TL;DR: Parts 1 and 2 of this chapter are exactly the same as before, but I've added a part 3 that I should have posted in the first place.
This was probably a controversial move. I hope this won't be too confusing, and that you won't hate me for it.
I deleted this chapter as it was previously posted, and I'm now posting it again with new content, a 3rd part to the end of the chapter.
As I was looking at the upcoming chapters, I realized that I should have lumped these 3 parts together, because they make more sense together as a cohesive story line.
I know that this whole journey through POA is taking forever. The state of the world has been stressful for everyone, and the state of my personal life has been stressful for me.
I don't want to leave you hanging about "what happens next". If you would like to know what the next few chapters are going to look like, I'll have a short description of them in the notes at the end of the chapter.
-0-
Pt. 1
Since your return to Hogwarts, you hadn't had much occasion to venture beyond the first few floors of the castle. Your own classroom was on the same floor as the Great Hall, and since the only other place you visited was the dungeon for your nighttime rounds, you'd gotten rather unused to climbing multitudes of stairs. Which was probably why you felt so winded by the time you'd made it to the third floor corridor after classes had ended for the afternoon. The heels you'd insisted upon wearing today hadn't helped either (you would have to reconsider wearing pumps anymore; the stilettos just got stuck between cracks in the stone) and you'd had to lean against the banister in order to catch your breath after the trek. Resilience built from an entire lifetime of living in a third floor apartment, vanquished by a few weeks of lazing about on ground level. At least the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom wasn't too far from the stairwell.
The door was ajar as you approached the room, and you gently rapped your knuckles against it, letting it swing open naturally. The classroom echoed as you stepped inside, appearing to be empty… too empty, actually. All of the desks were missing, revealing the runic symbols and circles burnt into the wooden floor, and forcing ones gaze up to the dragon articulation that hung from the ceiling. Without all of the desks and assorted artefacts, the room was quite large and imposing, which only served to make the lone wardrobe standing in the center of the barren floor appear all the more ominous.
You hadn't been in the staffroom when the boggart had been discovered, but it made your guts feel greasy just thinking about it. You didn't like imagining what it would have turned into, if you had been the first one to open it…
You were suddenly consumed by the overwhelming desire to turn tail and run; an inexplicable need that was only exacerbated by the sudden rattle of an opening door echoing through the empty room. For one stupid and terrifying moment, you thought it had been the wardrobe, but the mirrored door was still firmly shut. You hadn't closed the classroom door behind you when you'd entered, so that left…
"I thought I'd heard someone knocking."
A voice from above, you peered around wildly… having forgotten about the staircase at the far end of the classroom. Remus Lupin stood in the doorway to his office at the top of them, his face warring between amusement and concern in the form of a tight little smile bowing his lips. You stared at him for a moment, before letting out a relieved laugh, clapping your hand to your chest as you giggled out your jitters, and Lupin made his way down the stairs.
"I swear, I don't always startle so easily," you explained between breathless giggles as he approached. Lupin's smile had broadened as he advanced, standing before you with his hands in the pockets of his ill-fitting robes, a brow arched in suspicion, as if he didn't quite believe you. You pouted, crossing your arms over your chest. "Well! You can't blame me, leaving this thing looming in the middle of a big empty room. It's like a set up for a horror movie." His expression turned quizzical, and you realized he probably didn't know what a movie was. It was becoming a bad habit actually, going on about Muggle things like they were commonplace. But it was your job now, it wasn't your fault! He spared you the need for an explanation as he peered over his shoulder at the wardrobe as well, grinning leniently.
"That's fair enough. I really ought to get it back to the staffroom tonight. Levitating it down the stairs will be a chore though." Lupin sighed dramatically, and you covered your mouth with your hand to hide your own grin as he turned back to you. "Let me guess, you've come to retrieve your gramophone."
Oh right. You'd… sort of forgotten what you were doing here, in your momentary panic. But you recovered quickly, scanning the room before spotting the relic against the far wall. "That I have," you confirmed, walking over to the gargantuan music player, Lupin following along beside you. The record was still on the platter and you traced your finger over the edge of the tarnished horn, before peering back over your shoulder at him. "Did it get the job done?"
"Oh yes, it was perfect," he enthused, stopping beside you to look down at the old machine as well. "And Benny Goodman was a fantastic suggestion for keeping everyone in rhythm. I really can't thank you enough for lending it to me." He was so easy with his smiles, and they were always so sincere that you couldn't help returning them. Last night, he had visited your office after dinner to request the use of the gramophone, and it had been the first time you'd seen him up close since the Welcoming Feast. His color was getting better the more space there was between him and the last full moon. He even looked like he was gaining some weight, the hollows of his cheeks filling out now that he was getting regular meals. It had made something swell within your chest last night, and you felt it again now as you gazed over at him, your heels placing you at eye level with the man.
"It was no problem," you promised, dropping your hand from the horn to the crank, and giving it a few good turns, the antique mechanisms within winding tight. "Don't think the old girl will be getting much use these days anyway, since I brought my own system…" Lupin was looking curious, and you realized you were doing the thing about the muggle things again. Segue, Gwen. Segue! "Ah, so, how did it go?" you asked briskly, flicking the starter switch that sent the record spinning. "The wardrobe isn't bouncing around anymore, so I wager it was a success?"
"A smashing one at that." Lupin was watching you carefully as you gingerly took hold of the tone arm, placing the needle against the vinyl. There was a squeal, followed by some hissing and popping, before Benny Goodman's 'Sing, Sing, Sing' started pouring from the speaker. You grinned widely as you turned to face him, the snappy drum beat already lending a visual as to how the afternoon Defense class might have gone. He smiled back, seeming to welcome the introduction of the music; it meant you intended to stick around for a bit. "I'm quite impressed with the third years actually. They all did extremely well," he continued, leaning his backside against the display table beside the gramophone. "Especially considering the teacher they had last year."
Your grin faltered as your thoughts came to a screeching halt, and you tipped your head forward, letting your hair cover your face as you pretended to search for the volume control. You didn't want to talk about Lockhart. Not even to bash him. You were pleased to hear that Lupin was clearly doing a superior job as a professor of the subject but you just… really…
You swallowed down the sour taste in your mouth, unable to pretend you had no idea what you were doing any longer. Pushing the lever near the horn, you lowered the volume to a more acceptable level for continuing a conversation. "So, what are third years afraid of these days?" you asked, hoping your voice sounded casual enough. Hoping to steer the conversation in a different direction. Careful not to disturb the bell jars of skeletal displays that dotted the table, you pushed yourself up onto it, sitting close beside him and twisting a bit to pull one leg onto the table, tucking your left foot under your right thigh. You took the vantage point to gaze out over the darkening grounds beyond the glass windows. The upper floors really did have a superior view.
Lupin turned to accommodate, leaning his hip against the table so that he could face you more properly. "Oh, the usual fare for teenagers, I expect." He spoke very nonchalantly, but it belied the humor that was brimming beneath his tenor. "Banshees, giant spiders," he counted off coolly, before shrugging a casual shoulder. "Professor Snape."
Your breath hitched in your chest and you sputtered, caught between a dismayed gasp and a nervous giggle. "No," you insisted, but Lupin simply nodded his head, struggling to hide a smirk.
"I'm afraid so," he confirmed solemnly, though there was absolutely no remorse in his voice.
You really weren't sure if you should be feeling horrified or amused. The thought that someone's worst fear was Severus was… not entirely out of the realm of possibility, actually. It just contradicted the image you had in your head of the man. You knew he wasn't the nicest teacher. He was strict, and he didn't suffer fools. But you didn't think he was someone to be feared. He wasn't scary. He was just a man. A man with a short fuse and little patience, but he was harmless. Even if you were a special case, you didn't think he would actually hurt any of his students, except perhaps for their pride. "Who?" you asked breathlessly, chewing on your bottom lip, absolutely sick with curiosity.
"A Gryffindor by the name of Neville Longbottom." Ah, so. Not one of your third years. (You were already starting to think of them as yours.) That was a little surprising, though. Weren't Gryffindor's supposed to be brave? "Not much of a potioneer, I suspect. But… Well," he finally withdrew one of his hands from his pockets, waving it dismissively in the air between you. "You had him as a teacher, didn't you? I'm sure you know how he is."
You frowned deeply at this, which caused Lupin to catch himself, his previous grin melting from his face, cooling into something more cautious. You forced yourself to smile, though you were sure it was quite unconvincing, so you simply dropped your gaze. "I… I do know how he is," you explained, fiddling with the seam in your slacks, dragging your thumb nail down the line along your thigh. "Which is why I'm surprised."
Lupin had the civility to look abashed, his cheeks flushing pink, except for where there were scars. "I'm sorry," he relented, his apology sounding sincere, though perhaps only because he'd been caught, and not for what he'd actually said. He slid his hand back into his pocket, turning away from you to face the wardrobe instead. "I went to school with Severus, you know," he offered lightly, his smile contrite. "Same year. We weren't exactly friends, though. Big rivalry between Gryffindor and Slytherin back then. I suppose there still is now." His hand was pulled out of his pocket again, and he used it to rub the back of his reddened neck, fingers carding through grey-brown tresses. "Are the two of you… close?"
It was your turn for your face to flush, and you were quite grateful that Lupin was no longer facing you. You'd been surprised to hear that Lupin and Severus had been in the same year, though you weren't shocked that they hadn't been friends. You were morbidly curious to know what Severus had been like as a teenager. But it also made you curious about the nature of their relationship, if there even was one. (Severus had been so angry…)
"I apprenticed for him in my seventh year," you said hastily, still fidgeting with the seam in your trouser leg, gazing out the window again at the darkened sky with its waning moon. "Received my Masters upon graduation, thanks to him." You weren't about to reveal the true nature of your relationship (if there even was one) for Severus' sake just as much as your own. But you felt like you at least needed to speak up in his defense. "You get to know a person when you spend that much time cooped up in a potions lab together." (Not enough though. You don't know him enough.) "I think he's brilliant."
You glanced over to find that Lupin was smiling again, and it was strange, because he almost looked pleased to hear this information. Surprised too, maybe, but still pleased. "Even I wouldn't deny him that," he admitted genially. "He was brilliant when we were students as well." He suddenly glanced towards the still open classroom door, before turning to face you more fully, leaning against the table. You could feel the jut of his hipbone press against your thigh, and you found yourself holding your breath as he leaned in close. Dropping his voice, he quietly asked, "He'll be the one brewing the Wolfsbane Potion?" He hadn't needed to whisper, with the music still bouncing along from the gramophone, but you glanced to the door as well for good measure.
"That's right," you replied with a short nod, keeping your voice low as well, for Lupin's comfort. "I might have helped develop it, but his actual brewing abilities far surpass mine." You didn't mind admitting this. You were good, because you'd learned from the best, but for some reason you had a hard time entertaining the possibility that you would ever be able to surpass your teacher. You may have helped create the potion in the first place, but you had no doubt that Severus would not only be able to replicate it perfectly, but would probably find a way to refine it even further than you had. You blinked yourself out of your musing, drawing your mouth up in what you hoped was a comforting smile. "I'll just be overseeing your transformations, checking up on you before, during, and after. I've been doing it for a long time. You'll be in good hands."
Lupin arched a light brow, and he licked his lips absently before grinning… well… wolfishly. "Is that a promise?" he asked, still leaned in close. You could smell his aftershave. Something musky… maybe Royall, or Clubman…
You blinked stupidly for a moment, before you felt heat bloom on your cheeks anew. Was that… a line? If you didn't know any better, you would think that he was flirting with you.
…Did you know any better?
…And would it be such a bad thing if he was?
He was attractive, absolutely no doubt about that. He reminded you of a classic movie star, like James Stewart, or maybe Vincent Price, the sort of guy you always pined for, even as a little girl. Kind features and smooth skin, except for the crow's feet at his eyes, and the scars across his cheeks. But in your opinion, those weren't negative attributes. He was witty, funny, smart. And he smiled. God, he smiled so often, and you didn't get tired of seeing it.
You just miss Desma. You miss being with someone. It used to be so easy with her.
It could be easy, with Remus.
You told him you would wait for him…
But how long would that take?
There was a shift in the music behind him, the upbeat tempo slowing down, tinkling piano and mellow clarinet. Moonglow. How fitting.
"So how did Neville Longbottom overcome his fear?" you asked evasively, turning your eyes away demurely. From the corner of them you could see he was still grinning, and you watched as he pulled his hands from his pockets, folding his arms across his chest, before lifting one hand to rub at the back of his neck again.
"Ah-ha… I suspect Severus won't be happy with me, when he finds out," he admitted, and you smiled sympathetically. Remus glanced to the door again, as if the man himself was possibly eavesdropping on the conversation, before looking back to you, those gold flecked green eyes sparkling with mischief. "I'll tell you if you make sure he doesn't poison me."
Your face split into a grin, the sort of inappropriately timed smile that occurs involuntarily when you hear bad news. "Remus, what did you do?" you groaned, and he seemed to resign himself with a sigh. He was leaning close to you again, and you could feel the heat of his breath on your neck as he whispered something into your ear. Your lashes fluttered as you closed your eyes, trying to concentrate on what he was saying, but his lips accidentally (?) brushed against your temple and it felt like it had been ages since you'd had someone so close, and-
"…and swinging a big, red handbag."
You blinked, stunned as he pulled away, the man gazing down at you expectantly. Your hand suddenly flew to your mouth, trying to catch and eat the undignified snort that erupted from you. Your face was already burning, but you could attribute it to your suppressed, silent laughter as Remus smirked. Oh god, it was horrible! And yet… you couldn't help yourself. You gasped a great lungful of air before blurting out, "I absolutely cannot guarantee your safety."
This time he laughed, such a beautiful sound in its authenticity. He managed to get control of his features quickly, but barely, as he rested a warm hand lightly against your arm, mock sorrow etching his face. "Well, it was lovely knowing you, Gwendolyn," he said morosely, attempting to keep his facade intact. "At least make sure he uses something fast acting."
And then you were dissolving into giggles again, holding your hand over your burning face as he joined you. The round, full sound of his mirth was so soothing. So honest and unguarded. There was something appealing about that. And maybe you did miss being with someone uncomplicated, just a little bit…
Pt. 2
If returning to Hogwarts had felt like coming home, than being in the potions lab felt like crawling into your own bed after years of being away from it. It stirred a sense of calm and security that only came with being back in the warm embrace of familiarity, of knowing exactly how you fit and where you belonged within a space. It was simple serenity. But these sensations of comfort were accompanied by a soft tug of regret. Of wondering why you had ever left these walls in the first place.
You hadn't exactly been invited tonight, but neither had you been turned away when you'd showed up at Severus' office door after dinner, a week and a day prior to the upcoming full moon. You would always be hyperaware of the cycle, and you had a feeling that Severus was as well. You didn't even have to guess that he would start brewing this evening; it was unmitigated fact that he would. So you'd showed up. And your prediction had been correct.
He hadn't exactly been surprised to see you either, you wagered. You'd exchanged very few words since you'd arrived, but you got the sense that he'd been expecting you; there were two stools set before the same worktable, though you noticed only one cauldron. Which was fine. He didn't intend for you to assist, and to be frank, you hadn't intended to either. But it just felt… wrong, to know that a Wolfsbane Potion was being brewed somewhere in the castle, and you weren't there to observe it.
So you sat in silent companionship for over an hour. You watched his every move carefully, anticipating each step as it came. And you hadn't been exaggerating to Remus when you'd told him that Severus' technical ability far surpassed your own. Though you knew the formula by heart, brewed it countless times over the years, Severus just somehow… did it better. Or maybe he just did it with more finesse. You were grateful for the relatively low light in the dungeon lab, because along with the overwhelming nostalgia of being in this room once again, of being in this familiar position of diligently observing your Master at work, came the same sort of thoughts and fantasies that had started this whole… thing, in the bloody first place.
Got it bad, got it bad, got it bad…
Being alone with him was a screaming reminder of how terribly you ached for him, and it left you suffused with shame and guilt over all of the flirting you'd been doing with Remus Lupin lately. And it most definitely was flirting. There could be no mistake about it now. You got along with Remus quite famously, his humor and wit a breath of fresh air, and found yourself spending more and more time with him outside of staff meetings and meals. He'd stop by your office during your shared free periods, which had indeed become the Muggle Study Hall you had predicted, your classroom dotted with students, mostly third years, listening to records and doing their homework as you sat in your office with the door cracked open. You would usually be grading papers, but they'd always get pushed off for later in favor of chatting quietly with Remus, covering anything and everything from your classes, to your students, to your art. And sometimes, when you classroom was empty, you would whisper about lycanthropy, and the upcoming moon.
But as you sat here now, cloaked in the comforting silence, reveling in the sensation that you only ever experienced when you were in this room, you realized that your conversations with Remus weren't deep. It was all surface, superficial, shallow. It was… puppy love. It was Lawrence, and Desma, and every other trifling 'just for funsies' fling you'd ever had as a teenager. There was no substance, no goal… Not like this. Not like sitting in a quiet room with him, and thinking that if the world behind the door were to suddenly disappear, that would be just fine. You felt gross for ever having entertained the thought, that your loneliness couldn't handle the wait.
Severus was turning the burner under the Wolfsbane Potion down low, the faint blue wisps of steam curling from the slowly bubbling contents indicating its proper completion. It would keep well under a low flame for the rest of the week, and the standard size 4 cauldron made about eight doses of the potion. Better to have too much than not enough. Severus sighed contentedly as he finally allowed himself to sit back on his stool, looking carefully over the patent papers that contained the formulation, and studiously ignoring the grin on your face.
"Well?" you finally asked after a beat, your voice expectant as you propped your elbow up on the worktable, your cheek resting in your palm as you tried to catch his eye. Even in the low lamp light, you caught the tick in his cheek, the little twitch which told you that he was trying not to grin.
"You already know how I feel about it," he deadpanned, still (pretending to be) looking over the formula papers, as if there were any possibility that he hadn't reproduced it perfectly. As if there were any universe in which he didn't already have it memorized.
You rolled your eyes, and you didn't fight back your own grin as you insisted, "Yeah, but I want to hear you say it."
Severus arched a brow, lowering the papers as he turned to face you incredulously. You raised one of your own blonde brows in return, and he snorted through his nose, placing the papers onto the table before folding his arms over his chest. "Of course you do," he relented with a put-upon sigh, but you could tell it was just for show. He returned his attention to the potion, pinching his bottom lip between his thumb and forefinger (tease) as he considered it closely, reflecting back on the process of brewing it maybe, before he shrugged a sharp shoulder nonchalantly. "It's… inspired," he said finally, and you beamed, because you knew a compliment when you heard one. "Whose idea was it to brew in a silver cauldron?" he asked, reaching out and tapping his trim nails against the rim of the vessel.
You felt your cheeks blossom with satisfied warmth, and you raised your free hand like you were a school girl again. "Guilty," you admitted, ever so pleased that he had picked out one of your personal contributions. Though… it still felt wrong to take all of the credit. You hadn't invented the entire thing yourself after all.
"But it was Alex who…" you winced, catching the way you had said his name so familiarly. You hadn't heard from Alexander Mali or Eleanor Young since the project had ended, and you never found out if they had been in on the betrayal. You just always assumed that they had. "It had been Alexander Mali, who was convinced that integrating silver was going to be key," you continued stiltedly, grateful that Severus had not bat an eye at your pause. You turned your eyes away from him anyway, instead regarding the potion simmering in its gleaming silver cauldron. "We'd tried everything from silver dust, to the colloidal silver you get in muggle health food stores, but nothing was pure enough. It wasn't until we figured-"
"Until you figured," Severus cut in, and you blinked in surprise, pulling your attention away from the cauldron and back to him. His brow was still arched high on his forehead, and he pinned you with his shrewd gaze. "Please don't downplay your contributions," he said plainly, though it certainly sounded more like a command than a request. "Especially the ones that were a direct result of my teaching."
You snorted, dropping your face into your hand as you turned away from him again, shaking with silent giggles. He wasn't wrong of course. You had spent weeks of your apprenticeship experimenting with different cauldron types, observing how each material affected the final result. Pewter was standard because it caused the least variation in reaction, but different types of materials, from gold, silver and bronze, to copper and cast iron, could all yield vastly different results at wildly different speeds. Still. He didn't have to be so smug about it.
"Would you like me to pat you on the back or have you got a handle on that yourself?" you asked casually as you extricated your face from your hand. He was really struggling not to smirk now as he made a show of standing from his stool to begin the process of cleaning up.
"Oh, I can manage quite well on my own, thank you," he assured you, and you flat out laughed at that one. He finally allowed himself a grin as he went about shoving corks into bottles, screwing lids onto jars, and charming knives and stirring rods to wash themselves within the basin sinks. You made no move to assist with this task either, because you knew he liked things done a certain way. Not that you'd forgotten, but you weren't sure if the procedure had changed. There was a quiet beat of silence as you simply watched (his hands) as he methodically tidied up his workstation.
"So. No notes? No improvements?" you asked after a time, your tone still light and casual. "You tell me it's inspired but you haven't mentioned the word 'perfect' yet." You were goading him, and he knew it, but you were interested to know if he had any suggestions to make. You'd wished so desperately that you could have written to him the details, and gotten his opinion back then. You knew you had done well on your own… but there was nothing quite like receiving his approval, above all else.
He rolled his eyes at your request though, as if you should already know the answer. "I don't believe in perfection. Things can always stand to be improved," he said finally, matter-of-factly, and you raised both eyebrows at such a bold, yet undeniably true statement. "That being said, I haven't seen this particular potion in action yet, so I can't determine what actually needs improving, beyond ingredients and technique."
That… was fair. Testing a potion certainly required trial, and observing the effects would not be possible for another seven days. The recipient hadn't even taken the first dose yet. Not that you were actually planning on doing any more trials. (Not in the traditional sense, anyway.) But still… "All of our volunteers said it tasted gross," you mentioned offhandedly, and Severus huffed loudly in reply.
"Most potions do," he reminded you, and you couldn't argue with that, smiling a little as you watched him delicately place all of the ingredients into the small crate he'd used to carry them into the lab. "Improving palatability is not a top priority, as you well know." He paused, his hand hovering over the bottle of dried monkshood flowers, and you could practically see him sorting through the wealth of knowledge he had filed away within his brain. "Though, adding peppermint to any potion is usually harmless," he murmured, his eyes unfocused, and you imagined that he was lining up the ingredients of the Wolfsbane Potion in his head, and stacking them up against peppermint to see if there were any obvious reactions. You'd seen him do this sort of thing before, years ago, when you would make a suggestion in your own attempt to improve a potion, though your ideas had usually been shot down quicker than this.
Vision snapping back into focus, he seemed to catch himself, and his thoughtful expression twisted into a scowl. "Not that I would be willing to experiment on Lupin, on his first go of it, no less," he hissed, his words so bitter that they left a bad taste in your own mouth. You were about to insist that you'd only been joking anyway (you'd already tried peppermint in Albania), when he cut ahead of you. "I wanted to talk to you about him, actually."
A sudden wave of uneasiness rippled through you, and you had to concentrate very hard to keep your face neutral. Suffused with dread, you were rapidly reminded of the incident with the Boggart a few weeks ago. You knew it had not gone over well when Severus found out, but you had yet to actually discuss the event with the man. Severus always seemed to grow contemptuous when he spoke about Remus. Was this just the usual acrimony Severus seemed to harbor for the man? Or was there something else on his mind? You felt woozy with dread, your mouth suddenly dry, but you managed a quiet "Oh?" hoping the curious inflection in your tone did not betray your apprehension.
Severus finally finished loading the assortment of jars and bottles into their crate, and he set them towards the end of the table before reclaiming his stool across from you. Arms crossed over his narrow chest, you felt reduced to a child about to receive a scolding, and you braced yourself for whatever was about to come.
"What spells do you plan to use on the night of the full moon?"
It was asked so blandly, so innocuously, that you stared at him in dumbfounded silence for a moment, before you were bowled over by a wave of palpable relief. Oh, thank god. You weren't sure if you'd managed to keep a straight face, your throat wanting to bubble with inappropriate giggles over a successfully dodged bullet, but you managed to curb it with a relieved sigh, casting your eyes down toward your lap so as to shield yourself from his questioning gaze. The last thing you needed was for him to peek into your brain and see (Remus, glancing back towards the door as he leaned in close, his lips brushing against your temple as he whispered, careful to keep his voice down, in case anyone was listening…) something you didn't want him to.
"Well, in Albania we used colloportus and protego totalum on the cells," you explained, counting both spells off on your fingers, feigning the reason you had looked away from him. "I figured I would use the same, plus a silencing charm on both sides of the doors. I suggested that he transform in his office, instead of his quarters." You finally looked up, having regained control of your facial features so that you didn't look completely guilty. "Less likely to damage anything important in there, should things go awry."
The ensuing silence that followed, however, made you question whether or not you really had steadied your expression. He was staring at you intently, that familiar line appearing between his eyebrows, as they were pressed together in clear disappointment. "…That's it?" he asked after an awkward beat, and you felt your neck and ears grow hot.
"Is that not enough?" you asked defensively, finally straightening up from where you'd been leaning against the work table, instead crossing your arms over your chest in a mirror image of his stance.
And this seemed to strike him, perhaps realizing his presumption had been rather discourteous, as he uncrossed his own arms and lifted his pale hands in supplication. "In Albania, your main goal was to keep the werewolves inside of their cells, correct?" he asked, voice milder this time, and you relaxed slightly at the cooler tone.
"Yes," you confirmed, as that was absolutely correct. Keeping the werewolves contained so as not to be a danger to others had been the top priority during testing. Colloportus and protego had both worked perfectly well for that cause. And though the cells had been outfitted with silver bars, those had only been strictly necessary in the early days, when the werewolves still posed a serious threat. Under the effects of the potion, however, the silver bars had been little more than decoration. Upon being recruited to repeat this job for Remus, you'd felt no need to deviate from this perfectly serviceable safety procedure.
Severus, however, clearly thought differently. "But Lupin will be under the influence of your near perfect potion," he reminded you, and you bristled at his inflection, but he merely smirked at you, and you rolled your eyes as he continued. "Werewolves don't have magic. Or opposable thumbs. Keeping him contained is not the issue." He was watching you closely, as if waiting for you to connect the dots and have a eureka moment from his vague insinuations. But when it was evident that wasn't going to happen, he sighed, exasperated, and rubbed his eyes with his fingertips. "You need to cast spells that are going to keep other people out."
You smiled sheepishly at his frustration, at being the cause of it, but his suggestion left you bemused. You… certainly hadn't thought of it that way. You were simply going off of your past experiences of having to lock up active lycanthropes. You hadn't really considered that anyone would come snooping.
"Who do you think is going to be checking up on Professor Lupin in the middle of the night besides me?" you asked, genuinely curious. All of the staff was aware of the situation, and they knew to stay clear. And any stray students would really have to be on a mission to sneak into the Defense classroom specifically to get into Remus' office. It wasn't just a room you stumbled upon. There were stairs involved.
But Severus merely shook his head with apparent dissatisfaction in your answer. "I'm sure you're aware of the foolishness that some students get up to after hours," he prompted, crossing his arms again. "I once caught a Hufflepuff baking in the kitchens in the middle of the night," he mentioned offhandedly, arching one of those dark brows with smug satisfaction. You felt your cheeks prickle with new heat, and you glared at the arrogant leer he wasn't even attempting to conceal any more. But his mirth was short lived, and he sobered up quickly as he dropped his eyes to the floor between you. "And I am all too familiar with the special brand of idiocy possessed of by nosy teenage boys."
Your own embarrassment died away at that, and you had the decency to look abashed with this stark reminder. You still had the letter he'd sent you three years ago, and though he had not gone into detail, it always stayed with you, knowing he'd come face to face with a werewolf as a boy.
"Point taken," you said softly, and there was another lull of silence as you stared down at his shiny black shoes. It had never occurred to you that his encounter with a werewolf might have taken place here, at Hogwarts… You knew natural werewolves lived in the woods, but had it been a natural wolf he had come upon? Or had it been… Oh, that was a dangerous thought to entertain. Lifting your eyes, you did your best to keep the urgency for information out of your voice before you asked, "Are you ever going to tell me about that?"
The silence returned, his eyes still downcast, supposedly at your own suede flats, and it took a moment before he closed his eyes, sighing through his nose. "I don't think I will," he murmured, and you frowned deeply, your guts roiling with angst. Jesus. How were you supposed to get to know him better if he wouldn't bloody tell you anything? You were compelled to ask him as much, when he slid off of his stool and onto his feet, drawing your attention back up to his dark eyes. He was offering a remorseful smile, as though he'd read your mind, though you were certain that he hadn't. "Not just yet, anyway," he promised, before turning his back on you and taking up the crate of ingredients. "Brush up on sealing spells and imperturbable charms, and maybe consider a security spell. One that alerts you whenever someone crosses a threshold."
And just like that, the conversation was over. You sighed a little, feeling hollow with the knowledge that he apparently didn't trust you enough to divulge events from his past. You'd really thought that you had earned that by now. But what could you do? You weren't entitled to anything. You were just going to have to keep waiting. You closed your eyes and took a deep, steadying breath. You told him you would wait…
"That wasn't all I wanted to ask you."
You were startled out of your reverie by the sound of his voice coming from his office. Standing slowly, you stretched out your back a little before hastening to follow him out of the room. He'd set the crate of ingredients on his desk, and was carefully transferring the assorted bottles and jars from the box to his private store shelves by hand. Glancing back at the Wolfsbane Potion simmering silently in the lab, you slid the concealed door shut on that room you'd always found so peaceful. Stepping into the office, you stood awkwardly in the empty space with your arms still crossed under your chest. "Alright," you asked, not bothering to mask the trepidation in your voice as you wondered what he wanted to know this time.
And this seemed to catch him again. He frowned as he paused his perusal of the shelves, and you were rather shocked to see him simply place the jar he held in his hand on a shelf at random before turning and stepping towards you. It appeared that he was doing some very careful thinking before he spoke, and you rewarded this effort by relaxing your defensive posture, allowing your shoulders to soften and the crease between your brows to smooth out. He wasn't being difficult on purpose. You knew that. You needed to give him the chance, because you knew that whatever he had to say was probably important.
He stood a respectful distance away, and you watched his hands fidget at his sides; watched him pass the tips of his fingers over the pads of his thumbs restlessly. "Please don't be offended," he asked quietly, and you braced yourself to be exactly that. "But… will you be able to cast all of those charms effectively?"
Oh. You… weren't offended by the question, surprisingly enough, but it did give you pause. Colloportus and protego totalum were child's play at this point. You may not have been exceptionally savvy at charms as a student, but you had cast those particular spells so often that even in your weakened, depressive state, you had managed produce those same charms on your mother's apartment when you had come home. It had just seemed like good procedure, and it was the only magic you had been able to create at the time. The other charms however… you weren't as confident about. Especially the ones he had suggested you 'brush up on', insinuating that you even knew them in the first place. You had a week to work on them, but…
"I don't know," you answered honestly, lifting your gaze from his fidgeting hands to his evasive eyes. "I've been steadily regaining my magic since I've been here, though. I'm not completely useless anymore," you pouted, allowing a bit of that defensiveness back in.
Severus winced at your biting tone, and he shook his head as he took another step closer to you. "I never meant to imply that you were," he insisted, and you watched as he raised one of those pale hands to settle onto your shoulder. The weight of it was immensely comforting, and… you didn't bother holding back. What was the point of pretending? You tilted your head to the side and settled your cheek against the back of his fingers, the cool skin almost icy against your warm cheek. You felt as much as heard his breath hitch softly, but he didn't pull away. Good.
Severus swallowed, cleared his throat. "But in the case of keeping this school safe… near perfect isn't quite going to cut it," he quipped. You froze for a moment, staring at his cravat and wondering if you ought to be offended this time, before snorting as his remarkable sass. There was a resonant hum from deep in his chest, and he squeezed your shoulder in reply, taking a final step closer. "I can help you."
You finally rolled your cheek off his hand, tilting your head back to look up at him, and offered an acerbic smile at his proposal. "For your sake, or for mine?" you asked, vexation softening into fondness as you uncrossed your arms, lifting one hand to settle over his where it rested on your shoulder, and slipping your thumb under the cuff of his sleeve.
Severus' eyes flickered from your hand, to your face (your mouth) and back again. You thought you could feel his pulse through the blue lace veins on the back of his hand. "It would be mutually beneficial for everyone involved," he murmured, quirking an eyebrow and allowing one corner of his lips to tug upwards. You were overwhelmed with the desire to lick it.
Instead, you closed your eyes, still smiling ruefully as you reluctantly slid your hand away from his. "How very magnanimous of you," you retorted, and you were both smirking now. Though really, his offer was quite generous. He didn't have to do this. It was your job, not his. And since you had the very accurate impression that he didn't care much for Lupin, you had to wonder where his true motives lie. But for now you could simply hope that he was just… taking care of you. Like he always did.
Pt. 3
You had been sorrowfully underprepared to study werewolves when you had first arrived in Albania to begin the Wolfsbane trials. The distinct absence of competent Defense Against the Dark Arts professors coupled with your lack of forethought to do your own research had left you entirely overwhelmed that first full moon. The sounds, the violence, the gore… being face to face with a fully transformed werewolf, even after all of the meticulous protection spells and precautions, had been a deeply traumatic experience for you. And you had been even less prepared for dealing with the aftermath; the dead weight of naked bodies, streaked with scratches, smeared with blood. The responsibility of caring for physical and emotional wellbeing of another human was a heavy burden. You'd been so delicate, so careful, applying essence of dittany to their open wounds, covering them with fresh bandages, forcing blood replenishers down their unresponsive throats, because they couldn't wake up long enough to swallow on their own. But when they did wake, there was always a rush of panic, the raw, lingering fear clinging to their vacant memories, that they hadn't been successfully contained. That they had gotten loose and hurt someone. After that first moon, you had always made sure that you were there when they woke up, to immediately assuage those fears. To tell them that they were safe. That everyone was safe. You would be there to wipe their tears, and hold them close, and let them know that you weren't afraid of them.
And it was because of this innate desire to comfort and care for that you found yourself in Remus Lupin's bed.
The night had been oppressively long. After dinner had ended, just before the sun set, you had accompanied Severus in delivering the final dose of Wolfsbane potion. You hadn't bothered to offer doing it yourself; you wanted him there, and he knew why. Despite all of the research and practice you had put into your spell work over the last week, you did not feel confident enough in the strength of your magic to perform the duty that Albus Dumbledore had bestowed upon you. Severus had spared you from having to explain this to Remus directly; he would simply cast all of the protective wards himself once the doors were closed. You knew that Remus was just as anxious about this as you felt, and you didn't wish to distress him further by insinuating that your magic wouldn't be strong enough to keep him safe. Or to keep others safe from him.
It had been painfully awkward in the small office as Remus choked down the last of his potion, while Severus observed the slowly setting sun through the high windows in stony silence. You were left to stand between them, feeling apprehension rolling off of one, and contempt radiating from the other. You were no closer to discovering the source of the animosity between them, but you had your theories. There was the possibility that Severus still held a grudge over the Boggart incident, but his disdain had been present long before Remus had ever arrived to the school. Which left you with the sick suspicion that Severus' derision lay solely in the fact that Remus was a werewolf. Which was nauseating to even contemplate. After all the work you had done… After all of his assurances that Wolfsbane potion could change the public perception… After all of his claims of how proud of you he was…
When Remus had finally finished, he'd handed you the empty goblet, along with his wand and his robe, leaving him in what was surely the most rundown shirt and trousers he owned; an outfit that he could afford to lose, should things go awry. It made your heart ache, but he was still all smiles as he assured you that he was ready. Severus had mumbled something about how he'd better be ready, before snatching the empty goblet from your hand, and exiting the small office just before the sun fully set behind the forest. Remus seemed to barely restrain himself from rolling his eyes, but he retained his good humor nonetheless, those gold flecked green eyes warm as ever as he smiled down at you. You'd felt like you should say something, assure him that everything would be all right… but those words felt empty at this juncture. You would tell him that in the morning. You followed Severus out of the office, shutting the door behind you, Remus' robe folded over your arm and his wand in your hand. The foreign implement made your fingers feel numb with unfamiliar magic, but you realized exactly how much faith he had in you, by trusting you with it.
"Silencio."
The sudden utterance of the incantation had made you jump, and you quickly stepped aside from the door, leaning against the railing along the landing so that you were well out of the way. Severus held his wand out before him, and you watched in awed fascination as he cast spell after spell upon the door; protection charms, security wards, imperturbable barriers, one right after the other. And it wasn't simply spell layered on top of spell. He was weaving each of them together, creating an invisible barricade against the door that you were certain would be nigh impenetrable from either side. His skill was beyond impressive.
And you never felt so useless in your life.
What were you doing here? Why had Albus Dumbledore hired you, when he clearly hadn't needed to? Everyone had put their faith in you, that you would be able to keep the school safe from the potential threat that was Remus Lupin. Remus Lupin had a job because Dumbledore had assured the entirety of the staff that you would be able to contain the beast. And Remus Lupin was presently under the impression that you were the one keeping him safe from everybody else tonight. But you hadn't been the one to cast the spells. You hadn't even been the one to brew the potion.
All you were doing was holding his robe, and his wand, while also holding back tears.
When Severus was finished, he'd asked if he could walk you back to your classroom. You hadn't answered him immediately, simply staring down at the crack under the door, which was dark now. You couldn't perceive any movement from behind it. Not shifting light, not scuttling sound. All was silent and still. The room beyond the door could have been empty from this vantage point. Schrodinger's Werewolf.
Severus had repeated his question, a little louder this time, and you'd finally managed to find your voice for long enough to decline. You'd made up some excuse, about wanting to wait for the sun to set completely, for the moon to be high in the sky before you left, and when he'd offered to wait with you, you'd insisted that it wasn't necessary. A heavy silence had settled between you then; you felt his eyes burning against your skin and you made very sure not to look up and meet his gaze, because even you weren't sure what he would find beyond it if he looked inside just now. Without another word, he'd turned on his heel and descended down the staircase, his shoes clacking on the wood paneled floor as he made his way across the Defense classroom. For a moment, you thought he had paused at the threshold to look back at you… but he was just adding more wards to the classroom door itself. When it had finally snapped shut, and you were finally alone, you stopped resisting your tears.
You never left the classroom.
None of the security spells had gone off in the night, which was comforting, because it would have been humiliating to have been found leaning against Remus' office door, your legs stretched out on the stone landing with your fellow professors shabby robes wrapped tightly around your shoulders. Though, you hadn't gotten clarification if those security wards would go off had Severus himself returned through them. You were reasonably certain that he hadn't though, because it wasn't like you had gotten much sleep anyway. The physical discomfort of spending the night on the floor notwithstanding, you'd also been deep in the throes of an existential crisis for most of the evening. An endless loop of circling thoughts, of feeling pathetic. Powerless. Weak. Useless. You wondered if this was how squibs felt in a world of magic they couldn't obtain, but quickly dispelled that idea, as it did a great disservice to Argus Filch, who at least had confidence in his ability to strike fear into the hearts of even magical children. So at least he had that going for him.
What did you have going for you? The keenest answer was 'not much'. You had a job, sure. Okay. But you were teaching a fluff elective that you'd never even studied yourself until a few months ago. It wasn't your field of expertise. You had a Masters in Potions but you weren't doing anything with it. You weren't sure you'd ever be accepted into that community again. You hadn't brewed anything yourself in months. You hadn't performed proper magic in months, either. Your magic was so deeply engrained in your emotions that the lower you fell, the more difficult it became to tap into. Your wand had grown lusterless and dull, a far cry from the burnished maple it once had been. You could manage simple spells here and there, but anything more advanced was a struggle to achieve. And now you were depending on someone else to perform the spells that you had been hired to do…
All because you were lonely.
This was the ultimate conclusion you had come to in your hours of musings. You felt painfully alone, and had for a long time now. You'd been a little girl with no daddy and a mommy who worked at a bar, who got into fist fights and sometimes would make inexplicable things happen when you were scared. You'd been a half-blood witch with no knowledge of the wizarding world, but you had never been quite as enchanted by it as the muggle-borns had been. You'd been a victim of a love potion, and a victim of professional betrayal, and in both cruel circumstances, you had been convinced that nobody would have believed you, even if you'd gone public. And now…
Of course you had family, friends, lovers… And those connections would help to ease the loneliness for a time, especially when you were able to find solace in someone who could understand. You took comfort in the fact that this feeling of otherness was not unique to you. Your mother had been a black sheep, always a rebel, and surrounded you and herself with members of a similar tribe. Hufflepuff was known as being the house of leftovers, and though that descriptor was wildly inaccurate to anyone actually in Hufflepuff, you'd always found acceptance there. And if there was anyone who could truly empathize with the struggle of feeling like an 'other' for most of their lives… it was a werewolf.
Not Desma, though. Desma had been bitten only two years before you'd met her. While she'd experienced her fair share of isolation since her turning, it was not quite as acute as that of Ismet Kadare, your Brown Wolf from the Wolfsbane trials. Ismet had been only a toddler when he'd been turned; he didn't have memories of a time before lycanthropy. The only reason he knew he hadn't been born a werewolf, was the broad, tight scar on his left shoulder that had been there for all of his life, and kept him from being able to use that arm to its full capacity. His parents had been kind enough to abandon him at a home for boys with magical maladies, but even the healers there were just as ignorant as his parents had been about caring for a young werewolf. His childhood was punctuated with the stench of moldy basements, the iron tang of fresh blood, and the crippling isolation that intrinsically came with the stigma of lycanthropy.
Ismet had been 23 when you'd first met him, a skinny, grey haired young man with a feral strength and desperation about him, and his life had not changed much from those nights in the basement of the boy's home. After the first full moon of the trial, Ismet had woken up screaming. You remembered being wrenched out of your own sleep by the sound of it, running from your bedroom in the crumbling castle and nearly scraping your knees on the stone floor as you fell to his bedside. You'd had to assure him, over and over again, that he was safe. That everyone was safe. That he hadn't hurt anyone in the night and that he was okay. It had taken several minutes, but you finally managed to calm him for long enough to allow him to drift back into sleep. The second time he awoke, once he was coherent again, he'd sheepishly confessed that he'd never woken up in a bed after a transformation before, and it had confused him. He'd thought perhaps he'd been captured, or imprisoned. He'd never woken up with most of his wounds already healed either. And he'd definitely never woken up to someone calming him with soft words and soothing hands. He couldn't remember the last time he'd been touched in a way that wasn't meant to hurt. After the third full moon, you had moved a chair into his recovery room in order to sit vigil, to be there the moment he woke up. After the seventh moon, you'd abandoned the chair for lying beside him in bed.
Sitting vigil… Is that what you had done last night? The decision had perhaps been subconscious, and you'd certainly spent most of the night in your own head, as opposed to worrying about what was happening on the other side of the door against which you'd fitfully slept. But you knew that even if you hadn't been preoccupied with your own misery, that you would not have gotten much sleep on this night. You would have stayed awake despite yourself, because the last time you had actually slept through a full moon had been over three years ago. Even when the trials had ended, after your time spent with Desma, and you had returned home to London, you never slept when the moon was full. So what did that make you? Pavlov's Potion's Master?
You felt the exact moment that Severus' spells dissipated. The sunrise was on the other side of the castle, but you saw the early dawn spilling across the fields, and as soon as the sun broke over the horizon, you felt the magic dissolve under your fingers, like fairy floss the moment it touches your tongue. The air around the door felt different. Less muted and artificial. And you felt that maybe all was not lost in terms of your magic, if you were at least able to feel that. Light shone from under the crack in the door, and you hesitantly pressed your ear to the wood panel. You couldn't hear anything in the room beyond, and you braced yourself for whatever you may find. The only spell that lingered on the door was colloportus, and with a simple alohomora, you unlocked the latch and stepped inside.
As much as you poured your heart and soul into your work, you still knew when to reign in your emotions and be clinical. It was surprisingly easy to shift into that role as you opened the door to find the prone from of Remus Lupin sprawled on his back over the floor of his office. Upon initial sight, you were relieved to find no apparent wounds or abrasions on his skin. Even the floor he was laying on was smooth and pristine; not a claw mark or a splinter to be found. There had always been a persistent little thought… that the potion didn't work the same way on all werewolves across the broad. And though that was still a possibility, it was relieving to know that it did work on Remus. You gently placed the robes you had clung to all night over their rightful owner in an attempt to preserve some decency, before mentally running down your list of checks.
You placed your fingers under his jaw, and were met with a strong, steady pulse against your fingertips. Good. You slid your wand from the inside of your robes, and after a deep breath, cast a lumos charm. You sighed gratefully when the tip of your wand began to glow brightly. Moving very delicately, you used your thumb to carefully pull back his eyelids, the dilated pupils constricting instantly when met with the bright light. Also good. After extinguishing the charm, you took another steading breath, before waving your wand across his body, and whispering the familiar incantation for a diagnostic spell. It was complex magic, perhaps the most difficult spell you had tried in a long time. But you could feel it working, because you were fueled by the knowledge that you had to do this. Someone else's life was depending on it.
In the early days of the trials, this spell would make your subjects light up like Christmas trees, their bodies streaked with red neon from every open wound and scratch. There would be spots of bright green shining from under the surface of their skin where there were broken bones that needed mending. Purple was internal bleeding. Yellow was infection. Blue was concussion. But Remus' scarred skin had shone bright white for only a few moments, indicating that the spell had at least been properly cast, before dimming back down to normal. No lingering colors across his skin. He was fine.
He was fine. He was safe. Everything had worked out right, and he was okay.
After a mobilicorpus and another alohomora, you managed to get Remus out of his office and into his bed in his quarters. His rooms looked almost identical to yours, only the color palette chosen for him were earth tones of brown and green, and there was a distinct lack of personal effects. The room was cool, as it faced away from the rising sun, but you still made sure the curtains were drawn tight, instead opting to light a few candles so that he wouldn't wake up in complete darkness. You'd collected his clothes from his office, and placed them along with his robe and his wand on the bedside table. And then you had a choice to make.
There had never been anything sexual about the way you'd shared a bed with Ismet. Though the same could not be said for Desma, with Ismet, it had only ever been pure in intent. There was a primal comfort that came from sharing body heat, of being held and feeling secure, instead of waking up cold, scared and alone. Even after the potion had been perfected, and Ismet could remember that he hadn't hurt anyone in the night… neither of you had really wanted to give up that comfort. It's where the line between your professional responsibility and your personal nature became blurred. You knew that it was unprofessional. You knew it would never fly in a medical setting in the Muggle world. You weren't sure it would be appropriate in any setting, Muggle, Magical or otherwise, other than the unique one you'd found yourself in in Albania. And it probably wasn't appropriate here.
But it was his first time… And you just wanted to feel useful. You just wanted to help.
Kicking off your shoes, you'd stayed on top of the covers as you settled onto the unoccupied side of the bed. It felt like heaven after a night on a stone landing, but you wouldn't allow yourself to sleep until Remus was awake. Propped against the headboard, you stared down at the mop of brown hair peeking out from under the covers, the grey strands glinting in the candle light, and you didn't even hesitate, though you knew that perhaps you should have. Sliding your fingers through the tangled strands, you gently pulled apart knots and snags until you were able to glide through his tresses smoothly. You watched as the mound of blankets slowly shrank as Remus relaxed in his sleep, and you were suddenly absolved of any misgivings you had about doing this. You slid down the headboard to lay against the pillows beside him, and watched his slack face in the flickering candles as he slept.
You weren't hired exclusively to keep the student body safe from a potential threat. You hadn't been hired just to cast protective spells. You were here because you had three years of experience taking care of werewolves. Any healer could cast a diagnostic spell and heal wounds. Any apothecary could administer a Wiggenweld and recommend bed rest. But your experience had also taught you that most werewolves were lonely, touch-starved and scared. That they spent so much of their time isolated from the world and stooping to accommodate the comfort of others, that finally feeling secure and in control could come both as a shock, and a luxury.
You were here because you wanted to help people. Someone. Anyone. You wanted to help Remus. And as you carded your fingers through his hair as he slept, you hoped to god that you would actually be successful this time.
-0-
The next chapter will have 2 parts: Halloween Night when Sirius Black breaks into Hogwarts, and Gwen confronting Severus after his DADA class.
The chapter after that will also have 2 parts: The night of The Shrieking Shack Incident, and the morning after.
I hope this keeps you excited for the next bits ;w;