The Wolfsbane Potion

Note: This story is dedicated to my dear friend CLS, as an answer to a question that has puzzled her and many others. Many happy returns of the day!
Also, all credit should be given to Moon for providing me with the germ of this story.
I know it has been a long time since my last story, but it is hard to find time to write at university. With luck I’ll be able to write more in the holidays. And a final note: this is very long, and so it is divided internally into two parts. Enjoy!

~

PART I

Two days before the start of term, Severus Snape returned to Hogwarts. He was not glad to be back, for the start of term meant for him nothing but hours and hours of tedious administrative work and new classes to be taught discipline, but his displeasure was magnified a thousand times when he read the notice in the staffroom listing the new staff. Under the heading ‘Defence Against the Dark Arts,’ he read the name ‘Professor Remus J. Lupin’.

For a moment he wondered whether there could be two Remus J. Lupins in the world. Surely not even Dumbledore would have the absolute idiocy to employ a werewolf on his staff? He stared at the notice for several minutes, furious and confounded. Snape had not thought of Lupin in years; he had assumed the monster had been killed or gone away during the years of peace once all the friends who had shielded him from the consequences of his actions were gone. But now he would be coming back to Hogwarts, and the very idea of it was burning inside Snape. The sound of the door closing made him spin around. Minerva McGonagall had entered, her arms full of books.

‘Is this correct?’ he demanded of her, facing her furiously.

‘What?’ She did not pause as she went towards her desk and set down the books, stacking them neatly. ‘The staff list? Of course it’s correct.’ Her tone was offended. ‘I wrote it out myself.’

‘You mean that - that monster is coming here to teach?’

Minerva did raise her head at this. ‘Are you referring to Remus Lupin?’ she asked, her eyes flashing. She took a breath to say more, but stopped herself.

‘The werewolf,’ Snape finished for her. ‘Yes. What idiot decided to have a werewolf come teach here?’

‘Professor Dumbledore appointed him.’ Minerva took a step towards Snape, reminding him uncomfortably of many years of being her student. ‘And before slighting him any further, you would do well to remember who appointed you here.’

‘And does Professor Dumbledore think he should have a member of staff who munches on the students once a month?’

‘Haven’t you heard of the Wolfsbane Potion?’ Minerva’s lip curled. ‘I thought you were the expert on Potions.’

Snape looked at her in sudden horror. He had heard of the Wolfsbane Potion, and he knew that it was immensely complex and had only recently been modified so that wizards other than the inventor could make it. And at once he could see what was going to happen. Someone was going to try to persuade him to make this potion. Well, he wasn’t going to do it. He certainly wasn’t going to do anything that would make things easier for this monster to teach here.

‘Of course I’ve heard of it,’ he said, managing to keep his icy calm. ‘It doesn’t change anything about the monster’s nature, it just disables him once a month.’

‘If only we had things to disable the other monsters who teach here,’ Minerva muttered, infuriating Snape. How dare she compare him with that animal? Prudence warred with anger inside him and won out. Whatever she might say, he still had to deal with Minerva for the whole year. He could get some revenge on her later.

With a dignified swirl of his robes, he stalked to the door, letting it bang behind him. He had scarcely gone three paces when a voice startled him.

‘Ah, Severus, just the person. May I have a word?’ He recognised the measured tones of Professor Dumbledore, and gave a curt nod to the headmaster. ‘Why don’t you come in here so we can talk more easily.’

‘Yes, Headmaster,’ Snape said, grimly sensing that he was not going to enjoy this conversation. He followed Professor Dumbledore into a small sitting-room that adjoined the staffroom.

‘Do take a seat.’ Dumbledore sank into a soft armchair, leaning back and smiling behind his beard at the younger man.

‘What is it?’ Snape asked. There was less hostility in his voice when speaking to the headmaster than to most other people, but nobody would have described his tone as friendly.

‘I take it you’ve seen the list of new members of staff?’

‘I certainly have. What on earth made you take that - take him on?’ Snape did not name the man he detested so much, but he had no doubt that Dumbledore would know who he meant.

‘Remus? Well, it’s about that that I wished to speak with you. Of course, if he is to teach here, he will have to take the Wolfsbane Potion.’ Dumbledore spoke casually, as if he were talking about some inconsequential matter. ‘And so I’d like you to make it.’

Despite having anticipated the question, Snape spoke with great fury. ‘I’d see you in hell first.’

Dumbledore, as always, did not seem ruffled by Snape’s words. ‘Be that as it may,’ he said with a gentle smile, ‘in the meantime it would please me very much if you could do this for me.’

‘For you? For the monster, don’t you mean?’

Dumbledore looked more stern. ‘Severus, I would have liked to think that you had learnt by now that it is unwise to judge a person on anything other than their actions.’

‘And that monster would have killed me,’ Snape retorted. ‘Isn’t that action enough for me to judge him by? No, Headmaster, I’m not going to lift a finger to help him. Make the potion yourself if you want it made.’

‘You know that if I were to make it the potion would be useless.’ Dumbledore gave another smile behind his moustache. ‘And you know that there are few people in the country who could make this potion, and you are one of them.’

Flattery won’t get you anywhere, Snape thought, but did not say it aloud.

‘You want me to make it so that he can teach here. Why don’t you just send him back out under the Whomping Willow if you’re so keen to have a - a werewolf as a member of staff?’

Dumbledore sighed. ‘That is the other option. But I would rather not resort to it. In the current state of things, it would be better if he remained in the school.’

‘You don’t want him running off to join that friend of his?’ sneered Snape. ‘I’ll tell you again, it’s completely idiotic to bring Black’s friend here to teach just when you think Black’s running about trying to kill the Potter boy. Not that it would be any great loss,’ he added under his breath. ‘But the werewolf will jump at the chance to help him. You may think he’s innocent, but that’s a preposterous notion.’

‘Severus,’ said Dumbledore, ‘I have made my decision concerning this. I ask you to trust my judgement.’

‘Like with Quirrell?’

‘Remus was a member of the League as you were,’ Dumbledore continued calmly, though the slight furrowing of his brow showed that Snape’s comment had hit home. ‘I trust him as I trust you.’

‘Black was a member of the League too,’ Snape retorted. But the comment struck him as well. Dumbledore had no good reason to trust him, and yet he did, and it was only that trust that held Snape to him.

Dumbledore bowed his head slightly. ‘Severus, I can see that you will not be convinced. But this is not relevant to the question at hand. I ask you to make the Wolfsbane Potion.’

Snape hesitated for a moment. He could see that Dumbledore’s patience was ending, and he didn’t want to find out how far he could push the headmaster.

‘As a personal favour to me,’ Dumbledore added a moment later. Snape glowered. With those words Dumbledore had won, again. Snape owed him too much to refuse. Would he still be paying his debts when he died?

‘I’ll make it,’ he snarled. ‘Are you happy now?’

Dumbledore gave a beatific smile. ‘I knew I could rely on you.’ He fell silent for a moment, studying the face of his pocket watch. Finally he said, ‘It’s the full moon tomorrow night, so there will be no need for you to make it until the end of the month. Remus will not be arriving till September first; he’ll be coming up on the train with the students.’

‘On the train?’ Snape echoed. None of the teachers ever travelled by train to the school, it was one of the many traditions of Hogwarts.

‘Yes. You must have seen the new security precautions. The Dementors will be searching the train, and I wish for someone skilled in Defence Against the Dark Arts there to keep an eye on things. It is a stroke of luck that Remus will not be able to come until then anyway.’

Luck wasn’t quite how Snape would have described it, but he contented himself with a scowl.

‘I believe you will be able to acquire all the ingredients for the Wolfsbane Potion without any difficulty.’ Dumbledore leaned forwards a little in the chair. ‘And Severus, I wish to make something clear to you. I will expect you to treat Remus with as much courtesy as you treat me. I will not have members of my staff quarrelling amongst themselves, especially not in such troubled times as these. Furthermore, I am going to ask all of the members of staff to refrain from mentioning that he is a werewolf to any student.’

‘You mean you’re not going to tell them? That’s utterly … absurd.’ Snape had been about to say ‘dishonest’ but something told him that accusing Dumbledore of dishonesty would not be a good move. He mustered his defences. ‘Surely it is our duty to inform them of any possible dangers here, for their own safety?’

‘Ah, but with the Wolfsbane Potion Remus will not be a danger to anyone. After all, he’s been here before and never has there been a problem.’

‘Apart from when he tried to kill me,’ Snape muttered. Dumbledore appeared not to hear.

‘I hope you will take this in good part,’ Dumbledore continued. ‘I know you are capable of doing what I ask.’ Again came the bright smile, and Snape scowled fiercely to disguise his own feelings. He hated it when Dumbledore did this to him, played on his emotions and his aspirations so that he had no choice but to do what he was told.

‘And I hope you don’t regret this,’ Snape answered bitterly. He stood up. ‘If that’s all, Headmaster, there is some work I could be doing.’

Dumbledore rose as well. ‘Of course. Thank you, Severus,’ he said, following Snape to the door.

Why wouldn’t Dumbledore see sense? Inviting Black’s friend to the school at the time when Black was trying to attack it - what kind of idiot was he? But no, Dumbledore would go on blindly and stupidly trusting anyone, no matter how monstrous, risking calamity at every step. And when things did go wrong it would be he, Severus Snape, who would have to clean up the mess.

~

Snape was a few minutes later than the other staff for the Sorting Ceremony and the start of term feast. As he strode across the Great Hall to take his place at the table, he noticed one face amongst the others that made his stomach clench with disgust. The werewolf.

Gliding smoothly without a faltering step, Snape crossed to his own place at Dumbledore’s left hand. The expression on his face revealed none of the anger and frustration, save for his steady burning glare towards Remus Lupin. He stood motionless as Dumbledore entered and went through his routine introductory speech, and as Professor Flitwick brought out the Sorting Hat.

The students looked apprehensive as it began its song. Snape scanned them, wondering which of them would end up in Slytherin and whether any of them would be worth teaching. Only a few students appreciated the importance of Potions, and even those were generally obnoxious. He looked at the Slytherin table without much affection. He knew more about most of those students than anyone else in the school. He knew which were the children of Death Eaters and which would probably want to swell Voldemort’s ranks themselves. His eye fell on Draco Malfoy and an insincere smile automatically appeared on his face. Malfoy still knew too much for his son to be worth offending.

As the Sorting progressed, Snape got bored of watching, and he gazed emptily down at the table before him. He was still very aware of the werewolf’s presence, he imagined he could hear the creature’s breathing, could smell the filth of a Dark Creature. He gazed at Dumbledore, wondering what on earth could have possessed the man. Perhaps he owed some tawdry debt to the monster.

The final student was sent to try on the Sorting Hat, and Snape half-closed his eyes, waiting. The child was Sorted into Ravenclaw, their table cheered and it was over. He glanced up and saw a disturbance around the door. Harry Potter had entered, followed by Hermione Granger and Minerva. Snape gave all three a look of disdain. So, the Potter boy wasn’t good enough to sit through the Sorting with the rest? And Minerva submissive to him, always giving him special treatment. Evidently that extended to his hangers-on now as well, he thought, looking again at Hermione. Pathetic.

Professor Dumbledore was rising to his feet to make a speech. Minerva slipped into her place opposite Snape, and he glared at her. Dumbledore began to talk about Dementors and the new rules, and Snape was abruptly reminded of the events of the summer holidays. It was prudent of Dumbledore, unusually so, to allow the Dementors to come to the school, he thought. The picture of Sirius Black that had adorned the front pages of the newspapers rose up in his mind with a furious swelling of rage.

‘On a happier note, I am pleased to welcome two new teachers to our ranks this year,’ Professor Dumbledore said, and Snape’s anger redoubled. ‘Firstly, Professor Lupin, who has kindly consented to fill the post of Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher.’

It’s not as if there was any competition, Snape thought to himself. Dumbledore was really scraping the barrel to drag out a werewolf as a teacher. His eyes were drawn down the table to where Lupin was smiling gently in acknowledgment of the applause, and his glare could have penetrated steel. If you are helping Black, Snape vowed internally, I will see to it that you pay the price, even if I have to cut out your heart with silver myself.

~

Snape left the dungeons and walked up the stairs. He passed a group of Gryffindor fourth-years, who all burst into giggles as he appeared. Snape glared at them, quelling some of the laughter but not all. Again as he went through the library, students looked at him and laughed. Every giggle sent fiery stabs of anger into Snape’s heart. How dare they be so disrespectful? He almost stopped to give the last laughers, a pair of sixth-year Ravenclaws, a piece of his mind, but he did not.

As he passed a mirror, he threw a hasty glance at his reflection. He had been teaching a class of second-years about dyes that changed colour, and it was possible that some had ended up on his robes. But his robes were their normal black. Thinking back, the second-years had been remarkably prone to outbursts of laughter as well. There was definitely some mischief afoot. Snape glared at his reflection. No trouble-making would get past him.

He reached the staffroom without encountering further giggling, and opened the door. Minerva McGonagall and the werewolf were sitting together, and as he entered, Minerva gave a quiet chuckle. A smirk crossed the werewolf’s face. Snape strode towards them.

‘What is this great and wonderful joke that the entire castle is enjoying?’ he demanded, his voice redolent with sarcasm.

Minerva looked at the werewolf, still smiling. ‘Remus was just telling me about his lesson with the third-years,’ she said. ‘Perhaps you’d like to tell Severus?’ she asked the werewolf.

‘It’s nothing really,’ said the werewolf, too quickly. ‘Just something amusing from my lesson today.’

Snape tightened his lips and looked slowly from Minerva to Lupin. ‘What,’ he asked in a measured tone, ‘is the joke?’

‘You’d better tell him,’ Minerva said. ‘He’s bound to hear it sooner or later.’

‘True.’ The werewolf gave another smirk, and Snape seethed. ‘Well, it’s quite straightforward really. You know I was doing Boggarts today with my third-years. As it turned out, Neville Longbottom’s Boggart was - well, it was you.’ The werewolf looked disapproving at this point, which made Snape even angrier. This monster dared even to think that he was in the wrong?

‘And so he performed the Riddukulus Charm on it - very effectively, I might add - and in the process the Boggart turned into you but - but you were dressed in a green lacy dress with a vulture-stuffed hat and a big red handbag.’ Lupin said the last part very quickly, as if he were about to laugh again. Minerva did laugh.

‘I wish I’d been there to see it,’ she said. ‘If you do Boggarts again, you must let me know.’

Snape drew a long breath through his nostrils like a bull about to charge, trying to control his fury.

‘And you thought it would be - fun - to spread this tale around the school? There are other tales that could be spread, Professor Lupin, which you might not find quite as amusing.’

‘Severus…,’ Minerva began with a tone that indicated that she was intending to lecture him.

At the same time Lupin said mildly, ‘I didn’t spread it around, I expect the students did that for themselves. You know how rumour gets around in this school.’

‘I certainly do. The question is, do you?’ Snape met the werewolf’s eyes in an icy rage.

‘Honestly,’ Minerva snorted, breaking across whatever it had been that Lupin was going to reply, ‘you two act like you were students here again. For goodness’ sake try acting like responsible members of staff for a change.’

‘And you act like you’re still about to give me detention,’ Snape hissed back at her.

‘Severus, I think you are blowing this up our of all proportion,’ Minerva retorted. ‘It was just a Boggart. This sort of thing happens all the time, there’s no need for you to act like an offended opera singer.’

Snape only glared at her in silence. It was hardly surprising that she should take Lupin’s part, she had always done so when he was a student. He marvelled at her blindness. Could she not see that it was a monster she was defending?

‘Besides,’ said Lupin, ‘it’s good for Neville to be able to handle his fears. I do wonder at you, Severus, treating him so harshly. You should know what sort of life he’s had.’

Snape sneered at him. ‘We’ve all had hard lives, Lupin. But we don’t all go to pieces when someone looks at us because of it. Longbottom’s fears aren’t my problem.’

The werewolf did not answer, but shook his head slowly.

‘If I hear of you giving him a hard time because of this, Severus, I shall be most displeased,’ said Minerva in her bossiest way. ‘I do not think Albus would be happy to hear of it.’

‘What I do with my classes is no one’s business except my own,’ Snape retorted, glaring at Minerva. He stood silent for a moment, looking from Lupin to Minerva and back until they were shifting uncomfortably. A second before Minerva would have broken the silence to say something disparaging, he said, ‘If that is all you have to say to me, I must return to my work. Good afternoon.’

He turned, his robes swirling after him, and left the staffroom still furious. Yet another score to pay off.

~

Snape watched the small bubbles rise up in the cauldron, and then larger ones, until the surface of the liquid was roiling and undulating with a quiet bubbling sound. He cooled the flame with a flicker of his wand. As he stirred the potion with cautious, short movements, he watched it thicken and turn dark. Quickly, he glanced down at the notes. At this stage, he was supposed to leave it for another six and a half minutes. Then it would be ready.

The six and a half minutes dragged by, and Snape stared unseeingly at the potion in the cauldron. What a complete waste, he thought, making this potion so that the werewolf would have his time a bit easier. Snape looked away from the cauldron at his open supply cupboard. There were so many things he could add to the potion, things that would put the monster into agonies of torment, things that would derange his mind, even subtle poisons, and he was infuriated by the fact that he was not going to use any of them in this Wolfsbane Potion.

It was a complicated potion, Snape thought to himself. Certainly one which was very subtle in its manner of working and beyond the ken of all but the most expert potion-brewers.

At exactly the right moment, Snape extinguished the flame and cast a cooling charm on the cauldron to prevent the potion from brewing any further. It was ready. He looked into the potion as if he would see the werewolf’s face appearing on the surface, his own face contorted with anger and hatred and a hint of fear. Then, controlling himself, he snapped his fingers, and a ladle appeared in his hand. He reached up for a goblet and carefully filled it with the dark brown liquid. He sniffed at it cautiously, and gave a slight smile. It smelled foul.

Holding the goblet away from his nose, he set it down on a table, and levitated the cauldron slowly, making sure not to tip it at all. With his wand outstretched in front of him, keeping the cauldron floating ahead, he set it down again on a stand at the side of the room, and covered it with a lid. It would be enough for the rest of the week. Unfortunately, the potion would not remain good for over a lunar month, so he could only make it in batches. He scowled. Every month this year he was going to have to make it, and the next year, every month until someone finally took a silver dagger and put an end to the miserable life of the monster. Or until someone found out his secret. Then he would be driven out as he should be.

Snape pondered that as the potion cooled in the goblet, the thin tendrils of steam slowly fading away into nothing. Then with a heavy sigh and a grimace of disgust he picked it up and left the dungeons in search of the werewolf.

He found the monster in the staffroom, marking essays at a desk in the corner. His reluctance made patently clear in each stride, he approached the desk and stood looming over Lupin until he looked up.

‘Severus,’ he said calmly. ‘Is there anything I can do for you?’

‘Drink this, right now,’ Snape ordered him, setting the goblet down on the desk with a thud, loud enough to make a noise without slopping the potion.

‘What is it?’ the werewolf asked, as innocent as anything.

‘Wolfsbane Potion,’ Snape hissed. The werewolf turned pale, but took the goblet without further questions. He sipped it and made a wry face.

‘It doesn’t taste any better than it used to,’ he murmured.

‘You can make it yourself next time if you don’t like the way I do it,’ Snape retorted, glaring at him. Then the significance of Lupin’s words sunk in. ‘You took this before? I thought nobody could make it but that Wood woman, the Healer, and she died right after she invented it.’

The werewolf swallowed the rest of the potion in one quick gulp and wiped his mouth on his sleeve, hiding his face for a moment. Then he passed the goblet back to Snape and began to turn away.

‘Thank you,’ he said, not answering the question. Sensing that he had found a weak point, Snape moved to block his exit.

‘I said, have you taken this before?’

‘Yes.’ His voice was steady, but he did not look Snape in the eye.

‘You got it from the Wood woman?’

‘Yes.’

Snape glared at him fruitlessly. He could see that there was something hiding behind the werewolf’s level tone, but he had no idea what it might be.

‘Pretty stupid thing to invent, really,’ he said, his voice full of disgust. ‘Who’d give a fewmet for something like this? It’s not as if any of you lot could afford it if they produced it commercially.’

Lupin only shrugged. Snape could see pain in his eyes and was infuriated that he could not work out what was causing it.

‘Thank you, Severus,’ Lupin said formally. ‘If that’s all, I really should get on with my work.’

‘Yes,’ Snape agreed, ‘you must. Especially as you’re not going to be able to teach at the end of the week.’ He shook his head. ‘It seems quite ludicrous to employ someone who is incapable of working for a part of the time. Insane, really.’

The werewolf only turned away again, and Snape took his goblet with a final shake of his head, and left the staffroom. He had scarcely settled himself down in his office again when there was a knock at his door.

‘Enter!’ he snapped. The door opened with a bang and Minerva McGonagall came into his office. Without any preamble, she launched into what she had come to say.

‘You’re free on Friday, second lesson, aren’t you?’ she asked.

Snape nodded reluctantly, wondering what was in store for him now. Friday, he thought, that was the full moon. Just as realisation of what she was about to ask came to him, she said, ‘Can you teach Defence Against the Dark Arts to the third years, then?’

‘Lupin’s class?’ he demanded. ‘You want me to give up my free time to teach his lessons?’

‘There’s no need to make such a meal out of it,’ she said snootily. ‘Everyone’s taking one of his lessons at some point. If you could teach the sixth-years as well, in the afternoon, that would be excellent. After all, haven’t you always said you could do a better job teaching Defence Against the Dark Arts than any of the teachers Albus has hired?’

Snape snorted. ‘Don’t expect me to be able to remedy that - that Dark Arts creature’s bad teaching in one lesson.’

‘For heaven’s sake, Severus, can’t you just leave off for one second? Why are you so obsessed with what Lupin is? He’s a good teacher, that’s all that counts.’

Snape did not reply. It wasn’t Minerva he had to convince that Lupin was a disastrous appointment, it was Dumbledore.

‘Well, speak to Lupin about what you should cover with them, then,’ said Minerva fussily. ‘I’ll leave you to your work, as you’re so very busy.’

‘Close the door,’ he called after her as she went out. She banged it a trifle more loudly than was needed, and Snape gave a faint smile at having got under her skin. He picked up his quill again and began going over another essay, but his mind was wandering further afield. There must be some way to turn this situation to his advantage.

Well, he thought, if he had to teach the werewolf’s classes, he may as well teach them about their teacher. It was important for the students to be able to recognise a werewolf. And perhaps, just perhaps, one of the students would tumble to the correct conclusion. Then there would be no more of a werewolf teaching here.

~

On Halloween night, Snape was alone. Like so many other witches and wizards across the land, he was thinking of the dramatic events of twelve years ago, but his thoughts were not like those of most people. Halloween for him had meant freedom of a different sort to most of the wizarding world, not the freedom of Voldemort’s reign of terror, but freedom from the long deceit he had been practising. The events of that Halloween had meant that he no longer had to pretend to be a supporter of Voldemort any longer.

And they had meant something else to him as well. It had been a vindication of everything he had believed. The betrayal of James Potter by the man he had believed to be his best friend only proved to Snape that nobody could be trusted. And, of course, there had been his own private pleasure at seeing Sirius Black finally shown for the monster, the murderer, Snape had always known he was. He gave a decisive nod into the darkness of his office. Dumbledore had not believed him so many years ago when he had told him what Black was, but since the events of twelve years ago he could hide from the truth no longer. There was a strong pleasure in being right, Snape knew.

His mind came back to the present. He was right about the monster too, he knew it. Who would be murdered before anyone would believe him? Perhaps it would be Minerva; she trusted the creature too deeply. Or perhaps a student, perhaps even Harry Potter. Snape pondered the pleasing symmetry of the thought. First the father betrayed by one friend, then the son by another.

But the idea of Harry Potter’s death could not bring him unmixed pleasure, because he knew that the boy had to stay alive. But, Snape thought bitterly, as nobody will listen to me, I don’t suppose he’s got a chance.

The door to his office burst open with a crash.

‘Severus, send all your students to the Great Hall at once,’ gasped Flitwick, staring wild-eyed into the darkness of his office. ‘Sirius Black is in the school!’

Snape sprang up, illuminating the room with a flash of his wand. He did not pause to ask foolish questions, but pushed past the Charms teacher and strode down the corridor to the Slytherin common room.

‘Silence!’ he shouted as he flung open the door. Every head in the room turned to him. ‘Everyone is to go directly to the Great Hall, at once. Prefects, please clear the dormitories now. All of you get moving!’

He glared around the room, and saw the Prefects moving to the staircases with uncertain steps. The rest of the Slytherins were looking at each other in confusion.

‘Don’t just stand there. Are you all deaf? To the Great Hall at once.’

He watched the students file through the door, his mind racing. So, he was right. The werewolf was helping Black, and helping him get into the school. When the last student was gone, he followed them to the Great Hall impatiently, wanting to begin the search for Black.

He saw the Slytherins into the Great Hall, and spotted Professor Dumbledore in the doorway.

‘Oh, good, Severus. Can you begin a search of the third floor, please? You know what to do if there’s anything suspicious. Don’t face Black alone.’

‘Yes, Headmaster,’ Snape said dutifully. As if he’d give up the chance to duel with Sirius Black! He looked around at the other staff assembling around them, and spotted Lupin hurrying up. He looked anxious, as well he might. For a moment, Snape considered confronting the werewolf then and there, demanding to know what his involvement in this had been, but he dismissed the plan. There was no chance that Dumbledore would do anything save defend him.

So he hurried off to the third floor, and began to make a search. It did not surprise him that he found nothing. Lupin had undoubtedly been getting his friend away again, that was why he had been so late. It was imperative that this be ended, Snape thought. Somehow, he would have to make it known that Lupin was a monster, somehow he would have to arrange events so that he would be found out and sent away. The Ministry would never catch Black, not even with their army of Dementors. For one thing, the Dementors would obey Voldemort’s every word, and they had said Black was second only to the Dark Lord. So to make Hogwarts safe, the werewolf had to be gone. He determined to try again to persuade Dumbledore, but he knew even before he began that he had no hope of success.

~

PART II

Snape was seething. That the werewolf had had the gall, the naked audacity, to come in here, deny all knowledge of Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot and Prongs, take the map back and drag the Potter boy away from facing his rightful punishment too, made him furious. But he hadn’t had enough proof to charge Lupin with being the Moony of the map any more than he had had to go to Dumbledore with the news that Potter had been sneaking off into the village. He knew he was right, but with an even greater certainty he knew that if he didn’t have solid, unbreakable evidence then he would only waste his breath to make a fuss.

It was absurd, he thought yet again, that Dumbledore should admit a monster to the school. He was a danger to everyone. Something should be done.

Snape curled his lip at his reflection in the dirty glass of the window. He knew full well that many people thought that ‘something should be done’ but that very few actually did anything. What could be done? He’d tried his best with Dumbledore, argued and tried to persuade him that what he was doing was foolish, and he knew it would be completely futile to try again. So if he wanted to achieve anything, he would have to try some other track.

The obvious thing would be to discredit him somehow, reveal what he was. But how could he manage, without openly defying Dumbledore? None of his previous attempts had succeeded: the students had been too stupid to recognise the broad hints he dropped in the classes, not even the Slytherins had recognised him for what he was.

He mulled over it for a long time without coming to any conclusion, and after a while he stowed it away in the back of his head as something to worry about later. A glance at his calendar showed him that it was time to brew the Wolfsbane Potion again.

As he took out the ingredients, he looked at the monkshood and the nightshade on the top shelf. There was another way to get his revenge…

No. Nothing that would implicate him. No right-minded person would think that disposing of a werewolf counted as murder, but Dumbledore was ridiculously soft-hearted and morally-minded, and though teaching might be a fool’s way of earning a living, Snape didn’t want to lose his job.

He set the ingredients carefully on the desk and looked at them for a moment, thinking again about how the potion worked. He was beginning to understand it now, beginning to see how everything blended together. It really was very clever, there seemed to be no way to improve upon it.

And then it came to him. His lips curled together into the nearest thing to a smile he ever showed on his face. There was a perfect way to do it, a perfect way to reveal the werewolf. With a look of deep concentration upon his face, he pulled the recipe to him and began to scribble notes all over it. If this was possible, if it worked, he would have the werewolf.

It was three hours before Snape was satisfied with his calculations and conjectures. The Wolfsbane Potion was an incredible invention; to tamper with it would require great care. But if this worked, if this alteration was successful, the werewolf would be revealed. And then, once everyone knew there was a monster teaching here, he would be sacked, driven out as he should be.

Leaving the desk, he began to work. The walls of the dungeon seemed to radiate cold, even in June, but Snape did not feel it as he measured out the dried wolfsbane into the pestle. Carefully, he weighed out seven ounces less than that neatly written recipe before him specified, and began to grind it methodically, making sure that every last part of it was crushed into a fine grey-green power. It looked so utterly harmless, Snape thought, and that was the beauty of it.

He left the wolfsbane on the table and went to his cupboard. From the racks of cauldrons, he removed a small, silver one. A sharp word, and there was a fire lit beside his table. He suspended the cauldron above the green flames, and measured out the other ingredients, changing the amounts of a few potent substances.

He knew what he was doing was very risky. Not only was there the risk of the potion exploding in his face right now, he could not be sure that it would have the effect he intended. If this worked, it would alter the transformation so that it would be triggered by moonlight alone, at any time between the full moon and the third quarter. One of those nights, Lupin would not be so careful, he would go under the moonlight in the evening, and his secret would be out.

But it was better, Snape thought, that it should happen this way. He would make sure to be awake on the night when the potion was doctored, and as soon as the werewolf got out, he would raise the alarm. Who could blame him for alerting the school to the presence of a dangerous Dark Creature, after all? And then the truth would be out, and the school would be safe both from the monster himself, and from the conspiracy between the monster and Sirius Black.

~

Snape went to a covered cauldron in the corner of his private office, and spoke a charm to unlock the lid. For a moment he gazed into the murky fluid, and a small smile curled his lips. Then he reached for a small goblet - not a silver one, though he would have liked it, for there was a risk that it would interfere with the potion - and filled it with the fluid. He contemplated it for a moment. This was the last dose. His heart beating slightly faster than it normally did under his black robes, he picked up the Wolfsbane Potion in the little goblet and began to carry it upstairs.

Nobody spoke to him as he glided along the corridors and up the many flights of stairs to the office where Lupin worked all the time. He rapped sharply on the door, but there was no answer. It was not quite closed, and Snape glanced through the crack but could see nothing. Giving the door a kick, he entered the office.

The werewolf was not there.

Many thoughts rushed through Snape’s head. What was the werewolf playing at now? Was he going to try to get himself sacked, maybe even imprisoned? Snape put the goblet down on the desk and looked around the room as if expecting to see his enemy hiding under the bed.

What would happen, Snape wondered, if Lupin didn’t take any Potion tonight. How would the transformation work? It should still be delayed, delayed enough to make him worry. But without this dose of potion, he would be a complete monster, not the half-wild and confused creature Snape had hoped to create.

Why had Lupin gone, anyway? Had the Potion already taken effect in some way, had it forced him to transform early instead of late? Snape gave a slightly nervous glance over his shoulder as if expecting a giant wolf to leap at him. He reached under his robes for the silver dagger he carried there, and twined his fingers around the hilt. But as nothing happened, he looked around the room for clues.

He recognised the piece of parchment on the desk with a scowl. So Lupin - Moony, he thought sarcastically - had not disposed of that dangerous piece of parchment. Perhaps it had insulted the werewolf as well. Bending down to see if the parchment had commented adversely upon Lupin’s grey hair and tattered robes, Snape saw instead an intricate tangle of lines and dots and names written in miniscule script. It took him a moment to recognise it for what it was.

Then he snatched it up and pored over it intently, barely even blinking. The Wolfsbane Potion cooled in the goblet, but he scarcely noticed. He found his own name, he saw Professor Dumbledore in the staffroom and Trelawney in Professor McGonagall’s office. But there was no sign of the words ‘Remus Lupin.’ At least, not until Snape noticed a swiftly moving dot outside of the castle, at a place he knew very well. The werewolf was going back to the tunnel under the Whomping Willow, the tunnel that led to the Shrieking Shack. Snape’s eyes travelled along the tunnel, and saw a number of other names gliding towards the edge of the map. Two of them leapt out at him with an almost physical force, as if he had been slapped. Halfway along the tunnel, he read the name ‘Harry Potter,’ and at the very edge of the paper, about to disappear from the map, was the name he had hated for so long, Sirius Black. For a moment he stared, transfixed, until the dot that was Sirius Black disappeared from the map.

After all the work he’d done! After all that Dumbledore had done, all that everyone in the castle had done to protect the fool Potter boy, Black had lured him away. And now the werewolf was going to join his old friend. It was clear, all too clear. Dumbledore had been wrong again, and he, Snape, had been right.

It only took Snape a second to work out what he had to do. There would be no time to get Dumbledore, no time for anything but to go after the werewolf at once. He would capture him, so that not even Dumbledore could argue that he was innocent. And even better, even more sweet-tasting, he would have his vengeance on Sirius Black.

He left the Wolfsbane Potion forgotten on the desk, all his plans for trapping the werewolf supplanted by this greater and more undeniable triumph, and raced from the room. As he pelted down the staircases and out towards the Whomping Willow, he pictured the scene in his mind. Black, helpless at his feet, being sent back to Azkaban, or even better, Black with the Dementors surrounding him, screaming in vain for mercy. Himself, being praised and congratulated by everyone, the Potter boy on his knees thanking him for saving his life yet again, Dumbledore admitting that he had been wrong … but that thought somehow was not as satisfying as the others.

The Whomping Willow was flailing again, so Lupin must have had a good start on him. Snape saw the long stick the werewolf had used at once, and as he went down to pick it up he saw something else on the ground. It only took him a second to recognise it. The Invisibility Cloak. Just when he had thought things could get no better than this, here he was presented with such a gift. He snatched it up and flung it around his shoulders. Then he prodded the knot at the base of the trunk and jumped into the tunnel, taking care not to snag the cloak on any branches.

More scenes of his triumph rushed through his head like blood-red wine, making him almost dizzy with the insane delight of it. Drunk on the very promise of power and glory, he felt no weariness as he tore down the tunnel, scarcely noticing the gouges and scratches on the tunnel walls. The last time he had been here, Black and Lupin had conspired to kill him and Potter to embarrass him in a way that made him feel that death might have been preferable; now he was going to give them a taste of their own medicine. The neatness of it pleased him; Black and Lupin would suffer something much worse than death at the slimy mouths of the Dementors, and the Potter boy would have to endure the same agonies of shame.

He slowed his pace prudently as he approached the entrance to the Shrieking Shack, and adjusted the Invisibility Cloak so that it covered every part of his body. He would be running no risks like this, and he would be in a perfect position to capture them all.

Silently, he slipped through the trapdoor, his heart pounding. He could hear voices from upstairs, and he mounted the steps, noticing that the thick layers of dust on everything had been disturbed by many footprints. The voices were coming from a room at the top, and he reached the door.

For a second he paused outside. The voices he heard inflamed his anger tremendously; he recognised the supercilious tones of the Potter boy and Hermione Granger. So she was there too! Another who would have to thank him. Slowly, he pushed the door open. It gave a noisy creak, and he could see into the room.

It was full of people. As well as Lupin, Black and Potter, Ron Weasley was lying on a battered four-poster bed and Hermione Granger was standing alongside the Potter boy. They all turned to stare at the door, and Snape had to remind himself that he was invisible. Quickly he slipped into the room, moving on his silent feet. And none too soon, for Lupin went to examine the door and close it again.

Snape could scarcely take his eyes from Sirius Black. The man looked like he had suffered in Azkaban, and Snape gave a little smile. Lupin was talking, telling the students some sob story to win them over. He was surprised to find that the man had told them what he was. As he listened to Lupin talking about how hard his life had been, Snape’s lip curled slowly. The werewolf had had it easy. Dumbledore thought he was utterly innocent, he had never had to suffer the consequences of his actions, he’d been protected by Potter and Black and Dumbledore, everything had been easy for him. Snape felt no sympathy as Lupin described his transformations in this building.

He caught his breath suddenly, remembering the Wolfsbane Potion that remained on Lupin’s desk, of the alterations he had been making to it. But it had been after moonrise when he had gone out to the Whomping Willow. That meant, Snape realised, that the potion had worked. Unless he went into direct moonlight, the werewolf would not transform. He shot an inadvertent glance around the room, but the windows were heavily boarded. No ray of light from the full moon would reach the werewolf here. Nonetheless, Snape touched his silver dagger as if to assure himself that it was still there.

‘They became Animagi,’ Lupin was saying. Snape gave a start. They had been Animagi? He looked warily at Black, wondering what kind of creature he became. A cockroach, Snape thought hopefully. He listened intently to Lupin, but the werewolf did not describe the creatures. But what he did say confirmed Snape’s suspicions.

‘Sirius is Padfoot. Peter is Wormtail. James was Prongs.’

Snape thought back to the map. He had known as soon as he had read its insults that there could be no other makers of that map, but he had had no proof. But now, now he knew it all.

He heard his own name and broke out of his triumphant dreams.

‘He’s here, Sirius,’ Lupin said, and Snape was certain that somehow they’d seen through the Invisibility Cloak. He pulled out his wand. But the werewolf meant that he was teaching at Hogwarts, Snape realised with relief.

Lupin began to tell the story of how he had almost killed Snape. His harsh tone set Snape’s teeth on edge. As if the werewolf could pretend it wasn’t his fault! He looked at the Potter boy and the other students, wondering why they didn’t recoil from the monster before them, but they seemed intent on the story. Black was grimacing with fury, and Snape tightened his hand on his wand, so that he’d be ready when Black set upon the Potter boy.

‘It served him right, sneaking around, trying to find out what we were up to … hoping he could get us expelled,’ Black said. His every word made Snape’s blood boil, just his voice was enough to trigger off the insane anger. Each haughty word - how could he still be haughty after so many years in Azkaban? - reminded Snape of the many insults and hexes they had traded when both were younger.

Snape decided he would have to do something. He couldn’t stand here forever, waiting. He would take Lupin and Black to the Dementors, and the students to Dumbledore. Strangely, he did not feel any concern at the prospect of taking them both on; he knew that Lupin would be vulnerable now that the moon was full, and twelve years in Azkaban could not have strengthened Black’s powers. They would be easy to overpower.

Lupin was coming to the end of his story, trying to persuade the students that he really hadn’t meant Snape any harm. As if his intentions had anything to do with it! What he had done was enough proof for Snape.

‘So that’s why Snape didn’t like you,’ the Potter boy said, his voice sounding so like his father’s that Snape seethed inwardly, ‘because he thought you were in on the joke?’

Snape knew that this was his moment. With one hand on his wand, he reached to pull the Invisibility Cloak off his face.

‘That’s right,’ he said coldly, pointing his wand directly at the werewolf’s thin chest.

~

Snape recovered consciousness very slowly. He was extremely cold, so cold that he could not feel his hands or feet at all, and he had a strange sensation of being upside down. Groggily, he opened his eyes. It took him several seconds to realise that he was not upside down at all, but was dangling in the air. He looked down, and saw that he was only a few inches above the ground.

‘Finite incantatem,’ he muttered, and staggered a little as his body dropped to the ground heavily. For a moment he squatted down, trying to work out what was going on.

It all came back to him in a rush. The doctored Wolfsbane Potion, Black and Lupin conspiring to kill Harry, he had captured them both, he recalled, but what had happened after that? His last memory was of striking the ground. It had been the Potter boy and his friends who had attacked him. Snape looked around him. In the moonlight, he could see that he was near the lake, and he wondered briefly how he had got here. The moonlight, he thought suddenly, in a flash of unwelcome revelation. What had happened to the werewolf?

There was something sticky and uncomfortable on his face. He reached up hesitantly and felt something wet in his hair and on his forehead that came off on his fingers. Sniffing it, he recognised the metallic tang and realised it was his own blood.

But there were more important things to be concerned about, he didn’t feel seriously hurt. Where was Black, and what had he done? And even more worrying, where was the werewolf now? He scanned the ground more carefully.

The moonlight illuminated some shapes by the lake. He began to move towards them, and almost tripped over another form on the ground. For a second he recoiled, but recognised the figure as Ron Weasley from the red hair. A fool like all Weasleys, Snape thought, if he had any sense he wouldn’t tag along after Potter. Still, he was a student and it was Snape’s duty to see that he was not attacked by the werewolf or by Black. A quick examination of the boy showed that one of his legs was tightly strapped up, and he had been knocked out by some sort of spell, probably the Stupefying Curse. Taking a deep breath and focussing his mind, Snape conjured a stretcher. Pointing his wand at the Weasley boy, he levitated him and let him fall onto the stretcher, which rose to float behind him.

Now to see what was by the lake. Snape felt suddenly at his waist for the silver dagger. If there was a werewolf loose, he didn’t want to be unprotected. Fortunately, it was still there.

The ground was squelchy and damp near the lake, and Snape picked his way with care. As he got closer, he could see that there were three bodies on the ground. Two were smaller, undoubtedly Granger and Potter, but he did not let himself make any guesses about the third.

He reached the largest body first. It was lying prone on the grass, and he could not recognise the person at once. Bending down, he pushed on a shoulder to turn the person face up. At once, he recognised the hollow face of Sirius Black, and he felt the triumph surge up again inside him. Now there would be no escaping, no miracle rescues, no interfering students, to prevent him from taking this monstrous creature to meet his deserved justice. And the glory would be his alone.

But it would not look good if it turned out that Black’s last act had been to kill the Potter boy. Leaving Black to lie in the mud a while longer, Snape went to examine the other two. Both were icy cold, but definitely alive. Careless of their comfort, he conjured more stretchers and heaved the two students up onto them. Finally he went back to Black. As a precaution, he tied him up with a flick of his wand. Then he deposited him on the fourth stretcher roughly, giving the unconscious man a vicious kick in the small of the back as he rose into the air, so that his limp body gave a violent jerk before falling onto the stretcher.

With the four stretchers floating around him, Snape began the walk up to the castle. He kept a wary eye out for the werewolf, but it seemed to be safe, nothing was lurking in the shadows. He could not keep the grimace of triumph from his lips, and he looked down at the stretcher that was floating on his left-hand side. The man upon it was perfectly still, his face the same colour as the face of the moon and his matted hair in clumps across his shoulders. Snape’s smile grew a little wider, showing his teeth. Nothing could surpass this moment. It was a shame he couldn’t have the werewolf as well, but he disregarded that. He had the greatest prize of all.

Of course, he thought, it was no surprise that the Ministry idiots had never got near Black. Snape did not lie to himself; Black was no fool, but he had not been able to get the better of the Slytherin boy he had mocked so often.

He looked down at the man on the stretcher with a smirk.

‘I won,’ he hissed. ‘You are nothing now.’

Sirius Black did not move. Snape threw a quick glance back at the other stretchers, but they were floating steadily behind him. The distance to the school seemed very short, but Snape savoured every step of his victory procession.

He pushed open the great door at the front of the school with a casual kick, making the gargoyles squeal in protest. A ghost was drifting by; Snape stopped him imperiously.

‘Send for Dumbledore,’ he said. ‘I have Sirius Black as a prisoner.’

The ghost’s head fell off his shoulders and dangled upside down, and Snape recognised Nearly Headless Nick with a scowl. But even the Gryffindor ghost would do as his messenger.

‘Send for him at once,’ he repeated, and the ghost with a final goggle at the stretcher, went drifting through the ceiling and towards Dumbledore’s room.

A few minutes later, more swiftly than Snape had anticipated, Professor Dumbledore came rushing down the stairs, his face less composed than usual.

‘What’s going on, Severus?’ he asked.

‘I have Sirius Black,’ Snape repeated with a ring of triumph in his voice. ‘He lured these foolish students, presumably under a Confundus Charm, away with his accomplice, the werewolf, and would have doubtless murdered them all had I not been there.’

Dumbledore did not speak for a moment, but looked down at Ron, Harry, Hermione and last of all at Sirius Black. His face grew even more concerned.

‘Madam Pomfrey should have a look at these three,’ he said, bending over Ron again.

Snape glared at him. Why was his first thought for the Weasley boy instead of the murderer Snape had captured? He prodded the stretcher bearing Black forwards a little so that Dumbledore could not fail to notice it.

With one eye still on Ron, Dumbledore nodded to Snape. ‘This is most remarkable,’ he said quietly. ‘You have acted exactly as I would have expected of you.’ He bent over Sirius Black again, and the man’s eyelids fluttered.

‘Enervate,’ Dumbledore said quietly.

‘What!’ Snape leapt forwards, positioning himself beside the elderly wizard, one hand on his wand. ‘Dumbledore, that man’s a mass murderer! You should be more careful!’

‘I’m quite safe,’ Dumbledore said, gazing fixedly at the man on the stretcher. ‘You seem to have done a very thorough job of tying him down. Severus, perhaps you should take these three up to the Infirmary. And - and I suppose we ought to send for Fudge, so why don’t you see to that as well. I’ll take Sirius somewhere secure.’

As he spoke, Black’s eyes opened and he looked up dazedly. Snape pointed his wand straight between the prisoner’s eyes.

‘Don’t move,’ he hissed. He glanced at Dumbledore. ‘Should I fetch the Dementors as well?’ he asked, not relishing the task but wanting to see his prey utterly destroyed.

‘We’ll wait for Fudge before taking any action,’ Dumbledore said. He too had his wand out, but he held it loosely by his side. On the stretcher, Black began to cough and splutter painfully, and they both turned to look at him.

‘Professor Dumbledore,’ he gasped, ‘you’ve got to listen -‘

‘Shut your mouth,’ Snape spat, his wand quivering in his hand.

‘Severus, please take those three up to the Infirmary,’ said Dumbledore calmly, watching the prisoner on the stretcher. ‘You can tell me your full story once Madam Pomfrey has them safely. I’ll be in - hmm - Flitwick’s office, I think, that’s very secure.’

‘Very well,’ Snape ground out, and prodded the stretchers forwards with his wand. He paused as he reached a mirror. It would be quickest to send for Fudge in this way. Briefly, he spoke a charm over the glass and watched as it clouded, and then refocused on the face of a secretary.

‘I must speak with Cornelius Fudge instantly,’ Snape demanded of the blank-faced woman.

‘Who is it, please, and what do you want?’ she asked, speaking like a machine.

‘Severus Snape, master of Hogwarts school. I wish to speak to him about Sirius Black.’ The woman started at those words and edged back from the mirror.

‘Yes, sir, at once, sir’ she said, flustered, and the mirror clouded over again. When it cleared, he could see the slightly plump face of the Minister of Magic there.

‘Severus Snape, is it not?’ he said genially. ‘What can I do for you?’

‘I have captured Sirius Black,’ Snape announced loudly. ‘Come to Hogwarts at once.’

Fudge opened his mouth to say something, coughed, spluttered and goggled at Snape.

‘Are you in your senses?’ he asked.

‘Certainly,’ Snape retorted. ‘Come immediately. Dumbledore is guarding him now.’ He spoke imperiously, knowing that in this his moment of triumph he could order even the Minister of Magic around.

‘What - how - how was he caught?’

‘I caught him myself,’ Snape said, looking at Fudge down his nose.

‘You - you…’ Fudge stuttered, still completely flabbergasted by the news.

‘Yes. You must come at once.’

‘Yes, yes, certainly, I’ll Apparate to Hogsmeade… yes, I’ll be there at once.’ He hesitated in front of the mirror.

‘Go quickly,’ Snape said, and closed the connection before Fudge could say any more. He prodded the three stretchers with his wand again, and they began to trundle along towards the Infirmary.

Snape flung open the door to the Infirmary carelessly, and entered the room with great flourish. Madam Pomfrey, who had been sitting quietly at a desk, rose to her feet.

‘Severus - what is the meaning of this?’ she asked. Her eyes flickered from him with his face still smeared with blood to the three still and silent shapes. At once she bustled across the room. As she recognised the faces of the students on the stretchers, she gave a sigh. ‘What have they been doing now?’

‘Sirius Black put a spell on them,’ he said bluntly. ‘It was a Confundus Charm, and he would have killed them.’

‘Good gracious!’ Madam Pomfrey, who had been bending over the Potter boy in concern, looked up, her eyes wide with horror. ‘Are you sure?’

‘Quite sure.’ Full of his pride, Snape could not resist telling her. ‘I captured Black myself. He will be given the Dementor’s Kiss shortly.’

Madam Pomfrey was disappointingly calm. ‘Dementors, indeed. It’s a fool thing to do, bringing those monsters to this school.’ She was stooping over Hermione now. ‘These two have been tangling with Dementors as well.’ She began to push the stretchers towards three beds, her face grave. ‘Now, is that cut you’ve got all right?’

‘It’s fine,’ Snape said. He preferred that the injury he had been dealt in his endeavour remained visible, a badge of his heroism, and also a mark of how foolish the students had been. ‘If that’s all, I’ll leave them with you.’

‘Yes, that’ll be fine,’ she said, and bent over the red-headed Weasley boy. As she began to mutter to herself, Snape turned and left the Infirmary.

He began to go towards Flitwick’s office, but as he passed the window he saw the Minister’s carriage rushing towards the door of the school. Drawing himself to his full height, Snape turned and strode down to meet the Minister for Magic.

Fudge was standing in the doorway when Snape reached him.

‘Has anyone been hurt?’ was his first question. ‘Is Harry all right?’

Snape gave a scowl. Harry Potter, Harry Potter, the entire wizarding world could only think of one thing, it seemed.

‘He’s in the Infirmary, but Pomfrey says he’ll be fine.’

‘Thank goodness for that,’ said Fudge. ‘Suppose you take me up to see him, and tell me how you captured Black.’ Fudge looked up at Snape with incredulity. ‘It is quite, quite amazing. I shall see to it that you receive the Order of Merlin for this work.’

With a proud smirk, Snape raised his chin. Everything was turning out how it should be, after so many years of failure and disappointment. At last he had everything he had struggled for. He began to tell Fudge the entire story.

~

Snape followed Macnair with the Dementors up the stairs to Flitwick’s office. He scarcely noticed the gloom cast by the tall black shapes, so great was his gloating joy at the thought of Black’s fate. He could picture the scene already: Black struggling, screaming for mercy, and his cries quieting until he finally fell mute and empty after the Dementors had taken what tattered shreds of his humanity remained. It only would remain for the werewolf to be punished, and his conquest would be complete.

They reached the door of Flitwick’s office. Fudge, who had been leading the way, fumbled with the keys for a long time, and Snape tapped his foot impatiently. Only a few more moments, and he would finally have the revenge he longed for so greatly.

Finally, Fudge got the door open. Snape raised his wand, and so did Macnair. The Dementors swept into the room with a rush of air, and the three men followed behind.

Sirius Black was not there. For a moment, all three stood dumbfounded, and Snape stared around the room as if Black might be hidden in a corner. But there could be no doubt. He was gone.

‘He’s escaped!’ Snape shouted, regaining the power of speech. He rushed to the window. ‘He was here just a few minutes ago, he can’t have gone far…’

But as he gazed out at the night, he could see nothing but the full moon blotting out the stars.

‘He’s definitely gone,’ Macnair declared with an equal anger. ‘I dunno what you lot are doing here, you can’t keep anything tied down for more than two seconds, first that Hippogriff and now this…’

Snape was not listening. He turned to Fudge in fury.

‘I don’t believe it,’ Fudge was saying. ‘We almost had him. We almost had him. This is terrible, we must go to Dumbledore at once…’ He turned, ignoring the Dementors, and began to rush down the staircase, still bemoaning his misfortune. Snape rushed after him, certain he knew how this had happened. There was only one person who could always steal his glory, who could always ruin anything he did.

~

Snape whirled out of the Infirmary. Potter had done it, somehow, he had managed to get Black away, and now Dumbledore was taking his part, it was insane. The entire world was insane, and now because of Fudge’s incompetence and Dumbledore’s delaying, Black was loose again. His glory, his triumph, his success, had been snatched away by the Potter boy and the incompetent fools of the Ministry.

He had thought he had known anger before, but this fury was still whipping through him like wildfire, permeating every part of his body so that his already throbbing head was full of flames and his very bones ached with it. He marched through the castle down to his own office, only one thought beating in his head and fanning the flames. Sirius Black had escaped him.

Well, there was one person who was not going to get away so easily. He wondered whether the doctored Wolfsbane Potion had affected Lupin’s mind, or just the time of transformation. At least this was one thing that had succeeded, succeeded beyond Snape’s expectations. The werewolf was loose in the castle grounds, capable of causing immeasurable damage. Perhaps some hunter would kill him before dawn. Or even after dawn, Snape wasn’t particular about it.

He paced around his room and the Slytherin area of the school for the remainder of the night. As the dawn broke brightly and the sunlight struggled down even into the dungeons, Snape wondered whether the morning transformation would have been similarly delayed. Well, he would know soon enough.

~

At breakfast, he saw at once that the werewolf was not there. Sitting at the head of the Slytherin table, he had a clear view of the staff who were talking together in hushed, concerned voices. Occasionally they would glance up at him. Yes, Snape wanted to cry, I’m the one who caught him. And you’re the fools who let him get away. A name spoken at the table made him start.

‘Hey, do you think Loony Lupin’s finally got the sack for wearing such ugly old robes?’ Draco Malfoy was asking of one of the other Slytherin boys. There was a chorus of cackling laughter from the other students.

‘Perhaps he ran off with Sirius Black,’ suggested someone else, and there was more laughter.

‘Or perhaps he’s still running around the Forbidden Forest with a hairy nose,’ Snape suggested, his lips curling vindictively. All the students near him glanced up at once, puzzled.

‘Of course, I forgot, it was meant to be a secret,’ Snape said, making up his mind at that second to tell them, whatever should happen. ‘But I think it’s time for you to know. Professor Lupin is a werewolf.’

There was a chorus of astounded gasps from the students near him, and one of the girls gave a squeal.

‘Really?’ asked Draco Malfoy, his eyes glinting. ‘I don’t think my father would be pleased about that.’

Snape sat silently, watching his words chase around the Slytherin table, and thence to the other houses. Now there would be no more of Professor Remus Lupin here, he thought. It did not do much to assuage his anger. He doubted that cutting the animal’s heart out and tearing his body to pieces would do that. But as his words rushed around the Great Hall and heads turned to stare at him, he held himself stiffly. Not even Dumbledore could undo what he had done now.

He did not wait for Dumbledore to come to him and tell him that what he had done was wrong. Instead he rose as soon as the first Slytherin students had finished, and left the hall silently.

As he taught his classes that morning, not a single student dared do more than breathe loudly, for his wrath was swift and destructive. But as they moved around the corridors, he heard them murmuring to each other, talking about Professor Lupin, and so he knew that the werewolf had resigned. It incensed him that they seemed to be disappointed.

When lunch break came, Snape retreated to his office. He had no stomach for food. Instead, he watched from his window, and saw a carriage driving away from the school rapidly. Through the small window of the carriage, he recognised the face of Remus Lupin. The werewolf was gone, back to haunt the lonely forests and the mountains, away from civilised people. But it was a hollow victory.

He went to the corner of his room where the small cauldron sat, still half-full of the doctored Wolfsbane Potion. His plan had worked, and he supposed he should be pleased about that, but after his triumph and fall last night, it seemed a small and pathetic victory. What good is it, he asked himself angrily, if I win the battle but lose the war? He picked up the cauldron and took off the lid. The bitter, acrid smell of the potion rose into his nostrils, as strong and distinctive as the scent of werewolf.

There was a small door from his office that led directly outside, and Snape went towards it now, carrying the cauldron. He spoke the spell to open the door and stood blinking in the sunlight for a moment. The carriage was gone out of sight now.

The hot still air made him notice the smell of the potion again. What a waste of time it had been. All that work, all that planning, and what had finally pushed him over the edge was not the delayed transformation and subsequent havoc Snape had expected, but his own revealing of the creature’s nature at breakfast. It was ridiculous.

Snape took the cauldron and tipped it slowly, so that the thick potion oozed over the lip and trickled down onto the soil. He watched it soak into the dry ground, the product of his thought and his labour, and as he poured it away he poured away the last drops of his hopes for glory.

The sound of someone clearing his throat made Snape spin around. Professor Dumbledore was standing in the doorway.

‘What do you want?’ Snape demanded.

‘To talk to you.’ Dumbledore’s reply was calm, as he always was. ‘I believe it was from you that the students learned about Remus?’

Snape had known this was coming. Defensively, defiantly, he said, ‘Yes, it was. Even if you won’t believe he was helping Black - and I saw them together with my own eyes, acting like the closest of friends - he was still loose and dangerous in the grounds last night. If you will not protect the students from him, then I will.’

‘I am fully satisfied with Remus’ explanation of why he was with Sirius last night. His motives in going there were the same as yours. And as for him being loose - well, it is strange that he transformed so late. Strange, but very fortunate, for had the transformation occurred any earlier, he would have been enclosed in the Shrieking Shack with you and the students and Sirius.’ Dumbledore looked at the cauldron which Snape was still holding, the last dregs of the potion covering the bottom. ‘Most fortuitous, in fact.’

Did he have no secrets from Dumbledore, Snape wondered exasperatedly. It was clear that the headmaster knew everything, even that the Wolfsbane Potion had not been as it should. Pointedly, he turned the cauldron upside down so that the remaining drops fell on the ground and killed the grass that grew there.

But Dumbledore did not ask openly about the potion. Instead he gave Snape his most disappointed gaze.

‘As it happens, Remus tells me he would have resigned in any event, lest he ever endanger another student. Still, I am not pleased that you have broken my confidence, whatever your motives.’

Snape glared down at the Wolfsbane Potion soaking into the soil and said nothing. He had done what he had to do, and if Dumbledore didn’t like it then so be it.

Dumbledore was regarding him sympathetically now. Snape knew that he was about to say something about the Order of Merlin, something about Black getting away again, and he didn’t want to hear it. But Dumbledore said something quite different.

‘I have something to ask you, Severus, about Sirius Black. When you were working for the League, did you ever hear of him doing anything for Voldemort?’

Snape looked at Dumbledore blankly for a moment, taken aback by the question. He didn’t want to think back to those memories, but he did.

‘No,’ he said at length. ‘Black was too cunning for that. I imagine he worked directly with the Dark Lord.’ He scowled. ‘You don’t really believe those lies he told Harry and the others, do you, all that rubbish about Peter Pettigrew?’

‘Did you ever hear anything about Peter?’ Dumbledore persisted.

‘No, I certainly did not. And it would be absolutely ridiculous to suggest that he was hiding as Ron Weasley’s pet rat.’ Snape turned to stand facing Dumbledore squarely, a furious suspicion rising in his mind. ‘You did it, didn’t you, not the Potter boy. You do believe him, and you let Black get away.’

‘That’s a very serious accusation, Severus,’ said Dumbledore quietly. ‘I did not release Sirius.’

‘Really,’ said Snape, his tone sarcastic. ‘I find that hard to believe.’ But somehow it felt a little bit better. Better to have been outsmarted and defeated by the greatest wizard of the age than by a little upstart. Better Dumbledore had released Black than Potter had.

‘I do believe what Sirius told me,’ Dumbledore continued. ‘I would like you to go through everything you learned about Voldemort and his supporters, and come to me at once if you find any evidence of either Peter Pettigrew’s involvement or that of Sirius, please. And in the meantime, please keep a more careful hold over your tongue.’

‘Yes, Headmaster,’ Snape said dully. There was no point in arguing. Argument had never convinced Dumbledore, he had failed too many times before to be able to face trying again.

‘Very well, Severus.’ Professor Dumbledore paused, looking Snape up and down for a moment, and then turned to go back inside, leaving Snape standing in the hot sunlight alone with the ruins of his plans and hopes at his feet. He kicked the cauldron away. Whatever happened, he resolved to see to it that Dumbledore learned the truth, and that Sirius Black faced the justice he deserved.

THE END

The sequel to this story is ‘The League Against Voldemort,’ in which Snape has to face the truth about Sirius Black and Peter Pettigrew. If you have any comments, especially criticism of language, style or structure, please write them in the review box. Or just write anything, I like reviews!
Blaise
10th November 2000