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Chapter Text

Deep in the repository when Professor Fig had asked what you planned to do with the responsibility the Keepers bestowed you, you had told him you were going to continue keeping the repository a secret as they had done for centuries. You had sealed the new repository yourself, the swirling container full of Isidora’s poor judgment hidden once more behind several doorways, guardians, and invisible portals that only one that can wield ancient magic could access. 

Moving Professor Fig beyond the boundaries of the repository will forever be seared into your memory as the hardest thing you’ve ever done- battling Ranrok included. Once you had moved back far enough that the guardian’s could close the door, you gently released your levitation charm on the man, only to be discovered later by Professor Weasely who was more than willing to overlook whatever it was that actually killed him.

With the deaths of Professor Fig, Ranrok, Lodgok, and Rookwood, you are now the only living being with knowledge of the repository as well as its precise location. Even your friends who you had confided in were kept mostly in the dark, meaning that once again the Keeper’s secret is truly safe. 

That doesn’t mean that the secret of your ability to wield ancient magic itself is safe, however. A secret is only as good as those who choose to keep it, and unfortunately for you the battle beneath Hogwarts was one that there were several witnesses for.

When all was said and done and Professor Fig had properly been laid to rest, it was Professor Weasley that broke the news to you that you had been summoned by the Minister for Magic to answer for everything that had happened throughout the school year. 

Thankfully the summon was delayed until after school was out of session, so rather than take the Hogwarts Express home you waited an extra day within the school as you prepared for your hearing. You only received a quick rundown of what the Wizengamot would be like as well as what was expected of you from the Deputy Headmistress before taking the floo to the Ministry of Magic. 

You found the deep green color of the masonry throughout the Ministry to be nauseating as you were escorted by what you have decided was an excessive amount of Aurors deeper into the governing center for Wizarding Britain. Your nametag, which needed to be worn at all times despite the staring from passersby making it abundantly clear they all knew who you were, simply stated your name and the courtroom you were assigned for the hearing. 

Your wand had been confiscated by the short red-headed Auror who was currently leading you towards your designated room with a sneer. He had given a weak promise of it being returned, and even if he was unwilling to say it out loud you heard his real meaning loud and clear.

Your wand would be returned if the Ministry doesn’t do something that would prevent it, which clearly he expects to happen.

You were unfamiliar with the muggle court system in London as you had never needed to go to a hearing or trial of any kind, but you still could tell that the court system in the wizarding world was vastly different. There were no barristers to be seen, only you, the entirety of the Wizengamot, and a handful of witnesses that consisted exclusively of the professors who fought alongside you beneath Hogwarts. Clearly they were all awaiting your arrival, the Minister holding up a hand to stop the idle chatter around the room as you are led towards a lone chair in the center of the room by the same sneering Auror.

The Minister for Magic, Faris Spavin as Professor Weasley had helpfully reminded you before arriving, was the oldest wizard you have ever seen.

Professor Weasley had mentioned he was one of the oldest wizards to serve as Minister, but if you had to guess he was at least a hundred years old. His face was a mass of wrinkles, a pair of cool blue eyes peeking through the folds surrounding them and a long white beard giving a jarring contrast to his ornate black dress robes. He wasn’t frail looking despite his old age, but you are unsure if that is typical for all older wizards or unique to him. 

As he stood from his seat in the middle of the elevated platforms the Wizengamot took around the room the others did as well. The sea of red and black robes rustled around the room as the Minster moved to begin. 

“We are meeting here, Monday the 22nd of June 1891, to determine the exact events of Ranrok’s invasion beneath Hogwarts School for Witchcraft and Wizardry as well as the future for the student who has reportedly stopped him using an arcane form of magic.” Minister Spavin began, his voice being projected throughout the circular room as he spoke in a sure tone of voice.

You briefly remember Professor Fig mentioning that the Minister was one who talked more than he listened, and this was quickly proven true as he continued on for several minutes before finally motioning for everyone to be seated and addressing you directly.

“You started your education at Hogwarts as a fifth-year, did you not?” Minister Spavin began, his tone surprisingly light despite the grave feeling that had settled into the room from the seriousness of the hearing.

“Yes, sir.” You respectfully respond, earning a faint smile from Professor Weasley across the room as you display your best behavior just as she had implored you to do.

“It is quite unusual for one’s magic to manifest so late in life.” He mused, and you found yourself struggling to find anything to say in response to the statement.

You simply nod in lieu of speaking, which prompts the Minister to continue asking small questions regarding your circumstances as well as long-winded stories of his own as he became easily distracted. While you find it almost endearing in a way, you could tell that the nickname Faris ‘Spout-Hole’ Spavin was well earned as he devolves into yet another tangent before suddenly getting back on topic. 

“It has been mentioned in several testimonies from your professors that Professor Eleazar Fig was acting as your mentor throughout the school year and had made it clear in a letter to Professor Matilda Weasley before his death that he was aware of your ability to use this arcane form of ancient magic. When was the first instance where you discovered your ability to wield this ancient magic?” Minister Spavin asked, finally getting to the point of the entire hearing to the relief of the rest of the Wizengamot. 

You sit in thought for a moment, trying to remember where you had been honest in the past and what you can still work to keep hidden from the Ministry.

All references to the Keepers have been something you kept close to your chest, as you were unwilling to reveal anything that could lead to the knowledge of the repositories. It was easy enough to minimize the role ancient magic held in regard to the dragon attack and Gringotts as everyone who could reveal the truth are dead. 

Even so, you know that you need to keep enough of the truth in your words to be able to confidently pass your half-truth before the Wizengamot.

“Professor Fig’s wife, Miriam, was studying ancient forms of magic and it was later revealed that this is what led to her murder at the hands of Ranrok himself. Professor Fig had mentioned once that Hogwarts itself is a stronghold of ancient magic, and during my time at the school my ancient ability had presented itself.

“I first used incantationless magic during the extra lessons at Hogwarts that Professor Fig offered to help me catch up with my peers, which he later determined to be the same form of magic that his wife had been studying.” You explain, trying your best to ignore the intense stares coming down from the Wizengamot in favor of making eye contact with the Minister himself.

“How does Ranrok fit into all of this then?” A brunette woman in red robes interrupts, her voice betraying her own curiosity regarding the subject.

“Ranrok was able to wield a darker form of ancient magic. Through Miriam Fig’s research as well as my display of ancient magic during the troll attack in Hogsmeade, Professor Fig and I assumed that Ranrok was interested in interrogating me about our shared magical ability.” You answered, only to quickly be addressed by a blond man in black robes near the front of the room.

“How is it that both you and Ranrok possessed the same abilities? It is almost too convenient  that this ‘ancient magic’ of yours is shared with a goblin of all things.” He sneered, and as you got a closer look at the man he seemed more and more familiar though you could not place him. 

His clear distrust in your story seems to spark something amongst the others in the room as hushed whispers broke out between members in the Wizengamot, and you recognize Professor Black in similar robes next to the man as he leans over to whisper something to the accusatory blond, though he is waved off in a dismissive gesture.

“I’m not even sure how it is that I possess this ability-” You begin in your defense before being cut off once more.

“You expect us to believe that your ability to use this ‘ancient magic’ is unrelated to Ranrok entirely? It’s just a coincidence then that you and a goblin terrorist have such a rare ability in common?” The blond man pressed, his sneer morphing into a smug expression as the whispering amongst the Wizengamot grows into a murmur. 

“I never found out anything about Ranrok’s use of ancient magic. I was too busy trying to avoid being killed by him as I struggled to catch up on four years of schooling, but believe me I regret deeply that that might be disappointing to hear.” You hotly reply earning a disapproving look from most of your professors sitting nearby, though Professor Ronen was clearly holding back laughter to Professor Weasley’s dismay. 

The response from the Wizengamot was mixed as there seemed to be a few members who were still distrusting or equally as angered as the blond man seemed to be by it, while the rest appeared almost amused by your statement. 

The blond man who addressed you originally looks almost murderous and as he abruptly stands from his seat your hand twitches in an effort to grab your wand though you know it was still in the possession of the Auror who had confiscated it earlier.

“That’s quite enough, Mister Gaunt. It appears your question has been asked and answered.” Minister Spavin calmly adds, though much like the majority of the Wizengamot, it seems he is holding back an amused expression of his own.

You feel yourself pale as the man’s identity was revealed, but for once instead of all eyes being trained on you the rest of the room was focused on Ominis’ father to see what his next move would be.

Mr. Gaunt looks enraged as he levels the Minister with the same expression he had given you earlier, but it is soon hidden behind a mask of indifference as he nods stiffly and sits back down. It seems that Ominis had meant it when he mentioned that his family considered Professor Black a family friend, as the Headmaster was still speaking calmly to Mr. Gaunt even as you redirect your attention back towards the Minister.

The questioning regarding your ability to wield ancient magic was long and arduous, though most of that could be attributed to Minister Spavin’s tendency to go off topic as the questioning went on. You had to catalog all forms of ancient magic you were capable of using from combat related magic to your ability to create invisible barriers and archways. It was difficult to explain it all without mentioning the Keepers and their guidance, but eventually you got through it after what felt like hours of answering questions.

The questions regarding your fight with Ranrok was harder to explain both due to the need to conceal most of the circumstances around the event as well as the emotional toll recounting the battle was taking on you. You needed to take a break more than once which earned you the same ire that the Wizengamot typically reserved for the Minister’s ramblings, though you found it difficult to care as you fought to maintain your composure. After your abridged recounting of the events beneath Hogwarts was corroborated by your otherwise tight-lipped professors, the Wizengamot finally moved on.

“Now, let us move on to our final order of business for this hearing. What should be done regarding this student’s future both at Hogwarts and within the wizarding world?” Minister Spavin begins, and a feeling of dread pools in your chest as another wave of muttering spreads across the room.

“I move that the student should be removed from Hogwarts entirely. I, for one, find myself feeling uneasy knowing they will be under the same roof as my own children.” A dark haired man with a pinched face announces, earning a few nods from around the Wizengamot.

“Surely if they are too dangerous to keep on school grounds under the watchful eye of their professors, they are too dangerous to be left without guidance entirely. What would you propose we do with them then, Parkinson? ” A red haired woman counters as she looks towards the pinched-faced Mr. Parkinson.

“Perhaps a private tutor appointed by the Ministry would be best? That way we can keep tabs on their ancient magic while ensuring the safety of the wizarding world.” A platinum blonde woman proposes in Mr. Parkinson’s stead as he seemed to be struggling with the redhead’s direct argument.

“Educating the child should be the least of our concerns. Turn them over to the Department of Mysteries for study and let us be done with this.” A short, bald man argues with a wave of his hand.

“The Department of Mysteries does not typically deal with human experimentation and study under even the most egregious of circumstances- especially when it comes to minors. Even if we did, what do you propose we do, Conan? Put a bed in my office and force me to raise the child?” A thin, elderly woman incredulously replied. Clearly she held some sort of authority over the Department of Mysteries, as you saw her and Professor Hecat share a meaningful look the moment that that department was mentioned.

“I see no reason the student shouldn’t be allowed back onto school grounds, especially since they recently saved all of our children from the clutches of a goblin rebellion. That is, unless the acting Headmaster has anything to say otherwise?” A kind looking woman in dark robes with unruly dark hair states, looking towards where Professor Black is now rigidly sitting.

“During their time as a fifth-year, the only real concern I ever heard regarding the student was the lack of time they actually spent on school grounds. I must admit, I cannot think of any real reason the student shouldn’t be allowed to return.” Professor Black reluctantly responds, earning a sharp look from Mr. Gaunt next to him. His answer seems to have satisfied the dark haired woman who is now smirking victoriously. 

“As acting Headmaster, are you confident in your ability to monitor the child’s progress as well as ensure the safety of the other students in your care for the child’s remaining time at Hogwarts?” Minister Spavin asks, silencing the murmurs of the Wizengamot as they await Professor Black’s answer.

You think it was quite clever on his part, as if there was one thing Professor Black seemed to care about it was his own pride. He would never admit that he was incapable of monitoring you and keeping Hogwarts safe, even if it was proven true during the entire school year.

“Of course I am more than capable as acting Headmaster to deal with wayward children and I have every confidence in my staff’s ability to do so as well.” Professor Black curtly responds. You are aware that he is sealing his own fate in the matter and positioning himself on the side of the dark-haired woman, and the look on Professor Weasley’s face tells you that this is a move in the right direction for you.

“In that case, I see no reason that the student should be barred from returning to Hogwarts.” Minister Spavin declares, earning begrudging nods from your detractors and triumphant expressions from your defenders.

“What of their time away from Hogwarts?” The cool voice of Ominis’ father interjects over the murmuring of the Wizengamot.

“Could you expand on your query, Moldolph?” The Minister requests, and you try your best not to seem caught off guard by the strange way wizards are named.

“You are muggle-born, are you not? Your story began in London, after all.” Mr. Gaunt sharply asks you, turning all eyes in the room back to you.

“Yes, I-” You reply, though you are immediately cut off after your initial answer.

“One would assume you planned to return to London after the completion of the term, now equipped with the ability to wield a form of magic we have no way of controlling or completely understanding.” Mr. Gaunt presses, and the implications of his statement seems to have been understood among the Wizengamot though you still feel left in the dark. You look towards the professors, several of them looking on with grim expressions which only leaves you feeling more unsettled.

“Minister, I argue that the Statute of Secrecy would be put at considerable risk if we allowed this to happen. There are simply too many factors to consider if we allow them to intermingle with muggles at this time.” Mr. Gaunt respectfully proposed to the Minister, though his expression when looking towards you proves that this is his last attempt to knock you down a peg. 

“What of their family? Surely you aren’t suggesting we remove a child from their family just because they are capable of magic! This is unprecedented-” An older man in red robes interjects before being cut off similarly to how you had been earlier.

“There is precedent in the States for this very thing. Rappaport’s Law, enacted in 1790, creates a strict line of segregation between muggles and wizards. It allows muggle familial ties an exemption under the law, but in cases where underage witches and wizards would threaten the Statute of Secrecy these familial ties can be severed and the child becomes a ward of the MACUSA.” The platinum blonde from earlier states, earning an appreciative nod from Mr. Gaunt.

“Ms. Malfoy, even if there is precedent in the American wizarding community, there is still nothing to suggest we can or should do the same here.” The older man retorts, this time to be countered by Ominis’ father himself.

“What is precedent good for if there is no way to set a new one? I think it is a marvelous idea, Tempest.” Mr. Gaunt replies, earning a sharp smile from Ms. Malfoy. 

There is an uproar as the idea is put officially on the table, several members arguing the ethics of making such a decision amongst one another. You can barely catch snippets from one conversation before they are quickly drowned out by another.

“What an archaic notion of family! I would never support something so-”

“I don’t know…it would solve the issue of the Statute of Secrecy-”

“They have the potential to be powerful in the right hands. Perhaps I should-”

“There is no way this should even be considered! It’s too cruel!”

“Where would they go if not-”

“Mudbloods should be lucky we don’t already implement something just like-”

“Can we even allow someone to adopt a minor with so much power?”

“I still think the Department of Mysteries is the best option…”

“I wouldn’t let them mop my floors, let alone stay in my-”

“Surely their parents should be involved at this point, Muggle or not!”

“Taking in a hero would be great publicity…”

The conversations grow in volume until there is yelling across the room from one member to another, and throughout it all Ominis’ father sits calmly and takes in the chaos he himself caused. You avoid the direct eye-contact he attempts to make alongside his smug grin as you turn to instead seek out guidance from any of your professors. 

They are talking amongst themselves as well, though not to the same fervor as the Wizengamot, and you catch Professor Sharp’s eye as he leans over to say something quietly to Professor Hecat. Her expression is grim as she replies and while Professor Sharp outwardly appears quite calm, you can clearly see signs of him grinding his teeth in frustration. 

You can only hope he isn’t frustrated with you as Professor Weasely leans over to join them, the older woman only pausing to throw you a weak but comforting smile before turning to speak once more with the others. You rip your gaze away at that point to look towards the Minister, unwilling to catch any more pitying or unreadable glances from people you know and trust when there are plenty of other people staring at you already.

Minister Spavin is sitting quietly in his large chair, ignoring the uproar of the Wizengamot in favor of watching you with a contemplative look on his face. He follows your gaze from where it just left, noticing the various professors talking to one another with varying levels of shock or concern in their eyes. He turns back towards you, his eyebrows pitching upwards sympathetically before he moves to stand.

Just as abruptly as the arguing had started it is stopped by his movement, and you wonder if there is some unseen gavel that is being used to draw their attention so suddenly. Based on the stories you heard from Professor Fig regarding the Minister you assumed he wouldn’t be respected, but you are reminded at this moment that the impossibly old man is still the governing leader of Wizarding Britain.

“You have all made interesting and well thought out points regarding the Statute of Secrecy, but perhaps we are forgetting the most important element to this case, hm?” Minister Spavin begins as he moves to sit back down, not needing to stand any longer as everyone’s attention is focused solely on him. “Do they even have family to separate them from in the first place?”

At that all eyes were back on you. Most gazes were curious as they anxiously await your reply, but you can see the sympathetic expression most of the professors hold as well as the Minister, who seems to be aware of the answer despite asking the question himself.

“The simple answer is no, sir.” You reply, trying your best to appear as neutral as possible while sitting before the Wizengamot. You know it won’t do you any favors to cause any sort of scene now. Not while the fifty or so witches and wizards in the room are passionately debating your ability to control yourself and your magical ability. 

“And the complicated answer?” The Minster presses.

“Before leaving for Hogwarts I was staying with my grandmother. She was my last living relative…and she passed away in late autumn. I was planning on returning to her home which I inherited for the summer.” You explain, ignoring the looks of pity that you were garnering from the members of the Wizengamot who were on ‘your side’. 

Professor Weasley was, of course, aware of your living situation as she wrote your Hogwarts letter personally. Professor Fig had also been aware of the arrangement since he had stayed with you and your grandmother during the summer while teaching you the basics of magic.

Professor Fig was actually the one who was informed originally of her passing, as he had left a muggle-accessible mailing address for your grandmother after leaving with you for Hogwarts. While you weren’t exactly close with her, you still felt the loss of your last living relative all the same. 

“My condolences.” Minister Spavin replied, and you gave him a slight nod in response. “This makes things far easier, as all muggle-born minors are automatically wards of the Ministry if left orphaned or otherwise abandoned. Still this begs the question…where will they go now?”

There is more muttering amongst the Wizengamot though this time it is kept to a respectable volume. The hushed whipsers come from all sides, some being members that you have begun to trust such as the dark-haired woman and older man who spoke on your behalf earlier, but there was also a dangerous gleam in the eyes of others, those who you caught speaking of your power and potential.

“If I may address the Wizengamot?” The gentle voice of Professor Weasley calls from her seat, standing swiftly and drawing the attention of the now silent witches and wizards before earning a gesture from the Minister to continue. 

“I, Matilda Weasley, Deputy Headmistress for Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, would like to petition for guardianship of the child. As a professor I am well equipped to deal with a child and their needs, and I already have a rapport with the child in question. They would no doubt be quite comfortable in my residence and under my care.”

Professor Weasley is still standing respectfully before the Wizengamot, though she does spare a glance your way with a small reassuring smile before refocusing on the Minster once more. 

You are actually a bit taken aback by the offer, not expecting today to take this kind of a turn. You can’t help but wonder if she knew she would be making an offer like this today, or if it was more a spur of the moment decision. Either way, you send her a grateful look of your own, hoping that this matter might be settled without the discourse you have been forced to sit through for the better part of the day.

“Professor Weasley, have you forgotten your other responsibilities during the summer as Deputy Headmistress? Your ability to travel during the summer was one of the stipulations you agreed to when taking the position.” Professor Black cuts in, and if looks could kill, Professor Weasley would have been on trial herself at that moment. 

She narrows her eyes at the man before retreating back to her typical professional expression, but she also looks as though she had been properly chastised for being caught. It seems she was aware this would be an issue and was  counting on it not being brought up until it was too late, which unfortunately wasn't the case. 

You can practically feel the hope you felt earlier die out as she practically admits defeat with a small incline of her head in the Headmaster’s direction.

“There is plenty of room at Malfoy Manor. Perhaps I could take in the child? It would be a shame for their potential to be squandered by those who are…unrefined .” Ms. Malfoy cuts in, throwing a shark-like smile towards the still standing Professor Weasley. 

Of course, she only keeps her eyes on Professor Weasley for a moment before sliding her cold gaze towards you, something glinting in her eyes that you can only describe as calculating and power hungry. You rip your eyes away from hers, instead looking back at Professor Weasley who has now sat back down and is whispering quietly amongst the other professors.

“I think it best that the child goes to a home currently unoccupied with children. Even if we have decided it best that they are allowed to attend Hogwarts, I would be more comfortable if the placement were as simple as possible.” An older woman comments, sending Ms. Malfoy a suspicious look for her status as a volunteer.

“They should also be capable of combating any…unique problems that one might face when dealing with such a child. If their power is too dangerous to be in the muggle world, their power is also too dangerous for most of us to deal with ourselves.” A brunet man adds, looking thoughtfully around the other members of the Wizengamot as though he were trying to solve an impossible riddle.

There were more hushed discussions amongst the red and black clad members of the Wizengamot, but it seems that they were now stumped by the impossible task ahead. Every suggested member was either unavailable, had children of their own, incapable of dealing with your ‘unique needs’, or was simply unwilling to house you. 

In a strange turn of events, some of the members who were volunteering were the very same ones who aligned themselves against you. As one of your detractors volunteered, another would point out a reason they couldn’t qualify before presenting themselves as an option and being subjected to the same treatment. You felt the need to suppress a shiver as they seemed to almost take pleasure in ripping each other apart, as though they were vultures and you the carcass.

You once again find yourself making a considerable effort to mask your feelings on the subject, though you can’t help but feel as though you are under a magnifying glass as each member of the Wizengamot takes their turn trying to figure you out. Apparently you weren’t the only one who found the situation to be hopeless, the faces around you growing more frustrated as countless volunteers are shot down by the others in an attempt to place you.

Suddenly you hear the sound of someone moving to stand in the witness section, though the scraping of the chair is far too rough for it to be Professor Weasely. You look over just in time to see Professor Sharp straighten himself out, now standing with a grimace as he looks towards the Minister.

“I can take in the student.” Professor Sharp evenly states, his deep voice breaking through the chatter of the Wizengamot as their attention is drawn to the potions professor.

“Oh, so we’re just letting anyone volunteer now?” Ms. Malfoy mutters snidely to the man on her right, though if she were attempting to do so unnoticed she failed spectacularly as her haughty voice echoed slightly in the circular room. 

Professor Hecat elbows Professor Sharp from her seat, luckily sitting on his good side as she nudges his uninjured leg rather forcefully, and he lets out an annoyed huff at the action before straightening up to speak once more.

“I, Aesop Sharp, retired Auror for the Department of Magical Law Enforcement and current Potions Master and Professor for Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, would like to petition for guardianship of the student.

"Similarly to Matilda Weasley, I am well equipped to deal with a child and their needs, already know the student, and as a former Auror I believe my ability to deal with any obstacles regarding their ability to wield ancient magic would be more than sufficient.” Professor Sharp is gruff as states his official proposal, his tone reminding you of when he is giving a rather important lecture in class as he maintains direct eye contact with the Minister. 

“A Potions Master, Professor and former Auror. I must admit, it would be difficult to find someone equally as qualified while still being capable of meeting all of our stipulations.” Minister Spavin mused, his statement once again kicking off a murmur throughout the Wizengamot. 

“I have a home in Albury, a primarily wizard settlement in Surrey. It is isolated enough from muggles that the Statute of Secrecy would be a minimal risk, and I have enough room to house the student as well as no other minors under my care. I am also willing to comply with any stipulations or inspections that the Ministry deems fit.” Professor Sharp informs the Minister, earning a chuckle from the ancient man.

“Oh to have the straightforwardness of an Auror! It is something many of us unfortunately lack. I see no reasonable objections to this proposal.” Minister Spavin declares, and there is a collective sigh of relief as he uncharacteristically stops speaking rather than taking the opportunity to delve into another long-winded story before the Wizengamot.

At that point you find it hard to stay focused as what you can only assume are wizard legalities are discussed at length regarding your guardianship. The terms and phrases being used go over your head, and while you are aware that your future is being discussed, it's difficult to maintain focus when faced with the unfamiliar legal and magical jargon. 

You catch Professor Ronen’s eye as your mind begins to wander, and the jovial man shoots you a comforting smile as he too seemed quite bored with how the proceedings have turned.

He begins folding a piece of paper in his hands as he tries to keep your attention, soon resulting in a paper crane not unlike the ones he oftentimes has flying above the Charms classroom. He motions as though he had planned to toss it towards you, only to dramatically act as though he wasn’t planning on doing anything of the sort when Professor Weasley looks his way. You stifle your laughter at the display of childishness, and Professor Ronen seems triumphant at your display of cheer as he is quietly chastised by Professor Weasley.

While you were distracted, the finer details of your case were successfully ironed out, though you note that some of the Wizengamot that were primarily against you for the majority of the trial seem put out by how things have concluded. Soon the hearing was adjourned after a lengthy speech from Minister Spavin that seemed only partially related to the proceedings to the chagrin of everyone else in the room. 

It isn’t until the Wizengamot begins to file out of the room that you and Professor Sharp once again make eye contact, the stern professor motioning for you to move towards where he and the other professors are still seated before Professor Hecat gets his attention once more

You stand from your seat in the middle of the room, shaking out your legs briefly as they seemed to have fallen asleep in the uncomfortable wooden chair before moving to do as instructed. Professor Weasley is the first to stand and greet you, placing her hand comfortingly on your shoulder before addressing you directly.

“I hope that wasn’t too stressful for you. All things considered, this was the best outcome I could have imagined with the current seats in the Wizengamot. Typically hearings are far shorter, though I should have expected this to be a drawn out case considering…” Professor Weasley begins, trailing off as she looks over towards Professor Black who is waving her down on the other side of the room. She has an annoyed look on her face for just a moment before once again looking as professional as she presents herself in the halls of Hogwarts, taking a deep breath before turning to look at Professor Sharp. 

“Excuse me, it seems I am needed elsewhere. Please, do not hesitate to write to me if you have any concerns. I’ll be happy to help with anything.” Professor Weasley offers, earning a small nod from the man as she walks briskly towards the Headmaster.

“If it weren’t for Aesop’s approval from the Ministry I would have happily volunteered myself. It has been too long since children have been in my home, though Morgana always says I have the worst case of empty-nest syndrome she has ever witnessed.” Professor Ronen comments after Professor Weasley’s departure.

“From what I hear it won’t be an empty nest for long. Your oldest and youngest sons both are expecting children, are they not? With your sunny disposition, I think that being a grandfather will result in several extended visits after the children are born, Abraham.” Professor Hecat says with a smile, and Professor Ronen lets out a laugh that you consider a bit inappropriate in volume as it echoes along the walls of the circular room.

“You are right, my friend! Morgana and I have already created a nursery expecting the babies to stay with us whenever our kids need a break from their kids. I suppose that would have been reason enough for the Ministry to deny my volunteering.” Professor Ronen concedes. To your surprise, Professor Sharp gives him a brief pat on the back before speaking.

“I wouldn’t worry yourself over it, Abraham. Though, we should all be more worried about returning home at a reasonable hour. With how long these proceedings took, we are all at risk of getting caught in the post-work rush.” Professor Sharp dryly states, earning a chuckle from Professor Hecat.

“Now that is something I don’t find myself missing from my time at the Ministry. Don’t be afraid to owl me if you need anything, Aesop.” Professor Hecat comments before turning to leave the room.

She is soon followed by Professor Ronen who shoots you one last smile as he flicks his now enchanted paper crane in the air. You watch the crane slowly circle the ceiling of the courtroom before Professor Sharp clears his throat to catch your attention.

“Do you remember which Auror has your wand?” He gruffly asks, and you swivel your head around looking for the short, red-haired man. 

After a moment of looking through the sea of people still milling around the room, you spot him speaking with Ms. Malfoy of all people. You point him out and Professor Sharp seems equally as displeased as you are at the prospect of interrupting them, though while your reasoning stems from apprehension, it seems Professor Sharp’s displeasure is more akin to annoyance.

“Let’s get this over with, then.” He clips, already moving to cross the room. You rush to follow him, falling into step behind the potions professor as he expertly weaves his way through the mass of people. As you both approach, the conversation between the severe looking Ms. Malfoy and the Auror comes to an abrupt halt.

“As acting guardian I am here to retrieve my ward’s wand, though I was unaware it has become common practice to confiscate wands for non-criminal trials, Miller.” Professor Sharp wryly comments, holding a hand out towards the shorter man.

“Well it has been a minute since you have been an Auror. Just like your loyalties, things change, Sharp.” Auror Miller defensively replies, reaching into his robes to retrieve your wand. 

Ms. Malfoy lets out an amused exhale at the comment drawing your attention, though you quickly look away as she once again is focused on you, pinning you in place with her intense blue eyes in an almost predatory gaze. Something about her gives you the same feeling as Mr. Gaunt, and you make a note to avoid the two blondes at all costs for the foreseeable future.

“It seems things haven’t changed that much if you are still stationed as security in one of the most secure places in London. Do be sure to yell at some teenagers for loitering before the day is out to earn your pay, Miller.” Professor Sharp coldly replies, snatching the wand from the Auror’s hand before turning to leave.

He gestures for you to lead the way out and you are more than happy to do so, using Professor Sharp as a buffer between you and the narrowed blue eyes that you can feel following you.

After leaving the room you are overwhelmed by the large population of wizards and witches now briskly walking through the halls of the Ministry. While you can easily recognize the Aurors in the crowd from their uniforms, the attire for the rest of the crowd varies from dress robes, robes similar to those of the Wizengamot, and even casual or formal muggle clothing. There is already an endless line of wizards and witches waiting to access the floo network, and you feel exhausted just thinking about getting in line alongside them.

Professor Sharp takes a moment to look over the crowd before once again taking the lead, walking in the opposite direction than you had entered using the floo network access point. You follow him silently until you come across an empty platform guarded by a handful of Aurors. 

Though they seem to already recognize Professor Sharp, the Aurors stop you both for identification before allowing you both pass. You briefly see one of the older Aurors who appears to be close in age to the potions professor alongside you nod briefly to Professor Sharp, but there are no words exchanged as you are led deeper into the platform. 

The empty platform reminds you of the train station, though the absence of any rails means that it would be impossible for any sort of train to pass through.

“This is an apparition point. Much like Hogwarts there are wards in place to prevent apparition within the Ministry, though this is a workaround that was created for the quick deployment of Aurors.” Professor Sharp explains as he continues to lead you deeper into the empty platform.

“Can anyone use it? It seems more convenient than taking the floo.” You ask, earning a huff from the man.

“Only Aurors from certain branches are allowed access to this apparition point, though I recognized some of the guards as old trainees from my time as an Auror. I knew they’d let us pass.” He curtly replies, and you remember that while Professor Sharp was one of your favorite professors, he wasn’t exactly a kind one. 

After what felt like a longer walk than should be possible, you turn back to see that the platform seems to span endlessly behind you just as it does in front of you. You stamp down the blooms of panic you feel finding yourself in the liminal space, though Professor Sharp still seems unphased as he comes to a stop.

“This should be close enough that apparating to my home shouldn’t be too difficult. Have you done a side-along apparition before?” He impatiently asks, and you find yourself cringing thinking about the time you were unwillingly apparated by Rookwood’s men.

“Uh, I’ve done it once.” You nervously respond, earning an eyebrow raise from the man as he holds out his arm.

“Then let us be on our way.” He responds, looking at you expectantly. You tentatively reach out to grab his forearm, earning an eye roll from the man. 

“Do you plan on stopping somewhere without me?” He sarcastically asks, and you feel your face heat up a bit at the accusation.

“No?” You reply, unsure what you have done wrong.

“Then hold on tighter. Side-along apparitions are hard enough without me needing to worry about splinching you.” He instructs. 

As soon as your grasp tightens he turns heel, and with a loud pop you are both on your way.

Chapter Text

Apparating is just as uncomfortable as it was the first time, though at least this time your unsteady landing isn’t followed up by you immediately needing to fight for your life.

Also unlike your last unfortunate experience with apparating, rather than crumbling straight to your knees you are instead held steady by supportive hands gripping your upper arms. 

You take a few deep breaths as you fight the wave of nausea threatening to overtake you, but soon you feel as though you can support yourself on your own. The support from Professor Sharp is retracted as he reaches into his coat pocket, and before you really get the chance to take in your surroundings your attention is drawn by Professor Sharp clearing his throat.

You look over just in time to see him retrieve your wand from his coat, holding it out in an open hand for you to take. The wave of relief you feel having your wand back in your hand almost rivals the experience you felt holding the magical instrument for the first time in Ollivander’s. When you first got your wand you were unaware something in you had ever been missing, though this time around it feels like a piece of you has been returned. 

You weren’t really aware of how exposed you could feel without your wand until you were barred from having it in the courtroom.

“Thank you, Professor.” You quietly reply, earning a nod of acknowledgement from the man before he gestures for you to follow him. He then begins to walk at a semi-leisurely pace down the grassy hill you had apparated to, and you finally get the chance to investigate where you have arrived.

You take a moment to look around, appreciating the cover provided by the dense treeline surrounding the hill which is evidently used as an apparition point before quickly moving to follow the potions professor who is already halfway down the hill.  You remember him stating that the community is primarily made up of wizards, though with the chance of muggles being around you suppose it makes sense to apparate somewhere out of the way rather than accidentally giving some poor old lady a heart attack by popping into existence in front of her. 

Living in London for the majority of your life, you were shocked when you first traveled to the different hamlets in the Highlands around Hogwarts, as they were unlike anything you had ever seen before. The thatched roofs of the village homes and wide expanses of farmland had almost seemed like something out of a fairytale in comparison to the stone and concrete structures you had grown up around, and Albury seems to be a mixture of the two styles. 

The homes here have an updated look to them in comparison to the hamlets you encountered in Scotland, the brick and stone structures making you feel slightly more at home despite the lack of cobbled and paved roads. While the homes were reminiscent of those you encountered in London, though far less grand and with far more space between them, the wide expanses of green fields and the view of rolling hills felt like what you had encountered during the past year at Hogwarts. 

As you take in the surrounding area from your vantage walking down the hill, you can see small homes lining the dirt roads of the town only to be broken up by several streams and bridges leading to what might be a town square in the distance. There aren’t many residents out and about as the sun has mostly set over the horizon, but you can see the glow of fires and lamps from within the homes. 

You notice that while there are some areas more densely populated with homes than others, you and Professor Sharp were right walking past them towards the outskirts of town. The soft chirping of crickets in the summer air grows stronger as the sun sets further, the darkness growing around you both during the walk. You are looking out over what is either a small lake or a large pond as you follow the quiet professor ahead of you, only to abruptly stop as you accidentally bump into the back of the man who had stopped without you noticing. 

Professor Sharp lets out an annoyed huff of air as he stumbles slightly, and you feel your cheeks grow warm from embarrassment as he turns slightly to pin you with an admonishing look. You try your best to regain your balance quickly as Professor Sharp turns back towards the front, and you take a step to the side to see that you have stopped by a home that can only be described as charming. 

While it isn’t as rustic as the cottages you’ve encountered in the Highlands, it’s also not nearly as updated as the residences in London. The worn red brick of the house and roof can just barely be perceived in the dim light that remains in the twilight sky. There is a second level attached to the bulk of the home, though there are two offshoots to the left of the house that appear newer, almost as though the addition was made more recently then the rest. 

White windows litter the sides of the cottage, and beneath most of the window sills there appear to be plant boxes, though you cannot make out any specific types of plants in the dark. There are unkempt hedges lining the home as well, the greenery drawing your eyes forwards towards a thick door painted a bright yellow. 

You don’t get a chance to wonder about the strange choice in color for the infamously gruff and gloomy professor for very long, as Professor Sharp quickly taps his wand to the brass handle of the door resulting in it swinging open dramatically. You move to step forwards through the door, but Professor Sharp holds out his hand motioning for you to step with him toward the side of the door and out of the path of the threshold. 

You do so, shooting him a confused glance as he holds his wand in a preparatory manner as though he were preparing to cast a complicated spell. While he doesn’t say anything, you watch as Professor Sharp moves his wand in a large arching manner before quickly swinging his wand downwards. 

Several things then happen all at once. 

The many dark windows of the home light up simultaneously, either by fireplaces being lit or lamps that you can just make out through the dusty window panes. As though the cottage could hear your thoughts, all of the window shutters are suddenly thrown open, and you can see what appear to be several clouds of dust being expelled from them, though thankfully none of them reach you or Professor Sharp. 

Similarly to the windows, you watch as a thick trail of dust and dirt is expelled from the still open front door, the cold whoosh of air causing a shiver to creep down your spine despite the pleasant summer air you were experiencing earlier. 

After another moment or two of the home expelling the dusty and stale air within the home, the windows once again shut and Professor Sharp’s wand is back in his coat pocket. He begins to walk towards the door, but stops just before entering before turning to motion you inside, raising an eyebrow at you as you remain in place.

“It would be a shame for you to sleep outside after I went through all the effort of making my home hospitable.” Professor Sharp presses, and you would almost go as far as to say he sounded almost humored by your reaction to his spellwork. Joking or not, his words push you into action as you quickly move through the doorway and into what appears to be a small entryway attached to a sitting room. 

There is a fireplace burning low on the opposite wall of where you entered. A dark coffee table sits in front of the fire, and is surrounded by a dark green sofa and matching armchairs. A similarly colored rug is spread out beneath the sitting area, and you can just see an open doorway to the side that appears to lead to a dining area or perhaps the kitchen.

Directly to your right there is a L-shaped staircase cutting into the wall, and on the wall beneath the winding steps there are two closed doors. The doors must lead to what you assumed were the newer attachments to the home, though there isn’t any indication of what might be behind them.

As you are taking in the unfamiliar environment Professor Sharp has removed his jacket and hung it on a nearby coat rack, seemingly content to let you look around for a moment as he settles in himself. 

“The guest room is upstairs.” He stiffly states, already moving past you and making his way upstairs before you realize you are meant to follow him. You begin to move upstairs yourself, not rushing to follow him since there isn’t as much of a chance you’ll get lost here like you would back at Hogwarts. 

As you make your way up there are three doors lining a narrow hallway, with two on the right side and one on the left closer to the stairs. Professor Sharp makes his way towards the end of the hall, opening a door on the right and gesturing for you to enter.

Your home in London was decorated heavily, as your grandmother had accumulated several items and pieces of furniture during her lifetime that she refused to part with. You were used to the cramped and slightly eclectic space that the old woman had curated, so transitioning from your home in London to Hogwarts wasn’t too jarring if you ignored all of the overtly magical elements. 

In contrast Professor Sharp’s home decor seems to be on the sparse side, and his guest room is no different.

Keeping with the theme of the rest of the house, the linens and drapes were a deep shade of green and the wooden frame of the bed and wardrobe against the opposite wall were a dark shade of brown. There was a small writing desk beneath the window with a dark wooden chair tucked neatly into it, and in the center of the room your trunk and some additional belongings you accumulated while at Hogwarts such as your broom were neatly deposited on the floor. 

“The door next to yours is the bathroom, and across the hall near the stairs is my own room.” Professor Sharp informs you, and while he sounds just as gruff as he comes across in class you can’t help but sense an almost underlying feeling of unease from the man. He stands stiffly in the doorway, almost as though he is unsure what else to say, so after a moment you decide to help him out.

“Bathroom to the right, your room to the left. Got it.” You repeat in an upbeat way, falling back into your familiar chipper demeanor that was on full display at Hogwarts. 

While this behavior had been typical from you for most of the year, ever since Professor Fig’s passing you know you have been noticeably more sullen as you walk the halls. Even so, the familiarity of your demeanor seems to put both you and Professor Sharp at ease, despite the strangeness of the situation.

“I’m going to look through the pantry to see what I have for dinner. You should unpack.” Professor Sharp states, giving you a short nod before turning and moving downstairs. You listen to his uneven gait as he descends the stairs before turning towards your belongings, taking note of the way sound easily travels in the smaller home. 

You heave the heavy trunk up onto the bed before opening it to unpack as instructed. You wish you were allowed to do magic to make the entire process easier, remembering a particularly helpful charm you learned from Professor Ronen that would have made unpacking a breeze, but you are unsure if you were given the same tutor’s exemption in regards to underage magic that you were granted last year. 

Resigned to do things the good ol’ fashioned muggle way, you place your wand on a nearby nightstand before you move towards the wardrobe to throw open the doors and see how much space you’ll have inside. Just as you approach with your hand already reaching to open the wardrobe, one of the doors creaks open itself and you jump back.

You watch in horror as a familiarly armored clawed hand curls around the door from within, the sharp points of the armored hand digging into the wood of the door leaving small scratches in its wake. While you recognize the armor on the hand as Ranrok’s you realize that it is much higher than you would expect the goblin to reach. 

You watch frozen in fear as the clawed hand pushes the door of the wardrobe open further, the darkness from within the wardrobe only bringing your attention to the bright red of two burning eyes emerging from the shadows. From within the darkness of the wardrobe you recognize the goblin armor clad individual, though you struggle to make sense of it.

A twisted version of yourself exits the wardrobe, a sharp smile on your face with rows of razor sharp teeth as well as a nefarious glint in your red eyes. The armor around your body glows the same deep scarlet that Ranrok’s corrupted form of ancient magic had, and in your other clawed hand you hold what you recognize as Miriam Fig’s wand. The other you is absolutely coated in blood and gore, their steps heavy as they eerily move out of the wardrobe. 

The air around you becomes stale and musty, reminiscent of the atmosphere from beneath Hogwarts in the underground repository, and you begin to creep backwards away from the sinister version of yourself. You know you need to get to your wand, but you refuse to turn and run while there is a wand pointed your way, even if the potential threat is yourself. 

Especially if the potential threat is yourself, given all that you’ve done this past year.

As you step backwards towards where you know your wand is, the other you mirrors your every step forwards. They appear almost unhinged in this state, their head tilted to the side almost unnaturally watching your every move. You fight the waves of fear and panic working through you and you take another large step backwards away from this sinister version of yourself, when suddenly you feel yourself falling backwards. 

You let out a yelp as your elbow cracks painfully into the ground, your flailing to catch yourself on your way down only making you land harder. Your broom rolls from under your feet, explaining what caused the fall in the first place. Despite the ache in your back and elbow you quickly begin to scramble backwards, though it seems that the other version of you had expected this as they suddenly lunge towards. 

You cover your face just in time as their armored claws slash towards you, and the sting of the metal digging into your arms wrenches another strangled scream from you. Just as you watch the other version of yourself move Miriam’s wand in a frighteningly familiar lighting shaped pattern, you hear someone barrel their way up the stairs and through the still open doorway of the guest room. 

You whip your head to the side to see a panicked Professor Sharp, his wand up and aimed towards the intruder in the room. 

You can see him quickly scan the room for anyone else that could be lurking, but he quickly focuses back on the standing form with a clawed hand still raised and dripping with blood and wand hand now still. 

He seems just as focused as he had been while fighting alongside you beneath Hogwarts, though as the other version of you also looks over at the former Auror you can see him waver slightly as he realizes the intruder is also you. Movement above you catches your eye, and the feeling of overwhelming terror is replaced by intense confusion as the other you stands up straighter and morphs into an unfamiliar man. 

He has a similarly stocky build to Theophilus Harlow, though he isn’t anyone you recognize. His clothes are distinctly muggle, though you notice that his trousers and shoes seem to be quite formal while his shirt is that of someone who works at a shipyard, almost as though he just threw on anything he could find to wear. 

Miriam’s wand has changed into a straight black wand which is the second indication this man is a wizard after what you can only assume is a poorly planned muggle disguise. His dark hair peeks out from beneath a black flat cap, and he lets out a cruel laugh as he makes eye contact with Professor Sharp.

Professor Sharp seems frozen in place for only a moment before turning his wand towards you and casting depulso. The force of the spell pushes you across the floor from beneath the still looming figure until you make a somewhat harsh impact with the writing desk on the far wall.

With you out of the way the man takes a step towards Professor Sharp as he raises his wand threateningly. Professor Sharp clenches his jaw for only a moment before casting another spell.

“Riddikulus!”

You watch as the man begins to suddenly shrink down, his cruel laugher shifting in pitch until he is the size of a mouse and his voice coming out in high pitched squeaks. The man runs in panicked circles around the floor before making a mad dash towards the wardrobe once more, though with another silent wave of Professor Sharp’s wand the tiny wizard seems to vanish into thin air. 

With the absence of the high pitched squeaking the room seems almost deathly quiet, though as you move into a sitting position you can’t help but let out a slight hiss of pain both from your open wounds and the radiating ache from your impact with the floor. The sound seems to shake Professor Sharp out of his stare down with the spot the wizard had vanished from, and he quickly crosses the room to help you up by supporting your uninjured arm and pushing you into the chair that has been displaced from your impact into the desk.

“What was-” You begin to ask, your words dying out with a pained gasp as Professor Sharp stretches your injured arm in front of you, turning it over to look at the deep gashes left by the claws of your other form. The pain radiating from stretching out the injury has you releasing another hiss as pain radiated from the wound.

“Did they cut you anywhere else? When you fell did you hit your head?” He quickly but sternly asks, releasing your arm in favor of grabbing your head on either side and gently directing your gaze upwards towards the light as he checks your eyes for what you can only assume is pupil dilation.

“Uh…no?” You reply, though it seems both you and Professor Sharp are unsure which question you are answering.

“No you don’t have a head injury, or no you aren’t hurt anywhere else?” Professor Sharp clarifies, sounding as annoyed with you as he usually does with Garreth in class.

“No, I didn’t hit my head. I hit my elbow and shoulder pretty hard, and I may have twisted my ankle.” You clarify, trying your best to take stock of all your injuries to avoid annoying the man more. 

Professor Sharp looks over your forearm once more before turning around and flicking his wand towards the doorway. You’re unsure what exactly it was for, but soon two vials swiftly fly through the open doorway and into Professor Sharp’s other hand which he instinctively held out to catch them. You recognize one of them immediately as a wiggenweld potion, though the other vial of swirling purple liquid is unfamiliar to you.

“Wiggenweld first.” Professor Sharp states, handing you the green vial and crossing his arms expectantly as he waits for you to drink it. 

You waste no time popping open the vial and downing the familiar potion, the earthy taste of the wiggenweld coating your tongue as you feel the uncomfortable sensation of the skin of your arm stitching back together. The aching in your shoulder, ankle, and elbow disappear entirely, and soon you feel perfectly fine, if not a bit worn out as your adrenaline finally subsides. 

Professor Sharps is once again lifting and rotating your arm, looking for any sign of the slashes that had been there previously before being satisfied that you are completely healed. Now feeling much better, you think that you can try to get answers once again about what had just happened.

“Professor Sharp, what was that thing?” You blurt out, giving up on finding some way to ask without sounding completely childish.

“Boggarts are typically covered in your fifth-year defense against the dark arts class, are they not?” Professor Sharp replies, and you immediately feel embarrassed. You do remember briefly learning about boggarts and had even excelled when it came to the practical lesson on the subject, though last time you faced a boggart it was not whatever that was.

“Yeah but last time it- mine wasn’t…” You begin before trailing off, looking back towards the open wardrobe.

Professor Sharp lets out a sigh standing up straighter and moving towards the wardrobe. He inspects the inside briefly before swishing his wand towards your trunk. All your clothes begin to fly out at his command and are magically placed inside the wardrobe before the doors firmly shut behind them. 

“It’s not unusual for boggarts to change. Mine definitely isn’t the same as it was in my fifth-year class. I’d imagine whatever you were afraid of before would pale in comparison to what you have faced throughout your short time at Hogwarts.” Professor Sharp comments, his tone somewhat comforting though it is clear he isn’t exactly well practiced when it comes to taking on such a role. He places the second potion on your nightstand before straightening back up. You both find yourselves now in an awkward silence, you by the desk and him by the door. 

While you would spend quite a bit of time brewing wiggenwelds in the potions classroom when your extremely hectic schedule would allow it, you realize that in the grand scheme of things you and Professor Sharp are barely acquainted, especially when compared to your peers that have had an additional four years on top of your one to become comfortable with all the professors. The time you did spend in potions was primarily before you were shown the Room of Requirement as you needed somewhere safe to brew before then, or after Professor Fig…well, after that as you suddenly found yourself cramming as much information as you could in all your classes in preparation for your O.W.L.s. 

Needless to say, this awkward silence is one that neither you or Professor Sharp seem capable of standing, but also something both of you seem incapable of breaking. You eventually get up from where you were seated at the desk to walk towards the middle of the room and pick up your broom.

A couple of the bristles were crushed in your fall, fanning out in all sorts of directions from bends in the straw, but unlike yourself it seemed to have survived the events of the night mostly uscathced. You move your broom back to lean against the desk, only to be interrupted by Professor Sharp clearing his throat.

“I typically spend the summers at Hogwarts as resupplying the Hospital Wing for the next school year is a part of my duties as Potions Master.” He starts, and you can only remain silent as you wonder where he is going with this information. Professor Sharp seems to also be trying to figure out where he is going with the information himself, shaking his head slightly as he speaks once more.

“I wasn’t prepared to return to Albury so soon, if at all. The kitchen…” He trails off and you suddenly understand what he is trying to say.

“Oh. Don’t worry about dinner, sir. I don’t think I could eat after…” You start before trailing off as well. Luckily, Professor Sharp doesn’t leave you hanging, most likely since you have left a perfect opening for him to end the conversation entirely.

“Understandable. The other vial is a dreamless sleep potion. I figured you could use it. You should take it sooner rather than later, but make sure that you take it when you are already in bed. It works rather quickly.” Professor Sharp informs you, sounding more comfortable now that you are talking about potions rather than your biggest fears or his typical summer routine. 

You give him a grateful nod which he returns with a stiff nod of his own before leaving and closing the door behind him. 

You take a moment to change, still wary of the wardrobe but trusting that the boggart is truly gone, before settling into bed. You can’t help but replay everything that has happened today, starting from your anxiety-inducing interrogation at the Ministry and ending with facing what is apparently your new biggest fear: yourself.

It almost feels unbearably cliché when you think about it. You chose to keep the magic contained in the underground repository, but the possibility that you could’ve used it seems to still be haunting you even now. How powerful could you have been with it? Would it have corrupted you the same way it did Isidora or Ranrok? Could it still corrupt you now?

You let out a shudder as you remember how you looked in his armor with bloodsoaked claws and an emotionless gaze. You would never go that far. You refuse to.

Rather than thinking more about the terrible ending to an even worse day, you take the vial in your hands that was left behind by Professor Sharp. Popping open the vial you are greeted with a pleasant lavender scent accompanied by a soothing earthy undertone. 

Dreamless sleep is something you recognize from the sixth-year curriculum, which you only know about as you skimmed over the syllabus for all the classes when picking your courses for next year. It isn’t something typically allowed, but Professor Weasley insisted that you get the opportunity to do so since you haven’t had nearly as much time as your peers to make such an important decision.

As you drink the swirling purple liquid and experience the pleasant sweet taste that it leaves behind, you are glad that you opted to take advanced potions next year. 

You can already feel your eyelids getting heavy as you struggle to recork the vial and place it on your nightstand, and you can’t help but wonder what gives the potion such a sweet aftertaste as you fall gently asleep, thankfully forgetting all about your glowing red eyes and whatever awkwardness awaits you for the rest of the summer.

Chapter Text

“Just stay here for a moment while I pick up a couple of things. Shouldn’t take long.” Professor Sharp instructs, and while you are reluctant to do so you stand to the side of the aisle and watch him disappear around the corner.

After a breakfast consisting of various canned foods, mostly fruits and some cold vegetables as Professor Sharp insisted on somehow balancing the meal, Professor Sharp had requested that you accompany him to shop for groceries. You were already prepared for the day as you would rather let another boggart take you out than be seen in your pajamas by one of your professors, so as soon as you had finished your serving of peaches and peas you both were out the door.

When Professor Sharp mentioned that Albury was a primarily wizarding community to the Wizengamot, you cannot help but think that he was lying. Now that you could see Albury in the light of day, it was nothing like the other hamlets you encountered. No magic was being used openly and most townsfolk had a distinctly muggle fashion sense. 

During the walk into town Professor Sharp explained that most businesses here are wizard owned, but cater outwardly to the disproportionately large muggle community. After you asked him what exactly the muggle to wizard population was, he admitted that it was probably closer to a thirty-seventy split with muggles taking the majority. Still, Albury was a larger town than most, so even as the minority Professor Sharp assured you the magical side of town was thriving.

For the most part shopping was a breeze. Professor Sharp would ask on occasion what your preferences were between two items or ask for the hundredth time if you had any severe allergies, but otherwise it was simply you trailing alongside him holding a large wire basket as he made most of the decisions. 

That was until Professor Sharp left you alone. After shopping for all the food you’d both need for a couple weeks, Professor Sharp told you that there were some ‘other’ supplies he needed to pick up, and it would be quicker if you stayed behind.

You had some questions about where exactly he was going in the store as well as what he was looking to buy, but this led to you seeing a new side to the typically stern potions professor: impatience. He promised to explain everything later, but that was about all you got before being abandoned in the canned produce aisle.

You let your mind wander as you think about where exactly the wizarding portion of the store was hidden. During your summer with Professor Fig you hadn’t gotten the opportunity to shop for your own school supplies as it was all covered by the school due to your extraordinary circumstances. After hearing about Diagon Alley from your friends, particularly the muggle-born ones as they detailed the Leaky Cauldron acting as the access point from London, you couldn’t help but wish that you had been allowed to go shopping yourself to see how the wizarding world meshed with your old one. 

You heard something about tapping specific bricks in an alleyway from one of your roommates to access Diagon Alley, but at the time you were so new to magic you weren’t sure if you believed them or not. Of course now you think there are several things that you found unbelievable at the beginning of the year that you know are entirely possible when magic is involved. 

You aren’t even sure what the secret doorway would be to whatever shop Professor Sharp has disappeared at, let alone if it is a secret doorway at all. You allow your mind to wander as you think  about all the possible ways you could hide a doorway to your own imaginary shop, ancient magic coming to mind as you remember all the doorways you accessed in particular, when you are interrupted by a gentle tap on the arm. 

You whip your head around to see an older woman, much older than Professor Sharp and perhaps even Professor Fig, tapping you on the arm as she gestures behind you. Her white hair is pulled into a frizzy bun on the top of her head, reminding you of how Madam Snelling wears her own hair back at Hogsmeade if not a bit messier. Her simple muggle dress has you glad you chose to wear your more casual muggle clothes yourself, though it is far too warm to wear any of your robes anyway. 

“Excuse me dear, but you are blocking the carrots.” She kindly informs you, and you turn to see where she was pointed to see that you were in fact standing right in her way. You mumble some quick apologies as you shove the basket you placed on the ground to the side and move along with it. She is quick to wave your apologies off, however, and after selecting her canned goods she offers you a kind smile.

“I haven’t seen you around before, did you move in recently?” She asks, and while living in London has sharpened your senses when it comes to interacting with strangers, you can’t help but want to indulge the kind looking woman, especially since you were practically raised by your grandmother yourself. 

“Uh, well...yes I guess I did.” You reply, suddenly unsure how to explain yourself to a third party. It isn’t exactly common to live with a professor, and while you are new to the area you remember that Professor Sharp said he didn’t spend much time away from Hogwarts. Would she even know who he is if you mentioned him?

“Well how exciting! Our little town has really been growing lately. Back when I was your age it felt like fields surrounded us in all directions, but even so it's not everyday we see a new face. I’m- Oh! Aesop Sharp is that you?” The older woman began before cutting herself off and looking behind you. 

You follow her gaze and sure enough Professor Sharp has walked down the aisle to meet you both. You subtly check to see what he had left you to buy, but you notice his hands are empty. It might be for the best, though, as the old woman seems to be as muggle as you were before your fifth-year.

“It’s nice to see you again Mrs. Whittle.” Professor Sharp calmly greets the old woman. She was so calm and collected earlier while talking to you that you are surprised to see her practically vibrating with excitement as she grabs one of Professor Sharp’s hands in her own.

“Oh none of this Mrs. Whittle nonsense! Not from you, young man.” She kindly says as though it has been something she has had to remind Professor Sharp of before. “It’s been so long since you’ve been in town we were wondering if you were ever coming back! I know you had some trouble with your last job, but that didn’t mean you needed to up and leave immediately for your next one.” 

As Mrs. Whittle chastises the man you can’t help but notice the slight wince that works its way on his face before smoothing into a more casual expression at the mention of his time as an Auror. You briefly wonder how long he has been away from his home if the residents haven’t seen him since his employment with the Ministry ended. How long has he been teaching at Hogwarts anyway? 

“You know that I like to keep busy.” Professor Sharp replies, and you are almost shocked by how sheepish the man sounds, if not outright apologetic. It almost feels like you are intruding on something private, seeing Professor Sharp express an emotion other than seriousness, disappointment, or the thinly-veiled pride he rarely displays in class.

“Speaking of keeping busy, Aesop…” Mrs. Whittle slyly comments, and you give Professor Sharp a confused glance as the older woman gestures towards you. If potions class taught you anything, it’s how to spot an unimpressed Professor Sharp, and with his arms folded and a slightly raised eyebrow you can tell he is unamused by whatever Mrs. Whittle was implying.

“Don’t insult your own intelligence, Eleanor. You know as well as I that the math wouldn’t add up for them to be one of mine.” Professor Sharp seriously states, sounding almost as though he were lecturing a student rather than speaking to someone who is nearly three times his senior. You choke slightly on air as you realize what Mrs. Whittle was asking, which only earns you a mischievous glance from the old woman as though she had caught him in a lie.

“Oh! You sounded just like a proper teacher just then! Very professorial.” Mrs. Whittle exclaims, and you can’t help but let out a soft chuckle at her antics.

“I am a proper teacher.” Professor Sharp mutters, and you have to stifle the laugh forcing its way out of you behind your hand as his demeanor reminds you more of Sebastian when he is being lectured by Ominis than his typical stern self. Unfortunately, your action doesn’t go unnoticed as Professor Sharp fixes you with the same disappointed look he had directed at Mrs. Whittle earlier.

“You can’t blame me for wishful thinking, Aesop! I always did think you’d make a great father if not for your detective work in London always keeping you busy.” Mrs. Whittle comments, and it seems that Professor Sharp has nothing to say in response, though you notice he has once again settled into his usual strictness despite the older woman almost appearing to be trying to press his buttons. 

“Well don’t keep me in suspense! If not a little Sharp, who exactly is our newest neighbor?” Mrs. Whittle asks, this time looking at you. You take a moment to introduce yourself, though Mrs. Whittle seems slightly put out when your surname is, in fact, not Sharp.

“I’m one of Professor Sharp’s students at his boarding school, though I am staying with him for the summer.” You finish, reluctant to mention Hogwarts by name in case it raises complications due to Mrs. Whittle being a muggle. Professor Sharp lets out a small sigh of relief when you omit the information, so you are glad your assumption was correct.

“Taking on an apprentice? If they are half as good as you at making tonics the town will be glad to have you both.” Mrs. Whittle comments, and once again Professor Sharp looks almost sheepish, almost as though he were caught doing something he shouldn’t.

“Tonics, professor?” You press, earning an enthusiastic nod from Mrs. Whittle as Professor Sharp nervously scratches the back of his neck.

“Our doctor is absolutely useless- but don’t mention you heard that from me! Nothing helped my arthritis more than whatever tonics your professor here would whip up for me back in the day, and whenever colds started going around Aesop was always everyone’s first stop to get better. You’re lucky to be learning from such a talented chemist. Your parents must be very proud!” Mrs. Whittle explains, and you feel almost offended that you were considered such a risk to the oh-so-sacred Statue of Secrecy with Doctor Sharp running loose in town.

“I’m sure that wherever he is, Williams just felt a chill down his spine with you talking behind his back like that.” Professor Sharp admonishes, but you can’t help but notice that he didn’t make any sort of effort to explain your real circumstances in regards to why you are staying with him. An apprentice seems close enough to the truth that there is no need to explain yourselves any further, not that you are keen on explaining to a near stranger that you really had nowhere else to go.

“Oh look at the time! I’m sure I’ve wasted plenty of yours talking your ears off! Do be sure to stop by for tea sometime soon to catch up, Aesop.” Mrs. Whittle comments dismissively, completely ignoring Professor Sharp’s comment and rushing with her canned goods towards the front of the shop. 

“Well that certainly was-” Professor Sharp begins before being cut off by Mrs. Whittle practically yelling over her shoulder.

“And you better bring the little Sharp with you when you do!” She adds enthusiastically, resulting in Professor Sharp letting out an exasperated sound as you give the older woman a small wave goodbye.

“She seems nice.” You comment, earning a wry look from Professor Sharp as he swiftly picks up the basket still resting on the ground and makes his way towards the front of the shop himself. 

“Don’t encourage her.” He chides as you rush to follow him, and before you know it you are both carrying bags of groceries back towards the outskirts of town.

You walk silently down the path towards Professor Sharp’s home, thankful that there are plenty of trees along the grass trimmed path providing plenty of shade as you plod alongside the slower man. Professor Sharp seems content to walk in silence and it becomes clear that his slightly standoffish demeanor displayed at Hogwarts isn’t exclusive to his time at the school. Even so, you were promised an explanation and you were going to get one.

“So,” You begin, getting a sideways glance from the potions professor showing he was paying attention. “Where was this secret wizard shop located? Hidden staircase? A blocked off wall requiring some sort of magic password?” 

“Even more duplicitous than that.” Professor Sharp begins, and you can’t help but wait with baited breath as he takes his time revealing another wizarding secret to you. “An ‘Employee’s Only’ sign hanging on an unlocked door.” 

Your face falls at the absolutely mundane explanation, earning a bark of laughter from the typically gruff man. 

“That’s it? A sign on a door?” You clarify, earning a single nod in response as a small smile remains on Professor Sharp’s face.

“Not everything needs to be so cloak and dagger in the wizarding world. I told you almost all the shops in Albury are run by witches or wizards, therefore staff exclusive areas are the perfect place for us to meet. 

“For example, we just left a muggle grocery shop but the wizarding side of the same building is where one can purchase common potion ingredients.” Professor Sharp explains and while the initial disappointment is still there, you have to admit that it is a clever business strategy.

“So where are the ingredients you bought?” You ask, earning a scoff from the man making you feel immediately embarrassed even if you aren’t sure why yet.

“Surely you don’t expect us to walk with lacewing flies or ashwinder eggs out in the open when the entire point is for muggles to be unaware of what is really being sold there.” Professor Sharp says in an almost smug tone, and you fight the urge to roll your eyes as you will the embarrassed heat to leave your face. “It’s all by owl order. You buy the items ahead of time and everything is delivered that night.”

“Clever.” You comment, earning a small hum of agreement from Professor Sharp as you both make your way up the path around what you have decided is a very large pond leading towards his home. 

The remainder of the walk is in silence, though unlike the previous day this time the silence is far less uncomfortable. Of course, you still have one more thing on your mind once you are both safely within the walls of Professor Sharp’s home, you sitting at a small table while he uses magic to sort all the groceries and put them in their proper place.

“I would read the Daily Prophet every time I visited Hogsmeade, you know.” You casually comment, and while you are sure Professor Sharp is listening, he still has his back turned as he waves his wand to fill the cupboards with dry goods.

“Congratulations.” He dryly replies, and you take a second to roll your eyes at his back before getting to the point.

“There was one article that I thought was particularly interesting. Apparently a wizard was selling amortentia to muggles at a state fair and caused all sorts of trouble for the Ministry. Did you know selling potions to muggles is highly illegal?” You continue and finally you get some sort of real reaction as Professor Sharp tenses up, nearly dropping the last of the groceries as a result. He turns slowly to face you, a perfectly blank expression on his face despite his still slightly tense posture.

“Did you really mean to ask me, a former Auror, if I am aware of the law?” He sternly asks, and you think that if Mrs. Whittle were here she would’ve had several comments about how ‘professorial’ he seems now that he is acting like you were truly back at Hogwarts.

“No?” You quickly answer, aware that while you had meant to poke at Professor Sharp in a lighthearted manner, it had unfortunately backfired.

“It seems we are both unsure of what you had meant to ask then, so perhaps you can speak plainly to clear this misunderstanding up.” Professor Sharp presses, crossing his arms as he continues to fix you with the same blank stare, though you think you might be able to detect a hint of what could possibly be embarrassment.

“The ‘tonics’ Mrs. Whittle mentioned, were you actually selling potions to muggles?” You ask, and surprisingly the only response you get from Professor Sharp is a slight shrug of his shoulders. The almost casual response takes you slightly aback, and you can’t help but press him for more information. “But sir, it’s illegal so why-”

“Why would I knowingly break the law, especially if the last time I was in town I was a current Auror?” He cuts you off, and all you can do is nod silently as he takes the question right out of your mouth. 

“I didn’t become the potions professor by accident, you know. Sure, the circumstances were less than stellar, but I have always had a talent for the subject. Being an Auror…” Professor Sharp trails off, letting out a small sigh before refocusing on the conversation. 

“Being an Auror is something that can be considered quite noble, not just because of the danger associated with the career but also because the pay definitely doesn’t cover the…significant risk that can come with the job. Selling potions to the wizarding community here helped pay off this house during my time as an Auror, and if the muggles noticed I had become an apothecary of sorts and came to me for help I saw no real risk in providing them with minor cures from time to time.”

“I think that technically, that makes you a criminal.” You point out, though not without just the right amount of humor in your voice. To your surprise Professor Sharp’s blank expression begins to crack at your comment, the corners of his mouth slightly turning upwards.

“Considering everything you admitted to doing over the last school year, I think technically you are also a criminal. Not to mention of the two of us, only one has had their day in court.” Professor Sharp quips, and now he is smiling a bit more openly as his tense posture finally relaxes.

“I wasn’t actually charged with anything, so that doesn’t count.” You snark back, this time earning an actual chuckle from the man. 

The conversation seems to have naturally come to an end, with you and Professor Sharp both going your separate ways in the home after another moment of sitting in what is now a more comfortable silence. 

You were given more summer assignments than most of your peers in an effort to continue making up for the time lost, so as you crack open the second-year textbook loaned to you for your history of magic assignment, you think that this summer might not be so awkward after all.

Chapter Text

It only takes a short time for you and Professor Sharp to fall into routine. 

Apparently Professor Sharp is the type to wake up early in the morning, even if he doesn’t come across as a morning person. He was initially surprised when you would make your way to the kitchen around the same time as him, and after a couple days of you both meeting in the kitchen early in the morning it was silently agreed upon that you would eat breakfast together. After an entire school year of eating in a rush as you make your way to investigate the newest lead on Ranrok, Rookwood, Harlow, or the ancient trials, it was nice to really get the chance to sit and enjoy the early meal.

While you were both morning people, it seems that only you get to also be a night owl. Professor Sharp is not only an early riser, but he is also someone who retires for the night long before you even begin to feel tired. He grumbled something along the lines of ‘just you wait until you get older’ when you explained that you typically would stay up late and still be up early in the morning for class no problem, but other than the one comment he doesn’t seem to have any real complaints with you staying up late. 

Other than meals you both tend to keep to yourselves for the most part. You spend a good chunk of your day working on assignments for school, though most of them are from the years that you missed rather than the usual summer work everyone else from your year was assigned. 

The first through fourth year astronomy assignments went by rather quickly since there is only so much that you can be expected to do without looking through a telescope year round, plus all of your extra work using astronomy tables around the Highlands helped immensely. There aren’t many difficult concepts covered by the subject and you aren’t taking astronomy next year, so a few basic assignments were all Professor Shah insisted you needed to do to officially be caught up with your peers.

You’ve since moved on to your History of Magic assignments, though they take far more effort since the concepts covered are entirely foreign to you. You’re glad that running around the castle to collect your field guide pages had paid off, since all of your efforts meant that most of the notable witches and wizards mentioned in the assignments were at least names you had heard before.

Perhaps it is something you picked up on when investigating all of the hamlets around Hogwarts while completing whatever tasks students or residents gave to you, but you find yourself investigating Professor Sharp’s home just as thoroughly. You’ve taken it upon yourself to familiarize yourself with everything in the home just in case something comes up, even if some might call your investigation ‘snooping’. 

The kitchen was your first target. After opening every cupboard in sight as well as leafing through the few cookbooks lying around, you’re satisfied that the kitchen was perfectly ordinary, if not a bit sparse even after your most recent shopping trip. 

The living room was far more interesting, especially since there is a bookcase that you had initially missed when entering the home for the first time. There are far more potions books than you had read during your short time at Hogwarts, and while some of them were far too technical for you to understand you had already picked some out to study in your downtime which have made a new home on your nightstand. There were also quite a few books on herbology, arithmancy, wizarding history, and a surprisingly large collection on ancient runes.

The rooms upstairs were either ones you were already familiar with- or in the case of Professor Sharp’s room, beyond a line you didn’t want to even attempt to cross- meaning that the two remaining rooms in the house were all that were left on your not-snooping agenda.

Of the two doors downstairs, you quickly learned that the first one nearest the staircase was to the basement level of the home. Professor Sharp explained briefly that the basement was where he kept his brewing station and potions ingredients. As you have not yet been granted a tutor’s exemption from the slow working Ministry, Professor Sharp has made it clear you are barred from any magical practices and therefore wouldn’t need to go down there at all. 

You made sure to point out that tutors exemptions aren’t exactly required in wizarding homes since technically any magic cast around you counts towards The Trace, but apparently Professor Sharp only seems to be willing to break wizarding laws when it helps him afford a house.

While you wanted to ask if it normally took this long for exemptions to be made, you have a feeling that the issue was less the inner workings of the Ministry but rather the fact that you were the student in question, so you decided to keep the rest of your complaints to yourself. 

Of course, just because you can’t do any brewing yourself that doesn’t mean that you haven’t actually been down to the basement. Professor Sharp actually took you down there himself after his first delivery of potions ingredients came in, and you found yourself mildly entertained as you mindlessly categorized the shelves in alphabetical order alongside the mostly quiet professor. 

The other room is far more intriguing, mostly because you haven’t been able to enter it. Professor Sharp spends most of his time in there, and the few brief glimpses you’ve seen of the room gives you the impression that it is a study of some kind. The door is always locked whether Professor Sharp is in there or not, and while you think you and the borderline surly man seem to be getting along pretty well, you doubt asking to see his study merely to satisfy your curiosity will help matters in the slightest. 

This is all to say that when you found the door opened ajar while Professor Sharp was otherwise occupied brewing what smelled like a particularly large batch of wiggenweld potions- most likely for the Hospital Wing as he had mentioned was a part of his summer duties- you felt obligated to enter. 

When else would you get this chance? 

You push the door open cautiously, ready to stop the motion the moment a hinge so much as lets out the tiniest squeak, but luckily the door swings open silently. 

You would never admit to anyone the amount of snooping you did while at Hogwarts, especially regarding a certain task for a certain groundskeeper, but there is no denying that Professor Sharp has proven to have a specific aesthetic at the school. Both his classroom and his quarters at Hogwarts had the dark wood, rich colored fabrics, and a surprising amount of clutter that you could only describe as very moody and entirely slytherin. This is why when you carefully crept into the study that has been suspiciously kept out of your view, you were shocked by the stark contrast to what you had expected.

The same dark wood and green decor style worked its way from the rest of the home into the study causing you to briefly wonder if all witches and wizards have the same color based loyalties to their Hogwarts houses in their own homes, though you feel slightly embarrassed as you remember are guilty of the same thing in your decorating of the Room of Requirement. 

Even if the color scheme of his study is reminiscent of the darker slytherin style, the space still manages to be rather warm and cozy. Large windows in the back of the room provide warm light in the room. The windows are lined with plants that are a mixture of magical and mundane, and while there are thick drapes that could be pulled over the windows they are kept back to allow in as much natural light in as possible. 

There is a fireplace with comfortable armchairs nearby, this time in a lighter green, and there is even a small floral ottoman set up in front of one of the armchairs which has clearly been used more often than the other. Leaning against the wall near the fireplace is a simple cane, the bottom of it looking worn out from use though it now seems to have a fine layer of dust on the handle.

Surrounding the walls of the room are several framed paintings and sketches, most of them appearing to be architecture that looks awfully similar to Hogwarts or of tranquil landscapes. Again, you would take the secret that you have actually found what could only be a private art studio attached to Professor Sharp’s room to the grave, and while all of the framed art is unsigned it's clear that the style of the drawings are very much the same to those you saw in the secret room behind the fireplace. 

The framed sketches and paintings fill in the spaces between the many bookshelves lining the walls. The shelves in the study seemed to be filled similarly to the bookcase in the living room when it comes to the reading material available, but unlike that bookcase these shelves also house some more personal items. Sitting between several leaning stacks of books or even acting as bookends at times are picture frames, though many of them are placed face down so the photos cannot be seen.

One photo that stands out in particular as you carefully lift the frames to observe them is what could only be a younger Professor Sharp dressed in a typical Auror’s uniform with a wide smile across his scarless face. His arms are thrown around the shoulders of two men, one who is also in an Auror’s uniform and the other dressed more casually. If you weren’t so sure that Professor Sharp was the man in uniform you would have guessed that the other man was the professor due to how similar they looked. They don’t look like identical twins, but it is obvious that the two are brothers. 

Of course the photo moves as they all seem to do in the wizarding world, and you watch as the professor's brother throws his head back in what had to have been a loud laugh, almost knocking the still smiling Professor Sharp off balance though he is saved by his friend steadying him at the last minute. You carefully put the frame back down as you had found it, moving to look at the others before putting them down in a similar way. Almost all of them seem to feature the trio of boys, the other Auror with his light colored curls contrasting the straight dark hair of Professor Sharp or cropped dark hair of the professor’s brother. 

You know thanks to Mrs. Whittle that Professor Sharp hasn’t been in town since accepting his position at Hogwarts, so as you look at more of the photos you realize that they almost work as some sort of time capsule. They all seem to be from early in Professor Sharp’s life, the smooth and scarless face of Professor Sharp being featured in all of them, his face often displaying an easy going smile rather than the surly version of the man you know today. 

The majority of the photos feature the three men together, though sometimes more faces that you don’t recognize make an appearance in a variety of scenes.

Some look like they were taken while out in London at a dingy looking pub, frothy drinks and smiling red faces slightly blurry even for a moving picture. Some show a large group of friends playing a game of gobstones or exploding snap in the very living room you have been reading in for the past few weeks, and of course a handful of them feature Professor Sharp and the other Auror in their uniforms at what appear to be ceremonies or events held by the Ministry. There are even a couple stationary photos, a young Professor Sharp standing with a slightly younger but still quite old looking Mrs. Whittle as they stand in a kitchen with frilly pink decorations that you definitely don’t recognize. 

Your eye is soon caught by an older frame, and as you lift it carefully to look at the photo you realize it must have been taken at Hogwarts. It features three young boys, two dark haired slytherins and a curly haired hufflepuff, who are throwing large smiles up at whoever it was holding the camera. The movement of the photo seems to have captured one of the brothers shoving the other one playfully, the hufflepuff rolling his eyes good-naturedly at the action before shoving the instigating slytherin himself, though you can’t tell if he was Professor Sharp or his brother as they appear practically identical at this age.

Your chest constricts with guilt from seeing all the memories held in these frames, and you decide that you’ve seen enough of what you know will only end in tragedy if the small snippet that Professor Sharp shared about his accident truly is about this curly haired Auror. You almost wish you could reach through the frames and warn them about what will happen, taking another moment to watch the three boys interact before placing the photo down quickly and moving swiftly away from the shelves haunted by the ghosts of the past.

Professor Sharp’s desk is large and solid, locked drawers framing the space where another comfortable looking chair is neatly tucked in. This is where Professor Sharp’s tendency to have a cluttered space seems to be concentrated, with several papers being strewn about the desk alongside a couple open books and copies of the Daily Prophet from the past couple weeks. You try your best not to disturb the placement of anything, but after skimming a few loose papers that seem to be documenting the trial and error around an unidentified potion, you decide to look over the prophet articles that were left face up on the desk.

Of course one of the first articles you spot has your face heating up from slight embarrassment, ‘The Hero of Hogwarts’ lining the top of the paper in bold lettering above a photo taken of you with Professor Black of all people. The Headmaster couldn’t be bothered to say anything in your defense during your meeting with the Wizengamot, but of course months prior to the hearing, directly after the battle beneath Hogwarts he was more than eager to seem like he was your biggest supporter.

At the time Sebastian had theorized that it was meant to cover up the fact that the incursion happened while Black was completely unaware, and Ominis’ silence when pressured by Sebastian to argue against his theory spoke volumes.

At least the actual article mentions you very little other than the blurb about you being a ‘new student with magical capabilities beyond your years’, and instead it focuses more on the battle and Ranrok itself. You can tell that Professor Weasley must’ve helped the infamously ineloquent Headmaster with his statement, as it was just vague enough to keep your ancient abilities out of it, but also detailed just enough to satisfy the press.

You decide to focus on a more recent issue of the Daily Prophet, this time opened towards the back of the paper and left closer to the center of the desk. You lift the paper up to see the date was only a couple of days ago, but as you look lower on the page you are surprised once again to see your own face looking back at you.

The picture seems to be one that was taken at Hogwarts at what you could only guess was the same photo-op Black dragged you into, back when defending your actions seemed to still be on his agenda. You are alone in this picture, bruises on your face from the battle beneath Hogwarts still mostly fresh and definitely more apparent than in the photos you saw earlier with Professor Black. 

You initially had thought it was vapid of him to position you in a way that he insisted showed both his and your ‘good side’ for the photographers, but now you understand. You looked bad. Bad in a way that no professor would want to forever be documented standing next to.

You had a pretty nasty bruise on your forehead from your initial fall with Professor Fig. There were also several scrapes on your forearms in the picture as some of the gashes you earned while rolling around in the caves during your fight with Ranrok were too much for a simple wiggenweld to heal. You remember waiting for the Matron to brew something stronger but for this particular press meeting which Professor Black insisted just couldn’t wait, you weren’t quite healed. 

You look almost haunted in the picture, your eyes empty and your expression mostly blank other than the squinting you are doing to avoid the flashbulbs of the cameras. This picture was taken less than twenty-four hours after the battle, and it will probably always be in your memory as one of the worst mornings of your life. You were in pain, Professor Fig was dead, and there were a million questions being asked that Professor Black was only too happy to answer while you struggled to figure out what to say. 

You tear your eyes away from the picture, unable to hold your vacant gaze any longer and instead opting to read the headline.

‘Hero of Hogwarts, or Goblin Co-Conspirator?’

You are just about to read the actual contents when you are suddenly drawn from your thoughts at the sound of footsteps quickly approaching. The article still in your hands is harshly snatched from your loose hold. You whip your head up to see a fuming Professor Sharp, the man briefly scanning the paper to see what you had been reading before slamming it face down onto the table.

“Did you run out of school work already, or did you just decide that invading my privacy would be more entertaining?” He snaps, and you can feel yourself shrinking under the glare that he has fixed you with. 

“I-” You begin before swiftly being cut off.

“Perhaps I should waltz into your room and read whatever drivel your friends have sent you. Read about the many secrets you have been keeping while running loose in and around Hogwarts. How does that sound?” He angrily suggests, and you once again feel smaller than before. You aren’t even aware you are shaking your head in response until Professor Sharp is once again addressing you.

“Did it not occur to you that you were intruding when you entered the one room I didn’t show you? The room I always keep locked? What about when you rifled through my things? Was going through my papers enough or would you like me to open my desk drawers for you as well?” He harshly asks, his voice laced with a cruel and sarcastic tone as you remain standing uncomfortably behind his desk.

“I-I’m sorry I-” You stammer, and Professor Sharp’s eyes only narrow further in his intense glare before holding a hand up, effectively silencing you.

“I should’ve expected something like this sooner or later. Just get out. I don’t want to see you here again.” He hisses, and you don’t waste a moment to quickly maneuver yourself from behind the desk and through the door. 

You turn to look back once more just as you exit the room, and you watch as Professor Sharp moves towards the framed photo of the three young boys that you accidentally left upright rather than placing face down as it had been before. Professor Sharp is tense as he carefully lifts his hand up to the frame, dropping his hand before making actual contact with the frame and whipping his head to the side to fix you with another glare before reaching for his wand. 

The door then slams shut and locks itself, though you are already making a quick retreat from the angry glare thrown your way before then. You jolt from the slamming sound as you move, taking the stairs two at a time as you scramble into the guest room, closing the door quickly while being careful not to slam it and earn another wave of rage from the professor you left behind in the study.

You sit at the edge of the bed, feeling shaky after the entire encounter as you take a couple deep breaths. You feel sick, your stomach churning from guilt as well as adrenaline working through you from the shock of being caught. You’ve seen Professor Sharp disappointed while in class and you’ve seen him focused in combat, but seeing him truly angry was unnerving. 

‘I should’ve expected something like this sooner or later.’

You cringe at the memory of how coldly he spoke to you and the disappointment you detected beneath layers of rage. He was right to be angry. You were invading his privacy. Still, that specific sentence has you feeling slightly angry yourself, even if it is beneath your own layers of guilt. 

What does he mean by that? By ‘sooner or later’? If he had expected you to be so troublesome why did he even agree to take you in at all?

Your short burst of anger is quickly replaced by a colder sensation of fear as you think more about the situation you put yourself in. 

Professor Sharp did you a favor taking you in rather than letting the Wizengamot assign you to some stranger. You think back to the cold blue gaze of Ms. Malfoy; how she seemed to only discuss your magical potential when vying for approval from the Ministry to take you in rather than seeing you as a person.

Things could be far worse and instead of being thankful and keeping out of the way, you made one of the biggest mistakes you could have possibly done while staying with a former Auror. 

What if this is it? 

If he decides he doesn’t want you in his house anymore, where would you go then? 

You flop down on your back, covering your face with your hands as you continue to think about all of the possible outcomes of your actions. You watch as the shadows on the walls grow taller as the sun begins to set, content to stay in the guest room for the rest of the night as you remain lost in thought. You hear the uneven footsteps of Professor Sharp enter his own room and close the door harshly at some point. 

As you attempt to get some sleep you try your best not to think about an uncertain future surrounded by cold eyes and power hungry intentions.

Chapter Text

Usually you would be a fan of the gentle breeze that is acting as an efficient way to keep you cool from the summer air, but at the moment all you can think of is how inconvenient it is to keep your papers in place as you do homework beneath a particularly shady tree near the lake. 

It doesn’t help that the sensation of the wind on your face also has you thinking about flying- whether it is on a broom or on Highwing’s back- and as another stronger breeze blows past you nearly whipping the paper you just finished writing for a fourth-year History of Magic assignment out of your grasp, you give up on getting any more work done. You gather up the loose pages and put them in the school bag you brought along, letting out a heavy sigh as you notice the slight ink smudges on the essay you had just saved from the wind.

You decide that stretching your legs and walking into town might be a good idea, especially when you consider the only other option which is returning to Professor Sharp’s house. 

Ever since getting caught snooping in Professor Sharp’s study, things have been tense to say the least. 

It's rare to catch Professor Sharp out of his study or the basement, and you assume that anytime he does come out from hiding it's when you are out of the house which is often as of late. It almost has you feeling angry how he truly seems to be ignoring you, though you are sure he could say the same thing about you. 

Still, you didn’t ask to come to Albury. If you had your way you would’ve been in London at this very moment taking care of your grandmother’s estate rather than avoiding the surly Professor Sharp.

Your enjoyment of simply being outside, thanks to spending time exploring the Highlands around Hogwarts, mixed with the tense air at ‘home’ has resulted in you spending nearly every day outside from sunrise to sundown. You originally kept yourself shut in the guest room doing your school work at the desk near the window, but looking outside towards the pond in the distance had you feeling almost claustrophobic in the room that still doesn’t quite feel like yours.

You walk leisurely towards town, moving from one side of the path to the other to ensure you are always covered by some sort of shade, almost making a game of staying within the shadows of the trees in areas where they are sparse to entertain yourself during the short walk. Your bookbag is slung lazily over your shoulder, and during the walk you take the opportunity to check the pouch you always keep on you which has both muggle and wizard currency. You don’t plan on buying anything, but you are determined to discover as many wizarding secrets as you can in town and that will most likely include visiting several shops. Better to be prepared in case you spot something interesting.

You enter the surprisingly busy streets surrounding the town square and watch the men and women in muggle clothing all shuffle around into different shops or houses from the outskirts. You keep an eye out for anything suspicious that could give a potential witch or wizard away, but everything seems perfectly mundane as you continue to make your way towards the center of town. 

There is a large stone fountain right in the middle of everyone bustling from shop to shop that makes you feel nostalgic for the enchanted fountain in front of the library at Hogwarts. While there aren’t intricate stone mermaids or unicorns carved into the side of this fountain, you can appreciate that there is essentially a large stone bench built around the bubbling fountain that you can sit on as you continue your observations of the townsfolk. 

You decide now is as good a time as any for lunch, pulling out the hastily made sandwich you packed in the morning. It certainly isn’t your best work, but this particular morning you were in the kitchen before Professor Sharp had left his room. Just as you were beginning to make your sandwich to pack for the day, you heard the telltale footsteps of Professor Sharp making his way from his room to the stairs. You both have yet to spend more than a couple of minutes in the same room since that awful day, so you were quick to throw something together and leave before Professor Sharp had even made it halfway down the stairs, not even bothering to clean the bowl from your breakfast as you made yourself scarce.

You are about to give up on people watching as you discard the remnants of your packed lunch, hoping that simply entering a shop yourself will yield better results, though just as you finish wiping the crumbs from your hands you spot something peculiar through a nearby shop window. 

‘Haworth’s Books’ is written in loopy lettering on one of the shop’s windows, and it appears to be a decently sized bookshop. You notice you have watched through the window as several customers enter, but more people are leaving with shopping bags or wrapped books than you see paying at the till near the exit. You continue to watch the bookshop, trying to keep track of people as they enter and noticing that quite a few of them weave their way through to a specific section of the store with purpose before exiting similarly to those who you have observed already, completely avoiding the till at the front though they now having shopping bags in hand.

You watch for a moment longer before you spot what you were waiting for. 

An older looking man walks towards the bookshop, and while everything about his attire is perfectly muggle, he reaches into his pocket to count familiar gold and silver coins rather than typical muggle notes as he allows the door to swing shut behind him. You know he is your best shot at finding the wizarding establishment and you quickly make your way to your feet and towards the shop, trying to not lose sight of the man as you weave through the crowd and enter the shop yourself. 

The bookshop isn’t as crowded inside as it had appeared to be from the outside, but as you look around the shop to find the man you followed in you struggle to find him. Large bookshelves obstruct your view of most of the shop with labels directing customers on where to go for certain genres, though nothing sticks out to you as strange. You make your way down what appears to be a center aisle and towards the back where you saw most of the customers disappear into, silently hoping that you will find something to give you a hint on where to go. 

It almost seems too easy when you narrowly avoid bumping into the man you were following, this time holding a book tightly to his chest obscuring the cover. You mumble out an apology as he flippantly says something about ‘the nerve of today’s youths’ before walking past him towards the section he had just come from. 

You can imagine that ‘Advanced Latin Texts’ isn’t the most popular section of the bookshop, though that seems to be an aisle worth looking into if it is where the man had just come from. 

As you walk down the aisle and observe the titles in the slightly darker black corner of the shop, you realize that most of the books are the same twenty or so titles over and over again. Your eyes almost glaze over the similarly muted shades of brown and tan that the books are bound in as you read the now familiar titles exclusively written in Latin, but one stands out in particular as you look towards the shelf pressed up against what you know is an exterior wall of the shop.

‘Hic Sunt Corvus: Muggles Non Licet’ is written in gold lettering on the spine of a navy colored book. None of the latin phrases on the spine of the book are familiar, but the mention of muggles definitely is. You think you have found the key to entering wherever it is you are trying to get to, and you can only hope that Professor Sharp was wrong when he said that not every hidden entrance in Albury is a complicated one as you pull the book from the shelf. 

You fight the urge to let out a victorious ‘whoop’ as the book gets caught mid pull from the shelf, almost as though it were on a hinge. A small clicking noise is heard, and the once solid stone wall next to the shelf is now almost transparent. You can see through to the otherside where more shelves obstruct your view, this time looking more like the distinctly ‘wizard’ style you have grown used to in the wizarding world. 

It's almost reminiscent of ancient magic as you walk through the transparent barrier, but while walking through archways and portals spawned through ancient magic feels like walking through air, this doorway feels thicker, almost as though you were walking through a fine layer of fabric.

You wonder if the magic involved with the doorway is related more to transfiguration or charms as you finally pass through, and when you look back instead of a solid wall you can see clear through to the other side just as you could after pulling the book. You are still looking through the doorway when a younger man wanders into the latin section of the bookshop, and you feel as though you are going to have a heart attack when he seems to look right at you.

“Don’t worry, love. Muggles can’t see us.” A kind voice speaks from behind you, and when you look around you see a middle aged woman making her way towards you holding a shopping bag at her side. Her dark hair is pulled back neatly, though she wears a stained apron over her clothes with a messy casualness that contrasts the intricate updo.

“I’m assuming you’re new to Albury, dear?” She asks, and you nod in confirmation as she gives you a kind smile. “Well, welcome to the real Haworth’s. As soon as you passed through the barrier it became invisible to that side of the shop. It’s only clear from this side so we don’t accidentally exit and give some poor muggle a heart attack on the other side.”

Her explanation make sense, and you once again find yourself impressed with the ingenuity of the wizarding world when it comes to keeping their existence a secret even when operating in plain sight. 

You offer the woman a polite smile at her explanation, and as you both watch the muggle who wandered into the isle briefly glimpse at the books and most likely being as bored as you with the titles, the witch lets out a sigh of relief as the man turns heel and walks out of the aisle and back towards the front of the shop.

“Well don’t stand blocking the opening for too long. It is the only entrance and exit so it’s best to keep it clear.” The woman comments, and you quickly move to the side as she moves to exit and gives you another smile before walking down the Latin aisle and out of sight. You then turn to look around the shop you’ve just entered. 

The entire bookshop seems to have a certain ravenclaw aesthetic to it, dark blue walls with silver constellations moving lazily around the wallpaper reminding you of all your time spent at astronomy tables with Amit. The ceiling is a dome shape with a glass skylight that is too high for the exterior building that the shop is attached to, but thanks to magic it is possible and allows lots of natural light to fill the room.

There are bookshelves consisting of light wood with blue accents surrounding the space with several blue accented tables and chairs strategically placed around the shop.  Large signs reveal the contents of each section of the shop, the many bookshelves being labeled things such as ‘Potions Guides’ or ‘Domestic Spellcrafts’. 

You wander around the shelves, pleasantly surprised to recognize some of the titles as the same ones you browsed through at Tomes and Scrolls in Hogsmeade though far more excited with all the titles you haven’t seen before. You find yourself in what looks like a fiction section, and you hadn’t really given much thought to the idea but quickly decide that it would make sense for there to be fiction authors in the wizarding world as well. The library at Hogwarts was strictly educational, and Tomes and Scrolls had been similarly stocked, so you were excited by the change of pace as you browsed the titles. 

A couple titles catch your eye, some sort of action and mystery series involving a team of Aurors grabbing your attention in particular. You look over a couple of the books in the series, but in the end you decide that you will come back when you have more than a handful of galleons on you since buying a book or two right now will clean you out for the day.

You slowly make your way back towards the translucent doorway towards the front of the shop, and after a moment of waiting nervously for a muggle to suddenly pop up, you take a step through the doorway and back into the muggle storefront. The muggle books were something that you know you’d be interested in looking at more closely as well, and you make plans to return with more galleons and pounds for your next visit to town. 

You move back towards the fountain to see what other secrets you might uncover, but you don’t even get the chance to sit down before your next destination is revealed. 

A streak of white makes its way into the open window on the upper story of what looks like a petshop. You watch as a snowy owl settles down on the windowsill before taking off out of sight and further into the shop, and you decide it's worth looking into.

The pet shop is less crowded than the bookshop had been, but as you enter and make eye contact with a slightly less conspicuous barn owl near the entrance, you get a knowing glance from the older man behind the counter. You raise your brow at him, and he raises his right back before letting out an amused huff and nodding his head subtly towards a door near the back with an ‘Employees Only’ sign hanging on the front. You want to roll your eyes at the lack of originality since you have already seen that one before, but you give the man an appreciative nod nonetheless before walking towards the door and quickly entering.

The backroom puts you a bit at ease, feeling reminiscent of the owl post that you have been to a couple times in Hogsmeade. The walls are lined with parcels wrapped in the standard brown paper with twine, and the floor is mostly bare with some straw scattered around as though it were pushed by the wind. As you walk further into the room you look up to notice some owls are perched on the rafters napping comfortably in the darker corners, though they stir slightly as the door behind you firmly shuts.

“Local post to the left, Scottish and Irish post to the right. Everywhere else needs to come to the back.” A tired voice calls out, and you look towards the back of the room to see a sullen looking teen sitting behind a large wooden counter, his feet propped up as he leans back in the chair covering his face with his hands. Though he didn’t see you enter, he still delivered what you are sure is a well rehearsed line regarding the shop, and as you look towards the right and left of the shop to see owls in cages looking at you with large yellow eyes.

“Why isn’t the owl post attached to the muggle post office?” You wonder out loud, and while you didn’t think it would be loud enough for the boy behind the counter to notice, he responds anyway.

“Too many regulations involved with the muggle post. Owls would’ve been far too noticeable anyway. Everything is easier without the muggle government breathing down our necks, and at least here the owls make some sort of sense.” He tiredly replies, wiping his hands over his face before moving to rest them behind his head, though he remains in his relaxed position with his eyes closed. Getting a better look at his face leads you to believe that he must’ve graduated from Hogwarts recently, though it could’ve been this year considering you didn’t befriend any seventh-years during your time at Hogwarts.

You turn away from the boy and reach into your bag to retrieve some spare parchment, taking advantage of the quills left out near the owl cages to the right as you decide that this is a good time to send out some letters to your friends to let them know how you are doing. The last Sebastian, Ominis, Poppy, and Natty heard, you were summoned to the Ministry and had to miss the Hogwarts Express home to make it to your mysterious hearing. Had it been the other way around, you know you would have been worried sick.

You write similar letters for all four of your friends, making sure to mention everything that happened with as much detail as possible while also staying concise to spare your hand the cramps from writing four long letters. You write about the nightmare that was your hearing with the Wizengamot, making sure to downplay Ominis’ father’s behavior in your letter to Ominis in an effort to spare his feelings. You also make sure to include that you are staying with Professor Sharp in his home in Albury so your friends know how far they need to send their replies if their owl post is as specific as this one seems to be. 

Finally towards the end, you write asking for any information regarding the paper you barely got to read the other day in Professor Sharp’s study. Of course this means you also briefly explained your getting caught in said study, but you try to keep it brief and not rant like Sebastian is known to do in his own letters. 

You just don’t understand why you are being targeted by the Daily Prophet like that, and you are desperate to know what others in the wizarding world are reading about you that you can’t read yourself. You knew Goblin-Wizard relations were in a tough place before Ranrok’s plot came to light, but to be called a Goblin Co-Conspirator now must be a worse accusation than before.

If you are going to become some sort of magical pariah, you think it's your right to know.

You decide to send Natty and Sebastian’s letters first since you know they are both still near Hogwarts, Natty staying on school grounds with her mother and Sebastian returning to Feldcroft to…well do what he needs to do back home now that his uncle and sister are both gone. 

As you approach the cages some of the owls sit up straighter in an effort to be chosen. You notice there is a box for payment nearby, and after counting out the appropriate amount of sickles and knuts for two letters, two of the cages pop open and you give each owl their letter before they take off up towards the rafters and through the open window.

Their flight spooks a couple of the napping owls, two of which flutter down to take the empty places in the cage before the wire cage doors swing shut once more. You repeat the action of the local side of the shop, assuming that Ominis and Poppy were somewhere in England as they both mentioned taking the Hogwarts Express before.

After sending your letters you turn to leave the owlery, and as you step back out into the main pet shop you offer the older man behind the counter a small wave. As you make your way towards the exit he gives you a simple nod back before turning his attention towards some rowdy children in the back near the hamster cages. You briefly consider what it would be like to have a pet of your own, but you shake the thought away as you open the shop door and step back out into the sun. 

There is no point in getting a pet when you don’t really live here. It’d just be another burden for Professor Sharp to deal with.

“If you want to convince Aesop to get you a pet, a snake would be your best bet.” A familiar voice calls out and as you look to the right you spot Mrs. Whittle headed your way. It looks as though she just exited some sort of fancy dress shop across the way, though she is leaving empty handed.

“Hello, Mrs. Whittle.” You politely greet the older woman, and she gives you a bright smile as she approaches you.

“I think it might have had something to do with the school Aesop attended, but I remember him seeming particularly fond of snakes whenever the topic came up. I personally can’t stand anything with scales, but to each their own I suppose.” She continues, and you fight to keep your face neutral despite the urge to laugh at a muggle’s interpretation of the intense house pride that Hogwarts seems to instill in its students.

“I was just window shopping while exploring town. Professor Sharp doesn’t seem like the type to keep pets.” You comment, trying not to sound bitter while discussing the very reason you are out and about instead of staying cool indoors with a book. Clearly you aren’t very successful, as Mrs. Whittle gives you an almost knowing look that reminds you of Professor Weasley.

“When I was your age I remember thinking my own father’s parenting style was far too authoritarian. I’m sure saying with a detective turned professor would be rather similar.” The older woman states with a wistful expression, most likely thinking back on her own childhood.

“My grandmother had a laissez-faire attitude when it came to my upbringing, so it is a bit of a transition. The weirdest part is staying with someone who I know will be grading all of the summer school work I have to do.” You reply, trying your best to ignore Mrs. Whittle’s obvious implication of Professor Sharp acting as any sort of parental figure.

“I can imagine it would be a bit nerve-wracking. I was a lousy student so this little arrangement of yours would have been my worst nightmare! Still, I’m sure your grandmother is very proud of your apprenticeship. It’s always nice to see young people taking their futures seriously.” Mrs. Whittle comments, though her sunny demeanor seems to wane a bit as you give her what must be a tight-lipped smile in return.

“She uh…well she passed recently.” You awkwardly explain, and you give Mrs. Whittle a more genuine smile out of gratitude when she comfortingly pats you on the shoulder.

“Oh! My deepest condolences, dear. It’s always hard to be on your own for the first time, but we can only be thankful for the precious time we’ve had with those we love.” Mrs. Whittle sincerely comments, and it reminds you of why you try your best to avoid talking about your family, or really lack thereof. 

People either clam up and don’t know what to say about it, or they almost over compensate and try too hard to be comforting when you don’t really need it. It’s clear that kind old Mrs. Whittle has fallen into the latter category, and you try your best to give her a reassuring look despite the fact that she was meant to be reassuring you.   

“As for the apprenticeship…it's really more like I had nowhere to go after the school year ended and Professor Sharp had to step in. I bet he regrets it now though. He was practically forced to do it since the Minis- well there wasn’t anywhere else suitable to place me. This is probably the last way Professor Sharp wanted to spend his summer.” You bitterly comment, unsure of why you are sharing this in the first place. Perhaps it is because Mrs. Whittle’s mannerisms remind you a bit of your own grandmother or even Professor Fig, or maybe it's simply because she is there and willing to listen, but you find that it's almost nice to tell the truth about your summer arrangement and your feelings about it.

“Did you know that when I first met Aesop, he wasn’t that much older than you are now?” Mrs. Whittle asks, changing the subject before turning to walk towards a nearby bench. You blink for a moment at the question before rushing to follow her.

“I thought Professor Sharp bought the home after he was already an Aur- ehm- detective?” You reply, earning a small chuckle from the old woman as you both settle down on the wooden bench.

“When you’re my age, anyone under forty seems like a child. I think he was around twenty or so when he bought that rickety cottage. Barely out of school himself and working such a dangerous job…well someone had to look out for him, didn’t they?” Mrs. Whittle begins, and you can see that the lighter mood she was experiencing earlier is slowly being replaced by a retroactive worry for the former Auror.

“Believe it or not, Aesop used to be quite popular back then. It seems like he was always running around town, delivering tonics or chatting with the more…eccentric neighbors.” She continues, her voice sounding conspiratorial, almost as though she were letting you in on some huge secret. 

Of course, you assume that the more ‘eccentric’ neighbors would be the muggle way of explaining away witches or wizards. Still, you try to picture the Professor Sharp you saw in the photographs running around town in a similar fashion to you exploring the hamlets, though it's almost impossible to imagine in comparison to who you know to be today.

“Forgive me if I have trouble believing you.” You sarcastically comment, earning a surprisingly boisterous laugh from the old woman.

“I can understand the hesitation. He seems so serious now compared to the boy that I would bully into Sunday tea just to ensure he was getting a proper homemade meal in him. I swear! He spent so much time working in London I knew he had to be living purely off pub food and takeaway.” She states in an admonishing tone, almost as if she were back in time and lecturing a young Professor Sharp rather than talking to you.

“The accident that ended his career…well I’ve never seen someone change so dramatically in such a short period of time. He’s certainly more reserved and serious now, but after his accident he was more like a shell of a man rather than a changed one.” She begins, and you decide to sit in silence while waiting to see what more she has to say rather than accidentally derailing the conversation. 

It almost feels as though she is about to divulge something important, something that you don’t think Professor Sharp would share on his own.

“He spent more time holed up in that house than ever before. I practically forced him to let me in and take care of him while he was in that wheelchair. I don’t think I had even seen him walk with a cane until he had accepted that teaching job in Scotland. Something about it seemed to snap him out of his own head, almost as though he believed it was his last chance at living.” She pauses, and you remain silent as you watch the old woman’s face. Despite the golden light of the sun warming your face as you sit on the bench, it almost seems like she is enveloped in shadows, her expression pinched with concern and despair that hurts to witness. 

“It was quite a shock to see him shopping with you that day, not just because he seems to have suddenly acquired a child but rather because he seemed so much…better than the last time I saw him.” Mrs. Whittle takes a deep breath, and the action seems to fortify her somehow as she sits up straighter, turning her torso towards you completely as she grasps your hands on her own.

“I might not know your Professor Sharp, but I do know my Aesop. He would never do something that he wasn’t sure of. If he offered his home to you, it's because he wanted to.” She firmly states, and even though you still have your doubts you can’t help but want to believe her in that moment. Surely if he hadn’t stepped in the Ministry could’ve figured something else out, even if it wasn’t nearly as comfortable as Albury had been until your stupid mistake. 

Something in your expression must betray your thoughts, as Mrs. Whittle gives you another sympathetic look before patting your hands gently where they still rest in her own.

“I don’t doubt that this is a difficult transition for you both to make, but if you could do an old woman a favor it would be this: try to remember that this is as hard for him as it is for you. The last time Aesop was here he was practically running away from himself, and I’m sure that he is struggling in that house just as much as you are. Whatever disagreement you both had, I know you’ll work through it.” She finishes, her serious tone turning more optimistic towards the end. She gives your hands a small squeeze, the gesture reminding you painfully of your lost mentor, before releasing them and instead rummaging through her large handbag next to her on the bench.

You sit and wait patiently as he rummages through the bag’s contents, the jingling of what might be loose change and rustling of papers only stopping once she finds whatever it is she had been looking for. She holds a small handful of wrapped pieces of hard candy in her hand, counting out six exactly before gesturing for you to take them and snapping her handbag closed once more.

“I would offer to have you over for tea, but if you don’t get moving now I fear you won’t make it home in time for supper. Of course, if you are looking to avoid Aesop for a bit longer I could put the kettle on…” She trails off, her open invitation practically waving in front of your face in the warm rays of the quickly setting sun. You really have spent the entire day out of the house. Again.

Something needs to change, and tea won’t be able to do it right now.

“Tea would be lovely, but it is quite the walk back to Professor Sharp’s house.” You start before turning to focus fully on the older woman in an effort of conveying how sincere you are, a strange look of pride on her face that you can’t quite explain but can see all the same. “Thank you, Mrs. Whittle. This really helped.”

“Don't spoil your meal beforehand with sweets, and make sure that at least one of them makes it into Aesop’s hands for me. He would always grab a handful from my house whenever he came for tea.” Mrs. Whittle instructs as she moves to stand, the older woman offering a warm smile before waving you off. 

As you walk out of the town square and past the fountain, you look back over your shoulder to see her still watching you, giving you another exaggerated wave before turning to leave herself. You let out a small snort at her antics, glad to see that even after such a serious conversation she could still be the slightly silly old woman you met while grocery shopping.

You walk past the now longer shadows of the trees along the path, thinking about everything that Mrs. Whittle told you about the professor you’ve been avoiding for the past week. 

Back at Hogwarts it was far too easy to forget that the faces you saw in your day to day are actually people with complicated lives when you were so focused on stopping Ranrok and figuring out ancient magic. You had gone snooping in Professor Sharp’s office where there was nothing hidden but painful memories that he clearly hadn't wanted to share, all because you forgot about the person and instead focused on the mystery of what was behind the door as you have been doing for the past couple of months during your mission. 

Any anger you had been holding from being ignored and avoided is suddenly replaced with more guilt, if that's even possible. 

You walk slowly on purpose, arriving ‘home’ long after when dinner was usually served in an effort to avoid Professor Sharp, partially out of habit but mostly because you don’t think you can handle a confrontation if you happen to cross paths. 

Mrs. Whittle has already given you plenty to think about, you don’t need Professor Sharp to add to it.

As you enter the house you can faintly smell that Professor Sharp was brewing something heavy with lavender in the basement, and you creep past the door and towards the kitchen in an effort to avoid disturbing the man below you. There is a covered plate with a simple meal beneath it waiting for you where you usually sit at the table, and you notice that there are some dirty dishes in the sink meaning that Professor Sharp has already eaten. 

The guilt is back as you figure that he had set the place expecting you to be back earlier, most likely acting as some sort of peace offering from the man as the past couple nights you have both been eating and cooking entirely separately. You eat quickly, trying to ignore the lingering emotion as you put your own dishes in the sink alongside his to soak. 

You remember the request made by Mrs. Whittle just as you are about to leave the kitchen, reaching into your abandoned bookbag to grab the handful of sweets. You feel slightly sick looking at them as you stew in your guilt, and you leave all six on the table where Professor Sharp usually sits before making your way upstairs. 

You are already settled in bed when you hear the unmistakable sound of the basement door’s squeaky hinges announcing that Professor Sharp has emerged, his footsteps fading as he walks farther into the home before the clatter of dishes being done faintly reaches your room. Soon the uneven gait of Professor Sharp grows louder as he makes his way upstairs, probably preparing to go to bed himself. 

You listen for him to open his own bedroom door after he makes it up the stairs entirely, but instead you are surprised by the sound of the wrapper being removed from one of the hard candies you left for him. He lets out a humming sound, though you have trouble deciphering what the sound could have meant exactly, before finally he enters his own room and closes the door. 

You lie awake for what feels like too long, keeping your eyes closed in an attempt to let sleep overcome you though you think that your attempts might be in vain. You simply have too much to think about after your conversation with Mrs. Whittle today.

Suddenly, a small popping noise from nearby has you snapping your eyes open, your hand instinctively grabbing your wand from under your pillow as you sit up quickly. 

You swear the sound was almost the same as apparating, but as you reach over to turn on your light you are greeted by an empty room. You cautiously get out of bed, careful to be as quiet as possible as you look around for anywhere that the potential intruder could be hiding. 

At this point the familiar cold rush of adrenaline has worked its way through you, and you even consider waking Professor Sharp to have him check for intruders when your eyes catch something on your nightstand.

Sitting in the light of the lamp are three wrapped pieces of hard candy and you realize that Professor Sharp must’ve used magic to place them there, the popping sound resulting from whatever teleportation spell he used. You can feel a small smile forming on your face, the relief of not needing to defend yourself from any sort of intruder washing over you as you feel your fight or flight reaction subside entirely. 

You put your wand on the nightstand as you get back into bed, staring at the sweets for a moment before turning the light back off and settling back down. 

You think that a tentative truce has been made between the two of you, and you try to focus on the feeling of being forgiven as you slowly drift off with ease.

Chapter Text

If you developed one skill while fighting dark wizards, poachers, inferi, and acromatulas for the better part of your time at Hogwarts, it was the ability to keep a cool head in unexpected situations. 

There were times where you would be sneaking around a poacher camp and were spotted while under disillusionment, needing to quickly spring into action, or you would be investigating a random cave in the cliffside and suddenly an acromantula is on top of you ready to strike. 

No matter what you’re facing, you can remain calm and quickly adapt in a fight. 

This meant that when Professor Hecat suddenly appeared from Professor Sharp’s fireplace in a swirl of green flames while you were reading quietly, you didn’t even think before chucking the book straight at her head. 

Immediately after your impulse you realize your mistake, though thankfully Professor Hecat casts a silent protego at the last second. You watch as the book falls to the ground, wincing as it lands openside-down and most likely bends a good portion of the pages.

“I’m so sorry, Professor Hecat! I-” You start, already scrambling up from your comfortable position on the sofa before you are cut off by the breathy laugh of the older professor.

“I don’t remember teaching that to you in Defense, though I wouldn’t be opposed to awarding points due to creativity.” Professor Hecat comments with a dismissive wave of her hand, and you grab your book in embarrassment as you try to work some of the new creases out of the pages. Thankfully Professor Hecat is one step ahead of you, already casting another silent spell which restores the pages back to their pristine and creaseless condition.

“I can’t wait to start learning nonverbal magic this year.” You offhandedly comment, earning a knowing look from Professor Hecat, her smirk almost making you feel like you are being left out of some sort of inside joke.

“You say that now, but I know many students who struggle with nonverbal magic more than any other discipline taught at Hogwarts.” She counters, and you give her a challenging look of your own.

“Ancient magic is all nonverbal magic. I’m sure there is some way to translate it into traditional spellcasting.” You add, and this time Professor Hecat looks more intrigued than amused.

“Well…if you quickly progress with nonverbal casting perhaps we could work on wandless magic in your downtime. Wandless ancient magic is something that I would say is worth developing.” Professor Hecat muses, and you find yourself already excited at the prospect of someone actually taking an interest in helping you to further your abilities. Perhaps her idea is worth mentioning to Professor Rackham and the other Keepers. 

If they ever return to their frames, that is. 

You nod quickly in response to her pseudo-invitation, though you are saved from making any more small talk with the older professor by Professor Sharp coming from his basement lab and looking mildly surprised by her presence.

“Dinah, I wasn’t expecting to see you so soon.” Professor Sharp says in greeting, earning a similar dismissive gesture from Professor Hecat as you received earlier. 

“It's not everyday Aesop Sharp sends an owl requesting to meet- in his previously secret and mysterious home, no less.” She retorts, and Professor Sharp lets out an annoyed huff as she turns to address you this time. “I’ve been telling him to look into getting a place of his own for years. Imagine my surprise when he revealed he actually had somewhere all this time just...hidden away. And to think, I forced him to go to all those open houses all for nothing. Now that is wasted time I’ll never get back.”

“I don’t remember writing to you about my housing situation, though if you’d rather discuss such trivial matters I’m more than ready to begin and end your tour with the front door.” Professor Sharp dryly adds, the older woman holding her hands up in defeat as she returns her focus to whatever the real reason was.

He takes another deep breath at her antics, turning then to address- you. “Go up to your room. Professor Hecat and I have some things to discuss.”

You want nothing more than to protest or insist that you could stay downstairs at the very least. Though, while you and Professor Sharp have gotten past the entire snooping incident, it would probably bring back the resentment between you two if you try to pry into his business so soon.

You instead give a short nod, gathering up your other books and loose parchment as they make their way into Professor Sharp’s study. You can just briefly hear them speaking as they close the door, the lighter tone seeming to dip into a more serious discussion before the heavy wood of the door blocks the sound completely. 

You briefly consider pressing your ear against the door to eavesdrop, but you figure that it would be far too risky to remain downstairs after Professor Sharp’s direct instructions to go elsewhere. In the end you do as you were told, careful not to drop anything as you ascend the stairs as you prepare to spend your time in your room. Just as you pass the front of Professor Sharp’s open door however, you pause. 

Though the door downstairs was enough to block almost the entire conversation from the rest of the house, something in Professor Sharp’s room allows the sound to travel through as you can just make out a low murmur of voices. You quickly go to your room and drop everything on your bed before carefully walking back towards Professor Sharp’s bedroom.

When you enter you are almost surprised by the state of the place, considering how clean his study and the rest of the home had been. 

Clothes were thrown around with one armchair in particular piled high with laundry, articles of clothing spilling around it onto the floor. There were also plenty of papers strewn around, some seeming to have notes on them regarding potions while the others have charcoal smudges surrounding rough sketches of what you assume is the architecture around Hogwarts. You have to carefully step over a small stack of books, some open ones being marked extensively in the margins, while the rest are sporting several sheets of parchment or sometimes lying open flat on the ground to mark his place. 

Now that you have passed the threshold of the room, the voices of the two Professor’s below you are more recognizable. You crouch down carefully to be rewarded by some clarity coming to the voices, though you still struggle to make out any specific words from either of them. 

You take the chance and press your ear to a thankfully clear spot on the floor, their voices coming through from below with the same clarity you suspect you could’ve gotten through doing the same to the doorway as you had briefly considered.

“-to be making themselves comfortable here, though I do hope that they aren’t spending all their time alone. ‘Idle hands’ and all that.” The soft voice of Professor Hecat comments, and your interest is immediately peaked as you listen to what is clearly a discussion about you.

“You were lucky to catch them at home at all. It seems their proclivity for exploration around Hogwarts has translated quite easily to Albury.” Professor Sharp responds, and you notice that it is far easier to hear his deeper voice through the wood floor than the higher tones of Professor Hecat. You can actually make out what sounds like a sigh after he speaks, the sound almost tinged in what you might guess is disappointment.

“Careful, Aesop. One might think that you sound put out by being left behind. What would the students think if you end up going soft?” Professor Hecat teases, and after a brief pause you can hear her laughter ringing through the room. Professor Sharp must’ve had some sort of nonverbal response which she found extremely funny, since the laughter goes on for a moment longer.

“Perhaps we should get to the real reason you are here, unless this truly is meant to be a social visit. If that’s the case I am regrettably far too busy to continue allowing you to laugh at my expense.” Professor Sharp interjects, sounding every bit the stern professor you’ve witnessed in class. Unfortunately for him, it seems to have had the opposite effect on Professor Hecat than it would on a student.

“It really is easy to forget that I’m supposed to be older than you when you act like such a stick in the mud, Aesop. I’ll let the Department of Mysteries know to send you an owl the next time they decide to muck around with time.” Professor Hecat snarks, and you can just make out some grumbling sounds in response from Professor Sharp, assuming he was saying something under his breath that has been lost somewhere between the floorboards. 

“Speaking of the Department of Mysteries…” Professor Hecat begins, and you strain to listen closer as Professor Sharp’s grumbling stops immediately.

“It seems Thomas Conan is still making a fuss about his idea to get them involved regarding ancient magic. I’ve been getting in touch with some of my old contacts, and I have reason to believe that there might actually be some real consideration of his idea. While Ida was completely uninterested in his proposal, there are some younger Unspeakables who see this as their way up the ladder, so to speak.” 

“It’s not as though anything can be done without the Department Head’s approval, so is this really that much of a concern?” Professor Sharp asks thoughtfully, sounding as though he might not truly believe what he was saying.

“Unlike me, Ida aged the long way. She’s tired and it's no secret that she is considering retirement in the near future. With how popular the idea of exploring this newly unearthed form of magic is becoming within the department, whoever takes over after her would be foolish not to approve Conan’s proposal.” Professor Hecat carefully responds.

“They aren’t a ward of the Ministry anymore. The Department of Mysteries would also need to go through me, and I don’t plan on rolling over for some fresh-faced Unspeakable looking to use a child as a means to an end.” Professor Sharp hotly states, and you feel touched by the defense that he is providing for you, even if it’s only hypothetical at the moment.

“No need to get so worked up, Aesop. The student only has a couple years to go before they are of age, at which point both the Ministry and the Department of Mysteries would lose their ability to steamroll either of you into doing what they want.” Professor Hecat calmly states, her tone coming across almost humored at his reaction. 

“I beg to differ, that still leaves a couple of years where the opposite is true. I think I'm reacting rather appropriately.” Professor Sharp counters, and you can hear Professor Hecat let out a small hum in response.

“You could always rectify the situation, you know. Guardianship is all well and good, but it does leave the child ultimately in the hands of the Ministry. There are more…permanent alternatives that would sever the Ministry’s rights completely.” Professor Hecat presses, her tone equal amounts calculating and sincere in a way only the Head of Ravenclaw could manage. 

They are both silent for a moment, and you wonder if they are having some sort of drink as you think you can hear the faint clinking of cups coming from below. Perhaps tea? You don’t remember seeing a kettle in Professor Sharp’s study, but even so you wouldn’t be surprised since Professor Hecat is known to be quite the avid tea drinker. If anyone could find a way to have some tea, it would be her.

“Have you heard anything more about this?” Professor Hecat asks, the sudden start of a new conversation confusing you since you have no real way of knowing what she is referring to.

“Seems to be causing quite the stir. I’m sure this is something you have been keeping a close enough eye on for the both of us.” He casually responds, his answer itself serving as a similar question to the defense professor.

“One of us has to since you are currently preoccupied with being thrown into the deep end of parenthood.” Professor Hecat dryly responds, earning a snort from the man in response though he says nothing further. “You were right to advise local authorities to remain vigilant regarding a potential power struggle amongst the local dark wizard factions. Though, if they actually took your advice to heart…well that has yet to be seen”

You perk up, pressing yourself impossibly closer to the ground as though it would help make their conversation any clearer. Dark wizard factions and a power struggle? They have to be talking about the Highlands, though you don’t remember seeing anything about it from the few articles you skimmed that day in Professor Sharp’s study.

“If I had a knut for everytime my advice goes seemingly unheard, we would be having this discussion in a mansion rather than a cottage.” Professor Sharp quips, his tone dropping once more into a more serious one as he continues. “Any key players I should know about?”

“There are a couple names already in the ring for the poacher factions, though too many to concern yourself with just yet. Now the Ashwinders? That’s where it gets interesting.” Professor Hecat begins, and you make a mental note to ask Poppy if she knows anymore about the poachers specifically due to her unfortunate familiarity with a lot of the local factions.

“The Ashwinders and other similar dark wizard groups seem to be more violent than the poachers, the northern hamlets suffering in particular as their fighting moves closer to home. I’ve heard even the dark wizards in England have taken notice, so that’s something we will need to remain vigilant about for the upcoming year.” She continues, and you hear Professor Sharp let out an annoyed huff.

“It can’t ever be simple can it? A student lucks out and takes down three separate dark wizards and goblin factions, only for more to take their place. I assume that the lack of Ministry response means that they are focusing on other matters. You’d think they’d be more worried about where they are meant to send their children to for the better part of the year.” Professor Sharp states, sounding almost tired as he offers the idea to Professor Hecat.

“Oh you and I both know they are so very worried about the children at Hogwarts.” Professor Hecat snarkily replies, and you wince as you know what she is referring to. By the loud clinking of a glass being harshly put on the table, it seems Professor Sharp has made the same connection.

“They are so worried about their own sniveling little snallygasters they aren’t thinking twice about dragging one of the few students who is worth a damn through the mud. Have you seen what they are writing now?” Professor Sharp rants, his voice raising in volume with frustration. The last you saw of the Daily Prophet was that day in the study, but it seems that you are still receiving some sort of coverage from them for Professor Sharp to be so worked up.

You need to get into that study again to see what that is. Merlin knows you have scoured all the wizarding haunts here for access to the paper with no luck.

“Sniveling snally- oh just you wait until I tell Howin about this. She’ll love the obscure beast metaphors.” Professor Hecat snorts, her own cup clinking normally as you imagine she takes another sip.

“Dinah, I’m being serious here.” Professor Sharp insists, receiving an irritated huff from Professor Hecat in return.

“Then act like it, rather than yelling at me like a petulant child. Everyone knows the Daily Prophet is in the Ministry’s pocket so you need to focus on specifically who in the Ministry is pulling the strings of this ridiculous smear campaign. I know you, Aesop. You are far too paranoid to not have some sort of list around here of all those who were against us at the Wizengamot. Get in touch with your contacts and get to work.” Professor Hecat sharply states, her barbed tone reminding you of when Professor Weasley is lecturing Garreth. 

The silence is deafening after her words, your own breathing being the loudest thing you can hear now that it seems they are both quiet and their cups are both put down. You think it might be worth leaving now that their discussion is over, before a deep sigh is heard.

“Speaking of work, we really should look into improving the wards before the next semester. Particularly those below the school.” Professor Sharp starts, his voice tired though not defeated. You are actually quite impressed, since getting a lecture from Professor Hecat like that would definitely have you feeling far worse than he sounds.

The conversation turns far more mundane after that, and while you could wait for longer to see if their discussion regarding coordinating their lesson plans to make studying easier for first years would take a more interesting turn, you soon decide that you have overstayed your welcome as a third party in the conversation. 

You move carefully to avoid knocking anything over to alert Professor Sharp that you are actually above them in his room, eventually making it out of the room and back into yours. 

You take in the cleaner space with a sigh of relief, glad that you don’t need to tread as carefully due to you keeping the space far tidier than Professor Sharp seems to keep his. You decide to at least pretend like you were doing as you were told, cracking open one of your school books though you find yourself staring blankly at the page rather than actually reading the information on the thirteen practical uses of Mandrake Roots. 

When you took down Harlow with Natty and had no choice but to put down Rookwood due to his association with Ranrok as well as his own attempt to kill you, you had assumed that this would result in things being better in the Highlands. Now you feel naive for thinking so, though the feeling is no match for the guilt you feel for practically being the cause of some sort of turf war that is taking place while you are away from Hogwarts and unable to help. 

You wonder briefly about what Professor Sharp and Professor Hecat would be doing had he stayed at Hogwarts as planned before taking you for the summer. Perhaps they would’ve taken the place that you and Natty had left over the break, investigating dark wizard operations in their spare time. 

While that might solve the issue of dark wizards fighting over the Highlands, it would do nothing to solve your other problem. You just wish you knew what was being said about you in the Daily Prophet now. 

The sentiments of those against you in the Wizengamot are being spread. Your magical ability has already exposed more than you ever planned on it being, and it seems now you are known as some sort of threat. You already have been painted as a Goblin Loyalist, most likely being accused of helping Ranrok, so who knows what they are saying now.

You are still staring blankly at the same paragraph on the page lost in thought when you hear the door closing downstairs, the voices of Professor Sharp and Professor Hecat filling the space unhindered once more. You mark your place in your book before making your way downstairs, just catching the end of the conversation as Professor Hecat makes her way back towards the large open fireplace.

“I’ll make sure to check in with some friends about that tutor’s exemption you applied for. It really shouldn’t be taking this long.” Professor Hecat says in an assured tone, and you think that if anyone could get the Ministry to move faster, it would be her. 

She notices you as you make your way fully down the stairs, giving you a small nod before saying goodbye to Professor Sharp properly and using a handful of floo powder in the fireplace, disappearing in the green flames. You watch as the flames die down into a more normal orange hue, before being extinguished completely by a swish of Professor Sharp’s wand. 

“I don’t feel like cooking. Let’s go into town for dinner.” Professor Sharp proposes, and while he sounds like his typical self, you notice that his expression holds more tension than usual. It seems that he is still feeling quite bothered by what he discussed with Professor Hecat, and you feel the same way yourself. 

You quickly make the effort to school your own expression to make sure that Professor Sharp has no reason to suspect anything, though Professor Sharp seems too lost in his own thoughts to really worry about yours. 

You move to follow Professor Sharp out the door, shielding your eyes from the setting sun as you adjust to the outdoors before following Professor Sharp’s leisurely pace.

“Are we going to Mrs. Whittle’s for dinner? She did mention we could stop by anytime.” You ask conversationally, finding it hard to remain silent as you attempt to act as though you aren’t acutely aware of what is really going on. Filling the silence means that your swirling thoughts don’t get the opportunity to do so instead. 

“Absolutely not. I have had enough of old women making my embarrassment their life’s mission for the day.” He scoffs, and you can’t help but crack a smile at the more casual side of Professor Sharp that you have been seeing more of lately. Ironically, the disagreement between you and Professor Sharp as well as how it was resolved seemed to have cracked the ice between you both in some way. He’s still the same stern potions professor, but just one who is a bit more relaxed at times.

“Professor Hecat isn’t actually that old though, right? She did say that she and Black went to Hogwarts at the same time.” You counter, earning an admonishing look from the professor next to you.

“Professor Black.” He sternly corrects, though you still have trouble actually giving the man any respect after the horrendous eulogy he gave for Professor Fig. You let out a huff at the correction, but make sure to suppress an eyeroll to avoid an actual lecture on respect and titles.

“And even if she is meant to be in her forties, Professor Hecat can get old rather quickly. Trust me.” Professor Sharp quips, rolling his eyes dramatically for effect. You try to stifle your laughter at the action, but it doesn’t go unnoticed as Professor Sharp cracks a smile himself. 

Even after the unspoken forgiveness that you and Professor Sharp shared after the snooping incident, there has still been a slight tension in the air whenever you both were interacting for an extended period of time. Meals tended to lean towards silence or the safe subject of your summer school work and you both kept yourselves busy in your own activities. The hard candy truce worked as a balm for both of your tempers, but beneath the surface you think that you both were unsure how to really navigate around the other after that point.

Now you find that the casual conversation between you both is flowing unhindered by the past, and as you both settle down for what Professor Sharp fondly referred to as ‘overpriced pub food with a familial ambiance’ in the one proper restaurant in town, you feel almost hopeful that the rest of the summer will be easier to navigate than the past month had been. 

It’s almost as though Professor Hecat coming to discuss the bigger picture worked to help you and Professor Sharp both to recognize that there are worse things to face than a trampled boundary, even if they were unaware you were listening in.

Thank Merlin for meddling old women.

Chapter Text

“I don’t understand how you aren’t even the least bit curious about this!” You exasperatedly comment, your voice rising to the point where it echoes slightly around the kitchen.

“I’m not ‘curious’ because it is a ridiculous question. Now eat your toast.” Professor Sharp dryly replies, leading by example by taking a bite of his own breakfast.

“Well has anyone actually tried it before? I refuse to believe I’m the only person who’s been curious enough to think about it.” You try again, your breakfast remaining as untouched as it has been ever since beginning the conversation.

“There is a saying about curiosity and cats, you know. Might want to look into it before brewing unsanctioned potions in an effort to infect yourself with an incurable affliction.” He quips back, and you let out a frustrated sigh which only seems to amuse the man as he works towards finishing his meal.

“I don’t want to be a werewolf, but you just said that if the hair of a werewolf is taken while they are in human form and I took it, the potion would still work and I would become that person in their human form like anyone else.” You start again, and while his patience seems to be waning, Professor Sharp gives you a nod in confirmation with a slightly humored look on his face. “So if I were to take the same polyjuice potion with the same hair from their human form during the full moon, would I turn into a werewolf? Their entire body including their hair changes during the transformation, so doesn’t that mean the hair used in the polyjuice potion would change as well?”

“It’s commonly believed that body parts discarded from the source such as teeth and hair would lose their transformative properties. If I remember correctly there was a study done well before my time where several human teeth were extracted from a werewolf to study during the full moon. They were completely unaffected and remained typical human molars and canines.” Professor Sharp informs you, slipping into a more instructional voice similar to the one he uses in class despite him clearly viewing the entire conversation as ridiculous.

“Seems inhumane.” You mutter, and Professor Sharp merely raises his eyebrow at the comment before taking another bite of his food.

“So the potion would change me into the human form of the werewolf with a human hair, but would I still be unaffected by the full moon? You already confirmed that if I were to take a hair from Ominis it would make me blind, so why wouldn’t lycanthropy work the same way?” You press, earning an almost exasperated sigh from the man as he looks pointedly at your half full plate of food.

“I am not answering any more questions until you take another bite. I am feeding you on a teacher’s salary you know.” He declares, propping his elbow on the table almost too casually for the stern potions professor you’ve come to know in class before resting his head on the palm of his hand.

“I assumed professors were paid more than muggle teachers, considering Hogwarts is the only wizarding school in the UK.” You offhandedly comment, but upon receiving a challenging look with a raised eyebrow from said professor across the table, you quickly take a couple bites of your breakfast to avoid any actual conflict. Professor Sharp releases an amused exhale through his nose at the action, waiting for you to finish your now cold eggs and toast before using his wand to silently move the dishes towards the sink.

“No one has attempted to take a polyjuice potion using werewolf hairs- human or otherwise- remotely close to the full moon, as far as I am aware. The only reason I know that the potion would work using the hair from their human form is because I witnessed it myself during a case.” Professor Sharp begins, and you can’t help but lean forwards in your chair slightly as you pay rapt attention. 

Professor Sharp had briefly told you about his time as an Auror all those months ago when you asked about it after class, but other than that one time he hasn’t freely divulged any more specifics.

“We had caught a witch smuggling illegal beast parts through muggle black markets, selling to witches and wizards under the table in an effort to avoid Aurors and other Ministry authorities while still turning a profit. She didn’t sell to muggles, but her presence there was enough to violate the Statute of Secrecy even if the beast parts were legally sourced- which they were not.” He continues, but you can’t help but interrupt him to ask a question.

“What was she selling?” 

“Well, on the tamer side there were giant squid tentacles. Giant squids are a protected class in most countries and therefore obtaining or selling their parts is banned in the UK. On the less tame side…” He trails off then, looking at you perceptively for a moment. You try your best to shift what you are sure is a wide eyed look on your face into something a bit more mature, but it seems that you were too late as Professor Sharp leans back a bit in his chair and folds his arms almost defensively.  “Well, I wouldn’t concern yourself with that. The more important part of the story is the werewolf hairs she was selling, claiming they can be used to turn your enemies into werewolves.”

“But wouldn’t that be a bad thing, considering werewolves are far more dangerous? Why would I make my enemy more powerful?” You ask, interrupting his story once again. To his credit, Professor Sharp takes the interruption in stride, most likely out of relief that you didn’t press him for more details regarding the ‘less tame’ products the witch was selling.

“Becoming a werewolf not only changes your life during the full moon, but if discovered it is guaranteed to make you a social pariah. Werewolves aren’t exactly welcomed with open arms in the wizarding world as they are seen as inherently dangerous even in their human forms. It’s not like the hairs would’ve worked anyway since the only way to contract lycanthropy is to be bitten by a werewolf.” His explanation is delivered much like his lectures in class, but he seems to remember something as he looks at you rather pointedly.

“This is something you should have covered in your third-year Defense Against the Dark Arts class, but I’m sure you just haven’t gotten to this point in your make-up assignments.” He adds with another raised brow, and you try your best to look innocent despite practically admitting that you haven’t completed any of your DADA makeup summer make-up assignments quite yet.

“I’ve been doing one subject at a time. I’ve already finished my History of Magic and Astronomy assignments, and I’m almost through all of Herbology.” You state in your own defense, earning a sideways glance from Professor Sharp.

“That’s not how I would have recommended doing them. A lot of our curriculums overlap in places by design, therefore your assignments would be a lot easier if you focus on all subjects one year at a time rather than four years of one subject at a time.” He informs you, and you let out an annoyed groan at receiving this information after you were almost through three of your courses. He lets out another amused exhale at your reaction, and you try your best not to roll your eyes in response.

“I wouldn’t stress too much over it. The courses you have completed so far are the most independent out of the bunch. This matters far more when it comes to Charms, Herbology, Defense Against the Dark Arts, and Potions. At this point you can finish Herbology, but keep what you’ve studied in mind as you work through Potions in particular.” He advises, and you nod in response as you consider what you might’ve missed regarding Herbology from other classes. Charms might be worth looking into in particular since there are several domestic charms that would probably be useful for cultivating plants.

“Back to the original topic then?” Professor Sharp casually proposes, and you nod more enthusiastically this time. 

“The werewolf hairs were authentic, and when we caught wind of her operation she had used them in a polyjuice potion to alter her form and get away undetected. Of course, we had already found the werewolf locked up along with all the other beasts she was poaching from, so it wasn’t hard to find her once we knew who to potentially look for. 

“While the only known way of being infected with lycanthropy is a direct bite during a full moon, I still wouldn’t personally attempt to drink a werewolf polyjuice potion myself. No one has attempted to try doing so even remotely close to the full moon. The risk of discovering a second way to be infected with lycanthropy simply isn’t worth it.” He finishes, taking a pocket watch from his coat pocket as he checks the time before standing and straightening up his coat. 

“I wouldn’t try it either, I was just curious about it. Polyjuice potions seem to have such a wide range of limitations and exceptions that it feels like anything is possible. Like are vampires close enough to humans that they could be used for a polyjuice potion as well? What about veelas?” You continue, though Professor Sharp seems to be done with the conversation as he makes his way out of the kitchen.

“I am not getting dragged into another polyjuice hypothetical of yours.” He calls out, and you scramble out of your seat to follow him. He then stops near the fireplace before turning to face you, a suspicious look being thrown your way as you stop in your tracks just past the kitchen door. “Why do you know so much about a potion that isn’t even in the Hogwarts curriculum? Polyjuice potions are covered in seventh-year potions in theory only. Care to share where you learned all of your information?” 

“You know…I actually don’t remember who I heard it from.” You confidently reply, trying your best to come across as innocent but knowing that it would most likely be interpreted as cheeky.

“Oh, I’m sure.” Professor Sharp sarcastically drawls, and you try your best to not laugh at his clear display of attitude. “While this entire conversation has been fascinating, I need to go to Hogwarts today.” 

You open your mouth to ask to come along, but before you can even start speaking Professor Sharp continues.

“Before you ask, no you cannot come. This isn’t a social call and I simply cannot keep an eye on a wayward student while- well don’t worry about it. Just do me a favor and stay in the house while I’m gone.” He firmly requests, though not unkindly. 

You give a nod in response, and Professor Sharp maintains his stern look in your direction, folding his arms and raising a brow as he clearly expects a verbal response.

“I won’t leave, I promise.” You reply, holding both of your hands up innocently to show you understand that he means business. He rolls his eyes slightly at the exaggerated display, though he gives a small nod himself to acknowledge your response.

“I don’t know how long I’ll be. I don’t expect I’ll be home for dinner, so don’t wait for me.” He comments before stepping into the fireplace, using the floo network to depart in bright green flames after clearly stating ‘Hogwarts, Headmaster’s Office’.  

You wonder briefly if just anyone can enter Professor Black’s office using the floo or if Professor Sharp has some sort of special permissions, but you quickly lose interest in the thought as you often do when considering anything that has to do with the Headmaster.

There are more important things to consider anyway, such as what Professor Sharp is even doing at Hogwarts. He is cagey anytime you bring up the subject, though you are sure you have a pretty good idea after listening in on his conversation with Professor Hecat. 

You didn’t take Ancient Runes last year since your schedule was kept rather simple to ensure you had plenty of spare time to catch up with your peers, but since Professor Sharp has so many books on the subject you had taken it upon yourself to crack open a couple. 

Ancient runes acts a bit like Latin did for your time in muggle studies, the ancient form of magic acting as the building block for the magic you are learning today. You find it a bit ironic since almost all of the incantations you have learned are literally derived from Latin, but still it was an interesting thing to find out while procrastinating with your History of Magic homework.

If the professors truly intend to extend the warding around Hogwarts to include the newly discovered caverns below, it would take quite a bit of work and a lot of skill. Hogwarts is a stronghold of ancient magic after all, so it would make sense that the wards would require extensive knowledge in ancient runes. The magic protecting the school must be old enough that ancient runes would be involved, which would also explain why so many of Professor Sharp’s tomes on the subject are off the shelf- presumably in his study.

Still, you wonder why he doesn’t just tell you where he is going. Even if you were wrong and he was going for another reason, it wouldn’t be the end of the world if he told you. You can’t help but worry that he is avoiding you in his own way, if not just avoiding Albury all together. Mrs. Whittle did mention he might be having a hard time returning to a home with so many bad memories, but other than the turned over photos in his study you haven’t found any real evidence of her claim. 

Then again, you both spent so much time avoiding each other before your silent apologies over the snooping incident, and now that he is spending most of his time at Hogwarts you haven’t really had the chance to notice if anything was off with him. The most time you spend with him are during meals, though for the most part he is content with just engaging in whatever small talk you pull him into so there hasn’t been much to find in these instances either.

You continue to stand there, thinking about the mysterious air that seems to surround the potions professor before deciding to focus on something more important: what you can do to occupy yourself in the house.

Typically you spend most of your time outside, either exploring the pond and wooded area nearby or going into town to find something to do, but now you are confined to staying inside the house after giving your word to Professor Sharp. You don’t think that going to the pond nearby should be that much of a problem, but with how good things have been between you two lately you don’t want to even take the risk of being caught doing the one thing he asked you not to do. 

You know that there is an assignment for fourth-year Herbology about flitterblooms waiting for you upstairs, but you are far more interested in whatever Professor Sharp might be doing at Hogwarts instead. Whatever it is it seems important since he will be gone most of the day, and ever since Professor Hecat came to visit Professor Sharp has been spending more time in his study rather than the basement lab where he usually is.

You feel the swooping feeling of nerves in your stomach as you remember what happened the last time you ventured into the room uninvited, but the knowledge of Professor Sharp being out for the majority of the day makes you feel somewhat secure with exploring within the confines of the house and you push the guilt away.

You slowly make your way to the study door, warily eyeing the fireplace as though Professor Sharp might appear at any moment ready to catch you, but as your hand makes contact with the smooth metal of the doorknob the fireplace remains as dark as it has been since the professor’s departure. 

You give one more glance over your shoulder before attempting to turn the knob, but of course the door is locked. You let out a small sigh, unsure why you thought the door would be unlocked especially after what happened the last time, but you are disappointed all the same. It would all be far easier if you were able to use the ever useful alohomora to open the door as taught to you by Mr. Moon, but of course the Ministry still hasn’t granted your tutor’s exemption so that isn’t an option.

A memory of your time before Hogwarts suddenly fills your mind as you consider your other options to get into the study. There was a rash of robberies in your grandmother’s neighborhood due to lockpicking, which is of course the muggle equivalent of the spell. You lean over to investigate the keyhole to the door, trying to determine if it would be possible for you to accomplish the same feat. 

You have practically mastered the lockpicking spell, how difficult could traditional lockpicking really be?

As it turns out, quite difficult. 

You let out another frustrated huff as your makeshift lock picks fail to really do anything, and after a couple more minutes of trying you admit defeat before going to sit and sulk on the sofa. You let out a scoff as you think about the purebloods who would always talk down about muggles and muggle-born students in the halls as you imagine one of them trying to do anything the muggle way. 

You look at the nearby bookshelf, suddenly feeling like passing the time immersed in a story would be your best option since you don’t feel like doing any real work today. While Professor Sharp’s books are all informative, you remember that you picked up some interesting fiction books the last time you went into town and visited Haworth’s Books. You were familiar with muggle fiction, but seeing that wizards had fiction as well you made the decision to buy whatever seemed to be the most popular. 

You head up to your room, finally feeling a bit more comfortable in the space as you continue to fill it with your own things, and you move towards the small pile of books occupying half of the desk space near the window. 

One series that was highly recommended by the witch behind the counter at Haworth’s was The Tales of Turner and Thompson series, which seemed to be about two Aurors who investigate different cases in each book, though the clerk had insisted that there was quite an interesting plot that develops throughout the series as well. You really had nothing else to go off of other than the clerk’s opinion, so you decided to pick up the first book in the series to test it out alongside a couple of her other less enthusiastic recommendations. 

You settle down on your bed, getting comfortable as you prepare for a long session of immersing yourself into what you hope is an interesting book. 

You crack open The Tales of Turner and Thompson: The Basilisk on Birchstreet, and you quickly find yourself engrossed in the writing as you begin to learn more about the two main characters of the story as well as whatever mysterious plot they will need to unravel.

You jerk awake suddenly, the dying light of the sun just barely warming the guestroom as you look around the dimly lit room for any sign of what disturbed your unintentional nap. 

All things considered, the book was fairly entertaining. The two Aurors, Margorie Turner and Alexander Thompson, had so much obvious chemistry that you were already anticipating the overarching theme that the witch working at Haworth’s was so excited by is the obvious will-they-won’t-they dynamic the two Aurors share. 

Even so, the first book was fairly action packed and surprisingly dark at times which led to you spending the majority of the day practically devouring the text. You remember briefly reading about illegal basilisk breeding in the Daily Prophet while visiting Hogsmeade, so the storyline immediately caught your attention as you both learn more about the creatures as well as was genuinely entertained by all the investigative work needed to catch the rogue basilisk and its breeder. After finishing it and realizing you wouldn’t be able to go buy the second book due to being confined to the house, you must’ve drifted off.

You sit up, rubbing the sleep out of your eyes as you look towards the window for a hint of what time it might be. 

The sun is now well below the horizon, the warm tones of sunset only just peeking out over the light purple and blue tones of twilight. It's just bright enough to see the scenery outside your window, but you know soon that won’t be the case. There isn’t any sign of movement outside, and you can just see the porch beyond the front door from your window so you know that there isn’t any visitor that could’ve knocked and woken you up. 

You shrug to yourself as you wonder what could have woken you so suddenly before turning to a more pressing thought: what you will have for dinner since Professor Sharp is gone. 

Typically he cooks, and is surprisingly good at it, so you have to admit that you are a bit lost without him as you think about perhaps making a simple sandwich. You make your way down the stairs anticipating walking to the dark kitchen when you are stopped in your tracks by a sudden howl.

The howling is loud though it sounds far from the house, and the creature seems to be in some sort of pain, its long howl making way for a keening noise towards the end. 

You freeze, your brain involuntarily reminding you of the conversation you shared with Professor Sharp this morning about werewolves. There is absolutely no way that there would be a werewolf in Albury. That would be an insane coincidence. 

You check the lock on the front door, satisfied to find that it remained locked from the night before as neither you or Professor Sharp had left the house through the door today, and creep carefully to a nearby window to check the moon. You are almost overwhelmed with a sense of relief as you see the moon is not quite full, a dark crescent shape taking over a recognizable portion of the orb dashing your sudden werewolf fears. Still, that leaves the more pressing matter of some sort of dog sounding hurt nearby. 

Almost as though the animal could sense your apprehension another long howl is released, sounding more pathetic and in pain than the last. You press yourself closer to the window, looking out in the dark to see if the animal is nearby but unfortunately seeing nothing but the same tall trees and shrubs lining the path from the house.

You take a fortifying breath before tentatively opening the door, the slight creaking of the hinges echoing in the darkening night and interrupting the buzzing of the summer insects. Another, more frantic howling sounds off in response to the creaking, and you are sure that the dog must be nearby. 

You almost step through the door before realizing you are missing a vital accessory if you really plan on making your way towards a potentially dangerous situation. You quickly close the door once more, ignoring the now desperate howling from the distance, as you rush up towards your nightstand and retrieve your wand.

Typically you keep your wand on you whenever you leave the house, but since Professor Sharp insists that you cannot use magic without the proper permissions from the Ministry you have gotten into the habit of  rarely having it on you while in the house and on occasion forgetting it while heading into town. 

You had argued that children living in wizarding homes are technically already exempt from the Trace since there is no definitive way to determine if the child or the adult witch or wizard in the house was the one to cast the spell according to your friends, but Professor Sharp was quick to remind you that ‘other children aren’t living in my house’ before reiterating that you are under no circumstances casting any spells unless its a true emergency or you have your tutors exemption.

While you don’t plan on casting any spells tonight, you feel slightly more secure knowing that you have your wand on you even if you aren’t allowed to use it. You also had raided the bathroom for whatever first-aid you might be able to use if there really is an injured beast or animal nearby, and with a roll of bandages and what appears to be the wizarding equivalent of an antiseptic in hand you once again find yourself opening the door and taking a tentative step out into the now darkness of night.

Chapter Text

You pause just outside of the door, almost expecting Professor Sharp to apparate right in front of you and catch you in the act. You know that he told you to expect him home rather late as he guessed he’d miss dinner, but now that it is rather late you find yourself worried he’ll return any minute.

Just as you begin to lose your nerve and think that it might be worth waiting in the house to inform Professor Sharp of the animal upon his return, another pained howl is released in the night.

It’s almost instinctive at this point to want to help any beast, mundane or magical, that seems to be in need after an entire year of dedicating yourself to fighting off poachers. Even if you wanted to, you don’t think you’d be capable of ignoring an animal in need, and the next howl your hear tugs at your heart as you worry more about the animal’s safety than being in trouble.

You look around, the nearly full moon illuminating the night sky in a way that grants you more than adequate visibility as you scan for movement around the house. You don’t see anything, and you take the chance to walk the perimeter of the building in hopes that wherever the animal is it might show itself if you do so first. 

You walk cautiously, looking down every now and then to avoid tripping on loose stones or uneven earth, but otherwise keeping your eyes on the treeline that surrounds Professor Sharp’s property in the distance. 

There aren’t other homes too close to the Professor’s, and other than the pond and pathway leading to town the rest of the area is an empty field with a treeline far in the distance- most likely the same treeline that connects around town and at the apparition point atop the hill. You have been so interested in the open space surrounding the pond and visiting town that you haven’t really investigated the wooded area in the day, so you are nervous to do so at night.

You squint in the darkness as you think you detect some sort of movement in the distance, and after one last furtive glance towards the back of Professor Sharp’s home you make your way towards the dense treeline.

Your action is  immediately rewarded with another howl, this time sounding slightly closer but clearly coming from the direction of the forest. You find yourself gripping your wand in your pocket tightly, unwilling to hold it out in the open but also unwilling to move any further without its reassuring weight in your hand.

“Hello?” You timidly call out, hoping that either the sound of your voice will draw the animal closer or frighten it off and you can locate it that way. You try your best to use a more reassuring tone- the same one you find yourself slipping into when speaking to the beasts in your vivarium- in hopes of putting the animal at ease. “It’s okay! I’m here to help...can you come out?”

As you finally reach the edge of the treeline you pause, leaning forwards slightly in the vain hope that you might be able to see clearer in the darkness that way. The dense foliage unfortunately does an excellent job of blocking out the gentle light of the moon, so you remain on the edge of the forest waiting for some sign that you need to enter.

The sign is given to you almost instantly, a rustling of bushes further than your eye can see drawing your attention as a pathetic sounding whimper breaks the silence. It sounds even closer, as though it would only be a minute or so of walking deeper into the forest to reach the creature. You take another shaky breath before walking towards the sound, trying your best to remain as quiet as possible to avoid startling the hurt animal while also remaining undetected by whatever else might live in the woods.

After a couple minutes of walking in a straight line, you turn around to discover that you are just deep enough in the cover of the forest that you can no longer see Professor Sharp’s house. You stop and look around you for any sign of the animal, but now it is eerily quiet. Not being able to see the one place you can associate with safety has you feeling a sense of dread, and you consider turning back when you suddenly spot it.

Standing a short distance away is a large, white dog. It has an elongated snout similar to the borzoi that your neighbor used to walk past your grandmother’s house in London, though unlike the pleasant looking dog you used to stop and pet, this dog’s mouth stretches far wider than normal, its large sharp teeth on full display. 

The way it is shaped almost reminds you of a thestral, pale fur barely coating the skin stretched over sharp protruding bones in the body, and its limbs are just long enough that you are unsettled upon seeing them. The eyes have an eerily glow, its filmy white eyes seeming to pin you in place despite the obvious lack of pupils.

However, the most unsettling aspect of the animal is what it is doing.

The dog- no, the creature is standing perfectly still and calm and is looking at you with an almost indifferent expression before it opens its mouth to let out another pained howl. It is completely unaffected by anything surrounding it and looks as though there is nothing that could cause it pain, but still the sound is so authentic you almost feel as though there must be some other creature that is actually hurt behind it. 

Your blood runs cold as you realize what you’ve just accidentally done.

This is a trap used by the creature to lure in prey, and you walked right into it.

Somehow you think that the creature can sense that you are suddenly more afraid, the pained howling stopping as it settles into a more offensive position. With its eyes locked onto you and front hunched low to the ground, it begins to stalk its way towards you. The absolute silence resulting from its steps makes you wonder if it has been following you ever since you left the house, as other than seeing it the creature is utterly undetectable even as it moves. 

You don’t get the chance to think about it for long as suddenly the creature takes off, sprinting towards you with a growl as you throw yourself to the side to avoid its bite. 

The creature is extremely agile, and as soon as you are back on your feet you find that you need to jump once more to avoid its attack. Unfortunately the creature seems ready for you this time, and you let out a harsh shout as sharp and impossibly long teeth sink into your left calf.

You swing your opposite leg in the creature’s direction, and this time the beast lets out a genuine yelp of pain as you make direct contact with its face. You let out another shout of your own as the sharp teeth drag down your leg slightly from the force of your kick, but after a second kick to the face you realize the creature isn’t willingly going to release you. 

Even worse, in your panicked jump and subsequent roll to avoid the creature’s first charge in your direction, your wand has left your grasp and is now lost somewhere on the forest floor around you. You deliver one more swift kick to the creature’s face, the crunching sound of your shoe’s contact with it’s snout almost making you feel guilty as it releases you with a yelp.

You aren’t sure if you can stand due to the searing pain in your leg, and you know that now is certainly not the time to check the injury at risk of giving the creature the chance to attack again. 

You decide not to waste any more time thinking and begin a stilted sort of army crawl, your bad leg being dragged behind you as your forearms and other leg do the majority of work. You try your best to put as much distance between you and the creature while also frantically scanning the area for your wand, ignoring the pain in your leg as it drags helplessly behind you. 

Finally you see it, the glint of your wand handle catching the weak light of the moon and alerting you to its location which seems impossibly far in the clearing knowing you will need to crawl you way towards it. You begin the painful crawl towards your wand, only to let out another pained shout as you feel teeth sink into the same injured leg that you are dragging behind you.

Suddenly you are being jerked side to side, the viscous motion from the creature yanking at your leg causing you to scream out in pain, the sound echoing off the trees surrounding you and into the night air. The vicious growling doesn’t cease from the creature, and you feel yourself being dragged slightly backwards by your leg as you scramble for purchase on the ground below you. 

Your eyes are watering from the pain of it all, and you let out another strained sound as you try to force yourself to keep moving forwards despite the hold the creature has on your leg. You reach out desperately, your wand frustratingly out of reach as you are dragged violently backwards once more. 

Your heart sinks as you lose the ground you gained and then some, your hands digging into the soil as you try to fight the strong force of the beast. You don’t know how it is possible for something so emaciated to be this strong, but beast physiology has never quite made sense to you after years in the muggle world. This level of strength just shouldn’t be possible from a creature this size.

You let out another shout as you kick the creature hard in the head once more and the beast lets go of your leg with another yelp. You quickly scramble towards your wand, just brushing the bottom of your wand handle with your middle fingertip as you feel the teeth once more, this time further up towards the back of your thigh. 

The creature is now out of kicking range as it continues to attempt to tear into you, and you let out a strangled shout as you desperately reach out towards your wand.  For a frightening moment you fear that you accidentally knocked it out of reach while flailing, but eventually you curl your fingers around the familiar handle of your wand.

You don’t hesitate to use it, pointing it behind you and blindly casting on instinct. 

A large crack of lightning is suddenly summoned through the treeline landing near you both, though not close enough to actually hit either of you. You almost need to cover your eyes from the resulting flash of light, but the creature reacts oddly and you force yourself to keep your eyes open to observe.

It releases you immediately, writhing in pain as the light illuminates the space. As the light from the ancient cast dies down so do the creature’s movements, and soon the beast is panting heavily in the dark as it lies on the ground.

You realize that something about the light is the creature’s weakness, and before you give the beast any time to attack you again you quickly cast lumos to illuminate the area.

The effect is almost instant, the creature writhing in pain once more before it stands and shoots off into the dark, its once silent steps now clumsily slamming into the forest floor alerting you that it is still running off in the woods long after you lose sight of it.

You take a moment just to breathe before the light flooding the area gives out, your concentration on maintaining the charm wavering as pain spikes in your leg. You know that you should try to clear your head to focus on your injuries, but at the moment you feel too light-headed to do anything. 

You remember that you had gathered some medical supplies to use on the potentially injured animal, and after a moment of reaching into your pockets your heart sinks.

The vial that at one point contained the magical antiseptic has cracked and completely leaked out during the attack. The roll of bandages thankfully absorbed most of the liquid, but what you had assumed was antiseptic now seemed to have been some sort of medicinal bonding agent as the bandages were now firmly stuck together and completely useless.

You throw the bandages in frustration. You are aware that you have obtained serious wounds from the creature’s teeth, but even though you know that you could inspect the injuries with lumos , you also know that there isn’t much you can do for them here.

You let out a groan in defeat as you take a moment to prepare yourself to stand, when the sounds of something moving quickly towards you has you freezing in place once more. The snapping of twigs and brushing sounds of something large pushing through the bushes has you holding your wand higher in a defensive position, and while you know that you should cast lumos again to deter the creature from coming back, the fear of giving away your current location keeps you from doing so. 

As a larger body than the lithe beast you expected bursts through the brush you almost use ancient magic once more, but you quickly make out the worried features of Professor Sharp before dropping your wand back to your side. 

Professor Sharp is quick to move then as he casts lumos himself, and you need a moment to allow your eyes to adjust to the bright light flooding the area. A sharp intake of breath from the man has you opening your eyes sooner than you’d like, but as soon as you do you immediately notice all the blood. 

The area around you clearly tells the story of what happened here. There are deep grooves in the dirt below showing where you tried to claw your way to safety with matching soil imbedded in your own fingernails, freshly turned dirt broadcasting where you and the creature had struggled, and several trails of blood leading from where you had entered the small clearing to where you are resting now.

Professor Sharp’s eyes are wide as he takes in the surrounding area as well, though he redirects his attention to you quickly, kneeling next to you and holding his wand near you injuries. 

The trousers you were wearing are saturated in blood, several large tears in the fabric revealing bleeding holes in your skin from the piercing teeth of the creature. Some of the bite marks are bigger than others, particularly those on your calf from when the creature was thrashing you around like some sort of human dog toy, and there is still a steady stream of blood dripping from the bite marks down into the grass and dirt below you.

“What happened?” Professor Sharp clips, but you feel a bit hazy as you continue to look at your leg. 

You’ve been hurt before, but something about the entire encounter and seeing the injury has you feeling shaken, almost as though all the adrenaline you had while fighting with the creature has suddenly returned in full force. 

You snap out of your staring as suddenly Professor Sharp snaps his fingers right in front of your face, your eyes focusing on the calloused hand before honing in on stern expression.

“Don’t you dare go into shock right now. Don’t look at it. Just focus on me.” He sternly instructs, not waiting for any sort of response before he holds his wand closer to your leg to inspect your injuries further. You can’t help but notice the slight tremor in his hands as he moves the torn fabric around the puncture holes aside, the light of his wand shaking along with him and bouncing off the trees nauseatingly.

“I’ll try not to.” You mutter, closing your eyes for a moment to block out the bouncing light before opening them to see Professor Sharp looking at you. His eyebrows are furrowed with worry, but as you make eye contact his shoulders seem to lose just a bit of their tension.

“You’ve lost a fair amount of blood, though clearly you’re well enough for sarcasm. Any disorientation?” He asks before holding his wand closer to your face. The light irritates your eyes but you try not to close them again, as you know Professor Sharp is checking for dilation and doing so would only serve to irritate him. 

“Maybe a bit. I feel…dizzy?” You reply, and while you sound unsure even to your own ears Professor Sharp must not see anything too concerning in your eyes as he removes the light from your face and instead illuminates the general area once more.

“The more blood we let you lose the worse the ‘dizzy’ feeling will get. Are you hurt anywhere else?” Professor Sharp asks, his voice still unrelentingly stern. 

“No, just the leg.” You confirm, as you’re sure the general scrapes on your arms and hands aren’t exactly what Professor Sharp was asking about when compared to your sluggishly bleeding leg. 

“Alright then let’s get out of here.” He replies before quickly standing up. You nod briefly in response as you press your palms to the floor preparing to push yourself off the ground, but before you attempt to maneuver yourself up he is holding both hands out towards you. “I’ll pull you up, just keep all your weight off that leg.” 

Standing was a painful experience, and you think that you would’ve fallen back to the ground if it weren’t for Professor Sharp being somewhat prepared for the reaction. Soon you are hobbling with the support of Professor Sharp back towards the house, your left arm braced over his shoulder as his right arm wound around your back to keep you upright.

You are both breathing slightly harder from the strain of the stilted half-hobble-half-hopping walk through the treeline, and you feel slightly guilty knowing that you are having someone who already has trouble moving around acting as your main support. 

Soon you both are approaching the front of the house, the door left wide open and inviting in the two of you as well as some of the moths that typically bump against your bedroom window at night. Professor Sharp seems unsurprised to see the less than secure state of the home, and guides you in before depositing you on the sofa carefully. He swishes his wand and you watch as the gathering gnats and moths are banished through the still open door before it swings shut and locks automatically.

Professor Sharp settles on the coffee table in front of you, pulling your injured leg to rest nearby as he now inspects your injuries in the light of the living room rather than quickly by wand-light in the woods. 

His eyes narrow a bit as he inspects the tears in your skin, and while you try to focus on what he is doing your gaze drifts unwillingly towards the dim embers in the fireplace. You don’t even notice that Professor Sharp is looking at you with a hint of worry in his eyes until he has pulled out his wand, the action drawing your attention as two familiar green vials and one darker red one make their way into his hands from another silent spell.

“Wiggenwelds first, otherwise all the blood-replenishing potion will do is make a mess in my living room.” He instructs, pushing all three vials into your hands and giving you an expecting look. 

You quickly down the two green potions, the earthy taste of the dittany coating your mouth and giving you some comfort from the familiarity of the action. You watch as the bite marks stitch themselves closed, and after another spell cast by Professor Sharp all the blood on your leg is removed to reveal smooth skin underneath. 

You then uncork the dark red vial, the strong metallic taste making the potion much harder to swallow than the wiggenwelds from before. You do note that the slightly dizzy sensation you were experiencing quickly subsides, but other than that you feel unchanged.

“Vestimenta reparo.” Professor Sharp casts, this time out loud, and the tears in your clothing begin to mend themselves. You watch the material practically stitch itself back together, wondering why this is the first spell Professor Sharp needed to cast out loud. Your best guess is that being an Auror must have meant that healing spells are more useful to quickly cast than domestic ones. 

You give your freshly healed leg a shake, the now blood free material of your trousers completely mended, and you lower it from the coffee table handing the empty vials to the outstretched hand of Professor Sharp. 

While in the woods Professor Sharp seemed stern but worried, and during the walk back and the healing session he seemed focused and serious, now you look on as he works himself up into what you can only assume is anger. His jaw is set in a way that you can only guess means he is trying not to grind his teeth, and his brows are low and pinched together over narrowed eyes.

“Tell me what happened. Now.” He firmly demands, crossing his arms and fixing you with a scowl that you haven’t been on the receiving end of since he caught you in his study.

“I promise I didn’t mean to-” You begin before being swiftly cut off.

“The last time I heard the words ‘I promise’ come from you was when you were assuring me you would stay indoors this morning. Skip the hollow excuses and stick to the facts.” His patience is already wearing thin as his anger seems to rise, and you swallow thickly before trying again.

“I woke up just at sunset from a nap and there was howling from outside. It sounded like a dog in pain but I couldn’t see it from the house. I figured the sound came from the forest and I went to investigate.” You summarize, trying your best to be as straightforward as possible to avoid any more scathing words from the former Auror in front of you.

“And was it a dog?” He presses, his stern tone coming out clipped as he pushes you to continue.

“Maybe?” You reply. Professor Sharp’s scowl deepens with your lackluster answer, and you rush to explain what you meant before he has the chance to speak again. “It sort of looked like a dog but there is no way it was mundane. It was too strong for how skinny it was, and it was sort of glowing? Or at least the eyes were.”

“Was the dog white or black?” Professor Sharp asks, sounding slightly less angry as he leans forwards in interest after you describe the creature a bit.

“White. It was faking it- being in pain, I mean. I saw it standing perfectly fine as it let out whimpering sounds only to stop when it saw me.” You explain, suppressing a shudder at the eerie behavior of the obviously well-practiced predator.

“Gytrash.” Professor Sharp simply states, looking out towards one of the windows with a view of the treeline in the distance.

“Sir?” You ask, unsure if this is another wizard saying or something more specific.

“The beast is called a gytrash. Lures curious children and lost travelers to their deaths with fake cries. There is a reason they call those who are too sympathetic bleeding hearts, you know.” He explains, his anger devolving into more of an admonishing tone. Clearly he is still angry as his deepset glare remains, but now he sounds more disappointed than anything. 

“I’m sorry it just sounded so hurt and-” You start in your own defense, only to be stopped by Professor Sharp speaking over you.

“I don’t want to hear it. I had one request- one. Stay inside.” He begins, moving to stand as he pinches the bridge of his nose in exasperation.

“I know but-”

“That’s all I asked and you still couldn’t follow instructions and almost got yourself killed. You do realize that I am the only thing keeping you out of the Ministry’s hands. That is, unless you want to be surrendered to Malfoy or the Department of Mysteries, both of which are still very much vying for the opportunity.” He continues, the reprimanding tone giving way once again for anger. His constant switching between the two has you struggling to figure out how to respond, but it seems a response is unnecessary as Professor Sharp continues his lecture. 

“Not to mention you used what might have been the most conspicuous spell possible. You do realize that we are meant to be hiding magic from the muggles in town, or did you not stop to think about the Statute of Secrecy? It was only one of the biggest points made during your hearing. Did you even think at all about the potential consequences before summoning a literal pillar of lighting on a clear night?” He hotly asks, and this time you feel anger manifesting deep in your gut at how unfair he is being.

“Oh, I’m sorry. I was a bit worried about being mauled to death at the time and cast the first thing I could think of.” You spit back, knowing you are only making the situation worse but not caring at the moment. “Next time I’ll just-”

“Next time! There isn’t going to be a ‘next time’. Give me your wand.” He seethes, already holding his hand out expectantly. 

You want to protest, argue that without it tonight you’d have been killed, but you know when you’ve lost. You harshly place your wand in his hand, already feeling vulnerable without it as he puts it in his coat pocket next to where he most likely keeps his own. 

“I just don’t understand what more I can do for you. You were there the same as I during your hearing. I’m sure I don’t need to tell you that options for you were slim to none. Do you think this is what I wanted to do with my summer? I was meant to be in Hogwarts taking a break from students and yet-” He coldly starts, and you feel another flare of rage at the unfairness of it all, this time jumping up to your own feet and startling him into stopping.

“I know I screwed up and I’m sorry, but I didn’t ask for any of this. I didn’t ask for your help, you volunteered to take me! This isn’t how any of it was supposed to go!” You shout, feeling the sting of hot tears behind your eyes but trying to force them back as you continue. “Do you know where I was supposed to be this summer?”

You didn’t mean to ask the question, intending it to be rhetorical but the need to take a moment and scrub at your still burning eyes left a natural pause that Professor Sharp seemed unable to stop himself from filling. 

“Your last living relative is gone. There is no way you’d have been going to London to be on your own even without the Ministry stepping in.” He points out, his words sounding as though he is mocking you with his incredulous tone. 

“I know that. I wasn’t going to go to London alone. Professor Fig-” You stop, knowing that if you continue you’d be crying for real and not just tearing up from the uncontrollable rage you were experiencing. Professor Sharp looks unsurprised by the mention of your old mentor, but something in his glare seems to soften at the mentioning of your original plans. 

“It doesn’t matter. He’s dead, it’s my fault, and now you're stuck with me. Sorry.” You finish in an angry but defeated tone before turning and making your way upstairs. You almost expect Professor Sharp to stop you with some sort of scathing comment or insist that you both aren’t finished with the argument, but instead he silently stands as you quickly retreat. 

You have no reservations when it comes to slamming your door this time as you enter your room and in a display of accidental magic which you haven’t witnessed since first presenting your magical ability last summer, the knob of the door transfigures into one with a lock before locking itself behind you. The shock of the accidental spell almost knocks you out of your rage, but as you hear the uneven footsteps of Professor Sharp finally make his way up the stairs the anger returns.

He walks up to your door, knocking far too calmly for the heated discussion you had abandoned downstairs before trying the door. The lock holds as he turns the doorknob, the clicking sound of the lock preventing his entry causing him to pause for a moment before releasing the doorknob and waiting. 

You stand as still as possible on your side of the door, barely breathing in an effort to remain silent as you wait to see if he plans on saying anything or just unlocking the door with magic. Instead he lets out a sigh that sounds too quiet to be a frustrated one, standing for a moment longer on the other side of the door before you hear him retreat into his own room.

You flop down on your bed in frustration, nearly crushing the mystery novel that you had left there earlier this evening. You rub your eyes harshly as you try to avoid crying anymore than you already have, the bitter tears from your argument now devolving into the more familiar ones from grief.

You feel not for the first time like being in Albury was wrong, mourning for the summer you were meant to have before ancient magic and the Ministry complicated everything.

You would be in London right now, perhaps packing up your grandmother’s things and living in the home you know was willed to you thanks to Professor Fig helping you handle the muggle legalities of her passing.

More importantly, Professor Fig himself would have been there alongside you, already assuring you of this fact when discussing her passing during the school year. He had promised that you wouldn’t be alone, just as he had in the repository when you decided to guard the Keepers' secret as your own. 

Unlike Professor Sharp, there was no one for you to throw accusations of broken promises at now. 

Professor Fig is dead and it was all your fault. Now you have to deal with the aftermath, wishing for the first time that you never presented any magical ability at all. Professor Fig would still be alive, you’d still be in London, and Professor Sharp would be free from the burden of watching you. 

You lie awake for what feels like hours as you watch the moonlight move through your window casting faint shadows through the dark room, hoping that when sleep finally overtakes you you can dream of a life that is completely different from reality.

One that is perfectly ordinary.

Chapter Text

The house is uncharacteristically quiet as the sunlight streaming through your window wakes you from an uneasy nights rest. A glance at the clock tells you that it is almost nine, and on a typical day you would have already been out of bed and downstairs to share breakfast with Professor Sharp by now. 

Of course, this morning is anything but typical which you are reminded of when you notice the still transfigured lock on your door. You’re still a bit surprised by the display of accidental magic, as you haven’t experienced any lack of control regarding magic since buying your own wand. 

Professor Fig had briefly explained accidental magic to you last summer, and had mentioned that once a student has settled with their wand those types of instances greatly reduce. In fact, typically by the time students reach your age displays of accidental magic are quite rare, but to be fair you have had far less time than your peers in that regard. You don’t think it's a coincidence that your first case of accidental magic since going to Hogwarts coincides with your wand being confiscated.

You let out a groan as you turn over in bed, looking pointedly away from the door and towards the window as you remember the events of last night.

You feel the familiar sensation of guilt deep in your chest as you think about everything that had happened. 

The second you decided to step out of the house you were in the wrong, and it's almost frustrating that you can’t even try to convince yourself otherwise. Even if the gytrash had been an injured dog rather than some sort of malicious beast, you shouldn’t have gone out to look for it without at least waiting for Professor Sharp. Even worse, outside of his only request being that you stayed indoors, you broke the only other concrete rule he had given you for the summer: no magic.

All things with Ranrok and Rookwood aside, you are still getting the hang of traditional magic. You could’ve tried casting a less conspicuous spell last night, but something about using ancient magic is instinctive. You think that an ancient cast will always be your go to spell in a pinch, which is inconvenient when it's still hard to tell what kind of spell it is going to be. 

You feel another tug at your heart as you think about how things would’ve been different with Professor Fig. This kind of issue with ancient magic was exactly the kind of thing he was excited to work with you on over the rest of the year.

You push the thought aside as you rub at your stinging eyes. No use crying over the same ruined dreams and regrets as the night before.

You weren’t covered in blood when you hastily flopped into bed last night thanks to Professor Sharp, but you still felt grimey covered in the dried sweat and dirt from the fight in the woods. You look regretfully at the smudges of dirt that are now staining the bed, particularly where your legs were resting, knowing that you’ll need to wash the sheets later. 

You quickly gather a change of clothes as you decide to shower, unlocking your door slowly in an effort to be as quiet as possible. You walk cautiously to the bathroom, making an effort to avoid what you have learned is a creaky floorboard as you quickly close the door behind you and get ready for the day. You think you hear Professor Sharp exiting his own room while you were showering, but you try your best to ignore it as you focus instead on scrubbing under your dirt covered fingernails.

You return to your room only to stop when you notice the bed has been stripped of its sheets, an unfamiliar yellow set now neatly taking the place of the dark green that you’ve grown accustomed to. The window is open, and as you get closer to the bed you realize it was intentionally done to air out the slightly musty smell that is coming from the ‘new’ bedding. 

Professor Sharp’s home has been vacant for a number of years, so it would make sense that the spare sheets would’ve been sitting in a linen closet for quite some time. 

You are distracted by a blur of brown catching your attention just outside of your window, a rather scruffy looking barn owl making its way through the open window before dropping a small bundle of letters on your bed.

It perches itself at the foot of your bedframe and looks at you expectantly, large yellow eyes focused on you with a slightly cocked head. You know that most owl services don’t require the recipient to give any form of payment, but you quickly learned during your time at Hogwarts that owls will typically beg for food after completing a delivery.

“Sorry, friend. I don’t have any treats for you up here.” You apologetically murmur to the owl, reaching out cautiously to scratch the owl affectionately on top of its head. The owl leans in slightly, seeming content with your substitute ‘payment’ before turning and taking off back out the window and towards town. 

You watch as it flies off, momentarily distracted as you recognize the old green bedding drying on what looks to be a hastily constructed clothesline- though a lot of things in the wizarding world look haphazard when compared to their muggle world counterparts. You wonder briefly if there is some sort of agreed aesthetic amongst all witches and wizards in an effort to get a uniformed ‘topsy-turvy’ look, but in the end you abandon the thought remembering why you were standing in the window in the first place. 

You look down at the bundle of letters held together by twine and what you recognize as the official seal of the local Owl Post. The bundle of letters must’ve been collected and sent out all at the same time by the post, and under better circumstances you would have made a plan to ask Professor Sharp how the post works. Do they send letters out on specific days? Why wouldn’t they send the owls immediately like the Hogwarts Post rather than letting the letters accumulate and sending them all at once. 

You swallow past the lump that has formed in your throat at the thought of needing to ask Professor Sharp anything, brushing the thought aside as you break the seal on the twine and pull apart the four letters, each with your name on them written in the familiar handwriting of your friends.

The first letter is clearly Sebastian’s, the surprisingly neat handwriting of the boy greeting you on the outside of the envelope. You suspect that his handwriting practically being calligraphy is most likely the result of having been raised by professors in his younger years, but you never really got the chance to ask with everything that had happened. After Solomon and Anne…well it just didn’t seem like an appropriate thing to ask.

‘It’s good to finally hear from you, especially since you had to miss the train and none of us got to say goodbye to you for the summer. Your hearing sounds like it was a huge waste of time. If you needed somewhere to stay, you should’ve just asked me! Ominis has been staying with me in Feldcroft for the summer since Anne…

Staying with us couldn’t be any worse than staying with Sharp- even if Ominis is constantly trying to mother me into chores and homework. I can’t believe you are staying with Sharp of all people! Has he been making you scrub all his cauldrons over the summer? I swear he would always brew the most disgusting potions the day of my detentions with him on purpose. Absolute prick. Take my advice and avoid him as much as possible.

Also, just know anything you write to Ominis will be read by me and vice versa, so your little attempt at trying not to mention his father to him failed. Sorry. Might as well write us joint letters since he hates using a self-writing quill.

Sebastian

P.S. If you need to run away I’m sure Ominis can spot you the train fare. Just don’t mention my name in the letter if you ask for it!’

You let out a snort after reading Sebastian’s letter, even if his mentioning Professor Sharp only added to the heavy feeling of dread in your chest. You try not to think about how before last night you might’ve actually defended Professor Sharp from Sebastian in your response. Now all you want to do is avoid the topic entirely.

At least at the end he provided an interesting idea for a way out if you really need one.

You are pleasantly surprised that Ominis is staying with Sebastian in Feldcroft. You were obviously more worried about your own living situation for the summer, but even so you were still pretty concerned about Sebastian being cooped up in Feldcroft all alone.

Conveniently, Ominis’ letter was next in the pile, the slightly messy handwriting from his self-writing quill making it unmistakably clear it is his, though the fancy stationary would’ve worked as a sufficient clue on its own as well. 

You break the seal of his letter, the first sentence already making you laugh as you imagine him writing it while sitting right next to Sebastian.

‘Don’t listen to Sebastian. He earned all of his detentions and then some. That moonmind has absolutely no right to give you advice of any kind.

I for one think that staying with Professor Sharp is rather convenient considering you still have a lot of catching up to do before our sixth-year. He might be stern but he has always been quite fair. It will all work out for the best, I’m sure.

I can’t keep an eye on you from Feldcroft since Sebastian has already given me far too much to focus on, so please just lay low for once, even if it isn’t your typical modus operandi. 

No fighting trolls, no goblin camps, and NO dark wizards! 

Also, I am sorry about all of the trouble my father seemed to have caused at your hearing. I’m no stranger to the schadenfreude that he always seems to revel in, so if it puts you at ease just know that it wasn’t personal. He is like that with everyone. Hopefully you both will never cross paths again.

Ominis Gaunt’

All things considered you expected a far longer lecture from Ominis, as that always seems to be his go to for you no matter what you are up to, so you can’t help but let out a sigh of relief that his letter was brief. 

Again, it seems like mentioning Professor Sharp has only made you feel worse, especially when Ominis is so strangely optimistic about the entire thing. Unfortunately  your free ticket to Scotland might not work out after all with Ominis in the man’s corner.

The next letter is from Poppy, who seems the cheeriest so far, as she always tends to be.

‘Oh I’m so glad that you have somewhere to stay! 

The Daily Prophet just keeps going on and on about you, and when I read that you were orphaned I almost tried to convince Gran to help me find you and take you home with us!

Don’t take anything they are writing to heart. Gran says that the Daily Prophet is ‘slanderous drivel being pushed to sow the seeds of chaos’, but then again Gran is pretty distrustful of everyone.

Gran and I are doing alright by the way, thank you for asking!

We have been visiting the snidgets as much as possible and they seem like they might be ready to fly soon! I’ll make sure to ask Gran about bringing a camera so we can send you pictures of them. They are growing out of their baby feathers and frankly are a bit ugly, but that's ok! I just know they are going to be beautiful when they are grown.

Be careful, and I promise that if I hear anything else I will let you know. Please do the same for me!

Poppy

P.S. If you get the chance can you ask Professor Sharp about his assignment on Golpalott’s Third Law? Since you are living with a professor and all, we might as well take advantage!’

You put her letter down with the rest, ignoring her continued writings on the homework assignment that you haven’t even bothered to look at yet. 

So far, Poppy is the only person to mention the Daily Prophet, but then again Sebastian has never been one to read the paper and Ominis has an…obvious excuse. At least now you know that information from the Wizengamot trial is definitely being leaked since apparently everyone now knows you are an orphan with nowhere to go. 

You let out a frustrated noise at the thought of everyone but you knowing all your business, or rather the exaggerated version of it the paper is sharing. 

You find yourself frowning as you pick up Natty’s letter, not because of what she wrote but rather due to the fact that the letter is your own being returned to you. A large red stamp on the front reads ‘return to sender: recipient out of bounds’. 

You are puzzled for a moment before you figure out Natty must be away from Hogwarts. Perhaps she went back to visit Matabeleland with her mother? It wouldn't be a hard reach since Professor Onai had quite the scare with the entire Harlow situation. It would make sense that they wanted to get away from it all, if only for the summer.

You bundle up the letters and put them in your desk drawer, resolving to write more letters back to your friends as well as making a mental note to rewrite Natty a letter and sending it through the international option at the owlery. 

Just as you finish, the familiar smell of eggs and bacon being cooked wafting upstairs and through your still open doorway. You are almost tempted to just shut the door and utilize its new lock, but ultimately missing dinner last night has you willing to risk another lecture if it means you get to eat.

You walk cautiously down the stairs, treading as lightly as possible so you might be able to make it all the way down undetected. You decide that if Professor Sharp looks angry, you’ll just turn around and sneak back upstairs, breakfast be damned. As you make it fully down the stairs you continue to sneak forwards knowing it will only be a couple more steps before you can see fully into the kitchen.

Suddenly a harsh knock on the door causes you to freeze right where you are, Professor Sharp stepping through the doorframe of the kitchen raising his eyebrow at how you have comically stopped before you quickly maneuver into a more natural stance rather than your ‘sneaky’ one. 

You are almost relieved by how normal Professor Sharp seems to be despite the circumstances of last night, his face smoothed into a more neutral expression rather than the angry one you were convinced you were going to be on the receiving end of.

Professor Sharp brushes past where you were still standing on his way to the door, and you realize that you have just lost your ability to sneak back up the stairs due to the professor and whoever it is on the other side of the door now blocking your way up. He opens the door, stiffening slightly at whoever is on the other side before moving to block your view entirely from where you stand. 

“Is there a reason you’re banging on my door on a Saturday morning?” Professor Sharp abrasively asks, and you find yourself equal parts curious and concerned about whoever might be on the other side.

“We detected the use of magic by an underaged student at this address last night, the spell in question being uncategorized but immensely powerful.” A familiar voice answers, though you have trouble placing him. You are more focused on remaining silent as the unfortunately accurate accusation is given to Professor Sharp.

“Do I need to explain how the Trace works, Miller? I could’ve cast whatever spell you’re going on about and it would still be picked up by the Trace. Hardly a reason for a home visit with four other Aurors.” Professor Sharp cooly replies, standing firmly in front of the door as he addresses the same wizard who was giving you both such a hard time the day of your hearing. 

“The Decree for the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery might allow exceptions for children living in wizarding households for that very reason, but we both know this isn’t a typical child. Now are you going to let us in or are you going to prove my instincts of coming with backup right?” Miller asks, and you can practically hear the smug smile in his voice even if you can’t see his face. 

Professor Sharp stands still in the doorway for a second longer before moving stiffly out of the way allowing the five Aurors to enter. 

Miller leads the way in, his beady eyes almost immediately spotting you as he makes his way further into the home. He is steadily approaching you before Professor Sharp’s longer strides than the shorter red-haired man puts him firmly between you and the Auror, the others stopping just beyond the entryway.

“Careful, Sharp. This is starting to feel like obstruction.” Miller warns the taller man, only to be quickly countered by Professor Sharp himself.

“What exactly do you need us to do to clear this up?” Professor Sharp asks, sounding every bit as stern as he is in class, though hearing him talk to Miller you realize he is actually far kinder in class than the others give him credit for. There is an almost undetectable air of fondness beneath his stern tone during lectures that is noticeably missing now as he glares down at the shorter man.

“Prior Incantato would be the quickest way to settle things. I’m sure you remember how I was best in the field with this spell. I could probably look at more than one cast back if I really focus.” Miller replies, almost bragging to Professor Sharp, though he appears completely unphased as he continues to glare down at Miller completely unimpressed.

“I suppose you were adept with the charm from what I remember. Congratulations on proving that it is in fact impossible for one man to be bad at everything.” Professor Sharp deadpans, the insult resulting in Miller’s face scrunching up unpleasantly as he cuts his eyes at the professor.

“Just move so I can check their wand.” Miller demands, only to flinch back as Professor Sharp quickly holds your wand directly in front of the man’s face from his own jacket pocket.

“No need to bother the student, I’ve actually been holding their wand for them while we wait for their tutor’s exemption to go through. In fact, why don’t we let them get to breakfast while we settle this since they are no longer needed.” Professor Sharp suggests, already sending a dismissive gesture your way.

Miller recovers from the quick movement from Professor Sharp and harshly snatches your wand from the man’s hand. You are about to take a step back towards the kitchen in an effort to obey Professor Sharp’s request when Miller speaks up, the shorter man’s beady eyes glaring in your direction.

“No. They are staying here where we can all see them.” He harshly demands. Professor Sharp lets out a scoff as he gestures for Miller to get on with it, taking a step back to be more in line with you as he waits for whatever priori incantato is.

Miller pulls out his wand as he holds your own, pointing his at yours before subtly swishing it with a silent spell. A small ball of light forms between where the tips of the two wands are now connected, the light muted enough in the daylight that you don’t need to squint or shield your eyes in the slightest even as you continue to look directly at it.

“So, the 'uncategorized but immensely powerful' spell was lumos. How frightening.” Professor Sharp sarcastically comments as you let out a breath of relief. Priori incantato must show the last spell used, which luckily for you was lumos and not an ancient cast that would surely put a hole through Professor Sharp’s roof.

“Hold on! Let me try again. I’m not surprised they thought of covering their tracks with lumos. It’s practically an admission of guilt.” Miller insists before casting the spell once more, this time out loud as he seems to focus more on the act. 

You try not to appear as tense as you currently feel at the thought that you were about to be exposed for using ancient magic, your eyes laser focused on the two wands as you wait for the worst to happen. 

The same ball of light is formed demonstrating lumos, but to your relief it is replaced by a small flash of red light that knocks Miller’s wand right out of his own hand. You feel the tension ease slightly in your shoulders, almost surprised as Professor Sharp practically mimics your reaction as he relaxes as well. 

“Lumos and expelliarmus? All we need is wingardium leviosa and that's practically the line-up for a standard O.W.Ls exam, which would’ve been the last time magic was cast from that wand, might I add.” Professor Sharp calmly replies, seeming almost smug as Miller hastily bends down to pick up his wand from where it fell to the floor. Miller’s face turns a similar shade to his hair, though if it is from embarrassment or rage you are unsure.

You don’t remember casting expelliarmus recently, which means that the spell used to check your wand doesn’t work when detecting ancient magic even if the Trace still detects it. You almost want to ask the Keepers why this is the case, but you know that they have been notably absent since you resealed the repository. Still, you file this information away for later as you focus back on the two men in front of you.

“I’ll go ahead and take that back now, Miller.” Professor Sharp requests as he holds his hand out expectantly, not even flinching as your wand is practically shoved into his open hand.

“I know that lumos wasn’t enough for what was reported.” Miller seethes before focusing on you. “Just because you are capable of some ancient nonsense doesn’t mean you’re above the law. You’ll need to come back to the Ministry with us and-”

“Hold on, Miller. Is this meant to be an arrest, or a voluntary surrender? I know for a fact that I will not be voluntarily taking my ward to the DMLE to waste my time as you fish for something that simply isn’t there.” Professor Sharp states, cutting off Miller as he once again moves to block you from view. You look at the other Aurors in the room, and from what you can see from over Professor Sharp’s shoulder the others seem slightly nervous with how the conversation is going. 

Clearly this isn’t what they had expected to be doing with their Saturday morning.

“An arrest if I have anything to say about it!” Miller practically shouts, only to be interrupted by one of his own Aurors this time.

“Miller, there isn’t anything that we can take them in for. You just proved that they didn’t cast whatever it was the office flagged.” A younger Auror comments, her tone almost placating as she regards the still fuming man. You wonder if this is something she has done before when it comes to Miller, or if she is just more reasonable than you had anticipated an Auror being. Either way, Professor Sharp nods appreciatively in her direction before speaking.

“The kid is right. Go home Miller, you’re done here.” Professor Sharp adds, unwilling to move towards the door but gesturing for the Aurors to let themselves out. 

You move from behind Professor Sharp just in time to see Miller hold his wand up towards Professor Sharp, the mood of the room shifting from one of annoyance to deathly still as Professor Sharp glares downwards at the shorter man.

“I know that there is evidence here that they used ancient magic! We are searching the house for…well for something!” Miller insists, holding his wand up higher as his voice raises in volume.

“Search for what? You wouldn’t even be able to see traces of ancient-” You start before Professor Sharp holds up a hand to silence you.

“It’s highly irregular for the Ministry to go through all of this for a minor living in a magical household, and you know it.” Professor Sharp presses, his voice low with an almost dangerous tone. “Now I suggest you leave now before I give you an actual reason to point your wand at me.”

The standoff continues for a moment longer, you and the other Aurors watching as Professor Sharp and Miller remain tensely locked in some sort of silent argument before Miller cracks. He shoves his wand back in his sleeve, turning and practically pushing the others out of the house ahead of him. Professor Sharp relaxes slightly as he follows the retreating group to the door, only to stop as Miller whirls around once more just at the doorway. 

“Almost forgot. I’m supposed to deliver this.” Miller smugly states before shoving an envelope towards Professor Sharp who swiftly takes and opens the official looking letter.

“Your approval for the tutor’s exemption.” Professor Sharp comments as he turns towards you, only to stop as he looks at the letter more closely. “The date on this is from over a week ago! Why are you even here if they are allowed to use magic?” He harshly asks as he grips the letter in his hand, almost as though he could wield it as a wand if he wanted to.

“Is that a confession?” Miller presses, looking pleased as Professor Sharp is the one to lose his cool this time.

“No, it's a question regarding your ethics.” Professor Sharp curtly responds, only to receive a mocking laugh in response.

“Oh, is the professor going to lecture me about ethics? Should I have brought a quill?” Miller sneers, but Professor Sharp seems to have already regained the composure he had lost as he scoffs in response.

“You know as well as I that an education would be wasted on you, Miller. I’ve taught first-years with a greater capacity for magic than you could ever dream of possessing.” Professor Sharp dryly replies, practically slamming the door shut in Miller’s face before locking it. 

You hear the obvious sounds of apparating, the five resounding pops letting you know the Aurors are gone as you let out a breath that you weren’t aware you had been holding.

Your relief is short lived, however, as Professor Sharp turns around to look at you for the first time since the entire situation started.

You are filled with an almost nervous energy as you silently debate if you should try to say something or wait for Professor Sharp to speak instead, all the while trying your best to remain still despite the sudden urge you feel to try to bolt back up the stairs to avoid whatever conversation is coming next. 

You see Professor Sharp look at you before turning slightly to look where your eyes had involuntarily darted towards the stairs, the man letting out a sigh before speaking.

“Of all the things Miller did today, the worst was making us wait to eat. Nothing worse than cold eggs.” Professor Sharp grumbles, walking past you and towards the kitchen. 

You realize that Professor Sharp had just cleared the way for you to retreat if you still wanted to, and despite your goal of avoiding him earlier something about how slightly defeated Professor Sharp seemed before moving has you turning to walk into the kitchen yourself. 

As you enter you notice that there are already two plates laid out and the food is steaming almost as though it was freshly prepared. You can’t help but slightly smile at the sight, the familiar feeling of being impressed by the simple use of magic washing over you as you take your seat. 

You don’t think you’ll ever get quite used to how convenient magic can really be, though it's not like being forced to use magic primarily in combat has ever really afforded you the proper time to appreciate the full breadth of what magic is capable of. It's hard to think about how easy household chores might be with magic when you were too focused on perfecting incendio so that you can take down multiple inferi at once to avoid joining their ranks of the undead.

You aren’t sure how long you have sat lost in thought over the unfairness of your own introduction to magic over the course of last year, but eventually you are shaken out of your slightly dissociative state by Professor Sharp tapping his butter knife gently against your own plate from across the table.

You look up to notice he has already eaten quite a bit of his own meal while you haven’t even touched yours, a slightly concerned expression on Professor Sharp’s face as he has already noticed the same thing. You try your best to give the man a reassuring look, your smile feeling tight and disingenuous even to yourself before you begin to eat in an attempt to catch up.

“I appreciate how well you handled everything earlier. I know from experience you tend to be the type to speak in your own defense, but you were right to stand down and let me deal with Miller.” Professor Sharp comments as he breaks the silence that had settled over you both. His praise is delivered similarly to how it would’ve been in class, the comment coming out in his typical stern demeanor even though he seemed genuine beneath it. 

You simply nod in response before you continue eating, unsure how exactly to respond to what appears to be an olive branch of some sort from the potions professor. 

You almost feel as though the praise, no matter how minor it was, is unearned considering the biggest factor in your silence is how out of your depth you felt when it comes to dealing with Ministry affairs of any kind. Seeing Miller and the Aurors as they investigated your use of ancient magic gave you the same uneasy feeling that you experienced at your hearing with the Wizengamot; the feeling being reminiscent of a powerlessness that you haven’t truly experienced since becoming aware of your ancient ability.

“I owe you an apology.” 

You widen your eyes in surprise as Professor Sharp once again pulls you out of your own head, though this statement is even more unexpected than the previous had been. Looking up from your half eaten plate you see that the professor looks properly guilty, which is almost disconcerting as you have never seen such an expression from the surly potions professor before.

“You were right to use magic to defend yourself last night. Even if you had gotten caught by the Ministry, there are clauses that allow underage magic in times of a true life or death crisis. Rest assured I wouldn’t have let the Ministry get their hands on you no matter the circumstance.” He continues, though his comments seem to be skirting whatever he really wants to discuss as he continues to look uncomfortably guilty.

“No, you were right last night. I shouldn’t have left-” You begin in an effort to help end the awkward encounter, only to be cut off by Professor Sharp gently holding his hand up to stop you.

“You have accomplished things that grown witches and wizards are unable to even imagine, let alone achieve on their own. Witnessing you use an ancient form of magic that is more powerful than anything I have encountered is impressive, though I fear that it has unfortunately affected my perception of who you are. 

“You are a student- a child. It was my mistake to forget that you are not yet fully capable of being responsible for the situations you get yourself into, not only because of what you have practically been trained to do, but because at the end of the day, children make mistakes. It’s what you are supposed to be doing.” Professor Sharp seriously states as his words are tinged with genuine remorse, his eyebrows still pitched upwards with concern and guilt and his eyes convey absolute sincerity.

“Furthermore, you were right to be angry with me. It wasn’t- I-” Professor Sharp seems to stumble now with whatever he wants to say, and you feel a familiar weight in your chest as you know that now he is going to address the hardest part of last night’s argument. You almost want to stop and reassure him that you don’t need to hear anymore, but at the same time you feel as though you truly do need to hear whatever comes next. 

He closes his eyes for a moment, taking a deep breath as he collects himself before once more opening them and looking at you with such an open and sincere expression that you find yourself wanting nothing more than to look away from such a display of emotion from the man.

“I wasn’t only being unfair, but also unnecessarily cruel to you. I was frustrated and…worried- though it is no excuse for the things I said and implied. I don’t want you to think that I am burdened in any way having you here. I regret a lot of what I said and I hope you understand that I am truly sorry.” Professor Sharp finishes, and you feel a familiar pressure behind your eyes as you will them not to water. 

It isn’t often that an adult earnestly apologizes like this, especially regarding a situation that is so emotionally charged. You find yourself silently nodding rather than responding out loud, your throat feeling tight with emotion in a way that makes you afraid that if you attempted to speak it would be unsuccessful. 

You see some of the tension leak from Professor Sharp’s shoulders at the action, the man practically deflating as you realize how tense he had been during the entire exchange. It is clear that emotions aren’t exactly the notoriously stern man’s strong suit, which only makes the apology feel even more significant than before. 

You both sit awkwardly for a moment as you try to keep your emotions in check. Though the conversation has essentially come to an end it seems that Professor Sharp is unwilling to leave the table first as he continues to look with patience and light concern in your direction. 

Eventually you feel the need to say something, anything, to clear the air, though you remember that your previous attempt to do so was quickly shut down. Opting instead for a slight change of subject, you clear your throat before addressing the man.

“Does that mean that I get my wand back, sir?” You sheepishly ask, but to your surprise Professor Sharp’s mouth twitches upwards into an amused smile.

“Only if you promise not to tell Professor Weasley that my first attempt at grounding you lasted under twenty-four hours.” He retorts, already reaching into his coat and holding your wand out towards you. You try not to snatch your wand back, though you know that the speed in which you do so still clearly shows your lack of restraint, Professor Sharp letting out an amused exhale at the action but saying nothing more.

You feel immediately at ease having your wand back with you, and finally the last dregs of powerlessness from the morning slips away leaving you feeling once more as though you have some sort of control in your life. You let out a relieved sigh as you put your wand in your own pocket, remembering that you have one more question to ask regarding your wand. 

“So…does this mean that I am allowed to use magic now?”

Professor Sharp looks as though he wished to roll his eyes at the question, instead lifting an eyebrow in your direction. “I suppose that the Tutor’s Exemption allows it, but do take care not to summon any more pillars of lightning around the muggles. Please try to stick to charms taught to you in the Hogwarts curriculum, alright?”

“No ancient magic, just the boring stuff.” You answer with a serious nod, cracking a smile as Professor Sharp leaves the table with a roll of his eyes. You know that ‘the boring stuff’ is still wildly exciting, but despite Professor Sharp acting annoyed you can tell that you quip worked, his shoulders seeming more relaxed as he begins cleaning the mess in the kitchen with a mixture of magic as well as manual labor.

Despite the Ministry breathing down your neck, you can’t help but feel like you are in a better place as you stand to help Professor Sharp.

Chapter Text

You can confidently say that you are making good time with these make-up assignments. Summer break is just about halfway through, and you are almost done catching up so you can work on the actual summer work that is standard for sixth-years. At this rate you might even have some time before going to Hogwarts where you don’t have any schoolwork at all.

You can’t help but feel bad for muggle born students as you finish up your fourth year charms assignments. It is so much easier to get the hang of the certain spells when you can actually practice them rather than just having to write about them in theory. 

Currently you are sitting in the living room, papers strewn about on the small table in front of the sofa as you prepare to cast vermillious after briefly reviewing the wand movements for the charm. You quickly understand why it is one of the few charms that has a more common alternative name, red sparks shooting from your wand only to harshly hit the ceiling leaving small scorch marks behind. You cringe at the loud thump the spell makes when it makes contact with the ceiling, the slight smell of burning that accompanies it making things worse as you try to fan the smell away out of the area with your hand.

Of course it only takes a couple of seconds before loud footsteps are moving towards you from the basement, Professor Sharp opening the door so quickly it hits the wall behind it.

“What was that? What did you- is something burning? ” He quickly asks, slight panic ebbing his voice as you continue to sit in shock with your wand still in your hand. You snap out of it and quickly lower your hand holding your wand, trying to look as contrite as you can despite the entire situation making you want to laugh.

“Well, now I know why they call it Red Sparks.” You quip, and an unimpressed eyebrow raise is soon thrown your way as Professor Sharp looks up at the slightly smoldering ceiling. 

“If I’m not mistaken, the majority of cleaning charms are taught to sixth-years, and I do hope you pay close attention when the time comes to learn them. I will not be taking care of any messes you make while casting thoughtlessly in the house next year.” He deadpans, raising his wand to cast a series of charms to both stop the ceiling from burning above you as well as remove the mark entirely.

You suddenly feel a familiar swooping in your stomach at his comment, and you know that the nerves you are feeling are thinly veiling the hope you feel deep down. It’s one thing to be taken in for the summer out of necessity, but Professor Sharp has been more open with his expectations to continue to house you in the future as well. 

You know him saying this is purposeful, definitely stemming from the disastrous fight you both had where you accidentally made it known how out of place you feel in Albury. How you feel like a burden. 

Still, even if it is just for your benefit, it is nice to hear that you have somewhere semi-permanent to go. Even if it isn’t the same as Professor Fig’s offer, living with Professor Sharp  still has that familiar warm feeling of being cared for.

“Feel free to let Professor Ronen know that I demonstrated excellent technique with this charm when it comes up in class. He is always giving me shi- er, bothering me about domestic charms and how he thinks that I never actually use them.” Professor Sharp casually requests, snapping you out of your thoughts as he leans over the back of the sofa to get a better look at the papers on the table in front of you. “No potions work? I thought I suggested doing the rest of your assignments concurrently rather than one subject at a time?”

“I have been doing them together, there was just a lot to cover for charms so I figured today that’s all I would look at.” You clarify, trying not to sound too defensive. You would have to be stupid not to take the advice of a professor regarding school work, especially when you have so much making up to do, so the implication that you didn’t listen almost feels a bit like a jab. 

Professor Sharp hums at your clarification, looking over the papers one more time from his awkward angle over the sofa. “This is fourth-year work, correct?”

“Yes, sir.” You respond, earning a nod from Professor Sharp as he straightens back up.

“Have you worked on any of your fourth-year potions work?” He asks, sounding less like he would in class as his voice takes on a more inquisitive tone rather than his usual sternness. 

You start flipping through some of the papers in front of you, looking for the checklist you hastily made to try to keep track of all the work you needed to do for each year. There is a rather large smudge over the third-year portion, but thankfully none of it bled over to where you currently are in fourth-year work.

“Uh…so far I’ve reviewed the wit-sharpening potion, did some preliminary research on antidotes and the weedosoros potion, and completed my pepper-up potion essay.” You list off, looking up to see Professor Sharp looking at you thoughtfully for a moment, almost as though he is trying to make a decision.

“May I see your pepper-up essay?” He asks, nodding towards the stairs as you move to get the requested work from your desk. Thankfully you keep everything organized at your desk, using the space as a place to hold most of your work rather than actually doing it there since you prefer the open space of the living room or outside near the pond. 

You come down quickly, handing over your essay which he begins to read immediately. You feel strangely nervous, a feeling that you rarely felt while in class or even when you were fighting out in the Highlands. Something about watching the professor who is going to grade your work actually read it is absolutely nerve-wracking. It doesn’t help that Professor Sharp’s expression is carefully blank, the inquisitive expression he had earlier gone as he seems to slip into being stern Professor Sharp once more.

“Your research is thorough, but be careful with run-on sentences.” He mutters, still reading despite taking the time to deliver constructive criticism. Finally he seems to be through the essay, waving his wand and vanishing it. You can’t help the gasp that leaves you at the action as you begin to mourn the loss of a couple hours of work, and Professor Sharp lets out an amused huff at your reaction.

“Don’t worry, I didn’t destroy it. I expect you to bring down all of your completed potions assignments after dinner so they can join your pepper-up essay in my study.” He says matter of factly.

“Sir?”

“The essay is fine. Passable. Perhaps even a bit better than average considering how much your work refers to the technical aspects rather than the theoretical.” Professor Sharp begins, his expression morphing to be a bit conspiratorial, as though he is leting you in on some sort of secret though you have no idea what it is.

Mrs. Whittle suddenly comes to mind as he seems to copy her mannerisms, the similarities reminding you of when Garreth and Professor Weasly both seem to scratch the sides of their nose the same way when lost in thought. It’s something that is picked up by family.

“But I’ve seen your potions at work. You have some real talent. While it typically is done the other way around, I think that in your case using your practical skills would greatly improve your written work. It’s not something that can be done alone, so of course I’m going to help you.”

The offer is unexpected to say the least. 

Professor Fig did some work with you over your short time together prior to your fifth-year, but it was mostly theory and some wand work as you got used to the entire idea of magic. Professor Fig was warm and kind, and while he seemed genuinely interested in helping you understand magic, you know ultimately he was helping you because it was his job to. 

Tailoring your work to be something that you will have an easier time with isn’t something Professor Sharp needs to do, it's something he wants to do.

You are lost in thought, though it seems Professor Sharp interprets your silence as you being unsure with his statement, and he looks at you with a kinder expression before speaking once again.

“I am the professor who will be grading your work after all, and while I don’t think it would be ethical for me to give you an unfair advantage regarding your sixth-year summer assignments, make-up work is another thing entirely. I really do think you have great potential when it comes to potions. It shouldn’t be hindered by missing your prerequisites.” 

You try not to feel emotional over how absolutely earnest the offer seems, Professor Sharp’s expression more open and kind than you have ever really seen before. He almost reminds you of the carefree man you witnessed in the photographs in his study, though you try to put that thought out of your mind as you feel the slight prickle of guilt accompanying it.

You realize that Professor Sharp has been awaiting some sort of response, so you quickly nod your head in understanding. Professor Sharp responds with an expression you could only describe as fond, a small smile causing lines to crinkle around his eyes before he once again settles back to the slightly more casual Professor Sharp you have grown used to seeing.

“Excellent. With that settled, I have another proposal for you.” He starts, and you don’t even bother trying to guess whatever it might be now. Professor Sharp seems amused by whatever expression you are making, though he doesn’t wait for a response before continuing. “I am currently working on some large batches of potions for the Hospital Wing, and I just so happen to be working on pepper-up potions next…”

He trails off, but you see where he is going with this. He did say at the beginning of the summer the basement is basically off limits since you were unable to use magic. Now that you finally have your tutor’s exemption, that seems to have changed.

You grin widely at the implied offer, earning a small upturn of Professor Sharp’s own before he gestures for you to head down to the basement before him.

You have been down here before to help organize ingredients once or twice, but there haven't been any real opportunities for you to spend a lot of time in the basement before now. The room is reminiscent of the potions classroom at Hogwarts, stone flooring and walls broken up by high windows that just peek over the grass outside to let some natural light in. The shelves are not nearly as extensive as those at Hogwarts, though there are still several more neatly organized rows of shelves than you would expect in any other home. 

Clearly Professor Sharp had planned on making this offer whether you had completed the assignment or not as there are two cauldrons already set up over at the large burner in the center of the room. That or he had a contingency plan on some other potion for you to prepare with him. Either way you feel grateful for the thought; for being included.

“Alright, go ahead and grab the bicorn horns, jewelweed, and mandrake roots. I’ll gather the rest of what we need.” He instructs, seeming slightly more serious now that you're back in the familiar territory of brewing potions. Even so, he still comes across as more laid back than he had ever been in class at Hogwarts, his expression more relaxed than the gruff one he typically maintained.

You move to collect the ingredients as instructed before making your way to the cauldrons, a convenient area set up near the burners with your typical potions tools laying neatly. Professor Sharp waves his wand as he gathers a couple other ingredients off the shelves and soon a book open to the pepper-up potion is settling in front of you. 

“Start preparing those ingredients according to the book. Don't hesitate to ask for help if you need it.” Professor Sharp adds absentmindedly, shaking a jar of something angry and buzzing before putting it back down and reaching for another one. You stare for a moment longer at the strange ingredients he is looking through before shaking your head and focusing on the task at hand.

Grinding the bicorn horns isn’t terribly complicated, though it takes a bit more effort than you were expecting. You are still working on grinding the horns into a finer power rather than the grainy mixture it currently is when Professor Sharp finally returns, using his knife to carefully slice some ginger root.

You both work in silence for quite some time as you prepare everything for the potion before brewing, though Professor Sharp does have to stop you from opening the jar of jewelweed reminding you that this particular ingredient is time sensitive and needs to be prepared as the potion is brewing. 

Soon it is time to actually begin brewing the potion, and you relish in the familiar feeling of using your wand to turn on the burner and transfer the chopped mandrake root into the now simmering cauldron. You watch as the liquid changes from a grey color to a muted yellow, stirring as instructed by your book the appropriate number of times before adding your bicorn powder a couple pinches at a time.

Professor Sharp looks over at your caudron periodically as you work, giving you some advice here or there but mostly observing as he would in class.

The batch you are making is larger than you were used to working with when in class, the larger cauldron giving you a bit of trouble when it comes to correctly heating the potion. Professor Sharp had to step in a couple of times to adjust the temperature for you, but after a while you finally feel as though you have the hand of things as you reach the final few steps of your brew. You think that perhaps you should look into using larger cauldrons in the Room of Requirement so you can really stock up on potions rather than making small batches at a time.

“You seem to be thinking pretty hard over there. You don’t actually have to watch the potion that closely as you wait, you know.” Professor Sharp quips, taking a seat near the cauldrons as they both bubble with a light red liquid. At this point you need to wait twenty minutes for the potion to reduce itself a bit before adding the jewelweed pods and stirring for the last time. 

“Don’t worry, Professor. I won’t tell Garreth that you just endorsed not paying attention when brewing potions.” You quip, blinking a couple of times to fight the dryness of your eyes before you sit down on your own stool near the cauldrons as well. You must’ve really been spacing out thinking about the Room of Requirement for your eyes to be so dry. 

“Mr. Weasley has had four more years than you to hone his ‘craft’ and yet he still blows up cauldrons every other class. He isn’t allowed to take his eyes off his cauldron for a minute in my class, twenty minute wait or otherwise.” Professor Sharp replies with an unamused huff. “How he managed to qualify for my N.E.W.T. class is beyond me.”

“Aren’t you the one who does the grading, sir?” You shoot back, not even hiding the humor in your voice as you point out the flaw in his own logic.

“That's beside the point. He would be better off investing his time in literally anything else.” Professor Sharp grumpily comments, his tone almost reminding you of Ominis when he is talking about whatever shenanigans Sebastian is up to.

“Surely he can’t be that bad if he qualified for sixth-year potions.” You press, feeling the need to defend your friend despite it being true that Garreth has more explotions than any other student you’ve seen so far.

“Mr. Weasley is ambitious and determined, almost to the point that I would’ve expected him to be in slytherin if not for his family’s legacy. While he is technically skilled in the art of potions, his inability to focus on what he is meant to be doing has become quite the issue. His little ‘mad scientist’ routine is getting rather old.” Professor Sharp explains, pausing to look you dead in the eye with a more serious look on his face. 

“I hope you understand that us discussing your classmates doesn’t leave this room. If I hear one peep out of Mr. Weasley regarding anything I just said, you will be scrubbing cauldrons in detention until graduation.”

“Your secret respect for Garreth is safe with me, sir.” You sarcastically reply. Professor Sharp rolls his eyes and grumbles something under his breath before he leans forwards a bit to observe your cauldrons once more. 

“They are looking good so far. I have to ask, how did you become so adept at potions over the last year? Surely ancient magic doesn’t translate into an innate potion brewing ability.” Professor Sharp presses, looking at you warily as though you are about to reveal that ancient magic actually is the answer.

“I found…an empty classroom to practice in. I needed to brew a lot of wiggenwelds while I was- well…you know. I needed to be good at brewing potions.” You carefully reply, unwilling to reveal the Room of Requirement just yet. The Map Chamber and ancient magic are both known to the majority of the staff at Hogwarts,but the Room of Requirement is something that still feels private, like it's your secret to keep. Professor Weasley might’ve shown it to you, but you have worked hard to make the room feel like your own.

The two of you sit in silence after your reply, the implication of what you needed the potions for sucking the air out of the room. 

You haven’t really discussed anything that happened last year with anyone since that day at the Ministry, and even then that was more of a formal meeting for adults to gawk at you and make decisions rather than listen to how hard the past year has been on you. It’s not that you are purposefully keeping everything to yourself, but no one seems to even want to ask. The amount of things you would need to cover seems insurmountable at this point anyway, so why bother? 

“Do you enjoy brewing potions, or is all your skill born out of necessity?” Professor Sharp asks after a moment. The question doesn’t come across as pushy in any way, his voice even and genuine as he considers that either option is possible. 

“I think I actually enjoyed it in the beginning, before I needed to keep a constant supply of wiggenwelds and thunderbrews to stay alive. Potions class was fine, if that’s what you are worried about.” You honestly reply, thinking about how autonomous brewing potions had become over the school year. 

You actually enjoyed your time in the potions classroom, which Sebastian would call you crazy for thinking, but it’s true. Learning the history and theory behind new potions- potions that you didn’t need to quickly perfect to stay alive but instead could appreciate on a purely academic level- was genuinely something you liked. 

Of course, these experiences are contrasted by your time in the Room of Requirement long after curfew. It was exhausting as you were brewing batch after batch of focus and maxima potions, desperately trying to finish assignments you were behind on due to needing to take down dark wizards or goblins while investigating ancient magic in the midst of it all. 

Professor Sharp looks at you for a moment longer as you both sit in silence once more, almost as though he is trying to determine if you were being honest or not before looking back at the cauldrons in front of you.

“You don’t need to force yourself to do things out of self-preservation anymore. If you really do enjoy brewing potions I am happy to help you develop your abilities further, but I want to make sure you know you don’t need to do it anymore. You don’t need to do anything just to survive.” He says softly, using an almost gentle tone. For some reason the sentiment has you feeling as though you want to cry, a slight prickling of emotion behind your eyes having you look towards the cauldrons as well as you try to reign in your emotions.

“I do like brewing potions.” You conclude, sounding more sure of yourself now than you had been before despite how thick the words come out, almost as though they are wading in your complicated emotions. “I think I’m good at it, and I like that feeling. Feeling like I am good at something that others can know about. Being good at potions  is…well it is normal. Normal witches and wizards can be good at potions. I think I want that.”

You continue to watch the bubbling red liquid of the cauldrons even though you can tell Professor Sharp has moved to look at you. You don’t want to know what his expression is as you open up for the first time about how insecure you feel when in a room with your peers. How you can never truly fit in. You have been hyper aware of this fact ever since that horrible dragon attack; your new magical life being interrupted by abilities that you didn’t ask for but you were forced to use, further isolating you from your peers as if that wasn’t going to be a problem already.

“Normal…” Professor Sharp echoes, his voice trailing off as he though he needs to wrap his mind around the word. “Normal is fine, but we already discussed this. You don’t need to settle for passable or normal.” 

You look towards Professor Sharp now, twisting your face in confusion. He looks determined, his eyes hard and unyielding, though he is also slightly smiling in that kind way he was back when he offered to help you with your school work. There is both an offer and a request displayed on his face, as though he is asking you to allow him to help you rather than just offering it.

“If excelling at potions is what you want to do, I will help you every step of the way. You are going to be great. Not abnormal, but extraordinary. You deserve extraordinary.” He puts a hand on your shoulder, squeezing reassuringly as he speaks in a way that almost painfully reminds you of Professor Fig and how he would often do the same. 

You blink hard now, nodding both in agreement with his words as well as his comfort as you quickly wipe the building moisture out of your eyes. To his credit, Professor Sharp doesn’t mention it as he squeezes your shoulder one more time before releasing his grip in favor of standing to inspect his potion’s progress. You move to look at your own potion, the darker red brew signaling that it is time to add your last ingredient.

You both work in silence once more, the atmosphere less carefree but not uncomfortable as you consider everything you admitted as well as everything Professor Sharp assured you in return.

Chapter Text

It’s not as though you had intended on sitting in Mrs. Whittle’s house while the pleasant breeze in the air makes today an ideal day to be outside, though it has happened to you all the same.

Her home reminds you a bit of Professor Sharp’s in a way. It’s a bit isolated though she lives far closer to town, the home more reminiscent of a cozy cottage than the more modern structures you have seen near the center of Albury. The layout isn’t too different either, though her home seems to be less of an open floor plan in comparison to Professor Sharp’s, doors and hallways sectioning off each room rather than the open archways and large front room of the professor’s. 

When it comes to the furnishings, however, there are several distinct differences than the ones you have grown used to in Professor Sharp’s home. 

The theme at Mrs. Whittle’s is decidedly pink. White sofas feature light pink pillows, and spread beneath your feet is a large pink rug featuring small white accents and roses intricately woven into the material. Her walls are painted a soft cream in comparison to the dark wood of Professor Sharp’s own home, and while there are large windows allowing in natural light there are sheer frilly curtains that block your actual view of the outside. 

There is also a lot of clutter, and while there is still far less clutter than your own grandmother’s home back in London, it seems all old women become hoarders later in life. There are plenty of vases around the home, some holding real flowers though most hold dusty looking fake ones. Statuettes of small animals, mostly dogs, decorate the shelves, and there are plenty of decorative floral plates and teacups sitting in a fine china cabinet just beyond your view in a similarly frilly pink kitchen.

Mrs. Whittle had intercepted you during one of your outings in town, catching you on your way out of the pet shop again. You had tried to wave off her questions regarding your interest in the shop, but knowing that there wasn’t any other way to explain your frequent visits to the owlery you begrudgingly settled on the excuse that you enjoy seeing the animals in your spare time since Professor Sharp won’t let you get a pet yourself. 

You found it difficult to decline her invite for tea, which you have yet to take her up on as every time you run into Mrs. Whittle you genuinely were busy. This time, however, you took her up on her offer if only just to lead her away from the pet shop and the magical secret behind the muggle storefront. 

Of course, that didn’t mean that the subject was laid to rest as she brought it up once again.

“I was serious when I mentioned Aesop’s affinity for snakes, you know. They aren’t as cute as a cat or as fun as a dog, but it would really be no trouble for me to put in a good word for you, dear.” Mrs. Whittle conspiratorially comments, pushing a pink floral teacup your way before taking a sip from her own.

“Oh- well it really is a kind offer, but I don’t think that getting any pet would be the best idea since I will be returning to school at the end of the summer.” You politely reply, carefully taking your own teacup as you focus on not leaving any drips on the white upholstery of her sofa.

“Well perhaps not a snake then, but if you were to say…get a dog I wouldn’t be opposed to looking after the pup during the school year.” She suggests with a grin, and you worry that your request of not talking to Professor Sharp about it has already falled on deaf ears. “Perhaps something small? I’ve always been a fan of terriers.”

“Did you know Professor Sharp has a picture of you both in his study? I think it was taken in your kitchen.” You quickly deflect, hoping you weren’t speaking fast enough that Mrs. Whittle thinks you were being rude. Your grandmother wasn’t exactly the warmest person to be around, but if your upbringing has taught you anything it's how to distract the elderly when they start on a topic you don’t particularly want to get into.

Luckily she takes the bait, her eyes lighting up as she sits up straighter in her armchair and smiles mischievously into her teacup. “I would hope so! I have a photograph of my own from that day hung up in down the hall- though Aesop absolutely hates it. I’ll point it out for you when we leave.”

She gestures towards the far wall just out of sight where her photo with Professor Sharp must be, and you take the opportunity to look around a bit at the photos in the room that are visible from where you are currently seated. A mixture of sepia and black and white photos are held in small frames on most surfaces, though it is hard for you to really make out the faces from so far away. 

“It’s a strange thing, getting old. Even though I haven’t seen any of them in years, I still keep pictures of everyone around the house.” Mrs. Whittle wistfully sighs, reaching over to grab a nearby frame off a side table. She hands it over to you, and you look down at the slightly cloudy photograph. 

It's a bit strange to be face to face with a still photograph after spending so much time in the wizarding world, but you shake off the feeling as you inspect the group of people within the frame.

Mrs. Whittle is unmistakable even if she is far closer to Professor Sharp’s age than her own in the photo. Her exuberance comes out even in the still image, her smiling face clear though her body is slightly blurry from what you assume is the fidgeting she often does. Her hair is quite dark, a stark contrast to the white nest of hair you know she has today, and while she is wearing what appears to be her fanciest clothes there is a distinct stain on the bodice of her dress. 

You can’t help but think that your grandmother would’ve been appalled to have taken such a photograph, but Mrs. Whittle seemed rather proud of it when she handed it over. The contrast between the two women has you smiling a bit as you look at the other faces in the photo, glad that you have made Mrs. Whittle’s acquaintance.

The younger Mrs. Whittle is standing next to a much taller man, his body much clearer than her own which you can only assume meant he was doing far better than her when it came to standing still. He has light hair, and even in the washed out tones of muggle photography you can tell he is most likely blond. He also has facial hair that reminds you quite a bit of Professor Black’s, though his expression is far softer than the pinched expression the Headmaster always wears. 

There are also three children in the photo, their hair even lighter than the man’s and all looking like a perfect blend of the two. There are two girls and one boy, the boy looking the youngest as he smiles widely with several teeth visibly missing. It is clear these are Mrs. Whittle’s children, though you feel a bit confused since she had never mentioned them before.

“Don’t we make a handsome couple? Irving was always the calmer of the two of us, but I was more fun. We balanced each other out I think.” Mrs. Whittle says with a wink, pointing at the man in the photo as if you could mistake him for anyone else. She seems lost in thought as she looks at the photo, her smile small and genuine as she leans back in her chair once more.

“And did he like the house as pink as it is?” You reply, immediately looking up at the woman to see if your sarcastic comment had offended her. You have been spending far too much time with Professor Sharp, his prickly brand of humor coming second nature to you now even if you aren’t actually with him.

Thankfully, Mrs. Whittle begins to chuckle, a knowing look in her eye as she good naturedly narrows them in your direction. “Aesop was always one to speak his mind as well, he always had the driest sense of humor! I told you I knew a Sharp when I saw one- and to answer your question, yes. Irving liked my decorating. He was the one footing the bill after all, it would have been a shame if he didn’t.”

You silently nod in agreement, unwilling to accidentally insult Mrs. Whittle again even if she somehow finds it more amusing than anything. As you look around a bit more, you notice that there are quite a few photos of the three children at various stages of their lives, their faces easier to pick out from the many frames now that you are a bit more familiar with them.

You wonder why you haven’t seen or heard of these children before. Surely they can’t be that much older than Professor Sharp, and with Mrs. Whittle clearly living here all by herself you would assume they’d come to visit. You almost want to ask, but you decide against it as you remember her earlier comment. She hadn’t seen them for years now, and whether it is because they don’t want to see her or they can’t, it would be an unpleasant conversation either way.

You decide that the next time Mrs. Whittle asks you to tea you’ll say yes, busy or not.

You are still looking around the room when a dusty frame catches your eye. You can’t be quite sure from this distance, but the dark hair of the man in the photo is out of place amongst all the others. Mrs. Whittle follows your gaze, putting her teacup down gently before abruptly standing to grab the framed photo leaning against a dusty piano.

“Good eye, dear. There aren’t many others of Aesop here, but I do have this one! He always was so impatient when it came to taking proper pictures for me, which I simply don’t understand considering he was always walking around with that absurd looking camera of his.” She prattles on as she hands you the rectangular frame, though she stops speaking to give you time to look the picture over.

Professor Sharp is standing in what looks like this very living room, the light upholstery of the sofa contrasting the dark clothes he is wearing. His suit appears mostly muggle from what you can tell, though Professor Sharp seems to favor muggle fashions even while at Hogwarts, opting for suits and waistcoats over the colorful robes the other professors can be seen in. He is as carefree as the other photos of a young Professor Sharp seem to be, his face unmarred and smiling widely. He stands primly, back straight with one arm behind his back and the other around Mrs. Whittle who is smiling just as broadly. Her hair isn’t the pure white you know today, stubborn streaks of darker hair making themselves known in her simple updo. 

You are slightly surprised to see another man on the other side of Mrs. Whittle, the familiar light and curly hair of Professor Sharp’s old partner helping you to quickly identify the man. He is smiling just as wide as the others, his stance more casual as he holds Mrs. Whittle’s shoulder with one hand and allows the other to hang loosely at his side. His muggle clothing seems a bit older than Professor Sharp’s, and you find yourself for the first time wondering if Professor Sharp is a pureblood wizard or not. 

It would make sense for him to buy new clothes if he was, especially considering he mentioned the salary of an Auror to leave quite a bit to be desired. In contrast, if his partner is muggleborn or even a half-blood, it would make sense that his clothing is more natural and worn. You shake yourself out of these thoughts after a moment, feeling slightly slimy as you remember all the students in the halls discussing blood politics in a less savory manner. 

“Who is that?” You ask after a moment, pointing out the other Auror though you are careful not to touch the dusty glass protecting the photograph. Mrs. Whittle looks a little lost in thought for a moment, smiling gently though it doesn’t quite reach her eyes.

“Frederick Stanton.” It's strange to finally have a name to the face as you look back down at the photo still in your hands. He doesn’t really look like a ‘Frederick’ to you, though you have been surrounded by the slightly eccentric names of the wizarding world that perhaps the mundaneness of it might just be throwing you off a bit.  

“Aesop always called him Stan, though. I know it is common for detectives to use their last names while working, but really I think he just liked that their last names were alliterative. Stan and Sharp.” She continues, reaching out for the photo which you immediately hand over to her. She looks down at the three of them, her smile more genuine as she looks at their smiling faces before she takes a deep breath, shaking off some emotion as she puts the photo down near the tea set.

“He was such a nice boy. Always willing to help out whenever he was staying with Aesop, which was rather often towards the…well, towards the end. Apparently he had his own flat in London, but that guest room was practically Fred’s. I’m sure he wouldn’t mind you staying there, though.” Her comment is meant to sound reassuring, but her heart just isn’t in it. She sips her own tea, looking lost in the past once more as you both reach a natural lull in the conversation.

You are unsure where to go from here, unwilling to upset Mrs. Whittle more than you already have but at the same time unwilling to allow yourself to miss out on an opportunity to learn more about Professor Sharp. You already can piece most of it together, the name to the face being the biggest mystery to you as you consider all the evidence you have gathered so far.

Professor Sharp’s partner was a hufflepuff named Frederick Stanton. He was kind, helpful, and perhaps a muggle-born like yourself. He was a life-long friend of the professor and is most likely the one responsible for the hufflepuff yellow accents in his home such as the door and the sheets in the guest room. While investigating smuggled shrunken heads with Professor Sharp, the oversight of a potential ambush led to his demise and Professor Sharp being cursed.

While you think at this point you have a pretty clear picture, there is still one thing that is bothering you. One missing piece present in most of the photographs of Professor Sharp and Frederick Stanton.

“Mrs. Whittle, has Professor Sharp ever mentioned having a brother?” You sound as curious as you feel when you ask, though Mrs. Whittle’s sudden sour expression has you wishing you reigned your curiosity in a bit and kept your mouth shut.

“Oh I’ve met him. A real piece of work that Alcaeus.” She practically spits out the name, which is quite the feat considering how unusual the name would be for a muggle. Then again, that might just make him more memorable than he already seems to be. 

You decide you might as well press her for more information since your goal of not upsetting Mrs. Whittle is now entirely out the window. “You two didn’t get on?”

“We had our differences during the time that I tolerated him, but after Aesop’s accident…” She trails off, her face twisting in what can only be described as disgust. Something about seeing Mrs. Whittle sneer like that is unsettling, and you fear what Alcaeus might’ve said or done to earn the wrath of sweet old Mrs. Whittle. 

“To this day I have no idea what would possess that- that absolute fool to just up and abandon his brother when he needed him most. I was there when he left for good, still shouting on his way out the door even as Aesop struggled to follow after him in his wheelchair. He shouldn’t have even been out of bed, and yet he was practically killing himself just to apologize for something that wasn’t his fault!” She is fuming now, her hands curled tightly into fists as they rest stiffly on her lap. 

“The things he said were- oh they were absolutely unforgivable! I couldn’t imagine my own children talking to each other like that, but Aesop and Alcaeus were twins. Twins! You would think that a bond like that would be unbreakable, even in the worst of times.” She is ranting at this point, her words coming out heated and quick, but you lose focus as you consider them. 

Her words pierce you in your core, a sickly feeling taking over as you remember another ill fated set of twins. Another set of slytherins who met a similar fate; one alone by choice, the other alone despite every effort they made. The curses that ruined both sets of twins in vastly different circumstances. Green light flashing even now behind your eyelids as you take a steadying breath.

Mrs. Whittle seems to catch on to your abrupt shift in mood, your sharp inhale enough to stop her from ranting any further. She reaches out, taking your tea gently out of your hands and putting it on the table next to her own cup. You hadn’t even noticed the slight tremor of your hands, and as you look up you can’t help but feel a bit relieved as Mrs. Whittle’s face is once again holding a softer expression.

“I’m sorry, dear. I didn’t know you struggled with raised voices.” She comfortingly coos, holding your hands in her own as she looks at you apologetically. “You’re just like Aesop, you know. His hands tremble when he is anxious as well.”

Your brain is overloaded for a moment as you try to figure out what to address first, her insistence that Professor Sharp is in some sort of position to pass his own habits down to you, the horrible story about Professor Sharp and his brother, or her incorrect assumption of what had set you off. 

“Uh…yeah. It’s alright.” You mumble, taking the easy out Mrs. Whittle has left you as your mind clears up a bit more. 

She looks a bit relieved at your response, and you know you made the right choice to ease her worry even though she clearly meant to do the same for you. Her hands are soft as they continue to hold your own, and as she gives your hands enveloped in them a comforting squeeze you find yourself settling down a bit more.

You both jump slightly at a sudden loud knock on her front door, Mrs. Whittle letting out a dramatic sigh before patting your hands one last time and making her way to the door. You watch her disappear from view, though the door is still within earshot. You listen as the squeaky hinges quickly creak open, Mrs. Whittle letting out another sigh before speaking.

“Aesop Sharp. If I have told you once I’ve told you a thousand times you do not need to knock on my door. Just come in next time. How many times do I need to say it before you get that through that thick head of yours?” Her lecture comes across maternal as she addresses Professor Sharp, her words holding no real edge to them despite the clear attempt to admonish the man.

“At least a thousand and one times, evidently.” His cheeky tone earns another huff from Mrs. Whittle, though this time it seems more good natured than it had been before. 

You decide that it’s time to join them, well aware that Professor Sharp is most likely here to collect you since he is still a bit reluctant to let you roam around Albury late at night after the gytrash incident.

“Keep that attitude up and I might not return our little Sharp to you. Someone needs to teach them manners and I am beginning to doubt that you are capable, professor or otherwise.” You round the corner then, though now you wish you had remained where you were sat as she finishes her sentence, an embarrassed heat rising on your cheeks at the nickname.

Professor Sharp looks unimpressed with Mrs. Whittle’s antics, his arms crossed as he looks down at the old woman with a raised brow. “I would think you need to brush up on etiquette more than I do, what with your insistence of calling my apprentice something so ridiculous.”

“I didn’t raise you to behave this way. How you ended up so impertinent I’ll never know!” She declares, throwing her hands up slightly in a dramatic show of frustration.

“You didn’t raise me at all.” He counters, rolling his eyes at her display before honing in on where you are still standing. “Ah, there you are. I was beginning to wonder what was keeping you so close to dinner, though everything makes a bit more sense now.”

You make your way towards them then, and Professor Sharp shuffles to the side in the doorway a bit to make room for you to leave. You turn to give Mrs. Whittle a small smile, though you notice she is looking at you with a strangely intense expression. She then flicks her eyes over towards the wall, and you scrunch your face up in confusion before following her gaze.

You look at the wall, an assortment of framed photos littering the soft cream wallpaper before you spot a head of dark hair amongst the blondes once more. You remember her comment about having her own photo to match Professor Sharp’s, but you notice immediately that this picture is different from the one you had already seen.

They are clearly cooking something rather than posing as they had been in his own version of the photo, but you can’t help but let out a confused noise as you lean in a bit closer to inspect what he is wearing. Something about it just seems off, his typically muted color palette clearly altered even in the washed out photograph.

Professor Sharp then inhales suddenly beside you, and before you can get a really good look at the picture you are being guided out the door and into the warmth of the setting sun with Professor Sharp following behind you.

“Wait a minute, Aesop. There was something I wanted to discuss with you.” Mrs. Whittle’s voice is strangely authoritative then, and you swear Professor Sharp tenses up a bit before nodding and making his way back to the still open door. 

“Go on ahead. I’ll meet you at the fork in the road.” Professor Sharp sternly instructs, and you simply nod before moving down the winding path ahead towards the aforementioned fork that would lead you away from town and towards Professor Sharp’s cottage. 

There are small buzzing insects flitting around in the tall grass lining the dirt pathway, and you watch them swarm a bit in the light of the setting sun, their wings glinting slightly as they move in hectic circles around each other. You let your mind drift a bit as you watch them, lazily looking for patterns in the random flight pattern of the swarming insects rather than thinking about the events of today.

You are drawn out of your trance by the unmistakable shuffle of Professor Sharp’s footsteps, the unevenness of his gait amplified by the dirt and gravel pathway he is almost marching through. He is grumbling a bit, though you notice there is a pinch between his eyebrows that seems less like irritation and more like worry as he makes his way towards you. He slows down considerably as he reaches you, not stopping but allowing you to fall into step with him as you both make your way home. 

“How was tea?” He conversationally asks, though you think you detect an undercurrent of tension in his voice as he poses the question. You try not to look at Professor Sharp too much, though in your periphery you can tell he is looking at you. A glance over at the man reveals he is looking at where your hand is idly swinging as you walk, his eyebrows furrowed a bit further as he looks almost worried.

“It was fine. She showed me some pictures of you.” You respond, and Professor Sharp is quick to look straight ahead after his eyes flit to meet yours briefly.

“She just loves to embarrass me. I mean honestly, who hangs something like that right next to the door?” He quickly replies, his voice more level than before as he adopts a more casual tone despite the tensness still held on his face.

“It seemed like a normal picture to me? What’s so embarrassing abou-” You start, only for Professor Sharp to quickly cut you off.

“I hear you are doing quite a bit of window shopping. I hope you are aware there will be no dogs, cats, or snakes in my home.” Though his words are rushed, there is still that sternness to them that you have grown used to hearing from the professor. 

You are well aware that he is redirecting your attention, just as you had done with Mrs. Whittle earlier, but you can’t help but chuckle at the change of subject. You notice out of the corner of your eye that Professor Sharp finally seems to relax at the sound, though he still lets out an annoyed sigh at your amusement.

“I promise I am not going to beg you for a terrier. There are only so many excuses I can use when caught leaving the owlery. I guess Mrs. Whittle has come to her own conclusions.”

Professor Sharp lets out a chuckle of his own then, practically ranting about yapping dogs and cats scratching furniture for the rest of the walk home.

Chapter Text

Haworth’s is busier than usual as you wade through the muggles on your way out of the real Haworth’s with your new purchase. You wonder what could have all the townsfolk in a tizzy as they hastily make their way through the shop and towards the till, until you remember that summer break is over the halfway point. 

You understand that there is no school shopping to be done outside of Diagon Alley, at least not in Albury, and it seems that the other witches and wizards here feel the same way. This means the muggles get free reign to shop for supplies, dragging their children from shop to shop with lists in hand, and in return you get to listen to chuckle at petulant children and frustrated parents while ignoring the fact that you will be doing the same sooner or later.

The witch behind the till in Haworth’s was excited when you came to purchase the next title in The Tales of Turner and Thompson. You are getting through the series at a faster rate than before since you are now caught up with make-up work and instead are only burdened with regular school assignments for the rest of the summer, which means that Rachel behind the till has quickly become someone you talk to often as you frequent Haworth’s. 

You both chat for a bit about the previous book you read in the series, The Mystery of Merlin, as you pay. You both enjoyed swapping theories regarding the obvious relationship between Turner and Thompson as well as the obvious connections some of the fake wizarding families in the book have to real ones before an impatient customer cut the interaction short. Other than getting to read A Murder in Maximillan Manner with a bit more context thanks to Rachel, you did get another great tip before being rushed out of the shop.

There is a wizarding pub hidden in plain sight In Albury.

The pub is a bit out of the way from the center of town, taking you to an area that reminds you of the kind of buildings that surround the Hog’s Head back at Hogsmeade rather than the newer buildings in town square. Peeling paint and worn down wood paneling become more frequent the closer you get to the supposed location of this pub, the picturesque small town charm you have grown used to feeling just a bit weaker the further you walk. 

Of course, the promise of getting to drink pumpkin juice and butterbeer again outweighs your desire to stay in what might be a safer area, and besides, it's not as though you haven’t been through worse. London definitely has its less than savory haunts and you have literally spent the last year shuffling around the Forbidden Forest and sneaking around campsites full of wizards who want you dead. You can handle peeling paint.

In hindsight, The Wailing Drake is a pretty obvious name.

The building itself is old but well maintained, the sign over the pub displaying its name with leaves all around the border. It is actually quite charming in its own way, and you think that Professor Garlick would probably appreciate the accuracy of using mandrake leaves if she were here. You briefly wonder what the trick could be to enter The Wailing Drake to prevent detection from the muggles, but you decide that if you can’t figure it out once inside you can just try ordering a butterbeer anyway and see if that at least tips the bartender off that you belong.

You immediately notice that the interior is far cleaner than the Hog’s Head, though it is less cozy than The Three Broomsticks. There are actually quite a few patrons in the pub, though most of them appear to either be here in small groups or alone as they sit scattered at their own tables or at the bar. At first you are unsure if this is the muggle side of the operation or not, but you quickly notice a witch towards the back uses her wand to clear off a table rather than wipe it with a rag. 

You look around quickly to see if any of the muggles noticed, but it becomes pretty clear that everyone in the room are witches and wizards, knuts and galleons openly sitting on the bartop and wands on display from most of the patrons. You are puzzled for a moment before deciding that you could always ask someone how they avoid muggles after you have your butterbeer in hand.

You try your best to sit as far from the few people sitting at the bar as possible before ordering your butterbeer, the only open seat without others around it being at the far end of the bar against the wall. Clearly it isn’t prime seating since you already feel a bit claustrophobic as you settle in, but it's better than sitting directly next to some of the drunker looking patrons closer to the door. The older man behind the bar seems slightly amused though unsurprised by your request as he obliges. 

The familiar taste has you feeling more at ease in the new space as you drink it, feeling less out of place now that you have successfully ordered a drink here. Meeting Sirona was far less nerve wracking since you were with a friend, not to mention you already had a favorable reputation since it was directly after the troll attack. The Hog’s Head flat out refuses to serve students so you’re just happy you were served here at all, even if you were mostly being ignored.

Almost as though you were tempting fate, you are quickly pulled out of your thoughts as you feel your drink being ripped out of your hands. Your fingers sting from uncomfortably bending against the handle of the tankard, and you pull your hand to your chest protectively as you whip your head around to see a large man standing behind you angrily. 

He is probably around Professor Sharp’s age if you had to guess, if not a bit younger. He is red in the face, though you can’t tell if that's from his anger or from drinking, and he is giving you an expression that reminds you of the malice you saw on the faces of poachers as you fought them in their camps. You only had the chance to take a couple sips of your butterbeer, so you can see the liquid and foam splash over his hand as he holds the drink in a slightly shaking grip.

“I’ll be damned before I drink in the same building as a dark wizard in training.” He spits out, slamming the drink back down on the counter beside you. You flinch from the loud thud of the drink being slammed down, and you can practically hear the swivel of heads as the others turn to look your way.

“What? I don’t-” You start, only to quickly be cut off.

“Don’t think you can act dumb now. I know everything I need to know about you.” He seethes, and you find yourself looking around for help, the others either avoiding your gaze or looking on with a similar look of disdain as the man. His eyes narrow as you slink further into your seat, unable to leave with him standing in the way since you are sitting practically pressed against the bar.

“I really don’t know what you are talking about. I think I should just-” You try again, before suddenly a copy of the Daily Prophet is being shoved in your face. You jerk back at the movement, taking the opportunity to stand and move to the side as the man stumbles from his own momentum. 

You cringe away once more, your back now pressed against the wall as the man recovers and the paper is once again obscuring most of your vision. You try your best to take in the headline in his moving grip, the bold text freezing you in place once you finally get a good look at it.

‘So Called ‘Hero of Hogwarts’: Rookwood’s Killer, or Rookwood’s Successor?’

The photo is clearly of you, taken sometime while you were at the Ministry for your trial, though you don’t remember any cameras being present. You look afraid, though it is unsurprising considering you were afraid that day as you prepared to stand before the Wizengamot. You catch a couple lines questioning your motive regarding Rookwood’s demise, whether you were fighting for your life, the public good, or to clear the way to the top of the Ashwinders yourself before the paper is once again jerked away.

“That’s right. You think you can just waltz in here like you own the place? Like you deserve to be here? I have kids at Hogwarts you know? We all do. You- you’re dangerous .” He rants, his voice raising with each point as he practically shouts right in your face. 

You aren’t aware you are reaching for your wand until you feel the smooth handle of it in your palm, instincts taking over as you anticipate a fight of some kind. The man’s eyes flicker down at your movement, your wand in your hand only making him angrier as he whips out his own and jabs you in the chest with it.

“You gonna kill me too? Think you’ll be fast enough to cast before I can?” He hisses, the tip of his wand digging uncomfortably into your chest as he applies more pressure. You don’t need to look to know that you are white knuckling your own wand, the pain in your hand pulsating and buzz of adrenaline tingling under your skin as you try to make a decision on your next move. 

Once again you look around, this time trying to figure out the best way out of the pub as you notice the others in the room are now looking less shocked than before with their brows furrowed in anger, narrow gazes pointed in your direction as they hold their own wands. Even those who don’t seem outright hostile appear unwilling to involve themselves, eyes flickering away from your own to avoid eye contact as they sit in a tense silence. 

At this point, any sudden movement doesn’t mean you are risking one wand casting in your direction but rather a dozen or so. If you use magic now, you won’t be getting out of here without a proper fight. Even worse, even if you could cast any spell including using ancient magic in time, you would inevitably be proving everyone right about whatever the Daily Prophet has been writing about you. 

You know you are barely breathing, the slight burning if your lungs only being contrasted by the stinging sensation of his wand pressing further into you with his challenge. You try to take a calming breath anyway, focusing back on the wizard looming over you. It feels like you are going against every instinct you have as you loosen your grip on your wand, slowly tucking it back into your pocket as you raise both your hands in a nonthreatening manner.

“I just want to go home, okay? I won’t come back, just- just let me leave.” Your voice is shakier than you expect it to be as you make your request, though the wizard seems unphased by the clear fear in your voice as he presses his wand a bit harder into your chest. “Please, I just want to go h-home.”

The man stands still for a moment longer, his eyes narrowing further and for a moment you expect a spell to be cast. After holding your breath for what feels like hours but could only have been a minute or so you see him move, an almost imperceptible nod of his head towards the door.

You keep your hands up, moving slowly as you step to the side away from the bar. Your back is still pressed firmly to the wall, the sound of fabric sliding against the wall cutting into the eerie silence of the pub as you slowly inch to the side. Thankfully as you finally get to a point where you can step forwards the drunk wizard doesn’t move any closer, though his wand as well as the other’s remain pointed at you even as you make your way towards the exit.

You don’t turn your back on the man, shuffling awkwardly backwards until you finally reach the door, throwing it open and turning to sprint out into the street.

Your lungs are burning as you quickly run into the warmth of the soon to be setting summer sun, the blur of buildings transforming from run down to well maintained the further you run. You push past some people on your way through town square, ignoring the irritated shouts thrown your way as you continue to run. 

Soon you are off the stone pathways in town and running on the dirt path leading towards home, the crunching of gravel beneath your feet accompanying your heavy breathing as green scenery blurs in your vision.

You push through the yellow door quickly, slamming it shut behind you as you lean against it as you try to catch your breath. You continue to pant even as the clattering of pans in the kitchen reaches your ears, signaling you aren’t alone in the house. 

“Did you get your book?” Professor Sharp calls out from the kitchen, and though you logically knew he was in the house, you can’t help but jump up from your crouched position as you rush up the stairs and into your room. 

You hear the confused voice of Professor Sharp calling after you, but you ignore it as you slam close your bedroom door quickly and sit on your bed in an effort to catch your breath.It doesn’t take long for Professor Sharp’s uneven gait to proceed up the stairs after you, and you can hear as he approaches the door before knocking with a bit more force than normal.

“You can’t slam all the doors in the house just because we have magic to fix the hinges, you know.” Professor Sharp scolds through the door,his voice holding a bit of humor to it under the admonishing tone. There is a moment of silence on the other side of the door as he waits for you to respond, and soon he is knocking again, this time with an undercurrent of annoyance in his voice. “Are you going to open the door?”

You are finally catching your breath from your sprint to the cottage, stitches no longer making themselves known in your sides with every huff of air. Professor Sharp knocks at the door again, and you can hear him grumbling something about ‘moody teenagers’ as you stand to open the door. You are breathing almost normally at this point, though you must look freaked as Professor Sharp’s face quickly changes from irritation to concern as he looks you over.

“What happened? Are you-”

“What are they writing about me in the Daily Prophet?”

Professor Sharp seems to freeze at the question, his posture rigid and jaw set as his concern twists in a well practiced blank expression. If you weren’t so anxious from the pub you might’ve wondered if this was something he picked up from his time as an Auror, but at the moment all you want to know is what you need to know.

“Did Haworth’s refuse to sell to you?” He flatly asks back, and you are taken aback by the redirection for a moment.

“No? Of course they let me buy-” You click your jaw shut suddenly as you realize you came back empty handed. 

You had left the bag with your book back at the pub.

Whatever expression you make after your realization must’ve been pathetic, as soon Professor Sharp is helping you to sit on the edge of your bed, the man wincing slightly as he moves to kneel in front of you. If you thought he looked concerned before, he looks absolutely worried now, eyebrows pitched upwards with a hard frown on his face as he gets down to speak to you on your level.

“What happened then?” The question is asked so gently, the tone reminding you more of how school teachers spoke during your early years rather than the infamously stern potion’s professor you know. You find yourself swallowing past a lump in your throat at the openness in his expression, all of the adrenaline and fear from before coming down and settling into overwhelming emotion as you try to figure out what to say.

You aren’t even aware you are fidgeting with your hands as you often do while anxious until a sharp spike of pain radiates from the action, and as you look down at your hands you notice your knuckles are now red and in some places already turning slightly purple. Professor Sharp seems to notice them as well, eyes widening as he grabs your hand to inspect the digits himself.

“Did you punch someone?” He asks, his voice taking on a bit of an edge though it seems he is making a considerable effort to remain gentle and calm.

“No.” You reply, wincing again as Professor Sharp straightens and bends your fingers to check for any breaks.

“Good. To injure these joints it would’ve meant you had atrocious form.” He replies, and you can’t quite tell if he was trying to tell a joke and it fell horribly flat or he was just stating the facts. Either way he continues to add pressure to the middle joints of your fingers before he is satisfied that they aren’t too badly injured.

“I went to The Wailing Drake.” You start, continuing to stare down at your hands rather than look at Professor Sharp as you speak. Professor Sharp seems to freeze for a moment before he moves to stand from his crouched position, shaking his bad leg out with a soft grunt.

“Not exactly a child friendly establishment.” He dryly comments, his voice calm and even as he clearly leaves the conversation in your hands. It seems he is content to take things at your pace, though you just want this conversation to be over so you can finally get answers from the man.

“The witch who works at Haworth’s told me about it. I ordered a butterbeer, if that makes you feel better.” It seems your jokes are falling flat as well, Professor Sharp remaining silent throughout your slight pause. You are still looking at your hands, your uninjured one picking at a loose thread from your clothes, though you can see how Professor Sharp is standing in your peripheral vision. It’s almost comfortingly familiar as he stands there, still and composed as though you were seeing him from the corner of your eye in potions class. 

“There was a wizard there. He was so… angry at me. Yanked the drink right out of my hand and well…it bent my fingers back the wrong way.” You continue, releasing the thread you were fiddling with to hold your hand protectively as you remember that moment. You hear Professor Sharp inhale sharply and as you look up you can see the anger spreading across his face, jaw tensing and eyes hardening as he takes in your words. 

“What did he do then?” He prompts, voice tense.

“Yelled at me. Shoved the paper in my face and told me I- I’m dangerous and a m-murderer.” Your voice begins to waver as you continue to think about what happened.

You killed Rookwood. You’ve probably killed others as well while fighting for your life. While Professor Fig had tried to make you feel better about it by telling you you had no choice in the matter, it doesn’t change that you know that the wizard in the pub was in some ways telling the truth. 

You feel the weight on the bed shift next to you, and you turn to see Professor Sharp sitting down on the edge of the bed as well. He seems to be deep in thought himself, and while he is sitting close enough that you are comforted by just knowing he is there, you find yourself needing more. 

You reach your hand out, seeking his own where it still rests on the bed. He tenses slightly at first as he looks down at your hands, seeming to come to a decision as he scoots over close enough that your shoulders are touching and grasps your hand tighter. He squeezes your hand once in a comforting way, and you let out a shaky exhale at the action. You lean against him slightly, shoulder to shoulder as you feel safer than you have in what feels like a long time, like you can finally rely on someone older to solve your problems rather than doing it all yourself.

“Did you leave after that?” Professor Sharp questions, his voice softer as he prompts you into continuing. You shake your head in response, and Professor Sharp’s lips tighten into a thin line as he waits for you to continue. You can feel his shoulders tensing a bit as you both sit in silence for another moment, not answering until he squeezes your hand once more in comfort.

“He was yelling and I stood to leave. I saw the paper accuse me of…he said I was a dark wizard. I wasn’t going to cast anything but I needed t-to have my wand. He shoved his wand into my chest, saying I could try to k- to kill him but he would cast first.” You need to take another moment, your voice dangerously watery as you take your hand out of his to furiously scrub at your stinging eyes. Professor Sharp remains still next to you as you try to get yourself back together, the only indication that he heard you being his now faster breathing which sounds heavier with what you can only assume is rage. 

“What then?” He presses, his words clipped in anger. He is now holding his own hands tightly in his lap, his knuckles white from the force of his grip.

“Everyone there was against me. I put my wand down and…a-asked to go home.” You break your contact with Professor Sharp’s side as you lean forwards, resting your elbows on your knees and covering your face with your hands. 

You don’t know what’s more embarrassing, admitting to Professor Sharp that you practically begged to leave, or referring to his house as ‘home’. Either way you don’t want to see his reaction even from the corner of your eye, blocking the light of the room with your hands as you try to breathe calmly once more.

You tense up as you feel a sudden weight on your back, though it is quickly obvious that Professor Sharp is rubbing your back lightly, his arm a comforting weight as you continue to try to get your emotions in check. The back and forth motion of his hand soothes you, a comforting silence falling on your both in that moment as you subconsciously begin to relax.

“Did he let you leave then?” He softly asks, and you nod shortly in response, unwilling to speak as you remain in your hunched position. The comforting motion on your back continues even as you hear Professor Sharp let out what sounds like a sigh of relief. 

You both sit like that for a moment longer, the rhythmic circles of his hand gradually slowing though not stopping. You take this as a sign that the moment is coming to an end, almost like when you are hugging someone and you just know when it is over.

You sit back up, Professor Sharp’s hand moving from your back before he rests his hands on his lap once more. You rub at your eyes one more time, the bleariness in your eyes from applying pressure for so long needing to be rubbed away rather than tears. Professor Sharp stands slowly, and when you look up at him you can tell he was waiting for you to make eye contact before speaking.

“Wait here. I’ll be back shortly.” He says in a serious tone, his jaw set once more as he looks determined. He turns without waiting for you to say anything, but before he makes it out of your room you are reminded of something important.

“Are you going to the pub, Professor?” 

He stops midstep, turning back to look at you with a sideways glance. The answer is clear, even if he won’t actually say it out loud.

“My book…I left it there. I- well it doesn’t matter but…” You trail off and Professor Sharp nods, silently leaving the room and closing your door behind him. 

You sit and listen as he walks down the stairs, the closing of the front door spurning you into action as you quickly stand and look out your window. You can see Professor Sharp walking down the path with purpose, the sun setting quickly as purple hues make themselves known in the sky. You watch him until he is too far out of sight, the trees lining the pathway to town obscuring Professor Sharp.

You decide to prepare for bed after staring out the window for a moment longer. You know Professor Sharp was beginning to start dinner when you returned, but at this point all you can think of is sleep, exhaustion from both the adrenaline finally leaving your system and having run all the way here hitting you all at once. 

It doesn’t take long for you to curl up in bed, trying to be as small as possible as you face the door. You can’t help but feel paranoid after today, like everyone you passed on your way home holds the same malice those in the pub did. You didn’t even feel this paranoid at Hogwarts while actually fighting for your life every day. 

Hogwarts was, for the most part anyway, impenetrable. You were safe in those halls and safe in your dorm. Albury feels different, especially now that you are alone. Whatever Professor Sharp was setting out to accomplish, you can’t help but think of scenario after scenario where something goes wrong.

You don’t remember falling asleep, but you remember feeling like you were lying in wait for hours, holding your wand in your grasp under your pillow as you stared at the door. You must’ve fallen asleep at some point as you feel yourself waking slowly, your thoughts heavy with fatigue and wand sitting limply in your hand while your eyes remain closed.

The thump of something heavy being put down on your desk has your jolting slightly, though before you wake any further in panic you are soothed by the familiar footsteps of Professor Sharp. 

You feel your wand being moved from your hand, your fingers curling to grasp nothing but air for a moment as you hear your wand being placed gently on your nightstand. You relax once more as a hand soothes your forehead, the warm weight and gentle motion putting you at ease. 

You are unsure you are even awake at this point, but you feel so warm and safe you are fully asleep before you can figure it out.

Chapter Text

It’s been harder to be in Albury lately, mostly because you haven’t been able to do all the things you have grown to enjoy here. 

At first you were still feeling a bit shaken and didn’t want to leave the house. 

Professor Sharp did return with your book that night. The next morning he assured you that nothing like that would happen again, his voice confident as he served you both eggs for breakfast. If you weren’t stuck in your own head that morning you probably would’ve asked more about how he could be so sure, though his still tense jaw and shoulders accompanied with suspiciously bruised knuckles for a wizard were answer enough at the time. 

He does seem to always do things in a mixture of the muggle and wizard way, after all.

Still, going into town has all but lost its appeal, leading you to finding other places to spend the majority of your time. 

At first you would spend a lot of time out by the pond, reading, skipping stones, and on occasion casting spells into the water just to have something to do. There were times where Professor Sharp would ask if you wanted to accompany him to town, and even a couple of occasions where he offered to accompany you to town so you could be relieved from your newfound boredom, but you would always decline in favor of staying near the safety of the cottage.

Exploring near the cottage had been interesting for a week or so, but eventually you gave up in favor of staying inside to help Professor Sharp with whatever potions he was brewing or of course, getting through all your school work. 

Staying home has been great in regards to your summer work, as you are now officially done with everything from first-year to pre-sixth. You have even revised some of your potions work with the help of Professor Sharp, but you are now stuck with nothing to do and nowhere to go for the first time since finding out you could even use magic.

Though today you have decided you want things to be different. 

“Any plans for today?” You conversationally ask during breakfast, hoping that Professor Sharp’s answer would involve him staying in the area. 

Professor Sharp has been leaving more often lately. Instead of using the fireplace to travel to Hogwarts as he had before, he has made a habit of going to the apparition point up the hill. 

Whether he is actually going to Hogwarts or somewhere else entirely, he always requests that you stay in the house when he leaves. It seems that the incident at The Wailing Drake must sit heavily on both of your minds despite Professor Sharp insisting it is safe for you to go back into town. 

You asked him once where he has been going, but he merely looked at you with a tight lipped expression before swiftly changing to subject. Whatever it is he is up to, it seems to be something he doesn’t want you to know about.

“I have a…meeting today that I can’t miss. I'm sure I’ll be back before dinner, though if it looks like I’m going to be late don’t wait up for me.” You try your best to cover the dregs of disappointment you feel at his answer, though you must’ve shown something as Professor Sharp raises an inquisitive eyebrow your way. “Is there something wrong?”

“Well…I was actually hoping I could go to town today…” You reply, the statement coming out more like a question as the silent request for permission to go rings clear in the air. Your response seems to have taken Professor Sharp by surprise, the man’s eyes widening slightly as he considers it.

“Any particular place you are thinking of going?” His voice has a lilt to it, like he is trying to figure out your dramatic change of heart regarding going back out himself before you can reply. You find yourself shrugging without meaning to, the action earning a dry look from Professor Sharp at the lack of information.

“I’m not entirely sure. I was thinking I could just shop around a little. I finished my book a couple days ago and I need the next one” You offer in response, Professor Sharp looking as though he was genuinely considering your request. You can’t help but feel it’s ironic that Professor Sharp has done nothing but encourage you to return to exploring the town as you had before, but now that you have a genuine interest in doing so it’s the one time he would rather you abstain. 

You and Professor Sharp sit in comfortable silence as he thinks about it. You are pushing around the berries on your plate as you wait for an answer when a tapping at the window interrupts you both. 

You turn to see an eagle owl pecking at the glass impatiently, and after Professor Sharp waves his wand to open the window you rear back at the size of it as it barrels right towards you and drops a bundle of letters along with a package into your lap. 

You inspect the letters bundled up with twine first, and the handwriting on some of them are clearly recognizable. Natty, Poppy, and Amit have such distinctive handwriting that it is easy to pick their letters out of the bunch, though you suspect that the atrociously sloppy writing on the fourth letter might belong to Garreth. Now that the letters aren’t obscuring the package, you can tell that Sebastian’s handwriting is on the brown wrapping paper, meaning that you expect a letter from your two favorite slytherins to be inside.

“Pretty popular today.” Professor Sharp casually remarks, taking a sip of his drink as he eyes the package with what you can tell is curiosity veiled with indifference. You hum in response, already using your butterknife as a tool to open the package as you find yourself growing excited.

You really hadn’t expected anything today, assuming that only one or two of your friends would remember.

Inside you only find one letter, though Sebastian’s handwriting is clearly written on Ominis’ fancy stationery. 

After the first round of letters you received from the two boys it has been typical of Sebastian to write for he and Ominis both, the usage of Ominis’ parchment being a clear sign that that is what you can expect when opening a letter from him. It is actually kind of amusing, since on occasion when Ominis is saying something Sebastian finds annoying in the letters he will leave little notes or doodles in the margins to show his true feelings on Ominis’ lectures and mother henning. 

You can tell that the two made the trek to Hogsmeade for today’s occasion as the box is filled with all your favorite sweets and even a bottle of pumpkin juice to wash them down with. There is also a scarf that you are sure came from Ominis, as Sebastian never has the patience for shopping in Gladrags. 

Professor Sharp is now not-so-subtly leaning over to get a better look at the package’s contents, his brows furrowing as he takes in all the items in the care package though you try your best not to laugh at his strangely childish behavior. Luckily, Mrs. Whittle has filled you in on some of Professor Sharp’s guilty pleasures, so you slide an individually wrapped caramel his way before opening the letter from the boys, smirking as Professor Sharp quickly takes the offered sweet. 

The letter is short and sweet, the boys both wishing you a happy birthday in their own ways before signing off. Of course, Sebastian took the liberty of writing ‘happy birthday’ as big as possible to leave less room for Ominis, which means that when you put the letter down flat to open the next one from the stack Professor Sharp get’s a good view of it. 

You hear a strangled sort of sound, looking up to see Professor Sharp hitting his chest and coughing rather hard, the wrapper of the caramel sitting in front of him as before he recovers.

“Sir? Are you alr-”

“Is it your birthday today?” He asks incredulously, his voice gruffer than usual from his coughing fit. You widen your eyes at the question, nodding in response as he quickly sips some water to remedy his scratchy throat before speaking once more. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

The question takes you by surprise, and for a moment you aren’t sure why it would really matter. 

You didn’t expect him to know it was your birthday since you never told him, but he also never asked. It's not as though you expect him to make a big deal out of it or even get you anything. Him taking you in already felt like more than you could've ever expected from the man, so you never actually consider asking for him to do anything else. 

You suspect the only reason all of your friends knew it was today is because Ominis had asked you about it once, and he can’t keep anything to himself, his constant chatter in the halls proof enough of this quirk in his personality.

“I just didn’t think it was relevant, I suppose. It's not like it really matters.” You meekly reply, feeling as though you did something wrong by not divulging the information sooner.

Professor Sharp looks at you for another moment before he pulls out his pocket watch to check the time. He lets out an annoyed huff, his face twisting from disbelief to annoyance before snapping it shut and standing. 

“I really have to go.” He grumbles, pausing as she shakes out his bad leg a bit before speaking once more. “How about this, stay here and out of trouble and I’ll try my best to get home earlier than I have been. We can get something to eat in town and stop by the bookshop that I am sure you are single handedly keeping in business. Deal?”

You think the offer over, slightly annoyed that you are expected to wait for Professor Sharp to return when he has been insisting it is safe to go into town for weeks now, but still excited nonetheless that you will get to go. 

You don’t want to admit it, but you are almost relieved in a sense that Professor Sharp will be going with you rather than him allowing you to go on your own. Perhaps it would be better to ease back into things, as well as go with someone you trust back into a wizarding space after the last incident.

Professor Sharp clears his throat impatiently as you continue to think things over, and you look back at the man smiling widely as you nod your head in agreement before returning to rifling through your package. Professor Sharp lets out a small sigh in what you assume is relief, turning to leave the kitchen once more before stopping himself.

“Happy birthday, by the way.” He kindly offers, giving you a genuine smile though it looks like it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. 

You flounder a bit with how to respond, the sentiment of an adult wishing you a happy birthday being foreign to you as your parents have been dead for years and your grandmother was never big on celebrating. You instead toss a caramel his way in thanks, thankful that his Auror reflexes still seem to be intact as he darts his hand out to catch it. He nods his head in thanks, finally leaving the room and eventually you can hear the front door open and close announcing the house is empty.

You finish your breakfast at a leisurely pace, opening the letters from your other friends and making plans to thank them all properly with letters of your own when you go to town later today. Professor Sharp probably won’t mind stopping at the owlery as the surly professor seems to be a stickler for manners when it comes to these sorts of things anyway. For someone who seems so standoffish, he strangely values social etiquette.

You take the time to write all your thank you letters, making sure to be extra thankful to Sebastian and Ominis as they had gone the extra mile, but that only takes up so much of your time before you are once again fighting off boredom. The boredom is even worse this time as you are left without a new book to combat it since you have to wait until later to buy it. 

You wander around the cottage for a while to kill time, inspecting the same bookshelf downstairs and picking some of the now returned ancient runes texts to rifle through before wasting enough time you can  head to the kitchen in search of something to nibble on for lunch. 

Failing to find anything interesting to do, the concepts in Professor Sharp's ancient runes tomes far too advanced for someone who hasn’t had a proper class on the subject yet, you find yourself sitting in the living room facing the door to Professor Sharp’s study with nothing to fight against the burning curiosity you feel to go back inside.

Ever since the day you got caught in his study back at the beginning of summer, you have only been back in the room a handful of times. These occasions were with Professor Sharp himself, the man inviting you in as he went over your various potions essays and worked with you to revise them. 

The study was noticeably cleaner whenever you would be invited in, the papers that you know were usually strewn about his desk cleared away as well as anything of interest. You did notice that with every visit to his study there were more photos moved upright rather than face down as there had been before, though you tried your best not to stare as invading his privacy was the very thing that got you in hot water that first time in his study. 

The time you spent in his study with him you weren’t all that interested in snooping around as there wasn’t any real reason to, but now that Professor Sharp is mysteriously leaving nearly everyday for reasons he refuses to share with you, the need to investigate has returned in full force.

You approach the door, flicking your eyes towards the front door almost as though you expect Professor Sharp to suddenly return and catch you. You move quickly to look out one of the front windows, seeing no sign of anyone as the grass moves delicately in the breeze. You turn the lock on the front door, hoping that if Professor Sharp suddenly returns it will buy you some time before you return to the study door and try the knob. 

To your surprise the door is unlocked as it opens with no resistance. You stand outside the threshold for a moment, unsure if you really want to enter the study as you feel a churning in your gut at the prospect of repeating the same incident from earlier in the summer. The guilty feeling only intensifies as you consider that the door is unlocked because Professor Sharp now trusts you not to invade his space, but you try your best to push that thought out of your mind as you enter the study.

The large windows in the back of the room are shaded from the afternoon light, the ambient lighting coming through still creating a comforting glow all the same as you slowly enter the room. Things are more or less the same as they have been the previous few times you were in here, the only notable difference being Professor Sharp’s once again cluttered desk.

You walk quickly to the desk looking down at the papers that are strewn about, a variety of letters, official looking documents, and copies of the Daily Prophet taking up space where you are now used to seeing your own essays resting during your study sessions with Professor Sharp. 

You decide to skim the Daily Prophet articles first, the burning need to know what is being written about you as you have failed to get any real answers from Professor Sharp regarding the subject.

There are some familiar titles, the two papers you saw the last time you were in the study at the bottom of the carefully placed stack. Each paper is placed so the headlines are visible and little else. ‘Hero on a Rampage?’ is next on the stack, the date corresponding with the timeline presented by the ‘The Hero of Hogwarts’ and ‘Hero of Hogwarts, or Goblin Co-Conspirator?’ which you had seen previously. From what you can see, the article seems to discuss your actions regarding Harlow’s operation with Natty, the lines twisting your meddling to sound as though you had been simply attacking the poachers not for the good of the beasts, but rather for your own entertainment. 

Next was ‘The Hero of Hogwarts and “Arcane Magic”; Truly Heroic or Deeply Disturbing?’ This article seems to detail the vaguely known details of ancient magic that you couldn’t keep from the Ministry, exaggerating in some instances and completely missing details in others as the Daily Prophet attempts to shed light on your abilities. Though you can’t read too much of the article, from what you can see it is clear that the Daily Prophet had decided your magic is ‘deeply disturbing’ rather than the former.

Finally on top of the stack is the one you had been shown in the pub, ‘So Called ‘Hero of Hogwarts’: Rookwood’s Killer, or Rookwood’s Successor?’

You try to avoid reading too far into this one, the memory of how you were originally presented this paper causing you to shudder as you instead look at something you had failed to notice before. 

The journalists' names for each article are circled in splotchy ink. Robert Farley had written the favorable article, ‘The Hero of Hogwarts’, while ‘Hero of Hogwarts, or Goblin Co-Conspirator?’ had been written by Ianeira Ward. You look over the other less favorable titles to see that Ianeira Ward had been responsible for all of them, and though you are unfamiliar with the name it seems Professor Sharp is as there are a couple notes written down regarding her potential Ministry source in the margins. 

Professor Sharp has really been investigating the Daily Prophet articles as Professor Hecat had suggested the last time she was here. The notes on the papers seem to carry onto loose pieces of parchment, the writings on the desk creating a literal paper trail as you read diligently from one to the next. 

Ianeira seems to be related to a Maruice Ward, who sits on the Wizengamot in what you can only assume were one of the more antagonistic positions against you the day you were brought in for your inquiry. 

There are also several letters from various members of the Ministry in several different departments that confirm this fact, as well as responding to what must’ve been rather uncomfortable questions from Professor Sharp regarding other potential leaks in the Ministry as they seem to all take on an almost defensive tone when addressing the man. There are more notes clearly written in  Professor Sharp’s handwriting over these letters as well, the possible connections between the Ward, Gaunt, and Malfoy families being made abundantly clear even though the notes themselves are indiscernible, the writing frantic and hard to follow at the best of times.

You eventually tire of deciphering Professor Sharp’s notes, more and more of them being about the Malfoys which only leads to you feeling as though the cold eyes of Ms. Malfoy are watching you as you uncomfortably rub your neck and look around. You know it was a ridiculous thing to check for, but you felt the need to do it all the same before you redirect your attention to the more official looking documents on the desk.

Many of them have what appears to be the official Ministry seal, though these documents range from forms that are either partially filled out or blank to what appears to be copies of several procedures from some sort of wizarding law books. The words are hard to grasp, the legal jargon going over your head though Professor Sharp has taken notes over these papers as well. There are ink splotches everywhere, several terms and bylaws circled with messily scrawled notes and questions in the margins. 

You haven’t really had the time to find out about how similar the Ministry is in the wizarding world to the muggle one, first being focused solely on taking down Ranrok and hopefully surviving it and then later being focused on not falling within Ministry hands, though you suddenly feel the need to find out.

You are sure a lot of this work is about you, some of the terms reminding you of what was discussed while drafting your guardianship that day at the Ministry, but most of the terminology is unfamiliar. You try your best to read the forms before giving up, trying to memorize some of the contents so you can ask Ominis about them later since he seems the best bet when it comes to this sort of thing before moving to leave the study.

On your way out you take a moment to look at the photo that had caught your eye before, the young Professor Sharp looking happier than you have ever seen him as his arms are slung around the shoulders of his brother and friend as he wears a clearly new Auror’s uniform. Young Professor Sharp smiles broadly as the photo loops once more, his face beaming alongside the other two men before his eyes widen as he is almost knocked off balance as the photo has already shown you before. 

You remember back when you first entered Professor Sharp’s study. At the time you felt it was impossible that the smiling man in this photo could also be the gruff and serious potions professor you had thought you knew, though after the time you have spent with Professor Sharp you feel differently.

You don’t often see Professor Sharp smiling so openly, the man instead offering small smiles or a sarcastic quirk of lips during your interactions when the occasion arises. You think it would be nice to see him so carefree again. You feel a bit sick as you consider the fates of all three men in the photo, your conversation with Mrs. Whittle weighing heavily on your mind as you carefully put the framed photo back on the shelf.

You are just stepping out of the study when the front door knob jiggles, the person on the other side clearly not expecting the door to be locked as the force that would’ve been used to open the door instead results in a slight thump of the wood. You take the delayed entry as an opportunity to quickly close the door to study and make your way to the sofa where there is a conveniently placed quilt resting on the cushions. 

You don’t hesitate to hastily lie down, throwing the quilt over yourself in an effort to look as though you had been napping right as the door unlocks and swings open. You close your eyes, careful not to squeeze them too tightly as you breathe steadily despite the slight adrenaline thrumming through you from almost being caught snooping. Again.

You hear the familiar steps of Professor Sharp, the rustling of paper bags almost making you quirk an eyebrow upwards in confusion though you resist the urge to do so in favor of continuing your ruse. You can almost feel Professor Sharp’s presence as he approaches the sofa, his steps growing louder and one hand resting on the back of the sette as he looks down at you. 

He lets out a sigh of relief though you aren’t quite sure why, and soon his hand resting on the sofa moves to the hastily thrown on quilt. He lets out an amused puff of air as he pulls it up higher over your shoulder, smoothing the rumpled fabric in a neater and more comfortable fashion. There is another moment of silence as you try your best to fake being asleep, hoping nothing on your face gives you away. He stands for a moment longer before he moves away from the sofa and into the kitchen, his uneven footsteps slightly lighter as though he was purposefully being quiet. 

You let out an almost silent sigh in relief as you listen to the continued rustling of paper bags. Clearly they are being placed on the table, Professor Sharp letting out a whispered curse as one of them seems to land heavier than anticipated. You can practically hear Professor Sharp whip his head around to look at you in what you assume is fear he woke you, and you take the opportunity to turn your body on your side to face the back of the couch, the new position making it easier to hide your face and therefore any expressions that might give you away.

Another sigh of relief is heard when you finally settle back down before the rustling of bags continues. You think you can hear items being taken out of the bags and put in various places in the kitchen. It seems Professor Sharp has gone grocery shopping, though it is odd since you know he got groceries earlier in the week. Clearly he is using magic as the sounds continue to come from various places in the kitchen while the accompanying sound of Professor Sharp’s uneven footsteps remain noticeably absent. 

Soon a chair is pulled out and the sound of paper being moved is heard again, though this time it is less like the sounds from the grocery bags and more like the paper is being moved and folded with purpose. There are more muttered words from Professor Sharp in a frustrated voice, though the words are carefully quiet in what you assume is an effort to not disturb your sleep. Soon everything settles once more, the paper sounds being replaced by the sound of Professor Sharp standing with a heavy sigh.

He starts walking towards where you are once more, and you are thankful you had the thought to turn towards the back of the sofa as he moves towards the front of the couch. There is another moment of silence, and you aren’t quite sure what he is just standing there for before soon a hand is gently nudging you in the shoulder.

“Hey. How long have you been asleep?” He gently asks, and you try your best to make an effort to look as though you just awoke as you scrub your hands over your eyes lethargically.

“What time is it?” You ask, sitting up slowly and allowing the quilt to fall over your lap as you stretch. Professor Sharp is leaning slightly against the coffee table, his legs stretched out in front of him casually as he waits for you to ‘wake up’ a bit more before answering

“Just after two.” He easily replies, not even checking his watch or the clock on the shelf as he looks at you with a small smile.

“Not long then. Maybe an hour?” You reply  and Professor Sharp nods, taking in the lie easily allowing you to finally relax completely. It doesn’t feel good lying to the man, especially when he looks so at ease, but at the same time you have lied about far worse. What is a little white lie when you have literally gone on a life or death mission for the better part of the year with everyone being none the wiser?

“Good thing I woke you then. If you nap the day away you won’t be able to sleep tonight.” He softly replies, standing up from his position against the coffee table and walking towards the kitchen. 

You take your time before standing to follow him, refolding the quilt you had used and throwing it over the back of a nearby armchair before making your way to the kitchen yourself. You cross the threshold of the kitchen before abruptly stopping, taking in the room around you with wide eyes.

Large banners in your house colors adorn the walls with similar ones framing the windows which are pleasantly streaming in warm afternoon light. The table has a neat white cloth over it with a messily wrapped box and a cake sitting in the center of the table alongside two plates and forks.

The cake is rather small,  looking suspiciously homemade for a man who only was home for around twenty minutes before waking you. White icing smoothly covers the cake with intricate cursive written in your house’s main color in the center reading ‘Happy Birthday’. There are neat borders on the top and bottom of the cake, a single candle resting in the center with a little icing flower at the base.

You look over at Professor Sharp, the man standing to the side of the kitchen with a look of apprehension painting his features. You are almost more surprised by seeing the ever sure professor looking so uneasy, his lips pursed as he looks towards you with tilted eyebrows while waiting for your reaction.

“This is- I mean…how?” You stutter, your question coming out rather ineloquently as you look over everything once more with wide eyes. You can’t help the smile slowly taking over your features as you look at the box once more, the brown wrapping paper clearly benign taken from the grocery bags you are used to seeing, the corners messy and imperfect as you realize Professor Sharp must’ve tried wrapping it by hand.

“I…had the time. My appointment took less time than anticipated.” He slowly replies, and as you look over at him you can see him immediately relax as his face goes from uncertain to gentle as he smiles slightly. 

“This is…I don’t even know what to say.” And you truly don’t. 

The last birthday you remember celebrating in earnest you were quite small, too small to remember the particulars but remembering it all the same. A cake with your name written on it, other children there to sing to you, and two parents who are merely a hazy memory at this point. 

Your grandmother had of course gotten you gifts in your early years, though they tended to be rather pragmatic rather than anything you would’ve really wanted as a child. Once you were older, celebrating seemed less important and soon a couple notes in a card were what you came to expect from her each year.

You remain lost in thought for a moment longer, wondering what it would’ve been like had the two of you been closer. Perhaps it would’ve been similar to this, homemade cakes and colorful banners rather than a card and a singular comment from her before the day continued normally. She wasn’t distant or unloving, but as you grew older so did she, and as she grew older her interest in most things waned along with her patience.

“You could try: Thank you, Professor Sharp. You are the best! The cake looks great and definitely wasn’t made by Mrs. Whittle!” His voice takes on a higher pitch as he speaks for you, and you roll your eyes at the poor imitation as you try to fight the broad smile that now is spreading across your face.

“I’ll make sure to thank Mrs. Whittle for not allowing you to burn the house down.” You sarcastically reply, now earning an eye roll from Professor Sharp as he gestures for you to sit down. 

“I cook for us all the time, and yet the house still stands.” He indignantly comments, turning the cake carefully so it faces away from you, the words now reading upside down from your seat.

“Yes, but cooking and baking are vastly different.” You counter, and Professor Sharp throws his hands up in defeat though he still looks rather miffed by the comment. 

He flicks his wand, the curtains of the room closing and effectively blocking out the light as the single candle on the cake begins to burn. At the same time, a large flashbulb camera floats into the room and sets up in front of Professor Sharp, the man closing one eye to squint through the lens. You look towards him with a raised eyebrow before the flash of the camera has you blinking harshly. 

Professor Sharp is chuckling as your face turns a bit sour at the surprise. Still, you can’t help but give a smile of your own at the sight, chuckling alongside him as he seems so carefree. Professor Sharp takes another photo at that moment, and while you maintain the smile for a moment longer this time you can’t help but stick your tongue out directly after.

“I know you have had your photo taken before, so how can you still be so surprised?” He asks while still chuckling, and you opt to remain cheerful alongside him rather than remembering the last time your photo was taken, your likeness spread all over the front page of the papers currently in Professor Sharp’s study.

“Usually people let you prepare for a picture before just taking it. I’m sure I look ridiculous.” You counter, and Professor Sharp merely rolls his eyes as he lowers the camera.

“Luckily for you the picture will move. I’m sure at some point you won’t look ‘ridiculous’, though I doubt that will be the case at all.” His reply and pseudo-complement put you at ease, and you wonder how exactly wizard cameras work as you file away your questions for later. This camera was different from any muggle camera you have seen, but there are times where the wizarding world seems aeons ahead and times where it seems quite behind, so you accept this as simply an example of the former.

“I refuse to sing, but you really should blow that candle out before the wax melts too much.” Professor Sharp comments, and you look down to see the candle is indeed beginning to drip a bit of wax down towards its base.

You take a moment, thinking about what you should wish for. You know that birthday wishes are traditionally done, and since it has been quite some time since you have been able to indulge you don’t want to squander the chance. Professor Sharp seems to understand that this is important to you, and after a moment you close your eyes and blow, seeing the flash of the camera from behind your closed eyes.

“I don’t know how many photos you can take at once, but surely you won’t waste all your film on this?” You snark, and Professor Sharp looks strangely fond as he leaves his position behind the camera to manually reopen the curtains.

“Each roll holds four, and I assure you these photos are not a waste. You only turn sixteen once, you know.” He states simply, and you can feel your cheeks heat slightly in embarrassment, thankful that this isn’t one of the occasions Professor Sharp deems worthy of documenting as he dishes out two large slices of cake. You accept the plate as he sits down in his usual place, though you find yourself fiddling with your fork as you look at the wrapped box rather than actually eating anything. 

“I’m sure Mrs. Whittle’s baking could wait a few minutes longer if you would rather open your gift.” Professor Sharp kindly offers before taking a bit of his own slice. He looks rather pleased to have his slice, and as long as he isn’t waiting for you to eat you decide it would be alright to indulge in opening your gift rather than doing what is polite for once.

You tear into the paper, the messy wrapping job making it easy to find places to grab on the package as you reveal a small box. Opening it you see three books stacked neatly inside, the one on top being the very book you were looking to buy earlier today. You grin excitedly as you pick it up, looking at Professor Sharp quickly before looking back down at the copy.

“You’re lucky that Rebecca remembered what book you needed next, otherwise you would’ve had to wait for me to take you to the bookstore to buy it for you.” Professor Sharp says with a chuckle, though his laughter is quick to die down as you look at him with confusion.

“Who is Reb- oh you mean Rachel!” Your correction along with your smile returning results in Professor Sharp looking at ease once more, the man rolling his eyes muttering about how the names were close enough. You decide to let the matter rest as you look back in the box, the next book being the potions book required for your sixth-year, looking at Professor Sharp with a raised brow once more.

“Yes yes, no need to thank me for giving you a head start. Perhaps we can even look at some potions that might be on this year's curriculum later today.” He says it with faux magnanimity, and you squint good naturedly at his sarcastic comment before putting the book down as well. It is actually a nice gift and offer, but it seems Professor Sharp has already decided to deflect from the gift entirely rather than waiting for you to say something about it, and you have learned that sometimes it is best to just play along.

The last book seems quite old, the worn leather of the dark blue book feeling soft in your hands as you remove it from the box. Professor Sharp must’ve waved his wand as the wrapping paper puts itself in the box before they both vanish, though you are too focused on the intricate design on the cover of the heavy book. 

The dark blue of the cover is broken up with celestial patterns, gold foil filling the moon and stars with some worn spots towards the spine but otherwise shining rather brilliantly in the light. The edge of the pages are uneven, some of them bulging slightly where you can see other articles of paper are wedged within them. Whatever this book is, it is definitely handwritten rather than printed as you look at the thick and warped pages. You open the book carefully, looking for a title page before freezing as you see familiar handwriting.

“Professor Weasley found it while packing up his belongings. It's not exactly from me, but I figured it deserved to be wrapped” Professor Sharp explains, his words gentle as you carefully run your fingers over the slightly indented ink on the page. 

'Eleazar Fig - Adventures and Missions'

His self made title page is vague, and as you flip it a further you see a page being dated in 1845. The writing clearly reads as being Professor Fig’s voice, though he must’ve been rather young as he discusses being excited to travel to Belgium with Miriam rather than still working behind a desk at the Ministry. Flipping forwards even more you see the date 1850, the page marked with a letter that appears to be written by Professor Weasley as he describes his new position at Hogwarts. You decide to flip towards the end, the date of 1890 inhaling harshly as you realize this must be his own writings about your time with him.

“It's most of his life. Apparently he wrote all the important or exciting things down, which given all the things he has done for the Ministry, his wife, and Hogwarts…well it's quite the read.” Professor Sharp’s voice remains gentle and almost nostalgic as he speaks about Professor Fig, and you run your finger carefully over your own name written in the swirly handwriting of your mentor as he describes how you have quickly taken to magic during your time together last summer. 

“There are…well, he wrote directly to you from a certain point onward. Towards the end it's more like a series of letters rather than the documentation of his life.” His voice is soft now as he speaks, and you are torn between immediately flipping to the end to see what was written or taking your time later to read it properly in order.

Professor Sharp’s hand comes into view, softly closing the book before moving it away from you and placing it near the center of the table. You almost scramble to take the book back before you feel the tear fall from your chin landing right where the book was before the professor intervened. 

“It’d be a shame to smudge the ink. I’ll enchant it for you before you take it upstairs, alright?”

You nod in response before wiping at your eyes quickly. The room still feels warm and inviting, though rather than the air of excitement and celebration the air is thick with melancholy and reverence, the mood covering you both like a blanket. You take a couple of moments to recollect yourself, Professor Sharp sitting patiently as he pushes his cake around with his fork.

“The cake is rather good.” His voice is soft and hopeful, the end of his comment tilting upwards almost as though it were an offer for you to rejoin him in the present rather than sitting with the ghost of Professor Fig as you have been while wiping your now dry eyes.

You reach for your slice of cake still sitting in the middle of the table, moving the other two books to the side as you pull it in front of you. Professor Sharp is still pushing his own cake around as he waits for you to take a bite, watching you not subtly from the corner of his eyes even though he is clearly trying not to look directly at you. 

The cake is good, the subtle flavor of the baked good and icing tasting how you can only describe as warm and made with love. It feels corny even as you think it, but you can’t help but smile at the thought of Mrs. Whittle making a cake just for you at Professor Sharp’s request. You almost wish you could’ve been there to hear what that conversation would’ve been like, chuckling to yourself as you take another bite and ignoring the slightly suspicious look Professor Sharp throws your way.

You both sit in companionable silence now, the room feeling lighter as you both leave the past in the past for now even as the delicate blue book remains on the table. Soon Professor Sharp is leaning back in his chair, his plate empty save for a few crumbs and smears of icing as you continue to eat your slice. He looks rather content and relaxed as he sits, periodically switching between looking out the decorated window and you as you finish your cake.

“Let’s take that last picture while the light is still on our side.” He suggests, standing and moving the camera over to face the window behind you before impatiently gesturing for you to stand and do the same. “I’ll even warn you before taking it this time.”

The offer is said in a playful tone, and you roll your eyes as you move to stand from the table. You eye the book on the table for a moment before carefully picking it up, deciding that while you will never be able to take a photo with your departed mentor, it would feel like he was there all the same. 

Professor Sharp doesn’t say anything as you make your way towards the window, holding Professor Fig’s journal carefully against your chest. He leans down slightly to peer through the camera, making small adjustments before seeming satisfied with the composition of the image and looking towards you.

“Alright, are you ready? One..two…” 

“Wait!”

He stops counting, standing up straighter and looking at you with confusion. He looks as though he is about to speak, and you fear if you wait for him to say anything- snarky or otherwise- that you will lose your nerve. 

“You should be in it.” You quickly add, Professor Sharp’s slightly open mouth filled unsaid words snapping shut almost audibly. 

“I mean- if you don’t want to you don’t have to, but I just haven’t had anything close to a birthday party in…well I can’t remember but I think I would want to remember you being here when I look back at it, you know?” 

Your words are rushed, and you grow more insecure as you near the end of your reasoning as Professor Sharp continues to look at you raised eyebrows and a tightly shut mouth. You can tell your face is warm with embarrassment as he says nothing, and just as you are ready to retract the statement and make a hasty retreat from the kitchen, Professor Sharp starts to move towards you. 

He stands next to you, throwing an arm over your shoulder in a relaxed pose. You are still holding your book with both arms as you are nestled into his side, taking a moment to relax into the unfamiliar pose before Professor Sharp subtly moves his wand at his side.

“I think I’d like to remember it too.” He mutters, and you can’t help but feel that you weren’t meant to hear it as he then addresses you in a normal volume. “Alright then, on three.”

He begins to count, and you wait until he reaches three, the bulb flashing just as you free one hand from the book to poke him in the side. The jab gets the desired effect, Professor Sharp jolting from the contact as he lets out a surprised bark of laughter. 

You devolve into laughter at the reaction, and it only takes a moment for the man to recover before he is laughing loudly as well. The sound is so different from his usual soft chuckle and he reminds you of the man in the photos at that moment, his eyes crinkling with mirth as his mouth is pulled into a grin even after his laughter dies down. He squeezes your shoulder tightly giving a good natured shake in retaliation, and you can’t help but remember what felt like mere moments ago when you thought that this version of the man was something that only lived in photographs.

“You’re lucky magic exists, otherwise that picture would be a lost cause.” He snarks after you both recover from laughing, though there is still a larger than usual smile on his face as he flicks his wand sending the camera out of the room once more, presumably returning to his study to be developed later. 

You have your own sarcastic retort on the tip of your tongue before you pause, cocking your head in confusion as Professor Sharp holds his wand out in your direction and closes his eyes in concentration. You watch as Professor Sharp begins muttering a complicated incantation that you aren’t familiar with, Professor Fig’s book growing slightly warm where it rests in your arms. More lines of whatever complicated spell Professor Sharp is casting are quietly spoken, and soon the book reverts back to room temp as Professor Sharp lowers his wand and opens his eyes once more.

“There we are. You could throw that book into the pond and it would still come out completely dry. Miller wishes he could match that level of charms work.” The smugness in his voice is obviously being played up to avoid the energy dipping back to somber as he informs you the book is now safe to be read by your over emotional self. His bravado, while almost comical, is appreciated as you let out a snort, Professor Sharp once again displaying his smaller, gentler smile as he turns to take care of the dishes.

You don’t even realize your lack of reaction at being on the wrong end of a wizard's wand until after it is gone. Any other time you would be reaching for your own wand and preparing to dodge at the sight of it, but there wasn’t a single cell in your body that expected Professor Sharp to do anything to harm you. 

You implicitly trust Professor Sharp and evidently he does the same if his unlocked study was truly done willfully rather than accidentally. Your realization goes unnoticed by Professor Sharp as he begins to run the water.

“Might as well go to your room with your books while I clean up. Get a head start on whatever Riley was talking my ear off about in that mystery book of yours. Though, I don’t remember nearly as much melodrama from my time as an Auror if what she said the books are about is true.” He is clearly teasing you for reading what you are sure he sees as a silly interpretation of what was once his career. You can’t help but groan in embarrassment as you try to imagine what Rachel rambled about as selling Professor Sharp the book, the witch always far more interested in the romance aspect rather than the mystery, though you have to admit at this point you find both plots equally as interesting.

“Once again, it's Rachel, and did you not literally just make a snide comment about an Auror who isn’t even here to hear it? Is that not at least slightly melodramatic?” You snark back, recovering from your revelation as you finally move from your spot by the window. Professor Sharp stops his task of washing the dishes as he turns to address you, a hard frown on his face with narrowed eyes.

“I will never pass up the chance to make a snide comment about Miller.” You raise your eyebrows at his clearly dramatic display, Professor Sharp’s expression shifting to look a bit sheepish as he realizes he practically proved you right. “Fine. You win this time. Now get out if you aren’t going to help. We are leaving for dinner at seven.”

At that he turns back to the task at hand, the reminder that you are still going to get to go into town today filling you with nervous excitement. You have the feeling that even if you stayed Professor Sharp wouldn’t have allowed you to help clean, but you still don’t want to risk testing the theory as you gather your books and make your way to your room. 

You add the books to the stack on your cluttered desk, careful to make room for Professor Fig’s journal to avoid potentially damaging the worn book any further than it already has from age. Perhaps it is time to buck up the courage to ask Professor Sharp for a bookshelf, though you do have quite a bit of money saved up from your adventures in the Highlands and could most likely purchase one for yourself. 

You crack open The Tales of Turner and Thompson: A Gringotts Heist, immediately being enthralled with the story as you get comfortable on your bed, the glint of Professor Fig’s journal catching the afternoon light providing a sense of comfort as you lose yourself in Thompson’s inner dialogue.

Chapter Text

Professor Fig’s journal rests on your lap as you sit by the pond beneath your favorite tree, the shade cast by it leaving small slivers of light behind that catch on pages in a mesmerizing way. The sun is high in the sky, the clouds making their way leisurely across the sky to block the sun every now and then.

You are reading at a slower pace than usual, taking your time with Professor Fig’s writings when you suddenly feel a certain sense of unease. There is a restlessness in the summer air as you sit by the pond, and you can’t help but shiver despite the pleasant summer heat.

You can’t quite pinpoint what exactly it is that is disturbing you, but just somehow know something is out there, an electric feeling in the air that you refuse to believe could be in Albury of all places.

You stand slowly, pulling out your wand and holding it subtly to your side as you carry Professor Fig’s journal close to your chest with your other hand, not wanting to be spotted by any potential muggles that might be around with your wand. You stand still for a moment, closing your eyes as you try to figure out what exactly it is you are feeling. There is a certain tugging at your core, your nerves electrifying as you feel the unmistakable pull of ancient magic from nearby, and your eyes shoot open with shock at the realization.

This just shouldn’t be possible. You have been in Albury all summer as well as this exact spot several times. Surely if there was an ancient magic hotspot or even a repos-

No. 

A repository simply isn’t possible.

There has to be an ancient magic hotspot somewhere, and you are going to find it.

You grip the book tighter as you allow the electric feeling of ancient magic to guide you, your feet carrying you towards the dense woods that you have been avoiding ever since the night you were attacked by the gytrash. Even in the bright light of a summer’s day the woods seem dark and foreboding, the foggy atmosphere creeping out from just beyond the treeline reminding you of the eerie sensation of being in the Forbidden Forest.

You don’t even think as you walk further and further into the woods. The scenery shifts gradually around you as you travel away from the tree line, though it fails to deter you as you silently creep deeper into the growing darkness.

Large and pleasantly green trees make way for gnarled and mangled ones, and while they are devoid of any leaves to provide shade from the sun the forest grows ever darker. You look up to see large swirling clouds now blocking the light, the sky gray despite being a bright shade of blue mere moments ago, a shiver working its way through you as the once still air now whips itself up into a tumultuous wind. 

You continue to move forward, knowing instinctively where you should be headed as the woods continue to deteriorate around you until soon you arrive in a clearing looking deep into the opening in the earth. The mouth of what you could only describe as a cave is large, looking unnaturally made as you recognize large tire tracks in the cracked earth that you failed to notice during your trek. 

Drills. There are goblin’s drilling in Albury.

Panic bubbles in your chest, and you want nothing more than to turn around and run. You know you should get help from Professor Sharp who you are sure is in his study working on something he refuses to talk about, but you also know that getting Professor Sharp isn't an option. People die when you involve them, and losing one mentor is enough. 

You can’t lose another.

The mouth of the cave is unnaturally round and large, but soon the cave system becomes a tighter and tighter squeeze as you continue to move forwards, the pathway you follow seeming more akin to the naturally occurring caves you have encountered in the Highlands. 

You are now moving at a downwards slope, your shoulders grazing the cavern walls as you continue moving forwards. It simply shouldn’t be possible for the cave to be this claustrophobic as there is no evidence of where the drill had gone despite it clearly being what opened the cave in the first place, but you press on anyway, the prickling sensation of needing to escape being overshadowed by the tug of ancient magic beyond you in the cave. 

Despite being rather deep in the cave, you don’t need to cast lumos to see, as the bright red veins of what you know is corrupted ancient magic grow thicker and more frequent. As you continue to descend further and further into the cave, the malicious red glow on Professor Fig’s journal makes you feel sick as you think of the last time Professor Fig was surrounded by the malicious red shade of corruption, and you tuck the journal closer to yourself in a futile effort to shield it from the light.

The stone ground is uneven, pulsating light of ancient magic glowing from jagged holes in the ground that you need to carefully step over from your cramped position in the cave. You are gripping your wand tightly, the wood of your wand creaking in your hold though you cannot bring yourself to loosen your fingers as you stumble around in the dimly lit tunnel. You don’t think you have ever been so petrified, not even facing Ranrok himself.

This was supposed to be over.

Soon the cave begins to open up once more, the tight walls giving way to a large cavern that has ice water filling your veins. There is mangled metal everywhere, red pulsating remnants of ancient magic pooling around the twisted shards with sparks of the corrupted magic floating into the air before dissipating.

You cautiously approach the mangled repository. Just like the last time you encountered an emptied repository, you just know the ancient magic that was once stored within the now destroyed goblin metal has been absorbed, but by what?

The sound of a stone skittering from behind you causes you to flinch as you quickly turn around, your wand held defensively in front of you as you reluctantly turn your back to the mangled metal of the empty repository. You watch the narrow opening to the cavern with wide eyes, feeling the familiar thrum of adrenaline under your skin as you prepare for anything to come out of the red tinged darkness.

You almost drop your wand as a familiar blue cloak enters your view from the darkness, and while you know it is impossible soon Professor Fig is standing at the entrance of the cavern. You stand frozen, your wand shaking in your grip as you continue to point it at whatever it is that has taken the shape of Professor Fig.

“This has to be some sort of trick. Who are you?” Your voice comes out far stronger than you currently feel, the slight shake of your knees and hands betraying how disturbing you find this entire situation to be. Not-Professor Fig looks at you in a familiar way, eyes wide and full of concern as he now slowly approaches you.

“If you hold my journal any tighter you’ll damage the binding.” The statement is simple, and while it frustratingly doesn’t answer your question you feel as though you have been burned as you look down at your hand white knuckling Professor Fig’s journal. There are indents from your nails on the cover of the book, and the sight of the worn leather being permanently marked making you feel as though you want to cry despite the potential danger Not-Professor Fig poses.

“St-stop right there! W-who are you?” You shout, the demand coming out less confident than it had before as he continues walking towards you.

Your words fall on deaf ears as he makes his way towards you, not even looking down as he gracefully avoids any shards of metal or cracked parts of the ground. Soon he is right in front of you, his eyes kind and soft as he smiles at you as he always has.

“It’s good to see you, my young friend.” His voice is warm and genuine, and you feel the unmistakable sting of tears behind your eyes. You hold your wand up higher as a silent threat, your hand still shaking as he moves his arm towards you. The professor gives you a sympathetic smile then, comfortingly squeezing your shoulder in a way that is almost painfully familiar.

You break at that moment, dropping both Professor Fig’s journal and your wand as you throw yourself at the man in a frantic embrace.

“This isn’t possible. This can’t- y-you…”

Professor Fig now has his arms around you as he shushes your confused stuttering. His arms are warm and his cloak is soft and silky as it has always been, the shiny fabric unmarked unlike the last time it was down in the final repository beneath Hogwarts. Places you know the cloak was torn are smooth and where there once was dust and blood the cloak is now blemish free. You grasp the material of the back of his robes tightly in your hands as you press your head into the older man’s shoulder, closing your eyes as you take comfort in the safety of the man you once trusted more than anyone else.

“You’ve been struggling, my friend. I can tell things have been hard for you lately.” His voice is a gentle murmur as he hugs you, his words comforting and sad at the same time. You simply nod into his shoulder, the man tightening his grip briefly mimicking the gentle squeeze he would often give your shoulder in comfort.

“I don’t know what to do without you.” You reply softly, your voice thick with emotion as you confide in your mentor.

“Then why didn’t you save me?”

His words are soft and gentle despite the accusation, his question sounding genuine as his raspy voice echoes in your ears. You stop breathing as the question registers, your lungs refusing to work as your mind races. 

You pull yourself from the hug, Professor Fig’s arms falling easily as they rest at his side once more. He looks absolutely devastated, eyebrows pinched upwards with his blue eyes brimming with tears. 

“Professor, I-”

“You let me die down here.” His voice now carries an accusatory edge, though it still comes out more betrayed than angry as large tears make their way down his wrinkled cheeks. You grab hold of Professor Fig’s hands which are cold and limp as you grasp them, mimicking the last time you held his hands down in the repository.

“No…no I swear I didn’t mean to. Please believe me I-”

Your pleas fall short as a scraping sound from deeper in the cavern is heard, and as you turn sparks of metal scraping against metal catch your eye beyond the glow of the broken repository. 

“They are going to kill me again and you don’t even have your wand.”

You curl your hands into a fist, realizing that he is right as you frantically look around for your wand. The cracked ground below shows only remnants of metal and ancient magic, and you drop to your knees to move the scraps of metal in search of your wand. Your hands are scraped and bleeding from the shards as you search, and all the while Professor Fig stands there curling into himself and shaking silently with tears.

“I’m going to die again.” He whimpers, the sound heartbreaking as your chest constricts at the emotional display of someone who was always so composed.

“No.” Your voice is firm as it echoes around the cavern, and while you are still tearing through metal trying to find your wand you can’t help but stop to comfort your mentor. “Ranrok is dead. I’ve stopped him before and I will stop him again.”

Suddenly a hideous laughter is bouncing off the walls of the cavern. The scraping sound continues though it sounds far closer than before, almost as if it rests just beyond the shell of the repository which is obscuring most of your view from your spot on the floor.  

“Ranrok?” The voice is distorted as echoes in the cavern, sounding almost like a mixture of several voices speaking in unison rather than one. “You really think one measly goblin is the real threat here?”

You scramble to your feet at the voice, seeing the wide terrified eyes of Professor Fig before you turn to see who is taunting you both from across the cave, moving to stand in front of him as you peer into the now impossibly black darkness of the cavern despite the still glowing repository. You are starting to panic, knowing that without your wand you are defenseless and Professor Fig is in no state to help as he continues to whimper in fear.

“Show yourself!” Your demand is met with more mocking laughter, the multiple voices sounding far worse as they echo around you.

Soon you see two red burning eyes coming from the darkness, the rest of the person’s form practically melting from the darkness and into view. You stumble back, your shoulder bumping slightly into Professor Fig’s chest as you struggle to make sense of it all.

It’s you. 

Red eyes and metal claws are familiar though you can’t remember why, and as you freeze at the sight your doppelganger smiling wide with razor sharp teeth. The other you is drenched in blood, clothes dripping and leaving red puddles on the floor. As they continue to advance towards you both, the goblin metal of the destroyed repository shifts to move around them forming a replica of Ranrok’s armor, though the metal continues to shift, faces silently screaming warping through the metal mimicking the door to Salazar Slytherin’s Scriptorium.

You want to deny what you are clearly seeing, knowing this is impossible but finding yourself incapable of any logical thought as you remain frozen in pure terror.

Your grotesque counterpart looks rather pleased at your display of fear before flicking their glowing red eyes towards Professor Fig, their smile growing wider and more sinister before holding a hand out in a beckoning motion. You can hear him moving, his feet quick as he begins to rush from your side towards the bloody figure across the room.

“Professor! Stop!” You throw an arm out to stop him which he easily evades, and while you want nothing more than to rush after him your feet refuse to move. 

You watch helplessly as he makes his way over to the other you, his robes now tattered with blood and dust as they had been the last time you saw him down in the final repository. He throws himself to the ground, grabbing the edge of the sharp goblin metal armor and cutting his fingers as the other you curls a claw around his shoulder. 

“They are going to kill me. Help me! Please! They are going to kill me again!” His pleas are desperate, though they are no longer directed towards you as he looks up at the other version of you with red eyes and sharp teeth. Professor Fig looks back towards you with fear, though it is different from before. 

Instead of looking to you for help his eyes are now wide with terror, his grip on the monstrous version of you growing tighter as you make eye contact with the man. 

He is afraid of you. 

He begins to tremble from his place on the ground, only calming down as the other you tightens their grip on his shoulder, claws drawing red rivulets of blood that slip down over the smooth blue fabric to join the growing puddle already on the floor.

“Yes, they are.” Its voice is grating as it confirms Professor Fig’s fears, and you realize that the voice is a mixture of those you have heard before. Ranrok’s growling tone is mixed with your own, and you can just make out the raspy hiss of Rookwood beneath the other more dominant voices. 

The other you doesn’t even flinch as the stone ceiling above them abruptly crumbles, a large metallic creature crashing down directly next to where they stand before Professor Fig is gone once again, falling through the earth just as he had before. Unlike last time, he screams in terror as it happens, his shout echoing far longer than it should be able to even as the dust settles once more. You don’t even have time to react before he is gone and while your feet stay planted flat on the ground you get the sickening sensation of falling, almost as though you were plummeting deep into the earth to fight Ranrok once more.

The other you looks at the blood on their armor left by Professor Fig’s hands with disdain, clicking their tongue in a chiding manner before they begin to stalk towards you.

You almost lose your balance as you realize you can move again, scrambling backwards trying to avoid metal shards and debris while frantically scanning the ground for your wand. The squelching footsteps of blood soaked boots echo around the cave, and you cannot help but tremble a bit in fear as they seem to come from all around you.

You are so focused on getting away from the advancing monster that you lose your footing, tripping and twisting your ankle painfully in what you are sure is a now broken ankle. You look down to see Professor Fig’s journal beneath your feet, the binding broken as the pages spread across the ground. The horrible laughter of the monstrous version of you fills your ears once more, and you quickly turn to begin scrambling away using your hands to drag your limp leg behind you, the ache of needing to leave Professor Fig’s journal behind being pushed aside by the need to survive this encounter.

The cuts on your hands burn as dirt and dust enters the wounds, bloody handprints being left behind as you gain small slashes and cuts all over the rest of your body as you drag yourself through the metal debris. All the while you can hear the ever closer footsteps of the other you, metal claws scraping against the walls of the cavern as your breath becomes quick with panic.

Your crawling is abruptly cut off as a foot comes down harshly over your ankle, a howl of pain forcing its way out of you and bouncing off the walls along with Professor Fig’s still echoing screams. You twist your body to look over your shoulder, the other you smiling with sharp teeth and hatred burning in their eyes as they grind their foot down further into your broken bones. You scream once more, the smile on the monster’s face growing wider at the sound.

“You’ve killed him twice now.” They jeer, their mocking tone hitting you like a slap in the face as they lean down to address you.

“No! I-”

“You can’t lie to me. We both know you killed him. He couldn’t have even accessed the repository without you being there to show him the way.” They lean even further now, their weight on your ankle excruciating as their face rests inches away from yours. “You may as well have left him in Gringotts. It would’ve been far easier for everyone since the old fool was going to die anyway.”

You turn away from your own distorted face, ready to continue crawling even with your ankle trapped when a growl is heard behind you. The claws of the monster’s hands dig into your back, and you arch painfully as you try and fail to escape the pain.

“How long until the next one dies, hm? Do you think things will end any differently for your new ‘mentor’?”

Just as they finish their taunt the unmistakable footsteps of Professor Sharp can be heard from the mouth of the cavern, and despite the claws still embedded in your back you begin to struggle. 

You suddenly remember the last time you encountered this version of yourself, the boggart in Professor Sharp’s wardrobe being thwarted by the man the second he saw it. 

You desperately call out for Professor Sharp as you continue flailing, begging the man for help as you let out strangled sobs of pain. You can hear him pick up the pace, his uneven footsteps sounding rushed as he quickly makes his way through what you know is a shallow opening to the cave. 

“Go ahead, call for him.”  The claws dig in even further as they put more of their weight on your back, leaning down to whisper in your ear with putrid breath. You whimper in pain, only for another ear piercing scream to be ripped from you as the deeply embedded claws drag down your back, the sensation reminding you of the gytrash attack as your skin tears painfully. 

“I think we should just get rid of him now to get it out of the way.”

Suddenly you are sitting up, your blood curdling screams for help still ripping their way out of your throat only stopping as you hear a banging to your right.

You are free to move once more, taking full advantage of it as you throw yourself to the side away from the noise, only to be suddenly stopped by the force of an invisible wall as a shimmering light ripples where you harshly make contact.

Professor Sharp is there in rumpled clothes, wand raised as he frantically looks around the room. There is a haze over your view of the man as he walks further in the room, wide-eyes clearly inspecting the room in search of any intruders that might be lurking in the dark as he keeps his wand drawn defensively. As you continue to sob from your now curled up position against the headboard you quickly realize it isn’t just Professor Sharp who is hazy, as the entire room looks distorted. 

A shield charm. You are looking through a shield charm- one that was definitely cast by the professor still scanning the area for danger. The shield charm drops and the room is much brighter, every light available suddenly dimly lit as Professor Sharp quickly makes his way to your side. 

You are still breathing erratically, the sound of your own heartbeat ringing in your ears as you take heaving breaths that are quickly strangled off by more sobbing. You are tightly coiled around yourself, your hands shaking as they reach down to grab at the ankle that was broken mere moments ago and you push your back further against the wall to protect yourself from being stabbed once more.

“You- are you alright? What happened?” Professor Sharp is speaking rapidly, eyes wide and filled with concern as he repeats his questions. His hands are raised though they hover in the air above you, almost as though he is unsure how to even comfort you in this moment as you continue to spiral. 

You can’t bring yourself to answer as you feel phantom pains in your ankle and back, the pain feeling both very real and nonexistent at the same time leaving you disoriented. You look down at where your hands are gripping your ankle, expecting blood to be there from the gashes left behind by goblin metal. 

It takes a moment as you are still hyperventilating, but as you finally focus on shaking hands they are clean, your sheets remaining a blemish free soft yellow with no hints of red to be found. Still, you grip your ankle tightly, convinced that if you let go the bones will be broken as they had been moments ago.

“Your ankle? Here let me…” Finally with a direction in mind, Professor Sharp’s words come out less frantic though they are still slightly rushed. You are still gripping your ankle tightly, and for a moment it seems like Professor Sharp is prepared to loosen your fingers for you though it seems he thinks better of it at the last minute, instead resting his hands over yours. 

“If you are hurt I need to see.” You don’t even realize you are shaking your head at the request, completely focused on holding your bones together and protecting them from being crushed any further. You aren’t looking at Professor Sharp any more, instead looking down at your hands through the blur of tears, knuckles now white with the effort that you are gripping your ankle though it is hard to tell with Professor Sharp’s hands covering most of yours. 

“Can you at least tell me what hurts? What is the injury?” The request is far softer now that Professor Sharp is calmer, his words spoken carefully as though he were talking to a first-year rather than a soon to be sixth-year.

“I-it’s broken. I k-know it is.” You reply through shuddering breaths. You can hear the slight halt in his own breathing as he sucks in a sharp inhale, though he soon returns to a calmer state as he addresses you once more.

“I really need to see it then. I’ll be gentle, but you need to move your hands for me.” Even at his lower tone of voice he sounds deadly serious. Professor Fig’s all encompassing fear re-enters your mind, Professor Sharp being a direct contrast of him which somehow puts you at ease knowing there is someone else who can take control of the situation. 

Tears are still welling up in your eyes though you are no longer sobbing, instead crying silently with hitched breaths as you attempt to match Professor Sharp’s level of calm before you slowly unfurl your fingers from around your ankle. Professor Sharp moves his own hands as well, one gently moving your hands away as the other has his wand pointed at the extremity. You are unsure what spell he is casting as a warm wash of magic moves through you, but soon the wand is back down at his side as he looks at you with furrowed brows.

“You’re fine. Nothing is broken.” You shake your head again, and while you go to grab at your ankle once more you are met with resistance as Professor Sharp keeps hold of your hands with both of his own. The sensation has you feeling trapped, though at the same time you can’t bring yourself to shake his hands away, the comfort of his strong yet gentle grip helping you to feel more grounded in reality.

“It- I swear I- They broke it. I was being crushed and-.” You look at Professor Sharp then, his face pinched in concern with his jaw set tightly at your words. He squeezes your hands in his then, the action reminding you too much of Professor Fig as you let out another shuddering breath. “You have to believe me, it's broken.”

Professor Sharp gently shakes his head then, releasing one hand from yours as he moves to grab your ankle gently. You flinch instinctively as he provides a gentle shake, squeezing your eyes tightly and inhaling sharply as you prepare for pain.

After a moment of waiting you open your eyes, your ankle still being slightly shaken as Professor Sharp looks at you with an expression that can only be described as a mixture of concern and serious, furrowed eyebrows over soft eyes with a slight frown on his face.

“You were dreaming. Whatever happened I swear it wasn’t real. No one is coming into my house and breaking any of your bones under my watch.” His voice is firm as he reassures you, determined eyes locked with yours as they match the seriousness of his words.

“No it- it was so real-” 

“It never happened.” Your stuttering is cut off by Professor Sharp squeezing your hands once more, his voice gentler now as he tries to comfort you, though you know he is wrong.

“But it did happen! I killed him!”

Your shouting is met with silence, Professor Sharp’s eyes widening slightly as he takes in your words. You rip your hands from his, covering your face as you bury your head into your knees, needing to get away from any more wide eyes whether they are filled with concern, shock, or fear. 

Professor Fig’s face swims behind your eyelids, a mixture of what you now know was a nightmare and what really happened in reality playing in your mind. Either way you are haunted by the man as you curl further into yourself, whether it is by his wide eyes filled with terror or dead eyes slowly slipping closed.

The small amount of control you had over your panic is now lost, and you are practically hyperventilating when suddenly there is a warm weight on your back. You panic for a moment, convinced that somehow the claws have returned to tear into you once more before you realize it is an arm. Professor Sharp pulls slightly, tugging you to settle neatly into his side just as he had when taking a picture with you for your birthday. 

You are curled up against him as he leans slightly against the headboard, your legs drawn up to your chest as his arm wrapped around your shoulder holds you tightly. You try your best to focus on his breathing rather than your own shuddering breaths.

You can feel the expanding and compressing of Professor Sharp’s body with each breath he takes, the rhythm calm and evenly spaced unlike your own. You continue to pathetically imitate the breathing of the man next to you as he begins to rub small circles with his thumb over your shoulder, the motion helping to ground you to reality as the gentle motions replace the feeling of claws piercing your skin.

“Can you tell me about it?” His question is quiet, barely louder than your shuddering breathing, though you heard him all the same. 

Still, the question is so loaded that you aren’t even sure where to begin. No matter where you start, whether it is with the nightmare or with the reality it was based on, there is far too much for you to possibly cover. 

Do you start with the hardest part, Professor Fig’s death and your involvement in it? The Keepers and what they had failed to do and instead relied on you to finish in their stead, a then fifteen year old who barely knew how to cast lumos? Perhaps the repository being an amalgamation of both the biggest secret you have ever had to keep and all of your anxieties for the future rolled into one? Worst of all, the potential that ancient magic and said repository could turn you into the same thing it did Ranrok. 

Into a monster.

Professor Sharp is patient as he sits with you and waits, continuing to rub your shoulder gently as you are lost in thought. Strangely as you continue to think about what you could even say you find yourself growing calmer, your breathing settling into a regular rhythm and the tears finally drying on your face. 

“This isn’t the first time you’ve said that you believe Fig’s death is your fault.” Despite the statement being spoken softly by Professor Sharp, clearly hesitant to disturb you, it still rings in your ears just as the words had echoed off the walls of the cavern you felt you were trapped in mere moments ago.

Of course, you remember exactly when you said as much, the argument the night you were attacked by the gytrash still weighing heavily on your mind even now when everything has long since been settled between you both.

It doesn’t matter. He’s dead, it’s my fault, and now you're stuck with me.

You almost wince at the memory of it, the words feeling just as defeated and bitter as they had been when you first said them. Still, you didn’t think Professor Sharp had picked up on that part of your argument considering he never mentioned anything about it again.

“It’s not true. You know that, right?” His question is delivered gently acting more as reassurance rather than a genuine question as he interrupts your thoughts. You remain absolutely silent, almost holding your breath as though even the simple act of breathing could betray your true feelings on the matter. 

It is your fault, so any response given would either be wrong in Professor Sharp’s eyes, or wrong in yours. 

He lets out a heavy sigh at your silence, his grip tightening around you slightly before he slowly sits up pulling you along with him. You can’t help but mourn the loss of comfort as he moves away from you, turning so he is facing you rather than the side-by-side position you both have been in. 

He settles back down with his back to the wardrobe, his left leg hanging off the bed as his right curls below him in a comfortable position. You are sitting cross legged on the bed, your arms folded protectively over your middle as you realize his sudden move was to be able to look you in the eyes as he speaks.

“I may not know what exactly happened below Hogwarts that day, and Merlin knows I have tried to figure it out, but I do know that whatever happened wasn’t in any way your fault.” His face is set into a serious expression, eyes peering into yours in almost a soft way despite the hard lines settling over the rest of his face. “I read the end of Fig’s journal myself. Thought it could help me understand what kind of mess you got into last year. The ending wasn’t exactly informative.” 

“It was rather sentimental towards the end.” You offer, turning to look at your new bookshelf- courtesy of Professor Sharp- where Professor Fig’s journal is displayed neatly on an easel-like stand. Its binding is intact with golden stars shining brilliantly even in the moonlight, thankfully nothing like the torn and squashed mess it had been in your nightmare.

“And yet you still think that there is a possibility that Professor Fig would’ve blamed you.” His counterpoint is delivered a bit stern in comparison to how he had been addressing you so far, his words firm as he continues to look at you even as you continue to look towards Professor Fig’s journal. “I’ve been reading your essays for weeks now. I know you have better reading comprehension than that.”

You close your eyes then, knowing that he was referring to the way Professor Fig chose to document your trials and adventures which was a pretty distinct departure from the rest of his writings. 

While his entries from his days with the Ministry, Miriam, and Hogwarts had been quite detailed; entries relating to you had been rather vague, most likely in an effort to conceal ancient magic from anyone else who might read it. Still, he wrote quite a bit during that time, most of it being more about his fears and hopes for you rather than what was causing the hope and fear in the first place. 

He practically is addressing you rather than writing for himself towards the end, just as Professor Sharp had said when giving you the book in the first place.

“It doesn’t change anything. He wrote all of that before I…before he died.” You mutter, looking past Professor Sharp to stare once more at Professor Fig’s book. No matter how long you stare at it beautifully intact, you are still expecting to see the journal scattered on a blood covered cavern floor, binding destroyed and pages spread around rather than sitting comfortably on the shelf.

Avoiding the gaze of the man in front of you only leaves room for you to remember the wide eyes filled with fear from your nightmare. You can’t help but shudder at the thought of whether or not those wide eyes were created by your mind, or if they are instead your mind remembering his face down in the repository subconsciously. 

Everything moved so fast then, but perhaps the dream merely slowed things down for you.

“You’re right. It doesn’t change anything. His death doesn’t change the fact that he clearly cared so much for you in his life that he willingly followed you into the most dangerous battle he had faced in his long life.” Professor Sharp’s words are sure and firm, and while you still can’t bring yourself to look away from the bookshelf you don’t need to see the man to know he believes every word he says. 

Professor Sharp takes your hands in his then, the movement drawing your eyes downwards to where your hands meet as you continue to avoid his gaze. The pads of his fingers and palms are rough, thick calluses from years of potions making and most likely even stemming from his time working as an Auror grounding you back to reality. 

For a moment the eyes are gone, both the wide-eyed ones filled with terror and the ones staring blankly devoid of any life as you focus instead on the feeling of his hands gently squeezing yours. You both sit in silence then just as you had before, with Professor Sharp silently offering his support as you try to pull yourself together. 

It isn’t until the feeling of dread has almost completely subsided that you feel confident enough to look up, Professor Sharp clearly waiting for a signal from you to keep speaking.

“No one but you knows what happened down there, but I don’t need all the facts to know that you didn’t kill him. I know you. You could look me in the eyes and say you did, and even then I wouldn’t believe it.” He waits a moment after speaking, his eyes looking directly into yours with a determined yet open expression as though he expects you to attempt to do as much. 

You almost consider trying to convince Professor Sharp what you know to be true, but the words die before they even reach your throat at his sincere expression. You don’t even feel the tear that escaped your eye until it drips down onto your own arm, and you remove a hand to swipe at your face quickly.

“I’ve seen cold-blooded killers, and you aren’t one of them. You killed Ranrok and Rookwood and I’m sure countless others while fighting for your life, but it's not the same. You are not the same as them. Professor Fig’s death is not your fault. You didn’t kill him.” His words are so sincere, almost as though he were begging you to believe what he already knows to be true. 

You are still struggling to believe him completely, but for once you feel as though you might be able to. Professor Sharp must see some sort of shift in your expression, his posture finally relaxing a bit from the focused one he had been set in for the entire conversation. 

“There is one last thing that we need to talk about tonight.” He gives your hand another squeeze with his own, taking a deep breath before speaking once more. “In your sleep you were screaming for me to save you from…well the things you were saying didn’t make a lot of sense. Can you tell me who it was that attacked you? Who were you so afraid of?”

You inhale sharply then, pulling your hand still in his grasp back towards yourself as you fold your arms protectively over your chest. You know you woke up screaming, but you didn’t realize you were actually screaming for help.  

You remember begging Professor Sharp to help you in that cave, the words all a blur to you now though they clearly must’ve been spoken in reality as well. You think about how panicked Professor Sharp had seemed when you woke, and you feel a mixture of guilt and embarrassment at the realization.

“My boggart.” You mutter, and while Professor Sharp gives no indication he heard you, you can practically hear the gears turning in his head as remains perfectly still and silent across from you. “It-it’s me but also not me at the same time.”

“I must admit, your boggart is more…intense than most. I’ve only ever seen a boggart manifest as their victim once before, and even then it was as a ghost and not…well whatever it is yours turns into.” His voice is still soft though there is a more conversational quality to it. Clearly Professor Sharp is trying his best to be as calm and normal as possible despite the subject matter. Somehow it works as even if it is horrifying that your boggart is yourself, you can take comfort that you aren't the only one something like this has happened to.

“It used to be different before everything that happened. My boggart, I mean.” 

“Boggarts take on the form of whatever frightens us most, a manifestation of both their subject’s biggest fears as well as their deepest traumas.” He recites the information that you read for your make-up assignments perfectly, almost as though it was something he had read over and over himself. “Mine changed as well. It happens.”

“Which is yours?” You mumble, unsure what compelled you to shift to Professor Sharp’s boggart rather than discussing your own. To his credit, Professor Sharp only takes a moment to adjust to the deflection, his expression a bit guarded as he takes a deep breath before answering.

“The latter.” His answer is clipped, his own voice taking on a bit of a defensive edge despite how calm he appears to be. “Like I told you before, mine changed as well.”

There is another moment where neither of you speak, and you are sure the two of you are thinking about the same thing. His boggart was a man, a poorly disguised wizard if you had to hazard a guess, and you feel slightly ill as you work out what moment Professor Sharp might find scary enough that it is his boggart to this day.

Professor Sharp takes another deep breath, and while he remains tense around the shoulders you can see him trying to visibly relax. After a long exhale he makes purposeful eye contact, and it seems he has made up his mind about something though you are unsure what it could be.

“That night at Scarborough Harbour…” He swallows audibly, seeming a bit uncomfortable as he speaks. You want nothing more than to tell him to forget that you asked and change the subject, tell him he doesn’t need to tell you anything that he doesn’t want to, but before you can even try he is speaking once more. “Being cursed is a pain that I wouldn’t wish on my worst enemy. Not even him.”

His voice is low, almost a whisper at the end, though you can clearly hear the deep pain beneath them. At this Professor Sharp breaks eye contact, looking down at his tightly clasped hands, knuckles white from the force they are holding each other though there is still a slight tremor coming from them all the same. “The worst part is I don’t even know if he is the one who killed my partner, just that he cursed me and then I was at St. Mungo’s alone.” 

He lets out a scoff then, his face twisting into a bitter and resentful expression. “We never caught him either. The only reinforcements we had wasted time with me rather than going after him and his shipment.”

“Would you have died if they had gone after him instead?” You ask in a whisper, the question practically forcing its way out of you before you can think better than to ask it. 

After a moment it is clear that Professor Sharp isn’t going to answer, and you suppose that either possibility would be hard to come to terms with. Either he would’ve died that night, but at least his partner’s killer as well as his own would’ve been caught, or he wouldn’t have and instead his injury truly did allow the man to get away. 

While you don’t think they ‘wasted time’ as Professor Sharp had put it, you feel that anything else you could offer on the matter would fall on deaf ears. You decide it's time to give Professor Sharp a break from his own demons, even if it means you have to talk about your own instead.

“I think my boggart is a mixture of the two, I suppose. My biggest fear and biggest trauma rolled into one.” Professor Sharp takes in your words, his hands still shaking slightly even as he lets out a humorless laugh.

“Well, you have always been an overachiever.” The joke falls flat, the two of you clearly in no mood to find any humor in the situation as another silence falls on you both. “What is it supposed to be?”

“Ranrok could wield ancient magic. I’m still not sure if it was something he was born with like me or if he merely found a way to absorb it through Isid- well, through his own means.” It would’ve been impossible for Professor Sharp not to have noticed your slip up, though it seems he is more interested in where this explanation is going rather than probing you for more information at the moment. “If he figured out how to use ancient magic…well that's one thing, but if he was born able to wield it…” 

You don’t want to even speak it into existence, trailing off rather than asking what you have always been too afraid to consider. 

What if he and I are the same?

You swallow past the lump in your throat at the thought before continuing.

“Ancient magic corrupted him. He became some sort of monster.” The word feels childish as you say it, but there isn’t anything else that can truly encapsulate what he had become. The way he formed some sort of dragon-like creature, molten goblin metal shifting into a living repository swirling with corrupted magic. It was so surreal in the worst possible way. 

How else could you have described him if not as something completely monstrous?

“Ancient magic corrupted him,” Professor Sharp repeats, his voice slow and deliberate as if he is trying to piece together a puzzle you hadn’t meant to leave behind. “So that means your boggart-”

“Is what I could have been…maybe even what I have yet to become.”

Immediately after you admit your greatest fear of all, the fear of becoming a monster yourself, Professor Sharp goes rigid. He suddenly looks a bit pale, and you begin to fear for the worst as his eyebrows pitch upwards and his eyes widen. 

After every misstep you have taken while under Professor Sharp’s roof, this is the moment that has him sending you away, perhaps directly to the Ministry out of fear of what might happen. 

Out of fear of what you could become.

“We can stop it. Whatever it is that happened to him we can- no. No, I will stop it. We just need to learn more about it-” He is speaking rapidly, his words firm and determined with his face set to match, jaw set and eyes resolute. You barely have time to absorb his words before he continues. “I read the end of Fig’s journal myself- none of it made any sense but still there is something there that- that I just don’t understand. Perhaps if you read it with me we can formulate some sort of plan. I just need the proper context to figure this all out.” 

It's so strange to see Professor Sharp this way, the usually level-headed man on edge and more panicked than he was as he burst through your door earlier. He is rambling almost more to himself than he is to you as he moves to get up, the movement jerky despite the very clear destination he has in mind with eyes focused on Professor Fig’s journal. 

“It’s not- that’s not how it works. It didn’t just happen.” You stammer after shaking off the shock of Professor Sharp not being afraid of you, but rather afraid for you. You throw an arm out to grab Professor Sharp, your hand on his elbow stilling him as he turns to look at you with brows furrowed in confusion though his eyes are still wide with unfiltered panic and concern. “It’s…well it's hard to explain.”

“Clearly it must be considering Fig obsessively documented every bloody moment of his life other than the only thing I need to know about.” He settles his weight back on the bed, his legs now sitting thrown over the side as though he were still prepared to march over to the shelf and demand Professor Fig’s journal gives him answers. You decide to move to sit next to him rather than awkwardly behind him, settling bare feet on the ground next to his sock clad ones.

“Do you know what he was after down there? Ranrok, I mean.” You speak softly, almost as though whispering would make it easier to say what you have been barred from openly speaking about for your own safety for the better part of a year

“I’m going to assume you lied to the Ministry if that is the beginning of your explanation.” While it typically would come across as sarcastic from the man, his voice has dropped to match yours in tone and volume, his body language still tense from the slight panic he had experienced.

“Well…not entirely. There was a stretch of time where Ranrok was after me, though it wasn’t just because I could wield ancient magic.” Professor Sharp remains silent, looking at you with open curiosity as he waits for you to explain further, and at this point you decide that going back to the basics might be your best bet. 

And so, you tell him everything.

Chapter Text

“It’ll be September soon.” 

His comment breaks the comfortable silence that had fallen over the two of you while brewing in the basement, Professor Sharp brewing what must be a rather complicated potion while you work on a small batch of Cure for Boils under his watchful eye. 

Cure for Boils is something that has already been taught to your peers during their first-year class, but when you had asked if you could work on some of the sixth-year material in your potions book, Professor Sharp was rather cryptic when suggesting you perfect this potion in preparation for your sixth-year. You had asked if there was some sort of modified version that you would be learning in sixth-year potions, and his response of a shrug with a slight smile was all you needed to confirm your theory.

You hum in response to his comment, unsure what else could really be said as you carefully add the stewed horn slugs to the blue tinted potion, stirring gently before taking the potion off the heat to carefully add your porcupine quills. You can tell Professor Sharp is watching you out of the corner of your eye, though you try to stay focused on not boiling over your potion as you stir the potion carefully clockwise the appropriate number of times before waving your wand to complete the brew. 

Professor Sharp moves over to your station then, your own table and burner newer than the rest of the furniture in the basement as Professor Sharp set up your own little space in the room soon after that first day you came down here to brew the pepper-up potion. It is noticeably closer to the entrance of the basement, away from the more volatile ingredients towards the darker corners of the room which Professor Sharp’s own cauldron is closer to. 

You can’t tell if you are offended that he doesn’t trust you around dangerous ingredients when you have been through far worse, or touched that he wants you to be as far out of harm’s way as you can be- even if it’s just brewing potions at home. Whatever the reason was, the station is all yours and you feel grateful for it all the same.

Professor Sharp lets out a hum of approval as he looks at the deep blue liquid in your cauldron before gesturing for you to vial it yourself. You quickly do as instructed, and as soon as you have the potion in hand he takes it from you to inspect closer. He narrows his eyes as he looks at the potion, holding it up to the light coming in through the small windows towards the ceiling before returning it to you.

“Expertly done. Though at this point I would’ve been surprised if it turned out otherwise.” 

You can’t help but feel a bit embarrassed at his praise, a compliment like that typically being considered a rare occurrence from the gruff professor during the school year. Professor Sharp has made sure to keep things as constructive as possible when it comes to potions after you admitted that you are interested in pursuing potions beyond what is standard. It seems when he offered to help you excel he meant it, and you can’t help but feel like the apprenticeship Mrs. Whittle had assumed you were here for is finally more fact than fiction.

Professor Sharp inspects his own potion silently as you take care of your own mess, ingredients needing to be returned to their shelves and the cauldron needing to be cleaned occupying your hands as your mind continues to wander. 

The sound of something being burned draws your attention as Professor Sharp stands over his own cauldron, one of his hands still raised as though he dropped something into the brew. You stand a bit taller, hoping that from your new angle you can see what he did, though you were too late as he soon lowers his hand and continues to watch the bubbling cauldron.

Professor Sharp seems to notice the sudden silence from your side of the room, looking over with a suspicious squint. You quickly return to cleaning your potions station, trying your best to seem like you weren’t staring. You can hear him let out an amused exhale at your antics, though you ignore it in favor of quickly getting the job done. 

“It's something you’ll learn towards the end of the year.” He clarifies in a casual tone of voice, and you can’t help but look at him curiously which only results in Professor Sharp letting out another amused puff of air through his nose. 

“And you’re sure that I can’t just work on something for class now?” You ask, trying not to get your hopes up.

Professor Sharp has been rather consistent when it comes to not working with you too much on what you will soon learn in class. You aren’t sure if its to avoid you having an ‘unfair advantage’ as he so often puts it or if it’s so you don’t go ahead and brew advanced potions on your own as you often did last year, but either way you are starting to feel a bit annoyed by his refusal to work with you on more advanced brews. Reviewing potions from the years prior can only be interesting for so long, even if you weren’t actually at Hogwarts to do them the first time around.

Professor Sharp levels you with a look that so clearly says ‘nice try’, his mouth quirked upwards slightly with a raised eyebrow to match. You shrug in response, your own silent reply not going unnoticed as Professor Sharp rolls his eyes and looks back towards his potion once more.

Well. It was worth a shot.

You are finished with clearing away your station and about to head up the stairs when Professor Sharp clears his throat to get your attention once more. He isn’t looking at you, instead adding some sort of shimmering powder to his cauldron as he stirs gently. “It’s almost September.”

You scrunch your face up slightly in confusion, remembering that Professor Sharp had already said as much earlier. “Yeah…only a couple weeks to go, I suppose.”

“A week and a half.” He corrects, and you merely shrug in response even if he isn’t able to see it. It’s the twenty-first of August, though you don’t think that the difference between a week and a week and a half is so important that he really needed to correct you. “You didn’t take it last time, but the Hogwarts Express departs the first of September.”

“School starts soon.” You say in slight surprise, both at how soon the new school year is and that you could even forget with how focused you had been on finishing all your summer assignments for this very deadline.

“And you need supplies.” He states matter-of-factly, stirring his potion once more in the opposite direction before flicking his wand to remove it from its burner. He checks his pocket watch for a moment, looking back towards his potion before finally turning to address you properly. “If I remember correctly, the school had provided your supplies last year in consideration for your…unique circumstances.”

It wasn’t exactly a question, but you find yourself nodding in response all the same. Professor Sharp isn’t surprised to find he had been correct, though you are sure that with how unheard of it was for a student to start as late as you had it would be difficult for all the details surrounding your enrolling process to be forgotten by anyone involved.

“I suppose that means you’ve never been to Diagon Alley?” You furrow your brows in response as you try to remember Professor Fig mentioning it, and while you think you faintly recall him talking about how there is an Olivanders there as well you are drawing a blank. Professor Sharp looks a bit amused as you think for a moment longer, only to nod in understanding as he figures out the answer. 

“Well I only need another…twenty minutes here and then we can go. Make sure to grab your supplies list from your room.”

Apparating to Diagon Alley is less unpleasant than your last time apparating, though not by much. 

The apparition point for most wizards seems to be a large space between two shops, the circular platform reminding you a bit of those landing platforms you had come across while on your broom. Professor Sharp is quick to guide you off the platform, and while there is the unmistakable popping sounds of appararating every now and then it seems that the floos are being used far more than anything else as green flames constantly reflect on the glass of a handful of shop windows.

Your supply list consists mostly of general supplies as well as specific books for each of your classes. Professor Weasley sat down with you at the end of the school year to help you decide what classes you would be taking, and she decided it would be best if you took a diversified set of courses to give you the most options for the future since you haven’t had nearly as much time as your peers to decide what you want to do.

Your schedule consists of N.E.W.T. level courses in most of the classes you had taken last year, with the exception of divination and astronomy as you considered those courses to be less useful in comparison to the others. Ancient magic doesn’t seem to apply to divination despite Professor Rackham’s clear skill, and after all your work with the astronomy tables last year you feel that you have gotten all that you can out of astronomy.

Ancient runes and Magical Theory had been added to the list in their place Professor Weasley had recommended these courses not only to help further your understanding of the basics you might be missing, but also in case anything in either course translates nicely into your ability to wield ancient magic.

Your chest constricts slightly at the thought of being in the Magical Theory classroom without Professor Fig or his many books filling the space, but soon you are pushed out of your thoughts by Professor Sharp nudging your shoulder.

“Do you need to stop and get robes for the new year?” He asks, tilting his head towards what must be the equivalent of Gladrags for Diagon Alley. 

The shop is a bit worn down looking, but despite this the building is still somewhat charming. Through the large glass windows you can see several younger students standing on platforms getting their new school robes fitted, the black trim of the robes signifying that these students are soon to be sorted first-years. There is also the occasional older student milling about, though they seem more interested in specialized robes, scarves, and ties rather than the standard sets displayed on the moving mannequins in the windows.

You know you have so many robes and alternate uniforms from Gladrags spread around the Room of Requirement that even if you were to experience any major growth spurts or changes now, you would still have plenty of options to choose from. Still, there isn’t any way to explain how exactly you got enough galleons to afford so many articles of clothing in the first place, so you decide to keep your response as simple as possible.

“No, my uniform from last year still fits fine.” You reply with a shake of your head, and Professor Sharp seems content with your answer as you both move on. You only walk past a couple storefronts before something catches Professor Sharp’s eye, the man stopping abruptly before letting out an annoyed huff. 

You look towards where he is staring, which ends up being a tea shop similar to Steepley’s & Sons in Hogsmeade. It feels a bit out of place amongst the other locations which are clearly meant to cater to students or those working in academics, but you suppose that shopping no matter where you all could work up an appetite. 

The shop itself has what appears to be fresh coats of paint over old chipping ones, the uneven texture giving it a bit of charm despite how unsightly it could potentially have been. Large unobstructed windows provide a view inside, the many small tables occupied by tired looking adults and the occasional child sitting with them. 

Of course, there is one table in particular that immediately draws your eye. 

Professor Hecat is sitting near one of the windows looking rather pleased with herself as she pins Professor Sharp with an amused look, one eyebrow raised in a way that feels familiar after spending the summer with the professor who practically invented it. She then makes eye contact with you, her smile growing more mischievous as she shoots you a wink before she slides her eyes back over to Professor Sharp once more. Whatever it is she finds so amusing, she believes you are on her side of the joke, and frankly you would rather that be the case than the other way around.

“Come on.” Professor Sharp instructs with another annoyed huff, beginning the painstaking walk across the extremely busy road. Luckily for you he clears the path, pedestrians moving willingly for the gruff man as you follow in his wake.

“Fancy seeing you here, Aesop.” Professor Hecat greets in a slightly teasing tone, her smile wide like the cat that got the cream as she drags out her words in an overly dramatic display of faux surprise. “Doing some shopping? Running low on boomslang skin? Toad spleens?”

“Perhaps I should pick up more baneberry extract.” Professor Sharp jabs back, earning a light chuckle from the older woman.

“You wouldn’t poison me, Aesop. You like me too much.”

“Yeah, keep telling yourself that.” Professor Sharp mutters, narrowing his eyes at the older woman. You can’t quite tell if it is meant good-naturedly or not, but either way you can’t help but let out an amused exhale at the exchange. 

Your exhale earns you the attention of both professors, almost as though they had forgotten you were there while bantering with one another. While Professor Hecat looks just as amused as she did before, Professor Sharp looks rather exasperated, though his look soon shifts to a slight smirk, clearly seeing a way out of what is obviously an unwanted conversation with Professor Hecat.

“Don’t think that they’ll save you from me.”  Professor Hecat remarks as she catches the look on Professor Sharp’s face. “You cancel our very important meeting out of the blue- the morning of is barely any notice at all- and imagine my surprise when it coincides with a rather significant beginning of the term sale at Diagon Alley.”

“And so you decided stalking me was an appropriate response.” Professor Sharp dryly states, and you can’t help but widen your eyes a bit at the accusation.

“I made an educated guess as to your whereabouts. There is a difference.” Professor Hecat smoothly replies, gesturing for Professor Sharp to sit across from her at the small table.

Before he does so he turns to look at you once more, rolling his eyes as soon as he is turned enough that Professor Hecat doesn’t have a clear view of his face. “You have your list, go ahead and get everything you need and meet me back here.” 

He waves his wand then, a dark pouch clearly filled with coins depositing into his hand with a muffled clink of coins before he hands it to you. “Don’t even think about spending your own money on anything on that list. Use these.”

You are about to protest, knowing that you have a full pouch of your own galleons from a year of adventuring the Highlands, though Professor Sharp looks as though he will be hearing none of it. 

“I’m your guardian and that means it is my job to provide for you, including school supplies. Feel free to use your own money for anything else, but I insist on covering the essentials.” His words are firm and leave no room for argument, so you simply nod your head in understanding. 

Professor Sharp looks satisfied with your acquiescence, finally moving to take a seat across from the still smiling Professor Hecat. He gestures for you to leave, giving you a barely perceptible smile of his own before turning to scowl at the smirking professor. You leave after receiving a friendly wave goodbye from the woman, the beginning of the professors’ conversation reaching you just as you push open the door to exit. 

“I was looking forward to school shopping, you know. I know for a fact that this could’ve waited until tomorrow.”

“Shirking your responsibilities to buy robes and books? It seems you are settling rather well into fatherhood, Aesop.”

The door shuts behind you then, and you more than anything wish that you could’ve heard his response. It isn’t the first time you’ve heard Professor Hecat specifically referred to Professor Sharp as a parent of sorts, though the last time it was while you were eavesdropping through floorboards, but now things are different. 

Being around Professor Sharp feels different.

Professor Sharp is…well he is Professor Sharp, but at the same time he is more. You want to hear if he acknowledges the change as well or if his response is one that will dispel these growing feelings of family.

You are shown out of your thoughts by someone bumping into you rather harshly. The grumbling man who shouldered you out of the way spits out a rude remark before entering the door you were accidentally blocking. 

You let out a scoff at the man’s behavior before looking at your list, quickly deciding that Flourish and Blotts is the best place to start since the storefront is visible from where you are standing.

As you approach you quickly notice that the shop is rather busy. Plenty of students and adults alike are constantly exiting and entering the shop, the passing faces looking either determined or exhausted depending on how long they must’ve been shopping today. The door has been propped open with a stack of books, the stack constantly shifting and reorganizing itself in a whimsical way that might be used to draw in more customers.

You enter the shop, immediately impressed with the sheer volume of books that the considerably cramped shop has for sale. There are wall to wall bookcases, the walls themselves lined in bookshelves which are jam packed with books. 

There are large placards over most sections, and while there are some sections that you would expect to see in a bookshop, most of them simply display school years. You suppose that this is some sort of temporary organizational method for the school rush, and you slowly make your way to the shelves beneath the gold plated Year Six placard.

There are a couple of faces you vaguely recognize as you make your way through the shop, though most of the other sixth-years are acquaintances at best rather than your actual friends. Still, you offer them a smile as you gather your own books, earning slightly stilted ones in return. 

You try not to let their lackluster responses get to you, though you can’t help but feel a bit annoyed all the same. You spend the better part of the year doing countless favors for your fellow student- not to mention saving the school from Ranrok’s plot- all for the Daily Prophet to ruin things for you in the span of a single summer. You decide to shake it off, knowing that you have the entire school year to redeem your reputation.

You grab the Transfiguration, Herbology, Charms, History, and Defense Against the Dark Arts books required for your sixth-year classes, thankful that Professor Sharp already got you your Potions textbook as it is one of the larger books of the bunch and your arms are already full. It seems that Care of Magical Creatures, Ancient Runes, and Magical Theory are all elective courses and will require you to visit other sections to find their associated texts and you begin the trek throughout the shop as you follow the placards to each section. 

You try your best not to drop the many textbooks on your way to wait in line, and you receive a couple of pitying looks from a few adults as you shuffle through the line. As you are waiting you look around and realize that most of the others are levitating their books to save them the trouble of holding them. You briefly consider doing the same, but the memory of Cressida’s failed attempt at this exact spell has you quickly abandoning the idea.

“Woah! Seems like you are a bit of an overachiever with all these books.” The older man at the til remarks as you set all your books down. You look around a bit at his comment, glancing at the amount of books floating above the other customers in an effort to see if you truly got more than is standard. “Not that that’s a bad thing, of course! An ambitious student is far better than a slacker.”

You offer a tight lipped smile in response, not wanting to be rude but at the same time not wanting to engage with the boisterous man. Thankfully the rest of the process goes smoothly and while you still feel bad about it, you hand over the appropriate amount of galleons from Professor Sharp’s pouch rather than your own. 

The bag from the bookshop is a bit of an encumbrance as you make your way to Slug and Jiggers Apothecary, which is unfortunately a bit of a walk away from Flourish and Blotts. You lug the heavy bag into the dark and dreary looking shop, the smell of various herbs, creature byproducts, and smells that can only be described as indescribable attack your senses.

This shop isn’t an organized chaos like Flourish and Blotts, but rather is a strictly maintained space. The shelves are mostly in alphabetical order, though there are several ingredients that you notice are shelved out of order, most likely due to their more volatile nature. You are reminded of Professor Sharp’s own supplies at home, and you are impressed with the organization skills of the man to be so similar to the shop. 

The shopkeeper is quick to take your list from you, the older woman clearly unwilling to let you wander the shop on your own. She seems rather experienced when it comes to the needs of Hogwarts students, barely looking at the list before putting it down and ringing up everything for you before flicking her wand to gather the ingredients herself. 

Her expression is one of slight annoyance, and you can’t help but wonder what her face would’ve looked like had Professor Sharp been able to accompany you shopping today as planned. Perhaps she would’ve been a bit nicer, but then again that would also mean that all the students you passed while book shopping would have been even quicker to dismiss you considering he isn’t exactly the most popular professor with your peers.

While the ingredients list is long for your sixth-year potions class, the ingredients are compact and don’t take up too much space, meaning that the bag you are handed is significantly lighter than the one full of books already in your hand. Once again you pay with Professor Sharp’s money, though this time the price is high enough to make you wince as you hand the large sum of galleons over. 

Far sooner than you had expected you are out of the darkness of the shop and into the well lit street once more. You look at your list, unsure what you might need to get now since as far as shopping goes, these courses are rather simple. 

You already own more than enough cauldrons as well as equipment for beast care thanks to the Room of Requirement, and the standard equipment such as parchment, ink, and quills was already crossed off your list as Professor Sharp had more than enough to spare for you in his study. You were reluctant to accept them at first, but he insisted that if you didn’t take them they simply wouldn’t be used as he tends to buy far more of  these types of items than he could realistically use. 

It was strangely humanizing to see that even someone as serious as Professor Sharp has something he buys on a whim, and his quill and ink sets were a far higher quality than anything you would’ve chosen for yourself. The thought of them going to waste had you begrudgingly giving in and accepting them, much to Professor Sharp’s delight. 

You briefly consider stopping by a shop you had passed on your way to Slug and Jiggers Apothecary, the many broomsticks in the window display leading you to believe it might be similar to Spintwitches. In the end you don’t see the point when you and Mr. Weekes have already worked so hard on broom upgrades for the broomstick you have. It almost feels like it would be a betrayal at this point since Mr. Weekes is basically your friend and pseudo business partner, so you decide to give the shop a skip. 

You decide to do some light window shopping while walking slowly back to the tea shop you left the two professors at, taking note of the sort of people that enter each shop as you try to work out what they sell from outside. 

There are some wizardwear shops that seem rather high end, wealthy looking witches perusing the racks while dragging annoyed looking children around the luxe shop. You see a price tag on one of the moving mannequins in the window that even Mr. Hill wouldn’t dream of pricing his enchanted robes at Gladrags, and so you quickly move on.

There is what appears to be some sort of standard goods shop, large glass vials and telescopes on display with a mixture of students and adults alike inside. There are a lot of smaller items that seem useful lining the windows as well. A newer, more compact Sneakoscope catches your eye, though fighting dark wizards for a year has given you a bit of a natural sense for anything the Sneakoscope could pick up so you give it a pass. Since you  opted out of Astronomy this year as well there also isn’t any point in upgrading from Amit’s telescope, so you also give this shop a skip.

You pass what appears to be a second-hand bookshop, though the weight of the books already in your possession quickly dashes any plans to go in. You could always stop by Haworth’s before leaving for Hogwarts anyway, which you had already planned on doing. 

Of course, the one thing you hadn’t thought of looking for finds its way to you. 

A newspaper stand selling several issues of various papers catches your eye, and you notice that the Daily Prophet makes up the majority of the stacks on display. You eye the stand warrily for a moment, but since there aren’t any other customers looking at the papers you take the chance to move closer and inspect them yourself.

The wizard peddling the papers seems disinterested as you approach, the man leaning so far back in his chair it would be impossible not to fall if he hadn’t clearly used magic to balance. His hat is low on his face to block the streams of sunlight that make their way through the buildings, and you decide that it would be best not to bother him as you look nervously at the headlines.

You brace yourself for whatever monstrous defamation you will have to face today, only to be pleasantly surprised that there isn’t anything obviously about you on the front page. Instead there is a scathing article about the corruption of the Ward family. 

You think you remember the Wards being mentioned in Professor Sharp’s research, though you struggle to recall exactly why. You put down your bags to pick up one of the papers and get a closer look at the smaller text to try and jog your memory. Unfortunately your bags land a bit harder than intended, the sound startling the resting man who flails his arms a bit as his chair sinks lower. Thankfully the magic he was using to recline so far back holds, the man grunting a bit as he pulls himself forward resulting in all four chair legs harshly hitting the ground.

“I’m up! I swear I’m up so don't you think about taking off without paying!” He exclaims, his hat still over his eyes as he whips a hand up to push the flat cap out of his face. You remain still, your arms still outstretched holding the paper just above the stack you had picked it up from. 

He squints at you for a moment, looking as though he is trying to place you but is struggling to do so. You hold your breath, realizing that if anyone would recognize you from the many defaming issues of the Daily Prophet focusing on you it would be the man who sells them. “Don’t I know you from somewhere?”

“Uh…no?” You’ve made more convincing bluffs in your past, but you find yourself wholly unprepared to face someone else who might have read about you after the last time. You swallow thickly then, putting the paper down and moving to grab your bags before he can put the pieces together, but an unfortunate look of recognition spreads across his face as he stands up to get a better look at you.

“No, I do know you! You’re Arthur’s kid aren’t ya?” He points over towards the second hand bookshop where you can only assume this ‘Arthur’ works. “I’d recognize one of Arthur’s kids anywhere!”

Clearly he wouldn’t since you aren’t even acquainted with thisArthur, let alone related to him, but you decide to recover from your previous bluff with the cover conveniently provided.

“Oh I didn’t know you knew my…dad. Sorry, I would’ve introduced myself sooner.” He waves off your concern, his smile wide on his face as he picks up the paper you were holding before looking at the front.

“Oh don’t worry about it! Any kid of Arthur’s is a kid of mine…wait no that doesn’t- let me try again. Any kid of Arthur’s is…uh…” He rubs the back of his neck as he concentrates, and you can’t help but take pity on the man.

“A friend of mine?” You suggest, and his smile is back as he nods enthusiastically.

“Exactly! Just like you old man, always helping me out! So, you want a copy of the Prophet then? Exciting new issue- lots of old family drama unfolding at the moment.” His pitch is just as enthusiastic as the rest of his words have been, and you nod in response in an effort to save yourself the trouble of lying any more than you need to. He seems content to fill the silence himself anyway.

“It really is something! The Wards have been respected for…decades maybe? Centuries? Which one is the long one again…oh well either way- a long time. Seats on the Wizengamot and everything. Then suddenly an anonymous tip comes in claiming that the Wards have been involved with several scandals of the illegality kind.” He rambles on, and you realize you might not need to buy the paper if you can just keep him talking.

“Breaking the law? How?” 

“Sharp mind just like your dad! So get this, Maruice Ward is the current head of the house- holds the seat and does all the important bits- but his daughter is one of the lead journalists for the Prophet. Turns out she had been obtaining confidential information from her father the entire time in an effort to push forward her own career. Seems to have worked too on account of the whole lead journalist thing.” He is leaning in now, his voice still just as lively despite the slightly lower volume he is speaking in. You lean in as well, unsure why he feels the need to gossip this way when it is apparently all information available in the paper but willing to indulge the man’s theatrics since he is helping you out.

“Is that usually a crime?” You ask, unsure if there really is any major issue here to report. Sure it might seem slimy, but reporters have their sources whether they are related or not.

The man claps his hands suddenly, his eyes wide with excitement as he begins to speak far too loud for the proximity you both are standing and you lean away from him once again. “That's the thing! Apparently the Wards have been blackmailing other chair members for their own profit- the coin kind not the newspaper kind. Blackmail! Now that's a crime…I think. The Prophet seems to think so anyway- the paper this time not the money. That’s what the anonymous tip was about: blackmail- and they must’ve had a lot of information about it since the paper feels way heavier than usual!”

“So what does that mean for the Wards?” You ask, trying to cover your humor at the man’s strange way of speaking, not that he seems to notice as he continues speaking without missing a beat.

“Bad trouble all around. Maurice is under review and might lose his seat to his younger sister- I think she lives in France, but I would bet more than a couple galleons that she would return for that. Power is everything to those old money types. The daughter- Ianeira Ward- lost her job, and at this point it looks like her engagement with the Malfoy’s boy is also going to be called off which is also a big deal for those old money types. Not to mention the charges and hefty fines that could be issued against them both for uh…collisions.”

“Collusion?” You correct him, though at this point you are preparing to end the conversation before the wizard tries to sell you the paper that he had already summarized for you.

“Yeah that's the word! A book reader just like your dad.”

“Uh yeah. Well it was nice talking with you, but I have to get going. Prof-Dad is expecting me back soon.” You are already gathering your bags off the ground, trying to ignore you near slip up while hoping that the wizard didn’t catch it as well. 

He looks confused for a moment, still holding the paper in his hand as though he is still expecting to make a sale, but it quickly is replaced with another smile. “I’ll see you around! Tell your dad hello for me, alright?” 

You nod at his request, quickly turning around and getting lost in the crowd in an effort to leave the paper stand and its salesman behind.

The Wards were mentioned all throughout Professor Sharp’s research. You do remember seeing that Ianeira was the witch writing all those disparaging articles about you, and there was quite a bit of work on Professor Sharp’s part to connect the Wards to the other wizarding families who were openly against you in the Wizengamot.

There isn’t any doubt in your mind that Professor Sharp was responsible for uncovering their ‘collisions’. He was an Auror after all, and Professor Hecat herself had told him to look into the subject that day she visited, though it seems so long ago now. 

Is this what he had been working on all this time? Were his meetings lately related to Hogwarts like you had assumed, or were they all in an effort to take down the Wards?

Soon you are back where you started, your thoughts distracting you for the entire walk as you stand in front of the tea shop. You awkwardly shoulder the door open since your hands are full, and you can’t help but scan the room as you typically do when entering a new place. 

An hour or so has passed, and while most of the patrons have cycled out for new ones, Professor Sharp and Professor Hecat are still sitting right where you had left them. Professor Sharp looks a bit more relaxed than he had been when you left, his body language more casual as he lets out an amused huff in response to whatever Professor Hecat had said before you entered. Professor Hecat spots you first, giving you a slight nod in greeting as you approach the table.

“Surely you’ve learned the feather-light charm by now?” Professor Sharp dryly asks as you set your bags down rather heavily onto the floor. You narrow your eyes at him, earning a chuckle from Professor Hecat who seems content to sit back and watch you both squabble.

“I learned it in theory, which is what happens when you are barred from using magic for half of your school work.” You snarkily reply back, and Professor Sharp throws his hands up rather dramatically in response.

“As if that is in any way my fault.” His tone is defensive, and you are quick to counter his claim.

“Your ancient grudge with the guy in charge of my permission slip begs to differ.”

“Ancient? I- How old do you think I am?” He sputters, his eyes widening slightly at your chosen phrase. Professor Hecat lets out a short laugh at his expense, and you almost feel bad for accidentally throwing the man into some sort of spiral during your slightly playful argument.

“If they think you are ancient, I am inclined to believe them. They are the leading experts on all things ancient, afterall.” Professor Hecat jabs, and it seems to knock Professor Sharp out of his thoughts as he points accusingly towards the older woman.

“As if I will ever trust your judgment regarding time.” He cuts back, and Professor Hecat holds a hand to her chest rather dramatically at the statement.

“Low blow, Aesop! Truly you are the Brutus to my Caesar.” She drawls, and Professor Sharp rolls his eyes once more.

“I’m Caesar.” He argues, and this time you can’t help but chuckle at his childish argument.

“Keep telling yourself that.” She snarks, her spine cracking a couple times as she stands slowly from her seat. Professor Sharp moves to do the same, with less pops and creaks than the older woman though he shakes his bad leg out a bit. 

“I’ll see you at Hogwarts and not a moment before, Dinah.” His statement is rather pointed, though Professor Hecat doesn’t seem fazed by it as she smiles at Professor Sharp.

“Of course…” She drawls, eyeing you for a moment before looking back towards Professor Sharp with a smirk. “Someone has to make sure your kid makes it to the train station on time, after all.”

She then apparates away before Professor Sharp can respond, the loud crack of magic drawing the attention of a couple customers as they grumble slightly at her lack of manners. Apparating seems to be one of those things that have plenty of unspoken rules, and you make a mental note to look into them if you ever get the chance to.

Professor Sharp lets out a harsh sigh, glaring at the few patrons still staring at the two of you who in turn quickly look away. You reach down for your shopping bags, only to quickly be intercepted by Professor Sharp who quickly snatches them from your reach to carry himself.

“First thing you’re doing when we get home is learning the feather-light charm practically rather than just in theory.” He grumbles, adjusting his grip on the bag containing the books with a slight groan before gesturing for you to lead the way out of the shop first.

You want nothing more than to ask what he and Professor Hecat were talking about, what all the meetings that he has been going to are about, and why you can’t shake the feeling that everytime he is away it has something to do with you. Of course, you don’t do that as you are unwilling to rock the boat that you and Professor Sharp seem to be on together. 

Instead you hold the door for him, silently wondering why he doesn't just use the charm himself but ultimately understanding that there are just some things that Professor Sharp always insists on doing himself the muggle way. 

You both walk until you are away from the hustle and bustle of the street, and when Professor Sharp juts an elbow out for you to take, you do so without question, apparating away with a loud crack of your own.

Chapter Text

Packing up everything for school is far harder than it had been last year. 

Last year you had been traveling by carriage with Professor Fig who was an infamously terrible hoarder. The majority of the trunks, books, and the owl cage had all belonged to the older man, while your one lightly packed trunk was buried by the rest of his things. 

You would never admit it, but in hindsight you are a bit relieved that the dragon attack resulted in the loss of your trunk. You had never been in any wizarding spaces since all your supplies were provided by the school, most likely bought by Professor Fig himself, meaning that everything you had packed had been distinctly muggle. Your trunk being destroyed meant that you had a great excuse to visit Gladrags often, which ultimately made it easier to blend in with the others both inside and outside of Hogwarts. 

This year, however, you have considerably more items to pack than you did before you had attended Hogwarts. Heavy robes,house themed scarves, and countless sweaters take up the bulk of your trunk. Even with the benefit of being able to pack using magic, there is quite a bit of reconfiguring required as you make an effort to have everything fit.

You are sitting in the center of your room, your trunk laid out in front of you as you wave your wand briskly towards the open wardrobe as you attempt to pack for the third time. You watch as your clothes neatly fold themselves before being placed in your trunk, the layer below of shrunken textbooks and heavy winter cloaks being covered bit by bit until your trunk is full to the brim. 

You let out a relieved sigh as everything finally seems to fit well enough you can close your trunk, and with a final wave of your wand the trunk snaps shut before it locks itself and sits upright. With your clothes packed up and your broom resting with your trunk, you look around to consider the rest of your room. 

There are small personal touches throughout the room that hadn’t been there at the start of your summer, such as a quilt Mrs. Whittle had made for you in your house colors as a late birthday gift. She must’ve asked Professor Sharp for advice on what materials to use as there would be no possible way for her to know such information, which somehow makes it feel more meaningful. 

The quilt currently sits on your bed, the neatly folded material practically begging to be packed as well despite the overly full trunk beside you meaning there isn’t really anywhere for it to go. You briefly consider simply carrying it with you on the train, but having never actually taken the Hogwarts Express before you aren’t entirely sure if you can even do something like that. The quilt might just have to wait until next summer.

Your bookshelf is also rather full, Professor Fig’s journal notably missing from its spot on the shelf as you had carefully packed it sans the shrinking charm in case it would damage the delicate book in any way. You had also taken a couple books with you, the next two copies of Turner and Thompson already packed away. Rachel insisted you write to her as you finish the books, the witch making an emphatic promise not to spoil anything since she will have access to the rest of the collection in your absence.

There are also a handful of photos around the room, most of them casually pinned to the wall near your writing desk. Some of them were sent by your friends, with Poppy sending the most photos out of the bunch as she seemed to have picked up photography over the summer. Several photos of various beasts and the unmistakable wriggling forms of the golden snidget hatchlings make you feel a bit more at home as you remember all the beasts still waiting for you in their vivariums which are currently being cared for by Deek in your absence. There are a couple from Natty pinned up as well, one large family photo of her visit to Matabeleland pinned up on the wall along with a few shots of the beautiful scenery from her homeland. 

While most of the photos in your room are unceremoniously pinned up on the wall there is one framed photo sitting comfortably on your desk, the picture having been a late gift of sorts as Professor Sharp made good on his promise to have the photos from your sixteenth birthday developed and returned to you. You and Professor Sharp are standing together by the window, his arm slung casually over your shoulder as you hold Professor Fig’s journal tightly to your chest. 

You watch the photo loop over once more, the beginning of the photo showing your hand just coming from where you had jabbed Professor Sharp in the side. His eyes widen and he appears to let out a sound of surprise at the action. You then begin to laugh in the photo, nearly doubling over as you grip the book tightly to your chest. Professor Sharp looks at you with faux annoyance for a moment, before breaking into laughter himself. His eyes crinkle at the corners as he throws his head back a bit with laughter before grabbing your shoulder to jostle you in retaliation, the two of you still chuckling lightly as the photo loops over once again.

The other photos from that day were given to you without frames, and you are thankful for it as you didn’t really feel the need to have several photos of just yourself around your room. Instead you barely looked at them before placing them in the drawer of your desk, some other copies of pictures from Poppy also resting there that didn’t quite make the cut of being put up on the wall. You can only put up so many pictures of the golden snidgets before they all start to look the same.

For a moment you are unsure if you should figure out what to do with all the personal items in your room. Professor Sharp has never made you feel like you shouldn’t expect to return to Albury next summer, in fact he has gone to great lengths to reassure you that the opposite is true, but you can’t ignore the fact that next summer will be your last summer before you are an adult in the wizarding world. 

It might be best to pack some things up now, that way when you turn seventeen next year it will be easier to transfer things to your grandmother’s house in London. You’re well aware that the property is currently vacant until you can properly claim it with your inheritance, Professor Fig thankfully helping you to settle a lot of the muggle legalities when he had informed you of her passing last year. While you had never really considered moving back to London with how quickly everything has happened since going to Hogwarts, it would make sense for you to eventually return there. 

You are drawn out of your thoughts by the rustling of paper from behind you. You turn just in time to see the paper crane that had flattened itself to fit beneath the door reforming itself, the crane flitting around the room quickly before landing in your lap. 

The paper crane is unmistakably slytherin as the cream paper shows dark green accents even in its folded state. It is also quite small, looking more like it came from a small note pad rather than being made of proper stationary as Professor Ronen’s cranes tended to be. 

You move to pick up the crane, though just as your fingers graze the paper the crane unfolds itself neatly, a neatly scrawled message now on display on now creaseless paper. 

The message is concise, simply stating that Professor Sharp requests you meet him in his study as soon as you are done packing. You let out an amused exhale not only because of the humorous delivery method, but also due to the fact that the message was coincidentally sent right as you had finished packing.  You stand and dust yourself off from being on the floor, putting the now unfolded sheet of paper on your desk before leaving the room.

You make your way downstairs to Professor Sharp’s study, standing outside for a moment as you listen to the crinkling of papers coming from inside. It seems Professor Sharp is working on something, the unmistakable sound of a quill scrawling over parchment making its way through the door before he shuffles through multiple pages once more. You stand listening for a couple seconds longer, working up the nerve to interrupt him before finally raising your hand to knock.

The rustling of papers stops immediately, the room silent for a moment before the rustling starts once more, this time far louder as though Professor Sharp is quickly gathering everything on his desk. You hear a drawer being slammed shut rather abruptly, and after waiting for him to invite you in you slowly move to enter the room.

The room is the same as it had been the last time you were here, the only noticeable difference being that now there is a briefcase sitting on the table near the fireplace that has a few books clearly taken from the shelves nearby resting in them. It seems that Professor Sharp is packing some of his things to go with him to Hogwarts as well. 

Professor Sharp clears his throat a bit at your blatant snooping, raising an eyebrow at you before waving his wand to scoot one of the armchairs over to sit on the other side of his desk. He gestures for you to take it, though on your way over something catches your eye. 

The shelf that holds the graduation photo of Professor Sharp, his partner, and his brother has been noticeably dusted with another framed photo now next to it. It was one of the photos taken on your birthday- specifically one that you know rests in your drawer upstairs. 

You remember that this photo was the second one taken that day following the one that had caught you off guard. This photo captures your response, and you watch as you chuckle lightly in the photo, sticking your tongue out before rolling your eyes as a clear taunt towards the man behind the camera before the loop repeats. It is surprisingly nice despite your sarcastic response, the candidness of the moving picture displaying a lot of personality, and you remember thinking at the time that these photos would’ve been useless, barely looking at them before putting them in your desk drawer upstairs.

“I’m a bigger fan of the one by the fireplace, personally.” Professor Sharp says in a slightly humored tone, and you can’t help but turn to walk towards the mantle that now displays another photo as well. 

It is the first photo taken that day, your eyebrow raised in an expression that you now can clearly tell has been picked up from all the time you have spent with Professor Sharp. Your accidental impression of the man quickly changes to one of surprise as you blink harshly at the flash of the camera, looking at Professor Sharp with slight shock for a moment before chuckling slightly as the photo loops once more.

“I told you those photos were a waste of film.” You snark, feeling slightly embarrassed but not sure why exactly that is as you take your seat across from Professor Sharp.

His desk is empty for the most part other than a miscellaneous item here or there along with a couple of old frames resting on the corners that you can only guess hold the photos that your birthday ones had replaced around the room. The papers that you had heard through the door are nowhere to be seen as he rests his hands casually in front of him, confirming to you that he had stowed whatever he was working on away before allowing you to enter. 

“I happen to like them, thank you very much.” Professor Sharp quickly snaps back, his voice slightly defensive though you know there is no real heat behind his argument. “You packed far quicker than I had expected. Everything fit alright in your trunk? I do have a spare one around here somewhere if you need it.”

The genuine offer and hint of concern in his voice makes your chest constrict a bit with emotion even though you logically know your reaction is a bit ridiculous, and you are quick to wave off his concerns. “Oh, no don’t worry about it, professor. All of the charm work this summer really paid off, it seems.”

He smiles a bit at your reply, though you notice that there is a bit of tension behind the expression as it doesn’t quite seem to meet his eyes. “Well…I’m sure Professor Ronen will be glad to hear it.”

You nod in response, and for the first time in a while both you and Professor Sharp sit in awkward silence. Professor Sharp still looks a bit uncomfortable as his graze drifts around the room, and you can’t help but feel the same way as the silence drags on. 

There are times where you and Professor Sharp simply share a space. Whether it is during breakfast after a particularly poor night's sleep, brewing separate potions together in the basement with only a few shared words in between, or reading in the living room after dinner, both engrossed in your own worlds to speak with each other, the silence is always companionable. You don’t think there has been an awkward or tense silence shared between the two of you since the conversation you both had after the Ministry visited.

Something is off, and at this point you think it might be up to you to break the strange silence that has filled the room. 

“Was there something you wanted to talk about, Professor?” You try your best to keep the question as light as you can, though you think that some of the unease you are feeling bled into the words. 

“Y-yes.” Professor Sharp clears his throat awkwardly then, sitting up a bit straighter as he makes eye contact with you once more. “I wanted to speak with you about something rather important.”

The awkwardness that had filled the silence is immediately snuffed out, replaced instead with an anxious feeling as you jerkily nod in response. It isn’t like Professor Sharp to beat around the bush like this. Even when the subject matter has been dire in the past, Professor Sharp always seems to know exactly what he wants to say before speaking.

“Did you enjoy your summer here?” The question has you completely taken aback, so much so that you are unsure for a moment if that is really what he had asked or if you had somehow misheard him.

“Sir?” Something about your face must be amusing to Professor Sharp, the serious expression on his face being replaced by a slightly humored smile before he speaks again. 

“You’ve spent three months here and I was just wondering how you felt about it. Albury. The house. Living here with me…I just thought that this would be a good opportunity to assess everything.” His voice seems to lose a bit of its humor as he lists off all the aspects of the question, and you think you notice an undercurrent of nervousness in his voice.

While the question still feels a bit strange and the answer seems obvious, you find yourself sitting back a bit and really considering everything he was asking.

You are well aware that Albury has grown to feel like home to you. The familiarity of sitting in the kitchen every morning. The one creaky step you now instinctively avoid when descending the stairs to the potions lab in the basement. The pond you have spent countless hours sitting at, whether it is to do school work or merely to laze the day away. The town and all its residents from friendly shopkeepers to those you have come to consider practically family. 

All of it has melted into a feeling of familiarity and home that even London could never come close to matching. 

“I…I really like it here. It feels-” You hesitate to express what you truly feel, even if you have complete freedom from Professor Sharp to do so. Looking at Professor Sharp during your pause is the only push you need to express your thoughts all the same, his face so open and perhaps even hopeful as he waits for you to finish your thought. “It feels like home.”

He smiles then, not his usual quirk upward in the corner of his mouth but rather the smile you have grown more used to seeing in person rather than in old photographs. His smile is genuine, his eyes holding a sort of softness in his gaze that you can only describe as ‘fond’.

“I’m glad. I know there have been some…bumps in the road when it came to Albury.” He looks away then, his expression turning a bit pensive as he looks down at his desk rather than at you. You follow his gaze as his eyes sweep over the mostly empty desk, his eyes focusing briefly on the small assorted frames on the corner of his desk before he quickly looks back to your once more.

“There is something else I wanted to discuss. It’s something I have been thinking about for quite some time now but I…well it's…” He trails off before taking a deep breath. You can’t help but notice the slight trembling in his hands, and though it should be impossible the anxiety you felt earlier has returned tenfold. 

You are reminded of your first time having tea with Mrs. Whittle, her words flashing into your mind as you watch the minute shaking of his hands even as he clasps them together in an effort to quell his subconscious reaction.

‘You’re just like Aesop, you know. His hands tremble when he is anxious as well.’

Nothing that has Professor Sharp feeling this apprehensive can be anything good.

“I didn’t expect this to be so difficult.” He mutters, his voice strangely positive despite his clear display of nerves. “It is about your staying here. More specifically if you wanted to…adjust your circumstances of living here.”

Once again you find yourself mentally stumbling as you try to catch up with Professor Sharp. You had expected him to bring up something else, his apprehension leading you to believe it might have been about the Daily Prophet and how he is clearly handling things for you. 

You aren’t even sure what he means by that, his wording more cryptic and confusing than you are used to. Even when he is discussing things that are inconsequential such as the hypothetical limitations of polyjuice potions or what you want to eat for dinner, he tends to be rather clear and conscientious with his words.

He must notice your confusion, and while a slightly irritated look crosses his face, you can tell that it is irritation directed towards himself rather than towards you. He takes a deep breath, clearly preparing himself for whatever it is he wants to say next. He looks at you with an unusually vulnerable and open expression, his eyes holding yours with a serious yet slightly apprehensive look in them before speaking once more.

“I expected it to be quite challenging; returning to Albury for the summer. Not for any reason involving you, but instead for my own selfish reasons. This house is where I built up all of my hopes and dreams as well as where I experienced the lowest point of my life when they were taken from me. I…” He trails off, looking around the room as he seems to struggle to maintain his composure. 

Even when you both had your emotional heart to heart after you were awoken by that horrible nightmare, Professor Sharp remained composed for the most part. He was worried, perhaps even frightened when you had mentioned your own fears regarding ancient magic, but seeing him now is completely different. 

His eyes are noticeably glassy as he looks towards where you are well aware several photos of a younger and more hopeful version of himself are on display, the ambient light of the room catching on the newfound moisture in his eyes. It's painful to witness, and you almost want to just interrupt him. Tell him to forget whatever it is he is trying to make himself talk about and just continue like nothing happened. 

Of course, you don’t do that, instead waiting patiently as Professor Sharp takes another deep breath before continuing his explanation.

“I was prepared for the pain of returning- the pain of facing who I once was and who I wanted to become but could never truly be again.” He looks at you now, his eyes still glistening a bit despite how even and controlled his voice remains. 

“What I wasn’t prepared for was how…easy being here turned out to be. You adjusted every routine I had prepared myself to adhere to in an effort to somehow survive being here, and yet I found your presence to be a wonderful addition each time you did so. Pleasant mornings discussing homework despite the summer being the only time I don’t need to worry about such things. Walks into town just to be shoved around by patrons in a bookshop I had never planned on visiting again. Brewing potions with someone so eager to learn and yet so willing to discuss anything and everything unrelated to the subject while doing so. 

“More importantly than all of that, I have also found that during our time together you are a bright, gifted, and an extremely driven individual. You are truly extraordinary, and I would be a fool not to ask to become a larger part of your life when I have the chance.” 

You were quietly listening as Professor Sharp was explaining how he felt about your time together, the small smile you had on your face as you reminisced along with his words slipping off into an expression of shock with his last sentence. 

Professor Sharp clearly takes notice, slight amusement smoothing out his slightly worried features before he straightens up once more. He has a serious glint in his eyes, one that you have come to recognize as a sign of determination as he has clearly decided what he wants to say next. 

“I am currently your legal guardian. A temporary solution for what admittedly is a temporary problem. You are a year away from legal adulthood- in the wizarding world at least- and you are absolutely within your right to simply wait for the time to pass and take control of your life legally at that point.” 

His expression shifts once more, the slightly focused and stern look in his eyes giving way to something you have only seen him express once before. It is the quiet and fond expression he gave you when he had woken you up on the couch on your birthday. A look that is private and gentle, reminding you of the supportive looks Professor Fig would give you during your adventures together. A look that somehow says far more than expressions should be able to convey; fondness and care clearly being communicated to you without a single word needing to be said. 

Of course, that doesn’t mean Professor Sharp is done speaking, and you find yourself sitting up a bit straighter in anticipation as he speaks once more.

“But I am asking for more than that. I want to know what you think about my adopting you rather than merely being your guardian. I want the responsibility of looking out for you for as long as you’ll allow it- not just for your safety from the Ministry or those who wish to use you for personal gain, but also because I care. I care about you and who you will become, not because of any inherent magical ability but because you are you.”  

He stops then, his expression still as open and sincere as it had been before, but now with a hopeful gleam in his eyes. You sit back a bit in your chair, trying to truly process everything that he had said and everything he is asking.

You and Professor Sharp have definitely had your ups and downs, but now he is far more to you than the stern man you had come to live with at the beginning of the summer. 

Professor Sharp is not only your teacher but also the man who sighs in exasperation as you prompt him with yet another hypothetical potions question, indulging your constant  chatter as you both brew potions or cook together. He’ll even occasionally start such conversations with you himself, a playful gleam in his eye as he ropes you into a debate that he knows he will win. 

He clearly cares about you, the man outright telling you as much but also proving this fact through his actions long before today. 

He cooks and cleans rather than taking the same route your grandmother had of expecting you to care for yourself. He bought you items to make you feel more at home, your bookshelf and personal potions station being silently given to you for no other reason than Professor Sharp wanted you to feel comfortable here. He set up a celebration for your birthday with hardly any notice even going so far as to document the event purely because he felt it was important enough to do so, the photos from that day already finding a home along with his other memories in his study. 

He has proven that he is willing to defend you from both the ministry and strangers, bloody knuckles and several pages of research stowed away somewhere in his office showing the lengths he would go. 

He also understands you far more than anyone else can, the night of your horrible nightmare and everything you had confessed still fresh on your mind. 

The way that Rookwood, Ranrok, and unwillingly yourself were more entangled with one another than anyone could’ve guessed- even with the fact that you killed them both being well known by everyone who has read the Daily Prophet lately. 

The Keepers and all of the things you had done over the school year to appease them. The repositories, both at the various trials as well as the one now resting dormant beneath the school. The powers that you had gained, what you learned the hard way and what was instinctive when it came to ancient magic.

Your fears. What Isidora created and you fear could still possibly become. Professor Fig and what you believed to be your part of his demise. Dragging his body out of the same cave system where Ranrok’s corpse was left behind.

Even with all of that, Professor Sharp still cared. 

He was more afraid for you than of you, even when you told him you thought that if he stayed close to you what happened to Professor Fig might happen to him. He was unphased by it all, instead trying to help you feel better rather than worry about himself or the information you shared with him which would be detrimental in the wrong hands.

“There isn’t a right or wrong answer here.” Professor Sharp reassures you, his voice bringing you out of your thoughts as he continues to look at you with thinly veiled hope hidden behind a soft smile. “No matter what you decide, nothing will really change. I’ll still be your guardian and you’ll still return here with me next summer before you are at an age where you can make your own decisions. All I want is to know what you think.”

If the decision hadn’t already been obvious before, it was crystal clear now. He was right, after all. What would really change?

“I think…” You start, trailing off as you are hit with a sudden feeling of embarrassment. It isn’t that you think Professor Sharp would find your answer to be embarrassing, but you can’t help but feel that way all the same. 

Professor Sharp leans forwards a bit as you pause, his face carefully impassive though you can tell he is a bit tense as he waits for whatever else you have to say. You decide not to keep him in suspense any longer than you need to, swallowing the sudden lump in your throat before speaking once more. 

“I think you’re right. Nothing would really change. You’ve basically been what I imagine a…well a dad would be like over the summer anyway. I think I would like to make it…permanent- if you really want to, that is!” 

You can feel a bit of heat rise to your face as you say it, and while you are only being honest saying it out loud was more nerve wracking than you had anticipated it being. At the same time, Professor Sharp’s face cracks into a huge smile, his eyes crinkling at the corners and all the tension from his shoulders leaking away all at once. “I absolutely want to. I can’t think of anything I would want more.”

You both pause for a moment then, Professor Sharp beaming before he quickly begins to rummage through the drawers in his desk. “Alright! Well I already have some papers drafted up here…no point in asking if I wasn’t prepared. Most of it is already filled out, so all you need to do is give your signature a couple times- but feel free to read everything over if you want! It’s your future that is being decided, so you deserve full transparency.”

He is speaking quicker than normal, excitement clear in his voice even as he clearly attempts to speak in his regular tone and cadence. He isn’t quite rambling, but for the typically level-headed professor this might be as close as he can get to doing so. 

Professor Sharp is still gathering the papers, the wizarding world clearly more litigious than the muggle world when it comes to this sort of thing. Of course, you already knew this was the case since the amount of time you sat in that horrible wooden chair before the Wizengamot as your guardianship paperwork was ironed out was rather excessive. 

He lays all the documents out, clearly preparing for you to read through them before he stands, gesturing for you to take his seat. You think it's a bit odd considering he could have just handed the papers to you across the desk, but Professor Sharp is already leaning against the windowsill raising an eyebrow expectantly.

You stand, nervously fidgeting with your hands a bit as you move over to sit at his desk. Despite being in the study a handful of times, both with and without Professor Sharp’s permission, you had never actually sat down at his desk before. 

The chair is large and extremely comfortable, and you think it has to have been enchanted somehow to be as comfortable as it is. You lean forwards to read the documents, slightly dreading needing to go over so many papers but at the same time feeling the flutters of excitement in your stomach as you remember that you are reading them for a good reason.

Despite the wonderful circumstances, a lot of the information turns out to be rather boring. There tends to be far too many words to convey the simplest of things, and after reading a couple of paragraphs carefully you begin to simply skim them. 

You trust Professor Sharp to have filled everything out correctly anyway. Most of the paperwork doesn’t even require your attention since they only have spaces for the ‘parent(s)’ to initial or sign. 

You can’t help but feel the now everpresent flutter of excitement or blooming feeling of warmth in your chest everytime you see Professor Sharp’s signature already filled out on the line, and eventually you get to the last page which requires more from you than just a simple glance.

This page is clearly intended to be read by younger eyes, the words printed slightly larger and the legal jargon kept to a minimum. In all honesty, you feel that Professor Sharp could’ve just given this page to you and kept the rest to himself, but it was nice of him to treat you like the adult you almost are. 

‘You deserve full transparency.’  

His words rattle in your mind, the statement not really standing out as anything important when he had said it earlier. Now you can’t help but think of his words as anything other than considerate and earnest as his statement stands in the shadow of all the things you have done or have been expected to do without a full explanation. Even if in the end giving you all the papers to look over was unnecessary, it shows that even now Professor Sharp wants nothing more than for you to have the chance to choose for yourself what you think is best rather than bending to the whim of others. 

The information on the page was simple for the most part, most of your information already filled out in Professor Sharp’s handwriting; full name, date of birth, current residence. The only blanks left were where you were meant to sign, and of course print your new legal name.

This gives you pause, the quil you are holding in your hand suddenly feeling far heavier as you stare down at the paperwork. When you agreed to the adoption you were too overwhelmed with your own thought process on the matter to think of all the important details such as a name change. 

From one home to another your last name was yours- perhaps the only thing of yours you have had of your own all these years. No matter where you were, the brief period of bouncing from home to home until your grandmother took you in for good leaving a lasting impression, your name was all your own. No one could take it from you, and it couldn’t be left behind. 

Would this be leaving it behind? Your parents are mere shadows of a memory at this point, but would they have been upset if you changed it? Would they want you to keep their name, or would they be fine with whatever you chose? Would you regret  removing the last thing that ties you to an otherwise empty family tree?

On the other hand, Professor Sharp is not only willing to take you in, but asking for the right to do so. Mrs. Whittle already refers to you by his last name whenever she gets the chance, and you have found you don’t exactly mind it beyond the slight embarrassment you feel every time she does as much. Professor Sharp is here not only now, but for the foreseeable future. 

Would you regret not changing your name in the future? Would you regret not permanently tying yourself to Professor Sharp this way when he too is gone; hopefully after you have had many more years with him than you were afforded with your parents. 

You stare at the blank space on the page, willing it to tell you what the right decision is as you fiddle with the almost obnoxiously large quill in your hand. 

“You don’t need to change it, you know.” Professor Sharp softly comments, and you jolt slightly as he startles you out of your staring match with the paperwork. You turn to see him standing closer to you now, his gaze kind and understanding as his hand drops to your shoulder and gives it a comforting squeeze. “You’ve been using your last name for sixteen years. It wouldn’t hurt my feelings if you want to keep it.”

You nod in response, turning once more to look back at the blanks on the page, but as your eyes sweep downwards something in the cluster of framed photos on the corner of the desk catches your eye.

You had been right to assume that some of the photos are the ones that the new photos of you in his study had replaced, the photograph of the three boys in Hogwarts standing out as it looks considerably older than the rest, but that isn’t the case for all of them. You hadn't expected the photo of you and Professor Sharp to be front and center amongst all the photos from his younger years, and yet there it was. It was jarring seeing a photo of Professor Sharp where he is so much older than he is in the rest of the photos, and yet he looks just as happy. 

You had gotten the impression that Professor Sharp had a negative self image, all of his photos being turned over when you both arrived in Albury at the beginning of the summer sending a pretty clear message of how he felt. Still, somehow despite that fact he had not only put up the only photos he had of you around the study, but had put the one of the two of you together on his desk; somewhere he would be sure to see it every time he entered the space.

‘I think I’d like to remember it too.’

It was what he had said when you requested he join you for the photo. You had glossed over the statement then, more focused on your plan to make him laugh than you had been on what he was saying.

You wonder how long Professor Sharp had seen you this way, like his kid rather than the kid he is living with. Was it when this photo was taken? When he went to the Wailing Drake to get your book and fight the wizard who had been harassing you? When you were brewing potions together for the first time, or any other time afterwards? 

Maybe it wasn’t even a huge moment, but rather all the small ones. The many breakfasts and dinners spent together. The evening visits to his study spent with him grading your papers and giving you corrections to look over while you read whatever book you had with you by the fire. 

Whatever it was, you are glad that the shift between you two wasn’t just in your head. He feels the same way. Like you two have become a family.

Professor Sharp gives your shoulder another squeeze then, the gesture supportive as he patiently waits for you to make your decision. You feel the annoying prickle of tears behind your eyes that you quickly try to blink out of existence, the silent support making your decision even more obvious than it had already been before.

You write your new name, the surname ‘Sharp’ fitting quite nicely behind your firstas you sign the two boxes in print and cursive alike. You groan a bit as you look at how childish your scrawl of ‘Sharp’ is in cursive, the wonky ‘S’ of your new signature looking a bit pathetic as it sits beneath the older man’s well practiced one, and he lets out an amused chuckle from where he is still standing next to you. 

You look up at him, unamused with his laughter at your expense and ready to fix him with a glare before you notice his expression. Professor Sharp is slightly shaking his head, his mouth still fixed with a wide smile though his eyes are shining with unshed tears. He wipes at his eyes as subtly as he can, and the sight makes you feel even more emotional than you did earlier. 

You are about to look away in an effort to give him some privacy, but for some reason it feels like it would be the wrong thing to do. If he was merely your professor it might have been the best decision, but you are family now. 

You push back your chair, Professor Sharp’s hand falling from your shoulder as you stand though he doesn’t get the chance to react to your sudden movement before you pull him into a hug. 

You were so focused on not losing your nerve that you might’ve rushed at him a bit too hard, a slight ‘oof’ coming from the man as you wrap your arms around his middle tightly. 

There is a moment where he doesn’t move at all, and you begin to worry that you might’ve crossed some sort of line. You begin to loosen your hold, preparing yourself to stutter through some awkward apologies, but before you can start to move your arms away from Professor Sharp he wraps his own arms around you.

His arms wrap around over your own, one resting on your back while the other comes up and around to your other shoulder as his hold tightens. Professor Sharp isn’t that much taller than you, but still you find it easy to curl in slightly against his shoulder. You can feel Professor Sharp slightly inclining his head downwards, his chin slightly offset as it rests against the top of your head, and you think the hug feels just a bit tighter as he takes a slightly stuttering breath.

The hug isn’t too long, though it is definitely longer than any hug you’ve ever given. You both begin to loosen your hold around the same time, Professor Sharp wiping his eyes once more as you find yourself doing the same now that you are apart. He gives you one more fond smile before turning towards his desk.

He pulls his wand out with his other hand, giving it a flick as all the papers gather themselves up and seal themselves into a thick envelope tied off with twine. The envelope then floats towards you both, and Professor Sharp stows his wand away before plucking it out of the air.

“Well, I think we should mail this off sooner rather than later.” He casually comments, clearing his throat a bit as emotion still wobbles slightly in his voice. He gestures for you to lead the way, and soon the two of you are out the front door and walking down the gravel pathway. 

Just as you both make it to the turn towards town Professor Sharp starts walking in the opposite direction and you make a confused noise as you quickly follow him towards the hill that acts at the apparition point for Albury.

“I think we should go somewhere else to mail it off.” Professor Sharp explains, his smile audible even as you look towards where you are walking rather than at his face. “The London owl post will be far quicker when it comes to delivering Ministry documents, and there is this one restaurant I was rather fond of when I was working in the city. You’ve never been, unless Fig took you to some of the wizarding haunts during your time there?”

Usually the mentioning of Professor Fig leads to a tightness in your chest, and while there is still a hint of the familiar ache of loss, there is also an undeniable warmth that you feel overpowering the colder sensation. “No, we didn’t get out much- too much catching up to do for my fifth-year. Is there really that much more to see outside of Diagon Alley, Professor?”

Professor Sharp lets out a bark of laughter at your question, shaking your shoulder slightly before he answers. “Thankfully there is far more to wizarding London than just Diagon Alley. Diagon Alley serves an important purpose as the go to place for school shopping, but surely you didn’t think that was the extent of the wizarding influence in London?” 

You think you would feel a bit offended being treated like a tourist in the city you grew up in, but when it comes to the wizarding world you begrudgingly admit that you might as well be one. Still, you let out a huff in response which only earns another chuckle from the Professor as you both finally approach the base of the hill.

For a moment you both walk in companionable silence as you trudge up the hill, but as you get closer to your destination Professor Sharp clears his throat awkwardly.

“You know, I think it’s safe to say you don’t have to call me ‘Professor’ anymore- at least not while you are not in class.” His voice is slightly serious though he takes on a bit of a lighthearted tone as he corrects himself, though you are too focused on the first half of the sentence to really care about the latter.

“What should I call you then?” You ask, unsure what you would even want the answer to be. Professor Sharp makes a thoughtful sound, almost as though he hadn’t even thought about what he considered to be the right choice before bringing up the issue.

“Well…you could always drop the Professor and just stick with Sharp. It’s not exactly socially acceptable, but I went by my last name for years as an Auror.” He replies, and you scrunch your nose a bit at the thought of referring to him in a manner that would have your grandmother rolling in her grave. It’s just a step too far for you. 

“I’m not sure…that feels wrong.” You reply, Professor Sharp letting out a light chuckle at your expression.

“What about Aesop then? It is my name, after all.” He tries again, this time sounding less unsure of himself, but still feeling like he is holding something back. You look over at him, and his expression is rather pensive, a line between his brows making itself known as he appears to be working out something in his head. 

You think that calling him by his first name might work, but it still feels a bit strange. Of course, another option comes to mind, but if the idea of calling him ‘Sharp’ felt rude and ‘Aesop’ a bit strange, the alternative feels downright embarrassing.  

You both reach the apparition point, the silence stretching just long enough that Professor Sharp clears his throat once more to get your attention.

“You did say something else earlier, right after telling me I was ‘right’ if I remember correctly- which I should have gotten in writing.” Professor Sharp starts, his tone teasing as he throws his arm over your shoulder giving you a light shake. You roll your eyes at the jab, already preparing to say something sarcastic back before you freeze.

‘You’ve basically been what I imagine a dad would be like over the summer.’

Despite the slight chill coming on- the autumn chill looming over the summer air as the sun begins to set, taking its warmth with it- you feel unbearably warm as your face flushes. Professor Sharp must’ve felt the moment you remembered what he was referring to, the man giving you shoulder a comforting squeeze before speaking once more.

“You could give it a try, if you want. The worst that happens is you don’t like it and we try something else.” Professor Sharp gently says. His tone is clearly meant to reassure you, and while you can’t bear to look him in the eyes in fear that you will die from mortification, you can hear the smile in his voice as he says it. “No pressure. We have all the time in the world to figure it out.”

You find yourself nodding slightly in agreement, afraid that if you tried speaking in this moment that nothing would come out from the nerves. Professor Sharp seems content with your reply, most likely giving you space to make your own decision on the matter just as he had done earlier in the study.

“Well, are you ready to go?” He casually asks, removing his arm from your shoulder before holding his elbow out to you in preparation to apparate. You are about to silently reply again before you feel the urge to say something. 

After all, Professor Sharp had practically directly invited you to say it, and at this point you don’t think any more harm could be done to your ego.

“Sure, Dad.”

It comes out slightly wobbly, your unease with the title evident in your voice as you say it. The heat in your face is back tenfold, but Professor Sharp doesn’t say anything about it. You peek at him a bit in the corner of your eye, and his beaming smile is all the reassurance you need as you grab hold of his arm preparing for the crushing feeling of apparition.

It's alright if saying it feels strange right now. You have all the time in the world to get it right.