10/3/1988

O'Connor was flabbergasted to say the least when Snape showed up the following Monday for their usual meeting. She was in the middle of showing her first years various household appliances from a few different decades when there was a rough knock on the door. When she'd opened it to reveal the dour Potions Master she froze to her spot and just stared at him. He'd glared at her before turning and asking if she wanted her potion or not. His expression had been so hostile her students had urged her not to go lest she be poisoned.

"Now, now. Let's not talk that way about the Professor. Go ahead and look at the machines. I'll be back shortly."

Her heeled boots echoed in the quiet corridor as she followed him to her office. He was holding the door open and once she was inside he slammed it shut and leaned against it. She had stared at him, but he refused to meet her eye. The bag of faux potions sat on the table by the door. Was he just going to lean there the entire twenty minutes and ignore her? Fine. She couldn't care less. That was her original intent anyway.

O'Connor went to her desk and sat down, reaching for one of the empire biscuits sitting on the tray. She almost pushed it forward, stopped, and slammed the cloche down on them. Damn bastard didn't deserve them anyway. He probably wouldn't appreciate them either, the subtle and delicate taste of apple cider with the sweet but tangy apple jam sandwiched between two melt-in-your-mouth shortbread cookies.

She looked up at him over the cloche. He was staring into the fire looking irritable and she felt a sliver of guilt dig at her insides. No! There was no reason for her to feel that way. She hadn't said anything that wasn't true. If they were going to be working together they would essentially be putting their lives in each other's hands. How could you do that with someone if you didn't know if they were truly on your side? She just needed to know why he left.

Might you not have answered your own question that day?

The nagging little voice at the back of her mind wasn't wrong. Perhaps he had bad experiences with muggles or had grown up in a prejudice household. He had been young when he joined. It was entirely possible he had been taken in by Voldemort's honeyed words and realized his mistake afterwards. Or he might not have had the stomach for killing. Or perhaps the psychopath's punishments for failure were too much for him. She sneered at her desk.

How can I fully trust someone like that if I don't know the cause for his defect? This isn't like trusting a cousin not to steal your favorite sweater again. Lives are on the line if Dumbledore is wrong about him. His transgression was too terrible.

The little voice came back.

That's not why you verbally assaulted him though, is it?

She ground her teeth and snapped at him.

"Why are you here? I would have thought you'd stay far away after last week."

"Unlike some I can maintain a professional demeanor. We have a job to do. That's the only reason I am here."

She glared and swiveled her chair to face the window.

Fuck him.

10/10/1988

The next week he was back again, following the exact routine of the previous week. He slammed her door, set the potion bag down, and leaned against the door. She didn't even touch the tray of ginger biscuits, instead crossing the room to stare out the window. Her feelings of guilt had grown over the last week and she was determined to ignore them until they went away. It was extremely hard with him in the room.

Mealtimes were torture. It was a mental and physical battle not to look at him. He hadn't so much as looked at her since their argument. If they passed each other in the halls he gave her a wide berth. In staff meeting he acted as if she didn't exist and never acknowledge anything she said. It was getting to the point that the rest of the staff was taking notice. Sybil had given her a look and she'd flat out ignored the woman.

I don't understand this. I have no reason to feel guilty!

Her conscious hissed at her that she was lying to herself. Perhaps if she had really been going at him to find out his reasoning instead of taking her own personal anger out on him, then she wouldn't have reason to feel guilty. That wasn't how it went. She'd once again done the right thing for the wrong reasons. She'd let her temper get the best of her. She had always had a strong sense of right and wrong, but she tended to let her emotions and opinions get the best of her. It led to situations like this.

She was right that it would be dangerous to trust a Death Eater on someone else's word alone. It wasn't wrong to want concrete proof before putting her life in his hands and working side-by-side with him. What was wrong however was demanding it because she thought he was a piece of shit and couldn't understand how he could do something so disgusting in the first place; because she was angry that he could do something so rotten.

It's also wrong to make an assumption of his whole person because of what really could have been a stupid mistake on the part of an adolescent.

Pride was always a difficult thing to swallow. It ate at her that she could be wrong about him after saying all that she had. The more she thought about their fight, the more she replayed it in her head, the more likely it seemed that, that was the case. She had been too wrapped up in herself at the time to notice it, but something had flickered in his eyes during her tirade. Something she wanted to deny, but couldn't as the weeks wore on.

Shame.

She turned suddenly and struck the cloche from her desk. It bounced off the wall and clattered to the floor, biscuits spilling across the room. Anger at him, her, and the world bubbled beneath the surface and she glared up at the man in question. Snape stood wand out and watching her warily. She had been in the wrong and she was going to have to apologize. She just had to swallow her pride and hope he would even give her a chance to do it.

"Get out."

She just couldn't do it now.

10/12/1988

The sun was barely peeking over the horizon as O'Connor jogged around the castle. It was cool and a mist drifted over the grounds like a blanket. Alone in the early morning stillness she was able to organize her thoughts and calm her mind. She could feel the earth and the castle and their individual magics. It was like a balm and calmed her emotions. Like her, Snape often walked around the castle in the mornings before breakfast; possibly for the same reasons. She was going to use this to her advantage and hopefully be able to catch him; calm and agreeable, and apologize to him.

There he is. Here goes nothing.

She put on an extra burst of speed to catch up to him. When she called out to him he ignored her and picked up the pace.

"Snape, please. I just want to talk."

His walk turned into a quick jog. When he heard her match his pace he broke into a run. His long legs carried him effortlessly across the lawn with an almost easy grace. She glared.

"Will you just listen to me?"

Soon they were flying over the grounds and she was surprised at how fast he was. Sure she had noticed his seemingly fit appearance; the lean muscle tucked away beneath the frock coat and billowing black cloak. He didn't strike her as one to work out, but years of lifting cauldrons probably built up some degree of muscle. These morning walks/jogs/runs, whatever he seemed in the mood for, probably at least kept him in shape.

I suppose that makes sense if you're going to spy on the most dangerous of wizarding kind.

They tore down the hill towards the lake and she'd had enough. Lengthening her legs and adding muscle she surged forward and tackled him. They landed hard and rolled down the hill, grappling the whole way down. Snape fought hard to get away from her, but in the end she spelled his hands his feet together. He struggled so violently she was worried he'd hurt himself.

"Will you just calm down and listen to me?!"

She pinned him beneath her and pressed his forearms to his chest, her hands wrapped tightly around his wrists. He gave her a wild eyed look like a fox caught in a trap. It was so distraught it almost pained her. Then she realized where they were and a memory occurred to her.

Dammit. How do you always manage to find a way to muck things up in some way or another?

"I'm just trying to apologize!"

He didn't look reassured and bared his teeth in a growl.

"Some apology! Get off of me O'Connor!"

"Just wait! You don't have to forgive me, but I want to apologize regardless. I was wrong. I may not have been given a reason to trust you yet, but wasn't coming at you because I was worried about my own safety. I was doing it because I was angry at you for what you did. I made assumptions about your person because of my own feelings and took them out on you. There's something else I've realized too."

He stilled for a moment and stared at her looking curious now.

"When I wondered if you might be a coward who'd rather be with than against, it made me angry because you had an opportunity to do the right thing and didn't. You had an opportunity that I didn't. I wanted to fight and couldn't back then. You could have from the beginning and didn't. You only came to our side after trying theirs first. So my feelings of helplessness, anger, disgust; they all welled up in the room that day and instead of trying to build trust between us and try to understand you to work with you, I instead berated you with all my feelings. It was wrong and I apologize."

She released his wrists, lifted the spells, and climbed off his waist. He sat up slowly, staring at her as if she were some strange animal. They stayed like that for several minutes before he finally spoke.

"Anything?" She glared and he smirked.

"Don't push it."

"So much for trying to make it up to me."

She released an angry huff and stormed off towards the castle.

"O'Connor."

His call made her stop, but she didn't turn.

"Meet me next to Hagrid's hut at sun down Saturday night. You can carry the potion ingredients I collect in the Forbidden Forest."