"Who says so?" fumed Hermione. "Who says so? Seriously, Mrs Weasley. I don't know what right you have to say those things to me and how you can judge that."
"You're a witch," she said coldly.
"Yes, so? I'm a witch. As far as I know, Severus Snape was a wizard and a brilliant one at that and he manages very well living amongst Muggles."
"How do you know?" she asked suddenly and Hermione slapped herself internally. Harry and Ron had been sworn to secrecy and neither of those two knew how hard she worked with Draco. She hadn't told anyone. Had even lied to Professor Vector. And now she had...argh. Mentioned him.
"I know. I'm friends with his neighbour's granddaughter. Not that it matters. What..." she shook her head. "Thank you for the meal, Mrs Weasley. Tell Harry and Ron that I went home," she continued before she turned around, ignoring that the older woman shouted something after her and apparated as soon as it was possible.
.
He hadn't said that he would come but as he drove through a what was probably a new layer of wards — and wasn't stopped (not even the car was affected in any way), he could see a blonde head standing at the front steps, his arms by his side and his back ramrod straight. They had drilled the boy. They hadn't let him have a childhood.
Eleanor had been the first person to hug him. Eleanor had given him the love that he needed and Aideen had given him the love that he wanted. But that was another Draco — different from the one that stood there. The sixth-year-Draco seemed to be back and Severus could judge that by his posture alone. Worries too heavy for such young shoulders to carry were trying to press him down and he fought against them with all the strength and determination he could find in himself. He should be hugged by Eleanor and kissed by Aideen and not act as head of the family when his father was out gallivanting with some Muggle woman — possibly Deveney. His cast-off. Well. Draco should...
That wasn't what he had come for but he would possibly drag the boy away. He would drag him back to Manchester and back to Eleanor and back into Eleanor's house and he didn't care one whit whether Aideen didn't like it. Or if she did, he would have to sleep on his couch. But he needed to get away from this place and the madness it entailed.
Somehow, somewhere deep inside, he felt in that moment an inexplicable rush of affection towards his godson. The poor boy. He needed love otherwise he would end up like...just like him. He was still young enough to be loved and to be moulded by those who loved and if he missed that now...
Simple. He would order him to come with him. And if that didn't work, he would drag him out by his collar and lock him in the car until they were back home.
That posture...it wasn't healthy. It wasn't what a young man should look like. What he had looked like himself. At Draco's age...he had...no. That boy would have a better life than him. End of story.
He unfastened his seatbelt and unfolded himself from the minute car. It was either apparition or a bigger car. He would have cramp in his back by the time he returned back home. Most certainly.
"Uncle Severus, we weren't expecting you," said Draco, coming towards him with a slight bow of his head. Ever the pureblood. He would get that out of him. Drag him away.
"It would have been most worrisome if you did, Draco, since I didn't know that I would come until about two hours ago myself," he said just as politely. "I need to talk to your father briefly and then I'd like a word with you if you're agreeable?"
"Yes," said Draco stiffly, "I will be upstairs in my room, Father is in the library."
As he followed the boy, he was astounded by how different he looked. Draco was pale beyond comparison, had dark circles around his eyes and he walked so straight that Severus was afraid he'd break something. He only received a short nod from his godson before the boy trod up the stairs and Severus paused quickly before he knocked on the door to the library.
The boy was deeply unhappy. Working too much and not having a loving home to return to. He had to change that. Felt compelled to change that — didn't know why — but he would carry him out if he had to. After he talked to Lucius.
69. Truth Conditional Semantics
To know the meaning of a sentence is to know its truth-conditions. If I say to you:
(1) There is a bag of potatoes in my pantry
you may not know whether was I said is true. What you do know, however, is what the world would have to like for it to be true. There has to be a bag of potatoes in my pantry. The truth of (1) can come about in ever so many ways. The bag may be paper of plastic, big or small. It may be sitting on the floor or hiding behind a basket of onions on the shelf. The potatoes may come from Idaho or Northern Maine. There may even be more than a single bag. Change the situation as you please. As long as there is a bag of potatoes in my pantry, sentence (1) is true.
(Heim, Kratzer, 1998)
He felt like he was seated or directed to his seat by a gesturing Lucius who wore the stupidest grin on his face. Severus had never, not once in his life, not once since he had known Lucius, and that had been...a long time.
"Severus," he said when he had put himself into a slightly worn, threadbare armchair.
"Lucius," he replied because, well, there was nothing else to say.
"What brings you here today?"
Severus knew that this was not going to be a pleasant conversation. This was not going to be chit chat amongst old friends. For one, he wasn't sure whether Lucius was his friend — and never had been sure of that particular fact — and he knew that Lucius knew that he hadn't just driven through half of England for pleasant chit chat.
"I must admit," he began slowly and decided that, if he used a rather direct approach, something worthy of a Gryffindor rather than a Slytherin, Lucius might expect something else coming and might, just might, answer him honestly, "that I find myself curious about your project with, shall we say, extending your family?"
"Draco told you that I'm seeing a Muggle then?" the man asked, his grin morphing into a smirk. "Indeed I am."
"A date set, yet?" asked Severus sarcastically.
"Not quite yet, no," Malfoy smirked still. "But once I do, I will have killed two crups with one stone, dear Severus."
"Oh?"
"Quite right, quite right. Not only will there be fresh blood in the family but the vault at Gringott's will be, let's say, find itself extended again as well."
.
Hermione kicked her wardrobe. She kicked it hard. She stubbed her toe but she didn't care because...how in the name of everything that was good, bad, ugly, holy and all the other adjectives that she could think of, could that woman presume, could that woman dare to say such things about her life? She was happy in her life. More or less. More than less, actually. And Molly Weasley, with her holier than thou — no, that wasn't right, with her better than Muggle, suitable bachelor as a son attitude had just...tried to violate what plans she had made for her life.
Not that there were many plans but who cared? She had at least two more years of Uni to go, she felt absolutely no rush to marry just about anyone, much less a Weasley, and if she went to work somewhere afterwards, it was most certainly not for the Ministry and most certainly not for St Mungo's or any other Wizarding institution. She would most certainly not slave away for people who didn't understand, nor appreciate what she did. Definitely, a hundred percent, not. The Wizarding World always forgot so quickly — and she didn't want to do good and do good and do good all her life only to have to end up like Snape because she made one mistake. Most certainly not.
She wasn't sure about a Muggle court and she wasn't sure about the laws in a Muggle court but Snape with what he had done and what he had to do in his line of duty, in his profession as a spy, he wouldn't have been sent out to a completely new country, a new life. What had happened to him was almost like sending him to a colony.
No, she was not going to work for such idiots. Rather stay in the Muggle world.
Hermione was angry and for good measure, kicked against the wardrobe once more.
"Hermione?" she heard from downstairs and groaned upon noticing Harry's voice. If Mrs Weasley had told everyone that she had just taken off, well, that was no if, that was a most certainly, he would have come home straight and ask her. Good Harry. Never exactly knowing which side to take, hers or the Weasleys. Apart from that one time when both of them had just broken up with one of them and...water under the bridge.
"I'm up here," she shouted back, and wanted to kick the wardrobe just in the moment that Kreacher popped, quite unannounced, into her room. She hit nearly missed the wardrobe and hit it only with the side of her foot, and she let out a yelp of pain.
"Mistress Not-Of-Pure-Blood is destroying good Black furniture. Mistress will not like that. Mistress will not like that at all."
"Ouch," was all Hermione could say to that, sinking to the floor and holding her right, hurt foot to herself, cradling the leg as if it were a baby.
"Mistress Not-Of-Pure-Blood should not have destroyed good Black furniture. Hurting foot is penalty," the elf grumbled.
"I didn't destroy it, damnit."
"Hermione?" Harry pushed the door open, little Ted sitting on his arm and playing with his godfather's ear.
"What?" she snapped, looking up angrily.
"Erm, Kreacher, would you please bring us some...erm, tea...no, make that Irish coffee. I think Hermione needs it. And a bit of milk for Ted?"
"Certainly, Master Harry Half-Potter. Kreacher will go," the elf bowed and popped away.
"And?" asked Harry, setting the toddler on the floor who crawled — immediately — to her.
"What, and? Mrs Weasley always, always, always has to give advice, doesn't she? She always has to hand in her two pennies. She always has to. Whether you ask her for it or not, she has to tell you what is best for you. And I haven't spend a lot of time in that house lately. Nothing except that one time when she wanted to set me up with Charlie before. Then she tells me that I should help her with the bloody housework which, by the way, she can do perfectly well on her own because she's a witch and doesn't even need half a minute, and tells me that I should stop studying maths because it's only just minus and plus and stuff. That's a direct quote, by the way. And she probably expected me to stay and say 'Yes, ma'am, whatever you say, Mrs Weasley. Your wish, my command.'" She ran out of steam and watched for a moment how Ted, in his little baby-way, tried to imitate her and managed to flop on his back while cradling his leg.
"No, Harry. For a very long time, I wasn't even in contact with him and now it's only sporadic and she thinks she knows what's best for me? Because I am getting on and I should find a husband before it's too late."
Harry had listened silently and the moment Kreacher arrived with the milk and the Irish coffee (sometimes Harry did have good ideas), he took it from the ancient elf and sat down on the floor with her and Ted and looked at her intently.
"And if you say, Harry Potter, that she only means well, you might as well say nothing. I bloody know that she means well but it's still none of her bloody business."
"Maybe," he said slowly, "you should keep the swearing to a minimum when Teddy's with you?"
"Is that all you can say?" she asked shrilly.
"No, but I'd have said that Molly Weasley means well and that you shouldn't take her seriously because what kind of power does she have over you? It doesn't look like she's going to be your mother-in-law, so just accept what she said and move on. Not running away though, Mrs Weasley takes badly to being ran away from and I had to listen to her tirade on and on."
"Was she saying that I was ungrateful?" she snapped, slurping the hot beverage and feeling the slight buzz on her tongue, calming her somewhat. But only somewhat.
"Amongst other things," he sighed and held out the sippy cup for Ted who crawled towards him and settled comfortably against Harry's chest with a broad grin on his face.
"He's happy."
"Yes, he is," smiled Harry. "And you're not changing the topic."
"I wasn't going to. I'm just saying how happy he is with you here. I mean..."
"Of course my little Teddy is happy, aren't you, little one?" he looked at the boy leaning against him sipping with his help and gurgling a bit of nonsense.
"It was the best decision you made taking him in."
"Of course it was. Orphanage? Some weird relatives? I'm his godfather. And it's my...you are changing the topic."
.
"Viscountess what?"
"Brackley. Viscountess Brackley. She's twenty-five and in the best years for breeding," he said with the same grin he had worn before. This was insane. It wasn't Deveney at all. Lucius had set his sights on some orphaned Viscountess who lived in the neighbourhood — or had the neighbouring estate or something like that. A Viscountess. Of course Lucius would not go for a mere professor when he could have nobility. Severus knew that he could barely keep his mouth from dropping open and from him looking rather unintelligent at that moment but Lucius had, what he called, an understanding with that Viscountess. Brackley. Gwendolyn, as he had been informed. Gwendolyn who was, with her twenty-five obviously the best age for breeding.
Severus couldn't contain himself. "Are you insane?" he asked, trying to keep his voice as calm as possible.
"No, dear Severus, I am not insane. I am doing what I can to ensure the continued existence of my family. And with Draco going mad, I cannot..."
"Draco going mad?" he interrupted as smoothly as possible.
"Ah, he's always moping around here and not talking much and keeping to his room and not at all interested in meeting the Viscountess's cousin and..."
"I would like to speak to him," he said quickly. This was too insane for words. He had stepped into an alternate universe. A universe in which Lucius Malfoy, defender of the faith of Purebloodism found himself a Muggle girlfriend (or a woman with whom he had 'an understanding'), planned on marrying her for the sake of her money and her ability to breed strong, healthy heirs (and who probably looked like a horse as well — or maybe that was just his prole paternal upbringing with a healthy dislike of everything with a title), was going hunting with them and who had dropped the Muggle-repelling charms for the first time in about seven centuries for her. Who had met his future wife while golfing. Lucius Malfoy, former defender of the faith of Purebloodism had golf clubs in his library. It was too surreal to be true.
