well, I think I'd have to go to Hogwarts and check the library there but I think I might have an idea. I think Professor Vector mentioned something in Arithmancy. I'll go on Monday and see you on Tuesday then?

Hermione.

November 3rd, 1999

From: Hermione Granger

To: Severus Snape

Subject: What did he say?

Snape,

what did Draco say to you about me?

November 4th, 1999

From: Severus Snape

To: Hermione Granger

Subject: RE: What did he say

He said you were gushing about me.

66. Force Dynamics

Force dynamics, furthermore, plays a structuring role across a range of language level. First, it has direct grammatical representation. In English, our main language of demonstration, such representation appears not only in subsets of conjunctions, prepositions, and other closed-class elements but, most significantly, also as the semantic category that most uniquely characterises the grammatical category of modals as a whole, both in their basic and in their epistemic usages. Force-dynamic patterns are also incorporated in open-class lexical items and can be seen to bring many of these together into systematic relationship. Lexical items involved in this way refer not only to physical force interactions but, by metaphoric extension, also to psychological and social interactions, conceived in terms of psychosocial 'pressures'. In addition, force-dynamic principles can be seen to operate in discourse, preeminently in directing patterns of argumentation, but also in guiding discourse expectations and their reversal.

(Talmy, 2000)

It wasn't — usually — her character to shout obscenities at the top of her voice. But this fine evening, with the full moon out and the laptop fully charged, a new order on Amazon just sent away, she couldn't help it. Not even the thought of those books, those ten books that would arrive the next day or, at the latest, the day after that, could stop her from shouting the worst words known to man into the otherwise so silent and serene air.

She knew Ted was asleep two door away from her and she knew that Ron was in his room across the hall, and that Harry was either in his room, between her and Ted, or in the library, which was only a short walk away as well. Another two doors down, actually. She didn't care about any of that.

That stupid sneaky rat. That bloody bastard. That pureblooded son of a ...well, witch, obviously.

She hadn't gushed.

She had mentioned him, once or twice, but had definitely not gushed. Gushed. Pfh. Not her. She did not gush in any case. Not about anyone or anything. Well, maybe about a new book she loved. Or about, well, any book. But not about people. She did not gush about people. She had never gushed about anyone. At all.

Hence, when she read that email, when she could see his smirk almost oozing from the few words he had written, she had to swear and curse and shout. And she decided, when she read that email again and again, that she would, most certainly, punch Draco. Break his aristocratic nose and wipe that smirk that he was, undoubtedly, wearing as well, off his face.

And Snape...how dare he write that? Well, she had brought it on herself when Draco hadn't been able to stop his insinuations. When he hadn't been able to stop smirking whenever they had talked about Snape. And what they did together was about Snape after all. It wasn't as if they were working in a vacuum or for a vacuum. They were doing this for Snape, they were figuring out a way to get Snape his magic back. Not for anyone, for Snape. They had to talk about him, naturally. If they didn't talk about him...well. They had to. And she didn't gush.

Alright, so, to herself, she could admit that...Hermione sighed. No, she couldn't admit to anything.

She shook her head to herself. He was Snape and she wasn't gushing and she hadn't been gushing. She was working towards the aim that he could do magic again. No other aim and she was probably the last person to have a gain from this. Well, Draco obviously had — getting his godfather back into his world again and being able to sneer with him about stupid Muggles and Muggleborns. Okay, so maybe Snape wouldn't do that. But Draco — he was...he accepted her, yes, because he knew she was a bright mind and that she could help his godfather but other than that — nothing. He wore robes all the time, he refused to even acknowledge anything Muggle she mentioned. And when she said Aideen or Eleanor, his face grew hard and his voice cold. If he said anything at all. Mostly he just tried to stare her down with his eyes grown icy and flinty.

She would most certainly mention them hourly now, if not more often. If he told Snape that she gushed about him — she would get her revenge that way.

"Hermione?" there was a knock on the door and she huffed.

"Come in," she groaned, blushing slightly — sure that her two and a half flatmates had heard her outburst.

"You okay?" a red head became visible between the door and its frame and looked around very carefully.

"Sorry, yeah. I just had..." she shrugged and sighed.

"You know you can talk to me, right?" asked he and opened the door a bit wider and stepped in. "You're still as tidy as ever. Everywhere but your desk," he chuckled.

"Well, you know me," she replied.

"So what's on your mind? What's got into you to have you swearing like a sailor?"

"Nothing," she laughed, a little strained, and rubbed her hand over her face, paying special attention to her tiring eyes.

Ron arched his eyebrows and sat himself down on her bed, playing idly with his fingers while he looked at her. "Hermione..." he said in that tone of voice that she remember so well from her time at school. And afterwards. It wasn't quite whiny, it wasn't quite complaining, it was only Ron wanting to get information. Only Ron trying to bribe it out of her.

"You know that I'm working on a project, right?"

He shook his head. "No, I dint."

"Well, I am. And I have to work with someone that I don't, well, I like him as a friend but he can be terribly annoying..."

"You're not working with me or Harry, are you?" he quipped, his eyes twinkling almost happily.

"No, but the principle is the same," she laughed out loud. "And he said something to someone we both know and both of them understood it wrong and it just was...it's just annoying, really."

She tried to wave it off, when, at the same time, she knew it wasn't just annoying. It was more. Even if she couldn't admit it to herself.

He seemed to understand that she didn't want to talk to him about the stuff that had her cursing that loudly and shrugged himself. "So..."

"So..." she suddenly wasn't sure what to talk to Ron about and smiled rather insecurely at him. She hadn't really been alone with him for a long time. Not until the day he had ended things with her, really. Strange that. They had been so close almost all their lives from age eleven and then, suddenly, it had all stopped. From one minute to the next, they had behaved like strangers.

Now, it was strange to see him sitting on her bed and talking to her and her alone. Without Harry present, or Harry and Teddy present. Or anyone else.

"Hermione...you don't me living here, do you?" he asked, the tips of his ears blushing a pretty pink.

"No, of course not," she shook her head viciously.

"Is there...I mean, you seemed a bit distracted lately and Harry and I wondered if there was maybe something, or someone, on your mind...?"

She shook her head again, smiling. "No, it's this project I'm working on and uni and you know what I'm like, Ronald."

"You're overworking yourself," he said with an air of finality. "We're going to the Burrow tomorrow and you will get on a broom and..."

"I hate brooms..."

"You will get on a broom and fly the worries away," he grinned.

"Ronald..."

"No, really," he grinned again. "It will clear your head. And your sinuses. And shut that tap-lop off."

"Laptop," she replied, pretending to be exasperated and watched him as he stood up from her bed and smiled at her cheekily. With a pang in her heart, she realised suddenly that she missed the interaction with her two best friends. She missed sitting down with Harry and Ron and talking to them, confiding in them, hearing their side of things, even if it was a bit stupid and not quite thought out. Even if they weren't in the least bit pragmatic, even if they were constantly seeming to rush into things.

"And you will tell me or Harry if there are any problems?" he asked, half out of her door again.

There it was — a warmth blossoming in her chest that she remembered from her first year at Hogwarts. A feeling she had first had when Harry and Ron had rushed to her side when she had hid in that lav and that troll was about to eat her. That moment when she had realised that someone had come to help her. To warn her. When she had realised that she had friends. It was the same feeling. The same one she experienced now and she couldn't help herself in that moment.

Hermione shot up from the chair she had sat on and darted towards Ron who was already on his way out of the door and pulled him back in the room, flinging her arms around his neck and hugged him almost violently.

"I will," she whispered in his ear, revelling in the fact that he could hug her just as tightly as she hugged him.

Severus smirked at his empty email inbox. That had — effectively — shut her up. Well, it would, wouldn't it? Nobody liked it if they...well. It was Draco's fault in the first place for mentioning it. And Draco was a Slytherin, he wouldn't have mentioned it if he hadn't thought this entire thing carried some significance.

He had thought and thought and thought since he had got that email about what this could possibly mean, what Draco wanted to say if that wasn't the truth but Granger writing him inquiring about it — it sort of proved to him that she had indeed — gushed — about him. What a strange word to use, really. Gush. He had looked it up — his new linguistic self had made him do it, really and he had got that from the bloody dictionary: if words or emotions gush from you, you unexpectedly express them very strongly.

Well. That had been a strange pill to swallow.

Granger gushing about him.

Why should she? He had pondered and pondered and pondered. He had contemplated. He had thought and he hadn't come to any conclusion. He had, mostly, thought that his godson had only written this to sort of disturb him in his peace and quiet but Granger had confirmed. More or less. And her not answering his email confirmed it even more.

But — if he knew Granger in any way, she would be on his doorstep first thing in the morning. She would stand there and her cheeks would have a healthy colour and her fists would be pushed into her sides so her waist would have little dents from her fingers. Not that she had a fat or so waist. Quite the contrary but she would push her fists that hard there...well.

He had had time, in between essays and meeting with professors who were clearly not Dr Deveney (and who were, mostly, still of the opinion that he should rather rush his studies and begin teaching first semesters), to think about the main question as well.

The main question was not whether Granger had truly gushed about him — but why his godson and her spent time together at all. The first answer he had was too simple to be true. And he never really suspected that they truly liked one another and that they hadn't become close friends.

After a day or two, he had another answer and that seemed more plausible, especially since he had — evidence. Granger had never once mentioned the book with the Dark Curse anymore. Granger had never once said anything about him getting — possibly — his magic back. And if she had somehow, got hold of the book and if she couldn't figure it out herself, the next best person to ask, the one with the most extensive library of potentially Dark books on hand was — his godson.

So...if Draco Malfoy and Granger worked together for him...

He had thought about that as well and he had talked to Eleanor about it and he knew, clear as day, that he wasn't sure whether he truly wanted it back. He knew that Eleanor wanted for him to be happy. And he knew that Eleanor would be happy if he just stayed, whether he was magical or not.

He himself...he missed brewing, he could admit that, and he knew that Eleanor was over eighty. He knew her back ached and he knew her feet ached and he knew that sometimes, she had trouble sleeping and that she couldn't see all that well anymore. She had days when she forgot things easily. It didn't happen often or regularly, but there were days when she stood in front of the fridge and forgot what she had wanted. Happened to everyone, he supposed but happened to her more often. And he knew he could stop at least a few of those ageing symptoms with the right potions. He could stop her from being in pain. And he could, probably, even prolong her life.

If he had his magic.

If he had his magic, the Ministry would probably be on his back again. Every time he would go to get potions ingredients, he would be stared at, would be under close scrutiny. If they let him keep it. If they didn't snap his wand again. If they allowed him a wand.

And that was the kind of hurt he never wanted to feel again.

Besides, he had done so much damage with his magic that he probably shouldn't be given it back. He had killed. He had tortured. He had taken lives. And only because he now only wanted to prolong lives — didn't mean he deserved it.

Severus shut down his computer, Granger wouldn't email back anyhow, and slowly walked up the stairs to his bedroom. He couldn't think about this anymore. He didn't want to even think about the possibility anymore.

It was early and she knew she would probably wake him but she had promised Ron to go to the Burrow, and to go flying, and so she had to do this. She had to make sure he knew that Draco had told him utter rot. It wasn't true that she had gushed about him. She had mentioned him, had maybe talked about him but gushed implied...

stronger feelings.

Feelings she...well. She (a) didn't have and (b) wouldn't admit to having even if she had them. It was simply. And it was only an apparition away and if she knew Mrs Callaghan well enough, she would even get breakfast once she was discovered to be there. It was all rather simple, she thought, as she tiptoed through the quiet house, down, out of the door and on the doorstep. Even the square in front of Grimmauld Place was still empty and she didn't feel in the least bit nervous or strange or something. Ah, a bit, maybe, but it was early and she had slept badly. She would just go and tell him that it had all been a mistake and that Draco had just made himself more important — once more — and pretended to know something which he didn't. He didn't know anything. They had worked together. Nothing more, nothing less, and they had...