Dancing with Wolves

Author's note: Again I wish to express my gratitude to all those, who have taken the time to send their reviews.
'You are really THE Severus Snape?!'

Sharply turning his head Severus caught a glimpse of the unexpected speaker. Even though the other man was still lying in the bed, he had propped himself up on an elbow and was eyeing Snape closely. Unfortunately for him the other's bed stood directly in front of the window, so that he could only make out his contours, but not see his face and any emotions written there clearly.

Bloody hell, I hate it, when people know more about me than I know about them, starting with their name. Speaking of which, he could recall Flamel mentioning a name, Fabian, no Faolan. His lips curled in distaste. Faolan, the wolf! If things were as he suspected, Flamel must really have a nerve to put him in this room with what was most likely a werewolf.

In order to cover his surprise at being spoken to and discomfort resulting from his suspicion Severus settled to his reflexive standard reaction, glaring irately at the source of disturbance, while curling his mouth into a sneer.

'I happen to be at the disadvantage of not knowing your identity, Sir.' – his long practised ability to make even the most courteous statement sound like an insult by adding a well measured amount of sarcasm came in handy in situations like this – 'But I am sure, you can make up for that in due time,' he added slightly condescendingly; if the 'league of the insane immortals' wanted to hire him, getting to know some of the 'future companions' that he would have to deal with in such an increasingly unlikely case was better than buying a pig in the poke. As this idea works in both directions, they'd better learn to cope with his personality rather sooner than later.

Faolan sat up and now that his body blocked most of the sunlight, his face became a bit more visible. Apparently he was younger than Severus had expected, no older than thirty and strands of dark brown hair that were hanging into his eyes unruly only emphasised the spirit of youthfulness surrounding him. Even his voice sounded strong and cheerful, which was quite an achievement for someone who had been carried into the room bleeding and unconscious only hours ago.

'My name's Faolan McNamara. I'm terribly sorry; I thought Nicolas would have said something to introduce me.'

'We had more pressing matters to deal with.' Severus snorted inwardly at the self-centeredness of the other, just why did so many people assume the world evolved around them?

'How come you know me? I'm quite sure I have neither encountered nor threatened or tortured you before.' Maybe there was a chance to shock him enough to render him speechless, not that it was very high, but 'dum spiro, spero'.

Unfortunately the other was not in the least discouraged to keep not only the conversation up, but also his in Severus' eyes mistimed friendly and cheerful tone.

'I've been out of 'real werewolf business' for quite a while, you know, running with the pack, howling at the moon together as part of the wolfish community and things like that. Flamel's decree of secrecy, savvy?' – not just a werewolf, but also a self announced jester, Merlin, my luck is just too bad to be true. 'But when I do that sometimes – with different packs of course, so I don't draw to much attention to me – I hear quite some interesting things at times. One of those wolves, I think the name was Lupino or something like that, said that he used to have someone brewing that Wolfsbane Potion, which they came up with a few decades ago, for him, so he could keep his human mind during full moon. Digging a bit deeper I found that the one brewing the potion was a potions teacher, surprise, surprise!'

Snape could only be grateful that he had never relied on Lupin to keep any important information; especially that he had not been in on the events of the last year. With the right motivation and a skilled master in the arts of persuasion in action, the lycanthrope could be almost as gullible as Hagrid.

Letting his anger at Lupin's lack of discretion be heard in his voice he hissed at the werewolf that was closest to suffer from his ire, the one on the opposite side of the room: 'Remus Lupin, this insufferable fool, who cowed in front of anyone speaking to him harshly in fear of losing what little sympathy someone of his status had left, has been as usually too forthcoming with information he had no right to spread.'

Quickly he checked a mental list of things that Lupin could have known and possibly shared intentionally or not with his 'brother in claws'. The fact that Snape had only stopped brewing the potion for the insufferable werewolf after he had been driven off the school grounds by the events around Dumbledore's death that he did not care to delve into more deeply at the moment, gave him a chance to set a timeframe, when those two could have met: at some time between the end of June and the birth of his son in spring – being the Gryffindor he was, Lupin would likely not have left his wife and newborn child unprotected. Enough reason to believe that whenever Lupin had mentioned his name he certainly had nothing good to say.

'If Remus Lupin is indeed your source of information, I should probably prepare myself for a stake aimed towards the heart or does your kind prefer to seek bloody revenge with bare hands or should I rather say fangs?', he spat the last word at the werewolf venomously.

Faolan looked taken aback, even slightly hurt, when he answered. 'I've never thought about any such thing! All I wanted was to express my respect, not many would brew such a potion for a werewolf that they do not even like and ask nothing in return.' You can tell that someone who actually believes it, I certainly don't.

Smiling evilly Severus mentally prepared his movements to verbally strike back. The werewolf's naivety and emotionality made him almost as good a victim as Lupin himself would have been, were he here now.

'Are you really that daft or unforgivably naïve to believe that I would help the werewolf, who almost killed me, thanks to a well prepared conspiracy of his ever dear friends, out of sheer goodness of heart? Think again, McNamara!

I did all I did on my master's order, you can fill in Dumbledore respectively the Dark Lord for that position, whoever you consider more suitable at the moment.' – Each name was emphasised with an appropriate amount of loathing, as Snape held little to no sympathy for any of them – 'What did dear Dumbledore call it? Ah, yes: 'a necessary sacrifice for the greater good'; that was quite easy for him to say, after all he did not have to spend hours on end in the laboratory to finish an extremely intricate potion that would only be accepted with ungratefulness and never ceasing complaints about the flavour.' The last word was spoken with so much venom that the other actually flinched, much to Severus satisfaction. That one would hopefully reconsider before ever bothering him again.

No such luck though. A stubborn Irishman is almost impossible to discourage. At least the werewolf had become somewhat less cheerful, now that his ridiculous illusionary image of the 'Samaritan for the lycanthropes' or whatever he had had in mind was destroyed. He sounded almost like a beaten puppy, whining at his master's boot, when he addressed him again: 'So you really hate werewolves, because you were almost … killed by one?'

Severus gave a longsuffering sigh and added in a tone he usually reserved to explain the most dim-witted of his students one of the most basic concepts of potion brewing 'O no, I simply enjoy to adopt any well developed prejudice that society has cultivated over the past centuries and make it the basis of my daily life, not considering reason or any personal experience on such matters, as this could possibly be debilitating,' his voice was dripping of sarcasm by now.

Finally he snapped at the other: 'So, make up your mind, man, either kill me, if that's what you need to pacify your sense of justice and if you have the guts to pull through it, which I highly doubt or leave me alone.

Besides you can rest assured, I have more important reasons to especially resent Lupin than his lycanthropy. And if you don't want to add any others as well, you'd better stop bothering me, for Merlin's sake.'

One should think that he would be sufficiently intimidated, not to speak up again, but the wolf was more resilient than he appeared from his statements. By now the young man sounded truly frantic: 'Please, I never wanted to harm you, when I told Flamel, he said you were playing one of the hardest roles in this whole war and that you were acting on orders for a greater plan. I swear, I don't want to bother you. All I hoped for was that you could, would possibly brew that potion for me as well, as it is hard to impossible to purchase, when you must not use the same source twice. I never would have asked, if I had known how much work there is behind it and how much you resent brewing it…'

Irritated and annoyed by the whining tone as well as some misperceptions, Severus snarled at him: 'Stop snivelling, you're giving me a headache! It is NOT the brewing or the complexity of the potion I resent, but the way it was just taken for granted.

Besides would you possibly be so kind as to inform me, why the so called greatest alchemist of all times, if not inventor at least producer of the Philosopher's Stone, does not consider it worthy of his time to brew this potion himself? This is after all a recipe that has been followed through successfully by more than one man during the past years.'

'Nicolas is getting old and is not really familiar with the modern ways of working with potions, at least that is what he claims, he says he lost all interest in keeping up with the methods of alchemy after he had completed the work on the original Philosopher's Stone. His own decree of secrecy and of course his mission have only made him focus more on other fields – don't ask me, he'll show you, when the time is right.'

Faolan's eyes were bloodshot by now and his breathing laboured, obviously he was not as well healed as he had appeared at the beginning of this conversation. 'Please, you are my only hope, my only chance to get this potion regularly, I promise you I will be forever grateful to you, the gratitude of the Irish is never wavering.' His quivering voice had become stronger during that last statement. 'I'd even drink it if it tasted like fresh dragon dung. In over 100 years of being a werewolf, this is the first real beacon of hope that I would not have to wake up every morning after the full moon in a pool of blood and desperately hope that it's only my own. You don't know, what you have been spared, because you were not infected.'

Severus had already narrowed his eyes in loathing at the impertinence of the last statement and had he had the strength he would have jumped at the other's throat, before even thinking about it. But now he made a last conscious effort to analyse not only the other's words, but also the tone of his voice and look on his face, neither of which spoke of mocking, but rather of a desperation that unpleasantly reminded him of some dark depths of his own tormented soul.

Even though affection had never come to him naturally – especially not for werewolves – and he despised useless pity under all circumstances, roughly telling Faolan off was such a heartless act that maybe Bellatrix or Riddle himself would be able to perform it without a tithe of shame or regret. But he was quite sure he could never look at himself with the same amount of self-esteem as before; considering how little of that he had left anyway after the in his eyes rather futile 20 years of attempted redemption for a crime that could never be undone, complying with his wishes, brewing the potion and possibly gaining that wolf's alliance and loyalty was probably the lesser evil.

Between clenched teeth he finally bit out: 'I might be inclined to consider your request. But this would be bound to certain conditions.' Ha, the day you outmanoeuvre a true Slytherin has yet to dawn, my friend.

Immediately the other's face lit up with new hope and an amount of gratitude that was almost painful to see. 'Name them and I will readily comply.'

Snape could not help but sneer: 'Be careful what you wish for, my reputation precedes me and 'fama non semper crescit eundi'. After all I could ask anything of you…'

Once back to cheerfulness the wolf was not daunted so easily. 'But you wouldn't, would you? If you were half as bad as your reputation, Nicolas would never have considered you as a member of his league, we have certain standards to maintain after all.' Faolan even possessed the insolence to smile playfully during that comment. I must have truly lost my edge after one year of coddling the students instead of truly punishing them.

'If you intend to get along with me, you'd better drop this habit of playing the court jester immediately,' replied silkily. 'Now back to business. You will certainly understand that I could only brew that potion for you, if I really were to join this 'League of extraordinary gentlemen', which is not yet decided.' He put special emphasis on the last words.

'Why would you not want to join us?' Again the innocent naivety, who did the werewolf think he was, the Irish incarnation of

'For a million of reasons, starting with having just narrowly escaped 2 other fatal alignments, not having seen any proof of so called Flamel's story or ending up with someone like you in the same room by mere coincidence.' His tone made it quite clear that he highly doubted that anything had happened coincidentally, since he had met Flamel. 'So why don't you tell me about your colleagues, Flamel and his oh-so-noble cause?'

Faolan simply nodded, before starting to speak thoughtfully: 'You don't believe Nicolas is, who he claims to be?'

'An alchemist of his calibre not able to brew a master's potion would be a shame for my whole guild. Besides his story of the mysterious book filled with shifting text passages that he conveniently failed to notice through years of trying to translate and later produce the Philosopher's Stone along with the mythological demonic overlords trying to conquer the world and humanity at the same time while they're at it, forgive me my scepticism, but this rather sounds like someone has had a glass of firewhiskey too many,' he replied sardonically.

The werewolf's response took him slightly aback, he actually laughed heartily. Still gasping between words Faolan responded: 'We all had our doubts in the beginning, but I don't think anyone has ever put it as straight forward as you just have. We'll have great fun with you at the meetings.' Merry twinkle of eyes over jokes of varying degrees of amusement were something Severus had become almost allergic to in the years of working for Dumbledore, his anaphylactic reaction was scowling furiously at the other, not that this could dispel any of the werewolf's joviality.

'Please, don't scowl at me like that; I'm doing my best to 'not play the court jester', as you put it, honestly.' Snape just rolled his eyes in exasperation; of all the werewolves to bother him it had to be the one more cheery than Lupin and Dumbledore put together.

'You know, the best way to prove Flamel's story is the 'Elixir of Youth', drinking it has certainly convinced every last one of us.' Severus simply raised an eyebrow to acknowledge his interest and gave him a curt nod to signal Faolan that he should continue. 'All I can tell you is that people, who drink it, usually end up looking the way they have been in their mid twenties to mid thirties. But once you have taken the potion, you are bound to drink it again after a full lunar cycle or the aging process will kick in again, having you age at a faster rate than normal, at first a week for every day, then quicker up to a year in an hour. I've seen once what the effect is at the fastest rate first hand, it was not a pleasant sight, believe me.'

'If your intention is trying to get me over to your side and persuade me to ingest that potion, I must inform you that you're doing a rather terrible job at encouraging me.' Severus added silkily, 'If you take me for such a fool to take this potion that would force me into lifelong addiction and dependence of Monsieur Flamel, who is so conveniently is the one in charge of its formula and brewing process, you might reconsider your character evaluation.'

'Spoken like a true Slytherin,' came a voice from the door that made the two occupants of the room whip their heads simultaneously to scrutinise the new and in Severus case rather unwanted participant in the conversation. Severus' eyes widened in disbelief and his jaw for a moment dropped in surprise as he stared at the figure in the doorway, before he composed himself and put a more dignified, but still slightly shocked expression on his face.

For all those less familiar with Latin:

dum spiro, spero – As long as I breathe, I keep hoping.

Fama non semper crescit eundi – The rumour does not always grow as it goes. (Original by Vergilius, Aeneis : fama crescit eundi.)