Beware: angst and references to previous chapters. Thank you x
…….
The Institute of Master Potioners is located on Salisbury Plain, deep within the no-go area which is set aside by muggles for testing their military forces.
From the Ministry of Magic's point of view, this is an excellent way to cover the strange happenings and frequent explosions caused by the young or experimental brewers, as any Wiltshire residents observing strange phenomena - plagues of giraffes, rivers of treacle and the like - are bound to attribute the oddities to the development of exciting new weapons. It takes a rather exceptional catastrophe to make the stoic locals turn more than a hair.
From the point of view of the military muggles themselves, there is a persistent error with the mapping of one of the corners of Sector 66 which means that a tank will never be exactly where you think it ought to be, much to the delight of one or two Sergeant Majors who enjoy roasting young troops alive for minor misdemeanours such as getting lost while on a manoeuvres and returning with a few more fingers than when they left. They are also discouraged from openly discussing any unusual clouds of silver smoke, which upon closer inspection turn out to be a large shoal of mackerel on flying bicycles.
The Institute of Master Potioners has no view. It really doesn't give a tinker's cuss as long as Dint's is well stocked with enough melt-proof cauldrons to conduct practical experiments, and The Singed Eyebrow supplied with enough beer to give rise to plenty of exotic theories on the fallacy of the phrase 'melt-proof' afterwards.
Though volumes abound on the work and achievements which have taken place within the reinforced walls down the centuries, no fellow of the institute has ever bothered to compile anything resembling a handbook to its physical buildings. The general view is that there are more important things to do with one's time than constructing some kind of equivalent to 'Hogwarts: A History'; not to mention the unspoken belief that if a new student or visiting professor is stupid enough to encounter one of the more interesting occurrences on campus and be unable to extricate his or herself from the situation, then…well. The IMP has no interest in dunderheads. There is a sign to that effect outside the front gates. Just below the one which proclaims that the IMP accepts no responsibility for any theft, accidental damage to property, loss of life or limb or commencement of the Apocalypse occurring upon its premises and no correspondence whatsoever will be entered into, as frankly, everyone has better things to do. Below that is the one that says The Institute Welcomes Careful Geniuses.
Severus Snape had no need of a manual to safely navigate the campus. Paying attention to the stories of other brewers and his own natural wariness had assured that he very seldom suffered any serious molestation. It being the 22nd of October, he automatically gave Gamma Block a wide berth. Each year, on the anniversary of Morag Togglehatchett's investigation into the reactivity of sodium with a certain concentration of tincture of calendric fireweed - her very last investigation - the largest suite of laboratories had a greater propensity than usual for having its roof blown clean off. The roof itself nearly always reappeared in the short-stay car park of Salisbury train station a few days later, but falling tiles could cause a bother in the meantime.
He also noticed, without much interest, that a red flag bearing the initials "V.C." was flying over Omega Block. This was the specially constructed domain of the legendary Vesuvius Crump, who had earned the nickname "Stumpy" on account of the extent to which his relentless experimentation had damaged his own body. As he had also caused considerable damage to the bodies of innocent bystanders on several previous occasions, he was now required to display a signal each time he began brewing so that other potioners stood a sporting chance of escaping with their lives. He was also required to notify the IMP medi-magical department - known as the Mosaic-ers, on account of their skills at putting tiny little pieces back together again - before setting foot inside a lab. Just to give them time to prepare, really.
Snape kept an eye on both danger areas as he limped along, trying not to feel so relieved that his seminar with the only bronze-standard student he was mentoring this year was over for another fortnight. He was almost certain that he had never been so ignorant, arrogant and just downright annoying at that age. The youngsters of today, he mused, had no concept of hard work, expecting everything to just be handed to them on a platter. He was certain that at bronze level he had done twice as much study as well as managing to fight the first round of the war, for Merlin's sake. Though he no longer grumbled that part to any of the students, just in case any more of them had taken the new, improved, more relevant History of Magic NEWT and reminded him that at their age, he had actually been fighting for the wrong side.
Revolting know-it-all brats, every last one of them.
His muttering was interrupted by a shout from across the courtyard, and he turned to see Asif from the werewolf research detail, Team Wolf, dashing towards him, ample flesh wobbling as flung himself forwards with unfamiliar haste.
"Good afternoon," whispered Snape leisurely, to give the younger man time to catch his breath.
"You have to come," wheezed Asif, clutching at a stitch his side. "Luna sent me to find you!"
"Really, Mr Khan," drawled Snape, imagining from the urgent look in Asif's eyes that Team Wolf's most unstable member had got himself all worked up into a frenzy again. "If Mr Botham is having another of his turns, I imagine the Mosaicers will be only too happy to…"
"No, professor!" panted Asif. "It's not Tony. He's off on that chupacabra observation expedition until next month. This is more important. Please come to Luna's office!"
Sighing heavily, Snape made his way slowly to the lair of the lycanthropologists, wondering what kind of mess they had managed to conjure this time. Some trouble with the Ministry, perhaps, or an attack on one of their pet theories by another potions master, nothing really grave enough to necessitate postponing the nice cup of tea in the Senior Common Room which he had been looking forward to for the past hour.
It was only when he entered the office that he realised something very serious indeed was going on. The team's leader, Luna Flintoff, was ashen-faced, sitting on the floor and staring at a bundle of papers in front of her with wide, unseeing eyes.
"What happened?" rasped Snape, first to Luna, who didn't respond, then again to Asif, who rubbed nervously at the back of his neck and pointed to the parchment. "What is that? What does it say?" he snapped impatiently, then, still getting no answer, summoned the top sheet and read it himself. "The results of the annual worldwide wolfsbane user medical survey?" He glanced uncomprehendingly from Asif to Luna and back again. "Oh, for Merlin's sake, will somebody please explain all this drama?"
Finally coming out of her horrified trance, the werebitch bit her bottom lip and looked up at Snape with an expression of despair most alien to her cheery disposition.
"Oh, Severus! This is awful. What the bloody hell are we going to do?"
…….
A short floo journey north of Salisbury Plain, Remus and Hermione were taking a gentle stroll around the Albus Dumbledore memorial gardens, occasionally throwing up a hasty shielding spell when the Sirius Black memorial fountain decided to try and give them a soaking.
"That thing's a menace," huffed Hermione, glaring at the carved stonework as another sudden jet of water flew high above their heads and showered them with raindrops. Remus grinned without saying anything, always deriving a sort of nostalgic amusement from the fountain's antics. Severus, he knew for a fact, would not set foot in this part of the garden since the unfortunate incident at the winter solstice festival which, but for the administration of several excellent potions, could have landed him with hypothermia.
"Have you told Harry yet?" Remus continued as they hurried to try to get out of soaking range.
"I really don't know how to," she sighed. "He and Hazel have had so many false alarms and a couple of miscarriages, I'll feel really bad having to tell him that despite not being anywhere near ready for a baby, I seem to have been cursed with what he wants so desperately!"
"Cursed!" exclaimed Remus. "Now, you don't mean that."
"That's how it feels at the moment," she flopped down onto a stone bench and folded her arms across her chest. "I'm sure it will be wonderful when the time comes, glorious fulfilment of my womanly self, blah-blah, but for now the only thing I can think of is how different my life is going to be. Justin's had this permanent little-boy-lost look about him since we found out, and things weren't great between us beforehand. I doubt he's going to last the distance."
"Men just need time to come to terms with things, that's all," Remus tried not to sound too trite. "He'll warm to the idea and so will you. I think you might still be a bit upset about your parents…"
"That's what the wretched Weasleys keep saying!" The young witch was exasperated and Remus wished he knew the right thing to say. "I'm not a child and I haven't lived at home for years, not since I was eleven, really. It's very sad that my parents have decided to divorce at the age of fifty-nine and I wish it hadn't had to happen, but I'm not having a nervous breakdown because of it! People change, get new interests, fall in love with other people."
"And your dad isn't upset about your mother moving in with Joyce?" Muggleborns always seemed to feel the need to remind him that the wizarding world was very different from the muggle one, taking umbrage at the most innocent of comments, and laughing at the naivety of others. He could never keep track of what subjects were socially acceptable anymore.
"What? Oh, the lesbian thing. No, he's fine with it. There are a few of his friends at the golf club in the same boat. They normally go out with a twenty-five year old for a year or so in order to prove their manliness, then get over it," she grabbed a stray lock of frizzy hair which had blown in her eyes and tucked it behind her ear. "In fact, the dental nurse who always flutters her eyelashes at him at the surgery is twenty-five…"
"Blonde?" Remus asked.
"Yes. And giggly. Oh dear," she gave a kind of resigned smirk. "Poor Dad doesn't really stand a chance, does he?"
Remus had to admit that Ken Granger was entering his mid-life crisis rather later than most, but his daughter seemed to think he would survive. Despite her protests to the contrary, he knew that the divorce was having some effect on Hermione, especially when coupled with the dread chemicals he dared not mention in her presence - hormones. An adult though she undoubtedly was, it was rotten luck to have to deal with two great upheavals at the same time.
Not wanting to upset her by saying the wrong thing, Remus steered the conversation to safer topics. Hermione was now chief librarian at St Mungo's research library, relishing the challenge of managing millennia of information so that she could put her hands on any reference from any topic demanded by the staff, at a moment's notice. It wasn't that she hadn't enjoyed working as a healer, it was rather a case of the day-to-day business of healing lacking the excitement and intellectual stimulation she had come to expect after her dramatic school life.
Her most recent assignment had been to search the records for an alternative to skele-grow for Marcus Flint's unfortunate daughter, who turned out to be allergic to the bone-replacing potion following an horrific Quidditch accident at Hogwarts. Hermione had chased the use of a rare temperamental breeze-herb from is first mention in the hieroglyphs of ancient Egypt, through to medieval Spain, where a witch was reported to have apparated out of the hands of the Inquisition while they questioned her for allegedly regrowing her cousin's severed foot by using a herbal poultice; to an unconfirmed muggle newspaper article in Mongolia in the 1870's, claiming that a man had given his neighbour a cup of herbal tea which caused him to sprout three extra arms. Her evidence had been enough to convince the ordinary healers to give the old-fangled idea a try, and so far, the procedure was progressing tolerably well.
"I love what I do, though it can be annoying occasionally when you get on the trail of something really interesting and revolutionary, only to find the most crucial parts of the documents are missing," she sighed.
"You mean, they were destroyed during experiments?" Remus' thoughts were on the brewers at the Institute, who occasionally caused disaster.
"No, it's usually down to censorship; when some politician decides that a new development is too dangerous to society, or - hah! - in danger of undermining their personal business interests. I'm thinking particularly of all the diseases caused by smoking sloughwort - a handful of students discovered the link in about 1725, but their evidence was destroyed because the Minister of Magic's family had the largest sloughwort farm in Europe and they would have been ruined. It took 100 years before anyone else thought to investigate and the cover-up came to light," she explained. "Makes you wonder what other ideas have been completely eradicated."
Remembering his conversation with Severus about incantation-activated potions, Remus explained the predicament of Wendy Suthe, who had been working on a special method of increasing the efficiency of poison antidotes, only to have the Ministry decide that it would also be an easy way to deliberately poison someone and get away with it. They had obliviated her and impounded all her research, even managing to make her article on the subject disappear from every single copy of Alchemist's Almanac in existence.
Hermione's eyes widened.
Pleased with her reaction, Remus continued.
"Severus told me about the case in Hungary, centuries earlier, where a wizard came up with the same idea and the authorities had him killed and every last piece of evidence destroyed so there was no way future generations could find out about his work…" he was just getting into his stride when Hermione put her hand on his arm and leaned close.
"Two points, Remus," she whispered urgently and, he thought, rather angrily. "Firstly, I know there is no longer a war going on, but there are still things which are not suitable for casual discussion. For God's sake, be careful when you're tossing out this kind of gossip as it can get people into trouble! I don't need the Unspeakables descending on me because I know too much and neither do you." Stunned, he just stared at her, incapable of reacting. She released her grip on his arm and softened somewhat. "Secondly, if the Magyar magical government did such a thorough job of wiping this poor man's discovery from the face of the earth, how does Severus know about it?"
Feeling as though he had swallowed stinksap, Remus tried to process her words.
"I didn't mean to put you in danger," he began apologetically. "It never occurred to me that I shouldn't talk about it - well, not to you anyway. You love learning all sorts of new facts, I thought you'd enjoy hearing a new secret. We were in a pub when Severus told me!"
"With three layers of muffling charms around you, if I know him," she smiled. "Sorry if I was a bit harsh. It's just that the Ministry is paranoid about preventing another war and has been getting a little testy about dark magic. They've been paying attention to some of my archives and it can be quite uncomfortable when you start arguing that St Mungo's needs to have knowledge of the dark arts in order to effectively treat victims of them. They look at me as though I'm training to be the next Dark Lady!"
Remus laughed aloud at that.
…….
It was only when he returned home that he allowed himself to consider Hermione's question about the Hungarian potions master. Of course, she was absolutely right in her assertion that Severus had details of an incident that was supposed to be a very great secret, which started Remus worrying. His lover's face had shown a strange kind of bitterness when he told the story, which usually appeared when talking about his unpleasant past. He hoped there was no link with Severus' activities as a Death Eater. He had never discussed his exact role in Voldemort's organisation, and Remus was reluctant to reopen old wounds, preferring not to think about it and settle with the reasonable assumption that it somehow involved potions and that was the end of it.
The little internal voice which refused to participate in self-delusion insisted that that was only the beginning of it.
Hermione had also cleared up the niggling thought in the back of his mind about the Magyar-English dictionary of potions terminology he had seen in Severus' personal library. He remembered now. The Magyars were the people of Hungary, and Magyar was their language.
The text of the note he had found inside the book, signed 'L' from the late Lucius, came back to him in fragments, and he put the kettle on while he tried to remember all the words. They had been urgent: For God's sake, be careful. Exactly the phrase Hermione has used earlier on! It didn't sound as strange coming from her as it had from Malfoy, and with a jolt, Remus realised that it was a muggle expression, used by muggles and muggleborn wizards irrespective of any religious convictions - just part of everyday speech. The wizarding equivalent was 'for Merlin's sake', and though Hermione and Harry used both interchangeably, a pureblooded wizard of Malfoy's breeding and high standards would never have picked up a mudblood's expression.
Remus extinguished the flame beneath the kettle when he realised that he had to see the note again.
It was wrong, so wrong on so many levels to go to his lover's house, knowing that he was not due back from the Institute for another half an hour, in order to sneak around and spy on him. He ought to let the past lie. Malfoy was dead, so was this Hungarian chap and there was no point in disturbing things while the present was so enjoyable. He knew it as he arrived at the Gatehouse; he knew it as he lied to the house elf about needing to borrow a book; he knew it as he meticulously picked off the scores of protective charms on the library door and he knew it even as he stepped into the musty room. But he also knew that his burning curiosity would drive him insane unless he re-read those enigmatic lines.
S,
Here you go, 'borrowed' from the Old Man's library. I sliced off the cover and filled it with newspaper, so there's no gap on the shelf. He'll never notice it's missing.
For God's sake be careful! I mean it.
L.
Remus held the paper up to the light in case he could make out any other markings, then checked it for concealment spells or any incantations. When it revealed nothing but its short message, he laid it carefully on the edge of a shelf and gently turned the loose pages of the potions dictionary in case there was anything else hidden inside. As the covers were missing, it was rather a fiddly job. He was almost halfway through the English-Magyar section when the page beginning 'Gillyweed' slipped out and floated to the ground. Grumbling because bending over to fetch it was more difficult than he would have liked, he almost replaced it without noticing the stamp. Familiar with library books, Remus knew that the inside front cover would probably have been marked 'Ex Libris Malfoy Manor', with either the family crest or a device associated with the Malfoys underneath - was it a dragon? A snake? Severus would know - then the back cover and two or three pages inside would have been stamped with a smaller claim to ownership. That way, even ripping off the cover of a book did not make it untraceable.The 'Gillyweed' page had a stamp in its bottom margin, but instead of involving capital 'M's or anything scaly, it consisted of an upright sword with tendrils curling upwards from the hilt. Either side of the blade were the letters 'G' and 'H'.
Godric's Hollow.
There could be no doubt about it. The same sword motif and initials had been printed on the inside lid of James' trunk, and wrought in iron on the front gates of the old house. Sirius had made inappropriate comments about it being a phallic symbol in front of Mrs Potter one Christmas and had received a clip round the ear.
Remus stared at the stamp, unable to believe what he was seeing. This was not possible. This was the reason one never tickled a sleeping dragon. He should have stayed at home and not tried to interfere in things which were really none of his business.
Feeling slightly light-headed, he placed the book on the shelf and picked up the note once more, seeing it with new eyes this time.
'Borrowed' from the Old Man's library. Remus had assumed that 'Old Man' meant 'father', but it could also mean 'husband.'
He'll never notice it's missing. The only reason the teenage James Potter had ever entered the room housing his family's astonishing collection of books was to look at certain anatomical pictures in some of the ones on the highest shelves. He certainly never had any interest in foreign languages.
For God's sake be careful. I mean it. Whatever purpose the book had been 'borrowed' for, it had been a dangerous one and the muggle or muggleborn writer of the note had been concerned for the safety of the recipient.
L. Remus closed his eyes as the only possible identity of 'L' hit him like a bludger.
But it made no sense. Why would Lily steal and deface a book from James' family library and give it to Severus?
A sudden sound behind him made him cry out in surprise, and he spun round to find Snape standing behind him. Guilt at being caught snooping compounded the shock and he felt his face flush.
"Severus, I…I…" whatever he had been about to stammer died on his lips as he looked at the other man. Severus' face was a sickly shade of white, his posture was perfectly rigid and his hands were trembling. Of the cane and the spectacles, there was no sign.
"Remus," he croaked.
Then he shot forward and grabbed hold of the frightened werewolf, crushing him so tightly in a fierce hug that it was highly uncomfortable. When the pressure showed no sign of being released after a minute or so, Remus began to try and wriggle free when he heard a breathy little sob from his lover. All thoughts of the book and Lily's note vanished as he turned his head and murmured into Severus' ear:
"My love, what is it? Please…what's wrong? Are you all right?"
Snape gave another sob but relaxed his vice-hold slightly. His eyes were glistening with tears as they tried to focus on Remus, and he reached up with a shaking hand and touched the side of his face.
"I'm sorry," he mouthed, so quietly that Remus had to lip-read.
"Why? What's happened?" he dreaded the answer. Someone was obviously dead, or some catastrophe. Please not Harry, please not Hazel, not Hermione, not…
"It's wolfsbane," came the silent reply, and Remus' thoughts skidded and stopped dead in their tracks.
"Who? I Mean, what? Wolfsbane, did you say?" Surely Severus hadn't got so upset about something to do with a bloody potion?!
"Team Wolf have just received the results of the health survey for wolfsbane users," Snape explained. Remus restrained his first reaction of 'about time too', just nodding instead. Severus took a long and painful breath and squeezed Remus too hard again as he exhaled. "For the first time, they've noticed that werewolves who have been taking the potion for more then ten years have been building up high levels of toxins in their systems…"
"Wait a minute, they haven't said anything before. They give us a thorough check-up every year!" Remus, relieved that everyone he knew appeared to be safe and Severus was just overreacting to some silly thing at work, started to laugh. He stopped when Snape's fingers bored into his upper arms so hard he could feel them bruising and he moaned in pain.
"Severus! You're hurting!"
He let go as though burned, muttering apologies and staggering backwards against a shelf, his bad knee twitching as it struggled to support him.
"Remus, please, my beautiful Remus. My love and my life," the tears were falling now. "Listen to me, my heart."
Lupin nodded and grasped both of Severus' hands, more frightened by the string of endearments and the sight of Snape crying than any of the other shocks so far.
"I'm making a complete mess of telling you, I'm sorry my darling."
"Say it," Remus said, too loudly. "Just tell me."
"Remus, they've found out that the wolfsbane potion is killing werewolves," Snape took a deep breath, eyes and nose streaming with sorrow. "It's killing you."
…….