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animasola86 · 1 month

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A Demonstration of Power and Support

Notes: This is a continuation of Scars and Peace and Comfort, but can be read individually.

Pairing: Aesop Sharp x f!reader (with a face scar)

Genre: Fluff/Smut // Words: 6.3k // [READ ON AO3]

Synopsis: He gave you confidence, you gave him a bad case of jealousy.

WARNINGS: NSFW! Explicit sexual content. Size difference. Age gap. Established student/teacher relationship. Jealousy. Rough sex.

A Demonstration of Power and Support

There it was again. That giggle that made his blood boil and his trousers tighten. Looking up from his desk, he saw you laughing with the boys you shared a potion station with. You were happy, smiling, giggling, enjoying yourself, and seeing you like that should make him happy too, but it wasn't you he was glaring at, it was those boys who kept engaging with you, smirking, joking, flirting.

He knew there'd be a downside to your newly acquired confidence. Others would notice it too. And even though he was proud of you for wearing your scar with so much pride now, it pained him to see you with other men, other boys, who would look at you the same way he looked at you, and he hated them and he hated himself for not being able to control his emotions better.

He called you out by your name, the formal way he hadn't called you in so long. You stiffened immediately, the giggle dying in your throat as you turned around to him, a deep blush on your cheeks. “Focus on your potion!” he told you sternly, his gaze dark, his usual demeanour, really, but it made your stomach turn because he was never like that with you. Never, not even before you were more than student and teacher.

You lowered your head, and he saw your lips quivering. “Yes, professor,” you said docilely. “I'm sorry, professor.”

His heart broke a little when he saw you so defeated, the happiness wiped straight from your beautiful face as you returned to your cauldron, staring into it, as you forced yourself not to get too emotional over his unexpected outburst.

You even ignored the boys around you now. Despite feeling bad for calling you out publicly, he watched with grim satisfaction how his students returned to their work. There was no more giggling.

After class, he sat at his desk, sunken over essays and other papers, when he heard quiet footsteps echo through the empty classroom. “No office hours today,” he said gruffly without looking up. He was definitely not in the mood to deal with any stupid questions right now.

“I'm sorry,” a timid voice replied, and he looked up quickly to see you standing a few feet away from the table, your hands clenched in front of you, your eyes glued to the floor. You were about to turn around again, your face sunken, hurt by his rejection, but he quickly extended a hand towards you.

“Wait...” he called with a heavy sigh, hating himself even more for being... who he was.

You looked up at him, biting your lip before you slowly walked closer, staring at his hand. Your eyes finally met his, dark and intimidating, and you hesitated before you placed your small hand into his larger one.

He quickly closed his fingers around it and pulled you towards him. A gasp escaped you, and your eyes widened slightly. You stopped next to his chair, shoulders still slumped, as you awaited another lecture.

But he just squeezed your hand gently, his dark gaze wandering over your face. He was tempted to raise his other hand and caress your flushed cheek and your scars, but he was well aware that his classroom might be empty, yet the door was open, and despite wanting to show everyone who you belonged to, he couldn't. He never could, not here, not anywhere in public.

And that was what hurt the most.

“I'm sorry,” you said again, your voice so quiet and fragile. “I didn't mean to... disrupt your class...”

He groaned, rubbing his tired eyes. “Please, forget about that. I shouldn't have called you out like that. I'm sorry,” he added, looking up at you from his seat as his thumb rubbed over the back of your hand. “I suppose I'm just... grumpy today,” he added, a twinkle in his eyes as he recited the word you had called him before, in good fun though.

You weren't always this meek around him, especially when the two of you were alone. And he loved that about you. You were never intimidated by his gruff nature, you even teased him about it on occasion. But when you were in his classroom, you were just another student, and he admired you for it, admired the shift when everyone else poured out and you were finally alone with him.

When nobody was watching, you couldn't stop yourself from touching him, throwing your arms around him, pressing yourself against him, your tiny body moulding to his bigger one.

But now you were different, barely able to look at him as you stared at your hand in his. He saw the struggle on your face, and he sighed.

“Do you... still want me to come over tonight?” you whispered timidly, your voice shaking.

He grabbed your other hand then and made you look at him in surprise. “Of course, sweetheart,” he said softly, frowning at you. “I'm always looking forward to seeing you.” He exhaled loudly again, cradling both of your hands between his long fingers. “Don't let the gruff exterior fool you.”

He saw your lips twitching before you smiled shyly at him, your cheeks bright red.

A sudden noise from the door made him turn his head, and when he noticed the boy standing there, waiting for you apparently, he slowly, inconspicuously, let go of your hands and leaned back, clearing his throat.

“That'll be all,” he said loudly, throwing you a gaze you hopefully didn't interpret as another scowl, and you turned your head away for a moment, then nodded in understanding.

“Thank you, professor,” you played along, and he gave you the hint of a wink as he watched you go, his eyes roaming your small form, before you joined your classmate and were gone from his view.

Feeling his stomach tightening at the sight, he sighed deeply and rubbed his bearded chin. He really should have known better than to allow himself to be this affected by a student...

‎

When you sneaked into his quarters after dinner, he was waiting in the large armchair by the fireplace. As soon as the door opened and closed by invisible hands, he stood with a deep groan and slowly walked towards your disillusioned form. You had barely lifted the charm, when he grabbed your shoulders and pulled you against his broad chest.

You gasped but were quick to wrap your arms around his waist and press your cheek against him. He held you close and kissed the top of your head.

“Thanks for coming,” he growled quietly, making you lean back enough to tilt your chin up and look at him, a confused frown on your beautiful face.

“Of course,” you whispered, your eyes scanning his hard face. You were about to raise a hand and touch his rough jaw, when he closed his hand around your wrist and took a step back.

“Come with me,” he said and pulled you along to the large fireplace.

You looked towards the entryway to his bedroom, then up at him in confusion. “No massage tonight?” you asked quietly.

“No,” he grunted. “I've taken my potions, I'm fine...” He knew he didn't look fine, face tense, deep shadows under his dark eyes, jaw clenched. But unlike you, he knew he was tense for a different reason, and he could no longer wait to relieve that growing tightness.

He stopped in front of the fireplace and put his wand to the stone ornament in the middle of the mantelpiece, and with a low rumble, the secret passage behind it opened. He extinguished the fire and bent down slightly to traverse the tight space, holding out his hand to you.

You grabbed it, a mixture of confusion and excitement grazing your delicate features. Once you were on the other side of the fireplace, you noticed the staircase in front of you. “What is this?” you asked curiously, but he just dragged you after him, up the stairs, surprisingly fast despite his limping walk.

You reached a small room, and for a moment, you just stared. There were easels all around, with drawings and sketches of landscapes and buildings, charcoal, quills, brushes and other drawing equipment lying on all kinds of surfaces, bookcases and shelves lined the walls, and the spaces between them were filled with murals of mythical creatures. There were wooden dummies standing and sitting on the furniture, and a wood carving station at the other end of the room. But the most prominent feature was the large, sturdy looking table in the middle, long and wide like a small bed, and it was completely empty.

But not for long. While you still looked around the small space in awe, so many questions on your mind, he had stepped behind you and picked you up on his arms, and you shriek-laughed in surprise. You knew he was strong, despite the state of his body, but he had never carried you like this before. There was a certain warmth pooling in your cheeks, and elsewhere.

To be fair he didn't walk long before he set you down on the edge of the large table. For a moment he stood there, towering over you, his eyes dark and his face set, and you looked up at him with your heart racing and your lips trembling, and (shamefully) your core throbbing.

He licked his lips then and stepped closer, his hands gently prying your thighs apart as he stepped between them, pushing your skirt up tantalisingly slow. His calloused fingers glided over your skin, leaving goosebumps in their wake.

You felt dizzy when they reached your centre. His fingertips teased against the fabric of your undergarments, poking and prodding, and he hummed deeply when he felt a wet patch forming. “Excited, aren't you?” he whispered and leaned over you until his breath ghosted your flushed cheeks. Not sure if he wanted an answer or not, you just nodded, chewing on your lips nervously.

He gave you a dark grimace, lowering his head, and when you felt his fingers pushing the thick fabric of your underwear deeper between your folds, he pressed his lips to yours for a heated kiss that quickly left you breathless for multiple reasons. Your heart was racing as your eyelids fluttered shut, his tongue very demanding tonight as it slipped into your mouth and tangled with yours.

You moaned against his lips as he started rubbing the pad of his finger between your still cloth covered lower lips, teasing against your entrance and brushing against your clit. More mewls left you when his free hand grabbed the back of your head, gripping your hair and pulling you closer to him as he kissed you like he might have never kissed you before. He barely left you the chance to breathe, and in his iron grip, you couldn't turn your head away.

Feeling light-headed, you just succumbed to the sensation, kissing him back with as much fervour as you could muster, while he kept moving his finger against your throbbing centre, the chafing fabric creating a friction that burned deliciously. A deep whimper escaped your throat, and he finally leaned away, his lips looking as swollen as yours felt. Licking them, you looked up at him, the blush from your face quickly spreading all over your body.

He straightened up fully, in all his intimidating glory as he glowered down at you. His eyes remained on yours as his hands slipped under the waistband of your underwear and slowly pushed down, and you almost didn't notice the small tug when he asked you to lift your rear. You did, your shaking hands clawing at the edge of the table as you watched him pull your bloomers down your legs before they were unceremoniously tossed aside.

Your chest rose and fell quicker when he spread your legs even further with his hands firmly on your upper thighs, his fingers almost completely circling them while his thumbs rubbed against your sensitive skin. A cold breeze wafted over your exposed mound, your clit throbbing in anticipation. He tilted his head when he looked down, his eyes roaming your body.

You almost shrieked when he suddenly pulled a stool closer, the scraping sound cutting through your tense nerves like a stab to the heart. Pressing your lips together to keep your noises down, you watched him sitting down on the stool, and now he was really looking at you. His elbows pressed your legs apart as he stared at your sex, fully on display for him.

Squirming slightly, you felt a little uncomfortable with him inspecting you like that, not that he hadn't seen it before, but never with such intensity. You let out a little squeal when he moved one of his hands to gently cup your mound, his whole palm pressed to it, covering it, and when he looked up at you, the familiar warmth was back in his eyes. You breathed a little easier when he reached his other hand up and caressed your cheek with the back of his fingers, coaxing a shy smile from you.

He loved seeing you like that, confused, embarrassed, submissive, and highly aroused. Holding your gaze for another moment, he rubbed his hand over your wet folds, gathering your slick on his palm. When he finally bent a finger and slipped it between your lower lips, he watched you closely, and as a soft squelching sound rang in his ears, he saw you writhing in discomfort, frowning slightly, but it made him smile at you, and your embarrassment was quickly forgotten.

His finger moved between your folds before he dipped it gently into your entrance, and you accepted him easily with how wet you were. A soft moan escaped you, and he saw how you tightened your grip on the table, your knuckles turning white. He pushed the finger in as far as it would go, feeling your walls clenching around it, then withdrew it and added another finger. Your breath hitched at the slight stretch, but he kept going, slowly pumping his fingers in and out of you, twisting and turning them until he curled them in a come hither motion – and caused you to yelp and squirm against his hand.

With a dark smile, he pressed against that sensitive spot again and again, watching you twitch on the table, your lips parted and trembling, soft little mewls falling from them. And then he pushed his thumb against your clit, hitting your pleasure points in tandem, and you lost it, thrashing your head back, your thighs convulsing against him, your noises tumbling out of you without control. He stood then, his hand still gripping your cunt tightly as he leaned in to capture your mouth, swallowing your moans and cries as you climaxed hard around his fingers.

Your release coated his hand, and he slowly eased his grip, rubbing your insides softly while you came down from your high. Kissing you gently, he watched you with eager eyes, taking in every single twitch, and when he leaned away, you were breathing hard and shaking badly. He pulled his fingers out of your clenching cunt and raised them to your face.

Despite your haze, you slowly unclenched your trembling hands from around the edge of the table and cradled his wet fingers between them before you brought them to your mouth, and when you started licking your slick off his skin, you held his gaze, and the hunger within your eyes made his erection strain against his trousers.

His breath hitched as he watched (and felt) your small tongue flicking around his long fingers, licking up every single drop of wetness, you even put them into your mouth, hollowed your cheeks and sucked on them hard, and he was tempted to press them deeper, watch you really lose control when you would gag around them, struggling to breathe, but instead he tugged at them and you released them with a wet pop. You almost sighed in disappointment when he lowered his hand that was glistening in your saliva.

He wiped it on his leg and licked his lips, slowly tilting his head before he nodded at you, a simple, curt nod, and when his eyes left yours to look down at where his groin pressed against the table, holding your spread legs wide open, you nodded back and moved your small hands towards the buttons of his trousers. You were quick as usual, and when his hard erection sprang free from its confines, he saw your eyes widening slightly as you blushed even deeper.

The same way that he had inspected your cunt earlier, you were now looking at his cock, taking in every single detail, from the springy darkened head to the bulging veins and impressive length and girth of it, and you felt a new wave of moisture seeping out of your waiting hole. The sheer necessity to have him inside you made you squirm on the table, needy little mewls escaping your throat. His desire to be inside of you was equally high, but he only let out a deep grunt when your hands closed around his shaft and stroked it almost roughly.

You writhed on the edge, slowly scooting closer, eager to connect with him finally, but he grabbed your wrist and stopped you. Looking up at him with your lips parted in surprise, he took in your youthful face, the innocence edged into your soft features, but your eyes and the way your lips quivered told a different story. And he could have stared at you for a very long time, despite the throbbing need resting in your hands, but in the end the carnal lust won.

He pried your hands from his cock and grabbed your waist, and without much effort he flipped you on the table, made you lie down on your stomach with your legs hanging off, your surprised yelp squeezed out of you as he gripped your hair and pressed your cheek into the cold wooden surface. Then he grabbed your ankles and brought your knees up, causing your rear to rise in front of him, your skirt bunched up on your lower back, exposing every glistening fold to his viewing pleasure.

You were barely able to adjust to the new position when you felt his hard member slapping against your wetness. Your hands found the opposite side of the table just in time when he pressed his tip against your entrance. Bracing yourself, you felt him pushing in, slowly, carefully, but as soon as your walls clenched around his head and pulled him in more, he snapped his hips against you hard and buried his entire length inside you. The deep thrust pushed you over the table and the sudden stretch coaxed a shrill shriek out of you.

He held onto your ankles, his body flush with the edge of the table, caging you in, holding you in place, as he started pulling out and pushing back in, out and in, in and out, slow and deliberate, over and over again, and you mewled under the constant friction, your body melting into the table. Once he found his rhythm, his big hands wandered to your tiny waist, closing around it, his long fingers grazing your stomach, and then he really started to pound into you.

Your noises grew louder, as did the wet squelching sounds as your pussy fluttered around him, muscles clenching, a burning warmth gathering inside you. You sank your nails into the old wood, holding on for dear life as his pelvis smacked against your cushioned arse in quick succession. His own grunts filled your ears, adding to the tension building up in your belly, those deep vibrations pushing you right over the edge.

You cried out when your walls clamped around him, that tight coil within exploding into a thousand tiny lights that made your entire body convulse against him. He felt your orgasmic contractions, and despite the soreness in his leg, he kept fucking you through your release, your juices helping in easing your tight passage, but he still strained to keep his rhythm. His fingers dug into your soft skin, and he felt a bead of sweat running along his temple.

He might have overdone it tonight, adding that certain potion to the many others he had to take on the daily to soothe the pain, but his desire to dominate you properly had been too strong. Seeing you with those boys had made him incredibly jealous, not that he would ever admit to it or even tell you so, but he had felt it in his gut, and the moment you had stepped over his threshold, he had known he had to show you that you'd never need anyone but him.

At least for as long as you were blessed with each other's presence.

Closing his eyes, he continued his relentless assault on your clenching cunt, your moans and whimpers giving him the necessary strength to move even faster and harder and deeper, and each time he smacked against your cervix, you would yelp and mewl and convulse in his iron grip on your waist.

It didn't take long for you to come once more, your limbs twitching uncontrollably as your juices gushed past the tight grip of your walls while his cock kept pistoning in and out, squeezed by your orgasm, and finally he felt his balls tighten, that painful tension in his stomach easing when he gave you one last deep thrust before he came inside you, painting your insides with his seed, marking you as his.

He groaned and stilled against you, holding you pressed to his pelvis as he leaned over you slightly, his weight making your knees quake before they slipped from beneath you, and you slumped to the table, legs hanging off bonelessly, gasping for air as his body pushed heavy on yours, his cock gliding even deeper, twitching and throbbing inside you.

You felt dizzy and were still seeing stars when he eventually leaned back, easing the vice-like grip of his fingers on your bruised waist. You didn't care. You felt more bruises blooming in and on your body, so it didn't matter either way. The releases he allowed you were worth the rough handling.

And apparently he wasn't done yet. While he slipped out of your tight cunt, with your combined juices seeping out of you and down your legs, you admired his stamina and wondered how he was able to even stand so straight and tall after the unusual exertion. He almost never took you like this, you usually found positions that wouldn't strain his stiff leg, but he had been weird the whole day, and as long as he seemed fine with this, you couldn't care less.

Your mind was spinning, the sensations still whirling in your head (and throbbing in your sex), and they jumbled about even more when he suddenly flipped you onto your back again, your limp legs flopping over the edge of the table as you blinked up at him.

He stood tall and intimidating between your twitching thighs, his hands rubbing along your hips as his dark eyes roamed your face and body. While you tried to sit up, leaning on your elbows despite the shudders crushing through your body, he didn't wait long to continue your adventure. Your eyes snapped to his still erect cock, and you blinked in confusion. He had just emptied himself inside you, how was he still that hard?

It didn't matter in the end when he grabbed his length and pressed it against your entrance once more, easily slipping inside, the loud squelching noise as he pushed his seed back into you causing goosebumps to ripple over your bare legs. The stretch made you inhale sharply, but you quickly adjusted, and not a moment too soon as he started grinding his hips into you, every slam hitting your bruised cervix.

You let out a pained whimper every time he did, but the more he moved inside you, the more pleasure you felt in the motion. Your whole body was on fire, and you wished you wouldn't wear all these layers of your uniform as sweat coated your skin and drenched your clothes. You felt him moving slower until he stopped completely, deeply buried within your warmth.

When you looked up at him, his already very dark eyes were so black and intense, you felt cold shivers running down your spine. Swallowing hard, you tried to sit up more, your hands propped up behind you, but you wanted to touch him, feel the tension in his muscles, the strength in his grip. Ease the darkness away that seemed to grip him tightly tonight.

But you couldn't move, couldn't say anything, you felt like a bunny cornered by the big bad wolf, pinned down by his big paws (and massive cock), rendered unable to even breathe as he stared down at you. A meek little whine escaped you as he suddenly leaned over you, one arm propped on the table next to you, the other hand extended to brush his thumb against your cheek as his fingers slid into your hair. You felt the rough pad following the protruding lines of your scar all the way over your eye to your split eyebrow, and you quickly closed your eyes to allow him the motion.

He moved it back down, the touch gentle but also firm, and when he gripped your hair, you yelped and your eyes flew open again. He held you in place like that, staring straight into your soul, and you felt yourself melting into his gaze.

Seeing you so submissive, surrendering to him so completely, made his heart race. There was a dark shadow creeping around the edge of his vision and deeper into his very being. He had never felt this possessive before, never this demanding. He'd never been this rough to you, either, and by watching your lips trembling, your hair clinging to your sweaty forehead, your whole body quaking against and around him, he knew he had been a little too rough.

And still he was far from regretting anything. He couldn't. He wasn't done yet.

His hand tightened around your head and pulled you closer to him, and as soon as the strained mewl left your throat, he had claimed your mouth and kissed you deeply. You hummed against him, despite everything kissing him back with fervour, your hands finding his arm as you held onto him while he gripped your hair.

As he slipped his tongue between your lips, he started moving within you again, slow, deliberate thrusts, and your cunt replied in full when it started clenching around him. He swallowed your moans and whimpers before he let you catch your breath and kissed your cheek, then your scar, licking up the sweat from your temple, until he pulled your earlobe between his teeth and nibbled on it, his stubble scraping over your soft skin. Your breaths were loud in his ear, and a deep shudder crashed through him as a particularly sensual mewl slipped from your swollen lips.

A grunt escaped him, and he bit your ear playfully before leaning back fully, staring down at you darkly. “Get your tits out,” he commanded roughly, still rolling his hips into you as you scrambled to prop yourself up on your elbows after he had let you go rather unceremoniously.

Despite the vulgar tone you had never heard him use before, you quickly fumbled with the buttons of your shirt, your fingers shaking badly, but eventually you pushed all those layers aside and freed your small breasts.

His big hands closed around them, kneaded them anything but gently, and you whimpered quietly, squirming on the table. He rolled your nipples between his fingers, then pinched them so hard you let out a surprised yelp.

His gaze was dark, jaw clenched and eyebrows furrowed. After a few moments of groping your soft mounds, he let them go and grabbed your hands and placed them on your chest. “Play with them,” he ordered, and you did, fondling them much more carefully, easing the aching his touch had left.

He watched you grimly, his hands moving back to your waist, fingers digging into the bunched up fabric of your skirt, before he slammed his hips against your pulsing centre in harder motions again. You cried out when his cock pushed against your battered cervix, but he kept going, giving you those slow but powerful thrusts that went deep and left you breathless.

Your fingers clawed at your breasts in support, your breaths as erratic as your heartbeat, as he pushed you up and down the table, your bare bottom scraping over the wooden surface every time he pulled you into the snap of his hips.

You wanted to watch him, observe the strain on his weathered face, how his eyebrows furrowed in dark concentration, how he gritted his teeth and clenched his jaw, the deep rumbles escaping his throat the only audible sign of his exertion, but you soon succumbed to his pounding strokes as your eyes rolled back and you sank your fingernails into your own soft mounds while you clenched tighter around him.

He looked at you, your tiny body so fragile before him, the state of it absolutely feral with your open shirt, your small hands holding onto your breasts, your hair stuck to your sweaty skin, your lips raw and quivering, your eyelids fluttering, while he slammed his cock into your spluttering wetness, your legs limp and boneless as they bounced against him with every rough impact.

Despite the immense pleasure this brought him, he felt horrible, for the way he treated you, for how he spoke to you, for his own stupid jealousy. As if it was your fault that those pesky boys suddenly noticed you, if anything, it was his fault for giving you the confidence to walk about proudly, with no care in the world, especially not about those lines that grazed your cheek.

The worst part was that you didn't give him any reason to be jealous. You had come to him after class, with your head hanging, confused by his bad mood, afraid of his rejection. And you still wanted to see him, spend the night with him, be with him despite everything. And all he wanted was to prove to you that he was the only one you'd ever need, when in reality you seemed to already know that.

Closing his eyes for a moment, he stilled inside you, eased his rapid rhythm, and when he looked at you again, you were still barely able to meet his gaze. He moved his large hands around your limp body and lifted you up, pressed you to his chest, held you close, save and protected, before he started moving again, slow and gentle, not as deep so he wouldn't hurt you any more, and not as fast so he wouldn't overwhelm you.

You slowly came to in his arms, fingers clawing at the front of his waistcoat as you tilted your chin to look up at him. Your eyes were glazed over and your pupils dilated, you looked utterly spent already. He leaned down and kissed your sweaty forehead, and you smiled softly at the gentle touch. Another reason why he absolutely did not deserve such a sweet little girl: you were too forgiving (and not a girl per se, not anymore, he had made sure of that).

He shifted you in his hold, one hand under your rear, the other flat on your back, fingers curling around your shoulder. The new position seemed to wake you up more again, and you slowly wrapped your legs around his hips, holding onto him, trying to take some of your weight off his arms, not that you weighed anything in his eyes, you were a mere doll in his hands.

Still you gripped his broad shoulders and started moving your hips against him, meeting his gentle thrusts with more fervour than he would have expected of you in your somewhat battered state. He couldn't help but underestimate you sometimes, given your age and size, though that usually made him admire you even more when you proved him wrong, because you were more resilient than he thought, stronger, braver, and needier.

And by how tight your cunt clenched around his cock, you were very needy at the moment. Together you found a fast rhythm, as you bounced against him and he snapped his hips upwards, he was so focused he didn't even notice the dull ache in his leg, and when you started mewling again, he closed his eyes and smiled, savouring the sweet sounds as he drove you closer to the edge.

You and himself, to be exact, because when you suddenly convulsed against him, your legs holding him in a death grip while you sank your fingernails into the thick layers of his clothes, you grabbed him by the cravat and pulled him right along into the blissful abyss.

Crying out loudly, you came around him hard, your muscles contracting, squeezing him, and he twitched with you, embracing you tightly as he groaned and grunted, his hips giving you jerky little stabs before he pushed deep and stopped, pressing your tiny body against his, holding you in place as he erupted inside you, filling you with his hot seed once more. You moaned into his chest as you spasmed against him.

He felt his strength waning and collapsed onto the stool next to the table with a pained growl, your frame still cradled on his lap, still impaled by his softening length. You wrapped your arms around his neck and leaned against him, both of you slowly coming down from the high that made your head spin and his heart race.

“Are you okay?” He was the first to speak, even though his voice sounded raw and gruffer than usual.

“I wanted to ask you the same thing,” you whispered back, slowly looking up at him, your cheek resting against his shoulder.

His dark eyes met yours. “I'll be fine,” he said, too tired to smile. “Did I hurt you?” he then added, not too tired to frown at you.

You shook your head. You'd be sore tomorrow, for sure, but you usually were when you'd been with him, and you'd become quite used to it. Maybe you even liked it (a lot, you liked it a lot). It was a constant reminder that this big strong man had accepted and invited you into his life, and you'd do anything to keep it that way for as long as possible.

He watched you closely, definitely doubting your reply. But he didn't press it, he only pressed you, closer to his chest. You inhaled deeply and smiled at him, slowly raising a hand to move your fingertips over his strong jaw up along the ragged lines of his scar and back down again. The sound of his beard scraping against your skin sent shivers down your spine and made you clench around him.

Shifting beneath you, he exhaled loudly. Despite your weak state (and the growing desire to do it all over again), you noticed the strain in his movements. He was in pain, that much was clear. And you felt guilty for not seeing it earlier. Before he could move, you loosened your limbs around him, grabbed his shoulders and stood on shaking limbs before you lifted yourself off him. Your walls protested, clinging to him, but then he slipped out of you, and you sighed deeply at the loss.

Leaning against the table (because you'd fall over otherwise), you held out your hands to him, and even though he usually refused that gesture out of pride, he grabbed them and let you help him pull himself to his feet. As soon as he stood, you wrapped your arms around his midriff and held him close (and steady). He rubbed his hand over your back, his other arm propped on the table for support.

While he tried to find his bearings, you quickly tucked his spent cock away again and buttoned his trousers. You didn't care how you looked, though, so you left your shirt wide open. The cold breeze on your heated skin felt nice, and you were sure he didn't mind the view.

You remained close to him when he started walking, slow and careful, each step coaxing a quiet groan out of him. You knew you weren't of much help, he couldn't really lean on you with how tiny you were compared to him, but you still steadied him, and even if he would never admit to it, he was grateful that you did these things so nonchalantly. There was no pity, just support, unwavering support. He held onto you as you both left the hidden room and descended the many steps down to his quarters where he knew you'd take good care of him after he had taken so good care of you.

“By the way, what is that room?” you asked quietly, curious eyes looking up at him.

“My... hobby room,” he replied hesitantly, his voice rough and low, vibrating through him (and you). “But I haven't been up there in a while,” he added, his dark eyes boring into yours.

“Found a new hobby, eh?” you concluded with a smirk that warmed your cheeks – and surprisingly so: his too.

His arm tightened around you, his lips twitching slightly. “Possibly.”

NEXT PART: A Demonstration of Pride and Pain

End notes: In the end, our grumpy old man is just another ambitious, possessive Slytherin that struggles with his jealousy, right?

(Also to clear things up because I tend to be really vague about these things in my writing: he "enhanced" himself (via an unnamed potion) that night to last longer to show her that she doesn't need those young boys who might be better suited for her, she only needs him, and of course, she already knows that, but still adores it when he dominates her like that. Because who wouldn't...)

And on another note: his secret hobby room, right? I just can't see him walking up all those stairs, or even crouching through the fireplace, but then again he has to brave all of Hogwarts' staircases too, so what's one more or two or three? And I know the room might just be an Easter egg like display for some concept art or whatnot, but I can totally see him drawing and sketching and whittling away in there, just sitting and working with his hands, because what else can he do, hm?

Seriously, the more I write for him, the better I get his character, and it intrigues me more and more, and I feel I've only scratched the surface still.

Edit: I have now written a fourth part (see link above!), and I am thinking about more (and maybe you could do that too? I am open for ideas/requests!). So stay tuned, and thank you so much for reading my little Sexy Times with Sharp Series.

[ MORE SHARP SMUT ] [ MASTERLIST ] [ AO3 ]

#aesop sharp #aesop sharp smut #aesop sharp x reader #aesop sharp x mc #reader insert #fem reader #female reader #hogwarts legacy smut #professor sharp #professor sharp smut #professor sharp x mc #professor sharp x reader #professor aesop sharp #fluff #smut #mysmut #daddy sharp

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seriouslysnape · 11 months

Text

Patched Up

Aesop Sharp x Fem! Student! Reader

Tags: Minor injuries.

Word Count: 2.2k

“I won’t keep you any longer.”

꩜꩜꩜꩜

He wasn’t surprised when you showed up at the classroom after curfew.

He had gotten used to you showing up at all hours of the day. If he didn’t know you as well and personally as he did, he would’ve been under the impression that all you ever did was roam the corridors of the castle and pop in whenever you felt like it.

Sometimes your visit was just for a quick hello, other times it was for a “real” reason. He never knew what to expect whenever you came bopping in, but not that he was complaining.

He heard your footsteps from the hallway, a heads up that let him know you were about to enter. He was familiar with the sound of your steps, and he could only imagine why you were coming at such a late hour.

Of course he knew it wasn’t Potions related at all, but he still liked to make the same joke every time you came by when the school day was over.

“Are you here for a late Potions lesson?” He didn’t even turn away from the chalkboard to look at you. “It’s a bit late for that.”

“Afraid not,” You grinned, standing in the open doorway. “Is it such a crime for a student to visit her favorite professor?”

“I suppose not. It is an occasional occurrence,” He answered. “Although, lately the random visits have been usually saved for my personal chambers.”

“That’s true,” You grinned. “I was hoping that you’d be up for consoling a broken Quidditch player.”

His anxiety kicked in then, his protective mode turning on immediately…despite your bubbly tone. He forgot about the Potions formula he had been glancing over, his head peeking around the wall that blocked you from his sight.

The sight of your dirty practice uniform and the dirt caked on parts of your face and arms were a tell-tale sign to him that you were coming from the Quidditch field. There were a few scattered scrapes on your legs, and the way that you held your posture made it clear that you were hurt somewhere else on your body.

Abandoning his prep for the next day’s Potions classes, he swiftly approached you. He was gentle as he ushered you further into the room, closing the classroom door behind him and guiding you to his desk chair.

“How did this happen exactly?” He asked.

He was careful as he assisted you in lowering yourself into the chair. Your muscles definitely needed the rest, and if your shoulder hadn’t been hurting you so much, you could’ve fallen asleep right there.

“I had Quidditch practice tonight,” You answered. “These night practices are killing me. Quidditch is impossible to play in the dark…even with illumination charms.”

He put the pieces together without you even saying it. He was very observant when it came to you and had an impressive memory.

“Did you fall off of your broom again?” He asked, taking your chin into his hand to get a better look at your face.

“Yeah,” You replied dryly. “Bludger knocked me off.”

He made a small hum as he glanced over your features to check for any cuts or scrapes that you might’ve missed. He was relieved to see that despite being a little battered up, you were otherwise in good spirits.

“That’s the second time this week,” He remarked. “Where is this carelessness coming from?”

“It wasn’t careless. It’s dark out and I didn’t see the Bludger,” You corrected. “And that’s just part of playing Quidditch. It happens.”

“Not to you it doesn’t. You’re the best on the team,” He said. “Where did the Bludger hit?”

He watched carefully as you brought your hand to the base of your neck, tapping the space between your collarbone and shoulder.

“Right here,” You sighed. “It didn’t start hurting until practice was over. That’s when I came here.”

“You mean that you got back on your broom after you fell?” His face contorted into an expression of disbelief.

With a careful hand, he pulled the collar of your jersey down just enough so he could see the area that made contact with the Bludger. Sure enough, there was a decent bruise well on its way to being fully developed by tomorrow morning.

“I didn’t fall very far. I was pretty close to the ground,” You shrugged. “My shoulder took most of the damage.”

“Are you certain you’re not hurt anywhere else? You didn’t get hurt when you hit the ground?” He gingerly rotated your arm to test its mobility.

“Like I said, I didn’t fall far. The school’s Quidditch field just isn’t equipped to be played on at night.”

This was a common complaint amongst Hogwarts’ Quidditch players. Playing early in the morning and at night was just too dangerous when visibility was low. Aesop was right that this wasn’t the first time that this had happened to you in recent weeks. There had been several close calls, but only twice had you actually hit the ground after falling off. You were just lucky that your body had taken both hits instead of your head.

“Then why do you play on it at night?” He asked the obvious.

“It’s not up to me. The team captain sets the practice schedule,” You explained. “You know that I prefer to practice in the morning.”

Aesop knew that he could lecture you about being more careful and trying to convince your team’s captain to adjust the practice schedule to be during the daytime, but he knew that you weren’t up for a scolding…and he knew that you probably wouldn’t listen anyway. Quidditch was your greatest passion, and he knew that nagging you about it wouldn’t do you any good.

“It isn’t broken, and it doesn’t seem to be dislocated,” He stated, referring to your collarbone. “But I can guarantee that it will be uncomfortable tomorrow if you don’t take something. Is it hurting you now?”

Aesop was a worrier. You didn’t want him getting all fussed up over a little Bludger bruise. If he knew about even half the injuries that you sustained from Quidditch, he would’ve tried to convince you to quit by now. Sure, it felt like your arm was about to detach from the socket, but you weren’t going to tell him that.

“It’s a little sore.” You partially lied.

He leaned against the edge of his desk that was closest to you, his arms crossing over his chest. He caught the slight change in pitch in your voice when you answered, immediately alerting him that you weren’t being totally truthful.

“I thought you said that it started hurting after practice?” He recalled. “If you’re hurt, I need to know.”

It was difficult to get anything past him. You knew better.

“Wiggenweld would probably be a smart idea…” You sighed, feeling ashamed for trying to pull a fast one on him.

“That’s what I thought,” He scoffed. “I presume you don’t have the ingredients to make it yourself?”

You couldn’t help but huff at him. You were beginning to think that he was feeling inconvenienced that you had walked all the way here for his help.

It wasn’t like you were asking him to brew anything super complicated. As a matter of fact, you weren’t asking him to brew anything at all. Aesop always kept Wiggenweld close by.

“I don’t. That’s always why I came here,” You shook your head. “If it’s too much trouble, I can just go to Pippin’s and buy a few vials.”

“It’s late. You shouldn’t be wandering around Hogsmeade at this hour,” He reached into the inside pocket of his jacket, retrieving a small vial of the bright green liquid. “You really should keep Wiggenweld on you at all times. Especially if you’re going to keep getting beat up during Quidditch.”

He wasn’t wrong. You spent enough time on a broom that it was only a matter of time where luck would outweigh your skill, and the luck wouldn’t be in your favor. This wasn’t the first time that you had sought Aesop out after a bruising Quidditch session, but you knew that you couldn’t always expect him to be there to patch you up every time.

“I’m sorry I bothered you with this.” You removed the cap off of the bottle, eyeing the liquid inside.

His expression softened, his stern demeanor relaxing into a more comfortable position. He sheepishly shoved his hands into the pockets of his pants, nudging your foot with his as a gesture of reassurance.

Aesop forgot sometimes that his genuine worry for your health and well-being sometimes came off as aggressive and irritable. That was certainly not his intention.

“You didn’t bother me,” He gave a small smile, gesturing towards the vial in your hand. “Drink up. Down the hatch.”

As common as Wiggenweld was, you wished that some genius potioneer would work towards finding a way to make it taste better. Nonetheless, you gulped it down in two swallows, immediately feeling its effect. The sharp ache in your shoulder subsided gradually until it fully disappeared, and the scrapes on your lower extremities faded within seconds.

“Better?” He took the empty container from your hands.

“Much better,” You sighed. “Thanks.”

“Of course. Are you certain that you’re alright otherwise?” His brows furrowed in concern.

“I’m okay. I just need to get cleaned up and go to bed,” You shifted, preparing to stand up. “I won’t keep you any longer.”

He reached for your hand, helping you to your feet as if you’d collapse. He hated to see you go, and he definitely didn’t want you to leave with the thought that you had irritated him.

“I assure you that you’re not imposing on me,” He said, pulling you in between his legs to keep you from going just yet. “Did you get a chance to eat before practice?”

He always asked that question. Every single time he saw you after practice, he asked you that same question. His arms wrapped around your waist, keeping you close to him.

“No. I was running late.” You replied, knowing what he was going to say next.

One of his hands came to your collar, checking to be sure that the Wiggenweld had done its job.

“You need to eat,” He tutted. “You use a lot of energy playing Quidditch, especially with how rough you play. You need to replenish the energy.”

“I’m tired.” You whined.

“I don’t care,” He remarked. “You need to eat something.”

“I want to shower and go to bed.” You argued.

“Eat, shower, and then bed. If you eat then you can use my shower.” He offered.

A certain glow appeared on your cheeks, shining through the layers of dirt and exhaustion. His heart soared at the sight. His soul exploded with joy and fulfillment with the knowledge that you were so positively responsive to him.

“And sleep in your bed?” You pleaded.

He let out a low chuckle. He had known that question was coming.

“That can be arranged,” He pressed a soft kiss to the middle of your forehead. “But food comes first.”

He wasn’t going to let you get away without getting some food in your belly. He was right after all, you needed the nourishment to make up for lost energy. He swayed you away from his desk, escorting you out of the classroom and accompanying you to The Great Hall. Dinnertime was well over, but there was always a way to scrounge up a meal after hours.

Side by side, the two of you walked together through the corridors to get to your destination. The castle was mostly quiet, considering that everyone else had turned in for the night. Peeves, as usual, was cackling and jabbering about something somewhere off in the distance.

The two of you continued to chat along the way, catching up on what had happened since you had seen one another last. His pinky finger found yours, wrapping around it as a small gesture of affection. It was a comfort to him if nothing else, but he’d feel better once he knew you were fed, clean, and comfortable.

He liked taking care of you. He wanted you to feel your best always, and he would do whatever he had to do to ensure that you were happy.

“Are you coming to my Quidditch match on Saturday? I’d like you to see that all these scrapes and bruises aren’t for nothing.”

Aesop wasn’t particularly the world’s biggest Quidditch fan. He kept up with the pro-Quidditch leagues and followed the scores of his favorite teams. However, as far as going out of his way to actually go see a match was unlikely.

But in recent months, he had been frequenting the Hogwarts matches…mainly the ones where you were playing.

“Frankly, I’m beginning to think that you’re purposefully getting all roughed up as an excuse for my off the record medical services.” He joked.

“I would hardly consider them to be services. Anybody can spare me a vial or two of Wiggenweld,” You bantered. “But in all seriousness, will you come?”

He chuckled again, much lower and even sweeter this time. A sense of warmth and peace rushed over you when he pressed a kiss to your temple, a hum of affirmation sounding from his chest as he did so.

“I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

#aesop sharp #aesop sharp x reader #aesop sharp x fem! reader #aesop sharp x female reader #aesop sharp x you #aesop sharp x y/n #aesop sharp fluff #aesop sharp fanfiction #professor sharp #professor sharp x reader #professor sharp x fem! reader #professor sharp x female reader #professor sharp x you #professor sharp x y/n #professor sharp fluff #professor sharp fanfiction #hogwarts legacy #hogwarts legacy fanfiction #seriouslysnape

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aesopsharpmybeloved · 1 year

Text

Some Like It Sharp

You and professor Sharp became very close after the events of your fifth year at Hogwarts. Just how close is unspoken for a long time. Until it isn't.

I know I should be writing father Paul, but I started playing Hogwarts Legacy and became a little addicted. And then I went to potions class. I saw professor Sharp, in all his limping scarred glory and immediately thought 'Oh. Oh no...' And that was that.

EDIT: I MANAGED TO ADD SOME VOICELINES ON AO3

tw: age difference (reader is 17-18, which is of age in the wizarding world), student-teacher relationship, mentions of trauma (emotional and physical)

Some Like It Sharp

(8.6k words)

You sighed deeply as your brow furrowed in concentration. Six finely crushed snake fangs soon disappeared in your cauldron. Momentarily, you lifted your eyes and gazed longingly at the person across the room from you. Professor Aesop Sharp was sitting at his round desk, a quill in his hand and a stack of third years’ essays in front of him. Every now and then, you could hear him utter a soft ‘tsk’, his dark hair bouncing as he shook his head. Even in his annoyance he was beautiful, you thought. Despite being a Slytherin, he reminded you of a lion, so strong and proud, not even his obvious limp was able to tarnish the image.

“Miss (L/N).” sounded right next to your ear, making you jump and turn your head towards the voice. Your wide startled eyes connected with professor Sharp’s own intense dark orbs. ‘When did he move?’ you thought, your heart in your throat.

“Miss, (L/N), I believe I asked you to brew a cure for boils. However, whatever concoction is currently in your cauldron looks more like it would cause them. Care to explain yourself?”

You hurriedly looked down at your cauldron and discovered the potion master was right. Instead of the orange hue the potion should have at this stage, it was a rather distasteful shade of swamp green. ‘How could this have happened?’

“Sir,” you began meekly, “I’m sorry, I don't know-... I think I got-”

“Distracted?” asked professor Sharp matter of factly, his voice lacking any sort of the annoyance it’d usually have. “Do tell, Miss (L/N),” he started circling around you like a predator, his lame leg not making the motion any less intimidating, “do you feel like my classes are so boring, or so easy, perhaps, that you can afford to daydream while ruining a first year potion?”

Your eyes hadn't left him for a second. You shivered involuntarily. You were the only person in the classroom. ‘When did everyone leave?’ “No, sir, I- O-of course not, I-?”

A single long digit pressed against your slightly open mouth, effectively cutting your eloquent speech short. Sharp stood in front of you now, and you felt your cheeks turning red. You exhaled shakily. “Daydreaming in my class… I don’t think detention is enough of a punishment. Do you?” Sharp practically purred into your ear, his acute words said in an almost teasing manner. He was so close now, so close you felt his hot breath on your neck as he spoke, his forefinger replaced by his thumb on your mouth, and he pulled the lower lip down, opening your mouth further.

You couldn't speak, only able to stare at his mouth as he pulled back slightly to look at you. A small smile appeared on his face and he finally moved forward, sealing his mouth over your own and immediately pushing his tongue inside. You gasped, but almost right away threw your hands around his neck and succumbed to his bruising kiss.

“(F/N),” he sighed once you had to part for breath. You smiled at him and wanted to connect your lips once more. Only then -

“(F/N)! Come on, wake up, we’re going to be late for Transfiguration!” you heard someone call out.

“What?” you asked and looked around. You weren’t in the potions classroom, nor were you standing in professor Sharp’s embrace. You weren’t standing at all, actually. Your dormitory’s light blue walls appeared before your eyes, as well as an annoyed face of Samantha Dale.

—

"You are so lucky I forgot my homework upstairs!" panted Samantha, "Otherwise I would have gone straight to class after breakfast. And you'd still be asleep." You were pretty much running, not wanting to be late for professor's Weasley's class, yet you casted a grateful smile in Samantha's direction: "You are a lifesaver, Sam."

Samantha kept rambling on, as she usually did, but your mind was still focused on your dream.

You and professor Sharp had gotten particularly close during the past year and a half. Ever since your last battle with Ranrok, the potions master treated you a little differently. Most of the professors did, of course, but you found a sense of peace with Sharp especially.

You missed professor Fig every day. He was something of a father figure for you nearly from day one, and you felt all sorts of broken watching him die in your arms.

The first time professor Sharp invited you into his office outside of class, you felt strangely numb still, your exhaustion and grief leaving you with what felt like a hole in your heart. Some of the other professors sat you down before them previously, and you forced yourself to fake a little smile and persuade them that you were alright.

It didn’t work on Sharp. He didn’t pry, didn’t force you to relive the painful memories as you thought he would. Instead his chatter was nearly light, talking about your school work, hobbies, the various activities outside of the castle, even talking about himself every once in a while. Soon you realised you found solace in your conversations.

Only when you were given time to heal did you dare to actually talk about what happened that day… That year, really. Professor Sharp listened quietly, never pressing for details you weren’t ready to give, only asking for further explanation sometimes.

—

The first time you broke down in tears before him, he stood to limp over to you. With a steady warm hand on your shoulder, he conjured up a handkerchief and pressed it into your palm. You thanked him and tried to get yourself under control once more. He didn’t say anything, only drew small circles into your shoulder with his thumb.

After you left his office that evening, you realised just how hungry you were. It hit you by surprise, really, you hadn’t felt this hungry since that fateful day. You’d eat when it was meal time, but all food tasted the same to you. This evening, however, when you put some chicken with rice on your plate, you tasted every single spice used, the meat falling apart on your tongue. You groaned audibly and let your eyes close.

“Heh, good to see you getting your appetite back!” said Amit across from you, a sweet smile on his face. Your cheeks a little red in embarrassment, you smiled back at him before diving into your meal once more.

It struck you later that night as you were lying in your bed, staring into the darkness. Sharp knew exactly how to help you, because he knew what you were likely going through. All of the professors had their stories, some of them experienced loss as well, but only Sharp had ever gone through something as traumatic as yourself. Maybe he behaved towards you the way he would’ve wished someone behaved towards him before, back when his partner died on the job and he barely escaped with his life.

—

The next evening, you were back in his office. He accepted you wordlessly, curiously peeking at a small bag you brought with you. Inside of it were various rare ingredients you collected on your adventures or harvested in the Room of Requirement. The potions master took them with a quiet ‘thank you’ and that was that. He didn’t ask where you got them and how, knowing that as your teacher, he might not like your answer. But he was grateful, you knew. It didn’t need to be spoken in order to be understood.

Back when you first met him, you understood why some may find him intimidating, why he rubs them the wrong way. Sharp was strict, with a no-nonsense kind of attitude. He was hard on his students, and when he saw potential in them, he was even harder, striving for perfection. But the more time you spent with him, the more you saw the undeniable kindness within him. As cutting as his critique could be, his praises filled you with a great sense of pride and accomplishment. They pushed you to try even harder, to make him proud.

Little by little, it began to make no sense to you why some students found him evil, or even outright foul. Professor Sharp was anything but evil and foul.

In a way, you expected him to become a parental figure to you as well, like professor Fig was. Only, he didn’t. It frightened you the first time you looked at him and caught yourself thinking that you’d like to press your palm against his cheek, feel his prickly looking stubble, trace the scar on his face. “Something the matter, miss (L/N)?” he asked with a lifted brow. Your cheeks flushed in embarrassment as you hurriedly looked away, an apology leaving your mouth.

—

It got worse after that. You enjoyed spending time with him too much. You found he had a dark, dry sense of humour, that his wit was quicker than lightning and sharper than a knife, but also that he possessed a certain gentleness. You noticed his eyes would linger on your fondly when he thought you weren’t looking. It always made butterflies flutter in your stomach.

You knew that he liked to draw, having been in his private chambers when you were searching for those blasted demiguise statues (not that you’d ever tell him), but having him actually showing them to you felt strangely intimate. The passage through his fireplace you had to crawl through turned into a large doorway after he tapped it with the tip of his wand. He said he can’t always make it upstairs if the pain in his leg is too much, but he nevertheless enjoyed spending time there. You were fairly certain you were the first person he showed his work to.

You saw a few drawings you didn’t recognise, as you hadn’t been to his chambers since - it was mostly parts of Hogwarts, a few scribbles of Hogsmeade as well. However, there was also a number of various paintings of beasts, hippogriffs, graphorns and such. You smiled when he showed you, already knowing you wouldn’t be meeting in his chambers the next time.

—

His curiosity was obviously peaked, as he accepted your request to wait for you in the seventh floor corridor, by the troll tapestry. You winced slightly when you saw him leaning against the wall, the stairs obviously not doing anything for his leg. Yet, when he acknowledged your presence, you offered him a reassuring smile, hoping what you were about to show him would make it up to him.

He watched you pace three times in front of the tapestry, his brow raised in question. You grinned when his dark eyes widened at the sight of a door materialising seemingly out of nowhere. You opened it and entered. “Come in, sir,” you said, turning to face him. He hobbled over, his right hand twitching as if he wanted to reach for his wand. Always vigilant.

With no small amount of satisfaction, you watched as his mouth opened in surprise of your Room of Requirement, eyes trying to take in as much as they could, utterly disbelieving. His gaze was caught by a large potion station on one side of the room, directly next to a herbology table, where your various magical plants were currently being watered.

“Ah, you’re back,” came a high pitched voice from somewhere, “Deek thinks it’s almost time to harvest the mandrakes- oh, professor Sharp!” Without looking at the house elf, still busy taking in the room, the potions master offered a small ‘Hello, Deek.’

“I will see to it. Deek, can I ask you a favour?” you smiled at him reassuringly. He replied with a smile of his own: “Of course. What can Deek do for you?” “Could you perhaps bring us some tea later? First there is something I want to show to the professor.” With a nod and a snap on his fingers, Deek was gone.

“What is this place?” asked professor Sharp, finally looking at you. “The Room of Requirement,” you replied simply, “professor Weasley showed it to me last year and urged me to use it how I see fit, mostly to aid me in my studies. Come sir, please, I do want to show you something.”

You lead the teacher up one of the staircases towards the swamp vivarium. You entered, with Sharp following close behind, slightly apprehensive at the feeling of wetness underneath his boots. This time you couldn’t conceal your chuckle as his jaw once again dropped. Your thestral friends noticed your arrival and immediately set on to welcome you. You laughed gently as the baby thestral nudged at your hand with its little skeletal beak, craving your loving touch.

With a few flicks of your wand, you brushed the animals and replenished their automatic feeder, all the while still stroking the little thestral’s head. Sepulchria, its mother, meanwhile took interest in professor Sharp, sniffing at him warily before deciding he posed no danger to her offspring.

Almost like on its own accord, Sharp’s hand travelled up to touch the mare, his calloused fingers coming to rest on her neck. “This is incredible,” he breathed out, as he caressed the creature’s glossy skin.

“When I was first able to see them, I found them a little frightening,” you admitted, conjuring a bench for the two of you to sit down on, the little one’s head immediately coming to rest on your lap, “it was right after the dragon attack, when I saw Mr Osric…” You got quiet. Professor Sharp sat next to you. Sepulchria and her mate, a male thestral you named Phobos, settled into the moist grass nearby, seeming perfectly happy to hang around while you and your teacher talked. Their offspring, Juno flapped its wings contentedly, leaning into your hand.

“Of course, I quickly learned of their good qualities,” you continued, forcing your tone to be light. “It was only after… After professor Fig died… that I found real comfort in them. They are amazing creatures, so gentle. In a way, I feel like they are exactly what a person needs to see, when they… when they watch somebody die.”

As per usual, Sharp let you speak, giving you time to gather your wits about you, think over the words you were going to say. He had no patience for fools who would bring chaos into his class, or his life, but he had all the patience with you. “They are scary at first and they have a sad aura around them… But they are here and they mean no harm. They’re a part of this world as death is a part of life. Death is not intentionally cruel, even if it sometimes forces us to go through life without some person we love.”

You heard a soft exhale next to you, then felt warmth on your free hand, as the professor’s fingers closed around it. You didn’t know how long you sat there in silence, hand in hand, just watching the skeletal equines and wandering through your own minds. “There is no without,” the potion master said suddenly, making you startle a bit. “They may not be around to talk to us, but as long as we remember them fondly, as long as we still let them guide us, they will never be really gone.”

You squeezed his hand. It was calloused and warm, and fit in yours perfectly. “I think there’s tea ready for us, sir.”

—

“Do you mind telling me where exactly are we going in the dead of night?” asked professor Sharp morosely as the two of you descended another flight of stairs in the Central hall. You didn’t know when it happened, but some time back the teacher let you support him when on stairs. As long as it was just the two of you, of course. He held onto your arm and leaned a portion of his weight on you, mindful not to step on his bad leg too much.

You wouldn’t tell him, but you loved when he did that. Having him so close, you were hyper-aware of his unique scent, which was so enchanting to you. It was like a mix between sandalwood, parchment paper and a hint of firewhiskey, and you had to restrain yourself from inhaling it deeply, so that it wouldn’t be obvious you were getting high on it. If you were to smell amortentia, you were certain this was what it’d smell like to you.

“Need I remind you that you are outside your dorm room after curfew? That’s a sure way to get you in trouble.” he quipped, no bite behind his words. “I’m with a teacher, surely an exception can be made?” you replied back, your tone light and amicable. Back when you first met him, you wouldn’t have imagined you’d share such banter with the potions master, he seemed far too serious for that. You still showed him nothing but respect in class, but outside of it, when the two of you were alone, you allowed yourself to tease him sometimes. You were always met with mild amusement and slight exasperation in reply.

Sharp sighed next to you: “I really shouldn’t encourage you in this… Should give you detention for a week, helping me grade exams.” He blinked in surprise at the happy smile you gave him: “I wouldn’t mind that.” The professor stopped walking in order to stare at you in disbelief. You felt your cheeks going red under his intense gaze. Oh no, you thought, have I said too much? Can he see right through me?

Finally, the potion master chuckled and shook his head: “You are a strange young woman, miss (L/N).”

You found yourselves on the school grounds, the cool night air making you hum contentedly. Despite no longer walking down the stairs, professor Sharp held onto your arm for support. You brought your free hand to your mouth and whistled on your fingers. A flurry of movement followed almost immediately. A gust of wind ruffled your hair as a white hippogriff landed in front of you. You let go of your teacher slowly, making sure he was prepared to stand on his own again, and approached the beast.

“Hello, Highwing,” you cooed and stroked her beak lovingly. Professor Sharp stood motionlessly, observing the majestic creature with no small amount of awe. “Poppy Sweeting introduced me to her after my first Beast class,” you explained, carding your fingers through Highwing’s soft feathers, “sometime later me and Natty rescued her and one more hippogriff from poachers led by Harlow and Rookwood. And the hippogriffs ended up saving our lives the very same night.”

Sharp listened quietly, his brows furrowed. “I think I’ll rather not ask any questions, (F/N), else I actually might give you that detention,” he said then. He didn’t call you by your first name often, but when he did, it always madea wave of fondness run through you. You wondered if you’d ever be allowed to call him Aesop. You tried rolling the name off your tongue many times when you were alone, deciding it was a beautiful name and that it fit him perfectly.

Carefully balancing himself on his good leg, he gave a deep bow to the beast, knowing how proud they were. A few seconds passed before Highwing deemed his action courteous enough to reply in kind.

The potions master hobbled towards her slowly, extending a hand to pat her feathered neck. He did startle however, when you nimbly climbed atop the creature, settling comfortably between its grand wings. “What are you doing, miss (L/N)?” he asked, narrowing his eyes when you offered your hand to him. “Please sir,” you spoke quietly, your smile seemingly glowing even in the darkness around you two, “trust me.”

He debated with himself whether he finally went mad. It was nearly midnight, and while summer was quickly approaching, the nights were still rather cold. He was standing on school grounds and a student was proposing to him with, what, a hippogriff ride? He was way too old for this. Yet, as he looked at your extended hand and the positively beaming look on your face, he sighed. He probably was mad.

The potions master took your hand and marvelled at your strength as you seemed to have absolutely no problem pulling him up and behind you. Only now it hit him that he didn’t take into consideration where he’d put his hands. Very awkwardly, he placed them on each side of your waist.

Feeling the steady warmth of his body against your back made a rush of blood course through you, and you were suddenly glad to not be able to look at him. Your cheeks were so hot and red, he’d be able to figure you out immediately. You craved to enjoy the feeling of his hands on you, and even thought about buying a pensieve, just so you could watch the memory of this again and again.

You shook your head. There would be time for that later. Right now, you dragged him all the way out here and onto a hippogriff, might as well give him a brilliant memory too.

“Highwing, go!” you called out, grabbing onto the beast’s neck more tightly. The hippogriff cried and stood on its hind legs before breaking into a gallop. Professor Sharp cursed next to your ear and finally wrapped his arms around your waist fully. Propriety be damned, the teacher doubted falling off a racing hippogriff would do any good to his leg. Or any other part of him, really. Highwing spread her wings, their span positively huge, and Sharp felt they were no longer on the cobblestone path.

The flapping of wings forced the professor to close his eyes as they soared higher and higher. Then it stopped and Aesop finally looked. His breath caught in his throat. He remembered flying around on his broom when he was a student himself, but it suddenly struck him that he never did so at night.

It was ethereally beautiful. The moon shone on the great castle, white glow reflecting on the roofs. There were lights on in various parts of the castle. It stood under them in all its glory, sure and steady, yet ever changing. The castle was like a living organism, stony body, a kind soul and a heart constantly drumming with magic, holding so many secrets within the historical walls, Aesop was sure that even if he lived to be two hundred years old, he’d never be able to discover all of them.

It was so serene, yet so humbling, the professor momentarily felt weightless, not feeling his blasted leg at all, for once free of all of his guilt, of all the pain he ever experienced.

He didn’t realise he was squeezing you closer, that his chin was leaning on your shoulder. Something you were very much aware of, trying your best not to tremble under his touch. It was both salvation and damnation and you found yourself thinking how easy it would be to just turn your head to the side and capture his lips. You held yourself back, gently bumping his head with your own instead.

Highwing slowly descended above the murky waters of the Black lake. Sharp saw the giant squid thrust one tentacle above the surface, as if greeting the three of you. Feeling impossibly young, he laughed, and he laughed until his lungs hurt. You laughed with him, releasing a giddy whoop, when the hippogriff decided it was time to take to the skies again.

You eventually landed on a coast south of Hogwarts. Professor Sharp felt his spirits dampen somewhat at the sight of you flawlessly leaping from the beast’s back and onto the ground, your movements noble and elegant, and so youthful. Yet, once you looked at him, all smiles and messed up hair, a grin broke on his face as well. He let you help him down, his good leg taking most of the blow of impact with the ground.

Nevertheless, he winced. Oh, he was going to need at least two phials of Wiggenweld potion once he was back in his chambers. Trying to push his pain away, he spoke in a light tone: “So, that’s what you’ve been doing when you were supposed to be in the castle? In bed?” You gave him a little guilty smile: “Sometimes. You’ve got to admit, though, this is rather exhilarating.”

The professors sighed and leaned against a nearby boulder: “As your teacher, I should really be condemning this sort of behaviour instead of encouraging it… However, you’re right. It was exhilarating. And very beautiful. I am thankful for the experience.”

He scanned his surroundings, moonlight illuminating the area enough for Aesop to be sure you wouldn’t get ambushed by some poacher, or a pack of mongrels.

When he was sure the two of you were alone, he sat on a nearby boulder, content to rest for a bit.

The professor watched as you picked up a pebble using your wand, and made it skip over the dark water. You truly were something else. He was aware that the amount of time he spent with you was frankly inappropriate, seeing as you were his student, but he just couldn’t help it. The potion master did try to put some distance between you in the past, but it was no use. You’d always come find him and he couldn’t turn you away.

He didn’t know when he stopped trying to set this distance. Maybe when the last couple of times it was him who caved in. Him, who invited you over for a cup of tea, unsure whether he’d be more glad if you accepted, or if you refused. Never once did you refuse. He realised that such distance was actually the last thing he wanted, that you actually became… friends. Close friends.

He angrily shushed the little voice in his head that tried to ask ‘Just friends?’.

Oh yes. That was the reason he wanted to set the distance, how could he have forgotten?

You turned seventeen some time ago, officially of age, but that didn’t make Aesop feel any better. You were very mature for your age, and probably have been for a long time. He had no problem seeing you as his equal, despite you being so much younger than him. But as he watched you skipping stone after stone, he could feel his guilt suffocating him, seeing tiny traces of the child you stopped being when you watched your mentor die before your eyes.

He should probably mount the hippogriff, fly really high up and throw himself off the beast. But oh, how much he longed to join you at the bank and wrap a protective arm around you.

“Sir? Are you alright?” you noticed him staring at you, and saw him cough awkwardly. “We should probably head back,” the potions master decided then, slowly hobbling over to Highwing, who seemed to be happily hunting for squirrels since your arrival.

He enjoyed holding you to him while he could. He didn’t actually want to plummet to his death after all, so it was perfectly acceptable to grip you tight.

“Are you sure you’re alright, professor? You don’t want me to walk you to your chambers?” you asked with worry in your voice. Highwing’s form was rapidly disappearing in the dark sky. “I am quite well. You should go to your dormitory. Probably best to use the disillusionment charm as well.”

He didn’t know if the smile you gave him then made him want to laugh or cry, your eyes were filled with such fondness and wonder, Aesop honestly felt like the very air around him got warmer. He wasn't ready when you grasped his hand: “Thank you, sir. I’m glad you joined me tonight.” Oh. And the professor definitely wasn’t ready for you to get up on your tiptoes to press your lips against his left cheek, right where his scar ended.

Not a second later you were nearly translucent and slowly getting away from him. “Miss (L/N)! Detention.” he called after you. You had the audacity to giggle, before the door to the Entrance hall opened and you slipped in.

—-

Aesop Sharp knew he was playing with fire when he responded to your letters that summer. It was the summer before your seventh year. He very nearly had a heart attack when a greater sooty owl appeared on his windowsill one morning, bearing a letter with your handwriting. There was no address, just his name. Seeing as he lived quite close to Hogwarts, it really wasn’t that much of a surprise the owl was able to find him.

He gave it some food and water, a single digit coming to scratch under its head. It leaned into his touch. A beautiful bird, indeed. Aesop briefly wondered whether you managed to find it from some exotic breeder in England, or if it truly was an Aussie owl. It was also a clever one, wouldn’t leave without a reply and would get increasingly more anxious for him to at least open the letter.

He tried to put it off, afraid of what he was to find there. The letter sat on a table in his dining room and he’d regularly come to stare at it morosely, as if willing it to open without having to touch it. The breaking point came late in the evening. The bird would leap onto his left shoulder and peck at his scar rather painfully, before jumping onto the table and standing in front of the letter, giving him a pointed look.

The bloody beast had an attitude!

“Yes, yes, you’ve made your point clear!” he growled in its general direction and shooed her off with his hand. He sat down and summoned his pen knife. He knew he was stalling, cutting the pristine white envelope open much slower than he usually would. Sharp was immediately hit with the sweet smell of your perfume.

Finally, he pulled the letter out and unfolded it.

Why in Salazar’s name had he been so terrified?

You mostly described how you summer was thus far, confirming his suspicion that you indeed bought your owl in Australia. Her name was Diana apparently. You also promised to bring him some potion ingredients which were exclusive to the country, some of them so obscure Aesop had to look them up in his copy of Moste Potente Potions. Oh, how he looked forward to experimenting with them. Maybe some of them would be the key in discovering the cure for his leg!

You finished your letter with a wish that his summer was lovely as well, and that you were looking forward to seeing him again.

When he finished reading, Aesop put his head into his hands and smiled at the same time. He was in a bit of a pickle, wasn’t he?

You wrote letters to each other for the remainder of the summer. Aesop soon learned Diana only cared that he read your letters quickly, but was alright with him taking his time to actually answer them. Most of the letters were quite professional, discussing potions, your upcoming seventh year (actually your third year at Hogwarts), the NEWT subjects you’d take exams from, and possible future careers. Professor Sharp didn’t worry about the letters - there wasn’t a school rule prohibiting a teacher to be friends with a student, as long as it didn’t collide with their education or professional relationship.

The fact that there also wasn’t a rule prohibiting a teacher to engage with an adult student romantically was left unsaid somewhere deep in his mind.

—

Aesop Sharp and most of the teachers and staff arrived at Hogwarts two weeks before the start of term. Matilda would soon be sending out shopping lists and acceptance letters. He was rather glad he wasn’t the one hand delivering these letters to Muggleborns - not that he ever believed in the ‘pure blood’ nonsense, he just wasn’t feeling up to running around Britain and Ireland to explain magic to Muggles. Matilda was kind enough to leave him out of that. Though, he had a reason to believe she did so not because of his leg, but because of the possibility he might actually scare the children into not attending.

Thankfully for everyone, this year’s Muggleborns would be taken care of by Mirabel and Abraham, who were way more enthusiastic about this task than Aesop would ever be.

—

Professor Sharp felt rather foolish, actually.

He stood in Potage's Cauldron Shop, instructing the clerk to send his newly purchased silver and brass cauldrons to Hogwarts, all the while looking through the window hoping to catch a glimpse of you. You didn’t tell him when you’d be visiting Diagon Alley to pick up the textbooks you needed this year, but Aesop kind of hoped to run into you anyway.

He sighed deeply once he left the rather stuffy shop. He could’ve easily ordered all of today's purchases from the comfort of his own office, but no, he’s going to act like a lovestruck teenager instead. The professor frowned. At least he took his cane today, he thought grimly as he hobbled over to the Leaky Cauldron, more than ready to eat something, and possibly even improve his mood with a drop of firewhisky.

He did feel better with a stomach full of hare stew and nursing his third glass, when a voice he missed all summer sounded right behind him.

“Hello, professor Sharp. Fancy seeing you here,” Aesop’s head snapped to the left. There you were. And you were breathtaking. Clad in a lovely dark green dress which fell to your ankles, with pristine white collar and sleeves. Upon your head sat a stylish wizard hat decorated with late summer flowers. The potions master was used to seeing you in your uniform, and occasionally in an ensemble of blouses and trousers that allowed you to move freely.

Now you were garbed in the pinnacle of late 19th century fashion, looking like an elegant lady of high society. And what an absolutely beautiful lady at that. “Miss (L/N),” he replied, a little out of breath. You gave him a kittenish grin, betraying your otherwise mature appearance a little: “Mind if I join you?” Aesop stood with some difficulty and motioned to an empty chair opposite of him: “by all means, miss, sit.”

You sat down together and soon shared a little toast - the professor with another glass (last one, drinking more would be terribly unwise) and his young friend with a goblet of rosé. For a while, neither of you said anything.

“You look… well,” said Aesop then, cursing himself for not being able to come up with anything better, “your dress is lovely.” You gave him another smile: “Thank you. My mother insisted that I should wear it. ‘A proper lady’, she said. Between you and me, I cannot wait to get out of this thing. The lace is itchy and I’m rather surprised I haven’t passed out from oxygen deficiency yet, seeing as how tight my corset is tied.”

Professor Sharp shook his head - he never understood why Muggle women willingly used these torture devices on themselves. “Got everything you need for the start of term?” he asked instead. “I do,” you replied, “it was a lot. I’m happy to be able to do magic outside of school now, and make it all fit in here.” You patted your handbag fondly.

Aesop didn’t know how much time passed. You told him about your summer in detail (as you usually kept your letters short and to the point), talking about your visit to Australia for quite a while. He was happy to listen, your voice music to his ears. The way you spoke, carried yourself, your gesticulations - you were a grown woman. The little slips into child-like manners (a grin here, a wild hand motion there) were not those of an actual child - it was simply your personality. Mature, yet youthful, wise, yet passionate.

And the way you sometimes looked at him, when you thought he couldn’t see. It gave him hope. It terrified him. It made him want to lay his hand atop yours on the table. Made him want to reach over, grab your face and press his mouth on your own. He did nothing. He only smiled at you.

It was dark outside once you parted ways. You held his hand and said how much you’re looking forward to his classes and his company again. You promised to hand deliver him the ingredients you got him. He nearly forgot his cane in the pub.

With a final smile and a loud crack, you disapparated.

Aesop stood before Hogwarts gate, not five minutes later. He missed supper, but didn’t find it in himself to care. He made his way to his chambers, all the alcohol he drank long gone from his system. He actually looked forward to the beginning of term when it meant having you around.

What in Salazar’s name was he going to do next year?

—

In Aesop’s eyes, you were exceptionally beautiful. Unfortunately for him, however, some of your peers seemed to share this opinion. The astronomy obsessed boy from your house gazed at you like you were a holy picture. Sebastian Sallow seemed intent on having all of your attention for himself, constantly finding new ways to keep you entertained and get into trouble. Even the Gaunt boy, while lacking eyesight, seemed to somehow sense your desirability. Aesop just prayed it wouldn’t be Garreth Weasley who caught your fancy.

Each time he overheard someone (usually boys, occasionally a girl) asking you out, his heart closed in on itself and only started beating properly again after your (very gentle) refusal of their proposition. And then it would dance with bliss when you’d turn up on his doorstep instead.

Ever since that afternoon in Diagon Alley, those unspoken words between the two of you gained in intensity. More familiar touches occurred. Sometimes you’d hold his hand when you spoke of your extracurricular adventures. Aesop would run his thumb over its back, listening intently. It always took him by surprise how much trust you had in him, seeing as both of you were aware some of your escapades would result in loss of points and plenty of detentions. Never from him, though.

—

One time you held him to you, his head cradled into your neck. You came to his quarters at a bad time. His leg was acting up and his potions weren’t helping. His pain induced desperation was made worse by his guilt. What was he thinking? He was a cripple, entirely too old for you. You deserved better. Even that blasted Weasley boy would have been better for you than him. He should never have looked at you like he did. It was quite normal for a student to develop a crush on their teacher (the stories Mirabel could tell), but the teacher shouldn’t indulge the student. Aesop was nothing but indulgent with you.

He tried to send you away when he heard your knocking that evening. His pain and despair must have found way into his voice, because you didn’t leave. You came right in and locked the door behind you. He snapped at you, told you to get out of his chambers. You disobeyed and came even closer.

You kneeled before him, your eyes kind and full of compassion. His own were filled with tears that would never be shed. Aesop didn’t cry anymore. He was close to it today though. You massaged the muscles in his leg after you've applied a heating charm to the fabric of his trousers. His head hung low in guilt and shame, and Sharp hoped you would just leave. He was pitiful and you deserved better, why wouldn’t you leave him to his misery?

You didn’t leave. Of course you didn’t. He shouldn’t have thought for a single second that a witch who defeated a troll during her first week in school, after living as a muggle for nearly 16 years, would just leave. She held him, pulled him to her entirely. He could smell her perfume, felt her nimble fingers in his hair. Heard her soft voice shushing him, trying to bring him comfort. He allowed himself to wrap his arms around her. Aesop cried.

—

“Have you given any more thought to your future after you finish school?” he asked one day. Snow was falling outside, staff and students were preparing for the Christmas holidays. Behind him, sitting in one of his armchairs, you sighed. “It’s complicated,” you admitted then, “I’d rather be a curse breaker for Gringotts than an Auror, that’s for sure. No offence.” He grinned. “None taken. I’d like to be able to say that I’m glad you’d choose something safer than the Auror office. However, curse breaking is not exactly much safer, is it?” Finally he turned to look at you: “You didn’t take into consideration… shopkeeping, perhaps?”

The look you gave him was almost enough to make him laugh. He settled for turning the corners of his mouth slightly upwards. “With all due respect, sir, can you imagine me behind the counter the entire day, promoting fantastic new sales and gossipping with witches on maternity leaves?” Sharp couldn’t hold it in anymore and chuckled openly. “Point taken,” he agreed.

“You know you can change careers later in life, right? Don’t have to be stuck doing one thing forever…” you gave him a questioning look, waiting for him to elaborate. “Listen, professor Hecat is… still battling time itself. And she isn’t winning. There will come a time when a new professor for Defence Against the Dark Arts is needed. And if you excel in your NEWTs the way you did in your OWLs…” Your mouth opened in disbelief: “Are you saying I could someday teach in Hogwarts?”

He sat down into an armchair opposite of you, propping his bad leg on a footstool. “You possess the skill and the knowledge. I dare say you love this castle, this school. And you’d be able to venture out into the Forbidden forest as you do, without me having to turn a blind eye to it anymore.” You grinned into the flames in his hearth. Getting slightly more comfortable by crossing your legs you let the warmth seep into your skin.

“I still don’t feel like shopkeeping, though.”

—

You and Samantha made it inside the Transfiguration classroom just as professor Weasley went to close the door. You were out of breath and red like salamanders, both from the running and the cold outside.

“Girls, girls,” chided professor Weasley, “I would expect punctuality in your seventh year.” “It’s my fault, professor,” you panted out, “I overslept. Samantha would’ve been here long ago if it wasn’t for me.” Professor Weasley shook her head and motioned the two of you to sit.

—

“I cannot wait to visit Matabeleland again,” said Natty with a smile. You knew she had her reasons to not want to go where her father died defending her before, but now that she made peace with her past and was officially an adult, she wanted to revisit her happier childhood memories. “Me and gran are going to Arizona. We’re hoping to encounter Thunderbirds there,” spoke Poppy then, “What about you, what will you be doing?”

You looked up at the sky and smiled. “Actually, I think I’ll stay at Hogwarts. I really took on a lot of work this year, and I’d like to focus on it in peace.” It was only partly true. The main reason was that you wanted to spend as much time as possible with your favourite professor. Unbeknownst to your friends, the bag you carried on your shoulder contained a neatly wrapped Christmas present (a beautiful set of drawing kohls), a bottle of firewhiskey said to be absolutely brilliant (courtesy of Sirona) and a very special letter you were hoping to present to your teacher on Christmas Eve.

You came to see Hogwarts as your home. You were able to wander through the highlands for hours at a time, exploring every nook and cranny. If someone were to use Prior Incantato on your wand at any given time, the last spell would most likely be Revelio. Now that your time as a student was slowly coming to an end, you realised just how much you’d miss being here. In a way, you were envious of those who got to attend the full seven years. Your solace was knowing that you wouldn’t ever be too far from your home.

There was no without.

—

“Good evening, professor,” you beamed at the scarred man. He smiled back and stepped aside from the door, a wordless invitation. You took him in appreciatively. It wasn’t often you’d see the potions master so dressed down, cladded only in his white shirt, vest and trousers. His tie was loosened, jacket and coat hanging by the door in the other room.

You fished the present out of your bag. “This is for you to unwrap tomorrow,” you said, settling it aside on a nearby table, “but I see no reason we shouldn’t try this out right now.” He grinned at the sight of the bottle of obviously very expensive liquor. “Hope nobody saw you smuggle this in. It’s alright to have a glass in Diagon Alley, outside of term. Here however, I believe this would get you into all sorts of trouble with the deputy headmistress,” his voice was teasing and he was already fetching two glasses. “It’s Christmas holidays, we are out of term. We just so happen to be in the castle,” you quipped back.

You held the glasses while he poured. “Well, miss (L/N)... (F/N). All the best for the rest of your time in Hogwarts, and even better for your next adventure. Wherever it may take you. I am glad to have met you, and proud to be your teacher. And your friend.” You didn’t call him out on the ‘friend’ part just yet, choosing to take a sip of your drink instead.

You immediately made a face and began coughing.

Aesop stood before you, chuckling. “Wow,” you said once you caught your breath, “that’s horrible.” The potions master’s chuckles turned into laughter. “Luckily for you,” he said after you made a show of pushing your glass towards him along with the rest of the bottle, “I think of everything.” A bottle of some floral wine entered your vision, uncorked itself and poured a sensible amount into a conjured up goblet. You drank, rolling the light liquid over your tongue.

“Fixed your taste?” asked Sharp, still smirking. You nodded: “I no longer feel like I’m about to die, so that’s good. Anyway, there’s one more thing I wanted to show you.” You walked over to the armchairs in front of the hearth. Professor Sharp followed and sat across from you. You held a scroll in your right hand and offered it to him.

Aesop put his glass down and reached for the scroll curiously. Unrolling it, he read out loud:

Brood and Peck

Hogsmeade

Dear Miss (F/N) (L/N),

We are pleased to inform you that you were admitted to apprenticeship at Brood and Peck, Hogsmeade, beginning on 3rd July 1893 at 8 o’clock in the morning.

All equipment necessary for your apprenticeship will be provided for you on the spot.

We are looking forward to our cooperation.

Yours sincerely,

Ellie Peck

Aesop Sharp was looking at you wide-eyed. “I thought about what you said, about the DADA position,” you said, your cheeks turning red under his intense gaze. “I thought… I thought you said you didn’t see yourself in a shop,” he said, still in a daze. “That’s the best thing,’ you smiled at him, “I won’t be in a shop. I’ll be rescuing beasts and taking care of them, collecting byproducts and bringing them to Ellie. I also made a deal with Pippin to bring him any useful potion ingredients I find.

“I’ll have a bit of money and I’ll be close by. And I’ll be running around the highlands most of the time, which is pretty much exactly what I do now, except without the schoolwork,” you chuckled. Aesop’s expression was unreadable. “What made you decide to stay?” he asked finally, his voice so quiet you barely heard it over the crackling fire. There was the moment, the moment of truth you’ve been waiting for. You gathered your courage.

“There were a lot of reasons. But the biggest one is… you. The more I thought of it, the more the mere idea I’d be somewhere far away from you, unable to see you maybe months at a time, terrifies me. Saddens me.” You sighed then. “What I’m trying to say… I am in love with you, and have been for some time, and I’d like to be close to you. If you’ll have me.”

Professor Sharp’s eyes were glistening. He said nothing for the longest time and you were getting worried.

“Please, professor, think of my words before you refuse me. I know that I am young, but I am of age and I know what I want in life. It’s not just some silly crush, I genuinely believe we could… that we could spend our lives together. You are possibly my best friend, the person I trust and admire most, and I adore you. I think of you all the time, and there’s nothing I want more than to be able to hold you, and kiss you. And be the woman you love. I love you, sir.”

He stood up with such swiftness you startled. Almost as if his leg did not trouble him in the slightest. The potions master extended his hands to you and you took them, standing up as well. He still stood taller than you and you had to look up to see into his eyes. One hand came to rest on your cheek and you unconsciously leaned into it, closing your eyes in bliss as his scent filled your nostrils.

“Aesop,” he said suddenly. “I’m sorry?” you replied, slightly dazed to have him touching you so tenderly. “I should have asked you to call me Aesop ages ago,” he explained, his other hand coming to hold your other cheek, “my dearest girl.”

He felt free, free of guilt and shame, the constant pain of his wounds falling somewhere into the background. He wouldn’t allow it to interfere with this moment. Those three words he craved to hear from you fell freely from your lips. Your eyes were blown wide and he found he could no longer resist them.

A sound made him look up. Above your bodies joined in an embrace a twig of mistletoe appeared. Hogwarts and its secrets…. “There is nothing I’d want more than to have you by my side,” he spoke quietly, the words foreign to his lips before now, but filled with utmost honesty nevertheless.

You weren’t able to wait any longer. Mirroring the teacher, you grabbed his face gently and guided him down until your lips connected. It felt like the most ancient, the purest form of magic, coursing through you as you tasted Aesop’s mouth. The alcohol was foul when drunk from glass, but on the potions master’s tongue it tasted like ambrosia, getting you more drunk than you’ve ever been, and you moaned into the kiss.

The world turned into sensations. Your fingers in his hair, his teeth squeezing your lower lip, before soothing the sting with his tongue. The solid, warm front of his body pressing into yours, his heart beating wildly against your breasts. The arms you’ve dreamed about enveloped you crushingly and you realised that you never wanted to leave them. Why would you? You were home.

You were home.

Hello, I hope you enjoyed reading. You can find this work and all of my other works on AO3. I always adore feedback!

#hogwarts #hogwarts legacy #aesop sharp #professor sharp #aesop sharp x reader #proessor sharp x reader #aesop sharp x you #professor sharp x you #fanfiction #reader insert #i love the magic cop #fluff

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expectodragons · 7 months

Text

The Art of Receiving || 18+ Oneshot

✦ Summary: The stress of studying for your final exams is finally getting to you and you're in desperate need of some relief.

✦ Pairing: Aesop Sharp x Female Reader

✦ Word Count: 2,230

✦ Rating: Explicit, 18+ only - minors do not interact.

✦ Tags / Warnings: Age difference, oral sex (f!receiving), PWP, reader is of age, slight power dynamics, student/professor relationship, vaginal fingering.

It was not often you found yourself in use of the bath in the Prefect’s bathroom. The place was a privilege for but a select few students, yourself included. Being a Quidditch Captain did have its benefits, after all. But rarely did you find the time, or the need, to traverse the many steps up to the hidden room.

Today, however, had given you every single reason to seek out the vast warm waters of the pool-like tub.

Exam season was upon the castle and your nerves, in particular, were due to fry if you spent another moment huddled over a dusty tome in the library with your group of fellow seventh-years. Between a series of challenging classes and the overwhelming air of expectation that was placed upon you by your professors, you were a step short of collapsing.

You had felt your eyes blurring together the words of Malinda Haddock and her many essays on the intricacies of advanced Transfiguration in the fifteenth century. Your head had pounded against the table, much to the concern of Poppy who had been working alongside you.

It felt like your mind could consume no more information – a sponge already seeping out water – you were at your fill of knowledge. And nothing the famed witch could say about the difficulties of transfiguring avian creatures into knitting needles could breach your mental walls.

So, with a weary pace, you had found yourself taking the long journey up to the top of the South Wing’s tower. Flicking the spigot on every faucet until the bath filled with technicolor soap and kaleidoscope-colored bubbles floated into the air. Time had passed without your awareness, so lost in the delicious sensation of warm water rippling over your stressed shoulders.

But, when you at last extracted yourself from the lovely bath and had dried and dressed yourself once again, you finally took notice of the time. Curfew was due to start in but a few minutes and dinner was obviously out of the question.

As you descend the spiral staircase, eager to pick up your pace in an effort to make it to your common room before the clock strikes the hour, you find yourself face-to-face with a particular Potion Master.

“Ah,” Sharp says your name in that slow sardonic tone. He peers up at you from his lower position on the staircase.

“Professor Sharp,” you say in polite admonishment.

If he held you up any longer, you would never make it to your common room in time.

Sharp takes a step, and then another. And even though he’s three steps below your position on the landing, he’s fully eye-level with you.

“You were absent from dinner this evening.”

Your chin juts out, ever so slightly, “I was. And if you’ll excuse me, I wish to make it to my dorm before curfew begins, sir.”

The professor gives an amused hum of consideration. You feel your cheeks become aflame with heat with the look he bestows upon you.

Resting a hand on the banister, he leans into the rails, as though he has nowhere to be in a particular hurry.

“How are your study sessions coming along? I believe the entirety of your year has taken over Scribner’s domain this past week.”

With a huff of annoyance, an impatience sending your feet rocking back and forth, you respond with a simple, “Fine.”

“And your classes? You’re keeping up with the workload I imagine?”

“Yes, sir. If you excuse me, please. I really must get going.”

Before you can so much as brush past him on the other side of the staircase, Sharp moves another step forward and takes a gentle hold of your right arm – your skin still radiates the warmth from your long bath and you know he can feel it between his fingers as his thumb begins to rub a steady rhythm against your hammering pulse point.

The two of you rarely appeared together outside of the safety of his office. Where he could lock the doors and cast a simple Muffliato upon the room. Your meetings were cherished, but increasingly rare as the days leading up to the NEWTs kept you away. But here, in the Faculty Tower – on the top landing of the tower, at that – you feel a familiar rush of desire pooling in your stomach as Aesop takes a final step forward.

Towering over you now, you can feel his warm breath upon your face. Smell the comforting aroma of sandalwood and musk that lingers on his robes. You can even see the beginnings of that familiar small smile of his that sends your heart racing anytime he shares it with you.

“You must be exhausted, my dear.”

The firm press of his thumb on your wrist has your knees buckling, lost in the weight of his heavy stare.

“It… has been rather stressful.”

“Hmm,” he hums in return. His charcoal-colored eyes bore into you as if undressing you here in the corridor before he seemed to make a decision – a sudden flicker of interest across his face your only warning.

“Perhaps you are in need of some relief, as it were.”

You gulp, feeling a flood of want surging through your chest. Your neck flushes with warmth and your ears begin to burn as you carefully turn your wrist in his hold until your fingers wrap around his thumb.

“Perhaps, sir.”

With a thin smile, Aesop leads you the few short steps up to his personal chambers.

This was one place you had never adventured before.

There had been two, and only two, separate occasions in your time with the potions professor, where a secret rendezvous occurred outside of his office. Once, in a hidden nook in the Bell Tower when the majority of the school was out on a Hogsmeade trip. And one very heated exchange in the changing rooms after a quidditch match when the rest of your team was headed off to the common room to celebrate your victory.

But this?

You allow your gaze to wander around the red-toned room. Taking in the small things that took up your professor’s private space. It was hardly as neat as you would have assumed it to be. Stacks of papers, bottles, and potion tools littered every available space. A lone chair sat before a blazing fire. A curious glance towards an ajar doorway nearly has your attention before Aesop’s hand cups your face.

“Now…” he intones. “What to do with you?”

Creeping up on your tiptoes, you lean into his touch.

“I could think of a thing or two.”

He chuckles, curling a finger through the damp locks of your hair.

“I imagine you could. However…” his gaze goes distant, seemingly transfixed by the droplets of water that travel from your hair down to his finger.

Giving an experimental tug, he brings you closer – holding onto but a single strand of your hair. You allow yourself to be pulled, pressing up to meet his curved smile as a kiss, almost too sweet, is placed upon your lips.

“Poor, poor girl,” he murmurs against your lips, tilted back just enough to keep him from making contact with your eager mouth. “Drowning under the pressure of your studies. Has no one shown you proper care these past few weeks?”

His snide remarks only have you leaning up to try and join your lips together once again, but he remains stubbornly persistent in refusing you further. Much to his own delight, apparently, as a wolfish grin materializes on his face.

And then his hands are traveling down your sides. Fingers pressing into the curve of your waist, the small swell of your stomach, the dip of your hips. As you wrap your arms around his neck, his head lowered to almost rest upon your shoulder, you feel the cool air of the room caress your legs as you find your skirt being pushed up.

“If only someone was willing to spare you a thought, hmm?” he crones.

Calloused fingers meet your bare skin, following the gentle curve of your inner thighs as they trail higher and higher.

“What have we here?”

You can sense the pleased smile on his face as his fingers delve into the wet heat between your legs – your eyes closing and your head tilting back in delight at the first brush of his knuckle across your lips.

Warm breath tickles your ear as teeth gently tug at the lobe.

“Eager indeed.”

At last, you lean against him, moaning a gentle, “Aesop.”

He smirks, removing his hands – allowing your skirt to fall back into place – as he pulls you toward the door across the room. Walking backward, he presses the entry open and leads you into a smaller room. Your eyes flash across an array of furniture, covered portraits, stacks of cauldrons, and books, before falling upon the bed.

“My darling girl,” he smooths, turning you slowly in his embrace until you find your knees backed into the crimson sheets of his bed.

A gentle press on your shoulder has you sitting down like a good student, while the man before you drops to a single knee. Your hands grip the sheets like a vice as your skirt is rolled up onto the tops of your thighs and two large palms press your knees apart.

Sharp settles there, in the V of your legs, as a hand lazily drags through the warm slick of your desire. Perhaps another clever quip could be said then, but his dark gaze has zeroed in on his own fingers now, and with a muffled cry parting from your lips Aesop leans forward and licks a warm stripe up your quim.

Pulling your fist to your mouth, you bite down on the flesh of your fingers as he repeats the action.

Heated breath grazes your cunt and the pleasant sting of his stubble scrapes the smooth flesh of your thighs as a deep moan rumbles across your womanhood.

His hands wind under your knees as he spreads you further open, his nose brushes against your mound, as he dips his tongue into your quivering hole – scooping up every bit of sweet juice he finds dribbling out of you.

“Oh god,” you cry out.

Your hand falls from your mouth to latch into the silky strands of his dark tresses. Pulling him closer as he starts to work a steady rhythm with his mouth. Buried between your thighs like he was meant to always be there, Aesop moans another gravelly sound as he begins to suck your clit between his swollen lips.

Like a man starved, he finds his fill in the juncture of your legs. Licking up everything you have to give him, his hold upon your thighs leaves crescent-shaped bruises that send another delicious wave of pained pleasure toward your core.

“Yes, oh Merlin, yes!”

Urged on by your desperate cries, the potions professor barrels forward, sucking your button in earnest as you tug his hair into a tight grip. You can feel it, the sweet desperate coil in your core. Soon it will snap and your release will paint your lover’s face.

Rocking your hips to meet him, you find yourself grinding against his lips, though that only seems to encourage him as he flicks his tongue over your clit and stares up at you with that glazed-over heavy expression in his eyes.

Sweat clings to his brow and his hair curtains his face, but all you can focus on are those gorgeous eyes. So drunk on you, your taste, your cunt. You find your bundle curling tighter and tighter, your hips rocking in a frantic pattern, as Aesop sucks down your sweet pleasure.

A rumbling moan sends you over the edge as he dives into you with a fervor.

His tongue, almost too rough now, laps up your desire as your hold on his hair loosens and your legs seem to become leaden underneath you.

Slowly, he pulls back – his chin a wash of cum and spit – as he huffs out a few raggedy breaths. His lips grace your thigh with wet kisses before he finally drops your legs back to the ground and carefully eases himself back up.

Taking a place beside you on the bed – where you are now lounged back, breathing several shuddering gasps – Aesop drags his hand across your torso, fingers snagging on the buttons of your blouse. He walks up your sternum before his thumb finds the curve of your bottom lip and tugs down upon the silky flesh.

“Feeling relaxed, dear one?” he murmurs, watching you with a transfixed sort of expression that spoke of feelings more than just casual fleeting interest and obvious lust.

Huffing a lofty laugh, you shake your head – lulling your head to the side so you can meet his gaze.

“So relaxed, I fear I might not be able to move again.”

His hand trails to the curve of your jaw, where he cups your heated flesh – a lone finger rubbing over the delicate skin of your cheek.

“That would truly be a shame if that were the case.”

“Wouldn’t it just?” you smile brightly. Feeling the ticklish tingle of your legs and the overwhelming sensation of undiluted happiness coursing through you.

Sharp hums once again in agreement before he leans down to place a lingering kiss upon your honey-sweet lips.

#aesop sharp x reader #professor sharp x reader #aesop sharp fanfic #professor sharp fanfic #hphl fanfic #my fic

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misswildfire · 1 year

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Imagine- Dating Aesop Sharp

It took quite a while to convince Aesop to take a chance on a relationship with you.

Patiently rebutted all of his arguments about why you guys shouldn’t be together: He was a cripple, too old for you, would ruin your reputation for being with a washed up Auror and your former Professor. Not that any of that mattered to you, you loved him just as he was, nor did you particularly care what anyone else thought.

Once he finally gave in, he would take his time to court you properly (Minus the fact you both have a hard time keeping your hands off each other, heavy make out sessions were very common)

Walks in the gardens, in the forests, long talks in his office, small gifts - potions and salves he makes for your cuts, bruises and aches you always seem to collect while adventuring in the area.

In turn, you would gather ingredients for him, especially ones that were notoriously hard to get a hold of. There was no mountain too high or cave too deep that you wouldn’t venture into in order to procure what you needed.

You would help him develop salves for his leg that would keep the pain at bay for longer periods of time. There was most likely no cure, but that didn’t mean you couldn’t keep perfecting pain management.

Massaging his leg on particularly bad nights before rubbing in pain salves and other salves to help the muscle surrounding the affected area relax. It had taken you forever to convince him to allow you to do this for him, that he wasn’t a burden and you wanted to help take care of him.

You loved the way that he would take charge, how he would pull her into his arms, how she felt safe, loved, protected.

He drove you wild when he would pick you up and pin you against the wall. You loved the feel of him against you, being able to feel every inch of him.

But what you loved most of all is when he would finally let go of his self control - usually after hours of teasing him. His growl always sent a thrill racing through you.

#hogwarts legacy imagine #hogwarts legacy #hogwarts legacy fic #aesop sharp #professor sharp #professor sharp x oc #aesop sharp x oc #aesop sharp x reader

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raven-awed · 1 year

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Defense Lessons

Professor Aesop Sharp x fem reader

Summary: Sharp offers Defense Against the Dark Art lessons to J. Pippin’s new employee.

A/n: Couldn’t resist writing for this sexy professor. I’m hoping to write a part 2! Thank you @minichrismd for the help!

*Not my picture

Professor Sharp opened the door to his office and shuffled in. With a flick of his wand the candles and lanterns illuminated.

His office was immaculate, as usual, a potion master's paradise. His shelves were stocked full of every ingredient imaginable, from Ashwinder eggs to Wormwood essence. There wasn’t a single conceivable potion he wouldn’t be able to brew with this stock.

He sighed, glancing down at the full bag he lugged into Hogwarts with him and dropped it carelessly onto the floor. Slowly, he moved to the attached closet, glaring at the door before pulling it open. A frown formed on his face as looked at the crammed shelves and the materials spilling over onto the ground.

Sharp was completely aware that he didn’t have the space for any more ingredients, but he couldn’t resist stopping at J. Pippin’s when he saw that y/n was tending the counter.

That’s how this whole mess started in the first place.

Roughly a month ago he had gone in to purchase Dugbog Tongues, as he no longer felt up to venturing into the Forbidden Forest to hunt down his own. Afterall, he wasn’t a spry wizard anymore, unable to maneuver through the thick woods or climb like he used to, especially with his limp.

When the door chimes had rang over his head, he wasn’t greeted by the familiar face of Mr. Pippins, but the warm smile of a lovely stranger. The gruff professor nodded politely as she welcomed him in and introduced herself as Mr. Pippin’s new assistant.

Her good mood must have been infectious because he soon found himself making small talk with her. She had easily impressed him with her potion’s knowledge and her eagerness to learn and improve. Perhaps if his students were more like her, he’d have more hope for the future.

He huffed again, looking at his recent purchases on the floor. Now everytime he found himself in Hogsmeade, he made some sort of excuse to see her. He dragged a hand over his face, he was too old to be acting like such a fool. He shouldn’t be getting so worked up over a pretty face anymore, even if she was pleasant to talk to.

Grabbing the new supplies from the floor, he unceremoniously shoved them in the closet and slammed the door shut. He’d deal with that some other time.

In fact, a certain red headed Gryffindor came to mind, he’ll be overjoyed the next time he sneaks in here to steal ingredients. Sharp could just let him know everything in the closet up for grabs, but it was more fun to make him work for it. That Weasley boy would rob him blind if Sharp isn’t careful.

The week progressed as usual, lessons, potion brewing, sending students with minor burns or cuts to the hospital wing. One student had managed to singe his eyebrows off, it was probably the most memorable event of the week.

By the weekend, Professor Sharp was ready for a break, he went to the Three Broomsticks by himself and had a few drinks. He didn’t see y/n on his way over when he passed the potion shop, just Mr. Pippin assisting a couple of customers.

He sighed as he finished his last drink of brandy, setting the empty glass on the bar and rising to his feet.

The autumn air was brisk and the sun was beginning to set as he started walking back to the castle. On the bright side, he saved a few galleons by not spending anything at J Pippin’s, that man already has enough of his salary.

As he slowly headed back to the castle, Sharp froze when he spotted y/n walking towards him, or to be more precise towards Hogsmeade.

A wide friendly smile made its way on her face as she waved at him. “Good evening, Professor Sharp!”

He nodded, “Evening.”

She looked a little less composed than normal, her hair a slightly out of place with leaves sticking out, she was wearing pants instead of her typical uniform she wore at the shop, and there was mud caked onto her boots.

“Did I miss you at the shop?” She asked, her voice was light and sweet. “I was just out collecting some ingredients in the forest.” She held up her sack.

He shook his head, “I’m already set for the week with ingredients.” And probably for the rest of the year, he thought to himself.

They continued to walk towards each other, meeting halfway. Sharp narrowed his eyes and immediately pulled a handkerchief from his coat pocket, “You’re bleeding.”

“Oh?” Y/n blinked in surprise while the older man began to clean the blood from her temple.

“What happened out there?” He asked firmly, on the outside he appeared as calm and collected as ever, but he’d be lying if he said that his pulse didn’t start racing at the sight of y/n hurt.

“Poachers,” she answered quietly. “Didn’t know I was so close to their camp before they attacked.”

Sharp frowned, lifting the handkerchief to get a better look at the wound. The cut was long and gushing blood, there also appeared to be some dirt mixed in.

“I’m alright, really I am,” she tried to reassure him, placing her hand on his.

“We should go to the hospital wing, have the nurse check it,” he suggested.

“It’s just a scratch-“

“There are all sorts of things out there in those woods, could get infected if you’re not careful,” he explained. “Come on.”

“But I should really take these back-“

“Your health is more important,” Sharp pointed out. “Parry will understand.”

Sharp escorted y/n to the castle and up to the hospital wing. He lingered while she was examined, sitting quietly with his brow furrowed, while he mulled things over.

It wouldn’t be reasonable for him to ask her not to go back, especially with her line of work. Perhaps he could suggest that next time he could accompany her, however, as a retired auror he knew that dangerous witches and wizards were everywhere, not just lurking in the Forbidden Forest.

From what he had seen y/n had proven to be a capable witch, skilled at potions and quite knowledgeable about other subjects, maybe with more support she could learn to properly defend herself. She most likely knew the basics, but he could show her a few more advanced spells, help her be prepared for next time.

Sharp cleared his throat, his dark eyes locking onto hers as the nurse finished treating the wound. “Starting next week, I’d like to offer you lessons.”

Y/n lifted her brow and tilted her head, “Potion lessons?”

“Defense against the dark arts lessons,” he stated, rising to his feet. “With some practice, I’ll have you ready to take on any dark witch or wizard.”

He acquired a practice dummy from Professor Hecat and brought it up to his classroom. He flicked his wand and all the tables and potion stations moved to the side clearing the space in the center of the classroom.

They met once a week for lessons, Sharp taught y/n advanced spells that were not part of the basic curriculum as well as strategies he had used back when he was auror. Sometimes two seemingly unrelated spells could be a powerful combination if used in the right order at the right moment.

Sharp’s main goal was to get y/n more accustomed to using these spells, make it so it was second nature for her to defend and attack if posed with a threat. The only way for that to happen was practice, lots and lots of practice.

Her nerves and discomfort were apparent from the beginning. Her hand would tremble slightly each time she attempted to produce a combat spell.

“Defensive magic wasn’t exactly my favorite while in school,” she explained one day as Sharp pushed the practice dummy in front of her. “Was always too much pressure, too much risk, I didn’t want to accidentally hurt anyone.”

Sharp sighed, “Unfortunately the world doesn’t share that mindset, cause out there,” he gestured to the window, “There are plenty of witches and wizards who couldn’t care less who they hurt, and if you’re not prepared, you’ll wind up injured again or worse because of one of them.”

Y/n nodded, taking his words in, she hadn’t shared with him how shaken up she had been after the attack. In all honesty, she was quite scared that something like that would indeed happen again.

“Let’s retry that spell,” he directed. “And no holding back this time. It’s important to have conviction when casting, remember that.”

Y/n practices the spell a few more times, getting better with each turn. She wondered if Sharp is this patient with his actual students; she had graduated from Hogwarts before he took on the role of Potions Master.

“You’re improving,” Sharp pointed out as they finished for the evening. “I’ll see you next week.”

“Good night Professor Sharp,” y/n smiled, heading towards the door.

He frowned for a brief moment. “Y/n?” He called.

“Yes,” she answered, spinning around on her heels to face him.

“You know, it’s unnecessary for you to call me ‘professor’,” he said, his hands clasped behind his back. “You aren’t my student.”

“Yes, I suppose you’re right,” y/n pursed her lips for a moment. “Mr. Sharp…?” She addressed him, but unsure as the words left her mouth.

“Aesop would suffice.” His eyes remained as cool as ever, but in truth the matter had been bothering him for quite sometime now. Her referring to him as Professor Sharp presented a hierarchy when there shouldn’t be one, or at least he didn’t want her to think there was one.

“Oh, alright,” she responded, a little wide eyed, heart fluttering more than it should. “Good night Aesop.”

A barely noticeable half smile formed on his lips as he prepared his classroom for the following morning, it even remained as he retired for the night.

In the weeks that followed, Sharp observed y/n’s growth, she had become more confident and casted spells with ease. But besting a dummy in the safety of a classroom was nothing like a real duel.

“Today we will be doing something different,” he explained while shucking off his coat and laying it on the back of his desk chair.

Y/n tilted her head, face heating up as Aesop also removed his tie and vest. “What did you have in mind exactly?”

“Dueling,” he answered with a smirk.

Her face fell, “Me duel you?”

His smirk grew, “I’ll go easy on you, but this is the best way to see how you’d fare in an actual fight.” Aesop drew his wand, “Ready?”

Y/n raised her wand but she hesitated to cast a spell, Sharp, however, didn’t.

“Expelliarmus,” he shouted.

“Protego,” she responded just in the nick of time, deflecting the curse.

Flashes of lights lit up the classroom as the duel evolved into a dance as they circled each other. There wasn’t a single pause or lull between spells.

“Depulso!” Y/n blinked in surprise when the spell actually landed, sending Aesop flying back. Immediately she rushed over.

“Aesop!” She knelt beside him, her hands cupping his face as he groaned slightly. “Are you hurt?”

Her touch was so light and gentle as she cradled his head. It had been quite a long time since anyone touched him like this.

Looking up at her so close to him, his face began heating up. Sharp cleared his throat, “I’m fine.”

“Looks like you can hold your own in a fight,” he commented, rising to his feet and dusting himself off. He frowned for a moment as his own words sunk in. “I suppose that means you don’t need anymore lessons,” he explained solemnly.

“Yeah, I guess you’re right,” she agreed, with a hint of disappointment in her voice.

They both stood at the doorway, realizing that they wouldn't be seeing each other anytime soon.

Sharp could try to go back to the shop, but he knew after spending so much time in his classroom that she had noticed his well stocked shelves. He racked his brain for another excuse to spend time with her but he was drawing a blank.

He sighed, glancing at y/n, she had probably had other things to do tonight, “Well, good night-“

“We should get drinks!” Y/n chirped, interrupting him. Her face revealing her excitement over the prospect. “To celebrate and as a thank you!”

“As a thank you?” He asked, raising a brow.

“Yes! For teaching me how to properly defend myself! Nothing big,” she rattled on. “Just drinks and maybe dinner. Does next week work for you at the Three Broomsticks?”

Aesop smiled, “See you next week.”

#aesop sharp #aesop sharp x reader #professor sharp #professor sharp x reader #female reader #reader insert #hogwarts legacy #hogwarts legacy fanfic

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jesuschristwhatsgoingon · 1 year

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Diffindo?More like DILF-indo?Haha get it???

This man is so fucking fine and can (disrespectfully)Descendo my back anytime

Edit:Did everyone get Hogwarts Legacy for Christmas because the amount of notes have drastically increased since Christmas lol

#I’m so down bad for this fucking man and it’s not even funny #game please give me a chance to treat this man right #cue ’After Last Night’#Aesop Sharp #Professor Sharp #Aesop Sharp x reader #professor sharp x reader #hogwarts legacy

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sweetsreverie · 1 year

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Lunch Visitor

Pairing: Aesop Sharp x Professor!Reader Requested? Nope, this is a little self-indulgent piece tbh Plot: Aesop has been stopping by your classroom during lunch lately.

Aesop started coming to your classroom during lunch a week ago. He didn't stop by every day, but every few days or so. It was curious, and you were wondering why he suddenly had free time to visit you. During lunch, he normally tended to his duties in the classroom while the students were away for a while.

The first time he came by, he asked you about a potential new potion he was thinking about teaching to his students. You gave him your opinion of course, but instead of leaving after getting an answer, he stayed and sat with you for the remainder of lunchtime.

Today when he stopped by, you were sipping on some tea made from a tea blend that Mirabel had given you, and munching on some custard tarts while you worked on grading the arithmancy homework your students had turned in.

"Did you come by to help me grade this homework?" You call out when you hear the door open, because although your back was turned to it, you knew it was Aesop.

"There's a reason I chose to teach potions and not arithmancy," Aesop replies as he approaches the table you're working at, and you can't help but grin at his words. Normally that's the closest thing to humor you're going to get out of him.

You turn to look up at him as he sits down, and you offer him a soft smile before you motion to the tea pot that was sitting nearby.

"Tea?" You ask, and he gives you a silent nod before you begin to pour him a cup, and you slide it and the saucer over to him. "Mirabel made the blend for me. It's delightful," You tell him as you lean back in your seat, and watch him take a drink from his cup. He looks pleased with it.

"You know, you always tell your students that you're too busy to speak when class isn't in session. But you have time to sit here with me?" You ask him more as a joke, but you could swear you heard him chuckle.

"Perhaps I'd rather spend my free time with you than entertaining their questions that I've answered countless times," He tells you with a slight raise of his eyebrows, and you were just hoping he would miss the blush that rose to your cheeks.

"What are you trying to tell me, Aesop?" You ask him, hoping you would be able to get more out of him.

He actually chuckles then, and he takes another drink of his tea before he sets down the little cup. By now he has an... affectionate look in his eyes.

"I'm trying to tell you that I'd like to see you outside of work, Y/N. Let me take you out one day,"

While you were hoping for this response from him, you couldn't help but still feel surprised by it. You send him a little nod, and he smirks slightly before he leans forward and snags a tart from your plate.

"Splendid. And I'm going to take one of these since you depleted my stash of toffees that were in my desk," He tells you, and your eyes widen slightly; you didn't think he would notice that you would take one... or a few when you would stop by the potions classroom.

#Aesop sharp #Aesop sharp x reader #hogwarts legacy #hogwarts legacy fanfiction #professor Sharp x reader #aesop sharp x professor!reader

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moonmaiden1996 · 1 year

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New Postion

Smutty/filthy. Please be warned. Age gap. This just had to happen as I have a soft spot for broody men. Sorry

Please leave comment below

Aesop eyed his fiancé wearily. He had no idea how he had got someone so beautiful and young as you to look at him with any affection, let alone agree to marry him. His little seductive half-Veela, whom all the men and women fawned over. Yet here you were, in all your glory, his.

The Hog’s Head was not a very fitting place for you to be in, but alas, it was the only place that could afford privacy. The dull and gnarled wood of the back room looked grim compared to your glowing body. You belong in the guild halls of France or Italy, not the savage Highlands of Scotland. Yet his was the type of place you would be if you remained with him.

‘So? Should I accept?’’ You bet your lips as you leant in closer over. Your warm palm rest on his open hand.

‘’I never saw you settling into the life of a schoolteacher.’’ He sighed.

It was true; you were a brilliant witch but locking you away at Hogwarts wasn’t a very fitting fate to give you.

‘’Aesop….’ You frowned, gripping his hand tighter.

‘’My love… I am almost old enough to be your father; I’m old and crippled. You are a philosopher and a scholar; you should be tied down to something so humdrum as Master of Ancient Studies.’’ Or me…

‘’Aesop, you certainly are not old enough to be my father; he is nearly sixty! You are 42, hardly an old man and most definitely not a cripple. You have a limp, for Merlin’s sake. Not that would matter. I love you exactly the way you are, as a sweet and kind grump. Besides, Professor of Ancient Studies is perfectly respectable and fun, and luckily close to my future husband.’’ You cooed, cupping his cheek with yours, fingers running down the edge of his scar.

Your heart surged as his eyes fluttered closed.

‘’Hmmmmm’’

For all your fiancé’s gruff exterior that might scare his students, you saw his softness. Despite all his insecurities, he made sure that he offered you your favorite bloom or book or some trinkets that he knew you would like on every date. Or how he would give you his jacket if he even so much as thought you felt the cold or how he never missed a date.

‘’You could not take a position here before you married me.’’ He muttered as he kissed the palm of your hand with a sigh.

‘’Luckily, I have already agreed to have you as my husband.’’ You purred as you shifted closer to him, sliding your hand down to rub his clothes thigh. You giggled as you felt his body stiffen beneath you.

‘But I have to admit I have an ulterior motive in wanting to accept the position.’’ You purred as you settled onto your knees.

‘’And what is that?’’ the words strained out his tightening throat.

‘’I get to suck your cock every night.’’ With two flicks of your wand, the door tightly shut as your other hand freed his cock from the tight restraints of his trousers.

Never will you grow accustomed to how thick he was or how he was slightly crooked, so when he was seated snuggly inside you, he slotted perfectly against that sweet spot in you.

’You know’’ you started as you suckled his balls, lavishing attention on one before moving on to the other and speaking again. ‘How much I like it.’’ You moaned as you sucked at his balls again, slowly stroking his shaft from base to tip. A strangled groan escaped his taunt form.

‘Is that the only thing.’’ He huffed, panting as you took his other ball in your mouth.

‘’One of the many things.' Your purred, kissing the base of his cock and working your way up to suckle his tip. ‘’Like getting to warm your cock with my pussy as your plan your lessons or have you fucking me on your desk. Hmmm you letting me ride you in the Forbidden Forest. Waking up with your head between my legs before you pump me full of your hot, thick cum.’’ You smirked as you felt him surge under your touch. “Once we are married and I am safely in your bed, you can do whatever you want to me. Think about it, love….’ You gave a playful lick under the base of his cock ‘’how much better will it be to start your morning cumming on my face and chest….or in me.’’ Your purred, bobbing your head down before he could manage a reply.

You took him in fully, or as much as you could. Relishing the musky taste as you struggled against his thickness. Glancing up, his head was thrown back; lips parted as he let out a string of groans, each more lurid than the last. Rolling his balls between your palms, you set a rhythm.

Rarely did Aesop let you do this, he thought it was demeaning, he much preferred worshipping you, but secretly you knew he loved it. The string of half-formed words, the clenching muscles that shifted under your touch as you licked and sucked at his sensitive cock. As much as he hated to admit he would never be rid of you, you had made him an addict and one he would never get rid of.

Hollowing your cheeks, you sank your mouth further onto his cock. His eyes fluttered open, looking at you in hazy lust-filled eyes, his fingers tangled into your hair as your tongue rolled over his tip, earning a low moan as he screwed his eyes shut tight. Slowly, you started bobbing your head up and down, taking as much of his as possible.

“Feels so…” he closed his eyes as your fingers rolled over his heavy balls, leaving him breathless as you sped up, gagging slightly as he bucked up into your mouth.

Worried eyes peer down at you, tugging at your hair slightly, trying to pull away, hips shifting as you dip your mouth back down, taking him deeper into your throat.

‘‘Love...’ he moaned out, throwing his head back. His fingers gripped your hair tightly, pulling you closer.

Smirking, you worked your way up and down his cock savoring the salty precum that filled your mouth. His hips stuttered in the chair, and he struggled not to buck into your mouth. Glancing up, you saw his brow puckering as he panted lowly, fingers scraping, tightening the hold of your hair and the arm of the chair.

Doubling your efforts, bobbing your head faster, fondling his balls with just enough pressure to push him forward. ‘‘Please, Aesop,’ you pleaded, twirling your tongue against the bundle of nerves on the underside of his cock. ‘’Let me do this every day.’’ You kissed the tip. ‘‘I want you so badly ….’ You purred as you let your lips tighten around him, taking his as far as he could.

Aesop’s hips juddered and trembled as he let out a strangled cry as he came in a long spurt of saltiness; the head was thrown back, gasping, half lulled eye watching weakly as you sucked him gently swallowing as much as you could, earning another grunt from he watched his cum leak from around your lips, glistening in the candlelight as it collected at the base of his cock while you massaged his balls, milking him for every drop you could.

His breath was ragged as he rode out his orgasm, body shuddering as you carried him through to his was spent.

‘We will go see the headmaster first thing tomorrow.’ He puffed. ‘’and arrange for your things to be brought over as soon as we married.’’ Aesop mumbled. ‘’But first, get on the table and spread those plush little thighs for me.’’ He growled.

What do you think?

Do we want more Aesop Sharp? ;) Requests welcome

#hogwarts legacy #aesop sharp #aesop sharp x reader #professor sharp x reader #professor sharp

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mrs-sharp · 1 month

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Professor Sharp helping me with my studies - the scene:

Vs. what I see:

#aesop sharp #professor sharp #professor aesop sharp #aesop sharp x mc #aesop sharp x reader #professor sharp x reader #hogwarts legacy screenshots #hogwarts legacy #hogwarts school of witchcraft and wizardry #wizarding world #harry potter fanfiction #harry potter franchise #harry potter fandom #daddy sharp

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julietpricee · 3 months

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MC being deep: I usually solve problems by letting them devour me

Horny Aesop: From now on call me ‘Problems’

#hogwarts legacy #hogwarts legacy fandom #professor sharp #aesop sharp #professor aesop sharp #aesop sharp x mc #daddy sharp #hogwarts #harry potter hogwarts game #hogwarts school of witchcraft and wizardry #aesop sharp smut #aesop sharp x reader #professor sharp x mc #professor sharp smut #professor sharp x reader

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bountydroid · 1 year

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Gnomes, Sunflowers, and Broken Men

Aesop Sharp x Professor!reader

Description: There is a new Muggle Studies Professor at Hogwarts School for Witchcraft and Wizardry. Her bubbly personality was nearly the opposite of Sharp's own, but little did he know, she has a soft spot for men like him.

Part 2

Notes:

(f/c) = favorite color

L/n = last name

"I can't wait to see Y/n again!" Mirabel Garlick squeals in excitement. Y/n and Mirabel were close during school, always sneaking into the greenhouses together to tend to their favorite plants.

Y/n, however, was not sneaking in for the magical plants, but the sunflower she convinced the herbology professor to let her grow. "Sunflowers may not be anything special," Y/n always said, "but they are my favorite."

Headmaster Black didn't hesitate to make his distaste for her excitement known. "Settle down before I change my mind about hiring her." He sneered.

Mirabel quieted down, but her excitement had her buzzing in her seat as she saw Y/n bust through the door, determined not to be late for the housing ceremony.

The housing ceremony was eventful thanks to the dramatic entrance of Professor Fig and the new 5th-year student, a student Y/n was most excited to meet. Not too long after it quieted down to a regular welcome feast. Now that the important things were out of the way, Y/n made her rounds to all the professors, introducing herself and making small talk with each of them.

Aesop was not particularly interested in small talk with Y/n, but that didn't stop her from having the biggest smile on her face as she took the hint and moved on to the next person. This caught his attention, "what a strange woman," he thought to himself.

Once the feast was over, all the professors retreated to their classrooms, making sure everything was ready for classes to start in the morning. Aesop was finishing up when he heard a knock on his door. He looked over to see a familiar face. Y/n was there with her signature smile and something obviously hidden behind her back.

"Can I help you with something?" Aesop asked, eyeing her suspiciously as she shuffled her way to his desk.

"I have a gift for you," Y/n said. Aesop couldn't help the warmth crawl up his face at her words.

"A gift?" He scoffed out, eyes wide in surprise.

She excitedly pulled out the object behind her back—a small gnome statue with a yellow hat. "Gnomes make me happy, so I thought you might also like one. It would be nice to see you smile. You have a reputation of being grumpy." she giggled as she held it out before her.

Aesop stared at her as his face when from surprise to confusion. "Is she serious?" he thought to himself as he searched her face for any sign that she was joking, but all he found was her bright smile and hopefulness in her eyes. He hesitantly reached out and grabbed it from her, studying the object in front of him. "Why do you care?" he asked her.

"As I said, it would be nice to see you smile." She repeated, rocking back and forth on the balls of her feet. "Do you like it?"

Aesop stood there quietly, unsure of what to say as he stared at her face, again looking for signs that it was all a joke. It wasn't. "I guess," he muttered, fidgeting with the statue.

"That is wonderful! I hope you will put it somewhere nice," she exclaimed happily before heading back out the door. Right before she completely disappeared, she stuck her head back in the classroom and gave him a wink and a small giggle at the flabbergasted look on his face.

"Where were you? I was waiting for you to come visit!" Mirabel said as her friend entered the greenhouse.

"Visiting Professor Sharp," Y/n said nonchalantly as she took her place next to Mirabel, who nearly dropped her potted mandrake at Y/n's statement.

Mirabel laughed as she placed the pot back down, "You did what? Why?"

"I gave him a gnome. To make him smile." Y/n said as she propped herself up on the potting table.

"You always loved gnomes." Mirabel chirped. "Gnomes, sunflowers, and broken men." She said smirking at her friend.

"Yea," Y/n said giggling as the blush covered her cheeks.

The first week was uneventful. Students were not particularly interested in Muggle Studies, especially compared to the other classes. Muggle Studies is arguably the most boring class in Hogwarts to the students, but she tried her best to make it fun for them. When she was in school she always appreciated the fun professors, and she wanted to be that person now that it was her turn to teach.

On the other hand, Aesop was obviously avoiding Y/n, and she was starting to feel bad. Y/n knew she could sometimes come across as a little strong, but she didn't mean to make him feel uncomfortable around her. She was determined to make up for it. Face-to-face may be too much for him, so this time she thought she might write him a letter. She sat down at her desk and started writing,

Aesop,

I am very sorry if I made you feel uncomfortable the other week. I know I can come across a little strong, but I truly just wanted to make you smile. I hope we can still be friends.

Sincerely,

Y/n L/n

She sighed as she folded up the letter and put it in an envelope. She shoved it in her pocket as she wandered the halls. It was late, and most everyone was asleep so she thought she would slip it under his door and be done with it. Her (f/c) sleep dress dragged along the floor while the pitter-patter of her feet echoed in the empty halls as she finally reached her destination. After slipping the note under the door, she slowly returned to her sleeping quarters, ready for a full night's sleep.

That morning Aesop noticed a letter on the floor of the classroom. He slowly reached down and picked it up, inspecting the envelope. "Professor Aesop Sharp," It read on the outside. He ran his thumb over the writing, recognizing it as Y/n's.

He made his way into his office and sat at his desk as he slowly started to open it. He felt bad as he read the letter. "I have upset her." He thought to himself. That was not his goal at all. He only avoided her so he could avoid his own feelings. Feelings that were foreign to him. He looked down at the gnome on his desk, "I need to make it up to her."

"Professor Garlick, I have a question for you." Aesop said as he slowly made his way down the greenhouse steps.

"Of course Professor, how may I help you?" Mirabel asked in surprise. He had never visited the greenhouse as long as she had been there.

"You are close friends with Y/n, yes?" He asked quietly, obviously unsure of trusting her with this. "I am afraid I may have upset her. I of course want a good relationship with ALL of my coworkers." He added hastily at the end.

Mirabel smirked as she watched his nervous state. "Sunflowers. She likes sunflowers. I believe there is a field near Hogsmeade."

"What on earth has gotten into me?" Aesop wonders as he stares at the flowers in his hand. He wrapped them in a yellow cloth he bought at Gladrag's Wizardwear for this very purpose, tying the bouquet together gently with some twine. He wonders if he should even do this, if this would be too much, if Mirabel was wrong. Before he can psych himself out of it, he slowly starts making his way to her classroom.

"Have a wonderful weekend, everyone!" Y/n shouts as her students rush out the door, nearly knocking the flowers out of Aesop's hands. When Y/n notices the professor, she breaks out into the biggest smile, "Professor Sharp!".

"Professor L/n." He responds as he makes his way to where she is standing.

She looks down and notices the bouquet and gasps. "Those are beautiful! Who is the lucky lady?" She giggles.

"I-" he stutters, "I wanted to apologize." He says, "I didn't mean to be rude."

"Rude? Never!" She says as she gently takes the flowers from his hands, face red with embarrassment. "I will put these in water immediately."

Aesop finds himself at a loss for words as he looks down at her smiling face, the blush evident on her cheeks. "She looks beautiful." He can't help but think to himself.

"The gnome." He chokes out.

"What about it?” She asks hesitantly, afraid he will say that he hates it.

"It does make me smile." He says to her with a slight grin on his face.

tag list: @mothgirl-is-tired

#professor sharp #professor aesop sharp #aesop sharp #aesop sharp x reader #professor sharp x reader #hogwarts legacy

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aesopsharpmybeloved · 8 months

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Lullaby For An Auror

Aesop Sharp made peace with the fact he was going to spend the rest of his days in solitude. Fate had a different plan.

I went full Steph Meyers and wrote Some Like It Sharp from Aesop's perspective. None of this would be possible without @tea-withjamandbread who is my amazing consultant and even the author of multiple lines in this story. Love ya🧡

18+ GO AWAY CHILDREN!

Lullaby For An Auror (27.2k words)

tw: past trauma, original character death, descriptions of violence, slow burn, angst, hurt/comfort, explicit, vaginal sex, teacher-student relationship (reader is adult), aesop sharp needs a hug

Aesop didn’t dream often.

However, when he did, it was only the nightmares he remembered in the morning. Flashes of light hurting his eyes, the sound of a woman’s cry as she’s thrown into a stack of crates, blinding pain searing in his face, his leg and hip, pain so horrible he momentarily couldn’t focus on anything else. It was only when a ray of green light tore through the chaos all around him, when the world’s two foulest words rang through the air.

Avada Kedavra!

His partner. His oldest friend. His sister. That wild, mischievous look in her ever sparkling azure eyes was gone, replaced by a dull void. It was as if time slowed down as Aesop watched her fall, her mouth slightly open, her skin losing its pinkish hue by the second. There was more screaming, and it was only the pain in his throat that told him that he was its source. More shouting, more lights.

Someone at the ministry must've realised Aesop and Ashley were led into a trap and reinforcements were sent.

It was too late, though.

Ashley was dead, and Aesop would be joining her real soon, if his withering hold on his consciousness, not to mention the blood flowing out of his leg and face were any clue. Using the last bits of his strength, he crawled the short distance to Ashley’s body and covered it with his own, pressing his head against her chest as if trying to will her heart to start beating again. His sobs were raw and ugly, and they made him ache even more than he already was, and when a pair of strong arms began pulling him away, he tried to fight them off. It was no use. He was weak, and he was dying. The last thing he saw before unconsciousness finally enveloped him in its sweet, painless embrace, was his partner. The woman who’s stood by him since before he held his first wand was dead, killed in cold blood like an animal.

—

It’s been more than a decade now. The dream would come less and less, but it never truly went away. It never failed to wake him up in cold sweat with tears running out of his eyes, his throat sore from screaming out of his sleep. The pain was so horrible right then like it was on that day itself. Aesop let himself fall out of the bed in a heap of limbs. He whimpered and cried out in pain, gripping his left leg as he crawled towards the little chest at the foot of his bed. Once he managed to do so, he immediately gulped down several vials of Wiggenweld potions that were stored inside, closely followed by a bottle of Calming draught.

His heartbeat was fast and uneven, his breathing was shallow, and his entire body was covered by gooseflesh and a thin layer of sweat, as he still writhed on the cold floor.

He couldn’t do this, he couldn’t, he was going to die.

Little by little, however, the potions began taking effect. The calming draught was first to work. Aesop’s breathing grew even once more and he felt his thoughts slowly dissipating, until his mind was blank, filled with gentle nothing. Then, and only then, did he feel the cramping pain in his leg start to lessen, enough so that he was able to climb back into bed and fall onto his side heavily. Aesop focused on his breathing, focused on keeping his mind empty, focused on falling back to sleep, and hoped there would be no more nightmares.

Aesop only ever remembered his nightmares. Everything pleasant that happened in his dreams was promptly forgotten by his self-destructive brain.

Then, however, something changed.

—

It was one of the more eventful years. In all of his time of teaching, he never before heard of a student starting their attendance in Hogwarts as anything other than a first year, unless they were transferred from a different school, of course. And as sceptical as he originally was, the girl proved not only to be a formidable young witch, but also perhaps one of the strongest, most talented and most resilient students Aesop ever taught.

However, as resilient as she was, she was still a sixteen year old lass, and the trauma she went through was a bite many wizards beyond her years and experience wouldn’t be able to chew. It fell onto Aesop to watch her shatter and attempt to put her back together.

It was a job he didn’t think he was a very good choice for. Actually, in his opinion, almost anyone would be better. Aesop wasn’t the motherly Matilda Weasley and Mudiwa Onai, or the ever empathetic and optimistic Mirabel Garlick and Abraham Ronen, and he absolutely wasn’t as wise and at peace as his dear friend Dinah Hecat was. And yet, the young Ravenclaw seemed to click with him the best. He was the one to whom she opened up, he was the one in front of whom she finally dropped her facade.

He should've known that one afternoon in his office wouldn’t be enough. Their little encounter on the top of Astronomy tower sometime later proved as much.

He stayed with her almost the entire night, his hand resting on her back as they sat together underneath the staircase leading to the Ravenclaw tower. He let her talk and cry her poor eyes out, being the one firm spot in the universe to ground her at that moment. And when he saw the first hints of rising sun fight their way above the horizon through the windows in the corridor, he called for a house elf to bring a vial of Dreamless sleep potion from his stores.

Aesop was tired, and his body was aching, so he didn’t accompany her all the way up the stairs to her common room, but he made her swear to him she would drink that potion, that she would just lie into her bed and not worry about anything. He could only hope she actually followed his instructions. Once he finally reached his own chambers, he felt pretty miserable himself. His only comfort was the fact he only had afternoon classes today, so he was able to get at least a few hours of sleep.

Honestly, he’s had worse, back when he was an Auror.

Before he retired to bed however, he wrote a few short letters. One for the Ravenclaw prefects to make sure nobody woke their troubled classmate, and then a few more to the teachers of her classes for that day, in which he explained the situation. When he finally fell into bed in just his underwear, too exhausted to bother changing, he only thought of the girl and the situation he got himself into for a little while, before sleep’s possessive spell descended down on him.

It was the first time in years Aesop remembered a dream that wasn’t a nightmare upon waking up.

He didn’t even realise he was dreaming at first. He was still sitting with the young woman, his thumb slowly stroking over her shoulder blade as he listened. She was leaning against him, resting her head on his strong shoulder. Aesop could almost feel where her tears slowly fell upon the fabric of his trousers. Her body was warm against his side, her voice so quiet nobody but him would be able to hear it. How he hated to see this frankly incredible young woman like this, fragile and vulnerable, like a mighty phoenix that has just been reborn. He didn’t know what came over him when he pulled back slightly to press a short, comforting kiss into the crown of her hair.

Aesop opened his eyes. He guessed it was around noon, judging by the amount of light coming from his sitting room’s windows. By Salazar, he was tired, not to mention aching all over from his climb of the Astronomy tower staircase. However, as he thought of the events which transpired, he found that he had no regrets.

Of course he had no regrets! Who knows what would have happened if he didn’t arrive when he did. Who knows what Miss (L/N) might have done…

No. Even now, he would gladly climb all the way up again if there was even the slightest possibility she might be there again.

This thought prompted him to get up from his bed with a pained groan, wandlessly summoning a vial of Wiggenweld from his robes, and gulping it down in a single swallow. After a few deep breaths, he felt relief seeping throughout his body. Slowly, he stretched, wincing as he heard his joints pop loudly. His injury often made him feel older than he was, but today he felt positively ancient. However, he couldn’t dwell on such matters right now, as there were more important things at hand.

After he’d pulled on his dressing gown, he made his way over to his sitting room, soon settling into his armchair and summoning a house elf.

“What can Meeky do for Professor Sharp?”

“Bring me something to eat, please. Anything’s fine. And a spot of tea. And… Please, check the fifth year girls' dormitory in Ravenclaw tower. A girl there was… unwell the previous evening, so she’s been given a sleeping potion. She should still be sleeping now, but I want to be sure.”

With a nod to her head and a popping sound, the house elf left his chambers. Aesop thought back on his dream. It was… curious to say at least. The dream wasn’t bad. It wasn’t good either, it just… was. And yet he remembered every single detail of it, from the feeling of her hair tickling his neck, to the cool dampness of her tears staining his trousers. And the kiss he pressed into her hair… That was the one thing he didn’t do yesterday, and he had no idea why would his sleeping brain play out such a scene for him.

He was probably just thinking too much into it. Dreams were often just brain sorting memories into their proper boxes, combined with abstract thoughts that often made no sense.

Still, it was curious.

Why would he remember it?

—

He began to meet the young Ravenclaw more often, asking her for tea in his office after their last classes for the day, and to his surprise, she never declined. No, (F/N) (L/N) always came, and she came right on time.

He talked to her about her hobbies and interests, and about her life in general. He was curious as to where ‘The Hero of Hogwarts’ grew up and how.

When he saw her flinch and make a face at the title, he made a mental note to not call her that again.

He knew that she came from an upper class Muggle family even before he met her in September. An aristocratic family actually - which is why he was rather surprised when he first met her. She was generous and humble, clever and attentive, polite if not a little too proper at first.

During their talks, Aesop slowly uncovered that her relationship with her family was lukewarm at best and strained at worst. She wasn’t looking forward to going home for the summer.

At night Aesop dreamed about inviting the girl over to stay in one of the many free rooms of his own house in the Highlands for the holidays, where she’d be free to fly around, free to explore, free to learn, practice and have fun, as opposed to being stuck in some townhouse In Knightsbridge for two months, unable to even go to a park by herself. He dreamed of her beaming at him after he’d told her, dreamed of her arriving for supper, dressed in one of those ensembles she wore whenever she was running errands for someone, broom in hand and an excited mischievous smile on her face, intent on telling him all the things she saw on her travels.

Happy.

Aesop wanted to see her happy like she used to be, like he saw her in his class when her potion turned out fantastic and he praised her for it.

At least his subconsciousness certainly wanted that, for it was projecting this image to him during his slumber, nearly every night after they met during the day, their little ‘tea times’ bleeding into his dreams.

It couldn’t be helped, something about her just made Aesop feel like she could actually understand him. And he often felt like he understood her.

—-

He never actually made the offer. Of course he didn’t. How would he even explain it to her parents? “Please, let your sixteen year old daughter stay the summer with me, a forty-three year old man with a limp, a large facial scar and an overall rough exterior, so that she can fly around Scottish Highlands on a broom and practise her magic.” Aesop shuddered. He’d have his teeth fed to him so fast, he wouldn’t even manage to reach for his wand.

No, no. He spent his summer mostly by himself, only occasionally meeting up with Dinah and Abraham, or visiting his mother. He drew, revived his garden once more (though the plants were nowhere as potent as when Mirabel handled them), brewed some extra potions for the hospital wing as well as himself, and spent the evenings tucked away on a little bench near his father’s memorial with a book and a drink. Firewhisky, ale, butterbeer, whatever was on hand.

And he thought about (F/N) a lot. Wondered how she was. Actually considered owling her or stopping by, just to check up on her. He was glad that he didn't, as Mudiwa was ever so helpful and mentioned during one of the staff meetings over the summer that the soon-to-be sixth year student was staying with her and her daughter for a bit. It put his mind at ease. At least she wasn’t alone.

But it didn’t stop his mind wandering towards her every now and then, and then, as the beginning of term creeped closer, she appeared in his dream yet again.

In this dream, Aesop was sitting on his little bench, reading some book, drinking a butterbeer, his leg propped upon a little wooden footstool. A typical summer evening for him. And yet it was different, for Miss (L/N) was there too. She was lying on her back upon a blanket a short distance from him, watching the first stars appear up in the summer sky and humming some sort of tune, her voice pleasant and undistracting.

“Getting a tad too dark to be reading,” she mentioned suddenly, her voice quiet. She wasn’t wrong - Aesop could barely see the text in the book. He didn’t even know what he was reading, now that he thought about it. He could've cast Lumos to see better, but instead he closed the book and put it down onto the bench next to him. Without another word, he stood and walked over to the blanket. The girl paid him no mind, seemingly too fascinated with the stars.

Aesop wouldn’t normally lie down on the ground, blanket or not, he was too fond of his back for that, not to mention even getting into such a position wasn’t exactly good for his leg.

And yet he soon found himself settled beside the young Ravenclaw, his leg and back absolutely fine. “The stars are quite beautiful, are they not, sir?” she asked quietly. And as Aesop watched the myriad of little dots littering the blue and purple sky like tender freckles, he couldn’t find it in himself to disagree.

“Indeed they are.”

He didn’t much question his dream in the morning. He did however swap his coals for a set of watercolours the following evening. Curious that he never tried his hand at painting the night sky before…

—

It wasn’t the first time the girl brought him some potions ingredients. She did so after the first time she showed him just how what happened down in those caverns broke her, and then she sort of kept bringing them. Little bits and pieces, but always something useful and valuable. Unicorn an thestral hair, Acromantula venom, dragon scales… Once, she brought a Phoenix feather. Where on earth she got it, Aesop didn’t know, but instead of storing it for later experiments, he decided to hang onto it, perhaps turn it into a nice quill.

This little habit of hers, bringing him various ingredients, seemed to have carried on into her sixth year, if the quite sizable pouch she brought with her this evening was anything to go by.

Aesop invited her to his office on Friday the first week of term, and was strangely pleased to see her beaming at him from the very moment she opened the door after he beckoned her inside.

He asked about her summer, and then only happily listened with the tiniest little smile on his face as she told him in detail. The grief and sorrow were still lingering in the depths of her brilliant eyes, but it was obvious to Aesop that the girl would be alright.

She was a tough one.

Why he kept on inviting her for their little talks after that, he didn’t know. At least, he wouldn’t admit it to himself. The truth was, he grew rather… accustomed to the girl. While there was an air of youth around her, she was incredibly mature for her years - the potions master didn’t know whether that was due to her upbringing, or the events of her fifth year - and could easily hold any sort of conversational topic he threw at her, her sentences measured and thoughtful. She was able to perceive a lot of things with grace many adults dreamed of possessing, yet she was always honest and genuine about what she said.

The more they met up, the more he could see her relax around him, and the professor had to admit that he felt more calm and content in her presence as well. It caught him off guard the first time he (accidentally) made her laugh; he just finished with some highly ironic, long-suffering monologue about students’ behaviour in his classroom, and the respect they seem to (not) have for the space, when the sound of her laughter cut through the air.

He blinked in surprise, genuinely not having expected the reaction. Which is not to say he didn’t highly enjoy it. He felt the corner of his lips curl up as he watched her. The Ravenclaw's eyes were closed, her head tipped slightly back, her hand clasped over her chest. Her laughter was completely unadulterated, strangely melodic, and quite addictive. Aesop waited for her to finish before speaking, a sort of mischievousness and cheek he thought he lost long ago colouring his own voice.

“I’m glad you find my utmost misery amusing, Miss (L/N).”

“Oh, Sir!”

—

Aesop hated having someone go through his things.

His workspace was always almost pristine, well organised, no unnecessary clutter. After all, potions were a tricky and potentially dangerous subject, and one errant sneeze could prove disastrous, so he required his students to always keep their potions stations clean and well organised, and practised as he preached. When it came to his living space, though… he was not nearly as meticulous.

He might as well be honest with himself - his rooms were quite the mess. Despite staying at Hogwarts for ten months at a time, he pretty much lived out of his trunk, and only stored his clothes inside the wardrobe after the house elves washed them. He also kept leaving his clothes out for them to wash always inside of his sitting room as opposed to his bedroom, and he had explicitly told them not to clean that chamber.

Aesop knew he was being rather ridiculous, the Hogwarts house elves probably saw rooms much, much messier than his in their lifetimes, not to mention they most likely witnessed even worse kinds of messes. However, the professor was simply uncomfortable knowing there was somebody going through his things. His rooms were cleaned over the summer, then left alone once more, when he moved back in at the end of the summer. He kept telling himself he was going to tidy up himself, but then every time he actually arrived at his chambers, he was just so utterly exhausted, all plans about tidying up went out of the window.

Now, though, he really needed to get on with it. He invited the young Ravenclaw to his room in a moment of madness. Except, it did make some semblance of sense - after all, Faculty tower and Ravenclaw tower were quite close to each other, separated by a single flight of stairs in the Grand staircase, and seeing as they usually spoke late into the evening, it was simply more convenient for the girl to be close to her common room, and for Aesop to not have to go anywhere

His stomach tensed as he observed the state of his rooms, prepared himself to do something he’s not done in the decade he’s worked here.

“Um…Deek?”

Not five seconds later, there was an audible pop as the older house elf appeared before Aesop’s eyes.

Matilda always praised her old elf friend, and Deek himself insisted he was available to anyone who may need him. Aesop asked for his aid in other matters before, and was fairly fond of the elf. He could almost say he trusted him the most out of all the house elves.

“Good afternoon, professor Sharp,” Deek greeted with a smile on his face, “how may Deek assist today?”

Aesop swallowed heavily and took a deep breath. “I’m sorry to be taking you away from your other responsibilities, Deek, but I wanted to ask if… if you’d be so kind and tidy up my chambers for me.”

Deek beamed up at him, his wrinkly face twisting into a look of utmost elation, one Aesop couldn’t understand. He never saw anyone so happy at the idea of cleaning. “But of course, sir! Deek will gladly clean professor Sharp’s rooms. Is… is Deek allowed to clean the bedchamber as well?” Aesop sighed once more: “Yes… it’s especially the bedroom that needs cleaning. I’m sorry to be bothering you with this Deek, I know I could’ve chosen absolutely any house elf and not take you away from your other work.”

“Oh, absolutely not, sir! Professor Sharp could’ve chosen any other house elf, yet he chose Deek. Deek finds it an honour. The professor needn’t worry, Deek shall leave his chambers spick and span!”

And with that, Aesop nodded and excused himself. He did trust Deek, and he knew the house elf would do a good job and not judge him for the mess his rooms were, but he still needed something to occupy himself with while he waited.

Dinah Hecat was surprised to see him in front of her door. “Hello, Dinah. Have I ever told you that your room is absolutely the worst?” Aesop grit his teeth, as his hand absentmindedly went to his bad leg, very sore after climbing the several flights of stairs in order to get to Dinah’s chambers above the Trophy room. Even with the usage of Floo flames, it was still quite the climb.

“Not in the past week, no. Come on in, Aesop, I just made tea.”

—

Once Aesop entered his rooms later that afternoon, he almost felt like he accidentally broke into someone else’s chambers. Which was a ridiculous exaggeration, of course, but he still felt like the space was brand new, even cleaner than it was after the summer. Deek wasn’t lying when he promised he’d leave the place ‘spick and span’. Even stains that seemed to never go away were nowhere to be found. Upon the large chest in his sitting room was a letter, positioned so he’d see it immediately. He hobbled over to the chest, grabbed the parchment and turned around to half lean against, half sit on the chest.

Professor Sharp,

Deek took the liberty to also wash all items of used clothing. Professor Sharp shall find all of his clothes ironed and folded within his wardrobe. Deek also implores that Professor Sharp never hesitates to turn to Deek for any help he may require. Deek is happy to be of service.

Respectfully,

Deek

That house elf was a treasure, Aesop thought, as he neatly folded the letter again and made his way to the bedroom. If he thought the difference was dramatic in the sitting room, he almost had to scrape his jaw off the ground when he entered the room. Like night and day. The bedchamber was spotless. The sheets and blankets were as vibrant in colour as the day he first bought them, and they made a light soapy smell linger in the dim room pleasantly. His chairs and floor were barren of all items of clothing, and Aesop could see his trunks have clearly been emptied of their contents and moved to the corner of the room.

Fires were burning in the hearths, and it gave the rooms a genuinely cosy atmosphere. Aesop couldn’t help but breathe a content little sigh. He should’ve done this a long time ago. Being in the clean space actually improved his already pretty okay mood, and he couldn’t wait to welcome his favourite student to the comfort of his now very comfortable chambers and share a cup of tea here, as opposed to the damp coldness of the dungeons.

The evening couldn't come soon enough.

—

Aesop felt just slightly self conscious as he did finally welcome her. She was looking around the room curiously, taking in all the little details, all the little knick-knacks he collected over the years. “You have very lovely chambers, sir,” she said softly then. “Except maybe for that hand sticking out of the box. That is a little creepy,” she added with a chuckle, and Aesop cringed. Why did he still keep that? Yes, it was a memento from one of his first cases as a full-blown Auror, but it was still a severed, mummified hand sticking out of a box.

“I’m sorry,” he didn’t know why exactly he felt the need to apologise. He didn’t want to make her uncomfortable… What if just being alone with him in his private rooms made her uncomfortable? He asked himself then, a twinge of panic coursing through him. To his surprise, the girl chuckled again. She held his gaze, looking completely at ease, even crossing her leg over the other and leaning further against the backrest of the armchair he set out for her in his sitting room.

“It’s alright sir,” she chirped, “I think we both know it takes a lot more than a disembodied hand to scare me.”

There was a certain undertone in her voice he didn’t exactly like. It was the testament of the horrors she faced last year, things no fifteen/sixteen year old should face. Things nobody should ever face. In an attempt to distract her, he shifted his attention to the canvas bag that was lying by her feet. Of course the girl once again brought some ingredients with her, and while Aesop was grateful, he also had to admit he was running out of space for them. He didn’t want the Ravenclaw to feel bad by rejecting her little presents, though, so he asked with a smile:

“Are those more potion ingredients?” The young woman nodded at him, a small blush creeping onto her cheeks. Aesop chuckled: “Good heavens, lass! Soon enough I won’t have enough space in the classroom to teach you lot, because it’ll be filled with a lifetime supply of Acromantula venom and unicorn hair! Why don’t you bring something sweet we can nibble on instead next time, hm?”

It would appear she had as much of a sweet tooth as he, for the next time she came around, there were several slices of treacle tart in that bag of hers.

—

Aesop Sharp hadn’t shown anyone his work in…a very long time. Not even Dinah. No, he closed himself off absolutely when he drew. For some reason however, he wanted the Ravenclaw to see. She let him see so much of her in those times they met, he supposed it was only fair she saw this side of him as well. He was ridiculously giddy about the decision. Seeing her eyes light up, as she fascinatedly observed and commented on each and every one of his drawings, not to mention the paintings of various beasts upon the walls, made a no small amount of pride bubble within his chest.

And later that night, when he lay sleeping in bed, he saw her sitting in front of the fireplace that transformed into the doorway to his atelier. She was snuggled up in the armchair, legs crossed, a cup of tea in her hand as she looked pensively into the flames. Looking down, Aesop realised his fingers were blackened from coal, because he was in the middle of creating her copy on the parchment.

—

The young woman made climbing entire flights of stairs actually quite worth it, thought Aesop as he stroked the Thestral mare’s neck. It was smooth and warm under his fingertips.

Aesop was fond of Thestrals. He’d occasionally go and see them in the stables when his leg was feeling up to the task, but this was somehow different. These weren’t Thestrals from the Hogwarts herd, these were actual wild Thestrals from the Highlands, perhaps even the Forbidden forest! How on earth did this girl manage to bring them here? How did she make them this friendly and tame? What even was this place, and how did he not know about it in all of the years he spent inside the castle?

All these thoughts running through his head were put on hold when she began talking.

They had a number of things in common, and it would seem their opinions on Thestrals would be another. When she finished speaking, Aesop couldn’t stop himself from reaching out, holding her small hand in his own. “There is no without,” he said. “They may not be around to talk to us, but as long as we remember them fondly, as long as we still let them guide us, they will never be really gone.” These were the words his mother said to him when his father, her husband, died.

They comforted him then, and he hoped it would be comfort they’d bring to (F/N)(L/N) too.

After their tea, she showed him around the so-called Room of Requirement. Aesop was amazed when he found there were even more potions stations in another room down the stairs, five, six, no, eight more, in fact! Figures the girl was at the top of his class, she obviously brewed a lot, and the ingredients she grew herself were looking much better than he’d ever manage to grow on his own.

Just as there were working areas within the large chambers, there were leisure spots as well. Sofas and armchairs, plenty of blankets, rugs, and various decorations. He saw a few game tables, many of which had a little stack of pillows upon one of the chairs next to them. It felt … homely. A safe, comfortable space, where the young Ravenclaw was able to hone her skills in peace, away from the hustle and bustle of the rest of the castle. Had there not been so many stairs to get into this room, Aesop would’ve almost asked whether she’d share it with him.

But, no. This was her own space. He was just glad that she allowed him to see it.

It did feel a little strange, though. Out of all the people she could’ve told about this room, out of all of her friends, she chose him to aid in carrying this amazing secret. It made him feel oddly special. Made a strange warm feeling flow around in his stomach, made his heartbeat increase ever so slightly. And when she gave him a bright, conspiratorial grin, the potions master was sure his heart skipped a beat. And just like that, a new emotion spread within him, one that he didn’t quite recognise just yet, but it was absolutely there, and it made him shiver.

—

Aesop didn’t know why he didn’t let go of her hand while they sipped on their tea. Maybe it was just a natural instinct, maybe it was the comfort it seemed to bring her. The comfort it brought him. His thumb stroked along the back of her hand, the skin there soft and delicate. And when she turned her hand, and their palms connected, it felt like a small sizzle of electricity.

The potions master swallowed heavily. The simple touch of her hand on his made that new emotion flutter through him again. “I thought about what you said,” he spoke softly, his voice lacking its usual gruff and acuteness. The young woman only tilted her head slightly, signalling her full attention to him.”Death, while not intentionally cruel, is still a scary concept. I saw plenty of it. And the Thestrals… they used to make me nervous. But then… then my partner died. And later I came here. And one of the Hogwarts Thestrals, the ones that pull the carriages, approached me on the grounds. It was the first time the beast didn’t make my hair stand on end.

“It nudged its face against my hand, wanted me to pet it. So I did. I think they… they are exactly what a person needs to see…” Aesop felt his eyes getting warmer and damper, but knew he wouldn’t cry. He felt her hand close tighter around his own, and squeezed hers in return. The potions master looked around the room they were sitting in, bathed in soft blue light, its atmosphere that of absolute peace. The two of them stayed in the still and quiet, hands connected between their armrests.

Upon waking up, Aesop thought about the dream for a while. He was still of the opinion that these dreams of his… that they were just the reverberations of his waking mind, but something about them just made him feel strangely on edge. They were just too… lifelike. They felt so real, that his mind was in a state of confusion for several minutes after he woke up, wondering where did the girl go.

Nevertheless, he was in the end quite glad that it were quiet talks in a magical room that he dreamed about, as opposed to cold nights in Scarborough harbour.

—

If anyone told Aesop a week ago that he was going to touch a Graphorn that was kept by a sixth year student within the school walls, he would’ve probably called them insane, and requested their immediate visit of the hospital wing, so that Nurse Blainey could check them for head trauma. Now, however, as the potion master stood still like a statue with his hand outstretched while the huge beast sniffed at it, he was very much sweating bullets. Only when he was absolutely sure the creature wouldn’t attempt to bite his arm off and then some, did he actually reach a little further to touch its snout. It was cool and hard to the touch, and the graphorn’s immense power could be felt in a single exhale of its damp breath. Soon enough, Aesop took his hand away once more and stepped back, more than wary of the beast that could maul both him and (F/N) to death within mere seconds if it so wished.

He watched in shock as the young Ravenclaw approached it without a hint of fear and stroked the tentacle-like appendages by its mouth, before letting her hands travel up its razor sharp looking tusks and petting the tough hide there, like this elephant sized apex predator was nothing but a mere house cat.

How?

The Ravenclaw told him about the trials - she mentioned them before, but only ever described them as ‘challenges to prove she was worthy of handling her ancient magic abilities, as well keeping the Keepers’ secret safe’. Never before it occurred to Aesop that they could be something as suicidal as subduing a Graphorn!

So she told him more, this time in those seats they sat in previously, which Aesop was grateful for. Not only because it meant he (probably) didn’t need to constantly watch out for a Graphorn intent on tearing him to pieces

(“He wouldn’t tear you into pieces, sir, he’s actually a very sweet fellow” - “a very SWEET FELLOW?!”),

but also because he absolutely needed to be sitting down for some of the stories she told him.

Suffice to say, the potions master didn’t know whether to feel impressed, angry, or absolutely terrified, and by the time she finished talking, he wondered whether the Keepers’ portraits in that ‘Map Chamber’ were fire resistant.

“You… you do realise you’re lucky you didn’t die, right?” he asked, his voice quiet. (F/N) was a clever young woman, why would she agree to undergo such decidedly suicidal tasks voluntarily? Just to protect the wizarding world? Because she believed it to be her fate? Or maybe she didn’t know just how dangerous it truly would be? Whatever the reason was, it made Aesop genuinely surprised that not only was she alive, but she appeared as healthy as ever.

The look she gave him then was one of understanding, as if she was a Legilimens reading his exact thoughts. “I do,” she said simply, “I took a lot of risks. And I honestly think it was a stupid amount of luck rather than skill that kept me alive.” The next sentence she didn’t say. She didn’t need to, Aesop heard it clear as day; ‘If the need arose, I would do it again.’

And yes, Aesop reckoned she would. If it meant saving even just one innocent life, (F/N) (L/N) would take on whatever came her way, were it mongrels, trolls, inferi or graphorns. Aesop wanted to scoff and say something about ‘Gryffindor qualities’. However, he knew that would make him an absolute hypocrite, because was she to ask for his help, Aesop knew he would hobble over, wand drawn and gladly fight by her side. On the other hand, though, after everything she’s been through, one thing he wanted most of all was for her to never have to fight again…

It took him somewhat by surprise. That is, how close he’s grown to the young woman over the course of a year and a bit. He wondered if he would care this much was she anyone else, if the person to have gone through what she went through was somebody else. It was his duty to protect all of his students, but this one… this one was special. She was somehow… a little more important to him than the rest, even than the members of his own house. The thought itself was almost… frightening.

Therefore, Aesop cleared his throat. “Do you think… Do you think you could show me some of your magic? How you use it in combat, that is.”

The Ravenclaw, who was apparently as lost in her own head as he was before he spoke blinked quickly. “Sorry, sir?” she asked, clearly not having heard a word he said. “I asked whether you could show me the use of your ancient magic in combat.” he repeated patiently. “Oh!” her eyes widened in realisation, “um… not against you, though, right?” An unexpected chuckle broke from Aesop’s mouth, quickly followed by another: “Merlin, no. I’d very much like to leave here in one piece, thank you very much. I meant some training dummies. Surely you must have at least one around here, don’t you?” “Well, I-”

Before (F/N) finished her sentence, the entire room began shaking. Aesop quickly grabbed his armrests and looked around the room with a slightly panicked expression. “Sir, look!” said the girl excitedly then, seemingly unbothered about the impromptu earthquake. The potions master followed her gaze to the little alcove on the right side of the room, between two staircases. The statue that stood there began sinking into the ground and a corridor started forming in its place. From his position, Aesop could see a staircase materialising, and then not much else.

The young woman jumped up and, even as the room was still shaking, started running towards the source, disappearing soon from his sight. “Miss (L/N)-” Aesop called and reached for her in vain. The tremors stopped barely fifteen seconds later.

“Merlin’s beard!” the girl called out in awe. The sound of rapid footfalls followed, until she once more appeared in his field of view, a large grin on her face. “Sir, you’ve got to see this,” she said and offered her hand to him where he was still sitting in one of the armchairs. Reluctantly, the teacher took her hand and let himself be pulled up. Since she didn’t let go once he was securely on his feet once more, Aesop took it as an invite to lean a bit of his weight against her as she led him to a room that wasn’t there two minutes ago.

When they descended the small flight of stairs, Aesop’s eyes widened. They entered a large room with a tall ceiling, barren of almost any furniture. Instead, in a neat row stood 5 training dummies, ready to be practised on. The room was large enough for a proper wizarding duel, and there were even some props in one corner Aesop presumed were to be used as things behind which one would be able to duck and cover.

“This place is spectacular,” Aesop said with no small amount of wonder in his voice, before looking at the Ravenclaw. She was still holding onto his arm, bracing him so that he wouldn’t put too much weight on his bad leg, as if it was the most natural thing in the world for her. And when she turned her head towards him, he realised just how close they were. He felt a bit of colour rush into his cheeks as he cleared his throat and slowly stepped away, immediately feeling a little colder.

“Well, Miss (L/N)... whenever you’re ready.”

The young woman smiled and nodded at him, before taking off her cloak, leaving herself in a white shirt with tie and a pair of dark bloomers. She then stood facing the training dummies and drew her wand.

Aesop was in for quite the show.

Gooseflesh appeared on his arms as he literally felt the air ripple with magic, bright blue light appearing at the tip of (F/N)'s wand. The first training dummy was lifted off the ground and promptly thrown back again, then again, then again. It broke upon the last impact, splinters flying in all directions. The next dummy was hit with a different sort of spell - it was dragged towards the girl, shrinking as it went until it was the size of nothing more than a mouse, at which point the Ravenclaw lifted her foot and stomped down on it. Third dummy exploded into nothing but fine dust.

And then, in a display more spectacular than Aesop ever saw in his entire life, he watched the young woman lift her wand high into the air and felt the way she gathered up the magic in the air all around them inside of her wand, before bringing it down upon the figurine in like a lightning bolt, so bright he had to shield his eyes. The sound it made upon making contact with its target was cathartic, a loud thunder like bang as not only the target, but also the last training dummy next to it exploded, more splinters flying around.

When the dust settled, the potions master looked at her in awe. The girl was incredible. She stood still with her wand drawn, her hair messed up slightly, a drop of sweat appearing at her hairline. Aesop felt his heart flutter.

She was beautiful.

Aesop stood there, breathing deeply, absolutely caught off guard by the display of her power. She hadn't uttered a single incantation. The power this girl held at her fingertips was both terrific and terrifying, and yet Aesop didn't feel worried… If anyone was meant to wield such power, he honestly couldn't imagine a better person for the job.

And when she turned around to face him, her face bearing a beaming smile, his heart fluttered again and Aesop found himself grinning back at her. When she walked back to him, Aesop's hand lifted as if on its own accord and he brushed a stray hair from her face and tucked it behind her ear before he realised what he was doing and promptly took his hand away.

He cleared his throat.

"Well… that was quite the display, Miss (L/N). Thank you for showing me. With such prowess, it's no wonder you were able to defend yourself as you have."

The young woman smiled at him, and Aesop could see a speck of colour rushing into her cheeks. "Well. I cannot use it all the time, it takes a while for it to accumulate. I mostly use the spells you and the other professors taught me."

"Oh? In that case, perhaps I actually would be willing to engage in a friendly duel. As long as you promise not to turn me into dust, that is."

The grin that appeared on her face then sent a wave of giddiness through him, one Aesop didn't feel in quite a long time, his heart pounding in his chest.

"I promise, sir."

—

They had themselves a little sparring session, adrenaline running through his veins as he dodged and blocked the spells sent his way, as he sent his own in return. She’s not mastered her nonverbal magic as of yet, which played into his cards, but it was almost no use to him as the young woman was quick on her feet, and for every non-verbal incantations he threw at her, she managed to send three back at him. He felt alive like he had not in years - he’d occasionally spar with Dinah or Abraham, but them being already masters in their fields, not to mention having known and duelled with them for years, the potions master could hold his own (though he knew if she wanted, Dinah could still very easily kick his sorry arse).

When it came to this young Ravenclaw however, her moderate newness to the art of duelling actually made her more dangerous, as she was unpredictable, Aesop didn’t know what to expect from her. He was able to prepare himself for a few spells, as he saw the beginning of her wand movements, but it was still quite the thrill. Was his focus to waver for a single second, the professor could very easily have both his body and his pride severely wounded. He felt himself grinning throughout their entire little duel.

He did win in the end. She moved her arm a little too ardently for her Confringo (and who on earth taught her that spell) and it cost her the precious time she needed to counter his Levioso. Aesop walked over the young woman suspended in the air with an expression that was slightly verging on smug. To his surprise, the girl was smiling back at him joyfully.

“I must say, Miss (L/N)... that was rather impressive. Had you not said that Glacius some minutes ago out loud, you’d still be thawing me right now. Do tell, where did you learn the Blasting curse?”

“A friend taught me…”

“I see… It’s not exactly a curriculum approved spell. Though, seeing that you’ve most likely used it only in your defence, as I haven’t heard any rumours concerning a Ravenclaw blasting her classmates through the corridors, I won’t make you tell me who it was.”

“I appreciate it, sir.”

“I will, however,” Aesop cast a non-verbal Finite on the young woman, who was quickly lowered back onto her two feet, “guide your hand in casting the spell. Movements this wild could easily result in the loss of your eyebrows, and I rather think that would not exactly go with the otherwise aesthetic qualities of your face.”

Where did that come from? Aesop was glad the young woman was currently brushing at her clothes and was not looking at him, because otherwise she’d see the bit of blood rushing into his cheeks. Did he just compliment her looks?

“Thank you, professor Sharp. I’d like that very much.”

—

At night that scene played out in his head once more, and he saw himself behind her, holding onto her dominant hand with his own, guiding her wrist through the air as she sent a blasting curse after blasting curse on more training dummies the Room was ever so helpful to provide.

“Keep your hand away from your body, you don’t want to set yourself aflame, but don’t swing it so much either. Your arm stays stationary while your wrist moves,” he instructed, stepping closer behind her to grip her wrist tighter and keep her arm from flailing. Her back was mere inches from his chest, and yet he felt her warmth seep through both her and his clothes, felt her presence as well as her magic in front of him, he felt it thrum through her veins underneath his fingers on her pulse point. It was nearly intoxicating.

The next Confringo she cast was nearly flawless, and in turn powerful - the recoil made the young woman stumble back somewhat, right into his torso, and his free hand instinctively came to steady her by grabbing onto her left shoulder.

At least that’s what Aesop remembered happening several hours ago.

Now, however, his hand went to grip at her hip instead, and unlike before, he didn’t let go of her immediately after he was sure she wouldn’t fall. No, he felt her warm flesh in his hand, as real as could be, felt the curve of her back under his sternum, her bottom against his thighs.

What’s going on? He asked himself even as he heard ‘Well done, (F/N)’ leave his own lips. The young woman turned her head to look at him, her eyes sparkling with the light of the various torches along the walls. Aesop released her wrist in order to trace his calloused forefinger from her cheekbone down her jaw, until he reached her chin. He lifted it up ever so slightly, his own face moving closer, so close he felt her warm breath on his lips, which he unconsciously licked.

However, just as (F/N) closed her eyes and leaned her head to the side, Aesop’s eyes opened. He could feel sweat upon his brow as he stared up into the ceiling of his bedroom.

What in the name of Merlin’s holey underpants?

Has he… has he really just woken up from a dream in which he (nearly) kissed his student? Well, technically, she was the one to lean forward, but it was his dream. He held the young woman by her hip, kept her pressed against his body. What was going on with him, surely he wasn’t attracted to his student who only just came of age a few weeks ago! No, no, that couldn’t be. He just spent a lot of time with her, the potions master reasoned, he spent more time with her than with any other student and that was it. He was fond of her and he saw her often, and his mind was just terribly tired and made up nonsensical dreams, little tidbits of newest memories coupled with his brain sorting through itself.

That was it. Surely, that must be it.

It was perfectly normal, completely natural. His relationship with the young Ravenclaw was platonic and that’s how it was going to stay, his dreams had absolutely no meaning.

Only once Aesop nodded to himself and closed his eyes again, only once he felt the pull of sleep upon his consciousness once more, did two simple thoughts fly through his mind.

Why did he remember the dreams?

And why was his heart beating like mad when he thought back on them?

—

Aesop never spent too much time picking out Christmas presents. He didn’t need to, as there were only a handful of people for whom he bought something, and he preferred to keep it simple. A bottle of something good and strong for Abraham, coupled with some confectionery from Honeydukes, or perhaps a trick from Zonko’s. A good book and a fine scarf for Dinah to battle the cold nights in the castle. And last but not least, some good French wine for his mother as well as the perfume she always wore. That was Christmas shopping for Aesop. Quick and simple. And then, as he hobbled down the street of Hogsmeade on his way to the Three Broomsticks for maybe a quick bite, but really for a stiff drink, he saw it. Behind the window of Tomes and Scrolls, a leather-bound journal. Which wouldn’t be all that spectacular, had the journal not have had a very beautiful thestral engraved into its cover.

Aesop instantly thought of his student.

He stared at the beautiful journal for several minutes, lost in thought. It would be a lovely present, thoughtful and genuine, but… Would it be appropriate? Would she even like it? What if it made her uncomfortable? After a while during which he tapped at the ground with his cane contemplatively, he entered the shop.

Aesop reappeared on the streets of Hogsmeade less than five minutes later, journal in hand. The thestral stood out beautifully against the dark, shiny leather - as did the young Ravenclaw’s full name on the other side where he had it added.

The mulled mead and roasted turkey he had in Sirona’s pub obviously did him some good, as the pain in his leg was feeling more annoying than unbearable, and once he arrived back at the Faculty tower by Floo and made his way to his chambers, sitting down at his desk, it was merely a thrum somewhere under his skin. He checked what he bought with his short list, and contentedly checked everything off. As he slowly unpacked everything he bought that day, the journal caught his eye once more.

Aesop laid it upon his desk and opened it, running his fingers over the paper. It was of good quality, ink would neither blot on or seep through the pages. He didn’t even know if the young woman wrote a diary (he sure didn’t), but it was still a nice journal nonetheless, one that could be used for anything. It occurred to him that he should perhaps leave an inscription - some sort of short message, or a useful piece of advice.

However, as he dipped his quill (made from the Phoenix feather she brought him) into ink and brought it down upon the first page of the journal, he found he… didn’t quite know just what he should write.

“Shortcuts only ever lead to shortcomings,” felt too impersonal after everything that happened between the two of them. And whatever friendlier, more personal message he could write made him slightly cringe inside.The potions master sighed deeply, resting his head on his face. In his movement, he accidentally touched the tip of his quill over the page, making a small lone line. Damn it.

Well, he will be removing this page anyway, he might as well try if that paper truly was as good as it seemed.

And so Aesop made another line. And then another. And before he knew it, the lines began forming an image. An image of a bench in the Transfiguration courtyard, the one hidden in the shadow of the alcove by the water.

(F/N) loved to study there. She told him so herself, but he also recalled seeing the Ravenclaw there on his way to the staff room several times, tucked away in the corner, reading a book, watching the birds, occasionally observing whatever was going on in the courtyard itself.

Aesop kept on scribbling, now fully immersed in both his creation, and his thoughts, and once he was absolutely certain there was no detail left for him to draw and pinpoint, no mistake he’d need to correct, he looked at his work. It was one of his better ones, at least in his opinion. He couldn’t wish for more, he supposed, not when he was drawing from memory. His long digits dragged over the paper, able to feel where the sharp tip of his quill dipped into the paper, leaving behind scratches and creases. His fingers were clean when he pulled them back and the drawing was unharmed as well.

As a last test, Aesop turned the page. The other side of it was as blank as could be, completely intact, uncreased, bearing absolutely no sign of his work. The professor actually allowed himself a content little grin. This was good paper.

Just as he prepared to separate the page from the journal however, Aesop looked upon his sketch once more. He could either spend another hour thinking up possible inscriptions before finally settling on something dry and boring, or… Or he could leave his drawing there in its place. No words, just this. For some reason, the potions master thought it spoke more than any words could.

—

Aesop took lungfuls of cool air, getting high on the feeling of sitting on a hippogriff's back and gliding through the cool night. His limbs were growing a little numb from the cold, and yet he held on, his arms wrapped around (F/N) (L/N)'s torso.

The potions master found himself resting his chin on her shoulder as he amazedly took in the beauty of Scottish highlands all wrapped up in the gentle darkness of the spring night.

When the mighty beast began descending to the lush grass of the Flying lawn once more, Aesop felt several emotions at once. He was a little glad to be rid of the wind nipping at his nose and ears, but that was overshadowed by a strange feeling of loss. He was greatly enjoying the flight, the thrill of it. Most of all though, he hated the idea that once they came to a stop, he'd have to release the girl from his hold and bid her goodnight.

So when the inevitable came, he stole a few more moments, just a short couple of seconds during which he held her as tightly as if he would still fall hundreds of feet down was he to let go. And amazingly, the girl seemed to be in no rush to get off the hippogriff either. Finally he let her go and let her climb down, gladly accepting her help when it was time for him to do the same. He sent her off to her dormitory, knowing that was he to spend more time in her intoxicating presence under the heavy cloak of darkness he might… might do what exactly?

He was entirely not ready for her to squeeze his hand and press a kiss to his scarred cheek.

And when she did so, Aesop did not let go of her hand. No, he pulled her closer and captured her in a tight embrace. She didn't fight him at all, in fact, her arms immediately went to close around his waist, and her face pressed into the lapel of his overcoat. She's grown taller since he first met her, but he still towered over her. His nose buried in her hair, breathing in her shampoo, as the fingers of one of his hands tangled into the soft locks.

The potions master heard himself breathe heavily as he pressed the young woman into his chest, hyper aware of how absolutely he surrounded her smaller form, how warm she felt in his arms.

He was grateful to her. She helped him forget the world, at least for a little while. Understanding. Accepting.

When he finally let her go, the Ravenclaw was smiling at him: “Are you quite certain you don’t want me to walk you to your rooms, sir?” Aesop wasn’t quite certain about nearly everything at the moment, everything except one thing: “Let us go then.” And just as she moved to his side with another smile, holding onto his arm and letting him lean against her, Aesop shivered, the cold of the spring air jerking him awake.

He blindly pulled his blanket, which had pooled around his waist and left his upper body bare, higher. Its weight and warmth instantly reminded him of the dream he just woke up from.

That was rather… curious.

Now, Aesop Sharp didn’t hug his students. He remembered the few times over the years during which he perhaps clasped a hand on the shoulder of a future Auror whom he’d given his recommendation, and then there were the handshakes with graduated students, but he never came into physical contact with a student otherwise. Until now.

As he pondered the matter at hand, still gripping onto his blanket, the light coming from his sitting room got brighter and warmer. Aesop didn’t really think about all the touches he and the Ravenclaw shared over the previous year. All of them simply felt so… natural, from the first time he embraced her that cold night on the Astronomy tower, all the way to the time he guided her hand to cast the perfect Confringo.

Should it feel this natural? They were friends after all, as strange as that was too. Aesop was fond of the girl, and he doubted she’d seek his company as he seeked hers if she wasn’t fond of him as well. Maybe it was natural - after all, he shared amicable touches with Dinah as well, not to mention Abraham’s fondness of always having a hand on the younger man’s shoulder and back.

It’s alright, Aesop decided.

It was fine, they were friends, neither of them was uncomfortable, both enjoyed the closeness.

The fact that it felt entirely different to have (F/N) touch him, he buried deep within the ground, and the subconscious feeling that Aesop knew exactly how different he felt, he buried even deeper.

—

“You’ve been spending quite a lot of time with that special Eagle of mine, Aesop,” said Dinah one time as she poured a generous amount of Firewhisky into two tumblers. The two teachers were sitting in her sizable chambers, both poring over stacks of essays to grade, sharing the ridiculous things some students wrote on their parchments, and occasionally discussing if certain parts deserve additional points. It was probably the most fun a Hogwarts professor could have on a Friday night without taking their clothes off.

Well, not really. But it was absolutely more entertaining than grading essays by himself.

“Huh?” asked Aesop eloquently. He didn’t even know why exactly. He heard his friend perfectly. He could’ve easily answered something like ‘Yes, I’ve grown fond of her, I see her as my friend’, or maybe even ‘I’m just watching over her’, but the way his heart sped up when she stated her observation, and the way his chest closed up slightly made him choke on his words.

“Just that you invite her for tea quite often, you’ve never done so with a student. Are you preparing her for the Auror office?” “Heavens, no,” he replied, maybe way too quickly. Soon, the potions master cleared his throat. “I don’t… I don’t think she wants to be an Auror, Dinah. She could be one, certainly, she’s got the intellect and the skills, but I don’t think that’s the career path she’d want to take.”

“Oh,” asked the DADA teacher, forgetting her work momentarily to peer at him curiously, her chin resting on her hand, “have you talked about career paths?” Aesop, swallowed, feeling like she could see right through him. What exactly she could see he didn’t know. “Among other things,” he sighed, “listen, I explained the situation in my letter, back in April. What she went through was nothing short of traumatising.” The woman gave him a short look of understanding, before pressing further: “She certainly seems to be doing much better than she was, no doubt thanks to your help as well. Your continuous help.”

“Maybe I have become appreciative of her company? She’s a rather pleasant conversation partner. And she doesn’t interrogate me, unlike some people,” Aesop replied, a little annoyance in his voice. That made Dinah grin widely: “Oh, I’m sorry Aesop,” she didn’t sound sorry at all, “I’m just curious, that’s all. No need for you to throw a hissy fit.” Aesop rolled his eyes.

“It is quite interesting, still. Young, pretty woman, and instead of breaking hearts, she spends a large part of her free time with her gruff potions professor. She must like you a lot.” Aesop didn’t even bother to answer, instead burying his nose further into his work. Positioned like this, he couldn’t see the tiniest hint of a smirk on professor Hecat’s face.

—

They were sitting on that frankly uncomfortable bench under the spiral stairwell to Ravenclaw tower again. It was different this time, however. The young lady was clearly a year older than she was when this actually happened. Seventeen, young and yet so mature. Her features were those of a woman. Her eyes were different too, instead of the grief filled wells he saw at this exact spot a year ago, they held the calmness of the Black lake, deep, dark, mysterious and alluring. And despite the fact it was obvious Aesop wasn’t currently in the middle of comforting her, his large hand still stayed on her back, drawing nonsensical patterns with his thumb.

“Why, sir?” she asked softly, her head leaning to the side with genuine curiosity. Aesop blinked in confusion: “Why what, (F/N)?”

“Why do you still want me around?”

Aesop knew he was dreaming, but he felt trapped in his body. It did everything on its own accord, moving, speaking… feeling. His free hand found hers on her own knee. “I… care about you. Is that not enough?” he heard himself say, his heart pounding. He had no control about what he said and did, merely an observant. The beautiful young woman leaned closer to him, her cheeks were pink, and there was a smile on her face, more radiant than any star Aesop’s ever seen. She squeezed his hand: “That’s everything, sir.”

Aesop rested his forehead against her own in a moment so intimate, it made his heart clench in his chest. Their breath mingled as they stared into each other’s eyes, the connection between them almost tangible. Aesop could feel the pulse in her wrist as he held onto her hand, could feel his own heart beating in the same rhythm. Within the little shared space between them, they weren’t a professor and his student, they weren’t a former Auror and a bearer of ancient magic. They were simply two kindred spirits, two bruised souls that were simply trying to keep up with the world around them while they healed.

And when Aesop woke up, he did so with his chest constricted with emotion, and a deep sense of connection and belonging. He lay on his back in his bed, his hand over his heart as he breathed deeply. He began to grow quite worried about the rate in which the young Ravenclaw appeared inside of his dreams, not to mention their direction…

There was no direction. There couldn’t be. Could it?

—

Aesop found himself looking forward to those evenings he would spend in the young woman’s company. Were they discussing matters of education, magic, and the wizarding society, or the more… personal topics. He simply felt comfortable with her, as comfortable as he rarely felt, even in the company of his two oldest friends. He told her of some of his cases - some dramatic, some terrifying, but also some positively humorous.

Like the one from his days as a very young Auror, straight out of training. An older man was hysterical because he believed he was being targeted by a dark wizard, who was an animagus taking on the appearance of a large, mean looking wolf, and was watching his house every single night menacingly. The 'victim' was so terrified, he hadn't left his home for days. As it turned out, the ‘dark wizard’ was a regular bloke whom the man cheated over in cards a week prior, but who held no grudge whatsoever, and the ‘terrifying, bloodthirsty beast’ was nothing more than a stray mutt that sat in front of the house because it could smell the man’s wife frying bacon every night. He couldn’t stop rolling his eyes back then, and his partner, well, she got herself a dog.

He couldn’t stop his heart from skipping a beat at the sound of her giggles when he told her this story, nor could he stop his eyes from falling down to focus on her lips, spread in a wide grin, white teeth sparkling in the low light of his sitting room. It was a spectacular moment, and he found himself thinking about it often.

The potions master would also notice other things.

Like the way she would clasp her hands together, neatly and elegantly, when speaking sometimes. The way she’d get comfortable in the chair she was sitting on, while still maintaining her decorum. How she lately began to toy with her hair, her nimble fingers running through it absentmindedly. The way her eyes blinked slowly at him, her eyelashes fanning against her cheeks, rosy as the fire in his hearth would warm her up. Occasionally, a single look into those brilliant eyes of hers would bring him a sense of peace, a calm before the storm almost, as nearly immediately he would feel emotions boil inside of him.

Those he wouldn’t dare give a name to.

—

It was almost the end of term when Aesop made the decision to climb the Astronomy tower yet again, and see for himself whether the young woman had been practising since their impromptu training session some half a year ago. Not to mention he wished to check up on the beasts she kept in those vivariums of hers (though, preferably, not the Graphorn one - he still wasn’t quite sure how he felt about that).

His leg was pretty cooperative that day, and by the time he finished his ascend, he was only in moderate pain, one that could easily be dulled by a vial of Wiggenweld potion, which he promptly pulled out of his coat pocket and drank in a single large gulp. He could see the door to the room clear as day, which most likely meant the Ravenclaw was already there and waiting for him.

Aesop opened the door slowly and walked in. The first room appeared to be empty, only filled with the faint sounds of the various vivariums and the occasional flapping of books flying high above. It was so strange, he’s been to this room only a few times, and yet he always felt a sense of peace wash over him whenever he entered. Maybe it was the ambiance, which felt like a summer night spent under the stars, or the near silence itself, so very unlike the hustle and bustle of the castle, even during the evening hours.

“(F/N),” he called out.

“Down here, sir!” came from the large room to the left, the one that had all of her potion stations and planters, “I’ll be there in a jiffy, please, do sit down!”

Aesop didn’t sit down. He started walking toward the alcove, and proceeded down the stairs. Immediately, he spotted the young woman, standing by a simmering cauldron. He hobbled his way over to (F/N) and stopped right behind her, maybe a little bit closer than was appropriate. His nose instantly picked up the scent of her hair, sweet and sunkissed, as well as the potion she was just finishing up.

“Felix felicis? What on earth would you need that for?” Aesop asked, not sure whether to be suspicious of her reasons to brew such a potion, or amazed she appeared to have brewed a perfect batch all by herself. She didn’t appear to mind his close proximity behind her one bit, and actually even turned her head to grin up at him.

“I’d like to say it’s something particularly insane, like robbing Gringotts, befriending a manticore, or turning Headmaster Black into a toilet seat. The truth, however, is rather boring, to be honest.”

“Oh? How is that?”

“I want to ask my parents for a favour. That is, to let me go somewhere. I’ve only been allowed at Natty’s over last summer, but apparently, when her mum doesn’t have dozens of other students to worry about, she keeps quite a close eye on her, so, you know. No adventures.”

Aesop chuckled, seeing his breath fan the hair next to her ear slightly: “After everything, you still want an adventure?” He can see the young woman roll her eyes despite her having her back to him.

“I’m not saying I’m going to go to the Bermuda triangle and, I don’t know, battle whatever lurks there, I just don’t want to be stuck between four walls for the entire summer.” The potions master murmured under his breath in understanding. He still stood close behind her, an intrusive thought to touch her popping into his head unprompted and making his hand twitch. He ignored it.

“Gave any thought to where you’d like to go?”

“No. If this succeeds and my parents say yes, I’ll just spin the globe, close my eyes, and then travel anywhere my finger lands.”

“That does sound quite adventurous.”

—

What on earth was she still doing here?

The young woman who took to occupying his dreams stood in the doorway of his classroom, dressed in a simple, muggle outfit consisting of a dark skirt that reached her ankles and accentuated the curve of her waist, a white blouse and a black cravat. It was very unusual to see her like this, as normally she only wore variations of the Ravenclaw uniform, and occasionally some combination of clothing items that she wore whenever she voyaged outside of the castle’s walls.

She looked rather… She looked quite beautiful.

“Miss (L/N), perhaps you should make your way to the Hogsmeade station. You wouldn’t want to miss your train.”

“Oh, I’ll be there before you could say Tarantallegra, sir, but even if I didn’t, there are other ways to get to London. Apparition licence, remember?”

Aesop sighed, but could not hide the way the corner of his mouth twitched. “So,” he said softly, “what brings you here, when your classmates and friends are now all sitting in carriages to Hogsmeade, merrily chatting about their plans for the summer?

“Not all of them,” she replied, a little twinkle in her eyes that made him swallow unconsciously. “Just wanted to say goodbye and wish you a pleasant summer, sir, that’s all.”

Aesop walked to the closest potion station and leaned against it, putting his injured leg over the other and crossing his arms over his chest. “Is that so? And here I was, glad to be finally free of students for the following two months," Aesop offered her a small cheeky smile to let her know he was speaking in jest. "Do you have your liquid luck, Miss (L/N)?"

The Ravenclaw grinned and reached into a small leather bag that was hanging on her shoulder, soon pulling out a tiny vial with molten gold like liquid inside. Aesop pushed himself off the potions station to hobble over next to the girl, wordlessly taking the potion out of her hand to properly look at it. The colour and consistency looked good, and he knew the student standing in front of him was meticulous in her brewing, therefore he had no problems believing the potion would work as intended.

“I'd rather not ask how a sixth year student came upon Occamy eggs. Decent job, though, very decent. What about the rest of it?” He handed the vial back and the girl hid it again, patting her bag fondly. “It’s in the Room, individually bottled, ready if the need arises. You know how to access the room now, so if you ever find yourself needing a drop of good luck, feel free to take some, sir.”

“That’s awfully kind of you, miss, but I assure you that I am perfectly capable of brewing my own luck. What’s more, I think I needn't tell you that overusing such a powerful potion could have fatal consequences.” The potions master received a sincere smile in return: “You needn’t, sir, I would rather face the world equipped with my skills, experiences, and determination, rather than with just luck - a bit of fickle that.”

The two of them stood still for a few moments, the silence between them thick, but not really uncomfortable. Finally Aesop cleared his throat: “Well. While I clearly don’t have to wish you good luck in your pursuits of summer adventures, let me do so anyway. Good luck to you, and… please, stay safe.”

Another smile touched her face, this one positively radiant. “No need to worry, professor,” she said, her tone making shivers run down Aesop’s spine, “you’ll have me back before you know it, and in one piece.” The Ravenclaw then offered her hand for a handshake, and he, for some reason, instead of shaking it raised it up and bent his neck at the same time. His lips made contact with the skin of her knuckles and Aesop closed his eyes momentarily, letting the courteous kiss linger.

He did not dare move, or even open his eyes, when the hand in his gentle hold turned to touch his face, delicate fingers ghosting over his scarred cheek. His breathing picked up as he felt each digit trace his skin, weathered by years as well as stress, featherlight touches caressing each and every little wrinkle and line. And when her thumb teased at the edge of his mouth, the potions master released a breath he hadn’t even realised he was holding, his eyes fluttering slightly.

So slowly, she stroked over his lips, thin and slightly chapped, and so unbelievably sensitive at that exact moment, it was like her touch caused tiny sparkles to go off just under the surface. And then, when that maddening thumb of hers trailed higher and stroked at his moustache, Aesop finally opened his eyes. The potions master’s hand was still loosely closed around her wrist, and he found her face to be rather closer than it was before. Her eyes, both seductive and innocent, caused his mind to cloud over, and all of his sensibility just went out of the window. In less than a second, both of his hands seized the sides of her head and he pulled her closer still. His large nose bumped into her own, their intense gazes connecting. He could feel her hot damp breath on his mouth on, on his cheeks, she was so close he smelled her perfume, utterly intoxicating,

And then, finally, he pushed his mouth against hers. It was a kiss filled with raw passion, heady and scorching hot, one that made Aesop's toes curl inside of his boots. He wasted no time, pushing his tongue into her mouth, swallowing all of her little sounds like they were the sole thing saving him from starving to death. He bit at her lips and tongue, before engaging it in a heated dance, all the while still holding her face, keeping her right there for him to taste.

Once he ran out of breath, he pulled back to look at her and now… now she was more than just beautiful, she was breathtaking. Her lips were red and swollen, ravished by him, and glistening with his saliva. To his utter amazement, they stretched into a little smile.

He tried to kiss her again.

But she was gone.

He wasn’t standing in his classroom, but lying in his own bed, in his home, miles away from Hogwarts castle. Sun was pouring into his room through the open window, and the fresh air had a sweet undertone to it. And once Aesop closed his eyes again, he swore he could still feel those plush lips against his own, he could still feel her taste upon his tongue. He surely would’ve been panicked by the dream and what it could mean, had its lingering sensations not began lulling him back to sleep.

And when he woke up again, hours later, all that remained was a faint memory, one he could easily ignore.

—

Aesop Sharp spent his summer like he usually did. The summers were nearly always the same, the only thing that ever changed was the weather. The same old routine, just like during the term.

Except no, not really.

Not for the past few years at least. Not since (F/N) (L/N) began attending school.

However, even now, as he sat on the bench near his father’s memorial, Aesop felt quite content to simply pretend it was just another boring, uneventful summer, because the truth lurking about in his subconsciousness simply felt way too terrifying to face.

No, no… It was just another dull summer. He’d gather his strength, enjoy the luxury of absolute silence and lack of students, and absolutely not think about the taste of the young Ravenclaw’s lips.

Aesop thought that not seeing her almost every day would lower the rate in which she kept visiting him in his dreams. However, no such thing happened. Some were as innocent as they used to be, just the two of them, all alone, caught in their perfect little bubble of comfort and understanding, but more often than not, his dream self would do something to shake this bubble, tilt it, rotate it until it turned into something else, something Aesop dared not name.

He could feel his psyche cracking ever so slightly, as part of him knew he was lying to himself. And it was this part that currently made his finger run along the edge of her jaw, slightly smudging the coal on the paper. Her letters made it worse. They were always perfectly friendly, professional even, and yet Aesop found his heart beating fast each time Diana the sooty owl flew in through his perpetually open window, descending upon his dining table gracefully.

She’s been treating him fairly well since he learned to read the letters immediately after she delivered them. She even let him stroke her under her beak for a few seconds once before she pecked him and flew back outside to rest in the coolness of the trees until he was ready to answer.

He read the letters and re-read them, and took his time formulating the perfect answer to whatever they were talking about at the time, potions, NEWT subjects, careers… Aesop enjoyed it the most, when she wrote to him about the way she spent her days. He liked to imagine her lying down on a blanket in her garden, maybe in some light summer dress, snacking on strawberries and reading through her seventh year transfiguration textbook. Or sitting in Hyde park, feeding the various waterfowl and sunning. Or going to the theatre, wearing some lovely formal dress that wrapped around her like a glove…

Aesop saw these images she described in her letters right in front of him, and found himself unable to resist summoning his sketchbook and coal.

He also drew on his letters to her. That hare he saw in his garden from the dining room window. The basket of tomatoes given to him by his elderly neighbour. The tree where his father started building him a house, but could never finish… And each time she commented on his drawings, always in awe and amazement, he felt a swell of pride roll through him.

Each time the dark owl hooted at him in greetings, his heart began making somersaults, and his lips spread wide as he read (F/N)’s message, and yet, at the same time, he felt on edge.

His dreams were to blame for that. Every morning he woke up after yet another dream with the young lady as their main star, the first thing Aesop felt was a pang of regret. Regret that the way she looked at him in his dreams was not real. That the way her body fit against his as she leaned into him was not real, and neither was the image of him being the one to accompany her to one of those theatres, her delicate hand upon his forearm. Soon after that, guilt followed.

And still, Aesop Sharp wouldn’t admit his own emotions to himself.

—

Some fortnight left until the start of term, he got Diana’s attention after he finished securing his letter to her leg: “I’m leaving for Hogwarts tomorrow. So, you know, bring (F/N)’s next letter there and not here.” Aesop could have sworn that the menace of an owl rolled her eyes and looked at him as if she was saying ‘What, do you think I’m stupid?’ before flying away. Aesop just stood there, looking at the swiftly disappearing owl indignantly. Cheeky bloody pigeon.

Although, Aesop had to give it to the owl - despite all of her attitude, she was most likely the quickest and most reliable owl he’s ever seen.

—

The young Ravenclaw was sitting by the hearth in his chambers, like she always did, lounging about. He was sitting right across from her, his bad leg propped up on a footstool, just a few inches from her knee. Aesop immediately noticed she seemed rather lost in thought, her beautiful eyes fixed upon the flames. “A knut for your thoughts?” the potions master offered, his own lips curling at the corners somewhat.

He didn’t expect her to extend her hand and place it on his leg, right above his ankle. Despite the thick leather boots he wore, Aesop could feel the warmth and gentleness of her touch, and when she began rubbing her thumb in circular motions, he released an involuntary sigh.

“I was just thinking how this will be my last year in Hogwarts. It’s a little unfair that everyone got to spend seven years with you, and I only three,” she said quietly. Aesop exhaled shakily, still feeling her hand on his leg, and it seemed to be trailing slightly higher, climbing up his shin.

“You’re not…” he swallowed, “you’re not going to spend four more years here, but that doesn't mean… It doesn't mean you can't spend time with me." The girl gave him a cryptic look: "And you wouldn't mind? You wouldn't mind still seeing me around, even though I'll not be your student?"

Aesop didn't notice that he opened his mouth and took a deep breath, still way too focused on her hand, now on his knee.

"No, not in the slightest… I want you around," he said simply, the words feeling rather underwhelming as opposed to the storm of emotions raging within his core. And yet, he looked into her eyes, both sincere and incredibly enigmatic. His hand covered hers on his leg, and he linked their fingers together.

The potions master was lost in thought all throughout breakfast at the Great hall, much to Dinah's intrigue. He told her his leg was acting up, and, as usual, she didn't believe his lie, but didn't ask any further questions. The large room was disturbingly quiet without the students, so quiet that he heard Mudiwa accidentally scrape her fork against her plate, all the way on the other side of the High table.

Matilda and Abraham were caught in a quiet conversation, which too sounded loud and clear within the empty hall.

"Should not take terribly long this year, between you and Mirabel, you should be done within two or three days."

"And then you shall send out the acceptance letters and lists, correct?"

"Yes. Decided to get the Muggleborns some extra time before Diagon Alley streets get too crowded, so as not to overwhelm them."

Ah, yes. In two or three days, the magical street in London will be busier than ever, packed with parents and students shopping for robes, quills, cauldrons, books and everything the young ones may need in Hogwarts - how come so many always turned up lacking these essential supplies was a mystery to Aesop.

Two or three days. In two or three days, (F/N) will also walk that street in preparation for her final year. The thought made his chest tighten, and he remembered his dream once more. He doubted that she would actually want to spend time with him after she's left. Would she? She already spent so much of her free time with him, why would it be so outlandish to hope that she'd still want his company then.

Maybe he could write to her, meet her in Diagon alley, maybe he'd be able to speak more freely outside the castle's grounds.

No. No, no. He was not going to meet her there. He knew he wouldn't be able to speak more freely even there, so why bother dragging himself and his lame leg all the way to London? He'd see her soon enough anyway, there really was no need for him to impose upon her during her last few free days of the summer break. He'd stay in the castle, get everything in order for the start of term, and watch for her arrival into the Great hall, along with everyone else.

His resolve lasted four days. On the fifth, he stood, leaning against his cane, in front of the entrance to Diagon Alley from the Leaky Cauldron.

—

Aesop was at the Leaky Cauldron, his young companion talking excitedly beside him. She was telling him about her journey to Australia in great detail, and Aesop did his best to listen, as he was genuinely interested to hear what life was like for the wizards and witches down under.

However, he found his attention wavering as his eyes fell upon her lips. Pink and soft and inviting. Would they taste as sweet as her voice sounded? Would they yield to him and accept his tongue between them? Would they release tiny gasps and sighs into his mouth? A leg bumped into his own below the table, a touch that could be explained as accidental, yet Aesop felt a shiver rolling down his spine.

He didn’t even notice his own hand leaving his tumbler and going down, moving until he clearly felt some sort of soft, expensive fabric beneath his fingertips. “Professor?” the girl asked innocently, and it just occurred to Aesop that she hadn’t spoken for some time now. “I-...” he hurriedly took his hand away and looked into her brilliant eyes, “I-I’m sorry. I don’t know what came over me.”

To his shock, the young woman smiled at him shyly, before grabbing his hand which had returned to his glass in the meantime. “It’s alright, sir… I don’t mind.”

She not only placed his hand back on her knee, she squeezed it as well. Aesop was in awe of how the situation changed. The pub was dark and quiet around them, and his face was so much closer to her own than it was minutes ago. “Miss (L/N),” he breathed, before both of his hands took a hold of her cheeks, and he finally succumbed to the undeniable allure, his sense and sanity slipping away from him.

He didn’t think, he just took. He claimed her mouth, drank from her lips deeply and was delighted to find them pliant and welcoming. She tasted sweet, like the wine she’d been drinking, and he felt himself falling deeper and deeper into the pit of madness, all from their passionate kiss.

Aesop had no idea just how or when they got into a room that looked suspiciously a lot like his own bedchamber, or when they both disrobed and stood nearly bare in front of each other. He could feel the softness of her bosom as it pressed against his own chest, as well as his own stiffness rubbing into her stomach.

He saw his own hands, strong and so large compared to her own, seizing the fabric of her chemise, right in the middle of her chest, before ripping it open. It made a very satisfying sound. Once he released the ruined garment, it fell right down her body, licking over her curves like a wave, and Aesop found his hands following the movement, stroking her shoulders, her arms, travelling then to her ribs, waist, her hips.

His fingers dug into her love handles as he effortlessly moved with her towards the bed in the room. It was surreal, Aesop thought, it was as if the bed was the only important item in the room apart from the two of them. Everything else was somewhere in the background, blurry and dull and absolutely unnecessary. After he’s made her lie down, after he’s spread her for him, everything else just disappeared.

At that moment, it was just her, her and her young, divine body, her red cheeks and hooded eyes, her legs opened wide to accommodate his hips, her perfect soft breasts pouring gently to her sides with gravity.

His fingers found her opening, hot, wet and quivering against his digits as he pushed them inside. Unbelievably welcoming. Aesop felt himself throb nearly painfully at the pleasurable promise, and he hurriedly pushed his pants down, freeing the strained erection. His slightly uneven teeth found one nipple and pinched it expertly as he lined up with her hungry entrance, making a shuddered sound leave those sweet lips of hers.

With a single fluid motion, he buried himself within her soft depths, her loud gasp echoing through the room, which became nothing but a dark void of space, enveloping the two of them upon the bed like a comforting blanket, shrouding them in their intimacy, in their passion. She was so tight and warm, and Aesop groaned at the feeling of her velvety walls squeezing around him, coaxing him deeper, begging him to move. So he did, pulling out of her before plunging back in, making them both grunt at the explosion of sensations.

He sat up on his knees without separating their bodies, grabbing her hips quite roughly to impale her on his length again and again, watching where their bodies became one, where her soft, pink folds were taking him so well. He felt nearly ready to burst, the sight, the sounds she made ushering him to his brink faster than ever before, when…

Aesop woke up with a moan, surprised to find himself somewhere else entirely. He peered through the darkness of the room, soon identifying it as his bedroom at the faculty tower, his suitcases still unpacked and lying next to the heavy wooden wardrobe. His cock throbbed in his vice grip, aching with arousal, and Aesop let go of it in horror.

Merlin’s saggy left bollock!

This cannot be happening.

He was forty four years old, no hormonal teenager who wakes up with sticky bed sheets! There was the occasional morning arousal, yes, but nothing a little bit of willpower wouldn't fix, but now? Now he still felt like he was thrifty seconds from emptying himself into his sleeping trousers, despite not touching himself anymore. And the dream… Sweet Salazar…

He had a big problem on his hands. He masterfully ignored the gentle touches and tenderness between himself and the young Ravenclaw in his previous dreams, chalking them up to a close platonic fondness he felt for the girl. He even ignored the kisses he laid upon her sweet dreams, but now… Now it was impossible to lie to himself. What he felt for her was anything but platonic. His body ached for her, her touch, his prick still standing eagerly below the covers, begging for his attention.

He wouldn’t give it. It wasn’t right. She was still his student and he doubted she saw him as anything else than her teacher, an authority figure. He promised to himself to be there for her, to make sure she’s happy, not lust after her.

Aesop tried his best to will his erection down, but it just wouldn’t budge. It felt nearly painful at this point, hurting more than his leg currently, and he waged an inner battle with himself, stuck between desperately wanting his relief and apprehension towards stroking himself to completion to his mental image of the young woman.

With a heavy sigh, he got up and wrapped his dressing gown around himself. It’s been several minutes, and he was in the same state he woke up in. He made sure to tie the dressing gown loosely, so as not to draw attention to the sizable bulge in front in the unlikely case he would meet someone on his way to the Prefects’ bathroom. Cold shower it was. How he hated them, they always made the pain in his leg sear up. But there was no other choice.

Damn that woman. She walked into his life, into his dreams, and it seemed she wasn't planning on leaving. She made him wake up with heated cheeks, and the ghost of her warmth against his body, and now also with the hot cloak of arousal clinging to him, unwilling to let him go from its sweet embrace. Aesop was lusting. He could no longer remember when was the last time he longed this much, was it years? A decade? Oh, Merlin…

He was in trouble.

—

“I would’ve thought you’d be quite exhausted after your classes today, so don't blame me for being baffled that you're still in the mood for an evening visit,” Aesop said, leaning against the doorframe of his chambers, fixing the Ravenclaw with a questioning look. She did look a little tired, but it didn’t dampen her genuine smile. “Actually,” she replied, “Since I didn’t sign up for NEWT level History of Magic and Divination, I don’t have classes until tomorrow afternoon, so I’ll be able to sleep in for a bit.”

The girl fidgeted with the small canvas bag she was holding, and Aesop thought he saw her blush a little too, although he couldn't be certain.

“But, um… I can come some other time, sir, if you’re too tired.”

The potions master wasn’t exactly tired. In fact, his entire body was buzzing with nervous energy. And it was the dream he had the previous night he had to blame.

It was another of the lecherous ones, heady, lust filled dreams that left marks not only on his mind and heart, but most especially on his body. Since the first time he woke up with a raging erection following such a dream, there were a few times he was able to calm both his body and his mind down, and there were times he had to begrudgingly go and take a cold shower in order to school his treacherous length into obedience.

This one, though, this one was different.

Aesop didn’t recognise it as a dream. He was taking a dip in the Prefects’ bathroom tub, the warmth doing wonders for him. A blissed sigh left his mouth every few minutes as he let the hot water from one of the taps cascade down his neck, his shoulders and back, several strands of his hair sticking wetly to his face and forehead. He has long since thoroughly washed both his hair and body, and was now simply relaxing.

He was always fond of water and enjoyed swimming often during the summer - until his leg turned what used to be a pleasant experience into one that was uncomfortable at best, and straight up painful at worst.

Warmth made the pain lessen somewhat, and so he didn’t hurt quite so bad in the pool-like tub’s hot water. Combined with a Wiggenweld potion beforehand, he was able to actually swim a few laps once every now and then, usually in the dead of night, when there was no chance some prefect or a colleague would want to use the bathroom as well.

And yet, Aesop flinched visibly, because a splash that wasn’t his own suddenly reverberated through the room. He tried to reach into his dressing gown for his wand, but quickly realised he wasn’t wearing his dressing gown. It was laid over the small cabinet at the very back of the room, his wand inside the pocket. When he was an Auror, he would’ve never let his guard down like this. However, he was a teacher now, working and living in what was to be one of the safest places in the country, so he felt like he could part from his wand for the one hour or so he was going to bathe.

And yet, here he was, wet, naked and vulnerable, his eyes searching for the source of the splash. They widened when a head suddenly emerged not seven feet away from him.

“Miss (L/N)!” he spoke loudly once he recognised the Ravenclaw in all of her wet glory, “Would you kindly explain just what do you think you’re doing here? Firstly, it is very much after curfew, secondly, I know I locked the door after I entered, and thirdly, you have no business being here at all!”

Aesop felt hotness spreading over his cheeks as the young woman swam closer to him. Bubbles were lapping at her bare shoulders and collarbone. She was apparently as nude as he, and he struggled to keep his gaze from trying to penetrate the water and foam in search of her body. The Ravenclaw only smiled at him and swam even closer, stopping less than two feet away.

He tried to back away, but she always followed, keeping the distance. His back made contact with the wall of the pool, and Aesop shortly considered climbing out, before he realised his state of undress once more, not to mention his starting arousal. “M-Miss (L/N)... (F/N),” he pleaded. What for, he didn’t know. The girl outstretched her arms and cornered him, hands grabbing onto the edge of the tub on each side of him. He was trapped.

Now, if he wanted, the former Auror could’ve very easily pushed the eighteen year old away. And yet, even as he felt her lower belly press softly against his now rock hard length, he stayed put exactly where he was, stuck between desire and restraint, with no idea what to do with his hands.

He shivered when he saw her kittenish grin, his heart pounding as she bent her head and licked a long stripe from his collarbone all the way up to his ear.

Next thing he knew, Aesop was sitting on the edge of the tub, pulling her out of the water and on top of him.

The tiled floor felt cold against his heated back, and the drag of his head on it felt quite uncomfortable, but the potions master couldn’t be bothered, not when he had (F/N) (L/N) bouncing up and down on his cock, her fingers digging into the furred skin on his chest and her breasts moving most enticingly in time with her hips. He bent his legs and braced his feet on the ground, soon meeting her thrusts with his own. He was grunting as he invaded the young body above him in a steady rhythm, the tips of his fingers sure to leave bruises on the flesh of her hips. Marked as his own.

Her pretty face all screwed up in pleasure drove him on. Aesop grabbed her hips even harder, keeping her in place while he pushed himself incredibly deep inside her, and began grinding his hips, angling her so that her swollen clit rubbed against his pubic hair with every move.

It soon became too much, her walls squeezing him, her tits jiggling with their movements, her moans and whimpers growing louder and mixing with the obscene slapping sounds of their intimate union. And then, when her back arched and a choked gasp cut through the thick, heady air like a bolt shot from a crossbow, Aesop knew he was done for.

The muscles in his stomach tensed as he felt the red-hot coil in his core thrum and burn brighter before snapping in an explosion of most primal carnal pleasure. The potions master groaned loudly, his hips shuddering as he pumped the young Ravenclaw full of his cum.

He closed his eyes, breathing heavily, his orgasm making all of his nerve endings sizzle like electricity.

“Hmm, professor…” the girl sighed, her voice dripping with gratification.

“D-don’t… don’t call me that. Not n-now.”

There was no answer, and when Aesop opened his eyes, he realised why. He wasn’t in the prefects’ bathroom, he wasn’t lying naked on the hard tiled floor, and his pretty little Ravenclaw (who actually wasn’t his at all) was most likely calmly sleeping up in her dorm room, blissfully unaware of her professor’s depravity.

He groaned once more when he realised what state he was in.

His hand was down his pants, wet and sticky with his release, as was his entire front. He cringed when he pulled his hand away and the damp fabric of his underwear clung to his spent shaft. He reached towards the chair next to his bed with his clean hand until he felt the wood of his wand under his fingertips. His movement wasn’t as elegant as it would’ve been if he was using his right hand, but he still managed to perform the cleaning charm, vanishing the evidence of his pleasure from both his person and his clothes.

He lay back into his bed heavily, releasing a long sigh. Bloody hell… This was getting ridiculous… His body behaved like it was fifteen (only at night, though, his back felt like he was sixty when he woke up in the morning), his unconscious brain was obsessed with the eighteen year old Ravenclaw, and now, whenever he went to the Prefects’ bathroom, he’d see in his mind’s eye the image of (F/N) riding him in wild abandon. Which will of course be plenty useful, when he goes there to cool himself off from another dream…

Merlin… What would she think of him if she knew the extent of his emotions towards her? What would she think if she saw his longing, his lust? His… absolute pining… The professor closed his eyes with another sigh. Small traces of the dream’s gratification were still floating about in the cool air of his chambers, lulling his mind back into the depths of slumber. And as its arms began to wrap around him, Aesop could’ve sworn they were the arms of the beautiful student, enclosing him in her loving embrace.

—

It was no wonder Aesop was hesitant to accept her into his chambers that evening. It was different when they were in his office; there he was the professor still, at least a part of him was. The door was always open, there were students going in and out of his classroom to work on their potions.

Here, in his private rooms, though? Here the pretence of being merely a teacher and a student was dropped. Here, they were… friends. Here, in the still and quiet, they were just two people who found an understanding for one another’s situation.. The only thing that reminded them of their titles was just that - their titles. Aesop’s tongue slipped every now and then and he called the young woman by her first name, but otherwise they addressed each other as ‘Miss (L/N)’ and ‘Professor Sharp’ or ‘Sir’.

There were countless times Aesop wanted to offer her the first name basis when it was just the two of them, but then he always forgot to bring it up. And then later, when his heart started aching for her, when his dreams tipped from plain affection and comfort into an inferno of pining, of love and lust… he decided it was for the best that she only addressed him as she always did. He didn’t think he could handle knowing how his first name sounded from her lips. And he was certain his treacherous resting brain would take to torturing him even more than it has before… No, best to stay as professional as he could. Keep their meetings to his office, keep their tones light, keep their last names…

And yet, as she stood outside his door, the tiniest flick of sadness in her eyes at the prospect of being refused by him, Aesop found that he physically couldn’t. The very idea of telling her to go back to her common room and only seek him out in his office made his stomach close up.

Aesop wanted her right here. He wanted to sit down with her and have a cup of tea, discuss how her NEWT classes were treating her, and which students were the bane of his existence this year. He wanted to say some dry ironic retort, because he knew they made her grin, and he wanted her smile to shift into that of excitement and happiness as she talked about all of her wonderful beasts in the Room of Requirement.

All of this and so much more was what made him open the door wider, the corners of his mouth tugging up in a smile that was only for her.

“I suppose I can spare a few moments. I just hope you’ve got something good in that bag.”

“Cauldron cakes and Butterbeers, sir.”

“Well in that case, come on in!”

—-

It was a cold night, and salty air was blowing into Aesop’s face, biting at his smooth cheeks. His eyes scanned the dark harbour until they fell upon the ship he was looking for; St Joan. He swallowed heavily - their culprit was all on his own, yet the Auror still felt adrenaline begin to pump through his bloodstream. They’ve been chasing him for weeks, and it was now or never.

“Lead the way, Ace,” Ashley said next to him, her wand drawn.

Aesop drew his own wand and the pair began walking towards the ship.

And then all hell broke loose.

A downpour began, people were shouting, curses were flying through the air and the two Aurors did their best to dodge and deflect them. They were back to back, perfectly synchronised in their movements, they covered each other. Ashley used Accio on a pair of wizards to her left, bringing them into Aesop’s field of view just in time for him to send a well aimed Diffindo their way, the spell hitting their chests and throwing them to the ground head first, promptly rendering the bleeding men unconscious.

For a while, Aesop was sure that they would emerge victorious from this heated battle, the adversaries were dropping to the ground left and right and they weren’t getting back up. In his sureness that the situation was under control, he left Ashley’s side, intent on capturing their big fish before he could slither away once more. Only, as he triumphantly glared at the middle aged Irishman, he noticed the smuggler boss looking back at him in a smug and completely unafraid manner.

“Aesop!” Ashley screamed, panic evident in her deep voice. He turned around and paled. Where he previously left his partner battling no more than three criminals, now stood more than a dozen men and women in dark clothes, and all of them had their wands drawn at Ashley, preparing to cast their curses at the woman, and Aesop heard more popping sounds, announcing the arrival of even more. With one last look at Aengus fucking O'Brien, who was in the middle of disapparating back to safety, he began to run towards his partner.

They failed. Not only did they not manage to capture the bloody bastard, their what was supposed to be an easy job just turned into a literal fight for their lives.

He and Ashely did their best to defend themselves, but despite their skill, they were just too severely outnumbered. Aesop felt a sick feeling in his chest - they might not ever leave here alive.

He saw one of the meaner looking wizards to his left ready his wand, a strange dark smoke like magic swirling at its tip as he prepared to cast on the Auror. Green jets of light began to fly around them.

At that moment, Aesop just knew. He knew that Ashley wouldn't survive the night. He knew he’d forever be crippled once the curse found its target on his body. He knew, because this already happened, and he witnessed it happen dozens upon dozens of times. And he was to witness it once more.

“Professor!”

Aesop flinched. That voice… He looked for its source and saw her, standing some fifty feet away from him. His heart dropped.

No… No, no, no, she cannot be here. If she stays here, they’re going to hit her, she’s going to die! Please no. I can’t lose her too!

Aesop wanted to run towards the young Ravenclaw, he wanted to use his own body to protect her from whatever curse the bastards would cast on her, but his legs didn’t move a single inch.The Auror was rooted to the spot. He didn’t care that it made no sense for her to be here, nor the fact she seemed to deflect the golden snitch sized raindrops that were steadily falling from the sky, that wasn’t important. What was important was that she had to leave before she got hurt, before she got killed. And yet his legs still felt like lead and he couldn’t move, and he couldn’t even scream - Oh Merlin! No!

In a blink of an eye, she stood in front of him, her face a mask of peace and serenity, even as chaos of the battle still raged behind her, as screams and explosions pierced the air around them. None of the spells fired at Aesop found their mark, it was like he wasn’t even there, like he was naught but thin air.

The young woman raised her right hand, her soft digits tracing over his scar with utmost gentleness. Wait a minute… Aesop wasn’t hit yet, how did he have a scar?

“Professor Sharp?” She spoke again, and, with another blink of his eyes, he was no longer getting drenched by the rain in a harbour in Scarborough, he wasn’t being fired hexes and curses at, and his partner wasn’t fighting for her life to his left. The cacophony of battle was replaced by the gentle crackling of fire, the sound of his own wildly beating heart the loudest sound in the room. His room. In Hogwarts… He wasn’t an Auror anymore, he taught potions.

His thoughts, confused and scattered, were interrupted by another gentle touch to his scarred cheek. He took a deep breath and looked around - he was in his room, sitting on an unfamiliar sofa in front of the hearth, the fire being the brightest light source in the otherwise dim room. The young Ravenclaw was sitting next to him, looking at him with a concerned expression. The flames were dancing upon the pristine skin of her tender face, their glow reflected in her brilliant eyes. Aesop felt his heartbeat slow and even out at the sight of her - safe and sound, right next to him. “Are you alright, sir?” she asked once more, her hand warm over his scar, unwavering in its gentleness, even as a tear rolling out of his eye dampened it.

“Yes… Yes, it’s alright, (F/N).”

She scooched closer to him and leaned her head on his shoulder, her body against his side warmer than the flames in front of him. He lost Ashley years ago, he didn’t know how he’d fare if he lost the girl next to him too. He wouldn’t be able to go on. Aesop allowed himself to rest his own head against hers and close his eyes, breathing in deeply.

Aesop slept until morning.

—

It was early afternoon when he decided to sketch for a while - it’s been some time since he’s last held a charcoal in his hand, but today he felt like he genuinely needed it. His leg was feeling up to the task that day, and so the potions master climbed all the way into his little atelier, hobbling towards the drawing desk and plopping down onto the chair in front of it. He gripped the charcoal and expertly dragged it over the parchment in front of him, letting his thoughts wander freely as he drew.

While the Hogwarts owlery began to slowly but surely materialise out of his strokes, he thought of his dream the previous night. It began like it always did, with him having no idea he was dreaming, no idea he was going to watch the worst moment of his life unfold all over again. Except tonight… Tonight he was spared. He was spared the panic and the pain, both physical and emotional, as the young woman entered his dream and saved him from it, with a handful of words and a single touch.

He was grateful, of course, though he didn’t know to what exactly. To (F/N) who was probably spending the Saturday afternoon with her friends, blissfully unaware of Aesop’s night terrors? To his own mind, who finally managed to find a way to spare him? To his heart, which he felt was starting to beat for the Ravenclaw more and more? His heart…

Aesop remembered the terror he felt when he saw (F/N) in that harbour, fear so horrible it still sent a shiver down his spine even now. The possibility of losing her made his chest feel tight, his lungs not getting enough oxygen, his heart not having enough space to beat. Her presence in his life was not only wanted, it was needed.

Aesop dragged a clear piece of parchment in front of himself to suppress the pang that rolled through him then.

She was in her seventh year. In nine months, she’s going to board the Hogwarts Express and leave, and Aesop very much doubted she’d start coming over on a weekly basis to come see him… And even if she did come to see him occasionally, she’d soon meet new people in her adult life, people who’d be close to her, both in distance and in age. He was going to lose her.

Aesop folded his coal stained hands in his lap, rubbing them together slowly as he observed his portrait of (F/N) (L/N), looking at him from the parchment, her eyes smouldering and scorching him.

—

He was reclining on the leather sofa in his room, reading something but not actually making anything out. The ‘words’ swam in front of his eyes, the scrawls and scribbles absolutely unresembling any language Aesop knew. That’s how he realised he was dreaming again. He wasn’t sure which was better, thinking that what he was experiencing was the reality, or knowing his slumbering mind was forming mental images for him to witness while his body regained its strength. Torturing him and taunting him with what he could never have. He closed the book, its cover and weight reminding him of his copy of A Study in Scarlet, and placed it next to him on the sofa.

He could hear the door to his chambers open, as he expected it would, and soon quiet footsteps reached his ears too. There she was again. Soon she stood right in front of him, in her casual uniform, though her tie or the Ravenclaw crest that usually adorned her pristine white shirt were nowhere to be found. In fact, if one didn’t know she was a Hogwarts student, they could easily think her simply a young woman in a shirt and a skirt, her sleeves rolled up to her elbows in a laid back manner. For some reason, it comforted Aesop.

As if sensing his thoughts, she clicked her tongue and looked at him as if he just told her the silliest thing in the world. She shook her head then and stepped closer to him. Aesop’s heart was racing, and he was caught between wanting to bolt, to hobble away as fast as he could to the nearest Floo flame, and wanting to grab onto any part of her that was closest, any part he could reach, and pull her closer, pull her atop him and hold her and not let go. He could - he was dreaming after all. However, he stayed put, not moving a single muscle.

The sofa dipped beside him as she sat down, immediately curling into him and resting her head on his lap, facing him. Aesop watched with hooded eyes as she made herself comfortable, sighing as she settled. He heard that sound often, whenever she took a first sip of her tea, a mix of good quality tea leaves with dried cornflowers he learned she loved, and made sure to always have it on hand. Her eyes caught his own, the look inside them making his poor heart skip a beat, before resuming its hurried pace.

Such was the power of that simple look. It was filled with warmth, with fondness, and there was a smile on her face, a happy and content one. He wished he could see that look every single day, even if it wasn’t caused by or directed at him. In his dream, though, the smile was for him, and only him, and Aesop bent in the waist, leaning over her and resting his head on his hand, his elbow placed next to her head.

His heart throbbed. It ached. He knew he was dreaming, but everything felt so real. The flowery scent of her perfume, the warmth of her breath fanning against his cheeks, her soft palms coming to stroke his face and wipe at the tear that rolled out of his eye. His mind truly was intent on torturing him, he thought as he succumbed to the allure, as he decided to use the chance to hold her when he had it, dream or not.

He gathered the young woman into his arms, pulling her higher until her face was pressed into the side of his neck and he could bury his nose into her hair, inhaling deeply the scent he only ever caught a whiff of from time to time when he moved behind her in his class. After a few minutes during which he only snuggled her close, nosing at her hair, her ear, her cheekbones, he pulled her back to look into her eyes.

Her smile was honest, genuine, yet incredibly enigmatic. Like a Mona Lisa in the flesh. She wasn’t actually there, and none of this was real…

“Oh, sweet Merlin, (F/N).”

He said only as he chased her soft lips in a kiss. It wasn’t real, but it was as good as he was going to get.

—

When Aesop found himself in bed with the young Ravenclaw, he knew it was a dream. He would’ve remembered every single tiny little detail of how he got there, he just knew he would.

Therefore, when he saw her right there, he didn’t waste any time asking pointless questions. Instead, he wrapped his arms around her securely and even threw his leg over her own, effectively trapping her in his embrace. He could make out her face in the dimness of the room, saw her eyes glisten ever so slightly, saw her lips stretch in a smile, her face inches away from his own. She felt so real, Aesop felt her warmth, her softness, her breath against his cheek and nose, he could smell her perfume and the rose scented soap she used.

He couldn’t stop the corners of his own mouth from turning up, as his right hand came to push a stray strand of her hair behind her ear, his calloused finger trailing against the silky smooth apple of her cheek.

“What am I going to do when you’re not here anymore?” he asked softly, more to himself than anything else. And yet, the girl in his arms tilted her head somewhat at the question. “When I’m not here anymore?” she smiled again, “Sir, it’s not like I’m about to disappear off the face of the planet… I’m just graduating later this year.” Despite the storm of emotions inside his heart, Aesop chuckled: “Not off the face of the planet, no, but… I can’t delude myself into thinking that you’ll still be a part of my life after you leave… That I’ll be a part of yours. And even if I was… it wouldn’t be in the way I long for..”

Her hand came to stroke at his cheek again, the gesture now so familiar. Only in his dreams, sadly. The potions master leaned into it, his eyes closing on their own accord at the tender touch.

“Why wouldn’t it be?”

Aesop released a long sigh, his arms closing around his dreamy bedmate as if he wanted to will her into reality.

“I want you in my life more than I’ve ever wanted anything before… If I’m being perfectly honest, if I had… If I had to choose between you and the cure for my leg, I’d hobble my way to you without looking back, but… That would be incredibly selfish of me. You deserve so much more. So much better… Even in the unlikely scenario that you’d ever love me back.”

Aesop finished with an unhappy chuckle, his chest feeling tight and heavy with emotion. Her fingers were combing through his hair, the intimate touch bringing a sense of peace to his throbbing heart. She pulled at it lightly, enough to make him raise his head, but not enough to hurt, and once his gaze connected with hers once more, she closed the distance between them, searching for his mouth in the still and quiet.

And as she pulled him atop her, their lips melding together, Aesop knew he would never be the same.

He woke up in a tangle of sheets and blankets.

—

The day was frankly horrible, and the worst part of it was ironically the best one as well. The whole ‘love letters fiasco’ left him drained physically and emotionally, and as he tried to breathe through another painful cramp of his fucking leg, he cursed himself for having been so foolish.

It was over. Done. Finished.

(F/N) would read Sebastian Sallow's letter and she’d return his feelings, because she was obviously fond of the boy. Because he was an obvious choice from day one, the most logical one. She’ll be with the young Slytherin and she’ll be happy, and while her being happy was exactly what Aesop wanted, he felt his stomach lurching at the thought of them together. A pang of guilt and shame soon followed, and the potions master felt his leg beginning to cramp up once more.

It was a hellish pain, much, much worse than what he usually had to suffer through, worse than what he experienced after he woke up from his night terrors.

Aesop tried to breathe through it, his brows furrowed and eyes screwed shut, droplets of sweat forming at his hairline. He gripped the armrests of his seat so hard, his knuckles had gone white, and when a knock came on his door, it took him several seconds to even school his teeth into unclenching so that he could answer. He knew who it was, how could he bloody not.

His voice was unsteady when he called out: “G-go away!”

Of course, she didn’t. She opened the door to his chambers (how come it was unlocked?) and came straight in.

“Miss (L/N), if our friendship means anything to you, you’ll get the hell out of my rooms and forget you ever saw me like this!” he cried out, curling in on himself as a particularly strong wave of pain rolled through him, forcing tears into his eyes. He blinked quickly, trying to stop them from spilling over. The young woman came closer, kneeled before him. Aesop would’ve inquired as to what she thought she was doing, if he wasn’t in the middle of choking back a whimper.

There was sudden warmth against his leg and Aesop looked up to see what was going on. She held her wand to his left lower thigh, above his knee, obviously having applied a heating charm to the fabric. Her hands, so much smaller than his own, began massaging the poor limb tentatively, and several minutes later, Aesop actually felt the pain lessening. The relief made his tears finally roll over his eyelids and fall down his cheeks.

She carried on with her slow deliberate movements for a while before standing up again and taking a hold of his face. The touch was so familiar from his dreams, yet so foreign in reality. Aesop opened his tears filled eyes and looked up at the young woman. He no doubt looked absolutely miserable, he didn’t want to see the pity and repulsion with him within her eyes.

Except there was none.

When the professor looked into (F/N) (L/N)’s eyes, all he saw was worry. Care. Love. Her own tears were glistening just past her eyelids as she used her fingers to wipe away his. He gasped quietly when she brought his head to rest against her chest, his nose against her collarbone. She made gentle shushing noises, her fingers stroking his hair, her body moving in a slow rocking motion. What she said next had him wrapping his arms around her, his tears starting anew.

“Did you really think I’d just leave you alone with this? After everything? You’re such a clever man, sir, but sometimes you have the silliest thoughts.”

He quietly sobbed into the fabric of her pristine white shirt, his tears seeping into the soft material. Aesop felt her pressing kisses into his hair as she let him weep, her own chest shuddering with every exhale as she held him close to her, as if she wanted to give him her own strength.

It could have been minutes, it could have been hours. Aesop didn’t know. He didn’t care. Even after his tears went dry, even after the girl stopped trembling, they stayed in their embrace, hearts bared, souls reaching out to tangle with each other. Aesop didn’t want her to leave, he didn’t want her to stop holding him, didn’t want her to stop kissing the crown of his head. However, they both knew that sleep was something they both desperately needed now.

“It’s very late, sir,” (F/N) said, her voice no more than a whisper, one that fanned through his hair, and caressed his haunted soul. Her gentle hands grabbed his face again and he was made to look at her once more. Aesop wanted to tell her right then and there, he wanted to tell her that she held his heart in her hands the same way she held his cheek, but not a single sound left his lips as their gazes met. “Come,” she said as she helped him to his feet.

Aesop didn’t know how she did it, but she managed to get him to his bedroom, and sit him on his bed, while making sure he put almost no weight on his bad leg. It would seem she found just as much comfort in touching his face as he, because she was holding it yet again. Or maybe she was just making sure she had his attention.

“Are you going to be alright? Should I fetch you anything?”

Aesop cleared his throat. It was sore from crying, and his voice was hoarse when he spoke: “The chest - at the foot of the bed…”

The young woman opened it and took out two vials of Wiggenweld potion, as well as a bottle of the light lavender concoction he introduced to her in her fifth year. Dreamless Sleep. She placed all potions next to him upon the bed and gave him a long look.

“I will be alright. I promise,” Aesop said sincerely after he gulped down the Wiggenwelds. The girl stared at him for a minute longer before nodding her head: “Alright…”

She then did something that took his breath away all over again.

She leaned down and placed her lips on his forehead, right above his eyebrows. It was an action so daring and yet so innocent, it stunned Aesop into absolute silence, and he even forgot to breathe for a few seconds. He wanted to ask her to stay, he wanted to hold her like he held her in his dreams. Instead, he squeezed her hand momentarily, enjoying its softness and warmth, before letting go of her. Before letting her go.

“Sleep well, (F/N).”

—

Her dream form stood right next to him, her hair blowing in the gentle breeze, eyes sparkling in the brilliant sunlight. She looked different, so very different than he usually saw her. She was dressed in a lightweight white gown, the look on her face ethereal.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” she asked with a little grin.

“Because you are beautiful.”

“You don’t look half bad yourself,” she teased then, and Aesop looked down to see he wasn’t wearing his usual ensemble. He was garbed in his best dress robes, with cufflinks that used to be his father’s. He looked at the young woman confusedly, trying to make sense of the situation.

“Are you… are you getting married?” he asked, his heart pounding in his chest.

“We are. Come on, everyone’s waiting for us!”

Aesop never had a dream about marrying anyone, not even those nearly two decades ago when he was certain he was going to marry Dinah one day.

Now however, he knew he was going to treasure this particular dream till his dying breath. No matter what happens, at least he got to have this dream, and that is something nobody will take away from him.

—

As the days got shorter and nights became longer with the upcoming winter, Aesop Sharp became rather… desperate.The first snowflakes descended upon the castle’s roofs and grounds, covering the piles of fallen brown leaves with a fine dusting of snow, reminding Aesop of a Christmas pudding dusted with powdered sugar. The cold that accompanied the coming season did absolutely nothing for his leg, and he found himself applying a heating charm to his trousers with increasing frequency in an attempt to keep his leg warm. If he could avoid going outside, he did.

The weather however, was not the cause of his desperation. It was the rate in which the young Ravenclaw appeared in his dreams, torturing him with her sweet smiles and sweeter kisses, mocking him with her tender touches and teasing him with her loud beating heart. In his dreams, it sounded as if it was beating for him.

She, of course, did not actually mock him, no, but it felt like mockery every time Aesop awoke alone in his bedchamber, all alone, cold and longing. She was not at fault, though, his own, self-destructive brain was the real culprit. It was as if his nightmares weren’t traumatic enough, weren’t taking enough out of him, resulting in grief over things he lost. So, instead, they became dreams of something he would never have, stabbing into his heart with every kiss the young woman bestowed upon his willing mouth, every long intense look she gave him, every passionate moan she released, every delicious touch. Nearly every. Single. Night.

Every time she then actually came to meet him, Aesop thought about telling her that they can’t see each other anymore, that she cannot keep coming back into his chambers. He thought about how he’d reason his words, other than the truth.

Because he couldn’t exactly say: ‘Miss (L/N), we have to stop being friends, because every time you and I are alone, I feel like I am exactly ten seconds away from dragging you out of that armchair and into my own lap in order to push my mouth against your own with such intensity, you’ll be seeing stars by the time I’m done,’ could he?

And then he opened the door and she stood there, smiling up at him like she was looking forward to this moment the entire day, and Aesop’s heart leaped up into his throat and skipped a beat. He found himself smiling back and opening the door for her. He knew he could never ask her to keep her distance. He was getting high on her very presence, and was now desperately addicted to it. And the most insane thing - he always managed to control himself. He was a good conversational partner, and a good host in his chambers, preparing her tea less than twenty seconds after she entered, just as she carefully portioned out the house elves baked goods she brought for them to share this time.

Whenever she was around, he found himself breathing a bit easier, smiling slightly more, he even joked around every now and then, delighting in every wonderful little laughter she rewarded him with, feeling like a healing balm to his weary soul. And the touching… Goodness, the small touches they shared, the way she not only allowed him to hold her hand sometimes, but turned it in his grasp so that she could hold him back, the way her delicate fingers fit against his own calloused ones, the way her thumb stroked tenderly over the back of his hand.

It was an exquisite kind of torture, and Aesop no longer knew whether he wanted it to finally stop, or whether he craved more. She was unknowingly destroying him, and Aesop, like the mad old man he was, was loving it.

“So… do tell, where are you headed for the holidays this year,” he asked one such evening, her small hand in his own, the flames in his fireplace licking up their skin, making him even warmer than he already felt just from her presence.

“Nowhere, sir,” she replied quietly, not wanting to spoil the nearly intimate atmosphere they had at that moment, “We used to go to the mountains for Christmas, me and my parents, but well… not anymore. It’s a shame, really - even they used to be quite happy whenever we went to this nice hotel in Switzerland, near the Giessbach falls. They even allowed me to learn to ski. However, my mother slipped on some ice there some years ago, and hurt her leg. So… we don’t go there anymore. And seeing as all of my friends already have their own programme, well, I decide to just stay here. With all the work for my NEWTs this year, I’m sure I won’t be bored at all.”

Aesop listened to every word she spoke with interest, resting his head on his free hand, all the while caressing her own with the other one. “I too will be spending the holidays here. So, you know… if you ever feel like taking a break from your studies… you are always welcome here.” His heart was thumping with anxiety as he awaited her answer with a bated breath.

“Thank you, sir, that sounds lovely. Although… I may bring my work with me,” she said finally with a soft smile playing on her face, one Aesop once more found himself unable to not reciprocate: “That’s completely alright with me, (F/N). I too have some work I will be biting through during the holidays, so we might as well offer each other the comfort of company while we focus on our responsibilities.” The potions master felt like he was playing with fire, and was honestly surprised it didn’t come to bite him just yet. Even now, his answer was a toothy smile and a squeeze of her hand.

“Sounds like a good Christmas to me.”

—

(F/N) was making such lovely sounds where she was lying underneath him, spread upon the crimson duvet of his bed. With every move of his hips, he drove himself deeper into her young body, his hip bones grinding against her own both deliciously and nearly painfully. Aesop held onto her side with one hand, keeping her in place so he could deliver a hard thrust after thrust, while his other hand was pawing at her left breast, squeezing and massaging the plush flesh in his hand, stroking his fingers over the hardened nub. His mouth was at the other tit, licking and suckling, intent on bringing the young woman as much pleasure as he possibly could.

He then sucked a visible mark to the skin just above the now swollen and raw red nipple, leaving an imprint of his uneven teeth behind. The potions master observed his work proudly, drinking up the Ravenclaw’s heady expression, the way her beautiful eyes disappeared behind her eyelids, rolling into the back of her head as he fucked her into his mattress, his cock stretching her open, bringing her closer and closer to that sweet abyss of primal pleasure.

He felt her hand in his hair, pulling, tugging harshly, and released a low moan of his own, the sensations driving him wild, making him increase his pace. He felt her skin glide against his own, their bodies damp with sweat from their efforts, Aesop felt it coldly clinging to his chest hair, saw it glisten upon her once pristine skin, now bearing his marks, his claim. Bruises from where his fingers squeezed her hips and imprints of his teeth. She looked ruined, mad with lust and pleasure, flushed with unfocused eyes.

“So bloody beautiful,” he groaned, releasing her abused breast to grab her face, forcing her to look at him. “So lovely, my darling (F/N). So fucking perfect for me, taking me so well,” he lowered himself to press a filthy, open-mouthed kiss onto her pliant lips. “Hmm… My sweet, my precious…”

The girl’s moaning got louder, and she started to shudder against him, her legs trapping him between them as she started to grind her hips in time with him, her walls beginning to squeeze his weeping prick, prompting him to groan once more.

And then, just as he saw her finally reach her peak, roll over that edge of ecstasy, she looked right into his eyes, her own so heavily dilated and unfocused, he was half certain she could barely see him, tears of pleasure sparkling just behind her eyelids: “I-I love you, sir.”

Aesop woke up with a start.

He was in his bed, aroused beyond belief, throbbing hard and feeling precome ooze out of his glans. He groaned when another throb to his cock made the material of his pants rub against the poor shaft. He was too far gone by now. The potions master threw the covers away from his feverish body, wiggled out of his pants and quickly grabbed at his cock, tugging at it harshly, playing the words out in his head again, and again. The wet slapping of his hand moving along the hot flesh penetrated the otherwise silent room, and his groans soon joined it. He thought about the young woman, of her words, of her body, her face, imagining himself fucking her tight little cunt until she couldn’t walk the next day.

“F-fuck, fuck!”

He flipped onto his belly, still holding his cock in a vice grip, and began pistoning his hips, concentrating on his fantasy hard. In it, he wasn’t just fucking wildly into his own hand, ruining his bedsheets with precome, he was taking that young woman who came into his life like a hurricane.

‘I love you. I love you. I love you.’

It were these words that made his climax approach closer and closer, intense and world-shattering. In his wild abandon, he grabbed one of the large pillows on his bed and pushed it under his hips, gripping his cock then with both hands to increase the sensations. He bent his legs at the knees to be able to thrust into his hands with greater force, each one making him near his finish.

‘I love you.’

Aesop groaned pitifully, his saliva soaking into the pillow as his lungs burned with every ragged breath, as his muscles ached with the strange position, as his prick throbbed painfully, so fucking desperate for its release, growing even larger, even harder.

‘I love you.’

“Ah, fuck! Oh, (F/N), fuck! Hnngh!”

Aesop’s body spasmed, his toes curled, and he buried his head deeper into the pillow as he finally, finally, reached the peak of his pleasure.

His cock twitched heavily with every large spurt of spunk it shot out, soiling his hands and the pillow, even his shirt, making a fucking mess of his front, but Aesop didn’t care. His mind was entirely clouded by the divine pleasure and the picture of (F/N), by her words of love. It was an intense orgasm that left Aesop trembling slightly even a minute after the last drop of cum wept out of his softening prick.

The potions master was breathing hard, his mouth and chin wet with his own saliva that made a damp circle on the pillow. Of course, that was nothing compared to the ungodly, foul mess he left lower. Soon, the wet stickiness of his own spent made Aesop roll onto his back with a groan.

Merlin’s fucking beard.

He was completely depraved, wasn’t he?

Hell, he couldn’t remember ever wanking with such a wild abandon, even when he was the age when it could be excused, blamed on teenage hormones.

He lay there on his back, his seed drying up on both the pillow and his skin, his hands, making the potions master crinkle his nose in disgust.

“Fuuuck,” he groaned again, his voice hoarse as he finally reached for his wand to cast the cleaning spell on himself. He lay there still, his body and sheets once more clean, but the heady aroma of his own arousal still lingered in the air, the relief and muscle relaxation his orgasm brought him made him almost not feel his blasted leg at all. He wanted to curse himself, but his head felt so heavy and his mind so cloudy, he really couldn’t, not now at least.

Aesop closed his eyes.

‘I love you. I love you. I love you.’ still reverberated through his head, but this time he didn’t see the young woman underneath him, caught in the throes of passion. Instead, she was on top of him, resting upon his strong chest, her head lying on her folded arms as she gazed at him through her eyelashes, teasingly hiding her smile. He saw his hand coming to gently caress her hair, pushing it off her face. “I love you,” she’d say, quietly, yet sincerely.

“I love you,” Aesop replied into the still and quiet around him, sleep taking him once more.

—

Aesop looked around the Great Hall. It looked so very empty, with the majority of students having gone home for the holidays, and only a few remaining. The Ravenclaw table was nearly vacant, and the few students there were sitting in a single group, close to the High table, among them Mr Thakkar and, of course, (F/N) (L/N), who were currently caught in a conversation. Aesop was watching them covertly, but while the starry-eyed Amit did make the googly eyes at the young woman, he kept a respectful distance.

Good.

Aesop’s selfish side whispered, and he narrowed his eyes somewhat at the young man.

“I certainly hope one of my best Eagle’s has not done anything to upset you, Aesop,” said Dinah dryly, blowing at her tea before taking a small sip. Aesop grumbled and stabbed a mushroom onto his fork with perhaps a bit more force than necessary. That got his friend’s attention: “What is it, dear? Aren’t you looking forward to some peace and quiet after the difficult few months? I don’t remember the school being this empty for Christmas in at least five years.”

“Of course I am looking forward to it!”

“Then what’s got you staring like a basilisk at my Ravenclaws?”

“Nothing! I was lost in thought, that’s it. And my leg hurts.”

“I know your leg hurts, but you can’t always use it as an excuse, Aesop.”

“Watch me.”

Aesop dropped his eyes to his breakfast defiantly, carrying on with his attack on the food. Therefore he didn’t see his dear friend and colleague observe the young Ravenclaw who was currently talking excitedly about something with the Head Boy.

“Poor Amit,” she said after a while, “all the prefects and even the Head girl went home for the holidays. He’ll never be able to patrol the whole school by himself. Students could be sneaking out after curfew, and the possibility of him catching them is very slim.”

Aesop chose not to grace her words with an answer.

—

Aesop knew all too well that they’d be pretty much by themselves in the Faculty tower when she’d come to visit. Abraham went home to his wife, Mudiwa and her daughter were going to spend the break in their homeland, even the Magic Theory professor, Felicity Turner, who started teaching a year and a half ago, went away on a little holiday two days prior. Mirabel mostly kept to herself and her flowers, occasionally spending her days in the Three Broomsticks to be with her friend, and Nurse Blainey was just glad not be constantly bothered by students claiming to be sick with all kinds of excotic illnesses just so they could try to weasel their way out of class.

The potions master wasn’t sure whether to be ecstatic or terrified. The dream from a few days ago haunted him, terrified him, as did what he’s done upon waking. What if he lost his cool, what if he misinterpreted something that she said, snapped and ended up frightening her, or, Merlin forbid, forcing himself on her? He’d lose her and her friendship forever.

The thought alone made cold sweat appear on the back of his neck.

—

His heart fluttered around in his chest like mad as he awaited her arrival. She asked whether she’d be welcome to join him in his chambers after dinner, so that they could share a cup of tea, or perhaps something stronger, and talk for a bit. Aesop didn’t even think when he hurriedly answered her letter. Upon the light parchment, he only wrote a simple: ‘My door is open to you.’

He was so wound up, he actually began to sweat in his overcoat and jacket, and took them both off after a moment of consideration - he was in his rooms, after all, why shouldn't he.

When the young woman mentioned ‘something stronger’ in her letter, Aesop immediately sent for a wine as similar to the one she drank in the Leaky Cauldron as could be found in The Three Broomsticks, not thinking twice about it. The potions master couldn’t help but feel like this evening was somehow significant.

How significant - he didn't know. However, his hair stood on end, and his heart was leaping in his chest. She was meeting him for Christmas Eve… Merlin knew what would happen.

—

Aesop stared at the young woman, his eyes wide, and, to his utter indifference, beginning to fill with tears. Why would his own mind torture him this way, hurt him like this, make hope blossom with his chest, it was not fair.

And yet, as the potions master’s hands balled into fists, as his knuckles went white, as his short fingernails dug into his palms, he slowly realised that perhaps… No.

This wasn’t real.

Aesop felt the pain of his nails cutting into his own skin. He felt the warmth of the flames in the fireplace. The taste of firewhiskey lingered on his lips, the strong liquor still burning in his throat. He could smell the fragrant pine wood being burned, the scent mingling with (F/N)’s perfume. He saw the light dance around his sitting room, saw the neat stack of books on his desk. ‘Moste Potente Potions’, ‘One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi’, ‘A Collection of Above Three Hundred Receipts in Cookery, Physick, and Surgery’, he could read upon their spines perfectly.

That didn't mean anything though!

Except… except when Aesop looked into her eyes, his heart skipped a beat.

How did he never notice?

Her eyes. The spark in her eyes, the one that shone even during the darkest of nights, that one thing he was never able to capture in any of his many many sketches of her face… Aesop couldn’t help but not recall seeing it in his dreams.

“I love you, sir.”

Aesop stood up, making the girl startle slightly. His mind went blank as he reached for her, as his fingers touched her cheek. Heavens, her skin was… so soft. So smooth under his weathered hand. And when he saw her lean into his touch, the potions master swallowed heavily.

I am going to die if this isn’t real.

“Aesop,” he breathed. He needed… he needed to hear her say his name. He needed her to say that she loved him again. “I should have… I should have asked you to call me Aesop ages ago. My dearest girl…” His other hand came to stroke at her cheek.

“Aesop,” she said softly, her voice quiet.

“There is nothing I’d want more than to have you by my side,” he admitted, his thumb coming to stroke the outline of her lips, so soft and inviting. The professor did his best to commit each and every second into his memory, imprint it there forever, but then, when her delicate hands took a hold of his face and guided him lower, his head just… gave out.

Aesop groaned quietly into the kiss, the sensations spreading through his body with all the ferocity of a forest fire during a hot summer. He barely noticed his arms wrapping around the girl’s waist, was only mildly aware of the way he imprisoned her smaller body in his hold.

His brain had no chance to catch up, not when her hands were messing up his hair, not when he was allowed to taste her little sighs and gasps as they rolled wetly against his lips, tasting of wine, and of the very thing that made the young woman who she was.

It was only when he pulled back to catch his breath did he finally feel like he could think again. He stood there with his eyes closed, his arms still curled tightly around the young body. He didn’t dare open either for the fear of the young woman not being there when he did, for it to be another dream.

“Aesop,” he heard again, so close he felt her breath on his ear. With a deep inhale, the professor opened his eyes to find the Ravenclaw still standing right there, her lips ever so puffier than they were a few minutes ago, and her cheeks flushed heavily. A smile slowly spread on his face and he realised… how bloody long has it been since he smiled like this.

“Could you please…” he began, his voice hoarse, “could you please repeat what you said?” The young woman looked up at him questioningly for several moments, before opening her mouth: “Aesop?”

“No, no…” Aesop shook his head slowly, talking even quieter, “what you said before…”

It took another few seconds before the young woman remembered, her brain seemingly as scrambled as his own following their intimate interaction.

“I love you?”

Aesop sighed loudly and let his face descend into the crook of her neck. His right hand stayed where it was, resting at her lower back and pressing her closer to him, while the other one slowly trailed up her back and into her hair.

“I love you,” she repeated with conviction, embracing him sweetly, holding his head in place like she held him during that horrible night some time back. Except this time, Aesop shed no tears of pain or guilt. No.

He slowly dragged his head back up, his large nose stroking along the line of her throat, brushing up her jaw, cheek, until settling just inches away from hers. He captured her gaze, held her fluttering eyes with his own. Their breath mingled between them hotly, their close proximity intoxicating more than the alcohol. From this close, Aesop was perfectly able to see all the wonderful little intricacies of (F/N) (L/N)’s face, could very nearly count each and every one of her eyelashes, deeply drank in the sight of her little freckles, small circles under her sparkling eyes.

“I love you…” she sighed again and this time, Aesop replied in kind before pulling her in for another kiss.

—

Aesop had no clue as to how much time had passed before (F/N) finally left for the night… It must have been hours, but he still felt like it was not enough. Very much not enough. Aesop transfigured their armchairs into a single sofa in front of the flames, and then… then they kissed for a long time. Kissed, talked, kissed some more, drank more of their drinks of choice, talked in hushed intimate voices, and then kissed again.

Despite his many dreams featuring the young Ravenclaw as their star, he completely forgot just how amazing it felt to just snog the living daylights out of someone. His dreams could not hold a candle to the real thing. And yet, a part of him was still terrified that he'd wake up any minute now, alone. This part of him, however, was never left to rule his mind for long. It stood no chance against the young woman's fingers in his hair, her legs thrown over his own where he sat on the sofa, her magnificent lips melding with his, their taste sweeter than Aesop ever imagined.

He slowed down everytime he could feel their bodies heating up too much, wanting to take his time. Despite his heady, deeply erotic dreams throughout the months, Aesop was determined not to take this too fast - he wished, and he craved, and he so very much longed to hold the Ravenclaw in his arms, but he never once dared hope that he would be actually allowed to. And now that he was, he made a mental vow to not take such a gift for granted. He was going to do right by her. He was going to show her that despite the fact she could have so much better than him, he was going to do everything in his power not to make her regret that she chose him.

Later, when they held one another, their hands and fingers tentatively tracing each other's features, Aesop slowly felt sleep creeping up on him. The room grew cooler as the flames died down and the professor used his considerable build to shield his companion from the cold.

—

When Aesop woke up in the morning, the first thing he felt was a twinge of panic - was it a dream? He tried to recall the night.

Soft hands. Quiet words. Sweet lips.

He wasn't wearing his sleeping clothes.

After she's left, the potions master only managed to go and relieve his bursting bladder, before renewing the fires in his room, pulling his clothes off, and falling asleep the moment his head hit the pillow.

It was Christmas Day 1893, and professor Aesop Sharp found himself questioning his own memory, something he never really had to do before. He knew she was there, judging by the glasses left in his sitting room and the neatly wrapped present from her. There was still a drop of firewhisky left in one of the tumblers, and, without further ado, Aesop gulped it down.

It wasn't until breakfast sometime later when his mind calmed down. His eyes sought her out immediately after he sat down, and he saw her looking at him covertly from the Ravenclaw table. She looked tired, with circles under her eyes, but Aesop swore that she was glowing. Has he ever seen her this happy? He allowed the tiniest little smile her way, before digging into his breakfast hungrily.

"Merry Christmas, Aesop," Dinah chirped next to him, seemingly out of nowhere.

It was. It was a merry Christmas indeed.

"Merry Christmas, Di."

—

Aesop awoke. His eyes fluttered a little before opening slowly, blinking away the slowly fading remains of slumber. First thing he saw in the dimness of his room, illuminated only by the embers in the fireplace, and the winter sun streaming into his chambers from the windows in his sitting room, was (F/N)(L/N).

She was sleeping in his arms, safe and secure, and finally, finally, his. Just to be sure, Aesop pinched his own hand, but a part of him knew that this was no dream. No. He remembered every single moment that led up to this one, every word, every kiss, every little touch. He remembered the way he stared into her brilliant eyes as sleep slowly claimed them the previous night, he remembered the feeling of her soft pyjamas underneath his fingertips, he remembered feeling the way her breathing evened out, the way it felt to have her chest pushed against his with every deep inhale.

No, no. This was no dream. He truly was in his bed, in his own set of pyjamas, and with his brilliant girl snuggled into his chest. Aesop felt the corners of his mouth lift and stretch into a grin so wide, it almost hurt. He could not remember the last time he smiled this hard, if ever. Very carefully, as not to wake her up, he ran his fingers through her sleep-matted hair, pushing it out of her angelic face. The potions master let a quiet sound of absolute contentment leave his mouth as he once more wrapped both of his arms around her body, his legs tangling with her own further below the covers.

The girl stirred as she was being lovingly smothered in Aesop’s embrace, though she didn’t seem to be complaining. In fact, she grabbed onto the fabric of his sleeping shirt, grabbing a fistful of material with each hand, she pulled him even closer, her nose dragging along his neck and breathing him in deeply.

“Good morning, Aesop,” she said, her voice muffled slightly between their bodies, “Did you have nice dreams?” Aesop chuckled breathlessly.

“No. I don't think I dreamed at all last night. But it does feel like I'm dreaming right now.”

I sincerely hope you enjoyed rading! As always, you can find this work and all of my other fics over on AO3. I am always incredibly grateful for feedback!

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