Cruel & Unusual. Detention

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Stats: sta 6 ⊹ eva 8 ⊹ str 7 ⊹ wis 7 ⊹ arc 7 ⊹ acc 7 | Date: Oct. 7th, 2025 | CC:#2E8B57
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Siobhan was shaking as she moved towards the Greenhouse for detention with Professor Sa-... Professor Toussaint. The keys to the lower level greenhouses that had once hung so securely around her neck under her uniform sweater where now held fast in her hand as she was preparing to unwillingly part with them as punishment for her earlier transgressions. She felt chilled to the bone, though not in a way that came from the temperature. This was a feeling of deep seated and a truly rooted fear that she had held onto for years now since coming to Hogwarts for the first time.

Siobhan had found safety, hiding away in the beds of the Greenhouse. She'd found comfort in the teachings of Professor Toussaint and it had helped her to come out of her shell more, to be more confident in the way that she spoke, and carried herself. Siobhan felt as though she had learned to shine in the light that the Herbology deity of Hogwarts had brought to her attention. It had made her feel safe enough to embrace life outside of the walls of the Greenhouse.

And then she'd given in to the stupid teenage whims of a kiss. Prat had pulled her into a classroom during the school day, something she had not known he was planning to do, and after a heartfelt reconciliation that was needed between them, they had been interrupted by a furious and exacerbatingly disappointed Professor Toussaint. The Haitian woman had coldly reprimanded them and demanded that Siobhan return the keys that had been bestowed upon her in an extension of trust.

Siobhan had bawled her eyes out the whole night in the bathroom. She couldn't even bring herself to be seen by Alphonse in their shared room. The disappointed words from one Toussaint had been too much to bear. How could she face another one?

Siobhan's hands shook feverishly as she opened the Greenhouse door. The blood was rushing through her ears as she found her way to the station that Professor Sarai had set up for her. Her shoulder shook with added embarrassment and anguish as the woman removed the keys from Siobhan's hands. The metal slipped from her fingers, snatched back with a fury that could only be read as "how dare you?"

How dare she break her Professor's trust? How dare she misrepresent what it meant to have such a responsibility? The list of question and lack of answers was extensive. Siobhan's eyes burned with heartbroken tears as she sat down where the Hatian woman dictated and accepted the small bundle containing the baby kitten without the use of a voice. Any words that she had where dying before they reached her tongue. Siobhan could feel her face swelling up from the stickiness of her tears and how they littered her cheeks. Using the sleeve of her shoulder, she wiped her soaked face as she gently cradled the kitten in one arm and started to fumble for the bottle.

Nothing had been arranged for her in her normal lock hand pattern. It would be a complete guessing game as she tried to take care of the purring baby. Was it by chance or had Professor Toussaint done it deliberatly because she no longer wished to help Siobhan? She'd never expected her too but it had come as a warm reminder when her tools and her needs for the day where helpfully arranged in the face of a clock to allow her to participate like a normal student. Siobhan sniffled to herself pitifully, determined to figure it out herself and not ask for help from Professor Toussaint, lest the woman believe that her trust and faith was further misplaced in her once prized student.

Siobhan heard the woman snap at Prat over some onions. At least she wasn't doing work such as that she supposed... She figured had she been subjected to the putrid smell of onions all day then it would have made her tears become indifferentiable to what her body produced from emotion vs onion. She'd take the cat.

As the detention wore on, Siobhan found herself feeling all the more pitiful and heartbroken. The overwhelming feeling of being a burden had once again settled along the weight of Siobhan's spine as she continued to cry softly to herself. The kitten cooed and let out soft mewling noises as she continued to care for it and made an effort to clean the small carrier that it had been living in. Siobhan couldn't control the quiver in her lip as she moved through the rest of the actions, nor could she control the constant stream of angry tears that kept her face from looking its usual pleasant self.

Siobhan made a conscious effort to avoid looking in the direction of her once beloved teacher's desk. She wanted forgiveness. She wanted her greenhouses back. She wanted to come back to her home-away-from-home. But it had been made very clear to her that she was not welcome here once the detention was over. If they could have, Siobhan knew her shoulders would have slumped to the floor and her body would have become Jello. It only stood firm to keep the wiggling kitten from escaping and incuring more fury upon herself for an honest mistake.

Siobhan said nothing to the Professor for there was nothing to be said. Not at this moment in time when tensions ran high and emotions where bound to run amok if they where not reigned in and thought about before words were spoken. Siobhan gently pet the baby kitten who was attempting to chew on the tip of her pinky finger. The poor thing was so small, so in need of protection. She was the one protecting and caring for it until it could be given to someoe who truly deserved it.

It wasn't a very fun afternoon. But Siobhan wanted to stay in this Greenhouse forever if it meant that she didn't need to leave her own personal spot of safety once again.
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| 𝑰𝒏𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒂𝒄𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝑾𝒊𝒕𝒉: | 𝑴𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈: @Sarai Toussaint-Fleischer@Prat Pass|
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Detention

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Prat had woken that morning with the vague certainty of a mildly tolerable day, nothing more or less remained as his expectations. Perhaps a good nap in the afternoon, a quiet study in the library and a chance at mending things with Siobhan. Whichever way it went, the morning tea or the crisp air never implied the humiliation, manual labour and the vengeful herbologist he was about to encounter. And being caught by her, mid-kiss, hidden away in an empty classroom with no concept of timing, obligation or basic school protocol was not on the agenda.

Yet here he was.

When Professor Sarai had entered the room earlier that day and found him with Siobhan pressed close, hands intertwined and lips brushing. The look on her face hadn't been shock. No, shock would've been merciful. Instead, there had been an expression of quiet, simmering disappointment and something else in her gaze that made Prat's stomach twist; she carried a look of someone expecting better and somehow still surprised anyway.

Disgust? Irritation? Maybe both. Maybe directed entirely at him or perhaps not. The uncertainty gnawed more than the disciplinary tone had.

He'd wanted to explain, nearly opening his mouth to insist he wasn't skipping class on purpose, that he wasn't dragging Siobhan into some sort of rebellion or acts of questionable conscience. But how exactly was he even meant to express that? "I didn't mean to ditch class, I simply got so lost in kissing your favourite student that I lost track of my schedule" without the chances of sounding even more foolish and amplifying her wrath.

So instead, the boy arrived where Sarai had instructed, right under the Toussaint witch's sharp gaze. The air smelled of damp soil and growing things, a soft rustle of leaving filling the otherwise heavy silence. The professor didn't raise her voice in the slight, the simmering disappointment radiating off her like heat from cauldrons.

"You, over there," she ordered sharply, pointing Prat towards the back corner where a monstrous sized wooden barrel sat. It was filled alarmingly to the brim with onions. A second barrel waited empty beside it and an empty basket for what he assumed meant for the skins.

Prat blinked once. Twice.

Well. Fuck.

She really was mad, And creative. Gotta hand that to her.

His walk towards the barrel felt like a prisoner's march, though the young lad hadn't allowed his posture to falter. Vipers did not slouch, even when sentenced to labor normally reserved for medieval kitchens or particularly malicious elves. He shot a quick glance at the other two, just enough to see Siobhan being guided gently towards a table, kitten placed in her care. At least she wasn't peeling onions, that was slightly comforting.

Still, the guilt of having dragged her into this lodged in his chest like a pebble in a shoe; small, irritating and impossible to ignore.

Once he reached the barrel, Prat stared down into it with muted horror. A whole barrel of onions. A WHOLE BARREL. Did Sarai grow these specifically for moments like this? An army of onions to punish sin? Ancient curses were less cruel than this.

Prat rolled up his sleeves, squared his shoulders, and reached in. They were cool against his skin; smooth, round and deceptively innocent. The first one peeled off easily enough, thing layers coming loose beneath his fingertips. He placed the skins in the basket, dropped the denuded onion into the empty barrel.

One down. Only something like a few hundred more to go? Good Solomon.

Prat set his jaw and continued. Peel, peel and peeling away. Skins into the basket, onions into the barrel. At first, the work was tedious but manageable. Mechanical. Something to focus on instead of the heavy silence in the greenhouse, instead of the memory of Sarai's expression and the tight knot of guilt twisting low in his stomach everytime he dared to glance towards Siobhan's direction to see how she was faring against the Professor's judgement.

She looked quite miserable, as miserable as one could look while handling a kitten anyway.

Prat kept peeling.

By the tenth onion, the scent began to sting, a faint whisper of discomfort lingering in his eyes and nose.

By the twentieth, the whispers had turned into burning aches. He tried to blink the irritation away, but the motion only stirred more of the acrid scent into his vision, making his eyes prickle and blur. He sniffed sharply; big mistake. Because the onion fumes rushed upwards and ignited his sinuses like wildfire to dry grass.

By the time he reached what one could assume the halfway mark, not that he dared to count anymore; counting would make this all feel so much more real. The eyes were raining, not emotional tears, not the kind he'd ever associate with guilt, regret, longing or anything of the warm feelings. No, these were ugly, involuntary and torturous biological tears streaking hot down his cheeks while his nose burned like dragon fire.

If someone from slytherin or his captain circle saw him right now? He made a rude gesture at the thought, He'd rather arm-wrestle a troll or duel Professor Sauber the Grinch of Hogwarts, or do literally anything other than peel onions until his soul evaporated.

Still, his hands didn't stop. He wasn't about to ask Sarai for mercy. That was not how he operated, not on the quid stadium, not on field and neither in life, certainly not in Siobhan's earshot.

Besides, he wasn't sure asking Sarai would help at all.

He reached for another onion, then another as his fingers grew slick with vegetable sap, nails catching occasionally and every so often his head jerked back as another wave of tear-inducing fumes would invade his nose.

And through it all, under the irritation and pride and the stubbornness, a small, persistent thought burned quietly within him:

Pity for Sio suffering Consequences for his choices.

He'd dragged Siobhan down with him, purposefully and by circumstances. He'd however, never intended to cost her access to greenhouses or disappoint a professor she seemed to respect so deeply. If he could shoulder this entire punishment alone, he'd do it again, twice over with no complaints.

More tears streamed, traitorous, stinging and humiliating. He sniffed again, wiping his sleeve across his face, inhaling sharply, determined to not falter.

Finally, the last onion fell into the filled barrel with a damp thud. His eyes felt puffed, raw and abused by now. Nose burned as though it'd been hexed. Fingertips tingled painfully and he exhaled a shaky breath, swiping another tear, purely chemical and entirely involuntary off his cheek.

One full barrel, brimming with peeled onions and a basket with papery skins. His task was completed, pride battered but intact.

If this was what it cost to kiss pretty girls, to feel their soft hands, to get lost in intoxicating moments where they lost track of time, fine, he'd peel another barrel of onions tomorrow for it.

With only the faintest flicker of defiant amusement beneath exhaustion, he thought:

Worth it.

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