"As long as you fully clarified the need for her to be cautious when contacting you. No more Muggle envelopes."
"No, sir. She won't do that again."
Draco wasn't rebuked for saying "sir," of course, but Harry wasn't too bothered by that. He understood, now, that Snape was doing his best by each of his sons. Harry and Draco needed different things, that was all.
And right now, Draco needed to concentrate on his letter.
Harry stood up and stretched. "What time then, for the Order meeting?"
"Five."
Draco's gaze snapped up. "What's happened?"
"Nothing new," said Snape, shaking his head. "Barring unforeseen events, Remus Lupin will attend to share what he knows about Voldemort's attack on the Ministry. I must stress, Draco, how important it is that you conduct yourself well. I know you are concerned for your mother's welfare, but that topic is not the purpose of the meeting."
"I wasn't planning to interrupt Lupin's report to ask if he'd heard from the Continent." Draco raised his chin. "Because yes, I know that many of the good members of the Order still look at me askance and wonder where my true loyalties lie--"
"Not many, just Moody," corrected Snape. "And since he doesn't yet trust me, that's hardly a surprise."
"Oh, the rest of them all trust me?" Draco laughed, the noise more resigned than bitter. "I don't think so, Severus."
"They don't necessarily trust your judgement, of course. And I don't believe they all place their faith in your devotion to the Light. They do, however, trust your loyalty to Harry. They can do no less, given that Albus has vouched for you."
"That's lovely," sneered Draco, his lips twisting. "My actions on their own weren't enough? I saved Harry, over and over last year--"
"Twice, you mean?"
Draco ignored Harry's interruption. "I saved him from my very own father! I mean, the man who raised me! I saved Harry Potter from Lucius fucking Malfoy! And if we really want to nit-pick, I saved him from the Dark Lord himself, since that's where he was going to end up! And where are my thanks, eh? Where are my accolades?"
"A hundred and fifty points and the Cup to Slytherin," said Harry fiercely. "And I don't begrudge you any of it, even though it meant Gryffindor lost, and you know how important Gryffindor is to me. But don't you dare say that nobody thanked you, Draco. You were thanked in public by the headmaster himself."
"What sort of Slytherin does something for thanks, in any case?" asked Snape.
"I didn't!"
"I should hope not."
"I just don't like the idea that after all that, I had to be vouched for." Draco crossed his arms.
"You're in good company," said Snape dryly. "Or do you think they first trusted me for my sunny disposition? We're a pair, you and I."
Harry felt like that was his cue to go to the bedroom for a bit. "Well, I'll just leave you and Dad to work on that letter."
"Stay, Harry," said Draco. "I want you to read it, too. You know Rhiannon better than Dad does, and you understand Muggle thinking far better than either of us. Can you make sure I'm not coming across as . . . well, mental?"
It was ridiculous to feel so pleased, Harry thought. But he was. Father-son time was something good, for Draco as well as himself, but the three of them working on something together was even better.
"Sure," he said, dropping into a chair at the table. "But I don't think you have to worry."
Draco actually winced. "Say that after you read it, Harry. When I try to see it through her eyes, even I think I sound mental."
"Yeah, but remember that poster at the squib home, the one about that stupid telly programme? Rhiannon was talking like she believed in government conspiracies and flying saucers landing on Earth, and somebody named Cancer Man. I keep wondering if he's like Superman in reverse . . . but anyway, news of a war in the wizarding world won't sound all that strange, I bet. Not to her."
"Well, then thank Merlin for bad American telly programmes," sighed Draco.
Harry grinned. "Merlin didn't do it for thanks."
That got him groans from Snape and Draco both, but then they all leaned over together to read Draco's letter to Rhiannon.
------------------------------------------------------
The mood was sombre in the kitchen of Number Twelve, that afternoon.
The full Order wasn't there, just the ones who most needed to hear Remus' report. Or maybe, Harry thought, just those who hadn't heard it already.
Yeah . . . Snape hadn't said anything one way or another, but Harry pretty much figured that Remus had already given Dumbledore a private report. The headmaster might have summoned some Order members to his office to be briefed privately.
It would explain, at any rate, why Tonks and Shacklebolt weren't at Grimmauld Place.
Some others were missing as well, but Harry didn't give them much thought. He was more concerned about the people in the room. Mr and Mrs Weasley, and Bill and Charlie, and the twins. Ron and Ginny weren't here, and Harry had a feeling that they weren't upstairs, either. They'd been left home, Harry thought. Like children, even though Ron was older than Harry was.
Harry grimaced, thinking that the decision to exclude them had likely been more Dumbledore's than Molly Weasley's.
"Now, now, none of that," said Fred, lightly punching Harry in the arm. "You look like you're the one who's lost a brother!"
Harry gave a sickly grin, trying to pretend he'd liked the humour. He didn't, though. How could anybody make jokes about a thing like this? But then the answer came to him. Fred was probably managing the only way he knew how, like Draco had said. Only with Fred, it wasn't a matter of keeping busy. He had another way to cope.
Harry pulled out a chair next to Fred, then, noticing that Draco had taken a seat almost directly across. Snape looked as though he didn't intend to sit at all; he was leaning against a wall, his expression forbidding, his arms crossed as though he had determined, in advance, to disapprove of every word that passed Remus' lips.
But then, he probably had.
Harry just hoped that Snape refrained from ripping Remus apart verbally. If he didn't, Harry thought fiercely, then Draco had every right to call their father a hypocrite, lecturing him on self-control!
He dimly registered that George, on the other side of Fred, was chuckling. Fred must have cracked another joke, one Harry hadn't even heard.
"Oh, come on, Harry," George suddenly exclaimed. "Where's the funeral?"
Fred guffawed.
"Boys," said Arthur Weasley from farther down the table. Glancing that way, Harry saw that Mrs Weasley had her face turned away. Well, she no doubt understood why her sons would act this way, but that didn't mean she was in the mood for morbid jokes.
Harry did his best to distract the twins. Leaning towards Fred, he spoke to them both. "Can you let Ginny know that Draco and I really appreciated her packing up our things?"
"Well, she is a little sweet on you, Harry--"
"Always has been," chimed in Fred.
"Be serious," said Harry, a moment before he realised that that was probably impossible. "She got over that years ago."
"Eh, she's just been playing it cool--"
"Your attention, please," said Dumbledore in his low, calm way. Harry hadn't noticed him coming in. He hadn't even noticed Remus, who was standing alongside him.
Snape had noticed, though. He was glaring.
Harry shot his father a critical look, hoping he didn't catch hell for it, later. It did the trick, though; Snape immediately schooled his expression into one of bored interest.
Remus didn't look well, Harry thought as the man slipped into a chair and sat with his head slightly bowed. There were lines of exhaustion around his eyes, and his posture reminded Harry of how he looked just after the full. He was in pain, obviously, even though his last transformation would have been two weeks earlier.