Clearing his throat, he straightened, taking a calculating look at the boy. The circles were — almost black.
"Hm?" asked Draco, looking back at him.
"You haven't slept," stated Severus, squinting at his godson.
"No," replied the boy. "Your couch is tiny."
"The floor is bigger. You could have slept on the floor," he sneered.
The boy growled. "And I could have slept in my bed over there but that's utterly beside the point."
"There is a point of you complaining about the couch being too small?"
"You know that that wasn't the important matter," he huffed and stuck his nose in his cup of tea.
"It wasn't?" asked Severus, pretending to be surprised.
"You know very well that it wasn't, Uncle Severus," he hissed the title. "Don't try to play me. I used to be a Slytherin as well."
"I'm not playing you, Draco. I gave you a square chance of going back home..."
"After shoving me in the car," he interrupted.
"Yes, because I wanted to talk to you," he sighed. "And you can still leave now."
The young man shot him a calculating glance, just as he had done earlier and a moment later, he sighed himself. "Why did I have to get up so early?"
"According to the circles around your eyes and your statement earlier, godson, you didn't sleep at all, so it shouldn't have mattered."
"But..."
Severus watching him as he struggled for words, then took a leaf from Eleanor's book and refreshed his tea while waiting quietly. The boy wasn't sure what he wanted. The boy knew he had a choice and he didn't know which was the right one. Well, as long as he stayed there, they had the chance to make sure he picked that one, and wasn't going back to Lucius, Horseface and the future greys. Granger would certainly agree with him and he knew that Aideen was more than happy the boy was back, and so was Eleanor. Grudgingly, he admitted that he felt some sort of contentment to have his godson back as well. Not under his control, not where he could see him, but where he knew that the boy had the grand chance of being smothered in love.
He had wanted to wait until Draco was ready to speak but the damn Granger woman was too busy ringing his doorbell and escaping Draco. Well, he would have to postpone telling Draco about his decision. Would make it simpler anyhow if he and Granger heard it at the same time.
.
Hermione straightened the hem of her t-shirt and made sure the cardy sat straight on her, that the jeans were there entirely, that her feet and shoes on her feet were where they were supposed to be. And, this time, she had taken a precaution and pulled a small compact mirror from her book bag and peered, curiously, into it. It was all there. Eyebrows, eyelashes, eyes, hair, a little windswept, lines on forehead, lips, ears. Head where it belonged. Everything there. No need for him to laugh at her. Even though...she wouldn't mind hearing him laugh again. Not at her, but at something. Anything but her. Or smile. Seeing him smile would be...
She pushed those thoughts firmly to the back of her head, stuffed them in a box and rang the doorbell. It was half past eight. It was not too early and she still had about an hour or so before she had to apparate to York and to Uni. That would be enough time, plenty, really, to talk to Draco and take a long, good look at Snape. Or maybe even talk to him for a bit. Maybe he had already made up his mind about his magic. And if he decided against it...no, she didn't want to think about that possibility. If he decided against it — she had absolutely no reason to see him again. Well, in passing if she went to see Aideen, or maybe Draco, but other than that...and she did want to see him. Get to know him a bit more, at least. And that was what she...no. That thought to belonged in the box at the back of her head. She would just continue to get on with her life as she had the day before. Studying, focusing on her maths. On her notes, on what she had to do. Her friends. Ted. Making sure Kreacher was efficient. Too many things such as it was — without Snape crowding her mind.
A moment later, the door opened and he stood there. Tall and slim and almost skinny and imposing. Smirking. His hair freshly washed and needed a trim. So did she, as a matter of fact. Needed to get to that hairdresser again, have it redyed and recut. Was getting more difficult to get into shape. And was windswept more easily, especially from apparition. She plastered a tiny smile on her face and it grew into a grin when he just nodded and with gestures, ushered her in. He did look rather good in his jumper and the jeans and no matter what he decided on, magic or not, she wished he would keep this clothes. Not that she had any say in the matter.
"Granger," he said courtly.
"Snape," she replied but her tone, she knew was chipper and the word resounded in the air, echoed around her, hung back, sounded too girlish for her ears, sounded stupid.
"He's in the kitchen," said Snape, the corners of his mouth twitching treacherously.
"Are you tempted to laugh at me again?" she snapped.
He shook his head, his lips sort of quivering. Hermione grimaced. She had absolutely no idea why she constantly seemed to amuse that man. She had checked. She had definitely left nothing behind while apparating. Maybe he was just — remembering how utterly ridiculous she had looked.
Or maybe — oh, he was good — he was trying to make sure that she thought something was missing in her face or somewhere else on her body. He was just trying to unsettle her. The Slytherin.
She frowned at him and then, decided on another tactic, smiled her most beatific smile and brushed past him, touching his arm in the process and sailed into the kitchen, making sure that her hips were, more than usually, swaying from side to side. If he wanted something to look at, if he wanted to unsettle her, so be it. She knew she wasn't much to look at but her bum was okay when it wriggled like that. Or maybe she was just making a fool of herself but at least she couldn't see his face when he did. And no, this time, she wouldn't embarrass herself. This time, she would be calm and composed, even towards Draco and this time, she would make sure he had absolutely nothing to smirk, smile, laugh at the next time she saw him.
She straightened her shoulders and knew that her hip swaying sort of got lost at that but there was less ammunition for him with that anyway and with a deep breath, entered the tidy, clean kitchen.
.
Erm. Yes. Well.
Putting, obviously, on a display for him. Swaying her hips like that, that bum in those tight jeans...well. The gushing then...no.
Well, it was clear, wasn't it? He had insinuated, with only the slightest twitching of his lips, that her apparition hadn't been entirely successful again, and she had, somehow, retaliated, or thought she could. Or had succeeded. With that hip-swaying. Women. Irrational.
He took a deep breath and only caught a last glance of her as she straightened her back and her hip-swaying stopped immediately. Ah well, not her natural way of walking then. Of course it wasn't. She was usually more trampling and traipsing in those sensible shoes of hers, and of course, there, he saw it now. It was there, right there, slung over her shoulder. Book bag. The same one. He had to smirk to himself. It was like Granger to keep the threadbare book bag she had already used in her first first year.
He shook his head to himself and followed her into the kitchen. He had a decision to tell those two. Would be interesting to see how Granger reacted. He could image his godson's reaction quite well — but Granger's? Not so much yet. And that was strange — so far he had always been rather certain how she would react to certain things. It had been clear that she would email him back, it was clear that she was retaliating in some kind to his insinuating the failed apparition with the twitching of the lips, her coming over as soon as possible, her coming to defend her not-gushing or gushing. All so certain. But her reaction — he couldn't say what it was.
Either she would be happy and beam — or she would be indifferent. Or maybe she was unhappy, though that seemed unlikely. Well, no, not that unlikely. But she would try and hide her disappointment. Though why should she be disappointed?
Without preamble, he stepped into the kitchen, drew himself up to full height and made sure his voice was loud and clear and comprehensible.
.
"Draco," she said softly, putting that damn old book bag on the floor and seemed to want to hug him. Her arms were raised towards him as he sat and tried to drink his tea and she came towards him with a broad smile.
"Hmph," he replied and inclined his head towards her.
"My my, what a lovely greeting. Aren't you a morning person?" she smirked and he was painfully reminded of the time when everything had been almost normal and he had made fun of her for not being up decently at ten in the morning. Back then when...another lifetime, almost.
"You know very well that I am but what are you doing here?" he snarled.
"I came to see you," she shrugged and smiled. "And to bring you this..."
"I hope it is Flamel's book," his godfather said, suddenly, behind him. "I remembered it is a lot more useful considering chants than the other book I told you about. I will not have a wand pointed at me and someone, either you Draco or Granger sing something uselessly at me."
Draco's eyebrows shot into his hairline and he stared, rather curiously, rather unabashedly, rather open-mouthedly at his godfather. Did that mean what he thought it meant? Did that mean that...he wanted it? He wanted to be a wizard again? His hands sneaked underneath the table and when he thought nobody was watching, when pinched himself. Hard. Very hard.
"What?" Granger was a split second quicker than him.
"Flamel's book," Severus pronounced very clearly. "Do you have it with you?"
"Does it mean...?" stuttered Draco, trying, he thought, to get his eyebrows to where they usually were.
His godfather only arched an eyebrow and put his face into a sneering mask. "Well?"
"Erm, yes, I have it," Granger stuttered as well and for the first time, Draco could take a good look at her. She was beaming. Smiling didn't even begin to cover it. Sparkling. She was bloody sparkling. Well, her face was, everything else would just be disturbing. She dived, with the silly smile on her face, into her book bag and seemed to almost fall into it and he took the chance to look back at his godfather. The man was smirking. Smirking. Looking rather proud of himself. And, if Draco squinted just a little, it almost looked like his Uncle Severus was looking at Granger's behind. Rather curiously. With a smirk. At her bum as it half hung over the chair. Interesting.
No, he did look. Then as he saw Draco watching her, he scowled at Draco. Interesting. He had to fight back a smirk himself. So the gushing had obviously reached open ears. R maybe the gushing was a result? No matter what, it would most definitely be most interesting to watch those two. And if those two worked together on the chant, it could not only be beneficial for him (because Severus needed his magic) but also for Draco himself. It would be most likely be most entertaining.
He smirked and made sure his Uncle Severus saw it, then took a look at Granger's bum as well, as she still almost hung in her book bag. There was something to be said about muggle jeans.
"Draco, if you're done staring at Granger's arse," drawled Severus, and it was him again who smirked at Granger as she shot up, glaring, but with the book in her hand.
"How many books do you have in this? And how many spells are holding it together?" he said quickly. "And I wasn't the only one staring at your behind," he added, winking. This was fun. This was the most fun he felt since...he had left this place. In a second, his godfather would glare and would tell her that no, he hadn't stared. In a moment.
No. He didn't. He grinned. His godfather grinned. Draco felt like he had been transported to an alternate universe with a grinning godfather and a Granger whose arse was something worth staring at.
"Seriously," huffed Granger, sitting firmly on her bum, "we have work to do. And you wanted this book," she said and held it out to him with a challenging look.
"Indeed," he drawled, the grin replaced by his neutral, serious mask and a moment later, he had taken his place, had pulled his mug of tea to him and opened the book.
.
Hermione felt like rubbing her head and scratching her belly. Or maybe the other way around. Or maybe she felt like she was in a dream. In one of her Head-Severus dreams. So a little hip-swaying had made him look at her behind? Truly? No, he was just trying to unsettle her. And with Draco's help too. She felt out of the loop. Out of her depths with two Slytherins on one table.
But oh, he wanted it back. He wanted to be a wizard again. He would...he wanted it.
Despite everything, despite their trying to wind her up, or their obvious efforts to make sure she embarrassed herself, she couldn't help the smile creeping on her face again. He wanted his magic back and she would do her bloody best to make sure she was the one who allowed him to have it back and she would do her bloody best that she wasn't only singing at him but turning him into the proper wizards that he deserved to be again.
74. The Semiosphere
Semiotic systems are in a state of constant flux. Such is the law too of the semiosphere which is subject to change both in its inner structure and as a whole. Within the framework of each of the substructures which make up the semiosphere there are elements which are fixtures in its space, and elements with relative freedom of movement. The former belong to social, cultural, religious and other structures, while the latter have a higher degree of freedom of choice in their behaviour. A hero of the second type can act, that is, can cross the boundaries of prohibitions in a way that others cannot. Like Orpheus or Soslan from the epic of the Narts, he can cross the boundary separating the living from the dear, or like the Benandant he can wage nocturnal war with witches, or like one berserk he can fling himself into battle, defying all rules — naked or clad in a bearskin, howling like a beast and killing his own people as well as the enemy.
(Lotman, 1990)
His godson walked on thin ice. Had walked on thin ice since Granger had left with her ancient book bag. And without Flamel's book which still lay on his table, open on the chapter on chants. He had reread it, and Granger had read it with him while Draco had scribbled notes from another book. At least both of them had been quiet and had not bothered him that much. Not that they had found a solution but then again, they had only read for about an hour before Granger had left.
