Speaking in Tongues – Chapter 8 – Celticas

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7 Minutes

By lunchtime on Wednesday Harry was starting to feel like he could catch his breath. He had met with Satü and Guivi on Tuesday night, and they had discussed some of the training he would need and set up three evenings a week he would meet with them. They also gave him homework, but for now that was just meditating for half an hour a day and Hermione had already said she would do it with him.

He was pretty sure Draco and Pansy would as well. Though they would need to find time around their normal classes and where he could get away from Ron to be able to do that regularly. The other boy had spent the last day and a half glued to his side. The only reprieve was the hour with his new teachers.

Ron’s rambling wander through the ways Harry could use his new Sentinel abilities to [advantage] Ron was grating on Harry’s nerves. He was trying to eat his lunch. But a headache of overstimulation was pressing at his eyes andforehead. It was taking all of his already poor control not to snap and start shouting. The internal reminder that yelling would probably make his headache worse was the only thing keeping him in his seat.

Sona, Draco had finally introduced the Manul the evening before, appeared as a shadow on his lap. The link between them assured him that no one else would see the wild cat unless she wanted them to. Sinkiing his whole hand into the thick fur was heaven. The rumbling purr gave him an anchor to told on to. Bolstering his fraying temper.

The intervention was enough to get him through the rest of the meal. Unfortunately he couldn’t keep the spirit animal with him and she shimmered away as he stood to make his way to the Potions laboratory. 

“Hey Neville.” The quiet boy had slid up beside Harry on his left while Hermione took Harry’s right. Boxing Ron out. “How is your herbology project going?”

On Monday night when Harry had collected his homework for the class, Neville had told him he had taken on an extra credit project for his favourite class. He hoped to be accepted into the apprenticeship stream in seventh year.

“It is going excellently! Three of my hybrids have sprout-”

“Who cares?” Ron cut in. Shoving himself between Neville and Harry. “They’re just plants!”

“Don’t be rude Ron!” Hermione snapped.

The four of them paused outside the Potion laboratory to snipe at each other.

“It’s not rude.” Ron argued. “Harry doesn’t care about boring Herbology!”

“I’m the one that asked.” Harry cut them both off before they could attract any more attention and get in trouble. “Can we please just go to class?” He wasn’t really asking. Slipping past the fuming redhead into the classroom he shot Neville a grimace of apology.

It’s okay. Neville mouthed at him before sliding into an empty seat at the back.

Harry knew it wasn’t okay. But he couldn’t remember when Ron had taken such an obnoxious turn. It was only a short reprieve. Ron took the second seat at Harry’s table grumbling under his breathe. A week ago the looming specture of Snape kept it to a mostly ignorable level.

Now, even the soft murmurs was loud and clear to Harry.

“We will be brewing the chronos analytic potion range today.” Snape switched his short, dark wand at the blackboard and a set of intricate instructions appeared. “Begin.”

Finally, Harry found a good use for his new senses. For the first time since starting at Hogwarts he could read the Potion Master’s tiny writing. He jotted down the needed ingredients and dodged his gathering classmates to get what he needed from the storeroom.

Ron hadn’t moved by the time he got back. “You could have gotten mine too.” He groused. Seeing that Harry hadn’t done his work for him, the other boy started to scribble down the list of what he would need.

It was easier to lose himself in the delicate balance of ingredients, heat and time when he could be certain that what he was doing was the correct step. He had always been good at cooking for his relatives, but he had had exacting recipes to start from.

Reading the next step, he wondered why they would use twenty mayfly wings when twenty four would make more sense. One for each hour in the day to support the sixty millileters of giant squid ink which represented the minutes. Taking the change he put the four extra in and watched as perfect silver sheen swirled into being on the top of the otherwise pitch black potion.

Snape swooped past as he was counting the twelve sets of two clockwise, two anti-clockwise stirs. The Professor sneered at him but moved on without saying anything after seeing the silver sheen split up and sink into the potion to become the desired galaxy. Now it would simmer for twenty minutes until it had reduced to half its current volumn and then it would be done.

He was making notes down the side of his copied recipe when it all went wrong. Instead of counting out the mayfly wings, Ron carelessly dropped a handful in. Silver exploded across his potion. And then his potion exploded.

The change of colour caught Harry’s attention first. His sight zero’ed in on the unexpected shade. He was too caught up in the colour to realise the other changes that alerted all those around him. The sound of violent bubbling went unnotices as Harry watched stars being born and dieing in the mixing silver and grey.

He didn’t notice the splash of boiling potion against his hands.

= + =

Severus Snape found much of his life tiresome and dull. For most of the year he used his mastery of oclumency to shield his guide gifts from the pressure of hundreds of pubescent teenagers who didn’t have the first clue about controlling himself. If closing himself off so fully had been in pursuit of a career he found inspiring, he would have an easier time accepting the need.

Instead he was shackled to a position that was slowly killing him. And sometimes actively trying to kill him!

He was too late to stop the youngest Weasley boy from trying to turn them all back into squalling children with his overly judicious application of Mayfly wings. With a sweep of his wand, he pushed most of the students away from the impending explosion and resultant unravelling of personal time.

His spell missed Weasley and Potter. They were too close to the cauldron, if he had caught them, he would have caught the potion aswell.

Weasley was self absorbed enough to recognise the danger to himself, but not to his suposed best friend. He threw himself backwards out of the way even as Severus dove forward.

He wasn’t the only one who moved through.

Draco used the confusion to tumble forward and bump into Potter himself. The momentum his godson had managed to acquire threw them both away from the potion.

“Watch what you are doing Potter!” Draco snarled. He wrenched his robe off and shook it under the other boy’s nose. “Look at what you have done. You got distilled willow sap on my robe! Look!” There was a command in the tone that most others wouldn’t recognise.

Only another guide would feel the psionic push that accompanied the words.

Potter heaved in a breath and his eyes focused on the flapping black fabric.

“Fuck!” Potter pulled away from Draco and drew his hands in close. Spots and streaks across the skin showed where Draco hadn’t gotten him away from the boiling potion quickly enough.

Severus snapped his wand forward again to neutralize the spill, and followed up with a second one to vanish the rest of the potion.

“Granger. Take him to the Hospital Wing. Weasley, detention tomorrow night. Everyone else clean up.” All of their bases would be ruined now.

Later that evening as he sat infront of his fire with a glass of wine in hand, he turned his mind back to those few seconds.

No matter what his personal feelings on the boy, Potter was a strong wix and most likely a stronger Sentinel. Without the stability of a bond, his senses should be leaving him almost crippled. But today was the first hint he had seen of the boy being overwhelmed.

Which wasn’t even considering the other factor.

How had Draco brought him back? Why had he brought him back?

Severus has always known that the hostility between the two was mostly feined. In the summers when he allowed his own gifts a bit more freedom, he had only ever felt amused exasperation when Draco had gone on one of his rants about the Boy-Who-Lived. He wasn’t as certain about Potter’s feelings on the matter. Though he suspected the boy was as equally amused by the rivalry that they played at.

After three and a half years of having the Potter boy in his class, even Severus could see he wasn’t a copy of either of his parents. He lacked the brilliance and dedication of his mother and the cruel edge of his father. Looking at it objectively Harry Potter should have been a fairly unremarkable teenager.

Except there had always been something more. It wasn’t an arrogance that Severus had once falsely identified. Nor was it a foolhardy disregard for the rules that he had so often accused the boy of having. Though he certainly had that character flaw.

He was self-possessed and self-reliant in a way few fourteen year olds were.

Severus slowly sipped at his wine as he contemplated the changes that had been sparked in the school since the first task, and wondered how many others saw the approaching inferno.