Time and good food heal all wounds

The chocolate pie had marked the start of, to Genevieve's surprise, the most rewarding job in her entire career as a chef so far. Everyone had been pleasantly surprised by that first unexpected, and unexpectedly good, dessert.

Only a few very accomplished witches and wizards -- staff, all -- had noticed that the dark chocolate melting core cake had had a magical component. Just a small one, mind you, nothing too dangerous, and certainly nothing too physical. The cake mellowed, relaxed nerves, tamed anger, dampened resentment and made some room for one's most pleasant memories to come to the foreground. That was all.

Almost all at the Great Hall had had a happy smile plastered on their faces after their puddings. Even, Minerva had informed Genevieve, the emphatically unsmiling Headmaster. The two witches had gotten together in the kitchen after dinner on the evening of the next day, to celebrate Genevieve's first full day of cooking for the school. It had been an enormous success and everyone, students and staff alike, had been talking of little else.

'At first he didna know what hit him, yesterday,' Minerva had said, 'but when he cottoned on to what was happening, he was already smiling. I havena seen him smile in, oh, must be twenty years at the very least!' She had almost cackled with glee, her Scots accent just that little stronger now that she'd had a few glasses of Genevieve's cooking supply of firewhiskey. 'Mind you, it was but a small smile. But a smile nonetheless. And it looked so good on him. If he could only relax that ever present frown and smile more often, I'm sure he... But what am I saying, it's Severus we're talking about here.'

'You do... care about him, don't you?' Genevieve had asked, intrigued.

'Yes... yes, I suppose I do, for some reason one's former students always remain... to a certain extent... Oh well, but it's simply that I have known him the longest; we've had so many changes in the teaching staff since the War; why, only Filius, he's the music teacher, and Severus and I are still here. I suppose I know... most of what Severus went through, what his friendship with Professor Dumbledore, our former Headmaster, cost him, and I do understand how he has become the man he is today. I suppose most of the horrors of War we faced never reached you, you were... where, at the time?'

'About...ten years ago? Let me think.' Genevieve had done the mental arithmetic. 'I was in Tahiti, learning about healing through food from a white Vudu Master.' She wrinkled her sensitive nose. 'He was a rather unsavoury fellow. Gods, Minerva, I'm quite sure he only washed once a year, if that. He did know his business though, and for a while I was really intrigued. It was like, a cross between potion brewing and cooking.'

'Well,' Minerva had said briskly, 'I can tell you now, you haven't missed a thing. The War was a quite, quite dreadful business. And I truly believe that it took away the last bits of... well joy, I suppose, Severus could feel. He was wounded right at the end, shockingly wounded, and it took him over a year to recover fully. Physically, I mean. I was Headmistress in the interim. I sometimes wonder if he ever recovered mentally.' Minerva had paused, thought for a bit, then suddenly let escape an explosive little laugh and had quickly taken a sip of her drink. 'Will you listen to me, worrying about one of the most powerful wizards of our age, a War hero, a former spy, a Potions Master no less, and you know as well as I do how seldom that title is bestowed in academic circles. As if he wouldna be able to take care of himself. I only wished he could find some... well, call it happiness, for himself, instead of that incessant brooding. And he takes it out on the students, too, you know. He is a brilliant academic mind and the most dedicated teacher, but he is also a dreadful disciplinarian, and it seems to be getting worse as he gets older. I canna recall how many times I have had a teary young Gryffindor standing at my desk, asking for help in dealing with the dreaded Professor Snape. Am I babbling? Genevieve, if I'm babbling you must stop me at once, do you hear?'

Genevieve had smiled. And poured her friend another glass. And a steely resolve had formed in that secret place behind her breastbone, that spot that sparkled with contained culinary magic when she was cooking something and she just knew it was going to come out exceptionally well.

---

Two full weeks had passed since that late-night conversation with Minerva and mealtimes had quickly turned festive again due to Genevieves endless store of delicious recipes for breakfast, lunch, dinner and treats . The augmenting did take a little more getting used to than she had anticipated; it was tiring work and she had never before had to create the amounts needed for an entire school. But by now or so she could manage without any problems, so long as she made sure she had about an hour to recover after each spell.

Genevieve had worked hard to make her kitchen a welcoming place for all. It was always warm, it always smelt good, there was always something good to eat or a cup of tea to be had and Genevieve was always prepared to listen. More and more students and staff stopped by on a free hour for a quick chat, a cuppa or a freshly baked cookie, and Genevieve actively encouraged that. She liked to have people sit around the large, clunky worktable, chatting while she worked, sampling her snacks.

There was, however, one who had so far refrained from visiting, and Genevieve found she spent more time than she would care to, pondering the reasons. Was he avoiding her? Was he upset still by her first, slightly magical dessert? She had made sure that no magic whatsoever had crept into her dishes after that first chocolate cake, which hadn't been easy. It was almost second nature for a culiwitch to season her dishes with more than herbs alone, but she had managed. The last thing she wanted to do was offend him further, if he actually was offended. Maybe he was just busy. Maybe he was just...

'Madam Marrow, a word.'

Speak of the devil. He stood in the kitchen entrance like a foreboding; the five students who were sat at the worktable chewing their way through a fresh batch of caramel cookies and drinking tea all started, froze, then looked up guiltily.

'And what is this? A Ravenclaw, a Hufflepuff and three Gryffindors, sitting together, in the... kitchen? Why aren't you in your common rooms, or at the library, for that matter?' Professor Snape swooped in and loomed over the students threateningly.

'Madam Marrow lets us sit here, if we want to, in between classes,' one of the Gryffindors piped up. She was a little wisp of a girl named Milly, who normally trembled for professor Snape's classes.

Professor Snape's eyes narrowed alarmingly. 'Fifty points off Gryffindor for insolence. And twenty off Ravenclaw an Hufflepuff, just for nog being where you ought to be,' he intoned with a tired sort of satisfaction.

'Wait,' said Genevieve, heart pounding. 'Professor Snape, just a minute.'

His eyes threatened to burn a hole in her face when he almost whispered a dangerous, long drawn out: 'I...beg...your... pardon?'

'No points are taken in my kitchen. Nor rewarded, for that matter. 'Genevieve found it incredibly hard to return the glare she was receiving from those dark twin bottomless pools of his, but she gave it her best shot. Her voice wobbled only slightly when she continued: 'My kitchen, Headmaster, is neutral grounds. Students from all houses, and staff alike, may meet here on equal terms. Everyone has the right to a sanctuary, and what better place than the kitchen? Food and drink is a great leveller; we all need to eat and drink. And here we can do so, and share, and talk, and be friends. I do hope you will allow for this.'

'Oh?' One elegant eyebrow on the pale visage rose caustically. 'I have an actual choice in the matter? How... flattering. Being Headmaster does have its advantages, I must say.'

'Everyone always has a choice in every matter,' Genevieve softly said, 'and mine is this: if you will not allow for this kitchen to be, in a sense, the Switzerland of Hogwarts, I will have to resign. I cannot function in discord. My cooking will simply not come out right if I am forced to work in an atmosphere of, of... well, fear, angst, rivalry and secrecy.'

Professor Snape swiftly stepped around the worktable and before Genevieve could blink, he was standing almost nose to nose with her. He spoke from between clenched teeth, his eyes spitting fire. 'You paint a most flattering picture of this institution, Madam Marrow.'

A light, clean scent curled in the air right in front of her face. Genevieve had a cook's nose and she detected pine, something that could only be described as fresh air and a very subtle hint of wood smoke. Professor Snape... smelt nice. Really nice.

Well. That was unexpected. Not that she had a very detailed idea of how he was supposed to smell, but this certainly was not what she would have thought. The palm of her right hand suddenly tingled and she looked at it in surprise, until she remembered that he, professor Snape, had shaken her hand. A full week ago. What on earth?

Oddly enough, the professor seemed distracted by something similar; he lifted his right hand and frowned at it, pondering for a second or two. Suddenly he dropped the hand and refocused on her. He seemed to have come to a decision. 'I will allow your... Switzerland. For now. I don't say I concur, only that the alternative is, as you put it...'

'Unthinkable! Professor, the alternative is unthinkable,' said the Ravenclaw, jumping up from his chair. He was a sturdy fourth year boy named Matt, with unruly hair and a propensity for unexpected pyrotechnics whenever he took out his wand. 'We can't go back to eating that awful... it wasn't fit for the pigs, really! Please!'

'Fifty poi-'

Professor Snape managed to stop himself in mid-roar. He pressed his lips together, sent Matt a deadly glare until the boy sat down again with a thump and bright red cheeks, and turned on his heel, his robes billowing out. He was almost at the doorstep when Genevieve remembered.

'Professor Snape. You wanted to have a word?' she spoke quietly, but loud enough for him to freeze on the spot. He waited two heartbeats, then executed another brisk turn and pinned her down with his eyes.

'In private,' he managed, teeth clenched.

'I'm baking, I can't get away from my oven right now, but...'she turned to the students, who sat watching the entire exchange with a frightened fascination. 'Isn't it time for your classes, ladies and gentlemen? Come now, off you go, take one last cookie and give the professor and me some room, thank you.'

'Will you be all right?' Milly whispered as she walked past Genevieve.

'Certainly,' said Genevieve, with a reassurance that she didn't entirely feel.

Professor Snape stood motionless except for his eyes, that followed the students all the way out until he was certain that they were well out of earshot. Then, he and Genevieve stood looking at each other for a few seconds more, measuring one another, until the silence became unbearable. 'What was the meaning of that cake,' he then exploded, so suddenly that Genevieve started. 'What gave you the right to serve... magical food... to students and staff... without consent...' He was so congested with anger that the words almost wouldn't come.

'Will you sit?' Genevieve said, indicating a chair at the worktable. She was trembling inside, but fought to keep her composure. Her hand tingled like crazy.

'No! I will not! I have waited to see how long the ... effects ... of the pie would last and it was only this morning. This morning! That I woke up and found myself to be... As I am now. What is your intention? To turn the entire school into a nest of ... kittens? You will explain yourself to me, or so help me...' Professor Snape walked three seething paces, turned, his hair and robes flying, walked three steps back, turned again.

Genevieve turned as well, to the cooling cupboard, where a freshly baked batch of muffins blanketed in dark chocolate was resting. She had finally given in to the temptation to bake something magical; chocolate muffins that would slightly warm from the inside and give a hint of safety, comfort; an extra blanket on a cold night. She had had the idea when the day before, a particularly homesick first year had sat sniffling at her worktable. Now, she turned back, delicately holding one of the muffins. She placed it on the table. Her hands hardly shook at all, for which she was terribly grateful.

'I was only trying to help,' she said, a small wobble in her voice, 'I could tell that the augmenting was hard on you, and the food had been disagreeable for so long; I didn't really think. I only wanted to make... everyone a little happier.' She had almost said you. Almost, but not quite. 'I didn't know that the effects would last that long, but... tell me, professor, have there been any incidents the last fortnight? Any fights? Accidents? Problems?'

Professor Snape stopped his pacing abruptly, and considered. He then glared at her, but a hint of uncertainty played over his face. He looked at the muffin on the table, then back up at Genevieve. 'What is... this?' he said, slowly, silkily, extending one elegant finger towards the muffin.

'Dark chocolate muffin, with a magical hint of... comfort,' she said, steadier now. 'Perhaps you will be so good as to try one, and let me know if this can, in your opinion, safely be served to the students. Some are homesick, I thought it might help.'

'...help, there is that word again,' said the professor, head slightly inclined. His voice was surprisingly flat, almost surprised. He picked up the muffin with two delicate fingers and brought it under his nose. 'Flour, eggs, butter, a hint of lemon, sugar, salt, dark chocolate. I detect nothing else.'

He knows how to use that big hooked nose of his, thought Genevieve, impressed. He would have to, though, being a Potions Master. Having a good sense of smell would be essential to the job.

'There is nothing else,' she said, 'the magic in them is intention, not ingredients.'

'Ah,' he replied. He eyed the muffin with suspicion, and... was there a hint of longing?

'Do sit down a moment, professor,' she tried again, then rattled nervously, 'I will have a cup of tea ready in a moment. Please taste the muffin and let me know what you think... I would be happy to have you test anything magical I can come up with before feeding it to the rest of the castle, please believe me when I say that I had no intention of doing anything detrimental or disturbing towards the students, I was only trying to...'

Professor Snape took a bite.

Genevieve stopped talking. She bit her lip and watched how he slowly, intently chewed, and slowly, intently lowered himself onto the chair she had indicated earlier. His eyes turned inward. His cheeks pinked -- that had to be the warming -- and his face relaxed. The corners of his mouth tilted upward ever so slightly. It wasn't quite a smile, but it made him look much less forbidding. His mouth even looked... sort of... sensual, thought Genevieve, her own cheeks suddenly flaming and her hand almost burning with that weird tingle. She abruptly turned toward the stove to boil the kettle.

Half an hour and two more muffins later, professor Snape still sat at the worktable. He held a large mug of tea between his hands and stared into nothingness. Genevieve was quietly peeling potatoes for dinner.