Strange Emulsion

Sept. 4, night, to Sept 5, morning

The steam that reached his nostrils was repugnant, almost sickening, but he did not dare to hold the goblet any further away from his body as he walked. The air in the corridors seemed fetid, apart even from the potion, and Snape found himself longing for the first truly crisp days of autumn, instead of this clamminess that managed to chill even when the air was uncomfortably warm. Unexpectedly, he found himself thinking ahead to the next potion. He would have more time then, naturally, and the process would not be so rushed. He frowned as he reconsidered the adjustments he had made to the potion, given the fact that it would only be one full day before the moon phase was complete instead of the preferable day and a half.

Gah, it does smell awful though, he thought as he slipped into one of the many staircases hidden within the thick walls. Maybe I'll add some anise to the next batch. He sighed, thinking that he would not even dare to make that modest change.

In the third floor corridor he paused, stretching his senses ahead to search out any of the other professors, or random students, who might be lurking. Lupin's office was the only one on that floor with any semblance of living quarters behind it, a good arrangement in terms of his privacy, but meager none the less. Snape sensed no unwanted guests, and continued, his foot falls less sharp in the deserted hallway.

The windows here were high narrow slits in the stone, a vestige from when the castle had been only a rampart and nothing more. The beautiful glass windows of the great hall and most of the towers had come decades later, when the safety of Hogwarts was no longer the main concern. Snape felt weary for a moment contemplating the vast layers of practically unknowable history that cloaked the school, and he rested for a moment in front of one of the narrow windows.

The moon rising over the lake would normally have been a sight to inspire a kind of grudging admiration from him, but now the sight of its fecund looking roundness brought only anxiety. He lifted his cupped hand until the web between his thumb and his first finger were tracing the waxing side, clearly showing the sliver of deep blue sky where tomorrow night the sun's light would be fully reflected. He stood there, lost in the reverie of moon phases and the immutability of time until the strong odor of the potion brought him back to his errand. Reluctantly, he prepared to face Lupin once more.

Lupin leaned against the cool stone wall, letting his cheek touch the rough surface as he sat propped up in his bed. The nearly full moon was more than making its presence known--he hadn't felt so low since the dementor had showed itself on the train. Still, he thought, do you really think it's all because of the moon? He sighed and shifted his cheek to find a cooler spot. Strange how his body could be so cold while his face was so hot. At these times, he found, he could either exercise his will and harness the power of the moon to discover strange and wonderful things, drawing parallels between all the areas of his study, developing spells, working like a daemon, or he could succumb to the malaise that such hypersensitivity also engendered. He didn't so much as feel his heart pounding as he felt the tide of his blood crashing against the surface of every vein, every artery, every minute vessel. Wherever the capillaries branched out into fine webs was the worst, so besides being hot, his face felt awash in the sickening lash of his own blood.

I should get something done, he thought, listlessly looking over at the desk. Goodness only knows what that potion is going to do to me. He felt his lips stretch in something wholly unlike a smile as he considered Snape's probable glee at his ruination.

Next time, he thought, looking over at the desk, next time I will work through this and produce something, but not now. Now, he knew, would produce only things colored in anger and a strange kind of shame. It would be no good to try to synthesize something with those strong emotions doing half the work for him. Closing his eyes he gave in to the ache in his head and the relentless buffeting of his own blood, and when the knock came on the door it was practically indistinguishable from the pounding in his head.

Snape lifted his hand to knock again, practically seething with a combination of irritation and concern. Irritation in case Lupin was keeping him waiting on purpose, and concern that he had either left the room or else was unable to answer the door. He knocked again, louder this time, and wrinkled his nose at the unpleasant odor of the potion, then grimaced at the thought that at least he didn't have to drink it.

Carefully he nudged the door open and peered through the opening. "Lupin?" he called. "Are you in?" He was surprised at the softness of his own voice, which conveyed none of the impatience he had meant for it.

"Please come in." Lupin's voice carried a rasp that had not been there but an hour earlier.

When Snape stepped into the room, it seemed that Lupin was in fact on his way to the door, but moving very slowly. His face was just visible above the drape of an unseasonably warm cloak, and his cheeks were as red as if he had been drinking, but with an eerie brightness that alcohol could not have produced. Snape disguised his discomfort by pressing the goblet into Lupin's outstretched hands.

"Quickly, please," he said, but upon feeling the tremor in Lupin's hands he did not dare to let go, did not dare to chance the potion falling, ruined, to the floor. "Let me help you." Lupin brought the goblet to his own mouth and tilted it, shuddering obviously when the first contents touched his mouth. He began drinking faster, and Snape stepped forward to maintain his grasp on Lupin's hands as they held the cup, not daring to let go should he spill what could not be quickly enough replaced.

Lupin lowered the cup and looked straight at Snape as a parade of expressions crossed his face. First relief as the color began to drain almost immediately from his cheeks, then terror, as Snape had expected, as the potion began to take hold of his body. It was when the unmistakable look of nausea crossed his features that Lupin finally dropped the goblet, and Snape found himself clutching nothing but air surrounded by two long delicate hands. The astonishment of feeling them, suddenly, bird-like against his own palms, was enough to distract him for a moment from the urgency of the situation. Abruptly he recovered himself, and dropped Lupin's hands as swiftly as Lupin had dropped the goblet.

Reaching out, he swiftly undid the clasp that was pressing against Lupin's neck, sending the cloak to the floor in ungainly folds. Lupin coughed once, deep in his throat, and his eyes began to water as Snape grasped his shoulders.

"Fresh air," he commanded. "Come with me."

He couldn't tell if Lupin was resisting him outright, or was simply unable to move with any acuity, but Snape nearly had to drag his limp form to the nearest window. By the time Lupin was standing in its cool draft, Snape could see that his back was already heaving. "You mustn't vomit," he commanded. He grasped the back of Lupin's head none too gently and pushed his face into the fresh cool air. Keeping a firm hold on the back of his neck, he pressed the other hand to Lupin's back, then dragged it down his spine as he had once seen Poppy do with a sick student. "Take a deep breath," he said, his voice now more of a plea than a command. "You'll be alright." Beneath his hands he could feel the stilling of Lupin's body, the resignation to the effects of the potion. "All right then?" His hands had come to rest square on his shoulders, and it was by this means that he turned Lupin from the window once he had nodded.

"I lost my mind for a bit there," Lupin said quietly, obviously embarrassed. "I'll be alright though." He looked at Snape with something bordering on hope.

Snape found himself first touched, then annoyed with the look. "Is that a statement or a question, Lupin?" he asked as he let his hands fall from the other professor's shoulders.

Remus quaked inside as soon as the hands were gone. He felt covered in alternate patches of hot and cold, a thousand times worse than the prickling fever that came with the flu. He swayed a little as he tried to think of an answer. "I can't say," he almost whispered, "I've never felt like this before."

"Like what?" Snape knew that his manner could have been better, but damnit, Poppy was the mediwitch, not him. Let her deal with the bedside, he would concoct the potion and let her administer it from now on.

"Like I have a fever, sort of." It was miles away from describing how he really felt, but the nausea was coming back, and Lupin felt safer with his mouth closed.

Snape laid a hand flat against Lupin's forehead. He didn't feel abnormally warm, especially for a werewolf about to undergo a transformation, but he was surprised to feel the weight of his entire body shift towards his hand. "And right now, how do you feel?" Snape asked. It was too ridiculous, really, to be playing mediwitch like this in the hallway. Hopefully no one would come by.

"At the moment, I feel alright." Snape took his hand away, and the rash of cold and warm came back; he felt his arm being grasped, and it receded again.

"Notice anything?" Snape asked carefully, steering him away from the window.

"I feel better when you're touching me," Lupin admitted, and then shrank from the honesty in those words.

"It doesn't have to be me," Snape said confidently, relieved by his own realization. "The potion was abnormally strong, and it has temporarily ungrounded you. Any human contact at all would reverse the effect sufficiently enough for you to feel somewhat better." Snape shifted his hold to Lupin's elbow and began steering him back to his office. "We're getting your cloak," he said, "you can't be left alone tonight. I'll alert Poppy from your fireplace."

Lupin groaned inwardly. He had nothing but affection for Poppy Pomfrey, but the idea of being held essentially captive in her infirmary made him feel about eleven again, and not in a good way. "Does it have to be her?" he asked. "I'm not actually sick, after all."

Snape checked a smile as he maneuvered Lupin through the narrow door. As much professional respect as he had for Hogwarts' resident mediwitch, he had to admit that her involvement in the matter of this potion was most unwelcome. She had been piqued to discover that she had not been consulted on the matter of the potion's administration, and it was only a few well-chosen words from Dumbledore that finally put her at ease.

"I don't want her interfering," Lupin whined, his voice muffled as Snape botched the simple process of helping him with his cloak.

How can I argue with that? Snape thought as he tugged at the excessive fabric of the cloak. "What do you suggest?" he asked. To his knowledge, Lupin had no friends at Hogwarts close enough to impose upon in that manner.

"It's your potion," Lupin pointed out, "shouldn't you stay to see if it keeps working?"

Snape rolled his eyes. "What would there be to see tonight," he asked, "the full moon is not until tomorrow. You simply need someone to stay and make certain you do not fall ill again, as you did when you first tasted it."

"And who would that be if not Poppy?" Lupin asked. He felt faint again, and moved his elbow in a silent request for Snape to tighten his grip.

"Well, I certainly can't stay here," Snape said. He doubted if there was even a clear space large enough for him to lie down, and goodness only knew what might be lurking in the various glass tanks and bolted hatboxes. Lupin only raised his eyebrows and shrugged in response, clearly intimating at a solution. Snape opened his mouth to protest--no one came into Chez Snape unless they had a very, very good reason, and clearly Lupin... he sighed. Clearly Lupin had a point. "Grab your things," he said. "You'll be alright well before your classes in the morning."

"Then I need bring nothing," Lupin said, "let's go."

Even though it was difficult walking down the narrow staircase with Lupin's arm in his grasp, Snape could not concede to the idea of walking like that through the main corridors. Powerless though he was to hate Lupin, the idea of walking along practically holding his hand was not a pleasant one.

Snape breathed a sigh of relief as they reached his door. They had not been seen. Now all that remained was to endure this awkward night, and things would be back to normal in the morning. "This way," he said, leading Lupin through the small anteroom at the beginning of his chambers. Though rather small they were sumptuous enough, especially considering their location in the dungeon. Dark wood panels gleamed on the walls, and their sheen in the firelight seemed to make up for the fact that there were no windows. Lupin was not surprised to see that a lab bench covered two of the four walls of the main room--it was covered in ingredients, but unlike his own space, it was immaculately organized.

"Bringing your work home with you?" Lupin asked, inclining his head towards the workspace.

"I find it best to keep my own projects markedly separate from the affairs of the school," Snape said simply. "But I am going to prepare tomorrow's potion in here tonight, to keep a closer eye on you. You will stay on the couch while I get the necessary ingredients from the classroom." As Lupin sat he let go of his arm, then stood back to appraise the effect this had on him. "Still feeling shaky?" he asked.

"Yes, but it's a bit better," Lupin said quietly. Swathed in that huge cloak he looked small and pale.

"You will have to manage for a few moments, I am afraid," Snape said. He disappeared into the bedroom, and came back with a thick duvet and a pillow. "Please make yourself comfortable."

Lupin was barely able to contain his tremors as he arranged the pillow against the arm of the couch. The linen pillowcase kept sliding on the leather arm, and finally he gave up, settling with his head against the arm rather than on it. He managed to pull the duvet over himself, where the weight and warmth quelled the chills a bit, but the sick feeling of floating in space, alternately cold and hot, remained.

The sound of the glass flasks and beakers on the black enamel countertop brought him back to his senses somewhat. What was he doing in Snape's own living quarters? What kind of madness was this? Suddenly every worry, every anxiety he had seemed to come crashing down upon him. He wanted to sit bolt upright and blurt everything he knew about Black, and damn the consequences. After he was done with the fact that Black was an Animagus and the secret tunnels beneath Hogwarts, who knew what else might come flying out? His will to remain silent ran out, and he found himself struggling to sit up. He didn't fly up, as he had expected, but rather was still raising himself up on his elbows when Snape appeared at his side.

"Stay still, Lupin," he said. "If there's something you need I will get it for you." The words were kind but his tone was harsh. "First though, drink this. Oh, don't look so alarmed, it's only water." Lupin took the tall goblet and drank the cool water without stopping. "Are you tired?" he asked.

"Exhausted." Lupin wanted to add that he was also cold, but found that he no longer had the strength to continue. The hot and cold chills were stronger now than they had been at the first, and he had a bad feeling that the nausea might return as well.

Snape reached out and laid his hand flat against Lupin's forehead again, noting how some of the flush seemed to drain from his face almost immediately. "Lie back down," he said, "unless you need more water." He could barely feel Lupin weakly shake his head as he sank back down upon the pillow.

He sighed, resigned to staying by Lupin's side until sleep could overtake his malaise. Looking around the room, he determined what he would need by him to make this time bearable.

"Accio armchair," he said, pointing his wand at a nearby chair. "Accio ottoman, Accio water goblet." He surveyed his vast bookshelves, trying to decide what would keep him occupied enough to forget this odd situation. Something light, literally as well as figuratively, considering he only had one hand free to him. "Accio Dracula," he muttered, thinking, well, I could use a good laugh.

With the chair pressed next to the couch, he found that his hand came to rest quite naturally on Lupin's forehead, and as he turned the pages of his book he forgot that he would be free to move as soon as Lupin fell asleep. Lucy had been decapitated before he lifted his eyes to note the fire growing low.

Cautiously he got up from the chair, feeling absolutely bizarre as his hand peeled away from the other man's forehead--it was practically stuck there, and when he looked down there was a perfect red imprint of his hand against the now pale forehead. That will fade, right? He thought as he experimentally stroked the edges of the print with his fingertips.

Lupin did not stir as he fed another log onto the fire. Slowly he sat down on the hearth and took off his boots, laying them silently on the floor. He walked the few steps to the couch, laying his feet flat against the stone floor so as not to make even the slightest sound, and leaned over Lupin's sleeping form. It appeared that he was still breathing the deep slow breaths of normal undisturbed sleep, so Snape stood and walked to his work bench, turning and looking at Lupin twice during the brief trip.

It is only concern, he mused, nothing more. Arranging the ingredients in his typically precise order, he resolved to clear his mind of any thoughts other than the potion itself. It was a caution that even his most advanced students were not yet ready to grasp, the fact that while the correct ingredients in the correct proportions were essential, intent and emotion could ruin even the most carefully concocted potion. And what might this turn in to, if you didn't clear your mind? The question came seemingly from nowhere, and he banished it with a quick shake of his head.

The acts inherent in the making of a potion were the same from the simplest mixture to the most complicated amalgamation of elements, and he always felt his mind emptying as he arranged the various paraphernalia. Only work could make him forget the images and formless thoughts that had been swirling in his mind, somewhere behind both the thoughts of the potion itself and the imagery of Bram Stoker.

When it was finished he stood watching it cool, losing himself in the strange shapes the steam made as it hit the cooler air. He walked towards the couch again, trying to discern if the entire apartment had cooled to the same extent. Lupin became restless as he stood between the couch and the fire, kicking his feet against the duvet and muttering incoherently. Leaning closer, Snape saw the red colour rising again in his cheeks. "Quiet, quiet," he murmured as he sat on the end of the couch and methodically began to untangle his feet from the blanket. Freeing one, he decided to take his boots off. They look like baked potatoes, Snape thought grimly as he wrestled with a knot at the top of the misshapen boot. The laces were frayed, and looked as though they were actually the composites of two different sets, carefully tied together a number of times. As he worked the first boot off he was puzzled to see that Lupin was wearing two socks on each foot, and it soon became clear that that was the only way for him to cover each foot completely, given the gaping holes throughout the thin cloth. Snape stood, watching for any sign that Lupin might be noticing the absence of his touch. Sure enough, he began kicking again almost immediately, though there was nothing binding him now. Snape pressed his hand against his forehead before hurrying off to his room.

It's not like I care about his socks, Snape thought as he silently slid open one of the drawers in his bureau, I'm simply bound by the tenets of being a good host. Even if it is a rather unwanted guest. As he walked back to the main room, socks in hand, he felt a sense of the thoughts he'd been banishing rise up from the back of his mind, and he turned sharply, as if they'd literally come from behind him, not from his own mind.

Once Lupin's feet were covered again, Snape hurried to the potion and began to pour it into a flask. Pushing in the stopper, he looked up to see that it was already past midnight, already the Fifth of September. It will be a difficult day for you, Lupin, he thought as he secured the potion in a cupboard. But from the looks of you, you already know that. Snape consulted a chart lying open on his desk--the moon would not be full for nearly twenty-one more hours, and Lupin would stay a wolf for an hour before and almost four hours afterwards. Still, it would be a difficult morning for him.

Lupin tossed and writhed in his sleep, but showed no signs of waking. I'm sorry, Lupin, Snape thought, it won't be this way next month. He shuddered to think of what would happen if he did wake in that state, and it was with a rather resigned air that he fetched his own blanket and pillow from his room, and settled into the chair for the night, his hand resting on Lupin's head once more. As soon as Snape's hand molded itself to the curve of his skull the werewolf quieted, and it wasn't long after that when Snape fell asleep himself.

Despite being in the dungeon, Snape always found himself waking with the first light, unseen though it was. Sure enough, when he looked up at the clock's face, dimly illuminated in the glowing ashes of the fire, he saw that it was just barely five thirty.

"Accio solei," he murmured, and the chambers were filled with the odd blue light typical of autumn mornings. He drew his hand away from Lupin, and was relieved to find that this action was not met with further thrashing; it was high time the effects of the potion were wearing off.

He had almost drowsed back to sleep when a sharp sound from the couch brought him back to alertness. It was Lupin, opening and closing his mouth. Then a strange little smile, clearly visible in the strengthening light, and a yawn. Snape sat forward, waiting, hoping that he would merely wake. A look of intense worry seemed to cross Lupin's face, as he knit his eyebrows and frowned. The face gymnastics continued, and Snape, who had not watched anyone wake from a deep sleep for a very long time, leaned over him in concern. His face seemed to freeze with his lips pursed, and Snape held his breath, waiting for the next strange symptom. Lupin took a deep breath, then,

"Boo." He smiled as he opened his eyes, their edges crinkling as he watched Snape first jump at the sound, then back away from him slowly.

"Very funny. How long have you been awake?" Snape demanded.

"Mmmm." Lupin stretched, almost hitting Snape in the face. "Since you started leaning over me, I think." His smile grew wider, increasing the canine element that Snape found so disturbing. "What were you looking for?"

"I wanted to make sure that you were alright," Snape said simply, feeling cowed in the light of that smile.

Lupin flipped himself on to his stomach and pushed himself up on his elbows, all in an instant. "Sure it wasn't something else?" The reticent expression on Snape's face did little to disguise his discomfort, a fact that Lupin found empowering.

Snape could feel the heat from Lupin's face against his own, and wondered briefly if he might be running a fever. "I don't know what you're talking about, but would you just give up?"

Lupin wagged his head back and forth as he spoke. "Not until you finish the conversation we started yesterday." He was almost singing, putting on a show of confidence he barely possessed.

"We hardly have time for that," Snape said, coming back to himself, "considering how badly you need to brush your teeth, among other things." He stood, thinking of nothing other than getting away from Lupin's smile and that radiant heat.

"Guess I should go," Lupin said, standing and folding the duvet. He set it on the couch and reached for his boots. "Though I don't expect I'll be in any shape for conversation tonight." He paused as he looked down at his feet. "What happened to my socks?"

"They are still next to your boots," Snape said, "I just thought these might be a bit more serviceable."

"I can't take your socks," Lupin said. "Not that I suppose you'd want them back now." He began pulling on his boots.

"Keep them. Dumbledore gives me a pair every year, and I never wear them." Snape shook his head, thinking of how every Christmas, no matter what else his gift might be, there was sure to be a pair of very warm socks attached to the wrapping.

Lupin stood to go. "When can I expect you?"

Snape put down the kettle he was filling with water and turned to face him. "That depends on whether or not you'll be going to the shack, as I suggested." As he had expected, Lupin simply shook his head. "Then you'd better come here, directly after supper, no later than seven. Next month you should be able to stay wherever you like."

"Thank you." Lupin felt suddenly that he had to leave, had to get back to his own home, such as it was, on the third floor, and away from Snape.

"And," Snape called as Lupin reached the door, "I'm sorry that this month's potion had to be so harsh." He felt exposed, as if the apology had opened him up to a mortal wound.

Lupin nodded. "It's alright." He held Snape's eye contact for a moment before leaving, pressing the door shut with an almost silent click as he left.