Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter. Nope, not me.

A/N: I'm glad you all liked Remus and his angst from last chapter… now, to change the tone a bit, we have our favourite Potions Master being (surprise, surprise) snarky. Again, if there's stuff that doesn't seem to be fitting together, stuff that's confusing… I probably meant it that way. All shall be revealed… eventually.

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"Gillyweed," Severus muttered, "and then - oh, blast!"

Steam began to froth over the lip of the cauldron. He dived under his desk as the potion exploded.

"Bloody volatile potions," he cursed, then pulled out his wand. "Evanesco!"

The dungeon was clean again - or at least, Severus considered, as clean as the dungeon was ever going to be. Even Evanesco could not remove some of the lingering chemical odours of the ingredients he used, giving the dungeon - and, indeed, most of the lower floor - a most unfortunate lingering bouquet.

There are times when I severely lament my sense of smell, Severus thought, setting a new cauldron over the burner. The old one now had a massive hole in the side due to the potion's explosion.

"Knock knock," came an altogether too cheerful voice at his door.

He sighed. "What do you want, Fudge?"

Aemilia came in, and he was surprised to see silvery tear tracks down her cheeks. Her voice, however, was as matter-of-fact and lively as it always was. "No need to sound so long-suffering," she told him. "I haven't come down here to propose to you or anything. I'm looking for a Dreamless Sleep Draught. I suppose you couldn't make one for me, could you?"

"I suppose I could," Severus replied diplomatically, "if you tell me what it's for."

Aemilia sighed. "Fine. You start making it and I'll tell you while you - cook, or whatever it is you do with potions."

"Brew," he corrected her resignedly, and opened his a cupboard, pulling down jars of nasty smelling ingredients.

"Where should I start?" Aemilia asked - more to herself than to Severus.

"You could start at the very beginning," Severus replied, tipping a careful measure of crushed water beetles into the cauldron. "It's a very good place to start."

Aemilia looked at him in shock. "Severus Snape!" she exclaimed. "Did you just make - a joke?"

Severus smiled. "Perhaps I did."

"What happened to the bit where we snipe at each other?"

"Too tired to engage in verbal warfare, Fudge, though I'll kindly oblige in the morning if you ask prettily enough. Now start talking."

"Well," Aemilia said, sounding as if she were weighing her words very carefully, "the draught is for Remus, in case you didn't know. He's in a bit of a state."

"That I gathered," Severus said shortly, whisking the contents of the cauldron with his wand then carefully wiping it on a rag.

"How much do you know - about Remus?" Aemilia asked cautiously.

"I know about his connection with the Arachniae, if that's what you mean," Severus replied, fanning away the silvery mist that was beginning to rise from the cauldron. "Damn shame it was too."

Aemilia looked at him quizzically. "What do you mean?"

"The girl was the damn finest potions brewer this side of the Atlantic," Severus answered. "If she had lived up to her potential, she could have been magnificent. But no," he spat venomously, "she had to go and get all - religious - and disappear off into the woods with those bloody priestesses and mix up their narcotics for them. Waste of talent."

"Sounds like you appreciated her more than anyone has ever given you credit for," Aemilia commented dryly.

Severus looked at her sharply. "I don't think I want to know what you're insinuating, Fudge," he said severely, "and I doubt I would have ever lived up to your insinuation. She and I disliked each other quite violently, to tell the truth. We were... rivals, you might say."

"So the spats in the hallways weren't just for show, then?"

Severus raised his eyebrow. "How do you know about that?"

Aemilia laughed, although it was not her usual ringing laughter. "You must be getting slow in your old age, Snape. I was in your year, remember?"

Severus was mightily grateful that the steam rising from the cauldron hid his face, because he turned red. "I'd quite forgotten," he replied coolly. "I believe it's called wishful thinking."

"Mark the return of Severus the Snarky," Aemilia noted dryly.

"Get back to your point, Fudge, whatever it was," he snapped.

"Fine," she snapped back. "Well, you know about the Arachniae, so there's not too much explaining to be done. That comment of Shacklebolt's tonight just sent him over the edge. Ever since Sirius died… I think he's been bottling all his pain up inside himself and tonight the floodgate burst. I sat with him for over an hour and from what I gathered, he was practically torturing himself with every bad memory he could think of."

"Lycanthropy?" Severus asked, pouring a reddish liquid into the cauldron.

Aemilia nodded. "A lot of that - but I realised tonight Remus has had a harder life than anyone I know. The lycanthropy alone would be enough to send any sane man over the edge. Remus has had to deal with so much more than that."

"Yourself?" Severus asked carefully.

Aemilia sighed. "I'm certainly part of the problem, that's for sure. But there's far more to it than that. He has lost just about everyone he has ever loved. First there was me, then - her - and his mother, and -"

"Wait," Severus interrupted. "His mother?"

Aemilia looked at him sideways. "You don't know about his mother?"

"I assume he had one," Severus remarked dryly.

"Of course he had one!" Aemilia snapped. "That's the problem, really," she added under her breath.

Severus looked up sharply. "He doesn't have an Oedipus complex, does he?"

"No, of course not!" Aemilia answered. "More the opposite, really."

Severus quirked an eyebrow. "The opposite?"

"Well - Severus, this really isn't my secret to tell, so you'll understand that I can only give you the bare bones," Aemilia warned him.

"Of course," he replied, adding a fine grey powder to the potion.

"Remus hates his mother," Aemilia told him. "Hates her more than any person in the world - including Peter Pettigrew, I should imagine. And I don't blame him."

"Why?" Severus asked.

Aemilia sighed. "Severus," she said, "Remus's mother is criminally insane."

*

After Aemilia had left, three bottles of Dreamless Sleep Draught in her hands, Severus sat down at his desk and began to think.

Criminally insane, eh? That is harsh.

He remembered Remus's mother, very slightly. He had only ever spoken to her once, his very first day at Hogwarts. He had come through the barrier at Platform Nine and Three Quarters at a run and smacked right into her, trolley and all.

She had looked at him very sharply then turned to the mousy haired boy on her other side and said, "Remus, that is an example of bad behaviour. And you know what happens to people that are bad."

I suppose that's where my dislike of the Marauders dates from, Severus thought. Being insulted by Lupin's mother before I even spoke a word to one of the infamous four themselves.

So. That tall elegant woman with the sleek dark hair was now locked up in St. Mungo's, by the sound of what Aemilia had said.

But even there, she would not leave Remus alone. The scars ran too deep.

"Knut for your thoughts, Severus?"

Severus looked up. "Come in, Albus," he said tiredly.

"Dreamless Sleep Draught?" Dumbledore asked, taking up a chair near Severus's desk.

"How did you - oh, you can smell it," Severus said. "Yes, it's Dreamless Sleep Draught. Fudge came down and begged some for Lupin."

"It was an unfortunate incident tonight at dinner," Dumbledore remarked, "but perhaps there will be some benefit to it, after all."

Severus quirked an eyebrow. "I can hardly see how an incapacitated Lupin will help matters at this stage, Albus."

"What I am hoping," Dumbledore said delicately, "is that it may harden his nerves a little. The Arachniae are, I fear, going to be a lot more prevalent over the next year."

"What do you - oh NO, Albus!" Severus exclaimed. "You've hired one, haven't you?"

Dumbledore nodded. "I have indeed," he replied.

"For…?"

"Defence Against the Dark Arts," Dumbledore replied. "That's why I came down here, actually."

Severus felt his heart sink. "You want me to -"

"- fetch her, yes," Dumbledore said. "And soon. I would like you to leave tomorrow, Severus - and you must be back in time for the lawsuit."

"You're plotting something," Severus accused.

Dumbledore smiled and his eyes twinkled over the top of his half-moon spectacles. "Yes, my dear Severus, I am plotting something, but I'm afraid I'm not going to tell you what it is."

Severus sighed. "I don't really care," he lied - and he knew Dumbledore knew he was lying, but trusted the Headmaster to let it pass. "What do you want me to do?"

"Well, it's quite simple, really," Dumbledore replied. "You Apparate to Telae Domus, fetch the new teacher - her name is Helena Seraphim, by the way - and bring her back."

"But?" Severus asked. "I know there's a but, Albus. There's always a but with you."

"My employment of Miss Seraphim," Dumbledore replied, "is conditional. This is why I need you to go, and not Kingsley or Mundungus."

Severus rested his chin on his long fingers. "Go on."

"At this time of year," Dumbledore said, "the Arachniae traditionally partake of a potion."

"How unusual," Severus muttered.

"This potion is special, however," Dumbledore continued, choosing to ignore Severus's snide remark. "It is the only potion they drink during the year that is brewed by a man - the only potion they ever drink that is made by a man."

"And in return for this priestess teaching here, they want someone to make the potion," Severus sighed. "And you volunteered me."

"Well, yes." Dumbledore beamed. "I trust I have your consent?"

"Of course, Albus," Severus replied tiredly. "I'll leave tomorrow morning."

But inside, he was wondering what the hell he had just condemned himself to.

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