Snape the Younger

Friends and Enemies

The four well-respected wizards were arguing heatedly over a bundle of parchments that was scattered before them.

"I tell you, it is impossible!" Hieronymus Pritchard, Registrations Bursar, snapped, flicking a disdainful thumb at the sheet in front of him. "I myself have tried that combination over and over but again and again it fails! Now this, this schoolboy, had the audacity to say we were all wrong!"

"And he brewed the potion to prove it," the quietest of the quartet muttered into his beard, nudging the remembrall forward as hard evidence. He was supervisor of research projects, in charge of accepting, denying or advising candidates when they chose a research topic for their third year major project.

"I don't care if the Wizengamot itself witnessed him brewing it; I still say he is a cheat and a liar! I don't know how he did it but I know he cheated somehow! And I will prove it!" the Registrations Bursar snapped.

"Look, you stubborn old fool, you have had him do it eight times in a row in a sealed laboratory with ingredients you chose yourself, how much more proof do you need to show you he didn't bloody well cheat! Why don't you just admit that the boy is brilliant, better than you evidently?" Tyrone Bones, Coordinator of Studies, added with relish as he sat back in his chair to gloat. It was so nice to see the old windbag taken down a peg and by a student too.

"Gentlemen, gentlemen, please, no wands!" Potions Master Abernathy, Dean of the College, snapped as both men went for their pockets. "We all agreed that, when Snape applied for a position in the college, he was brilliant and far in advance of his apparent learning level. Why are you so shocked that he is going ahead in leaps and bounds now that he has access to a real laboratory instead of a school chemistry lab?"

"Because he's only been here six months and he has finished second year!" Hieronymus snarled angrily.

"And advanced potions research by ten years in those six months," Morton Gaston mumbled again, avoiding meeting anyone's eyes.

"Yes, yes, Morton, but how is he doing it? I want to know how he is cheating!" Hieronymus banged the table with his fist making the water jug jump.

"Perhaps he actually studies instead of wasting his time in exercising his hormones and trying to look good in the local pub like the rest of his year group?" Bones grinned tigerishly. "Look, he has earned the pass at a credit and an advanced level and had enough bonus points to take him into advanced year three as he stands. Come on, admit it, we haven't seen anything like him for a long time, not since ... ever!"

"He's a vampire, you know?" Pritchard insisted bitterly. "That's why he can do things normal students cannot do."

All three of his colleagues rolled their eyes and Dean Abernathy called for a vote. Grudgingly, Hieronymus Pritchard agreed that Snape could advance to the next level and the paperwork was magically stamped and sealed immediately, before the jealous man could change his mind.

~~*~~

Potions College was a whole new world, Severus decided as he apparated down to the school for his regular Thursday lecture. There were three lectures a week, Monday morning for three hours, Thursday for an hour and Friday afternoon for three hours. These were compulsory, pure theory lectures and should have been utter joy for Severus but he always found he knew more than the lecturer on most of the topics. Tuesdays and Wednesdays were reserved for lab work where the students were supposed to follow through on the theory, experimenting with the ingredients and checking if they could make the brews they were told about during theory.

The group of thirty students he had started with had been whittled down to twenty by the end of the first six months. There were representatives from Hogwarts, Beauxbatons, Durmstrang and even from as far away as America and Africa. One of the Africans had interested Severus briefly but he had been less brilliant than he appeared. The rest were the usual mix of adolescent, hormonal, angst-ridden underachievers and overblown, under-brained, egotistical posers.

The school was in Cheshire, in an old Georgian building set in landscaped grounds with extensive greenhouses and cold houses to grow the most exotic of ingredients. The School of Herbology was also housed in the main building as Potions and Herbology tended to go hand in glove. The students who could not afford outside accommodation were housed in long dormitories, bartering garden labour or production-line brewing for housing. In many ways, the place resembled a boarding school for the post-adolescent.

Severus commuted apparating in when he needed to from either the Snape apartments in London or from Malfoy Manor to where Lucius had moved to be closer to his father who had not been well recently. Abraxas had been somewhat upset that his son and his son's lover made no secret that they slept together under his roof but he had gradually warmed to Severus, especially when he found the boy was a much better chess player than his son. Severus also made full use of the extensive underground laboratories that riddled the cellars under Malfoy Manor, brewing, experimenting and producing some extremely foul smells on occasion.

He had barely been attending the college for three months when Lord Voldemort invited himself for dinner and conversation at Malfoy and had catechised Severus more thoroughly than any of his current crop of tutors had done. Frowning, Severus had answered all the questions as fully and as freely as he could, a small smile developing when he deciphered the common thread running through the quiz.

"My Lord," he finally interrupted, making Abraxas cringe and even Lucius looked slightly fearful when the Lord stopped speaking and glared at the young man who dared interrupt. "Are you trying to find out if I can brew Draught of the Living Death or Murbury's Curse in crystalline form?"

Lord Voldemort narrowed his eyes and reassessed the boy from under hooded lids. "Murbury's Curse," he said flatly.

"I can, I have a couple of flasks of both brews down in the laboratory. I had a feeling you were interested in them last time we talked."

"Did you now," Lord Voldemort said flatly, then a faint smile curved his lips. "You are a very bright boy, aren't you?"

Severus merely smirked and took his queen, placing his king in check. "Yes."

The older man studied the board carefully then pushed his king over in surprise. "Stalemate, no advantage to either, well done, we must play again soon. Can you brew the Elixir of Three Fates?"

Severus thought about it for a moment then shrugged a little. "I don't know, I have never tried. Ask me again tomorrow," he temporised with pursed lips and the Lord laughed aloud, clapping him on the shoulder.

"Learn how," he recommended as he took his leave from the Malfoys.

"You skate close to the edge, Severo, be very careful he does not take offence at one of your sharp pronouncements," Lucius warned that night as they lay in bed together. "He will only allow you to go so far and no further. I would hate to be called upon to punish you; it would break my heart to skin you again."

Severus leaned across and kissed him gently. "Never fear that, he would probably get Bella to do it, not you."

~~*~~

Twenty-three people in the department for wizarding sports were poisoned by what appeared to be Draught of the Living Death, not a fatal poison but one that seemed more ominous to the Aurors who were sent to investigate the crime. There didn't appear to be any reason behind the mass poisoning, no advantage to be gained. Even more ominous, the makers marks within the poison were totally unknown, a very unusual thing. To brew such a potion took a certain level of skill and a person mastering that skill tended to mark their work with a signature; this was a 'clean-skin' potion so to speak.

"Sir, what is this stuff about markers in potions?" Drewella Redonicus asked, draped across her chair as usual. Severus thought she was trying to be sophisticated but she only came across as rude.

The lecturer, an old boy who was an absolute sucker for fluttered eyelashes, verbally patted her on the head. "We aren't supposed to mention signatures until third year but I don't think it will hurt to say a little about them now. In third year you will each be asked to develop a blend of inactive ingredients that will be your 'signature' in the brews you create. That way, when an anonymous poison is used the Aurors can track down the maker and find out who bought the brew, thus catching the criminal."

"And if someone fakes a signature?" Ebenezer Pinkerton laughed, glancing around.

Hieronymus Pritchard shook his head smugly. "Not possible, the marker is only one clue. Every Potions Master has a distinctive style that he, or she, cannot hide, it is part of the Art of Brewing."

Severus sat in total silence, brooding on the man's words. Was there a distinctive style to his work, to any of their work? He knew he didn't use inactive ingredients as that was a waste of his time, but did he have a brewing style? He was still deep in thought when the class was dismissed and the room cleared. Would that very lack of a signature be classed as his signature if the Living Death was ever traced to him? Pursing his lips, Severus wandered out into the great hall and stopped in surprise. Rows and rows of cauldrons had been set up, fellow students tending them.

Rupert Winklebury was the closest person Severus had any acquaintance with so he strolled over to ask questions, lending a hand to chop angelica root when the man seemed harassed. "The rent's due Severus," Rupert snapped shortly, stirring the cauldron vigorously. "Therefore we brew fortifying potion, Skele-gro and base diagnostics potions by the cauldron-full, to keep the roof over our heads."

"Oh. If you keep stirring it like that you'll ruin it," Severus remarked, taking the paddle from his hand and removing it. "And you shouldn't be using pig-iron when there is a bronze paddle available."

"How the hell would you know, and how do you even know what I'm brewing?"

Severus gave him a look, took a precise handful of the angelica and fed it into the potion one cube at a time until the potion took on the clear green opalescence it was supposed to. "Fortifying potions are something of a study of mine, as is Skele-gro. You get a much better result if you stir anti-clockwise every twenty rotations and boil instead of simmer until most of the excess fluid has gone."

"But wouldn't that make it too thick?" Rupert asked, staring down into the cauldron in surprise.

"No, you stop when it gets to the correct consistency and turn it off. The faster brewing method stops more of the volatile oils from escaping and improves the potency. You'd better bottle that, it's ready." Severus handed him the paddle and strode off, leaving him standing there staring in surprise.

~~*~~

"My Lord, did you know about the signature thing?" Severus asked as soon as the Dark Lord was seated with a snifter of brandy and a plate of mixed biscuits.

Lord Voldemort pursed his lips. "I did."

"And you did not think to tell me these things?" Severus snapped angrily, slapping a hand down on the edge of the table. When he recovered he was lying on his back, every muscle in his body protesting the abuse. Dazed, he blinked up, seeing Lucius sitting with a frozen, terrified expression on his face, Abraxas not moving, simply looking ahead blankly.

"You will do as you are asked without question, young Severus," Voldemort said calmly as the boy rose shakily to his feet.

"And that will get me killed," Severus snarled back, undeterred. "Little details need to be taken care of as much or even more than the grand sweeping plans! It is in the little details that all the differences in the world are won or lost!" Again, the world tilted in agony and again Severus climbed to his feet, pulled his robes straight and continued to glare at his Lord, not budging an inch. "Without knowing all the details, even those you may consider unimportant, how can I cover them, make sure they are accounted for and neutralised before they grow into larger and more vicious problems."

"Severus, please," Lucius protested, grabbing the boy around the waist and trying to pull him away. "Not now, enough."

"Why not now? Or is that another little detail you forgot to tell me about?" Severus jeered bitterly, flinging off Lucius' restraining arm and pulling his robes straight again before drawing himself up to his full height and glaring down his nose at the seated man. "You mark my words; your lack of attention to the smallest details will be the downfall of you in the end."

He turned away in a flurry of robes and managed three steps before the Cruatius Curse hit him again, driving him to his knees then over onto his face. It was agony in every nerve, turning every muscle against the other, every bone trying its best to fight free of its joint. He tried not to scream, knowing the penalty of noise but a faint whine escaped his crumbling control before the nerve induced pain stopped. He lay panting on the floor unsure if he could ever get up again but knowing he had no choice. Clawing at the rug, he managed to get his elbows under him, then his knees, pushing back slowly, until he could stop his head falling off. One joint at a time, like a huge crane unfolding, he struggled back to his feet and slowly resettled his robes around himself before turning to face the three men still seated at the table. He met his Lord's eyes squarely, not a blink nor a flinch to be seen.

"I stand by my words," he rasped bitterly, ignoring the blood that ran freely from his nose, before slowly turning away, back ramrod straight as he exited the room with what little dignity he could muster.

~~*~~

Severus sat in a quiet little pub in the middle of nowhere, a fifth of firewhiskey at his hand, half gone. He rolled the remains of his current drink around the glass absently watching the sparks flutter and burn. There was no one with him, alone with his drink and his thoughts and his decisions.

For the past six weeks, he had been asked to brew some obscure potions and some not so obscure things; Incendiary Potion by the ten gallon cauldron-full, half a gallon of St. Vitus' Curse, three gallons of Swelling potion and five gallons of Medical Potion. He had brewed like a good little boy, worked hard and completed the assignments on time as well as doing his college work and keeping up with the rest of his life but yesterday, he had had some free time and had managed to read the Daily Prophet. The headlines had electrified him enough to go hunting through the pile of old papers his house-elf used to line its nest and rescue the back issues.

The correlation was irrefutable. Brew Incendiary Potion on the first week of June and the homes of ten half-bloods were burned to the ground in the second week of June. Brew Swelling Potion in the second week of June and in the third week twelve people were admitted to St. Mungo's with explosively enlarged internal organs. Eleven died and the twelfth would have to wait until her tongue reattached successfully before she could speak again. Brew St. Vitus' Curse in mid-June and cases of St. Vitus' Dance were popping up in the oddest places. The medical potion had him baffled until he saw a small article hidden on the back page that said twelve Aurors had been badly injured in a running battle with the forces of the Dark Lord over the heaths of Lancashire, no one was sure how many Death Eaters had escaped but five men and two women were dead, another four captured and sentenced to Azkaban for their crimes. Obviously, some of the Dark Lord's forces had been hurt.

What worried Severus most was that five children under the age of three had died in the house fires. While injuring people old enough to look after themselves didn't bother him in the slightest, hurting those too young to even know what the word danger meant always stuck in his throat. The rest of the victims in the running raids had been adults old enough to make their own decisions. When he had approached Lucius with his questions, the blond man had laughed incredulously at his fears.

"My dearest Severo, so a few half-bloods and mudbloods died, less to pollute the gene pool at a later date. Surely you aren't going to turn squeamish at this late point in time?"

Severus had realised there was nothing he could say that would explain his feelings to Lucius so he had merely shrugged but over the past week, he had brooded on it until at last he had come to this quiet location to finally sort out his feelings once and for all. He was about to refill his glass when the door opened briefly and a hooded, robed figure slipped in furtively. As he crossed the floor Severus stiffened, realising he knew the vague silhouette, knew the way he moved and stood. Lupin! A shiver fluttered down Severus' spine as the werewolf turned, sniffing the air slightly before fully turning. Severus could almost see his amber eyes gleam in the recesses of the hood as his more than human senses pierced the shadows and saw him sitting there. For a second Severus wondered if he should move but then decided he couldn't be arsed, even when Lupin came over, carrying a bottle of what looked like brown ale.

"Severus, long time, no see," Lupin said softly, his voice deeper and raspier than it had been at school, a bone-tired note in the depths.

Moving uncomfortably, Severus nodded a greeting and was somewhat put out when the man pulled out a chair and plunked into it, setting the bottle down heavily on the oak table. "Why are you sitting there?" he was forced to ask when the werewolf made no moves to leave.

"Because it is the middle of nowhere, because you are obviously hiding just like me, and because I am too tired to make drinking alone a good plan," Lupin murmured, finally picking the bottle up and taking a sip.

"And why are you so tired?" Severus' curiosity never knew when to keep its nose out of things.

Lupin looked hard at his former schoolmate then half smiled, knowing the look. Academic interest was always Severus' weakness. "There's a battle going on, in case you hadn't noticed...." He was surprised when Severus barked a bitter snort of laughter.

"No shit, Sherlock?" Severus muttered, taking a gulp of whiskey before he sighed and scrubbed his face. "Isn't there always a battle going on somewhere?"

"Assuredly, but this battle is purely between werewolves, those that support Lord Voldemort and those that support Albus Dumbledore."

"And you are a Dumbledore, I suppose."

"'Fraid so," Lupin confirmed depreciatingly sipping his beer again. "Voldemort has been sending certain werewolves around to known lycanthropes' homes and threatening them with Ministry reprisals if they do not join his battle against the Light. The same werewolves are also threatening normal, neutral, wizarding families with biting their children if they do not join the Dark."

"Busy little bastards, aren't they?" Severus muttered irreverently and Lupin laughed, shaking his head.

"Yeah. Still, it gives the rest of us a bad name and we really don't need any more bad press than we already have. Did you know there are nearly four thousand werewolves in England, Scotland and Ireland? I didn't know that, no one told me. I thought I was the only one until I left school and was visited by a couple of older pack members. I've been running the moors, acting as liaison for them. I only just got away from a pack of Death Eaters last month and nearly ended up in a running battle with the Aurors who were chasing them." Lupin laughed harshly, and drank more beer while Severus sighed sipped his whiskey. "So, what have you been up to Severus? Still at Potions school?"

"Yes, still brewing away diligently," he replied grimly, not looking up.

"What's wrong Severus, you sound down."

Glancing up, Severus snorted. "Now why would I tell you what was troubling me, Lupin? I don't remember us ever being friends, not after you tried to eat me."

Lupin sighed. "Damn, you are so good at that!"

"What?"

"Grudge holding! Get over it, Severus, that was nearly four years ago and you were not really hurt, just scared shitless."

"And your mate Black was patted on the head like a good little Gryffindork!"

Remus' lip tightened. "No, he wasn't actually. Didn't you ever wonder why he was not in as much trouble or around as much during sixth year? Why you rarely saw him at parties or social events? Professor Dumbledore had him on a very short lead, no free time, no Quidditch, no privileges, no Hogsmeade weekends."

"But I saw him there at Halloween," Severus protested. "He accused me of selling drugs to children."

"Oh yes, and didn't that all end in tears. He had sneaked out, Severus, and he was supposed to keep a low profile but he didn't and as a result he was severely reprimanded by the headmaster and confined to the tower for the rest of the year. He applied for Apparation lessons as he could already Apparate and was refused entry to the class. He applied for the Quidditch team and was refused a tryout. Hey, he even applied for the chess club and was knocked back. For you or I these things would have just been annoying but for Sirius they were heartbreaking and soul destroying punishments. Oh yes, Albus Dumbledore knew exactly how best to drive the lesson home, believe me."

"I'm surprised you would admit that," Severus said, truly surprised. He had thought the boy had gotten off Scott Free.

"I love Sirius very much but sometimes I don't like him a whole hell of a lot," Lupin confessed softly then finished his beer. "Can I get you another, Severus?"

"Nah, by the time I finish this lot I will be just pissed enough to activate the portkey and sober enough to hold onto it."

Lupin laughed and fetched another beer. "Did you hear that James and Lily Evans got engaged last month? Yes, rather a surprise... not!" Lupin laughed quietly as he reseated himself. "They plan to get married early next year and set up house in a cottage built for two."

"How very romantic!" Severus murmured, glancing across at the young man who had finally pushed back his hood a little. The candlelight struck golden highlights from his honey brown curls which was very becoming. Severus derailed that train of thought immediately.

"Yes, it was rather, and they asked Sirius to be their best man, which tickled him totally. Peter and I will be there of course and most of our year...."

"The Gryffindors, I assume you mean," Severus smirked and Lupin blushed.

"Yes, well, you know what I mean. What about you Severus, any wedding bells in your future?"

Severus glared then relented and smirked at the younger man who suddenly realised what he had said and winced. "No, Lucius is contracted to your pet murderer's cousin Narcissa and I have already cancelled my contract with the Romanian cousin my father contracted for me, cost a few galleons but it was worth it, horse faced bitch that she was. Built like a brick, bust like a shelf, probably capable of carrying a pig under each arm, one of those Landed Squire's daughter types of girls, you understand?"

"Oh? I thought your family would have gone in for the delicate and ethereal type," Lupin winced at Severus' slur on Sirius but laughed aloud at his description of his ex-fiancée.

"My dear Lupin, I am the ethereal type, they wanted to breed some more substance back into the line," he murmured, enjoying watching the werewolf laugh, he was really very handsome when he was happy. Again, Severus pulled his thoughts up short. "And you, any prospects for little Lupins?"

Remus stopped laughing abruptly. "Severus, you are your own worst enemy, you know that? No, I will not be having any children, unless you, being the hot-stuff potions brewer you are, invent a way to cure my lycanthropy or the Ministry decides that werewolves are not so dangerous after all and grants us equal rights with full humans."

"I," Severus moved uncomfortably then sighed. "I'm sorry, I just didn't think...."

It was Lupin's turn to shake his head ruefully. "No, I suppose not."

They sat in silence for a while, each absorbed in their own thoughts before Severus stirred and looked up. "So, what's next for you?"

"Back home to Sirius, a good night's sleep, then off to the Muggle's British Library to do some correlating research. And you?"

"Back to school and brewing, making up potions for the masses or an individual, depending on what my research topic turns out to be."

"Humm, must be fun for you," Lupin said on a sigh. "You always were a keen researcher. Perhaps you can discover where those odd cases of St Vitus' Dance are coming from and find a cure as your research topic. If by chance, you do hear anything, floo me at Sirius' flat. That's what I am going to research at the British library."

Severus froze, then narrowed his eyes, then made a decision, trusting to the werewolf's acute hearing to pick up the barely spoken words. "Look for an antidote to St. Vitus' Curse in liquid form and find the common denominator between the cases, that's where you will find it. But I never told you that and you didn't hear it from me, understood? If anyone asks me, I will vehemently deny ever speaking to you on this topic."

"Severus, have you been a naughty boy?" Lupin barely breathed as he spoke, the words just a wisp of sound on the air.

"Would I tell you if I had? Well, I'm drunk enough, time to portkey home. Take care of yourself, Lupin, and stay out of my way, we are on opposite sides of the fence you know."

"Are we, Severus? You have a strange way of showing it."

Severus snorted, activated his portkey and left Remus staring at the spot where he had been for a long second before he went to the landlord and asked to borrow the floo. In moments he threw a handful of floo powder into the flames and stepped in calling Headmaster's study, Hogwarts.

07/04/2006