Strange Emulsion

September 4, Morning to Evening

He got to his feet and strode past the class, his black robes billowing.... "Possibly no one's warned you, Lupin, but this class contains Neville Longbottom. I would advise you not to entrust him with anything difficult. Not unless Miss Granger is hissing instructions in his ear." - Prisoner of Azkaban, "The Boggart in the Wardrobe."

While the students headed to their next class, chattering excitedly about their success with the boggart, Lupin stayed behind in the staff room, locking the shape-shifter back into the wardrobe. Neville's defeat of it had been only temporary, of course, and it would be quite valuable for his third year lessons later in the week with the other houses. He smiled grimly, wondering how many Snapes he was going to wind up seeing with the class of Slytherin house. He glanced at his watch, thought for a moment, and set off for the dungeons at a quick walk.

As he had hoped, Snape was working alone in the Potions lab.

"Come in, Lupin," he said without looking up from his bench. "It seems to me that we have a few things to discuss."

"Indeed we do," Lupin said, "the first of these things being why you felt the need to humiliate one of my students in front of myself and all of his classmates."

Snape looked uncomfortable, but only for a moment. "What I said is quite true, Lupin," but the Professor cut him off.

"Hardly. Longbottom performed most admirably with the boggart this afternoon. Tackled it twice, as a matter of fact, with Miss Granger no where near enough to help him."

"Marvelous," Snape said, setting his knife down with a clang. "Let me guess--the boggart turned into me."

"Ah, yes, as a matter of fact it did." Lupin tried to disguise his small smile by selecting a chair in which to sit.

"And what happened," Snape continued, "when he used that foolish spell you insist on using against these creatures?"

"You became instantly attired in the costume his grandmother is usually seen in." Lupin said this with a straight face, feeling that the effect would be much greater this way.

"A highly useful application against the Dark Arts, to be sure." Snape turned back to his shrivelfig vine. "Let me ask you something of importance, then. When will you next be needing your potion?"

Lupin smiled. "Why, Professor Snape, I can hardly believe that there would be a wizard here who does not know when the full moon occurs."

"Naturally," Snape said, "but I am referring to how long before you wish to begin ingesting it. The longer you take it the easier your time as a wolf will be, but your recovery will also be that much longer."

"I think a day and a half before should be sufficient," Lupin said. "What do you think?"

Snape nodded tersely. "It is what I would recommend. Unfortunately we will not be able to meet that deadline this time. Will you be transforming here?" Snape found that he could not look Lupin in the eye when he asked that particular question.

"In my office," Lupin concurred. Snape made a move to speak, but Lupin stopped him. "With this potion, there really is no reason for me to make the trip to the shack, after all."

"Some might disagree." Snape swept the remainder of the ingredients into the palm of his hand, and then tossed them into an empty cauldron. He worked with obvious haste, but no one watching him could doubt his precision.

"There is something else we need to discuss." Lupin left the statement deliberately vague, but nonetheless he felt the hot knot of apprehension sliding up into his throat.

Snape's eyes flashed at him as though their unusually dark irises were lit from within. "If you are referring to the promise to which Dumbledore bound me over twenty years ago, the answer is no, I do not plan on breaking his trust."

"And what about my trust?" Lupin asked. "Does that mean nothing to you?"

Snape had the odd feeling that he was somehow holding perfectly still when he spoke. "As for that, it means both more and less to me than anything you can imagine."

Lupin felt the words reverberate with a kind of shock. For Severus Snape to be expressing anything other than the ineptitude of his students with superlatives was a shock all on its own. Now he had managed to tangle Remus' mind in a web of mutually exclusive possibilities.

He leaned forward slightly, wanting at once to close the gap between them, and run in something that was a combination of confusion and fear. "Tell me about the 'more' part."

Snape stood in a way that would have been abrupt had it not been so graceful as well. "I owe you no explanations," he said, his voice deliberately slowed, Remus could tell, so that his discomfort would not show so readily. He picked up the cauldron and walked to the open door of the storeroom. Stepping inside, he turned to face Remus. "I will bring the potion to you this evening." He paused and looked pointedly at the small desk Lupin sat hunched behind. "I don't expect you to be here when I get back." Having said this, he closed the door, listening carefully for the sound of Lupin's scraping chair and slow footsteps.

*

Remus let out a long, shuddering sigh and leaned back in his chair, his hand resting over his empty stomach. He glared at the clock, willing the dinner hour to pass swiftly so that he could cease his consideration of even going. His stomach gave a growl of protest, but he chose to ignore it. The confrontation with Snape had been downright mild as they went, but it had been years, over a decade, since they had gone head to head, or even, he reflected, seen each other at all. There had been that one incident, five years ago, when Remus had the chance to catch a glimpse of him in Knockturn Alley. For the few moments that he'd watched him crossing the street Remus had actually considered running to him, but something kept him in check. In the end it wasn't even his fear of humiliation that had kept him at bay, it was the realization that he no more wanted Snape to know his business than Snape wanted his own business known. It had almost been painful to retire into the shadows, but he had done it, not even allowing himself to haunt the spot in the hopes of accidentally seeing him again.

That had been years ago, though, and Remus had not spent every one of his days in practical exile thinking of Severus Snape. Too much of his time in that strange twilight between the wizarding and mundane worlds had been spent just figuring out how to survive, how to earn a living between transformations and, more importantly, how to keep from biting anyone during those times. He'd had nowhere to turn other than into the company of other werewolves, but even then he had not been accepted completely. Even the tames were disdainful of his desire to live among wizards and witches, and though they kept him from the horror that would have been biting a human, they were nowhere near as tame as he himself aspired to be.

"It's been a lonely seventeen years," he thought, and the thought woke him from his reverie. Seventeen years, a lifetime, really, of wandering. He stirred himself out of the chair and began making tea. The Muggle way was good enough for him, especially considering the time he had to kill before sleep would finally take over his hunger. Riffling through the store of tea bags he kept in his desk, he looked for one without caffeine. The fruit flavored ones would be too much like the memory of the food he was missing out on, but perhaps an herbal tea would do. He dropped a chamomile bag into his cup and waited for the kettle to boil.

Stupid, he thought as he searched his desk in vain for even a chocolate digestive biscuit. I should just go down to the hall and eat. We don't even sit near each other! But the memory of Snape's stinging words - those true words were too fresh in his mind - and Remus did not trust himself to remain cheerful or even composed in Snape's presence so soon. Precious little time though it will buy me, he thought, looking at the clock. Snape would be there soon.

Leaning back in his chair, the hot cup of tea perched on the edge of the desk, he felt marginally better. Tomorrow morning would bring a brighter outlook, or, at least, a more resigned one. And, he added as the hot sip of tea literally hit the bottom of his stomach, a large breakfast.

Oh, get over it, a voice chided in his head. Just go and eat. Remus sighed, and looked at the clock. The house elves wouldn't be pleased, but he could just squeak into the hall in time for the last serving. He stood and walked to the door, coming face to face with Snape as he pulled it open.

*

Snape sliced into one of the tender medallions of beef. The stew was particularly good tonight, and Remus always did like beef. He almost choked on a potato at the thought. Why was he thinking about that whiny git anyway, and how was it that he remembered his predilection for beef? How was it that any part of his mind was occupied with any thoughts of him whatsoever? He scowled and washed down the food that seemed stuck in his throat with a swallow of pumpkin juice.

Just a brief look, he thought carefully to himself, just the slightest accidental glance. It has to look like an accident. I just want to see if he is eating the stew, that's all. He lifted his eyes to glance down the long table, and had to control the look of disappointment that threatened to cross his face when he saw Lupin's empty seat.

Quickly, he turned back to his stew. He normally ate very lightly himself, but Lupin was in no shape to be missing a meal.

Damn all, why am I still thinking about him? Before he could take another bite, the answer came to him. Because it was your harsh words that put him off food, you twit.

Severus sighed, toying with another bite of beef. Placing it in his mouth, he felt almost guilty when he found himself enjoying its taste and texture. He was too practical, too stoic, to let all but the greatest hurts keep him from food or sleep--what was the use of being weakened thus against further pains? Yet as he glanced again at Lupin's spot, he knew that Remus was not up to such a show of nonchalance, especially not after the amount of time he had spent away from society.

Severus sat still for a moment, looking down over the student tables. As usual, his gaze came naturally to rest on the Gryffindor table, in particular the section where Potter and his friends usually sat. From the number of times that Potter's eyes would meet his with either fear or apprehension, Snape had to guess that the boy thought these looks were intentional. It was, Snape thought, just another mark of how swollen his head had become, but tonight the three friends were so immersed in some private joke that they did not notice him. So much the better, Snape thought, remembering their affection for Lupin. Given their penchant for cloak-and-dagger type activities, they would probably connect Lupin's absence with Snape's early departure from the table. Thankfully the staff door was directly behind him, so there was no need to attract any more attention than necessary.

*

Stalking away from the kitchen, Snape reflected that of all creatures, house-elves had to make him the most uncomfortable. Their obsequious nature, their fawning, their total lack of self-respect--ugh. Still, they had supplied him with a thermos of stew and a basket full of other food, far more than he had asked for. He walked swiftly to the third floor, hoping that no one would catch him walking so far from the dungeons with this ridiculous basket over his arm.

Lupin's door was shut tight, and even standing back from it Snape could not tell whether or not there was any light inside. He had barely rested his hand on the door handle when it swung in suddenly and he was staring Lupin in the face.

*

Lupin stepped back in shock. "Severus," he said, maintaining his even voice. "I was just on my way to dinner."

With his usual impetuous manner, Snape brushed past him into the small office. Setting the basket down on a clear spot of the desk he turned to Lupin. "I was concerned that you were not at dinner," he said, unable to bite back the words in time. "If you do not maintain an adequate level of nutrition, the potion may not work so well when it is time."

"So you brought me a picnic." A smile played at the corners of his mouth as he thought of Snape requesting food from the house elves. "How thoughtful." His stomach got the better of him, and he lifted the lid of the basket, allowing the rich scent of stew to reach his nose.

"My interest in your eating habits is purely professional." Snape spoke calmly, but felt that he was losing ground with every passing second. To his great discomfort, the smile on Lupin's face was only growing. Was it his imagination, or had it actually grown canine in character over the years?

"Is that why you packed these?" He was holding two spoons in his hand, fanning them so there could be no mistake. Clearing a space on his desk he set the two heavy bowls down and prepared to pour the stew into them.

"That is the doing of the house elves," Snape said, "I have no idea why they might have packed two settings."

"Probably the same reason they saw fit to pack so much food. You're hungry, aren't you?" It managed to be a statement as well as a question. "And you wanted to join me." Lupin settled into his chair, feeling positively content. The best way to make a person like Snape lose his composure was to be perfectly calm, and as he speared a carrot he studiously did not look up from his bowl. "Well, sit down." He held his breath. Either Snape was going to stalk off, or he would be quite within his control for the rest of the evening.

"I'd better make sure that you actually eat, I suppose," Snape said, sitting down to his own bowl. "The first dose of the potion will be ready just a couple of hours." To his surprise he actually was hungry, and there was no reason, he reminded himself, to go hungry for spite.

As they ate, Lupin pulled a crusty baguette from the basket, ripped it in half and passed half to Snape. Snape merely nodded, grateful that his mouth was too full to actually say anything.

The combination of the warmth and the food gave the room an air of something that was almost companionship, and Snape found himself almost giving in to the comfort of the place, warming to Lupin's company.

"Tea, Professor?" Startled, he looked up to see Lupin holding a steaming kettle. "I only have bags, I'm afraid."

"That's fine," Snape said, "Earl Grey if you have it, please."

Lupin dropped a bag into the cup and began pouring the water over it, but frowned as he passed it to Snape. "That's awfully stimulating for this time of night."

Snape let out a sound that might have been a chuckle if it had come from someone else. "I will be up for hours, Lupin," he said, " and do you not think I have any number of potions to reverse the effects of this if I should change my mind?"

Lupin looked at him searchingly. He thought of saying something about how that kind of planning seemed dangerous, the body not being meant for a lab in and of itself, but he thought better of it. Settling down into his chair once more he decided to hazard the cozy familiarity of the fire lit room for some answers. "So," he said, "shall we continue the conversation we were having this afternoon?"

A cloud seemed to pass over Snape's face. "I stand by what I said earlier, Lupin--I owe you no explanations."

Lupin took a calming sip of tea, intent on continuing the conversation. "Ah, but consider this," he said. "once a month I will be ingesting a potion concocted solely by you. I think it would be in my best interest to know precisely where I stand with you."

Snape leaned back in his chair. Predictable, Lupin thought, most comfortable when there is a fight to be had. "Well," Snape said, lazily slipping one arm over the back of the chair, "perhaps you would rather make the potion yourself."

"Not at all," Lupin said evenly, "I was always hopeless at Potions."

"Hardly hopeless," Snape said, suppressing a smile. "You might have done better if you'd managed to separate yourself from Potter and Black for five minutes."

"What was the point?" Lupin asked, embracing the levity that seemed to be touching them, at least for the moment. "We could never have touched your performance."

"I was quite good."

Is he preening? Lupin wondered incredulously, watching as Snape self-consciously adjusted the drape of his robes. He's still vain about all those years ago. So, well he might be. "You were an enfant terrible," he said out loud, "and you knew it."

Snape smiled (it was a small, sour-looking thing) then abruptly became grave again. "Why were you always with them?" he asked. "They took almost nothing seriously. Not like you." The grudging compliment was out of his mouth before he could stop it, and he willed himself not to wince--that would only be compounding the problem.

"Think about who I was, and what I was," Lupin snapped. "I was hardly in the position to go about making acquaintances with people who gave me no reason to trust them. I trusted them, and they protected me tirelessly."

"Awful to be in someone's debt, isn't it?" Snape asked quietly. As he had expected, that simple comment almost had him kicked out of Lupin's office.

"Don't push it, Severus," Lupin snapped. The first name was like a slap in the face for Snape, and Lupin was gratified to actually see his head snap back an almost imperceptible amount. "I may understand a lot more about those years now than I could have then, but understand this." He stopped for a moment and lowered his voice. "I would give anything to see any one of them again."

Snape hesitated; aware from the look Lupin was giving him that his next question was flashing behind his eyes. They were in a stalemate as it was, and Snape decided to break it. "Even Black?"

Lupin hadn't broken his gaze during Snape's silence, but he dropped his eyes upon hearing the old familiar name, now twisted by the Muggle and wizarding worlds alike into something so alien from its origins. "The Sirius Black who is at large bears no resemblance to the young man I was at school with." He looked up, willing himself to meet Snape's eyes. "His betrayal was far more painful than his death could have ever been. And it surprised you as much as any of us."

Snape nodded slowly, his face subdued in the dying light of the fire. "I hated him, but never for any reason as good as the one he gave you."

"So why then?" The heated anger that had washed over him was receding, leaving him weak.

"I hated him because he was always with Potter. I hated Potter because he, having no intimate knowledge of what we were being sheltered from, consistently flouted the rules that were put in place for our own safety, as if he were invincible." He paused, wondering if he should even bring James' son into things, and feeling like he already tacitly had. He pressed on. "And I hated Pettigrew for following you all like a dog, currying your favor where most others' self respect would not let them." He looked into the bottom of his empty cup for a moment, fancying that he could see his reflection there, though the dark glaze given by the tea showed only a slick of colors.

Ever the gracious host, Lupin thought as he proffered a fresh tea bag. Snape passed his cup forward and accepted it back without a word.

"And me?" Lupin asked. "Why precisely did you hate me?"

Snape took a long swallow of tea, burning himself in his haste to quell the rising discomfort that seemed to have invaded his entire body. He waited while the pain dissipated from his throat, leaving behind a cold, sour taste, before he spoke again. "I never hated you," he said. "I tried, but it was beyond me to do so."

Lupin watched as he propped his elbow on the side of the desk and leaned his cheek against the warm side of the cup that he held, a shockingly private gesture. "Well why not?" Lupin had the feeling that the answer would bring him no closer to the question of trust that he had been insisting upon, but it seemed that Snape was not to be put back on that track this evening.

"As you must know," Snape began slowly, "there are certain abilities that are useful, but not prized among our kind. Parseltongue is one of these. Reading auras is another, and even at eleven this ability had begun to make itself known to me, especially in people who had particularly strong ones. Like you. And in yours," he said, speeding his speech to an extent that his students would never hear, "I could clearly see the marks of a pain so great that to some extent it colored every moment of all of your days."

Lupin leaned forward, trying to catch the significance of how this could have saved him from Snape's odium. As if bracing himself, Snape swallowed the rest of the tea in one gulp, welcoming the burn that spread over his chest as a distraction from what he was about to say. "I knew that soon, maybe before I even left Hogwarts, those marks which were in your aura would be in mine. So I could not hate you. I wanted to ask you how you had survived, since no one else I knew with those marks would speak of it, but you were always surrounded by the other three, and I couldn't let them know that I had that dark gift." Lupin's face was a mask of calm, and Snape hoped with a kind of feverish intensity that he had not let go of too much.

Lupin felt his face settling into a blank cipher as he mentally revisited all those years under the filter of Snape's words. It made absolute sense; he had no reason not to believe him, but why would he be revealing this secret, if it was indeed the secret Lupin assumed it to be? He had always assumed that Snape had been, at least briefly, a Death Eater, but he had never heard it from an entirely reliable source. He felt his eyes dropping, powerless not to look at Snape's forearm though it was covered.

Sensing the stare, Snape set his cup on the desk and pushed up his sleeve, revealing an arm that was almost supernatural looking in its uniform whiteness. "Nothing to show for it at the moment," he said, "unless you, too, can read auras."

Lupin shook his head, his suspicions confirmed. "Does Dumbledore," he began.

"I am in Dumbledore's service," he said, "do not ask me again."

Lupin nodded, willing to forgive the outburst. Still, Snape could have considered the amount of time he had been away. "And did it," he began again, and again Snape interrupted him.

"Yes, it hurt, hurt beyond all imagining. Believe it or not, the wards Dumbledore used to secure me into his service hurt, if it is possible, even more. I welcomed it then, but it did not diminish the pain." He looked at the fire, now a collection of low flames just barely clearing the grate. "Pain is a stupid, stupid word," he said. "It does not even begin to describe."

"I agree." Lupin let himself smile, knowing that if he did not the gravity of the entire evening's conversation would metamorphose into something so solemn and terrible it would push them apart forever. "I'll wager you never expected to hear that from my lips."

"It's true." He permitted himself a small sigh, a concession to the stress that had built inside him until he felt that he must scream. He put his hands on the arms of the chair, ready to push himself up, so exhausted from the proceedings he did not trust himself to merely stand.

"Sure you don't want another cup of tea," Lupin joked as he stood. "As it is you may be able to stay awake for half the night."

"As I age I find I hardly need to sleep at all," Snape said seriously.

Lupin resisted the urge to comment that a bit more sleep might improve his mood, and contented himself with shaking a gray lock at him. "As you age," he said mockingly, "or is there something you aren't telling us? A bit of Sleekeasy's hair color?"

"I refuse to dignify that with a response." Snape swept towards the door, but Lupin reached across his path to open it.

"You never did answer my question," he said.

"I am well aware of that." Snape could not keep the smug tone out of his voice. "So, shall I take it that you will be preparing your own potion? You had better work fast." He stood just in the doorframe.

Lupin rested his hand on the doorjamb as he spoke. "I hope not. I suppose tonight's visit will have to be enough assurance that you do not plan on poisoning me."

Snape, feeling much more himself, answered only with a curt nod.

Lupin felt as though a window was closing before his face. Though he knew it was probably foolish, he leapt at the chance to speak before it closed completely. "I enjoyed talking with you tonight."

Snape became animated again at that, looking quickly behind him before speaking again. "I enjoyed it as well." Relief flooded through Lupin's body. Snape looked behind himself again before adding, in a low voice, "There are few enough of us here that it behooves us to stick together, despite our differences."

He had leaned forward to be heard, and Lupin found himself engulfed in the scent of Earl Grey. For a mad second he found himself ready to lean forward himself, to let their faces crash together if it came to that, but he was pulled back to himself at the last moment. Was half an hour of food and drink and semi-pleasant chatter going to make him forget that this was Severus Snape? Instead of leaning forward he grasped each side of the doorjamb and leaned backwards, a casual posture though he was feeling anything but. "Us, Snape," he said, "have you turned into a werewolf too then?"

Snape leaned forward again, but this time there was no mistaking the intimidation inherent in the position of his body. "You know exactly what I'm talking about, Lupin." In one fluid movement he stood and turned, striding away without another glance.

*

Lupin sighed and halfheartedly began clearing up the dinner things and the ever-present mess on his desk, wondering what he had given up and what he had gained by that last comment, by pushing Snape away. Like he's any stranger to pushing people away, Lupin thought, letting the tendrils of bitterness creep into his mind, probably did him a world of good. He wrestled with his conscience a moment before loading the dirty dishes back into the basket and setting it outside the door for a house-elf.

And what about you? A voice seemed to ask in his head as he stormed around the room, looking at, then rejecting a nightshirt on the grounds that he would have to see Snape again so soon. What is it that would have done you a world of good?

"I don't even want to think about it," Lupin said obstinately, addressing the empty room as if the mocking voice was to be found there. So saying he threw a heavy wool cloak around himself and resolved to brood for a good while.

*

Snape paced through the labyrinthine dungeons below the Potions lab, not even feeling the damp cold that would have soaked anyone else through to the bone. Tonight he took no pleasure in the way the tiny snakes and rats fled before his echoing footsteps; he barely even heard them at all. He had resolved to walk faster and faster until the pounding of his heart could obscure the sensation that had been placed over it, the feeling that his chest had somehow been laid open at the sternum. Still, the exercise brought him no peace; years of climbing the stairs between the dungeons and the castle proper had left him far too in form for a brisk walk to produce that kind of oblivion. Quite by accident, he found himself back at the door to his rooms.

The castle is moving again, he thought moodily as he put the finishing touches on Lupin's potion. Through the years it seemed that there were times when the castle enjoyed moving its rooms about more than others. For an institution that purportedly frowned on the Dark Arts so sternly, the capricious attitudes of the castle were tolerated quite well. He quickly added the last, most sensitive ingredient, a strange plant that glowed flourescently for only an hour once picked. The effects of the caffeine were now indistinguishable from the fever of the potion itself, the thrill of challenge and possible discovery. As he watched the potion steep, he found himself thinking of other times that a transit of the castle had taken far longer or far less time than usual, thanks to its bewildering penchant for changing rooms around. Well, if it thinks for itself, where does it keep its brain? Snape had once asked Dumbledore, and had only gotten the old enigmatic smile in response. It was almost comforting, though, to feel the castle's decidedly benign, if sentient, presence. As he picked up the goblet and prepared to leave his room, he had the distinct sensation that there was a kind of laughter in the air. You'd better not try anything cute, he warned silently as he set off once again for Lupin's modest chamber.