Aconite and Pudding
a Harry Potter story
by Magic Toes 11
- 1: Aconite -
"And so, it's only natural that you can replace squid ink with needleworm stingers when making a stain-removing potion. In fact, I think needleworms are infinitely more effective."
"That's a very interesting theory, Severus. Five points to Slytherin for Mr. Snape's brilliant explanation on a more practical use for needleworms. I think, perhaps, we'll put that theory to the test today."
It's only ten minutes into Double Potions, and I'm already bored to tears.
Today's class should have been a piece of cake. Due to an unfortunate, explosive cauldron accident the day before, Professor Purpuri, our usual Potions Master, had been set to take the day off to have the resulting six-inch talking mole removed from the side of his cheek.
Our substitute is an adjunct professor by the name of Lucy Sloop, a dizzy, frizzy-haired witch who looks as if she herself has been the victim of one too many cauldron explosions. And, while normally a substitute would have been welcome fodder, my best mate James Potter and I had found our dreams of pranking and mischief quickly doused the moment we entered the classroom.
Professor Purpuri must have warned her about us beforehand, as James and I had been forced to empty our pockets of dungbombs and skin-dyeing chocolates the once we'd walked in the door. She'd had the audacity to take points from House Gryffindor, much to our dismay, and `rewarded' us with busywork for the day that she "originally hadn't planned to give," she had sighed dramatically. "But since the two of you seem intent to disrupt this class, I'm forced to find something more constructive to occupy your time. You will be graded on this."
Now -- with all of Gryffindor angry at us for giving them busywork, and our Slytherin classmates eagerly taking advantage of the opportunity to show off their so-called 'Potions prowess' to gain house points -- I sit listlessly at the long table next to James, as Professor Sloop begins a dull monologue on the most effective means to mix together a stain-removing potion, hardly a challenge to us fifth-years. To my right, I can see that James is equally as thrilled as I am, his chin in his hand and eyes starting to flutter behind his glasses.
"James? Oi, Prongsy, wake up," I whisper, giving him a sharp nudge with my elbow. There's no way I'm allowing him to leave me to face this torture alone.
James snorts, jerking awake with a start, and he glares at me. "Dammit, Sirius. I was having a nice dream, too."
"You were, were you?"
"Of course. I was far away from here, for one. And Lily Evans was rubbing my feet, for another."
"I can't believe it," I say beneath my breath, ignoring James' pining over our red-headed housemate. "We're doing work. With a substitute. Stain-removing potion, my arse. A group of first years could make a better potion."
"I'm trying to block it out. Too bad Remus and Peter haven't made it to class. They're missing out on such incredible fun... Without Remus here, we're probably going to take our own notes!"
"Great. Your handwriting's is as much of a disaster as your hair. Where are Remus and Peter, anyway?" I ask with a roll of my eyes, glancing at the two empty seats at our usual table.
As if in answer to my question, the dimmed fireplace at the front of the room suddenly roars to life. A spinning figure appears within the flames, swiftly slowing to a halt, and our partner in crime, Remus Lupin emerges from the swirling ash with a loud sneeze.
"Eh... Huh-chuuh! Excuse me," he murmurs, rubbing self-consciously at his nose as he approaches the front desk, a rolled parchment in his hand. "I'm sorry I'm late. I have a pass from the hospital wing."
Professor Sloop takes the parchment from Remus' hand, unrolls it, and reads it to herself, while he stands at the front of the class brushing ash from his robes. She looks him up and down, as if checking his pockets for any unusual bulges or other incriminating items. "Yes, yes, you may take your seat. Look over James and Cyrus' notes, if they've managed to take any, in their many breaks from whispering to each other."
The rest of the class sniggers, and I feel my ears beginning to burn with anger. I can't stand it when people mispronounce my name... But it gives Remus the chance to dash to his seat without drawing any further attention to himself, just the way he likes it.
"Hospital wing?" James whispers, as the frizzy-haired adjunct heads into the back to retrieve the potions' ingredients for the session.
Remus digs through his backpack upon the ground, producing his quill and some neatly rolled parchment. "It wasn't me. I had to take Peter. He overdid it on the bubotuber pus."
"Again?" I mutter, raising both brows.
"Again." Remus smiles faintly and sniffles, rubbing his nose with the edge of his sleeve. "He managed to get it in his eyes -- don't ask me how -- and needed someone to walk him to the in-infirm..." He turns quickly, cupping his nose in his hand. "Huh-chuuh! Heh.. eh-CHUUH! Infirmary," he finishes, leaning over to fish a spare box of tissues from his backpack as well.
"Bless, Remus," I say, offhandedly. A few sneezes from Remus, especially in Potions, are nothing unusual. The powerful smells that come from the classroom are enough to make an ordinary wizard cringe, much less one with the enhanced senses of a wolf.
"Thaks," he replies, grabbing a tissue and giving his nose a short blow. "Leave it to Peter, though, to make himself blind as a bat trying to get rid of a few spots."
Professor Sloop emerges from the store-room a few moments later, squeezing down the aisles as she hands out some vials of some wickedly scarlet powder, jars of needleworm stingers, and an armful of delicate, yellow, bell-shaped flowers on long stalks.
"I expect some work out of you boys," she says as she passes our table. "No whispering among yourselves the whole session."
"Would we ever do such a thing ma'am?" James asks, turning on the frizzy-haired witch with a beaming smile.
"Don't get cheeky with me, Potter," Professor Sloop says and carelessly tosses a heap of flower stalks and two jars onto our table before turning her back and moving on to the table next to ours.
Remus jerks forward with a sudden sneeze. "Hah... eh-chuuh! Chuuhh!"
"Bless you, Remus," I murmur again, watching with annoyance as the wide witch passes out the stalks of delicate yellow flowers with much more care to Snape's table, letting him pick the best of the bunch.
"Hah ... hh-heh-ehCHUUH!" Sniffling, Remus rubs the back of his nose, and pales as he turns wide eyes to the ingredients sitting before him.
"Hey, are you okay?" I ask, pushing the box of tissues closer to him.
"Acodite," he mutters stuffily as he grabs two tissues and roughly blows his nose, inching his chair away from the yellow flowers in front of him. "Aconite," he amends, once his nose is clear.
My own eyes widen in realization. "For the love of... That's wolfsbane," I whisper. Aconite is poison to werewolves, meaning it's potentially deadly to Remus. "Cripes. You can't stay here, Remus."
He sniffles again, rubbing at his eyes with the back of a hand, before James grabs him by the wrist to restrain him. "What am I supposed to do?" he murmurs. "I can't miss class."
"Are you sure you're not a Ravenclaw?" James asks. Despite the joking tone, however, he's as concerned as I am, if not more. "For once, I agree with Sirius. Don't stay here if it's going to make you sick. Or worse."
"I'll be fi -- heh -- fide, Jabes," he finishes in a rapid breath, before doubling over again. "Heh... csshuhh! Hah-chuuh!"
"You don't sound fine," says James. "Look, I don't want you to die on us here, you know."
"Less chatter, more work, boys," Professor Sloop says over her shoulder, as she pauses to write a few more instructions on the board.
Remus lowers his voice further, so soft that James and I can barely hear it. "It's just a little allergy. No big deal. It won't kill me unless I eat it. Or get it under my skin. If I leave, what will everyone think? I can't let anyone catch on about what I am."
"You're an idiot, Remus," says James, grudgingly. "You know we'll find an excuse for you. A non-incriminating one."
But Remus shakes his head firmly, his lips parted as he breathes through his mouth in a vain attempt to avoid inhaling the offending aconite pollen into his nose. He refuses to look James or myself in the eye as he shoves the stalks of aconite towards us and busies himself pounding some of the other potion ingredients with the mortar and pestle.
It works for a time, too, with only a bit of sniffing and a couple stray sneezes here and there. But once James and I reluctantly begin to remove the yellow aconite flowers to prepare them for the potion, the allergy begins to kick in again, with a vengeance. What were at first stray sneezes -- nothing alarming from Remus, who was often glad to be known as the `sickly kid' in House Gryffindor -- turn swiftly into hard, explosive fits that only seem to strengthen the more he struggles to stifle them. Worse, others in the class begin to eye Remus and his constant sneezing, some inching squeamishly away as if Remus were carrying the plague, while others -- Severus Snape in particular -- watching with undisguised delight.
At first, James disguises his worry through joking, telling Remus to "quit it" or "that's enough" after each sneeze, but when it becomes apparent that Remus is not going to stop anytime soon, James subsides, and instead concentrates on making it appear as if nothing were wrong to the rest of the class.
As for me, I don't dare take my eyes off him. I might know precious little about the nature of werewolves, but I can tell for certain that the "little allergy" that Remus had spoken of is anything but little. I can hear a to whistle in his chest, as if it were tightening uncontrollably, with every shuddering gasp he takes.
"Huh... chuuh! Csshh! Eh-CHUUH!" Remus groans and snatches another tissue, burying his nose against it.
"That's it, Remus," says James, although half-hearted in his joking. "You've used up your sneeze-quota for the day."
Remus gives his nose a harsh blow, his cheeks flushed, still looking incredibly sneezy, and murmurs breathlessly, "Charge me overtime, theh-hen. Heh.. EhCHUUH!"
From the other side of the room, Snape tilts an assessing leer in our direction, looking the snuffling Remus up and down before a faint smirk spreads across his cheeks. "You know, there are certain dark creatures that have similarly violent reactions to aconite," he says aloud to his table-mates.
"You don't know what you're talking about, Snape," I utter, glaring at the other boy.
"Don't you listen in Defense Against the Dark Arts class, 'Cyrus?' How typical of you," Snape drawls. "If in a tight spot, aconite can be used to ward off a werewo--"
Remus suddenly pushes back his chair so hard it nearly topples to the floor. "I can't be here," he utters, wild, shimmering eyes looking between the table where James and I sit to where Snape sits with a satisfied smirk on his greasy face. "I -- I can't breathe."
"Remus, do you need to see Madam--"
"Huh--chuuh! Chuuh! CSUUH!"
James' concerned question is cut off by a sudden fit of three rapid, violent sneezes from Remus, and he shakes his head frantically. I shove the box of tissues into Remus' hands before he bolts for the door.
"Oh dear..." murmurs absentminded Professor Sloop, bringing her fingertips to her lips as he dashes out the door, a loud sneeze resounding through the hallway. The poor woman looks so utterly flustered, but I feel no sympathy for her whatsoever. "I suppose I should be taking off house points, but that poor boy... Whatever could have caused such a reaction?" I can't help but roll my eyes.
A twinge of magic, so light and subtle I hardly sense it, prickles the hair on the back of my neck and forces me from my darkening thoughts against the professor. I turn my eyes to its source, and just barely catch sight of James surreptitiously slipping his wand back within his cloak.
"Professor!" he exclaims. "Remember what you said, back at the beginning of class, about Anthoras Mold?"
"You were listening?" For a brief second, Professor Sloop is visibly stunned.
"Look, I don't want to cause any alarm, but..." He holds up the branches of aconite, the pile that had several moments before been clean, and points to the iridescent green mossy substance that was now attacking the remaining flowers on the stalk.
"Oh dear!" Professor Sloop exclaims again, this time springing forward to snatch the branch from James' hand with a wild-eyed fervor. "Everyone, stop what you're doing, this instant!"
I suppose if I hadn't been so concerned, confused, bordering on fury at a professor that should have exercised much better judgment, I might have found it comical to watch as Professor Sloop tears through the classroom -- a flurry of wide, swishing robes and pink-cheeked panic -- catching the branches of aconite before they hit the potions in progress.
"Anthoras Mold?" I whisper to James beneath my breath, keeping a close eye on Sloop.
"It's a nasty blighter when it comes to aconite," he returns swiftly. "Isn't harmful to wizards unless an affected plant is used in potions-making, at which point it becomes highly incendiary."
"Incendiary?"
"Blows stuff up, Sirius. Oi, don't you listen in class anymore? Maybe that slimy old prat Snape has a point. Or are you too busy mooning over Moony?"
"Hmph." I can feel the flush already starting to rise in my cheeks again.
"C'mon, I'm just kidding you." He sits back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest in a satisfied manner. "'Sides, the other good thing about Anthoras Mold is that, like any other mold, there are those predisposed to allergies to it."
"Perfect cover for Remus," I whisper. More than once, Remus had passed off his wolfish sensitivity to strong scents as an 'allergy' -- one more false allergy couldn't hurt. "Good thinking, James."
"You should try it sometime. Does wonders for the --"
"James, look!"
I tug on the sleeve of his robe and tilt my eyes to the next row over in indication, where Professor Sloop dashes in front of the desk shared by Snape and his own laboratory partners. As she gathers the aconite into her hands, clumping it with the rest of the branches, Snape turns from her, an expression akin to pain on his face. His hand rises almost immediately to his mouth, and he sniffles harshly through his oversized nose before doubling over with two loud, uncontrollable sneezes.
"Huh-TSCHOO! Huh-TSCHH!"
"Oh dear," James whispers in a dead-on imitation of Professor Sloop.
I smirk wickedly, watching as Snape fiercely rubs his nose on the sleeves of his robes, trying hard to maintain his cold composure while at the same time fighting back another sneeze.
"Prongs, my dear boy, are you thinking what I'm thinking?"
"Mischief, friend Padfoot, is what makes the world a much more interesting place," James replies as he surreptitiously draws his wand from the inside pocket of his robe.
"Cheers!"
And as Snape lets out a third, thunderous sneeze, I bless him all-too-cheerfully, and loudly enough to cover James' whispered incantation that allows the Anthoras Mold to multiply.
"Huh -- Huh-TISCHOO!"
"Ghesunteit, Sevvy!"
"Shut up, Black," Snape hisses darkly.
"Teach him to spread rumors about Moony," I mutter beneath my breath, and James sneaks in one last transfiguration spell, further spreading the Anthoras Mold with particular ruthlessness.
- 2: Pudding -
I've been thinking of Remus all day, flitting between ruthless anger, still directed at Snape, and a miserable concern for Remus' own well-being. James and I skip out on the beginning of Arithmancy to peek our heads into the hospital wing, just in case he'd stopped off to see Madam Pomfrey -- or had been brought there. Upon catching us, Pomfrey practically chases us off with a broom, insisting we "go straight to class -- where you should be -- instead of snooping about and bothering those poor souls in need of rest."
It isn't until supper that I begin to grow concerned, as Remus and his sweet tooth never miss the pudding served for dessert every Tuesday night. By then, James is rolling his eyes at me, and he practically manhandles me to my feet after watching me pick listlessly at my food. With a wink (and visible relief in his own features as I stand to leave), he hands me a small, sealed bowl containing a generous helping of pudding for Remus. I stow it away in an inner fold of my robe, and I force myself not to break into a run on my way back to the dormitory.
As I slip through the portal into the Gryffindor common room, I see Remus seated at a corner table, alone near the fire. There is a book open before him, a quill clasped in his left hand and a handkerchief in his right, and he sniffles against it as he attempts to take notes. My heart goes out to him as I notice the pale in his cheeks, the dark circles beneath his eyes, and the slight pinkness of his nose. And, somewhere deeper, in a more reserved section of my heart, I'm infinitely relieved.
He looks up as I slide into the seat across from him, a smile forming on his lips. The handkerchief drops briefly as he opens his mouth to talk, but an instant later is brought back to his nose. The breath of speech turns to a hitching gasp, and he jerks forward, caught in another fit of harsher, more tired-sounding sneezes.
"Hah... aaisshoo! Heh-ihhshoo! Hah-CHUUH! Argh!" He is clearly frustrated, angrily shoving his straggly bangs out of his eyes once again.
"Bless, Remus," I say gently, holding back the virtually overwhelming concern that threatens to take over. "Eesh, are you still going at it?"
"It's not as bad as it was, believe it or not," he murmurs, giving his nose a short blow. "The sneezing's getting better, but I'm still stuffed as can be. I think I could do with a new immune system right about now."
"Have you seen Madam Pomfrey?"
"What is she going to do besides lecture me that I shouldn't have been working with aconite in the first place?"
I shrug. "Surely she could give you something to clear you up, maybe stop the sneezes..."
Remus shakes his head with a weary grin, speaking softly so as not to arouse the suspicion of the few Gryffindors that have made their way back from supper to the common area. "Nothing works against an aconite allergy. Not in the case of a creature like me, at any rate. It's just got to work its way out of my system. I've dealt with it before, back when my Uncle Reynard was visiting some years back. Didn't matter that it wasn't a full moon, he still filled the house with enough aconite to put me in the hospital. 'Just a precaution,' he told my Mum. Meantime, I'm nearly in anaphylactic shock." He rolls his eyes, setting aside his quill, and gives another quick blow to his nose.
"Bugger. We're going to have to listen to you snuffle all night, aren't we?" I give him a disarming grin.
"Yes, I think so," Remus says, eyes flittering to the homework before him. His voice softens, and he mumbles, "So what happened after I left class? Were people, you know... talking? About what Severus was saying?"
My eyes widen, and I'm unable to suppress a snicker. "Funny you should ask that, Remus." And as he lifts a brow at my bemusement, I explain James' quick thinking at transfiguring the mold on the aconite branches, and my own insistence to the Professor Sloop that Remus was, in fact, exceedingly sensitive to the substance.
"I don't see why that's quite so amusing," he says, uncomfortably. "I'm really not allergic to Anthoras Mold. What if someone finds out?"
"Yes, well, you might not be allergic. But guess what large-nosed Slytherin know-it-all really is?" My grin widens, showing teeth.
The handkerchief clutched in Remus' hand drops to the table, and he hides his laughter behind his fingertips. "Tell me you're joking!"
"If only I were, Moony!" I say, leaning back in my seat with a satisfactory expression on my face. "If you thought your reaction to the aconite was bad, you should have seen poor Snape. I didn't know a human being could turn such colors!"
"I certainly wouldn't classify Severus as 'poor,'" says Remus between chuckles. "Or a human being, for that matter."
"Yes, well, I call it poetic justice. Maybe we should start the rumor that he's the werewolf."
Remus bites his lip, his grin suddenly fading, and his cheeks color as he shakes his head. "Don't, Sirius. I wouldn't wish that even on Snape."
"I think he'd deserve it," I say with a roll of my eyes. "After trying to spread it around that you're a werewolf."
"But I am a werewolf," Remus softly says, picking up his handkerchief and sniffling twice. His brow furrows and a resigned look crosses his face as his eyes drift shut, breath catching in a convulsive gasp. "Ohh, bloody he-hell... Heh... csshuh! ChuuhChuuh! Hah, aaiisshoo!"
"Such language, Remus!" I lightly joke to hide my concern for him as he gives his nose a rough, painful-sounding blow. "Bless, by the way."
"Thank you," he mutters, a tinge of annoyance in his voice. He looks exhausted, dark circles beneath his eyes appearing all the more pronounced.
"Look, Remus..." I whisper, leaning close to him. "Yes, you're a werewolf. But the world doesn't have to know. Let me tell you, Snape had no right to make such accusations in front of everyone. Do you know how much trouble he could get you in, if the whole school knew?"
"And if he were in my place, wouldn't you make such accusations, if you were even the slightest bit suspicious?"
The dark look in his eyes surprises me, yet the implications behind his question startle me more. What would I do, if Snape were the werewolf instead of Remus...? "I -- I don't know," I answer, honestly.
"I think I'm going to go to bed. I'm tired." Remus roughly pushes back his chair and gathers his belongings into his arms in a single swoop.
"That's a very unfair question, if you were to ask my opinion of it," I say, as he turns his back dismissively towards me.
Remus glances over his shoulder, his eyes hard, even as he sniffles against the edge of his sleeve. I swear, if looks could kill...
I lift my hands into the air in an `I surrender' type of gesture. "No, seriously, Moony. I think that, if your roles were reversed, you'd both be such completely different people that I couldn't tell you what my reaction would be. Sure, if he were still as nasty a git as he is now, then maybe I would. But, given all you've been through -- that he would have had to go through -- I don't think he'd be at all the same. You wouldn't be at all the same."
He sighs, nods, and turns back towards the stairs leading up to the cluster of four-poster beds reserved for sixth-years. Yet he allows me to walk beside him as I move to join him. "I suppose you have a point, there," is all he murmurs, quietly.
"C'mon, Moony. I don't say that like it's a bad thing," I say in an easy tone, slipping my arm across his shoulders. "You're you, and I wouldn't have it any other way."
Remus pauses at the second stair from the top, and I feel his shoulders stiffen as he draws in two deep, coaxing breaths. "Huh -- huh-aaisshoo! Heh-ihhshoo!" As he fumbles for his handkerchief, I slide the books from his arms.
"Bless, Moony."
"Gods, this has got to stop. I think I might sneeze my brains out through my nose," he murmurs around the handkerchief.
"Please, it wouldn't be that tremendous a loss," I say, and, in a moment of impetuousness, I nuzzle my nose against his ear. "Poor Moony. Poor sick, allergic Moony."
"Come now, Sirius," he replies with a faint blush. "I'm not that pathetic, am I?"
"Well," I say, slowly, drawing out each word as if in careful deliberation, "I suppose you're not. But it makes me feel better to be able to dote on you."
"To make fun of me, you mean," he replies, stuffing his handkerchief into his pocket and taking the books from my arms.
"Moony, dear lad," I say as I lean my head against his companionably, hips bumping together as we walk, "I wouldn't truly be your friend if I didn't. I tease you to let you know that I care."
"I see." Shifting the pile of books to one arm, he leans back against me for the briefest of moments. He then stops in his tracks, a befuddled look upon his face, and suddenly reaches past the fold of my outer cloak with his free hand, producing a small, magically sealed bowl. It takes me a moment to remember the container James set aside at supper, and Remus breaks away from me before I can stop him.
"Now see here, Moony --"
"Pudding! You brought me pudding!" he exclaims, a grin alighting on his features. Combined with the shimmer in his eyes and the pinkness in his nose and cheeks, he's practically glowing.
"I never said that was for you..."
"You never said it wasn't either," Remus says with a mock sniffle. "I never doubted you for a moment, Padfoot."
I begin to blush faintly, and, as I'm staring at the ground and mumbling something incoherent, he takes off down the short hall towards the sleeping area, balancing a pile of books at the bowl of pudding in his arms.
"Oi, get back here!" I exclaim with a short laugh, following fast behind him and catching the faintest glimpse of his robes as he disappears beneath an invisibility cloak nicked from James' trunk at the edge of the bed, his books scattering across a nearby table.
And while I can no longer see him, I've no doubt I'll find him -- if his laughter doesn't give him away, his sneezes will, cloak or no cloak. And then, aconite and pudding will be the least of his worries, once he has a riled Padfoot on his heels...
The End
The puppies don't belong to me. Nor do Prongsy or Sevvy or even 'Cyrus' Black. Please don't sue. A/N: Sorry, no Peter in this tale. I know, I hate when he's left out of MWPP-era stories as well. But I had so much trouble finding a place for him... Besides, he's nothing but a rat in the end anyway, so don't be too upset. :)