#professor sharp smut
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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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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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Daddy Sharp 😏
#hogwarts legacy#aesop sharp smut#aesop sharp x reader#aesop sharp#professor sharp#professor sharp x reader#professor sharp smut#professor Sharp pictures#professor Sharp screenshots#daddy sharp
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Aesop Sharp
✶ means smut
⟡ means my personal favorites
One-Shots
Patched Up ⟡ - Aesop always takes care of you when you get scraped up.
Saving a Life - Aesop saves the life of a magical beast.
#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 smut#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 smut#professor sharp fanfiction#hogwarts legacy#hogwarts legacy fanfiction#seriouslysnape
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I want to see Sub!Professor Sharp fics.
#professor sharp x reader#aesop sharp x reader#aesop sharp#professor sharp#hogwarts legacy#Hogwarts legacy x reader#professor sharp smut#aesop sharp smut
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I spy a certain slytherin boy looking jealous 😏
#hogwarts legacy#sebastian sallow#sebastian sallow x you#sebastian sallow x reader#sebastian sallow x mc#sebastian sallow imagine#sebastian x reader#sebastain sallow#sebastian x mc#garreth weasley#garreth weasley x reader#garreth weasley x mc#sebastian sallow smut#garreth weasley smut#ominis gaunt#ominis gaunt x reader#ominis gaunt x mc#natty onai#natty#professor sharp#ominis gaunt smut#sebastian sallow x slytherin!reader#sebastian sallow fanfiction
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#my memes#aesop sharp#professor sharp#victor rookwood#daddy rookwood#hogwarts legacy#hogwarts legacy fandom#hogwarts legacy smut#rookwood#phineas nigellus black#professor black#daddy sharp
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Aesop Sharp, ancient God of 5 More Minutes.
Here he his: adorable, charming and grumpy potions master. He's just crept out of his bedroom to: check time, realize it's still damn early, and go back to sleep.
#professor sharp#aesop sharp#professor aesop sharp#hogwarts legacy meme#aesop sharp x mc#hogwarts legacy mc#aesop sharp smut#hogwarts legacy oc#hogwarts legacy fanfic#hogwarts legacy
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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!
#aesop sharp#professor sharp#hogwarts legacy#fanfiction#reader insert#aesop sharp x reader#aesop sharp x you#aesop sharp smut#hogwarts legacy fanfiction#dinah hecat#amit thakkar (mentioned)#slow burn#fluff#smut and fluff#angst#hurt/comfort#aesop sharp needs a hug#aesop sharp is lying to himself
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all your loving (all or nothing) pt. 1 - a. sharp x reader
for the longest time, aesop sharp was absolutely certain that he must have eradicated an entire civilisation in his past life, as there was no other possible explanation for the sheer torture in found himself in. but as the months went on and the weather became warmer, and the flowers were blooming again, he found himself believing that retribution was possible – even for someone like him.
or: aesop sharp is an idiot in love with a breeding kink and this escalated in ways i can never speak of.
A/N: Right. What was supposed to be a simple, short, smutty one shot, escalated into this. Do I have regrets? Yeah - a lot of them. Am I still posting this? Absolutely. I blame @legacygirlingreen for enabling me, but I also thank her for the endless support she's given me throughout. M; you are the best 💚
To everyone else reading this; I have never written 'x Reader' before, so please give me some grace for trying 🙏🏻
FYI:
(Y/N) - Your Name
(Y/L/N) - Your Last Name
(Y/E/C) - Your Eye Colour
(Y/H/C) - Your Hair Colour
CW (here we go): Fluff, Romance, Idiots in Love, Miscommunication, Pining, Age Difference (Aged up Main Character), Canon Divergence (bc I can't stand to kill Fig off), Spoiler Alert for Hogwarts Legacy, Implied Hufflepuff MC (not specified), Porn with Plot, Smut (18+, MDNI) - for part 2 (lord, forgive me): Loss of Virginity, Breeding Kink, Impregnation, Overstimulation, Praise Kink, Size Kink
Word Count (Part 1): 16k (yes - this escalated)
AO3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/48482581/chapters/122292907
Aesop Sharp was sure that he must have eradicated an entire civilisation in his past life.
There was simply no other explanation for the sheer torture he continuously found himself in.
He thought Scarborough Harbour and the curse in his leg might have been penance - the pain and guilt certainly served as a constant reminder of his misdeeds in this life, as if he could ever forget about them in the first place. His partner, his best friend, had died because of an oversight in judgement (one he had made), and the woman he thought he was going to marry ended things as soon as it became clear that he would be crippled for life.
Losing his job (one he had tirelessly worked for his entire youth) was simply the cherry on top.
He supposed he was lucky when he ended up in Hogwarts, of all places. Although he had never been one to stick to the rules in his time as a schoolboy, Aesop was a surprisingly studious pupil (he had to be if he truly wanted to become an Auror) and loved the school nonetheless. Potions was among his best subjects, right after Defence Against the Dark Arts, and even if it hadn't been his dream career, he liked it fine. It was certainly far more engaging than being confined behind a desk at the Ministry, looking at applications and deciding which hot-headed and possibly egotistical graduate he would send into the field, perhaps even subjecting them to a fate like his own (or worse).
His second career came with quite a few benefits, too, such as free room and board, fantastic meals (Aesop loathed cooking) and unlimited access to the Restricted Section - a place he had searched relentlessly for a cure or at least a treatment better to the one he currently received. And he could look out for his students, the Aurors of tomorrow, too. He might have been the reason his partner had died, and he might never be able to make that right. But, at the very least, he could ensure that his students would not make the same mistakes he did, lest saving them from the regret and suffering he endured daily. Some of them were brighter than others, of course. He didn't think himself to be horridly unfair. Strict, yes. He had to be; potions were fickle things, after all. But certainly not unfair.
If anything, Aesop would've described himself as quite reasonable most times.
There were, of course, students he had to be particularly strict with. Students such as Garreth Weasley.
The boy had been a royal pain in Aesop's arse from the second those ginger locks appeared in his classroom in the Autumn of 1885, and he continued to be one up until his graduation. Garreth Weasley wasn't stupid - far from it. He was actually quite brilliant if he tried to apply himself, which was rarely the case, but it had (much to Aesop's chagrin) been enough to qualify him for the NEWT level class. Matilda had apologised over and over, though as the years passed, the apologies always seemed to be accompanied by a small grin, possibly because Garreth's...creative...concoctions in school relieved the Weasley Household of their unfortunate duty of having to try them.
Other students were even less forgettable - although for entirely different reasons.
(Y/N) (Y/L/N) had been an enigma from the moment she timidly trailed behind their illustrious Headmaster into the Great Hall, late, looking as pale as a ghost. Scrap that. The girl had been an enigma from the second the Book of Admittance spat out her name - four years too late. Suddenly the teachers had found themselves in the precarious situation of what to do with a fifteen-year-old who had no prior understanding of magic but was to start at Hogwarts mere four months later. Eventually, their colleague Eleazar Fig had been sent to tutor the poor girl to at least try to get her up to speed, but Aesop would have been the first to admit that he did not have high hopes. He was pleasantly surprised when the girl was incredibly adept at magic. She had bested other top students on her first day, not to mention taken down a troll in Hogsmeade, and she was nothing short of talented at potions too. He remembered her first lesson vividly; she had brewed a perfect Wiggenweld and a perfect Edurus.
Miss (Y/L/N) continued to be an exemplary student, both inside and outside of the potions classroom. Any (extra) assignments had always been handed in on time, she picked up spells like magic was second nature to her, and she was overall an absolute joy to be around. Her peers likely would have said the same. Various rumours followed her, and though most of them were concerning, Aesop did not think that a new student (no matter how talented) would actually be taking down entire Poacher and Goblin camps. He had suspected that her heroic escape from the dragon and her Hogsmeade adventure let some students become a little too imaginative. How wrong he had been.
Aesop still remembered the February afternoon it all came crashing down. Eleazar Fig had stormed into the teacher's room after summoning them with a note that said the matter was of 'utmost importance' and no matter how many years Aesop had spent in the field, nothing would have prepared him for the reality of what he was about to be faced with. Not only had the girl, in fact, taken down Poacher Camps. No. She had been fighting an entire Goblin Rebellion, taken down both Theophilus Harlow and various operations of Victor Rookwood and (as if that hadn't been enough) she apparently wielded Ancient Magic, completed a set of trials that were meant to lead her to some grand mystery the rebellion leader - Ranrok - was also after and was now preparing to take said Goblin down. If the situation hadn't been so dire, Aesop was sure that Matilda Weasley would have chewed Eleazar Fig apart right then and there for his carelessness in hiding something like this. But when the teachers apparated into the caverns below Hogwarts, they didn't have time to dwell on any of it.
By some miracle, the young witch had done it. She had saved the entire school though it had almost come at the expense of her life.
When he, Matilda, Dinah, Abraham and Mudiwa finally had taken care of the last of the goblins that had invaded the caverns, they descended further into them, only to discover what could be described as an utter wasteland, complete with a peculiar gigantic orb of magic, a gravely wounded and distraught Professor Fig and an unconscious, heavily bleeding (Y/N) (Y/L/N).
When the young girl awoke in the Hospital Wing nearly two weeks later, she awoke a hero.
Aesop could tell she was insanely uncomfortable. She was not someone who was looking for glory or people to sing her praises. She was just a girl who had done what had been asked of her, even if the task she had fulfilled should never have been hers to begin with. She passed her O.W.L.'s with flying colours (of course she had), and thankfully, after an extensive summer break, her life had calmed down significantly. She was able to spend her remaining two years at Hogwarts in peace, having fun with her friends and enjoying her classes. Nobody had been more proud of her than Eleazar himself when she graduated at the top of her class (right next to Amit Thakkar) three years ago.
That had been the last time Aesop had seen her.
He knew from Eleazar (who had pretty much turned into the girl's father) that she had been travelling the world with Poppy Sweeting, one of her closest friends from Hogwarts, to study various beasts and plants - A waste of talent if Aesop had ever seen any. With her skill set and her stellar grades, she would've done phenomenally in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, but somehow he understood her desire to live a more peaceful life. If anything, he was somehow glad that she wasn't out there risking her life continually to save others. She had saved Wizardkind once. Now it was somebody else's turn.
When Bai Howin, their resident Care of Magical Creatures Professor, announced her plans to retire last year, Aesop didn't think that (Y/N) (Y/L/N) would be the one taking over. She was just twenty (or perhaps twenty-one? He wasn't sure) and didn't seem like the type to enjoy teaching.
But there she was in front of him, and he was sure that this was another way of punishing him.
She had never been ugly. In fact, from what he remembered, (Y/N) (Y/L/N) was quite the sight to behold. She certainly had no shortage of admirers during her time, even if he couldn't recall her courting anyone specifically. But the woman in front of him? She was downright ethereal.
Her long (Y/H/C) cascaded down her small shoulders and framed her small, heart-shaped face. Her lips were fuller and deliciously pink, stretched into a warm and bright smile that lit up her doe-like (Y/E/C) eyes with almost childish excitement. She was positively tiny; he easily towered over her, but Merlin was she beautiful.
"Everyone, I am most pleased to welcome our newest addition to the staff. (Y/N) (Y/L/N) will be filling Bai's position the coming school year," Matilda announced with an equally bright smile at the staff's annual pre-term meeting on the 25th of August. From the corner of his eye, Aesop could see the proud smile Eleazar wore.
"Miss (Y/L/N)!" Abraham cheered, "How delightful to welcome you back to Hogwarts!" "Thank you, Professor Ronen," she smiled earnestly, "I'm so happy to be back." "Oh please," the jovial Slytherin jumped up, "It's Abraham now. We're colleagues, after all, are we not?"
Aesop was sure he had never heard a giggle as heart-warming as hers. He scoffed internally. He wasn't some schoolboy with a silly crush. Get over yourself, Aesop!
"Very well then, Abraham," her eyes twinkling, "I'm (Y/N)."
Aesop observed as the rest of the staff gathered around her, welcoming her back with just as much delight as Abraham and Matilda had done, and her smile only seemed to grow bigger. With a sigh, he got up himself and limped towards the group, his usual stern expression not giving a single hint as to what he was truly feeling.
"Miss (Y/L/N)," he gruffly said as he came to a stop before her, "How nice to see you again."
He did not think it possible for her smile to grow any bigger (seriously, her face must have hurt), but it did as her eyes took him in.
"Professor Sharp!" (Y/N) chirped happily, "It's nice to see you again."
He didn't know this, but he had been her favourite teacher throughout her short time at Hogwarts; his stern and keenly aware nature was calming to be around, and his classes were always interesting. There had been a time when she considered becoming a professional potioneer, but when the opportunity came up to study Beasts with Poppy, she simply couldn't say no. She had only been a witch for three years and barely knew what the Wizarding World had to offer. It was only natural that she wanted to go out and explore the world as she could honestly always choose a career a little later in life. When Eleazar had reached out to her a couple of months back to tell her that a position was opening up, she couldn't help but apply, and when Matilda (and Black) hired her, she was over the moon.
"As Abraham has said," Aesop cleared his throat, "We are colleagues now. You can call me Aesop."
"I look forward to working with you, Aesop," (Y/N) nodded, her cheeks tinted pink as she quickly averted her gaze and struck up a conversation with Dinah instead.
Aesop barely saw her until the following week. All of them were busy preparing their lessons and classrooms, and he spent most of his days brewing to replenish his and the Hospital Wings potion supply. Given that she lived in the small hut on the grounds, he didn't really see her around the castle either, but she continued to be on his mind nonetheless. It was a pity, really. He had wondered how she had fared over the past three years and why exactly she had returned. It was unusual for witches and wizards her age to return to Hogwarts to teach of all things, but then again, she's been hardly usual in the first place. Aesop knew that Y/N would be one of his more familiar coworkers - Bai had supplied him with by-products of caring for the beasts, and he supposed (or rather hoped) that her successor would do the same. If anything, it made brewing that much cheaper when he didn't have to hop into Hogsmeade and pester and negotiate with Parry Pippin or Ellie Peck (their prices were quite atrocious at times).
So when he was finishing up brewing some standard potions on the 1st of September and realised he was out of Unicorn Horn, Aesop decided that now was a good time as any to make the small trek towards the Beasts Classroom and hope that Y/N would somehow have some on hand. It was still early, and the weather was nice, sunny and warm, which helped Aesop's blasted leg tremendously. He knew the colder winter months would aggravate his leg further, but at least for now, he could enjoy his walk to the best of his abilities.
He spotted her before she spotted him.
She was outside in one of the pens, brushing and petting the Kneazles that would surely serve as a lesson in the coming days, looking absolutely content. The sun was shining down on her, illuminating her skin and hair, which, unlike last time, was in an elaborate and fashionable updo which framed her face artfully.
He stopped in front of the pen gates, simply observing the young woman who was entirely oblivious to his arrival. (Y/N) giggled happily as the Kneazles danced around her, desperate for her attention and happily purring whenever she offered them some. One of the older Kneazles cuddled up to her leg, flopping on its back and almost chirping, trying to get her attention.
"Now, now, Persephone," she chided as she turned her attention towards the needy Kneazle, "you've gotten plenty already. Leave some for the others."
"I don't think they understand you," Aesop interrupted her, and he chuckled when she jumped and turned around with a bewildered expression.
"How long have you been standing there?" she asked, her tone accusing.
"Just a few minutes," he answered with a shrug.
"Hmph."
He watched as she stood up, slowly rising from the dirt and dusting off her skirts. Her glare was accusing as she exited the pens, the Kneazles yapping.
"For the record, they are incredibly wise. They certainly do understand me."
"Alright," he held up his hands in surrender, "I am not here to fight you on your Kneazles anyway." He hadn't known that she was overprotective, though if he remembered correctly, Miss Sweeting had been too. Perhaps he should have figured that the Hufflepuff would rub off on her.
"Is there anything I can help you with, Profe-," she stopped herself, clearing her throat, "I mean Aesop."
Aesop... He liked the way his name sounded from her lips. It sounded almost like a reverent prayer.
He quickly cleared his throat himself, shaking his head to clear his thoughts before answering her.
"I was hoping you might have some spare Unicorn Horn? Bai usually provided me with by-products of her care, and I was rather hoping you would continue to offer."
"Oh," she blushed, "Yes, of course. Come. I have some inside."
As he followed her, he inevitably noticed how small the girl was. Even with his limp, he was no more than one step behind her - a highly unusual occurrence.
What had been previously Bai's hut was now completely unrecognisable (not that he had been in there all too often). The rooms were previously quite barren, save for the few personal artefacts and curiosities. A bed, a desk, a closet... Nothing to write home about. Now, though, Aesop had stepped into what felt like an actual home.
The floor was now covered by plush and comforting carpets, which would surely provide additional warmth during the winter months. The walls were warm wood in some places, though covered by paintings and illustrations in others. The beehive fireplace in the corner held the remains of a slow flickering fire, and the eclectic pieces that littered the home did not match one another but were harmonious just the same. One of the armchairs in front of the fire looked worn and old, the other rather contemporary and the shelves to his right reminded him of some modern Parisian styles he had seen some time ago. Various artefacts and trinkets were scattered across the room; some Aesop recognised, others he absolutely didn't. A Potions Station was bubbling away to his left, a small stove with a stray kettle beside it. The entire hut smelled like fresh pastries and freshly pressed linen - comforting and homey just the same.
"Whatever do you need a potions station for?" he asked as she fluttered around the room.
"Oh, that," she answered him. "Call it a force of habit or simply a pastime. I used to brew a lot back in school, and I was mostly responsible for any concoctions when Poppy and I travelled. I suppose I haven't lived that down."
Intrigued, he stepped up to the cauldron, trying to define the mixture by its smell and looks.
"Bruisewort Balm," he concluded quickly, "Looks very satisfactory." The jump back into 'Professor Persona' was one that he had been all too used to, even if it had been around his newest colleague.
(Y/N), however, blushed profusely. Potions had been her favourite class during her short time at Hogwarts, and Sharp's praise would always be special. His had to be earned (rightfully so), and that simply made it all the more satisfying. To hear him praise her years later made her chest fill with pride.
"I learned from the best," she offered, handing him a box which contained some Horns. "Antidote to Common Poisons, or did Madam Blainey run out of Blood Replenishing Potions?"
Surprised, Aesop raised an eyebrow as he took the box from her hands. He hadn't expected her to be able to recall such information, even if it had been relevant in her NEWT exams once.
"Antidote to Common Poisons," he confirmed, eyeing her beaming smile as his heart skipped a beat. Had her smile always been this pretty?
"And you have everything else you need?" she offered, "I think I might have some Bezoars lying around in case you're out of them."
"No, I have everything else," he grumbled, "I know you were a decent potioneer, but I must say I am surprised to hear you have retained that much information."
"Decent?" she sounded affronted, "Wasn't I top of the class by the time I graduated?"
"Perhaps." His grin was teasing; he enjoyed getting a rise out of her. "But even so, recalling ingredients is impressive. It has been a while, hasn't it been?"
"You're awful," she puffed, crossing her arms in front of her like a petulant child. "And for the record, Potions was my favourite class. I even considered becoming a Potioneer or a Healer once."
The words spilt from his mouth before he could stop himself. "And yet you decided to travel the world and study beasts? Enlighten me, Miss (Y/L/N)?"
She bit her lip, causing a jolt of... something... coursing through him as she shrugged.
"I supposed I had wanted to see the world. And I like Beasts; I hardly would've agreed to teach if I didn't. Before I was a witch, I was expected to be a wife. My sole purpose lay in providing children for my betrothed. When I suddenly had the freedom to decide what I wished to do, it was both overwhelming and exciting, and to see more of a world which was so foreign to me seemed like a grand idea at the time." She chuckled absentmindedly. "I apologise for rambling. I shall let you get back to preparing whatever it is you need to prepare."
"Oh, not at all," Aesop shook his head. "You are betrothed?"
"I was. My parents were rather well off and paired me with a suitor they deemed worthy. When I came to Hogwarts, they..." she shuddered, remembering the final conversation she had had with them. "Let us just say that they weren't...eager to have their only daughter in a co-educational environment outside of their ascendancy."
Merlin, suddenly Aesop wasn't surprised that Eleazar had taken the girl home after the events of her fifth year. She clearly did not have another one to return to. Aesop knew that, much like their pureblooded counterparts, muggles arranged marriages between their children in order to secure the most advantageous match possible. He also knew that muggles were even more traditional than wizards, though it surprised him to hear that a co-educational environment such as Hogwarts was deemed inappropriate enough to ruin a young woman's reputation. Most witches, especially those from better backgrounds (magical or not), held on to their maidenhood until marriage, much like muggle women did. Laying with a man who was not your husband was as inappropriate in the Wizarding World as it was in Muggle London, though, in all fairness, most Wizards (especially purebloods like Aesop himself) hardly ever followed that rule - nor were they expected to. And either way, Hogwarts itself had various... safety measures in place to ensure no such encounters would happen.
Aesop found it doubtful that nobody would have been able to appease her family's concerns, though, at any rate, he supposed she was right. It left her able to make her own choice - something she deserved, especially after saving both the school and Wizardkind. Suddenly her decision made all the more sense, and he found himself almost pitying her circumstances.
"I'm sorry," he offered, though he knew it would scarcely be a consolation.
"Don't be," she smiled sadly, "I am lucky to have Eleazar. He's been more of a father to me than mine had ever been. And whilst I would have loved to have a family and a husband by now, I cannot lie and say that travelling the world with my best friend hasn't been worth the sacrifice."
If Aesop ever had any concerns if she was suitable to teach, they had been laid to rest within the first two weeks, for whoever he listened to would say the same: that she was utterly brilliant.
Care of Magical Creatures class had always been decently popular among students - it was certainly more popular than Magical Theory or Alchemy, but ever since the one and only Hero of Hogwarts had started to lecture the class, its popularity had all but exploded amongst the students. They seemed more engaged than ever, and the fourth-year class he taught directly after her class was always in high spirits. Matilda had to refuse several students the luxury of adding Care of Magical Creatures to their curriculum, and if Aesop had to overhear another bulk of male students lusting after Miss (Y/L/N), he would rip off his own ears.
Sure, she was beautiful. Very beautiful, in fact. And smart. And kind. And funny. He had noticed that himself (any man with two functioning eyes would), but Merlin was it infuriating to hear constantly.
(Y/N) had her seat next to him in the Great Hall, and surprisingly they ate their meals at similar enough times, causing them to exchange pleasantries often enough over breakfast or dinner. She was as cheerful as he remembered and did most of the talking, but it was comfortable.
She often shared tidbits and stories from her many travels, the beasts she encountered or the people she met.
"Japan was the most interesting, really. Though one day, Poppy and I wanted to bathe in a local pond and nearly got eaten by a Kappa."
Aesop had nearly spat out his drink.
"A Kappa?" he asked, "The water-dwellers that look like scaly monkeys, with webbed hands itching to strangle unwitting waders in their ponds? Those Kappas?"
"Yes!" she grinned at him cheerfully before she took another bite of her scone. "Quite fascinating creature, really. Luckily we had a cucumber on hand. Did you know that they prefer those to human blood?"
"I...did not," Aesop shook his head, his eyes comically wide as he watched her devour her scone with such gusto and nonchalance - as if she hadn't nearly recounted yet another story of how she almost died. Someone desperately needed to teach her a sense of self-preservation.
She had many stories like that. Too many, if one were to ask Aesop. Suddenly he ceased thinking that she could have been a good Auror - she would have been blown up within weeks if her recklessness was anything to go by. In hindsight, it added up; no fully sane fifteen-year-old would willingly jump into battle over and over again, even if they had essentially been the sole witch able to save the day. Then again, she wasn't fifteen anymore.
Four weeks after the school year had started, Dinah and Abraham had the wonderfully stupid idea to commemorate (Y/N)'s arrival as a professor officially with a soirée an opportunity for most of them to get drunk off their asses. It was something of a tradition, one that even Aesop couldn't escape when he first started teaching, and Dinah, the absolute menace she was, usually ensured that at least half of the participants would nurse a hangover the next day. The bloody woman could hold her drink; Aesop would give her that much - he doubted (Y/N) could do the same. Sirona was all too happy to open up the small space upstairs of the Three Broomsticks, which teachers usually occupied throughout the school year so awkward encounters could be avoided.
So when the first Saturday of October had rolled around, their newest addition to the staff was all but ambushed and dragged to the Three Broomsticks, and Aesop had to confess that her helpless gaze was worth the tedious walk to the pub.
"What exactly-" "No questions," Dinah interrupted her before shoving a glass of firewhiskey into her small hands. "We are not letting you leave until you are drunk."
"Don't fight tradition," Eleazar grinned slyly at his protegé, "We've all been through this."
"You're evil," she pouted at him, the firewhiskey still in her hands.
"Yes, well," the older man shrugged, "Consider it a debt repaid after all the grey hairs you have caused me over the years."
"Excuse me?!" she gasped, but before she could continue, Dinah barked at her: "Drink up!"
Aesop could only watch with amusement as she nipped on the whiskey with a grimace, coughing as it went down. "It burns," she whined, trying to shove the whiskey back into Dinah's hands, but the former Unspeakable wouldn't have it.
"Get used to it."
It shouldn't have been a surprise to anyone really that she was drunk within record time. Aesop, much like Dinah and Eleazar, could hold his drink incredibly well, but it was always entertaining to see the rest of the staff utterly pissed.
Mudiwa and Satyavati were in a spirited discussion about their respective fields, neither wishing to meet the other eye to eye, and Aesop wouldn't have been surprised if the Ugandan native whipped out a crystal ball to smash it on Satyavati's head. Chiyo, Abraham, Matilda and Mirabel, on the other hand, were somewhere between singing and screaming an old drinking song Aesop did not recognise, though it frankly sounded horrible all the same.
"Honestly, Eleazar. I would have expected you to teach her how to hold her drink," Dinah grinned as she pointed at the slumped-over figure in front of the fireplace.
"She can hold her drink," Eleazar countered with a sneer. "You are simply a menace. How many of those did you give her?"
"Oh, not too many," Dinah grinned, taking another swig of her firewhiskey. "Eight, perhaps?"
"Eight?! Are you trying to kill her?!" Aesop chuckled. "Merlin Dinah, even I can tell she's a lightweight."
"She'll live," the woman waved her hand dismissively. "You should take her back to her hut, though."
"Me?!" Aesop asked incredulously, nearly spilling the remains of his drink in surprise. Eleazar had the same bewildered expression on his face, his eyebrow raised in question.
"Yes, you," Dinah rolled her eyes, "You think I miss the looks you two dunderheads share?"
Aesop's heart felt like it was beating out of his chest for a second, his mind completely blank as he took in his friend's words. His face must have given away his utter bewilderment because Dinah only groaned in exasperation. Damn her and her perceptiveness!
"Dinah, I have no idea what you are-" "Oh, quit it!" she interrupted him as fiercely as she had interrupted (Y/N) a while back. "I haven't seen your grumpy arse smile as much as you have during meal times in all my years of knowing you. And the reason for that is seated right next to you."
"She's just a good conversationalist!" Aesop protested, affronted that Dinah would even think he fancied his former student of all people.
"Good conversationalist, my ass," she snorted before shaking her head. "Take her home, Romeo. That's an order. "
Her tone left little to no room for argument (she was insanely good at that), and so Aesop found himself limping and straggling along the darkened path back to Hogwarts, thanking Merlin that no student was wandering about to see a wasted Professor (Y/N) slumped in his arms. She was thankfully rather light, considering that the colder weather was slowly creeping in. Aesop's cursed limp began hurting as it usually did during the winter months, so he was in no position to lift anything heavy.
She was rather close to him, nestled into his chest, though the top of her head just about reached a few inches below his shoulders. Typically, Aesop liked to keep people at arm's length, not one for physical contact, especially with people he hardly knew. But having her in his arms, of all people, was not only comfortable, but he also quickly realised he liked having her there. She was warm and small, fit perfectly into his side, and smelled divine.
He would have expected her to smell like the earth outside, given how much time she spent in Beast pens and caring for them, but instead, she smelled of fresh pastries and the sweetest fruits, a warm and homely scent that made him feel all ways of strange. He hadn't felt this way in a long, long time, but no matter what Dinah may have alluded to - it simply couldn't be.
"You think too much," a small, grumbling voice suddenly pulled him from his thoughts.
"Excuse me?"
"You're excused," she mumbled, pressing herself further into him before falling silent once more.
He thought too much? Aesop wondered what she meant by that. But he enjoyed the remaining walk in silence, understanding that she was far too inebriated to have an actual conversation anyways. She was half-asleep by the time they had reached her hut, so he carefully helped her onto the bed, wondering if he should at least help her take off her boots, but she was asleep before he could ask. So instead, Aesop placed a blanket over her softly snoring form before he limped outside and begrudgingly took the floo flames to the Faculty Tower.
Aesop wasn't surprised when she didn't show up for breakfast the following day, but breakfast did seem a little duller than it usually had been. He kept the affair short before he retreated to his quarters, deciding to catch up on some essays and potion quizzes, which would inevitably frustrate him but putting it off would only mean delaying the inevitable. Some of his students would make brilliant potioneers, but most of them were hopeless cases, unfortunately. Sometime in the early afternoon, a knock pulled him from his frustrating work, and he was surprised to find a sheepish and embarrassed-looking (Y/N) at his doorstep. She looked tired, her face a little more worn than usual, and her hair seemed mildly matted and disorderly, but realistically, she nursed a fat hangover. All things considered, she still looked pretty.
"(Y/N)," he acknowledged with a curt nod.
"I uhm," she shuffled her feet awkwardly, her face downcast and her cheeks adorably red. "I wanted to thank you," she said after a while.
"Thank me?" Aesop raised his eyebrow.
"Yes, uhm," she cleared her throat, raising her face to look back at him. "Thank you for helping me back to my hut. You didn't have to."
"Dinah was remarkably insistent that I do," Aesop blurted out before he could stop himself. A flash of hurt crossed her face, but it was gone within a second, her smile strangely contorted, and Aesop wondered if he had said something wrong.
"Well, either way. You got me back, and that's what matters, I suppose."
The two stood there for a while, staring at each other like fools, before she suddenly jumped and pulled at her satchel. "I made you some biscuits," she rambled, pulling out a small bag that emitted an enticing sugary smell. Aesop wasn't fond of biscuits, but the aroma of these was absolutely mouth-watering, so he gladly accepted. Maybe it was because the smell reminded him of her.
"Would you like to come in?" he offered, stepping aside and inviting her inside his quarters.
"Are you sure that's appropriate?" her tone hesitant as she stood her ground in front of the door.
"Why wouldn't it be?" his tone equal amounts curious and disturbed. Did she think he wanted to dishonour her?
"Nevermind," she shook her head before wordlessly accepting his invitation and stepping inside.
Even if she had been a part of the Wizarding World for nearly half a decade now, the rigorous societal standards she had been raised with for a majority of her life had stuck with her, and if someone from her old life had seen her step into a man's room, unaccompanied, her reputation would have been ruined. She had realised that the Wizarding World was far more relaxed than Muggle London fairly quickly when she had been allowed to be accompanied to Hogsmeade her first week by Sebastian Sallow - an event which never would have taken place without a chaperone in her old home. And whilst the concept of courting and preserving one's honour was the proper way in the Wizarding World as well, one was certainly not watched like a hawk every second of the day until marriage.
His quarters had been just like she remembered them; a little disorderly, muted in colour and sparse in decor. Tons of cauldrons stood against the walls, but his big windows let in ample amounts of sunshine. The smell of firewhiskey and the crackling fire permeated the air, though his unique scent also clung to it. It was comforting but hardly a home. Two leather armchairs stood in front of the fireplace, and his desk looked to be brimming with graded essays.
"Would you like some tea?" Aesop asked her, clearing his throat and effectively pulling her out of her daydreaming and wandering gaze. He usually didn't have guests over, much less pretty female ones.
"Oh yes. That would be lovely," she smiled gratefully. He only motioned for her to sit down as he prepared two cups of steaming Earl Grey, adding a bit of milk to hers (that's how she always drank it).
She thanked him with a bashful smile as he handed her the cup before he eventually sank down in the armchair opposite hers, nursing his own teacup in relative silence before he teasingly asked her: "So how are you feeling?"
"I can't believe you drink that nasty stuff willingly."
"It takes quite a connoisseur to appreciate Firewhiskey," Aesop grinned.
"I think I might prefer the occasional glass of mead," she pulled a face before taking a sip of her tea and sighing in relief. "In any case, I'm not touching alcohol for a good while."
"I didn't expect you to," he chuckled before sighing and stretching his leg. It had started to bother him a little more throughout the afternoon, which was not an unusual occurrence, especially given the events of yesterday. A little massage, his pain relief potion and perhaps even a warm bath and firewhiskey would make it bearable.
"Does it hurt more than usual?" she asked him boldly, her gaze fixated upon his leg as he shifted to find a more comfortable position.
"No," he grit out between his teeth. "This is usual given the weather and circumstances."
"I'm sorry," she meekly offered, her mind wandering off a little.
"I don't need your pity," Aesop spat out in a lapse of judgement, his gaze venomous. She flinched, just barely so, but it was enough for it to tear at his heartstrings and apologise immediately.
"It's alright," she sighed. "I was just...what remedies have you tried? I remember you telling me that you looked in the Hogwarts library, but..."
"That was five years ago," Aesop conceded. "I'm sure I have read every possible book in there by now."
"Perhaps I could ask Poppy to have a look?" (Y/N) offered him. "She is still travelling, and we came across quite a few treatments and fauna that we hadn't previously known..."
"I cannot, in good conscience, ask that of you."
"You're not asking. I'm offering."
Aesop thought for a second, but her offer was generous. He was slowly losing hope, as the Hogwarts Library didn't offer a cure, so perhaps it was time to start looking elsewhere.
"That would be very kind," he conceded, his voice stuck in his throat for a second.
Her smile was brighter than the sun itself, and Aesop's heart jumped erratically. It truly was beautiful.
They fell into a routine after that.
As promised, she had written to Poppy as soon as possible, asking her to keep an eye out for strange flora, beast products or books on curses and foreign potions. She had even secretly reached out to Sebastian, who was working as a Curse Breaker and stumbled upon more of them than she and Sharp combined could name; even if he didn't know a counter curse for Sharp's predicament, it was useful to keep tabs on it.
Whenever Poppy sent a small parcel, she would run to Aesop's room or the potions classroom just so she could share what may be a breakthrough in his research. And whilst nothing looked like a cure, the most recent batch of ingredients from East Asia had, at the very least, supplied Aesop with greater pain relief than usual.
"Hō-ō feathers and," she coughed violently, her face twisting in disgust. "Did Poppy send you Mimbulus Mimbletonia? This smells awfully rancid."
"She did indeed," Aesop confirmed, his face passive as he carefully stirred the potion before him. He was immensely grateful that Poppy had made due on her promise to send ingredients their way - ones that were either exceptionally difficult or downright impossible to get in England. That said, the Mimbulus Mimbletonia did smell awful, and it took quite a bit of willpower to not let his disgust show. He was surprised that the lovely woman sat in his potions classroom, just a little to the left of him, recognised the ingredients as quickly as she had, but the more time he spent with her, the more he had to acknowledge that she was smart beyond her years.
"I hated those whenever we came across them," she told him with a smile.
"Yes, well. Let's hope they're useful beyond repelling unsuspecting witches."
"Who said anything about repelling us?" Aesop could feel her smirk before he saw it. "We still wanted to see the Bowtruckles."
"Bowtruckles," Aesop shook his head in exasperation. "Of course."
Aesop was used to brewing on his own, usually secluded in his room, perhaps accompanied by a glass of firewhiskey and a melody from his gramophone. Unfortunately for him, he found that brewing in a certain witches' company was much more engaging, so much so that he began looking forward to spending time with her whenever the week seemed to pass him by a little too slowly for comfort. Most of their free days, however, they spent together in either of their quarters, drinking tea, sometimes playing Wizard's Chess, though usually, they graded their respective papers in comfortable silence. Some days Sharp listened to her stories, and on the very rare occasion, she listened to his.
"So you actually sent people to Azkaban before?" she asked with a shudder, her face a little pale.
"If I recall correctly, it was you who ensured Theophilus Harlow ended up there, too," Aesop countered.
"Technically, that was a group effort," she countered. "Natty was the one who tracked him down. I only duelled him."
"At fifteen?"
"I may have been sixteen. But I am not certain."
Aesop groaned at her carelessness and utter disregard for safety or rules. She was lucky he hadn't been her mentor during her days at the school. Eleazar might have even enabled her antics - he would have locked her up inside the castle walls.
"Either way. What kind of people did you send to Azkaban?"
"Reprobates? Dark Wizards?" Aesop answered her as if that had been the most obvious thing in the entire world.
"Obviously," she rolled her eyes, a teasing smile on her lips.
"Right. One time my partner and I helped cease the operations of an illegal freak show. The woman who ran the whole thing imprisoned and trafficked multiple of her 'curiosities'. Assaulted quite a few herself."
"And she ended up in Azkaban?"
"Yes," Aesop confirmed, "Died there too."
"Ugh," she pulled a sorrowful face, "What an awful place to die. So cold and frightening."
Aesop's eyebrows shot up in question at that.
"And pray tell how do you know what the inside of Azkaban is like?"
"That, my dear Aesop," she grinned at him, "Is a story for another time."
When he found out that Helen Thistlewood had essentially dragged her to Azkaban and she had consequently solved a cold case, he didn't know whether to scream or cry or laugh or perhaps all together. Of course, she fucking had.
The weeks continued like that, and Aesop found that the days he spent with her were days very well spent. His mood usually improved drastically, perhaps to the point where even his students could tell. What was worse, though, was that his colleagues, the nosy little bastards, could tell too. So in hindsight, it likely shouldn't have surprised him when both Dinah and Eleazar suddenly had "endless amounts of essays to grade", and both Aesop and (Y/N) found themselves patrolling the Defence Against the Dark Arts Tower on a late November night.
"I have to say, walking these halls after curfew isn't nearly as fun when you're a Professor," (Y/N) broke the silence after a while.
"And how often did you break curfew, Miss (Y/L/N)?"
"I am friends with Sebastian Sallow," she countered, "You take a guess."
"I forgot how much trouble that boy was," Aesop groaned.
Of course, he remembered. Aside from the horrors that used to be Solomon Sallow (who had died under incredibly conspicuous circumstances a few years back), his nephew had been quite the pain in Aesop's arse too. Sebastian and Anne Sallow were both exceedingly mischievous, pulling many (albeit harmless) pranks on their fellow students, breaking curfew, and Aesop had to brew hair regrowth potion on more than one occasion after they had illegally attempted fire spells on their own. The shenanigans did not stop after Miss Sallow had been cursed; if anything, they had continued with newfound vigour, and Sebastian was routinely caught in the Restricted Section. He had calmed down a little when (Y/N) had come to the school, and his sour mood had improved significantly. At one point, Aesop had thought that the two were courting, but the lovely woman next to him quickly assured him that there had never been any such feelings between them. It seemed like she simply had that effect on people.
"Oh, come on!" she whined cutely. "Don't tell me you've never broken curfew."
"Me? Never. I was the very picture of orderly conduct at Hogwarts."
The witch next to him only snorted. "I find that hard to believe."
"And you would be correct," Aesop jested, a wolfish grin on his face. He had broken countless rules during his time (though certainly not as many as she had), but unlike the Sallow boy, he had been smart enough to not get caught. At least not as frequently.
"I kne-" her words were cut off as she suddenly slipped at the top of the stairs, her feet just a little too close to the edge.
Aesop hastily steadied himself, wrapping his arms around her middle and pulling her into him ignoring her cries of surprise. She held onto the lapel of his coat, staring into his dark brown eyes with her wide ones, her cheeks suddenly a little more rosy as they tumbled a little. Aesop's eyes traced over her face, from the long lashes to the soft curve of her slightly open lips. His treacherous heart sped up the more he got lost in her captivating eyes, the very window to her soul, and all he wanted to do was dive in. Suddenly having her close didn't seem like it was enough - he wanted to be absorbed in her cosmos until he had unravelled each and every mystery it held, but before he could, his mind kicked into overdrive, and he pulled her away from the ledge.
"Are you alright?" he questioned breathlessly.
"Yes," she nearly squeaked, abruptly removing her hands as if he had burned her, avoiding his gaze as she took a steadying breath. "I'm fine."
He wanted, needed, to say something else. To reach out to her and pull her back into his arms, but before he could, she turned away to resume their nightly patrol, refusing to meet his eye again.
Things were oddly different after that night - and Aesop did not know why.
It was downright infuriating, especially since she liked to act as if nothing was amiss, but did she genuinely think she could fool a former Auror, of all people? Aesop might have left the field a decade ago, but he, all puns intended, was as sharp as ever.
She still sat beside him during meal times, but her stories became less and less until they eventually ceased altogether.
She still came to his quarters, though the visits became scarce until she muttered a pitiful excuse of "lots of grading to do" as if they hadn't done that together over the course of the term. And if ever he turned up on her doorstep, she usually had an excuse too or ensured their time together was as brief as possible.
And while she still kept bringing him the exotic ingredients Poppy sent her way, she typically delivered them by owl, which riled Aesop up so much that he hadn't even wanted to try and brew any possible cure in quite some time.
And worst of all? He didn't even understand why her sudden indifference suddenly infuriated him so much. She was a good friend - yes a very good one indeed. She was an exceptional conversationalist - also, yes. And she was breathtakingly beauti - Aesop stopped himself in an instant. Absolutely not.
He sighed in frustration, ignoring the curious stares of his fourth-year students as they, per usual, royally fucked up another potion. He didn't even recall what he had them brew, his mind a little too occupied with something - or rather someone - else. It was a loud 'BANG' that suddenly drew him from his thoughts, a colourful explosion from the back of the classroom that shone in a cacophony of various shades entering his field of vision. A sheepish Elizabeth Larson, younger sister of Andrew Larson and what Aesop wholeheartedly believed to be Garreth Weasley's spiritual successor, stood right next to the exploded cauldron, a tactless grin on her face as she ignored the dregs of whatever potion she had 'creatively enhanced' at her feet. She wasn't sorry; students like Garreth and her never were. If anything, they were only sorry that their concoction had failed and they had been caught. Furiously, Aesop rose to his feet, his leg aggravated and his mood so sour a lemon likely would have been sweet. The mess had been cleared up with a quick wave of his wand, but his fury hadn't dissipated in the slightest.
"Miss Larson," Aesop barked angrily as he stalked towards the back of the room, his glare pointed enough to explode another cauldron if he tried. "This is the seventh time you have acted outside of instruction. One would think your boneheadedness knows some bounds, but clearly, it does not." His tone was unusually cruel, the surprise of which evident on Elizabeth Larson's face as, while he was stern, he never insulted his students. "Fifty points from Gryffindor, and I want to see you for detention every day the following week!"
"But Sir, I-" the poor girl tried to protest feebly, her voice small, and if Aesop hadn't been as angry as he had been, he likely would've seen actual regret and tears in her eyes.
"No. I am done with your infantile deeds, Miss Larson. Either you learn to respect this class and its rules, or you can expect to not make the roster for any year after next year." He was positively seething.
"Yes, Sir," she dejectedly nodded, her shoulders slumped and gaze downcast.
Aesop huffed, turning to the rest of the class, ready to dismiss them early, as he frankly did not have the resilience to endure much longer. "Uh, Sir?" a meek voice spoke into the otherwise deadly silent classroom.
"Yes, Mister Finnigan?" Aesop grunted.
"It's Christmas next week. We don't uhm...have school."
It's Christmas next week... Aesop grit his teeth as he took the boy's word in, clearly an attempt to get Miss Larson out of detention. Great, so he had teenage lovers in this class? Nobody would have been stupid enough to stand up to him otherwise.
"Then Miss Larson will serve her detention after the New Year. Now, I want your potions labelled on my desk within five minutes. And then get out of my classroom."
None of them needed any further instruction, hurriedly finishing up whatever work they had left to do before they all but fled the dungeons, Miss Larson surrounded by her friends in an effort to comfort. At least that's what Aesop supposed.
It's Christmas next week, the words repeated in Aesop's head as he cleaned up the classroom, thankful that the day was finally over and he wouldn't have to deal with the imbeciles he calls his students until the morrow. He perked up when he thought of it again. It's Christmas next week.
Of course! Between classes to be held, essays and tests to be graded and an infuriatingly witchy problem, Aesop had all but forgotten the festivities that rapidly approached them, but suddenly, they seemed to be the answer to his very problem. If she was angry with him, perhaps a gift could put him back into her good graces and even if she wasn't, giving her a gift seemed like a perfect opportunity to have her talk to him again.
Finding a gift, however, seemed to be just as infuriating as she was.
It was the day before Christmas, and Aesop still hadn't figured out the perfect gift to give her. Books, even if she enjoyed them greatly, seemed boring and downright unoriginal. Household items were pretentious, and he felt as if he was overstepping multiple boundaries by even thinking about it. And whilst he would have loved to have gotten her Jewellery, given that she recently rehabilitated a Niffler, he threw that option off the Astronomy tower. So what exactly was he supposed to get a witch that could end the world with her powers and one he had utterly fallen in love with? Asking her was out of the question, but he was slowly running out of time. Businesses would be closing sooner tomorrow and not open at all on the 25th, and his options were dwindling, none of them good enough for someone as exceptional as her. Aesop hated asking for help, but in fear of making an even bigger fool of himself, he trudged down the stairs of the Faculty Tower, striding up to the door of the one place where he might just acquire an answer.
"Aesop?" the surprise in Eleazar's voice was evident. "To what do I owe the pleasure of your company?"
"Good morning, Eleazar," Aesop cleared his throat, already regretting his decision to come. "I... require your help with a...rather delicate matter."
"Oh?" This was most unusual for him. Eleazar and Aesop rarely interacted on the basis of their job alone, though they did strike up friendly conversation when time allowed it. And, as Aesop painfully remembers, the man had asked for his help years ago when (Y/N) had battled an entire goblin rebellion on her own, and he had dismissed the idea of Ranrok working with Rookwood as 'inconceivable'. He wondered if he could've eased the weight on her shoulders if only he had listened.
"Would you like to come in?" Eleazar offered, stepping aside as he recognised the ex-Auror's discomfort at discussing whatever he needed to discuss out in the open. Aesop only nodded curtly, stepping inside the disorderly room littered with a million books, effectively turning it into more of a library than a personal home.
"So," the older man joined his hands in front of him. "What can I do for you, Aesop?"
"I need to purchase a present," he pressed out. "For (Y/N)."
Eleazar raised his eyebrow, taking in the usually stern Potions Master standing before him. But this man wasn't stern, nor was he anything like he usually had been. No, this man resembled a lovesick teenager, ashamed to ask a parent for advice no matter how innocent and if Aesop had blushed, it wouldn't have surprised Eleazar.
"For (Y/N)?" he repeated slowly, carefully gauging Aesop's reaction.
"Yes," the man confirmed, clearing his throat.
"It is Christmas tomorrow, and I wish to get her something nice. I thought since you knew her best, perhaps you could... offer some advice."
Merlin's Beard, Dinah had been correct. Eleazar could not believe it. He was wholeheartedly gobsmacked. Aesop Sharp was in love with his former protégé slash adopted daughter. He had already been curious when Dinah had insisted that Aesop be the one to take her home the night of her inaugural celebration, but even more so when the woman had insisted that both he and her forfeit their nightly patrol with some lame excuse so that (Y/N) and Aesop would have to do it instead. He had frankly laughed when Dinah explained that she was doing it because she couldn't stand the pining between the two 'oblivious fools' but Merlin - when (Y/N) and he shared tea just shortly after, and the girl had blushed like a madwoman when Eleazar teased her by revealing Dinah's plans he realised that the astute Professor had certainly been right about one thing; that (Y/N) was in love.
But to know Aesop was too? Brilliant.
"Of course," Eleazar repressed a chuckle, though he couldn't stop a sly grin forming on his face. "She is exceptionally fond of ballet. She used to see performances all the time, when she was a child in London."
Ballet? Aesop thought, surprised. Wherever would he get something related to a Muggle art form? Clenching his teeth, he found his answer quite quickly: Muggle London.
"Thank you," he breathed out between clenched teeth.
"Anytime," Eleazar chuckled as Aesop swiftly exited his quarters before he rushed to tell Dinah that she was correct once again.
Off to Muggle London, he went.
Aesop positively hated the Muggle parts of London. Not because he hated Muggles, Merlin he couldn't care less about them if he tried, but because the streets were too crowded and dirty and the Muggles stared at him no matter how well disguised and because it all smelled utterly rotten. In all honesty, perhaps it was London that he hated, even if the wizarding parts of it were a little less seedy than the rest. Years ago, when he was a young Auror, he loved the hustle and bustle of the city, gallivanting around like he owned the place with a stunning woman (though not as lovely as (Y/N), his ex-fiancé, on his arm, but those days had long passed, and he preferred the quiet countryside and the fresh air and spending time with her.
He wasn't even entirely certain what exactly he was looking for, but it couldn't be that difficult to find something related to ballet. Perhaps tickets for a performance? Though most pureblood families ensured to stay away from Muggles as best as they could, they did enjoy Muggle arts on occasion; both Ballet and Opera performances were frequented by even the most extremist of pureblood families, and Aesop used to enjoy the odd art exhibition in his days. He hadn't ever been to a ballet performance in particular, but he could endure, especially if it had been for her.
He decided on tickets for a premiere, Swan Lake, or whatever it had been called. Apparently, the ballet had been all the rage in Russia, and a company was bringing it to England for the very first time. He could be certain that his lovely colleague hadn't seen it, and the image of pure joy he had conjured in his mind was worth the insane galleon he had spent on them.
His step was considerably lighter and jovial when he made the trek towards her hut on Christmas morning, hoping, wishing that she would love her present and all would be well again. She looked surprised to see him, with a smile on his face nonetheless.
"Aesop? What are you doing here?"
"It's Christmas, isn't it?" he grinned, excited for the first time in his life to give a present. "I wanted to give you a present."
"You got me a present?" she suddenly sounded excited, her eyes lighting up in almost childlike wonder. His heart jumped as he watched a smile light up her entire face, dazzlingly bright and beautiful and so very her. However had he survived hardly seeing it over these past few weeks? He needed, craved, more.
"Of course," Aesop cleared his throat, suppressing any potentially inappropriate thoughts. He couldn't allow himself to feel it. "We're friends, aren't we?"
He missed the brief flash of hurt that swept across her face, accepting her silent invitation to join her inside before he was enveloped in the homely scent that brought him back to his childhood. Her home had been decorated with tinsel, and ivy leaves sewn onto strips of ribbon, some odd mistletoes hung around, and a wreath had been placed on the table. It smelled oddly reminiscent of speculoos and oranges, the sweet notes of honey and cinnamon biscuits hanging in the air, so very unlike his room back at the castle. The fire was crackling away, and the room was comfortably warm, so Aesop took the liberty of removing his coat and placing it onto one of her mismatched chairs, but not before he pulled a small, golden box from its pockets.
"I might have outdone myself," he grinned, holing out the present like a little boy.
"Think that highly of your present-giving skills, do you?" she jabbed back, accepting the box from his hands with a grateful smile. She was curious, to say the least. Aesop didn't seem like the gift-giving type in her eyes. Admittedly, she hadn't even expected one in the first place, not after she had all but avoided his presence to the best of her abilities ever since that fateful November night.
"I'm excellent at many things." "I'm sure you are."
They smiled at each other before the woman in front of him redirected her attention to the box in her hands as she carefully slid it open, revealing a glittering, crystal Swan ornament.
"Godric's heart," she gasped as she pulled it out, observing the way it shimmered and glittered in the morning light, its reflections casting various shapes across the room. "It's beautiful, Aesop."
"I'm glad you like it," he grinned. "But it's only a part of your present."
She looked at him with surprise, her mouth slightly open, and he wanted to kiss he wanted to laugh as he picked up on the evident bewilderment in her eyes. "This isn't my present?"
"Not exactly. I..." Suddenly he was nervous, wondering if he had picked the right thing. What if she didn't wish to be seen with him in public, especially outside school, and clearly unrelated to work? She had been avoiding him, after all, no matter what she tried to make him believe.
No going back now...
"I got us tickets for Swan Lake. In London."
The astonishment on her face was comical. If there had to be an illustration of the expression "the jaw was on the floor", Aesop was sure that this would have been it. She didn't say anything for a while, only looking at him with her wide eyes, not even blinking.
"That's..." (Y/N) cleared her throat. "That's too much, Aesop. I can't accept it."
"Bollocks," he dismissed her. "You love ballet, don't you?"
"I...I do," she conceded, though her brow furrowed. She hadn't ever told him that, had she? "I must confess I wonder why you, of all people, know about this."
"I have my ways," he tried to dismiss her, apprehensive at the prospect of her finding out that he had asked Eleazar for advice. Unfortunately for him, though, the witch was keenly astute and analytical.
"Eleazar told you, didn't he?" she concluded after a few seconds, horrified when he nodded. Eleazar knew her exceptionally well; he was like her father, for Merlin's sake. So even when she had told him that Aesop was 'just a friend', he didn't even try to suppress his laugh, evidently not believing a word she said. She had only hoped that the older man hadn't alluded to anything because Aesop could never know that she had irrevocably fallen in love with him.
"Thank you, Aesop. Truly. This is the best present I have ever received," she earnestly told him, quickly covering up her embarrassment. "I admit, my gifts truthfully don't compare to this, but..."
She only sighed, deciding to simply get it over with. She didn't recognise the excitement on Aesop's face. She had gotten him something too?
Swiftly she summoned two boxes from their hiding place across the room, offering him the first one with an ashamed smile. "I'm afraid it's no Swan Lake, but..."
"I don't want Swan Lake," Aesop quickly interjected, opening the green box. "I want – a blanket?"
"It's a scarf," she quickly corrected him, her cheeks flushed.
"A scarf," he mumbled, pulling the soft maroon fabric from the box. It was the most delicate material Aesop had ever felt, luxurious too, even if the pattern was slightly off and the edges seemed slightly frayed. He wrapped it around his neck, catching a whiff of that same homely scent that made his heart grow fonder.
"I made it myself," she nervously admitted, gauging his reaction though his face was fairly impassive. "I haven't made one in a while, but it's been a tradition in my family to always give two gifts; one that is handmade and one that is bought and usually a necessity."
"Thank you," he breathed out, enjoying the comforting feel of the fabric around his neck.
"It's no Swan Lake –" "–I don't want Swan Lake," he interrupted her again, his voice a little rougher than he wished to. "I want this scarf."
And he did. It was perfect, especially because it had been made by her delicate hands, and he never wanted to take it off again. How could she think that he would hate this?!
"Right," she mumbled before handing him a second box. "I hope you like this just as much."
The second box was also green, though slightly larger than the box with the scarf and Aesop was intrigued, if admittedly a little guilty that she had gotten him two presents in place of only one. He opened the box to reveal –
"Charcoal?" he had already been confused at the scarf, but why on earth would she give him charcoal? He watched as she nervously wrung her hands before her, avoiding his gaze as she had done all those weeks, a bright flush on her cheeks.
"I –," she audibly gulped, clearly afraid of his reaction. "I may have snuck into your room in fifth year and found your... art room."
Whatever explanation he had expected, it certainly wouldn't have been this. He should have been furious, and if she had been a student, he likely would have taken so many house points from her that her house wouldn't have recovered for years to come. Instead, he laughed.
Of course, she had snuck into his room. Of course, she had found his art room. Of course, she remembered it.
What a devious little thing she was.
The winter break passed in a calm manner, and Aesop was utterly content.
While (Y/N) still seemed somewhat reclusive, she didn't avoid his presence - a win in Aesop's mind. They had tea together again, and she had even assisted him in brewing yet another potion, even if that one hadn't helped to any greater extent. His mood had improved drastically, so much that he even apologised to Miss Larson for his harsh tone in the new year and cut her detention time short (though not forfeit it altogether). The girl was confused but obviously didn't question it any further, quite happy that she only had to spend two nights in detention instead of five.
If his colleagues noticed his new and improved mood, they at least had the decency not to comment on it, even if he caught Dinah and Eleazar throwing him and (Y/N) conspicuous glances every once in a while when they believed he wouldn't notice. He was in far too good of a mood to comment on it, not even irked by it in the slightest.
The day before their planned 'excursion' outside the palace walls, a Saturday, Aesop walked into breakfast a little later than usual, his sleep unusually restful. His favourite colleague was already seated at the table, animatedly chatting with Matilda as they finished up their breakfast.
"Mornin'," Aesop mumbled as he sat down next to (Y/N), grabbing the teapot and helping himself to a cup of Earl Grey.
"I still don't know how you can drink Earl Grey without sugar or milk," the young woman beside him grimaced. She typically had her tea with both, the brew always a perfectly creamy colour that was far too much milk for Aesop's liking.
"I can't understand how you can essentially drink sweetened milk," he jabbed back, grabbing a bread roll and putting some eggs and sausages on his plate.
"It's not sweetened milk," she pouted.
"Well, it's certainly not tea."
Matilda snorted as she watched the two of them interact, slowly starting to understand what Dinah and Eleazar had reported to be seeing. It was no secret among the staff that Aesop had a... soft spot for their newest colleague (if his much-improved mood had been anything to go by), nor had it been a secret that the two of them spent a great deal of time together outside of the necessary interactions. But as the two looked into each other's eyes, the very picture of devotion and adoration, she realised they were obtusely pining for each other. Merlin, if this really was the state of things, Matilda might join Eleazar and Dinah in their efforts.
"Something funny, Matilda?" Aesop asked her with a raised brow.
"Oh no," the Transfiguration teacher shook her head, sipping on her tea. "Nothing funny at all."
"Right," he grumbled, clearly unimpressed, before he continued his breakfast.
"Well, then," (Y/N) smiled, pushing back her chair and standing up. It was then that Aesop noticed that she looked...different. Her usually simple dress had been traded in for a much nicer one. It was moss green, lined with fur to keep her warm from the icy temperatures outside and had some intricate gold stitching that almost shimmered in the sunlight. "I still have to collect my coat. I'll see you tonight, Matilda."
"Oh, do tell Garreth I said hello."
Aesop nearly spat out his drink. Garreth? As in Garreth Weasley? The ultimate headache of a boy, the same young man whose existence had tortured Aesop for seven bloody years? Why on earth would she –
"Will do, Matilda," she singsonged before skipping outside the Great Hall, and Aesop was left with a million questions in his head. Matilda watched as Aesop's jaw was unnaturally clenched, his eggs picked up with strange aggression that hadn't been there before. Surely Garreth's name couldn't have riled him up that much?
"They're having a small reunion in the Three Broomsticks," Matilda spoke into the tense silence. "I heard Mr Sallow, Mr Thakkar, Miss Reyes and some others would be attending too."
"And that is of interest to me how?"
"You tell me," Matilda winked, chuckling as she watched the Potions Master hastily swallow the last of his breakfast before he excused himself to 'do some brewing', limping out of the Great Hall.
"I don't think I've ever seen Aesop being so obvious about his feelings," someone chuckled to the right of her. Matilda looked over to see a grinning Abraham looking at her.
"It is strange to see; I won't lie," Matilda nodded. "Quite the unlikely pairing too."
"The girl was a Hero at fifteen and has ensured that entire poaching operations have ceased in the Highlands," Abraham reminded her with a chuckle. "Just because she is less grumpy than him, I wouldn't write them off. After all, opposites do attract, no?"
"I suppose you are correct," the Transfiguration teacher agreed. "The question is, how exactly do we make them see it? It seems everyone, but them knows."
"Which I told you months ago, you bloody lot," Dinah jumped in from next to Abraham. "Merlin knows Eleazar, and I have tried to talk sense into them. He is too thick-headed to make the first move; that much is certain."
"I would not worry," a final voice joined them, the ever-elusive Mudiwa Onai looking at them with twinkling eyes. "I could see that their future together would be quite...fruitful."
(Y/N), unaware of her coworkers conspiring against her and blissfully unaware of the Potions Master she had left completely riled up, was rather looking forward to seeing her old classmates again. Even if she had spent significantly less time with them than she might have liked, largely because of her late arrival and fifth-year 'extracurriculars', many of them had become close friends of hers, and she kept in contact with most of them. Poppy, unfortunately, would not be able to make it, as she was somewhere in the Amazonas researching yet another creature, but she looked forward to seeing her during the summer. She hadn't seen most of them in quite some time, though letters between them were still largely regular.
The Three Broomsticks was as warm and inviting as ever, the establishment always having been a place of comfort and safety, especially after Sirona had fearlessly stood up against Victor Rookwod and Theophilus Harlow as they had tried to kidnap her for Ranrok and his plans. Natty was the first to spot her old friend, having them over enthusiastically. Quite a few of them had shown up; Garreth Weasley, Imelda Reyes and Nelly Oggspire, Nerida Roberts, Amit Thakkar, Ominis, hell, even Everett Clopton and Leander Prewett had made time to come with their wives, simply to get together again. The large group chatted animatedly, exchanging stories about their careers and lives.
Unsurprisingly, Garreth had started an apprenticeship under a potioneer in London, whereas Imelda and Nelly were both on the Puddlemere United Team, happily courting and enjoying life, whereas Nerida had realised her dream of becoming a Liasion for the Mermaids ("I even learned how to swim!"). Amit had relocated to India for a while, researching the stars on behalf of the Ministry and Everett Clopton and Leander Prewett both had somewhat stable careers at the Ministry. Ominis, on the other hand, had become an apprentice at a French Wandmaker's shop, fully distancing himself from his family and all that the Gaunt name entailed. And Natty, ever the Gryffindor, was slowly but surely working her way up in the Auror Office (much to her mother's chagrin). The final one, who had yet to join the group, was fashionably late and none other than Sebastian Sallow himself.
The Curse Breaker in question walked in around lunchtime, and they were all more than surprised when he was accompanied by a woman their age, clearly pregnant, and beaming smiles on their faces.
"Sorry, everyone," the man sheepishly excused himself, arm wrapped around the woman's middle with his large hands. "I returned from Romania last night, and the Ministry wanted me to drop off some reports. Took a little longer than expected." "Yeah, yeah, blah blah," Garreth waved him off, "Now who is that?"
Garreth asked the question everyone had been dying to know, and (Y/N) eyed the woman beside her close friend with curious but kind eyes. She was definitely around their age, quite petite and pale, her long ginger hair in an intricate braid, with a few pieces framing her oval, freckled face and strikingly blue eyes. She blushed as the attention diverted to her, though her smile was still beaming.
"This is Megan," Sebastian introduced them with a bright smile. "My wife."
"WIFE?!"
The reaction was immediate, the group gaping at the apparently married couple in front of them, waiting to hear just about any explanation for... well. Megan, apparently, was a witch from Ireland who had eventually attended Illvermorny as her father was relocated from the British Ministry of Magic to the MACUSA, and the two had met on one of Sebastian's curse-breaking expeditions. Sebastian, the ever-rational man he was, married her rather quickly and privately before he whisked her back to England and settled down with her in the Cotswolds. To say that especially Ominis and (Y/N) were affronted that their friend hadn't even mentioned his wife, let alone the fact that he was going to be a father soon, in any of his letters was the understatement of the year, but Sebastian placated them with some Firewhiskey and a heartfelt apology, explaining that he wanted Megan to get settled before bombarding her with the 'bloody lot they were'.
Megan was lovely, (Y/N) had to admit. A little shy, perhaps, but lovely nonetheless, and she had a great snark about her as she continued to open up to the group and the antics throughout the day. They laughed and ate, having far too much fun and far too little time before a majority of them were drunk off their asses and started to dance in their corner of the pub, absorbed in their own world and free of their adult responsibilities for just one day.
It was perhaps exactly why any of them failed to notice their old Potions Professor walking into the Three Broomsticks after the man had begrudgingly spent the afternoon brewing some odd potions before he realised that he was all out of Bicorn horn, thus needing to venture into Hogsmeade to order some from Pippin. Aesop hadn't planned his short foray into the village, so when he spontaneously decided to walk into the Three Broomsticks to drink a firewhiskey, he hadn't expected to see (Y/N) in the arms of Garreth fucking Weasley, happily dancing to some music and looking the very picture of beauty and grace.
It shouldn't have bothered him. It shouldn't have bothered him at all, but when he saw her so beautiful in the arms of another, all he could see was red as his heart audibly shattered inside his chest, his lungs constricting as he watched her do something he could never give her. He quickly retreated from the Three Broomsticks, not even bothering to order a Firewhiskey. Instead, he chose to hole himself up in his room, getting drunk there instead as he moped around.
Why was he even bothered? She didn't owe him anything, certainly not a dance or physical affection. She was a friend, a good friend. Nothing more, nothing less. It shouldn't have hurt to see her in the arms of someone else, even if that person had been Garreth Weasley, of all people. He should have been happy for her - she did say she wanted a family, children, and someone her age could certainly give her that. He was just an old, grumpy, crippled failure of a man, his best years long gone. It shouldn't have bothered him, but the more he thought about it, the more it did.
Fuck, he realised startingly as he downed his third glass of firewhiskey. Fuck, fuck, fuck.
It bothered him because he cared.
Because – Aesop could hardly bring himself to think it – because he was stupidly, irrevocably, utterly and wholly in love with her.
Aesop wasn't sure how many he had to drink by the time a knock sounded on his door. He cursed his own tolerance, not nearly drunk enough to forget what he had just barely been able to admit to himself. If anything, he might have been slightly buzzed. The only person that would ever come knocking on his door, he realised, was the one person he very much wanted to avoid right now. Before he could call out a 'No', the doors opened, and she walked right in, a tray filled with his favourite foods in her hand and that damningly beautiful smile on her smile. Why in Salazar's name was she so ethereal?
"I didn't see you at dinner and got worried. So I asked the house-elf's for some of your favourites, and they were kind enough to prepare them."
Aesop's dark eyes swept over the tray, spotting roast beef, his favourite vegetables, a cornish pie and even some sticky toffee pudding. It was perfect, and it only infuriated him more. Couldn't she have ignored him? Or at least treat him unkindly? That would have helped his feelings much more than being cared for by the one person who shouldn't.
"Thanks," he hissed lowly, downing yet another firewhiskey. "Can you just leave it here?"
Her smile vanished, regarding him, with a concerned look on her face.
Why on earth did she have to wear her heart on her sleeve?! Why did she have to show him she cared about him?!
"Are you alright?"
"Yes." No – he definitely wasn't.
"You don't look like you're alright," she pushed on, carefully placing the tray on his table and walking towards him.
"I'm fine," he pressed out, glaring her way, but she didn't even flinch. "Can you please go?"
"Now I know you're not alright," she smiled, "You've never asked me to leave."
"Well, now I do," he snapped, unwilling to deal with it any longer.
"Have I done something to upset you?"
Yes. "No," he sighed dejectedly. It wasn't her fault, not really.
"Right," she drew out, clearly not believing him but choosing to save him from further mortification. An uncomfortable silence hung over them, Aesop just wishing that she would finally leave. Eventually, she sighed, turning around to leave his room and leave him alone, but not until she turned around one last time and smiled again.
"I can't wait for Swan Lake tomorrow."
Fuck, he thought once more. Swan Lake would be utter torture. With that, she left.
Aesop hadn't dreaded anything for a while now, but when he stood in front of her hut the next day, late in the afternoon, dressed in his best suit, he dreaded every second that would follow. He just had to get through this, he reminded himself. Just this, and he could be the one to avoid her. He was the one who gifted her this in the first place, and so he would have to endure it. Unfortunately, though, he hadn't expected her to look as good as she did. When she opened the door, with her big smile and bright eyes, Aesop wished that Scarborough had killed him. This was pure torture. She looked delectable and absolutely ethereal. Her dress was a silky pink colour with an almost scandalously low neckline (Merlin, was she trying to kill him?!), appropriately trimmed with gold stitching, soft lace around the shoulders and arms and a white ermine cape around her shoulders. Her hair was up and out from her face, curled and pinned to perfection, making her eyes shine even more than usual.
Well, this is going to be a problem, isn't it?
"You look bewitchingly beautiful," Aesop whispered, relishing in the blush that rose on her cheeks. At least he could tease her a little, too - he wasn't sure if he could survive this otherwise.
"You don't look so shabby yourself," she cleared her throat, swiftly joining him outside. Like a true gentleman, he offered her his arm, walking the short distance to the outside of the ground before he apparated them into a secluded alleyway in London, only a short distance from the Opera House. He hadn't held her this close since the night at the Three Broomsticks, but the warmth she emitted and the scent she carried both comforted and strangled him. She was oh so close, yet not close enough. He could only fondly smile at her when she entered the place like an excited child faced with all the candy they could ever want.
"Oh, I haven't been here forever. It's still as beautiful as I remember!"
Aesop wouldn't lie; the place was thoroughly impressive. The high ceilings shone under the million candles and crystals, illuminating the site in a comforting way. The high arches and intricate design gave the place a neo-classical feel, and it was bustling with Muggles of various ages, though, as swiftly became clear to him, most of them were likely obscenely rich. Thankfully, they hardly paid him and the beautiful woman on his arm any mind, a rarity and a crime in Aesop's mind, for he couldn't stop staring at her.
"Do you think that –"
"(Y/N)?!" a shocked voice sounded from behind them. He watched as the woman on his arm visibly paled, almost shaking in his hold as she turned around and faced the man that had spoken to her. Aesop turned around, too, wondering what could make the literal Hero of Hogwarts, a woman with world-ending ancient magic, so frightened. They came to face with an elderly man, possibly around Eleazar's age, and a slightly younger woman. The closer Aesop looked at her, the sooner he spotted it; she had her eyes, her nose, her lips, hell, even her hair, though the other woman's was visibly fading into white. Her parents, Aesop thought, surprised. What were the odds?
"(Y/N) is that truly you?" the man asked, stepping closer, and Aesop felt the need to take a small step forward, effectively shielding her from their gazes.
"Evening, Father," she mumbled, and Aesop loathed how demure she sounded. Was she an innocent and sweet woman? Yes. Demure? No. She was a fighter who didn't back down against various beasts, poachers, and goblins. And this man was scaring her? Not on Aesop's watch.
"You look well," she added after a while, though it sounded awfully strange and forced. Her mother at least had the decency to look ashamed, and Aesop could name a thousand reasons why as he glared at them. Her father, however, had flickered his gaze over to Aesop and was regarding him with newfound interest. He knew that her parents were wealthy, but the people in front of him were nothing short of gaudy, pompous and carried a sneer as arrogant as the one on Black's face. These people had raised her? His lovely woman that emitted so much warmth and comfort that it could kill several Dementors?
"Thank you," her father said after a few seconds, though his eyes were firmly trained on Aesop – and his gigantic scar. "You have grown up beautifully."
Aesop had never wanted to strangle someone as badly as this man. The sheer audacity. Was he right? Absolutely. Did he have the right? Absolutely not.
"And who is this, might I ask?"
She tensed beside him, and Aesop wondered why for a second before he remembered one of their earliest conversations. If her parents hadn't approved of a co-educational school, they surely wouldn't have approved of her spending time with a man she was not married to.
"He's my –" "I'm her husband," Aesop interjected, eyebrow raised as he regarded the people before him with as much of a sneer as he could muster. Fight fire with fire, Aesop thought deviously.
"Husband?" her mother suddenly spoke up, a look of surprise on her face.
"Is there a problem?" Aesop asked, his tone menacing. It didn't impress her father one bit.
"So you actually managed to find a decent husband?" he sneered, looking back at his daughter for a fleeting second before returning his attention to Aesop. "Consider me surprised that a man would marry a dishonoured woman. Though perhaps the market was too slim for a cripple."
"Father!" "Listen here, Mr. (Y/L/N)," Aesop growled as he stepped as close to the man as he possibly could, not wanting to cause a ruckus among all of these people. "I will not have you question my wife's honour. She is a Hero in our world, did you know that? Of course, you didn't because your arrogant, pompous ass was too vain to ever reach out to her. I cannot even begin to fathom how someone like you raised someone as wonderful as her. She nearly lost her life as she successfully stopped people so evil they would make your skin crawl from ruining our world. That said," his glare was intense enough to burn the man, "my wife's honour was perfectly intact. You wish to know why? Because our school ensures any untoward things do not happen. You could have known that before you left her for the gallows. Now, you will leave us be. And if I hear of any attempts to reach her, I will personally ensure you will burn in hell. This cripple," Aesop spat the word angrily, "knows how to make it look like an accident."
He pulled (Y/N) away without so much as a second thought, grabbing her arm and walking as fast as his damned leg would allow, hoping that her parents were seated far away from them.
"Aesop?" his company meekly asked him as they had settled in their box. He was still heaving, his breaths coming out a little erratic as he fought the primal urge to turn around and kill a certain someone. When he finally turned to face her, he looked into her watery (Y/E/C) eyes, relieved to at least see a small smile on her lips. "Thank you," she whispered gratefully.
"Any time."
The ballet was beautiful, possibly the closest thing Aesop had ever seen to magic in the muggle world; the delicate nature of the dancers and the way they were seemingly carried by the music was enchanting. He could see why she loved it as much as he did. The greatest thing, though, was catching her smile. It was so bright and wide, and Aesop couldn't get enough. This was worth every galleon, and he would've emptied his and his family's vault to just get a single glimpse of it again.
Her father's sperm donor's words continued to run in Aesop's mind as the two of them wordlessly made their way back, apparating and then walking the remaining distance to her hut. She, utterly content and smiling; him, revisiting what the poor excuse of a man had said to his own child nonetheless. He was correct about him; Aesop was but an old cripple, undeserving of someone like her. In some way, Aesop had accepted that he might never be whole, that his best years had long passed and that he was meant to be confined to Bachelorhood for the rest of his days. But when the woman of his dreams stood close to him, so near yet far beyond his reach, all he wished for was to be whole again.
"Would you like to come in for some tea?" she offered as they reached her hut.
"Yes," Aesop answered without a second thought. This night was bound to end soon enough. He could be selfish for just a few more minutes, relishing in her company, before he would have to ban her from his life.
She beamed at him, the same smile that made his heart skip several beats and that had him wish he could up and kiss her. The smile that was his undoing. Her cabin was as cosy as he remembered, the same smell of fresh pastries and freshly pressed linen and something uniquely her permeating the air and enveloping him in what felt like a suffocating hug. He sat in one of her comfortable armchairs, watching as she waved her wand, her gramophone quietly filling the space with a tune Aesop didn't recognise, her kettle slowly bubbling away on her stove.
"I want to apologise," she spoke into the silence after a while, still next to her stove as she waited for the water to boil.
"Whatever for?" Aesop asked.
"My...father," she sighed.
"Well, forgive me for being forward, but it is hardly your fault that your 'father' is a raging piece of shit."
He watched as she let out a single laugh that sounded more like a scoff than anything else. "No, it is not, but that doesn't mean I don't feel sorry for what he's said to you in particular."
"Don't be," Aesop grumbled as he averted his gaze, hoping to end the conversation right there. He didn't want her pity - that would be far worse than her rejection. "He wasn't entirely wrong."
"But he was!" Her ferocious tone surprised him, his eyes finding hers and seeing pure, unadulterated rage in them.
"I am a cripple," Aesop slowly corrected her. "And I am well above your years."
"You are not a cripple, Aesop Sharp," she seethed at him, further surprising him. "And you are not old. Have you any idea what kind of man my father had me betrothed to? He was fifty when I was thirteen, and the betrothal was finalised."
Aesop clenched his hands into fists at her revelation, wishing to seek out her father to beat sense into him.
"Simply because the man you were supposed to marry was even older than I was does not mean I am not old nor a cripple," Aesop pressed forth, wanting to run from this conversation, his resolve to leave her hanging by a precarious thread.
"You are not a cripple," she repeated herself, her voice resolute.
"I am," Aesop seethed, having risen from his position on the armchair as quickly as his leg would allow, unable to stop himself. "I am but a man whose prime had passed when I stepped into Scarborough harbour. A man who is undeserving of the wonderful woman you are and have become. Surely you must know that a woman like yourself could do far better than me."
She gaped at him with wide eyes, a million thoughts running through her head. "A woman like me?" she asked, her voice reduced to a whisper.
"Yes, a woman like you," Aesop's resolve had finally broken, and he was incapable of telling her anything but the truth. When she inevitably hated him after this, when she inevitably rejected his sorry arse, perhaps he could move on. "A wonderful, beautiful woman like you. A woman who has given her all for this world and has expected not one thing in return. A woman who is so bloody kind and loving that even I couldn't help but be drawn in. A woman who hasn't escaped my mind, no matter how infuriating she is at times."
"What –" she gulped audibly, her eyes still wide as she searched his. The air in the room was stagnant as neither of them refused to say anything, though Aesop could feel his heart beating out of his chest, praying to whatever god would listen to him that she would finally get it over with. "What are you saying, Aesop?"
"Do I actually have to spell it out for you?!" he groaned exasperated, running a hand through his hair as he grew more frustrated than he thought possible.
"Well, do not get angry with me." "I am not angry." "Well, clearly you are. Look at you."
Aesop stalked up to her in quick strides, towering over her much smaller frame as he looked down into her eyes furiously, feebly attempting to ignore her comforting scent. "Right then," he growled. "No matter what I bloody do, you are on my mind like a damn pixie infestation. My thoughts of you simply never end. You carry my heart in your hands and do not even know it. I am yours; painfully, I am yours. But it is utterly ridiculous to think someone like you," Aesop stressed, "would ever burn for someone like me."
Not even wishing to hear her rejection from this point forth, Aesop attempted to turn around to hastily exit her home, only to be stopped by her small hand reaching out for his. He turned back, expecting to see disgust, hate or even contempt in her eyes, but all he found were unshed tears and a look he could not read.
"You...You care for me?" she cautiously spoke, a small (Aesop didn't believe it) hopeful smile on her face.
"I don't care for you," Aesop gulped, finally allowing himself to speak the words that likely had been on his mind since she stepped back into the bloody castle. "I burn for you."
A sob spilt from her lips, though they simultaneously widened into a smile. "Aesop Sharp," she tearfully grinned at him, "You utter fool."
Yes, pour salt into the wound, Aesop thought dejectedly. He knew he was a fool for –
He didn't have time to finish his thoughts before the witch he had fallen in love with grabbed the lapel of his coat to pull him down, her soft, plush lips meeting his.
pt. 2 coming soon
#professor sharp#aesop sharp#professor aesop sharp#aesop sharp x reader#aesop sharp x mc#hogwarts legacy#hogwarts legacy fic#hogwarts school of witchcraft and wizardry#sebastian sallow#professor fig#professor weasley#fanfiction#ao3 fanfic#idiots in love#fluff#romance#smut is in part 2#communication is key but these idiots can't find it so the door is bashed in instead#i wrote this instead of my thesis and various job applications and honestly? i have MANY regrets#i hope my mum never finds this#still can't believe i wrote this#hogwarts legacy mc#garreth weasley#ominis gaunt#anne sallow#dinah hecat#professor hecat
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I had the idea of facesitting with professor sharp but reader (or mc idk what you prefer) is hesitant
Thank you for the ask! I went a little overboard with this (as I often do), and I apologize for whatever I made this fine gentleman do, but I hope you still enjoy! (If anyone would like to request me with anything as well, please go on ahead! My asks are open!)
Fountain of Youth
Pairing: Aesop Sharp x f!mc
Genre: Fluff/Smut // Words: 4.2k // [READ ON AO3]
Synopsis: Aesop Sharp has tried everything to soothe the aches of his battered body, and nothing seems to work, but then he comes across a well of youth in the form of a young lover who is willing to feed him everything he's ever wanted, and more.
WARNINGS: NSFW! Explicit sexual content! Established student/teacher relationship. Size difference. Age gap. Oral sex. Facesitting. Fingering.
Fountain of Youth
They say having a young lover is good for body and soul, and he couldn't agree more. When Aesop Sharp decided to throw caution to the wind and indulge in a rather unusual and certainly forbidden kind of affair, he knew he'd do anything to keep his girl entertained. Not that she ever demanded it, no, she was far from requesting anything, she was the most selfless person he had ever met, and most of the time she was doing everything to keep him happy.
And how happy he was when she would indulge him. It had taken him a while to accept her generous offers, but now he couldn't live without them, without her, be it bouncing on his lap, hidden between his thighs under his desk, or simply pressed against him in bed, deeply connected.
And he wanted to give back, but the state of his body often forbade any activity that was more than sliding his cock into her tight heat. It pained him, literally and mentally, that he couldn't indulge her the same way she did him.
She didn't mind, of course. And she never complained, not even when she left his office or bedroom with a limp because her body had struggled to accommodate the immense size difference between them. She was so tiny in his arms, to be fair he was a giant amongst humans, figuratively, and still she seemed to thrive on it, embrace it and him whenever she could, no matter how much pain he caused her.
Then again she must be some sort of masochist if she spent her time with him rather than with the other seventh-years. He was still a grumpy old man most of the time, even though he wasn't that old, but next to her he did feel his age sometimes.
And yet they connected somehow, not just physically. He felt drawn to her, felt his heart beat faster when he saw her, when she smiled at him. When she'd touch him, his skin would tingle and his sore muscles warmed in anticipation, whether her small hands would massage them or not.
She radiated warmth, inside and out, and while he was very fond of feeling her tight little sheath envelop him in a perfect fit, he also enjoyed holding her small body in his arms, pressed to his chest, breathing in her lovely scent. And it didn't stop there, a smile, a look, a stolen glance across the classroom, and he felt at least five years younger when a strange sensation of heat gathered in his guts.
And somehow, he wanted more, wanted all of her.
One day, she was sitting on a shelf in his hidden hobby room and watched him whittle. She said she loved seeing him work with his hands, and while he knew she also loved having the same hands all over her body and his fingers knuckles deep in her cute little cunt, he also appreciated it when she observed him while he engaged in one of his other hobbies, apart from indulging her. He spent most of his free time sketching landscapes (or more recently her) or doing a little woodwork to keep his hands nimble (for her).
A little sigh escaped her, and he looked up at her, perched on the high ledge of the sturdy shelf, right next to one of those wooden dolls he sometimes made to gift (or scare) his colleagues. At least Abraham seemed to like them, while Mirabel seemed utterly scared by them. And his young lover certainly enjoyed their company too. He'd often catch her re-arranging them behind his back, telling him they must have moved on their own, and to be fair, sometimes he did think they had a mind of their own.
“Everything alright, sweetheart?” he asked and put the tools down, patiently smiling up at her.
“Yes, everything's fine,” she said quietly as she shifted on the shelf, her feet dangling off. He noticed that her skirt had ridden up slightly and her blouse was halfway unbuttoned, and by the way she pressed her thighs together, he knew everything was definitely not fine. A knowing smile grazed his lips.
He stood up with a groan, straightened the old bones, and walked closer to her. At his height, his eye level was right between her legs, and he didn't hesitate to push them apart to stand closer to her. Inhaling deeply to take in her scent, and oh the sweet scent she was emanating, he quickly found the cause of it too: she wasn't wearing any underwear. She pulled her bottom lip between her teeth and watched him, a mischievous gleam in her eyes. Her hands found his head, fingers caressing his hairline and scalp, and he tilted it to look up at her.
“Tell me what you need,” he whispered gravelly, wiping sawdust from his hands before he hooked his arms around her legs to caress her soft thighs.
She licked her lips, a shy blush blooming on her cheeks. “I...”
“Use your words, darling.”
His deep voice caused her to shiver, and he felt the goosebumps as they rippled over her bare skin. While she still struggled to tell him what she needed (even though he already knew it quite well, but he liked to tease her a little every now and then), he leaned his cheek against the inside of her thigh, his beard rubbing against her flesh, and she keened softly.
He eyed her closely, patiently. When she finally spoke, her words made him shiver for a change.
“I want you to taste me,” she whispered, holding his gaze, and he saw that her pupils were blown with lust.
Giving her a warm smile, he turned his head and pressed his lips to her inner thigh. Then once more, and again, kiss after kiss until he reached her heat, and how warm she was. Warm and wet. His good little girl. He kept his hands on her legs, holding them open while he leaned closer, his eyes still on her flushed face as he took a deep breath, the scent of her arousal filling his nostrils. She shuddered visibly, biting her lip in a way that was both cute and sensual, which she knew drove him crazy.
Breathing a little rougher against her sensitive skin, he planted soft kisses along her lower stomach, moved back to her thighs, teased her by slowly inching closer to her folds. He took his sweet time, leaving a trail of fire along her soft flesh, and while she was squirming slightly on the shelf, growing impatient, he smirked to himself before he put his mouth to the hidden little bundle of nerves – and she gasped and jerked her hips against him.
He held her in a tight grip while he flicked his tongue up and down her nub, feeling it throb against him, while her wetness gathered between her folds. She had her hands on her mouth to muffle her noises, and he only needed to throw her a dark glance, tsking into her heat, and she lowered them, face fully flushed, lips quivering.
Leaning back only a little, he rasped: “I want to hear you, sweetheart.”
She nodded obediently, grabbing the edges of the shelf instead to steady herself. Her arms were shaking. Smiling at her, he focused back on her pretty little pussy. Kissing her mound, he returned to her clit, gently licking it, nibbling on it, and when he pulled it between his lips, she squeaked and squirmed in his hold, her thighs twitching against him.
More mewls escaped her when he started lapping along her lower lips, gathering her wetness on his tongue, tasting her, and he closed his eyes when he took it all in, her scent, her warmth, that sweet, sweet taste. He seldom indulged her like this, eating her out was not the best on his sore joints and muscles, his stiff leg always getting in the way of his enjoyment, but she sometimes found positions to make it easier for him.
He continued moving his tongue through her slit, parting those soft lips, nibbling on them, pulling them into his mouth, while she whimpered softly, her body twitching slightly. When he rubbed his stubbled chin against her soft skin, she gasped and let out a sweet little moan, and his eyes flew open as he watched her arch her head back, neck exposed, hair falling over her shoulders, eyes rolling back in delight.
She loved having his beard all over her, the sound alone, she said, could drive her right over the edge, and she would sometimes just move her fingers over his rough cheeks and mewl quietly while doing so. So he indulged her and scraped his chin along her inner thighs before pressing it to her clit and slowly shaking and nodding his head, feeling the convulsions before the moans left her pretty mouth.
He watched her closely, taking in every single reaction to his ministrations. She was close, he could tell, shivers and shudders and goosebumps rolling over her limbs, and instead of teasing her further, he returned his mouth to her clit, giving it a few hard sucks, and she unravelled right in front of him, shrieking softly when she came. He put his mouth to her folds and lapped at her wetness, gulping it down like a man parched, his tongue moving between her lips and dipping into her quivering cunt, her contractions clenching around the soft muscle as he pushed it deeper into her.
She moaned louder, the feeling of his stubble must be overwhelming for her as he pressed his face to her heat, his hands tightening around her legs as she started convulsing on the shelf. She came again, her noises echoing through the small room, filling his ears as much as her taste filled his mouth. He licked up her slick with long broad strokes, from her clenching hole to her throbbing clit, his own deep groans vibrating through her core, adding to the sensation he was sure.
Her hands gripped his hair then as she bucked her hips against his face, mewling and moaning, barely able to contain herself. He held her in his iron grip, fingers digging into her soft thighs, possibly leaving bruises at this point, but he kept going, addicted to her taste, to her juices, and she was very generous tonight.
Eventually he slowed his ministrations, gently kissing her puffy lips, giving her clit one last lick, before he leaned back, loosening his arms around her legs to bring one hand to her mound, softly rubbing it to calm her.
She was a quietly whimpering mess, her lips parted and quivering, her eyes hooded and exhausted as she finally came down from the highs he had given her. He grabbed her waist and lifted her off the shelf, gently cradling her in his arms as she leaned her head against his shoulder and smiled contently.
“Thank you,” she whispered hoarsely.
He smiled back and brought his wet lips to hers, and despite her spent state, she grabbed his face and returned the kiss in full, tasting herself in his mouth as her tongue slipped between his lips to meet his own. He carried her to the table and sat her down gently, still glued to her mouth, savouring her sweet taste, before he leaned back and sighed deeply. Pressing his lips to the top of her head, he hummed softly and whispered: “No, thank you.”
She watched him with her cheeks burning when he returned to his woodworking, feeling rejuvenated and ready to take on anything.
Like with any good, fulfilling beverage, he soon felt its effect dwindling, and after a couple of days, he was lying in bed, cuddled up to his young lover, and felt every sore muscle and strain and ache almost tenfold. He could barely move, and even though he never told her that he was in pain, she seemed to notice it nonetheless and tried her best to keep his body as relaxed as possible.
Right now, she had her small hand wrapped around his cock, stroking it expertly while she planted soft kisses on his broad chest, and he just lay on his back, not even able to raise a hand to return her touches. Clenching his jaw, he watched her, his eyes roaming her beautiful body, every curve and bump and hollow, taking it all in, how her breasts moved with every deep intake of air, how goosebumps rippled over her skin when he would hum or groan under the surprisingly strong grip of her hand.
He felt his stomach tighten when she moved her little mouth to nibble on the bulging veins on his shaft, her warm tongue lapping at his hot skin, cooling and warming it simultaneously. His breaths quickened, and he closed his eyes when he felt her lips closing around his tip, gently sucking on it, her tongue flicking against his slit.
Slowly he moved his hand up, his arm shaking slightly, and put it on her thigh, fingers closing around it almost fully. She leaned back and met his hooded gaze, licking her lips. Her eyes were warm and kind, a soft smile grazing that full, wet mouth. He tilted his chin up, giving her a little nod, and she crawled towards him and kissed his cheek, watching him closely, careful not to put any weight on him.
“Tell me what to do,” she whispered, her fingers rubbing along his stubbled jaw.
“I need to taste you again,” he said gruffly, his voice hoarse and strained.
She looked a little conflicted, wondering what to do. He wasn't capable of moving much, and she knew that. He was also about to ask something of her they had never done before, but he knew she wouldn't shy away from it, she was usually very open with trying anything new with him. She was a great student, and he had taught her well.
“Sit on my face,” he said bluntly and noticed how her eyes widened.
“Are you sure? Won't that hurt you?” she whispered, biting her lip.
“It'll be fine,” he rasped.
“H-how do you w-want me to... sit?” she asked quietly, her voice shaking.
He fought the strain in his arms and raised them to place his hands on her waist and guide her towards him. “Sit on my chest, then lean on your knees, facing the headboard. Grab it if you like, to keep your balance.”
She hesitated, but then slowly did as he told her, swinging her leg over him and positioned her knees on either side of his head, her expression still uncertain. Without him mentioning it, she kept her entire weight off him as she leaned on her knees, her beautiful cunt hovering right over his mouth. Her scent was intoxicating. His eyes roamed every inch of her sex, and by the way she squirmed, her legs trembling, he knew she was a little uncomfortable with him staring at her like that.
“You're beautiful,” he told her, his eyes moving up to meet hers. She leaned back slightly to be able to see him, a shy smile grazing her lips. His hands rested on the curve of her rear, gently pulling her closer, and she strained her thighs and followed the hint, gently pressing her folds to his face. A surprised mewl escaped her when his beard rubbed against her soft skin. He inhaled deeply, feeling her shuddering on top of him as he did so.
Pulling her even closer so he wouldn't have to strain his neck, he pressed his lips to her labia before his tongue darted out and licked along her slit. Her taste immediately filled his mouth, her little whimpers filled his ears, and when he closed his eyes, he lost himself in her completely. Lapping at the wetness gathering between her folds, he felt his body relaxing beneath her, his sore muscles warming, and he was able to really grip her plump arse cheeks, kneading them as he sucked and nibbled on her soft lips, pulling them between his teeth and into his mouth, coaxing all the sweet sounds out of her throat.
While he laved her wet skin, his nose kept brushing against her clit, and instinctively or not, she writhed against him, moving lower until he was able to give that sensitive bundle of nerves the same treatment as her folds. She moaned when he sucked on it, his tongue flicking against it, rolling it, and the more he abused her little nub, the more wetness seeped against his chin.
She was still only hovering above him, straining her thighs, her arms outstretched to hold onto the headboard to steady herself. Always so considerate of him. He adored her for it, but he needed her to really engage here, so he could really engage her.
“Sit down, sweetheart,” he hummed against her clit, licking it gently. She squirmed and moaned quietly, tensing on top of him.
“I don't want to hurt you,” she managed to croak out between breaths.
“You won't,” he assured her, his hand tightening around her bum to push her down on him. She still fought it, shuddering under the exertion. “Come on, darling, indulge me.”
She let out a shuddering breath, then slowly lowered herself. It wasn't that she weighed a lot, she barely weighed anything in his eyes, she was just a soft little creature made of sunshine and smiles after all, but when she finally sat down on his face, he felt it. Her lower lips parted around his mouth, and she shivered when his beard rubbed against her sensitive skin. He inhaled deeply, filling his lungs with her scent, feeling dizzy for a moment, a sensation that wasn't unpleasant at all, before he let his tongue dart out and lap at her soft skin, her wetness basically seeping into his mouth now.
His grunt against her sex made her squeak softly, and she seemed to really force herself not to move against him, still afraid she might hurt or suffocate him. But he had never felt better. He kissed and licked her inner folds, his tongue teasingly dipping into her clenching hole while his nose rubbed against her clit. Her mewls shuddered through her entire body, and he closed his eyes and pushed deeper, his tongue pressing past her entrance, licking at her soft walls.
She started twitching, her noises tumbling out of her uncontrollably, her wetness gathering on his tongue and his lips, and he barely managed to lap it all up before she gave him more. His fingers dug into her soft bum cheeks, teasing along the cleft between them, before he moved them back and hooked his arms around her thighs, holding her open as she started to clamp her legs together in anticipation of her approaching release.
Her arms fell from the headboard and rested next to his head, fingers clawing at the bedsheets, as her hips bucked against his face, and despite never having done this before, she was as usual a quick learner and despite her initial inhibitions not too shy to engage as well instead of letting him do all the work. While he lapped at her folds, sucking and nibbling, drinking up her juices, his groans mixing with muffled slurping and squelching sounds, she slowly gyrated her pelvis against his face, her moans so soft they soothed the aches in his body almost as much as her wetness running down his throat.
He felt light-headed, nearly delirious when her taste and scent took over everything else, and when her movements on top of him grew harder and faster, he let her ride it out, use his face to get her where she wanted to go, and all he could do was lap up her juices, his tongue alternating between stimulating her clit and dipping into her clenching cunt.
The moment stretched forever, and frankly, he could have lived in it for just as long, but then she gasped, spasmed, and cried out loudly as she forced her heat firmer against his mouth, really suffocating him now, before she arched her back and lifted herself only slightly, allowing him to breathe and get a perfect view of how she came undone right on top of him.
Her clit throbbed visibly, her glistening pussy fluttering, and before she could shower him in her juices, he had pressed her heat against his mouth, holding her closely as she convulsed against him, mewls and moans slipping from her, and he lapped and slurped up every single drop she gave him. She collapsed on top of him, spent and limp, her body heavy on his face, but he felt the effect immediately as her warmth filled his stomach.
Using his elbows to push himself up, he rolled her around, carefully placing her down before he grabbed her thighs and dove between them once more, the soreness of his body gone almost completely. He knew it wouldn't last long, but he wanted to make the best of it. She was sprawled on the bed, arms beside her head, legs twitching, chest heaving with her small breasts quivering, nipples perked up, while he lapped and nibbled at her folds, bent over her small frame.
Her taste was addictive, all-consuming, clouding his mind. He had no idea for how long he had licked her quivering cunt, but when a soft hand dug into his hair, he looked up, his dark eyes glazed over, and saw her watching him, her face flushed, her eyebrows slightly furrowed, her lips trembling. He leaned back reluctantly, but then he noticed how red and puffy her sensitive skin looked, and he could have kicked himself for not seeing it earlier. He had licked her raw.
Giving her mound a soft peck, he crawled up her body, caging her in on his hands and knees, while he looked down at her, licking his moist lips. Her small hands moved up and rubbed his cheeks, wiping her wetness from his face before she pulled him closer and kissed him softly. He shared her taste with her and breathed deeply into her mouth, slowly coming down from the high she had given him. She was dangerously intoxicating. She was his drug.
He rolled off her then, still kissing her softly, pulling her soft body against his while his hand moved along her sides until he dipped it between her thighs. Her skin was burning, radiating heat against his palm, and she winced when he touched her, but didn't fight it when he caressed her mound carefully, hoping his calloused fingers wouldn't make it worse. But her body adjusted by making her wet again, coating his fingers and her oversensitive skin.
She was a miracle.
Sighing contently, he released her mouth for a moment, looking deep into her eyes, almost getting lost in the softness of her gaze. His fingers dipped between her folds, teasing at her entrance, and she mewled quietly, her hands rubbing over his stubbled cheeks, and he could see how much the sound and his ministrations affected her as her eyes rolled back and her lips trembled and her body shuddered in nothing but bliss.
He swallowed her moans by claiming her mouth once more, pushing his tongue deep into it at the same time as he pushed two fingers into her warmth, the wet squelching sound like music in his ears. She bucked against him while he pumped his digits in and out of her, harder and faster and deeper, and when her walls clenched around him, she cried out against his lips, her thighs pressing around his hand as he stroked her through her orgasm.
It took him everything not to lean down again and lap at her juices, instead he let her wetness coat his fingers while he kissed her softly as she spasmed against him. When she relaxed in his hold, he continued to massage her soft flesh and watched her melting into the bed. Pulling his free arm around her, he held her close to his chest, her cheek pressed to his shoulder, her breaths deep and soft before she slipped into unconsciousness.
His fingers remained buried inside her heat, and he was tempted to continue his ministrations, maybe even indulge in something more, use her willing body for his own release, but he refrained, ignoring the throbbing of his cock. Kissing her sweaty forehead, he snuggled against her, holding her in his arm and her cunt with his hand as he soaked his fingers in her wetness. Inhaling deeply to take in as much of her scent as possible, he closed his eyes and leaned into the warmth that radiated from her tiny body.
He might have stiff fingers and a sore wrist tomorrow, but he didn't dare to disconnect from her, from her warmth and those delicious juices, from her well of youth. He felt it rushing through his veins, like liquid fire warming his sore muscles and the aches of his battered body.
It was truly addictive.
End notes: Initially I was hesitant to write this, because I couldn't quite see Daddy Sharp here engaging in oral sex like that... but I guess, in the right positions, sure, why not! And I mean, the beard is an added bonus to that, so who wouldn't like that? XD
You know, I was never into the whole Daddy/little girl kink, I accepted it, I read smut with it, ofc, but I never felt anything but slight cringe for it... but this man, dude, why does it work so well with him? (I still refuse to let my protagonists call him Daddy though, nope, but the dynamic is growing on me!)
So, thank you for reading whatever this was! And thanks again for the request! It was really fun! (Give me more, please!)
MORE SHARP SMUT:
Scars
Peace and Comfort
A Demonstration of Power and Support
A Demonstration of Pride and Pain
[ MASTERLIST ] [ AO3 ]
#aesop sharp#aesop sharp smut#aesop sharp x mc#hogwarts legacy smut#professor sharp#professor sharp smut#professor sharp x mc#professor aesop sharp#fluff#smut#mysmut#daddy sharp
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Late night conversations with Sharpy 🥵🤤🫠
A girl can dream right?!
#hogwarts legacy#hogwarts legacy fandom#professor sharp#aesop sharp#professor aesop sharp#aesop sharp x mc#daddy sharp#hogwarts#professor sharp x mc#professor sharp smut#professor sharp x reader#aesop sharp aesthetic#aesop sharp smut#aesop sharp x reader
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Garreth decided to play a little prank on Professor Ronen and slipped him a de-aging potion 👀
#hogwarts legacy#sebastian sallow#sebastian sallow x reader#sebastian sallow smut#ominis gaunt#professor sharp#professor sharp smut#professor sharp x reader#professor ronen#abraham ronen#slytherin house#slytherin pride#slytherin#slytherin boys#charms class#garreth weasley smut#garreth weasley x reader#garreth weasley#ominis gaunt smut#ominis gaunt x reader#hogwarts legacy oc#hogwarts legacy meme#hogwarts oc#hogwarts legacy mc#hogwarts legacy fandom
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Smutmas Day 8
Prompt: Touch me and you lose
NSFW
MC wanted the world to be fair, as much as it could be, which is why she was alway so upset with Professor Sharp and his treatment of Ominis. It was ok to have high expectations despite the disability, but it was not ok to have those expectations if you as a teacher are unwilling to adapt your teaching to better help the student.
Ominis couldn't see the ingredients or read the labels. Nothing was written in braille. While Ominis was able to identify some things by their smell or feel, it was often dangerous to sniff or touch several ingredients, which left him at a huge disadvantage. Ominis couldn’t compare to a regular sighted student because he wasn’t being given a way to learn that ‘overrode’ his inability to see.
He should have been assigned something like an interpreter. This person would not be able to help Ominis in any way, just level the playing field. The assigned person could be expected to read labels, just the names, no information about what the item did (unless other students were also given that information.) This helper would be able to make a statement regarding the color of the potion - ‘the potion has become purple’ - Ominis would still be expected to know what the purple color meant, but he had to know first that it had become purple.
Basically, Ominis was being screwed out of his education, and possible future opportunities because his Professor refused to accommodate him. It really pissed MC off. She knew Ominis didn’t like talking about his disability, or even admitting that his blindness did cause him some problems. MC thought he should talk about it more though. There was nothing wrong with him intellectually due to the blindness, and it was unfair that some of his grades may have reflected as though he was ‘slow.’ No, she wasn’t going to stand for it anymore. He worked his ass off, was a great friend and person, and she would do what she needed to do to make sure he was treated fairly.
MC gave a few impassioned speeches to Ominis’s professors, several of them agreeing with her, and would look into adapting the material so he had better access. The one person who refused to bend though, was Sharp. Potions was already a hard subject for Ominis, but it being so reliant on sight really made it nearly impossible for him to compete academically.
She scheduled another appointment to speak with Sharp again, this time making it late at night. It was time to put her plan into action. She arrived a bit early for the appointment, wearing her tightest clothing under her robe. If she couldn’t Sharp to agree to treat Ominis better, she would blackmail him into it.
When Sharp arrived, he found her sitting on his desk awaiting him. Rather than unsettle her, he sat down in the chair the student would usually take. He looked up at her, forcing a smile.
“Another meeting, to what do I owe the pleasure?”
“Oh Professor Sharp, I am here to speak to you about Ominis again.”
“MC, I already told you, I will not be allowing any advantages in this classroom.”
“It wouldn’t be an advantage - you would be making things fair and possible for him.”
“My answer is still no.”
MC furrowed her lips. She shifted on the desk, removing her robe, and showing off her tight clothing. Watching Sharp follow her movements with his eyes, she brought her feet up onto the desk, and spread her legs apart. Sharp’s eyes dipped down quickly to see her exposed pussy. MC saw his eyes go wide, and he looked up at her before turning away.
“Oh, you can look, Professor Sharp. I want you to look. I am here, specifically for you to look.” MC slid her hand over to her leg, running her finger over her thigh before tracing it down to her lower lips.
Sharp turned back to look at her, his eyes falling directly at her open legs. He swallowed hard. “Why are you doing this?”
“See, Ominis is my best friend, and I would do anything to make sure he is treated fairly. I love him dearly. If I can use my body to help him live a better life, I will do so willingly.”
She took two fingers and ran them up and down her pussy lips. She then opened her lips apart with the fingers, allowing Sharp to see inside of her. The glistening skin, pink and warm, her opening being visibly small, letting him know how tight she would be, should he ever be lucky enough to get inside.
“I am going to let you watch while I touch myself. You are welcome to pleasure yourself as well, but touch me and you lose. In response to this gift, you will start treating Ominis and his education in the way that I demand. If you don’t, I will go straight to the headmaster and tell him all about how you took advantage of me.” She dipped a finger inside of herself, pumping it in and out slowly, listening to Sharp’s breathing change.
“We both know that while you may have some misgivings about this - Black won’t, so if I offer him the same deal - fire you and he can watch me - he will take the win. So, I suggest you just enjoy yourself.”
Sharp nodded, his eyes never leaving her pussy. He reached down to his pants, pulling his already pulsing cock out, and wrapping his hand around the base.
“Oh, look at that, how large you are Professor. You see my tight little hole?” She pulled her finger out, letting him look inside of her once again, “I think that as long as you uphold your part of the deal, I may let you slip that monster inside of me. You would stretch me so well, wouldn’t you?”
“Yes, I would shove myself completely inside of you, I would tear you apart, and you would love it.” His hand started pumping, and at each upstroke Sharp would run a finger across the head, pulling his dripping pre cum down over his shaft.
They continued this way for a bit, MC playing with herself, even allowing Sharp to guide her motions. He really loved watching her play with her clit, running her finger over it in circles and then watching her core clench over nothing, like it was begging him to fill it.
He kept his hands to himself, never touching her, just stroking himself, thrusting into his hand as he brought himself closer to explosion.
“Professor - You’re going to start treating my Ominis better now, yes?” MC asked him once again, knowing that he was reaching his height of pleasure.
“He will be given anything that will help him in passing.”
“Ohh, good boy. Come here. You still can’t put your hands on me, but I want you to press the tip of your cock right here.” She pushed her finger into her core. “Don’t push inside, but I will allow you to cum right on my hole.”
Sharp was standing in front of her within seconds, his cock pressed right up against her, making sure his slit was covered so his seed would flow into her. MC rubbed her clit again, Sharp now able to feel the liquid heat spill onto him, and finally was able to feel her core pulse, grasping onto the little bit of his cock that it could. That moment was all he needed, his body shattered as he started to cum, shooting inside of her before it would pool and start seeping out. When he pulled away, he watched as his seed puddled at her opening, some of it slowly dripping down the remainder of her slit, pooling once again at her ass.
The next time MC and Ominis had Potions, he found that the bottles holding ingredients had braille on them. Ominis was also surprised that Sharp was allowing MC to tell him when his potion had shifted color. As class was ending, Ominis leaned over to his friend, kissing her cheek as she grabbed his hand.
“I don’t know what you did, but I know this change is because of you, thank you, my darling.” His whisper flowed through her ears, bringing joy to her face.
She returned the kiss, while looking at Sharp. “Anything for you, Ominis.”
#hogwarts legacy#ominis gaunt#hogwarts legacy fanfiction#hogwarts legacy smut#smutmas 2023#professor sharp#aesop sharp#aesop sharp x mc
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Stress Reliever
Aesop Sharp X Professor!Reader!
Ok so this is my first-time writing smut so give me the benefit of the doubt.
Smut 18+
Blow Job
You and Aesop were in secret relationship. Aesop had proposed you to be a secret since his colleagues would constantly berate you too if they knew. You would sneak into Aesop's office at night since he would stay late to work on paperwork Headmaster Black would assign him.
You knocked on the door of your boyfriend Aesop's office. "You may enter" you hear him groggily say. You peeked your head in to see Aesop working on his small stack of paperwork. He looks up and smiles at you " Yes? y/n dear is something the matter?" You nod your head going over to sit in the chair in the front of his desk. "No nothing at all. I just came over to check on you." Resting your face on your hand. " So, how was today's potion class. Garreth Weasley give you any trouble today with his 'experiments." You chuckled as you fiddled around with one of the pens on his desk. " Well, if you consider having to evacuate my class because of an intense smell then I'd say yea he gave me some trouble." You watched him closely as you noticed his stress. Intense scribbling, his hair disheveled, and his tie undone.
You stand up and walk behind Aesop, who was too caught up in his papers to notice. You slowly massaged his shoulders as you watched him tense up. His shoulders stiffing slightly then relaxing. You moved your hands to massage his shoulder blade. Aesop groaned as you dug your thumbs in more. You stopped moving your arms around him your face burrowed in his neck. "Just what are you getting at here?" Aesop spoke his paperwork already forgotten. You placed butterfly kisses all along his neck up to his ear pulling it slightly with your teeth. " Just helping you relieve some stress." Aesop groaned as you bit down on his neck sucking it slightly.
You stood up walking around to the front of Aesop. You sat down in his lap as you capture his lips in a soft embrace. Aesop's hand found its way to your hips squeezing it slightly. Aesop kissed you back with much more neediness. Forcing your mouth open as he explored your mouth. You moaned as you slowly rolled your hips on his growing erection. Aesop Groaned as he felt himself get harder by the minute. You pulled back so you could catch you breathe. "Can I?" as you motioned to his growing bulge. Aesop nodded as he was already feeling desperate for your lips around him. You got on your knees as you quickly unbuckled his pants. You slowly sucked the tip of his cock making your way down to his base. You heard as Aesop's breathe started to quicken. You lick up his whole length as you wrap your hands around his base. Making slow pumping movements as you teased the tip of his cock. Massaging his balls as you take his whole length in gagging a little. Aesop's hands made it ways to your hair tangling itself. You heard Aesop deep groaned which only encouraged you to quicken your pace. His hips bucked up, gagging as the tip of his cock hit your uvula. The sound of Aesop's heavy breathing and low moans filled the room. "Fuck I'm getting close" Aesop loudly moaned the grip on your hair tightening. You continued to suck his cock till his warm cum filled your mouth. You struggled a little to swallow all of it some of it dripping out of your mouth. You stood up wiping your mouth as you helped Aesop clean up. "I really appreciate you" Aesop smiled kissing you. "let's go home" as he grabbed your hand walking out of Hogwarts. You guys got home and feel asleep in each other's arm as all of Aesop's worries of today went away, and his paperwork that was forgot till the next day.
sorry if it's a bit short.
#hogwarts#hogwarts legacy#harry potter hogwarts game#aesop sharp#professor sharp#aesop x reader#aesop sharp x reader#aesop sharp smut#hogwarts legacy fanfic
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Could you write one where the professors have been drinking. There is an attraction between Aesop and Mirabel that has been growing for some time. With the help of alcohol they pick up the courage to act on it. One of them makes the first move and it goes on from there ... It can be quiet explicit 🫣 (it's of course consensual. No one is too drunk to make things they do not want to)
Thank you :)))
Well, this was fun to write! Hope this is what you wanted, enjoy!
Word count – 3.5k
Warnings – Smut (🔞 MDNI), PiV, Oral F!Receiving, M!Receiving, alcohol, consensual mutual longing fulfilled
The Christmas holidays arrived not a moment too soon, and Aesop Sharp sat comfortably in the company of his fellow professors in the Three Broomsticks, sipping slowly from a tankard of butterbeer, listening as Abraham regaled them all with a hilarious tale about a Hippogriff and a Centaur.
Though it was tradition for the professors to get together at the end of each term to drink away their stress, this year’s gathering was somewhat more forced than those previous.
Some student or three, clearly overtaken with festive joy and embodying the spirit of Peeves, had decided to plant several hundred Dungbombs throughout the entire school and set them off simultaneously. Aesop had a very good idea who the culprits were, though without proof, there was little he could do other than glare at the Sallow twins and their Gaunt friend as they left the castle for Feldcroft, the three of them in fits of laughter.
The stench had permeated the castle, causing a mass evacuation. Only Mr Moon remained behind, armed with the Bubble-Head charm and a mop to clean up the mess. The stampede of students had almost caused injury, and it was fortunate that only a handful of students were staying over the Christmas break. The kindly villagers of Hogsmeade had happily agreed to house the professors and students for the night, and the professors were rooming in the Three Broomsticks.
Aesop glanced across the table, his eyes lighting on the lithe Mirabel Garlick, barely twenty and giggling as Abraham finished his tale with gusto, arms flung wide to emphasise the punchline. Aesop chuckled politely, but if he was being honest with himself, his attention had not been on the Charms Professor at all.
Over and over through the night, his gaze had been drawn to the young Herbology Professor. She had rid herself of her usual green robes and wide-brimmed hat, wearing instead a beautiful little number of peach and cream that complimented her skin and hair beautifully. And Merlin… her hair. Down to her hips and a luscious, almost fiery red, she’d taken it out of her traditional plaits and wound it into an elegant braid that wove around her head, thin tendrils escaping as the night wore on to frame her face prettily.
Aesop caught himself staring and busied himself with his tankard as his fellow professors continued laughing at Abraham’s tale. He shouldn’t feel this way. Mirabel had been his student three years ago, for Merlin’s sake! Even then, her graceful movements and measured, gentle speech had caught his attention, and he’d had to take special care to be as gruff and stoic with her as he was with all his students. Perhaps moreso than usual.
But she wasn’t a student any more. She was a woman, a beautiful, elegant woman, passionate about her subject and fearless in the face of deadly plants. He’d known women like her before when he was an Auror, quietly confident and full of vigour, until the demands of the job left them haggard, insane, injured or dead.
No such dangers presented themselves to a Herbology Professor. Aesop raised his tankard to his lips, irritated to find it empty. He waved to Sirona for a refill, his gaze landing on Mirabel again.
Merlin… she was enchanting. But he was twice her age, scarred and limping, grumpy and irritable. Though their brief conversations over breakfast or in the hallways indicated that they were nothing more than friendly colleagues, he couldn’t help but wonder if such a beauty would ever look at him in any other way than simply contemporaries.
He winced, accepting the tankard Sirona handed him. He shouldn’t think like that. She was too young, too pure, too beautiful for the likes of him. But all the same, images slid into his mind. Images of her amongst her plants, images of her carrying a basket of ingredients to his classroom, images of her doing so wearing absolutely nothing at all.
“Well, this has been delightful as always,” Matilda said, jerking him out of his musings. “However, I feel I must retire, I have a long journey ahead of me tomorrow.”
“Ah, the famous Weasley family Christmas,” Abraham chortled. “Do give Garreth my fond regards, he’s certainly been inventive with his charms this year.”
“Inventive is definitely a word for it,” Aesop muttered, remembering the six melted cauldrons and eighteen explosions the Gryffindor had caused in this term alone.
Matilda chuckled, raising a hand in farewell as she made for the stairs. Beside him, Chiyo Kogawa stretched and yawned.
“It is getting late,” she said. “I don’t really want to be hungover for my flight tomorrow.” With a wave, she rose and followed Matilda.
One by one, the other professors finished their drinks and made their way up to their rooms, until it was only Aesop and Mirabel left. She nursed her gillywater, nibbling her lip, before casting a shy glance his way.
“I suppose we should get to bed too,” she said.
Aesop nodded, trying hard not to picture her lying naked in the long grass of the fields just outside Hogsmeade, her form highlighted in silver moonlight. “I’ll be here a little longer. Don’t stay on my account.”
A smile touched her lips. “I’d like to,” she said. “I have to say, I don’t really want to go up yet. I’ve been enjoying the conversation.”
Aesop tightened his grip on his tankard. Now he wanted to think of a topic, a conversation starter, something that would keep her here with him. But what could he say? What would she find interesting? He barely knew a thing about the young professor, much less anything that would keep her here, sitting opposite him in the dimly lit tavern. As if she’d be interested in an old cripple like him.
Mirabel drained her gillywater and passed him a shy smile, before rising and heading to the bar. Aesop cursed under his breath. He mustn’t think the way he’d been thinking all evening, she was too young, too sweet, too pure for him to do all the things he wanted to. She wouldn’t even be interested. She would be entranced by some young buck her age, someone fresh and eager and wholly inexperienced.
But then… perhaps he’d imagined it, but the way she’d look at him sometimes, the soft, lingering glances she passed him in the Great Hall, the shy smiles she’d gifted him when she brought him ingredients from her greenhouses… perhaps he was reading too much into it. A man his age shouldn’t indulge in fancies of the mind. He should know better.
Mirabel returned with two generous glasses of firewhiskey, grinning a little. Aesop raised a brow as she set them on the table.
“I guessed you might like this,” she said, sliding one over to him, bending over and gifting him a generous glance of her cleavage. She’d guessed right. He was surprised. He was even more surprised when she didn’t take her seat again, but elected to squidge up beside him on the bench, despite there being several empty chairs around the scrubbed wooden table. Aesop’s breath caught as her slender thigh bumped up against his own, and she turned to him.
“Sorry,” she said. “That’s your bad leg, isn’t it? I hope I didn’t hurt you.”
“It’s fine,” he managed. “Thank you for the drink.”
“It’s a favourite of mine,” she said, picking up her whiskey. “I try not to indulge too much, but it’s the holidays. Why not?”
“Why not indeed?” he said. Merlin, she was incredibly close, her leg resting against his, her shoulder rubbing against his arm as she set her glass back on the table. He turned his head, inhaling subtly. Her hair smelled of roses and fresh earth. He caught himself and turned away, busying himself with his drink.
Silence bloomed between them, their hands wrapped around their glasses, a slow tension gathering in the air around them.
“Forgive me,” Mirabel said, her voice so low it was almost lost in the chatter of the pub. “I… I feel like if I don’t say something, I’ll burst.”
Aesop swallowed. “What would you like to talk about? My knowledge of plants is limited to their uses in potions, I’m afraid.”
She loosed a soft laugh. “Not that,” she said. “Not work. Although… I suppose it’s related to work, in a way.”
“Trouble with students?” Aesop said. He felt he knew where the conversation was headed, and a part of him pushed out, eager for it to continue, keen for her to say what he needed to hear. The other, larger part tried to be sensible, telling him not to get his hopes up, to stop mooning after her like a lovestruck diricawl, that it could never happen, it shouldn’t happen, it was impossible-
“I like you,” Mirabel said, softly. “As more than a colleague. More than a friend. I have for a while, now.” She glanced at her glass. “It’s just a shame it’s taken until now for me to find the courage to say it.”
Aesop sat stunned. He’d been right. The glances and smiles and lingering looks hadn’t been his imagination. She liked him. Another vision of her naked before him rose in his mind, only this time, she was writhing under his hands, caught and wailing in ecstasy on his cock. He shook himself. Merlin, she was so young and beautiful, he’d almost forgotten what suppleness a youthful body had…
“Aesop?” she shifted, turning to him. He’d been silent for nearly half a minute. “I… I’m sorry, if I’ve made things awkward, I didn’t mean to. I-I’m sure I can get over this, it’s just a crush, I don’t want to be unprofessional, or-”
Aesop set his glass down on the table with a thunk. His hand moved from the glass to her cheek, turning her face to his. Her darkly green eyes went wide as the pads of his fingers slipped behind her ear, the corner of her jaw, sliding into her hair.
His lips parted, a storm of words fighting to be let free, to stumble over his tongue and entrance her, but they jumbled and jammed behind his teeth, rendering him mute. With nothing else to do, he leaned in and kissed her.
It was soft, it was hesitant, and it was perfect. Her lips were pillowy and firm, curving around his, lighting a fire in his belly that he hadn’t felt since he was her age. But he pulled back, acutely aware of the stubble on his jaw, wishing he’d shaved, cringing inside at how scratchy and uncomfortable it must be for her.
Then her hands were winding into his hair and she was pulling him close again, kissing him passionately. He loosed a soft sigh, his hand dropping to her hip, feeling the soft cotton of her dress, the heat of her skin beneath it as her breath rushed over her lips.
“Oh… Aesop…” she whispered. “I hadn’t dared to hope… I-I’ve liked you for so long…”
He couldn’t speak. If a wand had been held to his throat, he couldn’t conjure a single word to say. He let his actions speak for him, drawing her close to kiss her again, elated by the gentle sigh she released, his hands roving over her back, her hips, her legs, legs that parted as she leaned into him, her hand digging into his hair, his neck, her fingers slipping under his collar.
“N-not here,” she whispered. “Aesop… upstairs, quickly.”
With the speed of a much younger man, he was on his feet, drawing her up, a hand at her waist, drinking in the sight of her flushed skin, her wide, bright eyes, her parted, perfect lips.
“Are you certain?” he asked.
“I’ve never been more sure of anything,” she replied, gazing at him with such longing that he almost bent her over the table right then and there. “Please, Aesop, I want you.”
He set his jaw and took her hand, leading her to the stairs, bounding up them with an energy he didn’t know he could possess. Even his leg didn’t seem to pain him, the only sensation he was aware of being her hand in his, her delicate fingers wrapped around his.
They tumbled into his tiny room, with space enough only for a narrow bed, a wardrobe and a miniscule beside cabinet.
“Mirabel…” he whispered as she wound her arms around his neck, the word a song, a sonnet, a perfect poem he couldn’t have versed without her there before him. “We shouldn’t.”
He kissed her fiercely, his words contrasting sharply with his exploring hands, feeling each tender curve of her figure, flying over her hips, her back, and Merlin, her breasts. Small and perfect, barely fitting in his hands. He tightened the curve of his palms, and she moaned softly.
Aesop shivered, his lips insistent against hers as she melted under his touch, and he didn’t think he could stop if he tried. All the same, he tried to resist, tried to remind himself of her inexperience, her youth. All was lost as he was captivated by her beauty, her grace, her elegance, and her complete and total need for him.
Her hands were in his hair again, kissing him with a near desperation, pressing her body against his.
“I want to,” she almost whined. “Aesop, please, I’ve wanted you for so long.”
With a low growl, he walked her back to the bed, his hands catching her as her knees hit the mattress and she lost her balance with a squeak, clutching his shoulders. He laid her down, climbing atop her, staring down at her stunning form, breathless and needy beneath him. Her hands rose, scrabbling at his shirt collar, his waistcoat, his suit jacket. He shed these last two and tossed them aside, unable to keep his hands off her for more than a moment.
She whimpered softly as he brushed his hands over her breasts again, her hair coming loose from its braid, her nipples stiffening even through the cotton. Giving himself over to temptation, Aesop took hold of the boddice of her dress and tore it apart, revealing the perfect rosebuds to the cold winter air, flushed and red at their tips. He didn’t wait, but bent his head to her breasts, taking each of the soft peaks into his mouth, winding his tongue around them as her back arched, a symphony of eager sounds rising from her throat.
He fought a low groan as she gasped and writhed under him, trying to ignore the insistent hardness growing in his trousers, begging to be attended to as she whined and bucked under him, her hands in his hair again, holding him against her breasts. But that wasn’t all he wanted from her. If this was going to happen, if he was going to cross the boundary between colleagues that should never be crossed, he shouldn’t just dip his feet in the water. He should throw himself body and soul over the threshold, and damn the consequences.
He raised his head, finding her lips again and pressing his chest to hers, kissing her desperately as her legs fell apart, her hips tucking up to him as she fought with his shirt buttons.
“Aesop… Aesop… please, I need you…”
The words were music, a spell, a captivation. He tore his shirt from his frame, and her hands fell to his chest, digging into his flesh as she explored over the dark hair spreading over his muscle, flickering over his nipples and dipping down to his stomach, losing some definition with his age, but tensing all the same.
Merlin, what was he doing? Kissing an eager young woman that wanted him, some scarred and limping ex-Auror, as if she truly wanted what he was giving her, and not acting out of some cruel joke. He gritted his teeth as her hand found its way into his trousers, gracing along his length and sending sharp lines of fire over his back. His hips flexed instinctively, pushing into her hand as his breath rushed over her neck, and he bit at her soft skin, drawing it into his mouth and sucking hard enough to leave a mark. Mirabel gasped, her grip tightening on his cock as he slavered over her neck.
It wasn’t enough. He had to show her he was better than any of those inept louts that might seek her affection. He tugged at the skirt of her dress, drawing it up over her hips, revealing slender, pale legs, perfectly shaped, encased in luscious, white stockings that almost sent him into a stupor.
Growling under his breath, Aesop took hold of her white, cotton underwear and pulled it down, revealing velvety folds almost hidden by soft brown curls, darker than her long plaits, but hiding a fire nonetheless. Mirabel gasped and whimpered, pushing her hips up.
“Aesop, please…” she whined. “Please, touch me, I need it, I need you.”
He was only too happy to oblige her. He’d fantasised about it for most of the last calendar year after all. He brushed his fingers over the silken folds, gently pushing them back to expose her clit, already engorged and begging for attention. No young wizard, wet behind he ears and thinking with his cock could do this for her. He dipped his fingers over the slick at her entrance and drew it over her nub, easing the soft swirls his fingers made against her.
And Merlin, the sounds she made as he pleased her. Mirabel threw her head back to the pillow, her mouth agape as she gasped and moaned, and Aesop allowed himself a small grin. She hadn’t seen anything yet.
He lowered his head between her quivering thighs as he slid two fingers into her dripping entrance, sealing his lips against her clit as he curled his fingers up, pressing against the place he knew would give her the most pleasure.
Mirabel almost screamed, her hips jerking up to meet him as Aesop thrust his fingers inside her, his tongue working over her clit, captured and held prisoner between his lips.
“Aesop… Aesop… Aesop!” she gasped, her voice rising in pitch and urgency as she rutted against his lips and fingers, her delicate hands gripping fistfuls of the bedsheets, and his name on her lips lit the fiercest fire in his chest, his own need for her almost overwhelming until she howled, her whole body tensing under his ministrations, clenching around his fingers.
She fell back, gasping as he rose to her, his stubble slick with her pleasure as she kissed him.
“Let me…” she panted, a hand braced against his chest, turning him, lying him down. “Please, let me.”
A sudden nervousness rose in him as she laid him down, her bright eyes clouded with lingering bliss. Her hands fumbled at his belt, and he was reminded of her youth, her inexperience, her…
Aesop gasped as she drew his cock out and dived down, wrapping her plump lips around the head of him. Merlin, she’d either sucked a thousand cocks or read enough books to give her the same experience, for each movement against him was glory personified, each swipe of her tongue a jolt of electricity, each gentle suck and breath enough to drive every coherent thought from his head. He sank back to the pillow, his eyes rolling back, his hand finding the silken strands of her glorious hair as she drew sounds he never knew he could make from his throat.
He tightened his fingers in her hair, drawing her back up to his face, his cock sliding from her lips with a gentle pop. He kissed her ferociously, winding his arms around her, turning so she was on her back, pushing her beautiful legs apart. He had to fuck her. He had to make her his, now. Nothing could stop him, not fire, not snow, not even Merlin himself.
He tucked an arm under her head, gracing her with eager, passionate kisses as he aligned himself.
“Are you sure?” he whispered.
“Merlin, yes,” Mirabel whined. “Aesop, I need you.”
He didn’t dare stop to think. He slammed his hips forward, entering a heaven of fire and sodden satin that sent his mind scattering to a place he had no hope of pulling it back from. Aesop thrust into her, encouraged by her soft yelps and exclamations, taking care to angle up, hitting every core inside her as his own pleasure built, each pump of his cock sending thrills rushing over his stomach and chest, drawing together and condensing in his balls as he slapped them against her perfect arse.
His orgasm was sudden and intense, driving the breath from him as Mirabel wailed and writhed under him, her hips slamming up to meet him as she tightened around his cock, increasing his pleasure as they came together, his face in her hair, her nails digging into his back.
He shuddered and crumpled atop her, trying to control his breathing as Mirabel whimpered and gasped in his ear, her arms locked around him.
“Aesop… oh, Aesop, that was…” she let loose a soft laugh. “Oh, Merlin, that was everything I ever hoped it would be.”
He raised his head, grinning a little as he graced her soft lips with a gentle kiss.
“That was only the beginning,” he murmured. “We have the rest of the year yet, my dear.”
#hogwarts legacy#aesop sharp#professor sharp#mirabel garlick#professor garlick#professor sharp x professor garlick#smut#aesop sharp smut#mirabel garlick smut
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