Breeding Lilacs out of Dead Land.

Chapter 16 – All the Towers of Ivory.


When you’ll come to sleep with me
wear a black dress
with a strawberry print
and a black hat, decorated with strawberries
Carry a basket full of strawberries
and say, in a sweet, high-pitched voice;
Strawberries, strawberries
who wants some strawberries?
Wear nothing underneath the dress.
Later
strings will raisen you
visible or invisible, and lower you straight
unto my cock.

--Strawberries. Yona Volach.


The past week had been surprisingly tedious. Snape was indeed exempted from teaching Potions to first, second and third years, but that was hardly an improvement, considering that he had to put up with the newly appointed Professor Granger, who had replaced said burden. The woman was a whirlwind. A combined mess of exuberance, enthusiasm and intelligence, blunted by strict morals, amusing when she was disoriented, sometimes deliberately foolish (a thing Snape could never approve of), and sometimes crude –as she had never been taught the value of subtlety and had a difficulty in controlling her feelings. Lively, and lovely, and painfully responsive. Granger’s heated, enraged reactions, so easily coaxed, almost made Snape feel that he was alive himself. She tired him- but it was the exhaustion one might feel after a long, demanding physical exercise. A warm, liquid glow that slowly dissolved the lactic amino induced tension, and made it possible to breathe again. After so long, he mused, the fresh air seemed intrusive.

She came down to his office several times during the week, watching him watch her from his envisioned seclusion of cold, musty darkness. Granger talked about letting others form one’s symbolism- she reminded him of the girl with the strawberry basket, stepping straight out of his childhood legends and into the gray, smog shrouded street. Wearing a black, strawberries-print dress, chanting with that sweet, high-pitched voice- like a recalcitrant schoolgirl, supposedly innocent, pouting her cherry lips and lowering her gaze, with her gray tweed skirt shortened, to expose all that lush, creamy skin. Hermione Granger – never a tease – what probably made the thought that the strawberries girl might be wearing nothing under her dress only more arousing. Though why he should be seeing her in some semi-erotic images was behind Snape. Generally, he didn’t think of Granger in any way as an erotic creature. First of all, she was fat and voluptuous where he preferred his women trim and shapely. Crude – when he would rather have her se. Ae. All in all – in Snape’s opinion, Hermione Granger looked like someone you’d trust your secrets with, not like somebody you’d like to fuck.

“Wouldn’t you like to know how I managed my first class of Slytherins and Gryffindors?” She was leaning forward, palms spread on the wooden surface of his desk, smiling cockily.

“Why would I like to know that, for Merlin’s sake?”

“Don’t you believe in the adage that a problem shared is a problem halved?”

“I believe that sharing a problem is the act of a fool.”

“Why, thank you Severus, that was extremely supportive.”

“I am known for my helpfulness. Now go on, spit it out. I know I’ll have no peace until I’ve listened to your blabbering.”

Hermione grinned. “It was a third year class, as you probably know. I was lucky enough to be introduced to several characters, such as Mackenzie Pinkstone- who apparently follows her great grandmother\'beraberal notions and Julian Greengrass, who does everything in his power to oppose her-,”

“The Slytherin-Gryffindor lovebirds,” Snape interrupted. “They have been principally wrapped around each other\'s necks since their first day at Hogwarts. If you were to ask the Headmaster, he’d tell you that someday in the future, these two would form a charming couple.”

“Which you rather doubt.”

“Naturally.”

Her vivid, bright eyes clung to him, looking for any form of encouragement. It occurred to Snape that only a while ago it would have seemed weakness to him. As dependency. Maybe it still was, but not as far as it concerned Hermione Granger. Even so, he refused to urge her – to integrate in Granger’s ready-made pattern of conversation.

She waited for several seconds, then, realizing Snape wasn’t going to cooperate, she continued. “All in all, it was a relatively quiet lesson- it bore no resemblance whatsoever to some of the livelier classes I remember.” She smiled. “Pinkstone and Greengrass were bickering continuously- it only ended after I deducted five points from each house. At that, I believe, Greengrass attacked Miss Pinkstone with a rather nasty hex – but not before she tampered with Mr Greengrass’ potion. I gave them both a detention with Filch, thus establishing my reputation as Snape’s cruel substitute. I believe it ended their recent session of exchanging compliments. Aside from that- all went well. Pinkstone and Greengrass were, as you predicted, the only ones to brew the Swelling Solution antidote correctly – well, Miss Pinkstone that is, as she succeeded in rendering Julian’s potion useless. Even so, most of the concoctions were passable. I think I’ll use Pinkstone’s antidote on the second years in tomorrow’s lesson. Which reminds me, I had the most wonderful idea-,”

Snape rolled his eyes. It was barely Thursday and Granger overwhelming flow of so-called brilliant ideas showed no sign of abating. She had been more enthusiastic about the subject than Snape could ever remember himself being. Perhaps, if the damn war was ever won, provided he had survived, he could entrust her with the Potions teaching job, and retire to complete his Literature degree. Suddenly sobering, he felt like laughing at the thought. To hell with her. Granger was actually making him think of a possible future. Who are you trying to fool? He asked himself. He should fuck her. If only to get her out of his system.

Friday at noon found Snape carefully blending the mixture for thin, airy crêpes. The doughy sweetness of Aniko’s palacsinta kept haunting him – he might as well try to duplicate it. All in all, Snape rarely ever cooked. As a student, he didn’t have much choice but to cook and thus had acquainted himself with the mysteries of Muggle cooking, but it was hardly something he missed. Cooking, in Snape’s mind, had too much to do with poverty and the necessity to sustain himself, so that he never came to fully enjoy it. It had too much to do with Aniko, which was never good or bad, only enormously burdening, as if there would never be anything else aside the memory of her. Now was somehow different. A girl with Aniko’s features took the tangible edge off his visions, and her mother’s wide-eyed gaze and strawberry stained prattle was something to wait for. Flour, eggs, milk, sugar, white cheese and raisins –Granger’s lips might taste like raisins. Precise, fruity sweetness. Snape shook his head, and scowling, removed a light crêpe off the hot pan.

He remembered Aniko working in the kitchens: wide, absentminded gestures, slender hands, delicately attached to her china-doll body, waving in the air. Her air, loosely plaited, falling down to her narrow waist, strands the rich colour of ripe wheat accenting the faded blue of her gown. She stirred a pot, shaking a low pan with the sharp precision that was almost a genetic tribute- there was another golden woman before her, stirring dishes with a toddler hanging from her apron, and then another and then another. She was born to do just so- stir a dish with that precise move of her wrist, just like he himself was born to flick a wand. Cooking was quite like Potions making. Or was it not? Snapes had been brewing Potions for many generations now. They were all sharp and precise, by habit if not by practice; some would say it made them look graceful. But none of them had Aniko’s angelic airiness. Hermione Granger lacked even the Snape precision. True, she was accurate enough and her Potions making was superb- but that was by choice and self-discipline and had nothing to do with inherent knowledge. He wanted it to be a permission to think less of her. It wasn’t. It only served to ss hes her already unnerving difference.

It occurred to him that he might add egg to the white cheese and store some of the blintzes to be baked later – probably share them with Anna. Then, on the other hand, Anna hardly appreciated simple, unabashedly sweet foods. She seemed to be avoiding him these last couple of days. Usually, they’d seek each other\'s company – meet somewhere in between the Potions and Arithmancy classrooms or over dinner – then spend the rest of the n in in her rooms. During the past week, however, Anna simply hadn’t been there. It bothered Snape, but not as much as it might have done in the past. He wondered whether he should find her and allay some of the tension that had built inside him over the passing week with violent, unemotional sex. Probably not. That would just mean another thing to bother him.

The two days he had spent under Poppy’s care had seemed help him. Once the NRP kicked in, the mediwitch set herself to treat Snape’s various winter ailments. His nose was no longer running, his lips were treated with the same balm Poppy was consistently forcing on him and Snape was consistently losing, and even the annoying eczema had been somehow relieved a little. Soon enough, Snape had no doubt, he’d be back to his stable condition of mild wreckage, but it was good to feel relatively healthy from time to time. A shame, really, that just when he felt himself capable of extracting a full response out of his mistress, she wasn’t available. But then, it wasn’t his libido kicking, but somewhat more of an urging restlessness that might, or might not, be materialized as sex. Perhaps he was spending too much time with Granger. Her exuberance seemed to infect him –twisted into a mocking falsification of the notion it came to imitate.

Snape grunted, putting the last rolled crepe in the long, narrow platter, the house elves had been glad to provide him with. Sweetened, creamy white-cheese, dotted with raisins was spilling out of the loosely rolled edge of a crepe. Rich, sugary vapour of fresh pastry was drifting off the still hot blintzes, mixed up with the tangy, lemony scent of the cheese. It smelled of Aniko. It smelled of sweets. It smelled like home, if there had ever been such a thing for him.

Running a few cleansing spells, Snape cleaned the lab table’s surface; setting his own glass cauldron, and the pan he had borrowed from the house elves, aside. It should have been an amusing image, he thought: the Potions Master cooking sweets in his private laboratory. Returning to his quarters, Snape levitated the tray behind him, then put the crepes under a temperature maintenance charm. Shower was a brief, curt affair. He dressed quickly, pulling a clean robe over faded jeans and a t-shirt, and picking up the pastry platter, exited his rooms.

As he had no intention to be seen carrying a tray full of food, he used several of the less familiar shortcuts, which ran through the castle. Luckily, aside from Mrs Norris who blinked at him from a darkened corner, Snape met none of the students or the teaching staff on his way to Hermione’s rooms. Grateful that he did not have to use his spare arm to Obliviate! anybody, Snape knocked on the wooden door of the Grangers\' living quarters.

“It’s open!” Granger’s voice came from inside, accompanied by loud, cheerful singing. Snape opened the door.

“Rubber ducky, you\'re the one
You make bathtime lots of fun!”

Hermione sighed, approaching him with wide steps. “That’s Aubrey,” she told Snape, sighing as she unceremoniously took the tray he was carrying.

Quack Quack!

“And Ducky,” she added.

Snape raised an eyebrow.

“She somehow found this Psychology dictionary in our library. I believe Aubrey had just came upon the entry for ‘regression’ and decided to experience it. Well, not exactly, but it definitely gave her some ideas. As I told you, Aubrey wasn’t very happy to hear that you were coming to dinner. I sent her to the shower a while ago so she spitefully decided to take a bath.”

“And you’re putting up with it?”

She stopped, turning to look at him. “No reason to feed her indignation. If I won’t give her something to chew on, she’ll give up eventually and-,”

“-Rubber ducky, I\'m awfully fond of you!”

“Aubrey darling, please lower your voice a little. I don’t think you want all the Hogwarts’ teaching staff to take part in your bathing experience.”

Aubrey’s voice lowered a little, making Hermione smirk. “You see- as long as I pretend ignorance, she wouldn’t defy me openly. Much easier to manage that way.”

Snape nodded, slightly amused, and then grew serious, as he recalled the reasons behind the girl\'s quiet defiance. “I wouldn’t like you to think I’m trying to beat a retreat, but if Aubrey is so set up against me, don’t you think it would be a better idea to let the matter lie for the moment?”

Hermione seemed to consider her answer carefully before opening her mouth to speak. “When one becomes a parent, I believe that the most… significant statement one makes by deciding to have a child, is that I know good enough. I know good enough to direct this human being who I’m going to deliver into this world, know good enough to tell my child when they are wrong or right- I know better than my child, in fact, so that I can help her through her first steps and raise her to be capable to take the same decision I took when I decided to keep her. So yes, Aubrey has definitely spoken her mind on the matter, but as it happens, I am the parent and it is my duty to prevent her from doing what I think is a big mistake.” Granger raised her eyes to look at him. “You might not have Aubrey’s back-up here, but you have my full support, and Aubrey will pull through at the end of things.”

“Very well.”

Hermione smiled. “Good. Now let me see what you brought… Oh my, that’s just looks delicious…” She reached her hand, bringing a finger coated with sweetened white-cheese to her mouth. “You’re wicked,” she accused, tearing a cheese dripping edge. “Oh my!” Some white cheese trickled down her chin and Hermione wiped it with her finger. “You’re going to make me fat. That’s brilliant.”

“I thought dinner was ahead?” He felt stiff and formal against her mellow, domestic openness, not quite able to tell whether the contradiction amused or annoyed him.

Granger sniffed. “I know,” she complained. “Well, that’s all your fault. Can I put it in the fridge, or should it stay outside?”

“I put it under a temperature maintenance charm. I think another anti-dehydrating spell should suffice.”

She nodded. Snape noticed it took Hermione few seconds to recall the right spell. Her wand work was accurate and her casting was good, but she lacked the sureness and the flow of a trained wizard.

Sensing she was being followed, Granger lifted her gaze to him. “I know it’s not brilliant,” she said quietly, “but I’m improving.”

It was as though she felt it necessary to justify herself. Feeling he was being asked to approve her actions made Snape feel uncomfortable.

“Severus? Is everything all right?”

He grunted. Was she really so intuitive, or was he finally losing his self-control? Either way, Snape thought, it was bad.

Granger had apparently decided to ignore Snape’s lack of response. Still smiling, she ushered him into the living room, inviting him to sit wherever he pleased while she pulled Aubrey out of the shower. “Can I serve you anything? Coffee? Tea? Cocoa?”

“Coffee will be fine.”

“Just a minute, then.”

It was several minutes before Snape heard her calling from the kitchen. “How do you take your coffee?”

“Black.”

Hermione chuckled. “Typical.”

“Then I assume you drink your coffee with sugar and cream?” he bantered.

“You assume right.” Leaning forward to hand him the steaming mug, the loose collar of her jumper slipped down to reveal a wide expanse of water-glows, creamy skin. A little mole at the base of her neck drew his attention, as well as another one, half covered by the wool of Hermione’s jumper, which was located on the inner curve of her left breast. She smelled of cooking – of standing a long time in an overheated room, until the cheap fragrance of her body lotion mixed with the sour-sweet scent of her sweat. Blood was rushing to his loins. Snape swore quietly. Blast. Just like a sixteen-year old all over again.

Granger, for her part, seemed unaware or uncaring. Her smile, when she finally straightened up, carried a hint of amusement, but it was so ambiguous that Snape thought he might have only imagine. Al. All in all, Hermione Granger was not the kind to play games. He watched her as she entered the bathroom, soft wool clinging to the contours of a curvy, generous bottom.

Low, muffled voices, could be heard coming from behind the closed door. A loud squeak- Snape assumed it was the rubber duck’s contribution, was followed by an angry complaint. Not long after, came the unmistakable sound of running water and the bathroom’s door being opened. Snape heard soft footsteps, barely noticing the child’s small figure as she crossed the living room and quickly disappeared behind a closed door. Hermione appeared shortly after her, water splotching the front of her jumper and the rims of her sleeves thoroughly soaked. Granger smiled apologetically. “Ducky was upset at the prospect of leaving the bath,” she informed him. “I sent Aubrey to get dressed, and now it seems, I need to change, myself. You’ll be all right waiting here for another couple of minutes, won’t you?”

Snape nodded.

“Great. Then- I’ll be back to you soon. Oh, there’s Furball,” Hermione nodded toward the multicoloured hairball that stepped out of the girl’s room. “He’ll keep you company.”

Rebuffed, Snape watched the silly animal approaching him; yellow, feline eyes staring into his face with a quizzical gaze. The Kneazle stopped at the foot of the couch, stiffened, and with surprising ease that contradicted its somewhat clumsy appearance, jumped onto the sofa. A second later, the cub was nuzzling Snape’s hand, thrusting its furry head into the Potions Master palm. Snape glowered at it. The Kneazle was unaffected.

“Bonding?” A trail of scent reached his nostrils as Granger leaned behind him. Outstretching her hand, she stroked the Kneazle’s head, rubbing the back of its enlarged, ludicrous ears.

“I think Furball likes you.”

“I think your Kneazle is delusional.”

“For liking you?” Hermione’s hand brushed Snape\'s cheek as it moved to shift an unruly curl out of her face. Luckily, he was spared from answering, as exactly at that moment, the door to the girl’s room had been opened.

Aubrey Granger, wearing some sort of a tricot shirt that appeared to be stolen from one of the house elves, above a short, bright, green skirt, stood on the doorway giving them both a grim, defiant look.

“Put something on your feet, darling,” Granger, the incarnation of calmness, told her daughter.“I’m“I’m fine,” Aubrey muttered.

Hermione sighed. “Look, sweet, we’ve gotten this far without a scene, so naturally, I was hoping we could save the fireworks for the big, nasty confrontation. Please- I’ll even give you the satisfaction of knowing that I’ve noticed your disastrous choice of clothing and that I highly disapprove of it. Now be a good girl and carry out your own part of the bargain.”

Aubrey growled, crossing her arms over her chest. “That’s not fair.”

“Life’s never fair, darling. Now go and put on some socks.”

“You’re exploiting my kindness.”

“And you’re doing the same to my patience. Socks. Now.”

The child made a short cry of annoyance, then turned on her heels and once more, disappeared into her room.

Snape scowled. “Are you sure-,”

“If you’d ask me one more time whether I think it’s a good idea,” Granger cut him. “I’ll give my wand to Aubrey and leave you two to settle this matter on your own.” With that, mov moved from behind him and crossed the room, seating herself on the other sofa. “Everything’s going to be all right,” she repeated. “You came around and so will Aubrey. Hello, darling. Welcome back to the civilized world. Please acknowledge Professor Snape’s presence and take a seat.”

“Good evening Professor Snape,” the child chanted dryly, then moved to sit on the stripped sofa, as far as possible from Hermione.

Granger coughed. “Well- dearly beloved, we gathered here today, in order to-,”

“He stole my Kneazle.”

Hermione frowned. “Repeat that, please?”

“He. Stole. My. Kneazle.”

“Ahem.” Hermione blinked. “First of all, you won’t speak of Professor Snape in third person – it is highly impolite. Secondly, Professor Snape didn’t steal your Kneazle; it is your Kneazle who chose to pester Professor Snape. Now, if you don’t mind, I’d like to finish my sentence, okay?”

Aubrey glared angrily.

“Good. Now, as I was trying to say, I believe you two have a matter to settle. Aubrey, please listen to what Professor Snape have to say.” Hermione moistened her lips, looking at him. “Severus, the stage is yours.”

Snape cursed under his breath. Sitting there in front of them he felt immensely awkward. A trained dancing bear; his natural tendencies seared out of him so he would walk on two feet in front of a cheering audience. Fuck that. Again, he was a pilgrim making his way through St. Granger’s labyrinth; sas sas so sweet and innocent in her sadism. No whips or blood for her sainthood- she would burn him on the bonfire of his own humiliation. But then, he was getting melodramatic. Granger was really not the kind of woman to demand sacrifices. The child, however, might be. He looked at her. Blond. Fair skinned. Some might say lovely, though he did not find her beautiful, or even pretty. Too thin – eyes too dark in a face, which was too pale. She had been glaring at him, her upper lip curled in a manner that was partly a sneer, partly defiance.

Snape retorted with a similar glare. An angry look from him was usually enough to make a first-year tremble. Yes, it was a matter of narrative as well – they feared him because they knew they should fear him. Because he gave them something to be afraid of. Aubrey Granger, too, had a reason to be afraid of him. Yet she chose to be angry. Even so, Snape expected the girl to drop her gaze after a while. She didn’t. What a strange, irksome child. His child. He wondered whether it was really important to know he could have been like that, had the circumstances been different. Did it matter to know it could have been different; even if post factum, it all went wrong. Perhaps it mattered. Snape breathed deeply.

As if from afar, he heard himself talking. His words were probably cold and detached; there was only a certain amount of vitriol his system was able to swallow down before he got infected: only a certain proximity to which a man could embrace his Boggarts before they stuck a dagger in his belly. “So-,” he clenched his jaws. “I offer you my sincere apologies and hope you could find it in yourself to forgive me.”

“So…” the girl worried her lower lip, “you don’t… prefer, that I wasn’t… born… right?”

“As I told you, Miss Granger, I wasn’t… thinking clearly at the moment. I can’t tell you that I was happy with the knowledge that I have a daughter, or that I know how to deal with you – as I obviously don’t, but telling you that I would have rather seen you unborn was a statement that resulted from my own complexes, and has nothing to do, whatsoever, with yourself. As it is, you bring a great joy to your mother – you are liked and appreciated by most of the castle\'s inhabitants, and if I’m given to understand correctly, you have even managed softened a little the stone-heart of our cherished caretaker, which is something to be revered. You should pay no attention to what the bitter, vitriolic Potions Master told you in a fit of anger.”

The child exhaled, face twisted in expression of deep concentration. “Well, you see- I understand now that you have your own issues and all that, and that those issues might make you biased sometimes, but-but… You shouldn’t… it doesn’t make it right. Mum says we all deserve a second chance so I’ll give you one, but you should see, well… don’t know,” she screwed her face, “maybe I’m not a very good person for thinking so, but well, someone can’t always say ugly things and then go and say he’s sorry. It doesn’t work like that. And something more- well, you say I shouldn’t pay attention to what you say. Maybe you’re right. You haven’t been very nice to me since I’ve first met you and there’s not really a reason I should care- but, well, I do. And I don’t think I can change that. I don’t think I can be friends with somebody and not care about what he thinks of me or what he tells me- or not care that he doesn’t think twice before he insults me.” She lifted her gaze to look at him, eyes narrowed with emotion that was part annoyance, part turmoil.

He scowled. The girl had a point. It was exactly the reason Snape was careful to avoid intimacy of any sort. It wasn’t in him to be thoughtful, and he knew it. Other people rarely held enough interest for him to bother to be aware of their feelings. He was never a social creature – the functioning of large number of people was behind him, so was functioning as part of a group. As far Snape was concerned, being a Death Eater, as well as part of the Hogwarts teaching staff, was about interacting with and against a single authority. He was never a component in a larger, enveloping camaraderie, and it never occurred to him he should have been. He had several friends over the years – Owen, when both of them were too young to suffer or cause any notable damage to each other; Kolya, who knew some things can’t be forgiven, and therefore, didn’t bother to forgive Severus; Lupin, who wasn’t actually a friend, but with whom Snape had sometimes talked- Lupin, who life had beaten so harshly that the werewolf had grown numb. Anna, who was too self-centered and satisfied with her own life to be hurt by his words.

Snape’s relative freedom of speech was very important to him. Aside from the comparative abundance in which he was allowed to speak his mind, it was the lack of expectations that he relished. Having established his image as the greasy, evil bastard, no niceties would be expected; none would be surprised when he launched another nasty comment. Snape wouldn’t have to live to anybody’s expectations. There would be no one to fail. He didn’t want the child to care about him, nor did he want to care about her. To have any sort of obligation toward Aubrey Granger that might turn against both of them. Again, Snape had doubted his sanity in agreeing to Hermione’s scheme. Damn her- she had seemed so clear and fresh and right: beautiful the way only something right can look like, that there was no denying her. And she trusted him. And she didn’t mind that his fingers were golden thorns, or that everything he touched turned to be cold, dead metal.

Snape exhaled, trying to shake off the disturbing images. He should be focusing on the girl and of whatever he was going to say. Telling her to go to hell was apparently not an option. “Very well, Miss Granger- Aubrey,” he corrected himself. “I can… understand your logic. I would certainly not exploit your conciliatoriness and make a habit of offending you – however, I can’t promise I’d always be pleasant or even thoughtful. Yet I can assure you I’ll do my best to be considering.”

The child bit on her knuckles thoughtfully. “But you don’t want to, don’t you?”

“I believe I should.”

“Mum put you up to this.”

Snape glared at the girl. “It has nothing to do with your mother.”

“It’s all right, Severus,” Granger said with quiet resolve. It was the first thing she said during the whole conversation. “I talked you into this and I stand by my decision.”

Aubrey grumbled. “Well, then you can be friends with him.”

“Then perhaps I will.”

“You know what I think?” Aubrey continued.

“Right now I don’t, but I have no doubt that you’re going to let me know soon enough.”

The child crossed her arms. “I think you don’t have enough to do, so you’re meddling with other people\'s business and sticking your nose where you shouldn’t.”

Hermione’s face, Snape noticed, settled into angry expression. “That was rude, Aubrey.”

The child’s cheeks flushed violently. “Making me be friends with someone that doesn’t like me just because you were stupid enough to have sex with him and get pregnant is even more rude!”

Granger tightened her lips. “That is way out of line. Please get to your room and think over what you just said.”

Aubrey collected herself carefully, moving to her feet with mustered calmness. “I was right and you know it,” she said defiantly.

“Don’t answer me back.”

“Fine!”

Aubrey slammed the door behind her.

* The chapter\'s title is taken from Nick Cave\'s song (I\'d call it a poem: Cave wrote it to be sung), \"Straight to You\".

* Pinkstone, Carlotta. 1922 – Present. Famous campaigner for lifting the International Confederation of Wizard’s Statute of Secrecy and telling Muggles that wizards exist (taken from the HP lexicon).