Four
20th December 1973
He has carefully chopped, ground and shredded all of his ingredients, double checked the measurements, and adjusted the amounts of Valerian and powdered moonstone, because he knows that this ratio will be more stable and give a better end result.
Across the room Potter and Black are mucking about as usual, and he does his best to ignore them, determined not to get distracted. But they start throwing things, then he keeps being interrupted by other students, and even Lily is trying to talk to him. Severus doesn’t want to ignore her, nor give Potter the satisfaction of knowing he has got to him, but he is becoming increasingly stressed, and finding it increasingly difficult to focus. He begins to sweat, his hair is sticking to his face, and his fingers fumble with the glass stirring rod.
‘Bet you can’t get it to stick in greasy Snivellus’ hair!’ Potter calls out loudly. ‘Black smirks and chucks a shrivelfig across the room at him. Severus dodges to the side, but in the process accidentally knocks Lily off her stool.
‘Hey!’ She glares up at him looking hurt. ‘They were right about you. You are mean and nasty.’ She accuses.
Severus wants to apologise, and to tell her it was Potter’s fault, but his potion is beginning to bubble and turn an unhealthy shade of orange. He feels himself pulled in several directions all at once, as if he is being literally split down the middle. Potter and Black continue to throw things at him, other students are beginning to laugh and stare, even the Slytherins are calling him a mudblood and muttering that he doesn’t belong, Lily is sinking further into the floor away from his reach, and his potion looks about ready to explode…
A dark figure comes to sit beside him and holds out a jar of ground ginger root. Right! That’s what he needed to counteract the reaction. He takes a pinch and sprinkles it over the frothy surface, carefully stirring in a figure eight until the bubbling subsides and the potion returns to a less intense shade of ochre.
‘Thanks.’ He mutters absently to the person beside him as he focusses on making further adjustments.
‘You are quite welcome Severus.’
He looks up and smiles to see the Sandman sitting there. Everyone else has gone, and he realises with relief that it had only been a bad dream. He is still unsure whether this Sandman character is real, or a figment of his imagination. Either way, his presence is a welcome relief from the torment of his nightmare.
‘What are you brewing?’ The Dream King asks, with what seems like genuine curiosity.
‘Draught of Peace.’ Severus says with a wry smile.
Morpheus huffs a laugh which makes Severus almost laugh along.
‘Yeah, ironic huh.’ He mutters.
‘I thought potions were your escape?’ Morpheus queries, while Severus continues to finish the brew with care, even though he now knows it is not real.
‘Usually.’ Severus murmurs.
Morpheus watches with interest as the teenager works. At other times he could be awkward, self conscious, but here he appears in his element.
‘You are not following the book.’ Dream notes.
‘The textbooks are rubbish.’ Severus comments, then glances up, his eyes eager, yet hesitant. ‘I’ve made my own adjustments to most of the potions, increasing efficacy, and potency, correcting mistakes, or making the technique more efficient.’ He boasts slightly, trying to look nonchalant, but clearly eager to see how Morpheus will react.
Dream of the Endless is not in the habit of handing out praise whether it is deserved or not, but he is impressed with the boy.
‘Show me something else.’ He prompts.
Severus immediately hurries to tidy up and pull out a new cauldron.
‘I want to try Draught of Living Death, but Slughorn won’t let me have the ingredients.’ Severus says, the unasked question hanging in the air.
‘This is the Dream World, Severus. You may have whatever your mind can conjure.’
The teenager’s face brightens slightly, then sets in determination. A collection of various bottles, jars and boxes appear on the bench in front of him, and he wastes no time getting to work.
Morpheus is quite familiar with many forms of what most dreamers would class as “magic”, but he finds himself intrigued by the boy’s craft. Potion making was an ancient art rarely seen in recent centuries, and it has been at least a millennia since he has witnessed a mortal take to it with such intensity and natural talent.
Perhaps this would be the key to the boy’s troubles. If he was encouraged in this talent it could open up the world for him.
The King of Dreams watches a little longer, but soon realises that Severus is so involved in his practice he is no longer worried about showing off his skills. It is enough for him to be able to indulge in his passion.
‘Goodnight Severus.’ He murmurs, drifting away into the background.
~~*~*~~