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
Change with the Times

Draco stepped into the bookshop unsure about what to expect. Last time - and the only time - he had been there was to pick up Tisha after her working hours, and she had met him at the door. This day, it was still rather early in the afternoon and the shop was packed with Muggles.

He longed desperately for a chat, whatever brief, with Tisha, just to get his mind off of things. He looked around to find her but she was nowhere to be seen, so he decided to turn to some of the shop assistants.

"Excuse... excuse me," he tried to attract attention of the first man who he was fairly sure worked there. He was short, thin and balding, wore tiny glasses and had a small pencil behind his left ear.

"Yeah?"

"Could you tell me where I can find Tisha Malfoy?" The man looked at him dumbly and for a moment Draco feared he was too simple to understand an indirect question.

"She ain't workin' 'ere no more," the man said and turned back to the shelf he had been inspecting.

"Eh... what? I mean..."

"Can I help you?" Another man emerged from a side aisle. This one looked more intelligent and Draco repeated his question to him only to get a similar answer: Miss Malfoy wasn't working at the bookshop any more, she had handed in her notice the day before that day and had already left and they wouldn't really miss someone who would leave at such a short notice and was there anything else they could do for him?

Draco was back on the street before he knew it. For some reason, he didn't think a trip to Tisha's flat would be more successful, and he felt cheated.

"You can't be serious!" Snape exclaimed upon seeing the newly appointed Muggle Studies Professor. Minerva fought the urge to answer that of course she couldn't be Sirius - seeing a complete set of teachers combined with sleep deprivation made her a little light-headed - while Laeticia Malfoy simply smiled and took her place at the long table. Several other professors greeted her warmly and shot dark glances towards Snape.

"I mean, Headmistress, she is not a witch - and this is a wizarding school!" Snape continued heatedly. The lack of response made him angrier.

"Oh, hello, Severus, how nice of you to remember me," Tisha said before he could think of anything else to say. She leaned forward to look at him, three places from her on the same side of the table. She could only see his nose protruding from the line of the faces of the professors between them. "It's been so many years since we met for the last time - how have you been?" He tried to hide behind his colleagues but the tip of his nose never made it.

"What do you mean?" Moody barked at Snape before turning to Tisha. "A Malfoy - aren't you Lucius Malfoy's relative? A cousin?" he guessed.

"His sister," Tisha corrected. "And I am a Squib."

"Oh." Moody sat back and looked at Minerva, clearly confused by the idea of a Squib teaching at Hogwarts, but refusing to side with Snape.

"And it didn't stop me from passing my NEWTs at History and Muggle Studies," Tisha added.

"Now, that's unheard of," Binns entered the discussion. "A Squib teaching at Hogwarts! That wasn't possible in my days. Who will you hire next, a ghost?" he asked, apparently horrified and disgusted by the idea. Most of the professors stared at him, some considered pointing out Binns himself was a ghost, and Flitwick, who was seated next to Tisha, suddenly slipped under the table. Tisha went after him to see whether he needed any help, probably medical, only to find him laughing hysterically. Flitwick composed himself and beckoned Tisha closer. She leaned in and he whispered an explanation into her ear.

They reemerged together and Tisha helped Flitwick climb back into his high chair.

"I can assure you," she turned to Binns gravely, "that I am as able to teach my subject as you are able to teach yours." That made Hooch chuckle. She patted her chest and muttered something apologetic about a long night flight she had had to take.

"Now, ladies and gentlemen, if we could get to the task at hand," Minerva said impatienly. "The new school year starts tomorrow and I'd like to get some sleep tonight."

Draco stood between Hermione and Ginny and felt incredibly stupid.

For one, he was the only one blond at the funeral, which made him stand out, and the fact he was wearing an expensive set of mourning robes didn't help. He was sticking out as a... as a...

As a very rich boy in a crowd of beggars.

The thought scared him - he had got over this, hadn't he? - and he tried to distract himself by watching the mourners.

Hermione and Ginny were staring ahead of them without movement, obviously not listening to the Ministry official who was talking very nicely of Ron and didn't seem to want to stop. Arthur Weasley was standing above the open grave, holding his weeping wife tightly to his side with his healthy hand. Next to them were the twins, stationed near their mother in order to be able to carry her out of the crowd in case she fainted or simply felt too weak. Bill and Fleur were holding hands. Fleur had tears in her eyes. And two steps away from his family, Percy was listening to the speech.

There were more Weasleys lining the path between the new grave and older ones and next to them the Prewetts, offering their comfort. Draco looked aside before any of them could meet his eyes. They had talked briefly before the ceremony had started and they hadn't seemed thrilled at seeing a Malfoy.

The official finally stopped his speech and Percy applauded him briefly. The mourners approached the grave to say the last goodbye to Ronald Bilius Weasley.

What a stupid, stupid thing to happen, Draco thought. Some kind of a dormant curse, the Healers had told them, powerful enough to prevent his own magic to save him; something woken up when Ron had woken up, something they hadn't noticed during lenghty examinations, residual magic they had missed.

Hermione stepped over to the grave and her shoulders started shaking again. One of the twins hugged her and led her away. Ginny didn't start crying. In fact, Draco hadn't ever seen her crying - not even when she had learned about Harry. The other twin took care of her.

Feeling inappropriate, Draco took his turn in standing over the grave. Stupid and unbelieavable thing to happen. The war had ended, and yet it had claimed another victim. He felt the eyes of everyone burning into him and drew himself back among the Weasleys he had befriended. Percy came forward.

Molly Weasley threw herself at Draco and hugged him firmly, muttering incoherently about her little boy. Draco hugged her akwardly and hoped she wouldn't start calling him Dracokin or anything of the sort.

Or at least not at public.

He caught one of the twins' eye over Mrs. Weasley's head. The young wizard seemed friendly and nodded at Draco curtly before whispering something into Ginny's ear. She looked up and faked a smile just for Draco.

Tomorrow, Ginny would leave for Hogwarts, Draco reminded himself and started rubbing Mrs. Weasley's back.

"Hermione." She turned to see Percy, his hand stretched towards her, his expression grave and purposely sad. She let him shake her hand.

"He was a good boy," Percy remarked, still holding her hand. "I knew him well and I'd like you to know..."

"Shut up!" Hermione shrieked and tore her hand out of his grasp. "You didn't know him at all - at all! You wanted him to leave Harry alone during the tournament - as if he would ever - ever..." Her lungs refused to support her shouting any more and went into spasm for a while, leaving her breathless. But Ginny and the twins backed Hermione up, forming a line that divided Percy from the rest of the family.

"Go away," Hermione spat when she calmed down a little. "Go away and don't come back." She turned away from him and walked away from the scene and in Draco's arms, Mrs. Weasley was weeping, whether for Ron or Percy or both, Draco couldn't tell.

Snape left the staff meeting with big red spots before his eyes. He returned to the dungeons taking long, even, energetic steps, never stopping, barely slowing when rounding a corner. Had there been any students in Hogwarts then, they would have cleared out of his way, fearing the worst.

And then, the only thing that happened was a Squib accepted as a Hogwarts Professor. That wasn't that bad.

Snape pushed the door to his rooms opened with so much force it hit the wall, causing one of Snape's jars with horrifying contents to fall down from its shelf and break to pieces. Its horrifying content tried to squirm in between the nearest piece of furniture and the wall, but Neville Longbottom caught it, repaired the jar and sealed it back in.

"Guess it didn't go well?" he said with his eyes still fixed to the jar. The content of the jar turned what seemed to be its back towards him and looked offended. Neville chuckled.

"It went marve-lousily," Snape exclaimed and sank into his armchair. "We are going to have an excellent Muggle Studies professor."

"Oh, really?" Neville muttered.

"Yes, of course. She is a Squib."

"There's a surprise."

"Of the century," Snape agreed. "A complete novelty."

"Well, times change. And you don't need any magic to teach that - it's all just..."

"This is a magical building! Do you realise how dangerous it can be for a Muggle?" Snape erupted. Neville blinked.

Good grief, Severus, you care for her well-being!

"Filch manages," he said instead of anything more probing. He was very curious about the new teacher, but there was a good deal of explosives sitting before him and the last thing he needed was to set the explosives off. Snape didn't answer to that, muttering darkly something unintelligible.

Neville walked around him and started tending to a pair of bizarre plants he had placed on Snape's table.

"What's that?" Snape barked. He had somehow summoned a bottle of Firewhiskey and was now looking for an empty glass.

"Just a pair of Egyptian Shrivelfigs. I got them for research. Don't worry, I won't leave them here. I took them along to keep an eye on them. Sometimes they..." Neville's happy speech about shrivelfigs was interrupted by one of the plants. It sprang to life and started wriggling impatiently. Neville fished a small phial from his pocket and sprayed the plant with its contents. The shrivelfig calmed down and rested its leaves on the rim of its pot.

"See? Just need a bit of care." Neville fetched two glasses from Snape's cupboard, let Snape fill them, handed him one and sat down on the rug before the fireplace.

"How many..."

"So, this Muggle Studies professor," Neville said, "what is she like?"

"She is a Malfoy, and that says it all."

"If she's a Malfoy and a Squib, it probably doesn't say anything," Neville countered logically, being aware of the just-keep-the-family-purely-pureblood policy.

"You don't know her," Snape growled.

"And you do?" Snape ignored the question and Neville decided to watch the flames rather than dig deeper. In the end, it was Snape who broke the silence.

"Of course, when I thought it couldn't possibly get any worse, it did." Neville sipped at his whiskey, letting the older man to continue in his own time.

"I was appointed to look after her," Snape said bitterly. "You know, show her around, help her move in, such nonsenses."

"Uh-huh."

"As if I wanted to spend my last quiet night in ten months pampering her!"

"You mean she's already in the castle, you're supposed to help her and you're sitting here?" Snape nodded, his lips curving into an unfriendly smile. "You're not serious! How is she going to get her luggage through the castle without magic?"

"Ah, she'll manage," Snape dismissed Neville's worries. "After all, Filch manages."