Chapter Text
༺༒༻
The dungeon was a haven of silence. The walls of dark stone seemed to absorb all sound, leaving only the faint drip of condensation and the occasional crackle of a bubbling cauldron. Severus Snape sat at his desk, his quill scratching against parchment as he marked a stack of essays. The students, as usual, had outdone themselves in stupidity.
“When in doubt, add more dragon dung fertiliser,” Snape read aloud. “Ingenious. Why not try throwing in a unicorn hair while you’re at it and see if you explode your classmates?” He set the parchment down and rubbed his temples.
He glanced around the room, his eyes sweeping over the shelves lined with jars of strange ingredients: eyes of newt, powdered root of asphodel, crushed snake fangs. This was his world, the only place he truly belonged. Here, he was in control. Here, no one could surprise him.
A knock on the door shattered the stillness.
Snape froze. No one came to his dungeon in the evening. He frowned, irritation curling in his chest, and stood, his robes swirling around him as he strode to the door.
He wrenched it open, prepared to deliver a cutting remark, but the words died on his lips when he saw who was standing there.
“Lupin,” he said, his tone sharp and cold.
Remus Lupin stood in the doorway, his face weary but composed. His robes, as usual, were frayed and patched in places, though he carried himself with a quiet dignity that Snape found infuriating.
“Good evening, Severus,” Lupin said politely, as if he hadn’t noticed the hostility in Snape’s tone.
“What do you want?” Snape asked curtly, crossing his arms and blocking the doorway.
Lupin hesitated, his hands slipping into his pockets. “I need a favour. A potion, to be precise.”
Snape’s eyes narrowed. “What potion could you possibly need from me, Lupin? Surely there’s some exotic tea you could brew that would cure whatever minor ailment you’ve come down with.”
Lupin gave him a faint smile, though it didn’t reach his eyes. “It’s not a minor ailment. I need Wolfsbane.”
───── ༺ ♰ ༻ ─────
Snape’s expression didn’t change, but his eyes gleamed with something. Contempt? Triumph? It was impossible to say.
“Wolfsbane,” Snape repeated, his voice laced with derision. “And why, pray tell, should I waste my time brewing it for you?”
“Because you’re the only one who can,” Lupin replied simply.
Snape stared at him, his black eyes searching for arrogance, entitlement, anything that would justify slamming the door in his face. But there was none. Lupin stood before him with quiet resolve, his shoulders squared, his expression calm but tinged with weariness.
“And if I refuse?” Snape asked, his voice dangerously soft.
Lupin met his gaze evenly. “Then I’ll find another way. But it’s difficult to brew, and I can’t afford a mistake. I’d rather trust someone as skilled as you.”
Snape’s lip curled into something that wasn’t quite a smile. “Flattery, Lupin? You must be desperate.”
“I am,” Lupin said softly, his tone free of pride or defiance.
The honesty in his voice made Snape pause. He hated this feeling, this unwelcome tug of something that might have been pity. Lupin had always been different from his friends—less cruel, less smug—but he had still been complicit in their cruelty. Snape had every reason to refuse him, every right to turn him away.
But he didn’t.
“Fine,” Snape said at last, his voice clipped. “I’ll brew it. But don’t mistake this for charity. I expect you to pay for the ingredients, and you’ll leave me alone unless absolutely necessary. Do you understand?”
“Perfectly,” Lupin said, inclining his head. “Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me,” Snape snapped.
He stepped aside to let Lupin enter, his movements sharp and precise. Lupin entered the dungeon with quiet steps, his eyes flicking over the shelves and cauldrons with something like curiosity.
“I see the dungeon hasn’t changed much,” he said after a moment, his tone light.
“I’ve no time for your idle observations,” Snape said, brushing past him. “If you’re going to stand there like a lump, you may as well make yourself useful. Fetch the silver knife from that shelf.”
Lupin complied without protest, handing Snape the knife without comment, his hands steady despite the tension in the room. Snape set to work immediately, his movements precise and deliberate as he chopped and measured ingredients.
Lupin watched in silence, his expression thoughtful.
“You’re very skilled,” he said after a while.
Snape didn’t look up. “I don’t need your validation, Lupin.”
“It wasn’t validation,” Lupin replied. “Merely an observation.”
Snape’s hands stilled briefly before resuming their work. “Then observe quietly.”
Lupin inclined his head in acknowledgment, though Snape wasn’t looking.
The silence stretched on, broken only by the bubbling of the cauldron and the soft scrape of the silver knife. Lupin didn’t speak again, and Snape was grateful for it.
When the potion was finished, Snape ladled it into a vial and handed it to Lupin. Their fingers brushed briefly, and Snape pulled his hand back as though burned.
“One dose,” he said. “You’ll need to return in a week for the next.”
“Thank you,” Lupin took the vial and tucked it carefully into his pocket. “I’ll see you then.”
Snape said nothing. He watched as Lupin turned and left the dungeon, his shabby robes trailing behind him. When the door closed, Snape let out a deep breath.
He returned to his desk, but the essays in front of him suddenly seemed more insufferable than they had before.