With quick resolve, she stretched her fingers on the keyboard. No mulling over it over tea. No waiting for an answer while having breakfast. No. She would email now, then study for the rest of the day. Forget about Draco and Snape and Snape and Snape and the boys' fishy behaviour (right — there had been something) and just study. Lose herself in her work. That's what she did best after all.
She nodded to herself, then typed quickly and left her bedroom and her laptop. She didn't need either of them for her workload.
.
Well. She had definitely slapped him hard. His left cheek had been rather more red than the flushed right one had already been after their embrace. His smile hadn't been quite as soppy as he had remembered seeing it before he had left, before the entire abduction but there had been a soppy smile nevertheless. And still, the boy had insisted, or Eleanor had insisted, or maybe both of them and Aideen, that his godson would sleep on his couch. Penance, after all, had to be served and on the sofa, too short for anyone to comfortably sleep on (as Severus could attest from few but enough midafternoon naps when he had just settled down with a book to read and his eyes had grown tired), was just the right sort of penance. At least for one or two nights before he would, indubitably, move back into Eleanor's house and his old room there.
Well. Severus smirked rather self-satisfied as he stretched in his bed early that morning. That had gone according to plan. The boy had had some more colour on his cheeks (even if one side was Aideen-induced) and he had looked more lively than before. He looked like a human being again, or had, last night. If Draco, though, was only a bit like himself, that morning would be full of self-discrimination, self-incrimination. Full of doubt again and, probably in Draco's case, arrogance.
Severus hoped he was wrong. He hoped that Draco would just be happy to be back, happy that the girl wasn't averse to continue their dalliance. And he hoped that Granger wasn't coming over. Or maybe, if Draco snapped back into Malfoy-Mode, it would be better if she did. Oh but if she was smart, she was staying away as he had told her to. He would most definitely tell her what he had told her — to stay away. But to be honest, he did not believe her to stay away. She was a nosy Gryffindor with a few...oh who was he kidding, he thought, as he pulled on some jeans and a jumper over his head, she had her qualities. Not that he found out yet precisely what they were. But there had to be some. He frowned.
She could apparate, even if her landings were a little off. Even if — hell yes, he could still feel her lying there. Which wasn't bad but he was a mad after all and those nights with Deveney hadn't even been that remarkable. Just a relief, really. And she had shown bravery. Great bravery in the face of whatever came towards her. He had to give that to her, albeit grudgingly (he convinced himself). Strange that she wasn't that much older than Aideen or Draco but could behave like she was ten years their seniors. Or ten years their junior. She had stopped, it seemed, almost with her know-it-allness. Had stopped waving her hand in the air — metaphorically speaking. Well, she wasn't truly Miss Granger in his eyes anymore. Not that she was Hermione — heaven forbid. Just Granger worked nicely. But she did have her qualities. The fact alone that she was trying to look for a counter-curse...whether he wanted it or not. She was head-strong, or, in other words, stubborn. But she clearly cared about Aideen and about his godson as well. And she had...he groaned. Now he was even trying to list all her good characteristics.
Shaking his head, he walked very quietly down the stairs, his feet in the black socks barely making a sound on the old steps. He did not want to risk waking him up. He didn't want to see whatever mood he was in before he had a cup of tea.
No, a quick look into the living room showed the boy curled up on the couch, one of his pillows clutched to the boy's chest, hast asleep. Severus only took hold of the laptop, because clearly, if Granger didn't show up, she would email (of that, he was certain), and because it was usually a good idea to check if any of the lectures he had had been cancelled and an email about that had been sent. Silently, he put the kettle on and switched on the laptop as he bustled and threw a teabag into his mug.
Waiting for the water to boil and the laptop to be ready, he tried to stand as still as possibly. Draco was out there sleeping, he had written an owl to Lucius and had received no answer, Eleanor had almost cried when she had seen her granddaughter and his godson embracing and for a brief moment, just before she had ushered Aideen back home as well, she had embraced him, too. He shouldn't admit to that, and he probably shouldn't even feel that way, but he enjoyed it. Every time, Eleanor embraced him, told him she loved him, smiled at him, a part of him wanted to lean in, wanted some more, wanted to ask for more. Such as it was, he was known to be a cold, unfeeling bastard (well, those people who had known him from his former life would say so at least) who couldn't stand being touched or to touch. As a matter of fact, he wasn't even sure that was true. Eleanor had given him more life in the past year than his mother had given him all his life. More than he had been given all his life. More than he could have ever imagined being given. Eleanor was...she was the reason he wanted to stay a Muggle. And she was the reason he didn't. He wanted to make her feel better, had noticed the way she had walked, had noticed the way she pressed her hand on her back. Had noticed how slow she was from time to time. It wasn't anything very obvious. It wasn't that she suddenly stopped and gasped or let a pan or pot fall from her hands. It wasn't that she was particularly frail but he knew she was in pain.
And for that, he wanted his magic back. To ease her pain.
Besides, he never wanted to try side-along apparition with Granger again. Even if it meant...feeling her thighs so close again.
Rolling his eyes, he poured the boiling water of his teabag and opened his emails.
Yes. Yes, of course. She couldn't wait. She had probably discussed with herself, upon waking, or the night before, to come over. She had probably considered, and had heeded his warning. Had most likely made at least a mental list. Had thought and thought and had come to the conclusion, after a while, that it was better she waited the time he had proposed. He had to remember to get up a bit earlier the next morning though — she would probably be standing on his doorstep at six thirty this time. Or tell Draco to get in touch with her before she could invade his house again. He would have to retaliate one of these days. Get to where she lived these days very early in the morning. Very, very early.
He shook his head and swiftly opened her email. He had to get this over with before he could think about her even more. She was taking up too much space in his mind as it was. Her being courageous upon seeing Malfoy Manor. Her acting on his command when it was necessary and obeying without questioning him. He appreciated those qualities. It wasn't that she had kept quiet, she had, as far as he remembered, offered her own advice, often unbidden, but in the end and when it was important, she had done as he had said.
She had trusted him.
That thought hit him low in the stomach. It was like a punch meant to hurt, like a punch that was supposed to send you to your knees. She had trusted him. She trusted him still, probably. She trusted him. Granger trusted him. Trust.
He knew that Eleanor, Aideen, their family, they trusted him. They, apart from Eleanor, didn't know his entire story, he was just the neighbour, and Eleanor was a kind soul, so it wasn't hard to trust. But Granger? Why should Granger trust him? Him. He had done absolutely nothing in his life to earn the trust of any people. He had fought, he had done what had been the orders of others. He had obeyed and he had never expected to be trusted. The trust he knew stemmed in Legilimency and his ability to occlude his real thoughts, his true thoughts — and, as far as he could see that now, wasn't any real trust at all.
Eleanor trusted him to bring back some food for her when he went to the shops. Aideen trusted him to keep her save on the way to Uni and back. And Granger — Granger had trusted him.
He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Granger trusted him. Swallowing, he opened his eyes again and a smirk crept across his features as he read the email she had written.
Snape,
I must admit that I was very surprised to hear that Draco is back with you (or not you? Mrs Callaghan? Aideen?) and I would naturally like to hear the entire story but you probably won't tell me, will you? I'd very much like to see him but I am rather busy today and probably tomorrow as well but I could make the time before my first lecture tomorrow morning which will start at nine. Would that be convenient for him? Could you let me know?
Best,
Granger
Ah well. He pulled the teabag from his mug and before he could add any milk to his tea, his fingers flew over the keyboard.
Granger,
tomorrow morning will be alright.
He paused for a moment. Deep inside, he knew his answer but he wasn't sure whether he was ready to admit it yet. Admit it to himself, admit it to her. Admit it to anyone. But he knew his answer. He had it. It was there. It was clear. If he wanted to...keep his life the way it was, if he wanted this to continue for years to come...if he...He had to. He had to. He would face the consequences when it came to it. He would deal with it. He would find a way. He had always found a way. He would find one now. And he wasn't alone. Despite everything, he had Eleanor and he had maybe even his godson and Aideen. Granger trusted him. She would accept his answer. Even if he wasn't ready to admit that he knew it yet.
Without writing anything more, he clicked on send.
.
Ever since the moment Draco had been woken by his godfather typing on the laptop, he hadn't been able to think clearly. He couldn't decide whether he was more than happy to be back where he had been happiest, or angry at the way it had happened. He had been forced, yes, but his godfather, and some part of him was grateful, had seen that he hadn't been himself back at his former home and even the minute couch in Severus's minute living room had felt more like home than his gargantuan room at the Manor. Nobody played golf there, nobody learned how to ride a horse and nobody sat at a table for twenty when there were only two people. His Uncle Severus's table in the kitchen was only big enough for two mugs and two plates. Mrs Callaghan's table could hold maybe six if pressed tightly against one another. It wasn't conceited and it wasn't all shallow and yet, he knew that this wasn't truly where be belonged either. He didn't belong in the Manor anymore and neither did he belong there. His godfather had not made him talk, Mrs Callaghan had only hugged him tightly and Aideen's embrace was something he had longed — secretly — to feel since the last time he had experienced it. He wasn't sure what to do, what to feel.
All day long, he hadn't known. He had no better idea than to stay and he certainly didn't want to lose her again. She had kissed him with a vigour he had never believed possible. She had kissed him again. Had slapped him, yes, but barely twelve hours afterwards, she had kissed him and neither Severus nor Mrs Callaghan had raised any sort of protests.
It had all changed, or maybe he had changed and he wasn't sure what he felt or how he was supposed to feel and he hated to admit it but maybe, just maybe, he would have to make discreet enquiries with Granger when she'd come over. The next morning, as his godfather had informed him. Stupid woman, Granger. Always eager to work out something for Snape but at least, and that brought a smirk on his face as he lay curled up on his godfather's couch again (too small the damned thing), he would find out whether she was still gushing about him when he was present.
73. The Generic Masculine
The concept of the generic masculine is frequently extended to cover corresponding phenomena on the the lexical level such as Engl. man 'male, human', metaphorical expressions like Engl. brotherhood, fraternise, Germ. Väter der Grundgesetzes 'fathers of the constitution'.
Over the last twenty years, the generic masculine has become the focus of the feminist critique of language. Linguists pointed to the far-reaching consequences of the male/human-ambiguity inherent in masculine generics: women can be excluded from important rights almost at will. [...]
It was the ideology behind the generic masculine rather than these practical consequences, that the critics attacked, because the generic masculine expresses, confirms, and also evokes the view that women are the secondary sex, are less important and less representitive of 'mankind'. Bodine (1975) who demonstrates how the generic masculine was proscribed and alternatives suppressed in prescriptive grammar speaks of MAN as 'andocentrism'. Silveira (1080) points out that MAN implies not only a 'people=male bias' but also its reverse, a male=people bias. [...]
Are women human beings? In this overt form, the question sounds bizarre today, but is has been discussed quite seriously in the past. At a council held in Mâcon in 585, e.g., a bishop claimed that women could not be called 'man'. This point was not only put forward as a philological problem pertaining to the extension of the lexeme 'man' (homo=, but also as a theological question pertaining to the human nature and the existence of a soul in women.
(Braun, 1997)
The tea was made. He had showered, Draco had showered and they were both — waiting. Sitting in the kitchen, waiting. Not that Granger had said anything about a specific time, nor had he told her to be there at a specific time but he had explained to Draco, in no uncertain terms, that he had to be up at six thirty the latest and the boy, pale and with dark circles underneath his eyes as if he hadn't slept, had obeyed. Not that he had explained precisely why he had to be up, but the boy had been — good. He didn't look much better — honestly — than he had at Malfoy Manor. Maybe, slightly. His eyes had a brighter sparkle but other than that, the distinct paleness and especially the dark circles were worrying. Severus knew he had to deal with that sooner rather than later but only after Granger's visit. She should get her shot first. She could whip him back into shape. Undoubtedly arriving with at least three books tucked underneath her arm or in that horrendous book bag she had constantly slung over her shoulder back at Hogwarts. No doubt she would swamp Draco with so much work that he couldn't even think about what being back there implied and what it would mean to him and his family. Was there a family? Probably not. Or probably Malfoy Manor — or the place where that possible, presumable Horseface lived — was swamped with horsefaced children, greys, he thought, smirking. And Draco's mother — not truly available, wandering around the world without, probably, a care in the world. Draco was best put there with people who loved him — Eleanor, Aideen and someone who took care of him and well, liked him. Him. Ah, well, he might just as well admit to feeling some sort of affections towards his godson. It wasn't forbidden and it wasn't wrong. He wanted his godson to be fine. He wanted to see his godson well cared for. And Granger could kick him into shape again. Granger with the help of, well, him. He would tell him. Now. Soon. With Granger present. He wasn't sure which.
