All Because They Tried to Kill Me

Summary: SS/RL. After James saves Severus from being killed by Remus-wolf, Severus, far from being freaked out and only nettling the Gryffindor more, goes to talk to him. A rather comical romance (and mayhem) ensues. Sixth Year (I couldn't remember what year it happened in so I just picked one.) Post-HBP (oho, Langlock and Muffliato! You can see where this is going…)

WARNING: Besides the BOYslash, this involves some OOCness because wizards have laptop computers (although I think it makes sense; wizards would obviously have the power to be much more technologically advanced than Muggles; why shouldn't they have been able to make laptops twenty-thirty years before we did?). Just a warning. I try to make my characters as close to canon as I can within the parameters of my story, and I hope that no one thinks I do a bad job of it.

Chapter 1

Friday October 9th, 1974

"Severus," said Professor Dumbledore sternly over his half moon spectacles. "I cannot impress upon you the seriousness of what you have witnessed. If this had by chance…"

The fifteen year old boy (in sixth year, but with a January birthday) sitting in front of him was looking at him insolently out of one glittering black eye; the other was hidden, along with most of that side of his pale and rather acne-beleaguered face, by a curtain of lank black hair. He knew very well how serious this was; one of the Gryffindor Golden Boys was a werewolf, and it was Remus Lupin, no less! He had never expected that, had never guessed that the amber eyes and monthly sicknesses were anything more than the boy's odd health problems.

Not to mention that James Potter had saved his life from said werewolf, something that he rather felt like never mentioning to anybody. If that got out… well, things would certainly get interesting in Slytherin, but he had a feeling it wouldn't be in his favor. If you were a student in Slytherin house being in favor mattered far more than anything else.

Dumbledore apparently hadn't noticed his charge's wandering thoughts, because he hadn't paused. "…forbidden to tell anyone what you have seen, do you understand?"

Severus' single visible eye snapped up to meet the bright blue ones of the Headmaster in an incredulous gaze. Forbidden to tell anyone? What did Dumbledore think he was, stupid? If he told everyone it would only bring attention to the fact that he, Severus Snape, had trusted Sirius Black, nearly been killed by one of the mildest students in the bloody school, and been saved by his archenemy. He had no wish to tell anyone.

Anyway, this revelation had set him thinking. Thinking about a boy he normally only just glanced at in the corridors, recognizing on a visual scale but not on a mental one. It had – dare he say it? – piqued his curiosity.

But he didn't say any of this. Instead he muttered his usual quiet, "Yes, Professor," in a voice that was only just beginning to level out into the velvety baritone he would have as an adult. He picked up his bag and stood to leave.

"Oh, and Severus," Dumbledore said as the Slytherin neared the door. Bloody man has a habit of always pulling you back in just when you think you're free of him, Severus muttered in his head as he turned.

"Yes, sir?"

"Don't be too harsh on Remus, when you speak to him." And, eyes twinkling like Christmas tree lights, Dumbledore inclined his head to show that he was done and popped a lemon drop into his mouth.

As if he could hear my thoughts… could sense that I had some intention of speaking to him, Severus thought. How had Dumbledore known? Dumbledore had instilled in Severus what the boy himself would later plant in the minds of most of his students: The freaky bugger can read minds!

Severus would admit it only to himself: he did want to speak to Remus Lupin, odd as it sounded. What Lucius Malfoy would think of all this he wouldn't even allow himself to guess. Luckily, he had at least a period and a half to talk himself out of it.

Still…

He couldn't help but wonder: had the werewolf known what Sirius and James had planned, or had he been oblivious? What must it be like, living and knowing that you will be an outcast the moment someone lets slip your secret? Severus already knew what it felt like to be shunned; was that what Lupin dreaded first thing in the morning every day he woke up?

For quite possibly the first time in his life, Severus Snape was admitting to himself that he might actually be feeling compassion. Sickening. He might as well just switch into Hufflepuff now; they still had half a year left. He shook his head as he ascended the stairs into the entrance hall, passing a gaggle of whispering students, probably obsessed with the latest news of the now-infamous Deatheaters cult. Honestly, was that all anyone ever cared about anymore? There were so many other things much more interesting than who was dying this week.

He'd already missed half of Herbology, one of the only subjects he seemed to be having trouble with. Oh, the theory was fine, easy to a fault, but when confronted with giant writhing Blood-Roses or Venomous Tentaculi nothing he had learned seemed in any way helpful. What was the point of knowing that a Blood-Rose could suck you dry in barely three minutes when that was what you were trying to avoid in the first place? It was like knowing that a group of piranhas could de-flesh a cow in less than a minute. He wasn't a cow. When faced with a swarm of hungry mini-sharks, what good would it do him to know how fast they could de-flesh, of all the many varieties of fauna, a cow?

Very luckily it was only the theory that mattered with Potions, which he'd decided to teach because his copy of 'Advanced Potion Making' was so unsophisticated and outdated that he had actually taken to scribbling the correct way to do things in the margins, as well as little tricks he'd discovered on his own and some jinxes and spells invented in his free time. The qualifications for a teaching post were very low (only an Outstanding in the field you wish to teach, as well as at least a year of University study), so he shouldn't have really cared about passing this class, but… well… sue him for being a perfectionist.

Luckily, Remus Lupin was not taking this class.

Remus Lupin was, in fact, in the second floor corridor Charms Classroom, practicing a color-changing charm on his Charms partner, Sirius Black.

"Shame Prongs didn't just let you kill the little bastard," the dark haired Gryffindor said in a bored voice for what had to be the seventh or eighth time, absently fiddling with his hair, which Remus was at the moment making cycle from red to orange to black to purple over and over until he had the spell down.

James, only a desk away and practicing with Lily Evans, who couldn't find a better partner and so had to content herself with James (this was before they started dating), cried "What? And leave poor Moony with the worst case of indigestion this world has yet seen? I think not, Padfoot!"

Sirius inclined his head toward James. "Good point, Prongs. Moony would have been sick if he'd eaten that." He made a face even as he started working on turning Remus' school robes yellow.

Remus remained silent in his now bile-yellow robes (Sirius was having a bit of trouble with getting the right wrist movement; he tended to over-exaggerate it and so the color always came out too fruity).

Ever since he'd been let out of the infirmary this morning Remus had been dreading that Snape would reveal his secret to the Slytherins, or, even worse, the whole school. He was terrified of next period; not only was it Advanced Potions, which he'd always had trouble in because of his over-sensitive nose (werewolf senses, natch), but none of the other Marauders had it with him. In fact, he was the only Gryffindor in that class. He wasn't so sure if he could stand being totally alone in a room with only Slughorn, Snape, a few Slytherins, two Ravenclaws and one paranoid Hufflepuff by the name of Drake McMorrie for company.

Remus was not to be disappointed; this lesson was going to be just as much of a trial as he had feared: not only was it double Advanced Potions, but they were making Amortentia. He found his usual seat in the back on the far left (farthest away from all of the other potions and their makers, thus at least slightly dulling the barrage of scents on his poor nose). He began to set up his cauldron, getting out the ingredients in the long list written on the board in Professor Slughorn's looping handwriting.

A small cough distracted him. No human would have heard it, but his ears were that sensitive. For this reason he'd always spoken quietly and detested arguments; too much shouting, and too much pain in his aching ear drums. He shook his head, figuring the cough wasn't meant for him, and went back to rooting through his bag trying to find a few rose petals.

"They're better when they're fresh," someone said quietly from next to him. Remus started and dropped his bag. Hurriedly he picked it up and set it on the desk, then whipped around to see who had spoken, blushing slightly.

Snape regarded him with a sphinx-like expression from his one visible black eye. Remus had the distinct impression the taller boy was sizing him up, as though to check whether he posed any sort of threat. Apparently, whatever he had been debating in his mind was cleared up a moment later when he said,

"May I sit here?" Snape indicated the seat next to Remus, who merely shrugged a shaky affirmative and tried to calm himself. This had to be it. Snape was going to blackmail him, was going to tell everyone his secret… it was all over.

But Snape didn't say anything at all; rather, he began to set up his cauldron, waving his wand absently at his kit of ingredients so that the ones he needed assembled themselves in neat little rows on the desk. Then he reached inside his bag and took out a rose, blood red and still slightly dewy as though it had just been picked.

Remus stared. "The recipe only calls for three petals you know…"

"They're better when they're fresh," Snape repeated vaguely, not even glancing at Remus but rather pulling a few petals from the rose and setting it down the desk, using his wand to light the burner under his cauldron so that the water started bubbling.

Remus suddenly realized that he hadn't started his own potion boiling and quickly tapped on the burner to light it.

"Right!" said Professor Slughorn jovially, bounding into the room with a box of crystallized pineapple tucked under one fleshy arm. "As most of you have noticed, today we are making Amortentia. I see Mr. Snape and Mr. Lupin have already set out their ingredients and got the water boiling; that's five points each to Gryffindor and Slytherin. Now, who can tell me the effects of Amortentia?"

Almost before he had finished speaking Remus saw Snape's hand shoot upwards next to him and he almost actually felt a soft gust of air from the sudden movement.

Slughorn inclined his head. "Yes?"

"Amortentia is the most powerful Love Potion existing today, created in 1924 by Alfred Morathi. It is the closest simulation of love that one can experience through magic, and causes the drinker to fall into an almost destructive obsession regarding the intended love object. Eventually it wears off, but sometimes it has been known to actually cause two people to truly fall in love once the effects are gone," Snape said, speaking very quickly and with his hand still straight up in the air.

Slughorn beamed. "Quite right; five points to Slytherin. Nothing can create love, though the effects may cause the drinker and the person who made them drink to form a certain sort of bond… this potion is quite possibly one of the most dangerous we'll make this year. There is almost nothing more devastating than obsessive love." He then turned to look around the room. "Can anyone tell me how one can recognize Amortentia?"

To everyone's surprise, McMorrie's hand went up along with Snape's.

Drake McMorrie was like a Marauder-era incarnation of Neville Longbottom; he tended to ruin any potion he was in the room with and seemed jinxed to melt every cauldron given to him. He was wonderful with theory, but he was so skittish and paranoid that he simply couldn't bring himself to concoct the potions correctly. Who knows who would find them and use them against him? What if he burned himself and died? What if…???

But his hand was up. Even Slughorn looked surprised as he said, "Yes, Mr. McMorrie?"

"Amortentia," McMorrie said shakily as though willing himself to keep going with every word, "can be… recognized… by its… mother-of-pearl sheen and distinctive light golden color… Also, Amortentia smells… like things that we love, and… smells different for every person."

Remus heard Snape snort quietly from next to him, and turned to look at him with an it's-better-than-he's-done-all-year-so-what's-to-snort-at sort of look on his face.

"He's forgotten the spiral steam," Snape said by way of explanation, his eyes focused on Slughorn, who had just given McMorrie five points, rather than on Remus.

"Right then," said Slughorn, "for this first period we'll be starting the potion. Get to the halfway point by the end, and we'll let them simmer through the fifteen minute break and then finish their first stage next period. Carry on."

Remus bent over his book and read the first instruction.

Set water to a boil.

Good; he'd done that already. Line two, then.

Add a third of a cup of red wine; let stew for a minute.

Crap; where does one find wine in places like this? Remus thought.

"You're a wizard, Lupin," Snape hissed at him as he bent over the book, his lank hair flopping onto the table and all but covering the pages, "Just get a cup of water and do a simple transfiguration." He paused for a moment, and then said quietly, "By the way, it actually works better with champagne."

Remus stared at him. Little did the Gryffindor know it, but he was the first person to fall prey to Snape's uncanny ability to know exactly what someone was thinking.

Snape made no move to acknowledge that he was being watched, but rather took out a beaker and began to fill it with a jet of moderately warm water from the tip of his wand. Remus shook his head and did the same, though he made sure to transfigure his water into red wine rather than the yellow, bubbly liquid Snape used. The boy was a genius in Potions, but Remus, as a Marauder and under the odd circumstances he and Snape currently faced, couldn't trust him.

After a minute of letting the wine boil with the water, Remus looked at the next line.

Add three rose petals, a pinch of cinnamon, and as much blood as you deem necessary.

Blood?! What sort of love potion was this?

"All love potions have blood in them. It's a mandatory ingredient." This time Remus just ignored the hissed correction and dropped the three rose petals he'd finally dug up at the bottom of his kit into his cauldron, closely followed by the cinnamon. The potion fizzed and blazed bright pink for a moment before settling into a deep fruity cherry color. Almost instantly the smells of wine and roses and cinnamon hit his nose; the combination was not unpleasant, but was so overwhelming that he had to stop for moment to regain his balance, as it had made him dizzy.

Snape's potion, he noticed, had stayed bright pink. He checked the book. Sure enough, that was the exact color it described. "Why…?"

"I've told you three times now, the petals are better fresh." Remus, who by now was getting slightly annoyed with Snape's rather critical commentary, turned to look at him. Snape, however, didn't meet his gaze but rather held his left hand over his cauldron, and knife in his right. Delicately he cut a thin line across his palm. Instantly blood began to well out of the cut, hitting the boiling water with a soft hiss and making the potion froth and go a bloody scarlet.

"… four, five," Snape said, as though he'd been counting in his head and tapped his palm with his wand to heal it. Then he seemed to notice Remus' rather frightened stare and turned to look at him for the first time. Remus could have sworn a small, rather evil smile played across his face for just a moment as he said, "That's better fresh as well. You had better add yours or the other ingredients will have stewed too long."

Remus hurriedly uncorked the bottle of blood in his kit and poured about half of it in, recoiling at the stale, salty scent. Snape said nothing, but rather turned back to his own potion and began to mince a root that squirmed in his grasp and squeaked madly for a moment until he firmly chopped it in half.

The two of them worked for about forty minutes in their own little spheres of consciousness. Remus' mind was on overdrive. What was going on here? Snape was being almost personable, almost – dare he say it? – helpful (in a rather Slytherin manner, of course). Was this all just a ploy; would it all come crashing down soon enough when the whole school knew his secret? What was happening here?

He stopped himself adding the wrong ingredient just in time; he put down the asphodel and carefully shredded the belladonna before sprinkling it over the top of his potion. The bubbling liquid changed its color from the slightly washed out red it had been since he'd added the blood to a rather bile colored green, and steam began to issue from it, curling in not-quite-symmetrical spirals toward the ceiling. It was just about this time that Slughorn called,

"The bell for break is going to ring any moment; the book says to let them simmer for twenty-six minutes, so you can just talk until it's time to come back to them." He popped a piece of pineapple into his mouth and went back to flipping through his copy of the Daily Prophet.

Everyone began to talk amongst themselves or read; or, in McMorrie's case, huddle beneath the desk whispering something about a conspiracy and a duck. Snape, meanwhile, had pulled out a book and was hunched over reading it, his hair falling around his face like a curtain. His potion was now a deep lime color, the spirals of steam making perfect circles as they curled toward the ceiling. Remus, unsure of what to do, pulled out a book as well and tried to read it. The words swam in front of his eyes, though, and the sharp acidic smell that the potions always developed stung his senses until he had to blink to keep his amber eyes from watering. Finally he shut the book and just looked at the wall in defeat.

"So I was right," Snape said suddenly, closing his book and looking up at Remus, who started at the sudden words and turned.

"Right about what?" the young werewolf asked cautiously. Best to be guarded; this could go either way.

"About the reason someone of your obviously superior intellect cannot seem to produce a satisfactory potion," Snape said simply, his expression unfathomable. "The very smell of it puts you off completely until you're struggling to even see straight. But then, because of what you are… your senses are obviously so much stronger than that of a normal human…"

Remus blinked, confused. Snape seemed so calm about this, not at all calculating or gloating.

Seeing his look, Snape said quietly, "Lupin, I know what it's like to be ridiculed for something I cannot change. It's a horrible feeling, and I'm sorry for the part I had in foisting it on you."

Remus blinked again, his lips slightly parted in shock. Severus Snape. Apologizing. To him. This was quite possibly the weirdest Potions lesson Remus had ever attended.

"There. I said it. Lucius Malfoy and his 'morals of Slytherin conduct' be damned; I said it. Laugh if you must," Snape said almost to himself, opening his book again, his hair falling in about his face. There was something of the unruly child in his manner; almost as though it was a great effort to say the words. He meant it, Remus could tell, but he wasn't going to let Remus know that if he could help it. Classic Slytherin.

"Look, Snape," Remus said earnestly, "I'm not laughing."

That single eye glared for a moment at the Gryffindor from between the curtains of hair and then snapped back to stare with a surly expression at the book. There was a note of sarcasm in his voice when he muttered, "What, then? Too scared to laugh, too afraid that I'm just doing this to gain your trust so I can blackmail you? I'm sure Potter's already planted that in your head. I'm not asking for your friendship. I'm just saying that I know what you're feeling to some degree. That's all."

Remus was just about to reply when the bell rang. Slughorn called,

"That's time, everyone! Back to your potions; I'll be coming through in just a moment to check your progress while you let them stew for another ten minutes." There was a bit of crystallized pineapple clinging to his walrus mustache.

Remus sighed angrily and then bent over so that his face was hidden from Slughorn's view behind his cauldron.

"And what if I don't care what James says?" he hissed. "What if I know that you're not like they say you are, that you're not like you seem to think you are? Do you know how far my senses can penetrate? Just from your scent I can tell that you're bitter; the air around you always makes me sad. You detest human company and prefer to be alone and occupied with something complicated. You loathe yourself. You feel like no matter what you do everyone still hates you. You think that you're ugly, that everything you touch becomes similarly affected. You distance yourself from everyone so that you can't hurt them, even though you're longing for some sort of human contact. In effect, you feel that you are completely and utterly imperfect and that I shouldn't care about you one way or the other because you're not worth it. And that's all tosh."

By now Snape had abandoned all pretense of reading and was instead staring at Remus, open-mouthed. He didn't look angry though; in fact, above anything else, he looked shocked. "How did you… What is that supposed to…What are you trying to say here, Lupin?"

"I'm saying," Remus said decisively, crossing his arms, "that even though I'm a Gryffindor and you're a Slytherin that doesn't mean we can't have a truce. Whether you're asking for my friendship or not, I'm giving it to you."

Snape looked like he was going to say something but at that point Slughorn was too close for talking. He gave Remus a very odd look and went back to his potion, starting to chop and mix the ginger and Venomous Tentacula tubers. Remus shook his head with an annoyed expression and started working on his own chopping.

"Now, what have we got here," Slughorn said, pausing by their table and putting his hands on his nonexistent waist as he surveyed their work. He didn't even comment on Snape's potion, now a yellowish green from the mix of chopped roots. Snape didn't make any move to ask him anything either, but rather lazily waved his wand at the spoon he'd dipped into the mixture which then began to stir the potion with perfect timing as the Slytherin went back to his book.

Remus, however, Slughorn paused by. "The rose petals and the blood weren't fresh, were they?"

Despite Slughorn's insistence, Remus wouldn't explain to him why this simple comment caused the Gryffindor to laugh so hard that he nearly fell off his chair.