"No. Lousy half-blood. I know," he mocked her, then got up from the chair and walked around the table. He was almost tempted to have his back towards her, just to see if she would curse him or hex him — but then again, he wasn't that careless. Instead, he kept his eyes on her and on the hand he saw twitching near the pocket of her coat. Oh, simple Narcissa. In a swift movement, he had taken her wand from her pocket and twirled it around between his fingers.

"Lousy half-blood," he repeated. "And now without magic. You should take better care of yours."

"You filthy..."

"Tsk, tsk, tsk," he kept the wand in his hand and walked around the table to sit down again. "You underestimate people. You always did. It's the inherent Black-arrogance. Don't worry about that wand. You'll get it back."

"What do you want from me?" she glared at him, angry, very angry.

"I want nothing from you. You came here."

"I want my son back."

"You lost your son the moment you claimed to know what was best for him. You lost him the moment that He marked him. You lost him the moment you expected him to fulfil His quest. You should have stood up to Him. Lucius would have. Lucius would have suffered through one or two Crucios and Lucius would have persuaded him to believe that Draco was still too young. Or he would have tried at least. You offered him up on a silver platter. No, make that a green and silver Slytherin platter. Thinking you could come up on top again. Where do you stand now, Narcissa? Do people even look at you anymore?" he asked, the wand between his fingers, holding it like a conductor would hold his baton.

"Why do you say things like that?" she obviously changed her tactics now — and out came a whiny, almost crying voice.

"Because you needed to hear them."

"I love my son!"

"I don't doubt it," he drawled. "But you always were a snake and I believe that as a mother, you'd better been a lioness."

"You talk utter rubbish..."

"Yes, it did come out a bit poetic, didn't it?" he grinned. "It was all a part of the big plan. Draco would have killed Albus Dumbledore, and you had already fancied yourself in the role of a first lady to Him. You know, with Him having no wife, you'd've been the one representing and being the hostess to all events. The one woman all other women wanted to be like. Shame it didn't work out like this."

"Give me my wand, and I'll leave," she spat.

"Can't bear to hear the truth?"

"Lucius was right in cursing that...thing," spit was being pushed between her perfect teeth as she spoke. It wasn't pretty.

"Oh, so he did do it? No Imperius?"

"He was under the Imperius, the weakling. Not even able to resist that," she almost shouted.

"Interesting. Must have been someone rather powerful to cast the curse," he pondered, never taking his eyes off her.

"He's weak."

"You know...I have been wondering, Draco keeps me informed, whether it was you who cursed him?"

She actually began to laugh — loud and almost vulgar sounding. A bit like her sister Bellatrix. "Want to use Veritaserum, oh apothecary?" she tried to turn the tables on him. "The Ministry did. It wasn't me. I should have, but it wasn't me. Oh, and poor apothecary can't do magic anymore. I should have done that too."

Apothecary — the word that He had called him in the beginning. He had never wanted to hear it again — but she wouldn't find that out.

"And what a life this is, Narcissa. Can you imagine that it might be good? Not being under the rule of the Ministry anymore? Not even being considered put under Veritaserum? I know what it feels like. A helpless haze of chattering. Felt helpless then, I guess. But at least they're thorough these days and didn't only question my godson."

She squinted her eyes. That was obviously new information. Not that it mattered to him.

"I suggest, Madam Malfoy, that you leave. And leave your son be. He is getting what he needs here — and what you could never give him."

"I gave him all he needed and you know it!"

"Clothes, food, yes. Money, yes. Well, wait, no money now. You will never understand it. You're like Him in that respect. To you, love is something that you feel but never show. Or, wait, something that you ought to feel but don't know what it feels like. You're as cold as a dead snake in the snow. You need to be shown affection in order to feel it though. You need to be reassured that there is love. And that is something you never knew and could never do."

"My son knows I love him," he had the feeling her hair, from that one flat, silvery-blonde plain was growing fizzier and curlier as they spoke. But maybe it was just his imagination.

"I doubt it," he said seriously, then took a deep breath. "Go back home and leave him be. And leave me be."

"I want my son to come with me," a tear now — oh, how he hated those female tactics — slid down her cheek. "I miss my son."

He sighed again, then shook his head. "He doesn't miss home, and I doubt he misses you. He wants to be there and if you love him, you let him be here until he finds himself."

"What kind of an answer is that?" another tear — another cheek.

"An honest one. I will leave this kitchen now and will leave your wand on the table. I'll return in thirty seconds and I hope you will be gone by then," he said, knowing he had the advantage that he would be through the door before she could reach her wand. "Good bye, Narcissa."

"I want my son," she almost wailed.

He didn't answer, instead he put the wand slowly on the table and left the kitchen, closing the door firmly. There was a crash inside but he only saw the four questioning eyes looking at him, then a faint pop from the inside and he knew she was gone.

He shrugged tiredly to Eleanor and Draco and left the house through the front door. He wanted to forget what had just happened.

30. Langue et Parole

The (dichotomic) concept of language/speechis central in Saussure and was certainly a great novelty in relation to earlier linguistics which sought to find the causes of historical changes in the evolution of pronunciation, spontaneous associations and the working of analogy, and was therefore a linguistics of the individual act. In working out this famous dichotomy, Saussure started from the multiform and heterogeneous' nature of language, which appears at first sight as an unclassifiable reality' the unity of which cannot be brought to light, since it partakes at the same time of the physical, the physiological, the mental, the individual and the social. Now this disorder disappears if, from this heterogeneous whole, is extracted a purely social object, the systematised set of conventions necessary to communication, indifferent to the material of the signals which compose it, and which is a language (langue); as opposed to which speech (parole)covers the purely individual part of language (phonation, application of the rules and contingent combinations of signs).

(Barthes, 1964)

Door were banging and banging doors were never a good sign. Banging doors meant that Harry was in a horrible mood. Banging doors were a sign that this had not gone as Harry had suspected. And that, Hermione thought, had been the reason why she had not gone at all. After all, who were they? Just two barely of age people, who had, admittedly, fought in a war, and had, according to some, some pull with some people. But in the eyes of those who really knew — they were nothing but children. Not that that was right and they had fought more battles than most of those Ministry-employees, but they were young and inexperienced, at least concerning politics. She was.

"That bastard," Harry huffed as he let himself fall into one of those squishy, comfy armchairs in the library (armchairs she had brought from her parents' house).

"Why? What did he say?"

"What did he say? That the end, as you said, justifies the means. That morality has no place in politics and is short-lived and arbitrary. That's what he said."

"Doesn't sound like him," Hermione frowned.

"Nope," he popped the 'p', "but he believes in it, I think. I think he truly thinks that this is the way to, quote, rule, unquote, the Wizarding World."

"He said that?"

"He said that. And no, he's not under the Imperius," he shrugged. "At least not that I've noticed. He says he doesn't have to explain his reasons to me but that, quite simply, he had the responsibility and he wanted to make life better in our world," he dropped his head into his hands and stared, seemingly, at his shoes.

"And you're sure he's not under the Imperius? He doesn't sound like the Kingsley Shacklebolt I remember..."

He shrugged again. "I doubt it, to be honest. I mean, I can't be sure but he did seem quite lucid, quite normal. Like it all made sense. And he said that he's not randomly handing out Veritaserum, but only gives it to those that he thinks is under suspicion."

"And that without consent?"

"Do you think any of the Malfoys would give their consent?"

"If they were innocent, why not? But this way, I mean, they're not utterly stupid...wait...any of the Malfoys? Did..."

"Draco's mother as well, yes."

"Do they, or the Minister in this case, realise that they're only driving them further away? That they might give them cause to actually, turn Dark? I mean..."

"I don't know," he sighed. "But...Malfoy is still in St Mungo's, did you know that?"

Hermione frowned. "Why?"

"Well..." he paused pensively and ran his fingers through his hair. "Kingsley only said that, erm, Lucius fought against the removal of the Imperius — or against his being held at the Ministry. He wouldn't tell me more but he seems to be injured."

"Injured? By the Ministry-people?"

He shrugged again and slumped deeper into the armchair. "I haven't said anything definite yet but... I'm thinking about, you know, taking a break from Auror training."

"Harry! Really?"

"Really. I mean if it's..." he shrugged again. "It's not Light and Dark. It's not two things. It's grey and grey and grey. And even the good people use methods that are not good. And all this morality is short-lived and arbitrary..."

"Machiavellian," Hermione interrupted.

"Look, I don't know what you meant by that earlier and I don't know what you mean by it now but..."

"Harry, really," she tutted, and waved her wand towards a book-shelf. "Even the Blacks have his books here," she muttered and The Prince fell into his lap. "Read!"

"No, I don't want to read that. You always tell me to read. I..."

"Don't get angry at me," she hissed.

"I'm not angry at you," he glared at her nevertheless, "But you throw around words that I don't understand and instead of explaining in the simple language," he mocked her, "that I need, you drop a book in my lap."

"Harry..."

"No, just stuff it. I'm going out," he replied, very annoyed and got up, threw the book on the floor, and left the library without a look back and without saying another word.

Hermione, naturally, picked up the book first before she ran her fingers through her curls — full of tangles. She should have known, letting it dry naturally — tangles. Inevitable. Harry getting angry when he noticed that not everything was as it seemed — inevitable. Him running out instead of calmly talking about things — inevitable.

And her, being left with the puzzle to solve. The puzzle, in her opinion, wasn't so much on why the Minister acted that way. She could see, rather plainly, that he wanted to bring peace to the Wizarding World and that he employed all the little methods that may or may not be perfectly legal, perfectly morally correct, but those that would bring in the results. It was a rather cold way of thinking — and maybe, Hermione thought, it wasn't so much a distinction between black and white, Light and Dark, right and wrong anymore but human and inhuman, cold and warm, loving and unloving. Maybe, she thought, people in those positions, like the Minister, lost their humanity when the took office. Didn't seem so obviously outlandish to her. Quite on the contrary, probably. He needed to be the figure that people looked up to and that demanded respect. Respect — and that was different from love.

Not that she claimed to know what the Minister was really like — she wasn't even sure whether he had a wife to come home to, or a girlfriend or a boyfriend. She knew nothing about him personally — but as a Minister, and for the time being, she couldn't respect him. Not for so clearly ignoring all the clearly, commonly excepted rules of morality.

She pulled her feet up on the armchair, the very faint scent of her father that still remained in the fabric, enveloping her and closed her eyes — thinking that she might have to, calmly, talk to Draco again. At least to tell him that his father was in St Mungo's. Poor him hadn't seemed to know that.

Eleanor put a plate of biscuits on the table and another cup of tea in front of Draco. The poor boy seemed utterly confused and lost. As she did with Severus, usually (who was best left alone for the time being), she sat next to him and not across from him. She knew she had a way of making them talk. And she knew that those two boys trusted her.

"I know Severus's side of the story, obviously, but I don't know yours," she began calmly, taking a biscuit, he took one as well and nibbled on it, "and you've been living with me for a while now and I know there are times when something is clearly bothering you."

"It's all in the past," he said, staring at something she couldn't see — something in his past, probably.

"I can piece things together," she said pensively. "Were you being told to kill someone?"

He said nothing for a long time. He nibbled on his biscuit, then took a sip of tea before he nibbled again. "Yes," he said.

"Is it easier to kill someone with your wand than it is for Muggles?" she asked slowly.

"I wouldn't know," he said hesitantly. "You...they say you have to mean it but...I couldn't...I was a coward."

"A coward? For not killing someone?" she slowly shifted closer to him but for the time being, just let him feel her warmth close, not touching him.

"That's what they said," he bit his lip.

"They?"

"My mother. Some of her...the Death Eaters. The Dark Lord..."

"The what?"

"Lord Voldemort," he stuttered slightly.

"Oh him. Severus told me about him. And he said you're a coward? Because you couldn't kill?"

"Yes."

"Well," she sighed, "I said this to Severus because he was talking about cowardice too, and I'd say this to you and I trust you to be smart enough to believe me," she took a deep breath, "you — and Severus for that matter — are no cowards. This Lord Voldemort, he was. He was the ultimate coward."