Draco glanced back at the speeding cars, then made a gesture as though zooming on a broom. What was the big deal? "I've faced worse in competition."
"Draco, you'll let your brother guide you so you can fit in," said Severus in a stern voice.
Hmm, best not to argue any further. Severus might demand they go home directly after shopping, and that wouldn't do. Draco's mind was already racing, figuring out what he'd say when he met Rhiannon. She'd be at the theatre, most likely, rehearsing or something, filling the hall with audible magic. Draco would listen for a while. He'd probably swoon. Too much beauty at once had that effect on him. He'd be happy watching her all day long . . .
But of course she wouldn't want to rehearse hour past hour. Sooner or later, she'd need to take a break, and when she did, Draco would stride forward from the wings, and . . .
Brilliant performance last night, Miss Miller. I'm a great admirer of your talent. My name is Draco Snape . . .
Draco frowned as Harry led them down the pavement. Draco Snape. He was very happy to have a father he could trust, of course, but that didn't mean that his new name had the same prestige as his old one. Not that Draco would want to be a Malfoy again, ever. Not when it meant . . . no. Absolutely not.
But still, he did wonder how he could smoothly suggest that he had plenty of money. He was used to people just knowing that about him. The moment they heard his name, they'd known. But Rhiannon wouldn't, not straight away . . . Hmm. Maybe he should give his full name when he met her. At least Malfoy was still part of it.
But no, that might sound a bit pretentious. Even in at official Ministry functions, one didn't usually give one's entire name--
"Let's walk along High Street," said Harry, interrupting Draco's musings. Draco looked up, startled to realise that the pool was no longer anywhere in sight. He'd been lost in thoughts of Rhiannon.
A few minutes after that, Harry pointed. "See there? A Tesco. They'll have whatever we want. Er . . . what do we want, anyway?"
Draco stared at his brother. "You're the one in charge. But that sorts well, I suppose. It's not as though I would know how the other half eats."
"It's not so very different and you know it," Snape said, the rebuke mild. "I must ask that we keep track of the cost, however. I've only got about fifty pounds at the moment."
"Oh, I've scads left over from buying those suits," Draco said.
Severus turned to glare at him. "I'm responsible for your support, not the other way around."
Draco blinked, a little bit surprised. It wasn't often he offered to share money, and to have it thrown back in his face? "I just meant . . . I told Harry I'd give him money too, if he needed it. I thought that was what families did." His voice sounded very small, even to him, as he finished.
Severus' own voice softened. "Yes. Well done, Draco, and I will remember it. However, I don't need funds from either of you, and hopefully never will."
Oh. Draco understood pride. "All right."
Draco tried not to shudder as double glass doors slid open at their approach and then closed behind them. The way Muggles tried to imitate magic was truly pathetic. And frightening as well. The wizarding world liked to pretend that it kept itself entirely hidden, but Draco knew better. Doors that opened themselves were proof in themselves that some Muggles were well-aware of what one could do with magic. It smacked of jealousy, and that was dangerous.
Jealousy had been a large part of the witch-burnings and other atrocities of centuries past.
Harry grabbed hold of a cart, and pushing it before him, started smiling brightly. "So. Dairy first?"
Merlin's beard, this was worse than Draco had feared. Dairy, of all things. "If you want to purchase some kind of animal, you can be the one to get the milk from her--"
An old lady stopped in her tracks and stared at the three of them.
Draco bit his lip, feeling like a fool, especially when they turned a corner and he saw row after row of cartons labelled milk. Well, how was he supposed to know that Muggles didn't have to get it by hand? They had to wash their dishes by hand, didn't they?
When Harry put a carton into their cart, Draco picked it up and looked it over. He felt a bit off when he couldn't tell exactly what he was holding. This time, however, he thought it best to lower his voice before he commented.
"What is this?" he asked his brother, very quietly.
Harry gave him an odd look and pointed at the large white letters on the carton. "Milk."
Draco gave him what he hoped came off as a superior look. "Well, yes, it's milk. But what kind? Yak? Goat? Sheep? Whale? Canadian caribou? Just for the record, I'm not drinking any wolf's milk. I don't like the associations."
He meant the myth about the founding of wizarding Rome, the one featuring a boy named Remus, but Harry, of course, completely missed the reference. Or maybe he didn't. His expression was rather contemptuous. But when he started talking it seemed like he had something else on his mind.
"You're having me on. Look, I know you didn't want to come here, but you don't have to invent a whole load of . . ."
"Invent?" Draco barked a laugh.
"All those varieties are, in fact, readily available in . . . other kinds of stores," said Severus in a low voice.
"Oh," said Harry, obviously deflated.
"Just you think on that next time, before you start calling names," said Draco haughtily. "So, what is this, then?"
"It's cow's milk."
"How boring."
"There you go, being a git again--"
"That's enough nonsense," interrupted Severus.
Draco didn't say anything more, but he did make a face at Harry once their father's back was turned. Harry ignored him.
After that, Draco didn't ask the origin of the butter and yoghurt Harry popped into the cart. When they started going up and down aisles, though, things got a bit more interesting.
"Oooh," said Harry, suddenly looking like he thought he was at Honeydukes. "I always wanted to try these. Dudley used to gobble them up before I could get a chance."
Draco glanced at the reddish package in his brother's hands. Walkers Shortbread. He thought it was very sad that Harry had been so deprived growing up, but he wasn't quite sure what he could say. Well, there was one thing, perhaps. "Let's get lots." Draco plucked a few more cartons off the shelves, and piled them into the cart. When Harry raised an eyebrow, Draco could only think one thing. "More?" He reached toward the shelf again.
"No, six boxes should be plenty--"
"Six boxes is too much," corrected Severus, putting four of them back.
"But we need lots, don't we, with Ron and Hermione coming tomorrow?"
Draco had been trying to forget the letter that had come through the charmed box a couple of days earlier. Oh, well. It wasn't as though he hadn't known that he'd have to put up with Harry's friends during the summer. He was probably lucky that they hadn't descended even earlier. Apparently Weasley . . . Ron, he reminded himself, had been kept busy de-gnoming his parent's garden. He'd written Harry no end of complaints about it.
Draco didn't know what had kept Hermione from visiting, but it probably had something to do with teeth.
Harry had gone down the aisle by then. "Oh, these look very good, and these, and these ones here--"
Severus' deep voice sounded amused. "I can see that the biscuit aisle was a mistake."
At that, Harry coloured slightly. "Well, it's just that I used to watch Dudley eat all these things and I wouldn't get any . . ."
"Be that as it may, I'm quite certain you don't want to end up looking like your cousin did."
"There is that--"
They'd rounded a corner by then and turned down another aisle. Severus nodded briskly as he placed a black and white tin into the cart. McCann's Irish Oatmeal. Draco made another face, and this time, Harry stifled a laugh.