With Hermione though...he didn't feel like either a wreck nor his age. True, his entire body hurt from the over-exertion that morning on the couch but...it was a good sort of pain and probably gave him just the upper hand he needed in his conversation with Lucius. To know that Hermione would call him or come back that night, to see her the next day and the next possibly. To revel in the fact that she was...they were...something. Girlfriend?
What an odd thing to say but it would definitely give him an edge over Lucius, even if the man never found out about him and Hermione.
He smirked to himself as he landed on his feet in front of the Manor, ostentatious thing that it was. He strode in, the wards, it seemed, in place again. He could feel them tingle but could pass without any kind of problems at all but then again, his magic was fully restored and he had passed them before. A million times before, it seemed.
An overly eager elf, the same one as before (Happy, Draco had said, hadn't he?) opened the door before he could even reach it, his ears twitching.
"Oh, Master Snape sir," the elf bowed and he wasn't even sure why the creature knew his name but he stepped in. "Is good you's here because Master Lucius...oh, oh," the elf wailed and banged his head, weirdly enough, against the floor, possibly elf-knees popping and jerking.
"And where might Master Lucius be?" he asked smoothly.
"Library, sir, Master Snape, sir," the elf answered between bangs of his head and he let the stupid thing do whatever it liked to the floor, but he couldn't stop rolling his eyes.
The door to the library stood wide open and he heard soft muttering. Stepping in, he could see a few books lying scattered around but nothing out of the ordinary. It was supremely odd. Odd that the elf would be so happy to see him, odd that it looked all so normal.
"Lucius?" he asked into the silence.
"Severus?" there was an answer from behind one of the bookshelves and a second later, a rather dishevelled looking Lucius came towards him. Dishevelled. His hair was tied together and there were agitated red spots on his cheeks. Not even when the Dark Lord had come back, not even when he had died, he had seen Lucius like this.
"My life has fallen to pieces," he stated clearly, despite his appearance.
"Excuse me?" asked Severus, not showing his confusion.
"Here," Lucius strode towards him, the step being trained perfectly.
A crumpled bit of parchment was pushed towards him and another, smaller slip of paper flew to the floor. He picked that one up first and his eyebrows arched towards his hairline when he scanned that one.
"Seriously?"
"Yes," Lucius took to pacing, "she married some Yankee. Just last week. I wanted her to come back and she married some bloody American. Name of Danvers. George Danvers. That's a name if ever I heard one. She couldn't have known him for a long time and we don't even know what kind of...I don't think he's a pureblood. I've been checking the books but we don't have anything on Americans. She went to marry an American."
He picked up the letter and held it away from him to read. He should check about getting glasses — but not now.
Lucius,
he read,
I have remarried. I am sorry you have to find out through the paper but it could not be helped. I am sure you understand that I did not want an ex-husband to be at what was the happiest day of my life.
Severus frowned. Stubbed. Hurt. He could understand the pacing and didn't bother to read the rest of the letter. Narcissa seemed to have lived up to her name and to her former reputation, and it seemed not to have seeped into Britain at that point. Or maybe it had. He didn't think he knew anyone who still read the Daily Prophet still.
"And what am I supposed to do now. Draco's with that Muggle trollop and..."
"Do not call Aideen a trollop," interrupted Severus viciously. "She's a decent young woman which, if you had met her, you would know. And just because your Viscountess..."
"Don't get me started on her," Lucius glared but it didn't quite work with his dishevelled looks.
Severus raised his hands in surrender.
"She had someone trailing after me. She thought I was after her money! Me! After her money!"
"Well, weren't you?" mumbled Severus.
"Of course I was but not as obvious as all that. And she had me checked out. Me. Imagine that. Me! And that person apparently seemed to talk to Draco as well. Me!"
"Lucius, I came here to talk about Draco, actually," he tried to change the topic. He wasn't any good at consoling and much less so at consoling fellow males. Aideen he could manage, Hermione, he wanted to manage but he was at a loss even when it came to his godson.
"I suppose he will want to marry that Mudblood?" Lucius shrugged and summoned a heavy chair with a high back and slumped into it. Slumped! Lucius Malfoy.
"He does. They are quite serious and I wouldn't be surprised if they set a date sooner rather than later."
The blonde wizard sighed. "I admit there might not be a lot of money left but is it better if I let it go to that merlinawful grandson of mad Andromeda, who is raised by Potter or to my cousin Marley in France who is living with a half-Veela who is taking all his money?" he asked sarcastically.
"Draco, Lucius. You know that. He's your son. You will not throw him over just because he marries the girl he loves. Love, Lucius. He is not marrying because he has to or because he needs money. He is marrying that girl because he loves her and he is right in loving her. She is decent and kind and generous. She is everything that has been lacking in your life and Draco craves it. If you are not there to bless their union I most certainly will but if you put any kind of troubles in their way, I swear to all the deities known to man that I will make life very difficult for you," he slipped his wand just an inch from his sleeve and the shiny rosewood reflected the light coming in from the window. "He is family, Lucius. He is the only family you have left and you better treasure it."
He nodded sharply and turned on his heel, exiting the library. Just as he stood in the door frame and turned around slowly. "And think about all the healthy grandchildren that will proudly bear the name of Malfoy."
.
Her mobile phone lay on her stomach, and she was, well, sort of, waiting for Severus to call. He said he would and she...trusted his word. She just trusted him to do what what he promised he would do. She tried to read but her mind was elsewhere. On that morning, that late morning, the breakfast they had shared and the embrace had enfolded her in just before she had left. It all spoke of some kind of trust between them. He was trusting her not to go back on her word (and of course she wouldn't — not that anyone had said anything at all — it was unspoken), and she was trusting him not to go back on his word, not to discard her like an old cardigan. They trusted on another — otherwise the thing on the couch (or things, really) would have never happened.
She smiled rather dreamily when there was a knock on the door. She sat up in bed.
"Come in," she called and held her mobile tight in her hand. She could feel it vibrating.
Harry slowly stepped into the room and she smiled and made room on her bed. "Sit," she said before he could speak.
"Are you waiting for a call?" he asked with a tired smile.
"Sort of," she smiled back. "What's going on?"
"Nothing much," he shrugged.
"Nothing much with you means that either your scar is hurting again, or you have had a vision from Voldy returning or...something is seriously wrong."
He chuckled mirthlessly.
"Well, do you want to tell me right out or do you want me to...somehow pry it out of you? I could ask Severus if he gives me Legilimency-lessons as well..."
"It's Noel and Ron and..."
"You don't have a thing for Ron, do you?"
Harry shook his head immediately but said nothing further. Silence descended on the room and it was annoying. He never managed to just say something. Never. It was truly...ack.
"Harry, come on. What is it?"
"Why is he so accepting?" asked Harry timidly.
"Why is he so accepting for me and Snape? And you for that matter. I thought you'd both throw a bloody fit and instead you're placing bets on me and him," she shrugged. "I suppose Ron knows that no matter what he will do, we have reached a stage in our friendship where it's either accept things or stop the friendship. We've all grown up a bit and I think he values your friendship and mine for that matter, more than anything. We've...we've had those few months where we didn't talk and it..."
"Made us miss him and him miss us?"
She nodded. "And it doesn't change you as a person whom you love. I still refuse to judge yet though. If Noel turns out to be an utter arse, I will not like him. And I will tell you so and I will treat him as such."
"I don't like Snape and I treat him decently."
"You like him, you just don't want to say so," she smirked. "No, I think Ron just wants you to be happy and I want you to be happy. And he wants me to be happy too and he knows that I have the best chances of doing so by being with another...weird, odd, geek bookworm. Who else is better suited than Severus when it comes to that?"
"Never has a truer word been spoken," Harry mumbled, then cleared his throat. "But still..."
"Still nothing. He accepted it. Don't worry about the rest."
"Would you meet him?" Harry asked, blushing.
"Sure," she nodded. "As I said, I'll await judgement until afterwards though."
"He's nice," Harry nodded. "If you like you can..."
"I can what?"
He shrugged again.
"I can what, Harry?"
"Bring Snape. If he doesn't say that we're wizards. I haven't told him yet."
"Severus? And an..." she laughed. "It might just be an idea worth considering but I'll have to ask him first."
"Speak of the devil," Harry grinned, pointing at her vibrating mobile.
She rolled her eyes, kissed his cheek and shooed him out of the room. "Hello Severus," she whispered gently into her mobile phone.
96. Honorifics
Person deixis clearly operates on a basic three-part division, exemplified by the pronouns for the first person ('I'), second person ('you'), and third person ('he', 'she', 'it'). In many languages, these deictic categories of speaker, addressee, and other(s) are elaborated with markers of relative social status (for example, addressee with higher status versus addressee with lower status). Expressions which indicated higher status are described as honorifics.
(Yule, 1998)
He wasn't sure why he had agreed. Possibly because he did want to see Hermione, or possibly because he couldn't miss the chance to see Potter embarrassed. Possibly because he was curious. Possibly his old spy-nature was coming through again and he needed all the information on anyone he could get.
He had never dined under that kind of circumstances. Aideen had honestly called it a 'double-date'. Ridiculous. He wasn't dating Hermione, they were already...something and Potter and his new — boyfriend — maybe they were dating but he would definitely feel like chaperoning. Blasting rosebushes and stuff like that.
He had agreed. For Hermione, because of Hermione and he felt an utter fool for it. That woman seemed to be able to ask anything of him and he...seemed to obey all too readily. It was stupid and ridiculous and he was even going out for a meal with Hermione and Potter and Potter's — boyfriend — and quite possibly the hollow-legged Weasley and the toddler who changed his appearance at will. Though how they wanted to explain that to a Muggle who didn't know that they were all, more or less, wizards and witches, he didn't know. It wasn't his problem but he would most definitely enjoy the mayhem it was sure to cause. It would give him a good laugh (privately, of course) and Hermione would owe him one big favour.
He smirked quietly as he put on the dark jeans Draco seemed to think suited him. Not that he wanted to impress any boyfriend of Potter's but there was always the possibility that Hermione would want to come over to his for a cup of coffee. Or he to hers. He would have to see but he would definitely not say no. And it would allow him to postpone the much needed talk with his godson. He still hadn't told him that his mother had remarried. Not that it was his job per se — but who else would tell him? And who else could manage the temper that Draco was most likely to display.
It would give him time to meet bloody Potter. And he could make fun of the boy. For a long time.
He buttoned his shirt and taking a last glance at the mirror, he disapparated straight from his bedroom. There was nobody to say good bye to after all and he wanted to start his mocking of Potter as soon as possible. Oh he would sneer and he would smirk and he would — mock.
Grimmauld Place looked the same it always had from the outside. It was still old and a little run down (not as run down as his own home had looked but still) but there were lights in the windows and that hadn't ever happened when the Order had met there. It seemed almost like warmth was coming from inside. Odd, that. It had always seemed like such a cold place but not anymore.
Maybe Potter and Weasley and Hermione had really turned it into a home — he hadn't paid any attention to it when he had been there last, his thoughts had been on Hermione and his task and kissing her. But now that he looked, really looked, it seemed like a place to live. Not for him, too many bad memories there but he could see why Hermione felt at home there and why the Weasley boy had returned there and why Potter hadn't moved out to something smaller and easier to manage.
He took a deep breath and knocked on the door. It was flung open almost immediately (either they had really good wards or had grown careless — he would have to ask Hermione) and Hermione, his something, smiled broadly at him and it was her smile which first captured his attention before...well. The dress wasn't short by any means. A classic shift, if he wasn't mistaken. Black and pretty and modest. But he knew what lay underneath the dress now. He had seen her body close up and he couldn't help but stare. He tried to do it discreetly, naturally, but he did take a good look. Bare feet again, bare legs and it was actually too cold in November to wear bare legs.
"Come in," her smile had turned rather shy and her hand hung in mid-air, hovered there and he wasn't sure what she had wanted to do. Touch his hand, his chest, his face? Touch him at all? Close the door?
"Thank you," he said formally and stepped into the house. Her hand still hung there and it was obviously not there to close the door, that closed automatically. He shook his head internally. She shouldn't be this shy. Not after that morning. Not after the phone call. Not after he had promised to go with her. He took her hand in his and brought it up to her lips, kissing it softly.
