco quietly. For once, he didn't mention Harry's Muggle upbringing as some sort of deficiency. "Besides, Harry, don't you know that when somebody close to you dies, you . . ." Clearing his throat, he shook his head and didn't go on.
The burn in Harry's gut became an ache. He hoped that Draco wasn't thinking of Lucius. Maybe it was somebody else, though. "Remembering Pansy still hurts that much?"
Draco flicked his gaze toward Harry, clearly startled. "No, of course not. What I feel for Rhiannon puts all that in much better perspective."
"Then what were you trying to say? I mean, not say?"
"I was thinking of you."
"Me?"
Draco nodded, his hands moving a little haphazardly, but by then he was finished casting. "Remembering your godfather still does hurt you, I think. But when he died, Harry, didn't you need things to do, to take your mind off it?"
"Might have helped," said Harry tightly. "I spent most of the summer alone in my room. Lying on my bed and staring at the ceiling, mostly."
"Your aunt and uncle let you? They really were disgusting specimens--"
"They didn't know that Sirius had died," said Harry, shaking his head. "I didn't want them to know, since having a dangerous godfather who cared what happened to me could come in handy, dealing with them."
"You're proving my point, you realise."
Harry smiled, a little wryly. "Yeah, I know. It's hard to get worked up over it, now. Maybe I'm finally ready to start forgiving them. And anyway, I can hardly blame them for not noticing what a wreck I was, last summer. Uncle Vernon must have been out of his mind with worry over his wife being so ill, and Aunt Petunia . . . she was so quiet, every time I ran into her. She looked bad, now that I think about it, but I was in no state to notice that at the time. But now . . . I think she must have been pretty afraid of dying."
Harry sighed, feeling vaguely guilty. He'd thought about the afterlife a lot after Sirius had died. Constantly, that summer, but he'd hardly given any thought at all to what might have happened to his aunt. Thinking about it now, he winced. "Do you suppose . . . do you think Muggles go to the same places as wizards, after they die?"
Draco abruptly sat down, his forehead creasing. "No, I don't, and before you start calling me names for thinking there's a difference, just remember that that's one of my nightmares. That when Rhiannon dies, I'll never, ever be able to see her again."
"Maybe you will," said Harry bracingly, though he actually didn't want to see Petunia or Vernon ever again. Not even to tell them what he really thought of them.
"Ha. Only wizards can come back as ghosts, so by extension--"
"You don't know that for certain," said Harry. Nearly Headless Nick had once alluded to something like that, but considering he haunted Hogwarts, he might just not know any Muggle ghosts. "Look, there are loads of ghosts stories, some of them of really famous people. They can't all have been witches and wizards."
"Name one," said Draco morosely.
Harry cast about in his head. "Uh . . . well, there's this battlement at the Tower of London, called Elizabeth's walk, for where she used to walk when she was locked up there, I think. People say she still walks there, sometimes."
"Someone famous, I said."
"Princess Elizabeth?" asked Harry, almost smiling. "Queen Elizabeth, Draco? Henry VIII's daughter?"
Draco's fringe moved a little as he blew out a breath. "All right, that smarmy look on your face can only mean one thing. I need to study some Muggle history."
"Eh, well considering Rhiannon . . ."
Draco shrugged. "Maybe those Muggle Studies books'll have a smattering of history in them. Because there's nothing dark on any of those parcels. The handwriting detection spell did say there was a letter in that one, though." Draco pointed to the smallest of the boxes.
It turned out to be a short note from Ginny, apologizing for not packing up the presents the night before.
Harry bit his lip. "God, how could she think I'd even expect that?"