The Philosophy of Love

Mutual dislike

The kitchen of the borrow had been rearranged, the resident cat most disgruntled as his usual napping spot was off limits. The table was cleared and two cauldrons sat proud at either end. Albus Dumbledore knocked and waited with his travelling companion at the door.

"Albus! Saoirse! So lovely to have you both here! Come in, come in! Arthur has just left, you'll stay for dinner though yes?" Molly Weasley said, dragging Saoirse into a tight hug.

"I'd love to Molly, if time allows me," Saoirse replied, her smile bright.

She didn't often meet other members of the order, she didn't often meet with anyone so time in kind company energised her.
She practically lit up when Remus Lupin crept through the door behind her.

"Remus! How are you? Did you take any notes last full moon?" Saoirse asked, pulling the werewolf towards her, planting a kiss on each cheek.

"I did, all in order. I was far better rested when I'd changed back than usual, but it's all in here." He said warmly as he passed a thick envelope to the short woman.

"Brilliant, I'd make a start on these potions. Thank you again, Molly, for giving up your home. I couldn't stand another day with..."

She was interrupted by Molly who shot up and pulled a man through the door, head to toe in black. Black hair, black eyes and the pastiest complexion Saoirse had ever seen.

"I don't suppose you've met Severus yet, Saoirse. He was in the same year as Remus in school, isn't that right? Would you like some tea, Professor?" Molly sang.

"I'll be quite alright, thank you Molly." He replied, his voice low and rich. He turned to Saoirse.

"Good afternoon, Professor Snape." The black clad witch greeted him. She extended a hand to shake, remembering he was half blooded and that may appreciate the gesture. He looked at her hand and turned his back to her, walking over to the potion station that was set up in the kitchen of the Burrow.

"Albus insisted I work on several potions with you, given the amount we have to do and the blessedly short time we have to complete it in, I'd suggest you get started." Snape replied curtly.
"I expect you're aware of brewing etiquette?" He asked, hands clasped, peering down his nose at the short woman before him.

"I think you'll find my etiquette is more refined than your own, perhaps. Shall we?" She gestured towards the pile of unprepared ingredients.

Saoirse whipped her sleeves up and began making short work of an eel, draining, slicing, stripping, gutting and dicing. In her ingredients went, she hardly glanced at the recipes in the book Albus had left her. Snape noted, on her left arm, a Dark Mark. He bristled, practically holding his breath as he stared.

"It's rude to stare." She stated, without looking at him. "Surely you could stare at your own, should you be so inclined to examine one fully?" Her eyes met his.

Snape kept his mind blank, and pressed his way forwards into her own mind. There was nothing there, if it was possible for a mind to echo, hers would have done.

"I'm a better Occlumens than you are a Legillimens, Professor. Kindly pass me the flobberworm mucus?" She asked, a smile on her face, her tone colder than snape liked.

Snape handed her the pot of wobbling goop and watched her keenly as she worked. She was methodical, meticulous and calculated, yet he noticed with a scowl that she almost bounced as she brewed, humming away.
She brewed with absolute grace and certainty, as though to her this was a dance and she was taking the lead. The others sat catching up, laughing and chattering away. They paid no mind to the sour professor and the woman beside him.