Neurolinguistics: In September 1848, near Cavendish, Vermont, a construction foreman called Phineas P. Gage was in charge of a construction crew, blasting away rocks to lay a new stretch of railway line. As Phineas pushed an iron tamping rod into the blasting hole in a rock, some gunpowder accidentally exploded and sent the three-and-a-half-foot long tamping rod up through Phineas' upper left cheek and out from the top of his forehead. The rod landed about fifty yards away. Phineas suffered the type of injury from which, it was assumed, no one could recover. However, a month later, Phineas was up and about, with no apparent damage to his senses or his speech.

The medical evidence was clear. A huge metal rod had gone through the front part of Mr Gage's brain, but Mr Gage's language abilities were unaffected. The point of this amazing tale is that, if language ability is located in the brain, it clearly is not situated right at the front.

(Yule, 1985)

As soon as Draco Malfoy stepped into the Ministry of Magic, and had his wand checked, he was surrounded by two Aurors. He wasn't sure of their names and he couldn't remember ever seeing them.

"Am I under arrest?" he asked, as snottily as he could, trying to forget about the girl, about Aideen, and some idiot who pawed her and touched her and was allowed to kiss her and look at her all he liked.

"Just a precaution," one of the Aurors grumbled.

"Precaution to what?" he asked, but both Aurors remained silent and just pointed at the lift. Draco rolled his eyes and was glad that he had been allowed to keep his wand. It gave him, after all, a sense of security and he grasped it tightly within his pocket. No matter what the Aurors said — he did not trust them. He only trusted himself to protect himself. And if there was someone who had indeed harmed his father and godfather, then here was the big chance that someone wanted to harm him as well. And he doubted those idiotic Aurors would help him. More likely, they would hold him fast to make sure whoever it was hit him squarely in the chest.

"This door to the right," one of the Aurors said and all he saw was an empty corridor, and a row of doors. He didn't let go off his wand, looked over his shoulder. Didn't trust those Aurors that kept a step behind him. He was almost positive that he could feel if a curse or a hex hit him but only almost. He wasn't completely sure. Severus would know. But he would have to be very careful what he asked the man and at this moment, it was too late anyway. He would just have to be careful. And keep looking over his shoulder. The way he had been taught by his godfather.

"Ah, Mister Malfoy," he heard the deep voice of the Minister. "I'm glad you could come that promptly."

"I was told to come as soon as possible," he said coldly. "I am unsure however, what was so urgent that I was dragged away from my Christmas celebrations."

The Minister, suddenly, chuckled. "It's good to hear you're well."

Draco glared. What did that man know? His father said in the next room and though he could see him, he avoided looking at him. He had just heard that the girl he fancied like crazy had a boyfriend and he had no Christmas present for his godfather that came even close to being on the same level as the one he had bought for him. He had left Eleanor Callaghan without saying good bye. Oh but he would go back, no doubt about that. Would have to apologise. He had some manners after all. For some people.

"What do you want from me?" he asked, glaring.

"This is your father, isn't it?" the Minister asked and Draco shot the man a quick glance. He certainly looked like his father but the posture was nothing like him. He had never known his father to slouch or to sit anything but ramrod straight. His hair had never been anything but squeaky clean and his robes never been anything but impeccable. The man who sat in there had dirty hair, messy robes and he sat hunched over.

"He looks like my father," he said coldly.

"We have not yet broken the Imperius. And we'd ask you to stay. We tried to contact your mother but she didn't answer our owl and so we need you to witness."

"Why?" he asked, suspiciously.

"There is this new thing that we have to secure ourselves against, new from the Muggle world. Indemnity. It means that we have to make sure someone is there while we do something to someone else, like a witness that we're not using any kind of torture methods and doing everything according to protocol," he explained. "The curse-breakers will be in at any moment. Would you sign this? Take your time to read it through, it only states that you're here to witness the event. You will have to sign another thing later when we can confirm that no harm has been done to your father."

Draco read through the paper carefully. There wasn't much on it and as far as he could see, and as far as his wand informed him after performing a Revelio spell on the parchment, it was truly only to confirm that he was at the Ministry. He eyed the Minister suspiciously and signed.

"Good." The Minister smiled benignly. No, truly, that man had never done him anything. He had spoken up for him, in fact. Not for his father, but for him. There was no reason for him not to trust him. And that parchment showed absolutely nothing suspicious. "Would you like a cup of tea while you wait? Or a drink of water? Juice? Anything? It could be a while until they show up. Temperamental curse-breakers. You know what they're like," the Minister chuckled.

"Sure," Draco said. "No tea though. Er, water, please."

He watched — having had a good education — as Shacklebolt conjured a jug of water and poured him a glass and then, himself a glass. He watched as the Minister drank, and only then drank himself.

The Minister then sat down and crossed his legs as one other Auror, another one he hadn't seen before, stepped inside.

"Mister Malfoy, is it?" the Auror asked.

"Yes," he answered immediately.

"Draco?"

"Yes. Draco Abraxas," he answered and his head — suddenly — felt rather woozy. He had watched how the Minister had poured the water. He had watched how he had drunk. He had...this was Veritaserum. He had been dosed with the drug. And Shacklebolt...he just sat there. And grinned.

"You fucking bastards," he choked out before he felt himself falling deeper into a haze.

"Did you put any kind of curse on your father?"

"Yes," he answered slowly.

"What kind of curse?"

"Boils," Draco replied automatically.

"How old were you?"

"Twelve," he answered.

"And after that?"

"No."

"No curses? No jinxes? No hexes?"

"Jelly-legs, once," he choked.

"How old were you?"

"16," he answered, the haze getting deeper and foggier.

"Have you ever used an Unforgivable?"

"Yes."

"On whom?"

"I don't know."

"Which?"

"Cruciatus Curse," he said and his eyes felt heavy and fell shut.

"On a Muggle?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

"I had to," Draco didn't feel like himself anymore.

"Who told you to do it?" he could see the Auror still asking him through hooded eyes. The Minister said nothing. Just sat there.

"He-who-must-not-be-named," he answered.

"Not once after?"

"No."

"Only once?"

"Yes."

The haze slowly, lifted. "Do you know who put an Imperius Curse on your father, Lucius Malfoy?"

"No, I don't."

"Do you know whether Hestia Jones was put under the Imperius Curse before she cursed Severus Snape?"

"No, I don't," he answered, the haze lifting. He could see the Auror clearer now. Indistinct brown hair, brown eyes, average height. Nothing special.

"It's weakening," the Minister said suddenly. "But I think we have all the information we need. He knows nothing."

"Very well," the Auror said and it was over as quickly as it had begun. He understood. The Minister had dosed himself — and him. They had thought he had done it. That he had something to do with it. Well, that was just wonderful. Severus had made the right choice. He embraced the Muggle world. He did the best he could. The peaceful, happy Muggle world. Christmas amongst family. A warm, loving family. Laughter and working together and drying dishes with Aideen. And then comparing it to the former Christmases at his former home. Cold, stiff, formal. No laughter but silence. No laughter.

He felt himself again. Completely. There was no urge to say the truth. There was no urge to listen to them speak. He wanted to — throw his wand at them, snap it in front of them and tell them where to stick the pieces. But he was in London. He had no money. He had no way of getting back at Eleanor Callaghan and had no way of getting back to Aideen. No way of getting back there and tell that stupid boyfriend of hers to sod off. He would. He would.

"Gentlemen," he said in a tone of voice that would make his godfather proud, "Thank you for your hospitality. I'm sure you will find someone else to watch my father. If need be."

He held his head high the way he had learned and strode out of the room. So he had been tricked. He had done everything the way he had been taught and who would have expected the Minister to dose himself? Nobody would have thought so. Bloody, idiotic Ministry. Bloody, idiotic Minster. That thing with the document was probably just a ploy. It was all a ploy. He had to talk to his godfather about this. His godfather was the only who could relate to this. But first, he had to go home. And home was with Eleanor Callaghan now.

Eleanor had coaxed him out of his own house and back into hers. It had not been easy, especially when he had looked at her as if she had just told him she was working for MI-6 as she had told him that she loved him. Eileen had never been demonstrative but it almost looked as if he had heard it for the first time.

It was alright though and with the new old watch around his wrist, she had explained that they had to watch the Queen's Christmas speech before pudding and then there would be more presents. He had doubted it, but Eleanor knew for a fact that every single one of her children and bought him at least a book. And that Draco had bought (with a little help from her) a comfortable chair at Ikea for him to put in front of his fireplace. It still had to be put together but that would be no trouble with Draco and his new tool box.

Severus looked — lost — amidst her family. A lone figure, sitting stiffly on the couch in front of the telly, watching the Queen speak. She would have to make him speak again. Had no idea what that tantrum had been about and why he had disappeared, what had made him look like a little boy on his bed. She would make him talk, soon. As soon as her family was gone again and as soon as Aideen had that thing fixed with Draco. She would make sure that girl was locked in her room while she stayed there. Had no doubt there was something bubbling between them. But indecency in her house? No.

He had returned, yes, looking slightly dishevelled only a few moment before the Queen's Christmas speech had ended and her granddaughter hadn't waited a single moment before she had grabbed his hand and had pulled him outside again. She would, she decided, give them five more minutes. Or maybe three. Not another grandchild of her would have a child out of wedlock. One was quite enough. And it would most certainly not happen in her house. She was happy that those two had something going — but they would wait. Or would at least hide it from her. On that, Eleanor was very adamant.

She caught her eldest daughter's eye and nodded slightly towards Severus. She was glad that Kathleen understood and asked Severus immediately whether he would help her with the tea and as those two left the living room, she went with them, but immediately left the kitchen through the backdoor, out into the garden.

Eleanor groaned. She would certainly lock that guestroom's door.

"I have no boyfriend," Aideen said quickly, looking into the beautiful eyes of Draco Malfoy. "I don't know what your godfather said but he has another thing coming."

"Why do you look like this? Where did you go? You were suddenly gone. What happened? Where did you go?"

Draco closed his eyes — and only shrugged — then looked at her again and his eyes were so expressive. So wonderfully open to her. She could read them well. Betrayal, hurt, confusion.

"What happened, Draco?" she asked, softer this time. "Did you go somewhere?"

"A, erm, part of my family...I had to talk to...someone, well, an acquaintance of my family, really."

"Oh," she whispered softly. "Bad news?"

"No," he replied quickly. "I don't know. I'm through with them."

Her eyes widened. "You can't say that. They're your family."

"Not anymore."

"Yes, Draco. You don't just break with family. You can take a break, but you don't break completely. I could...I mean, if you want to," she blushed bright red and stepped closer to him, "but only if you want to...I could go with you and support you."

He smiled crookedly but shook his head. "We'll see."

Aideen smiled back at him and slowly, daringly, took his hand in hers and squeezed. She did want to hug him — just because he looked a little lost, just because he looked like he needed one and she probably would have hugged him. If, yes, if her grandmother hadn't just stuck her head through the door and looked at them disapprovingly.

Instead, she squeezed his hand and smiled at him. "I'll support you anyway," she whispered softly and winked.

26. Acquisition Barriers

Acquisition barriers: Some obvious reasons for the problems experienced in L2 [second language] acquisition are related to the fact that most people attempt to learn another language duing their teenage or adult years, in a few hours each week of school time (rather than via the constant interaction experienced by a child), with a ot of other occupations (the child has little else to do), and with an already known language available for most of their daily communicative requirements. Some less likely reasons include the suggestion that adults' tongues 'get stiff' from pronouncing one type of language (e.g. English) and just annot cope with the new sounds of another language (e.g. French or Japanese). It's a cute idea, but there is no physical evidence to support it.

(Yule, 1985)

Her stack of notes had grown exponentially since Christmas. She had worked all through those days — all through Christmas, all through New Year's, the week after, that week now. Whenever she didn't go through her last six years of education at Hogwarts, Hermione worked on her list of suspects, worked on going through Severus Snape's publications.

That man was — simply put — brilliant.

The reasonable part of her brain had scolded her — and was still scolding her — since Boxing Day for developing a crush she knew was idiotic and unrealistic. And the reasonable part of her brain was a big one. However, some of his publications — she could hear him say those words in that voice of his, she could picture him standing there with his arms crossed over his chest in a leather jacket and blue jeans and explain to her in that voice and with patience (which was idiotic because he wasn't a patient man and the reasonable part of her brain knew that) what all of his texts were about.