A/N: Apologies for the long delays in publishing on this story – work and general pandemic stress have unsurprisingly been taking up my energy, but I am still thinking about the story and working about it, it's not abandoned. Thank you to everyone who has read, followed, favourited and reviewed! –SS–
Chapter 14
And so Friday came.
The breakfast post brought no reply from Lucius and, once again, no Lupin. It did, however, bring the unpleasant news that the Ministry were going to put Hagrid's Hippogriff on trial for injuring Draco earlier that term. Hagrid, further down the table, sat utterly miserable, not eating; and Wilhelmina Grubbly-Plank discreetly kept her head down, spooned porridge into her mouth, and left without a word.
It was a rotten business, and Severus couldn't help feeling a little disgusted at Lucius. It was a typical Malfoy move: creating drama where there was none, framing themselves as the victims, wringing every last drop of dignity out of those they considered inferior. Perhaps it was just as well Lucius hadn't taken him up on his offer of a night in Hogsmeade. But then – a sudden memory of Lucius's hair, Lucius's sweat, Lucius's moans, seized him, made him grip his coffee cup with longing. Merlin, if only Lucius was coming tonight, if only they could – But he wasn't coming. With concerted effort Severus took a deep breath, drank his coffee, and descended into the shadows of the dungeons to teach.
Lunchtime brought a gloomy Great Hall, the enchanted ceiling grey and overcast, and the students subdued. Hagrid was still unhappy, Dumbledore looked grave, McGonagall stabbed her roast potatoes with evident agitation. Lupin was, again, absent. Severus ate quietly and went back downstairs, having barely exchanged a word with anyone.
The tremor in his hands started just as his final students trooped out of the dungeon at half past five. He assumed it was hunger: it was nearly dinner-time and, his appetites being rather variable, he sometimes didn't notice he was hungry until he got a bit shaky. He finished clearing up his classroom and headed up to dinner on slightly wobbly legs.
Eating, however, did not help. And nor did Lupin's absence, yet again, from the meal. By the time Severus got upstairs to his bedroom and shut the door, he was shaking visibly, not just in his hands but in his joints, down his whole arms and legs.
Jerkily he moved to his bed and crouched down against it, his forehead already damp and cool with sweat. He checked the clock on the wall: just after seven. His chest was tight. He had perhaps fifteen minutes before he had to head to the meeting with Lupin and Dumbledore, and of all the times he could have had a panic attack at his own convenience, his body was choosing this moment.
He tried to breathe against the pressure in his chest – in, counting two, three, four – and out, two, three four. And repeat. He hadn't expected this. Christ, he hadn't practised Occlumency for months, so perhaps it shouldn't be a total shock, but – oh, this was awful, cold sweat was pooling in his armpits and behind his ears and behind his knees for god's sake – he would lose his job – he would lose his home – he would lose the library – his potions equipment – his ingredients – his – his –
He pushed the thought away and focused on sucking breath in, holding it, and pushing it out. In – hold – and out.
After what felt like an hour, things gradually began to loosen. He checked the clock again. Twenty past seven. He had to go or he would be late. He wasn't even sure if he could stand …
Slowly he levered himself to his feet, muscles protesting, chest still tight, legs trembling under his weight, and took a few steps towards the wardrobe. All right, he could walk. Perhaps a Calming Draught would – or if he just took three or four drops of hydra serum – just to settle him for the meeting with Lupin –
'No,' he said aloud. No, he wouldn't. Anyway there wasn't time. For another minute he stood there, hand against the wall, breathing, until he was more or less steady and his mind was clear. Then quietly he opened his door, stepped into the corridor, and closed it behind him.
'Come in!' called Dumbledore's cheery voice from behind the door.
He entered Dumbledore's study with his hands clenched sweatily together behind his back, trying to conceal the remainder of the tremor.
Dumbledore was standing behind his desk, and, to his surprise, Lupin was already there, getting up from his armchair, a half-drunk cup of tea in front of him.
'Am I late?' Severus asked. 'I thought we said half past.' He could feel Lupin looking at him; he shot him a glance and the werewolf immediately looked away.
'Yes, yes, you're perfectly on time, Severus,' Albus assured him. 'I asked Remus to come a little early so we could discuss a few other things. Do sit down, have some tea. How are you?'
'Fine.' He sat down in the second armchair. He lifted an arm to pour himself some tea, then immediately lowered it again. He was still too shaky, it would be unbearably obvious.
Lupin was watching him again, with an odd expression. Then he turned to Dumbledore and said, 'So, Albus, we were going to start with the brewing routine?'
Dumbledore hesitated for just a moment – but straightaway Severus understood: there had been a different plan, agreed just before he'd arrived, and Lupin had just this instant decided not to go through with it, presumably on seeing he was unwell. Some Gryffindor thing, no doubt, about not kicking a man when he was down.
'Yes, of course,' Dumbledore said smoothly. 'Severus, I was hoping we could discuss each aspect of your work on the Wolfsbane, to make sure you and Remus are both happy with things. Is the brewing routine you have established to your satisfaction?'
He thought for a moment, trying to get his mind back into a normal state. So it wouldn't – it wouldn't be today. 'Well – yes, more or less. The whole thing takes longer than I had expected – just over three weeks from start to finish including preparing the ingredients. But most days don't need more than one or two – I mean – it's not a great commitment, to just make one dose per month.'
Dumbledore waved his wand and the teapot lifted itself and poured into the empty cup in front of Severus. 'Do have some tea. And what about the arrangement for Remus to come down to you for the dose the evening before the full moon, is that working all right?'
'Yes.' He accepted the cup, holding the saucer firmly on his knee with one hand, and the cup with the other. He would get through this. He would.
'Good. And so, now, the improvements to the potion. You told me about some of them, and Remus has also said to me how much he appreciates the reduced nausea.' Dumbledore grinned briefly at Lupin. 'Perhaps you could just say again, while we're all here, what stage you've reached?'
He resisted the urge to roll his eyes. This officious little tic of Dumbledore, to make sure everything was said out loud, while everyone was in the same room. But even this slight irritation started to speed up his heart rate, and he could feel his hands start to sweat again. He calmed himself and began to enumerate the changes on his fingers. 'I have moved the poppyseed to a later stage of the brewing so it doesn't interact badly with the monkshood and cause the nausea. I have more or less found the right quantity and concentration of rosewater to slow the brewing at the moment for the lamination of the monkshood, so there is less chance of missing the timing. And I have begun to test coconut oil for its potential in designing a new version of the Wolfsbane. That's it, so far.'
'You have achieved a great deal in a few short months, Severus,' Dumbledore said, smiling and shaking his head in admiration. 'But I have also felt a little concerned, as has Remus, that you have been overworking yourself.'
Severus raised an eyebrow, flickering another glance at Lupin, who did not meet his eye. 'I understood my brief to be to make improvements to the design of the potion. I cannot do that without working in the evenings and over the weekend.'
'We wondered,' Lupin added a little shyly, 'if you would consider taking a research assistant to help with the more repetitive tasks.'
'Certainly not.'
Dumbledore leaned forward across the desk, his expression serious. 'Severus, listen to me. Redesigning a potion from scratch is a huge task. And Remus mentioned that – well, it strikes me that one of your more reliable students might benefit from the experience. If you could find – of course, Remus volunteered himself, but – might it be a useful project for one of your sixth or seventh-years? Can you think of a reliable candidate?'
'Certainly not,' he repeated stubbornly. 'Designing a new potion is extremely precise, I wouldn't trust a single one of my students to be careful enough to help.'
'He'd have to share the profits with them, that's the trouble,' Lupin said wryly.
Severus turned to him. 'You are strongly encouraged to keep your opinions to yourself, werewolf.'
Lupin raised an eyebrow – and his face flushed a little – but he said nothing.
'Severus,' Dumbledore said firmly, 'you are doing this research on my instructions, in my school, on my budget. There is no one I would trust more to produce a good Wolfsbane – but not at the expense of your health. This is a large project. I'm very glad Filius's sleep charm is working, but I must insist on further changes to your way of living. I want you to restrict your research to no more than two evenings during the week and one day at weekends, with or without an assistant, and to spend a little more time with your colleagues. I want my school to be a community, not full of individuals squirrelling themselves away in burrows. This is more important now than ever.'
By the end of this speech Severus's face was hot. Dumbledore had said worse things to him before – You disgust me were difficult words to forget – but to be rebuked like this, in front of Lupin, was deeply humiliating. 'You have made your point,' he said stiffly.
'Good.' Dumbledore's face brightened. 'Oh, and I want you to take a complete holiday from improving the Wolfsbane until after Christmas – make Remus's dose, but nothing more. Please don't argue. And I hear you owe Filius a few games of chess. Perhaps you could play in the staff room? I'm sure we would all enjoy being spectators to a battle of intellect.'
Severus said nothing. He could feel both Lupin and Dumbledore watching him, waiting for him to speak. The tea was getting cold on his knee.
He lifted his eyes for a moment and found that Fawkes, high on his perch behind Dumbledore's chair, was looking him directly in the eye. He sighed. 'All right. I will take a research assistant after Christmas.' And I will damn well start Occlumency practice again, he added mentally.
'I'm glad,' Dumbledore said. 'You will have a great deal to teach whichever student you choose. Do you have any likely candidates?'
He pretended to consider, though he knew instantly who it should be. After a suitable pause he said, 'Perhaps Elizabeth Quirke, the Ravenclaw sixth-year. She has shown some flair recently.' Then another thought occurred to him. 'If she notices that I'm brewing Wolfsbane for the full moon I'll have to say I'm doing it on an external contract. Perhaps for the Ministry? And you' – he looked at Lupin – 'will have to be extremely discreet about coming down for it.'
Lupin nodded. 'I can use the Floo network, if you don't mind the element of surprise.'
'If you're as punctual as I would expect, it won't be a surprise,' Severus said. 'Is there anything else?' He was starting to feel exhausted: the tension of the last few days, the panic attack, and now the relief of not losing his job, had drained him.
'I do have one or two other small things, if you wouldn't mind staying a little longer,' Dumbledore said apologetically. 'Remus, is there anything you think we haven't covered?'
Giving him one more chance to voice the grievance, Severus thought. But no, Remus shook his head and said, 'I'm happy if you are, Severus. Glad you're going to get a bit of a break.'
They held each other's eyes for a couple of seconds; then Severus looked away, too tired for another staring contest. Remus gave a small smile, said goodnight, and quietly left the room.
Dumbledore said nothing at first. His brows furrowed as he looked at Severus's teacup; then he Vanished the cold tea and waved the teapot and milk jug through the air to refill the cup with steaming liquid. 'Do have some tea. Tell me, are you well? Have you had a tolerable week?'
Severus swallowed. 'Not really.' He lifted the cup and took a sip of hot tea, which was surprisingly delicious and soothing. Surely – no, Dumbledore knew better than to give him narcotics, especially without his knowledge. It was just very good tea.
Suddenly he looked at the Headmaster and said honestly, 'I thought you were going to sack me.'
Dumbledore sighed. 'Well, I was a little taken aback when Remus told me what had happened. He was very frightened, you know, I think he thought it would be an immediate end to his secret. I didn't – I wouldn't have expected you to do something like that.'
Severus was silent.
'You should ask him some time about his life before he took this job,' Dumbledore said. 'I know some of the details, not all, but he has suffered much more than you would imagine from his cheerful demeanour.'
Severus still didn't reply. He was wondering whether to warn Dumbledore that at least one student had seemed close to working it out. Finally he said, 'I'm amazed the Ministry hasn't leaked it to the Prophet already.'
'Yes, well, Remus knows that is a risk. There are some good souls in the Werewolf Office, but Fudge, of course … It was Fudge's permission I had to get before offering Remus the post. It wouldn't surprise me in the least if he were to let it slip out at some advantageous moment. But it's a risk Remus and I agreed we would take for now.'
Severus nodded. Then he said, somewhat to his own surprise, 'Lupin needs dress robes. He has none. He's worried about the Yule Feast.'
Dumbledore beamed. 'Severus, you are a treasure. A Christmas present solved without any effort or inspiration on my part. What colour do you think would suit him best?'
'Not being Madam Malkin, I have absolutely no idea,' Severus said dryly.
'How about a very dark blue, do you think?'
It was so obviously wrong that he couldn't stop himself. 'No. A warmer colour. Dark purple maybe. Or maroon.' He took a final sip of his tea, and noticed that Fawkes was still watching him, with an unreadable expression.
Dumbledore was nodding thoughtfully. 'Yes, of course you're right. I would love to see you wear more colours some day, you know. Perhaps you'd consider a dark green? Or even a charcoal grey, it would make a change from your usual black, and I think it would suit you nicely.'
'I doubt that,' Severus muttered. What Dumbledore didn't know – or at least, Severus didn't think he knew – was that Severus still had some old Muggle clothes upstairs which were not black: some shirts in various rich dark colours, even a couple of pairs of blue Muggle jeans, and some trousers in blue navy wool. Safer to keep them here than in London, where Lucius or another visitor might discover them. But in his wizard life he had always worn black. It was just – easier.
Then Dumbledore spoke again, startling him out of his reverie. 'Severus, I'm very sorry I didn't consult you before giving Remus a job here. Filius said to me – well, I think he's right as usual, he is so often much wiser than I am. I should have realised it would affect your peace of mind. I apologise.'
Severus tried not to get irritated – sometimes, just sometimes, Dumbledore's performance of humility could really grate on his nerves – and said only, 'A bit of warning would have helped.'
'I know. But I hope you can enjoy some leisure time until the Christmas holidays, and that Elizabeth takes up the offer to be your assistant. Let me know, won't you.'
Severus nodded.
'Oh, and I will make sure you aren't asked to cover any more of Remus's lessons. You are doing quite enough.'
He nodded again, and stood up. Suddenly he had run out of words, the revolving clock on the desk was gleaming too brightly, his back ached, he was starting to shiver again. He needed to get to bed.
'Severus?' Dumbledore said sharply. 'Are you all right? Do you need to use the Floo to get back?'
He gave one last violent nod, his eyes closed, unable to speak; and within seconds he had was in the fireplace, being wrenched away from Dumbledore's voice commanding 'Severus Snape's rooms'. He stumbled towards his bed, streaked with ashes, and crawled fully-clothed across the covers, before collapsing instantly into sleep.
