"Miss Granger?" she heard him, quietly, an undertone of disapproval on her tone. No, scratch that. Not an undertone. It was all over his voice and she didn't want to turn around. She wanted to look at her beautiful stew (which looked, naturally, a bit messy but such was the nature of stews) and wanted to eat it and then she wanted to leave. Wanted to curl up at home with a book. She had ordered a few from the list she had received from uni at York and she wanted to have an early start. Had the whole summer before her during which she had nothing planned except going to see her parents. Nothing, except preparing for her classes at uni. And what a blissful summer she wished it would be. Without the hassle of the trials of the last summer, the rebuilding of the Wizarding World. Just her and her books and London and Australia for a week and a few shops and nothing else. Maybe, she thought, she would make a few trips to Mrs Callaghan, if she agreed — learn to cook more things. No other things planned and how wonderful that was. Nothing to do but her books and preparing for university.

She pulled herself out of her thoughts and forced her face in a smile, straightened her shoulders and checked that her back was very erect before she turned around. She focused. Not 'Professor Snape'. 'Mister'? That sounded just as stupid and unfamiliar. She was familiar with Professor Snape, not Mister Snape.

"Hello," she said then simply.

"What gives us the pleasure?" he asked sarcastically and turned his glare on her. "I thought I told you to..."

"I invited her. She finished her exams today, just as you and...did you know she can't cook? That can't be. She's about to go off to uni and she can't eat out of cans."

Snape arched his eyebrows and in that moment, despite his Mugglish clothing, despite the better haircut and the cleaner hair, despite the fact that he wasn't as pale anymore, she was reminded terribly of her former teacher. Just the way he looked at her, just the way he seemed to look down at her, to turn up his nose, to be almost on his way to belittle her.

"I," she looked around and could see Aideen nowhere but could hear her giggle from the living room. "finished my last NEWT today." She told him, pushing her nose up in the air as well.

"How nice for you," he sneered and he was the original Snape. He had in no way, shape or form a resemblance to her head-Severus. No.

No.

He had absolutely no right to treat her this way. This was Snape, she had made sure he got a monthly rent of no small amount. She had finished her NEWTs. She knew she had done well. She knew she had no reason to be belittled by her. She had always defended him, always. And she had been invited there. She hadn't intruded, she had been brought there by Aideen, she had been told by Mrs Callaghan not to go, she had helped cooked. She had almost been forced to cook and almost been forced to stay. He had absolutely no right to treat her this way. She was sick of being treated this way. First Draco with his comment about her hair (and, slightly, Mrs Callaghan), and now this? No.

She straightened a little more — didn't think that was possible — and glared at him.

"Yes, it is. I took more NEWTs than anyone before me, I think. I will pass all of them and I am proud of that. I worked hard and I will get my reward for that hard work. Yes, it is very nice for me."

He looked at her for a moment, curiously, his eyebrows arched further, then said — "Fine."

38. Scalar Implicature

There are some well-known diagnostics for scalar implicature. If we entertain the hypothesis that two expressions, call them S and W for 'strong and 'weak' from a scale S,W, then they should permit the following embeddings:

Canceling phrases:

'W and even S' (e.g. 'Some and even all of them came)

'Not only W, S' (e.g. Not only some of them, all of them came.')

'W in fact/indeed S' (e.g. 'Some, in fact all of them, came.')

Suspending phrases:

'W or possibly/even S' (e.g. 'Some or possibly all of them came.')

'W if not S' (e.g. 'Some, if not all of them came.')

The rationale, of course, is that because implicatures unlike entailments are defeasible, it is possible to assert the contrary, or explicitly raise its possibility, without any sense of contradiction.

(Levinson, 2000)

Yes, she did notice that Draco held Aideen's hand underneath the table and that he was pretending to be left-handed when in fact, he had difficulties eating. Those two, she Eleanor decided, would have to give it a rest, at least during dinner. At least while they were eating. It wasn't that she didn't remember how it was to be in love. She did, more now that she could see those two being absolutely besotted with one another. She remembered those days when you couldn't wait to see the man you were in love with, when you wanted to just touch him and listen to him and talk to him and have at least a moment alone with him. And hence, she remembered how tempting those moments alone could be and she didn't want to lead them into temptation. She wanted to make sure they knew what they were doing.

And they would have to stop holding hands or Draco would spill all the good food on the good table cloth.

On the other hand, and on the other side of the table, Severus and Miss Granger sat as far apart as they could, not once looking at one another, not looking at anything but their food. Those two were...strange. They had glared at one another when she had almost managed to shut him up, no mean feat. And she had stood up for herself. It seemed that young woman truly was smart and determined to not be belittled by Severus, not be sneered at by him. She had witnessed him doing that to Draco a few times — and that boy had never quite stood up for herself, had only ignored the man. Usually, she would have agreed with Draco — ignoring him when he was in a mood like that — but there had been that split second when he had almost appeared dumbstruck, when his eyes had grown fractionally bigger before his face had fallen into a neutral mask, seemingly unimpressed, seemingly not caring about her and what she had said. He had though, for that split second. Couldn't fool her. It had obviously impressed him, or at least had surprised him what she had done.

She knew that Severus didn't think of himself as having been a good teacher; he had told her, over a long span of time, that he had been known as a 'greasy git', as a 'bat of the dungeons' and that he was the one teacher who had been least respected, least liked. If that was true, she didn't know, or if he only thought like that of himself. Draco certainly said little about it, only that there had been trouble with a few students, that his godfather wanted much of his students, expected plenty and didn't hand out compliments or praise at all. He sounded stern in her eyes, strict. And she knew he had a temper — she witnessed it too often herself, naturally, but Miss Granger at least didn't cower before that temper and Eleanor had to admit that she liked that. Girl had a backbone.

Severus Snape scowled into his stew. It was good, that much he had to admit but he did not like sitting next to Granger, hearing her breath and hearing her eat. Yes, he was a possessive bastard, he knew, and those people on this table were the people who accepted him the way he was — more or less. Well, Eleanor wanted to make sure he minded his manners, wanted to make him go out more, wanted him to even eat brussels sprouts, to go to bed early, to tell her what he had done during the day, to put up shelves and help her clean out her attic, Aideen wanted to make sure he used his laptop decently and Draco reminded him often enough that sarcasm was not everyone's native tongue (but that happened in not so many words). But they, more or less, accepted him. They might make suggestions, or order around kindly (Eleanor, mostly) but the last word in everything he did was his and they accepted this.

Granger was certainly one of those people who couldn't leave well alone. Had talked back to him. Oh, hadn't she always? Her and her little friends. Those insufferable Gryffindors who had made his life a living hell (all of them who had made his former life a living hell had been Gryffindors, apart from that one Slytherin), who had never showed any respect for him. Who had left him to die in the Shrieking Shack. Well, to seemingly die. He hadn't expected otherwise. He hadn't expected an apology either. People he had met in his former life did not apologise, least of all those Gryffindors and that one Slytherin.

Thought they had punished him by taking away his magic. But this was no punishment. Well, in general it wasn't. Sitting with Granger at the same table, on the same side of the table, that was punishment and the first time in a long long time that he felt the strong urge to hex someone. Or just bodily remove her from the table. Despite the fact that she was just sitting more or less quietly. Only her chewing and her breathing and that irritated him. This was his seat and the seat next to him was usually empty. He had this side of the table for himself alone. It was his. His seat at Eleanor's. His chair.

Nevertheless, the stew was good and he doubted that she could have made that. It had probably only been Eleanor with her sitting there and chatting and chattering the way she always had at school, the way her mouth could never be still, never stop moving. Well, now she was technically silent but her mouth was still moving, chewing and it irritated him. Someone next to him and an arm that moved in his peripheral vision. Bushy hair that was close to falling into his stew. Really. That hair was everywhere and she had cooked like that? His food?

He turned his head slightly and put on his best scowl, waited long enough for her to see it, then turned back to his food. She did the same — and a moment later, he repeated the exercise, but she couldn't take the hint, typically Gryffindor. She frowned his time, a frown he only caught very briefly, then ate a bit more, until he scowled at her again.

Patience had never been, he remembered, one of Granger's talents, nor being subtle, nor understanding subtlety. The silence, only interrupted by clattering of cutlery against dishes, was broken as she, when he scowled the fifth time, snapped.

"What?"

He arched his eyebrows and softened his scowl a little. "Would you kindly remove your hair from my food?"

"My hair's not anywhere near your food," she snapped again.

"Close enough for one to drop into my stew. And I'd prefer my food hair-free," replied Severus, his voice as deep and as dark as it had ever been when he had taught.

"My hair is not falling into your food," she said, her hand moving to grab it and twist it at the nape of her neck.

"Don't touch it, you're only making it worse," he hissed, ignoring the faint 'Stop it, Severus,' he heard from Eleanor. "Just don't move your head too much."

"I'm not moving my head at all," she glared at him. "And my hair doesn't fall out just like that."

"It will if you keep pulling on it," he snapped. "Just let go slowly and remove it from so close from my food."

"I thought you didn't want me to move it at all," said Granger, a note of triumph in her voice.

"Slowly."

"You're absolutely..." she looked at him and he thought he caught a little bit of wetness shining in her eyes. "Get off my back, Snape," she hissed. "I was invited here and if you can't stand the sight of me or my hair, well, just...blindfold yourself. I'm sure you will find your mouth without..."

"Respect, Granger," he almost shouted.

"Respect?" she shouted back. "Why? You're not my teacher anymore. I will show you respect you the moment you begin to show me some respect. I am not obliged to respect you just because you...I respect what you did. But not you."

"You're..." he began, rather surprised by her entire outburst. Not the pleasant sort of surprise but she seemed like a Gryffindor on the warpath. He had seen the same expression on Minerva McGonagall's face plenty of times before. He knew he could hold his own against those though. They were too predictable. One more unkindly word, and she'd probably run away crying. Had seen it too many times. Gryffindor courage only ever went so far.

"I'm what?" she glared. "Don't you think I've heard all kinds of insults over my hair?"

"I am," he began slowly, ready for the final strike, "only asking you to remove that ridiculous something on your head which nobody in their right mind would call hair from the vicinity of my food."

The chair clattered, naturally, to the ground, she had stood up so quickly and so forcefully. Yes, very predictable. Tears were shining in her eyes, one rolling down her cheek. It lessened her glare a little, and she pulled her lips slightly apart, a grimace of sorts. "You're a bastard, Snape," she tried hard, he could tell, to keep her voice under control and was slowly failing and she turned on her heel and ran out of the room, out of the house.

He sighed and dipped his spoon languidly into the stew — wanted to get it to his mouth, taste this deliciousness without any intruders when there was a sharp pain on his right ear. More precisely, on his right earlobe. Fingers pinching his earlobe and pulling on it.

"What the..."

"Severus Snape, have you absolutely lost your mind?" thundered Eleanor, "Your mam didn't raise you to be a mannerless idiot! What do you think you were doing?" She pulled further on his ear and he couldn't help but turn his head in the direction she wanted him to turn his head and he had to stare into the angrily-twinkling eyes of hers. "Well?" she asked, impatiently.

"I think..." he heard Draco through his left ear, the right one was busy otherwise. Busy being pulled and tortured.

"You two shut up and begin with the dishes," she said forcefully. "Severus, I'm waiting."

Eleanor had shown him more compassion, more kindness, yes, more love than anyone else in his life before. But those attempts at raising him, at treating him like a child sometimes were just...too much. With as much force as he could muster, trying as best as he could to ignore the pain, he jerked his head away, and her fingers, painfully, slid from his earlobe.

"I don't have to justify anything," he said coldly and got up quickly, and with long strides, was gone from the house, into the balmy, smog-filled air, dirty air, but he nevertheless took great lungfuls, one after the other, exhaling, inhaling, pacing in front of his house before he slowly walked in.

So, he had insulted her. She shouldn't have expected anything else from him. And Eleanor shouldn't have expected anything else from her — he had told her often enough that his students never had any respect for him and that it was difficult, vice versa, to have any form of respect for them. She had known he didn't like any of them and she still had gone and invited that awful woman.