Severus steepled his fingers beneath his chin, his dark eyes calm when he fixed his gaze on Draco. "You've assembled a rather consistent picture, but--"
"But!"
Severus' eyes glimmered. "Harry is correct that it's a great deal to build upon a mere name, which, after all, could have been nothing more than a slip of the tongue."
"Or a lousy memory."
Draco glared briefly at Harry, then made an effort to adopt his calm faÃade again. "That's not my only reason. Of course it's not. What about the fact that she attributed Harry's scar to a car accident?"
Harry actually laughed, the prat. "Oh, my scar. The horrible disfigurement on my stomach, you mean?"
"Well, she was looking without looking," said Draco, shrugging, refusing to be drawn. "Did you miss the part when I mentioned that she's an actress?"
"Car accident was a logical guess, I guess," said Harry.
What horrible diction.
"It wasn't a guess at all!" retorted Draco. He briefly wondered why Harry was being so stubborn. Maybe it went along with being a Gryffindor. Well, Draco would show him. "A few days after your adoption was official, the Prophet started running stories about how marvellous it was that you would have a proper father at last. See, they printed all the dirt they'd got from those Death Eaters captured just after Samhain. You know, the things your uncle told them when he was angry at you."
Harry looked like he was gritting his teeth. "Oh, wonderful!"
Draco suddenly wished he hadn't mentioned it, and that was before Harry started yelling. "That's it, that's the last goddamned straw! I've had enough! I want to see that solicitor again, Dad. I want to sue the Prophet like Draco said we could!" Harry paused for a second. "Libel, right? Or slander or something?"
"Unfortunately, truth is a defence to libel," said Severus, his voice gentle. Leaning forward from his position in a chair alongside the sofa, he laid a hand on Harry's shoulder and rubbed, just a little. The look in his eyes wasn't nearly so kind when he glanced over at Draco, though. It was piercing. And specific. Didn't we agree not to mention those stories?
Draco gulped. Oh yeah, they had. He'd forgotten . . . well, no, he hadn't really forgotten. He'd just wanted Harry to believe him about Rhiannon!
Trying to regroup, he cast about for something to say that might make Harry feel a little better. "Er . . . well, at least they held off on printing things about your home life while you were still laid up . . ."
"Amazing amount of discretion for the Prophet," said Snape, practically growling, his lips turning down with displeasure. "But once they had a happy ending to the story, they apparently couldn't resist."
Harry stared straight ahead, obviously dismayed. "So let me get this straight. Things about the Dursleys were in the paper, right down to the fact that he'd told me my father was a drunk who got himself and his wife killed in a car accident?"
"Background for stories about the adoption."
"I feel like I might sick up."
"Exactly why I never mentioned it." Severus turned another fearsome glare on Draco.
Harry started rubbing his arms. Shite, was that ever a bad sign.
"Look, it was months and months ago," said Draco, his voice desperate. Harry was far from weak, but this needle thing was unpredictable, and Draco had no idea what might push him over the edge into hurting himself again. The thought that he might be responsible for that . . . he shuddered. He'd promised to help Harry get through this, and now what had he done but practically encourage more self-harm, as Marsha called it. "And all it proved was what an arse your uncle was, right?"
"I hate people feeling sorry for me!"
Draco sighed, and glanced at Severus for help, but the man just stared back at him, stone-faced. Obviously he expected Draco to clean up after his own mistakes. Though his hand still was on Harry's shoulder, which told Draco that Severus and Harry would be having a long talk about things, later.
The hand on the shoulder always meant that.
But for now, Draco was on his own. "People know what the Prophet is like, Harry. Nobody took those stories very seriously. Your mates in Gryffindor obviously never mentioned them, right? They probably thought the paper was making things up so the adoption story would be all the more poignant. Either that, or they assumed that the captured Death Eaters were saying anything they could to get back at you. You had just miraculously escaped the Dark Lord, so it stands to reason they'd be angry, and--"
"Some miracle." Harry started blinking like he was thinking about his eyes. "I'm surprised people didn't all think I'd turned dark with the Parseltongue, then. Considering they knew by then just how much reason I had to be angry, after a childhood like that!"
"But they didn't think you'd turned dark. Nobody believed that, Harry. You know nobody believed it."
Harry clasped his hands together, his fingers interwoven. He was clenching his hands so hard that they were white, actually, but at least he'd stopped acting like he couldn't wait to get alone with something long and sharp. When he spoke, his voice was scathing. "Nobody? You apparently think that Rhiannon Miller believed every word!"
"Well, she doesn't know you," said Draco, trying to sound reasonable.
"So total strangers all think I'm some abused nutter. Great."
Draco swallowed. He'd have to remember that Severus knew what he was talking about when it came to Harry. He really did know him.
"I shouldn't have mentioned that rag of a paper," Draco admitted, sighing as he leaned forward. He decided then and there that he'd better work a bit harder on not fighting with his brother. Telling him about those awful stories . . . well, he'd probably used up any reserve of good-will Severus had towards him. "But they're sparks through the Floo, Harry. It's a long time ago, now. And all Rhiannon meant was to let us know that she's read the Prophet."
"Yeah, well I'm glad I didn't," muttered Harry. "Never thought I'd be grateful to have been blind. Though I do think I mentioned how much I hate it when you two keep secrets from me. Especially secrets about me."
Severus' lips turned down even further. "Hmm, yes. You did say as much."
"Yeah, so thanks for paying attention. Both of you."
"Don't blame Draco for this secret," admonished Severus. "I was the one who decided the stories were best left unmentioned. I judged that you had more than enough on your programme."
Harry's forehead creased itself into deep lines. "That was a pretty tough time for me, yeah. But you could have told me later, you know."
"Like, about seven months later, something like that?" asked Draco, hopefully.
All that got him was another fierce look from Severus and a wry shut up from Harry. Well, that certainly seemed like things were getting back to normal. Harry's next comment left no doubt of it, since he went straight back to his crazed ideas about Draco's girl being a Muggle, of all things.
"Listen, Draco. If Rhiannon Miller wanted to drop you a hint that she's a witch, wouldn't it have been simpler for her to just stare at my forehead when you brought up my scar?"
"Oh, who knows why a woman does what she does?"
Harry rolled his eyes. "You have an answer for everything, don't you? Then how about this: if her family's so intent on passing as Muggles, then why is she reading the Prophet at all?"
"I told you! She's resisting their rules."
"Did I mention you were off your nut?"
No point in arguing about Rhiannon any longer; Harry obviously wasn't going to let himself be swayed by reason and logic and common sense. It was time to get this settled. Time to bottle the potion.