No Longer

A Lesson on Potions

Louder now, Harry said, "Present, sir," feeling a bit like a kicked puppy, or perhaps as if he were back with the Dursleys.

Severus glared angrily at him for a split second before he returned his attention to the list, calling each student's name a bit more frustratedly now. Harry sighed, returning to his corrections, until his mate was finished and glaring his lovely black eyes out at the students.

"You are here to learn the subtle science and exact art of potion-making. As there is little foolish wand-waving here, many of you will hardly believe this is magic. I don't expect you will really understand the beauty of the softly simmering cauldron with its shimmering fumes, the delicate power of liquids that creep through human veins, bewitching the mind, ensnaring the senses. . . I can teach you how to bottle fame, brew glory, even stopper death- if you aren't as big a bunch of dunderheads as I usually have to teach, and especially not," his voice grew cutting and angry, "if you insist on treating your textbooks like coloring books! Potter! Five points from Ravenclaw for defacing school materials!"

Harry chose not to point out that the book was his own, bought with his own money, and not in any way belonging to the school, but he knew Severus would never listen to him. No, this Severus would deduct more points for his audacity to speak against him, and possibly even assign a detention.

"It appears," said the black-haired professor silkily, "That one amongst us believes he has nothing to learn from this class. Potter! What would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?"

Harry did know the answer, and also that it was mentioned only once in the last chapter of A Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi that spoke of reactions.

"If one were brewing with the ingredients as well as a binding agent such as tamarind clover and a coagulating agent such as elven tapioca, you would get a perfectly crafted sleeping potion so powerful it is known as the Draught of Living Death, although simply adding the two together would cause a similar concoction, though it would have a texture like clay mixed with sand and a bit of water, as well as the taste of both ingredients in their raw form, rather than the texture of a warm smoothie that tasted only of tapioca, sir," Harry tacked on at the end, trying to appear a bit less insolent, although he was already wincing inside at what was likely to result from him actually knowing the information.

"So, you think you're smarter than me? Tell me, Potter," Severus said with so much malice packed into that one word that Harry's heart hurt worse, "What would I get if I combined churned eels' eyes with pixie wings, simmered them together for six hours, and added moonstone, henbane, essence of pine, unicorn's horn, and kallux leaf on high heat for thirteen seconds?"

Harry's eyes flew wide, and he quietly muttered, "The Concoction of Control."

That wasn't in any textbook assigned to a Hogwarts student, and in fact was illegal, as kallux leaf was prohibited to use in potions. The use of the potion was also against the law, as it was essentially the Imperius Curse in a bottle, and was impossible to fight off, unlike the spell.

Severus came closer, leaned down so his face was directly in front of Harry's own, and he whispered, "I. Couldn't. Hear you, Potter."

"It's called the Concoction of Control, sir," Harry said, barely above a whisper.

"Yes, it is, isn't it?" The hatchet-nosed professor said, smiling for the first time, "And do you know what it does, Potter?" *barest head nod* "Well, it just so happens I have one draught of it left. Cross me again and I'll ensure it ends up in your pumpkin juice. Then we'll see how much you enjoy defying me."

All of Harry's body was screaming at his to put his sub in his place. To come roaring up, take him to his bedroom, and spank him until he begged and said he'd never threaten a child again. Especially not with that, and definitely not just because of how much he hated the child's bastard of a father. Harry Potter was an eleven year old child, not Era in that moment, and anyways, hurting people was not his MO. Once he was Era and with Severus, he'd make sure the man learned right from wrong, but now was not that time.

Maintaining the cover of an ordinary child, he hunched down in his seat, and waited as Severus stood back up.

"Detention with me Potter, this Saturday," he said, before stalking back to his desk.

Things for Harry didn't really improve from there. There was an odd number of students, and Severus paired everyone other than him off. Somewhat of a relief that, but Harry was hurting too badly inside to pay much attention.

His mate set them the task of making a simple potion to cure boils. It frustrated Harry to no end that his mate didn't even explain how to do the steps to the other students, and then snapped at them for making any mistakes. He steered clear of Harry though, and that left him at liberty to remake the potion in a much more effective and less time consuming manner.

It used the same ingredients, though all except the dried nettle needed to be prepared differently, go in at different times, have an infusion of water at the end, and also took a quarter of the time. Needing desperately to leave, he put a sample of his potion into a beaker and left it on the potion teacher's desk, leaving without being dismissed very early. He felt so awful, that in the end he went back to his dorm, stepped through the portal, and just huddled, weeping, in the pantry as the pain of being around the mate who had rejected him coursed through his body.

A few seconds later, and Kayleira, the most mercurial of all his familiars, ensconced him in her soft arms. He was just a child, with a very large burden, and he just wished it all would end. The pain, the feeling of being unwanted, and the all-encompassing weight of responsibility. Responsibility for his familiars, his mates, the Ineas, his kit, all creatures that were discriminated against, and even further, the weight of wanting to help everyone, anyone, who needed it, even if they didn't know it yet.

His hair was stroked by a warm, gentle hand, his small body was held tight into the warmth of Kayleira, and his hurting heart kept beating, even under all the weight it felt. Tiny glittering dots gathered on the fur near him, and he dazedly remembered how the same thing had happened in the vault at Gringotts. How his tears had become drops of crystal. Shutting his eyes tight, he blocked everything out.

Everything was gonna be okay? That's what they say, right? Well, maybe not. But he was gonna be okay, this wasn't going to break him, and he'd return to school at the end of the period to go to his next class, transfiguration.

A/N: I love comments, they're my very favorite thing, so I'd be chuffed if you gave me some. I have plenty of ideas for new chapters, so don't worry that the updates won't come, but if you have any ideas you'd like to recommend I'd love to hear them. 

Ciao!❤️