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
Missing Pieces

Neville passed the turn to the Potions classroom and took the longer way to Snape's rooms, all the time cursing the man who would make his door only appear when approached from a certain direction. He stopped before the offending entrance and calmed himself down. The door was also charmed only to answer password spoken calmly and clearly.

In the times when it was charmed to answer passwords at all, which wasn't September the first.

"Severus?" Neville called while knocking at the door. He knew shouting and kicking would get him nowhere - or, to be more precise, in trouble. Asking politely might have resulted in attracting Snape's attention.

Neville knocked once again and gave up. Snape was either still angry with him, which was the reason why Neville's password hadn't worked, or he wasn't present, or most likely both. Neville could leave for now and send Snape an owl, but that would mean his shrivelfig would remain in Snape's care for at least a day longer, and tonight the students would start roaming the castle's corridors, so paying a visit would become more complicated. No, he had to stay and deal with it now.

Sometimes he wished he could keep himself in check all the time when he was hanging out with Snape. Sometimes he just wished Snape would grow a sense of humour. But he knew both were impossible, so he just sat down and prepared to wait.

He must have dozed off because he was startled by two voices nearing.

"... but then, he didn't have to leave - he just found it more pleasant," said a female voice he didn't recognize at first. "Easier."

"If he had stayed, he would have been persecuted - of course, that would have been so pleasant," Snape barked impatiently. Neville stood up and looked for the nearest escape route. If he was impatient while in a discussion he was interested in, he was in a bad mood.

"Leaving everything and everybody you know isn't pleasant either. It's bloody painful, if you ask me, but sometimes it's easier than staying." They were too close for Neville to leave. Any second now, they would round the nearest corner and see him. Neville sighed and squared his shoulders. He didn't have to stay for the afternoon - he would just ask for his shrivelfig, get it and be on his way. Child's play.

"Oh really," Snape snarled. That meant, Neville thought unhappily, the woman had proven her point in their discussion and Snape didn't want to admit it.

They came in view at that point and Neville smiled politely. So this was her - the Squib mistress of Hogwarts. Both Snape and Professor Malfoy were silent until they reached him, so he had enough time study her. She was tall and elegant, dressed in a nice set of robes, and although she was new to Hogwarts, she had an air of confidence that made her look like someone who had known their way around for ages.

"Ah, another," Snape snapped and pointedly waved his wand to unlock the door.

"Professor Malfoy," Neville bowed his head to her.

"Do I have a signature on my forehead?" she queried curiously.

"Erm - no. I've heard about you. I'm Neville Longbottom." She offered him her hand and he shook it briefly.

"I must admit that I have never heard of you."

"Well, that's hardly a..."

"Was there anything you needed?" Snape bellowed from his living room.

"Just my shrivelfig, please," Neville retorted calmly.

"Is he always like this?" Malfoy asked in a whisper.

"No - rarely, I mean, just sometimes - every other day or so."

"Then get the hell in here and collect it!" Snape's voice bounced of the walls and caused something in the next corridor to fall down. Neville, who had half expected Snape to throw the plant on his head, smiled at Malfoy and entered the lion's den. The door fell shut behind him.

Tisha's eyebrows shot up. There was apparently more to Snape than she had believed. She lightly knocked at the door.

Snape opened the door so violently Tisha's first instict was to flee.

"What do you want now?" he barked.

"Just wanted to say thank-you," she explained mildly. He made a rude noise and moved to slam the door again. "Really," she insisted, all laughter banished from both her voice and eyes. That surprised Snape and he looked at her with distrust. "Thank you," she said as sincerely as she could manage.

"Oh. Ah... well, you're welcome." Tisha counted it as a victory that he closed the door gently and looked around her. She had to get back in the Entrance Hall, which was... that way?

To ask directions now would be a little too late, so she decided to try her luck at first and call Dobby if she didn't succeed.

Meanwhile, Neville watched Snape curiously. Very little could be read from Snape's face except when he was angry, but from the way his shoulders and back tensed or relaxed, Neville had learnt to guess nuances of Snape's mood.

Right now, after closing the door quietly, Snape was confused. That was just slightly better than angry and it could change into angry any moment. Especially if someone decided to probe into the root of it. Neville found his shrivelfig and examined it.

"So what do you make of Professor Malfoy?" Snape asked so suddenly he made Neville jump. "I didn't run any experiments on it, just gave it water whenever it started shrieking."

"So it's probably hungry. Hm." Neville dug a phial from his robes and gave the plant a generous amount. The plant's leaves rustled happilly.

"What's that?"

"Just a mixture of manures and some vitamins."

"Vitamins?!"

"I want them to be healthy." Neville carefully rubbed one of the leaves and sniffed his fingers.

"And about my first question?" Snape had poured himself a glass of whiskey and was sipping at it, eyes burning a hole in Neville's head. Neville scratched behind his left ear and remembered the question.

That she can make you not angry, he thought but didn't dare to say it aloud.

"I don't know - just met her - you tell me."

"Where is your magical gift for reading people?" Snape dared. Neville shot him a dirty look, but ran his mind to dig some information from what he knew about the woman.

She had spent some time in discussion with Snape in a bad mood, but still had the guts to knock on his door after he had slammed it in her face. "She's... daring. Reasonable," came from the way she calmly discussed. It was a bit of a guess, since he didn't know what the two had been talking about, but Snape merely cocked his head, which most probably meant he agreed.

Neville poured himself a glass of whiskey and levitated Snape's other armchair closer to the fireplace, pointedly leaving Snape's favourite one vacant.

"That's all?" Snape asked when Neville nestled in the armchair.

"Hm. She's traditional when it's appropriate, but likes to make an experiment or two. She knows her value and her strenghts and she knows how to use them." Snape filled his glass, offered the bottle to Neville and sat down in his own armchair.

"Those are, of course, only wild guesses." Neville grinned. He was sure about most of it, but for reasons he didn't want to explain. If Malfoy hadn't been testing Snape's reactions, he would eat his shrivelfigs, disregarding both the awful taste and its hallucinatory effects.

"Of course," he agreed. "What do you think about her?" Snape shrugged. "You must think something," Neville challenged.

"Well, she's... very annoying,"

"You mean persistent?"

"I mean annoying! Just like you - doesn't give a rest until she gets what she wants." Personally, Neville doubted Snape had the slightest notion about Malfoy's true intentions. Not because Snape was such a bad judge of character, he only tended to expect the worst from people and always guessed everyone to be a lot like him.

"Okay, so she's annoying. What else?"

Snape muttered something unintelligible and probably rude, but went on, "She's naive. Thinks she can change the world." Neville contemplated arguing. To start a philosophical discussion about the influence of an individual on the world as a total - maybe it would be safer than gossiping about Professor Malfoy. Because if they went on like this, Neville's tongue might slip. He may say how Snape reminded him of a certain Ronald Weasley, and that would be the end of a pleasant afternoon.

"As a whole, she is infuriating," Snape continued. "Well-endowed with the infamous Gryffindor bravery."

"She's a Gryffindor?" Neville blurted out in surprise. She seemed to be anything but a keen, more-guts-than-wits typical Gryffindor - but then, there must be a house for everyone and some people could fit more than one - or none.

"Never been sorted as far as I know." Neville hid his smile in the glass. For Snape, infuriating and Gryffindor meant nearly the same.

"And she's been infuriating you all the day," Neville said to hide his amusement. "Poor you." Snape looked at him and Neville quickly made sure his face looked serious.

"Mr. Longbottom," Snape said dangerously and Neville swore silently, "are you, by any chance, mocking me?"

"Er - no?" Instead of the fit of rage Neville had expected, Snape just waved his hand, splashing a little of whiskey on the rug, and looked away from him.

"Why I put up with you is beyond me."

"Without me, you would have no-one to torment when the students aren't here," Neville offered.

"Good point, summon the chains, will you?" Neville summoned the bottle instead, inspecting the considerable drop in the level of whiskey.

"I should be on my way, before the students arrive," he said, placing the bottle out of Snape's view.

"Don't remind me," Snape growled. "So little time left." He checked the time and frowned. "The last package of asphodel should have arrived already." He got up and left the room, presumably to check whether the owl had delivered the order to the Potions classroom or his office. He muttered something at the door and Neville just wondered whether his password had been reactivated.

When Snape failed to return within the next twenty minutes, Neville collected the shrivelfig and left. The door fell shut behind him and he hesitated.

"I'm such a fool," he said to the door and it swung open obediently. Neville chuckled and closed the door again. When he was passing Snape's office, he heard him arguing with some witch about an unacceptable delivery time.

A Gryffindor though he was, he didn't feel as daring as to interrupt them just to say his good-bye.

When Ginny woke up, the compartment was empty and the sky outside was getting grey. She stretched and decided to change into the school robes.

"He- erm, sorry." Ginny let the robes fall around her body and turned. A small boy was standing at the door to the compartment. His face was completely red.

"I - I must have got lost - thought it was my compartment. Sorry." Ginny smiled at him. She didn't recognise him and he was most probably one of the first years.

"That's okay. I should have locked the door. Your first time on the train?" The boy nodded.

"And it's wonderful. I heard we are nearly there - Hogwarts, I mean. Is it as beautiful as they say? Oh, I'm Robert," he said in one breathe. "I read so much about it," he added and Ginny realised who he was reminding her of.

"Would you want me to help you find your compartment?" she offered. Robert shook his head.

"I'll manage. Thank you, eh..."

"Ginny." She offered him her hand and he took it with an expression of awe. Now the blush had left his face, he looked unusually pale. The size of his eyes didn't help to improve the image. They were huge, there was simply no other word to describe them. They, combined with his eagerness and small size, made Robert resemble a house-elf.

"So you read a lot, Robert?" she asked curiously. The prospect of having a brand new bookworm at Hogwarts intrigued her. Robert just nodded to that.

"I read all of my textbooks and it's all so... so exciting! Maybe except for History, that's just like the History at my elementary school." He pulled a face to describe how much he thought about History. "Just battles and political intrigues - it's all the same, wizards or Muggles."

"You're a Muggleborn, then."

"Yes. It gave Mum and Dad quite a shock when the man came to tell us about it." Ginny couldn't get rid of the impression she was talking to someone a hell of a lot older than eleven. Must be all the reading. Had Hermione been like that when she was eleven?

"And what do they think about magic?" she asked.

"It's wonderful!" Robert exclaimed. "Dad even started reading the Potions textbook - he's a chemist and he says Potions are very much like chemistry. He wanted me to become a chemist, too, but now he says becoming a potion-brewer would be enough." Robert chuckled. Ginny didn't understand where the joke came, but smiled nonetheless.

"I hope the Potions Master will be good," Robert remarked. Ginny's smile disappeared. There were many words she could use to describe Snape, but good wasn't among them.

"Er... he knows what he's talking about," she offered and Robert accepted it as a yes.

"I'll go to find my compartment. It was nice to meet you, Ginny," he said politely.

"See you around," Ginny said.

Merlin help the boy if he ended up in Gryffindor, she thought and eased her trunk from the luggage rack as the Hogwarts Express pulled into Hogsmeade station.

Snape watched the wriggling student body. Regarded from a distance, the students looked like a big animal, rolling over the tables and seats and making a lot of noise.

Maybe he should have declined Minerva's offer for the students' sake.

Sprout led the first years in and placed the Sorting Hat on its stool. The line of the first years was reminiscent of a snake. Only they were probably going to be a pain in... in the neck, Snape corrected himself. Strong language was off-limits now, around the children.

Finally the sorting was done. Minerva got up to make the announcements - there were bets placed on how long she would make them keep waiting before the feast, Snape had heard. The Gryffindors accepted Professor Vectra as their new Head of House with a polite applause. The Slytherins accepted him with an embarassed applause. No-one paid much attention to the new set of dos and don'ts set by Filch and Snape could tell already which of the well-known troublemakers were already planning on breaking the rules just for the sake of breaking the rules.

If there was a real wisdom in the world, Dumbledore must have possessed it, because he had let everyone eat before getting to the nuisances.

It took Snape a whole plate of roast-beef with fried potatoes to realise Minerva was just picking at her meal and frowning.

"Is anything the matter, Headmistress?" he asked to speed up the process that would, no doubt, end with him as the one chosen to deal with the trouble.

"They aren't here," she stated discontentedly.

"Who isn't here?" He already knew the answer - or feared it.

"Longbottom, Granger and Malfoy," she hissed. Down the table, Tisha lifted her head and looked at them. Snape scowled her into dropping her gaze back to her plate.

"Oh, them. You wanted them to return to finish their seventh year," he said.

"Correct. And they haven't come." Snape watched the frown. There was something he should have placed his bet on - because he had known, he had known, she would miss something.

"And have you invited them to come?" he queried, his eyes never leaving Minerva's face. The expression of realisation was priceless.

"Oh."

"Correct," he retorted and started looking for a pudding worth the moment.

"You could have reminded me," Minerva hissed again.

"I am not the deputy headmaster - and before you ask, I will not become the deputy headmaster. However, you should get someone to do the job - and let me make this straight, I am not offering."

"I heard you the first time." Minerva's lips became one long, thin line.

"I just wanted to make it clear," Snape explained. "What about Sprout? She handled the first years sufficiently." Minerva gave him a disgusted look, but turned to the Hufflepuff Head of House, conveniently seated at her other hand, and started a conversation.

Down the table, Tisha was watching him again, and when their eyes met, she raised her eyebrows in a silent question. Snape saluted her with his goblet. She frowned.

A man had to savour these moments of peace, Snape thought contentedly.

In the morning of September the second, the Burrow was silent. Mr. Weasley had left before Draco and Hermione woke up and Mrs. Weasley was in the garden when they came in the kitchen. Rather than letting the children - Draco and Hermione exchanged exasperated looks - ruin her kitchen, she made them breakfast.

The owls caught them by surprise.

"Do you think Ginny is so homesick already?" Draco asked. Hermione shook her head.

"This is for you," she handed him one letter and sat back to open her own. Draco looked at the Hogwarts crest on the letter and felt his heart rate speed up.

He tore the letter open and felt disappointed when he only found one piece of parchment inside.

"Dear Mr. Malfoy," the letter read, "I would like to invite you to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry to finish your education. Please contact me in order to arrange for your arrival and to receive further instructions. Yours sincerely, Pomona Sprout, Deputy Headmistress."