Harry Potter**
As he walked to his first potions class of the year, Harry couldn't stop thinking about last night. His mate had rejected him, flat out, without even speaking with him first. He hadn't gotten even the merest chance at a good impression, and he was determined that he would make a good impression on him as Harry Potter, at the very least. What he knew his father and godfather had done to the man would be hard to overcome, but surely he wouldn't hold that against Harry, would he?
Nibbling on his lower lip, he walked speedily down the halls, his shorter legs forcing him to exert real effort to get to his classes. This was just so stressful! The only reason he'd managed to enjoy any part of last night was Lucius. Cuddling him as he slept, making small plaits in his hair then brushing them out, he'd even made the blond veela breakfast in bed. Harry smiled, remembering how happy Lucius had been eating his food. It was so nice to feel appreciated, something he'd never gotten from the Dursleys.
As he reached the door to the dungeon classroom, he nervously peeked in, trying to ascertain if Severus was there yet. He couldn't see him though, so he hastily entered the room and sat at an empty seat. Neville was there too, the Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws both being together for Potion lessons, but he was in a dense group with no open seat for Harry to grab and talk to his friend. He didn't mind sitting alone though, and he took out a sheet of paper, ink and his quill so he could take notes. After all, Severus Snape was undoubtably a genius when it came to potions, and Harry wished to learn absolutely everything he could from the man.
It hurt him more than he could possibly express, how Severus had refused their bond, but Harry still yearned to see him. He was, after all, his mate, and at least he could garner surety that he was safe and well, seeing him on such a regular basis.
To pass the time, he began to identify the pickled animals Severus had in jars along his walls. To him, this seemed rather more like a scare tactic than just using the space, because putting common ingredients in easily accessible areas would be far more practical. Few potions called for pickled animals anyway, as there was more magic to be had in fresh ingredients.
There seemed to be predominately the parts of pigs, heart, liver, kidneys, eyes and some sealed intestines, along with samples from frogs, rats, and other smaller creatures. Harry was rather confused as to why his mate used such props in his teaching method, but he wasn't one to judge.
It was colder down here as well, which would make brewing somewhat easier. An overly warm space would likely cause ingredients to wilt or start decaying faster than they ought to for you to get the desired result. He'd already read the required potions textbooks for first years, had them memorized in fact, along with the rest of the lists through seventh year. He took his out anyway though, and arranged them neatly on his desk.
Taking the most interesting one out, Magical Drafts and Potions by Arsenius Jigger, he began making notes in it on how to improve the recipes or make them less time consuming. While Mr. Jigger knew how to brew successfully, Harry didn't find him a particularly skillful brewer.
About three minutes later, Severus strode in, his robes billowing menacingly behind him. Harry felt carefully to see if his mate had used magic for the effect, but he hadn't, which made Harry wonder how long he'd been practicing it. He began the lesson by taking attendance, and he listened carefully to his mate's beautiful but somewhat disgusted voice as he continued to make alterations to his textbook. It was quite fun to do it, actually, and he'd improved twenty-six by the time his name was called.
There was a slight bitter tint to the man's voice when he called Harry's name though, and it hurt him to know that already his mate loathed him in both forms. He quietly said his name, feeling sorrowful, and perhaps it was too quiet, as he was called a second time, voice now harsh.
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!❤️