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
Passion
A squirrel nested high in a tree in the Forbidden Forest was roused from its sleep and froze in fear as a huge silent shadow passed along. But it was lucky; the spider wasn't after such a small animal. It was stalking a bigger prey.
Its prey was stealthily moving through the ground vegetation, and the spider picked up its pace. Silent and unseen, the arachnid crept through the branches several feet above and after the being on the ground. It didn't recognise the smell of it, but it recognised what the smell meant. Warm blood and a good meal, and the spider nearly clicked its fangs in anticipation. It hadn't eaten in many weeks and was, in fact, close to starvation. The more appealing seemed this strange creature beneath the trees. Just mustn't allow it to leave the forest.
The prey stopped at the very edge of the forest. The castle lay ahead, attracting attention with all the light pouring out its windows. It was close to the curfew and groups of students from Gryffindor and Ravenclaw could be seen heading to the bathrooms and back to their towers. Their laughter and chatter couldn't be heard, though - the forest became rather quiet. The spider lowered itself noiselessly just at its prey and reached.
A movement, a flick of light and a curse hit it. The four pairs of legs curled in death and the spider finally made a sound, falling to the ground with a dull thud. The eyes of the wizard who killed it never left the castle. His grip on the wand tighened as he saw a man and a woman walking together in a vivid discussion, and his knuckles turned white. A flash of passion, of fiercy hatred, passed his eyes.
"Snape," he hissed.
"Hagrid's project seems to be the talk of the castle," Tisha mused.
"As it should be," Severus replied airily. "There is a good reason to be wary of Rubeus Hagrid breeding anything, let alone breeding something in a closed facility. Experience teaches us to learn about the dangers he can pose to the school and everyone within."
"So you don't know what it is either?" his companion asked without bothering to cover her amusement. She could notice the slight marks of being offended in the way Snape didn't show being offended.
"I haven't been informed." The air of dignity he assumed made Tisha feign interest in the nearest portrait, otherwise she could chuckle, and really offend him.
"That's the point of a surprise," she said when she regained full control of her voice. This time she caught it - the quick questioning glance that told her more than anything the man beside her didn't fully understand the train of her thoughts, but was intrigued enough to continue the game. Her game, by her rules.
"I believe this is where we part..."
"Tisha!"
"... and also this is your nephew," Snape finished smoothly, although he hadn't noticed Draco sitting on the windowsill, and frowned. That they had reached Tisha's door didn't mean they were going to part immediately, but the blond provided unwelcome change.
"What is it, Draco?" The young man's face was a tale of suffering: red eyes, running nose, and an overall miserable expression.
"I'm sick," he announced somewhat unnecessary. There was a silent plea in his eyes, which of course he wasn't going to voice until he was also Confunded and hit over the head with something heavy. Or unless he could turn it into a command, but it wasn't necessary.
"You poor thing," Tisha cooed soothingly and drew him closer to gentle pet him.
"That is why wizards and witches keep working on powerful potions. For example, I believe Madam Pomfrey..."
"Pepper-Up makes smoke go out of my ears!" Draco interrupted forcefully, turning from Tisha to deliver the statement. "And it makes my eyes burn," he whined, turning back, as it was clear he would receive no sympathy from Snape.
"If you do not wish to get better, Mr. Malfoy..." Snape let his voice drawl, but to no effect. Tisha had slung an arm around Draco's shoulders and was already offering to nurse him back to full health without nasty potions with side effects.
"Thank you, Severus, and good night," she added, never stopping her fussing over the young Lord Malfoy, who was becoming more juvenile by second. He didn't forget to turn back to his former Head of House, offering a neutral greeting and superlicious smirk.
Snape moved away, before he was tempted to remove the smirk by, say, forcing a Pepper-Up Potion down the boy's throat.
"Here's your tea and put this in with you, it will keep you warm." Tisha had tucked Draco in her own bed and mothered him in the same way she could remember her own mother treating a sick Lucius. He too had been reluctant to have smoke come out of his ears, and it seemed his ability to suffer like a little baby was inherited by his only son.
"Thank you," came a muffled reply, as the boy took the mug with both hands. Not having inherited Lucius' habit of accepting any favour as if he had the holy right to be pampered, Tisha mused and fondly petted her nephew.
"Do you need anything else?" she asked gently. Draco started shaking his head, then stopped himself and looked at her with a shy, uncertain expression.
"Read to me?"
As he was returning to his hut from preparing his first lesson, Hagrid noted that the forest was unusually quiet. He frowned. He spent at least an hour every day trying to find out what was wrong with the place; more than that, if he could afford it. But every time it seemed he found the cause, a few days passed and the strange feeling of something wrong descended upon the trees again. He was half moved to go and check right away, but he remembered the first-year Gryffindor who should come to see him soon.
"Fang, heel!" The dog didn't need much encouraging and skipped from the forest edge to the relative safety of Hagrid's vicinity. He was the first of the two to reach the cabin, and the girl waiting there.
"Professor Hagrid?" the girl said and stood up. She scratched Fang behind the ears, earning his friendship at once. "I'm Elizabeth Jorkins. Professor McGonagall told me you could help me."
A light appeared at the edge of forest for a fraction of second. If either of the two looked that way, they may have noticed a shadow moving within deeper shadows and maybe, if their eyes had been sharp enough, they would have recognised the swish and flick of a wand. But they didn't look that way.
"And they lived happily ever after," Tisha finished and closed the book. Draco appeared to be asleep, so she reached over his head to extinguish the candle.
"Can I ask you something?" Draco asked without opening his eyes.
"Of course." She drew her hand back into her lap and cocked her head.
"How did you and Professor Snape meet? I mean," here he opened the eyes, "you've met before Hogwarts, didn't you?"
"Oh. Yes. Well, he used to be friends with your father." Tisha cleared her throat. "He would come often - more often then some of the others, even - we passed each other in the halls sometimes. Lucius didn't introduce us, of course."
"Of course?"
"I was a disgrace to the family, wasn't I?" Draco had no answer to that. He unburied one of his hands from under the covers and moved as if reaching for her hand, but in the end just plucked at the cover. Tisha didn't seem to notice.
"That's nonsense," Draco muttered in the end.
"It was a valid reason then. Anyway, Father - my father - liked Severus very much, and he even suggested we should get married. To purify the family, probably."
"Huh."
"It didn't go through, of course."
"What did Snape say?" Draco asked curiously.
"Oh, it never got that far." Tisha chuckled to herself. "Lucius threw quite a fit. Apparently, the idea wouldn't appeal to the Dark Lord, so..."
"Vol.. Voldemort," Draco said forcefully. "His name was Voldemort." Tisha looked at him curiously, but didn't say anything. "I've learnt that much," Draco added.
"You should be resting. And here I am, boring you with inane stories. There, finish your tea." It was rather cool already, so Draco only pressed the mug to his lips before settling for the night.
"I like your mug. Very homey."
"Good night, Draco." He drifted into sleep, so he may have imagined it, but he thought he didn't, and Tisha had really pressed a kiss on his forehead.
Snape was sitting in his armchair, the other one mercifully vacant for tonight, and held a book he hadn't been reading in years. Once it had been his favourite, his guide through the dark arts and all mysteries of terrible magic. And he was opening it again.
He ran a long finger down its spine. The cover was made of fine leather and it had an exquisitive feel. He adjusted the light of the nearest candle and opened to the index.
There was a letter there.
A piece of parchment, folded in half, and his name appeared on it in front of his eyes. Yes, it was a letter, and it was for him, and he already knew who had written it.
He put aside the book and unfolded the parchment.
"My dear friend Severus," it started in Albus Dumbledore's neat manuscript. "That you are reading this letter means two things: first, that you are alive, and I am grateful and very happy for that. Perhaps you do not believe me now, but I did wish for you to survive, and find your place in the world to come after the war.
"Second, you are opening a book on Dark Arts again, against my hopes. For years I had hoped you would not fall for this trap again. Do you not know how much you have paid already for this passion of yours? Do you not realise what you have lost, traded for dark arts? And still you return to this.
"I have no more power over you - and I will admit now that I have exercised it in the past, and even that your best interest was not my first and uttermost incentive in all the times I have done so. But please believe me it is my only motive now. The one and only reason why I wrote this letter is to protect you from repeating this one mistake. I have no longer any right to give you orders or any means to persuade you aside from this: I beg you, Severus. You have lost enough. Do not lose yourself in the Dark Arts.
"With both Lily and I gone, you may feel alone in the world. I cannot promise you that will be untrue for the rest of your days. I am not in a position to promise you anything and I am frightened by what may lie ahead of you. I cannot see the future. But I have seen what you have nearly become. Please do not read this book."
Snape carefully folded the parchment and put it down next to the book. He felt an urge to burn the parchment and all bridges behind himself. He had felt manipulated at times - here the old wizard admitted to the manipulation. And yet at the same time he felt shaken and touched. If he had a habit of talking to himself, he would have been left speechless by the letter.
The thought amused him and he picked up the letter again. He didn't open it, just traced his name with a thumb, and then tucked it in his robes.
"Dear friend," he said. "Well, my dear friend Dumbledore, I need to read this book, believe it or not, to purge some dark arts from this castle. I will keep your wishes in mind and will do so while not enjoying myself." He reached for the book.
A wave of fear washed over him as soon as he touched the leather and he stopped dead. The fear was deep and paralysing and made him want to run and hide for the fraction of second he needed to control it. And already it was subsiding, leaving his senses tingling.
The amusement he had felt vanished. He touched the letter in his pocket with his free hand, but that didn't make him feel any better. Something was wrong.
He looked at the book, still touching it with his fingertips, and slowly withdrew his hand.