Chapter 4: Of Wolves and Toads
August 7, 1995
Remus Lupin
It was one of those days when Lupin felt so tired that he couldn't even remember the time or the day… but of course, he always knew the phase of the moon. Once again, full moon was approaching. He let out a resigned sigh, leaning back in his shabby armchair and rubbing his eyes. Such was life. For a werewolf, at any rate.
He was about to drift into a thin slumber, but the sound of scrapping at his window alerted him to another's presence. Death Eaters? He stiffened, reaching for his wand, but a loud, indignant hoot arrested his motion. 'Dolt'.' He told himself contemptuously, getting up from his armchair to let in the owl that was hooting and tapping impatiently at his windowpane. 'You are getting to be as paranoid as Mad-eye Moody, what with Voldemort running around. Like you'd be a target, anyway.'
It was an unusual owl; coal black with a few soft grey wing markings and yellow, glowing eyes. "Now then, who is this from?" Lupin muttered to himself, reaching out to take the owl's proffered letter.
He looked at the sprawling, spidery script. Snape?
The letter was short, venomous, and to the point.
Lupin.
Since you are now part of the Order, Dumbledore has decided, for charity's sake, to supply you with Wolfsbane Potion each month. Of course, the Order's resident spy and Potions Master once again has the pleasure of making it for you. You know Wolfsbane cannot be bottled, and as I do not wish to spill such an expensive brew mid-apparation, you will need to come every evening for the next week to my home to ingest your potion.
I hope you will compensate Dumbledore's generosity by actually doing something useful for once in your miserable existence.
My address is as follows: 24 Spinner's End, Cokeworth
Ill wishes,
Severus Snape
'Pleasant as always, Severus.' Lupin thought wryly to himself, putting down the letter. Charity was the right word for what Dumbledore was giving him. But he was a part of the Order… perhaps Dumbledore merely wanted him to be as healthy as possible…. For the Order's good? He clung to that idea, for the prospect of taking Wolfsbane once more made his heart thump joyfully against his chest. In those months at Hogwarts when he was able to retain his mind, he'd never felt so happy… not for twelve years. Being able to feel what it was to be a wolf… to embrace the positive side of his wolf form- all because he could remember it all with the clear intellect of a man and not a beast. Wolfsbane was the substance of his salvation, and he'd been so grateful to Dumbledore and Snape during that year of teaching. The loss of the potion had probably been the worst thing about having to leave Hogwarts- besides having to be separated from Harry once again.
This wasn't going to make Snape very happy. It was a time-consuming and difficult potion to produce, and from what Lupin could tell, it wasn't the only potion Snape had to make with a time limit. 'The Dark Lord did not get his potions. That is all.' Lupin remembered Snape saying… and he also remembered the puddle of blood that seeped into the kitchen floor-boards. Despite Snape's ill wishes towards him, Lupin could tell with a sinking feeling that he was going to start feeling indebted to Snape again.
Right, Cokeworth, then? I think I lived in an apartment around there once. Of course, my quarters were probably a lot less dignified that his own will be.
And, screwing up his eyes in concentration, Lupin apparated across an entire third of the British Isle. He stumbled, wheezing to regain his breath. Even when in the best of health, Lupin had never enjoyed Apparition… in some strange way, it reminded him of transformation. But where transforming involved something squeezing itself out of him, Apparition had the squeezing sensation as being inward rather than outward.
Lupin had apparated outside of his old apartment in Cokeworth, a building several stories high, and chillingly blank, like a prison cell block. He recalled how depressing it had been, living there for those few months. The apartment was full of the most wretched Muggles he had ever observed… some seemed completely bereft of their wits, others lolled around choking down drugs or alcohol. Fights often broke out- through the thin walls of his apartment he would hear screams and the breaking of glass, the heavy sounds of objects being thrown, and the thumps of flesh upon flesh. He had fit in well there… the outcast, poverty-stricken half-breed. Yet the mood of despair was so thick… even he in his lowest moments had never succumbed to the depths of depression that had permeated that Cokeworth apartment.
He took a Muggle taxi down to Spinner's End, not knowing its precise location. During his twelve year-long solitary sojourns, Lupin had been forced to walk among Muggles. In many ways, despite his complete lack of qualifications, it had been easier to find employment among them than among his wizarding kin-folk. But he always had to move on every time the Department of Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures discovered his proximity to the 'poor defenceless, ignorant Muggles'.
Spinner's End… was not what he had expected. The word 'dunghill' leapt readily to mind. It was one of several streets in a cube like series of brick houses, many of which seemed to have been long abandoned, boarded up, with windows dripping in cobwebs. A kind of hush filled the narrow streets- as if even the very air itself loathed to breath. The only sound that could be heard was a faint murmur, coming from a dirty river that's bank was strewn with age-old litter. Looming up beyond the houses was an old, shambled mill that looked like it hadn't seen sentient company for a good half century. This was obviously an abandoned factory town. It seemed like most of its residents had packed up and left at least a decade ago. Lining the coal-blackened streets were broken streetlights, a scant few of them winking slightly in the summer's eve. The air seemed dead and heavy, a faint scent of vegetation-rotted mud coming up from off the river.
This was not what Lupin had expected.
Severus Snape, the immaculately dressed, tightly buttoned Potions Professor… living in such an poor, abandoned, disgusting place? Perhaps it was the isolation he enjoyed- scarcely a soul in sight for the entire summer. Yes, that did sound like something Snape would appreciate. But still… he should have earned enough money teaching at Hogwarts to afford another home. 'A peek into the mysterious world of Severus Snape… and so soon after the Patronus. I doubt I even knew this much about him when we were at Hogwarts together.'
Lupin walked uncertainly down the street, jumping at the innocent movements of an alley-cat. Spinner's End was… creepy… 'Just like Snape.' He passed each house, noting the numbers of each- at least of those that's numbers had not been rubbed away or broken off. Snape's house was at the very end- Lupin didn't even need the numbers to tell which was his, for among the scores of darkened and empty houses, from his, a faint gleam of light emanated beneath curtained windows.
Cautiously, Lupin knocked on the door. It felt… strange, as if it was a door that should not be knocked on. Yet Snape had sent him the letter. 'He'll probably hate someone coming to his home.' Lupin realized nervously.
It was barely a moment since knocking that the door opened a fraction, and through the crack, Lupin could see Snape's familiar sallow features.
"Lupin."
"Severus."
Snape opened the door, stepping back. "You'd better come in. I'd prefer your arrivals to remain unobtrusive. It the future, you can Apparate to my back door."
"You do not want people to see me?" Lupin stepped in, puzzled. "But these streets are abandoned."
"Ah." Snape said in a hushed tone. "But there are those that know where I live. People who would feel displeasure at the sight of my associating with you… so, we will make this brief."
The room Lupin had entered was a small sitting room, dimly lit and lined almost entirely by darkly-bound books… not even a fireplace broke up the endless wall of books. A single lamp-covered candle gleamed from the ceiling, it's dim light failing to illuminate the darkened corners of the room. A tattered armchair and hard, lumpy couch sat in the centre of the room around an old spindle-legged table that lay covered in a sheen of undisturbed dust.
"Through here." Snape stalked towards one of the book-covered walls, and withdrew his wand, flicking it in front of him. A hidden door smoothly opened, disguised out of the book-shelved wall.
Lupin followed him through, keeping two paces behind Snape as he walked up a thin, un-railed staircase. Lupin couldn't help but notice that the spy wasn't wearing his usual billowing robes, although the rest of his attire remained relatively unchanged. The absence of Snape's protective cloaking allowed Lupin to see the sharp line of his shoulder bones, and he noticed how the closely hugging cut of Snape's frock coat emphasised the extreme narrowness of his waist. 'Snape always was a scrawny git… but amazingly, since our school days, he's gotten scrawnier.'
Atop the staircase was a hallway, it's walls papered in a peeling olive green. It was a completely blank hallway, without paintings and the floor of dull wood. Several doors led off into various rooms, but Snape, in a geometrically straight line, cut directly into the hall's first room.
This was obviously Snape's study, but arranged in such a makeshift way that it was clear to see that this was only used for during the school breaks. A small paper-strewn desk was shoved off into the corner, accompanied by a flimsy, straight backed wooden chair, and from the desk slowly sputtered a dim candle that dripped its greasy wax onto a wooden plate beneath it. A small, ash-clumped fireplace was carved into the brick wall at the back of the room, and in the corner next to it was a small potions station. It consisted of a low table cluttered with ingredients, and next to the table stood two caldrons, from which one shimmering blue smoke arose as it bubbled beneath a faint magical heat. This room was more modest in its array of books, with just one or two book shelves. But these volumes gave off a different kind of feeling, a feeling Lupin remembered from when Sirius and James had once persuaded him to use his prefect status to enter the Restricted Section. Dark Magic.
Snape left Lupin gaping around the room, and, striding over to the bubbling caldrons, he withdrew his wand and wordlessly siphoned a stream of the glittering black potion into a metal goblet.
"Your Wolfsbane." Snape handed it to Lupin with a sneer.
With equal feelings of revulsion, guilt and glee, Lupin grasped the goblet and drank slowly, gagging at the foul taste. Passing the cup back, he looked into Snape's eyes, and, putting as much genuine feeling into his voice as possible, said "Thank you, Severus."
Snape merely looked sourly at him. "I made enough to last until full moon. Come at eight each evening until then."
'Chatty, isn't he?' As they once again descended the staircase, Lupin attempted to make conversation, despite knowing it was probably a bad idea. "I don't think I've ever seen so many well-used books in one place. Even more studious now than when you were younger, aren't you?"
"That is likely because my studies have these years gone largely undisturbed." The venom in Snape's voice was unmistakable. Lupin winced, knowing Snape was talking of the times when the other Marauders would shred his homework papers, jinx the library books out his hands, or attack him while he was studying outside. Yet despite their efforts, Snape still achieved Outstanding on every single one of his O.W.L.s and N.E.W.T.s. Still, Lupin couldn't stifle the faint annoyance over Snape's obvious resentment. For Merlin's sake, it had been nineteen years since Hogwarts. How had Snape still refused to grow up and get over it?
"You still clinging to your school-boy grudges, then?" Lupin sighed, coming to the foot of the staircase, and nearly bumped into Snape as the other man froze, stiff as a board.
Slowly, Snape turned around, his obsidian eyes seeming to flow like flames. Fury dragged his voice down to a dead whisper, and he hissed, "You know why you insist on calling it that, don't you, Lupin? You don't want to sully the glowing image you have built up in your mind about Potter and that mutt. So, you convince yourself that all it was a childhood grudge… a petty resentment."
"Sever-" Lupin began weakly, but Snape was relentless.
"Yet you feel so guilty, don't you? And you hate yourself for feeling that way. You feel it is a betrayal of your friends. That facing their true nature for the first time in your life would be such a departure from tradition that it would be wrong. You are as cowardly then as you are now."
Lupin felt as if he'd been savaged in the gut. For once, Snape was so, cuttingly right. Lupin loved his friends… he worshipped the memory of James, remembering all the good he was capable of, the loyalty, the love. The way he and Sirius had turned Animagus just for him… Yet in Snape's presence, that image of his friends always seemed to quiver with guilt. How had Snape been able to read him so clearly?
"Severus-"
Snape cut him off once more. "Why don't you say it? Call me Snivellus just like the mutt does. You can't try and make friends, werewolf, and cover over what happened. It won't work until you admit the truth. Get off the fence for once in your life and make a choice."
Lupin stared at him. Snape was being strangely personal. He rarely spoke about what happened during his school-years. When Lupin returned to teach at Hogwarts, he'd barely recognized Snape, with the memory of that twitchy, angry, shabby boy replaced by a frigid, graceful figure, whose hatred was conveyed calmly through expression and insinuation rather than spluttering curses. The only time he had seen that angry boy re-emerge had been on that disastrous night in the Shrieking Shack two years ago. The madness in his eyes had allowed Lupin to forget all about Snape the Professor and think of him only as Snape the Slytherin school-kid. But now, despite his words recalling Lupin to the image of said school-kid, Snape's marble-cold black eyes seemed self-contained, each word drawn out with steady calculation. The emotion was clear in his voice, the loathing, the bitterness… but there was something else… a question? As if in some corner of his mind, Snape was watching him, observing…
"You have to grow out of your hatred, Severus. I know James and Sirius were unkind to you at school, but you hardly displayed the olive-branch yourself, did you? You always hexed us back twice as hard." Lupin argued desperately.
"Well, there were four times as many of you, weren't there? But I never seem to recall even once starting it. Do you? I seem to remember retaliating and defending myself… or does my memory fail me?"
Lupin gulped, feeling hot and cold flushes coming on him under the intense gaze of Snape's black eyes. "I admit they… we… were foolish children back then, Severus. But we were just children. Children do foolish things. And you know I never pranked you."
A flush appeared on Snape's narrow cheekbones and a faintly deranged glint appeared in his eyes. "No, werewolf. You just sat back and watched it happen. Prefect Lupin, hiding away in a book or staring at the floor, while his friends tort-" he paused, and breathed in slightly. "And let's not forget the time you tried to eat me."
"I had nothing to do with that, Snape." He protested hotly, although he knew guilt was dancing clearly across his features.
Snape curled his lip at Lupin, conveying clear disgust in his expression. "Maybe you could have told me all those years ago, then. I don't recall you doing anything."
Snape then swept away from him into the other room, stopping in the middle and crossing his arms. "Leave, werewolf. Now." he refused to look at Lupin.
"I…" Lupin sighed. What a mess. Talking to Snape would always be doomed to end in anger and insults. If it didn't begin that way in the first place. "I suppose I'll see you tomorrow?"
"To drink your potion. Not to talk. Now get out." Was the flat response.
August 7, 1995
Severus Snape
Snape stared at the suspended lamp as it flickered in and out. What a stupid idea. A stupid and expensive idea. Surely the Order's trust shouldn't mean so much to him that he would have to be kind to Lupin, waste his own Galleons on Wolfsbane, and then have to re-live his childhood torments in order to guilt Lupin out of his comfortable cowardice? Snape had grown older, more experienced… he knew how to manipulate people. But he had never tried to manipulate them into being nice to him. He'd never needed to. Or, for that matter, wanted to. But this was a war, and Snape knew how much more effectively he could contribute to it if only the Order would trust him. He had decided at first to let their hatred slide over him. It was nothing new. He had experienced such feelings for his first few years of teaching. But the staff eventually mellowed, and life became easier for Snape. He'd even been able to suggest reforms in the school without being scorned and ignored. But having to go through Lupin to gain the Order's trust? It was an uncomfortable and risky venture. And if Dumbledore found out… which he very well might… Snape paused, and wondered just what Dumbledore would think. Sometimes he wondered if Dumbledore wanted him to be isolated among the Order. It had seemed that way in the first war. But many years had passed since, and Dumbledore trusted him a lot more than he had previously. And considering his continued declaration of absolute trust in Snape… surely he would not be averse to Snape's taking a more active role? For there were so many things Snape could suggest at those Order meetings, but he always held his tongue, knowing the distrust that would be met by his words. Gaining the Order's trust would go way beyond merely Slytherin manipulation. He could achieve that among the Death eaters because most of them were also Slytherins and thought in similar ways. But with the Order, a group of people that connected through warmth and friendship, sympathy and conversation… Snape had candidly admitted to himself years ago that he had no social skills. This would prove exceedingly difficult. But by providing Lupin with Wolfsbane, Snape knew the werewolf would feel that same guilty-gratitude that he felt towards him that year when he taught at Hogwarts. It would be a useful thing to hold over the werewolf, who was so emotionally obvious, so weak… but should Lupin discover that it was not Dumbledore who ordered such a potion made… but those were hypothetical thoughts best left un-mused.
Back again at the potions station, Snape stared resentfully down at the Wolfsbane. He had more potions to deliver to the Dark Lord… a man, no, a creature who was rarely satisfied. In the summer months before the Dark Lord's return, Snape used to work on his academic papers. He'd been so close to a breakthrough and had hoped to present his completed Eye-Sharpening Potion to the Brotherhood of the Silver Caldron at Europe's annual Magical Academia Elite Symposium by the next summer. But now it seemed that his genius would be put on hiatus until the Dark Lord was destroyed. Invention was the only thing Snape took pleasure in these days, and at Hogwarts, his creativity was often sadly strangled beneath piles of poorly written essays.
With a snarl, he took his seat back at the potions station and began preparing all manner of loathsome poisons to be used for the Dark Lord's perverted pleasure.
Before starting each schoolyear at Hogwarts, the teachers customarily returned a week before the end of summer break to prepare for their classes. Snape hated coming back to Hogwarts almost as much as having to leave it. Leaving it meant months in a horrid old house full of bad memories and poor potion supplies, whereas Hogwarts, despite its superior laboratory, included the necessity of enduring hours spent in the presence of dunderheaded children who couldn't tell the difference a Shrinking Solution and a caldron of pumpkin juice. And one must not forget the endless staff meetings that week heralded, meetings that filled the nights with more boredom than once could conceive possible to fit into a single sitting. The only interesting thing that happened during the year's first meeting was, unfortunately for Snape, tainted with jealousy and anger, for he couldn't help but hate every new DADA teacher that Dumbledore hired. None of them would ever be as knowledgeable as himself in the Dark Arts, yet they consistently managed to get the job, no matter how lacking their qualifications. Even Mad-Eye Moody, despite his skills as an Auror, even he could not rival Snape's suitability for the job. Again, not even when Moody was revealed to actually be the Dark Lord's servant, Barty Crouch Jr. ... no, Snape was qualified above them all. But especially against this new one.
"Hem-hem."
"Yes, and this is our new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher, Professor Dolores Umbridge." Dumbledore turned to give her a wide smile, peering down at her through his half-moon glasses.
A flood of fury swept through Snape's limbs as he stared incredulously at the newly nominated winner of the job he so coveted. HER? Loathsomely plump, with a flat little round face, flabby, rouged cheeks and protruding eyes, draped in fluffy pink clothing and wearing a simpering loose smile, Dolores Umbridge looked as if she could barely hold a wand, let alone teach Defence Against the Dark Arts.
Snape whipped his head around to stare at Dumbledore. Why? Was the unspoken lament. He knew he could teach better that class better than any teacher had in the last twenty years… and there were a lot of teachers to choose from, given that none of them had lasted beyond a year. But still… her?
If her appearance didn't discredit her abilities enough, the minute she opened her mouth, Snape knew he had found a DADA teacher he loathed more than Lupin.
"If I may be so bold to introduce myself further, beyond your kind introduction, Professor Dumbledore? Greeting, Hogwarts teachers, on behalf of the Ministry, for in their capacity I am here today."
Snape saw his fellow staff-members exchange dark glances with each other, for no one had missed Umbridge's meaning.
"Hem-hem… The Ministry of Magic has always affixed Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry with an approving and benevolent eye, yet we must at times pay closer attention to what goes into the little minds of the most impressionable of our wizarding society. The Ministry looks upon the teachers of Hogwarts with nothing but respect, yet we cannot be too careful. It is a time-honoured tradition to allow teachers free reign over their subjects and teaching methods, but the Ministry feels that the time has come for some gentle measure of restrictions to be placed upon these habits, seeing as the knowledge teachers impart is so important to our youth. We must nurture our children, must we not? Keeping the from harmful influences and ideas, protecting them in both body and mind. The Ministry is…"
God, would the woman not be silent? After all, he had heard quite enough to know what was going on. Was it not enough that Dumbledore had been demoted to Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, that he and Potter were maligned across the Daily Prophet? Now Fudge was trying to get his nose inside the very school, and interfere with their teaching methods? But why had Dumbledore allowed Fudge to let the toad-woman into Hogwarts in the first place? Ultimately, the Ministry control Hogwarts. Snape reminded himself glumly, tightening his lips resolutely as he forced himself to sit through the rest of Umbridge's simperingly threatening speech.
On top of the Dark Lord's return, Dumbledore's shrinking of power, now we must deal with this? This year is about to get a make-over on the meaning of 'miserable'.