How Not To Fall For A Dragon Chapter 27

**LEXI**

I slide into my desk in the same spot as last time, near the middle of the room. I don’t even bother glancing around to see if anyone might sit with me, I’m fairly sure I’ll end up alone again, but I refuse to let that dent my good mood. I’m running on actual sleep, decent food, and whatever lingering confidence Blake’s presence seems to give me. That alone feels like a minor miracle. I brace myself for another long stretch of theory. More rules, more warnings, more don’t do this or you’ll accidentally poison someone. Important, sure. But not exactly thrilling. So when Professor Matthews strides in with an enormous grin on his face, something immediately feels different.

“I know you were all so desperately looking forward to learning about the legislation behind love potions.” He booms, clearly enjoying the collective groan that ripples through the room. He holds up a finger dramatically.

“BUT! I was speaking with Annie. She runs the infirmary here. And she mentioned they’re short-stocked on a few essentials.” He informs us. My attention sharpens instantly.

“One of them, is very simple to make. I was planning to introduce it in a few weeks, but they need some now, and frankly, it’ll be a good learning experience for you lot.” He continues, pacing slightly. I sit up straighter, my spine going ramrod straight in my chair. Wait. Are we actually?

“Don’t worry, I will personally check every single potion you make before anything gets sent off to be used. No accidental disasters on my watch.” He adds quickly, waving a reassuring hand. Yes! We actually get to make something today! I feel my lips curve into a grin I don’t even try to hide as Professor Matthews launches into the explanation. The potion is a topical numbing salve, nothing flashy, nothing dangerous. Designed to dull surface-level pain from burns, cuts, bruises, abrasions. Effective, practical, and apparently in constant demand at the infirmary. I immediately think of the horrific sunburn I got a few months back and groan internally. Where was this miracle paste when I needed it? Around me, students begin pairing off, chairs scraping and murmured conversations starting up. I stay put. Alone again. But honestly? I don’t mind this time. If anything, it’s a relief. No negotiating methods. No hovering. No trying to politely correct someone without sounding controlling. Just me, the instructions, and the work. I open the textbook and read through the steps carefully. The process is almost comforting in its simplicity, selecting specific plants, rinsing them, boiling them gently in water to create a concentrated infusion. A tea, really. Once strained, the liquid is left to cool and thicken naturally into a paste.

“Think sunscreen consistency.” Professor Matthews calls out helpfully. That, I can picture. I reread the instructions once more, slow and methodical, committing each step to memory. This is familiar territory. It’s kind of like a weird version of baking. Measure ingredients. Heat control. Patience. Watching for changes rather than forcing them. Alright. I roll up my sleeves, set out my materials, and take a steady breath. Let’s do this.

About forty-five minutes later, I’m feeling cautiously optimistic about my progress. The potion has come together exactly the way the book described. The liquid is a soft greenish-gold, faintly cloudy, with a sharp herbal scent that reminds me of eucalyptus and crushed leaves. Not unpleasant, actually kind of soothing. I carefully strain out the plant matter, watching the liquid drip slowly through the filter, steady and controlled. No rushing. No splashing. Professor Matthews made it very clear that care mattered just as much as accuracy. Once the last of the leaves are removed, all that’s left is to pour the steaming concoction into the small glass jars he handed out earlier. If I did everything right, and I’m fairly sure I did, then once it cools, it should thicken into a smooth paste. A proper topical numbing salve. I tilt the container carefully, guiding the liquid into the first jar. Steam curls upward, warm against my face. So far, so good. That’s when chairs scrape loudly behind me. I stiffen instinctively. Mallory and the girl partnered with her stand up far more abruptly than necessary, drawing attention from nearby tables. I keep my eyes on what I’m doing, jaw tightening as I cap the first jar and reach for the second.

“Hey.” Mallory says brightly, her voice carrying just a bit too far. 

“Did you know this stuff is supposed to be great for burns?” She asks pointedly. I don’t respond.

“Well… If you’re going to be hanging out with the dragon, you should probably stock up.” She continues, faux-thoughtful. My hand stills for just a fraction of a second.

“Hell, you should probably just bathe in it as a precaution.” She adds, smiling primly. There it is. I close the jar carefully and set it down before turning around. I keep my expression flat, even though my chest feels tight with frustration.

“I am literally sitting here, doing my own thing. I’m not bothering you at all. Just leave me be.” I say evenly. I’m proud of myself for how steady my voice sounds. No shaking. No snapping. Just firm. Mallory nods along solemnly, hands clasped in front of her like she’s been chastised.

“You’re right, I’ll just leave you be.” She says sweetly. Too sweet. Lie. Every instinct I have screams it. She turns casually, stepping away from her desk, and for half a heartbeat I think, maybe she actually will. Then she stumbles. At least, that’s what it looks like. Her foot catches nothing. There’s no obstacle. No spill. No reason at all for her to lose her balance, except that she suddenly does. Her arms fling outward dramatically, and everything she’s holding goes airborne. Including her container. Time slows in that awful, useless way where I can see exactly what’s about to happen and know I can’t stop it. The glass container spins once in the air, still steaming, bits of soggy leaf clinging to the liquid inside. Straight. At. Me. My breath catches as I instinctively throw my arms up, twisting away, but I’m seated, boxed in by the desk, with nowhere to go. Shit.

For half a second, my arm, shoulder, and part of my back burn. It’s sharp and immediate, hot enough to steal the air from my lungs, but it lasts barely a heartbeat. Then… Nothing. Not relief. Not cooling. Nothing. Oh… Well. That wasn’t as bad as I was expecting. Except, wait… That’s not right either. Because I don’t just feel fine. I don’t feel anything. The skin where the potion splashed is completely numb. Not tingling, not fuzzy, just gone. Like that part of my body has been switched off entirely. I stare down at my arm in disbelief, watching pale green liquid drip slowly over skin I can no longer feel. Wow. This stuff works fast. And efficiently. A little too efficiently. The realisation hits me a second later as the liquid keeps moving, sliding further down my arm and soaking into the fabric at my shoulder, trailing across my back. Wherever it goes, there’s the same pattern, brief, sharp heat, followed instantly by that eerie emptiness. Burn. Then nothing. I swallow hard. Okay. That’s… Less great. I shift in my chair, suddenly hyper-aware of my body, and that’s when the panic really starts to creep in. The numbness isn’t staying put. It’s spreading, blooming outward in uneven patches. I feel the idea of sensation rather than sensation itself, like my brain knows something should be there but can’t find it. Then my scalp prickles. Or, used to prickle. Now there are odd dead spots across my head, like someone pressed cold coins into my hairline. I can’t feel the weight of my hair properly anymore. I’m pretty sure some of the potion splashed higher than I thought. Yeah. This is definitely a problem. I try to lift my hand to get the professor’s attention. It moves. I can SEE it move. But the sensation lags behind, warped and distant, like I’m controlling someone else’s arm through a bad connection. The disconnect is horrifying in a way I don’t have time to fully process. The detached, clinical part of my brain, the one that’s been cataloging symptoms, just… Disappears. Panic rushes in to fill the space.

“P- Professor!” I call out, my voice too high, cracking despite my attempt to keep it steady. The room goes quiet. Professor Matthews turns toward me, and the easy grin he’s been wearing all class vanishes instantly. His eyes flick over everything at once, the shattered glass on the floor, the still-steaming liquid dripping from my sleeve, the way I’m frozen halfway out of my chair. He’s moving toward me before I even finish inhaling. 

“WHAT. THE HELL. HAPPENED?” He demands, loud enough to echo. I open my mouth to answer. Nothing comes out. I know what happened. I saw what happened. But my thoughts feel sluggish now, like they’re wading through syrup, and my throat refuses to cooperate. Maybe it’s shock. Maybe it’s adrenaline. Maybe it’s the sudden realisation that I can’t feel a large portion of my own body. Before I can force the words out, Mallory rushes forward.

“It was an accident!” She blurts, voice pitched high and trembling in a way that almost sounds convincing. 

“I was just trying to pour it into the jar and I wanted a better angle, so I walked around the table and I tripped and, it just went everywhere!” She says in a shaky voice. Her hands flutter uselessly as she speaks. I think she even manages to squeeze out a tear. The injustice of it hits me hard enough to cut through the panic. That’s not… That’s not what happened. I suck in a breath, my heart hammering.

“Th- that’s not right.” I manage, my voice shaky but louder this time. 

“She did it on purpose.”