Chapter 8 – Wolf's Bane

Author's Note: I have to apologise to Snapefan51 who was so quick to review my posting this morning that she reviewed before I realised that I had posted the wrong chapter. Please forgive me Snapefan51, and go and read the last chapter "Portent of Doom". There is no need to read any more of this chapter, you already have! As for the new intruder you will just have to wait and see, after all Snape isn't sure yet either.

Anyway, here is the next chapter. Hope you like it. Please read and review.

I will be honest and say I don't know when the next chapter will be up, so don't hold your breath. I will try to finish it before the end of the month, but it IS Summer here and I only have two weeks of holidays left… Who really wants to spend their only time with their family writing???? Certainly not me at the moment!

*****

Snape stared, unseeing into the cauldron, lost in thought. God's, how much more would he have to put up with? The Werewolf was back – the same one that had nearly killed him and had left him permanently scarred both physically and mentally, the single event that thrust him finally towards Voldemort's "liberation".

Worse than that though was the appearance of this woman. He didn't know how she fit into Dumbledore's little plan for the final battle, perhaps she didn't. Perhaps she truly was only there to teach Defence and annoy him. Perhaps she was just the final link in a long chain of events to send him finally, irrevocably around the bend. He didn't know and the reality was he didn't care. Life was already causing him enough difficulty without the additional worry she would provide. He knew perfectly well that hanging on in quiet desperation was the English way, and he had spent his whole life struggling to maintain a grip on himself and reality. Unfortunately, as the end approached, he realised he would not be able to hang on for very much longer, not that the idea of failure perturbed him, after the struggles he had endured it would actually be a pleasant release in whatever form it came.

He sighed heavily, and watched the shimmering colours fade and die as the last of the heat left the small cauldron of Wolfsbane, leaving a firey red, horrid tasting concoction that smelt vaguely of roses. There were a number of things about his creation that he was displeased with – the taste was the first obvious drawback, but the fact that Wolfsbane couldn't be stored, which required it to be brewed fresh every month was a significant inconvenience.

Picking up a wooden goblet, the ingredients tended to react with other materials once the potion cooled, Snape stood quickly. Looking at the Lunar clock above and behind his desk, a constant painful but necessary reminder of his fear, he noted that he had only just managed to complete the potion in time. Tardiness annoyed him in his students and often invoked his wrath, his own worried him – it showed that he was quickly getting to the point that he could no longer concentrate or focus. He shuddered; it was a dangerous situation for a spy in his position.

He wondered if anyone else had noticed his faltering abilities, but knew already that Dumbledore had. That would explain the strange sadness in the old man's eyes when they contemplated him over his half moon spectacles. It would also go some way towards explaining the arrival of this woman to assist him. Replace him more like, he thought bitterly.

Moving quickly he left his quarters, goblet in hand and made his way carefully to Lupin's quarters. He had produced just enough Wolfsbane for a single dose, the vital ingredients were far too expensive to produce more than was necessary, so his sole goal on the journey through the cold dank halls was to arrive without spilling any of the precious potion. Heavens help any student that should get in his way.

He stopped suddenly and cursed under his breath – there were no students, the school year was yet to begin. A feeling of tenseness that was becoming all too familiar rose in him and he watched, both horrified and disgusted as his hands began to shake again. How could he even consider trying to teach potions, particularly advanced potions, if his hands shook so badly? Perhaps Dumbledore had been right to replace him before he killed a class full of students.

Trying to shake off the feeling of impending doom that seemed to follow him everywhere now, he thought briefly of how ironic it was that Wolfsbane was so costly – most of those that needed it could barely afford to survive, let alone pay for such an expensive potion. That was the third thing he hated about his most famous creation – it was too expensive to give away, and the company he had sold the rights to had ensured that it was so expensive to purchase that none but the most wealthy Werewolfs were left anything other than destitute after paying for their monthly doses.

***

Snape watched as Lupin downed the goblet of fiery red liquid. The Werewolf screwed up his face. Snape knew the potion was disgusting and almost unpalatable, he had tried a little of it himself after he had received the first protests, but try as he might he had never been able to do anything about that particular property. He had received many complaints over the years, but none from the Werewolf before him.

He thought angrily of the piles of parchments he had in his office "Please, I am grateful for your Wolfsbane, but does it have to taste so foul?" "It is so bad that transformations are almost better." "Wolfsbane is wonderful, but surely there is something you can do to improve the taste." And finally, his personal favourite – "Thanks for the Wolfsbane, but next time if you can't make it taste better, don't bother." He really liked that one.

Ungrateful bastards!

He had spent hours on the potion itself, ensuring it worked satisfactorily every time, and even more on trying to improve it, and still they complained. Not that he wanted to make it better for them – if it was so unpalatable he feared that there might be one or two who wouldn't take it. He would never admit it to anyone, but he still routinely had nightmares of the attack that night – his heart lurched painfully at the thought of them - brewing the potion would probably mean he would be subjected to their torment again. Perhaps he would forgo sleep for a couple of nights – he would almost have to overdose on dreamless sleep potion for it to have any effect. He thought fondly of the blissful release that potion could bring. If used in large enough quantities it would bring permanent release.

He shook his head at the thought – the Headmaster would never allow such a thing – he needed him too much, although perhaps that would change as the time for battle approached. The time after the battle didn't even bare thinking about – when it was all over there would be nothing left for him, not that he expected anything but death – in fact he didn't even expect to survive long enough to see either side claim the ultimate victory.

Well, at least Wolfsbane was no longer his problem, not really anyway; he had sold the rights to the formula years ago and now it was mass-produced in large factories for sale to the public. Snape froze, horrified. He had just thought that thought less than ten minutes ago, and he had to struggle to control the rising panic that attacked him – he was clearly going mad and falling into a vortex of lost dreams and hopelessness, falling into a world inhabited only by thoughts that held such intense fear for him that he would rather tear out his own heart with his bare hands than face those gleaming golden eyes that haunted his dreams.

Controlling his breathing with an iron will that he was grateful to still have, hoping Lupin hadn't noticed his brief moment of panic, he allowed himself the privilege of finishing the train of thought. A Werewolf who failed to take the Potion was liable to be thrown in Azkaban. He secretly believed that they should all be and he was glad that the only time he had to brew it himself now was when he had to satisfy the needs of Hogwarts 'resident' Werewolf. He glared at the man lying before him – that would be once a month every month, probably for the rest of his pathetic life; after that it would be someone else's responsibility.

The potion was so complex he wondered if he would be able to continue to manage it for much longer anyway; perhaps his assistant would be of use after all. Like everyone else, or so it seemed, he recognised that he was struggling to continue to fulfil the multiple demands on his time. Calls to his master had increased tenfold in the recent months, particularly since his failed attempt to recover the prophecy, and he knew he was loosing the ability to clear his mind fully. That was dangerous – one slip and all would be lost. One solid attack on Voldemort's part and his betrayal would no longer be a secret. Failing as he was though, he would struggle to fulfil all his commitments until he could struggle no longer. He thought wistfully of the days when brewing had held simple pleasure for him – those days were long gone. Now nothing held any pleasure for him, simple or otherwise.

He hoped death would hurry and claim him. He was tired and he no longer cared for life. He watched the sickly looking man in front of him, knowing only too well how much sympathy and support he received for his 'illness', and he hated it, because he himself received none. There was no support for Severus Snape, and no thanks for a job well done. Perhaps everyone would realise how much he did when he was finally unable to do it? He shook his head and almost laughed at the thought. That would never happen.

With the last of the Wolfsbane gone, Remus handed the goblet back to the Potions Master with a hand that shook slightly. "Severus, I –."

"What?" Snape barked, glaring at the man before him, just waiting for his words of complaint. "If you are going to complain about the taste don't bother because there is nothing I can do about it. I have enough parchment from ungrateful bastards like you that I could fill a library. I don't need your verbal affirmation that it tastes like crap."

Remus was weary, but he had started something he had to finish. He had used Wolfsbane for nearly 10 years, he knew its creator, but in all that time he had never thanked the tormented man before him. That man now stood watching him with dark eyes that seemed to see into his soul.

Remus looked at the harried man sympathetically, endeavouring not to allow himself to rise to anger. "Severus, I was just going to say I have never thanked you for creating Wolfsbane." Remus saw the dark haired man stiffen – it was clear he was unused to receiving thanks. The thought that he had never been thanked struck Remus as being terribly sad and unfair, and he suddenly realised how cruel life had been to the Potions Master just because of one youthful mistake which he and his friends had been responsible for anyway. "It may not be the most agreeable of potions to take, as you say, but the taste is unimportant when you consider the alternatives, and anyone who says otherwise is a fool. Thank you."

Snape was dumbstruck. He had never been thanked so sincerely, not for anything. He looked at Remus and saw the weariness of the coming transformation lying heavily upon him. For the briefest moment, he almost felt sympathy for the man, before memories of his own torment rose and took over. He thought of the scars on his arm, the Dark Mark, and the others; and those on his body, carefully hidden under his layers of heavy dark robes – those the wolf were responsible for and those he was not. Was it all worth it for the thanks of one person? No was the answer that came quickly to mind.

"Don't bother thanking me, I didn't create it for your benefit. I created it to protect myself from the possibility of future attacks." Snape spat harshly.

Remus looked wearily at the man, he really didn't have the energy to match the man's anger, and so he responded with calm patience. "Severus, please try not to be so angry. I regret what happened in our youth, but I cannot undo the damage. I am just glad that James pulled you back before I had a chance to hurt you. I would never have been able to live with myself if I had actually harmed you."

"Yes, I am sure you would have hated life in Azkaban, or death! I don't know who told you I was unharmed though, but I can assure you they lied."

Remus looked up horrified and alarmed at the suggestion that he had caused the boy an injury that the man still carried. "No, you were unharmed! James pulled you back!"

"I can assure you that you did." Snape snarled dangerously, "but as my words are not proof enough for you, perhaps this will satisfy your desire for the truth." Quickly reaching down to his cuff, he undid the small buttons with deft, practiced movements and pulled the sleeve of his robes up. His stomach tightened as he saw the five thin white scars that ran across his arm – he hated being reminded of the experience and tried to avoid looking at the thin, white, innocuous lines that had sealed his fate. Of course, it was impossible not to look at them at all, but to display them in so openly was not something he was comfortable with. Even the nurse, damn her nosiness he thought darkly, had not seen the full extent of the damage that was done that night, and that was how he wished it to remain.

He thrust his arm out and watched as Remus recoiled from the sight. "There are other wounds also, but due to modesty I wish them to remain covered." He hissed dangerously.

Remus looked at Snape, horrified at what he had done. "Severus…" He spoke softly, his voice almost breaking, barely controlling the desire to cry at the damage he had inflicted. "I never knew." Inside, Remus raged. In nearly 20 years, no one had told him he had actually done the young Slytherin boy harm. It was no wonder the man that boy had become had outed him in front of the entire wizarding community. He was surprised that he hadn't let knowledge slip that he had harmed a human – that would have seen him sentenced to Azkabahn or worse, yet he had remained silent. Remus was grateful to him for that small mercy, knowing only too well mercy was something that Snape had rarely experienced in return.

Remus reached out and touched Snape's pale arm, and felt for the first time in human form, the soft skin that was marked by the scars of his attack. He was about to apologise when Snape smacked his hand away and moved from the bed. "Don't ever touch me!" There was a madness in Snape's eyes that Remus had never seen before, it was the result of fear, not anger, and Remus realised how damaged and hurt by the attack the Potions master still was. He knew he would never recover from that, and wondered how many others knew of the Potions Master's torment.

He couldn't think of any way to make things better. "I'm sorry." He apologised quietly, but the Potions Master was already storming out of the door, re-buttoning his sleeve as he went.

*

Irina watched as Snape stormed from Remus' chambers. He was buttoning the sleeve of his robes, and with a sinking heart, she realised what had happened. She knew she should follow him, she had to try and help him whether it was accepted or not, but she knew, too, how upset Remus would have been by what he had just seen. He would accept her help, and she chose quickly to deal with the Werewolf first.

Moving to the heavy wooden door, she knocked quietly. "Remus, it is Irina. May I come in?"

"I would prefer it if you didn't." His reply was subdued.

She opened the door. "Please forgive me Remus, but I feel I must."

When Remus saw that she had entered, he struggled to rise. He didn't want her to see him lying miserably on the bed as he had been, but Irina moved quickly to him and rested a hand on his shoulder. "Stop."

He sighed and fell back to the pillows, looking away embarrassed.

"Transformations are still difficult for you? Even with Wolfsbane?"

The slightly greying, ginger hair moved as the weary man nodded in confirmation.

"I am sorry."

"Thank you." Remus said quietly.

"I saw Severus leave accompanied by a storm cloud." She paused before continuing quietly, "I know what happened."

"You can't."

Irina's clear blue eyes looked at him. "He showed you the scars he bares upon his arm."

Remus looked at Irina, surprised. "How did you know? I only just found out myself."

Irina smiled back gently. "I know many things for many reasons." When Remus looked at her oddly, Irina explained. "The Headmaster told me of what happened when you were both younger."

Remus closed his eyes and nodded, he loved Irina's slight accent and the way she formed her sentences – he would listen to her quiet words forever if he ever got the chance. "I can't believe he kept it a secret for so long. He hates me but he never told me – he never told anyone."

"I believe that the Headmaster told him not to speak of what had happened. It is apparent that he did as he was asked."

Remus looked up incredulously. "He kept the secret for all that time?"

"Yes."

"Why now then? Why has he chosen to tell me now?"

Irina pulled a chair to the bedside and sat down. "I think it is because he is nearing the end of his abilities to control himself. I think he is about to be torn apart by what he must do. Remus, he is rapidly approaching the time when he will not be able to choose or distinguish between friend and foe, between the truth and the lies, and that is one of the reasons why I am here. I know it is difficult for you, but please do not be angry with him. We must treat him with tolerance and patience. No one truly understands how difficult it is for him to juggle so many conflicting demands. I know of few others who would succeed though. Please forgive him for his behaviour tonight."

Remus couldn't contain the tears of sympathy and sadness that sprung to his eyes, the heightened emotions of the wolf affecting him as time approached for his coming transformation. He turned onto his side, his back to Irina, so she wouldn't see them in an effort to protect the last remaining shreds of his dignity.

Irina watched as the man turned from her, and she rested her hand gently on his shoulder. "Do not blame yourself. You are not responsible. Sirius Black made a foolish mistake the night he lead Severus to the Shrieking Shack, and a number of people have paid dearly for his foolishness. Severus is but one that will be tormented by that night for the rest of his life." Irina stood, but didn't release his shoulder. "I am here any time you need to talk." She offered sincerely.

"Thank you."

Irina gently squeezed the man's shoulder. "I should go to him. I will come and visit you again before you transform. Do not fret about this Remus, it will only make things worse." With that, she removed her hand from the man's shoulder and herself from the room.

*

Irina moved quickly down the halls and staircases, in an attempt to reach the dungeons before the Potions Master could do something stupid. Irina reflected that the time was almost upon them when he would need to be watched 24 hours a day nearly to ensure he didn't do something foolish. Reaching his office door, she listened for sounds of movement within. At first she heard nothing, but then, just as she was about to turn and leave, she heard the sound of one jar hitting another.

Deciding that knocking would probably just ensure she was sent away, Irina placed her hand quietly against the door and pushed it open. Stepping into the office and closing the door behind her, she turned quickly and raised her hand. A jar filled with Triffid roots stopped 6 inches from her face. His aim was clearly still excellent.

"Surely you do not wish to waste such expensive potions ingredients on me Professor Snape?"

"Get out." Snape glared at her.

"Professor, Severus, please, we need to speak about your treatment of Remus."

"I would prefer it if you were a little less familiar and I told you to get out. I will not speak of that abomination. I may be forced to work with him, I will not be forced to be pleasant to him."

Irina ignored his angry chastisement, and forged on, hoping for some small breakthrough. She spoke gently. "Severus, please be reasonable. He was not responsible for what happened in the Shrieking Shack."

Snape regarded the blonde woman with disdain. Damn Dumbledore and his big mouth. Did this woman know everything about him? He would have to remember to thank the meddling old fool for telling her of all his secrets. "Who was then? Black, of course, but he is already dead. Perhaps you would care to tell me who I should blame now for the nightmares that still haunt me." He glared at her waiting for an answer and then looked away. "No, I thought not."

"Severus please understand I do not wish you to suffer more than you already have, but the time is drawing near for the final battle, and we can not afford to be fighting amongst ourselves. Please try to be a little more considerate of Remus, after all, he never knew how badly he had hurt you until today, in return I shall endeavour to do nothing to upset your delicate sensibilities."

Snape glared at her. "There is nothing delicate about my sensibilities, and I will not succumb to blackmail. Get out of my office before I decide upon the most appropriate hex."

Irina nodded and backed away, keeping the jar floating stationary in the air. She didn't wish to add to his burdens, but she wouldn't allow him to take too many liberties either. "Just try it and I will hex you to the end of the year." She warned gently, but with a slightly threatening tone.

Snape looked up sharply, a seed of vague recognition taking root in his mind. A lifetime ago another had used a similar threat, and that which had come after his acceptance of the challenge had cost him dearly. That was a lifetime ago though and he was no longer the little boy that had fallen victim to that particular trap.

"OUT!" He bellowed.

Irina watched the unnerved potions master. "Yes," she agreed softly, "I see it is time to leave." She waved her hand slightly and sent the jar floating back to him. "You should try to be a little more careful of your ingredients, they are far too expensive to waste." As they settled on the desk beside him, Irina left his office.

Closing the door gently behind her, Irina fell against the wall and closed her eyes, painfully aware of just how damaged he was. She was about to walk away when she heard the jar of Triffid roots fall to the ground. The sound of the disintergrating roots was unmistakeable even after such a long time. It was clear it wouldn't be long before he would be too close to the abyss to be saved.