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
Coldhearted
Elizabeth was hurrying towards the Gryffindor Tower, as it caught up with her.
The fear.
She was suddenly so frightened she nearly cried out, she had to stop and lean on a wall. She looked up and down the Marble Staircase, but there was no-one there - it was already five minutes after curfew. She had waited for Hagrid for too long, and in spite of her asking questions as quickly as possible, she had been rushed out of the hut and walked to the castle before she had got through all of them.
And now she was frightened by nothing, apparently.
She pushed away from the wall and ran up the rest of the stairs. She couldn't care less if she were caught breaking the rules, she longed for the company of other Gryffindors and the safety of their common room. She didn't slow down until she reached the portrait of the Fat Lady.
"Now, what time is this to come back to the tower?" the Fat Lady tutted, while Elizabeth fought to catch her breath.
"Chocolate cupcakes," the girl managed and the portrait swung open.
"Where have you been?" The common room was already empty except for Robert, which was rather strange just a few minutes after curfew.
"I went to see Hagrid, to talk about Camilla's Kneazle..." She trailed of and on impulse, the children hugged. They held on for comfort. For more than a minute, nothing could be heard except for the fire working through the last log in the hearth.
"There's something in the castle," Elizabeth said at the same moment as Robert blurted out, "There was something in the common room!"
They broke the embrace and stared at each other.
"You felt it too?" Elizabeth nodded, eyes large.
"Do you think we should tell the teachers?" she asked. Robert shook his head.
"Tell them what? We need to find out what's going on first."
The sudden feeling of fear hit Ginny while she was leaving the Room of Requirement. She stood for a while, eyes closed, wand ready and ears pricked, but whatever caused the fear had vanished as quickly as it appeared and as quietly as the door she had closed behind herself. There seemed to be nothing to be afraid of.
She headed towards the Gryffindor Tower, panic still urging her to hurry. She didn't notice how - maybe the castle had rearranged itself yet again - but she stopped in front of the statue of the one-eyed witch.
Ginny nearly turned around, only she heard Mrs. Norris' hissing drawing near - and a quiet Dissendium later, she was down in the secret tunnel.
Mrs. Norris passed the statue, never noticing a student had been there moments ago. She was chasing shadows no human being was able to see, flicking and flying shadows which filled the cat with terror. Showing an extraordinaire courage, she went after them, hissing, clawing and even meowing loudly, until they all disappeared again and only the terror remained.
"What was that?" The portraits started murmuring to each other, disputing in hushed voices. None spoke to the Headmistress, and she knew the feeling of dread that had filled her moments ago wasn't just her own.
She resisted an urge to turn into her Animagus form. As a cat, she could have a better hold of her own feelings, but somehow she doubted she would retain her grasp of her own wits.
A silvery cat sped out of the tip of her wand before she realised what she was doing, and soon enough Moody stepped into her office.
"You felt it too," Minerva stated gravely.
Neville wasn't really studying Charms for the next lesson. He had intented to: he had sat down at the table, propped his text up to be able to read it without craning his neck, and charmed his ink bottle so that the ink wouldn't ruin everything on the table should he knock it over. He had sharpened his quill and had started on reading the assigned chapter. He had even taken notes from the first page. But then light snoring had broken his concentration.
Hermione had dozed off on the couch, the heavy tome she had been reading nestled in her lap, head leaning on a cushion, and she made such a cute display Neville opted to take a sketch of her instead. He had managed to catch the line of her hair, shoulders and legs as she curled on the couch, and was attempting to draw the waves and curves of her robes, the delicate yet firm impression she gave even in her sleep, when his hand froze mid-air.
"No!" Hermione sat up, the book falling to the ground.
"It's... alright," Neville said, not entirely convinced. His own heart beat a lot faster than it should, and a chill crept up his spine in spite of the fire still going in the hearth.
Hermione drew her wand and looked around.
"There's nothing here," Neville waved his hand, spraying the table with ink. He frowned, but the charm worked as it should and herded the drops into a small pool, which lifted itself and poured back in the ink bottle.
"Oh." Hermione blushed as she put her wand away. "I had a... really bad dream, that's all."
But it wasn't all. Maybe Hermione could believe it was only a dream, but Neville had felt it, too, and he had been wide awake.
He stashed the drawing in between his books. His hands were still a little unsteady, he noted.
"Where's Draco?" he asked, because the silence became unbearable.
"I don't know - he was sick, wasn't he? Maybe he went to the Hospital Wing." Hermione stretched, picked up the book and lay it on the table.
"I'll go and... wait a minute." Neville disappeared in the boys' room and returned with several chocolate frogs. "Here, have one. You look tired."
"And the chocolate will help with that?" Hermione smiled, but took the frog, and then another at Neville's quiet insistence.
"I'll go and see how's Draco. Maybe I'll stop by Severus, see what he's come up with so far. Anything you've found out?" Hermione frowned, but it was a regular I-can't-figure-this-out frown.
"Not yet," she admitted. "It's hard to find out something when there's so little to go by." She bit her lower lip, then licked chocolate from it. "You're on to something, Neville," she noted. "The chocolate helps."
"Chocolate always helps. With anything," Neville said cheerfully. "Don't wait up." And he was out of the door.
Hermione sighed. She crossed the room to look out of the window, and she stood there peering into the darkness.
"Deep into the darkness peering, long I stood there, wondering, fearing," she muttered finally. The dream she had had hadn't been a bad one - they were once again entering the Voldemort's hideaway, and as they downed the potion and crossed the barrier, imposing as Death Eaters for the necessary time, Harry turned back to Ron and her and measured them with an angry expression she hadn't seen on him since end of the previous summer.
"I changed my mind," the dream-Harry said. "Let's just take them all down." And he drew his wand.
No, this wasn't the same Harry she had learned to know over the course of the last year. This was the Harry she had known all the previous years: a boy full of life, a little terrified and sometimes unreasonably angry. Somehow she knew there may have been another way of destroying the Horcruxes, one that didn't require Harry to learn tranquility and forgiveness strong enough to turn him into a complete stranger.
This stranger who brought mercy upon Voldemort's head: and by healing his soul destroyed his immortality, undid his battle with death. And died for it.
Tisha stopped in the process of turning a page. The room seemed to be filled with stealthy creatures - unless they were shadows thrown by the dancing flame on her candle. She put down the book and looked around. A draft put out the candle, and Tisha hastily lit it again, the matches rattling in the box because her hands were shaking. A draft, yes, it had to be draft - the coldness that had all of sudden filled her heart couldn't have extinguished a candle.
The light chased away monsters lurking in the darkness and Tisha continued to light several more candles around the room.
What was she afraid of?
From her bedroom, she heard soft moaning. She quickly entered and sat on the edge of the bed.
"Draco," she called and reached out to gently shake his shoulder. "Draco, wake up. Wake up, honey." He woke with a start, breathing rapidly.
Tisha lit a candle on the bedside table. The soft light made Draco's skin seem even paler.
"Are you alright?" she asked. Draco nodded and pulled himself a little up into a half-sitting position.
"I just had a bad dream. Sorry," he muttered. "Did I wake you up?"
"No. No, I was just reading. What was the dream about?" She reached to feel his forehead and was pleased to find it a little cooler.
Screaming of Luna Lovegood being tortured by Bellatrix. The way the windows seemed to tremble, and the walls to close in, while in fact it was only Draco who was trembling and frightened. The anticipation of what would happen to him as soon as the Dark Lord found out about the weakness of his heart. The sudden silence.
"Nothing. The war," he amended slowly. "I'm thinking about tearing down the Manor." And bury the horrors, and the screaming, and even the silence under its ruins.
"Tearing it... down?" Tisha was astonished.
"Do you think that would trigger the protective spells again?" Draco briefly looked up, not registering Tisha's face, and dropped his gaze back to his hands on the light duvet. Somehow witnessing Luna's death had been much more frightening than witnessing his mother's; but then, at that moment, Draco had been possibly scared out of his mind. He had been next in the line.
"I don't know. It's not exactly my field of expertise." The chuckle sounded a little forced and it was followed by clearing the throat. "Do you want more tea?"
"Yes please." Tisha busied herself with the tea. Her room was equipped so that she actually could make tea herself - she liked the ritual of it. Soon Draco was holding a steaming mug.
"You could ask Severus. About the protective spells. I think he may actually know something."
"Umm... well... I..."
The fireplace in the next room whooshed and an irritated voice floated over, saving Draco from whatever he was so hard trying not to tell.
"Tisha!" The Squib appeared amused.
"Just a minute." She caressed Draco's cheek before standing up and moving in front of the hearth.
"Do you know what time it is, Severus?" The head floating in her fireplace above the freshly revived charcoals jerked irritably.
"It is not that late, and had you been asleep, you would still be asleep." He moved as if to leave.
"Didn't you want anything?"
"It was merely a social call. Good night." This time he left before she could object. Tisha shook her head and returned in the bedroom.
Draco's eyes shone in the dark, focused on her as she quietly moved to him.
"That was the weirdest Floo call I've ever had."
"You haven't seen much, have you?"
"Mmm. Are you well enough to go back to sleep?" There was a mug on the bedsite table and Tisha peered into it. "Here, you didn't finish your tea." She pushed the mug in Draco's hands.
"It's cold," he complained. She gave him a patented Malfoy stare and Draco quickly reached for his wand to warm the tea up. He obediently drained the mug and settled back, eyes already closed.
Tisha waited until his breathing slowed down and evened out before blowing out the candle. She left the door slightly ajar as she tried to turn the couch into something comfortable enough for sleeping.
"You forgot to ask about Draco," Neville noted.
"He is there. They were talking. Both are fine." Snape returned to his armchair and sank in it with a sigh. He covered his eyes with a steady hand.
"I should continue with the research," Snape said after a short silence. "The shadow isn't going to leave on its own accord."
"Only you don't want to read the book." Snape frowned at that, and then sneered at the discussed book still lying on the table where he had first put it.
"What do you think?"
"We've already concluded that your reading the book and the sense of terror aren't connected. The... the fear was a common sensation. Hermione and I both felt it, and so did Madam Pomfrey and the Ravenclaw in the Hospital Wing. And you forgot to ask Tisha about it."
"Professor Malfoy," Snape corrected. "I suppose I could have asked whether she had experienced sudden inexplicable fright, that would have been a great way of opening a conversation."
"Oh Professor, did you happen to be afraid of nothing about ten minutes ago?" Neville supplied cheerfully. "Nevertheless, it was why you got up and to the fireplace in the first place. And we have a pass to call her Tisha."
"What, the whole student body?" Snape sounded outraged.
"Just our class."
"So we have concluded that the sense of terror is something connected with the shadow and the timing is merely a coincidence."
"We have?" Neville remained unconvinced.
"The feeling is similar. And I do not believe in coincidences. There is enough evil in this castle with the shadow. You were saying?" he turned threateningly at the Gryfindor, who had quietly supplied "Slytherins" as a more appropriate ending of the sentence.
"Nothing. But you still shouldn't read the book," Neville added firmly. "I think Professor Dumbledore is right. Was right." Snape extended his arm and Neville passed him the parchment, which Snape tucked back into his robes again.
"The answer is somewhere in that book," Snape said. "I am sure of it. It contains the most exhausting study of this area of Dark Arts, and the Hogwarts copy was stolen from the library last year. This is the book to be read."
"I said you shouldn't read it, not that you should cast it in the fireplace."
"I am not handing this over to Mad-Eye Moody!" came the savage reply.
"I was thinking Hermione," Neville retorted calmly. He shifted on the rug and craned his neck to look at Snape. "She's already trying to figure this out on her own." Snape snorted and turned away to show he didn't believe that to be any better than to destroy the book. But that brought the book back into his sights. The letters on the cover seemed to glisten invitingly and Snape, feeling a wave of nausea, wondered whether Dumbledore had put a curse on the letter to make sure his dear friend would continue biding his will.
"She'd be absolutely thrilled to have one more book to read," Neville continued without looking at Snape. "A book that's not in the library. The three thousand pages tome won't last her for long. You know what a book-worm Hermione is."
"No. I do not, not really."
"Well, you should know. I don't think there's a book in the unrestricted part of Hogwarts library she hasn't at least scanned."
"And certainly a few from the Restricted Area, as well," Snape snarled. "If this book is supposed to bring so much evil to me, what will it do to a young unsuspecting Gryffindor like Miss Granger?"
"It won't bring evil to you, more like out of you. And Hermione is not unsuspecting. She was in the war, too, you know."
The fire soared higher in the fireplace and turned green for a short moment. Other than that, nothing seemed to happen, and they sat in silence for nearly a minute.
"I need to see the Headmistress." Snape rose and squared his shoulders. He picked the book up, weighed it in a hand, then put it down again. The lack of deadly stare told Neville all he needed to know to understand. He waited until Snape walked out of the door, stood up and eyed the book suspiciously. It appeared to be quite tame; a thick book in dark leather, lying quietly on the polished wood of the table. He flipped it opened and read the name of the first chapter, shuddered and quickly closed it again.
"Hermione would certainly love it," he muttered as he conjured a bag to put it in.
A/N:Hermione is quoting from Poe's Raven, of course.