Strange Emulsion

You must really love children.

That was the kind of comment teachers like Sprout and Vector got when they announced their profession to a stranger in the Three Broomsticks--Snape could remember hearing the words ad nauseum during the days of the Order of the Phoenix. They were never directed at him, of course, and although he could not see his own figure as it swept swiftly down the corridors, he knew of plenty of reasons that no one ever presumed to ask him that particular question.

It did not take a particular love of children to teach. That was the line Vector usually took, and people were fairly willing to believe, after all, that she might possess no special affection for the individuals in her care. Sprout was another story--there was a woman who had a real space in her heart for each student who came through her greenhouses, who truly wanted to share her knowledge with all of the students, no matter how young.

Snape did not particularly want to be a teacher; time and time again he had explained this to Dumbledore, but as a teacher he had fairly few wishes. That the students would show up on time, not waste his time, and perhaps take something of his hard won wisdom and apply it to their own lives, thereby reducing the amount of sheer stupidity in the world. Most of the time, and especially of late, he had been sorely disappointed.

Dumbledore had agreed readily to take over his Potions class, not even asking whether or not he should simply take over Lupin's class instead. There was a slight hitch in his stride when he remembered this break in Dumbledore's usually unflappable logic, and wondered, for a moment, if the man suspected there was anything between them. Certainly not. They had been models of decorum.

The DADA classroom was on the third floor, and let in a positively annoying amount of sunlight. He rubbed his fingers across the front of his forehead, staving off a migraine for as long as he could. There were remedies for it, of course, but they were all in the basement, along with Lupin, and he could not risk making the trip there and back in the few minutes left until the beginning of class.

He turned his head towards the sound of footsteps, expecting the students to be approaching en masse, but there was only one student who deigned to be even a few minutes early. Of course.

"Miss Granger." She snapped out of her preoccupation quickly enough at that, he noticed, nodding at him before she placed her bag carefully next to her usual seat.

"Professor Snape," she said, still standing, as if she felt it might be rude to sit while there were only the two of them in the room. "Are you taking Professor Lupin's place this afternoon?"

"Very astute of you, Miss Granger." His brows furrowed slightly as something like confusion crossed her features. "Does this surprise you?"

"Somewhat, of course," she said, "we always expect our assigned professors." Her hand tightened around a small sheaf of papers she was holding, almost as if she wished to hide them behind her back, but could not, as she was being watched so closely.

"He is not feeling well." It was a test, a line he was casting on the waters, to see if she would bite. His earlier animosity towards Lupin and all of his apathy and depression was still there, yet it was fading somewhat beneath the apprehension he felt facing down a mere thirteen year old girl.

"That is unfortunate." Again, that little nod before she began to turn to go back to her seat.

"Miss Granger." She stopped. "Was there something you wished to speak to Professor Lupin about? You arrived quite early."

She colored a bit at that, only a bit, two round spots of red darkening what he now realized were rather pale cheeks.

"Only some notes I took on some creatures we've not yet studied." The color darkened again.

"Very admirable. Of course, I would expect any student of normal intelligence to be bored to tears by the pace Lupin is keeping at the moment."

"It was more that I had a particular interest." She was standing still, neither turning towards her seat nor stepping backwards, as if something had paralyzed her.

"Bring them here."

The trick with any experiment, he knew, was to provoke the ingredients to a reaction. The only reaction he had from her was a stutter of a step forward, a clear wish not to disobey the orders of a teacher with a fierce desire to protect whatever she was holding.

"I assure you, I am nearly as learned in magical creatures as is Professor Lupin." He let a smile curl the edge of his lips, knowing that a real smile on his face was worth more than any sneer could possibly be.

"I have no doubt," she said, "but I'd prefer to wait for Professor Lupin. It was a matter I was speaking to him especially on."

"Bring them to me." He extended one hand only slightly, the gesture of a man expecting without a doubt to be obeyed. She stepped forward, coming only as close as she had to in order to hand them over without leaning.

The sheets of parchment in his hand were gibberish when he looked at them, Greek symbols intermingling in one word with Latin and Cyrillic letters. He laid one sheet on the desk and touched it with the tip of his wand.

"Reveal yourself." In the corner of his eye, he could see Miss Granger watching him with an expectant look on her face.

The symbols resolved themselves into shimmering bold letters, revealing one phrase only.

"Cheaters never prosper." He looked at her, only to find her repressing a smile. "Do you encrypt all of your notes in this way?"

"Not all of them, sir," she said, "only certain ones."

He thought of cutting remarks as to how brilliant she must think herself, to go to the trouble of encrypting her own notes, then remembered his own torment at being constantly asked for his, and the simple pleasure he derived from passively thwarting those who called themselves his peers.

"Not your Potions notes, clearly," he said, "or else Potter and Weasley would be doing far worse than they are."

He smirked after a moment. She understands the benefits of silence, he thought to himself, impressive.

The classroom began filling, then, students running in moments before the bell chimed through the school. The anxious look did not fade from Hermione's face, though, and it took him only a moment to see that Potter's seat was empty.

"We will begin where Professor Lupin left off. Not that he left any indication as to where that might have been. Take out your texts."

There was a general chorus of groans, but the class complied.

Snape continued to look at Hermione as the class bent their heads over their texts, yet no one noticed. He pursed his lips, thinking. Dark circles under her eyes, a slight blue tinge to her fingernails--it all added up, including her apparent perception into Lupin's true nature. He had decided to have a word with her when the door flew open, followed by a stammering Potter.

"The lesson began ten minutes ago, Potter, so I think we'll make it ten points from Gryffindor. Sit down."

The boy didn't challenge his hyperbole, just skipped straight to the histrionics. Typical. "Where is Professor Lupin?" Goodness, but the boy could glare. What a wasted talent on one without an ounce of real righteousness in him.

"He said he is feeling too ill to teach today." The dignity he had to impart to Lupin's "condition" made the sides of his mouth curl. "I believe I told you to sit down?"

"What's wrong with him?" How the boy could waste so much energy on such a little thing was something hardly to be contemplated.

"Nothing life threatening." Again, that twisting feeling at his mouth. "Five more points from Gryffindor, and if I have to ask you to sit down again it will be fifty."

After the ensuing battle with the half-wit he turned back to the rest of the class, who were, by now, no longer looking at their texts.

Potter, though, was too visible to miss, even in the sea of faces, his own face glowing like a Guy Fawkes firecracker. Clearly, he was only moments from jumping up, only moments from yelling "what did you do to Professor Lupin," which, clearly would not do at all.

"As I was saying before Potter interrupted, Professor Lupin has not left any record of the topics you have covered so far --"

"Please, sir, we've done boggarts, Red Caps, kappas, and grindylows," that would be the Granger girl, of course, "and we're just about to start --"

"Be quiet," he said. Really, one would think the girl would have some head for subtlety. "I did not ask for information. I was merely commenting on Professor Lupin's lack of organization."

"He's the best Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher we've ever had," said Dean Thomas boldly, and there was a murmur of agreement from the rest of the class. Snape gritted his teeth, temper about to boil as these unschooled children voiced their opinion that Lupin was clearly the finer man. And suddenly, the idea that Lupin, with his easy capitulation to his own emotions, should inspire such mindless devotion in someone rankled, and threatened to crowd out all the charity he had developed in the walk to the classroom altogether.

"You are easily satisfied. Lupin is hardly overtaxing you -- I Would expect first years to be able to deal with Red Caps and grindylows. Today we shall discuss --" Now would come the test of his theory, as well as a rather satisfying, if rather final, way to deal with Lupin, should his theory turn out to be incorrect.

He flicked through the textbook, to the very last chapter, wondering if the students even had that particular part of the book.

"Werewolves." The word sent a memory running down his spine, the sight of wolf fur and the jingling of a bell, but he shook it off as quickly as it had come.

"But, sir," said Hermione, seemingly unable to restrain herself, "we're not supposed to do werewolves yet, we're due to start hinkypunks --"

"Miss Granger," he said, now sure that his guess had been correct all along, "I was under the impression that I am teaching this lesson, not you. And I am telling you all to turn to page 394." He glanced around again. 'All of you! Now!"

With many bitter sidelong looks and some sullen muttering, the class opened their books.

"Which of you can tell me how we distinguish between the werewolf and the true wolf?" said Snape.

It shouldn't have been so unusual for Hermione's hand to go unnoticed, especially if Lupin had been doing his job, yet the stillness of the rest of the class led him to believe that perhaps Lupin allowed her to carry the lesson far more often than was good for her.

"Anyone?" Snape said, ignoring Hermione. To truly test them, he would have to insult them. Not that that would be difficult.

"Are you telling me that Professor Lupin hasn't even taught you the basic distinction between --"

"We told you," said Parvati suddenly, "we haven't got as far as werewolves yet, we're still on --"

"Silence! Well, well, well, I never thought I'd meet a third-year class who wouldn't even recognize a werewolf when they saw one. I shall make a point of informing Professor Dumbledore how very behind you all are...."

"Please, sir," said Hermione, whose hand was still in the air, "the werewolf differs from the true wolf in several small ways. The snout of the werewolf --"

"That is the second time you have spoken out of turn, Miss Granger, Five more points from Gryffindor for being an insufferable know-it-all." That ought to cool her enthusiasm for answering the question, and spur any of her little defenders to action. Yet none of them seemed to know--the class was silent as she looked at the floor, her eyes full of tears. Well, none but him had to know that they were there for reasons other than utter humiliation, and none had to know that he had humiliated her for reasons other than the pure pleasure of the thing.

Then, a Weasley's voice interrupted his reverie.

"You asked us a question and she knows the answer! Why ask if you don't want to be told?"

To answer, it would not do for the boy to have anything else to focus on. He walked forward, until they were nearly nose to nose.

"Detention, Weasley," Snape said, and that, at least, had some ring of victory to it. "And if I ever hear you criticize the way I teach a class again, you will be very sorry indeed."

He walked among them, criticizing Lupin's clearly lax grading skills. The children would never improve if they were led to believe that sub-par efforts still netted passing grades. Apparently Lupin was of the school of thought that a barely adequate effort merited a passing grade while those just above average deserved kudos for their displays.

"Very poorly explained... That is incorrect, the kappa is more commonly

found in Mongolia..." He paused then, waiting for someone to have the gumption to correct him, but not even Granger spoke up, "Professor Lupin gave this eight out of ten? I wouldn't have given it three...."

When the bell rang at last, Snape held them back.

"You will each write an essay, to be handed in to me, on the ways you recognize and kill werewolves. I want two rolls of parchment on the subject, and I want them by Monday morning. It is time somebody took this class in hand."

After arranging the terms of the Weasley boy's detention, Snape slumped against the desk, betraying a weariness he never would have shown in front of other students or staff. Ridiculously grateful for the fact that the day was over, he retired to the Potions classroom.

As he worked, methodically mixing the prepared ingredients from his own stores, he felt the animosity he had held towards Lupin fading, dissolving as he contemplated the possible reasons behind the werewolf's melancholy and lethargy.

He knew Lupin was up and moving about behind the door to his rooms, though he did not actually hear him. It came as no surprise, though, when the door squeaked open.

"How were they?" The werewolf settled himself on the old chair at the far side of the room, his voice barely reaching Snape over the sounds of two boiling cauldrons.

"Uninspiring, as usual. Apparently the entire class expects Granger to carry them through any question that is posed, no matter how simple." He wanted to turn, to look and see that the depression had not etched any permanent lines in his lover's face, but the irritation and anger still remained, and he did not look.

"Well, what did you ask them?" There was real concern in his voice, but if it took concern that Snape would mistreat his precious Gryffindors to get him out of bed in the middle of the afternoon, then so be it.

"I asked how one could tell the difference between the common wolf and the werewolf."

There was silence, then, and he wondered if Lupin might explode in anger, but all that came was a soft voice.

"We haven't covered werewolves yet," he said, a slight smile touching his lips. "They're at the very end of the book, you know."

Snape extinguished the fire under the first cauldron with a wave of his wand, decanting the pearlescent white potion into a stoppered flask as he spoke. "And what are you going to do when the time comes to cover that subject, Lupin, have you ever thought of that?"

Lupin flexed his fingers on the edge of the chair's arms, a gesture eerily reminiscent of his wolf paws with their claws. "The entire school is under a gentle but effective confundus charm on that count. They won't be harmed. As for covering the subject, Minerva is going to do a chapter on werewolves with the third years under the auspices of transfiguration, so they won't want for the theory of the thing."

Snape extinguished the second flame, then poured the murky green liquid into a nearby mug. The mug wasn't clean, but it hardly mattered, as the headache potion was of a nastiness unto itself.

"Well, your charm is hardly fool-proof. Hermione Granger knows well enough what you are."

Either he was mad, or imagining things, or else a bit of pride really did touch on Lupin's features at that news. "Remarkable girl," he said, "and full of sense too. I'm sure she won't turn me in. If she's so sure, she must also have figured out that I'm safe as well. I wonder why the confundus stopped working on her."

Snape sat down on the lab stool, facing Lupin but still nearly a room's length from him. "I expect it has to do with her Menarche. The burst of magical intuition a witch will receive from that is rather unpredictable. That combined with her intelligence would have been enough to thwart the confundus, at least temporarily." He picked up the mug, blew across the surface of the fetid concoction, and drank, grimacing only slightly. "That is for her," he said, nodding towards the flask. "Should do the trick, on the confundus and her anemia as well."

"You should send it to Poppy." Lupin got up, bending as he did as if he had some physical ailment that pained him. And well he might, Snape reflected, stiff in the joints from lying around in bed all day. "She'd be mortified to know that you noticed." He stood at Snape's side and looked in to the flask, watching the white on white phase changes swirl without diminishing.

"Too true." Snape regarded the flask a moment more, then turned to Lupin. "There's something else. I assigned them an essay on werewolves."

Lupin's face fell, all the spark leaving the features that had only just begun to show signs of life. "Why would you do that."

Snape rested a hand on the table, soaking in the coolness from the work surface before he spoke. "I was so angry at you for giving in. And your students--I wasn't pleased with the way you're running your classes. I doubt you'll find that a single one of them has completed the assignment by next class in any case."

Lupin chuckled, an odd sound with only a hint of mirth in it. "They won't, because of the confundus charm. But what if that charm were not in place? Would you have risked my expulsion over the fact that you think I'm too soft on my students?"

"At that moment, I would have done just that." His voice was quiet, but cold, the sound of someone gracefully letting themselves out the door.

"At that moment." Lupin imitated his speech, adding a hint of incredulity to the imitation. "Do you mean to tell me you are ruled by your impulses?" He took a step closer, and Snap was surprised to feel the heat of his body through their clothes. They weren't even touching. Perhaps he really did have a fever, or perhaps he had over warmed himself, staying in bed for so long.

"I cannot offer justification, Lupin, for my rash behavior. In case you hadn't noticed, we did not part on entirely rational terms."

Lupin smiled, a crooked thing that looked so wrong on his face that Snape was tempted to slap it off of him. "So you need to part on entirely rational terms to exercise your own rational behavior." He paused and stepped even closer, so that Snape could hear their buttons clicking together though he still felt nothing of Lupin but the heat. "You must have made one hell of a Death Eater."

"I did," Snape said, resisting the second urge in as many minutes to just slap the other man silly, "make one hell of a Death Eater. Believe me. It was hell."

The feeling of Lupin's hand covering his cleared his mind of all thoughts of violence as he tried simply to understand why the other man might be showing him even the slightest kindness.

"I can imagine, you know." He tightened his hand, pressing in to the tarsals.

"There's something to be said for righteousness, though," Snape said, flexing his fingers underneath to be sure it wasn't all a part of his imagination. "You never had to face changing sides."

Lupin shrugged. "As for right now, I know I said some outrageous things. Your petty little werewolf stunt seems fairly tame by comparison, especially considering we both know the chances of those students looking up anything before their next class."

"All but one."

"All but one," Lupin agreed, "but then again she knew already, and she'll be taken care of with this." He tapped the fingernails of his free hand against the glass, reaching forward and pressing his body more firmly to Snape's with that reach. When he looked up, their faces were nearly touching. Snape had to squint and lean back to keep him in focus. When it became clear that Lupin wasn't moving, he gave in and let his vision go fuzzy. "We could consider ourselves even."

Snape let his hands rise to rest on Lupin's back. "I'm not keeping a tab, you know."

"Good on you." Lupin sighed, letting his head rest against Severus' chest. The amnesty had come with unexpected swiftness, and he intended to cherish it as best he could.

It was terribly uncomfortable, Severus thought, sitting on the backless stool with Lupin leaning on him. The curve of his back was cutting into the edge of the workbench something fierce, and the headache potion's dregs were still souring the inside of his mouth. He wanted to stand, to stretch, to get the potion on its way to the infirmary, to do any of a number of things. Yet his impulses for movement were always ended by the sight of Lupin's salt and pepper crown. Just as his back began to truly tire Lupin reached around him, pulling him forward until his back cracked in relief and he sighed, leaning his lips against Lupin's part in a kiss the other man might or might not have felt.