The fire is roaring as the storm outside rages on. Lucius and I sit in a calm silence in a moment of rare peace. Though I normally visit on Saturdays, Lucius owled earlier asking if we could meet for a drink. With no afternoon classes and my normal late night patrol and chess match with Minerva going on later, I agreed knowing this would be my only time to relax tonight.

He is making little progress with Narcissa. I can see his frustration setting in, but the man is relentless. Her rejection is spurring him on with hearty vigor that I have not seen since his attempt at trying to regain the Dark Lord's trust after the incident in the Department of Mysteries. The more she ignores his attempts, the more determined he seems.

Lucius takes a small sip before commenting further. "I think the time for simple games has passed old friend."

"And what are you suggesting?" I ask reluctantly. Knowing Lucius, whatever he has in mind is not going to be simple or morally sound for that matter.

"I need your help," he states openly. "You offered your assistance and I now feel that I must use it."

"I did," I remember. "You know what my terms are. I will help from afar."

"I am fully aware," he nods. "However, I have one of the greatest Potion's Masters in the world sitting a meter away. I would be a fool to try to brew it myself."

Knocking back a particularly large gulp, I fear where this is heading. "To brew what potion?"

"Don't give me that suspicious tone," he drawls with faux innocence. "It is a modification to an old recipe I found in one of the books of my ancestors. I seem to recall it required ingredients like cocoa beans, the shavings of oyster shells, some ashwinder eggs, a moonstone-"

"A love potion," I finish for him with as much disdain as I can muster. "Lucius, I will not drug your wife into falsely falling in love with you."

"It is not a love potion," he argues lightly. "From the effects I have read about, it seems to be more of a suppressant of negative emotions rather than an enhancer of positive ones. It allows the drinker to become more receptive to ideas."

"That is still considered drugging her," I point out. "It is like sending a howler with a love letter beforehand. No matter how sweet the preceding letter is, the howler will eventually have to be opened. Trying to distract her from her true feelings about you is not allowing her to deal with them. By pushing them aside, you are taking away her chance to work past them and into a state of forgiveness. It could potentially be worse for you when those emotions come flooding back."

"I just need an opening," he pleads. "I need her to give me one single chance. Every door I open for her, she refuses to walk through. I enter a room and she immediately leaves. Each compliment I give her is met with a nasty retort or disbelief. My gratitude is met with disdain. I reach out and she leaves me hanging. How am I supposed to win her back like this?"

I take another sip and weigh the options. If I don't help him, he will not only try to brew the potion himself but probably try to enhance the effects to his benefit, potentially creating an illusion that could break both him and Narcissa forever. If I do help him, the damage to his relationship could be irreversible and ruin any chances of ever winning her back if she ever found out.

The lesser of two evils is still an evil, so I question him further.

"Which text did you find this potion in?" I ask. He pulls the book from the table next to him and floats it over to me. Modern Negotiations reads the title. I should have known he would find it in a text that combines dark magic with business negotiations. Thumbing through the pages, I see glimpses of various alterations of the Imperius Curse, altered potions, and incantations.

"The book is not really dark magic," Lucius tries to reason. "Most of the spells are very weak in comparison to the Unforgivables. That text isn't even on the Ministry's list of banned books containing Dark Magic."

"And I'm sure that has nothing to do with the fact that this book has been out of print for at least two centuries and you own the very last copy in existence, right?" His lips form a thin line as he refrains from answering. Silence confirm what we both know- this book is unethical at best and illegal at worst, but it is probably somewhere in the middle.

"Have you used any information out of this book?" I question trying to gauge how familiar he is with it.

"Not in particular. I prefer to grow my family's fortune without resorting to cheap tricks and shortcuts," he responds with his natural arrogance. "I have experimented with a few of the incantations simply to learn, but nothing that would alter the destiny of my business."

I take my time skimming through the potions scattered throughout the text. He may not be a master, but Lucius is correct in his claim that they are very weak brews. Although most are too strong to be used on Muggles, a decent wizard could resist the effects of most of the potions mentioned.

Towards the end of the book I find the potion Lucius spoke of is called Aperta Mentis. The ingredients look fairly easy to obtain and the process simple as well. "And what if Narcissa is resistant to the effects of this potion?"

"I was hoping that you might study the recipe and create something more personalized," he suggests.

"Fine," I finally relent. "But I am going to take my time with this. I want to research this potion and make sure it will not compromise your wife's decision making abilities."

"Of course," he agrees wholeheartedly, "I would expect nothing less."

I finish my drink and shake my head. "Just when I think I am being made into an honest man, you drag me back into the fold."

Lucius chuckles. "Speaking of being made into an honest man, it has been a while since we discussed the state of your tumultuous marriage."

"Meh," I shrug. Running my hands through my hair, I try to explain. "I thought we just needed time to adjust, but I am afraid time has just proven how wrong this whole thing is."

"Maybe you should try wooing her," he suggests. Rolling my eyes, I glare back. "Severus, I am not trying to mock you, I am being serious."

"We've been over this," I remind him. "She is a student. She is half my age. Anything between us is inappropriate and-"

"She is beautiful," he interrupts. "She is young, but what is age in the grand scheme of things? She will not be a student much longer. Perhaps woo is the wrong term. Maybe you should try to become acquainted with her."

"Like friends?" My voice drips with sarcasm as I snort at him. "As if I don't deal with teenagers enough, now you suggest I get to know one better. I think you are drunk."

"Think about it," he presses on, ignoring my comments. "The only relationship you two have is the one of a student and teacher. Other than what you have observed in class, what do you really know about her? What does she really know about you? I am not suggesting anything more than just getting to know the girl. You of all people know how valuable it is to know the people you have to work with."

Sitting back in my chair, I return my gaze to the fire in deep thought.

Could it really be that simple? Are all of our problems just a matter of misunderstanding each other?

No, I know plenty about the girl. She is a Weasley; red hair, fiery temper, a knack for breaking the rules. In her second year, she was possessed by Tom Riddle. She plays Quidditch and seems to do well in various positions.

"When is her birthday?" Confused by his question, I give Lucius a bewildered look as I am brought back to the present. "What is her favorite food? Do you know what she plans on doing after Hogwarts? Which of her family members is she closest to?"

I shake my head. "I don't know. What does it matter?"

"These things might seem trivial, but you and I both know any information can be used as leverage for something more," he explains.

"I don't want anything from her," I reiterate.

"Yes, you do," he snorts uncharacteristically. "You want the same thing you have wanted for months- to live out the rest of your life in peaceful isolation. How do you expect to obtain peace when you are constantly stressed over her? If knowing that she like to spend her birthdays with her family, then why would you not make sure to send her to them to get a day to yourself? If her mother is her confidant in life, then why not use the matriarch to fight your battles for you?"

"This isn't a war and I am not a spy anymore. However," I drawl out, "you do make a valid point. I do have only limited information about her. It wouldn't necessarily be a terrible thing to get to know the person I will be living with for the next twenty years. By the way, have you heard any news on the law."

He shakes his head. "Everything is still being held up in committees. I have a suspicion that Umbridge is behind it, but no one will be able to prove it."

"Damn," I mutter. Lucius gives me what can only pass as a sympathetic expression.

I suppress a smile at the irony of the whole situation. Never in a million years would I have guessed Lucius would be the one pining after a woman he can't get and I would be trying to escape my marriage to the girl of Potter's dreams.

Life has a strange way of playing out.

Rolling over to my side, I bring my knees to my chest. Cramping from my period is usually minor, but today, it feels like I am being stabbed with a hundred knives. Lavender Brown once said that having sex the day before you start prevents cramps. Liar is not a strong enough description for her.

I can hear the dinner bell chime through the castle, but I don't really feel like going to the Great Hall. Besides the pain in my stomach, I am still kind of pissed off at Hermione for telling Ron about Snape. I'm still not exactly sure what she said, but it was more than I ever wanted him to know.

Ironically, Snape does seem to be over the whole incident though. His apology to me the other night was completely unexpected. But then again, there isn't much I can expect these days.

Using the last of my energy, I leave my bedroom for the kitchen with the intent on making a sandwich to take back to my room. The hallway is as dim as ever and the wind echoes through the empty dungeon. I should have noticed the light on as I approached the kitchen.

There, standing over the stove, Professor Snape is cooking. I suppose that brewing potions is similar to cooking, but the sight still looks very unnatural. His wand is stirring one pot with magic while holding a spatula in his other hand flipping meat in another pan. Before I can run, he looks straight at me and gives a slight frown.

"Miss Weasley, it is only six in the evening," he notes. I start to step back as I realize I am dressed in my pajamas with no robe on. He sees me trying to leave and quickly asks, "I suppose that means you will not be heading to the Great Hall for dinner?"

I shake my head and explain, "I wasn't feeling well after class, so I have been resting."

"I see," he nods looking back to the food on the stove. "Well, there is more than enough of food here. It will be ready momentarily, so take a seat."

"Why?" The question tumbles out of my mouth in a tone of disdain and apprehension.

Unabashed, he replies, "There is no sense in you standing in the doorway, especially if you aren't feeling well-"

"No, I mean why are you doing this?" I correct myself. He glances at me with mild confusion, so I restate my question differently. "Why are you making dinner for me?"

"I had no intention of making dinner for you," he reveals. "Contrary to popular belief, I do eat food like the rest of the human population. Cooking for one is tedious and wasteful, so I always cook with the intent of having plenty to eat and leftovers to store away. Or in this case, enough to share. If you do not like pork, you are welcome to make something else that appeals to you."

Snape flips the meat in the pan and looks over as if to say, "Which will it be?"

"Oh," I respond in a low tone. Then quickly, "I do like pork."

He gives a quick jerk of the head to acknowledge he heard and then turns back to tend to the pans on the stove. The table is bare, so I move to one of the cabinets to start looking for plates and cutlery. Although he keeps his eyes focused on the stove, I feel like he is sensing my presence as I move around the small kitchen around him.

As I set the table, he looks over and gives me a quizzical look as if he has no idea why I am setting the table. When I finish, I take a seat and wait. Just as he predicted, the food is ready and he places the pots from the stove and a basket of bread on the table.

He holds his hands out to signal I should help myself first. Quickly, I place food on my plate and then wait for him to help himself. As he starts to butter his roll, I sit awkwardly for no reason other than this whole domestic scene is very surreal.

"Is there something wrong, Miss Weasley?" He asks without looking up from his task.

"No," I say quickly hoping that he won't notice my face starting to get hot. Placing the napkin delicately in my lap, I pick up my fork, but can't seem to move it towards my plate.

"You are not eating," he states. Swallowing hard, I try to put food on my fork, but end up just pushing it around my plate. He sighs loudly and looks over at me. "What is the matter? And do not lie to me this time."

"Nothing," I start, but he gives me a doubtful look. Shrugging, I explain. "It is just weird. I mean it is strange having dinner. Here. With you. I mean, we've just never…" I trail off as I realize how stupid I sound trying to explain it.

"You do realize that we have eaten together for the last six years in the Great Hall, don't you?"

"Not at the same table," I argue. He frowns slightly. "Not even anywhere close to each other. And we haven't eaten together since we got married."

Snape chews his bite of food slowly and swallows as if taking my comment into consideration for the first time ever, then nods. "There is always a first time for everything." So simple, yet so profound.

I nod in agreement and finally cut a bite of meat to eat. My mother has made pork chops many times over the years, but this is unlike anything I had ever tasted. It is moist and flavorful.

"This is delicious," I whisper into my food. He catches my comment and lets out a sound that I can only assume is a chuckle. Embarrassed I blush and try to recover. "I had no idea you could cook."

"Hogwarts doesn't provide all my meals," he retorts. "A man who can't cook, won't survive very long."

Unexpectedly, I laugh out loud, only to see he is dead serious. I immediately stop mid laugh and focus on eating my food.

"Do you cook?" His question comes out awkward and apprehensive like he is asking me something very inappropriate.

"Sometimes," I say with a shrug. "My mom usually cooks all our meals at home. She's tried to teach me some stuff, but it never comes out quite right. It always looks different or tastes slightly different than how she makes it. I don't know how to make a lot of recipes, but over the summer I had to try because she…" My words fail again as I remember how depressed she was over the summer, so I shift in my seat uncomfortably.

"Because she's still mourning for your brother?" He asks gently. I nod and keep my eyes on my food. There is a dark silence and then he clears his throat. "Well, I know for a fact that your mother's cooking puts most of what I make to shame, but I promise everything I make is edible enough. There is no need for you to cook unless you wish to."

We both go back to eating in silence. It doesn't take long for me to finish my small meal, but he still has half a plate of food left. Unsure if I should wait for him to finish before clearing my place or if he wants to be left alone, I take another helping of potatoes from the pan.

It makes no sense, but I feel so conscientious. Is he watching me eat? Even though he offered the food, did I take too much? Was it wrong of me to take a second helping?

The minutes drag by and the quiet is so unnerving as we each finish our plate. I time my eating so that we finish at the same time. He wipes his mouth with his napkin and leans back as if to let his food settle.

"You seem to be feeling better," he suddenly says. At first I don't understand what he is talking about and then I remember that I am having dinner in my pyjamas.

"Yes," is all I can get out as I feel my face start to burn again. Standing quickly, I reach for his plate. He blocks my hand and shakes his head.

"I will take care of this," he insists taking my plate from my hand. "You should rest."

There is no room for argument, so I retreat back to my room. As I shut the door, I can't help but smile as I think about the night. It was awkward and weird, but I can't say it was a complete disaster.

I will forever remember my first date with Snape, Death Eater, serious spy, and my husband as a man who has no qualms about cooking like a housewife.