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
Desires That Arise at Night

Lunch at Hogwarts was a lengthy affair. Breakfast was usually hasty and students attempted to have it as late as possible, later in the school year practically at the beginning of the first period. Dinner, on the other hand, students hardly ever postponed: the happy second their last class ended, the relief made them hungry. But lunch, the meal pressed in between morning and afternoon classes, somehow managed to take forever. Some students hurried to it, so they could have rest afterwards, some lingered behind, talking to Professors or to each other, some liked to hang around their tables until they could talk to each and every of their House, those who had History after lunch went out to enjoy the nice weather - if the weather was nice - planning on a cosy nap during Binns' lecture... and unknowningly to all of them, every day one of the Professors watched over the Great Hall from the first filled plate to the last drained goblet.

Filius Flitwick rather liked the duty. It wasn't as hard as patrolling the corridors - the mere presence of a member of the staff at the High Table stopped most of the mischief - and he could stay sitting through it, drinking juice, enjoying a dessert and watching the children. Thursday the fifth, he noted happilly, the dessert (a blueberry cake) was particularly tasty.

He had tried to discuss the cake with Professor Malfoy, but she was restless and obviously in a hurry - she had been held back by a curious student, she had explained. She left at quarter to two and ten minutes later, Flitwick saw her pacing the Entrance Hall clad in a long Muggle coat. To Flitwick's surprise, she was joined by Neville Longbottom and the two left the castle together.

The level of noise rose and Flitwick turned his eyes towards Hufflepuff table, where a group of third-years heatedly discussed their latest Transfiguration lesson. Before Flitwick decided to get up, a prefect came round, asked for quiet and sorted out whatever had been the problem.

These prefects, Flitwick mused peacefully, were an excellent invention.

"Ginny - wait!" Flitwick witnessed Hermione Granger, who had been poking in her meal for more than an hour, darting after the youngest Weasley, who she had been obviously waiting for. Ginny had apparently intended to only grab something small and eat outside - that wasn't exactly by the rules, but was tolerated as long as the weather held. The two girls met at the door and walked out in silence - Flitwick saddened when he imagined what, or rather who, they were going to be silent about.

"Quiet day, Filius?" At last Headmistress arrived.

"Yes - but lunch's not over yet." Flitwick winked merrilly, but to no avail. Minerva was already piling food on her plate. She was so tired nowadays, Flitwick didn't even attempt to strike up a conversation and returned to watching the students. There was a whispering at the Slytherin table which might or might not mean trouble brewing. A quick glance at Gryffindors confirmed Flitwick's suspicions - something had probably happened - but one of the Gryffindor prefects caught his eye and nodded before she moved closer to the sullenly looking boys at her table to calm them down. Furthermore, Professor Snape entered the Hall, looking very much dismayed and sour. The Slytherins were no longer a united body supporting their Head of House - there were too many whose parents had supported Voldemort and therefore hated Snape with all reptilian passion they could muster - but each and every of them either respected or feared him, and his appearance alone made them straighten their backs and lower their voices.

Snape seated himself in a rigid manner that spoke volumes about his bad mood. Flitwick greeted him and was suprised at receiving an answer.

"Tisha has left already?" Snape asked, eyes trained at his plate, fingers of his left hand toying with a fork. When Flitwick supplied she had, and added she had left the castle as well, Snape jabbed his fork into his meal, which concluded the conversation.

Several first-years burst into the Hall nearly at a run, but slowed down upon seeing Snape at the staff table. They finished their meal hurriedly and left the emptying Hall only few minutes later. Flitwick contentedly drained his goblet, Snape rose without uttering another word and it started raining outside, which was the last event of the lunch.

"So... how are you holding up?" Hermione asked when they were snugly seated near the lake. The wind was a little cold, but it was still warm enough and the water surface moved soothingly back and forth.

"Fine," Ginny replied without looking up. "You?"

"Well, I - well, I guess. Heard from Blaise?" Again, Ginny refused to meet Hermione's eyes when she nodded yes.

Hermione felt their friendship slipping away and wasn't sure whether she was sorry for it or not. She had changed more that she had ever believed possible - and Ginny, as much as she hadn't taken an active part in the war, had been affected so much - had lost so much - she couldn't have remained the same. They had grown apart, quite understandably, but Hermione wanted their closiness back, missed their girly conversations, and had to try.

"You'll see him on the first Hogsmeade weekend, won't you?"

"Well, if I go shopping, then probably." Ginny shrugged. "How, uh - how are you getting on with the boys?" There wasn't any real interest behind the question, but Hermione chose to ignore it.

"Quiet so far. No fires, no murders, you know," she attempted a joke. It felt half sick and half pleasant to joke about the war: sick because of all the dead and pleasant because it meant she was healing, Hermione mused.

"Oh." Whether Ginny found the joke sick or just unamusing, she didn't tell and continued eating in silence until the sun disappeared behind large grey clouds.

"It's about to rain," Hermione commented. They got up and hurried back to the castle. As the first heavy drops fell on their heads, Hermione allowed one bitter tear slip out of the corner of her eye. It slid down her cheek and mingled with the raindrops on her chin.

After seeing Tisha off from the main gate, Neville ran to the greenhouses, where he was already expected by Professor Sprout. Her screechsnaps had overgrown their pots over the summer, thanks to the good weather a lot sooner than the kind Professor could let the fifth-years to deal with the matter - and, as she put it with an enthusiastic smile, there wasn't enough time to have the sixth-years do it.

When shortly before three o'clock Neville went outside to fetch Hermione, he was covered in dirt, sporting several leaves in his hair, and he had a nasty bite on his left forearm where a Fanged Gerandium had struck him unexpectedly. Hermione looked clean and tidy, but Neville couldn't help but notice that her eyes were kind of red, as if she had been crying for the hours between lunch and their afternoon lesson. She didn't say anything, though, and Neville didn't pry.

"Very well, let's see how much you've forgotten," Sprout began merrilly. She started to quiz them, very much like Snape had, which brought a slight smile to Neville's lips. In the end they showed more knowledge then Sprout had feared - as she said, praising them - even if it was still less than Neville had hoped for. Especially after all the extra time spent helping out in the greenhouses.

"Dinner time?" Neville asked as they walked together back to the castle. Hermione shrugged.

"I guess I'll have a shower first." Although their first lesson had been only a lecture, the Fanged Gerandium decided to throw dirt around the greenhouse, because it couldn't reach either of them, and most of the dirt ended in Hermione's hair. It looked sort of pretty, Neville mused quietly, in a rural way - but Hermione probably didn't care about it.

Neville accompanied Hermione upstairs and inspected his wound. It didn't look as bad as it hurt and he decided he could skip a visit to the Hospital Wing in favour of having a shower himself. In the end, they were among the last ones who headed for dinner. Draco was already finishing his dessert, Hedwig nested in the crook of his elbow. He saluted them with a fork.

"I think she fell in love with me," he whispered theatrically. Hermione laughed.

Snape headed back to the dungeons as soon it was bearable to leave the dinner table. He felt annoyed, edgy and aggravated. He had half-hoped to talk to Tisha at dinner - he had been actually looking forward to blaming her for his bad mood - but she didn't show up. He found that extremely rude. She appeared whenever he wanted to be alone, but when once in a time he wanted to see her, she couldn't be found.

"Ten points from Gryffindor," he mumbled menacingly as he passed by a group of chattering students in the Entrance Hall. They shot him a disgusted glance each, but didn't complain about the unfair penalty, as they knew from experience it would only result in a further loss of points. Snape descended the stairs and headed to his office. He slammed the door behind himself and frowned. He had a detention to supervise, but had to yet come up with anything he could assign Brocks to do.

His frown disappeared when he discovered a large shipping of asphodel - so at last it had arrived. An evil smile broke on his face when he examined the packages closer. There were also toads and bats, freshly killed and kept under a preservation spell, and a letter of apology that begged him to accept a little "gift" as a compensation for the late delivery. It paid off to complain, he mused. And now he had something that would keep Brocks busy.

The grounds had been quiet for hours when Tisha finally stepped down from the Knight Bus. She closed her eyes to overcome a wave of nausea - the Muggle-repelling spells affected her, although she knew the castle was there - and it took a lot of her willpower to reach the gate. She signalled the driver of the bus she didn't need further help and with a loud bang the bizarre vehical disappeared.

The gate was locked for the night, but Minerva had provided Tisha with a large metal key. Tisha leaned heavily against the bars of the gate, causing its hinges creak, and pressed the key to the place she believed to be the magical keyhole. Her vision swam and it took her a while to find the exact spot where the charm on the key unlocked the gate. It opened and Tisha staggered through - she really should have asked someone to come for her, or owled Minerva and returned in the morning, only it was so late in the night and she was sure she would manage.

As soon as the gate closed behind her, the outlines of the castle became visible and her head cleared. Tisha took several deep breaths and started on the path to the entrance. She felt tired and longed for her bed so strongly she could see herself already slipping under the cover. She tried to recall when her next class started and failed - a certain sign she really needed a rest.

The door creaked as she opened it and again when she closed it. The eerie feeling of magic was nearly overwhelming, so more immediate than during the day. Tisha could hear a quiet whispering sound echoing through the castle and decided not to investigate - it was probably only the sum of the portrait's breathing or the humming of the restless books in the library. As she was about to mount the staircase, however, the whispering grew more particular and drew closer. A dim greenish light appeared on the stairs to the dungeons and within seconds, a transparent figure of the Bloody Baron emerged. He was muttering something to himself, but as soon as he spotted Tisha, he stopped and regained his grim, silent posture. However, he glared at Tisha in a meaningful way.

"There is something I should attend to, isn't there?" Tisha sighed. She had met the Baron during her O.W.L.s week, at a restless night when she had not been able to sleep, and then, too, he had just stared at her mutely, until she sheepishly returned to bed. It had taken him a considerable time and ever since Tisha liked to think she understood him.

"Down in the dungeons," Tisha continued, stating the obvious. She was rewarded a slight nod of the incorporeal head. "Is it Severus?" A nod, again, and Tisha turned from the promising marble staircase. "In his office?" With a satisfied expression, the ghost floated accross the Hall and through the wall.

"He could have at the least shown me the way," Tisha mumbled exasperatedly as she descended into the Slytherin realm. She blinked to keep herself awake. Miraculously, she found the Potions classroom without difficulty. There was light coming from under the next door. She knocked and entered without waiting for a reply.

The office was brightly lit. There was a working table in the middle of it covered in a slimy substance, several jars that appeared to contain different body parts of animals, and a small boy with a large knife handling something very definitely dead - Tisha felt another wave of nausea and this time it had nothing to do with Muggle-repelling spells.

"Hello, Professor," the boy said amicably. He, for his part, didn't seem disgusted at all - in fact, he looked like he was having the time of his life. From all Tisha knew about Robert Brocks, he probably was. She looked at her watch.

"What are you doing here? It's past curfew."

"I'm on detention," Brocks replied cheerfully. "I saw the Bloody Baron!"

"So have I," Tisha said dryly. "Where is Professor Snape?"

"Back in there," Brocks pointed with his knife, complete with the gut hanging from the blade like a morbid decoration. Tisha walked up to the appointed door, ignoring Brocks', "But he doesn't want to be interrupted," and opened it.

Snape was hunched over a cauldron, slowly moving the stirring rod with his left hand and scribbling notes with his right.

"I told you not to come here without a good reason," he threatened, not looking up. Tisha closed the door behind herself and watched for a while. Snape didn't seem to notice her at all; he continued stirring the potion, muttering to himself and filling the parchment with his notes.

"Do you know what time it is, Severus?" Tisha said sternly in the end.

"Let me just finish this," Snape hushed her impatiently. She couldn't tell whether he hadn't recognised her or didn't care she was there. He seemed absolutely absorbed in his work, and had it not been for the first-year in his office, she would find it adorable.

"It's," Tisha looked at her watch again, "quarter to two in the morning." Snape didn't respond. "Severus!" He jerked a little at the sound of his name and glanced at her, clearly annoyed. "What are you doing, anyway?"

"Brocks brought this up during the lesson. Wartcap powder added before porcupine quills allows the quills to be added before..."

"Are you telling me that you are replaying the experiment the boy came up with? The one... the same one you gave him a detention for?" Tisha was on the verge of exploding.

"That's not the same. I can run an experiment without putting anyone else in danger," Snape retorted, turning back to his cauldron. "With the right timing, the theory can still prove correct." He started stirring the potion again.

"There is an eleven-year-old student in your office," Tisha growled.

"What does he want?" Snape asked absent-mindedly.

"You put him in a detention."

"Probably deserved it."

"I can't believe... you just... It's nearly two in the morning and you're keeping a child in detention for running an experiment you yourself aren't able to tear away from!" Tisha threw her arms in the air, but she could just as well started singing and dancing, because Snape was paying her no attention and appeared oblivious to her presence at all. "Am I the only one who finds that... that... Severus? SEVERUS! Are you even listening to me?" He wasn't. Tisha looked around the little room - a private laboratory - and tried to concentrate. Her knowledge about potion brewing was limited, but she remembered from times when she had wanted to help her father in his laboratory that potions tend to lose their magical abilities if a Muggle - or a Squib, for the matter - tampered with them.

She picked up the first strictly magical ingredient she found, let it rest on her palm for a while and then threw it into the cauldron. The potion hissed and turned dully brown.

Snape, suddenly erect and with his wand ready, turned to her. His lips had become a thin line, his eyes shot daggers at her, and red spots appeared on his otherwise sallow cheeks. He was more than angry, but Tisha was angrier yet, and with all the Malfoy experience and dignity, she could control her anger better.

"It's two o'clock in the morning and you have a student in detention. And while an eleven-year-old boy works with a knife, unsupervised, in your office, you play with a potion and forget about time. What an excellent example of mature behaviour." Her voice, low and icy, finally managed to get the message accross to Snape, who lowered his wand and stared at Tisha, uncertain about what to do. He cleared his throat and put away his wand, looked aside, then back at Tisha, who raised her eyebrows. Finally, it was her who broke the silence again.

"I suggest you go and release your student." Unusually obedient, Snape complied and having inspected Brocks' work, sent him off to bed. He put away the jars and cleaned the table and only when he put out the candles, he realised Tisha had remained in his laboratory.

He found her sitting on the only chair he kept there, with her head leant against the wall and her eyes closed.

"Is there anything else you want to yell at me for?" he asked as politely as he could, and also as acidly as he managed - which was usually enough to send a whole class into the Hospital Wing. Tisha blinked and shook her head.

"No. I'm off to bed. Sorry to have distur..." she trailed off as she spotted the cauldron and remembered why she had disturbed him. She cleared her throat and rubbed her eyes.

"Be careful not to get the snake fangs into your eyes," Snape warned her, sounding pleased, while Tisha's eyes errupted in pain. "The powder tends to keep to the skin and has a really unpleasant effect on the sensitive glands."

"Unpleasant?!" In addition to having troubles keeping her eyes open, Tisha now experienced sharp stinging pain, half of her face seemingly on fire. As she opened her mouth swear, she felt cold touch on her chin, as Snape tilted her head backwards, and with a wave of magic washing over her, the pain subsided. She blinked again, this time to get rid of the remaining tears.

"Thanks." Tisha watched as Snape cleared the cauldron, measured the ingredients and started the fire again. "Do you ever sleep?" she asked in disbelief.

"Just one last try," he answered, in an experimental mood again. It was obvious he wasn't going to stop until he found an answer and Tisha wondered whether he would go to classes in the morning, if he didn't have it by then. She was tired, but the sleepiness left her temporarily and she decided to sit through the experiment, if not for anything else, than to make Snape stop after his "one last try". Snape usually tried to look as if he were merely watching the rest of the world, not really participating, and most important, never seemed to show any feelings, except when he was angry and out of control - but right now, as he bent over the cauldron better to perceive every single change of the potion, eyes fixed on the surface of its content, his features showed excitement and even joy, and Tisha sat back and reminded herself not to comment on it - as much as it was not probable Snape would listen to anything she would say right now.

It was mesmerising. And it also took years off of him - Snape looked and acted so old all the time, but Tisha knew he wasn't more than a year older than she. She wished she could record him like that, and with a pang of mischief, she wished she could show him the video the very next time Brocks experimented in the class. They seemed to be so alike - Merlin, the boy had been happy about his detention, because it had been related to Potions. With a little steering, Tisha mused, he could become a star of the class.

Of course, Snape was more prone to give him a good stirring. Tisha giggled, failed to clamp a hand over her mouth to stop the treacherous sound, but Snape didn't seem to notice.

"So," he said when his work, as it seemed to Tisha, reached a point when it didn't require his full attention, "what were you doing up so late in the night?"

"I was at the Ministry. Some troubles with Malfoy Manor."

"I would have thought Draco would inherit it."

"He did." Tisha sighed, ran a hand over her face and went into explaining, "There are very complicated spells on the manor ensuring that it won't end up in the wrong hands. One of them disallows wizards and witches without finished education to actually run the manor."

"Really?" Snape bowed forward and started slipping porcupine quills into the still hot liquid. Tisha waited until he finished that and stepped away from the cauldron.

"Draco is ineligible as the Master of Malfoy Manor," she said. "He can be Lord Malfoy, but when he tried to sell the manor, it just didn't go through. But it still set off several nasty curses," Tisha added with a frown. "I didn't know about them. Apparently, it's not possible to sell the manor outside the family."

"I know. Lucius asked me to help with them before he... died."

"Several very, very nasty curses that hit all wizards and witches who had anything in common with the contract," Tisha said pointedly.

"Well, Draco should have been shielded by the castle wards. Did you get hurt?" Snape turned to her.

"I'm not a witch, Severus," Tisha explained tiredly.

"No, indeed. Of course, you can still be a well-concealed wizard." His expression remained calm and guarded.

"That's hardly a helpful comment," she sighed. "Of course, it can still be a well-concealed praise." This time, Snape's eyebrows lifted a little.

"So you didn't get burnt? There were several burning curses, if I recall correctly."

"What are you after?" Tisha asked suspiciously, sitting up. The curse hit her on the forearm and she cried out in pain.

"Calm down. It's nothing," Snape said impatiently. He took her by the elbow and led her to the cauldron, where he spread the result of his experiment on Tisha's abused skin.

"Does it work?"

"Next time you need a guinea pig, buy mice!"

"Or a guinea pig," Snape agreed, amused. "Does it work?"

"It doesn't hurt anymore," Tisha replied with an exasperated sigh. Snape released her arm.

"Then it works."

"You should give Brocks credit for that." Seeing the frown the remark had brought on Snape's face, Tisha continued, "It was his idea, after all."

"You should go to bed and not worry about my students," Snape growled. Tisha shook her head, inspected her forearm - the spot that had been burnt by the curse had turned pink and it tickled a little, but the sensation seemed to fade away already - and she left Snape to do whatever he pleased with his experiment. The sleepiness returned to hit her full force and she was once again longing for her bed.

Passing the door to the Great Hall, however, she noticed it stood slightly ajar. It had been closed when she had arrived in the castle, and there was only one person she could think of who could have opened it.

"Mr. Brocks," she called. The boy jumped up to feet from where he had been sitting on the floor.

"Have you ever seen anything so beautiful?" he asked in an awed whisper. Tisha followed his index finger and had to admit that the sight was quite spectacular.

There seemed to be a swarm of half-visible butterflies raising from the tables in the moonlight. The colour of their wings changed depending on the angle at which the moonlight went through them and the air around them sparkled as if some flickering dust were falling from the ceiling. The moon was already setting down and the stream of the butterflies was getting thinner before their eyes.

"This is all the joy and positive energy accumulated through the day," Tisha explained. "Just as all the teenager frustration manifests itself through Peeves, all the good emotions need to manifest, otherwise they would tamper with the magic of the castle. The energy of the youth is very strong."

"We... we created this?" Brocks' eyes seemed to be ready to pop out of his head.

"When you laugh. When you fall in love. Whenever you feel happy. Children just have more energy that they can use. It concentrates here, where students usually talk and share, and the moonlight brings it out. You're supposed to be in bed," Tisha added sternly.

Brocks nodded - it was too dark now to see his face, but Tisha guessed he didn't really feel sorry about breaking the rules. He was so curious - so preoccupied - so eager to discover everything - she didn't have the heart to take away points.

"I'll walk you to the tower. This way," she held the door open for him and carefully closed it when he passed. She really hoped the little Gryffindor knew his way around the castle, because she wasn't sure she could find her own rooms in the state she was in, and only the firm belief that Dobby would answer her call disregarding the late hour kept her from looking for a nice, comfortable place on the floor.

They walked through the silent corridors, up darkened staircases, passing windows opening to night scenery. There were very few candles still on, but thankfully the sky was clear and the stars shone brightly enough, so they reached the portrait of the Fat Lady, currently in a deep sleep, without any accident.

"Directly in bed," Tisha reminded Brocks, who seemed to be willing to wake up half the tower to share his adventures. She waited for the Fat Lady to close behind him and turned to try and find her way to her own, so desired and distant, bed.

A/N: Reviews, as usually, keep me on the track and are highly, very highly appreciated.