Love Potion HP

Chapter Six: Repulsion Potions

Halloween came with the usual candy and chaos and levitating pumpkins of the holiday feast. Severus sat at the head table, between Sinistra and Vector, decidedly avoiding anything with sugar coating or content. His teeth were brown enough, thank you very much, without the necessity of actually rotting them.

None of the food sat well with his stomach. It revolted at even an innocuous baked potato. There was a queasiness inside him, one that had begun three days ago and not yet ceased.

What was wrong with him? Shouldn't he feel relieved? He had seen neither hide nor hair of Sirius. Without his presence, there was nothing left that should fuel his sudden- and undoubtedly Dark- attraction to the man.

Why then his sudden feeling of emptiness? Why the cloud of utter misery that had overcast him? This was what he wanted. Except for the obligatory meetings in Dumbledore's office, Sirius was out of his life. All it had taken were a few venom-laced words. Why did he feel horrible about it?

Why couldn't he tear his mind from Sirius Black?

* * *

After the feast, Severus did not go to bed; sleep had been impossible for the past nights anyway. He went directly to his office and riffled through his tomes of recipes. Within minutes, he located the desired list of potions and glanced at the ingredients. Each was stocked in his private larder. He opened the pantry and placed the necessary vials and jars on his desk, then turned on the burner under a ready cauldron. The chosen potion was complex, but there were few concoctions that Severus could not brew, although his Veritaserum usually curdled.

I should be making potions for the Ministry, not teaching a lot of dunderheads with about as much talent as Muggles, he reflected bitterly, not for the first time. For that, he had no one to blame but himself. He doubted Fudge would approve the appointment of a former Death Eater, and at least at Hogwarts- now that Moody was gone- he did not have a host of Aurors breathing down his neck.

And so my skills go to waste...

He shook his head. There were already enough foul thoughts in his mind for one evening.

The potion was prepared in under an hour. Severus poured the serum directly into a clean goblet and raised it to his lips. He would break his attraction, if not through one method, then another. This was the strongest variety of repulsion potion he knew. If it failed to keep his thoughts from Sirius...

He pushed the speculation aside. The potion would not fail him.

* * *

That night Severus dreamt of Sirius. He woke up disgusted, dissatisfied, and empty.

The repulsion potion could not have failed him. Could not. He must have made a mistake. Perhaps what he had brewed was not truly the strongest of the list. Anything was possible.

Anything except that his heart truly meant what it seemed to feel.

He tried another. And another. And another.

None of them could plug the hole in his chest. None of them could stop him from remembering how, after all the biting and the scratching were done and he was thoroughly exhausted, he had collapsed in Sirius's arms completely satisfied and content.

He could not live like this- it might just kill him. Why didn't he just hunt down Sirius and confess to him-

Confess what? That he needed him? Even if it were true, Severus would never speak it. He had too much pride; he had hated Sirius too long and too deeply to conceive that that could ever change. He would rather die.

If his heart ached...

It was only Dark magic. Not himself.

* * *

"...and after that, it was simply chaos!" Harry declared. "I don't think Professor Flitwick will be able to teach class with a straight face again for days."

"Mmm," his godfather made a small note of acknowledgement as he gazed impassively into the fire.

"Sirius?" he asked. "I thought you would think that was funny."

Sirius gave a start in his chair. "Oh, I-" He massaged his face with his hand. "I'm sorry, Harry, I really am. I've just been feeling out of sorts."

"It's- it's okay," Harry said. "I understand."

He had a feeling he understood too well. Little more than a week ago, just before Halloween, the dots had stopped appearing together on his Map. He had assumed the problem had resolved itself, yet now...

Ever since the start of November, there had been a strange quality to Sirius's eyes. They were empty. Not deadened, as they had been the night Harry first met him, but simply empty. Sirius was a Seeker without a broomstick, watching the Snitch hover above with the hopeless despair that nothing in his power would ever enable him to capture it.

Please say that's not it. Please say this has nothing to do with Snape.

He had the horrible suspicion that it did.

* * *

Severus felt a wave of nauseous protest rise from his stomach. He clutched his abdomen, raised his eyes to the ceiling of the Great Hall, and tried to swallow-

No, it was not working. He was not going to able to keep it down. Abruptly, he shoved his seat away from the faculty table and rose, turning towards the nearest exit.

"Severus?" someone tugged at his sleeve. McGonagall.

He glanced over his shoulder. "What?"

McGonagall's eyes revealed solicitous concern. "Severus, you look pale."

"I'm fine, Minerva," he assured her sharply, yanking his sleeve from her grip.

"Severus-"

"I said I'm fine!" he snapped.

He began to storm from the hall, then stopped. He must take lighter steps. He felt so dizzy that if he pounded too forcefully, he might stumble over his own feet...

Forget stepping; he could not keep it down much longer. He ran to the nearest faulty bathroom and fumbled with the doorknob. It proved a challenge to open, as his palms were sweaty again; why hadn't he noticed that?

He could not hold back his stomach any longer; he threw his dignity to the wind and launched himself at the toilet. He clutched the rim of the bowl and heaved. Nothing, he decided, could be worse than the taste of vomit on his tongue, except possibly the tang of Sirius's sweat-

Don't think about it, he ordered himself.

He glanced into the bowl. How could there be so much? He had only eaten a bread roll and he knew that last night's dinner could not possibly be in there, for it had formerly met the same fate as this morning's breakfast. When was the last time he had actually been able to keep down a meal? Five, six days ago, was it? And why was the mess in the toilet slightly pinkish? Vomit was brown...

Weakly, his hand flicked the flusher and he slumped next to bowl, listening to the sound of the water draining. What month was it? November? Maybe it was December by now. He could not precisely recall; the days were blurring together and he felt lightheaded again. It would pass. Should pass, but it had not yesterday. He had still made it through his classes, but...

He probably looked as sick as he felt, which meant his face roughly translated into hell. He wondered if anybody noticed. He had not particularly noticed anybody lately; the world was spinning far too fast for that...

He hoped no one suspected. He doubted anyone did. He was a Potions Master. Surely, he knew not to mix repulsion potions together because their ingredients were not completely compatible and often produced strange reactions. Surely, he knew that by increasing the dosages, he ran the risk of inadvertently poisoning himself...

His head slid from the bowl to the floor and he moaned. He knew. He knew very well what he was doing to himself, but single doses of the individual potions had not worked and on the eleventh of November, when the last variation of the medicament had failed him, he had seen no other choice.

His heart was racing again. That was not good, but it was acceptable. Better that than that he should think-

It isn't working, he realized. It isn't working!

How could it not work? What had the recipe book said? Unless a powerful enchantment were counteracting the potions or the feelings stemmed from actual love...

Well, that decided it. It had to be the Dark Arts. There was nothing else.

Get out of my head! he ordered.

He would not plead, not with Sirius Black, or any specter of the man haunting his mind.

* * *

"...Rejuvenation Drafts are not dangerous if brewed properly, however, certain ingredients must be handled- Potter and Longbottom, you two had better be listening!" Snape threatened completely out of the blue.

Harry sat rigidly straight in his chair. Why was Snape singling him out this time? He hadn't so much as squeaked!

"Snape looks like he could use a Rejuvenation Draft himself," Ron whispered.

Harry had to agree. The Potion Master's face was pale, and not in his usual sour-milk tone, but a ghostly white. His movements were jittery and he was notably losing weight, quite a feat considering he had not had much of it to begin with.

Snape's voice droned on, "...take care to grind the pellwig seeds finely. It would be quite tragic if one of you should happen to develop a permanent twitch..."

Oh no, he's going to make us drink these things! Harry realized.

"...and as lanlead pellets are known to explode when shaken-"

Snape's voice abruptly stopped. The professor's eyes became unfocused and he suddenly clutched his left arm.

No one said anything for several minutes until Draco Malfoy, one of the few people Snape wouldn't snap back at, asked, "Professor, are you alright?"

Snape blinked and took a step. "Yes, Mr. Malfoy, I am-"

He fainted.

* * *

Severus felt dazed and startled by the light. Where was he? The dungeon was never this bright. He glanced about and realized he was lying on a bed in the Infirmary. He heard footsteps approach and, shortly, Albus Dumbledore stood beside him.

"How do you feel, Severus?"

He hesitated. He wanted to answer "fine," but that was not the truth.

"Ill. How long have I-"

"A few hours," he answered. "I've spoken with Poppy. You've been mixing potions together, Severus?"

Severus closed his eyes and nodded. "Repulsion," he admitted.

"Why? Severus, you're the Potions Master. You understand how dangerous that is," Dumbledore softly chided.

"I know," he answered miserably, "but..." The words escaped before he could stop them. "Albus, I was going mad! I couldn't stop thinking about Sirius! I hate him!"

"Of course you do," Dumbledore replied. "You're in love."

Severus shuddered. That was the last thing he wanted to hear. Yet...

"There's someone else who wants to see you," Dumbledore said. "I'll tell Poppy to give you privacy."

The headmaster left and Severus heard light tapping across the floor. A figure emerged from another form beside him. Sirius. He looked down at Severus with bleary eyes and wordlessly took his hand in his.

"Sirius..." Severus whispered. "I..." He had to say it. He swallowed, choking down a small bit of his pride. "I'm sorry for all the horrible things I've said."

Sirius looked shocked. "What?"

"I'm sorry," he repeated.

Sirius did not know what to make of it. "It's- it's alright..."

"No, it's not," he scoffed. "Look, I'm only being nice because I'm sick..."

Sirius could not suppress a soft chortle.

He continued, "...I just couldn't accept the way you made me feel after... after everything. But you could do it right away. And you were willing to put up with me. You saw we couldn't change it... but I couldn't- I couldn't-"

"Shh," Sirius gently patted his arm. "It's alright."

"No, it's NOT!" he exclaimed.

"Severus, don't exert yourself."

He sighed. "Listen, like I said, I'm only being nice because I'm sick. I'll probably never be this nice to you again. I'm still going to snap at you and be generally disagreeable, because that's just who I am. And I still hate you, of course. That will never ever change. But I don't think this is Dark magic anymore and I..."

He trailed off. Part of him did not want to say it. Once he admitted it, there was no turning back. He would never be quite the same Severus Snape that he was at this precise moment.

"I really think I adore you."

Sirius grinned. "I like you when you're sick."

"Yeah?" Severus muttered. "Well, enjoy it while it lasts."

* * *

The door opened before Sirius's paw even tapped it; Severus must have set a ward to detect his presence. He entered and morphed. The light of the Lumos-bulb in the room was dim, but enough to distinguish the pale tone of Severus's skin, which had yet to regain its full sallow hue.

"Sirius," Severus croaked.

He grasped for the clasp of Sirius's robes in a manner which made his intent obvious. His hands never reached that far; he collapsed and Sirius caught him by the waist, bracing him.

"No," he said. "You're still too weak."

Severus felt thin, much more so than before; his frame was almost as slight as Sirius's own had been the night he had slipped through the bars of his cell in Azkaban.

He's so fragile I could break him with just my hands, Sirius realized, alarmed at the thought.

He led Severus to the bed and, after he had secured the Potions Master under the coverlet, slid in beside him. As he wrapped his arms again around Severus's waist, he suddenly felt himself of two minds. The Sirius which he had been fully before October angrily demanded what he was doing, while the Sirius he was not quite sure he was now pondered if he should be doing something more.

This was what he wanted, but he was not completely comfortable with it. He wondered if he ever would be.

"Sleep, Severus," he whispered. "I..." His voice suddenly cracked. "I'm here."