We always said that we would listen
And never hide what's on our minds
But, tonight it feels like something's missing
Is there a ghost that hides, in the world behind your eyes?
What's raging in you tonight?
It's hard to tell
When you're out of reach
And I can't help you 'til you tell me everything
It's only words
And words don't bleed
They can hurt you if you hold them in, so
Tell me Everything
Blake Shelton
He wouldn't fail this time. His plan would be flawless, executed perfectly and with the desired result.
He wouldn't under-estimate any of them. And now he knew all the players in the game; little brother Jack had come to play as well.
Dean sat in the chair, his eyes staring blankly at the wall ahead of him.
He'd make her pay this time, and if he were very careful, her last moments would be filed with more mental pain than she could ever imagine.
A smile curled his lips slightly. Oh he'd give anything to see that look on her face, just before death called on her, just as she realised who had killed her.
"What'll it be Sir?" came a voice from beside him, breaking him out of his thoughts. He felt a wave of anger go through him at the interruption. He schooled his thoughts and face before looking up at the waiter.
"Just your special of the day and a double Bell's."
The waiter nodded and moved away back to the bar to give the order in.
Dean spread his hands out on the table in front of him.
They looked every inch what they were supposed to; hands of an eighty year old man.
His body was bent with age and his hair was grey and long, his face wrinkled and sagged, even his eyes were dimmed with age. There wasn't a single thing about his appearance that could give him away. He was here, in Hogsmede, testing out his disguise.
He knew there were ministry agents there, looking for him, even looking for someone who was a stranger.
They wouldn't be looking for one of Hogsmede own people. Old Man Johnson.
Dean had chosen carefully, Old Man Johnson was a semi-recluse, only coming here for a weekly meal. He'd done his homework well. He knew exactly what the old man asked for each week, knew where he sat. And he kept to those things.
He hadn't even been given a second look after the bartender had jerked his thumb in his direction and told the men who he was.
A hint of a smile curled his limp lips before he squashed it.
The real Old Man Johnson, now lay tied to his bed, under heavy spells as Dean used Polyjuice potion to project the correct image.
The old man would have to die. Dean couldn't use this body to get into Hogwarts and he couldn't chance 'Old Man Johnson' talking.
He shrugged his shoulders and waited for his tea, a slight shake in his shoulders and hands keeping up the pretence.
One for the cause couldn't be helped. Everyone was a means to an end in Dean's game.
~
Snape watched him closely before stepping up to him and leaning over slightly he spoke quietly, his voice dripping icy sarcasm.
"Is there a reason why you've just added the newts eyes before the toad skin, Longbottom or do you think that listening to instructions is of no importance?"
Neville jumped and blinked down at his cauldron, the potion bubbling merrily, a deep pink instead of the black it should be.
"Um..." Neville flushed dark red and shifted painfully on his feet.
"Sit down, Longbottom," Snape barked. "I have absolutely no idea why you even bother to try and catch up now."
Hermione Granger was seething, and he knew it and it amused him no end.
"Careful Miss Granger, you have smoke coming from your ears," he smirked as he passed her. "Wouldn't want it to be permanent, doesn't really go with your hair."
He heard the choking noise she made and still smirking he went back to the front of the classroom. He went to his desk and sat down.
"I have no doubt that you've all had a simply wonderful time with Professor Kincaid. But she isn't teaching you now, I am." His smirk was cold and dark as his gaze swept around the class.
"As such. I don't want to see how incredible stupid you all are, as I already know. I want three feet of parchment on why this potion is better than a charm to neutralise negative energy; by Monday! Mr. Longbottom you will remain behind, the rest of you get out!"
The class almost ran from the room, several of them patting Neville reassuringly, several of the Slytherins sniggering.
Snape waited till the door shut behind the last student before looking down at Neville, who was sitting, his face extremely pale.
"Mr. Longbottom, I do not believe you should be here."
Neville scraped the chair back, fury and humiliation evident on his face, as well as pain.
"I know! I know," he grated, his teeth gritted in pain. "Just a bloody squib...." He turned his head away and used packing his bag as a way to hide the tears in his eyes.
"Squib?" Snape's eyebrows shot up. "What would make you come up with that term? And watch your language." He had not been expecting Neville to react at all, but now he had he was intrigued and more than curious.
Neville stuffed book and parchments away without caring or really seeing, as the tears blurred his vision.
"It's what you think, what you all think," he mumbled, some of the initial fire leaving him as he remembered who it was he'd just spoken back to.
"Mr. Longbottom, have you been testing your potion? Are you in need of the infirmary, because you seem to be slightly delirious?"
Neville slammed his bag down, his fear of the potion master was legendary, but even timid people have their limits. Everyone can be pushed to those limits. Everyone had a line that could be crossed. And Snape had just crossed Neville's.
"I may have trouble remembering things. I may have trouble making potions. But I am not stupid. I may not be a great wizard, I may not even be a good one, but I am not stupid. I know what you think of me, what you all think of me. I wish that I'd never set foot in this school. Every year I start out meaning to do well; make a fresh start, turn over the proverbial leaf, but the problem is, both sides are the same for me. If I could, I'd leave this school, now, and never come back. I'm fed up trying to live up to other people ideas of what I should be capable of. I'm fed up trying to be what I am not. I am not a wizard. I may not be a squib either; he said that Dumbledore put up with me here because he was kind. That's probably true, but it would have been kinder to let me go to a muggle school and find something I can be good at."
Snape stood up in one fluid movement, his face set and unreadable. He came down towards where Neville was now watching him, uncertain if he'd be struck or shouted at or both.
"Who told you that you were a squib?" Snape stood, straight backed over him, his arms folded, his eyes dark and intense.
"He...Professor Rider..." Neville tried to clear his throat, but it sounded more like Trevor croaking; his sudden burst of confidence deserting him.
"Dean Rider is clearly insane on more than one count." He narrowed his eyes and Neville saw anger there; it made him shiver.
"Make no mistake, Mr. Longbottom, I don't think I've ever come across anyone as inept at potions as you are; and your work in the Defence against Dark Arts does leave a lot to be desired," he enunciated every word slowly; his voice so deep and dark that Neville was rooted to the spot, just by the intensity of his voice.
"You will never be a great wizard on that you are quite correct. You may be a good one; that still remains to be seen. As for attending a muggle school, I cannot agree with you there. You are not a squib and as such, the magic, be it little that does reside in you would have found ways to release itself and undoubtedly you would have been even more dangerous than you already are. Rider was trying to insult you, undermine your confidence and it would appear to have worked in one respect and not in another. Believe that you have magic in you. Your cushioning charm is enough to dispel any other notion you may have about your abilities. Along with the catching charms you helped to save Professor Kincaid's life. That isn't to be taken lightly, Mr. Longbottom, that in itself should be enough for you to see you are no squib."
Neville couldn't break eye contact with Snape. He was riveted to the intense black eyes drilling into his soul. But for probably the first time in his life, he saw no sneer on Snape's face, no contempt in his eyes.
"Professor Sprout informed me last night that you have been offered the chance to assist her next year, does this interest you?"
"Yes," Neville nodded and swallowed convulsively.
"Then walking out of here and not coming back is not a wise choice is it, Mr. Longbottom?"
"N..N...No." He shook his head.
"It would appear that the sorting hat did not make the mistake I assumed it had six years ago. You were sorted correctly, Mr. Longbottom. In this last year you have found some of your backbone. Don't loose it again, because one person chose to insult you in a way he knew could be affective. Don't allow him to win that round, Mr. Longbottom. You may go."
Neville was speechless; he stumbled to his feet, wincing as pain shot through his newly mended legs.
"Oh and Mr. Longbottom the reason I informed you that you should not be here is because you are apparently still in some considerable pain. Go to the infirmary and inform Madam Pomfrey I have sent you." Snape crossed to stand behind Neville. He reached forward and opened the door for him, bending slightly so that his mouth was close to Neville's ear.
"You may not be a great wizard, but you are a good person, and that is far more important. And if you repeat anything I have said to you, you won't live to assist Professor Sprout. Do I make myself clear?"
"Yes, sir!" Neville gaped in sheer astonishment as Snape laid his hand briefly on Neville's shoulder before nudging him gently out the door and then shutting it behind him, a small smirk on his face.
He would be eternally grateful that Meg hadn't witnessed that scene; she'd never let it go.
~
Meg sat beside the window, her hands folded on the sill, her chin resting on them as she bent forward to gaze out over the grounds.
She was watching the students milling around on the lawns, taking advantage of the sun. She wished she were out there, in the fresh air; instead of cooped up here in her rooms, unable to stumble further than her bed and bathroom.
Her wounds and breaks had healed very well, but her strength was non-existent. Simply getting dressed in the mornings took a lot of effort and had it not been for Jack nagging her and Snape pointing out that Remus and others would like to see her she wouldn't have bothered.
The dreams had stopped, thanks to the potion Snape gave her every night. But he had told her yesterday that he would no longer be able to give it to her. She hadn't argued. She knew why. But it had stilled filled her with a desperation that almost had her begging him.
He had told her that he wouldn't leave her alone. That he would be beside her, holding her. But it had made no difference. Even though she had lain in his arms her nightmares had returned; changed, but even more horrific.
She closed her eyes, the images of her dream burnt into her brain.
She had seen Neville and inexplicably Snape too, lying lifeless alongside Sarah. Then the scene had changed and she was standing in front of the Mirror of Erised. The reflections were vague milky white with no definite form. Dean had been stood behind her, whispering in her ear, telling her she would never know what he'd done to her, never know what she had done. Never be able to fill in the blanks within her memory. Then it had changed again and she was in court, her hands tied together and every face in the court was Dean's.
He was the judge, the prosecutor and even her defence. He was the policeman that stood at her side. He was the victim sitting beside the prosecutor. And all of them were shouting at her, blaming her, telling her she would never be free from her guilt. Never. That the only payment she could give would be her death.
No matter how much she tried to convince them she hadn't meant anyone to die, how she had never meant for anyone to suffer, they refused to listen and continued blaming her until she was so confused that she couldn't think straight at all.
In one form or another she was guilty and always would be.
And even when Severus had woken her and held her tightly while she had clung to him, her eyes dry; even when reality had settled over her, she still knew she was guilty.
Snape stood unseen in the doorway. He had knocked and stepped in, but she hadn't heard him; sitting at the window, resting her head on her hands.
He frowned and side stepped to get a clearer view of her face. Her eyes were closed and he thought at first she was asleep, but her breathing gave her away to him. It was too shallow, too stilted.
He crossed to stand beside her; he could almost see the internal battle she was fighting as her face showed her thoughts to him clearly.
"Megan," he spoke her name softly, watching her jump slightly. Her eyes flew open and she sat up, a false smile plastered on her face.
"Hey!" She sat back, looking back out over the grounds.
"It looks warmer out there now," she mentioned casually, nothing in her voice or face giving away her earlier thoughts.
"It's deceiving."
He sat down beside her on the window seat, his back to the window.
He crossed his knees and drawing out his wand locked the door.
Her head flicked round and she stared at him in surprise.
"What are you doing?" she asked no fear in her voice or her face.
He turned to look at her, his black eyes searching hers, but still he found no fear there.
"You confuse me," he said simply.
"Why?" she half grinned at him, certainly not expecting that from him.
"How do you know I'm not here to kill you? Or rape you. How do you know I haven't locked the door to hit you?"
"What?" A frown appeared between her eyes as she digested his words, but still no fear showed on her face.
He drew his eyebrows together in a dark frown and all but glared at her.
"You're not in the least bit uneasy that I have locked the door."
"You don't frighten me." She was confused now. "Are you trying to?"
"No." He shook his head a greasy strand of hair plastered to his cheek.
He swiped it away impatiently and stood up suddenly to cross to the door. He cast another spell on it and turned back again.
"Now are you afraid? No one else in this castle could get through that door now."
"Severus, what are you doing?"
"Trying to prove something to myself," he muttered and using his wands he threw a binding spell at her.
Her eyes flew wide as she tried to move, but couldn't.
"Severus!" She was getting angry with him now.
"I have you unable to move, unable to defend yourself. The door is impossible to open, so no one can get in and save you no matter how hard you screamed, yet you are still not afraid. Why not?"
"Well... I know you wouldn't hurt me." Her heart began to beat faster all the same.
"How do you know I won't hurt you? Because I haven't in the past?"
"I trust you," she said it slowly, confusion in every line of her face.
"Really?" He sneered at her and with two flicks of his wand the door was unlocked and she was free to move again.
"Are you going to tell me what that was all about?" She demanded, unsettled with him now.
"Proving that you have no idea what trust means."
"Pardon?"
"You trust that I won't physically hurt you, but you don't trust me with your concerns, your worries."
"We've been through this," she sighed; suddenly weary now she realised where he was headed.
"I thought we had too. I was aware it wasn't much of an excuse at the time but I was willing to let it go. Willing to let you believe it even. But you still will not trust me and if we want this relationship to last, trust is essential." He took a deep breath. "I want you to answer me honestly, why don't you trust me?"
"I do..."
"Stop!" he grated. "You won't tell me so I'll have to guess. Just nod when I hit the right answer.." His tone was sarcastic and cold now.
"Death Eater." He spoke two words that had her flinching
"I told you that it doesn't matter to me," she cried.
"And you really want to believe that, but deep down you can't. And I shouldn't be surprised by that at all," he sighed and crossed to sit in the chair by the fire.
"I told you I would never tell you but I see now that perhaps it was a little short sighted of me." He brought his hands together under his chin and regarded her face closely.
"You don't have to tell me anything," she started, her voice cracking slightly.
"I know I don't," he returned. "But if I don't and you don't talk to me, neither of us truly trusts the other."
She got up and slowly, cursing her weakness, crossed to the chair opposite it, sinking into it thankfully.
"I'm listening," she whispered.
"As will I," he replied softly and standing he slipped out of his robes and laying them over the back of the chair he sat back down.
"I have one younger sister, Odile. She is married with two children and living in Germany somewhere; I do not know where and neither do I care to know. I come from a long line of pureblood wizards whose one aim was to keep the bloodline pure. My father believed in discipline and training. He was a hard man. My mother died when I was 10, just after Odile was born. I wasn't inundated with love and affection like you were. In fact he was a firm believer in the old adage, spare the rod, spoil the child. It didn't trouble me. I have never been a tactile person and it is in no way an excuse for the course I choose to take. People have come from worse environments than mine and have chosen to stay on the right path. Odile probably suffered more than I did, being female and without a mother, but we were never close; probably because of the age cap, but she was always a real Snape and I learned from her first talking words to watch her. My one love had always been knowledge. Knowledge is power. I was sorted into Slytherin as you are aware. It suited me. No silly and petty shows of friendship, no false smiles and hugs. Just acceptance and loyalty, loyalty that would rival your own house. But our loyalty, unlike Hufflepuff, lay below the surface. I was settled, happy even. I discovered the restricted section in the library and continued to discover the dark arts. I already had an extensive knowledge thanks to my fathers library. I knew more dark magic than anyone in my year and indeed most of the seventh years. The Dark Arts held a fascination for me that called to the darker parts of my soul. I was young and ignorant enough to assume I could control the effects that kind of knowledge would have on me. I couldn't. I was ripe for the picking by the likes of Malfoy and Voldemort and I have to admit, the thoughts of 'lording' it over Potter, Black and their sanctimonious friends held a good deal of appeal too." He pushed up his left sleeve and held out his arm to her, the mark faded but still visible.
"This was part of my reward for arrogance and ignorance. The other part of my reward is harder to bear. It's what makes me the way I am. What makes me retreat from humanity. The knowledge that a part of me is less than human. That I have done and seen things that will forever torment my dreams. Things that no matter how long I live; I will always be atoning for. I have killed, either by a number of potions that I brewed or by my own hand. I attended Dark Revels and participated in them, I never raped though; I never had to. There were always women who were willing to 'service' the Dark Lords servants. I participated in Muggle Baiting and other 'sports'. It didn't take me long to realise the error of my judgement. In all the darkness that filled me it turned out I did have a conscience, albeit a small one. It took a horrific event that I will not speak about to finally convince me to leave his service. But leaving his service is not a choice unless you are dead. I came here, to Albus, expecting to be sent straight to Azkaban, where I deserved to be. But he showed me mercy, a mercy that I hadn't expected, a mercy that I didn't deserve. He worked hard on my behalf, very hard. I had a choice, sort of, either risk a trial or continue to serve Voldemort in a spying capacity. I had little choice and to be honest I knew that I deserved much less mercy than was being shown to me. I thought I could make up for my sins by spying and gathering as much information that I could. I had to keep up a pretence, nothing could appear to have changed. I found parts of it hard to pretend, others I slipped back into very easily. I continued to spy for Albus right up to Voldemort was defeated, even then I kept up a disguise. The ministry being as short-sighted as it is, thought Voldemort had been defeated, but Albus wasn't convinced and neither was I. It was easy to keep up pretences of the evil cold-hearted bastard, because essentially that is what I am. The rest is public history." He sat back, his fingers laced under his chin as he rested his elbows on the chair arms. His face was closed again, his eyes black and bottomless. No emotion reflected in their depths.
"You put yourself at risk, risked your life to go back to him. If it hadn't been for the information you collected he would never have been destroyed."
"Defeated, he was defeated not destroyed." Snape reminded her slowly. "But that changes nothing."
"It changes everything, and even if, and I don't believe this for one minute, even if it didn't completely absolve you. You aren't like that any more. You're not the same person you were."
"Aren't I?" he sneered slightly and rolled his sleeve back down. "How can you be so sure?"
"Because in all of this you forgot one thing; you've let me see you, the real you. And I love you; completely."
"But you still don't trust me."
"I do... what do I have to do to prove that to you?"
"Tell me everything, don't keep anything in."
"Is this why you think I don't trust you? Because I don't tell you everything that goes through my mind?" she spoke quietly, her eyes held by his darker ones.
"Don't be obtuse," he snapped. "Don't hide behind stupidity. I know you better than that. Please give me some credit; even if it is to tell me to go."
"I don't want you to go; but I don't know what to say," she admitted finally.
"Tell me what you feel," he suggested quietly. "You've told me facts, never feelings. Even the night I held you in my arms, and you told me why you hadn't told me about your blackouts, you told me the barest details."
"I.." She frowned down at her hands curled into fists.
She licked her lips and shook her head helplessly.
"I have as much time as it takes. Start at the beginning and just talk."
"I don't know if I can," she admitted haltingly.
"Why not?"
"I've never had anyone to talk to before. You and me, we're not that different, Severus. We both shut people out."
"My reason for shutting people out bear no resemblance to yours whatsoever," he corrected her. "I committed murder, you did not."
She shrugged and clasping her hands together forced herself to start speaking.
"After... After Sarah died, it was hard, very hard. I caught pneumonia from the icy water so I didn't go to her funeral, not that I would have been welcomed. When I had recovered I went straight into training to be a teacher. My father refused me dreamless sleep potions, even though I had terrible nightmares. He knew that I would either become dependant or they would loose their effect. But he was always willing to listen to me, so was mum. But I couldn't. I was worried that if I started to feel I'd never stop feeling and I'd drown too. So I threw myself into working, refusing to think about it. Eventually exhaustion won over the nightmares and time passed. It's funny how it does pass. One minute I felt as if I were drowning and would never break surface and then suddenly I'd turn around and it was three years ago, four years ago then nine years ago. But it doesn't matter how much time passes, it doesn't change the fact that Sarah will never have the things I have. I pushed people away; I suppose it was a way of punishing myself. She couldn't make friends or fall in love, so I wouldn't. Time fades pain and I suppose after a while it became more a habit, a wall that I'd built that I was quite comfortable behind. And then mum became ill and it became harder. I found myself resenting her, resenting Jack. Looking back on it I see that Jack was right, a big portion of me was wrapped in self-pity. I was unable to see 'outside the box'. But it wasn't just self-pity; it was a feeling of guilt. I've felt guilty about the way I felt over mum, I felt guilty that I could resent her. I felt guilty because Sarah was gone. My whole life was filled with guilt." She stopped and scrubbed her eyes with her fingers, she wasn't crying, she was just very tired.
"You were so young, to have the responsibility of caring for your mother. Did your father carry on working?"
"At first. When we were told it was terminal he took early retirement and we shared her care between us. She had a Jekyl and Hyde character, due to the effect of her illness. One moment she was my loving mum, next she was this nasty stranger screaming abuse at us. It was... hard. I retreated even more I guess."
"I understand your denial, but I don't understand your silence. Why didn't you tell me?"
She looked at him and bit her lip.
"You didn't love me," She whispered. "You had told me you couldn't love me. I didn't want your pity, didn't want you to think you had a responsibility to me in any way."
"I think, if I am truthful, I have loved you for longer than I realised. I should have swallowed my pride and told you sooner, I knew I loved you when I first saw you after you fell on the stairs. I'm not like Black or Lupin. I don't deserve your love. I have no idea how you could love me. But essentially I'm a selfish man and I'm not letting you go again."
"I don't want you to."
"If there is no trust in a relationship it will not last. I don't think you trust me completely. Not yet. Trust doesn't happen overnight. It is earned; and I want to earn yours, Megan. I want you to learn to trust me." His face suddenly closed down and he narrowed his eyes at her before slipping forward in his seat.
"Don't shut me out, Megan. If anything worries you, no matter how small or silly you think it is. Tell me."
He closed his eyes briefly and held out his hand to her. She took it and crossed the small distance to slide onto his lap. He wrapped his arms around her gently.
"There is something..." she whispered, her teeth worrying her bottom lip.
"Tell me."
"I feel... I..." she sighed, struggling to find a way of starting.
He waited, his hands playing small circles on her back.
"I have... gaps in my memory. I don't know what happened," she spoke softly, her fingers scrunching his top coat tightly. Her fingers pressed deeply, almost painfully into his chest, but he paid no heed.
"There were times when I'd find myself in a part of the school and I'd have no memory of getting there. I have no idea what I did... or what..." she stopped and closed her eyes against the rising panic.
"There is no way of retrieving those memories. When he is caught, Veritaserum will make him tell us what happened during those times. Would you want to know?" he asked slowly.
"Yes... he holds it over me. I want to know what I did, what he did."
"Regardless?" he asked. "Be sure that you want to know."
"I have to know." She nodded, her eyes opening as she looked up at him. "Not knowing is worse."
"I will inform Albus in the morning. I see no reason why it can't happen. He will be caught, sooner or later Megan."
"Thank you." She reached up one finger and traced it down his nose, feeling lighter in her mind. He was right, it did help to say things out loud, even if he had no answer to give her, it made her feel safer knowing he knew, knowing he was there and that he loved her.
"While we're on a purging of souls; you told me you'd tell me what you find so fascinating about my nose," he smirked down at her, one hand sliding under her jumper, careful to avoid her still bruised sides.
"It's a wonderful nose!" She smiled, her face reflecting her tiredness. She felt as if she'd gone three rounds with a troll; emotionally she was drained.
"It's big and hooked," he whispered bringing one hand round to stroke her much smaller slightly pointed nose.
"A sign of strength of character," she nodded wisely.
"Who told you that?" he snorted.
"My father; he was a big believer in facial appearance giving away a persons character. Y'know.. no chin equals a weak character. High forehead a sign of intelligence. Small earlobes a sign of a dishonest character." She grinned at him. "I think he made up the big nose strong character thing though. He had one himself."
"I see...." He tweaked her nose gently. "I am a substitute for your father."
"Hardly," she snorted. "He had blonde hair and grey eyes and looked nothing like you. And he didn't have a sarcastic or bullying bone in his body."
"Where does your brother get his colouring from? You are so different." He chose to ignore her last comment
"My mum, she had black hair." She shifted closer and ran her finger down his nose again.
"I have to admit to something though," she blushed furiously
"What?" he asked wearily.
"Someone told me once that a big nose relates to other...er... parts of a man's anatomy." She bit her lip as she looked up at him, her cheeks red with embarrassment.
"Megan Kincaid!" He laughed out loud and it took her by surprise. "Who would know what a dirty little mind lies behind that innocent face."
"Not you," she retorted getting redder. "Considering I was referring to the size of your feet!" She grinned mischievously and lifting her head slightly kissed the tip of his nose, before leaning her forehead against his and looking into his black eyes.
"My feet are average considering the size of my nose," he replied softly.
"You are far from average," she whispered her lips brushing against his as she spoke.
He caught the back of her head with his hand and kissed her gently. She rested her hands on his shoulders and deepened the kiss before lifting her head and bringing her hand to his cheek.
"I love you the just the way you are," she whispered.
"The last time you got all serious on me and told me you loved me whatever, you were just about to sail out of my life forever." He frowned slightly. "Do you realise I would have followed you. I wouldn't have let you leave me that way."
"I won't leave you again. It's strange, but when I'm with you I feel as if I've come home."
"You are home. Being together is home," his deep voice trickled over her and seeped into her body, leaving her feeling content.
She was home.
~
Meg was sat in her chair, wondering if she would ever be able to curl her legs under her again. At the moment it was too painful even to cross her legs, the thought of bending them under her made her wince.
Snape was shrugging into his Quidditch robes.
"It's Gryffindor verses Slytherin so it won't be long anyway; Gryffindor's take one look at the Bludgers and back off," he snorted, sarcasm heavy in his voice.
"Can you blame them? I'm positive Mr. Cudgle is half troll, half giant with a bit of Neanderthal thrown in for bad measure," she retorted.
"Mr. Cudgle is unfortunate in appearance, but I'm not aware of any troll or giant in him."
"Oh? So he's pure Neanderthal then? Perhaps we should sell him to medical science... we could make a fortune!"
"Are you sure you were sorted into Hufflepuff? There's definitely Slytherin in there," he smirked
"Why did they give you this game to referee?" She ignored his last comment. She watched his nimble fingers do up the silver clasps fashioned as coiled serpents.
"Because your Romeo of a brother is off romancing Hillary," he spat, annoyed at having his Saturday afternoon disrupted to referee a game. He'd much rather had spent it reading, here with Meg.
"Really?" she cried out in glee. "Why the sly old dog never told me. Where are they going?"
"I have no idea, nor do I wish to know," he shuddered and lifting his robes, checked his trousers were still tucked inside the black boots he wore.
"Well, can't you nose about a bit? Find out for me? If I could get out of here...."
"No, I will not 'nose about' as you put it," he snorted in annoyance letting his robes drop down again. "I have no interest in anyone else's life except my own and yours."
"Please?"
"No!" He shook his head and his hair flew around his face, his black eyes glittered dangerously at her.
"Please? I'm sooooo out of the loop here it's killing me!" She tried to bat her eyelashes at him.
"Doesn't work!" He shook his head again. "Just makes you look as if you're blind."
She puffed out her breath in disappointment.
"Not even a discreet nose about?" she tried again, her voice soft and wheedling but he just smirked at her.
"I'm quite sure, Megan, that had your brother wished you to know he would have told you. And let's face it; he's hardly going to volunteer any information to me is he?"
Meg groaned and began to rub her thigh, which was aching.
"I wish you two would get over it!"
"I have no problems with your brother." He watched her hand and narrowed his eyes; he crossed to the cupboard by her bed and picked up a small jar.
"Stand up and take your jeans off," he remarked coming to stand in front of her.
"What a thing to say to a lady!" she gasped, standing up and undoing her jeans.
"Lady? What lady?" he snorted.
"This lady!" She slid her jeans down her legs and sat down heavily, the pain making her wince. "I'll do it, you go on or the game will be late."
"So? It'll be late." He unscrewed the lid and placing it on the floor, knelt in front of her and took out some of the ointment and sliding it around his hands, warmed it up before beginning to rub it into her thigh.
The pain reliever began to work almost immediately, helped along by his warm hands. She sank her head back and groaned in relief.
"Leave your jeans off till it sinks in," he remarked, his hands expertly massaging her thigh.
"Yes sir!" She watched his bent head and lifting her hand ran her fingers through his greasy hair.
He sat back on his heels and wiped his hands on his handkerchief.
"What will you do here?" he asked her and she pulled a mischievous face at him.
"I'll just simply pine away without you!" She put the back of her hand on her forehead and swooned slightly. "Be careful out there, my love!"
"You missed your calling all right," he snorted and stood up setting the jar by the table.
"I'll be fine, I got an owl from Nev this morning, saying he wants to come visit me, remember? Seems he can't stand to see the blatant prejudice and biased rulings that a certain referee is known for. Can't think who's he referring to, can you?" she asked sweetly.
"Hillary is biased but it's to be expected, she's a woman and therefore lacks the sound judgement that is natural in men."
He crossed to pick up his broomstick, grinning evilly at the spluttering he could hear behind him.
"You are deluded, aren't you? And is that inherent in all men or just you?" she retorted, an equally wicked grin playing around her own lips.
"Men are delusional in one thing only...."
"The existence of their brain!" she cut him off quickly.
He turned and grinning slyly at her came over to stand over her.
"I'm not the one sitting with my jeans around my ankles." He leaned over and placed his mouth against her ear.
"Jack is taking Hilary to the Moonlight Lodge in Ecclefechan. It's not that far from Gretna Green!" His tongue shot out and he licked her ear before crossing to the door quickly, broomstick in hand.
"Gretna Green?" she shrieked. "Ecclefechan? You knew? What else do you...hey come back here!" She yelled after him as he opened the door and slid out chuckling evilly.
"Severus Snape! I will get you for that!" She all but screamed after him, but all she heard was his soft laughter as he shut the door behind him.
Meg stood up and worked her jeans up her leg, her mind feverishly going over that last information. Surely he wasn't going to marry Hillary, not without telling her! She wanted to be a bridesmaid, he knew that. He wouldn't! They hadn't known each other that long, surely not. Gretna Green was famous for civil marriages for Muggles and it also married magical folk if they so desired, although that wasn't advertised in quite the same manner.
He wouldn't do that to her, would he?
Snape swept away from her rooms, a sadistic grin on his face. That would give her something to sweat over.
Hillary had told him of Jack's plans when she'd asked him to referee the match. She had told him that Jack was taking her to the Moonlight Lodge but he'd added the details of where it was to Meg deliberately. He knew they had no other plans, but it wouldn't hurt Meg to sit and stew for a bit.
Hillary had been a bit unsure at first, no doubt expecting him to rib her for dating a man younger than her. When he'd merely grumbled about loosing his afternoon with Meg, she'd mentioned the age difference. He'd shrugged his shoulders at her and said quite simply.
"It's numbers, Hillary, just numbers."
He started to walk down the stairs to the main entrance when he saw Neville at the bottom. He carried on down, aware Neville hadn't seen him yet.
Snape frowned as he watched Neville. He was stood at the bottom of the step, one foot on it, one foot of it. He seemed to be having some doubt as to whether he should go up.
Snape shook his head at his indecision and decided to shake the boy into deciding.
"Longbottom!" Snape watched the boy jump and giving a sadistic sneer he swept down to him
"Having trouble, Mr. Longbottom? I always find climbing stairs easier if you use both feet," he sneered down at the boy.
"I was... just... I was just..."
"Just what?" Snape frowned darkly at him; he'd reverted to the snivelling wreck again. Shame, the lessons that had followed their talk, Neville had made improvements. He still bungled everything he touched, and Snape still bullied him, but Neville looked at him without shaking, and he didn't stammer anymore.
"I was just going up to see...."
"Yes, yes, I know! Well get on then Longbottom, shame you lost your backbone again!" Snape walked away feeling very disgruntled.
He swept out onto the pitch, the stands full with students eager to see the outcome. He gave Potter an evil glare.
He sneered up at the players, holding the whistle in his fingers.
"Right you lot! Fair game, no completely horrendous fouls," he smirked at Cudgle, "and no showing off, Potter!" He glared at where Harry was hovering just above his head.
He released all the balls and mounting his broomstick kicked off and blew his whistle.
The game started and became as vicious as Snape had thought. He watched several fouls before finally blowing his whistle at Cudgle.
"Don't do that again," he snapped as Cudgle flew past him.
"Sorry sir," he grinned, half his teeth missing.
Snape shuddered and absently thought that Meg had a point.
He flew round towards where Potter and Malfoy had both spotted the snitch and were heading straight for it.
He was aware of the crowds screaming for Potter to catch the snitch. He swerved past the stands glaring at where Weasley was fairly jumping of his seat. Granger wasn't much better and Longbottom and Finnigan were yelling fit to burst their lungs.
Snape sneered and turned back to where Potter was nose-diving.
He stopped in mid-air and whirled the broomstick round again.
"LONGBOTTOM!" He roared as it sank in that unless Longbottom had a twin he was in two places at once; which meant only one thing.
He totally ignored the students and leaning forward slightly, raced through the air back towards the school.
Deathly silence filed the stands as the crowd watched the referee desert the game.
"Has he totally lost it?" Weasley muttered.
Snape was intent on one thing only, the Quidditch game forgotten; all he could see was Megan.
He skidded to a stop at the school entrance and abandoning his broomstick at the door, he ran inside and drawing out his wand, took the steps at top speed. Cold dread filled him.
He reached the door to her room and stopped, he willed his breathing under control and keeping deathly quiet, he cast a magnifying spell. But he could hear no noise from inside.
He opened the door slowly, his wand held up. He pushed the door open completely and stopped in shock.
Meg was slumped against her desk, her hands shaking as she pointed her wand down at where Neville lay on his face on the floor.
She looked up as Snape opened the door. Her eyes haunted and frightened.
"I've killed him, Severus," she whispered, and began to shake harder. "I killed Neville; he tried to kill me, why would he kill me, Severus? I never meant for him to get hurt!" She dropped her wand in horror at her actions.
"It's not Longbottom." Snape recovered and stepped forward towards Meg anxious to get to her. "What did you hit him with?"
"This..." She held out the paperweight in her other hand; blood covering one side of it.
Meg stared down at the figure that looked like Neville and realisation sank in.
"Dean?" she hissed, her body beginning to shake. Snape saw him move, jerk, and his hand came up, the wand pointed directly at Meg.
He re-acted instantly, his foot shot out, the steel-capped toe connecting savagely with Dean's wrist. The wand spun out of Dean's hand and went sliding away. Dean gave a groan of pain as his wrist bone broke on impact.
Snape cast a strong binding spell over Rider and went quickly to Meg. He took the paperweight from her icy fingers and gathered her into his arms.
"It's over, Megan."
She buried her face in his chest.
"He came in and he was just like Neville. But after a while he started going on about how he'd found out all about Sarah and that it was my fault that he'd almost got killed. He slapped me and called me a whore. He shouted at me, yelling over and over about Sarah and you and how I'd lost Dean his job. I crossed to the desk trying to make him calm down, but he just hit me again and then he pulled out his wand and started yelling about how I should die. I got scared and picked up the paperweight and I just hit him, I didn't mean to kill him. Just stop him..."
"He isn't dead and it isn't Neville. It's Dean Rider; he's used Polyjuice potion I think."
"I thought I'd killed Neville," she muttered and he felt her body go limp as she fainted.
~
Meg sat in the chair, her eyes dark with pain as she stared into the fire. She had sat here with Minerva, not talking now for nearly two hours.
Albus, Snape and Remus were in the Headmasters office with Dean, still looking like Neville. Snape had told her it would take several hours for the effects to wear of completely.
The door opened and Minerva looked up quickly. Meg couldn't drag her gaze from the flickering fire in the grate.
"Severus!" Minerva watched the younger man cross to Meg.
"Would you leave us please?" he asked Minerva, his eyes not leaving Meg's face.
Minerva stood up and left sending a last glance across at where Meg still sat staring into the fire.
Snape stood directly in front of her and crouched down till he was squatting. His eyes level with hers; he broke her gaze and watched as she focussed on him.
"It's over, Megan, Bennett and Boyle has taken him away." He reached out and took her hands in his. They were icy cold; he placed them together and began to rub them gently. "He won't ever be able to touch you again. He'll be sent to Azkaban."
Meg shivered and her eyes dropped to the top button of his frock coat.
"He told us everything he did to you," he spoke quietly and he saw uneasiness flicker over her face. He knew what still lay unspoken, knew what she had hinted at.
"He confessed to hitting you, kicking you, causing pain and twisting things to make you doubt your sanity. He used several curses on you, but he never touched you in any other way. He didn't rape you, Megan."
He watched her shoulders sag first and then her whole body seemed to melt as relief washed over her.
"I was so scared he had. All the times I'd loose an hour and not know what I'd done." Her eyes locked with his as she raised her head slightly.
"He was trying to get you to loose your mind, Megan. He had it all planned, it had been planned a long time ago. He knew how your mother died and he used that."
"Do you think I was a coward for backing out of listening to him?" she whispered it softly, but he heard her.
"No." He let go of her hands to cup her face as he knelt in front of her. "You are not a coward; even I found it un-nerving hearing those words come from him when he still looks like Longbottom."
"I feel so..." She stopped biting her lip, as her eyes slid to the top button of his waistcoat, the black tie covering most of the white shirt beneath the waistcoat.
"Tell me how you feel?"
"Guilty." She sat back in the seat, his hands dropping to her knees. He curled his fingers around her knees and sat back on his heels.
"Why?"
"I'm responsible for everything," she said quietly. "It's all my fault; everything. Neville could have died and it would have been my fault. For every action there is a reaction."
"Rider is the only one responsible here, Megan. You have nothing to blame yourself about."
"But I have, don't you see? If I hadn't gone out that day, if I hadn't made Sarah step onto the ice, none of this would have happened!" She ran her fingers through her hair, gripping tightly to the strands and tugging slightly.
"'If onlys' won't help Megan. We can all say if only I hadn't done this, or done that. It doesn't help. Besides Rider was unbalanced along time before Sarah died."
"No, he wasn't; he was just a kid, Severus, I knew him."
"Megan; he was obsessed with his sister long before she died. She was the favourite in the family and I think that while he obviously worshipped the ground she walked on. It still unbalanced him to know he was always second best."
"How do you know that?"
"The Veritaserum"
She sighed and shook her head at him; her eyes moving up to study his face.
"I can't stop thinking about it. If things were...."
"Stop!" He caught her hands and drew them out of her hair gently. "You can't change things by wishing. Merlin knows I've tried! You can only move forward."
"How do you cope?" she asked him suddenly, her eyes held by his darker ones. "How do you go through each day knowing you've done things that have destroyed people's lives?"
He closed his eyes briefly. When he opened them they were bright with regret and something else. Something she couldn't define.
"Albus told me something when I first came back... "To know how to change the past into a few saddened smiles – that is to master the future."
"And did it help?"
"Actually... no." He shook his head. "I suppose it would never work for me, I don't think my crimes are easy to convert to saddened smiles. But you haven't committed any crime. You are too hard on yourself, all you did was act in ignorance, it was not premeditated, turn your past into sad smiles and learn from them."
"I can't do it." A tear rolled down her face. "I can't..."
"Try. I'll be here. I'll always be here for as long as you want me."
She moved forward and flinging her arms around his neck clung to him, letting the tears fall.
"Megan." Something in his voice made her move away from him.
"I was going to ask you..." He took her hands and turned them palm upwards. He bent forward and kissed each palm gently.
"Severus?"
"I thought I was going to be too late. Again I though I was going to loose you, I have to ask you. Would you be my wife?"
Meg's mouth fell open. It was the last thing she had ever thought would ever come from his lips.
"What?" She fought to get her senses under control.
"I want to spend the rest of my life with you, as my wife."
"I...me...you... you want to marry me?"
"As I understand it that is usually one of the steps towards being husband and wife," he took defensive retreat in mockery.
A slow grin crept across Meg's face; it started small, tilting her mouth upwards till she was beaming at him. Tears creeping down her face, her emotions so tangled over Dean but so clear about Severus.
"I...yes! Oh yes!" She gripped the sides of his face and leaning forward kissed him and then sat back, the smile leaving her face. "You really want to marry me? You're not just trying to cheer me up?"
"That has to be the silliest thing I've ever heard you say," he snorted and reached into his pocket to draw out a box. "Do you honestly think I would ask someone to marry me just because I wanted to cheer them up?"
She shook her head, mute at the sight of the box in his hands.
He chuckled as he opened the lid and held out the box to her.
"I forgot how jewellery renders you speechless," he smirked, his natural arrogance back with her obvious delight.
Meg stared down at the ring that lay nestled in a bed of silk cloth. It was one single stone, a fire opal. It shimmered and sparkled with every colour imaginable. Meg was entranced.
"I know that to Muggles, Opals are considered unlucky, but I do not hold with that. We shape our own future and I want us to shape ours together," he spoke quietly as he drew the ring out and taking her left hand slid the ring onto her finger.
"It's the most beautiful thing I've ever seen," she whispered, staring into the depths of the ring.
"It doesn't even come close to your beauty." He stroked his finger down her cheek gently.
He watched her flush as she looked up at him, some of the radiance of the ring shinning in her eyes.
"We have a long way to go, don't we?" she said steadily.
"Yes, I suppose we do; but we'll be together."
"Together," she whispered as their lips met and blended.
_________________________________
A/N: Originally the next chapter was at the end of this once, but to make another chapter I had to separate them. Nothing has changed much with content.
Hope you enjoy it.