Title: Fortune's Might

Pairing: SS/RL

Disclaimer: Harry Potter and his world belong to JKR.

Author's Note: So here I go again, trying to speak with Severus's poetic voice ... I tried to take most of the sappy parts and transorm them into something more authentic than the original version.

Lesson Ten: Bel Esprit

Severus had hoped that his head would clear a little, once he had made the decision to stop pushing Lupin away. But he had been mistaken. His head was still buzzing. It wasn't as if he was still wondering if he had done the right thing, whether it had been right to give up the safety of isolation in favour of allowing a relationship to form – for he had admitted that that was the most accurate term to describe the connection between them. He did not doubt that it had been right to take a risk to receive from the werewolf what he had to give. Yet, Severus was troubled. He couldn't lay his finger on it, but something was still troubling him.

Perhaps it was the mere fact that something about Lupin had changed. It wasn't so much his behaviour, though he did seem even kinder to Severus when they came across each other, it was predominantly in his smile. It was not the polite, customary smile that everybody received. It was new, special. As though it was only for Severus. And Severus, having stopped avoiding Lupin, now saw a lot of that smile. At meals, in corridors and hallways, in staircases and the staffroom, Lupin would always give Severus that smile, somewhat sweet, like the scent that always lingered in his wake. Severus was so intrigued, he even caught himself taking detours, just so he would meet Lupin and receive that smile. He wished that there was not only the possibility of bottling fame, but also of capturing that sweet smile in a phial, so he could look at it whenever he felt like it. And he felt like it rather often. Which made him nervous, because Lupin's influence was growing gradually. But he did his best to conceal it when he encountered the werewolf. Admittedly, if he knew Lupin at all, the werewolf would see it anyway.

For five long days, Severus had not had any private meetings with Lupin. Severus blamed it on their workload, but he knew, deep within, that he simply couldn't ask Lupin to tea. He could not quite explain it, he wasn't usually a timid man. But over this matter he was constantly fussing. Lupin would have to take the next step, because Severus would not be able to overcome this invisible barrier that prevented him from approaching Lupin and asking for some private time together. Perhaps it was the mere possibility that Lupin might reject him. Or maybe Severus just didn't want to make Lupin think that he wanted to go out with him. It would be mortifying to see the look on Lupin's face when he found out that Severus was – he daren't even say it out loud – attracted to him. But it was undeniable. It was growing more evident by the day.

It was most annoying that he yearned for Lupin's presence in the evening, after a day of teaching and brewing, when he would usually feel tired. More and more often, Severus found his mind wandering into most unusual and unwanted directions when thinking about Lupin. He missed his husky chuckle when the silence in his rooms pressed in on him, and the depths of his eyes when he could not look into any eyes but his students' blank and pitiably shallow ones. Severus found that Lupin's eyes looked quite like freshly brewed cauldrons of Felix Felicis, swirling when emotion stirred them, like a potion when the ladle touched it. They were warm and promising. Like liquid luck. Whenever Severus caught his thoughts straying into such embarrassing directions, he stopped them forcefully. But most of the time they would warm his body before he even realised it. And the wish to be alone with Lupin was growing. He couldn't stand not knowing when it would be possible again.

The only times when Severus met Lupin were those casual every day occasions in the staffroom and the Great Hall. What surprised Severus was that the werewolf kept the required distance. Apart from a smile now and then, a greeting when no one was looking, he made no attempt to talk to him while they were in company. During meals he was seated at the other end of the table, anyway. In the staffroom he would normally sit with McGonagall or one of the other teachers he had grown very friendly with, and Severus found himself magnetically, almost jealously, drawn to the werewolf, sitting down opposite, though never next to him.

Severus was already subconsciously hoping that there would be enough room to sit down close to Lupin again today when he ascended the stairs to the Entrance Hall to spend a free period in the staffroom. Up to now, Lupin's scent had not yet been strong enough to finally recognise it among the perfumes of the witches usually sitting with him, or, indeed, the smell of the potions and explosions from Severus's own classroom. At least sitting opposite him Severus could not hope to ever breathe it in deeply enough and it was a little mystery of its own, one that he thought he would only solve once he got so close that they would touch – not just a brushing of fingers like a week ago, but a real touch, no gap left between them.

Shivering with the mere idea, Severus strode across the Entrance Hall and almost bumped into the object of his inappropriate desire. Lupin was just walking from the front doors towards the marble staircase, looking slightly windswept and rosy-cheeked. Severus stopped dead, suddenly nervous, his head light. They were alone, nobody was even close by. Lupin came to a halt as well and smiled his special smile at Severus, shaking his disheveled hair out of his eyes. He was rather close, so Severus took a deep breath to see if the sweet scent was in the air again, but as it seemed the wind had swept it away when whipping round Lupin's body outside. Today the werewolf smelled fresh, like cold air and autumn leaves.

"Good day to you, Severus," said Lupin cheerfully, and Severus had the impression that he was inching closer rather surreptitiously, as though trying to see how far he could go without making Severus uncomfortable. He sensed, as usual, the exact distance he had to stop at. "Is it your free period too? I have been to Hogsmeade to buy something to drink – oh, no alcohol!" he added when Severus shot him a mockingly disapproving look. "Butterbeer." And he pulled a bottle from his pocket.

"I see," said Severus and did not know how to continue. His throat felt dry. His head felt empty. He cursed himself for being incapable of talking to Lupin. The werewolf's amber eyes were in the way, so was his hair, falling nonchalantly into his eyes, and of course his smile, which reached his eyes and was for Severus only. They rendered Severus speechless. And that was quite some achievement. The crinkles round Lupin's eyes deepened.

"Would you like to have some with me?" he asked, shaking the bottle. Severus answered without thinking.

"Too sweet for my taste," he said and Lupin's face fell a little, covered up quickly by a chuckle.

"That's fine," he said and shrugged, but Severus saw that it wasn't fine. "Were you heading for the staffroom? Can I come with you?"

It surprised Severus that he was offered a second, much less obvious chance to agree to spend time together and seized it immediately, so as not to waste it carelessly again. "If you must," he said and wished he could have come up with something better than that, but Lupin seemed satisfied as he stowed the bottle away in his pocket. "Hogsmeade again, yes?" Severus asked, trying to make conversation.

Lupin nodded and let his gaze wander over the walls and ceiling as they walked up the marble staircase together. "Yes, I like it there … memories I like to dwell on, shops I like to buy in," he replied, smiling at Severus, "now that I can afford it again. If only I didn't have to pass the Dementors to get there … but I've got enough chocolate on me to keep their effect at bay, and a loyal Patronus, too." He stopped there, did not take charge of the conversation like he usually would, and thus silence fell. Severus couldn't believe that it should be so hard to find a topic to talk about and blamed it on chatty Lupin because it seemed evident that he was keeping silent on purpose, trying to see if Severus really wanted to talk to him. Well, he could have that.

"Is your Kappa still in good health?" asked Severus sarcastically and achieved the required effect: Lupin chuckled huskily, and as Severus glanced at him he found his face paling again to its usual ivory colour.

"Oh, he's fine, but he'll have to leave my office for a while," he said hoarsely and sounded just a little regretful. "He's going to move into my rooms until further notice. I am expecting a new guest very soon. A Grindylow. But I still need my Kappa. And I have grown attached to him and my Redcap …"

Severus snorted. "You talk about them as though they were pets," he said mockingly and Lupin shrugged.

"Haven't given them names, though," he said almost defensively, "my father used to say: give them a name and you cannot let go of them anymore. So, I don't give them names. Still hard to let them go." He chuckled again, self-ironically this time.

"They are not exactly cuddly, though, are they?" said Severus as they arrived at the staffroom, satisfied that he had managed to find a topic they could talk about easily. "You have to watch your back all the time."

"Not as long as they aren't hungry," Lupin pointed out, opening the staffroom door and stepping aside to let Severus pass. "And I know my stuff. Keep them under control with a couple of simple spells. Nothing to worry about. It's one of my fields of expertise."

"Of course," said Severus silkily, "how could I forget? That is, after all, the reason you are here."

"Lucky me," said Lupin with a wink and strolled towards the table to sit down beside McGonagall, who was grading homework and seemed glad of the distraction. Only a few teachers were present, so Severus used the chance to sit down opposite Lupin, which the werewolf rewarded with another one of those smiles. But unfortunately, their conversation was over.

While talking to McGonagall, Lupin glanced towards Severus more and more often, searching his eyes, but he didn't seem to dare talk to him. He seemed to respect something that Severus hadn't even voiced, but which obviously showed in his behaviour, or his eyes, or some other part of him that Lupin could read. He respected Severus's wish not to display their relationship to the staff, not to speak of the students. And Severus was grateful for it. He had feared that Lupin would demand friendly treatment and open conversations all the time, that he wouldn't understand that Severus couldn't provide that, not yet, maybe never. It was relieving that Lupin appeared to understand anything.

Silence fell for a while as Lupin's eyes strayed out of the window and watched Hagrid throwing an enormous branch for Fang to fetch near the edge of the Forest. Severus looked at the werewolf. Actually he wanted Lupin to talk to him now. Ask him to tea perhaps, very subtly, so Severus could agree and pretend to hate the idea, so that nobody else would realise that he really wanted to see Lupin alone. Though Severus knew that he could not quite make the impression that he loathed Lupin anymore. He supposed his colleagues had come to the conclusion that he had grown tired of loathing Lupin and now accepted him like every other one of his more insufferable colleagues. But no one would even suspect that there was more, he was sure, they had known him for too long to read more into Severus's lack of hostility than he would allow.

But that was also a reason to worry. Maybe Lupin, too, thought that he was merely an accepted colleague now and nothing more. Severus shouldn't have declined the Butterbeer. Why would Lupin ask him to tea if he thought that Severus wasn't interested? Severus wished he could make clear to him discreetly that it had really only been the Butterbeer he wasn't interested in. He wanted another meeting, wanted to be alone with Lupin again, but he didn't know how to ask for it without giving away just how much he wanted it. He did not want to expose himself to Lupin again. And apart from that, he was worried. 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 had never, after all, had such a relationship. It was troubling, indeed.

Sighing in quiet exasperation, he rested his chin on his fist and scowled at Lupin. He wasn't used to this. Whatever this was. It cost him a lot of energy and patience – on which he was short anyway, most of the time. It had been … pleasant to talk to the werewolf, and Severus wished he could just step over the remainders of his fortress's walls to approach him again, but he had no resolution left to do it. Their encounter five days ago had worn him out. Lupin would have to take the next step and Severus felt sure that he would, sooner or later, if only to find out if he was allowed to. Even though it was taking him an extraordinary amount of time already. Severus was sure that he had not changed his mind about … about us, Severus thought, frowning, there is an us. And it was a good thing that Severus knew they would meet in private several times during the week before the full moon at the very last.

Suddenly Severus became aware of Lupin's eyes on him, twinkling rather Dumbledorishly. The werewolf's lips were curled into a small smile that looked as though it was stubbornly fighting suppression. Averting his eyes self-consciously, Severus cast around for something to say, nothing too rude but something that would help him cover up that he was unable to ask Lupin to tea himself. Coming up with nothing witty or snide – which was strange enough because he was usually full fit to burst with such remarks, having to keep them in by force – Severus grew nervous under Lupin's golden gaze, which made his skin tingle. He was quite grateful, therefore, when McGonagall decided that she had something more to say to the werewolf and thus distracted him from Severus.

"Potter asked me to grant him permission to go to Hogsmeade on Hallowe'en, because his aunt and uncle didn't sign his form," she said sternly and Severus rolled his eyes. He would have been grateful for any other topic. Lupin showed far too much interest in the boy already.

"And did you?" asked Lupin, causing Severus to raise an incredulous eyebrow at him.

"Of course not!" said McGonagall firmly. "I'm not his guardian, therefore it would be inappropriate."

Lupin nodded, seeming relieved. "It is better this way, I'm sure," he said softly, "considering the circumstances. Though I do feel sorry for him. I understand his family don't treat him very well. But leaving the grounds seems unwise for him as long as … Black is on the loose." Lupin hesitated slightly at Black's name and Severus thought it might be because he didn't want to mention Black in front of Severus.

"I agree, he will have the chance to go to Hogsmeade next year, or as soon as it's safe again," said McGonagall and straightened her spectacles. "It would be far too dangerous to have him wandering about out of Dumbledore's protection. Though I don't believe that Black could sneak into Hogsmeade without anyone noticing."

Lupin fidgeted and it attracted Severus's attention. It seemed guilty somehow. "I don't think that we should make the mistake to underestimate him, he did escape from Azkaban, after all," he said heavily.

"I wonder how he did it …" muttered McGonagall and Lupin fidgeted again.

"Who knows …" said Lupin quietly and leant back in his chair with a heavy sigh.

McGonagall smiled slightly, giving Lupin a sidelong glance. "Let's hope that Potter doesn't get into trouble again," she said and there was teasing in her voice. "He's so much like his father. And I believe we all remember what the four of you got up to at school. Only mischief on your minds and completely unconcerned about rules, not to mention safety."

Lupin chuckled and it sounded uneasy. "You have no idea," he muttered, rubbing his neck. Severus noticed that he was avoiding her eyes. And Severus's.

"Potter is exactly like his father, a rule-breaker and troublemaker," sneered Severus and the other two looked at him. "He thinks himself a great hero, that boy."

"Well, whatever you say, Severus, up to now Potter has always acted nobly to help others, and he always succeeds in his endeavours," said McGonagall and sounded a little too proud. She seemed to notice, for she hastened to add, "Not that I approve of his rule breaking."

"Oh, yes, if we hadn't got Potter to stop all the evil in the world we would all be lost," retorted Severus, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "Let's make a parade for him. Actually, I am surprised that such a thing has not been thought of yet. 'The Harry Potter Day Parade' …" McGonagall scowled at him and Lupin raised his eyebrows.

"Harry is quite the hero, isn't he?" asked the werewolf thoughtfully. "Even I heard of the Basilisk and the encounter with Lord Voldemort in the depths of this school." He gave McGonagall a look as she flinched and his eyes flickered towards Severus, who glowered at him. "I am afraid that maybe one day he could run out of luck …"

"Hopefully," muttered Severus and earned himself scandalised looks from both of them. "Maybe the thought of Death coming for him in the form a giant black dog will prevent him leaping headfirst into life-threatening danger this year. But after all, not even the Monster of Slytherin was enough to scare him …" Severus almost regretted that the beast hadn't eaten Potter.

"He's brave," said Lupin, shrugging.

"He's a Gryffindor," McGonagall agreed 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, the two Gryffindors had started talking again.

"Has Harry seen a black dog at all?" Lupin asked and Severus couldn't believe that the werewolf was so superstitious.

"Why, Lupin, you don't believe that a giant dog is following the boy around to bite his head off, do you?" he sneered and Lupin looked at him, his golden eyes worried.

"Of course not," he replied but Severus didn't quite believe him and even less when Lupin flinched as Fang barked outside, rather closer to the window than before.

"Potter hasn't talked to me about any such thing," said McGonagall, ignoring Severus altogether, "and I doubt if he would confide in me even if he had seen the Grim or any other ridiculous omen of death."

Though Lupin nodded, he seemed more worried than ever. It was curious. Severus wanted to get to the bottom of it. But not here and now, that would be inappropriate. So they spent the rest of their free period talking about lighter topics and accepting shortbread from a tin that McGonagall held out to them. When they left the staffroom together to be on time for their lessons, Severus had the impression that Lupin brushed against him deliberately as they passed through the doorway at the same time. Their arms touched lightly, and Lupin was careful not to meet Severus's eyes, smiling silently to himself. Watching him walk away, Severus waited until he had disappeared round a corner before he set off, too.

There were no exploding cauldrons, which made his afternoon classes much more pleasant than usual. Still he was looking forward to dinner, or rather to seeing Lupin again, rather more than was normal. But he was disappointed. When he entered the Great Hall, Lupin was not there and he did not arrive late, either. It was as though six cauldrons had exploded, after all. Severus chewed his lamb chops listlessly, wondering if Lupin was overworked and couldn't attend dinner because he had to grade homework. Cursing himself for not finding it in himself to simply visit him and ask for one of his teabags, Severus returned to his office. He didn't know what to say or do. He grew nervous whenever he thought about meeting Lupin in private, unprepared. He was worried that he'd end up revealing even more of himself to Lupin. And really, what if he said something harsh or rude again? He just couldn't control himself sometimes, it was only a matter of time. Lupin's patience surely wasn't endless. What if Severus said something utterly wrong? He would surely make a mess of things. And it would be Lupin who didn't want to associate with him anymore. Everything would have been in vain.

Entering his laboratory, Severus loosened his cravat and opened the topmost buttons of his shirt, heaving a sigh. He was facing yet another silent evening in his rooms. It was annoying that he even cared. He had never minded silence before. Severus lifted a cauldron onto the worktable and lit a fire underneath it, setting to work. He noticed almost too late that he was about to slice wolfsbane instead of daisy root. Restraining himself from hurling the knife across the room, Severus put the wolfsbane away. When he was starting to slice the daisy root, there was a knock on the door that caused him to look up. Who dared to disturb him now? Usually nobody knocked on his laboratory door, only Albus. After all, they would have to enter his office unasked. Impertinent.

"Who is it?" he called and started when he heard a hoarse voice answering.

"It is I, Remus … may I come in?"

There was that swooping sensation in Severus's stomach and he caught himself liking the fact that Lupin would give his first name as identification – it indicated familiarity. Hesitating for a few moments, Severus tried to scold himself for that ridiculous thought. When he was unsuccessful, he laid down his knife and took a deep breath. This was what he had been waiting for. Though he had not expected it to happen tonight. He cleared his throat.

"Enter," he said a little too quietly, but Lupin seemed to have heard, for the door opened and the werewolf entered, smiling, obviously cheerful but tired.

"Good evening, Severus," he said pleasantly, approaching Severus slowly, looking at the cauldron and ingredients. "You are brewing?"

Looking down, Severus took up his knife again to continue slicing the daisy root, double-checking that it really was daisy root this time. "Obviously," he muttered, dropping the daisy root into the cauldron, producing a bubbling noise.

"Hope I'm not disturbing you," said Lupin politely, but it was obvious what he wanted Severus to say.

The same carelessness that had made him decline the Butterbeer, would almost have made Severus say "yes", as he caught himself almost dicing another wrong ingredient. But he bit his tongue, taking the right ingredient, and shook his head. He did not want Lupin to leave, after all. At least he thought he didn't. "I doubt that it will be entertaining to watch me brewing, though," he said and felt self-conscious again. Brewing never made him feel self-conscious. That man turned everything upside down. Severus dropped the diced gingerroot into the cauldron and watched the potion change its colour from light blue to red. Severus stirred it once clockwise and twice anticlockwise. Again it changed colour, simmering softly, this time to a pale pink. Severus nodded in satisfaction.

"Oh, it is entertaining," Lupin said, and when Severus looked up at him in confusion, he added, "It's interesting to watch you. It is inspiring. You really are passionate about potions."

Thoughtfully, Severus poured leech juice into the potion, enjoying the pleasant smile on Lupin's face, and stirred again. The smoke rising from the cauldron between them furled round Lupin's face and obscured his golden eyes. Severus couldn't see him properly anymore and waved his hand through the air to clear his view. The melodious simmering of the potion was a nice accompaniment to the werewolf's hoarse voice. Nodding slowly, Severus said, "I am."

"I was never much of a potion-brewer myself," remarked Lupin unnecessarily, for Severus remembered their Potions classes very well. "Was always pure torture to me. I was glad to drop it after fifth year. You, on the other hand, don't even need instructions, you even improve existing potions. Some would call you a genius," he added and paused with a smile that brought the swooping back to Severus's stomach.

"Some might," he conceded truthfully and realised that he was thoroughly enjoying Lupin's praise.

"I heard that you only take Outstanding students into your NEWT classes …" Lupin continued and his smile became amused, "making sure to get rid of those who don't deserve your attention?"

Severus smirked slightly as he cut off the heads of some cockroaches, noticing that Lupin was edging closer to watch. "It is an art, brewing, and it is common knowledge that not everybody is an artist," he said silkily, and enjoyed the werewolf's husky chuckle as the cockroach heads fell into the potion. Severus wanted more of that chuckle. He needed a whole lot of it to store it away for bad times. Which would surely come. Were probably already on their way.

"I don't have the gift, do I?" Lupin said in amusement, but Severus's smirk vanished.

"What I said does not apply to you," he muttered, stirring the potion, "I don't have to waste my time teaching you, after all."

"Just a joke, Severus," the werewolf said, leaning against the worktable so close to Severus that he was only an inch away from too close. He picked up a rattail thoughtfully, looking at it in silence. Severus remembered that Lupin had seemed appalled by the idea of rats in potions when he had first entered Severus's office. After a few moments, Severus took the rattail out of Lupin's hand to cut it and their fingers brushed, causing Severus to linger for a little longer than absolutely necessary. "Some of those ingredients I will never get used to," said Lupin and made a face when he heard the bone crack under Severus's knife.

Severus raised an eyebrow. He was used to the fact that few people understood the beauty of potion-making and the quality of the ingredients needed. But usually he would not bother explaining it to those who were ignorant. Now, though, he felt an inexplicable need to do so. Well, maybe not that inexplicable. So he thought of a metaphor that would make Lupin understand, and had a try.

"The ingredients are colours and the order in which I add them to the potion is the composition of the picture that I shall paint with them. Though you might not appreciate each colour individually, maybe even despise it for its unpleasant shade, you will see that combined they add up to something far greater and more magnificent than the mere sum of its parts. This –" he said raising his ladle, "is my brush and I am the painter, naturally. And the finished potion –" he 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 twinkled when he held the potion up to the flickering torchlight, 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 liked to see his work finished, perfect and beautiful, but he liked it even more to watch Lupin admiring it. "I invest great effort in it, I perfect recipes and instructions. Sometimes it is dirty and takes a lot of time and hard work, but when it is finished and the result satisfies me, then yes … I think I am proud."

Lupin looked at him and smiled. Fondly, Severus thought for a moment before finding it too ridiculous. "Well, you are an excellent Potioneer, maybe even the best," said Lupin, handing Severus back the potion. Severus felt an oddly pleasant surge of 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. To Severus it meant more than the many awards in his rooms. Looking down into the glass, he saw Lupin's reflection in the potion. How ridiculous, Severus.

"Maybe I am," he said, rather more modest than he usually was. Noticing again how very close Lupin was standing to him, he felt the warmth radiating from him, and if he had moved his hand but a few inches to the left, it would have touched Lupin's. But Lupin displayed again his excellent feeling for personal space, remaining at the very border of Severus's. Severus turned and summoned a few phials from a cupboard to fill them with the potion, labeling them and laying them down neatly, side by side, on the table. Lupin was still watching him intently.

Knowing somehow that the werewolf would be interested, would want to know, like no one else would, Severus felt the urge to tell him more, to tell him about the magnificence of potions that most people didn't recognise. He wanted to tell someone who would truly listen and understand that he did not do it for gold or any other kind of gain, but for reasons too obscure for the ordinary wizard to see. Lupin would see, he would comprehend. Potions were to Severus what Dark creatures were to Lupin. The pleasure of talking to Lupin became evident once more. And suddenly it wasn't difficult anymore – there was a wonderful ease to it that hadn't been there before.

"You see," Severus said, letting his fingers ghost over the phials, "spells are useful, but most people can cast them more or less successfully. Potion-making is something that you must have a feeling for. You should recognise the beauty of the swirling fumes, rising in all colours and smells from the singing cauldron, promising love and hatred, sanity and madness, life and death with its bubbling voice. If you don't, you will never be much of a potion-brewer. You can keep to the instructions but there is a difference between the stoic mixing of ingredients to achieve a result that merely fulfils its purpose, and the creative and skilful fusing of ingredients, timing, and stirring to produce a potion that is not merely functional, but outstanding and extraordinary in effect. A certain amount of passion is essential," he paused and looked round at Lupin, who was smiling slightly, brows knitted in careful concentration.

"It must be frustrating that most people don't share your enthusiasm," he said and picked up one of the phials, closing his fist around it. "Though your potion-making deserves some more appreciation, doesn't it? I suppose there is only one student in a hundred who can start to understand what you know."

Severus swallowed and, indeed, he felt enthusiastic. "Only a very few understand," he said quietly, "that a potion is almighty. It can control your body and your mind. It can mean the difference between life and death, it can wash away sicknesses, wounds, and pain.

"It can be liquid love, creating an illusion so perfect that you will never be able to tell lover from enemy.

"It can reveal the darkest of truths no matter how deeply it is buried, how cleverly concealed behind the thickest of walls constructed of lies.

"A potion can even tame the savage beast that lurks within you, waiting impatiently for the next opportunity to break loose. It can shackle the wolf to the very back of your mind, freeing you from the danger its sharp fangs pose, loosening the eternal hold it has on you," Severus concluded, his eyes meeting the werewolf's, whose expression had become quite unfathomable when Severus had mentioned the Wolfsbane Potion. Lupin's lips were slightly parted, and he was rolling the phial with potion between his deft fingers. For a few suffocating moments, Severus believed he had gone too far.

There was a short silence until Lupin set down the phial beside the others, carefully and neatly. When he turned to Severus again, though, with a raised eyebrow and a vague smile, resting his hand on the worktable, he looked as if he had just received a valuable gift from Severus. "You are a poet, Severus," he said quietly, the firelight reflected in his golden eyes. "When you talk about potions, it sounds so effortless. I wonder why you cannot seem to captivate your students. Personally, I enjoy listening to you very much."

Severus didn't know what to reply. Usually, nobody said so many nice things to him in one breath. Not that he cared. But when Lupin said such things, it seemed to matter. And Severus felt proud. Had he really said he enjoyed listening to Severus? Could it be true? Well, Lupin was rather peculiar … Maybe he was peculiar enough to actually mean what he said.

"As I said, the beauty of potions is not visible to everybody. But there are some who can make it out when taught how to see it," he said

"It is rather a beautiful potion, this one," Lupin said, nodding at the potion that was still changing colour in the torchlight. Severus raised an eyebrow.

"If you believe it or not, this potion has a purpose other than delighting naïve Gryffindors, such as yourself," he replied coolly and took the freshly brewed potion to the shelves in his storage chamber. "As it happens, quite ironically, if you were to drink it, it would kill you instantly, so beware."

Lupin chuckled and Severus was relieved despite himself that he had not offended the werewolf. That he was still granted the pleasure of his husky chuckle, and that he was bestowed with another smile that made Severus's head light. Lupin's light brown hair was shimmering in the torchlight, framing the mellow, pale skin of his too tired face. Severus noticed the faint scar on the werewolf's chin that reminded him of the beast that lived within, and it seemed suddenly utterly unreal to him that this kind and gentle 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'm glad I decided to visit you today," Lupin said quietly and slowly made for the door of the lab. At the door, he turned and gave Severus a knee-weakening smile. "Thank you for letting me watch. I'll see you tomorrow, then. Goodnight, Severus," he said warmly and left, closing the door behind him. Severus stared at the door and wished he'd been able to ask Lupin to stay for a cup of tea. Without him there, the dungeon was even colder and emptier than before. Much more silent, too.

Maybe Severus's like poetry to Lupin, but Lupin himself was personified poetry. Fair and kind, ailed by the darkest of secrets, 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 depths. Severus could have found many more poetic words to describe him, so fascinated was he with the werewolf, so captivated was his mind. There was no way of letting go of him.

Severus cleared away his ingredients and the cauldron and put out the fire. When he retired to his rooms, he lit a fire in the grate – in vain, though, since the fresh 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, so he hoped that maybe one day Lupin would read them in his eyes. He was no poet. He couldn't even put his own feelings into words, was completely ignorant when it came to relationships. He couldn't find elegant expressions for his troubles and he didn't feel relieved 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. Lupin's presence was somehow soothing. 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 listened to and understood, as if the things he told Lupin were meaningful not only to himself but to the werewolf as well, as if he was respected, even cherished for who he was for the first time in his life.

Lupin was indeed a worthy confidant, one of a very few whom Severus judged worthy to entrust him with the things that mattered to him. Lupin gave Severus the feeling that he was better than he believed, lightening the weight on his shoulders. And all he could offer in return were coldness and snide remarks.

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