FIC: Without Drug or Herb (1/2)
Severus blamed the entire thing on the International Society for Medicinal Brewing, and the fact they held their annual conference in Salem that year. Had they chosen somewhere on the Continent, as they had every year previously, there wouldn’t have been such a large contingent of potions masters from the American Southwest. There wouldn’t have been a panel discussion on American Indian herbal remedies. And then Severus would have never had his revelation, twenty minutes later, in the loo.
“Dear Merlin - it’s a poison.”
“Pardon?” The portly French wizard at the next urinal looked up in alarm.
“A poison, and it’s killing him.” Severus was already at the sink, splashing water all over the counter in his haste.
“Monsieur, who -?” The Frenchman’s voice was cut off as Severus allowed the door to swing shut behind him. He had no time for inane questions, even from a colleague. Anyway, he could not have answered them coherently - his mind was abuzz with new ideas.
The witches and wizards standing in the lobby of the conference center had looked stunned. It would later filter back to Severus that the rest of the conference had been filled with gossip about his forceful stride, his determined scowl. His fellow brewers would spend the next few days speculating about what had set a fire underneath the dour man’s cauldron. Many would observe that he had not been so animated since his near-death experience - rather, since the war.
Few were willing to voice an opinion about whether or not this was a good thing.
--
“Bleeeeeeargh.”
“No need to be so dramatic.” Severus snatched the goblet back and slammed it on the potions-stained table. The sound of pewter striking pine resonated through his impromptu lab. The basement walls in his childhood home did nothing to absorb sound. Severus felt a pang of nostalgia for his dungeon chambers at Hogwarts, and immediately suppressed it with a scowl.
“My apologies, Severus.” Lupin wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “But you must be the only potions master alive who could’ve made Wolfsbane taste worse.”
Severus conjured a glass of water and handed it over. Lupin opened his mouth to speak, but Severus forestalled any conversation by turning back his notes, spread out on the table beside him. Picking up the fountain pen that had been Minerva’s last Christmas gift, he opened his diary to the appropriate day and began to write.
30 May
Subject dosed with 415 mL of WB Variant 6 at 15:20. He complains of taste, per usual - take this to mean no extraneous side effects. He remains conscious and in irritatingly good spirits.
Severus cast a few charms to record Lupin’s heart rate and blood pressure. He was pleased to see they were well within normal limits. An auditory enhancement charm on himself allowed him to detect clear breath sounds in both of Lupin’s lungs. Finally, Severus had Lupin remove his shirt to search for any signs of rash. Lupin shivered as Severus inspected a dry patch of skin on his right pectoral muscle.
“Are you feeling chilled?”
“No,” Lupin shrugged, dislodging Severus prodding finger. “A goose walked over my grave.”
“Indeed. That will be all for today, Lupin. Remember: nothing but clear liquids until moonrise.”
Lupin pulled his shirt back on and smiled. “If you wanted to go out for a drink, you only had to ask.”
Severus blinked. “I meant non-alcoholic liquids.”
That bright smile faltered, but refused to fade. “One drink. I’ll have water. You can have whatever you like, my treat.”
Severus snorted dismissively and turned to show Lupin out.
At the door, Lupin laid a hand on Severus’ sleeve. “What are you doing Saturday?”
“Draco has a book signing.”
“At Flourish and Blotts?”
“Endpapers, on Knockturn.”
“Oh?” Lupin didn’t bat an eye. “Perhaps I’ll see you there.”
“Perhaps.” He had meant to sound forbidding, but Lupin seemed completely unaffected. With a roguish wink, he stepped just outside of Severus’ wards and disapparated. After a few moments, Severus closed his door and returned to his notes.
Subject displays increased gregariousness, possibly due to a chemical imbalance.
Severus considered striking that line. But he knew from experience that the smallest observation could prove useful, even crucial, to the success of an experiment. With that in mind, he flipped to the beginning of this diary and read his first notes on the case. His handwriting had been jerky, as he had still been recuperating at St. Mungo’s when he heard the news of Lupin’s diagnosis.
14 August
8 am - Healer Pye visits, reports “progress,” per usual. Patronizing fool.
10am -Aurors in hallway gossiping about Lupin. Apparently, he has been brought in to see Healer Jahiri (cardiology?).
1pm - Pea soup, again. When I escape this wretched place at last, I will Crucio the kitchen staff. Well worth the life sentence in Azkaban.
3pm - Pye tells me Lupin was diagnosed with chronic cardiac decompensation - clearly patient confidentiality does not extend to werewolves. CCD attributed to death ten-hour coma during Battle of Hogwarts. Poppycock.
He had always disliked Augustus Pye - he had been one of Severus’ first pupils, a snotty little Ravenclaw with a penchant for haphazard experimentation. When Pye had qualified for NEWTs level Potions, with an eye towards Healer training, Severus had done everything in his power to discourage him. But the brat prevailed, and went on to rise in the ranks at St. Mungo’s with shocking alacrity. Severus flipped forward to the day Pye’s article on Lupin’s ordeal had been published in Potions Monthly.
27 December
“Limits of Lycantrophy: A case study of CCD in a middle-aged werewolf.” A. Pye, 1998.
Lupin and I are hardly middle-aged.
Several presuppositions reflect basic misunderstanding of werewolf physiology. He must have based this off Belby’s early work, or that Czech consortium. Completely ignores Chakravarthi et al, 1997 and that American witch (name escapes me). Sloppily researched, poorly written, a specious conclusion - it will probably win a Golden Cauldron this year.
4pm - Draco will not be put off this biography idea of his. Claims he will write it, with or without my consent. Screaming row, wands drawn, etc - I tire of these confrontations. Let him do as he will, damn him.
This note momentarily derailed him. The younger Malfoy had discovered that working under a nom de plume had been one of his only career choices after the war, and had taken writing historical non-fiction. Severus agreed to be the subject of Draco’s latest book, but insisted on keeping his own notes of each conversation. As such, the next few months of Severus’ diary were filled with history that he’d rather not relive. Skipping forward, he reviewed his first entry after his revelation at the conference.
11 March
Werewolf cardiovascular system rearranged on a monthly basis - a coma could not cause CCD. Idiot Pye! WOLFSBANE IS POISON. Long-term exposure to toxins! Solution - restoratives.
Lightfoot, 1998 - American herbals: minimal interactive effects - further study - VARIANT.
Severus’ notes from that point on devolved to a long list of plants mentioned during Lightfoot’s talk that morning. He eventually pared down the list to three key ingredients: agrimony to purify the blood, solomon’s seal to decrease inflammation, and the cardiac stimulant known as rattle root. Eventually he decided to also include wood betony, as Lupin often complained of headaches post-transformation.
Had it not been for the war, Severus could have written several articles about the modifications he had made while supplying Lupin, and then Fenrir Greyback, with the potion. And since Damoceles Belby had gone mad from huffing potion fumes earlier that year, Severus was now the leading authority on Wolfsbane. He was looking forward to publishing his own case study, and rubbing Pye’s sanctimonious face in it.
And if he had to spend more time with Remus Lupin than he had since their sixth year at Hogwarts, it was a sacrifice he was willing to make.
--
Endpapers was completely unlike it’s competitor on Diagon Alley. It was little more than a dark corridor lined with shelves, crammed between the apothecary and a dragon hide outfitter. While Flourish and Blotts stocked an expansive collection, most titles available through Endpapers had to be special-ordered and delivered to one’s home in unmarked boxes. The air inside was stale from the numerous charms cast to protect the merchandise from the dank Knockturn Alley air. That it was able to turn a profit at all was proof the owner had a few unadvertised services helping to keep his shop afloat. Nevertheless, Draco had leapt at the chance to do a book signing in the shop’s dingy backroom. He would never say as much to Severus, but the older wizard suspected that more respectable book sellers wouldn’t touch his biography with a ten-foot pole.
The worst part of it was that Draco’s book, Unvarnished Truth, was actually quite good. The small crowd of hags and warlocks were hanging on his every word as he read aloud,
“Slughorn, being more concerned with cultivating connections than with actually teaching Potions, would overlook Snape’s budding talent. It was this very disregard that encouraged Snape to question his professor, and to begin his first experiments with -”
“He was an arsehole, anyway.”
Severus had been looking at the door, but somehow missed Lupin’s approach. Years of suppressing his emotional responses allowed him to turn and regard the other man coolly.
“How did you recognize me?” Severus was currently Polyjuiced to look like his Muggle mailman, a swarthy foreigner with a potbelly.
To his consternation, Lupin merely waggled his eyebrows. Severus quickly changed tacks.
“What are you doing here?”
“Told you I’d come. Besides, I thought I’d find out what the man of the hour was doing tonight.”
“You’re a bit old for him, don’t you think?”
Lupin laughed and, to Severus’ shock and dismay, slid and arm around his (rather portly) waist. “C’mon, Severus. I know of a great curry place -”
“Unhand me at once!” Severus cried, leaping away. “What can you be thinking?”
Directly in front of them, a wizard with thick glasses and flyaway hair shot them a glare over his shoulder. Lupin, damn him, giggled. “This reminds me of being back in Hogwarts, passing notes during Ancient Runes,” he murmured, leaning closer than strictly necessary.
Bewildered, Severus elbowed him in the ribs and took a step back. Lupin followed smoothly and soon enough Severus was cornered. He considered hexing the werewolf, but it would cause no end of trouble for Draco if a brawl erupted in the middle of his promotional event.
“What’s your game?”
“No game, I’m just -” Lupin’s nostrils flared, scenting the air “- inviting you out to dinner.”
“While sniffing me?”
Lupin laid a hand on the wall next to Severus’ shoulder. “Sorry, but … what kind of cologne are you wearing?”
Severus raised the cuff of his sleeve to his nose and took a whiff. “Leech juice.”
“Hmm. Tangy.”
All of a sudden, Severus realized what was going on. The increasingly persistent overtures, the disregard for personal space, the suggestive remarks… He cursed himself for not seeing it sooner.
Lupin had been drugged.
“Listen to me carefully,” Severus muttered, already running through lists of antidotes. “Have you consumed anything in the past hour with an unusual taste, smell or texture?”
“Nothing since a bite of toast this morning, actually. Want to duck out for a minute, have a cup of tea?”
That ruled out a non-specific novelty concoction, like those peddled by George Weasley and his ilk. On the other hand, Severus highly doubted that anyone would have access to enough of his hair, skin or nails to create a potion specifically to make Lupin fawn all over him. Which meant ... which meant…
“I have to go.”
Ignoring both Lupin’s protests and Draco’s surprised call, Severus fled. Within minutes he had apparated directly into his study and was tearing through his notes like a madman. And there, at the bottom of a list of suppliers in America, was a reminder to himself that he had foolishly overlooked.
Possible side-effects?
--
Nightfall found Severus hunched in his father’s favorite armchair, puffing a cigarette and staring into the blazing fire. His grand experiment, failed. His chance at reclaiming his reputation, ruined. If he were the kind of person to numb himself with alcohol, this would have been the time.
In his earlier haste, he had let textbook after textbook fall where they may. The floor of his sitting room was a peculiar battlefield, littered with open tomes like fallen bodies. Here, a torn page. There, a spine that was clearly broken. A black stain was seeping into the pages of the book nearest his left foot - he had dropped it next to his overturned inkpot. He felt a twinge of remorse for his literary comrades. None of them deserved this debasement. The fault was entirely Severus’.
He had been blinded by the novelty of the New World herbs and his own foolish pride. Relying on the most recent literature, he had neglected to investigate the historical precedents. If he had simply consulted brewers from America, they could’ve warned him off this entire doomed enterprise.
Closing his eyes for even a moment allowed his photographic memory to taunt him with the damning passages.
Also known as “squaw root,” rattle root has an estrogenic effect.
Solomon’s seal, a potent aphrodisiac, is one of the eight root herbs used to treat infertility.
Try arimony to embolden the long-suffering man to express himself.
The synergistic effects of the first two explained Lupin’s dilated pupils, increased heart rate and labored breathing in Severus’ presence. This is turn reversed agrimony’s effect, as Lupin’s natural tendencies were supplanted by induced attraction. Even the known entity, wood betony, had betrayed him.
European wizards use wood betony as a simple nervine, but in Indian Love Medicine it takes on a different connotation. A man will carry these snapdragon blooms with him when visiting the one he admires, to make his intentions known.
Somehow, quite by accident, Severus had brewed a love potion.
With a sigh, he banished the butt of the cigarette and rose. There was no point in this petty sulking. He repaired the damaged books and banished the refuse of quills, scraps of parchment, and spilt ink. When the room was once again tidy, he set about cleaning up the even bigger mess - Lupin.
The restoratives were meant to linger in the werewolf’s system long after Wolfsbane had been metabolized. However, their effects should gradually fade to trace amounts around Lupin’s next transformation. Severus would put Lupin back on standard Wolfsbane, and by the morning after the full Lupin should be able to throw off the last effects of the love potion. But there was no sense in delaying the inevitable.
Pulling the tattered shreds of his dignity around him like a cloak, he fire called Lupin.
“Severus! What a delightful surprise.” Lupin’s face beamed at him from the flames.
“Lupin. There’s something we need to discuss.”
“Of course. Please, come through.”
Severus hesitated for moment, before reaching for the Floo powder. Best to do this in person - people under the effects of a love potion could be extremely volatile. In a moment he was bumping his head against Lupin’s low mantelpiece.
“So sorry,” Lupin said, reaching forward to help Severus out of the fireplace. “I keep meaning to have that raised.”
He tolerated Lupin’s hand on his elbow for a moment, before disengaging himself. This was not the first time he had been in Lupin’s home, but he took a moment to look around. Lupin’s modest flat was filled with bookshelves and worn furniture - much like Severus’ house on Spinner’s End. The key difference was that Lupin’s walls were lined with a multitude of wizarding photographs. They depicted everything from Molly and Arthur Weasley’s anniversary party to a group shot of Lupin’s NEWTs level DADA class. Severus’ own walls were filled with empty landscapes.
“Lupin,” Severus adjusted a framed picture of Lily and Lupin as sixth years, trying to collect his thoughts.
“If this is about what happened this afternoon, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to distress you.”
“I was not distressed,” Severus sneered.
“Oh? Good.” Lupin motioned for Severus to take a seat on the couch, and then settled next to him. “What did you want to talk about?”
“The Wolfsbane variant, of course. There has been a complication -”
“I’m happy to try a new formulation,” Lupin said, propping his elbow beside Severus’ shoulder and leaning his head on his hand. His expression was almost … fond.
“You misunderstand me. I am discontinuing the experiment,” Severus began, only to be startled into silence when Lupin extended his arm across the back of the couch.
“Come on, Severus. You’re the preeminent potions master of our time, you’ll figure something out.”
“Hmph.” It was absurd, but Severus could feel color rising to his face.
“Was that the only reason you came over?”
Lupin’s tone was curious, with a hint of desire. No had ever spoken to Severus in such a tone - well, who would? It was humiliating, but he found himself unable to protest as Lupin inched closer.
“Severus…” Lupin murmured, lips barely brushing Severus’ as he spoke.
“Stop -”
It was too little, too late. Lupin’s mouth, warm and slightly parted, descended. Severus could feel the flush of his face spreading through his head and neck as Lupin coaxed him to respond. Several minutes later, it took the feeling of Lupin’s strong hand clasping his knee to jolt Severus back into awareness.
Grabbing two handfuls of Lupin’s threadbare shirt, Severus pushed the werewolf away. He was distracted from an angry retort by the hungry look on Lupin’s face. Suddenly he realized that, if he allowed it, Lupin would take him to bed tonight.
“Let me up,” he commanded.
Lupin chuckled and gently tugged Severus’ hands off his shirt. He then stood and offered Severus his hand to rise from the couch. Batting him away, Severus stood and needlessly smoothed his robes.
“Can we- can I see you again?”
No. Leave me alone. “You’re free to do as you wish.”
“Wonderful,” Lupin smiled widely. He led the way to the fire place and chivalrously called up Severus’ destination. Just as Severus was ducking into the green flames, Lupin tugged him back for a long, smoldering kiss. A moment later, the Floo spat Severus back out onto his own hearth rug.
Severus sat there for a moment, his mind still awhirl. He brought a hand to his mouth to feel how tender his lips had become. He clenched that hand into a fist.
He had an antidote to brew.
TBC