Inside, however, the cottage was a picture of calm and cosiness. The fire danced in the hearth, casting an orange glow over the two occupants enjoying its warmth from their respective armchairs, only wavering from its cheery blaze when a particularly fierce gust set it roaring sideways over the grate.
The wizard to the left of the fireside brushed a few strands of his black and white streaked hair out of his eyes, adjusted the rectangular, black-framed glasses nestling on the bridge of his hooked nose, and with the air of a man who is about to savour something he has been looking forward to, opened the first page of a crisp new magazine and settled it in his lap.
It was not a bright, exciting-looking magazine with pictures on the cover. Nor did it feature bold colours or catchy taglines to entice the casual reader to buy it. It was bound in a dull, stiff, burgundy cardboard, the only words printed on the cover were in a functional, black type. They said: "Alchemical Almanac. Vol: 49,556." The date was rendered on the spine in the same script. "Alchemical Almanac" did not care about its appearance, it did not want to impress strangers or outsell the flashier publications. It trusted that those who bought it would be interested in what was written inside. If this was not the case, then the AA did not care.
"Now, Remus," said the reader, in the whispering echo of his formerly rich, deep voice he had been left with since his captivity during the war. The room's other occupant lifted his head and tilted it to one side. "Where shall we begin? News of the Brews: All the latest snippets from the world of potions. No, I do not believe so. Their factual inaccuracies often provide entertainment in the Singed Eyebrow of an evening." He ran a long finger down the index. "Big Bangs! Sophia Comme-Bustier examines the most significant moments in potions history. This week, the 1847 International Conference on the Classification of Dangerous Ingredients and its impact on modern brewing. Good grief! Have these people nothing better to do?"
Remus rolled his amber eyes in agreement. The finger continued its stroll down the page.
"A Silver-Standard Study of Incantation-Activated Preventative Antidotes, by Healer Wendy Suhthe, no. When Ceiling and Floor Collide, Number 14: a catalogue of recently-discovered combustibles, by Vesuvius Crump, well, well, Stumpy Crump! Finally out of that coma! He has his own private room at St. Mungo's, with a set of nightwear and a toothbrush. It seemed to be the sensible option. We studied for our Bronze Standard together," he explained, going slightly misty eyed at one of the few memories of his past which he could recall with fondness. Of course, he hadn't been called 'Stumpy' back then, still being in possession of all his limbs, though his fascination for all things explosive had caused a certain amount of concern amongst his contemporaries. The young Snape, still very highly-strung after seven years of being stalked by the Marauders, had soon learned to recognise the tone in which he said 'uh-oh' and take the appropriate action. Sadly, their former lab-partner Emily Anvil had not. May she rest in pieces. He sighed.
Lupin absently scratched behind an ear with his foot, losing interest now that his mate had stopped speaking. He leaped a full six inches off the seat at the startlingly loud profanity which Severus managed to croak three seconds later. He banged the magazine on the side-table and cursed inventively for a few moments before he managed to settle back down to content himself with merely aggravated muttering.
Ears sticking up with alertness, Remus slid out of the armchair and crept towards Severus, head tilted to the side questioningly. Snape scowled for a second before reaching out to stroke the silky head.
"My apologies, Remus," he sniffed, in a rather wounded tone. Lupin wagged his tufted tail tentatively, and rested his chin on the other wizard's knee in what he hoped was a comforting gesture. "It's that utter…." he chewed over an assortment of nouns before grinding out through gritted teeth "…rotter Hardtbrind!" The hand that was not busy stroking Remus clutched convulsively at the arm of the chair. Remus flared his nostrils in sympathy. Severus picked up the magazine and read aloud again. "Listen to this! A Critique of the New Theory of the Deterioration of Theriac, unexplained factors in Severus Snape's acclaimed study, by Hans Hardtbrind! The nerve! He has done this deliberately! I know for a fact that he has been working on inanimate transfigurative unctions for the last two years! He has only done this to annoy me! He has no place interfering outside his own field of expertise!"
A vein in the potion master's temple was throbbing ominously. His face had flushed with uneven patches of red the way it would in the old days, when Snape had been angry and miserable all the time. Now, fortunately, it happened very rarely, but the effect was still unpleasant. Unhappy at the sight of his lover being so upset, Remus insinuated himself into the armchair, paw by paw, so carefully that Severus did not notice until his thighs pointed out the inadvisability of having a lapful of werewolf. He glared down into the furry face. Undaunted, the glare was answered with a sloppy lick sweeping all the way from his chin to his eyebrows.
Taking a deep breath, Snape tried to let his anger flow out with the air, as the Magitherapists had taught him years before. It did not work. That smug Swiss moron had, with malice aforethought, attempted to trash his lovely theory for no other reason than to irritate him. He was not sure whether he should even bother to read the stupid article. No, that was a foolhardy thought. He must study it carefully, in minute detail. That was the only way he could blow the fat little swine out of the water, rip him to shreds, blast him into pieces…
A whimper cut through his fantasies of revenge. Remus licked his face again. Severus sighed another apology and buried his fingers in the soft fur covering his mate's belly, making the wolf roll over blissfully and close his eyes. Mesmerised by Remus' calming presence, he let his thoughts wander off into more peaceful channels as he stroked. He would talk to Hazel about it, she would understand, being a biochemist, or whatever specific names the muggles gave their research potioners. Then he would read the critique and answer it. Then, he would examine Hardtbrind's latest pet theory and pick so many holes in it people would confuse it with a Swiss cheese, and he would not dare show his face at the Institute of Master Potioners for weeks. Serve him right.
"You are a wonder, Remus," he whispered. A grey ear angled in his direction, but the relaxed wolf made no other movement. "You always help me to think straight."
Some full moons, Remus was barely capable of remembering why he was in a home and not tearing through the forest in hot pursuit of blood. At others, like tonight, his lupine brain saw everything with crystal clarity, giving him insights which he had completely overlooked as a human. His mate needed someone to hate, the voice inside his head told him. He was a passionate man, in need of a target upon which to focus all his feelings of pain and injustice. Sirius, James and Peter were all dead. For that matter, so were Voldemort and Dumbledore (though caring deeply for the latter, he had never quite managed to shake off the resentment left over from his unfortunate schooldays). He had buried his resentment for Harry – even becoming almost friends with Harry's muggle girlfriend Hazel, and his feeling towards Remus had undergone a complete volte-face.
So Hardtbrind was the obvious choice. Lupin had only met him a handful of times, but the pudgy little man seemed to go out of his way to irritate people. He had a paler version of Albus' eye-twinkle, but instead using at as an accompaniment for benevolence, he used it to say 'I know something you don't know, und mein Gott, you're missing out!' He had also overheard Institute director Professor Hayashi teasing him about being jealous of Severus' success in being the youngest wizard ever to achieve Gold Standard, and being almost twenty years younger than Hans. He had not looked amused. She had been off sick with Forget-me-not hiccups for two days afterwards. Refereeing subsequent disputes in the Senior Common Room or the Singed Eyebrow, she tended to rule in Snape's favour.
Severus used up all his hatred and bitterness on his rival, meaning that all he had left for Remus was love and tenderness, so he was not about to object to the professional feud. Besides, it spurred both potions masters on to greater academic successes, though either of them would be loathe to admit it. They were both so busy trying to trump each other with amazing discoveries and wonderful insights, the field of potion studies had come on in leaps and bounds, and their constant public quibbling of each-other's findings seemed to inspire the students to question established tenets and use their brains. The Toronto Academy of Potions, the former world leaders in cutting-edge research, were reportedly gnashing their collective teeth.
"I can deal with his idiocy," Severus was whispering now, apparently still distantly plotting his next move in the professional game of wizard's chess. "Because I have you."
Remus' head jerked up, displaying what he knew to be a dappy, puppy-dog grin of adoration. He licked Snape's face again, wishing he could answer in words. Black eyes stared into yellow eyes for a long moment, before even the werewolf's ears had to strain to catch the next comment.
"Now I have you, I can deal with anything."
…….
A/N: More pointless drabble, because I wanted to!
Thanks for your reviews of the last chapter, you have been most kind in encouraging me! Again! I love Stan Shunpike, it was gutting to hear he'd been arrested by those Ministry idiots! x
Confused? My introduction to the IMP comes near the end of 'Salvage What You Can', a fun but dangerous place in which to further one's education, or so I thought. Was great to read in HBP about the 'Most Extraordinary Society of Potioneers'! I wonder how JK envisioned it?
Yes, Hardtbrind's attitude is supposed to remind you of someone. See also the 'Alchemical Almanac'.