I am pleased to inform that this should have about 2 to 3 chapters more. Just so that you know. If you are hopelessly addicted to Narrator Snape, might as well let me know now, so that I leave room for a sequel. Or you might want to set a challenge for me. I take them all up, unless they involve slash, cos I don't do slash. *chuckles*
As for my reviewers:
JaimynsFire: Your wish is my command.
Joyce: Well, these questions are both valid... and both true. *very evil grin* the highest priority of the creature is to make Harry's body its host. Feeding off his soul wouldn't be a bad bonus either. There is a valid reason for the spirit targeting Harry, and so soon after the whole Voldemort deal... and I have already given you way too many hints. Snape is disappointed. heh.
Lady Lunar Phoenix: Hm. I DO want to live to see The Return of the King... so I'd better update. But *in a whiny voice* I will tell Snape!
Lei Dumbledore: Thank you, and will do.
Krazy Kat: I am so flattered you like my way of writing. I do think Snape is not 100% bastard, and if the HP series were through his POV, I don't think we'd see Harry as such a lovely dear, simply because it would be through a teacher's eyes. I am a teacher. Of course I can understand Snape. hehehe.
Zardiphillian Beryllix: The battle will come soon enough... careful what you wish for. heh.
Rurouni Star: Heh... I got stitches for Peeves' hide... heh. But you are lucky and you get an update, barely a day after your review!
...now imagine how fast I'd write if there were more reviews... hmm.
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It is twilight. I have finished the primary brewing of the potion, and thankfully, it has not erupted or started to give off noxious fumes again. It has been the hardest concoction I have had to brew in my life so far.
Perhaps because I am making it up as I go.
I leave the cauldron to sit for the rest of the day, and secure it in the hearth with locking and anti-spilling charms. It is safe. But for further protection, I lock the door to my office, where I have been brewing it, put a charm for unbreakability on the door, then two wards and a password. I swallow. It is safe enough.
There is a knock on the door. Weak and hurried. I open the door for Lupin to come in.
"It is probably best if you shackle me now, Severus," he says as he leans against the doorframe. He is pale as wax and sweating, his eyes glowing with the magic of the wolf. When I was a student, I had never imagined what an ordeal it would be to shift every month. I admit that I had never cared; it had never crossed my mind that one of the Marauders, the dream students of all Hogwarts, would be living his own personal hell, just like I was.
Perhaps that is why Lupin never openly despised me.
I nod to him.
"All right. Come in."
He looks confused.
"Aren't we going to the Shrieking Shack?"
I can't help for a small quirk of the corner of my mouth.
"The Shrieking Shack is for animals, Lupin. Come this way."
I turn before I allow myself to see Lupin's expression. I can't allow myself to see his expression and in the same time manage to keep mine nonchalant. But I bet he was stunned, because I don't hear him following me before a few moments have passed. I relish the feeling for reasons unfathomable.
I lead him half a level over the dungeons to an old potions classroom that is not used anymore, and lock the door and ward it behind us. Remus smirks.
"Our old classroom."
"Until Potter and Black blew it up and it was deemed too small for 'accidents' where shrapnel rebounds off the walls."
Remus chuckles to himself.
"They weren't the only ones to blame, Severus. I recall someone jinxing the cauldron."
I almost feel a juvenile again as feelings of indignancy sweep over me. I reply as I retrieve the shackles and other things we have agreed are necessary to restrain a werewolf.
"I only jinxed it to shiver on the spot, Lupin. If they hadn't been so incompetent in Potions, the draft wouldn't have been so volatile as to explode so spectacularly."
When I face the werewolf, he is still smirking conspiratorially at me. I have to huff to shake off the mood. This is not the time to reminisce, because then inadvertently we would come to Lily, and what happened when I tried to openly befriend her...
I do -not- wish to remember that. Not now. Not ever, childish as it may sound. I occupy myself with tying up Remus to the wooden pole. He crouches, so that when he shifts he won't be stretched out, and therefore even more rabid. I make as certain as possible that the man is restrained.
"You did not name the potion."
"I beg your pardon?"
"The potion to link Harry to the other two wizards, the safeguard you came up with to protect him from the Anima Vaccus as much as possible." Lupin speaks softly and I am compelled to look at him. His eyes lock with mine. Definitely, Lupin was by far the smartest of the Marauders. He understands. It is uncanny how he can read me when accomplished Dark Wizards, Death Eaters, hell, even Voldemort himself could not.
"You composed the recipe, just now. You are making it up, aren't you?" he asks with the finality of already knowing the answer. I avert my gaze and do not grace him with the answer he already knows. He remains silent, and in this silence I get on with the binding.
"I will not use magic bonds unless I have to, Lupin. I don't want to hurt you more than necessary." I tell him at some point. There is such a long silence I give up expecting an answer.
"This will be the best potion you have ever made, Severus Snape. Trust in your own self," Remus says suddenly, and my heart feels as if hot water washes over it. Damn you, Lupin. Do not believe in me so much.
When I am done, Remus can't his arms and legs. I have allowed him some slack to move his head a centimetre or two. He is currently leaning his head against the pole, eyes shut, breath becoming erratic. I notice the night outside, and the light of the moon starting to pour in from the small window.
"Remus?"
It's the second time I call him by his given name. He doesn't move, but he shivers.
"Better be ready, Severus... I feel it coming... when you are done... just leave as fast... as you possibly can."
I ready the syringe. It is a muggle contraption that is, however, very effective in taking or delivering liquids to the human body without magical interference. I know that casting magic against a werewolf in magic form is far more painful than when the target is in human form. I do not want to torture the man. Like me, he already has his own share of that.
Finally, the moonlight reaches him, and his breathing becomes more laboured and ragged, his eyes blink open, fluorescent and wild as the wolf starts to take over. His hair turns into fur, his teeth in fangs, his nails in claws... he becomes the form that haunted my nightmares until I turned 13.
I would like to be able to claim otherwise, but my first reaction is to run to the door. I run to the door and try to open it, in wild terror forgetting it is warded and locked, and therefore not liable to open by just putting all my weight on the handle. The growls and snarls and spitting behind me, however, make it difficult to force myself back into my late thirties and not remain the terrified twelve year old that had to be yanked away from the sight by another, equally frightened peer.
There is rattling of the pole against its holds on the ceiling and the floor. More growling and spitting and snarling, as the wolf with the glowing fur is trying madly to get out of the restraints. I shut my eyes as I turn from the door to face it-him! I have to remember that this is not... what I feel it is. And neither of us is going to die tonight. I am only here to harvest an ingredient, in slightly precarious circumstances, like so many other instances. I force myself to open my eyes.
I am rewarded with the pleasant surprise that the wolf is far smaller than I remember it. I assume that things look far larger to 12 year olds. Fleetingly and completely unexpectedly I wonder if that is the case with me and my 12 year old students. The thought makes me indignant enough to return to my current self and control, and push the fear to a side I can safely ignore so that I can function.
I approach the glaring werewolf armed with my syringe and reassured with my wand up my sleeve. Its catlike, silverish eyes glare at me and focus at my throat, not my eyes. That is most unnerving.
"All right, let's do it," I tell the werewolf, as I approach even more. The werewolf's enraged, livid movements to be released increase to the square, and foam comes from his mouth.
Quick is the word.
I virtually stab at the werewolf's neck and squeeze out a full vial. The beast is rabid, and the pole rattles more and more, as the growls and barks and roars culminate. I step back. That is one vial filled. I need two more. I wait for a while, to see if the werewolf will calm down at all.
No such luck.
I approach again and stick the needle in for another dose. It is not easy to keep a steady hand as the creature is turning and shivering and shuddering and beating against its bonds- his bonds!- to free himself.
Unfortunately, he achieves it just as I pull out the needle. I find myself on my back, blinking blood away, holding up the second vial of blood. The werewolf clawed me across the face. The terror that washes over me cancels out my anger. I pick myself up. The smell of fresh blood has made the wolf even crazier.
But I need the third vial.
"One more... just one more," I mutter to myself as I wipe the blood to the side, and approach once more. But this time, the werewolf has one front leg free and is swiping at me all the time. I remove the cloak. I do not want to be caught because of that. I circle around the beast. I wish I could just stab him in the hind quarters-- but it is not certain I will get a vein. The werewolf is now swiping at the other bonds and throwing its weight against the pole. I ignore it. I prepare the last vial, attaching it to the syringe and approach.
I plunge the needle right behind the werewolf's jaws. My heart is pounding in the same rate as my head as I watch the dark crimson blood enter the vial. It is all I can do to keep my hand steady. Froth from the snapping jaws spills on my wrist as I pull the syringe out, my task done.
And as I step back thanking my fortune for coming out of the situation relatively unscathed, the wooden pole shatters.
Wood. I should have thought about that. It should have been steel.
I jerk my hand forward and my wand drops to my palm, as the werewolf charges me.
"Stupefy!"
I stay looking at the ceiling between a pair of furry ears. Panting, I dare to glance down. Remus Lupin's fangs are millimetres from my larynx.
That is definitely what I call a close call.
But I have the three vials, and time is running out. I call McGonagall and Sinistra, and tell them what to do to aid Lupin after his transformation ends, so that he will recover as fast as possible. I have urgent work to do.
I run to my office where the basic potion is waiting. I pull out three more cauldrons and separate the basic draft in three equal amounts. I wait until they are almost to boiling level, then add the werewolf blood, one vial to each. The potion turns a dark red. I swallow. So far, nothing is out of the ordinary.
Minerva comes to my office door.
"Severus."
I look up at her.
"You ought to get that checked. You don't want your blood dripping in your draft."
I feel ashamed for not thinking that. I should have thought of that. I should have thought of the pole. I should have slept at least an hour these past 2 days. I should have... I should have...
Minerva's voice is heard from very far away. No.... must stay awake... cast a freeze spell... need to brew all this...
"Fine Severus, I .... will not spoil, go..."
And darkness.
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Whoa that was something to write, wasn't it? Now reward me! *points to the button* click on that!