The Teacher

Poetry

He was unfortunate. Very unfortunate. Severus had hoped that his head would clear a little after his making a decision; but he had again been mistaken. Now that he had 'engaged in' the situation and started to try and establish a... relationship - he had decided that, yes, it was one (he had even looked up the definition in an encyclopedia) - he wasn't troubled by doubts which decision might be the best anymore and whether he should risk giving up the safety of his loneliness or take the chance to receive... something from the werewolf. But he was still troubled. He couldn't lay his finger on it but something was still troubling him.

Whenever he met Lupin in a corridor or at meals in the Great Hall, he received a smile from him. Not one of those polite smiles that everyone got; it was new. Special. As if it were only for Severus. And it made his stomach even fuzzier than all the smiles he had seen on Lupin's lips before. And now that Severus didn't hide from Lupin or avoid him anymore, he saw a lot of those smiles. He even caught himself taking detours to the places he needed to go to so that he'd meet the werewolf for sure and get his smile. He wished that there weren't only the possibility of bottling fame but of capturing that sweet smile in a phial so he could look at it whenever he wanted to. And he wanted to look at it very often. That made him nervous and he was lucky that he could conceal it so well.

There had been no further meetings in the past five days, due to workload and Severus's incapability of asking Lupin for a cup of tea. It annoyed him that after having finished his brewing and grading in the evening, sitting down on his sofa, he felt himself yearning for the other man's presence so much that he'd set fire in the grate and pretend that the warmth coming off it was the body warmth of Lupin's. The day before, his own behaviour had made him so angry with himself that he'd thrown his glass from him and stamped into the bedroom, slamming the door and almost tearing the covers when he yanked them over his body. In the morning he had scolded himself for behaving like a petulant child, mending the broken wine glass.

But he couldn't help being troubled. He missed Lupin's voice and his chuckle and the depths of his eyes. Gleaming like a freshly brewed cauldron full of Felix Felicis, swirling with emotion like the potion when stirred, warm and promising. Severus felt himself grow warmer at the thought of Lupin's eyes and stopped the images in his mind. The Potions master knew that he couldn't bear this state much longer. The state of not knowing when he would be alone with the other again.

The only times when Severus met Lupin were those casual every day occasions in the staff room and the Great Hall, on which, and that surprised Severus, the werewolf kept the required distance. Apart from a smile now and then when no one was looking there was no attempt of getting into contact while they were in company. During meals he was seated on the other end of the table anyway. In the staff room he took his usual seat by the window normally beside McGonagall and Severus found himself to be the one magically drawn to the other, sitting down opposite, though never next to him. As he had today.

Lupin seemed to notice that and glanced over to Severus more and more often, searching the Potions master's eyes, but he didn't seem to dare talk to him. He seemed to respect something that Severus hadn't even uttered but obviously showed in his behaviour, or his eyes, or some other part of him Lupin could read. He respected Severus's wish not to display their relationship before the staff, not to speak of the students. And Severus was grateful for it. He had feared that Lupin would demand friendly treatment in every situation, that he wouldn't understand that Severus couldn't provide that, not yet, maybe never. It was relieving that he had again been wrong.

The Potions master cocked his head to one side, watching Lupin look out of the window at Hagrid who was throwing an enormous branch for Fang to fetch. Actually he wished for the other to talk to him, ask him for another cup of tea in his office. A subtle question maybe, that Severus could answer positively with a cold look on his face so that everyone would think that he still hated the werewolf. He wanted another meeting, wanted to be alone with Lupin again, but he didn't know how to ask for it. And apart from that, he was afraid again. In which way would their connection unfold? How could he steer it into the direction he wanted it to go into? And if it did, would he be able to handle it? Would he be up to it? He wasn't the romantic type and he feared that by being himself he would scare the Gryffindor off in the end. It was troubling, indeed.

He sighed softly, propping his chin up on his fist, feeling defiant once again. He just wasn't used to this. Whatever this was. It had felt... pleasant... to talk to Lupin and he wished he could step over the remainders of his fortress's walls to approach him, but since he had used up all his energy and bravery when he had made his decision five days before, he needed to wait for the werewolf to take the next step. And it took him extraordinarily long. Though Severus was sure that he hadn't changed his mind about them. About us, Severus thought and frowned, there... is an us. And it was a good thing that at least Severus knew the latest date of their next meeting would be the week before the full moon.

Suddenly he noticed that Lupin was looking at him, his eyes twinkling quite Dumbledorish and his lips curled up into a small smile that looked as if he were trying to suppress it but couldn't quite manage. Severus averted his eyes and thought of something to say, some snide remark which wasn't too mean but helped him avoid the obligatory question. He didn't come up with one, though, and grew nervous under the werewolf's golden stare which left a tingling sensation on his skin. He was grateful therefore when McGonagall turned up, sitting down next to Lupin, starting a conversation. She seemed quite fond of him and when Severus looked up to see Lupin's interested eyes on her, just as fond of the Transfiguration teacher as she was of him, he felt jealousy crawl into himself and tried to push it out again.

"Potter just asked me to allow him to go to Hogsmeade on Hallowe'en. Because his uncle failed to do so," she said and Severus scowled. Potter seemed to be the favourite topic lately and for his taste Lupin was far too interested in the brat.

"Did you?" asked the werewolf and Severus wondered whether he had forgotten what kind of teacher McGonagall was.

"Of course not!" the witch said and raised an eyebrow at Lupin. "I'm not his guardian and therefore it would be inappropriate."

Lupin nodded and seemed... relieved. "Well, I guess it is better that way. Though I'm sorry that his aunt and uncle seem to treat him rather badly, after all he ran away from them. Still I think it is better if he doesn't leave the grounds with... with Black on the loose." He hesitated at Black's name and Severus thought it might be his fault, for bringing up Black while they had been fighting.

"Yes, I think so, too. Maybe he can go next year," McGonagall said and straightened her square spectacles. "It would be far too dangerous if he went to Hogsmeade... though Black can hardly sneak in there without anyone noticing."

Lupin fidgeted and it made Severus frown. "Umm... sure. But then again... he escaped from Azkaban, so we shouldn't underestimate him. That would be a grave mistake."

"I wonder how he did it..." McGonagall said and again, Lupin fidgeted.

"Who knows..." he mumbled and leant back in his chair with a shaky sigh.

The Transfiguration Professor smiled a little, giving him a sideways glance. "Let's just hope that Potter won't do anything stupid. He is so much like his father. And I still remember the four of you running wild in the castle and the grounds, only mischief on your minds and never concerned with rules or safety."

Lupin chuckled. Uneasily, though. "You have no idea..." he muttered and rubbed his neck, carefully avoiding her eyes; and Severus's.

"But then again... Potter usually ends up in trouble, playing the hero, doesn't he?" Severus sneered and the other two Professors turned to look at him.

"Well, yes, that's right of course... though, up to now he's always done a good job, not that I approve of his actions..." McGonagall replied and looked a little too proud and approving. Lupin raised his eyebrows.

"Yes, sure, if we hadn't got Potter to stop all the evil in the world, we'd all be lost. Let's make a parade for him. I'm surprised that such a thing hasn't been established yet," Severus retorted his voice dripping with sarcasm, causing Lupin to raise his eyebrows even higher and McGonagall to scowl.

"Harry is quite the hero, isn't he? Maybe one day it will get him into serious trouble," the werewolf said in a worried voice and flinched when Fang let out a loud bark close to the window.

"Hopefully," said Severus quietly and got a "Severus!" from both Lupin and McGonagall. "Maybe the thought of a large black hell dog chasing after him will prevent him from leaping head first into life threatening danger this year. But after all, even a Basilisk couldn't do it," the Potions master added and almost, but just almost wished the beast had eaten the boy last year.

"He's brave," Lupin said simply, shrugging his shoulders.

"He's a Gryffindor," McGonagall agreed too proudly.

Severus rolled his eyes. He's stupid, was what he wanted to say but he didn't want to annoy Lupin. Actually, on second thought, he did. A nice flash of anger would suit him well right now. But Severus had already missed the moment, since the two Gryffindors had turned away again.

"Did Harry see a black dog at all?" Lupin asked and Severus couldn't believe that the werewolf was that superstitious. "Why, Lupin, you don't believe that a giant dog is following the boy to bite his head off, do you?" he sneered and the werewolf looked at him, his golden eyes worried. "Of course not," he replied but Severus didn't quite believe him.

"As far as I know, the boy hasn't seen any such thing... but I'm not the one he would confide in if it were so, don't you think?" McGonagall said and Lupin nodded, biting his lip; it was curious.

The rest of their joined free lesson was spent in silence, except for McGonagall offering the two wizards a piece of shortbread, which they both took, Severus with the knowledge that it was indeed good and Lupin because "if Severus takes one they must be good". McGonagall laughed at that and Severus raised an eyebrow receiving one of those sweet smiles, forcing him to look away to hide his shiver.

When they left the staff room for the next lesson it seemed to Severus that Lupin intentionally brushed against him when they were passing through the doorway at the same time, arms touching slightly, because when he looked down at the werewolf he saw him smile to himself, careful not to meet the Potions master's eyes. Severus watched him walk away into the direction of his classroom and when he had disappeared behind a corner the Potions master made his way down into the dungeons.

His afternoon lessons went as usual, though surprisingly quietly, without exploding cauldrons. Severus was looking forward to dinner, which meant he was looking forward to seeing Lupin again. But when he wandered into the Great Hall absent-mindedly, his thoughts on the potion he would have to brew for the infirmary that night, he noticed that Lupin was not there yet. He was a little disappointed, chewing on his steak listlessly, waiting in vain for the werewolf to turn up. Obviously his work had not got less and he hadn't found the time to have dinner in the Hall. Severus cursed himself for not being able to walk up to him and ask for one of his teabags. He didn't know what to say or do. He was nervous whenever he thought about meeting Lupin in private, about the other touching his soul again. He was scared of the pain and yet he yearned for the pleasure. And what if he said the wrong thing or was too harsh or rude? What if he hurt the werewolf? He was not capable of comforting him or of apologising. He was sure he'd spoil it. And then everything would have been in vain.

After dinner, Severus went directly into his laboratory and put a cauldron onto the fire grumpily. He was facing yet another silent and lonely evening in his rooms without Lupin's soothing hoarse voice and his husky chuckle. It was annoying. He couldn't concentrate. He opened a drawer of his ingredients cupboard, took out everything he needed for the potion and noticed that he was about to slice wolfsbane instead of daisy root almost too late. He restrained himself from hurling his knife across the room only with great effort and put the wolfsbane back into the drawer. When he started slicing the daisy root there was a knock on the door and Severus looked up. Who could that be? Usually nobody came into his laboratory, only Albus, sometimes.

"Yes?" he called and started when he heard a hoarse voice answering.

"It is I, Severus, may I come in?"

It was Lupin. In front of his lab door. Severus hesitated for a few seconds, that was what he'd been waiting for, right? He laid down his knife when he finally said, "Enter." The door swung open and Lupin came in, smiling, obviously in a good mood but tired none the less.

"Hello," he said cheerfully and approached Severus who was watching him warily. "Are you brewing?" the werewolf asked and nodded at the ingredients.

Severus looked down and took up his knife again to slice the daisy root, double checking if it really was daisy root this time. "Yes, obviously," he muttered when he threw the root into the cauldron, producing a nice bubbling noise.

"Am I disturbing you?" Lupin asked quietly and Severus knew that he wanted him to say no. He could barely stop himself from saying 'yes', when he almost diced yet another wrong ingredient, putting it back to the others and taking the right one. He bit his tongue, though, because he didn't want him to leave, and shook his head.

"I don't know if it will be very entertaining to watch me brew," Severus said coolly, dropping the diced ginger into the cauldron and the potion's colour changed from light blue to red, simmering softly when Severus stirred once to the right and twice to the left. Again it changed its colour to a pale pink and Severus nodded in satisfaction.

"Oh, it is entertaining," the werewolf said and when Severus looked at him in confusion he added, "You look satisfied. It is interesting to watch the expressions on your face. You really are fascinated with potions, aren't you?"

Severus poured leech juice into the potion, enjoying the pleasant smile on Lupin's face, and stirred again. The steam rising from the cauldron between them curled around the other's golden eyes. Severus couldn't see him properly anymore and waved his hand through the air to get a clear view again. The melodious simmering of the potion was a nice accompaniment to the werewolf's hoarse voice. "I am," he answered finally and thought to himself, as with you.

"I was never really good at it." Lupin smiled and walked round the table to watch Severus cut off the heads of some cockroaches. "It was always a torture to me. Afraid of blowing up a cauldron."

Severus smirked slightly, adding the cockroach heads to the draught. "It is an art. And it is common knowledge that not everyone is an artist," he said silkily and enjoyed the husky chuckle he earned from the werewolf. He wanted more of that. He needed a whole lot of it to store it away for bad times. Which would surely come.

"I do not have the gift, do I?" Lupin said with amusement in his voice and Severus's smirk vanished.

"What I said doesn't apply to you. After all, I do not have to waste my time teaching you," he said and stirred the potion again.

"Just a joke, Severus," the werewolf said and leant against the table, so close to Severus that he was only an inch away from too close, picking up a rat tail, thoughtfully, staring at it in silence, looking a little upset, though Severus didn't understand why. After a while the Potions master took it from him to cut it and their fingers brushed, causing Severus to linger a moment longer than he would have needed.

"Don't you think that some of the ingredients are disgusting?" Lupin asked and made a face when he heard the bone crack. Severus raised an eyebrow. He was used to people not understanding the beauty of potion-making. But usually he wouldn't bother explaining why it was beautiful.

"The ingredients are colours and the order in which I add them to the potion is the composition of the picture that I will paint with them. This," he said raising his ladle, "is my brush and I am the painter, naturally. And the finished potion," he continued and poured some of the potion into a glass that was standing beside the cauldron, showing it to Lupin, "is my work of art."

The werewolf took the glass from him and his eyes shone with delight when he held the potion up to the flickering light that came from the torches on the walls, watching the potion change colour from green to blue and back again when he tilted the glass a little. "You must be proud of it."

Severus watched him. He loved to see his work finished, perfect and beautiful, but he loved it even more to see Lupin admire it. "I put effort in it, I perfect recipes and instructions. Sometimes it is dirty and takes a lot of time and hard work, but when it's finished and I feel the magic pulsing from it, it gives me satisfaction. And yes... I think I am proud."

Lupin looked at him and smiled, giving Severus the feeling that McGonagall was not the only one the werewolf was fond of. "Well, you are very good at it. Maybe you are the best," he said and handed Severus back the potion. The Potions master felt an odd pride at those words. As if it meant more when Lupin said it than when anyone else did, although the werewolf wasn't even close to being an expert. And to Severus it did. He looked down into the glass and saw Lupin's reflection in it.

"Maybe," he answered and put the glass down, noticing again how very close Lupin was to him. He could feel the warmth again and if he had moved his hand only a few inches to the right it would have touched the werewolf's. But Lupin seemed to have a very good sense of personal space since he remained at the very border of Severus's. The Potions master turned and took a few phials out of the cupboard to fill them with the potion, labeling them and putting them down neatly, side by side on the table.

Suddenly he felt the urge to tell Lupin about his fascination for potions, knowing somehow that the werewolf would be interested, would want to know, like no one else would. "You see," he said, letting his fingers ghost over the phials, "spells are useful, but most people are good at them. Potion-making is something that you must have a feeling for. You should realise the beauty of the swirling fumes, rising in all colours and smells from the singing cauldron with its valuable content, promising peace and chaos, love and hatred, sanity and madness, life and death with its bubbling voice. If you don't, you will never be much of a potions-brewer. You can keep to the instructions but there is a difference between the stoic mixing of ingredients to achieve a result that merely fulfills its function and the creative and skillful fusing of substance, timing and stirring to produce a potion which is not only functional, but perfect and extraordinary in effect. A certain fascination is essential," he paused and looked round at Lupin who was smiling slightly, brows knitted in careful concentration.

"It must be frustrating that you cannot pass on your enthusiasm to many others," he said and took one of the phials, closing his fist around it. "Though it would be worth some more appreciation, wouldn't it?"

Severus swallowed and indeed felt enthusiastic, he could have sworn that his eyes were gleaming. "A potion is almighty, it can control your body and your mind, all of you; invading your body it can either form the very stream on which you will undertake your last journey in the boat that will bring you to the other side, where there waits only eternal darkness, or it can wash away your every sickness, your every wound, your every concern, with the waves of its magical liquid, lifting you up into the heavens to a place where there is no sadness.

"It can be liquid love, creating an illusion so perfect that you will never be able to tell reality from imagination, lover from enemy. While flowing through human veins it will warm a cold heart, open ignorant eyes and finally satisfy the loneliest of souls.

"The darkest of truths can be found and revealed no matter how deeply buried, how well concealed behind the thickest of walls constructed of lies.

"With the tiniest of drops, dull eyes will shine again and the deepest fatigue will be swept away by the energetic winds brought to your body by a mixture of the most unspectacular ingredients, combined to create pure life.

"With the most delicate fluid power a potion can even tame the savage beast that lures in you, waiting impatiently for the next possibility to break loose. It can shackle the wolf to the very back of your mind, freeing you from the frightening dangers its sharp fangs pose, loosening the ailing hold it has on you," Severus finished, his eyes meeting the werewolf's whose stare had become quite unfathomable when he had mentioned the Wolfsbane Potion, red lips slightly parted, fingers rolling the phial back and forth in his deft hands.

There was a few moments' silence until Lupin set down the phial beside the others again, carefully and neatly. When he turned to Severus again with a raised eyebrow and a vague smile, resting his hand on the wooden table he looked as if he had just received a gift from Severus. "You are a poet, Severus," he said quietly, the firelight reflected by his golden orbs. "When you talk about potions, it sounds like poetry, and you display your extraordinary and effortless skill at using words. It is impressing. I love listening to you. I wonder why you cannot fascinate your students, since you have definitely fascinated me."

Severus didn't know what to say. He didn't usually get so many compliments at once. Not that he'd care, but when Lupin said it, it seemed to matter. It was special. And he felt proud. Had he really said he loved listening to Severus? Maybe he wasn't quite as unfortunate as he'd thought.

"As I said, the beauty of potions is not visible to everyone. But there are some who can make it out when shown how to see it," he said finally and walked over to his storage chamber, opening the door and reaching to his left, taking out a small phial with a yellow potion in it. When he approached Lupin again he beckoned him closer and removed the stopper, dripping some of the potion onto the table.

He enjoyed the soft noises of awe Lupin made, bending down to have a better look, when the potion hit the wood and fume rose from it in all possible colours and the shapes of butterflies and birds and flowers, finally exploding in a little firework. Severus watched the werewolf's face light up in a boyish delight that made his eyes sparkle, and his brow creased when he noticed that a satisfied smile was creeping onto his face. A smile, not a smirk. He quickly banned it from his features when the other turned round to beam at him.

"I wouldn't have expected you to have such a potion!" he said and Severus raised an eyebrow.

"Such knickknack is usually not found in my stores, the potion has a function, other than delighting Gryffindors, such as yourself," he replied coolly and took the freshly brewed potion and the one from his storage back to the shelves in the chamber. "As it happens, quite ironically, it is a strong poison, so beware."

Lupin chuckled and Severus was relieved despite himself that he had not offended the other. That he was still granted the sound of his husky chuckle, caressing his eardrums, and bestowed by another smile on his red lips that made Severus's head light. Lupin's honey hair was shimmering in the torchlight matching his golden eyes perfectly as if on fire, framing the mellow, pale skin of his too tired face. Severus noticed a faint scar on the werewolf's chin that reminded him of the beast that lived in the thin frame, and it seemed so unreal to him that this man transformed into a savage wolf once a month.

"Sometimes the most beautiful of things tend to kill us..." he muttered and Lupin gave him a curious look.

"I didn't come to dinner because I wanted to get all the work done that I need for tomorrow. Actually I wanted to ask you for a cup of tea in your rooms, but this was just as nice," Lupin said quietly and made for the door of the lab slowly. Severus watched him, taking in the grace in every step he took. At the door he turned and gave Severus a smile that would almost have made his knees give way, had he not been able to steady himself on the table.

"Thank you for letting me watch. I see you tomorrow then. Good night," he said warmly and left, closing the door behind himself. Severus stared at the place where his face had been a few seconds before and wished he'd been able to ask him to stay. Without him there, the dungeon was even colder and emptier than before.

As Severus cleaned up his ingredients and the cauldron and put out the fire, he tried to picture Lupin standing there, opposite him. Maybe Severus's words about potions sounded like poetry to him, but Lupin himself was personified poetry. Fair and graceful, ailed by the darkest of horrors but full of warmth and comfort for others, even those who didn't deserve it. His knowing eyes, like clear lakes without bottoms, their surfaces showing every stirring, every movement in their unending depths. His lips like unlocked gates, behind which there lay all possible ways of expressing feelings, thoughts and everything that was worth being expressed. Severus could have found many more poetic words to describe him, so fascinated was he with the werewolf, so captured was his mind. There was no way of letting go of him.

When the Potions master retired to his rooms, he lit the fireplace again, in vain, though, since the still so clear memory of the werewolf's warmth could not be compared to. He heaved a sigh and slumped down on his sofa. He would never be able to utter the words he formed in his mind and hoped that maybe one day Lupin would read them in his black eyes. He wasn't a poet. He couldn't even describe his own feelings, was completely helpless when it came to relationships. He couldn't find flowery expressions for his troubles and he didn't feel better after voicing them in any of his clumsy ways.

But he did feel better when Lupin voiced them, when he found words for Severus's thoughts and feelings. He felt calm and satisfied when Lupin was present and it soothed him when the other spoke. It seemed as if Lupin knew the exact words and behaviour that were needed in a specific situation. His whole presence was aesthetic, was healing, was pleasant. And Severus felt as if he were listened to and understood, as if the things he told the other were meaningful not only to himself but to the werewolf as well, as if he were incapable of saying anything meaningless at all, as if he were appreciated.

He was indeed a worthy confidant, the first person in years and years that Severus judged as worthy enough to entrust him with the things that mattered to him, leaving no room in their conversations for unimportant small talk. Lupin relieved him of his pain and gave him the feeling that he was worth more than he believed, lightening the weight on his mind. And all he had to give in return was coldness and snide remarks.

No, Severus was no poet. But Remus Lupin was poetry.