Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter NOR any of his friends NEITHER any of his enemies. It's hard to admit, but when I'm done with them all, I have to return them to Joanne K. Rowling in an original wrapping and unharmed. I make no money, I mean no harm.
Patchwork
Picking Up Threads
The surface of the lake seemed to be silver in the moonlight and the small statue at the bank was throwing a long shadow on the path. The tall figure standing before it was hardly visible, but Minerva knew he would be there.
"Severus," she said instead of a greeting. He acknowledged her presence with a sharp nod.
There were two small candles before the statue and Minerva moved to light them, but Severus stopped her.
"It's better this way," he explained quietly. "The candles are too small. They only make him look grotesque." Minerva thought it strange that Severus, of all people, would mind that. But then, he was a Slytherin. He was probably lying, covering his genuine motives.
"What is it you want?" he asked in the same moment Minerva drew breath to start the small talk. She considered her options and decided to use the straightest approach possible.
"I want you to come back to Hogwarts."
"I am at Hogwarts." Maybe it wasn't as straight as she thought it to be.
"To teach, Severus," she added firmly. He didn't move and it was too dark to see his face, Minerva, however, knew he had turned rigid.
"I am hardly the best option," he answered finally.
"Yes, you are. There's no-one with such erudition, deep knowledge..."
"There's Slughorn." The statement reinstalled silence between them for a minute or so. Then Minerva composed herself.
"I don't want him to teach at Hogwarts. Ever again," she said in a disapproving tone of voice. "He's a weak, miserable, pathetic human being. A coward. I don't want him among my students."
"And I am a Death Eather and a murderer. I fail to see how exactly am I a better teacher than him."
"You are no longer a Death Eater and you have never been a murderer," Minerva replied with more force than she wanted to, betraying her emotions. "You are a better man, that makes you a better teacher."
A long silence followed, filled with anticipation and contemplating. In the end, Severus knelt before the statue and placed a thin long candle beside the two that had been there already. He lit them with a match rather than a wand.
"I killed him," he stated, as if that explained everything.
"You couldn't have done more than you did." Severus shook his head.
"There's always something..." He sighed heavily. "It's getting cold. We should go back inside."
They left the small statue behind them, shadows dancing across the carved face of the boy who had once lived.
The building was vast, grey and unwelcoming. Draco checked the address again and found, to his dismay, that the solicitor's office was on the toppest floor.
There was no chance there would be a lift in there. Such buildings, all old and dirty, never had a lift, just steep, narrow stairs and long dark corridors. It was just like the Ministry, Draco thought bitterly, to choose the cheapest solicitor possible. He carefully opened the door. He would have spelled it open rather than touching the filthy knob, but this particular cheap solicitor had an office in the middle of a Muggle settlement, so Draco couldn't afford to draw his wand before entering said office.
The corridor was indeed a dark one. It led towards - oh, a miracle! - a lift. Draco pushed the button - he knew which one because there was only one button - and nothing happened. Out of order, then. Draco turned to the stairs, wishing in vain he could at least cast Lumos. But there was a Muggle woman between the second and the third floor collecting dry laundry from a balcony. She watched him suspiciously when she thought he wasn't looking and faked a smile when he greeted her. He was glad to leave her behind.
As he was approaching the last, seventh floor, he noticed there was more light. At first he just thought the windows up there were cleaner, being high above the traffic, but taking the last turn of the stairs he discovered there was a hole in the roof covered only with a large piece of plastic.
"Thank Merlin it's not raining," he mumbled automatically.
"You were saying?" an old man with a beard asked him. Draco was startled and eyed the man up and down. He seemed to be harmless enough.
"These stairs are likely to kill me," he said loudly. He looked around and saw three wooden door without numbers or any other indication. "Would you mind telling me where I could find Mr. Tinkerbell?" he asked the old bearded man. The man jumped from one leg to another before answering:
"That depends. What do you want from him?"
"We have a business appointment."
"Oh. Are you a young Malfoy? Let me see..." The man stepped closer to Draco, in fact he nearly stepped on his toe, and examined his face minutely. "Yes, yes," he murmured contendly. "This must be you. Come, I am Tinkerbell - do come in, sonny, do come in." Tinkerbell turned on his heel and kicked open the furthest door. "Come in, come in!" he shouted from the inside. Draco followed hesitantly. To his surprise, Tinkerbell's office - and his flat as well, it seemed - was clean and cosy, if a bit untidy, with orange and yellow walls and a grey carpet, not thick and new, but not worn and paper thin either.
"Sit down here, sonny, I'll put a kettle on. Would you like some biscuits? Here, help yourself. Go away, Lucky Tom." Lucky Tom, a fat black cat, hissed at Draco, but left the armchair he had been sleeping in obediently, following Tinkerbell out of the room.
Draco cast a few cleaning spells on the armchair before sitting down in it, just to be sure. He looked at the biscuits, decided not to have any and entertained himself by examining pictures on the walls. There were many of them, mostly landscapes, of different sizes and styles. None of them moved. Scanning the room quickly, Draco found out there were no magical objects he would recognise. That troubled him a bit, Tinkerbell was supposed to be a wizarding solicitor. But maybe he was so poor he had to work for Muggles, too, to make his living - it would make sense not to have anything magical lying around then.
"There we go." Tinkerbell returned with a tray, placed in on the table and put an old piece of china before Draco. "I hope you like herbal teas, I'm afraid I don't have any other," he said apologetically and poured a steaming yellow liquid into the cup.
"Now, Mr. Tinkerbell," said Draco.
"Please, call me just Tinky."
"Oh... OK, Tinky. Shall we start? I know it's a delicate business, but the sooner it's over, the better."
"I understand. We should wait for your aunt, though."
"My aunt?" Draco creased his eyebrows. "What does she have to do with it? She's not a Malfoy - besides, she can hardly come here from Azkaban."
"Not only your mother had a sister," said an unfamiliar voice from the door. Draco's head turned around so quickly his neck started hurting again. There was a woman at the door, with short fair hair, a narrow face and eyes he used to know as his father's. Her eyes, Draco noted, were different from his father's after all. They were softer and somehow... more alive.
"My father was an only child," Draco protested. "I've seen the family book."
"That's how old pureblood families do it - they erase whoever they don't like."
"Oh. Are you a bloodtraitor, then?" The word lost its demeaning sound after a war and acquired a new one, more like "hero".
"Yes," she said and smiled beautifully. "And a Squib."
The curtain made an irritating screetching noise again and Hermione grabbed her wand to fix it finally. She knew visitors weren't allowed to perform magic in this part of the hospital, but after three hours of listening to this terrible sound she couldn't stand it any longer. Just a quick oiling charm, what harm could it cause?
"...mione?" a timid voice said as she was balancing on a chair, aiming her wand at the metal curtain rod. She spun around so quickly she nearly fell down.
"Ron?" He was pale and looked exhausted, but finally his eyes were open and focused. "Ron!" Hermione hugged him and Ron hissed in pain.
"Sorry... sorry. Do you need anything? Do you want some water? Oh Merlin, you're back... you're going to be fine!"
"Wha' 'appened?"
"He's gone - Voldemort is dead," Hermione replied, suddenly less thrilled.
"Oh. Good." Ron closed his eyes again.
"Ron?" He tried to answer, but the words slurred into an unintelligible sound.
"You're going to be fine," Hermione assured him. "You just need a bit of rest and then you'll be fine. Fine," she whispered.
A/N: The name "Tinkerbell" comes from my favourite TV Show "CI5: The Professionals", episode "Blind Run". Many thanks to Brian Clemens! (end of an ad :))
I'll try really hard to update regularly (or at least often). Please review!
