Loose ends chapter 29 - Home
Mar. 2nd, 2017 11:31 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
coriariaSnape decides that he is recovered and remembers that he doesn’t like Lupin very much. Angst, reference to Snape's past crimes. PG.
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In the weak winter light, Snape’s basement flat looked even dingier than it had been when Lupin first saw inside. The low ceiling was far too close to Lupin’s head to feel comfortable. The smell of damp was almost overwhelming. In the days since Snape had returned, he’d evidently made no effort at cleaning, and a thick layer of dust lay over the few clear surfaces. Condensation dripped down the windows, and black mould was growing in the wet patches on the sills.
“Severus, are you really sure you want to live back here?”
“It’s fine. I spent years living in a former dungeon. This is… fine.”
“And what about you? You’re not fine. You don’t have to do this.”
“Yes I do. You said I was welcome to stay for as long as I needed to. Well, I no longer need to. I’m in control of my magic. I can remember things. I’m perfectly fine.”
“I believe I said that you were welcome to stay as long as you needed to or wanted to. You don’t have to go just because you feel like you have recovered.”
“What makes you think I would want to stay with you. I’ve lived for far too long at the beck and call of others. I want to be on my own for once.”
Lupin pictured the way that Snape called Teddy “darling” and kissed him on the head when he finished reading him a story. The way he relaxed on the sofa as Teddy and Grimmy climbed across his lap. The half sarcastic, amusing exchanges across the chess board. The way his face lit up when he told Lupin of the latest progress with Mephistopheles. It didn’t look to Lupin like the behaviour of a man who craved solitude.
“Did I do something to upset you, Severus? You do seem particularly upset with me. Or did you remember something?”
“I merely remembered that I don’t like you very much. That I could be doing better things than spend my days in your irritating company and that of your pathetic household. With a Lupin, a Potter and a Black, all it needs is a Pettigrew and I might as well be at school again.”
“I wasn’t aware you felt that way, Severus,” Lupin responded, in a deliberately calm voice.
Snape turned away and stalked into his room, slamming the door behind him. Lupin gave a sigh. Following Snape into his room wouldn’t be well-advised. But he couldn’t leave – Harry had said he’d be back in half an hour, and he’d barely been there five minutes.
He had no idea what had brought about such a sudden transformation in Snape’s behaviour. At Christmas, he had been obviously happy to retake control of his magic. And then, just before the New Year, Lupin had noticed a change. Snape had withdrawn from them, especially Lupin. He was sullen, rude and defensive. In some ways, it was like he’d returned to his old self.
Lupin had quietly checked Snape’s wand, wondering whether there was some curse that made the user particularly obnoxious, but it was clean. He also checked to see whether he’d been doing any magic which could have harmed him in some way, but the wand had done little more than basic domestic charms. He could find no explanation for the changes, until he saw the unmistakable signs that Snape was trying occlumency again.
“Severus, that’s dangerous. After all you’ve been through, you don’t want to end up damaging your memory further.”
“Don’t be absurd, Lupin. I’m not a fool. I’m not using occlumency. I’m just tired. My mind just drifted for a moment.”
“I saw your eyes, Severus, and I know the signs.”
Snape had denied it and stormed out of the room.
The next day, he’d packed up his limited belongings, shoved a very cross Mephistopheles into his basket, and announced he was moving back to his flat. There was little they could do to stop him, the best they managed was a concession that one of them would stop by and check on him as often as they could.
They visited daily, but in two weeks, they hadn’t been allowed into the flat. Fearing that this would continue indefinitely, Lupin chose the coldest and most miserable day to remember an urgent errand for Harry, just as Snape was opening the door and telling them to go away. It had taken Harry a moment to realise, but then he’d obligingly dashed off, promising it wouldn’t take him more than half an hour, and that he was sure Snape wouldn’t leave Lupin to freeze in the sleet.
The fictitious errand had got Lupin in the door, but he hadn’t achieved much beyond unintentionally goading Snape into telling Lupin how much he disliked him. Since Snape was already obviously upset with him, he thought it wouldn’t make things much worse if he did a bit of checking.
“Accio ergot.”
A small jar flew from a cupboard in the kitchen. He examined it carefully, waving his wand over the lid. Unopened for months.
“Accio muscaria.”
Another small jar flew to his hand. Again, unopened for months. So, that meant Snape wasn’t brewing Dreamless Sleep at least.
“What are you doing with my jars, Lupin.”
Snape had appeared from the bedroom and was sneering in Lupin’s direction. It would have been easy to lie, even to Snape. He was accustomed to hiding things. But he thought that the former spy needed to face the truth.
“Checking up on you, Severus. It’s good that you are feeling confident enough to be independent again, but I am worried that you will slip back.”
“I’m not brewing Dreamless Sleep, Lupin.”
“No, I can tell that these haven’t been opened in months.”
“Anything other proof you want? There’s a version of the priori spell which can be used on cauldrons, to see when they were last used and what was brewed.”
“I know it, yes, but that’s not necessary.”
“Do it,” Snape snapped back.
“Alright Severus, where do you keep them? Or shall I summon them?”
“Summon them. That way you’ll know I’m not hiding one.”
He stood, arms folded across his chest, scowling at Lupin as the cauldrons were summoned. He kept up the scowl as Lupin cast the spells and pronounce them clean.
“Happy?”
“Yes, thank you, Severus. I really do appreciate your openness with me.”
The werewolf smiled warmly and the scowl faltered on Snape’s face.
“I don’t suppose I could trouble you for a cup of tea, Severus? Perhaps you could sit and join me?”
Lupin almost thought Snape would refuse, but with an irritated sigh he produced a cup of sweet, black tea and handed it to Lupin.
“No milk.”
“Oh, I didn’t realise. I’ll tell Andromeda and she will send some tomorrow.”
“That’s not necessary.”
“Are you shopping then, Severus?”
Snape scowled again.
“Sit down, have a cup of tea yourself. You look tired.”
“I’m fine.”
But he made tea and sat.
“How’s Mephistopheles finding the flat?”
Scowl.
“Have you written to Clarridge?”
Glare.
“Grimmy misses you, you know. He’s started sleeping on your bed.”
Sneer.
“And Teddy keeps asking for you. He misses you. We all do.”
“Oh for Merlin’s sake shut up, Lupin.”
Lupin shut up. As they sat in heavy silence, he wondered which of them would be driven to speak first. He thought it would be him, as Snape’s ability to sulk like a teenager had been legendary at Hogwarts. But he was wrong.
“Lupin, since you are irritating me with your presence, you can answer a question for me.”
“I’ll do my best, Severus.”
“Your name. It’s really most unfortunate for a werewolf. Seems too… apt to be a coincidence. Is it?”
Lupin paused. Few asked, whether from ignorance or because it would be impolite, he was never sure. On reflection, he was surprised that Snape hadn’t commented long ago. He was far from ignorant, and never cared about being impolite.
“No, it’s not a coincidence. You know what the Lupins used to do? Where the name came from?”
Snape gave an almost imperceptible shake of his head.
“We’ve always worked with magical creatures, usually dark. Especially werewolves. Until the latest reclassification of werewolves as beings, there were always Lupins working in werewolf extermination. Hence the wolfy name. And every generation usually had either a Romulus or a Remus. Sort of an ironic tradition. I think there have been at least ten Remus Lupins before me. Not one a werewolf, and most of them werewolf killers.”
“Greyback’s dispute with your father was over your family history? And he took that out on you?” The indignation in his voice suggested he’d forgotten to be angry at Lupin for a moment
“That wasn’t it. My father was… well, unusual among Lupins. He had lots of rather modern ideas for his time. He worked in the Dark Creature Division of the Ministry, and was leading some radical reforms of the lycanthropy laws. Under his proposals, werewolves would have full wizard rights, including education, health care and non-discrimination in employment, but there would be certain restrictions, including being locked up during transformation.”
“Surely not a high price to pay? I’d have thought most werewolves would support that.”
“I’m told they did. The Temples weren’t wild about it, but they sent him a proposal to have their family estate, Howling Grove, designated as a place approved for transformation. It would have allowed them to continue as they always did. But Greyback – as long as werewolves were excluded from society, it allowed him the opportunity to recruit the disaffected and desperate to his way. If werewolves had rights like any other wizard, he would lose his power over them. He decided the best way to stop my father was to give him a werewolf in the family. After… what happened, my father couldn’t continue in that role, so he moved to the communication department and led the owl breeding programme for the Ministry instead.”
Snape appeared to have forgotten to scowl or glare as he listen to Lupin speak. For a moment, he just looked sad, but then he seemed to remember who he was listening to.
“Fascinating, Lupin,” he said, sounding suddenly bored.
“You asked,” Lupin snapped back.
They stared at eachother for a few minutes, neither willing to concede.
“Have you finished that tea yet?” Snape finally asked.
“I have, thank you Severus.”
“Well you can leave then. Potter must be back soon. Wait on the doorstep.”
Lupin contemplated whether to push his luck further, but Snape was still holding his own cup of tea, and looked as if he was ready to throw it.
“Well, it’s been lovely to talk with you, Severus. I’ll stop by in a couple of days.”
“Lupin.”
“Yes, Severus?”
“If you… when you stop by next… it might be… if you could do the priori on the cauldrons… it might be a useful reminder… if I feel like… lapsing. And… maybe take those jars…”
Snape looked at the floor, and then turned and walked into the bedroom.
“Of course, Severus, that’s no problem,” Lupin said softly to the closed bedroom door.
Lupin huddled on the doorstep, waiting for Harry. The sleet had turned into a fine rain, and he cast an impervious charm over himself as he waited. He was still puzzling over their last exchange. Was Snape afraid he would slip back into Dreamless Sleep addiction? And if he was, why would he leave the farmhouse when there was really no need?
He gave a sigh. He knew really, he’d just hoped that Snape was finally past it. All their lives, there had been moments, small periods of truce when Snape was civil or even friendly towards him. And every time, Snape would suddenly become even more hostile than he had been before. Lupin wondered if it was a fear of becoming close to anyone. Or even, Lupin wondered, whether he had been forbidden to become close to anyone. Had Dumbledore controlled his life to that extent? Lupin would not have been surprised.
By the time Harry had reappeared, Lupin had had an idea. He asked Harry to drop him at the Institute, and went in search of Wormwood. It was not a difficult search. Wormwood was in the lab, carefully extracting the pus from bubotubers.
“Remus, lovely to see you. What brings you here on this fine day?”
Lupin looked dubiously at the high windows of the lab, which were being pelted with heavy rain.
“I was wanting to talk to you about Severus.”
“Oh,” Wormwood replied, immediately stopping his pus extraction and giving Lupin his full attention.
“How is he doing in the lab? I know he has been working with you, trying out a few things.”
“He’s showing incremental progress,” Wormwood replied evasively.
“Really? And by progress, you mean…?”
Wormwood sighed. It was obviously uncomfortable to talk about his former teacher’s deficiencies.
“At preparation, he’s fine. Well… when asked him to prepare the chamomile for Pepper Up, he had no idea, but when I asked him to grind ten dried chamomile flowers to a fine powder in a medium granite pestle, he did it perfectly. Or when I asked for the burdock root in eighth of an inch slices, they were exactly right, every slice. Or when I asked him to squeeze the bubotubers to extract the pus, or peel the shrivelfigs…”
Wormwood’s face was lit up with the joy that brewing gave him, and Lupin realised that he might get a description of every potion ingredient that Snape had prepared in the months he had been visiting the Institute.
“Thank you Wormwood, I think I get the picture.”
“Oh… oh yes. So it’s as if his hands remember when his mind doesn’t. He can feel when it’s right. But when it comes to brewing the potions…”
Wormwood’s smile had faded.
‘A lot of the difficult potions, like Postlune and Wolfsbane, are difficult because you don’t have time to check notes at certain points. So you memorise the steps and the timing. You can get the clock to prompt you with the fundamentalities, but unless you’ve remembered every detail, every element, the potion will be ruined. His memory is far too unreliable to do anything like that. Even the simpler potions which have memorisation… “
Wormwood shook his head.
“I’ve tried him with a few of the basic, ones which aren’t critical in the timing and where you can follow the instructions at each step. Sometimes, those work. But sometimes, something he reads or does causes him to recollect something else, and he loses what he is doing, and suddenly he’s lost count of how many times he’s stirred it, or he’s just standing staring at the cauldron while it boils over. So if he’s brewing anything, rather than doing preparation, I have to watch him like a hawk.”
“Is it helpful to you, having him do some of the preparation, or do you end up taking more time helping him than you save?”
“Oh, it’s undoubtedly helpful. Before Christmas he helped out on Postlune preparation for half a day, and I saved about two hours on the two day of preparation. He’s exemplary with the ingredients.”
“I’m a bit concerned about him since he has moved back to his flat. I was wondering if it would be possible for him to visit and help you more often. Would you be able to ask him?”
“Oh, I’d love to, but I’m not sure if Director Mandragora would permit it. He manifests a distinct aversion to Severus.”
It hadn’t crossed Lupin’s mind that there might be any barrier to Snape helping out at the Institute.
“Do you know why?”
Wormwood paused, concentrating, then gave an answer that was uniquely Wormwood.
“Well, most people don’t like Severus. I don’t think anyone else liked him when I was at school.”
Lupin couldn’t disagree with that. Snape had never been an easily likeable man. But for Wormwood to have noticed, it would surely have to be more than that.
“I’ll talk to the Director. See what he says.”
Lupin borrowed a robe from Wormwood before heading off in search of Morven Mandragora, the Institute’s director. Lupin knew that Mandragora would not approve of his modern clothing, even if it had last been fashionable around 1930. Lupin knew that he may simply refuse to speak to him if he turned up inappropriately dressed.
The director was a rather intimidating man, as tall as Lupin, and just as scarred after a lifetime of handling dragons. He’d run the Institute for thirty years, taking over from a predecessor who was extremely traditional. Mandragora had kept some of the traditional ways – the formal robes and manner of address for example – while changing the Institute from a place where creatures were caged and studied to more of a refuge. Under his leadership, the Institute had taken in displaced house elves and werewolves, as well as dragons who were considered dangerous or untrainable.
He was known to have a temper which matched his large mane of curly red hair, and was equally incensed by cruelty, stupidity and incorrect use of apostrophes. He was also known to be fair and often generous. Behind his back, some staff even used the word “kind”. As a result, Lupin was completely uncertain what kind of reaction he would get as he knocked at the door of his office.
“Mr Lupin, good to see you.”
Mandragora welcomed Lupin into the office and returned to his desk with a sweep of his green velvet robes.
“Just on your own then? Mrs Tonks not with you?”
He director looked hopefully past Lupin. It appeared that he had some interest in making Andromeda wife number five. Mandragora was a shameless flirt, and Lupin had yet to determine whether his apparent pursuit of Andromeda was simply another case of that, or something more serious.
“Harry dropped me off. I needed to speak to Wormwood, and I realise that I need to speak to you as well.”
“I see. Speak on.”
“It’s about…er…Mr Snape.”
Lupin saw a frown appear between the bushy, ginger eyebrows.
“I’m sure Wormwood has explained Mr Snape’s situation.”
The director nodded, the frown accompanied by a thinning of his lips. Lupin went on, although he was beginning to think he’d made a mistake.
“He has been helping Wormwood in the potions lab. I believe you know that. Wormwood mentioned that when it came to ingredient preparation, he was very helpful, even though he wasn’t really capable of making potions. I wondered if he could help Wormwood more often.”
“You think Wormwood is unable to cope with his workload?”
Mandragora’s tone was accusing.
“No, not at all. He’s extremely capable and appears quite comfortable with all that he does. I… I was thinking of Mr Snape assisting… more for his benefit rather than Wormwood’s.”
Mandragora turned the full intensity of his gaze on Lupin.
“I see,” he said in a cold voice. He reached for a framed photograph of a grim looking woman. Lupin recognised her as Gertrude van Helsing, the director’s second wife. The only one he hadn’t divorced. They had been married twenty five years before her death.
“You are aware that my wife was killed in the first war?”
Lupin gave a slow nod, disconcerted by the conversation’s direction. Gertrude van Helsing had originally come from the Black Forest, from one of the hereditary werewolf families there. When the Director had returned to Britain with his bride, people had been scandalised. The couple had not cared. Gertrude had gone on to become a formidable leader among Britain’s werewolves. She had collaborated with Lupin’s father on the werewolf law reform which had so enraged Greyback, and made werewolves with nowhere else to go welcome at the Institute. She had been a vocal opponent of prejudice against any being or creature, including muggles. When the war came, her open opposition to Voldemort cost her her life.
“And are you aware that Snape was one of the death eaters involved in her murder?”
Lupin froze. Intellectually, he knew that Snape must have directly killed or been involved in the deaths of many people. But over the years that fact had become easier to put to the back of his mind. Now, he was faced with the reality. There were many people with cause to hate Snape, and Mandragora was one of them. It showed extraordinary generosity that the director had tolerated his regular visits so far.
“I’m sorry, sir. I didn’t know that.”
“No, I thought not. Wormwood doesn’t know. Nor does Lucretia obviously. I’d appreciate it if you didn’t tell them.”
The director’s face looked more sad than angry and he gave a deep sigh.
“They tortured her. Then they gave her poison. She died in agony. I’m sure I don’t need to remind you who it was that made You-know-who’s poisons and potions.”
Lupin shook his head, his face horrified.
“Since that time, no Mandragora has attended Hogwarts, because of his presence there.”
“I’m sorry for asking and bringing up those memories, sir. I won’t mention it again.”
Mandragora sat, looking at Lupin across his desk, with an unreadable expression. Finally, he spoke again.
“I understand that Snape was involved in the deaths of your friends, Harry’s parents.”
“He wasn’t… there, that night. But he gave Voldemort the prophecy which made them a target. So… yes.”
“And yet you and Harry have cared for him in your home.”
Lupin nodded, not sure what else to say.
“You’re very forgiving people.”
Lupin paused and thought. He seldom thought of Snape’s past – of what he had done as a young death eater, and what he had continued to do as Dumbledore’s spy. Snape never spoke of it, but Lupin knew it troubled him. Sometimes, mostly at night when he had woken from a nightmare, he hinted at some of the troubling memories. More rarely, Lupin, similarly troubled with his memories of days with Greyback, admitted to the same. Details were never shared, but each knew the other understood.
“I suppose it was a long time ago. He’s spent the rest of his life trying to make amends for that decision. What he’s suffered… and what drove him to Vo – you know – in the first place… I’ve known him most of my life.”
Lupin struggled to find the right words under the director’s intense scrutiny.
“You are a better man than me. As is young Mr Potter.”
Lupin looked up in surprise at Mandragora’s words.
“Gertrude did not hold grudges. She believed in forgiveness and redemption. Some of the werewolves she brought to the Institute… she even rehabilitated a vampire once… raised a few eyesbrows, I tell you… he’s living in the hills of Wales somewhere now, still drops by to say hello sometimes…”
The director sighed.
“I think I would be willing to have… Snape assist Mr Fox. I may not want to see him, but I cannot ignore his existence, or his need. I could not pay him more than an assistant’s wage for the hours he worked though.”
“You’d pay him?”
“I do not expect any being to work for nothing at the Institute. The werewolves and house elves who work here are paid. I admit to considering death eaters as something more along the lines of a boggart, but…”
Lupin nodded slowly. He didn’t know what to say in the face of such generosity.
“I… that is incredibly kind. Thank you. Thank you so much.”
Lupin and Mandragora looked at eachother across the desk, calm faces masking the turmoil each felt.
“Does he know, sir? About your wife? There is a lot he doesn’t remember, or remembers but... in fragments. His memory is quite disconnected.”
“I’m not sure. I haven’t spoken to him. I don’t intend to.”
Lupin nodded. Mandragora’s face had closed down and he realised it was time to end the conversation.
“Shall I let Wormwood know? That he can have a new assistant?”
The Director gave a sharp nod and Lupin left swiftly, realising that further words would be unwelcome.
Home
In the weak winter light, Snape’s basement flat looked even dingier than it had been when Lupin first saw inside. The low ceiling was far too close to Lupin’s head to feel comfortable. The smell of damp was almost overwhelming. In the days since Snape had returned, he’d evidently made no effort at cleaning, and a thick layer of dust lay over the few clear surfaces. Condensation dripped down the windows, and black mould was growing in the wet patches on the sills.
“Severus, are you really sure you want to live back here?”
“It’s fine. I spent years living in a former dungeon. This is… fine.”
“And what about you? You’re not fine. You don’t have to do this.”
“Yes I do. You said I was welcome to stay for as long as I needed to. Well, I no longer need to. I’m in control of my magic. I can remember things. I’m perfectly fine.”
“I believe I said that you were welcome to stay as long as you needed to or wanted to. You don’t have to go just because you feel like you have recovered.”
“What makes you think I would want to stay with you. I’ve lived for far too long at the beck and call of others. I want to be on my own for once.”
Lupin pictured the way that Snape called Teddy “darling” and kissed him on the head when he finished reading him a story. The way he relaxed on the sofa as Teddy and Grimmy climbed across his lap. The half sarcastic, amusing exchanges across the chess board. The way his face lit up when he told Lupin of the latest progress with Mephistopheles. It didn’t look to Lupin like the behaviour of a man who craved solitude.
“Did I do something to upset you, Severus? You do seem particularly upset with me. Or did you remember something?”
“I merely remembered that I don’t like you very much. That I could be doing better things than spend my days in your irritating company and that of your pathetic household. With a Lupin, a Potter and a Black, all it needs is a Pettigrew and I might as well be at school again.”
“I wasn’t aware you felt that way, Severus,” Lupin responded, in a deliberately calm voice.
Snape turned away and stalked into his room, slamming the door behind him. Lupin gave a sigh. Following Snape into his room wouldn’t be well-advised. But he couldn’t leave – Harry had said he’d be back in half an hour, and he’d barely been there five minutes.
He had no idea what had brought about such a sudden transformation in Snape’s behaviour. At Christmas, he had been obviously happy to retake control of his magic. And then, just before the New Year, Lupin had noticed a change. Snape had withdrawn from them, especially Lupin. He was sullen, rude and defensive. In some ways, it was like he’d returned to his old self.
Lupin had quietly checked Snape’s wand, wondering whether there was some curse that made the user particularly obnoxious, but it was clean. He also checked to see whether he’d been doing any magic which could have harmed him in some way, but the wand had done little more than basic domestic charms. He could find no explanation for the changes, until he saw the unmistakable signs that Snape was trying occlumency again.
“Severus, that’s dangerous. After all you’ve been through, you don’t want to end up damaging your memory further.”
“Don’t be absurd, Lupin. I’m not a fool. I’m not using occlumency. I’m just tired. My mind just drifted for a moment.”
“I saw your eyes, Severus, and I know the signs.”
Snape had denied it and stormed out of the room.
The next day, he’d packed up his limited belongings, shoved a very cross Mephistopheles into his basket, and announced he was moving back to his flat. There was little they could do to stop him, the best they managed was a concession that one of them would stop by and check on him as often as they could.
They visited daily, but in two weeks, they hadn’t been allowed into the flat. Fearing that this would continue indefinitely, Lupin chose the coldest and most miserable day to remember an urgent errand for Harry, just as Snape was opening the door and telling them to go away. It had taken Harry a moment to realise, but then he’d obligingly dashed off, promising it wouldn’t take him more than half an hour, and that he was sure Snape wouldn’t leave Lupin to freeze in the sleet.
The fictitious errand had got Lupin in the door, but he hadn’t achieved much beyond unintentionally goading Snape into telling Lupin how much he disliked him. Since Snape was already obviously upset with him, he thought it wouldn’t make things much worse if he did a bit of checking.
“Accio ergot.”
A small jar flew from a cupboard in the kitchen. He examined it carefully, waving his wand over the lid. Unopened for months.
“Accio muscaria.”
Another small jar flew to his hand. Again, unopened for months. So, that meant Snape wasn’t brewing Dreamless Sleep at least.
“What are you doing with my jars, Lupin.”
Snape had appeared from the bedroom and was sneering in Lupin’s direction. It would have been easy to lie, even to Snape. He was accustomed to hiding things. But he thought that the former spy needed to face the truth.
“Checking up on you, Severus. It’s good that you are feeling confident enough to be independent again, but I am worried that you will slip back.”
“I’m not brewing Dreamless Sleep, Lupin.”
“No, I can tell that these haven’t been opened in months.”
“Anything other proof you want? There’s a version of the priori spell which can be used on cauldrons, to see when they were last used and what was brewed.”
“I know it, yes, but that’s not necessary.”
“Do it,” Snape snapped back.
“Alright Severus, where do you keep them? Or shall I summon them?”
“Summon them. That way you’ll know I’m not hiding one.”
He stood, arms folded across his chest, scowling at Lupin as the cauldrons were summoned. He kept up the scowl as Lupin cast the spells and pronounce them clean.
“Happy?”
“Yes, thank you, Severus. I really do appreciate your openness with me.”
The werewolf smiled warmly and the scowl faltered on Snape’s face.
“I don’t suppose I could trouble you for a cup of tea, Severus? Perhaps you could sit and join me?”
Lupin almost thought Snape would refuse, but with an irritated sigh he produced a cup of sweet, black tea and handed it to Lupin.
“No milk.”
“Oh, I didn’t realise. I’ll tell Andromeda and she will send some tomorrow.”
“That’s not necessary.”
“Are you shopping then, Severus?”
Snape scowled again.
“Sit down, have a cup of tea yourself. You look tired.”
“I’m fine.”
But he made tea and sat.
“How’s Mephistopheles finding the flat?”
Scowl.
“Have you written to Clarridge?”
Glare.
“Grimmy misses you, you know. He’s started sleeping on your bed.”
Sneer.
“And Teddy keeps asking for you. He misses you. We all do.”
“Oh for Merlin’s sake shut up, Lupin.”
Lupin shut up. As they sat in heavy silence, he wondered which of them would be driven to speak first. He thought it would be him, as Snape’s ability to sulk like a teenager had been legendary at Hogwarts. But he was wrong.
“Lupin, since you are irritating me with your presence, you can answer a question for me.”
“I’ll do my best, Severus.”
“Your name. It’s really most unfortunate for a werewolf. Seems too… apt to be a coincidence. Is it?”
Lupin paused. Few asked, whether from ignorance or because it would be impolite, he was never sure. On reflection, he was surprised that Snape hadn’t commented long ago. He was far from ignorant, and never cared about being impolite.
“No, it’s not a coincidence. You know what the Lupins used to do? Where the name came from?”
Snape gave an almost imperceptible shake of his head.
“We’ve always worked with magical creatures, usually dark. Especially werewolves. Until the latest reclassification of werewolves as beings, there were always Lupins working in werewolf extermination. Hence the wolfy name. And every generation usually had either a Romulus or a Remus. Sort of an ironic tradition. I think there have been at least ten Remus Lupins before me. Not one a werewolf, and most of them werewolf killers.”
“Greyback’s dispute with your father was over your family history? And he took that out on you?” The indignation in his voice suggested he’d forgotten to be angry at Lupin for a moment
“That wasn’t it. My father was… well, unusual among Lupins. He had lots of rather modern ideas for his time. He worked in the Dark Creature Division of the Ministry, and was leading some radical reforms of the lycanthropy laws. Under his proposals, werewolves would have full wizard rights, including education, health care and non-discrimination in employment, but there would be certain restrictions, including being locked up during transformation.”
“Surely not a high price to pay? I’d have thought most werewolves would support that.”
“I’m told they did. The Temples weren’t wild about it, but they sent him a proposal to have their family estate, Howling Grove, designated as a place approved for transformation. It would have allowed them to continue as they always did. But Greyback – as long as werewolves were excluded from society, it allowed him the opportunity to recruit the disaffected and desperate to his way. If werewolves had rights like any other wizard, he would lose his power over them. He decided the best way to stop my father was to give him a werewolf in the family. After… what happened, my father couldn’t continue in that role, so he moved to the communication department and led the owl breeding programme for the Ministry instead.”
Snape appeared to have forgotten to scowl or glare as he listen to Lupin speak. For a moment, he just looked sad, but then he seemed to remember who he was listening to.
“Fascinating, Lupin,” he said, sounding suddenly bored.
“You asked,” Lupin snapped back.
They stared at eachother for a few minutes, neither willing to concede.
“Have you finished that tea yet?” Snape finally asked.
“I have, thank you Severus.”
“Well you can leave then. Potter must be back soon. Wait on the doorstep.”
Lupin contemplated whether to push his luck further, but Snape was still holding his own cup of tea, and looked as if he was ready to throw it.
“Well, it’s been lovely to talk with you, Severus. I’ll stop by in a couple of days.”
“Lupin.”
“Yes, Severus?”
“If you… when you stop by next… it might be… if you could do the priori on the cauldrons… it might be a useful reminder… if I feel like… lapsing. And… maybe take those jars…”
Snape looked at the floor, and then turned and walked into the bedroom.
“Of course, Severus, that’s no problem,” Lupin said softly to the closed bedroom door.
Lupin huddled on the doorstep, waiting for Harry. The sleet had turned into a fine rain, and he cast an impervious charm over himself as he waited. He was still puzzling over their last exchange. Was Snape afraid he would slip back into Dreamless Sleep addiction? And if he was, why would he leave the farmhouse when there was really no need?
He gave a sigh. He knew really, he’d just hoped that Snape was finally past it. All their lives, there had been moments, small periods of truce when Snape was civil or even friendly towards him. And every time, Snape would suddenly become even more hostile than he had been before. Lupin wondered if it was a fear of becoming close to anyone. Or even, Lupin wondered, whether he had been forbidden to become close to anyone. Had Dumbledore controlled his life to that extent? Lupin would not have been surprised.
By the time Harry had reappeared, Lupin had had an idea. He asked Harry to drop him at the Institute, and went in search of Wormwood. It was not a difficult search. Wormwood was in the lab, carefully extracting the pus from bubotubers.
“Remus, lovely to see you. What brings you here on this fine day?”
Lupin looked dubiously at the high windows of the lab, which were being pelted with heavy rain.
“I was wanting to talk to you about Severus.”
“Oh,” Wormwood replied, immediately stopping his pus extraction and giving Lupin his full attention.
“How is he doing in the lab? I know he has been working with you, trying out a few things.”
“He’s showing incremental progress,” Wormwood replied evasively.
“Really? And by progress, you mean…?”
Wormwood sighed. It was obviously uncomfortable to talk about his former teacher’s deficiencies.
“At preparation, he’s fine. Well… when asked him to prepare the chamomile for Pepper Up, he had no idea, but when I asked him to grind ten dried chamomile flowers to a fine powder in a medium granite pestle, he did it perfectly. Or when I asked for the burdock root in eighth of an inch slices, they were exactly right, every slice. Or when I asked him to squeeze the bubotubers to extract the pus, or peel the shrivelfigs…”
Wormwood’s face was lit up with the joy that brewing gave him, and Lupin realised that he might get a description of every potion ingredient that Snape had prepared in the months he had been visiting the Institute.
“Thank you Wormwood, I think I get the picture.”
“Oh… oh yes. So it’s as if his hands remember when his mind doesn’t. He can feel when it’s right. But when it comes to brewing the potions…”
Wormwood’s smile had faded.
‘A lot of the difficult potions, like Postlune and Wolfsbane, are difficult because you don’t have time to check notes at certain points. So you memorise the steps and the timing. You can get the clock to prompt you with the fundamentalities, but unless you’ve remembered every detail, every element, the potion will be ruined. His memory is far too unreliable to do anything like that. Even the simpler potions which have memorisation… “
Wormwood shook his head.
“I’ve tried him with a few of the basic, ones which aren’t critical in the timing and where you can follow the instructions at each step. Sometimes, those work. But sometimes, something he reads or does causes him to recollect something else, and he loses what he is doing, and suddenly he’s lost count of how many times he’s stirred it, or he’s just standing staring at the cauldron while it boils over. So if he’s brewing anything, rather than doing preparation, I have to watch him like a hawk.”
“Is it helpful to you, having him do some of the preparation, or do you end up taking more time helping him than you save?”
“Oh, it’s undoubtedly helpful. Before Christmas he helped out on Postlune preparation for half a day, and I saved about two hours on the two day of preparation. He’s exemplary with the ingredients.”
“I’m a bit concerned about him since he has moved back to his flat. I was wondering if it would be possible for him to visit and help you more often. Would you be able to ask him?”
“Oh, I’d love to, but I’m not sure if Director Mandragora would permit it. He manifests a distinct aversion to Severus.”
It hadn’t crossed Lupin’s mind that there might be any barrier to Snape helping out at the Institute.
“Do you know why?”
Wormwood paused, concentrating, then gave an answer that was uniquely Wormwood.
“Well, most people don’t like Severus. I don’t think anyone else liked him when I was at school.”
Lupin couldn’t disagree with that. Snape had never been an easily likeable man. But for Wormwood to have noticed, it would surely have to be more than that.
“I’ll talk to the Director. See what he says.”
Lupin borrowed a robe from Wormwood before heading off in search of Morven Mandragora, the Institute’s director. Lupin knew that Mandragora would not approve of his modern clothing, even if it had last been fashionable around 1930. Lupin knew that he may simply refuse to speak to him if he turned up inappropriately dressed.
The director was a rather intimidating man, as tall as Lupin, and just as scarred after a lifetime of handling dragons. He’d run the Institute for thirty years, taking over from a predecessor who was extremely traditional. Mandragora had kept some of the traditional ways – the formal robes and manner of address for example – while changing the Institute from a place where creatures were caged and studied to more of a refuge. Under his leadership, the Institute had taken in displaced house elves and werewolves, as well as dragons who were considered dangerous or untrainable.
He was known to have a temper which matched his large mane of curly red hair, and was equally incensed by cruelty, stupidity and incorrect use of apostrophes. He was also known to be fair and often generous. Behind his back, some staff even used the word “kind”. As a result, Lupin was completely uncertain what kind of reaction he would get as he knocked at the door of his office.
“Mr Lupin, good to see you.”
Mandragora welcomed Lupin into the office and returned to his desk with a sweep of his green velvet robes.
“Just on your own then? Mrs Tonks not with you?”
He director looked hopefully past Lupin. It appeared that he had some interest in making Andromeda wife number five. Mandragora was a shameless flirt, and Lupin had yet to determine whether his apparent pursuit of Andromeda was simply another case of that, or something more serious.
“Harry dropped me off. I needed to speak to Wormwood, and I realise that I need to speak to you as well.”
“I see. Speak on.”
“It’s about…er…Mr Snape.”
Lupin saw a frown appear between the bushy, ginger eyebrows.
“I’m sure Wormwood has explained Mr Snape’s situation.”
The director nodded, the frown accompanied by a thinning of his lips. Lupin went on, although he was beginning to think he’d made a mistake.
“He has been helping Wormwood in the potions lab. I believe you know that. Wormwood mentioned that when it came to ingredient preparation, he was very helpful, even though he wasn’t really capable of making potions. I wondered if he could help Wormwood more often.”
“You think Wormwood is unable to cope with his workload?”
Mandragora’s tone was accusing.
“No, not at all. He’s extremely capable and appears quite comfortable with all that he does. I… I was thinking of Mr Snape assisting… more for his benefit rather than Wormwood’s.”
Mandragora turned the full intensity of his gaze on Lupin.
“I see,” he said in a cold voice. He reached for a framed photograph of a grim looking woman. Lupin recognised her as Gertrude van Helsing, the director’s second wife. The only one he hadn’t divorced. They had been married twenty five years before her death.
“You are aware that my wife was killed in the first war?”
Lupin gave a slow nod, disconcerted by the conversation’s direction. Gertrude van Helsing had originally come from the Black Forest, from one of the hereditary werewolf families there. When the Director had returned to Britain with his bride, people had been scandalised. The couple had not cared. Gertrude had gone on to become a formidable leader among Britain’s werewolves. She had collaborated with Lupin’s father on the werewolf law reform which had so enraged Greyback, and made werewolves with nowhere else to go welcome at the Institute. She had been a vocal opponent of prejudice against any being or creature, including muggles. When the war came, her open opposition to Voldemort cost her her life.
“And are you aware that Snape was one of the death eaters involved in her murder?”
Lupin froze. Intellectually, he knew that Snape must have directly killed or been involved in the deaths of many people. But over the years that fact had become easier to put to the back of his mind. Now, he was faced with the reality. There were many people with cause to hate Snape, and Mandragora was one of them. It showed extraordinary generosity that the director had tolerated his regular visits so far.
“I’m sorry, sir. I didn’t know that.”
“No, I thought not. Wormwood doesn’t know. Nor does Lucretia obviously. I’d appreciate it if you didn’t tell them.”
The director’s face looked more sad than angry and he gave a deep sigh.
“They tortured her. Then they gave her poison. She died in agony. I’m sure I don’t need to remind you who it was that made You-know-who’s poisons and potions.”
Lupin shook his head, his face horrified.
“Since that time, no Mandragora has attended Hogwarts, because of his presence there.”
“I’m sorry for asking and bringing up those memories, sir. I won’t mention it again.”
Mandragora sat, looking at Lupin across his desk, with an unreadable expression. Finally, he spoke again.
“I understand that Snape was involved in the deaths of your friends, Harry’s parents.”
“He wasn’t… there, that night. But he gave Voldemort the prophecy which made them a target. So… yes.”
“And yet you and Harry have cared for him in your home.”
Lupin nodded, not sure what else to say.
“You’re very forgiving people.”
Lupin paused and thought. He seldom thought of Snape’s past – of what he had done as a young death eater, and what he had continued to do as Dumbledore’s spy. Snape never spoke of it, but Lupin knew it troubled him. Sometimes, mostly at night when he had woken from a nightmare, he hinted at some of the troubling memories. More rarely, Lupin, similarly troubled with his memories of days with Greyback, admitted to the same. Details were never shared, but each knew the other understood.
“I suppose it was a long time ago. He’s spent the rest of his life trying to make amends for that decision. What he’s suffered… and what drove him to Vo – you know – in the first place… I’ve known him most of my life.”
Lupin struggled to find the right words under the director’s intense scrutiny.
“You are a better man than me. As is young Mr Potter.”
Lupin looked up in surprise at Mandragora’s words.
“Gertrude did not hold grudges. She believed in forgiveness and redemption. Some of the werewolves she brought to the Institute… she even rehabilitated a vampire once… raised a few eyesbrows, I tell you… he’s living in the hills of Wales somewhere now, still drops by to say hello sometimes…”
The director sighed.
“I think I would be willing to have… Snape assist Mr Fox. I may not want to see him, but I cannot ignore his existence, or his need. I could not pay him more than an assistant’s wage for the hours he worked though.”
“You’d pay him?”
“I do not expect any being to work for nothing at the Institute. The werewolves and house elves who work here are paid. I admit to considering death eaters as something more along the lines of a boggart, but…”
Lupin nodded slowly. He didn’t know what to say in the face of such generosity.
“I… that is incredibly kind. Thank you. Thank you so much.”
Lupin and Mandragora looked at eachother across the desk, calm faces masking the turmoil each felt.
“Does he know, sir? About your wife? There is a lot he doesn’t remember, or remembers but... in fragments. His memory is quite disconnected.”
“I’m not sure. I haven’t spoken to him. I don’t intend to.”
Lupin nodded. Mandragora’s face had closed down and he realised it was time to end the conversation.
“Shall I let Wormwood know? That he can have a new assistant?”
The Director gave a sharp nod and Lupin left swiftly, realising that further words would be unwelcome.
