He wanted nothing more than to close his tired eyes, fall into his warm bed, pull the duvet up to his ears and stretch his legs. Wanted to wriggle his toes in the soft bedding, wanted to breathe in the scent of the freshly washed linens. Wanted to hide his face in his pillow and go to sleep. He wanted to just sleep and nothing more. But since when was it important what he wanted? It didn't matter. He blinked to get a bit more liquid into his eyes, to try and make the gritty feeling go away and Eleanor was beside him, leaning against the kitchen counter as he did now and tugged on his arm.
"Would you tell us what happened?" she asked gently, concern visible, hearable, tangible.
Granger — as he had suspected — had already opened her mouth but he held up a hand to silence her and despite his tiredness he seemed to be able to still intimidate her by a glance.
"She was taken by Andromeda Tonks. She's a witch, Draco's aunt, and she has a long-standing hatred towards Draco's family and towards me and several others as she lost her entire family in the war and she wanted to get even and took Aideen and hurt her, hoping she could make it look like Draco had done it," he explained briefly, his eyes flickering to Granger who seemed intent on interrupting.
"Aunt Andromeda?" Draco paled visibly. "But she came to Mother just before Uncle Severus was, erm, tried. They tried, I suppose, to make peace. She brought that grandson of hers. Theodore, or Ted or something."
"She did?" Granger gasped. "Really?"
Draco nodded, shocked, sitting down on one of the chairs. "The kid is a Metamorphmagus and I played with him a little when Mother send me out of the room." He turned towards Severus. "Do you think Mother had..."
He had to shake his head immediately. Even if he did think that Narcissa had anything to do with that, which of course, he didn't, he would never tell Draco. Never.
"How did you find Aideen?" asked Eleanor, taking his hand and holding it very tightly between her liver-spotted, wrinkly, warm ones.
"I went to find her, found only the au-pair who seems to be mentally challenged, could with a book Granger brought me locate her and get her out of the dungeons."
"Dungeons?" Eleanor gasped.
"Cellar," he shrugged. "Granger apparated her to the hospital, I picked her up from there when Andromeda Tonks was under control and the rest you know."
"How did you...?"
Severus shook his head. "Not today," he said and wanted his hand back from Eleanor but she wouldn't let go. Instead, she held it to her chest and pulled him, this way, a bit closer to her side.
"Thank you," she whispered and as she stood on her tip-toes, she pressed a kiss on his cheek, her eyes shining with tears. He couldn't deal with that now. He needed to take his shoes off and his jacket off and maybe a brief shower before he could slip into his bed and forget this had ever happened — if only for a short while.
"Granger, Draco, I suggest you put wards up which will notify you of any wizard-visitors which might want to step by. It will be sufficient for the time being." He looked at Eleanor and felt relieved, very, very relieved that he had been able to bring Aideen back. For her sake. For the smile she gave him and the hug he felt himself suddenly enveloped in. For her soft 'thank you' muttered against his chest.
He could only give a brief nod to Granger, who seemed like she wanted to say something, and a scowl at his godson who had already begun saying something, then left the house. Home. His bed.
.
"Why Aunt Andromeda?" asked Draco suddenly, the front door having just clicked shut.
"Draco," Hermione sighed, "The stuff she told us under Veritaserum...she's not normal anymore. She was absolutely...nutters. She believes Snape is responsible for our side losing so many and she believes it was your father who brought the 'Darkness' back into the Black family. She has her own ideas now, sort of."
"Father didn't," he said forcefully. "It was the other way around. My grandmother Druella, when she was alive, she gave me the creeps when I was young. She would actually walk around the house and said things like, 'Mudbloods should all be hung by their toenails, then quartered by Hippogriffs, then waah, this and that, and the Mudbloods will be the downfall of society and it was all the Mudbloods' fault that we have to hide, waaah, blah blah.' Seriously, she was worse. She once spat at a Muggle who walked past the Leaky Cauldron. My father was moderate in comparison. Still is. If my grandmother had known that Uncle Severus was my godfather, she would killed both my father and my mother and, well, probably Severus. It wasn't Father who brought those idea into that side of the family."
Mrs Callaghan cleared her throat. "Would either of you explain what a Mudblood is? And Aunt Andromeda?"
"A Mudblood is the derogative term for Muggle," Hermione answered tiredly.
"And Aunt Andromeda is my mother's sister who married a Muggle-born wizard," continued Draco.
"And it was this Andromeda who kidnapped my Aideen? To make it look like you had done it?" the old woman asked to confirm and both she and Draco nodded.
"Why?"
"She hates my father and me, I guess," Draco said slowly.
"And she wanted to hurt him. And probably Snape," added Hermione.
"Is she locked away then?" asked Mrs Callaghan.
"Yes, but that's the trouble, according to Granger," growled Draco.
"This spell that Eileen used on me as well, I presume?"
"Eileen?" asked Hermione. "What?"
"Yes, Mrs Callaghan," Draco nodded, "Same spell but done professionally."
"But she doesn't know anything about magic," Mrs Callaghan shook her head. "Not even now. She doesn't remember how she got to hospital."
"The Ministry won't care," said Draco darkly.
"We can't do anything now anyway," said Hermione, shaking her head. It made no sense now, she was tired and worn-out and she wanted to just go to bed. "Draco, can you cast the wards or should I? I need to go home but will return in the morning if that's alright?"
"I will cast them," said Draco and Hermione felt herself enveloped in arms — not Draco's, not male — and to a deep breath. Mrs Callaghan pressed her head against her chest and Hermione could smell fresh bread and soup and homeliness and a hand brushing through her curls.
"Thank you for helping Severus and for getting Aideen out of there," the old woman told her gentle, still running her fingers through her hair.
"I didn't do much," said Hermione, softly and quietly and utterly taken aback by that genuine thanks.
"What happened to that kid?" she heard Draco asked and she unwillingly, stepped out of the embrace. It had, she had to admit this, felt wonderful to be hugged like this again. Motherly, grandmotherly hug. She smiled at Mrs Callaghan and said thanks herself before she turned back to him.
"Harry," she said quietly.
"Potter?" he sneered. "Potter took the kid?"
She shrugged, then put her hand on his arm. "He's his godfather," and with that, and a nod towards the older woman, she left the house and apparated from the doorstep.
It was the last straw, really. Barely keeping herself together, not checking how her eyebrows looked like, whether they were all there, whether all her fingernails, all her toenails were where they belonged. Her arms were there, her legs were there and her breasts were there, her head was there, her hair was there. The rest could wait until the morning. She could only stagger to her bed, having forgot how draining Apparition could be. Forgot about the baby, forgot about Ron and fell into her bed in her clothes, the last thing on her mind — how Snape had said that she had helped and how his hand had felt on her stomach.
.
Eleanor was tired. She knew she should sleep. Draco was asleep. Severus was probably asleep, Hermione was asleep. And she — she sat in the old armchair in the second guest room next to Draco's and watched how her granddaughter sleep. The girl lay on her side, the arm in the cast carefully on top of the duvet. She could see how her eyes moved underneath her lids, dreaming, possibly, and Eleanor only hoped that it was a good dream, not a nightmare.
The way she had understood it — and she had understood — Aideen had been kept in a cellar, in a dungeon, for those two days and from the way she had pushed the soup away, Eleanor thought that maybe she was only fed soup. The way she had gobbled down the crisps and the chocolate...she would get a decent meal as soon as she woke up. Whatever she wished. Letting the girl out of her sight...that would be difficult.
She pressed her lips as tightly together as they would go — she had never, never felt that kind of worry since about — 1940 and the Blitz and the following four and a half years when he had gone off to fight the Jerry. She had never wanted to feel that kind of terror again, not knowing where a member of her family was, whether they were well, or even still alive. She had never wanted to remember those days when she had lived from day to day, thinking of him, but not knowing whether she would see him again. And now this, her, gone. Aideen, after all, was the member of her family she saw most often, the one who came by most often, the one who cared, probably, most about her. But nevertheless, any of her family...any one of those masses of people...she swallowed around the lump in her throat and that same lump caused some sort of pressure behind her eyes and she could feel her eyes really begin to fill with tears. She knew it was best not to fight them, to just let the pressure release naturally. She dropped her face in her hands and felt hot, burning drops of salty liquid falling into them, but tried not to make any noise — she couldn't wake Aideen, the girl needed her rest, the girl needed sleep. She needed to have some peace now.
Eleanor let herself cry, then lent back in the chair, closing her eyes, trying to rest her own hurting eyes.
.
It was around three in the morning, Draco saw on his little bedside clock when he woke up with a jolt. He had to remind himself that Aideen was asleep just in the next room, that he didn't have to worry about her being possibly dead or raped or tortured. She had a broken arm and seemed a bit traumatised but she had kissed him before she had taken her bath the night before and she had smiled at him. She wasn't in any danger now.
Well — she was. If they came to obliviate her, and there was nothing to obliviate because she didn't know about magic, they could seriously damage her brain. And make her forget other things — more important things. Him. Severus. Even Hermione. Things she needed for university. And that couldn't be.
And truth be told, he only knew of one person who maybe had a tiny bit of influence with the Ministry. Whose influence had lessened and lessened but whose word still counted amongst many. And if it leaked out that it had been Aideen — and not any Muggle — who had been kidnapped — if it leaked out that Aideen had been kidnapped because of him, the cat was out of the bag in any case. And if he acted quickly now, he could make sure it came as less of a shock for him, he hoped. Or it would make things worse and Aideen would be obliviated completely.
Still, it was a risk he would have to take. He sat up, and picked up a pad and a pen Aideen had left in his room the last time she had been there and frowned: he would hate Muggle paper. Still, there was nothing to be done, but he needed an owl and he wasn't sure whether the family owl still heard his whistle but he had to try. He opened the window, whistled and as he waited, he put pen to paper and wrote.
.
Severus stretched languidly. His bed was wonderfully comfortable, warm, soft light filtering in through the curtains, the sun tickling his nose. Everything was more or less alright; Aideen was back, the could fight off having her obliviated by pretending that Draco had proposed and had a right to inform his wife or by any other means and while the book was still there, Granger seemed to be more bearable.
Except — she had been truly worried the night before. He had no idea why but her face had shown it so clearly the evening before. Or maybe it had just been the lack of sleep and he had imagined it all and she hadn't looked relieved when she had seen him. Maybe it had just been his imagination and the thought of her body.
Which was really just any body. It was a female body, nothing else but he still felt a stirring in certain parts of his body. He certainly couldn't deny those.
Well, he thought, maybe it was time to investigate the entire matter with Dr Deveney a bit more. She was a female with a body after all.
.
The return of the A/N (I hope you don't hate me for it): I am unwell lately, hence I do not want to bother you with whiny stuff from my RL, but I am still alive (erm, obviously) and will update as soon as possible.
Before you ask again: Yes. Yes. This is a HGSS and as you noticed, there is already a sort of blossoming romance there (ahem, yes).
52. Semantically Vacuous Words
Some lexical items are widely held to make no semantic contribution to the structures in which they occur. The standard example is of certain occurrences of prepositions, such as 'of' in 'proud of John' or 'father of John'. Another plausible candidate is the copula 'be' in predicative sentences like 'John is rich'. We will also assume, at least for the time being, that the indefinite article 'a' is vacuous when it occurs in predicate nominals such as 'a cat' in 'Kaline is a cat'. We would want the following qualities for example:
[[of John]] = [[John]]
[[be rich]] = [[rich]]
[[a cat]] = [[cat]]
There are various ways of making this come out. One way is to list semantically vacuous items in the lexicon as denoting the identity function of the appropriate type, for instance:
[[of]] = λx ε De . x
[[be]] = λf ε De,t . x
[[a]] = λf ε De,t . x
(Heim, Kratzer, 1998)
As he finished typing the email, he briefly wondered whether he was doing the right thing. But — he would have to try and it would do him good to...well, see what she wanted and whether she wanted what he thought she wanted — and thought he needed. It was the right thing to do, really. He would be able to prove his theory, and at the same time, would prove that there was nothing special about Granger that he could possibly have to think about.
Besides — he had to smirk at the irony that he, as a student, planned on giving in to the possible advances of a teacher. There had been one or two Slytherin girls and one noticably from Hufflepuff who had tried to up their grade by trying to make those eyes at him. Hadn't worked, of course, had never seen the appeal of using his students like this. But this was university and he had good grades. He didn't have to work for them, didn't have to give her his body for a good one, or to pass the course. He did not need the course either way. And if this went into the direction he hoped it would go into — he would drop the class in any way.
