And so, he opened the door, to see her standing there, the wrap he had bought her for Christmas around her shoulders, her bare arms holding a plastic container — probably full of the leftover dinner.
"I'm sorry, Severus," she said, her eyes honest and full of emotion.
He merely stepped aside, let her into his house, let her push the container in his hands and moved straight to his kitchen, looking over her shoulder as she did so. "I should have told you that Draco and me had made fun of her hair before and that she was maybe a little wound up from writing her exams. And I should have asked you if it was alright letting her stay for dinner. Aideen brought her over and her and Draco were busy being amorous out in the garden and so I talked to her and you know what I'm like...she said she couldn't cook and I couldn't contain myself. I'm sorry, Severus. And I'm sorry for treating you like a child. It's just a thing a mother never seems to be able to get out of her system..."
He nodded and moved, without thinking really, to put the kettle on, threw a teabag each in two cups and looked at her. She was...she felt bad about what she had done, he could see that. And for heaven's sake, he did not want to lose that person in his life.
Eleanor smiled. "You know me, Severus. Aideen tells me she's got nobody to celebrate the end of her school-career with and asks me to bring her over and I can't help but say yes. And her parents in Australia. Alone but with that friend of hers." She shook her head and grasped the cup of tea as soon as he had set it on the table. "I wouldn't have...but..."
He only nodded briefly and kept looking in her eyes.
"I won't invited her again," she smiled and took his hand, squeezing it gently. "And I won't pull your ear again."
"Thank you," he said sarcastically, rubbing his earlobe.
She nodded, seemingly grateful in his eyes. Gratitude in hers. "I didn't know you disliked her that much and your remarks about her hair..."
Yes, he had been unfair, he knew. Her hair hadn't been anywhere near his food but — he hadn't been able to help it. He hadn't wanted her there and he wanted her to leave. Even if she left under tears. Didn't care at that moment. But her words had stuck in his head...'I respect what you did, but not you.' She had said that.
But — hadn't he always defined himself through what he had done?
His hand squeezed Eleanor's back. His hand had forgiven Eleanor for pulling his ear and for shouting at him. He was not an unreasonable man. He was not always unfair. And — he had come to care for his neighbour a lot.
Eleanor smiled at him and her left eye seemed to wink at him. "Oh Severus. My life would certainly be less interesting with you but I'm glad I have you now. And I will try not to treat you like a child."
He nodded silently and with the one hand that wasn't help captive by Eleanor's, he raised his teacup to his lips and took a long sip.
40. Perlocutionary Act
The perlocutionary act may be either the achievement of a perlocutionary object (convince, persuade) or the production of a perlocutionary sequel. Thus the act of warning may achieve its perlocutionary object of alerting and also have the perlocutionary sequel of alarming, and an argument against a view may fail to achieve its object but the perlocutionary sequel of convincing our opponent of its truth ('I only succeeded in convincing him'). What is the perlocutionary object of one illocution may be the sequel of another. For example, warning may produce the sequel of deterring and saying 'Don't', whose object is to deter, may produce the sequel of alerting or even alarming. Some perlocutionary acts are always the producing of a sequel, namely those where there is no illocutionary formula: this II may surprise you or upset you or humiliate you by a locution though there is no illocutionary formula 'I surprise you by...', 'I upset you by...'', 'I humiliate you by...'
It is characteristic of perlocutionary acts that the response achieved, or the sequel, can be achieved additionally or entirely by non-locutionary means: thus intimidation may be achieved by waving a stick or pointing a gun.
(Austin, 1965)
When she wrapped her arms around his waist and when she put her head gently on his shoulder or lay it against his chest, when his own arms went around her and when he splayed his fingers possessively over her back, Draco felt happy and content. This, he knew, was such a simple statement, so little, and yet, at the same time, it expressed exactly what he felt. It wasn't overbubbling joy, it wasn't exuberant pleasure. It was quiet and it was sigh-inducing. It made him happy, it made him content. Everything else was in the background when he held her and it didn't matter that he was lying to her constantly, that he had not yet told her that he was a wizard or that he only earned that much money because he could convince customers that this or that suit suit them. Of course should the Ministry find out, there would be hell to pay, naturally, but by now, he didn't care. He cared about Aideen and about her hands stroking the back of his neck and her face coming closer and closer to his and their lips meeting. He was well aware that he had to apparate to London afterwards and ask Hermione Granger what that had been about and ask her to, well, maybe stay away from his godfather for a while, but now, it was only her arms around him and her kiss. Nothing more, nothing less.
.
"Come in," said Ron after a moment of both of them staring at one another. "Did anything happen?"
Harry breathed a sigh of relief. He hadn't been hit yet, and Ron was only doing a mild form of staring which implied mostly surprised and not anger or resentment or anything else. He shook his head slowly. "Erm, that depends on the point of view. Did your father...I mean did he mention..."
"The party, yeah," Ron nodded. "Dad said."
"Harry!" he heard a voice, and a second later, he was crushed in a hug. A familiar hug he had felt so often before — but hadn't expected to feel it just now. Molly was supposed to be angry with him because of, well, she thought that he and Hermione...but she had probably either forgiven him, or had forgotten, or had, most likely, just decided to ignore it and that enough time had passed.
"Hello Mrs Weasley," he said, muffled against her shoulder where she had pressed his head against.
"What do you want about the party?" Ron asked, not unfriendly.
"Erm," he tried to disentangle himself from the hug but was, once more, crushed against Molly Weasley.
"Ron, put the kettle on, please. And no more talk about this party. It's a stupid idea to try to bait someone. And just because Malfoy," she snorted the name, "thinks it's a good one, we do not have to agree. Harry, you're not giving this party. There are other ways."
"Erm," Harry felt, well, weird. This was not what he had expected. He felt like he had been transported in a sort of alternate universe where nothing had ever happened, where Ginny would bounce into the kitchen and hug him and give him a kiss and...no, that wouldn't happen and he didn't want that to happen.
"It's good you're back," he thought he heard Molly Weasley whisper.
"Erm," Harry said again and truly wanted to ask whether she had forgiven him, whether this entire family had forgotten that he had dumped Ginny, or whether it was just forgotten and then it hit him — of course. The Daily Prophet. Him playing Quidditch. They would read that, or at least Molly would, and it said in every other issue that he was still looking for the love of his life and that he was single. She would believe that, probably. And it had helped that nobody had ever spotted Hermione watching a match he played, just because she was busy herself, and just because Quidditch wasn't her greatest pleasure.
"I'm glad to be back," he told her and finally managing to step away out of her arms, he smiled lopsidedly.
"Yeah," said Ron suddenly, and thumped him hard on the back. "Stay for dinner?"
.
"I just...don't really want to be reminded of the past," said Severus, slowly and quietly. "Draco is my godson, and he's careful not to ever use magic around me, I know. But she was always the one who knew everything. I don't doubt that she tried to figure out a way how to take the curse off me. Or maybe she still tries, I don't know. She always read up on everything and she solved all the puzzles and wanted to make sure she knew everything. Her nose was always in a book and she constantly waved her hand in the hair. Never stopped. She never held back once, not even when you gave her detention, not even when you belittled her. She was determined though, always to know the most and I suppose it was just her love of books and her love of learning but maybe it was just a way to prove herself, which would have made sense, in a way, I suppose, she being a Muggleborn and always knowing that she would have to work harder in order to be accepted. And I knew she didn't have friends until she ran into those two miscreants. And even then, she only had those two and nobody else. Don't even know if she still is friends with them anymore," he looked straight into the empty fireplace, never taking his eyes off it, "I thought there was a romance between her and the Weasley boy but I suppose I would have heard or maybe not. Not that I care. And why should I? She clearly never had any respect for him, or so she claims. Always thought she was the only third of that trio that could see that there is not only black and white in the world, that there are shades of grey, that Dark doesn't necessarily mean Dark all the time. That you have to lose a battle sometimes in order to win a war, that there are casualties, and that there are blurred lines instead of clean-cut frontiers. Was probably wrong. Not that I care. I just don't want her there," he muttered. "She doesn't belong here. She is one of those who came out of the war a heroine and lauded and acceptance of everyone. She should be bathing in the light the Wizarding World cast on her. She should not sit here celebrating her NEWTs. She has other places to celebrate. And she should truly pull up that hair or the first potion she brews like that will be an absolute disaster. And I truly didn't fancy finding one of her hairs in my stew."
Severus Snape knew that he should have told all of this to Eleanor, as an apology, maybe, or an explanation. But she had left and he had found no words to explain to this kind old woman, who had apologised to him. And yet, in the back of his head, somewhere grumbling in his brain, was a voice that told him that he would have to find some way of letting Eleanor Callaghan now how much he appreciated her and that he liked her and that it was simply the girl's presence, and him being not warned beforehand, which had unbalanced him and which had him leash out like that.
.
Harry sat amidst four Weasleys. Arthur, Molly, George, and Ron. Ginny, they had explained, was spending her summer hols with Charlie in Romania and her absence had nothing to do with his presence. In fact, Molly said, she was seeing a lovely friend of Charlie's who also worked with dragons but thought about transferring to Britain to work for the Ministry. It all seemed so normal, he had even played a round of Quidditch with Ron before their meal. George had had the later shift at their shop, leaving Ron to be at the Burrow, and he had ruffled Harry's hair affectionately. Molly beamed at him and Arthur beamed at him, despite the fact that they both had opposing views of that party he was supposed to throw.
Somehow, this wasn't as bad as he had thought it would be and on the other hand, it was worse because this family acted like nothing had ever happened and he hadn't figured out that he had always been, more or less, welcome. Had been his own fault, he realised.
.
Draco wrinkled his nose and knocked on the door. There were wards, naturally, but those had been easy to get through. But not the door. An Alohomora hadn't helped, and any other unlocking spell he knew had been equally ineffective. Well, it was probably just as well, rude enough to just undo wards and then stumbling into a house was not the way he had been brought up — nor what he wanted to do.
Not that he liked being there in the first place. He truly only wanted to make cuddle a bit, snog a bit with Aideen. Maybe, if they were alone get his hand under her shirt. Just a bit, nothing too serious, she didn't like it. Not too quick or she would probably run. Had to be careful with her if he wanted to continue seeing her and he did. More than anything. And that was, actually, why he was there. Because if he made sure that Aideen could continue seeing Granger, and he had that in his hands, more or less, Aideen would be nicer to him and maybe cut her time with her parents in London short to stay with her grandmother and him. He wouldn't mind apparating to London once in a while, or every day after work, but it would be difficult to explain that to her how he managed that. The trains took much longer and he couldn't drive a car yet. Not that he didn't plan to learn. It would be fun and shock his father to no end. That would be...amusing to say the least.
He almost sniggered to himself, there, waiting in front of the door of that grubby old house on Grimmauld Place, thinking how his father would look like if he used Eleanor's car and drove with it straight to Malfoy Manor. Park it in front of it and hop out of the car. His father would absolutely freak out. And how lovely that thought was at the moment.
"Coming!" he heard Granger shout from inside. "Harry, will you remember to bring your key? You know you can't get in without it," her grating voice came closer and closer and the door was flung open. Oh, that woman had no idea about safety.
"Oh," she said, her face falling slightly and she looked — different. Draco frowned and pushed her aside slightly to step into the house.
"Are you serious, Granger?" he asked, pointing at her hair. It looked, well, different. Not like Granger but then exactly like Granger. Like a different kind of Granger. With different hair. Waves and darker. And less bushy and less all over the place. "You seriously cut your hair?"
"Yes," she said haughtily. "That a problem?"
"Because we made fun of it?" he asked, stunned.
"Don't be silly."
"Then it's a weird coincidence," muttered Draco, still staring at the hair. Shorter, looked lighter, looked less like a mass of bushiness and more like an actual hairstyle.
"What do you want?"
"I actually wanted to...you did cut it because Severus made those comments? And because we did? Did you lose all integrity, Granger? I mean really. You know we were just joking, you heard all of them before."
