Usual Disclaimer; Updated March 2008.
Dean Rider sat quietly; his hands folded in his lap. He was sitting at the other end of the table to Snape and Meg. Well, where Meg should have been sitting, except it was half way through breakfast and there was still no sign of her.
Snape watched Rider closely but he seemed content with just a goblet of juice and a slice of toast, which was half eaten. Madam Hooch was talking animatedly to him; Dumbledore was listening and nodding along to her conversation.
Snape picked up his goblet of juice and raised it to his lips, never taking his eyes of the new professor.
He heard the swish of wings and knew that mail had arrived, he took his eyes of Rider as he watched the students receiving their mail; half of him was hoping that Neville had received another 'howler'. His eyes went to Potter and Weasley, who were pouring over a copy of the Daily Prophet. His lips curved into a sneer.
How he longed for the end of this year; he could finally see the back of that little trio.
A plop broke his thoughts as Meg's owl dropped a letter onto her empty plate.
He narrowed his eyes and picked it up, slipping it inside his robes. His eyes going back to Rider who was now watching him; Snape kept his face cold and unreadable and stood up.
He would take Professor Kincaid's letter to her; it would give him a chance to snoop a bit. See what the great mystery was. He'd also show her who the adult between them was. He would make no mention of what had gone before. Besides, his curiosity was up. Rider seemed normal enough; although Snape found the continual smoothing back of his hair annoying. But he figured it could be a sign of nerves. Goodness knows the thought of a class full of dunderheads was enough to make any man nervous. Any man except him, of course.
He left the great hall and made his way up to the staff quarters till he was outside the door that led to her rooms. He drew his robes around him tightly and knocked firmly.
There was no answer.
He knocked again and tried the door handle. It was locked still, from the outside.
His eyebrows went up, this wasn't right. Meg never missed the chance of food.
For an instant he wondered if perhaps her cordial had been too sweet, perhaps she was too ill for food. It would serve her right! He'd never met anyone who could eat the way she could.
He turned and went down to the dungeons; he didn't have a class till after lunch today, he would just make sure she was okay. No, not okay, he didn't mean okay; he would just make sure she was... about.
He stopped outside her classroom and stared. It was full of first year students who were enjoying the finer points of paper dart making. He slammed the door back on its hinges and glared at them. They hastily made it back to their seats and sat there.
He snorted; the ability of children to be able to look as if they had never even thought of playing up never ceased to amaze him.
"Where is, Professor Kincaid?" he demanded coldly.
No one moved, not one word was uttered as they all stared at the most feared Professor in the school. Fear evident on their faces.
"Well, come on, you there, Devlin, isn't it? Where is she?" he asked a lad from his own house.
"Er, she hasn't shown up yet," he stumbled on his words.
"Stay exactly as you are. One movement, one sound and points will be lost," he ordered and swept out of the room.
Stupid woman what was she doing now!
He crossed to her study door and knocked hard, trying the handle, but this time it was locked from the inside.
Losing his patience, he drew out his wand and unlocked the door; he went inside and shut it behind him.
"Kincaid!" He didn't bother with formalities. His dark gaze swept the room and both eyebrows went up as he saw her curled up in her chair, sound asleep.
He clicked his tongue in impatience and went forward to her, he reached down and roughly shook her, but she just moaned and sunk further into the cosy armchair.
He spotted the empty bottles on the floor and shook his head.
"Drunk," he muttered. "You're drunk!" He drew his wand out and muttered a spell that would revive her enough to wake up.
She opened bleary eyes and glared up at him.
"What are you doing here?" she slurred.
"Finding out why you have a classroom of completely uncontrollable brats," he spat at her and stood well back from her.
"What?" she frowned and coming to a bit more, she looked at her clock on the fireplace mantle and gave an cry of shock at the time.
"Oh, good grief," she cried out and stumbled out of the chair to fall flat on her face at his feet.
She looked up at his legs and from an abstract point of view admired the rows of buttons that went half way up each trouser leg.
Snape stared down at her, refusing to help her up, refusing to even touch her. He was actually enjoying seeing her so helpless. She was an annoying woman and it was giving him much satisfaction seeing her floundering on the floor at his feet.
"No need to grovel, Professor Kincaid," he muttered gleefully.
She stumbled to her knees and glared up at him through a tangle of hair.
"I am not, and I can assure you never will, grovel at your feet!" She mustered up some pride, trying to ignore the pounding in her head, and the unsettled feeling in her stomach.
"I've missed breakfast, haven't I?" she asked quietly, trying to stop the room from swaying.
"Good lord woman," he spat. "Is your stomach all you can think about?" he demanded. "Look at you, you're in no fit state to be teaching!" He shook his head and his black hair swayed about his face.
Meg looked around for something to grip a hold of while she tried to stand up, the only stable thing in reach was Snape and she'd rather stay down there than ask for his help.
She crawled towards her desk and hoisted herself up, taking several deep breaths to ease the nausea filling her.
"I will be perfectly fine... Just give me a moment," she muttered and Snape watched impressed as her face turned a pale shade of green; he was loving every minute of this and she knew it too.
"The only thing you need is a hangover potion. Honestly, getting drunk on a school night! Did no one ever tell you the answer to your problems do not lie in the bottom of a bottle?"
"No! Severus, the answer to my problems lies in you getting the hell out of here," she muttered, clutching her stomach. She took several more deep breaths and stood up straight, the room immediately started to spin. She clutched her desk frantically.
"Oh, for pete's sake," he spat out and came forward to grip her arm. He lifted her clean of the floor and set her down in her chair again and then quickly backed up.
"Stay here! There is no way you're in any condition to teach potions this morning. I don't think it would go down too well if, in your current inebriated state, you blew half of Hogwarts up!"
"That won't happen," she huffed at him, secretly glad to be curled up again, resting her head back.
"No! It won't! Because I will take your classes this morning," he hissed at her and swept out of the room, banging the door behind him, knowing full well it would hurt her head.
Meg groaned and shut her eyes... of all the people to find her like this. It had to be him! Damn the man!
Snape turned and with a malicious grin on his face looked up to see Professor Rider stood in the open doorway of Meg's classroom, talking to the students.
Snape stood perfectly still, the grin faded as he listened.
"So, you're Potions teacher hasn't turned up yet! Oh well, I'm sure it will turn out okay... probably be along any minute now! Sit quietly like good children now."
Snape rolled his eyes and groaned, not another Lockhart, please no! He'd rather been killed by Voldemort than have to go through another year of that.
He silently took in the other man's neatly styled blonde hair, his robes that were just this side of being navy blue; they trailed behind him slightly ending in a point. His head was bare.
He heard a ripple of noise from the classroom and stepped forward silently till he was directly behind Rider.
"I'm fairly good at potions y'know… I won a prize once!" he was smiling, even though Snape couldn't see his face, he could hear the smile in his voice. His sneer deepened, the man may be annoying but he couldn't see a reason for getting totally drunk... unless! Unless she was in love with the man and it wasn't returned.
The thought hit Snape hard, wiping the sneer right from his face. He stepped back and cleared his throat, recovering himself quickly.
Rider whirled around, a wide smile on his face, but his eyes didn't reflect the smile.
Snape didn't even bother to smile; he just sneered at him.
"How can I help you, Professor? Are you lost?" he drawled coldly.
"Lost? What? Oh yes," he beamed at Snape, his hand going to his hair as he smoothed it down.
Snape bit back a snarl and contented himself with striding past Rider into the room of talking students.
"I thought I told you lot to keep quiet! Ten points from all four houses, Now, You boy, Devlin on your feet." Snape turned back to the astonished looking Rider.
"Devlin take Professor Rider where he was going and get straight back here,Ten minutes, no more." He half smiled, half sneered at Rider and turning back to the class, told them all to get out their books.
"I thought...er... aren't you the Defence Against Dark Arts Professor?" Rider asked Snape from where he still stood in the doorway.
Snape looked across at him, clearly annoyed at being interrupted.
"Yes I am," he answered. "Now... You boy, what potion did you do last?" Snape pounced on a poor Hufflepuff who in a stammering voice told him it had been a colour-changing potion.
"Child's play," Snape spat coldly.
He knew Rider was still there, Devlin hovering uncertainly beside him.
"What is the problem?" he hissed, his temper being to grow.
"Where is Professor Kincaid?" Rider asked again, his voice calm and friendly, but Snape didn't miss the icy coldness in his eyes.
"Indisposed! Now if you please...I have a lot to do here!" Snape dismissed him with a wave of his hand and set the class to do a boil-removing potion. He knew half of them would fail it terribly, and the other half probably wouldn't even know where to start.
"Please sir, isn't that what the third years are doing?" asked a timid voice that grated on Snape.
He whirled on her and was disappointed to see it was a Slytherin that spoke. He'd already taken ten points from his own house, something that would be remedied as soon as Devlin got back, but he wouldn't take any more away, no matter how much her question irritated him.
"Indeed it is!" was all he said before turning towards Meg's potion cupboard.
This would give him a perfect opportunity to have a look at her idea of storage.
He nosed round her cupboard, a little bit annoyed to see it was perfectly laid out, in a logical order; that was until he saw the extra shelf at the back.
He stared at the packets and bottles.
"Flour... Spices...what is she doing here?" he muttered and shook his head. He supposed it stood to reason that a woman as obsessed with food as she seemed to be, would have ingredients to make some sort of food items; he remembered the posters of cake recipes on the walls in the classroom. He bit back a smile and setting his usual sneer on his face drew out the several ingredients he would need and went back into the classroom, just as Devlin came back in.
Snape motioned him to sit down.
"Ten points for getting back in less than ten minutes," he hissed quietly, aware of the outraged looks on the faces of the Gryffindor students. So what? He was the teacher here; he could do what he damn well pleased!
He crossed to Meg's cauldron and began.
He was interrupted more times than he cared to count by the endless mistakes from the first years. He'd expected that; but it was the Hufflepuff he'd spoken to first who surprised him. Quite by accident he'd made a cold remedy potion.
He stood over his cauldron, sneer in place.
"This isn't a boil removing potion, Slater," he spat, he stirred the thick dark liquid and glared at him.
"Er, no sir," he fidgeted with his robes, going bright red with shame and fear.
"However, this is a cold remedy potion; get a couple of vials, and fill them up with this. Madam Pomfrey will be surprised." He swept away to the next desk and then stopped to half turn.
"Five points to Hufflepuff, for sheer luck," he whispered it so quietly, he wasn't even sure he'd said it himself. But he had and it would register.
Meg heard someone come into her study and struggled to sit up, the pounding in her head not much better despite the sleep she'd had.
"Drink this!" A goblet was pressed into her hand.
She looked up to see Snape looming over her. She sniffed it and recognised a hangover potion. She gratefully drank it down, feeling the effects work pretty quickly.
"Thank you," she muttered, getting to her feet, glad to find the room no longer spun around.
"Humph!" Snape snorted at her and turned back to the door, he stopped and drew out the letter from his robes.
"This came for you this morning," he snapped and threw the letter onto her desk before going out and closing the door behind him.
Meg sighed and sagged slightly, only to stand straight again when the door opened almost immediately again.
"Oh, by the way, Rider has been sniffing around here. I thought you might like to know." Snape's head poked round the door and then disappeared again as quickly.
Meg groaned; her worst nightmares were coming true. It was the Dean Rider she'd known and he was here.
Meg sagged back into her chair, just as the door opened once again. Snape appeared right around this time.
"You won't get drunk again will you? I really can't teach two classes at once y'know," he sneered at her.
She stared up at him and bit her lip.
"I'm sorry about that, really I am. Things, well.. I don't usually get drunk and it won't happen again." She frowned; this was harder than she thought. "And thank you for taking my class. I hope they weren't too bad for you."
"Completely useless," he replied. "But I didn't expect anything else."
She bristled at that.
"They are only first years," she defended and was surprised to see a genuine smile appear on his face. But if she was surprised, Snape was shocked and it was quickly rearranged into a sneer.
"Of course they are! Heaven help us," he sneered and turned to go.
"Severus!" she stopped him and stood up.
He watched her warily.
"About yesterday... " she began, and burned a dark red in embarrassment.
Snape had the grace to blush slightly himself.
"I would prefer if you would forget what I said to you. I am sorry if it sounded cheap." He didn't break eye contact with her, although she could see it was costing him a great deal to say that to her.
"We won't mention it again." She nodded her head, shifting uncomfortably.
There was something else she needed to know.
"Did.. er did Rider say anything?" She was bright red and very uncomfortable.
Snape regarded her and was convinced then and there she was in love with Rider.
"He said he was lost, a bit confused at to why I was teaching your class." He saw the red creep out of her cheeks to leave them white. With a last sneer he backed out of the room; his bad temper back with a vengeance.
For some reason the thought that she was in love with Rider made him very irritable. Why he didn't know, and he wasn't about to think about it either!
"Right then, Neville, now add the sugar and go careful!"
Meg and Neville were sitting in the kitchens. Meg had asked the house- elves if she could use their equipment to help Neville.
She was convinced if she could get him to produce a well-risen Soufflé with out sinking in the middle; he could brew any potion he wanted. It was all a matter of confidence on his part.
That and the thought she couldn't bare to have to admit Snape had been right!
She watched the boy now as his hands shook.
"Nev, Nev, what is the worst that can happen here?" she sighed, crossing her legs and clutching her robes to her.
"It could sink in the middle," he said softly and then added, "Or I could burn it, or burn the entire kitchens down,or the school for that matter!"
"Nonsense!" she laughed. "It could sink or burn! But it won't! Why not?"
"erm... magic?"
"No, Neville!" she admonished him. "It won't sink because you'll do it right!" She guided him through the remaining procedures and then they sat waiting.
Dobby brought them both a cup of tea and biscuits.
"Thank you, Dobby!" Meg smiled at him. She was a regular visitor to their kitchens; sometimes she would come down in the middle of the night for something to eat. They liked her and would always feed her well.
Finally the soufflé came out and, as Neville predicted, it sank.
"There, see." Neville and Meg stared down at it in sorrow.
"Oh well," Meg sighed and then brightened. "Listen Nev, Rome wasn't built in a day! We'll try again tomorrow."
"But Miss! I've been potion brewing for five years now! Rome wouldn't even have a foundation at the rate I'm going!"
Meg smiled at him, she'd got to know him well over the last several days and she'd discovered he had a dry humour that matched her own.
"Come on, Nev, you can't give up after one failure. I think maybe it's my fault anyway." She poked the soufflé with her fork and sighed.
"How so?" asked Neville dejectedly.
"Expecting a soufflé when you say all you've ever cooked before is popcorn," she shrugged and regaining her wide smile, she looked up at him.
"Never mind, Nev, tomorrow night, same time, we'll try a simple cake recipe! Carrot cake!"
Neville smiled at her and picked up his bag.
"I do appreciate what you're trying to do here, Miss, really I do. But I'm not sure it'll work."
"It worked for me," she told him. "I had the lousiest potions master going, makes Professor Snape look like a fluffy bunny in comparison. He took my confidence in potions and ground it up in his mortar. He suffered a heart attack in my fourth year and was replaced with another teacher; Professor Jones, he was a sweet old man." She smiled softly as she remembered the small gray haired wizard.
"He tried to get me to improve, but it turned out my confidence just didn't want to know. So he figured if I could bake a successful cake, learn to lay a table correctly and cook and serve to a dinner party I could brew potions! His wife, Janus Jones, took me every night to the kitchens and taught me. With each success I realised I could do it. If I believed I could!"
Neville listened quietly tugging on the tie around his throat; he undid it and let it hang around his neck.
"I want to learn Miss," he said and scratched his face.
"And you will." She smiled at him. "Now, off you go, don't want Mr Filch catching you." She watched him leave the kitchens, her mind on the past and her lessons with Mrs Jones. She sighed and turned back to the soufflé.
"Oh well, doesn't make it taste any different," she muttered and stuck her fork into it and scooped out a bit.
Neville was miles away, his mind on creating a successful potion that would get him a good grade, and his grandmother was beaming proudly...
"What are you doing out of your common room?" came the slow drawl of his most hated Professor.
Neville gulped, he half wished it had been Filch he'd bumped into.
"I... I've.. been in the kitchens," he stumbled over his words.
"Eating again!" Snape mocked. "Really Longbottom, your broomstick has enough trouble getting you off the ground as it is, don't make matters worse!"
Neville coloured up and he felt the familiar tears prick his eyes.
"No, I was with Professor Kincaid," he muttered and clutched his bag to his chest.
"Professor Kincaid? I might have guessed," Snape sighed. "Get to your bed, Longbottom!"
Neville didn't need any further telling; he shot off at top speed.
Snape watched him and then turning headed of towards the kitchens.
Meg sucked on her fork, it may have sunk, but it still tasted good.
She heard a noise behind her and thought Neville had returned.
"Hey, Nev!" She said without turning. "It may have sunk, but it sure tastes good, get a fork and try some. I think maybe not enough air... " She faded out peering down at the soufflé, she stuck her fork in again and lifted more out.
"Don't you want some?" she asked and looked up at who she thought was Neville, to see Snape watching her, his face dark, his eyebrows raised high.
"Oh!" She dropped her fork in surprise, soufflé splattered onto the side.
She watched as he took a fork from Winky who had appeared at their sides with another cup of tea for Snape. He lifted some soufflé out and tried it; his eyebrows drawing together.
"Longbottom, made this?" he asked slowly.
"Yes, good, isn't it?" Her heartbeat had increased, she picked up her fork and using a cloth wiped away the mess she'd made.
He didn't reply, but his fork going back for more told her everything she needed to know.
"Shame he couldn't get it to stay risen," he mocked dryly.
"Oh Severus, not so hard on the boy, this is his first soufflé, not to mention first attempt at anything slightly culinary. My first soufflé exploded, covering half the kitchens in goo!" She grinned as she remembered Mrs Jones face. She'd been shocked. Meg had prepared herself for a good telling of, but Mrs Jones had burst into laughter, telling her it was the first exploding soufflé she'd ever met!
"That doesn't surprise me at all. I wasn't aware we were giving cookery lessons here now as well."
"Well, we aren't. Not strictly speaking." She watched as he polished of most of the soufflé while drinking his tea.
"So, dare I ask what is going on here?"
"Well…" Meg looked at him, could she tell him, he was still intent on the soufflé, his expression calm, no hint of mockery in his face at all.
She drew a deep breath and began to tell him about her own experience and how she'd learnt the art of potion mixing by learning to bake.
She waited when she'd finished, biting her lip, waiting for his laugh.
Snape set his empty cup down and rested the fork beside it.
"I can see how it might help," he mused. "And so you are going to turn Longbottom into a chef to teach him potions." He almost smiled at her, his eyes were definitely sparkling.
"Yes, that's the idea; although starting on a soufflé wasn't a good idea."
"And what will you be making tomorrow night?" he asked standing up slowly.
"Carrot cake." She hid a grin, wondering if she'd see him again tomorrow night; it seemed as if she wasn't the only one who had a liking for food; despite how he mocked her about it.
"Goodnight, Professor Kincaid," he muttered and swept out of the kitchens, leaving Meg chuckling quietly.
Over the next several weeks a routine established itself. Meg spent her days teaching and avoiding Rider, and her evenings teaching Neville to bake. He became good very quickly and he enjoyed it. Neville would leave and Meg could guarantee ten minutes after he left Snape would come wandering in, declaring he'd come to see what mess Neville had created this time.
Snape never remarked on how good Neville's baking was, but the empty plates told Meg all she needed to know.
Sometimes the entire time Snape spent in the kitchens would pass without a single word being said by either of them. Sometimes he'd ask her about her time in the muggle school, sometimes they would disagree heatedly on the art of teaching; especially if she thought he'd been unfair to someone, or she'd taken points from his beloved Slytherin house.
He never spoke about himself and she never asked. She knew enough about Snape to know if he wanted her to know about him he'd tell her.
Meg found herself growing increasingly attached to Snape. She looked forward to the time they would spend together. Even when neither of them spoke, time passed comfortably.
Snape was having similar feelings. He too enjoyed their time together, although he'd rather pass through fire than admit that to anyone. Most of the time he convinced himself it was only the cakes and things he was going for, but soon it became her company that drew him down there.
The weeks passed and Meg was lulled into a sense of security. Dean had made no effort to talk to her. He acted perfectly normally and Meg began to wonder if he'd forgotten.
But how can you forget something like that? She hadn't and never would.
It was the day before Halloween that Rider finally spoke to her.
She was sitting outside, watching Quidditch practise between some Ravenclaw and Gryffindor players. She was in the stands; her scarf wrapped around her neck several times, her winter wool robes clutched in her gloved hands.
"Megan Kincaid," came a soft voice that made her turn sharply.
Dean came up the steps and sat beside her.
"Dean," she said his name calmly.
"I'm sorry it's taken me so long to speak to you," he said it softly, his eyes watching the Quidditch players.
Meg bit her lip and absently noticed Hermione and Ron holding hands, they were there to watch Harry.
"What do you want, Dean?" she asked softly, fear clutching at her heart.
"Want? Why do you think I want anything?" he laughed softly.
"I remember the last thing you ever said to me," she replied, her heart had began to speed up in fear.
"So do I." He drew his wand out of his sleeve and Meg shot off the seat and stood facing him, her own wand in her hand.
"Calm down, Meg," he said it quietly, without even looking at her he flicked his wand and a small fireball appeared he held out his hands to warm them.
Meg could feel herself shaking. She lowered her hand but didn't put her wand away.
"I'm feeling cold, reckon we'll have early snow this year?" he asked her, looking up at the white sky.
"Dean!" His name came out on a hiss. "What are you going to do?" Her voice was low, filled with fear.
"I'm going to tell you that nine years is a long time!"
Meg sank down onto the seat. The memories she'd tried to suppress washed over her.
"Yes... it is."
"Some people told us that time would heal the pain, y'know help it fade." He flicked his wand and the fire disappeared.
"Dean... you know, I'm sorry."
"Yeah, I know." He studied the end of her wand. "But it doesn't make any difference. The people who said time heals, they were lying. It never gets any easier." He turned to her then and the ice in his eyes froze her heart.
"I.. don't know what to say," she muttered.
"Don't say anything! It's not why I'm here! I'm not here to listen to your apologies. After all, apologies won't make things right again, will it?"
"No!" She shook her head, guilt heavy on her heart.
"The one thing that has always goaded me; any idea what that is?" he asked quietly, his eyes on her hair that curled out the sides of the hood that covered her head.
She shook her head; speech had failed her now.
"How you got of scott free. Free to live your own life the way you want to." He narrowed his eyes and hissed. "Saved again, Miss Kincaid! You're shadow has arrived." He stood up and quickly left the stands.
Meg stared after him wondering what he was on about. A sound behind her made her whip round.
She saw Snape coming slowly up the stands to join her on the seats.
"Severus," she said his name softly, relief flooded through her.
"Professor!" He nodded curtly and sat down pulling his robes around him. "I'm sorry if I frightened away your friend." He spoke mockingly and Meg knew he didn't mean a word if it.
"Hum...What brings you out here?" she asked in a vain attempt at gathering her senses again.
"I'm suppose to be refereeing this lot tomorrow," he said darkly.
Meg nodded not really taking in his words; her mind was still firmly on Dean.
"I didn't realise you liked Quidditch," he said, his eyes not leaving the students zooming around on their broomsticks.
"Well I can watch it," she said, dragging her mind to the conversation. "Can't play it to save my life. To be honest with you, flying on a broomstick terrifies me, but to zoom about like that!" She pointed out at Harry who was doing a vertical dive, practising for catching the snitch. "Pointless, if you wish to die a horrible death...just..." Meg stopped as an unbidden memory came into her mind; she bit her lip hard, drawing blood.
Damn Dean, she had got herself under control, it had taken years of meditating and displaying an exterior that didn't really exist, but now; all her defences were down.
"Excuse me." She jumped to her feet and hurried down the steps.
Snape startled at her sudden departure stared after her.
"What's biting her now?" he muttered before turning back to watch Harry.
He had to admire the boy, he'd never tell him so, but even Snape knew an excellent Quidditch player when he saw one.
Disgruntled he huddled into his robes against the biting cold and stared up at the sky. There was definitely snow on the way. It was going to be a long hard winter.
Halloween fell on a Saturday that year, so the feast in the hall went on for much longer.
Meg hadn't dressed for the occasion at all. She stayed in her usual robes and hat.
She might have felt a little under-dressed as most of the teachers had taken the opportunity to dress in less formal attire. But two of the teaching staff were dressed exactly the same as usual, so Meg didn't feel too bad till it dawned on her, that it was Hagrid and Snape.
She sipped at her pumpkin juice and unable to stop; she pulled a disgusted face.
She discreetly spat her mouthful back into her goblet watched by Snape.
"Don't like it?" he asked her. He turned and let his eyes wander over the students; some of them were dressed as ghosts; some of them stayed in uniform and some of them he couldn't really tell what they were supposed to be, except a right mess.
"No!" She pushed the goblet away. She reached for the jug of water and taking her water glass filled it up.
"No late night cookery lessons this weekend I suppose," he said quietly, his eyes on the top end of the table. If Meg didn't know better, she wouldn't have realised he was talking to her.
She smiled softly, amused at how he put it.
"Not for Neville no, although there is a new recipe I found last week for fudge, if you're interested."
He turned to look at her; his dark eyes giving nothing away.
"Fudge? I haven't had fudge since I was a child," he intoned silkily and pushed back a strand of hair that had fallen across his cheek.
Meg's eyes went to his hair. The urge to reach out and gently touch it was strong.
Alarmed at her own desires she blinked. She hadn't felt any of the stirrings he'd previously unearthed in her since… since Dean had made an appearance.
Her eyes flicked to Dean, who was watching her. He raised his goblet to her with a smirk. It was as if he could read her mind.
Startled and unsettled she sat back to avoid his gaze and knocked over her glass of water.
"Damn!" She caught the glass before it could fall on the floor, but not before the water cascaded over both her and Snape's lap.
"I'm so sorry!" Meg got extremely flustered as she tried to dab at her lap with the napkin.
"Please calm down, Professor Kincaid. It is only water; it'll dry and not stain!" Snapes' calm voice seemed to soothe her tattered nerves slightly.
He soaked up the excess water on his lap and with a flick of his wand had them both dry again in seconds.
He turned and his eyes locked with Deans'; who was smirking at her clumsiness.
"Tell me, Professor Kincaid. What is it about Professor Rider that reduces you to a gibbering wreck?" his words were low, calm and clear.
"W..What?" she stammered, her hands fluttering over her now dry robes.
"You heard me." Snape turned and pinned her with his black unfeeling eyes.
"N..Nothing! I'm just clumsy." She tried to laugh but unfortunately it came out more like a squeal.
"In my experience of you, Professor Kincaid; you are many things. Clumsy isn't one of them though."
She wilted under his stare, her self-defence struggling to come to her aid.
"I.. please excuse me." She stood up and left the hall with minimum fuss.
Meg was resolved.
She was perfectly sure Snape wouldn't come within fifty meters of the kitchens tonight. So while she was waiting for her fudge to set she sat with her chin in her hands and gave herself a good mental talking to.
She had no idea what Dean was doing here. Divination wasn't even his strong point, but then it had never been Professor Trelawnys' either!
She wasn't fifteen anymore. She wasn't a girl. She was a confident woman. She had made a huge error in her past, one she would pay for every day that she lived. But she wouldn't, couldn't, allow him to undermine her sanity. She'd come too close to that nine years ago!
She idly poked at her fudge with a knife.
"Poking it won't make it set any faster," came Snape's cold voice from behind her.
Meg sat up and looked around at him.
"Didn't think you'd come," she said honestly, watching as he sat down beside her.
"Why would that be? You're relationship with Professor Rider has nothing to do with my liking of fudge." He was as always, completely confident and calm.
Meg frowned at him, for some reason it was important to her that he knew there was no relationship between her and Dean.
"There is nothing between Dean and myself," she muttered it quietly but he heard.
"So, care to tell me how Longbottom is fairing in Potions?" he asked the question smugly, already knowing the answer.
"He's better," she immediately defended
"Really? So how come he managed to melt yet another cauldron today?" He smirked at her.
She attacked the fudge with a knife and cut it into chunks.
"I suppose your spy Malfoy gave you that little information," she hissed angrily. She was annoyed he'd found out. She'd been hoping he'd never find out! She was naive if she truly thought Malfoy would keep that information to himself.
She shoved several chunks towards him, praying they'd stick his teeth together indefinitely. He took one and began to chew it smugly. Unfortunately praying didn't work.
"Malfoy is not my spy Professor Kincaid," he smirked. "Besides half the class were sniggering about it as they came into my class!"
"Yeah, the half being the Slytherin half I suppose!"
"Dear ,dear," he tutted. "You really do dislike Slytherin, don't you?"
"Not at all, just 98 of it." She looked up at him. "Neville melting his cauldron was...unfortunate." She struggled to find the right word.
"Really? It's always struck me that everything Longbottom does is unfortunate."
She clicked her tongue. She was getting annoyed with him.
"Severus, what exactly do you have against students like Longbottom?" she bit the words out impatiently.
"They waste my time," he said simply glaring at her. "Longbottom will never be any good at potions. It just isn't in him to start with. His father was exactly the same, his strength was in duelling, the same way Neville Longbottom' is in Herbology. I firmly believe that with students who are so clearly inept as Longbottom is, they should be removed from the classes they have no hope to succeed in and given extra tuition in the areas they do excel at."
Meg regarded him silently; thinking over what he'd said.
"But surely... there is always a chance. I mean I thought I was useless at potions till Professor Jones stepped in."
"With some students there is a chance. Just not Longbottom."
"Are you sure you're not judging the boy by his father?" she asked him carefully, and saw the flush of temper flare on his face.
"Of course I'm not!" He bit out. He folded his arms on the table and leaning forward slightly cocked his head to one side and raised one eyebrow.
"Are you sure you're not trying to recreate yourself in Longbottom?" His words were even, slow and deep.
Her eyebrows shot up; her hand going to her mouth with fudge stopped in mid air.
"Myself in ... Neville?" she frowned at him, startled by his question.
"There is such a thing as flogging a dead horse," he whispered and reaching out took the piece of fudge and popped it into her open mouth.
Meg blinked at him, unable to speak around the fudge. She chewed it quickly and swallowed, looking down at the table blankly, his words sinking in.
Neville's cooking had definitely improved, his potion making, however, had not.
"It's a very noble thing what you've been trying to do here, most teachers, including myself, wouldn't bother. Carry on teaching him cookery, who knows, in ten years he could be a master chef. But he'll never be any good at potion brewing. The sooner you accept that, the sooner Neville will accept it himself."
Snapes' words were so softly spoken that they flowed over Meg who was staring stricken down at her fudge.
"But I really want him to do well," she said quietly.
"He will, I believe, and this pains me to say, that in Herbology, he is far advanced his age, just don't expect him to do well in potions. You won't have failed if he does."
Meg looked up startled at the man in front of her. This was a side of Snape she'd never seen before. He was almost gentle, as gentle as he could get anyway. His eyes were still like black, bottomless pools, but they held a touch of concern too, and something else. Something she couldn't fathom.
"You're right," she whispered. "Arrogant, annoyingly arrogant; but right," she sighed deeply. "I've been a fool!"
"No, of course you haven't!" He said a touch of impatience back in his voice. "You weren't to know, this is a whole new year to you. A whole new school, a new way of teaching."
"You told me." She reminded him. "And I have to admit that a, not so small, part of me wanted Neville to do well just to prove you wrong. I still disagree firmly with the way you treat your students, but…" She shrugged.
"I think, Professor Kincaid, we will always disagree about my teaching methods," he said it dryly.
A noise behind them, that most definitely wasn't a house-elf, made Meg and Snape whirl round. Professor Dean Rider stood leaning against the open doorway; a smirk on his handsome face.
"Ah! How sweet. The former potions master and the new potions master." He grinned cockily at both of them and came in.
Meg stiffened and unconsciously moved slightly closer to Snape; a movement that wasn't lost on either man.
"Ah, Meg! Still making your delightful toffee?" he asked reaching out for a piece.
It took all of Meg's self-control not to stab the knife into his hand.
"It's fudge," Snape drawled coldly. "Not toffee."
"Eh?" Dean looked at Snape and raised an eyebrow. "All the same to me! Did you know it was snowing outside?" he asked casually. "The lake is frozen over as well."
He looked directly at Meg and winked before heading back to the door.
"Oh, well! See you folks later. Don't make yourselves sick." He strode out of the kitchen, whistling a happy tune.
Meg slowly sank forward till her forehead was resting on the table.
"Professor Kincaid?" Snape voice in her ear brought her sitting upright quickly, momentarily she had forgotten he was there.
Megs' hands were shaking badly as she set the knife on the table and took several deep breaths.
"Oh well... said it would snow," she laughed, but it was high and false.
"What's going on?" Snape asked with no preamble. His tone dark and cold, the same kind of tone he used on his students.
"Nothing!"
"Don't lie to me," he hissed and caught her shoulder to turn her slightly to face him.
She could feel his breath on her face; his mouth set in a firm line, his eyebrows drawn together.
"I can't tell you," she whispered. "I can't tell anyone!"
"Don't be so melodramatic," he hissed. "If you're in any kind of trouble..."
"Severus, please, just leave it!"
"No!" He took her other shoulder now. "No, I won't just leave it! That man breezes in here and you freeze up like its subzero. You get drunk over the man and are unable to fulfil your obligations. What's going on?" his voice dropped lower and lower with each word, till it was a menacing whisper.
"I told you I wouldn't do that again," she cried, angry with him now, angry for making her face up to things she'd rather ignore.
"Professor Kincaid! Is that man threatening you?"
"No, no, he's not." She shook her head. His grip on her shoulders hurting her. She put her hands on his chest to try to push him away.
"He said he knew you before. From where?" he hissed again; his grip tightening on her.
"We went to school together. Severus, you're hurting me," she cried and tried to shove him away. He pulled her against him till her face was buried in his chest.
"If he hurts you, or so much as lays a hand on you," Severus growled.
"Severus, I can't breathe," she muffled against his chest, her mouth and nose stuffed against the black waistcoat he wore under his robes.
He pulled her back slightly looking down at her. His eyes glistened with anger.
Meg felt the familiar rush of feelings for him and with a soft moan she was back in his arms, her mouth crushed to his. He held her tightly, his arms slipping around her to cradle her gently as he kissed her thoroughly. Her hands wound themselves into his hair; it was slightly greasy, like it was oiled. But Meg wasn't thinking of his hair. She wasn't thinking of anything except this was what she wanted. Him. She wanted him.
A soft clearing of a throat brought them apart reluctantly.
Meg gasped as she saw Dumbledore standing in front of the table, his eyes on the fudge.
"Would you mind if I try a piece of this delicious looking fudge?" he asked. He raised his head to look at both of them, a twinkle in his eyes that made Meg flame with embarrassment.
"Er, yes, please do," she stuttered and looked at Snape sideways. He was looking as horrified as she felt.
"Headmaster, Sir... what you…"
Dumbledore cut Snape off with a wave of his hand.
"I didn't see anything, Severus," he chuckled. "And even if I did, it's not my business." He winked at Meg and taking some fudge went out humming quietly to himself.
Meg sagged once more and leant her head on her arms. She looked up sideways at Snape, who appeared to be truly shell-shocked. His hair was ruffled more than usual, and his cheeks were flushed slightly.
"Just be relieved it wasn't Minerva," she said quietly. "Or we'd be carrying her out on stretcher by now."
Snape looked down at Meg. His face was once again controlled, even his sneer was back in place.
"You haven't got out of it that easily," he remarked.
"What?" she asked and sat up again frowning at him
"What did Rider do to you that has you having an apoplexy every time he appears?"
"You know something, Severus? You're like a dog at a bone! You won't be content till you hear every last gruesome detail, will you?" she demanded angrily.
"No, I won't," he spat. "It's what made me such a good Death Eater," he hissed at her.
"I know what you were, Severus," she said it softly; he'd worn her down with that one sentence. In telling her what he'd been, he was telling her that it was okay to let him know what was so bad in her past.
"So what did he do then?"
"It wasn't what he did." She replied sadly and got up. "It was what I did."
"Which was?" he asked quietly.
"I murdered his sister."