"He attacked Muggles. You remember the old woman that Snape talked to?" asked Harry and she nodded in response, "well, she's one of them. Happened last week. After that, there were some more."

"What? Why? Doesn't make sense. He paid so much money to be kept out of Azkaban. And how do you know this on Christmas morning?"

"Kingsley wrote. Here," he handed her a parcel, "gift for the two of us, apparently, note attached. She plucked that out of his fingers and read furiously.

Harry,

we could arrest Lucius Malfoy last night when he attacked an elderly Muggle woman. Now with the testimony we have from Draco Malfoy and the other Muggle he attacked (apparently Draco is living with her now), we can bring charges forward. It remains mysterious and Lucius says nothing. It almost looks as if he is under a powerful Imperius Curse, but we're testing for it. If you like, you could come in some time this afternoon. I know it's Christmas but if you're interested, he will be on the second floor for questioning before we try and break the curse if there is one.

Happy Christmas

Hermione arched her eyebrows. "Draco is living with Snape's neighbour?"

He shrugged. "I don't know, but I know that I want to see this. You coming?"

"You bet," she grinned determinedly. "Happy Christmas, Harry."

"Yeah, let's hope so."

21. Synonyms

Synonyms: Are two or more form with very closely related meaning, which are often, but not always, intersubstitutable in sentences. Examples are the pairs broad-wide, hide-conceal, almost-nearly, cab-taxi, liberty-freedom, answer-reply.

It should be noted that the idea of 'sameness of meaning' used in discussing synonymy is not necessarily 'total sameness'. There are may occasions, when one word is appropriate in a sentence, but its synonyms would be odd. For example, whereas the word answer fits in this sentence: Cathy had only one answer correct on the test, its near-synonym, reply, would sound odd. Synonymous forms may also differ in therms of formality. The sentence My Father purchased a large automobile seems much more serious than the following, casual version, with four synonymous replacements: My dad bought a big car.

(Yule, 1985)

Her heels clicked loudly on the ground. The Ministry had not changed. There was another fountain, but they still had to have their wands checked and the sort of gloomy, bureaucratic feeling was still there. She inched a little closer to Harry — there were so many memories in her mind, but at that moment, it was the battle down there — against the man she was about to see. She wasn't afraid of him anymore. She had survived him, she had survived the torture that he had made sure she could get. She had been allowed to keep her wand. She wasn't on her own and she didn't feel on her own.

It had nothing to do with the Auror-School-Robes Harry had put on (though why he had done that, she didn't know) but more with the fact that she believed, now more than ever, that she would wield her wand with security. That Lucius Malfoy could not possibly harm her.

But that didn't stop the memories from resurfacing.

"Okay?" Harry asked as they took the lift.

"Yeah, absolutely," she smiled at him. "I'm merely curious. And remembering a few things."

"I do too," he nodded compassionately. "Can't return to certain places without remembering, can you?"

"No," she laughed a little. "Well, I don't plan on returning here often."

"It's gotten better for me," he answered quickly. "Having to come here often."

She grasped his hand and squeezed it gently. "I'm just curious to see Malfoy now."

Harry send her a smirk. "Do you think he's pretending again?"

She shrugged non-committally. "Would he risk everything just to torture some Muggles?"

"That seems to be the leading question," replied Harry and let her step out of the lift before he followed. In silence, the only noise Hermione's heels on the ground. He led her to the room Kingsley had specified and opened the door for her, letting her walk in first.

In front of her was a huge window — one of those that Muggles used as well. Perfectly clear on one side, a mirror on the other. But while Muggles used technology, wizards merely charmed the window. Through this window, she saw Lucius Malfoy, slumped over in his chair, his long hair obscuring his face, hanging limply over his shoulders.

"He doesn't look like Malfoy," Hermione said before she could stop herself — but it was true. There seemed to be something defeated about him, an air so completely not like himself. Weak. That man looked weak.

"No, he doesn't," she whipped her head around and saw the Minister of Magic lean against the wall, his hand rubbing over his bald head. He seemed paler than usual. And no smile on his face. Not even the hint of one.

"What's happening?"

"We know now that...there is an Imperius on him. We have developed better testing methods of course after that debacle after the first war. And the development for now is so far that we could even see who put it on him..."

"Really?" asked Harry, astonished. "We haven't learned that yet."

"It is quite advanced," Shacklebolt chuckled mirthlessly.

"So you know for sure that he was under an Imperius?" asked Hermione.

"Yes," the Minster replied. "It's still on him though."

"Why? And who did it?"

"Well...that is the question, isn't it? We could pinpoint the Imperius on a person. But...you see, it is quite the riddle. No pun intended."

"Why?" asked Harry.

"Because..." he shook his head, closed his eyes and scratched his head as he shook it tiredly.

With a long-suffering sigh, Severus picked up the two presents he had wrapped in old newspaper (he had no other paper and he would most certainly not buy some. That was a waste of money) and himself, wrapped in the leather jacket, and left the house. Christmas. What a stupid thing to celebrate. Well, maybe not for Christians but what was the sense of pretending to like people, to like family, on that day only? It usually, he had experienced, ended in a fight. And in fists flying. It usually ended in shouting and once, in the Christmas tree being set on fire. He had no longing for that — and Eleanor had mentioned that her family would be present as well. He did not want to see another family fighting. Had been hard enough to see his own like that.

But he had gone, after all, to some great length to acquire both their presents and he would hand them over. Even if there was rain coming down, cold and angrily, even if he truly did not want to go. Even if he dreaded having to stay longer than it took to hand over the presents.

He knew he was a bit early, earlier than she had said to come, but maybe, this was better anyone. He could leave again before her family arrived. Still, he braced himself as he walked the couple of steps to Eleanor Callaghan's house. He didn't remember any of her children, not even dimly, faintly. He could, if h waded deep in his memory, remember flashes of Mrs Callaghan. Nothing more.

"There you are," he heard his godson before the door was actually flung open and he looked into the oddly agitated face of Draco Malfoy.

"Obviously," he drawled and as Draco stepped aside, he went into the house, hanging his leather jacket, as Eleanor had taught him, on the hook in the hall.

"Father was arrested," his godson said urgently, whispering. "I got an owl from the Minister yesterday night. It wasn't the best idea to send an owl, Mrs Callaghan didn't mind but she was busy keeping Aideen away from it."

Severus arched a quizzical eyebrow. "She's Mrs Callaghan's granddaughter and goes to Uni in Manchester so she came here earlier than her family," explained Draco. "And Shacklebolt said that Father was probably under the Imperius Curse."

"And who," Severus sneered coldly, "would be powerful enough, or getting close enough to your father to curse him?"

"The same person that hexed you? I don't know. He wrote that he doesn't know either. But if Father was under the Imperius..."

"He claimed it before."

"He doesn't claim it now, the Minister said," Draco replied in a whisper.

Severus shook his head and, just remembering what he came to do, shoved one of the presents in his godson's hands. "That's for you," he said gruffly — in a normal voice, alerting, he hoped, Eleanor to his presence, and getting this over as quickly as possible. He didn't care about Lucius. That man, whether under the Imperius (which he doubted) or not (which he believed) had enough on his plate to deserve a broken nose. And he truly did not want to know. He had nothing to do with the Wizarding World and their rotten system of justice anymore. He had his godson, which he knew, was, more or less, whether he wanted or not, in his life now and that was the extent of it. Maybe, he thought suddenly, he should ask for an Obliviate. Or a memory-altering spell. Forgetting he had ever been a Wizard.

No, that was a silly idea. A very silly and stupid idea.

He almost missed the look of utter surprise on his godson's face, he almost missed the shining eyes and he almost missed how Draco, despite his upbringing, despite his being raised as a pureblood prince, sat down on the floor, with a glimmer in his hopeful, happy, warm grey-blue eyes, looked up at him and began, when Severus did not react at all, to rip apart the newspaper, to rip it from the present. In all honesty, Severus was close to reprimanding the boy for ripping perfectly good newspaper, which could still be used to make fire, but he stopped himself.

The boy's eyes were huge, his mouth stood open, he had a generally very unbecoming expression on his face and stared up, from his position on the floor, up at his godfather.

"Uncl...Severu...I, er, I don't know what to...say," he stuttered.

"Thank you is usually appropriate," he sneered.

Draco shook his head and jumped up, looked for a moment as if he wanted to hug his godfather (which of course, was ridiculous, Severus thought) and after an awkward moment, grabbed his hand and shook it fervently. "Thank you. Thank you. This is an amazing present. Thank you. I, erm..."

"Yes, quite alright," drawled Severus.

"Is that Severus I hear? Aideen, come meet Severus," he heard the clattering of Eleanor's shoes on the floor and a moment later, he was in the hug of the older woman (had she pushed Draco away? Had he stepped aside?) and slowly, but as quickly as he could, he found his own arms wrapped around the older woman.

"Happy Christmas, Severus," she whispered in her ear.

He coughed softly, still in her arms, "The same to you," he disentangled himself quickly — but not quickly enough — and rapidly, he pushed the other present in her hands. "This is for you."

"We're still in the hall," Eleanor laughed, "come in first. Have a cup of tea. Aideen! Make us a cup, will you?"

"Yeah, yeah," he heard another voice and as he was pushed towards the living room, a young face appeared in the door to the kitchen. She looked similar to Eleanor. Or to what Eleanor seemed to have looked like about sixty years ago. Fifty-five years. Her hair was auburn, her eyes a pale green, her nose turned up slightly and her smile playing on her lips.

"So you're the famous Severus from next door," she said cheekily, winking at him. "Gran can't stop talking about you."

"Stop that, Aideen, tea now. You're parents will be here soon..."

"And all the aunts and uncles," she rolled her eyes good-naturedly but disappeared into the kitchen again, as he stepped more fully into the living room. He wouldn't have paid it any mind, actually, that young woman, if he had not caught a glimpse of his godson — enraptured, he thought, was the right word. Maybe it was the present, as it was currently, the entire tool-box pressed against his chest (it was heavy though) but he doubted it. His eyes were shining even brighter and he wore the silliest smile he had ever seen on a Malfoy's face (even sillier than the one Lucius had worn when Draco had been born). Plus — he still looked at the door to the kitchen.

"Draco, would you like to help Aideen make the tea?" Eleanor asked with a knowing smirk — and, the tool box still being cradled like a baby, he dashed off towards the kitchen, distinctly uncharacteristic for a Malfoy — any Malfoy. "Oh dear," laughed the woman, "started yesterday afternoon when she came here. He was on her heels the entire time. I haven't had the heart yet to tell him that she might have a boyfriend at Uni."

Severus scowled. Why did people think he cared? He did not. He had his own problems to think about. His own troubles. He looked at the pictures on the walls — as if he had never seen them. And honestly, he probably hadn't truly seen them. Glanced past them. But whenever he had been in Eleanor's living room, he had been busy with other things — and most of their time was spent in her kitchen anyway. Rows and rows of children smiling in the camera, younger children, older children. Most with the auburn hair and the pale green eyes, some with freckles, some without. Some with teeth, some without. Astonishing, he thought. She had her entire family on her wall.

"Oh!" he was pulled out of his observance by Eleanor — hugging him again. "You shouldn't have. It must have been expensive..."

"It's nothing," he waved it away and once more pried her fingers from his back.

"I can't wear that. That's cashmere. You shouldn't have spent that much money on an old woman like me."

He growled — deep in his throat — and plucked the shawl from her fingers (she had felt the material, just as he had) and, hating that he had to do it this way, wrapped the wrap-thing around her shoulders and glared at her. "Keep it on."

"What do you mean?" Harry asked, frowning.

"The wand is," Kingsley sighed, "Bellatrix Lestrange's."

"But she's dead. She was buried. Well, her body was burned, then buried. She's dead, or isn't she?" Hermione asked, feeling panic rising in her chest.

"She is dead. Her wand was safe in the Department of Mysteries since the Final Battle. And there was no sign of a Horcrux, so don't even ask. We can't know, of course, but we did cast spells at Hogwarts and its grounds and there was no sign of spirits of any form, apart from the ghosts, obviously. We had to cast those spells because of, you-know-who. Nothing. We can safely assume that Lestrange is dead. We had her body, we burned her body, as you said, and we buried the ashes at three different locations. Her wand was there though and..."

"Is it still there?" Hermione asked. "Because if it wasn't her, and her wand was there, someone could have..."