"I hurt her but it doesn't feel wrong. Not like it did before. We had barely seen one another and she expected a proposal, probably. I don't know. I'm so confused."

Hermione ran her fingers through his head, tried to flatten it impulsively, then kissed the top of his head. "Why don't you sleep for a while and we talk when you're up again?"

"I don't wanna go to Grimmauld Place."

"Stay here," she smiled.

"Yeah, okay," he told her stomach and then looked up at him. She was close to asking about his sexuality. Really close but she stopped herself. At least that problem was something to take her mind off Snape.

Severus swallowed hard. The roof of his mouth felt incredibly dry, his tongue was stuck somewhere between the dry roof of his mouth and the dry teeth.

"May I come in?" the person standing outside asked, quietly, inconspicuously in Muggle clothes. Quite the change. Had never seen him like that. There were rings around his eyes and his hair was not as squeaky clean as he remembered it. And he remembered quite a lot. He remembered...

Severus cleared his throat, then nodded and stepped aside. He would die, probably. Would die at the end of the wand of —

his godson. Draco Malfoy. In jeans. In jeans and a jumper. His hair had grown since the end of the war and he had never even paid attention to it. He looked quite thin and unhappy. The end of the war had taken a toll on the Malfoys as well, he knew. He had not heard the entire story, simply because he had been busy with his own, but he knew that it had cost Lucius almost all of his money to keep himself out of Azkaban. To keep Narcissa out of Azkaban. To keep Draco out of Azkaban. And now, his godson stood there, in his empty, freshly painted hall.

In all honesty, he had not expected to see him — ever again. He had known that relations to a Muggle like he was now was frowned upon in the circles the Malfoys still moved.

"Severus, I'm..."

Severus arched his eyebrows.

"Sorry for what happened to you," he continued. "But there is more..."

"The curse. Yes, I heard," he answered.

"You heard?"

"Hm," he grunted. "Draco, there's...you should leave."

"I don't want to leave," replied his godson obstinately, pouting like a child. "Do you know what's happening? People say..."

"And since when do I care what people say?" he snapped.

"They're protesting for you," he said feebly.

"Draco!" he found himself shouting. "What are you here for? Don't you see that it's...look around you!"

"Uncle Severus..." he looked utterly miserable.

"Don't call me that," hissed Severus. "I'm not your Uncle anymore."

"You are!" Draco shouted. "I want to help. I could...I don't know, get furniture for you."

"Get out."

"No."

"Get out." His tone grew quiet. The tone he had used during his time as teacher. The tone that had intimidated myriads of Hufflepuffs, Gryffindors, Ravenclaws and Slytherins.

"I won't. You can't make me. Here," he waved his wand and a cupboard appeared out of nowhere. "We couldn't help you. I got you into this mess and I want to help."

"Stop that, Draco. This was not how you were brought up. This is not you," he snarled. "And put that wand away."

"I'm sorry," he said and pushed it back into the pocket of his jeans. "I didn't mean to..."

"Get out. I don't know how often I have to repeat myself but get out. And your pity is not wanted here."

"I want to help. Really."

"I don't want, nor need your help. Leave. I have to be somewhere else," replied Severus.

"Where? Can't you let me do something for you? I'm wearing those fucking clothes. And they're damn uncomfortable. And you...you shouldn't be here in this hovel. Mother said you could come live with us for the..."

"Get. Out."

Draco shook his head and Severus wanted to hex the boy badly. Or wring his neck. He should not be there. He should be with his family, with those he had left. But again, memories flooded his brain. The absolute surprise and puzzlement when Lucius had asked him to be godfather — frankly — why should they have chosen him? He had been only a half-blood. He was no family. Lucius was his mentor, yes, friend of sorts. But then, the little boy. Hair so light that he almost seemed bald. And blue eyes back then. He had smelled like nothing he had smelled before when Lucius had put the tiny bundle into his arms and Severus had felt some sort of — protective. Even back then. Had to hide it. The Dark Lord would have not been happy to know that Draco's godfather had been a half-blood, that would have been — well, not so good. Neither for him, nor for Lucius or the boy.

He shook his head. "There is nothing here, Draco. Go home, go get a decent job. You can't be here."

"I want to help."

"What? What do you want to do? This is a Muggle house," he kept his voice down as best as he could. Mrs Callaghan heard everything. "Go home."

Draco rubbed his hands over his face, then looked at Severus again before he leaned against the wall and slowly slid down the wall. "Nothing's like it used to be."

Severus groaned. He did not want to hear this. He did not. He wanted to boy out of his house. He wanted to be alone. Wanted to forget that he was a wizard. Had been a wizard.

"Uncle Severus, Father will have to go find a job."

"Tragic," he sneered.

"He never had to work. I'm not sure he knows how to. I can't go to Wizarding College because there is no money. We sold stuff from the house. Mother sold Grandmother's brooch and Great-Grandmother's ring. Father sold all but one house elf. There is nothing anymore. I don't know what to do and they don't talk to me. They always send me out of the room as if I were twelve fucking years old. I have no friends left and then I lost you," the boy was fighting tears, Severus could see but he would not allow himself to feel pity.

"One house elf? No money? Look around you, Draco. This is all I have. All that is left."

"I just want someone to talk to . I want to help as good as I can," he whispered as he hid his face behind his hands. "It won't be much but I could just..."

"Don't degrade yourself. Go home, Draco. Don't come here again."

Draco shook his head, then stood up slowly and tiredly. "I want to come back. I will come back."

Severus shook his head as well. "No, Draco. I'm not a part of your world anymore."

"But I want to be a part of your world!" the boy shouted loudly.

There was shouting next door. Severus was arguing with another man. Couldn't be that Severus was gay, could it? No, she could usually spot that from a mile away. But he was still fighting with someone and that couldn't be good. Besides, Eleanor Callaghan was a terribly curious person and as she had pledged to support Severus, help him, take care of him, she did not like someone fighting with him. He was depressed enough as it was.

The steak pie was almost done and he had promised to come over. And if there was someone over, fighting with him, she would just remind him that she expected him. It was simple, really. Nobody lived in the house next to her. It was only her and Severus there and as she wiped her hands on her apron, she stepped outside on her little patio and took a deep breath.

"Severus!" she called. "Lunch's ready." He would hear her. He was constantly airing the old house and after years of neglect, it was probably necessary and so, his door stood open a little. "Severus!" she called again and waited. Waited a little more. She huffed loudly. That boy needed a firm hand. He needed food and he knew where to get it. He had to know that she expected him to be on time though. And she was terribly curious. She was just about to shout for the third time, when a blonde boy stuck his head out of the door.

"And you are?" she asked, surprised. He was about the same age the two other children had been the day before. But he didn't look one bit like Severus. Silvery blonde hair, grey eyes and a rather posh looking face.

"I'm Draco Malfoy. I'm Severus Snape's godson," he said, tired eyes looking at her. Something, she thought, had happened. The two children she had seen the day before had not looked happy, and that boy looked even unhappier. And he looked like he needed a good serving of steak pie as well. Wherever Severus had been, whatever he had done, it had not been healthy.

"Godson, now. Interesting. Could you kindly tell your...ah Severus, there you are. Lunch's ready and why don't you bring your godson with you? Draco Malfoy? Are you French?"

8. Structural Ambiguity

Structural Ambiguity:

Two different concepts can be expressed in the same surface structure form: "Annie had an umbrella and whacked a man with it'; and on the other hand, 'Annie whacked a man and the man happened to be carrying in umbrella.' Both of these can be expressed by the following: Annie whacked a man with an umbrella. This sentence is structurally ambigious. It has two different underlying interpretations which would be represented differently in the deep structure.Groucho Marx knew how to have fun with structural ambiguity. In the film 'Animal Crackers', he first says: One morning I shot an elephant in my pyjamas, then follows it with How he got into my pyjamas I'll never know. In the non-funny interpretation, the structural unit in my pyjamas is an addition, attached to the end of the structural unit I once shot an elephant. In the alternative (ho, ho) interpretation, the structural unit an elephant in my pyjamas is a necessary internal part of structure that would otherwise be incomplete, I once shot...Phrases can also be structurally ambigious, as when you come across an expression like old men and women. The underlying interpretation can by either old men plus old women or old men plus women (no age specified). The grammar will have to be capable of showing the structural distinction between these underlying representations.

(Yule, 1985)

The woman had a knack. Had a knack for reducing him to feeling like a boy and what was worse, a boy that listened and did as he was told. She had pushed plates in his hands and had told him to set the table. And he had done it. Didn't exactly know why but he had. And a moment later, Draco had followed him, cutlery in his hands. At least, he had thought, he wasn't alone in being utterly embarrassed by an old woman.

He could feel Draco's questioning glances. He could almost hear him thinking. He knew the boy wanted to ask and ask and ask and wanted answers. But he was in no position to give them. And really, what was so difficult to understand? He had been invited to a Saturday lunch with his neighbour. Who happened to be Irish and old and whose steak pie smelled heavenly. But Draco had probably never been in a Muggle house, apart from the one he had just left — Severus's house. Had probably never eaten food that hadn't been prepared by an house elf.

And for the first time since he had come back to Spinner's End, no, for the first time since the Aurors had pulled him from St Mungo's, no, for the first time since he had lain dying in the Shrieking Shack, he felt some sort of mirth inside himself. Some sort of glee. Oh, he wasn't happy that Draco was miserable. Not at all, for that, he liked the boy too much, but to being able to show him something new. Something simple, something that was not magical and at the same time, very magical. Steak pie in the house of an old woman who had used her two hands to make it. And oven that was run by electricity (or maybe, he hadn't taken a closer look), by gas or even fire. And, as he remembered the days when he had been a boy, and Mrs Callaghan's strict, Irish Roman Catholicism, a meal that would be not begin until they had said grace. Draco was in for a bigger shock, he knew, than he had been upon entering Snape's own, miserable little house.

"Take a seat, lads," she yelled from the kitchen and Severus, with one eyebrow arched up high, gestured for Draco to sit.

"You will behave," he hissed. "And keep the wand away."

The blond boy nodded silently. He was probably dumbstruck — his own fault, really, considering Severus had told him multiple times to get out of his house. Multiple times not to go and see who was shouting for him. And now the boy would be stuck there, inside this old-fashioned, quaint Muggle house, eating lunch with an old Irish Muggle and — well, him. And yet, Draco still didn't dare to utter a single syllable. Didn't dare to say a single word when Mrs Callaghan put the pie on the table, when she started handing out servings, when she sat down herself (with a groan) smiled.

"Severus, if you would?" she asked and Severus was glad in that moment, that there was no Occlumency hindering his way to his memories.

He nodded his consent and, as he remembered, bowed his head a little, his hands clasped and spoke softly. "Bless us, O Lord, and these thy gifts which we are about to receive from thy bounty, through Christ our Lord. Amen."

"Amen," echoed Mrs Callaghan and Severus did not truly dare to look up at Draco. This sort of thing had probably never happened to him. He had probably never seen it done before. "Tuck in, boys," said Mrs Callaghan then gently.

Severus did. The smell was like none other. It smelled like long buried memories of his mother, like the home he had before he had started showing signs of magic and after it, when his Father had not been home and before he had left, and as he slowly brought the fork up to his mouth, it looked like exactly that — then tasted exactly like that.

He glanced at the boy who seemed — well, not too changed altogether. It was probably acceptable for him to offer his help to a fallen hero in return of having someone to listen to — but it was something completely different to be stuck with a Muggle, having to eat Muggle food, having to listen to a prayer before a meal.

But then, Severus thought, something strange happened. Mrs Callaghan paused in her eating and looked sternly at Draco. "Eat, boy. I haven't made it to be stared at. It's good and you certainly could use an extra pound or two. Look at your godfather, he likes it," she said insistently and a split second later, as if he had been confounded, he took a forkful, chewed, swallowed and then — smiled. Smiled so brightly. Severus clearly did not want to wade too deep into marshes of memories, but the last time he could clearly remember Draco smiling like that had been before the boy had started Hogwarts. Before Lucius had begun to infiltrate him again and again with the Malfoy superiority. When he had been considered too young to understand it.

He took another forkful, then another. And another. "It tastes very good," he said, his mouth not quite empty, but not full either.