Hermione shut the book with a bang — angrily. This was absolutely no help at all. Absolute, utter rubbish. Whoever had written that book should be hexed severely. This was not helpful at all and she wanted her potions NEWTs. And this was relevant information that she couldn't find anywhere. Hadn't in the Hogwarts library, hadn't there. She knew it was in Moste Potente Potions — but that book was nowhere to be found. Madam Pince had looked as if she had been forced to eat a dozen lemons after Hermione had reported that that book was nowhere — and she had looked as if she had been forced to eat two dozen lemons when her own Summoning hadn't produced the book either. Someone had taken it. It made no sense that Snape had it — what would he do with it anyhow — but someone had taken it. Another student, Slughorn, anyone. It wasn't anywhere.

And she desperately needed to know how the Essence of Eternal Eloquence was made. There was nothing in the other books; it wasn't even mentioned. And this could very well be the difference between an Outstanding and an Exceeds Expectations. And she would not get her potions NEWT with an E only.

Hermione drew a deep breath and summoned a piece of parchment. It wouldn't hurt to send a missive to Slughorn and ask to borrow the book. Snape — he would know. He would know for sure. And he would probably even have the book — but she also knew that he would be her last resort. He would bite off her head if she came barging in like this again — asking, moreover, about a potion. No, she had learned from her mistakes — and if she went to ask him, it would only be because she couldn't find out any other way. She scribbled a quick note to Horace Slughorn, asking him about the potions, asking him, at the same time, about the magical properties of common cotton (she had read something — but couldn't remember), and tied the parchment to Harry's new owl's leg, a huge eagle owl that went by the name of Helmut (Merlin knew where he came up with that name) and sat back down in the library of Grimmauld Place. It was annoying to study like this — it was annoying to know that she couldn't ask the expert on potions. If he'd be just a tad nice, a tad more forthcoming, she wouldn't hesitate to apparate over and ask and ask and ask.

Even though — maybe — if she was smart — and if she made this right — there might be a possibility. Draco obviously spoke to him. Draco would know for sure if there was a way of getting him to talk to her, or to only answer her questions. Draco.

Hermione smirked slightly. She would just bite the bullet — and ask Draco.

"Is there tea?" Mrs Callaghan had asked and when he had nodded dumbly, his godfather had helped her up and had helped her into the kitchen. Had poured a cup for the old lady, one for himself and one for Draco. Had let her sit down, Severus opposite her and Draco stood, still a bit shaky opposite them. It had been difficult to get the tapeworm out and to heal her — to diagnose the spell. He had never seen it done before, had never even known that it was possible — and Severus, of course he had been annoyed that he hadn't known it. He usually was — and if he was right that he should have been taught this spell in his third year, he had all the more reason to be annoyed. But of course that had been Lupin — and he hadn't taught the Slytherins anything.

Didn't matter now. He shoved his shaking hands into his pockets — didn't dare to pick up the cup of tea to take a sip. The woman was fine — but his adrenaline was high. And his anger at his father immeasurable. He had hurt this gentle, kind woman. Draco wouldn't return home, he decided in that moment. He would find a way, even without money, in case Severus wouldn't let him stay, or in case Mrs Callaghan wouldn't let him stay. Oh, he would ask her. Just a night or two — and he could make the tea. Could help her — especially, if she...well, if she remembered magic.

And now this kind, gentle woman remembered magic? His spell. The complete and utter Finite. It could undo not so perfect, weak Memory Charms.

"I...it was Kathleen," the old woman said hesitantly, her eyes closed, "She was so ill. Could not get up and coughed blood. Doctor's couldn't do anything. And then Eileen brought something, a potion, and waved her wand around. She sat me down then and when Kathy slept and she explained. She said she was a witch. And you, Severus, you were tiny. About a year old, I think. She explained about wizards and witches and all that. And that I should not tell anyone. And I didn't but she, I remember, came back a few days later and waved her wand in my face and I couldn't remember anything about it," she shook her head slowly. "You'rea wizard. And you're one too, Draco?"

Draco nodded slowly, his hands shaking a little more and he watched his godfather, putting his head into his hands and staring at the table cloth.

"What happened?" she asked Draco.

He shot a look at his godfather but the man didn't say anything, didn't look at him, didn't move at all. Draco cleared his throat. "My father cursed you," he began very quietly. "He is known to be hating Muggles..."

"Non-magic folk," Mrs Callaghan interrupted questioningly.

"Yes. He...it's a long story," he said softly. "And he cursed you, I don't know why, and then he left but we fixed you."

"He fixed you," Severus's head shot up, his eyes glimmering with anger and rage, "I could not fix you."

"Severus?" Mrs Callaghan asked but his godfather had already gotten up — and had, before either one of them could say another word, run out of the house.

"Draco, sit down and explain to me what this was about," she said softly.

"Er, Mrs Callaghan, I'm not..."

"Do it," she said sharply.

He nodded then, slowly, before he had a sudden idea. "I will if I can stay with you for a few nights."

This — surprisingly — made Mrs Callaghan chuckle. "Do you think I would let you back to a person like this? Who hurts innocent old people?"

Draco smiled back, grasped the cup of tea with both his hands and blew gently on the surface before he cleared his throat once more and began — hesitantly, to tell the story that Severus should have told.

19. Lexical Relations

Lexical relations:

Not only can words be treated as 'containers' or as fulfilling 'roles', they can also have 'relationships'. In everyday talk, we frequently gibe the meanings of words in terms of their relationships. If you were asked to give the meaning of the word conceal, for example, you might simply reply 'it's the same as hide', or give the meaning of shallow as 'the opposite of deep', or the meaning of daffodil as 'it's a kind of flower'. In doing so, you are characterizing the meaning of a word not in terms of its component features, but in terms of its relationship to other words. This procedure has also been used in the semantic description of languages and is treated as the analysis of lexical relations.

(Yule, 1985)

Severus Snape knew he would never get his magic back. It was a thing he had to accept, like people with an amputated arm or leg had to accept it. The phantom pain, however, was strong, seemed almost unbearable at that moment. In that moment when he all but ran through his house, missing his amputated magic dreadfully. Somewhere in his mind, he knew that it wasn't that bad altogether — he had Mrs Eleanor Callaghan, he had his house, he had his Linguistics textbooks and he made progress with them. He had furniture, he had curtains. He had a clean house. He had company. His godson had come to see him more often than ever before — came to him for advice. It should not hurt. It should not hurt as much as it did.

And his mother — the woman who had barely practised magic when he had been a child, had obliviated Eleanor. Back when he had been about a year old. Before he could remember. And then his mother had been alright, more or less, without magic. She had pushed it back and it hadn't been that which had killed her. She had managed — but, had it hurt this much? Had it hurt her to put away her wand? To forget that she was a witch a majority of the time? Or had it hurt her as much and had that been why she and his father had constantly shouted at one another? Was it that amputated magic phantom pain? Would it get less?

Somewhere in his mind, Severus knew it would. Somewhere in his mind, Severus knew that he would, in time, accept that his godson could fix something, or someone, with a flick of his wand and he couldn't.

But not at the moment. At the moment he was angry — terribly angry. Angry at himself for making such stupid decisions so early in his life, angry at those people who had used his weakness, angry at his parents, this house, his childhood. Angry at Draco for not being able to heal Eleanor without his help, angry at Lucius Malfoy for bringing them in this position in the first place.

Lucius Malfoy. He was deadly angry at Lucius Malfoy. That man, that conceited bastard, thought he could just go around hexing Muggles — his friend. Pretended to care for him and sell his books — and then something like that? Oh, Severus was so angry that he knew — the next time that man came to see him, he would let him in. And the pretty-boy-Malfoy would walk out with a broken nose. Which he could achieve without using a wand. Didn't need magic for that. He was building up his strength and thanks to Eleanor's cooking, he didn't get as tired as he had before.

He stormed upstairs. Hadn't, so far, done anything upstairs apart from destroying the furniture. And now seemed the right time to do something. Pent up emotion, anger. Anger. He had grabbed a hammer from the living room (where he had kept the tool box) and with a scowl, he rushed into his parents' former bedroom. It was empty, apart from the mattress with the money stuck in.

Severus glared at the wall — lifted the hammer — and not caring whether it was a bearing wall, he took a swing at it — and stuck the hammer into the wall.

"What's the boy doing now?" Eleanor groaned, hearing a loud bang from next door. She was just showing Draco one of the two former nurseries, the one that was, more or less, made up to be a guest room. She had listened to young guest, had been shocked to hear what had happened to Severus and so many things now made sense. But she wanted to console him, hug him, comfort him, and she knew she would — and would soon if that banging didn't stop. He was destroying things again, as he had destroyed his furniture. As he had destroyed so many things. It was, she thought, maybe a coping mechanism for him.

Another loud bang pulled her from her musing and she glanced sharply at Draco. "The bedding is in that cupboard. I'm sure you can figure out how it goes on there. And when you're done, I've got soup simmering in the kitchen. You've seen it probably, stir it."

"But..." she barely heard Draco over another bang.

"I don't think it's wise for you to go over there now. He won't hurt me, but he might hurt you. I've no magic. You do."

She nodded at him and left the upper floor. She would have probably have to use the stepladder outside again to get to him — but he needed someone now. God knew what he was doing. But if she had known — if he had told her right from the start, if that blasted forgetting-thing of Eileen's had not been, she would have been able to help him decently much sooner. Understand him and his behaviour better. Be there for him. Blasted Eileen.

Still, no need to cry over spilt milk. She had done her best to console a lonely, sweet man. And now, she would continue her work. Simple as that.

Molly Weasley had good ears. She couldn't help it, her hearing at always been exceptional. Growing up with two rambunctious, noisy twin brothers had helped that. Always when she had to listen to the quiet tones, over her loud brothers, it had come in very handy. It wasn't any different now. Of course things had grown rather quiet after the war — they had to. It had changed, so many things had changed. Her family was not the same, and not only because Fred was...well. Gone.

Ginny was...depressed since Harry had broken up with her. And up until she noticed that her hearing was still quite good, she hadn't even known why — had had no idea. Yes, she had listened to the two of them breaking up — but Harry's explanation — needing to find himself, not loving her enough, not being able to give her what she wanted, having grown apart — hadn't seemed plausible.

"What? What? I don't understand," Ginny had shrieked.

"I don't understand either," had Ron replied, rather gloomily, rather weirdly.

"Explain," Ginny had said.

"I was at Harry's — as you said I should," Ronny had said and she had been able to listen from the kitchen, "And Hermione was there. I thought it was strange, you know, her living with him. But they said they were trying to save, which actually made sense, and that they were just living together as friends. Like...nothing, you know. And I believed them for a moment because Harry and Hermione don't really make sense. I thought. But then..."

"You're not saying that they..." Ginny had whispered.

"I don't know, Gin. It was...I asked Harry if he wanted to go to the Quidditch Supply and then have a little game and he asked Hermione if it was alright."

"Oh," her daughter had said and Molly Weasley could sense how she was paling. "You think they..."

"I don't know. It does seem weird though. They don't really go together. And Hermione and me didn't work because, she said, we waited too long. But then what about them? I don't know."

"But she could be the reason, couldn't she?" Ginny had asked.

That had been enough for Molly — and she wasn't someone to make the same — obvious — mistake twice. She made up her mind, and because she was curious, she wrote a quick note and apparated away.

"Harry?" Hermione asked from her place in the kitchen where she had eaten a bit of noodle soup while reading yet another book.

"I'm back," he cried and came, frowning, into the kitchen. "Ron was very strange."

"Why? I mean, how?"

"Kept asking about what we do all day long. As if he didn't know what I do all day long. He knows I'm in Auror training," he shook his head. "What you do all day long. What we do in the evenings, what we do in the mornings, what we do on Saturdays and Sundays. It was as if he thought we were together after all."

Hermione scratched her chin, then sighed. "He probably does. You know him, he tried to be subtle."

"That wasn't subtle."

"It never was his strong suit," she chuckled mirthlessly. "What did you say?"

"Not much. What could I say? You're the same that you've always been, stuck in books," he grinned at her at that, "and that we share cooking duties and cleaning duties and that Kreacher helps a lot."