Oh dear Merlin. That almost sounded as if — no. Hermione shook her head. She wasn't quite ready to admit that she wanted to spend the rest of her life with Snape but she did want to be with him, be there for him, in that difficult time. He would, naturally, send her away, or scold her or make derogatory remarks but in this hour, she knew she shouldn't care. And she wouldn't. Not at all.

But...

Mrs Callaghan was dead.

That woman had been suspicious of her at first but they had warmed to one another. She was the fairy tale grandmother. Always kind, always hiding her own troubles, always there for other people. She smiled (no, had smiled) a lot. She had taught Hermione how to make stew. She had been unprejudiced. Suspicious, yes, but unprejudiced. She had given Draco a home, had been there for Aideen after the kidnapping. Had put Severus to rights, possibly. She was kind.

She was a good person. Had been. A good person. Only that. A love-thy-neighbour sort of person. She lived like that. Had lived like that.

And now — now she was...

Hermione felt tears gathering in her eyes. No, she couldn't honestly say that she had known Mrs Callaghan well. They had spent a little time together, cooking, but she had seen that this woman had been good and kind and wonderful. And now she was gone and neither Draco, nor Aideen, nor Severus would ever get any help from her at all anymore.

Severus read the paper that had mysteriously appeared on his doorstep that morning with joy. No, really, he felt good in his skin — still. Hermione had talked to him on the phone for almost an hour again the night before. It hadn't been any kind of life-altering conversation — just a bit about the books they had read and what they had gathered from them and Hermione had told him about Potter and about his confession and had sworn him to secrecy.

Well — that one had been quite the surprise. Potter gay. Potter liking blokes. Potter being on the verge of having a boyfriend. Of course in strictest confidence. Officially, he didn't know anything. But Hermione Granger had told him. Had given him ammunition for Potter.

Even though — not sure how to make fun of that.

It had been a sort of open secret that Albus Dumbledore had swung that way, too. Nobody had ever talked about it loudly but at every new male Defence against the Dark Arts teachers, there had been whispers.

He had been surprised. At school, he had usually been able to tell which students swung which way — not with Potter. Had always pegged him as rather straight. Strange, that. But, it had made for a rather amusing portion of the conversation.

He put the paper down when his doorbell rang and only briefly wondered who might be at his door that early in the day. Possibly Draco, fetching something from his house for them for breakfast. Happened often enough.

He opened the door and it was indeed Draco but the expression on his godson's face was...strange. He looked as if he had been crying, or was close to crying and his eyes were red-rimmed and...weird.

"What is it?" he asked as the boy pushed in, and closed the door. "Draco?" he asked again as the boy only looked at him.

"I, erm, m..." he swallowed, "Uncle Severus," he tried to sound steady. "Aideen and me found..."

"What?" asked Severus, impatiently and he could only watch as his godson sat down and rubbed his hands over his eyes.

"She..Mrs Callaghan died tonight," he said in a whisper and Severus thought he must have misheard.

"What?"

"Mrs Callaghan passed away," he mumbled and looked at Severus with sad, wide open eyes.

"What?"

"Severus it's...there is no other way I can say it," he whispered.

"She's what?" he thundered. "If that is a joke, it's a terribly bad one."

"Not a joke," Draco shook his head. "I can't say it any other way. She wasn't down at breakfast this morning and Aideen was worried and we looked for her and she was in her bedroom and..."

"No," he said, shaking his head, his insides feeling as if they had been shock-frozen. Dipped into ice-water, or in liquid nitrogen. It couldn't be.

"It's a bad joke, Draco," he said earnestly.

"No joke," he replied and a tear seemed to want to escape his eye. "Aideen went up and I went with her to check and she's just..."

"She's sleeping."

Draco shook his head. "No."

"No, it can't be," he whispered, more to himself than to his godson. It couldn't be true. One didn't joke about matters like these. Eleanor couldn't be dead. That woman had a few problems with her back but it was nothing more than that. She just had a backache. He could easily brew her a potion for it. It wouldn't be any kind of work. Just a few things thrown together in a cauldron and she could go pain free. She never complained. She never had any problems. She couldn't, not possibly, be dead. No. She wasn't.

He looked at his godson and stormed out of his house only seconds afterwards, didn't take a key, didn't take a coat, didn't take anything. He just stormed out of his house and, with his wand in his hand, unsure how to use it at all, unsure how he did it, he opened the front door to Eleanor's house. She would be sitting there, in on the joke, thinking it terribly stupid of Draco to pull such a prank. She would be sitting there, or standing there and making him drink her tea or maybe putting some breakfast in front of him and nothing more. She would smile and tell him that it had all been a joke. That none of this was happening.

She couldn't be dead. Eleanor couldn't die.

He tore up the stairs when she wasn't in the kitchen or the living room. He heard Aideen talking and she was probably helping Eleanor to hide, to make this seem more real, to make the joke even crueller and he followed that voice. Up the stairs. Up and to what he knew was Eleanor's bedroom — a room he had never been in.

"Oh Severus," someone gasped but it wasn't Eleanor's voice. It wasn't and he saw her.

Covered by old-fashioned linens, surrounded by flowery wallpaper and old, worn furniture.

She was there. In her bed. In her bed. Lying there. A smile on her face. Her eyes closed. Just lay there. Peacefully.

"Severus?" the voice he had heard a bit earlier said again. He whipped his head around and a crying Aideen, her mobile phone clutched to her ear looked at him anxiously.

"No," he said, shaking his head, sinking on his knees before the bed. "No," he said again.

She didn't think it was right to ring the doorbell and so she knocked. It didn't take long for someone to answer the door.

She had never seen him so downcast, so sad. A Malfoy sad. About a Muggle. She never thought the day would come but...it had. He almost looked as if he had cried, too and he was absolutely...appeared absolutely vulnerable.

"Draco," she whispered softly and when he didn't make a noise, just stepped aside a little, looked at her with those sad eyes that could have belonged to a person ten years younger, she couldn't help herself and went ahead, stepped directly to him and pushed her arms around him. She pulled him to her, and gave him, the person she had disliked (and who had disliked her) most of her life, a big hug. It was a bit awkward and strange and his arms only slowly came up to her back but when they did, they held her just as hers held him.

"It's going to be okay, Draco," she told him gently. "And thank you for telling me."

"It was nothing," he replied, pushing her away from him suddenly. "Of course it's going to be okay."

She nodded. Weakness. He had shown it but it had been brief and strange and curious and also a little enlightening. He had been vulnerable for one moment and now he was afraid of that vulnerability.

"They're in the kitchen," he said roughly. "Those...people will come soon to take her away as well and Aideen has called her parents and they already left London."

"That's good," she nodded. "Erm..."

"In the kitchen, Granger," he continued roughly. "See for yourself."

She nodded, it was stupid to have wanted to ask how they were anyway. From the looks of it, it had taken even Draco by complete surprise. It had devastated him and she didn't dare to imagine how Severus and Aideen would look like.

She nodded briefly once more and gave his upper arm a little squeeze before she took her shoes off (and she wasn't sure why she did it) and walked on socks and in her most comfortable jeans into the kitchen. This wasn't about looking pretty or impressing anyone. She had realised that even before dressing. It was about giving comfort and she wanted to. She wanted to be there for Severus. In an uncomfortable skirt, wasn't sure if she could.

Aideen sat there, opposite Severus, both just sitting there, staring into nothingness and at first, only Aideen looked up and saw her. It couldn't be described as a smile at all. It was more like a well-meaning grimace what Aideen displayed on her face but at least she acknowledged that she was there. Severus only sat and stared.

"Thank you for coming," Aideen said softly and that made Severus look up.

She couldn't ever remember seeing him look so lost. So small, so young, so...sad. He had never looked more weak or vulnerable than now. Not even in the Shrieking Shack. So desolate, so in despair.

His eyes found hers and the chair he sat on was moved by him, and scraped over the floor until he faced her and his arms opened wide and she smiled a little and followed the unspoken invitation into his arms. He wasn't in his right mind, she knew, otherwise he would have never pulled her onto his lap, would have never buried his face in her hair, would have never held her so tightly, closely. At least not in company but she knew — she just knew — that he accepted her, for now, being there and she hugged him and pressed his face against her chest and didn't care if he was in his right mind or not — he had turned to her for comfort.

93. The Communication of Information

Linguists and linguistic philosophers tend to adopt a limited approach to the functions of language in society. While they frequently acknowledge that language may be used to perform many communicative functions, they nonetheless make the general assumption that the most important function is the communication of information.

(Brown, Yule, 1983)

Draco would afterwards (and afterwards meant anything — a day later, a year later, thirty years later, even) say and think that there was nothing more embarrassing and exposing than funerals. He had stuck to Aideen of course. He couldn't possibly leave her alone and as such, as close family, he had to sit in the first row during the memorial service. He had held Aideen's hand and had stroked it. She had been absolutely inconsolable. But so had Severus been. There had been nothing Draco had been able to do about that. He couldn't possibly hold his godfather's hand — especially since Granger had done so. And he himself, he had looked at the casket and had wondered, all the time, staring at it, how his life would go without her.

Wonderful, loveable Mrs Callaghan. He had known he would have to get a job and soon. The house had been paid for, it had been Mrs Callaghan's and had obviously fallen to Aideen's father but..he had wanted to continue living there. He had wanted to live next to his godfather and with Aideen — protecting her. Being there for her. Poor girl had only stopped crying when she had to do the organisational stuff. And she had been the one to — no surprise — know Mrs Callaghan best. She had known where to look for the documents and her last wishes. She had known which songs she would have liked and what kind of ceremony.

Severus had been no help. He had only sat there most of the time, in Mrs Callaghan's kitchen, mostly with Granger on his lap or at least nearby, staring into empty space and doing not much of anything else. Draco hadn't been able to feel it in his heart to be mad at him for that. He had been the one — despite the other blood-ties — to lose most.

Draco knew what he — and all those he considered family these days, Aideen, Severus, Aideen's family, to an extent even Granger — had to be grateful to Mrs Callaghan for bringing them all together, for forging them into a family, moulding them, helping them. And then, she had just lain there, in that casket — dead.

He had sat there, in the first row and he had known that he couldn't possibly shed tears. Tears were for girls. Not for him. Tears were for...anyone else. Not him, not Severus. Severus hadn't cried — he had just held Granger's hand and had been safe in his position in the third, or maybe fourth, row. Nobody had stared at him. Everyone had been able to see him and Aideen and the ring on Aideen's finger. She had left it there. And he would, he would keep his promise. Marry her and be a family. A real family. For Mrs Callaghan's sake. For her wishes.

No matter. He had wanted to cry while the priest or vicar or whatever Muggle churchman had spoken. He had wanted to shed his tears. To let those in the rows behind him now that he missed her and adored her and couldn't live without her and loved her. He did. This wonderful old woman. The one who had explained to him that there were free hugs, given...just because. Just because he was Draco and needed a hug. Not as a reward, not as anything else. The woman who had oozed love in all their lives and who had never given up on him. A wonderful, wonderful woman. Not like any other.

Draco had decided, shortly after the funeral, that he hated funerals and he had made a promise to himself that he would never again sit in the first row. Not if he felt like this. Not ever.

There were moments when he seemed to be absolutely inconsolable. When he didn't speak, he didn't listen, he didn't talk and he probably didn't even see what the world around him was saying or doing. To an extent, she understood and to another, certain extent, she felt jealous. It was stupid to envy a dead person but...in those moments, it seemed like he had only let go of her hand when he, or she, needed the bathroom.

At least she had been allowed to hold his hand. He had not, as she had suspected, pushed her away. In actual fact, he clung to her steadily. She even slept in his house — even though she did that in the living room, on the couch.

She knew he tried to keep control of himself and he tried to not let the grief show on his face and it did work — for stranger. Not for her. She saw him and she saw how he struggled and felt and she wanted to turn back the time for him. But of course, she couldn't. He went to the shops with her, when she made him and he hadn't even made fun of Harry when he had come over to offer his condolences and to bring Hermione a new set of clothes. Harry had been great, actually and he had brought Teddy which, at least, had brought Aideen a little bit of joy.