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
Down in the Dungeons

The Great Hall was slowly filling with students. The chattering of the number of children became a solid wall of sound and Draco had to lean over the table and still almost shout in Neville's ear to ask about Hermione.

"I guess she's in the library," Neville cried back, mimicking opening a book with his hands. Draco shook his head.

"The library is closed, isn't it?" Draco inclined his head to point out that Madam Pince was sitting at the staff table. Neville shrugged.

"Suppose Hermione has her own keys by now?"

Finally the Headmistress stood up and the Hall went abruptly quiet.

"Ladies and gentlemen, girls and boys," the Headmistress started slowly. Several unhappy voices could be heard, but she ignored them. "Before I tell you about a thing I've learned since the beginning of September, allow me to introduce the new Transfiguration Master, Professor Constantinus Greeneye." The man in question stood up and bowed to each of the student tables. Sighs could be heard from older girls as they witnessed the charming smile of the new professor. Romilda Vane dropped a napkin she had been playing with and looked from Greeneye to Snape with a bewildered expression. Astoria Greengrass looked the new professor up and down, frowned in thought, and finally smiled and gave an approving nod. Her suite of followers let out a delayed sigh.

"Let's hope he's not a maniac," Draco whispered.

"That's a Dark Art's professors' trait," Neville replied, but appeared worried as he studied Greeneye.

"And now to the thing I learned," Minerva continued. "Nobody listens to my prattling when you are hungry. Tuck in!" Somone squeezed in a cry of pure joy. Rest of the students just did as they were told.

"Hermione should be sorry she's missing this," Draco remarked as he examined the food that had appeared on the tables. "You can't have a feast like that in the library."

Hermione wasn't in the library. She was sitting in the first-floor girls toilets, hugging her knees and staring ahead.

"Miss Granger," a pleasant voice sounded from what she had always believed to be an empty mirror frame. "There you are."

"Professor... Dumbledore," she acknowledged the portrait. The wizard sat down on a dark stain and chuckled.

"It's an armchair, really." Hermione shrugged and sighed.

"I assume you were looking for me, Professor?"

"And I found you." The chuckle was gone from his voice and Hermione wondered how much of him was still the old wizard. Did a copy stop being a mere copy if it was perfect?

"I would have expected to find you in the Great Hall." The ever so soft voice of the old wizard sounded strange in the restroom, but when Hermione closed her eyes, she could easily pretend things were still making sense.

"This is where it started," she said hoarsely. "Do you remember the troll?" Dumbledore nodded, although Hermione's eyes were still closed. "I didn't come here to fight it. I came here to cry, because I was so lonely and had no friends." She swallowed and pressed her lips together for a second. "Harry and Ron came here to tell me about the troll, and it turned out they saved me and I didn't tell on them... and it all started. Right here." She opened her eyes and waved her arm as to show the exact spot. "And here I am, lonely again."

"Yet you have friends now," Dumbledore pointed out.

"I miss them. I just miss them so much." She felt tears forcing their way from under her eyelids. "I-I think I n-need to be alone f-for a while." She opened her eyes for a heartbeat and noticed Dumbledore was already gone. So she cried.

Hermione wasn't the only one missing from the Halloween feast. Someone small, cloaked and wearing a concealing cape had slipped out of the front doors as Elizabeth and Robert made their way to the bottom of the Marble Staircase, so naturally the two were now following the mysterious figure as it crept through the grounds and into the stables. The two Gryffindors exchanged a short look - then entered as well.

The student they had been following was already at the Thestrals in the very back. It was a small boy - no more than a second year, for sure. He was reaching into the stand, clearly trying to feel the Thestral.

"She's at the back wall," Elizabeth said when they closed the distance. The boy yelped and jumped away from them. He nearly tripped over his cloak.

"What are you doing here? Everyone's at the Great Hall," Robert queried, trying to assume an intimidating pose.

"I - I - you're not there either," the boy replied defensively. His small eyes and big nose were red, as if he had been crying.

"We saw you leaving the castle," Elizabeth explained kindly. She reached out towards the Thestral and sure enough, the animal trotted closer and let her pet its head. "I'm Elizabeth and this is Robert. What's your name?"

"Edward Gamp." The boy sniffed. "I'm in Hufflepuff," he added. "And you are Gryffindors. What do you care?" He turned away from them and this time managed to catch the Thestral's mane. He blindly petted the large head, narrowly avoiding sticking a finger in the Thestral's eye.

"Where are you going?" Robert asked at the same time that Elizabeth cried, "Watch out, you'll hurt her."

"How do you know it's a girl?" Edward asked.

"She's here to foal. Didn't you listen during the lecture? We shouldn't disturb her - it may hurt the calf." Elizabeth petted the soon-to-be-mother and dragged the boys to the middle of the stables.

"Where did you want to go, Edward?" she asked matter of factly, rubbing her hands on her robes.

"Home. I hate it here," the Hufflepuff admitted. "There's this cold thing in the castle always hanging about our common room entrance, and I don't believe it's harmless just because it hasn't hurt anybody yet, and I want to go home." He was nearly crying when he finished.

"A cold thing?"

"What cold thing?"

For a moment, it looked like Edward would walk out on them, but then he sat down on the ground and motioned for them to sit close.

"It's hiding in the darkness in side corridors," he confided in a whisper. "It's never on the ground floor, but sometimes just below. No-one has ever seen it - maybe it can't be seen - but you always know when it's there, because you feel so cold all of sudden, and terrified." He paused, clearly enjoying that the other children were listening to him so closely. "Most people come to the common room in pairs, and it seems to be kept at distance by that, but I'm... I have no friends."

"That's terrible!" Elizabeth exclaimed.

"How can they let something like that run - run free at the castle?" Robert cried out in outrage.

"You can't go around the school without friends," Elizabeth huffed. "That's not right."

"Did you hear what he was saying about that freezing monster?"

"Did you hear what he was saying about having no friends?"

Edward chuckled.

"You two are funny. I wish I could have a friend like that." Elizabeth and Robert looked at each other.

"Is it even allowed?" Robert asked doubtfully. "He's not in our house."

"We can ask Ginny or Draco."

"Who are they?"

"Older students. They're probably at the Great Hall. Come."

Edward shot one last glance at the Thestral's booth, where he could see nothing, then followed the two Gryffindors back to the castle.

When Hermione sat down at the small table, there were no signs she had been crying. She even smiled before piling roasted pork and sweet potatoes on her plate.

"Look, you're not even the last one to the table," Neville commented. Three first-years slipped past them and took places at the very end of the Gryffindor table.

"Kind of unusual for first-years to try and miss the feast, isn't it?" Hermione said thoughtfully. She remembered Nearly Headless Nick's deathday party, but then she spotted him talking to the prefects.

"They're Gryffindors, probably just got delayed doing mischief," Draco said and avoided Neville's playful slap. "Is that brave, striking a man at dinner table? Is it?"

"I would call it reckless, wouldn't you, Hermione?"

"No, the pork is really good." She looked up. "What? It's dinnertime, aren't we talking about the food?" Neville grinned and indicated Draco with a broad gesture, but before he could continue the banter, there was a cry from the front of the Hall. They drew their wands, Hermione stood with her back to the wall looking for danger.

Professor Sprout's hair had just sprung to life. It appeared to have turned into a ball of thick black snakes, writhing and coiling, and Vector let out a muffled scream and pushed her chair back. However, the writhing ceased and Sprout's hair turned out to be just a grotesquely overgrown mass of thick black hair, unkempt and wild. Now Flitwick's hair started growing and changing colour, and Vector's, and McGonagall's hat flew off - everyone at the staff table underwent a rather extreme makeover. Flitwick let out a joyful exclamation.

"Look!" He had pulled a Buttebeer cork from his now dirty blond hair. He smiled softly, lost in thought. McGonagall tapped a plate with her wand to make herself a mirror and discovered she was now sporting bright red hair. Tisha, Vector, and Greeneye had the same hair now, while others had black unruly mane and yet others dirty blond garnished with corks and radishes, and all of them had considerably more hair than an average human being.

"For Harry, Ron, and Luna," Hermione deduced, replaced her wand and sat back down. Then she looked up. "You wouldn't know about this, would you, Draco?"

"Me? No. Nothing."

"I almost believe you." She smiled, but Draco wasn't looking at her. He was staring at his aunt, who was now laughing and trying to rein in the thick mane.

"Here, let me assist you. About this lenght?" Snape hovered the tip of his wand somewhere near Tisha's earlobe. He had already cut off the excess of his own hair, disgruntled by being cursed with Potter hair.

"No - no, please, let me have shoulder lenght. I never had the patience to let it grow out - or the guts to colour." Tisha laughed merrily. "Do you think the colour will stick? Not that it makes any difference for you."

"Merlin help us," Snape forced through gritted teeth. He eyed the students suspiciously and trained his eyes on the youngest Weasley. She was seated at the farthest end of the Gryffindor table, surrounded by first-years rather than her peers. His frown deepened as he recognised the first-years.

"Uh oh. What's wrong?" Tisha asked.

"There's a Hufflepuff at the Gryffindor table," Snape hissed. "Headmistress?" Minerva followed his gaze.

"Surely it's not such a big deal?" Tisha wondered, slightly worried.

"Yes, Severus, I quite agree, this has the Weasley trademark all over," Minerva said, completely oblivious to his point. "It appears to be mostly harmless, doesn't it?" she added, fingering her hair. Snape turned to look her in the eye. "What?" she almost snapped.

"I was looking for the twinkle in your eye." He turned back to his plate and adopted the expression of a put-upon martyr. Not that it mattered. The Headmistress would notice on her own time.

He glared at the newly formed trio again. Gamp had stopped trying to get away and was enjoying the company of his Gryffindor friends. Weasley disengaged from them and struck up a conversation with students her own age. Was she passing out fliers, by any chance? But Snape couldn't be bothered to interfere. He felt too tired and old and nauseated by the revolting shade of her hair. He raised his goblet and eyed it suspiciously. Whatever had been administered to them was probably in the drink.

Tisha gently nudged him under the table. If there was any benefit to keeping acquaintances from old Pureblood families, it was their affinity for being discreet. He dismissed her with a raised eyebrow. She didn't press the matter, which was probably another leftover of her upbringing. And they say supremacist extremists were evil.

Just as he was about to finish his meal, Minerva finally noticed.

"Isn't Gamp a Hufflepuff?" she asked sharply.

"I believe so myself." They both considered the group again. Ginny had stopped handing out her brothers' business information and was now listening to Lizzy, who was using both her arms and an aerial space about half a Quidditch field to explain her cause.

"It's an interesting turn of the stereotype, isn't it?" Minerva mused. "Hufflepuffs are usually very friendly and accepting of almost anybody, yet this little boy has been a loner since the opening feast. It took Gryffindors for him to make friends." She turned to the Hufflepuff table. No-one seemed to miss their housemate. "Well, there is certainly no harm in that," she said finally and rose. "Although I shall have a word with Miss Weasley."

As the Headmistress got up from the High Table, Patty trained her eyes on her plate. Surely she hadn't noticed her staring? It was rude, she knew, but she couldn't stop herself. Snape just looked...

She bit her lower lip and glanced sideways at Romilda Vane who was choosing candy from a nearby carved pumpkin. Stupid girl putting stupid thoughts in her stupid head, Patty thought angrily. Romilda then leant forward to talk to her friends, and although Patty couldn't make out all the other girl was saying, she caught the name: Constantinus Greeney.

Stupid girl putting stupid thoughts in her head and moving on to new stupid thoughts!

The Headmistress passed her place and tapped on Ginny's shoulder. Ginny looked up, surprised, but followed McGonnagal without argument. Patty left out a sigh of relief. She smiled and even winked at the three first-years who had been talking to Ginny. Her embarassing secret was safe. She reached into her bag to caress the spine of the borrowed book. Did she imagine it or did it rustle a little in response?

Almost against her will, she glanced to the High Table again. Snape was now talking to Professor Malfoy and even offered her his almost-smile when she said something. And she absolutely nudged him under the table when she wanted his attention. Patty abruptly stood up. The hot, searing jealousy was something she could not handle at public, and she picked up her bag and fled to the relative safety of her bed, where she could draw the curtains and cry her eyes out.

Snape offered to walk Tisha to her quarters for her own safety - and for the added benefit of continuing their discussion on the way. Therefore he was not thrilled when Hermione Granger joined them on the staircase. As Granger complimented Tisha on her dress and new haircut, he adopted a closed expression with just a touch of sour disapprovement.

"Professor Snape?" Granger looked at him past Tisha, then moved to his other side. On one hand, he was now escorted up the stairs by two attractive women. On the other hand...

"Yes, Miss Granger?"

"None of the bookstores we contacted carries the book."

"Pity." He frowned. He knew he had seen it in someone's private library. If only he could remember whose house it was.

Tisha gently but deliberately brushed his elbow as they turned on to the next section of the staircase and the sourness dissipated like dragon liver in heated cauldron.

Then his knee buckled as a sharp pain shot through it. He staggered but both Granger and Tisha grabbed him by the arm and helped him stay upright.

"Calm yourselves, even if I fell, my magic would prevent accident." Tisha let go of him, but Granger's grasp on him tightened.

"Not with a residual curse," she said stiffly. "Ron broke his neck falling." And on hearing that, even though she couldn't fully understand, Tisha took his elbow again, nodded to Granger, and they spun him on the stairs.

"I can walk," he hissed in embarassement. He could feel hotness rising to his cheeks.

"Absolutely," Tisha replied and Snape knew he lost the argument. "Walk down the stairs. It's not your night to patrol, is it?"

"No. Now let go of me."

He would have thought at least Granger would actually obey, but no, not in the slightest. Now he was truly escorted; manhandled, even. Fortunately the halls were already deserted and even the portraits were sleeping, or pretending to. Granger navigated the turns without hesitation and without fault and Snape was deposited to his chair before he passed out from the pain.

Which had become worse on the way, in spite of the support, and had he tried to walk on his own, he would have ended cold out on the ground in some lonely corridor. It was as if someone hated him with passion and directed all the hate inside his knee where it was trying to kill him. Perhaps not outright to kill him, but the throbbing was torturous.

Tisha wrapped a poultice around his knee and brought him a glass of water.

"Anything else you need, Severus?" As she bent over his broken, suffering body crumpled in the armchair, he noticed her hair started to lose the red colour, becoming striped. But before he could decide whether he liked the red or light brown better, his treacherous, cowardly mouth decided for him.

"Don't dye your hair red."

Tisha looked up behind him, presumable to see if Granger had heard, then back to him. She seemed surprised and didn't smile and Snape cursed himself silently.

"I meant right now. But I won't if it's so important to you."

"Thank you. I am quite comfortable." That was a lie, but at least it moved the awkward moment further in the history. She might forget by tomorrow.

"Are you leaving, Proffesor... Tisha?" Granger enquired.

"Yes. Sorry to keep you. Good night, Severus." For a moment, she hovered over him uncertainly, then he was left alone as he wanted.

Snape waited a little with his eyes closed after the door gently closed, then drank the water. It was as bland as could be expected. He shifted uncomfortably (quite comfortable, haha).

His knee still hurt but instead of summoning the Firewhiskey he summoned an old notebook. Hidden between the pages with diagrams, spell notes, and an occassional potions recipe were his most treasured possessions: a very bad drawing of himself Lily had sketched on a sunny afternoon when they were ten, an equally bad drawing he had made of her, a pressed flower from his mother's garden - the only one that ever blossomed, the last page of a letter Lily had sent to Black with her love and signature, and half a photograph, the last two items stolen from the Grimauld Place in a mad, feverish search he had conducted mere hours after Dumbledore's death. He was still shaken and confused and ready to give up and absolutely unashamed to ransack the house that then belonged to Lily's son, the brat he had sworn to protect in loving memory of the mother.

He gazed at the picture. Lily laughed in it, her green eyes shining like two emeralds and her red hair almost floating around her head like a halo. She looked like an angel of happiness, an embodiment of everything he couldn't have.

As the sorrow filled him, he finally found the peace he needed.

Lizzie, Robert, and Edward were so wrapped up in talking that they completely missed the moment the last of the Hufflepuffs left the Great Hall. In fact, almost everyone had left by then - all of the Slytherins, too - there were only a handful of Gryffindors and Ravenclaws still at their tables, Hagrid dozing off at the end of the High Table, Trelawney holding Greeneye hostage to reading his fate from his palm, his coffee, and even his uneaten cake, and Snape and Malfoy sipping from their goblets.

"Maybe they are appointed to wait until all students leave?" Lizzie offered. "Let's get Ed to his Common Room, come on." She hopped off the bench, full of energy in spite of the late hour. Robert perked up, looking forward to an adventure. Edward seemed apprehensive.

"Are you sure?" he asked.

"Or we could smuggle him to the tower!" Robert exclaimed and Lizzie hushed him. But the other students paid them no attention and if the professors noticed, they didn't seem to care.

"There's three of us. We have nothing to worry about. Let's go." She took each boy by hand and dragged them through the door.

There were two girls in the Entrance Hall - Lizzie remembered McKenzie from the Common Room, but not the other - who barely glanced at the younger children as they climbed the stairs.

"Which way now?" Lizzie prompted the Hufflepuff. Edward pointed down a corridor circumventing the Marble Staircase.

"Here. We need to go down two levels, then back one up. There used to be a better way, our prefects say, but it was blocked almost two years ago." Edward led them along the richly decorated corridor, occassionaly peeking behind a curtain on either side. "And the staircase down from here isn't always in the same place. Here it is." The curtain he was holding up was brightly blue.

They simultaneously lit their wands before descending through the narrow passage. The steps were uneven and it was dusty in there.

"There is another way, with wider staircase, but you need to go three levels down and it's so creepy down there," Edward continued. "Bigger kids take that one, though, and bigger groups, too." They exited the staircase into a dark, smelly corridor. There were only a few torches along the way. Edward passed several staircases.

"Where do these lead?" Robert asked curiously. He wanted to go explore them, but Edward was walking very fast. Lizzie turned and hissed at him and he jogged to catch up.

"Some turn up close to the Slytherin Common Room - they must, there are always Slytherins about - this one is closest to the Potions classroom, from the dungeon side - not worth it, if you ask me, but I got lost a few times. Some go more than one level up. Here it is."

There was an armour stated next to the staircase Edward indicated. Lizzie studied it nervously. She was completely lost and only hoped Robert remembered the way back.

"Is that a badger?" Robert queried, nose almost on the armour's breastplate.

"Yeah, our house animal. Mascot. There's usually one near doorways and archways when you get close, at least down here. Come on, we're nearly there." Edward sounded relieved as he led the way up one fleet of stairs. The corridor here was more brightly lit. Edward showed them a stack of barrells.

"Is that it?" Lizzie asked.

"Yeah. Um. Thanks. I'll see you tomorrow, I guess?" Edward shifted. "Good night. I mean... yeah."

"Good night, Eddie."

"Night, Ed." Lizzie and Robert returned to the staircase. Lizzie turned when she heard knocking and saw one of the lids swinging open and Edward climbing through. Satisfied, she followed Robert down the stairs.

"Robert? You do remember which staircase, don't you?" She felt almost instantly scared of the dark corridor and wondered how much worse must the other way be.

"We can take one of those that go more than one level up. It's not like we need to get back to the Entrance Hall." Robert peeked into the nearest staircase. "Not this one, though. It stinks."

Lizzie let Robert pick the staircase. It was a little wider than the one they came down by originally and there was a little draft. But it twisted and turned and only let them out still in the dungeons, judging by the lack of windows. Robert shook his head.

"Hey, I know this statue. We're close to the Potions classroom. No need to go back down. Don't worry, Lizzie, we'll be in the tower in no time."

Lizzie grabbed Robert's hand, keenly aware of her senses tingling. She didn't recognise the hall but didn't want to speak - she didn't want to make a sound at all. Something is down here. They sped up. After passing a door she had never seen before, Lizzie noticed the Potions classroom. Robert must have noticed, too, he pressed her hand and turned to flash a proud smile at her.

From ahead, they could hear faint voices. Maybe some Slytherins were coming down this late - but hadn't they all left the Great Hall ages ago?

They slowed down. As unnerving as the dungeons were, they didn't want to run into a group of Slytherins. Some seemed okay, but somehow neither thought those were the ones returning to their Common Room right then. They listened. It seemed the voices were farther away now. Reassured, the children followed.

Then something seeped out of the wall. Not a ghost - not a solid being either - tall and threatening. Lizzie was reminded of a horror movie she had seen over the summer, where the masked killer gutted his victims with a crooked knife. Not that she could see any weapon - or make up a face - but she faintly wished she had seen the ending, too, to know how to overpower the killer. The figure advanced and Lizzie trembled in terror. Faintly she could feel Robert's hand crushing hers. All hope was lost. The air became freezing and hard to breathe. She wanted to run, but her legs were rooted in spot, so she did the next best thing.

She screamed.

A/N: I wanted to finish the confrontation right away, but when a cliffhanger writes itself, it writes itself. Can't argue with a cliffhanger!