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expectodragons · 8 months

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Bitter Water || Chapter 1

✦ Summary: Guided only by a thin paper trail and a promising job offer, Catherine Hart returns to the school of her youth. Taking on the mantle of Beasts professor, the young witch must find a balance between her lessons and her continued search of the Highlands. Especially when under the watchful eye of the Potion Master. ✦ Pairing: Aesop Sharp x Female MC ✦ Word Count: 12,200 ✦ Rating: Mature, 18+ only - minors do not interact. ✦ Tags / Warnings: Age difference, alcohol consumption, colleagues-to friends-to-lovers, dual POV, mentions of past character death, slow burn. ✦ Story Playlist: Listen here ✦ Read on: AO3 || Tumblr (continue below)

The letter in her pocket had been a comforting weight during the flight across the Atlantic. Having received the invitation from the Deputy Headmistress herself during a short reprieve in the small encampment in the Andes Mountains.

She had been sat upon the stool inside her canvas tent that dreary morning, glossing over the notes from her Australian correspondent – occasionally comparing the details with her month-old letter from Natty. South America wasn’t where she needed to be from the looks of it.

A heavily creased map was pulled out and laid before her when a pleading hooting captured her attention.

That poor owl, how it ever managed to find her over such a great distance is still a mystery – as it sagged with pure exhaustion upon locating her in the great fog some fourteen-hundred kilometers above its normal flight range. He was rewarded with the entirety of her lukewarm meal and a soft space to sleep while she contemplated the generous offer.

As the North American expedition party had received foul news of visa denial from the British Ministry of Magic over an unruly Dragon Pox epidemic affecting the states just a week prior, Catherine’s current plans were rather up in the air. Which was quite fortunate for Matilda Weasley, it seemed.

And for her too perhaps, as she glanced back at the map on the table.

Her reply of interest was sent ahead to the local village post once the owl had finally regained his energy.

And then it was only a matter of days later, after capturing the poor shivering Fwooper who had been abandoned after a breeding program went haywire, that she was able to make it up to Columbia. The flight to Cuba had been uneventful, her broom sturdy in her grasp. Another owl had been awaiting her there, with a date and time written clearly in Matilda’s familiar penmanship. This letter she kept close to her person as she took off from the sunny island port.

Many individuals would have preferred to take one of the easily accessible Floo points, or even an ocean liner for such a long trip. But those methods of transport required luggage checks and that was something she was desperate to avoid for very particular reasons.

The following journey across to Cornwall had been a regretfully exhausting experience – even with the two Wide-Eye potions she had taken – as an unavoidable storm had sent her some kilometers off course which had left her a soaking mess by the time she entered the Celtic Sea. She had sworn off Muggle transportation ever since her first – and only – voyage on a steamship down to the horn of Africa.

Never again.

So, with her trusty broom, she made the long trek instead. Her hair was helplessly tangled from the gusts of stinging wind that pricked her skin with the sensation of pointed nettles. Her blonde locks hung in icy tendrils down her back, making her whole body shiver. Even the strongest warming charm couldn’t stop the shaking of her frozen fingers.

After two days of recuperation in the local inn, The Prickly Knarl, she had arrived at the meeting with not only the Deputy Headmistress but the new Headmaster as well.

Walter Aragon was nothing like his predecessor and perhaps that was all the more reason to giddily accept the position. A lover of beasts himself, their similar interest had sparked a three-hour-long conversation delving into the finer points of creature care and habitat protection. Their tea had grown cold and her face ached from smiling by the time she had signed the official job offer.

A warm sensation filled her stomach as she strolled down the steps of the Grand Staircase, striking up a conversation with Sir Nicholas over her new position at the school on the way to the Entrance Hall.

It had been over ten years since she had last stepped foot in the castle.

On more than one occasion, during her employment at Brood & Peck, she had spent time with Professor Bai Howin in her outdoor office – trading stories and information on local poachers and potential encampments. She even brought over a recently rehabilitated Diricawl or Kneazle from time to time. But her stint at the beast store was short-lived and her time away from Scotland grew with the flow of years. Though she kept in correspondence with Howin every other month or so.

But to be in the castle itself?

Her last recollection was that of a tearful goodbye on the day of her graduation held on a warm summer morning. Her exit from the castle was far calmer than her initial arrival at the magical school three years prior. Though the missing professor in the crowd of teachers forever left a sting in her heart.

As she crossed the courtyard, old memories seemed to come to life in her mind with every step. Thoughts of her first flying class and several rounds of Summoner’s Court with Ronen filled her head as Catherine headed for the classroom. The flags of the quidditch pitch flapped in the wind, reminding her of her short stint as Gryffindor’s seeker in her seventh year.

The vast sprawling hills and mountains felt like home.

She had climbed rocky cliffs in the Far East, swam in the swirling turquoise waters of the Indian Ocean, and even trekked inside a pyramid or two during her African expedition. But this? This was where her heart truly sang. Surrounded by the dew-covered grass, the tumbling breeze, and miles of undisturbed wilderness. The Highlands were everything she didn’t know she had missed during her time away, exploring the rest of the natural world.

With an even wider smile on her face, she takes off across the castle grounds, her hands digging deep into the pockets of her leather-hide trousers.

Even from a distance, in the grove of towering Scots Pine trees, she could tell that her specified repairs were in the works. The clang of hammers and the rumble of moving stone greeted her once she made it up the path’s small incline.

Though Bai had been more than happy to sleep near the outdoor classroom, Catherine had other plans for the space.

And the once towering hut was in the final stages of being fully disassembled piece by piece to make way for more enclosures. While there were four fully usable paddocks left over from her predecessor, the space was seriously lacking in her opinion. Part of the hut would be left behind for storage purposes: for feed, healing supplies, and grooming items.

Stronger cages would replace the old iron ones to contain more of the unsavory creatures she planned to introduce. Her sixth and seventh years were going to be in for quite a few surprises this school year if it all went according to plan (and if Matilda agreed).

All in all, her detailed ideas were being handled exactly as she had laid out to the Headmaster after her job offer had been signed.

She nods in approval, waving at the single house elf that was overseeing the unmanned construction instruments – he ducks his head bashfully with the given praise as she heads on to the castle.

The Bell Tower still maintains the indescribable musk of stale air and dusty artifacts. The dueling ghosts barely even pay her a glance as she passes through their wispy forms, making her way across the hall and down the stairs to the tapestry corridor. As her previous lodging was currently dismantled to the ground, she had made her second, and therefore last, request.

Though she had no desire to sleep alongside the creatures, she did wish to remain close enough in case of emergency. If she had learned anything since her first Beasts class some thirteen years ago, it was that magical creatures were nothing if not unpredictable. And with her new room being located just a few minutes walk from the paddocks, she felt more than comfortable with the arrangement.

The room in question had been emptied of all its previous statues. Though the hall outside had gained a few choice pieces: a Hippogriff, a Phoenix, and what appeared to be a badly carved Chimaera in place of the ghoulish-looking stuffed Trolls that had once taken up residence amongst the three woven tapestries.

The old storage space was far warmer than it once had been. Comfortable white and gold rugs covered the stone floor, and a newly conjured fireplace heated the area considerably with its crackling logs. Her paintings, which had been sent ahead from her personal vault in Gringotts, were now proudly adorning the walls, brightening the area even further.

Painted birds swoop past the lush Amazon rain forest, a lone Sphinx stretches out lazily upon the sand of the Egyptian desert, shimmering blue eggs clink together in an Antipodean Opaleye’s nest in the green New Zealand valley. She places the portrait of the sun rising over the sea above her bare-bones bed frame and feather mattress. A Kelpie jumps through the water with a gentle splashing sound as she adjusts the leveling of the painting.

Catherine carefully deposits the large leather bag near the end of the unmade bed – eyeing it with a hint of suspicion for just a moment before she gives a nod and goes to sort through her secondary luggage.

She spends the rest of her day removing items from her traveling bag, the one that was nearly full despite its expandable charm. Celestial blue and gold bedding is tossed against the wall in a heap – it was in desperate need of a good wash after being stored away for so long. But her various books and decorations made their way onto the shelves and cabinets. A large iron perch takes up residence next to the fireplace.

She fussed over the arrangement of her sitting area. Positioning the armchair this way and that until she finally just collapsed into the blasted thing and took a much-needed break.

A very kind house elf appeared but minutes later – with a tray filled with sandwiches, biscuits, scones, and a carefully placed lavender teapot. All courtesy of the Deputy Head who knew she would be up to her eyes in sorting out her chambers and classroom but didn’t want to disturb her at the present moment.

“Please send Professor Weasley my regards and tell her she can find me buried under a pile of unsorted clothes if she requires my presence.”

The house elf looked a little perplexed by the request but shrugged his shoulders and disappeared with a snap of his bony fingers.

After allowing herself the luxury of stuffing three cucumber sandwiches into her mouth and finishing off two blackberry scones – the jam sticking to her fingers, which she lazily licked off – she finally got back into the thick of it.

Only once the window near her sleeping area turned dark with the ebb of nightfall, could she stand back and declare her quarters finished. And with the low embers of the fire battling off the frigid chill of the dungeons, she conjured up a bath and allowed herself to slip under and soak in the steamy water until her tired muscles went lax and tingly once again.

In the morning, Catherine would check in with Matilda, look over the outdoor classroom’s progress, and possibly even head up to Hogsmeade for supplies. Perhaps she would even be afforded time to fly down to the coast to canvas some of the numerous caves. But for now, she closes her eyes, resting her head on the edge of the metal tub, and savors the feeling of returning home after so many years away.

Though she had arrived at the beginning of August, before school supply letters were even sent out, she was surprised to find only a few professors were currently settled into a routine at the school. When she was a student, it had never occurred to her to spare a thought for the personal lives of the staff. Was it silly to assume they stayed at the school year-round?

Only due to her proximity to him, she finds herself running into Professor Binns a little too often for her liking. Though she was entirely polite about the happenstance and would indulge him for a moment about his exhilarating plans for the upcoming school year in regards to Goblin-related topics.

As though Catherine hadn’t experienced enough Goblin-related battles for a lifetime.

“Personally, I always found the rebellion of 1612 far more interesting than the one in 1752,” was apparently the wrong thing to say, as she found herself on the opposite end of an hour-long argument over the worthiness of the later Goblin rebellion.

“Were it not for the quick and calculated planning of the wizard tailor Grimbald Weft, who, as you may know, was a wizard from the small community of Mould-on-the-Wold, a rather fascinating village known for its contributions to the agriculture of several wizarding towns in the later half of the 18th century –“

Madam Scribner was devoted to looking over each and every book in the library, dusting the old tomes, and sending up levitated feather dusters to clean off the large portraits on the second-floor balcony. The librarian had barely paid the new hire any attention when Catherine went wandering up to the upper level in search of books covering local cartography.

There was of course Matilda and Headmaster Aragon, though he was more prone to stopping by for the morning than staying for a full day at this point.

By the time letters were sent out during the middle of the month, more familiar faces seemed to appear in the halls. Her new colleagues blinked back their shock once they realized just who was set to replace Howin. Apparently, the news had been rather sudden when, back in early April, Bai had received a request to join an Eastern expedition set to observe and possibly relocate a new grouping of Yeti in Nepal.

Catherine herself had almost accepted the offer to join the group if it hadn’t been for her already set plans to head to the States with another team. Though those plans ultimately fell apart due to the Pox epidemic and now she was here. Fate had a funny way of working sometimes, she thought with a smile as she greeted a surprised Professor Ronen in the Transfiguration Courtyard.

“The Great Catherine Hart!” he chuckled, immediately swooping her up into a tight hug, “Can it be you have returned to us after all this time?”

The warmth in her body bloomed into a bright laugh as she pushed back her blonde plaited hair, “It would appear you were in need of a new Beasts professor and Matilda managed to get an owl to me in time. I couldn’t even dream of turning it down.”

They quickly caught up over a shared game of exploding snap in the staff room, leaving burnt card-shaped marks on the table, as Catherine regaled him with stories of her travels and he happily told her about his vacation to Switzerland with his wife, Margo over the summer break.

“We went sailing on Lake Geneva. Would you believe it, I tipped us right over into the water. You should have heard her admonishing me while I giggled like a schoolboy – “

“In the summer of ‘98, I had the misfortune of trying to single-handedly wrangle a wild herd of Abraxans from charging upon a Muggle town in Italy – “

For only a moment, at the beginning of her stay in the castle, when she encountered the Deputy Headmistress out after nightfall, did she feel entirely out of place. Speaking to her old professors, not in the place of a student, but as a colleague. Referring to them, comfortably, by name. Asking about matters she never would have broached prior to her employment.

Perhaps sharing correspondence with Bai over the years had made the transition more agreeable. As she was now content with calling out to Abraham about sharing a drink in Hogsmeade before the start of term as he headed up the stairs to inspect the state of his classroom.

At twenty-eight, though she had not experienced the world in its entirety quite yet (she still had North America and Antarctica to explore, after all), she felt competent in her position and her new role amongst her fellow professors. It would take time – she was sure of it – before she was fully submerged in the job, but for now, it was flowing exactly as it should be.

The staff meeting happens on the 24th, sometime before dusk. The time seemed to be intentional as she is greeted with several bottles of drinks awaiting the professors on a tray in the corner – seemingly to be distributed after the meeting.

She greets Matilda before taking a spot near the fireplace, watching as the others begin to trickle in one by one. Professor Garlick had been delighted to see her once she had returned over the weekend. Shah had given her a cordial greeting too. Kogawa had been elated to see her, immediately asking after her new broom model. There was of course the new Defense teacher as well.

Dinah Hecat had left four years prior, on her own terms, as the state of her slowly deteriorating condition began to catch up with her properly. Roland Sterling was a smartly-dressed wizard who met her with a very firm handshake when he properly introduced himself yesterday. He was young, three years older than her if she remembered correctly. But his skill was undeniable, or so Ronen had said when she asked about the placement over a game of gobstones during their shared lunch.

There were only five individuals on staff who were under the age of forty: herself, Roland, Nurse Blainey, Garlick, and Eunice Moore – the arithmancy professor who had scarcely left her classroom since she arrived Tuesday afternoon.

As it was an official meeting with her new colleagues, she chose to dress the part. Forgoing her usual work trousers and dragon-hide waistcoat in favor of a more modest navy skirt and white shirtwaist. Even her hair had received moderate attention this afternoon as she managed to wrap her braid into a carefully coiffed chignon.

She spies her reflection in the curve of a small silver trophy upon the mantelpiece and finds that she rather loathes how matronly she appears to look.

Noticing the slow uptick in chatter now within the room, Catherine hurriedly tugs at two tendrils of her hair – letting them drape gracefully along the frame of her face. Satisfied, she moves to grab a seat at the table before the meeting officially begins. She’s positioned near the end of the setup and Chiyo is more than happy to take the seat to her left as the other professors seem to get the idea and begin to fill the other chairs.

There was only one face she had yet to see during her time at the school as she reacquainted herself with the old halls. Everyone had been quite busy settling back in and preparing their lessons and whatnot. But he was the only one who had evaded her search thus far.

That very face is one of the last to appear at the meeting, grimacing as he makes his way into the room and around the table – taking one of the last available seats; the one on Catherine’s right.

Sharp eases himself into the chair with a pronounced wince and grit of his teeth, acknowledging Ronen across from him, before his gaze finally turns and he makes eye contact with her for the first time in ten years.

His dark brows hitch slightly, as his mind seems to map through some rather interesting equations by the looks of it before the smallest smirk graces the corner of his lips.

“Professor Sharp,” she says politely, inclining her head ever so slightly in his direction – wanting more than anything to start out on the right footing with her old instructor.

The Potion Master chuckles for a moment too short, glancing away before once again meeting her gaze, “Professor Hart, is it then?”

Her eyes gleam with pride, “As of the fourth of this month I’m officially a member of staff, yes.”

There’s a minuscule nod, his attention focusing on Aragon as he makes it into the room at last – with a bundle of unorganized papers and an apologetic smile on his thin face.

“Bai spoke highly of you,” his gruff voice says softly over the dying chatter of the others – his eyes still trained on the Headmaster. “I’m sure you will do her proud.”

Fighting off a smile, Catherine kneads her hands together in her lap, trying not to appear like the overzealous new professor she clearly felt like at the moment.

By the time she manages to get her pride under control from the small bit of bolstering and praise given by her former teacher, Aragon is already in the full swing of apologizing for his tardiness and exclaiming how excited he is to be taking on the monumental role of Headmaster after such an illustrious predecessor.

It takes nearly everyone’s self-control to not outwardly guffaw at the mention of the illustrious Phineas Nigelus Black.

The meeting itself is rather informative for her. Reminders of enforced rules, curfew times, and the importance of awarding and deducting a fair amount of house points. Several professors seem to draw their attention down to the blushing Defense teacher, who ducks his head to the side as if something has taken his interest across the room. She can tell there’s a story there as she catches Ronen’s playful gaze from across the table.

“I’m grateful to you all for submitting your budgetary requests so promptly this year,” Matilda says. “If you find any pressing concerns, you can speak to me privately after the meeting. Though I imagine this year we will find ourselves in a rather fortunate position in those regards.”

The unspoken bit at the end of that sentence seemed to be a not-too friendly reminder of the previous Headmaster’s rather horrendous budget constraints. Luckily for Catherine, she would be requiring only bits and pieces to fund her classroom. The creatures themselves were on loan, as it was. Even some of the food would be easily supplied by the Hogwarts gardens.

“As a reminder, our first Hogsmeade weekend will happen on the third of October this year. Expect to have the schedules delivered in a days time. I believe you will find the rotations to be more than fair. And on that note, the night shifts will be sent along as well. Exceptions to the patrol are the same as last year. Satyavati, you’ll be taking on the weekend shifts, as your classroom hours are impossible to work around. Also, Ranira, your arrangement still stands.”

She has to bow her head to avoid any attention during that particular part of the meeting. As staff patrols were not a thing prior to her fifth year. It appeared at the beginning of her sixth year, for whatever reason she can’t be sure.

Perhaps it had something to do with a fifteen-year-old sneaking out of the castle at every opportunity, going on secretive missions under the instruction of one professor, and single-handedly defeating the leader of a goblin rebellion in a hidden chamber under the school. Or maybe it had to do with students leaving their dorms to meet up with their sweethearts or stroll down to the Restricted Section, who could say for sure.

Whatever the reason, the teachers had all taken on the insufferable task of patrolling the halls of the castle every day of the week well past the midnight hour. And it seemed the structure had remained in place even after she graduated. Pity.

And then, of course, there’s a rather sudden introduction of her to the rest of the staff.

“As you all are aware, Professor Howin has taken an indefinite leave as she joins an excursion party into Nepal. I am pleased to welcome Miss Hart to our teaching staff. I can think of no one better qualified for the position.”

She inclines her head in acknowledgment, all too aware of the stares and encouraging smiles of her colleagues. Her own stomach turned with the swell of the spotlight.

“And I believe that about sums up everything,” The Headmaster claps his hands together. “So, in preparation for another year, let me welcome you all to get properly inebriated!”

With a resounding cheer, Aragon levitates the drink tray over to the table and pops the corks off several bottles, shimmering goblets and crystal glasses appearing just a moment later.

Mirabel circles the table almost immediately, wrapping Catherine into a tight hug – nearly jostling her wine as she does so. She smells of summer-warm marigolds and lemon verbena.

“Bai would be most envious of your new classroom,” she smiles. “I took a walk around the grounds just yesterday afternoon in search of extra mallowsweet for my first-years. It looks lovely, Catherine. Speaking of, you must come by the greenhouses – it’s been so long!”

Ronen wasn’t too far behind, clapping her warmly on the shoulder before clinking their glasses together. Even Aragon took his time going from professor to professor, landing into a lively conversation with her and Shah, of all people, about local creatures.

“You wouldn’t believe the luck I had when I was off visiting my sister over the summer break,” Shah had said. “I swear there was a flock of Auguries who followed us from town to town for the entire stay. Barely a clear day in the whole trip.”

“They are quite perceptive to the weather, you know.”

As she swayed between conversations and groups of chatting and drink-happy colleagues, she would catch the occasional gaze of the Potions professor from his spot near the unlit fireplace – looking perfectly content to remain in the cream-colored armchair with a small glass of amber-colored drink in his left hand.

He spoke to Armando Dippet for a short time as the man pressed past. As well as Crestwell and Waterford – the Muggle Studies and Study of Ancient Runes professors, respectfully. But the conversations were brief in comparison to the rest of the circles.

It was Kogawa, who told her all about the House point mishap of 1899 – all done with barely-contained giggling whispers as she partook in yet another bottle of wine.

The newly-appointed Defense teacher had been a little too eager to award his House points for every correct answer – racking up almost two hundred points by the end of the first month, while the other three houses seemed to lose points faster than they could make them up. It took a gentle intervention from the Deputy Headmistresses to set Sterling right.

As the atmosphere warms, the chatter rising and the laughs increasing, Catherine makes her way back around the long table – nearly tripping over her own feet as she bumps into the corner of it. Finding herself in the company of Sharp once again. He regards her with a single uninterested look. Seemingly content to swirl the amber contents of his glass, while a deep frown lays upon his rugged features.

Grabbing hold of one of the wooden chairs, she spins it around in her grasp and carefully settles herself on the seat – pushing her skirt to the side to avoid tripping over it. She sips from her goblet, watching with amused eyes as Chiyo starts performing a hap-hazardous jig with Roslin Kearney, the music professor, across the room.

“So,” she breathes out, catching the eye of the Potion Master once again. “Any advice for a new professor?”

A tell-tale smirk crosses Sharp’s lips as he settles back into the cushion of the chair and finally meets her eyes once again. He finishes off his drink, gaze momentarily distant as he conjures up a proper reply.

“While our departments vastly differ, some common advice would be to tackle the papers before they overtake your desk and your personal time. Fifth-years, by nature, are a nervous wreck come spring and you’d do good to take your grace with them. Third and sixth years are the true trouble of the populace.”

Sharp takes a moment to grab hold of the Firewhiskey on the table next to him, refilling his glass. He grunts with the effort of reaching back to place the bottle and for a second she allows herself to ponder what the extent of his pain is after a further decade.

“Conflict arises and you will need to act, despite every part of yourself that strives to be the better sort of professor.”

“Is that spoken from personal experience?” Catherine asks with a hint of toying in her voice.

It was strange, finding herself on equal footing with Sharp. With the others, it had come almost naturally. Perhaps it was his demeanor, that impenetrable stone-wall exterior of an ex-Auror and seasoned teacher.

His cedar eyes harden momentarily, “No.”

Stifling a laugh with another careful sip of her wine, she watches the way his dark gaze sweeps across the occupants of the room. Ever observant, ever on guard – always watching.

When he replies, his tone is even, bordering on wistful.

“Every new professor who has passed through these halls seems determined to be better than the best of them. By the end of the year, they’re yanking their hair out from students ignoring their every word, and using their kindness to their own advantage. Nip the distraction before it becomes a problem.”

She nods, “Duly noted. I appreciate the advice.”

Sharp huffs, tipping his glass back before finally depositing it on the table.

“I highly doubt you needed it.”

He grips the armrests as he moves to stand, an obvious whine of discomfort is held tight in his throat as he steadies himself slowly.

Catherine sets her goblet down on the staff table behind her as well, standing to move the chair back into its proper place – removing the obstruction from his path. She meets his gaze, head-on, with a gentle curve to her lips.

“But it’s still welcome, all the same.”

Sharp gives a curt nod, looking as though he wants to say something further, but he ultimately grimaces and says, tightly, “If you’ll excuse me, Hart.”

She ducks out of his way, watching as he exits the room with a quick wave toward Aragon as he goes.

Yes, it appeared that the limp had worsened considerably since her time as a student.

His back hunched ever so slightly as he moved, taking shorter steps as he forced his weight down onto his good leg. Only once his figure disappears from sight, does she return her attention to the party. Mirabel calls her over almost instantly, catching her eye from across the room, demanding stories of her travels as she strides over to meet her fellow professors.

“Well, when I was trekking across China three years back, I accidentally found myself in the den of a very cross Chinese Fireball – “

The party eventually winds down, with several professors claiming the need to retire for the evening lest they receive a truly awful hangover in the morning. It was only Monday, after all.

She giggles at the sight of Mirabel and Chiyo swaying through the courtyard, singing a local tune from the taverns no doubt. Matilda bids her goodnight, flushed and clearly a little tipsy before she makes her way toward the other side of the castle.

When the singing duo is out of earshot – headed for the Greenhouses by the looks of it, she finally sighs. Tugging at the pins that held her chignon together, she smooths out her braid as it lays upon her shoulder, storing away the hairpins into her pocket.

It was a truly wonderful experience that evening, connecting with everyone and feeling like she was on equal ground with her previous instructors. With a final glance towards the lingering darkness of Central Hall, she turns down the stone corridor.

Through the double doors, she’s hit with the familiar metallic scent of the potions hall. A lingering smell of boiled dittany, earthen ingredients, and charred cauldrons fills her senses as she spots the warm glow of the open classroom. Unable to help herself, Catherine peers into the room.

Apparently, Sharp hadn’t retired to the Faculty Tower for the night as she had initially thought.

Taking a step into the room, her low-heeled boots click against the cobblestone floor as memories float to the surface of her mind. Her first class some thirteen years ago, Garreth’s ever more adventurous exploding brews, the defensive lessons with Sharp that had left her both exhausted and equally invigorated.

Her fingers run across the rough surface of the table, edges chipped and cracked by potions gone awry, no doubt. She spots the chalkboards in the far corner of the room, already filled out with lesson plans in tightly-lined writing.

Essence of Insanity? The seventh-years would certainly have a time with that particular concoction. And what was it he had set up for his newest students? She paces towards the neighboring board and has to hold back a laugh when she sees Cure for Boils written at the top.

An immediate memory of her small stint as Headmaster Black comes to the forefront of her mind. That was perhaps the greatest Christmas present she had ever received – the look on poor Ominis’ face!

It’s the clearing of a throat that makes her turn away, eyes going a little wide as she catches sight of Sharp watching her from the open doorway of his office. He had removed his overcoat and was now clad in only his gray waistcoat and pressed undershirt.

For just the briefest flash, she has to remind herself that she is not in fact a student that had been caught out after curfew by the strict professor. No, now she was just a tipsy young teacher making a slight fool of herself in front of her esteemed colleague.

He merely raises a brow in her direction as she sheepishly makes her way over to him.

“Surely you’re not in need of more teaching wisdom already.”

She grins, feeling the warm flush of wine bubbling happily in her belly as she rests against the edge of the table across from him – nearly slipping as her feet seem to be reluctant to maintain her center of gravity.

“I think I’ll wait till after my first week to come crawling back for assistance.”

He smirks, a silent chuckle on his lips as he leans against the stone door frame, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Worried you’ll be in need of a particular potion come morning then?”

Another giggle escapes her mouth as she shakes her head.

“I don’t think I’ll be the one needing a hangover cure tomorrow. Abraham and Matilda on the other hand…”

“They hold their liquor far better than you’d expect,” Sharp admits softly, his eyes examining her features in search of something that’s apparently laid bare on her face.

A silence stretches for a beat too long between them. Catherine notices the way he has his left leg situated, resting his weight on the heel of his boot as opposed to flat down on the floor. The glimmer of something shiny, just behind him resting on the edge of his desk, catches her attention – like a Niffler to a jewel-encrusted necklace – before his words draw her back in.

“Then what, may I ask, are you doing here?”

Catherine blushes, brushing down her skirt with her sweaty palms for a brief second, “I apologize. I saw the light as I made my way down. I was drawn in by old memories I suppose.”

Sharp grits his teeth, adjusting his position again and she has half the mind to ask if he wants to sit back down but she ultimately holds her tongue.

“Ah, off to check on your beasts, no doubt.”

“Off to bed, actually,” she bristles slightly, tugging at the loose strands of her braid.

He looks her over once, an amused expression crossing his features as he says in a slightly chastising tone, “I believe the Faculty Tower is in the other direction, Hart.”

“I’m well aware of that, Sharp. But if you must know, my chambers are at the end of the tapestry corridor since Howin’s cabin is no longer standing.”

There’s a moment where his brows rise and his dark eyes flash. She barely misses the slightest downturn of his lips into a deeper grimace. Was he so repulsed at the thought of her quarters being in proximity to his storeroom? Maybe her time as a student had truly soured his opinion of her. Admittedly, her exploits had been the topic of conversation amongst the students and staff right up until graduation.

“Honestly,” she continues on. “I’ve been here for almost a month now. Maybe if you poked your head out of your office every now and then you would have had the chance to speak to me before tonight.”

Taking note of his rigid stature, Catherine eases her tone – realizing that the glass of wine and two shots of Firewhiskey might have been affecting her reaction to a simple inquiry.

“In the hall by the stairs, there was an old storage room – filled to the brim with statues. Matilda had the elves clear it out for me before I arrived.”

Sharp nods in understanding.

“I wondered what had become of the Trolls.”

“Nasty things, if you ask me,” Catherine says, pushing off from the table to pace back and forth while keeping her eyes on him. “Bit barbaric, honestly. If nothing else, it just frightens the younger students. It’s hardly teaching material, is it? But there is this lingering smell in the hall that I can’t seem to get rid of – which I blame entirely on dusty old stuffed trolls, to be clear.”

She feels a swell in her chest as she realizes Sharp is smiling softly at her little drunken ramblings. Not the best impression to make, of course. Coming to an almost immediate stop, Catherine smooths down her braid and offers up a timid smile.

“And I believe that’s my cue to head down before I begin telling you all about the Pixies I found hidden in a hole behind the tapestry of the wizard with the golden phoenix last week.”

He smirks in amusement, “An enthralling tale, I’m sure.”

Ducking her head with the surge of embarrassment running through her, she says a quick, “Goodnight, Sharp,” before she heads out of the humid classroom and makes for the spiral stairs. Her cheeks burn and her stomach lurches unpleasantly.

Well, at least she wasn’t the one singing drinking songs at the top of her lungs this evening, she tells herself. No, Catherine was quite looking forward to teasing Mirabel relentlessly for her rendition of “My Witty Witchy Lass” come morning.

In the safety of her chambers, she blames the slight racing of her heart on her excessive consumption and shamefully drunken encounter with an esteemed colleague that she was expected to work alongside of. She had to sort herself out before the students arrived if she ever wanted to be taken seriously. Both by them and her fellow staff members.

Aesop had been largely absorbed by his lesson planning this past week. Though many of the materials and units of study had remained relatively unchanged over the two decades of teaching the subject, he still enjoyed refining certain aspects every year or so. In fact, he had only just returned to the school – having spent the past month and a half in Northern England, where he had a residence.

The return to the castle had been entirely uneventful, but the minute he apparated outside of the gates, his chest ached with that familiar feeling. This was truly home for him, as he spent the better part of the year here. However, that wasn’t just it.

While many of his colleagues had a life away from the school, this was the central aspect of his life now. After he left the Auror Department, there was very little awaiting him in the ruins of the accident. Aesop had latched onto this opportunity when it presented itself just a year later. This is what he had.

And while he had enjoyed his time away, savoring in the simple life for a short time – the days where he could sleep in past seven and drink himself into a stupor without cause for concern – this was where he felt he had a true purpose.

Aesop spends most of his days preparing his classroom, detailing out lesson plans, and studying the incoming class listings. Headmaster Aragon takes the time to come down and introduce himself properly. And though Aesop likes the man – far more than his predecessor, of course – he finds the visit largely cumbersome toward the work he’s trying to accomplish.

“You know, Sharp. I must commend you, I regret I was a rather poor student when it came to potion-making. It must take quite a deal of patience to handle the different abilities of your students.”

He had merely hummed in affirmation, wishing for the man to be called away so he could return to the solitude of planning.

In fact, Aesop had found himself so invested in the preparation of his department, that he had scarcely seen another faculty member prior to the meeting. Abraham sought him out, of course, to share in the traditional evening round of Ogden’s Old before term began. And Garlick had managed to track him down as well to discuss their usual ingredient cultivation arrangement.

His days started late and his evenings dragged on well past the midnight hour. By the time he returned to his chambers, the rest of the castle was soundly asleep – the portraits had the annoying habit of loudly shushing him whenever he went to unlock his door.

Aesop’s thoughts had rarely strayed from the upcoming year and it was only with a distant curiosity that he even found himself thinking about Howin’s new replacement. It was with a small amount of shock that he found himself sitting next to his former student; the Hero of Hogwarts herself.

Though Bai had taken to reading her correspondences with Hart every time a new letter arrived, Aesop admittedly hadn’t considered the possibility of the young witch taking on the role.

When he found himself situated in the armchair in the staff lounge, just after Howin received the rare note from the well-traveled creature enthusiast, he would occasionally overhear the tales of her adventures. Tracking down Demiguise in the Far East, rehabilitating Fire Crabs from a poacher in Fiji, and a run-in with a Tebo in the Congo.

Her most recent correspondence from February outlined Miss Hart’s nearly fatal rescue of a Peruvian Vipertooth – much to everyone’s shock and horror.

The woman was clearly deep within the realm of reckless youthful adventuring. To see her, sitting at the staff table looking like a proper teacher, was rather unnerving. Though he greeted her without issue and spoke of Bai’s praises.

What he spent the remainder of the evening doing was pondering the question of why. Why she had forgone her travels to teach. Was it a promise to her beloved Beasts professor? Or perhaps there was a deeper meaning. As he refills his drink, he can’t help but watch the way she moves between their colleagues.

She fits in. That’s what’s strange about it.

Sterling had been a boisterous, but also oddly awkward, individual when he began teaching a few years back. It had taken the better part of a full term for the man to begin to work his way into the older teaching circle. And only thanks to the likes of Mirabel was he ever fully incorporated into their outings to the village.

But Miss Hart…

Aesop shakes his head, staring down into the Firewhiskey in his glass as she makes her way over with a timid smile.

He’s waiting for that same overzealous sort of conversation he had been on the receiving end of when Sterling was first introduced. That naive sense of higher experience than the rest of them. But she properly surprises him when she asks for advice, of all things. He searches her gaze and finds nothing but genuine interest and a twinge of nerves.

So, he tells her what he wished he himself had heard when he began working at the school. Though with her wealth of experience, he honestly doesn’t believe she’ll be in much need of his – or anyone else’s – words of wisdom.

Aesop excuses himself as the prospect of spending any more time in the presence of his drunken colleagues tends to render him rather uninterested. At best, he could reserve a tolerance for those moments during the monthly Hogsmeade outing, but no more than that.

It takes him a few minutes to cross the courtyard and return to his classroom – just a few steps too many for his leg’s liking.

He has every intention of downing a pain potion and finishing up a stack of late correspondences that had been sitting in his inbox since he arrived back at the castle. A handful of notes here and there from old associates at the Auror’s office, an invitation to a Ministry gala in the winter, a reply from Pippin about a rare plant he had come across in his studies over the summer holiday.

Were it not for the soft footsteps outside of his office door, the tittering laughter was enough of a giveaway. He takes a moment to stand before he heads to the doorway – watching as Hart looks over his prepared lesson plans on the chalkboards.

Perhaps she wasn’t aware that he was still there, as she seems to sway slightly when she moves along to the second board – completely engrossed by what she sees.

Only when he catches her attention does he realize just how tipsy the young woman is. Lost in the memories, she had said as her excuse for being in the classroom. And when she mentions the location of her quarters – well… it truly is his own fault for being completely unobservant.

He hadn’t taken the chance to stroll around the grounds before the students arrived back for the year. And perhaps if he had, he would have realized that the hut next to the Beast classroom was no more. If he had ever managed to go down to his chambers at a decent hour, he may have even seen her just down the hall. But to know that she was just a few steps away was rather unsettling.

Aesop had enjoyed the privacy these past five years. Kogawa had her rooms near her own classroom. And Moon was located out by the North Gate. Down here, he had enjoyed the solitude – the complete lack of students, in fairness. But now, it appeared that another member of staff had taken up residence just down from him.

When she bids him a rather quick farewell, he has to hide his chuckle – watching as she nearly knocks over a stack of cauldrons next to the door on her way out. He gives a tired shake of his head. The room seems quieter than it had been when he was alone: colder. Running a hand through his hair, he returns to his office and finishes off the replies as the clock strikes eleven.

The gold and rosebud-toned sky brought the promise of a gorgeous late-summer day as she began securing the wards around the Beasts classroom.

The familiar roll of incantations fell from her lips, and the surging sensation of her magic flowed from her core to the yew-carved wand – blue shimmers of spellwork slowly dissipated as she moved around the boundaries of the paddocks.

Her Flobberworms twitched on the table next to the covered pavilion, enjoying their morning cabbage and the warmth of the rising sun. While the Diricawls hooted from their enclosed paddock, madly disapparating and reappearing as they waited for their morning meal. At least the Jobberknolls seemed content in their large avian cage – swinging on their perches and peeking out from the branches of the oak tree. Bless the expanding charm, it was like a proper forest when you stepped into their enclosure.

Only once the wards are set in place and she feels firm in their strength, does Catherine begin the morning chores. The Fairies seem content to stare at themselves in the jeweled mirror today, so she passes them by in favor of her more impatient beasts.

The Hippogriffs are all pacing near the edges of their enlarged paddock when she approaches with two large buckets of dead ferrets – the smell alone makes her forcefully turn her head away. It didn’t matter how many times she had handled it over the years, some scents could just not be tolerated.

Their hooves are a thunderous symphony as they all push against each other in their eagerness.

“Come on now, back it up, back it up. Hey! I will show favoritism if you push it, Oswald.”

One by one they jump up to catch their breakfast, swallowing the meat almost whole before charging back in for another. Her fifth years were going to be in for an exciting first quarter, she was sure of it.

It’s the caw from a neighboring paddock that reluctantly has her moving on from Luann who had been pushing her beak into Catherine’s hand for more scritches.

“Yes, yes. I haven’t forgotten about you, I promise,” she informs the creature as she levitates over his specially primed meal.

“Spoiled little thing you are,” she coos as the raw steak flanks fly into the Griffin’s range.

While Matilda hadn’t been particularly keen on her bringing an XXXX-classified beast onto school grounds, Catherine had been adamant that her seventh-years were more than capable of interacting with such a creature. Not to mention, the insured promise of having more than enough protective wards and gear to keep everyone safe left no room for further argument.

And more importantly, Ominis had assured her that this specific Griffin was used to being around witches and wizards and was far tamer than any other he had encountered in Greece. Catherine hadn’t felt the need to ask why he was around Griffins in any capacity but chalked it up to the mysterious work that he never spoke of directly.

After checking in on the Knarls, Dugbogs, and Diricawls, and ensuring that the Fairies had their food laid out in dainty rose-gold porcelain cups, she makes her way over to the actual classroom.

Stored away in cabinets next to the chalkboard were her full lesson plans. All of which were meticulously written out earlier in the month. Bai had left her more than enough to work with and she was incredibly grateful for her predecessor as she eyed old copies of essay topics and test questions under piles of Jobberknoll feathers.

“Ah! I was hoping to find you here.”

Lifting her head from the parchment in front of her, Catherine offers a welcoming smile to the young Defense teacher as he comes up the path. His blue and gold waistcoat swirls and glimmers in the sunlight, his smile nearly blinding as he ducks into the covered classroom. He pulls off his matching navy cap, running a quick hand through his sandy blonde locks.

She straightens up immediately, untying her work apron from her waist. All too aware of what she likely smelled like after working, she casts a silent Scourgify on her muck-covered boots. Her dragon-hide gloves are carefully placed to the side as well before she addresses the man in front of her.

“And what can I do for you, Professor Sterling?”

“Roland, please,” he urges with another beaming grin. “And I was hoping I could compare lesson plans with you.”

“Oh?”

She grabs the wooden stool next to the cabinet and swivels to sit down on it as he leans against the table across from her.

“Howin was kind enough to let me know when she had particular creatures around, you see. A few were quite useful to my students these past years.”

Shuffling through her lesson plans, she nods with a smile, “Ah, I understand. Any beasts you were looking for specifically?”

At that, Roland digs into his waistcoat’s pocket and unfolds a small piece of parchment. His emerald eyes squint slightly as he tries to decipher his own writing.

“Pixies?”

She hums softly, dragging her finger across her plans until the name appears, “Looks like I have it set for my fifth years to begin studying them around the start of February. We’ll use them for about three weeks before we move on to Fwoopers.”

He hahs with delight, quickly scratching down the information.

They set about planning the timing around her introduction to Grindylows, Fire Crabs, and Kappas – the last one making him let out an involuntary cheer.

“The number of requests I made to Weasley last year to appeal for a single Kappa for my sixth-years – “

“Oh, I completely understand her reasoning, of course,” Catherine grins. “If Black was still Headmaster, I imagine I would be stuck with just a pack of Puffeskeins and Horklumps for my older students.”

Roland tucks away his notes, leaning on the table with his elbows, a lazy smile tugging at his lips.

“No, Aragon is a considerable breath of fresh air in comparison. Lucky for you he seems to be invested in your department far more than the others.”

She blushes at the implication, quickly shuffling her papers back into a neat order. Hopping off the stool, she goes to file them back in their proper place. Speaking over her shoulder as she goes:

“I highly doubt that. Professor Onai said she could barely get him out of her classroom yesterday. He just wanted to discuss every little bit and piece of divination – broke her teacups more than once I believe.”

“And – “ she turns back toward her fellow professor, “He was down bothering Crestwell all day Tuesday.”

“Yes, so I heard in the lounge the other night. He has a… what was it again?”

“A motor car – they’re quite the rage in Muggle cities. I think Aragon was hoping to go for a ride in it, honestly.”

He chuckles, dipping his head down, “Now, I would pay good money to see that.”

Catherine hums at the thought, picturing the overzealous Headmaster not only removing the vehicle from its display case, but also trying to steer the petrol engine across the courtyard. Her amusing thoughts are quickly taken from her as Roland asks, quite abruptly –

“So, are you finished for the morning?”

At that, she blinks once before outwardly laughing.

She swipes a hand across her heated brow, “Hardly.”

Gesturing at the paddocks and cages, “I’ve just been waiting for them to finish their breakfast, you see. My Diricawls need grooming, the Jobberknoll cage needs mucking out, and the Dugbogs’ swamp needs readjusting – water temperature, you understand. Not to mention –“

She holds out her hand, wordlessly casting Accio as she summons her broom. It zooms across the yard before landing in her firm grip; her fingers flex along the handle with the muscle memory.

“My Hippogriffs and Griffin need to stretch their wings.”

Roland holds up his hands in playful defeat, laughing as he goes, “Well, I’ll leave you to it then, Hart.”

She gives him a curt nod as he makes his way back down the path to the West Tower entrance. After ensuring everything was back in its proper place, Catherine sets about unlocking the enclosures.

“Come on, then,” she whistles.

The Hippogriffs charge out of the paddock, down the hill towards the courtyard before they, one by one, take off into the air – stretching their wings as they soar above the school grounds. She watches with a trained eye as the Griffin takes his time trotting down the same incline. He turns back to seemingly watch her before he uses his hind legs to jump into a graceful arc – his wings expanding outwards as he glides.

After all the chores were checked off her list and a particular Jobberknoll’s wing was bandaged up, she takes to the sky.

It took a full hour to round everyone back up to their pens. Nigel, the single bronze-toned Hippogriff, required extra encouragement to land in the form of two delicious-looking ferrets. But she was eventually able to lock them in their secure little areas, wards safely back in place over the entire outdoor classroom – therefore preventing them from flying off on their own accord.

Back in the Bell Tower, she takes the stone steps two at a time as she enters the tapestry hall. A proper change of clothes was in order for her trek into Hogsmeade after all. But it’s the creaking sound of a door up the corridor that captures her interest first.

Professor Sharp enters the hall, his back to her, as he leans heavily upon a silver-headed cane. His head is tipped downward as he begins making his way down the corridor with a slow limp. At least it seemed he was taking in the last few days of moderate comfort before term, as he was once again devoid of his usual tailored jacket.

As she watches him go, she’s almost instantly reminded of her conversation with Sterling earlier that morning and she mentally wants to slap herself for forgetting to have a nearly identical talk with the Potion Master.

“Sharp!” she calls out, taking to a light jog as she hurries to catch up to him.

His back straightens before he turns to look at her. An unimpressed raised brow graces his face as Catherine comes to a breathless stop in front of him, a wide grin upon her lips.

“Sorry, I didn’t know when I’d have the chance to speak to you before the weekend.”

She glances at the door he had just exited from, expecting to see the potion store room, but that locked door is further down the hall and a question comes to mind, but once again she holds her tongue.

He’s staring at her when she returns her gaze to his. There’s the slightest tilt of his head as his earthen eyes put their full attention to her face. It’s nearly suffocating.

“You have a, uhm,” he clears his throat, carefully reaching his hand across the space between them, and picks a small downy gray-speckled feather from the top of her head.

He examines it for a moment – twisting it in his fingers. His lips turn up into the beginnings of a smile as she immediately flushes.

“That would be Napoleon’s,” Catherine says by way of explanation as she snags the feather from him with a sheepish smile and tucks it away into her trouser pocket.

At the amused raise of his eyebrows, she feels the need to elaborate.

“The young buck of my Hippogriff herd. I had them stretching their wings this morning and had to round them back up again. He’s the playful sort, wanted to race me, I think.”

The professor hums with that deep rumble of his before she remembers why she had called out for him in the first place.

“As I was saying, blame it on my inexperience, but I apologize for not getting with you sooner. I’m aware that you and Matron Blainey have an arrangement for brewing, as well as your work with Mirabel. If you have the time, I’d be amicable to discussing my own lesson plans with you.”

Understanding crosses his features as he inclines his head toward her, “That would be agreeable.”

“Perfect!”

Sharp begins striding toward the spiral stairs and Catherine quickly moves to walk alongside him.

“I hope I’m not interrupting your own planning session,” she realizes with a shade of embarrassment, having just thrust this upon him. Perhaps she should have made the effort to make an appointment with him first.

His cane clicks against the steps, his gait slowed by the ascent. Her eyes can’t help but travel to his left leg as he walks ahead of her. Had his foot always dragged the way it does now?

He hums in a thoughtful tone, gripping the head of his cane with whitening knuckles, “I’m merely awaiting the completion of several potions for the Infirmary at the present moment.”

“Ah, good timing then.”

The two of them enter the Potions classroom and she spots several cauldrons held under a temporary stasis charm – one that he immediately lifts upon entering the room. From scent alone, she recognizes the familiar Wiggenweld brew. Leaning over, she peers into the neighboring table’s cauldron set-up, ah. The antidote to common poisons, of course.

Her gaze lifts as Sharp settles into the chair at his desk, his cane hanging from the armrest by his right hand. She takes the unspoken cue and crosses the room, summoning a spare chair from one of the dimly lit alcoves to sit next to him.

As she settles onto the stool, Sharp takes hold of a teapot that had been left under a warming charm on his desk and begins pouring the contents into a white cup with intricate green and gold inlaid designs upon it.

“Tea?” he asks, not sparing a glance up from his current task.

She scoots forward on the stool, “If it wouldn’t be a bother.”

He nods, conjuring up a second cup from somewhere in his office. It floats past them on its own saucer which he snatches from the air, pouring once again.

Catherine hums her thanks as she takes a small sip of the warm drink – a herbal concoction that makes her face flush. She’s careful to move the cup away from her immediate reach as she grabs hold of the folded parchment from her trouser pocket.

“While I do have specific creatures that I’ll be rotating through throughout the year, it wouldn’t be terribly difficult for me to procure special ingredients if the need demanded it.”

“There are some – ” he admits, “that I find harder to come by during certain seasons.”

She nods quickly. Certain things, like Unicorn horn, could only be harvested at particular times of the year. Other creatures hibernated through the winter months and were nearly impossible to locate and disturbing them was only for the truly reckless.

“Well, you’re in luck then! I have several connections across the continent who would be more than willing to send a few things your way if your supplies were running low. Now, let’s see…”

He’s content with her current schedule of creature rotation. Flobberworm mucus, Jobberknoll feathers, Fairy wings, and Knarl quills would be available during the first quarter. Kneazle hair and Unicorn byproducts in the second – they’ll start shedding their horns by mid-January, so the timing will be just about right. Puffeskein and Thestral hair in the third quarter. And lastly –

His tone hardens significantly after she says it and her stomach drops with the sensation that she’s about to be on the receiving end of an infamously harsh Professor Sharp lashing.

She hadn’t experienced one of those since the spring of 1893.

“And what exactly are you intending to do with a Graphorn on school grounds?”

She can’t help but beam – she was no longer a student and his words didn’t create the desired effect he had likely hoped they would.

“Educate, mostly.”

Sharp rubs his temples, but she thinks she can spot the makings of what could be a smile under his hand.

“Salazar’s beard, Hart. I trust the Headmaster has at least been informed of your reckless intentions.”

“Of course!” She feels downright cheery now as she takes a sip from her teacup, “Mmm. He was very enthusiastic about the decision actually. Even Matilda was convinced of my plans by the end of the meeting.”

Feeling a twist of mischievousness creeping up her spine, she adds, nonchalantly, “I think the third years can handle it after all. Of course, we’ll be saving the Quintaped for my fifth years. And the Hebridean Black for the older students. They’re the tamer of the dragon breeds, you know.”

He lifts his head immediately, eyes widening before narrowing just as quickly.

The young instructor holds his steady gaze for a moment before ducking her head down with a ringing laugh. She has to cover her mouth with her hand when she sees the way he seems to sag with relief in his chair.

Oh, it was relieving to know that she could still give them all gray hairs even after all this time.

“Honestly, do you still take me for the reckless child I once was, Professor?”

Sharp sighs, resting his cheek in his right palm as he stares at her with a tired, but amused expression for a long-stretching moment.

“Do you wish for a truthful answer?”

“The cheek!” Catherine cries out, smiling brightly at the accompanying sound of his warm timbre of a chuckle.

The comfortable spell is broken by the sound of several alarms going off all at once. Her gaze draws to the cauldrons across the room in realization. The Potion Master hefts himself out of the chair, making his way to the finished brews with a grimace drawn upon his lips once again.

“Would you like some help bottling?” she asks, following after him.

He offers her a calculated look before answering in that usual gruff tone, “I believe I can handle the job. I’m sure you have more pressing matters to attend to.”

Empty bottles fly out from a cabinet near his office, swooping past her before they land in neat little rows on the table beside him. She doesn’t want the warm camaraderie they had shared to end just yet. Stretching up onto the tips of her toes, she looks from him to the cauldrons and back again.

“Only a trip into Hogsmeade to set up orders with Ellie Peck, but that’s not particularly time sensitive.”

Sweeping her gaze toward him, tilting her head down and to the side to appear in his peripheral, she asks, “Do you not trust my ability to bottle and label Wiggenweld, Sharp?”

The ladle in his hand pauses, mid-air, as he sets her with a single raised brow that seems to say Honestly, Hart?

He huffs indignantly, returning his focus to the tedious task at hand.

“I merely assumed that your attention would be required elsewhere.”

Which is about as much of an invitation as she’s going to get. So, with a hidden smile of triumph, Catherine summons more bottles from the cabinet and begins working on the opposite table – scooping, measuring, corking, and labeling the antidotes.

There’s something comfortable about the process, similar to grooming the Kneazles or stocking the feed supplies. But while those tasks were usually done alone, in the heat of the afternoon sun, this particular task was done alongside another. Maybe it was the sense of companionship she had been missing.

It had been well over a year since her last long-stint with a group of fellow creature enthusiasts, after all. She had largely been working solo missions ever since her time in the Far East.

So, standing alongside Sharp, even though his interest in carrying on a conversation was null and void, felt oddly wonderful. Sparing him a glance as she begins sorting the bottled potions into an empty crate, she can’t help but feel the warm bubble of joy in her chest.

When the last of the cauldrons is emptied of its contents, parts of her hair have fallen out of her braid – loose strands curl around her ears from the humidity of the room, and she has to wipe the sweat from her brow.

By the end of it, they have a dozen or so boxes tightly lined with healing potions. She looks from the crates to the man before her and then the quickest glance down to his leg.

“I can take these up to Blainey if you want. I forgot how grueling it is to cross the castle with all these stairs. I certainly could use the exercise.”

Sharp actually rolls his eyes at that and she briefly wonders if she’s overstepped by insinuating that he couldn’t handle the journey up to the Hospital Wing on his own.

“Nonsense,” he says, flicking his wand at the crates, making them levitate beside him. “I have a connection to the Floo network in my chambers.”

“Oh,” is all she can say, quick to send a Levioso at her own stack of boxes as she moves to follow him out of the classroom – their brews trailing behind them.

And though there’s a moment where she wants to ask what the point is in traveling all the way to the Faculty Tower just to use the Floo, she bites her tongue. Particularly when Sharp turns to head down the stairs to the tapestry corridor instead.

She trails after him like a lost little Crup, past the potion storage cupboard before he stops in front of the second door – about halfway down the hall. He holds it open for the crates and for Catherine, who sheepishly slinks past him with a tight smile.

Oh, yes. This made much more sense.

Catherine takes in the living quarters of the Potion Master. Similar to the old room – the one that she most definitely had never snuck into during her time as a student – the dungeon chamber is decorated in warm red tones. A heavy scent of sandalwood caresses her senses as she spins in a slow circle, taking it all in.

There’s a folded partition screen to her right that seems to be placed to give the sleeping area an air of privacy. Stacks of books and papers adorn every surface. A small cart near the fireplace is decorated with several different bottles of ale and whiskey. Curiously, no portraits are adorning the walls this time.

Sharp strides across the room and she refocuses on her task – allowing the crates to come to a peaceful rest on the rug in front of the unlit fireplace.

As her colleague calls for the Hospital Wing, she slowly makes her way over to him – taking only a moment to glance at the writing desk across from her where several charcoal drawings seem to be haphazardly hidden away under a stack of dusty tomes.

When she looks back at Sharp, he’s on his knee in front of the fireplace, carefully sending on the crates through the harmless green flames. Realizing her situation, she moves to join him, passing along the crates one by one.

With the last one through, he dusts off his hands and looks over at her with a pleased glint in his dark eyes. She stands first, offering him her hand before he can even attempt to get up on his own. He seems momentarily reluctant, his eyes refusing to meet her gaze, but he eventually clasps his large palm in her smaller one and allows himself the assistance.

There’s a newly-formed grit to his voice as he continues to avoid her gaze, his eyes focusing on something just past her head.

“Thank you. With your help, I have reclaimed an extra hour to my day.”

“Of course,” she grins. “Two pairs of hands are better than one.”

Catherine allows herself a moment to take in his room once again. And then his attention is upon her and the brewing emotion in his eyes is enough to make her heart race.

“Well, best be on my way. I promised Sirona I’d stop by before term started and I fear I might have skipped breakfast to get everything arranged outside this morning.”

Sharp inclines his head, a small smile upon his thin lips, “Of course. I’m afraid I have the daunting task of finalizing my semester plans laying ahead of me this afternoon.”

She offers a chuckle, feeling her heart beat even out, “I do not envy you in the slightest. I’ll see you later then, I suppose – considering the proximity.”

He nods slowly, “Yes, I suppose we shall.”

With another parting word of thanks and goodbyes, she exits the Potion Master’s private chambers and heads down the hall to her own room.

How strange, she thought, as she switched into a clean set of clothes at last.

Perhaps he had made the move after having had enough of trying to tackle the tower stairs every night. The distance to his classroom was certainly ideal, much like her own request to have her lodging so close to her creatures.

When she heads into the main hall, she glances down the long corridor, half-expecting to see Sharp standing there again. But only the sound of the portraits chattering amongst themselves remains in his place.

Securing her worn leather traveling bag across her shoulder, Catherine makes for the stairs – looking more and more forward to the idea of having a warm meal and a good drink with a dear old friend.

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