Veneficus for 30_wounds
Title: Veneficus
Rating: PG
Main Characters: Remus Lupin, Severus Snape
Pairings: None
Setting: Hogwarts, Marauders’ fifth year
Genre: Genfic
Word Count: 1,638
Warnings: mild language, mild mention of violence
Summary: What Remus Lupin wants, Remus Lupin gets.
Challenge: 30_wounds prompt #2 (sharp tongue)
Sirius has often accused Remus of being mad. After all, what sort of sane person huddles inside the stifling Gryffindor common room reading up on the practical application of Charms when the sun is shining and the lake is just begging to be leapt into? Remus has always taken his friends’ ribbings in stride, but he questions his own sanity as he rounds the corner and strides into the basement classroom where a particularly noxious Slytherin is working on a potion as vile and deadly as his famed glare.
“I - er -,” Remus begins hopelessly, choking in the translucent fumes that rise from floor to ceiling in the room. The deathly cold stare the other boy gives him does nothing to uncurl Remus’ tongue, but he stammers bravely onward. “I - ahem - Professor Slughorn said - in Potions - assistance.” He draws a deep breath and decides to start anew. “Excuse me, Severus?”
“What?!” Snape hisses through his teeth. “What do you want, Lupin?” He utters the name like a curse word and Remus can feel the short hairs on the back of his neck rise as he registers the tension between the two of them.
Aiming for a smile and arriving at an expression that more closely resembles a grimace, Remus steels himself and joins the other boy at the long table, upon which rests a number of cauldrons, mostly unused. Only two cauldrons have fires burning beneath them. One contains a lumpy, brownish sort of substance and gives off the scent of smoke and bile. The contents of the second cauldron, however, are far more intriguing. The milky liquid shimmers like opals and the scented steam rises and curls in a circular pattern. Leaning forward, Remus can smell the sweet odour of lilacs in full bloom, coupled with Sirius’ spicy aftershave and the scent of freshly printed book pages. He inhales deeply and hazards a guess.
“That isn’t - Amortentia?” Blimey, that’s complicated, he thinks but does not say.
Snape’s dark eyes flicker. For a moment his pride in his successful brewing is obvious, but then he crowds the table, shoving Remus away. “That would be plain even to a first year,” he snaps, exaggerating of course; he first came across the potion as a fourth year. “Now, I am no doubt correct in assuming you have nothing more pressing to attend to than gorging yourself on tonight’s pudding with those brainless buffoons you call friends, but I have important work to finish, so if you are through wasting my time, please go.” He stabs a finger in the direction of the door.
Ignoring Severus’ anger, Remus gestures towards the other cauldron, where the brown lumps have simmered into something viscous and black. “What is that one?”
“Nex Cruor,” says Severus cruelly. He flashes Remus a smile that turns him cold. “Want to try some?”
“No, but - is that a fifth year potion?” Remus frowns, feeling even more embarrassed about his mediocre Potions abilities. He has never been a talented brewer; his talents lie with the less subtle - and, to his mind, more useful - aspects of magic, like Charms, Transfiguration and Defence Against the Dark Arts. Still, he is a conscientious student and likes to think he can at least recognise the potions on their syllabus, if not successfully brew them.
“It is not, which even a Gryffindor with dung for brains would certainly know.”
Surrender has always been a part of Remus’ nature. Despite the wolf heart that beats within his breast, he is a consummate pacifist. Normally, Remus simply goes with the flow. He has often had to submit to the whims of others, and to fate, and usually he does so without a fight, but in this instance he stands his ground. It isn’t just his pride in his marks, although he does want to at least scrape an O.W.L. in the subject, nor is he particularly interested in potions themselves. Rather, he is fascinated by the elusive Slytherin none of his friends have ever gotten to know.
“So, what does it do?”
Losing all pretense of patience, Severus withdraws a heavy, ancient tome from his ratty knapsack and all but throws it at Remus, hitting him squarely in the chest. The book feels filthy in Remus’ hands, and old, not in the pleasant way of dog-eared library books, but rather like something slimy found mouldering in the attic. He turns it over gently and places it on the table so he can read the title, Extremum Vitae.
Not certain what that means, he flips open the first page, where he is confronted by an etching of a man bleeding from every orifice, bent double in pain and fear. The following pages are even more gruesome. A number of the drawings depict ghosts, all in agony, and there are further images of tormented witches and wizards. It is obviously a Dark Arts manual, and Remus wipes his hands hastily on his clothes as though to prevent infection. Typical of Snivellus, having that, Remus thinks, James’ callous nickname for the awkward Slytherin rising up unbidden from his mind. To Severus he says, “it has something to do with death, I take it?”
“Violent death,” Severus corrects him imperiously as he tosses a sprig of belladonna into the mix. Bits of red are visible on the potion’s surface. “Bloody violent.” He sneers at the potion’s surface, as if pleased by the idea.
“I had been wondering,” Remus pipes up, changing the subject to something more comfortable. “If you would be willing to tutor me. Oh, not for long - ” he adds quickly as Severus lifts his gaze from the cauldron, looking murderous. “Just until O.W.L.s.”
Severus snorts. “Why would I even consider such a ridiculous idea, Lupin? I must agree, watching you work your way through the destruction of a few more cauldrons would be mildly entertaining, but apart from that I see absolutely no reason to give you so much as the time of day, so get out and stop wasting my time.” He peers down his large nose at Remus, who looks stricken. “Even if I was inclined towards charity work, I would not select such a hopeless cause.”
“Does Slughorn know about this?” Remus asks suddenly, waving an arm to indicate the bubbling cauldron of Nex Cruor.
Severus pales slightly and Remus knows his shot has hit its mark. Remus is not a particularly devious young man - James and Sirius are the true masters at manipulation - but he also is not a fool, and he knows the best way to get what he wants. His conscience is also untroubled by the veiled threat, seeing as how his victim is Snape, who has never passed up an opportunity to torment him.
“You wouldn’t,” Snape breathes nastily.
“Wouldn’t what?” says Remus, innocently. He fans the fumes from the Amortentia against his face and inhales deeply, enjoying the pleasant aroma. “Amortentia is the most powerful love potion in the world, right? Highly illegal, unless I’m mistaken. I was under the impression it wasn’t taught until N.E.W.T. level, and even then, it’s highly regulated. Now, I’m not certain about this,” he continues, jabbing a thumb towards the Nex Cruor, “but I doubt Slughorn would give even his favourite student permission to make something that causes a violent death. I guess you must be really advanced, for him to allow you to brew these things.”
He cannot help it, he smirks at Severus’ shocked face.
“Oh, I suppose I’ll leave you to it, then,” feints Remus, moving languidly towards the door. “Pity, I’d have liked to learn a bit more about those. Well, I guess I can ask Slughorn about them tomorrow. I’m supposed to report back about my success finding a tutor. I guess I’ll have to find Fawcett, he’s always interested in a bit more pocket money.” He pauses to take in Severus’ expression, which is one of pure horror, hatred and - inexplicably - awe. Then he swoops through the doorway.
“Wait!”
The cry comes before Remus has even stepped out into the hall. Gracefully, he tilts his head back, peering through the open doorway, his eyes wide and supremely innocent. “Yes?” he asks in his best prefect’s voice.
“I’ll do it,” Snape spits, curling his bony hands into fists. Behind him the cauldrons simmer, urgently throwing smoke.
Unable to resist, Remus blinks, pretending confusion; once, twice, and then, “I’m sorry, what was that, Severus? I’m afraid I didn’t hear you properly.”
Severus grips his wand so hard it seems it might shatter. “I said, I’ll tutor you,” he seethes. “Until the end of the year - and only the end of the year, you understand me, Lupin? You’re not to breathe a word to your ignorant friends either; I’m not helping Black score an O on his Potions O.W.L. for all the galleons in Gringott’s. And if I hear so much as a word whispered between you and Slughorn about - about this -” he turns towards his illicit potions, shaking. “I swear to Merlin, I’ll make you pay.”
“Of course,” Remus agrees readily, unconcerned, though Severus flashes him a menacing look and clutches a dipper-full of Nex Cruor as if preparing to poison him. “Does Tuesday work for you?”
“Tuesday,” Severus confirms, so angry he can barely utter the word. His voice shakes. “After supper.”
“I’m looking forward to it,” Remus informs him lightly, restraining a snicker with some difficulty when Severus blanches. He takes one last deep breath, holding the scent of Amortentia in his lungs and closing his eyes a little at the pleasure it brings him. Then he goes. As he moves down the corridor he hears a number of unexpected thuds and ricocheting bangs, as if Severus is throwing things around the room.
“Fucking Gryffindor,” comes Severus’ anguished, infuriated voice, and Remus ascends the stairs to Gryffindor tower with a smile.
Rating: PG
Main Characters: Remus Lupin, Severus Snape
Pairings: None
Setting: Hogwarts, Marauders’ fifth year
Genre: Genfic
Word Count: 1,638
Warnings: mild language, mild mention of violence
Summary: What Remus Lupin wants, Remus Lupin gets.
Challenge: 30_wounds prompt #2 (sharp tongue)
Sirius has often accused Remus of being mad. After all, what sort of sane person huddles inside the stifling Gryffindor common room reading up on the practical application of Charms when the sun is shining and the lake is just begging to be leapt into? Remus has always taken his friends’ ribbings in stride, but he questions his own sanity as he rounds the corner and strides into the basement classroom where a particularly noxious Slytherin is working on a potion as vile and deadly as his famed glare.
“I - er -,” Remus begins hopelessly, choking in the translucent fumes that rise from floor to ceiling in the room. The deathly cold stare the other boy gives him does nothing to uncurl Remus’ tongue, but he stammers bravely onward. “I - ahem - Professor Slughorn said - in Potions - assistance.” He draws a deep breath and decides to start anew. “Excuse me, Severus?”
“What?!” Snape hisses through his teeth. “What do you want, Lupin?” He utters the name like a curse word and Remus can feel the short hairs on the back of his neck rise as he registers the tension between the two of them.
Aiming for a smile and arriving at an expression that more closely resembles a grimace, Remus steels himself and joins the other boy at the long table, upon which rests a number of cauldrons, mostly unused. Only two cauldrons have fires burning beneath them. One contains a lumpy, brownish sort of substance and gives off the scent of smoke and bile. The contents of the second cauldron, however, are far more intriguing. The milky liquid shimmers like opals and the scented steam rises and curls in a circular pattern. Leaning forward, Remus can smell the sweet odour of lilacs in full bloom, coupled with Sirius’ spicy aftershave and the scent of freshly printed book pages. He inhales deeply and hazards a guess.
“That isn’t - Amortentia?” Blimey, that’s complicated, he thinks but does not say.
Snape’s dark eyes flicker. For a moment his pride in his successful brewing is obvious, but then he crowds the table, shoving Remus away. “That would be plain even to a first year,” he snaps, exaggerating of course; he first came across the potion as a fourth year. “Now, I am no doubt correct in assuming you have nothing more pressing to attend to than gorging yourself on tonight’s pudding with those brainless buffoons you call friends, but I have important work to finish, so if you are through wasting my time, please go.” He stabs a finger in the direction of the door.
Ignoring Severus’ anger, Remus gestures towards the other cauldron, where the brown lumps have simmered into something viscous and black. “What is that one?”
“Nex Cruor,” says Severus cruelly. He flashes Remus a smile that turns him cold. “Want to try some?”
“No, but - is that a fifth year potion?” Remus frowns, feeling even more embarrassed about his mediocre Potions abilities. He has never been a talented brewer; his talents lie with the less subtle - and, to his mind, more useful - aspects of magic, like Charms, Transfiguration and Defence Against the Dark Arts. Still, he is a conscientious student and likes to think he can at least recognise the potions on their syllabus, if not successfully brew them.
“It is not, which even a Gryffindor with dung for brains would certainly know.”
Surrender has always been a part of Remus’ nature. Despite the wolf heart that beats within his breast, he is a consummate pacifist. Normally, Remus simply goes with the flow. He has often had to submit to the whims of others, and to fate, and usually he does so without a fight, but in this instance he stands his ground. It isn’t just his pride in his marks, although he does want to at least scrape an O.W.L. in the subject, nor is he particularly interested in potions themselves. Rather, he is fascinated by the elusive Slytherin none of his friends have ever gotten to know.
“So, what does it do?”
Losing all pretense of patience, Severus withdraws a heavy, ancient tome from his ratty knapsack and all but throws it at Remus, hitting him squarely in the chest. The book feels filthy in Remus’ hands, and old, not in the pleasant way of dog-eared library books, but rather like something slimy found mouldering in the attic. He turns it over gently and places it on the table so he can read the title, Extremum Vitae.
Not certain what that means, he flips open the first page, where he is confronted by an etching of a man bleeding from every orifice, bent double in pain and fear. The following pages are even more gruesome. A number of the drawings depict ghosts, all in agony, and there are further images of tormented witches and wizards. It is obviously a Dark Arts manual, and Remus wipes his hands hastily on his clothes as though to prevent infection. Typical of Snivellus, having that, Remus thinks, James’ callous nickname for the awkward Slytherin rising up unbidden from his mind. To Severus he says, “it has something to do with death, I take it?”
“Violent death,” Severus corrects him imperiously as he tosses a sprig of belladonna into the mix. Bits of red are visible on the potion’s surface. “Bloody violent.” He sneers at the potion’s surface, as if pleased by the idea.
“I had been wondering,” Remus pipes up, changing the subject to something more comfortable. “If you would be willing to tutor me. Oh, not for long - ” he adds quickly as Severus lifts his gaze from the cauldron, looking murderous. “Just until O.W.L.s.”
Severus snorts. “Why would I even consider such a ridiculous idea, Lupin? I must agree, watching you work your way through the destruction of a few more cauldrons would be mildly entertaining, but apart from that I see absolutely no reason to give you so much as the time of day, so get out and stop wasting my time.” He peers down his large nose at Remus, who looks stricken. “Even if I was inclined towards charity work, I would not select such a hopeless cause.”
“Does Slughorn know about this?” Remus asks suddenly, waving an arm to indicate the bubbling cauldron of Nex Cruor.
Severus pales slightly and Remus knows his shot has hit its mark. Remus is not a particularly devious young man - James and Sirius are the true masters at manipulation - but he also is not a fool, and he knows the best way to get what he wants. His conscience is also untroubled by the veiled threat, seeing as how his victim is Snape, who has never passed up an opportunity to torment him.
“You wouldn’t,” Snape breathes nastily.
“Wouldn’t what?” says Remus, innocently. He fans the fumes from the Amortentia against his face and inhales deeply, enjoying the pleasant aroma. “Amortentia is the most powerful love potion in the world, right? Highly illegal, unless I’m mistaken. I was under the impression it wasn’t taught until N.E.W.T. level, and even then, it’s highly regulated. Now, I’m not certain about this,” he continues, jabbing a thumb towards the Nex Cruor, “but I doubt Slughorn would give even his favourite student permission to make something that causes a violent death. I guess you must be really advanced, for him to allow you to brew these things.”
He cannot help it, he smirks at Severus’ shocked face.
“Oh, I suppose I’ll leave you to it, then,” feints Remus, moving languidly towards the door. “Pity, I’d have liked to learn a bit more about those. Well, I guess I can ask Slughorn about them tomorrow. I’m supposed to report back about my success finding a tutor. I guess I’ll have to find Fawcett, he’s always interested in a bit more pocket money.” He pauses to take in Severus’ expression, which is one of pure horror, hatred and - inexplicably - awe. Then he swoops through the doorway.
“Wait!”
The cry comes before Remus has even stepped out into the hall. Gracefully, he tilts his head back, peering through the open doorway, his eyes wide and supremely innocent. “Yes?” he asks in his best prefect’s voice.
“I’ll do it,” Snape spits, curling his bony hands into fists. Behind him the cauldrons simmer, urgently throwing smoke.
Unable to resist, Remus blinks, pretending confusion; once, twice, and then, “I’m sorry, what was that, Severus? I’m afraid I didn’t hear you properly.”
Severus grips his wand so hard it seems it might shatter. “I said, I’ll tutor you,” he seethes. “Until the end of the year - and only the end of the year, you understand me, Lupin? You’re not to breathe a word to your ignorant friends either; I’m not helping Black score an O on his Potions O.W.L. for all the galleons in Gringott’s. And if I hear so much as a word whispered between you and Slughorn about - about this -” he turns towards his illicit potions, shaking. “I swear to Merlin, I’ll make you pay.”
“Of course,” Remus agrees readily, unconcerned, though Severus flashes him a menacing look and clutches a dipper-full of Nex Cruor as if preparing to poison him. “Does Tuesday work for you?”
“Tuesday,” Severus confirms, so angry he can barely utter the word. His voice shakes. “After supper.”
“I’m looking forward to it,” Remus informs him lightly, restraining a snicker with some difficulty when Severus blanches. He takes one last deep breath, holding the scent of Amortentia in his lungs and closing his eyes a little at the pleasure it brings him. Then he goes. As he moves down the corridor he hears a number of unexpected thuds and ricocheting bangs, as if Severus is throwing things around the room.
“Fucking Gryffindor,” comes Severus’ anguished, infuriated voice, and Remus ascends the stairs to Gryffindor tower with a smile.