There are not only syntactic hierarchies, of course, but also others, such as prosodic ones, in which utterances are seen to consist of intonation phrases, feet, syllables, onsets, rhymes and segments. Because linguistic code is hierarchically organised, linguistic theories assume that speakers' minds must incorporate 'rules' not only for relating bits of code to bits of meaning, but also for relating smaller bits to larger bits. Apart from such 'structure building' rules, the need for assuming 'structure changing' rules has arise as well, relating more superficial representations of code to assumed 'deeper' ones, which may sometimes be different.

(Ritt, 2004)

It had been a miracle in itself that Lucius Malfoy had not started hexing Granger straight away. She had certainly provoked him enough. She had certainly asked for it and if he had had any other means, he would have definitely whisked her away from him quicker than throwing her, like a bloody caveman, over his shoulder. All those years and Granger still seemed to underestimate Malfoy. The Crucio had basically been on his lips — and she hadn't seen it, she hadn't known when to stop. He had to get her out even though — she truly had the gall and he had to give her that. Not a lot of people would be able to stand up to Malfoy and his cold grey eyes and his threats like that. He had to take her out — and if only because he did not want to be caught in the crossfire (without a wand).

What other choice did he have but to carry her out? He could have pulled her out by the hair. Or could have run himself and let her be tortured but that wouldn't have been right. He was no coward. Talking with the two of them would have been out of the question — this way he did not have to take sides and Lucius would, sooner or later, come to get his books back and he did not want to be hit with something then. Getting her away from him had been his only, and incidentally, best choice. A caveman he was not but at least that way, he had a nice view of the bum in the jeans. And that was a view not to be underestimated. He smirked.

No, he would have never considered throwing a woman over his shoulder but doing it now — it had it's advantages. Maybe...in due time...with the right woman...he would have to consider it.

A second later, he stared into the astonished face of his godson and Aideen, pulling apart rapidly, both their lips swollen from, possibly, prolonged snogging.

"Erm," Aideen said, frowning.

"Let me down, Snape!" Granger shrieked and memorising how her bum looked and how her thigh felt, he let her drop — well — on her feet. At least she had feet. And he had feet. They both had apparently everything they had left behind at the Manor. Angrily apparating seemed to work for her. And well. Her hair was wild and her eyes sparkled and her cheeks were the colour of pink roses. She glared and tried to scowl. "How dare you..."

He shook his head and rolled his eyes and turned on his heel. She had apparated both of them into Eleanor's garden and he had done what was right, had brought her to safety, or had made sure that she could bring herself to safety and as he saw her glaring at him like this — not an ounce of gratitude in her — he knew he had to go. He didn't need the stepladder but jumped completely over the wall that separated his and Eleanor's garden and unlocked his back door, stepped in and locked it from the inside.

It wasn't right. All his life...he shook his head resolutely. It made no sense to think about the past and it made no sense to try and reduce Granger to bum and thighs. She had stood up to Malfoy, a man plenty of people would have been willing to kneel before. Of course it had been utter insanity and it had been wrong of her. She had provoked him and had judged him and had thrown things at his head which hadn't been hers to say. She had spoken out of turn — but she had spoken. She had lost her Slytherin tactics somewhere along the way and had resorted to sanctimonious Gryffindorish self-righteousness and judgement. It was brave, yes, but completely not her place to say.

For all that it was worth, Severus had learned one thing during their little outing: Hermione Granger could look quite adorable when angry. And her thighs felt as firm as he remembered.

"What was that?" asked Draco and Hermione felt like crumbling to the ground. She felt herself staggering and shaking and she was completely dizzy and she had to hold on to the wall that Snape had jumped over not five seconds ago for balance.

"What the hell is wrong with me?" she muttered to herself. Had she really just...She hadn't known when to stop. Hadn't known when it had been enough and she insulted a man whose books she had desperately needed, had shouted at the man she had a crush on and had apparated angrily. She was losing her grip. Reality was slipping by. None of this was happening. None of this was happening at all. A dream. A wicked, weird, unwelcome dream. She was dreaming. She was back at Hogwarts, or back with her parents, or back at Grimmauld Place, in either one of those beds, safely, dreaming. Her subconscious making all this up.

"Hermione?" someone asked, a hand on her shoulder.

"What?" she asked, not allowing herself to turn her head. She would get dizzy again.

"What's going on?" the same voice, Aideen's?, asked gently. "Draco? What's happening to her?"

"I have no idea," she heard another voice. "Fever?"

"She's not hot," a hand was on her forehead.

"Let me go," she said steadily, not taking her eyes off the wall. "I'm..."

"Get your grandmother," someone said and she felt bile rising in her throat and her stomach clenched. The rational part of her brain wondered whether she had eaten something which was obviously disagreeing with her but she couldn't come up with anything. She didn't have any breakfast and the night before, she only had a biscuit because Harry and Ron had already eaten, and that lunch before...she couldn't remember.

"Hermione?" a third voice sounded close to her ear. "What's happened?"

"Severus had her over his shoulder and they just popped up here."

"I think Granger apparated herself and Uncle Severus."

"Can you check if there are any curses, Draco?"

"Sure, Mrs Callaghan." There was a pause and a tingling and she had to keep her eyes on the wall. Something was wrong with her stomach and her head. And had she really just told Malfoy that he was, more or less, a bastard? Had she insulted Snape? She felt herself pulled away from the wall and a bit of stomach-clenching and bile-rising later, she was pressed against a chest which smelled like fresh, warm bread and lavender and she allowed herself to close her eyes. "Hermione, can you tell me what happened?" she heard in a soft Irish lilt, right next to her ear.

"I insulted Malfoy and I insulted Snape," she explained, pushing the bitter, disgusting taste of bile back down. "And..."

She hadn't had lunch the day before. Or breakfast. She had worked straight through. She hadn't had so much as a normal meal since...her head grew dizzy again and her stomach cramped painfully. She hadn't eaten in days. No decent meal in days. The rational part of her brain told her that it was no miracle that she had insulted Malfoy and Snape, that she thought she was absolutely going bonkers. It was no miracle at all.

"I know what's wrong with me," she said through clenched teeth and the cosy smell of fresh bread made her stomach tighten painfully and a bit of bile rise again.

"What's wrong with you, flower?" the Irish lilt — and she knew it was Mrs Callaghan — asked gently.

"I haven't eaten in two days," she said as clearly as she could.

"And you apparated on an empty stomach? From London up here and from here to where exactly and from where exactly to here again?" she heard another voice. "Did you even read any books on apparation? It will make you nauseous and irrational and it drains your bloody energy. Are you quite insane?"

"And I apparated to Cornwall and back twice last night," she said shakily. "I forgot, I forgot. I didn't remember to eat this morning. I had to come here."

"Aideen, there's some leftover stew from last night. Put that in the microwave. Draco, run down to the shop and get some bread and then go over to Severus's and ask if he knows what's best in that case," she heard Mrs Callaghan again but that smell of bread was better now. Once you got used to it, it was good. She remembered faintly — apparating on an empty stomach wasn't the best idea but manageable. Not a problem. But apparating those kinds of distances on an empty stomach...It would make her behave weirdly.

She heard nothing after that, only the gentle beating of Mrs Callaghan's heart, steady and strong and her feet were somehow moving and something made her sit down and someone put a biscuit in her hand and she chewed on it greedily, sugar and sweetness streaming back into her body.

"Uncle Severus!" Draco had the fresh bread in his hand, and was knocking on the door with the other. Well, he was banging really. "It's a bloody emergency, open the bloody door!" Unbelievable. Granger with all the books that she read not knowing, or forgetting that apparating on an empty stomach could be terribly draining (not that he suggested anyone apparated with a too full stomach either...) and possibly dangerous. No wonder she would be thinking she was going insane.

"For fuck's sake, Severus Snape, open this fucking door!" he shouted again and barely a second later, his disgruntled godfather opened the door.

"I'm sure the rest of this town doesn't know that you want to be let in," he sneered.

"I don't want to be let in," he retorted quickly and dangled the bread in front of his nose. "Did you know that Hermione hasn't eaten in two days?"

His godfather frowned and he took the key from the little shelf he kept it on and grabbed the bread. He mumbled something which sounded remarkably like 'Do you think I would have let her apparate if I had known?' but Draco couldn't be sure.

"Where did you go incidentally?" he asked loudly.

"A library," Severus replied immediately and shut his front door. "She will need a lot of protein and..."

"Eleanor has leftover stew and I just bought bread. In record time, might I add," he smirked.

"Accio?"

"Yes, but I made sure to send some money there as well," he smiled happily and his godfather grimaced. "Where did you go?"

"To a library. I already said so," Severus said, striding as quickly as he could without running (or that way it looked to Draco) towards Mrs Callaghan's house.

"And where is that library?"

"South," he only said.

It dawned on Draco. It was clear. It was so clear. "Was she there?" he asked only, keeping up with the older man.

"Yes, she was. But she..."

"Doesn't know anything about me. I know. Father thought it would be better," he smiled ruefully. "I'm now officially the bad one. It doesn't matter though, does it? You brought me back here."

"It's not right and it does matter," he said sternly, waiting in front of Mrs Callaghan's door. "Key?"

"I didn't take one with me. You have to ring, sorry," he replied, shrugging. "It really doesn't matter. This is my father, Severus. He didn't want to marry my mother and he didn't want to have me and when I was there, he was..."

"He was happy to have you," Severus said angrily. "He..."

"He thinks I'm insane and maybe I am but it doesn't matter, it really doesn't. I'm just glad you made me get...well, I'm glad you kidnapped me. Did you at least find a book that could help?"

"Yes," he nodded. "Your father..."

"I don't want to talk about my father, Uncle Severus. It's okay, it really is."

The older man looked at him with a curious expression on his face, and if Draco hadn't known better, he would have thought that he was Legilimencying him but no, he just studied him and then a hand fell hard on his shoulder and fingers squeezed. He couldn't remember his godfather ever doing that. Or at least not in a long, long time. He nodded briefly and then stared at the door. "You could make the same noise you did in front of my house," said he.

"I could but Merlin knows how Granger would react."

In reaction, he only arched his eyebrows and whatever he could have possibly said was interrupted by Aideen as she opened the door.

"Thank God you're here," she breathed and kissed him briefly on the lips before she pulled his godfather inside. "She won't eat. She just sits there and stares at the stew."

"Have you tried feeding her?" he asked immediately.

"Feeding her? No, she's..."

He watched as his godfather strode away, quickly, and if he had worn robes Draco would have bet all of his money that they would have billowed, too.

"What's wrong with her, love?" asked Aideen, taking his hand.

"It's...apparating, remember when I told you about it?"

She nodded.

"It basically uses up a lot of energy. It's like running for a mile. You need nutrition. And if you don't eat at all, you will begin to feel unwell and you will..."

"Be weird. Her blood sugar will be low, she will be hypoglycaemic. And that's..."

"The way she acted," Aideen nodded. "You won't apparate without food?"

"No, he won't," he heard his godfather just before he was thrown a bit of bread. "Go and fetch those imbeciles she lives with."

"What? Why? I don't want to see Potter or Weasley," he argued immediately."

"Go, Draco. Now. Do you think I want her here all day long?"

Rolling his eyes, he embraced his girlfriend. "I will be back in a few minutes, I hope," he said, stuffing the piece of bread in his pocket and rolling his eyes again before he walked around the corner and apparated away.

Idiotic woman. Who was he, her babysitter? And there he had thought that she had shown extraordinarily stupid bravado when she had chucked those words at Malfoy's head but in that situation, who knew if she had meant to say them? She had thought them for sure, but saying them out loud was maybe due to her lack of nutrition. Stupid girl. She should have known better.

And stupid him for making her apparate him without making sure she had eaten. She was apparating enough as it was, probably. Every day, or every weekday from London to York and back took it's toll, he knew. He remembered. And he knew the advantages of a pumpkin pasty shoved in a pocket or even a licorice wand. He remembered.

She seemed like the type of person who would simply forget to eat. He knew what that was like. Being so hard working, and having so little time to think about anything else, food became one of the most unimportant things imaginable.

He felt a stirring in what other people considered to be their conscience. Not aware that he had one left, it came as a surprise to feel — somehow — guilty. He was the one she worked for and he had commanded her to apparate him. He should have at least offered her a cup of tea.