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Aesop Sharp never considered himself to be a coward. He may not have been a Gryffindor, sure, but his Slytherin instincts for self-preservation and danger didn’t mean he was any less brave.
Nevertheless, there were times when his heart would leap and his blood would run cold. He thought that the last time was in Scarborough, when he made a fatal mistake that cost his partner his life and him his job and health. This was before a certain student entered his classroom.
Aesop was accustomed to unruly and difficult students, to laziness, to neglect of safety rules, and to fiery incidents. But even the most unruly student (one certain red-headed Gryffindor came to mind at the thought of “unruly”) could be reasoned with. They could be threatened with detentions. Impressed by his gruff, commanding tone. Even the embodiment of chaos named Garreth Weasley had at least some system and respect for rules, however arbitrarily he chose to abide by them.
Marsena Di Angelo existed beyond the rules.
Aesop had been teaching for several years and considered himself an experienced teacher. But no matter how many years he had spent in the classroom, nothing could have prepared him for this. Hell, Aesop was sure that even Binns, however many centuries old he was, had never encountered anything like Di Angelo.
Aesop’s first encounter with Di Angelo occurred before he stepped into his class. On his way to J. Pippins in Hogsmeade, Aesop spotted the new fifth-year in the company of Natsai Onai. Miss Onai was explaining to the boy that lacewing flies are a useful potions ingredient. The boy was staring at them with an absent expression.
“They look yummy, I would leak them.”
“You don’t leak them, Mars; you use them in Potions. They have to be stewed for precisely twenty-one days,” Onai explained with remarkable patience.
“Stew? As in the one had for dinner yesterday? Poppy said it was Scottish beef stew, but I also like bollito misto, it’s an Italian stew, but I also like other Italian dishes. My favourite is lasagna, but I also like pasta aglio e olio. Speaking of oil, my hands are oily since yesterday because I helped Garreth with his new drink. Garreth also showed me…”
Aesop hastily retreated further away from the students, even despite his aching leg protesting at his fast pace. The boy seemed to be physically unable to stop his endless rambling. Aesop felt a little sorry for Miss Onai, but then he reminded himself that he would be forced to teach a student who considered licking lacewing flies and he pitied himself more.
Unfortunately, his suspicion was proven right. Di Angelo displayed a truly impressive incompetence in his first Potions lesson. Aesop was right: the boy couldn’t keep his mouth shut and his endless stream of nonsense didn’t cease even when his hair caught fire.
“On the bright side, I now know how flammable I am!” Aesop heard as a fiery, Hufflepuff-coloured mess ran around his classroom.
“Imbecile,” Aesop thought, extinguishing the fire on Di Angelo’s head. It was unkind and unprofessional to thing such things about a student, but he couldn’t help it.
“I forgot to label the bottles… But I suppose I could simply drink each potion to know which is which,” the boy mused, seemingly undisturbed by the fact that half of his hair had been burnt off.
“Please don’t, Mr Di Angelo,” Aesop said, forcing patience into his voice.
Di Angelo looked at him as if he had just noticed him.
“What happened to your leg?” he asked curiously and Aesop blinked.
“I was an Auror and got injured,” he replied curtly. “Something you should keep in mind – survival is not guaranteed for any of us.”
But the boy didn’t seem to catch the hint.
“Oh, you were an Auror? Natty wants to become an Auror too, and it made me think of the aurora borealis in Canada. I liked Canada, we weren’t there for long, but I liked it. I also like Scotland, but Italia was the best, I sometimes miss the food there, but the food here is not bad either. The lacewing flies tasted good, and I want to taste moonstone and Ashwinder eggs. Did you know that there are Ashwinder snakes and Ashwinders criminals? Those are bad men, I can’t believe Officer Singer hasn’t caught them all yet. I know a singer in Hogsmeade, well not a Singer by name, but a singer by profession –”
“You’ll be late for your next class, Mr Di Angelo,” Aesop interjected and the boy blinked.
“Yeah, right. Thank you for the lesson and the lacewing flies!”
And, with the most Hufflepuff grin, the boy left the classroom. Aesop went over to Di Angelo’s potions station to collect the undoubtedly atrocious result of his brewing. However, to his surprise, he found a perfectly brewed Wiggenweld potion. Aesop could only stare at the green bottle. How in Merlin’s name had the boy managed this?
Aesop was not a stupid man – he was highly intelligent, even, and that was a simple fact, not vanity. Yet he found himself trying – and failing – to understand most of the results of Di Angelo’s work in his lessons.
Potions were an exact discipline, requiring precision and adherence to the rules and recipes. Any modifications to a recipe required a deep understanding of ingredient properties in order to be successful. This is what Aesop’s teacher had taught him, and this is what he firmly believed until recently.
Because Di Angelo was the opposite of “precision and abiding the rules”. Because he certainly didn’t possess the slightest hint of an understanding of the properties of ingredients. Hell, he didn't even know the names of half of them. Eventually, Di Angelo bothered to learn the names of some of them, but, as Aesop found out, such honour was reserved for ingredients that he thought looked “yummy”. Less appetising ingredients were given euphemisms like “stinky flower”, “shiny whatisit”, or simply “thingy”.
Despite such ignorance, this Hufflepuff embodiment of chaos (a title previously reserved for Garreth Weasley) became the best Potions student in his year. Despite spending half the lesson rambling with Amit Thakkar about adventure books and getting caught in a goblin mine (Aesop sincerely hoped it was just a plot from one of the books and not real events); or discussing Gerald and Highwing with Poppy Sweeting, not to mention assisting Garreth Weasley with his relentless "experiments" (which were far more explosive and far less successful than Di Angelo’s). The boy somehow managed to produce perfection in every lesson. Di Angelo ignored the recipe completely, never bothered to measure the ingredients, and threw everything into his cauldron by intuition – and he was still better than anyone Aesop had ever taught.
Once, Aesop watched Di Angelo closely and wrote down everything he did to prepare the Invigoration Draught. The boy used almost double the amount of billywig stings, stirred clockwise instead of anticlockwise after adding peppermint, complained that “this bitter water tastes awful, I should have remembered that from the last time” (infusion of wormwood), and, finally, forgot the scurvy grass completely. It shouldn’t have worked. It must have ended up useless. Yet it was as perfect as anything Aesop has brewed himself.
Aesop spent three days analysing the Di Angelo’s “recipe”. He spent his evenings buried deep in Potions books, ingredient reaction tables, and arithmancy calculations. It worked. Di Angelo was right: this exact combination of ingredients and movements provided the same result as the standard recipe. It wasn’t peculiar per se – except for the fact that the author of this improved recipe was someone who struggled even with standard Astronomy charts and would get in tears looking at them and ask Mr Thakkar for help. There was no way Di Angelo would be able to explain why exactly his recipe worked, when Aesop, who had been brewing Potions since before Di Angelo was born, had spent three days trying to understand it.
Acceptance was a virtue in itself, Aesop thought as the school year progressed and Di Angelo continued to be a paradox. He was one ingredients-eating, rambling, delivering perfect potions and utterly unexplainable paradox. After failing to comprehend the perfection of the Strengthening Solution (the potion Di Angelo had managed to brew in two hours instead of several days), Aesop simply gave up trying to understand it. As Eleazar had told him when he complained about the new fifth-year, there were things about magic that could not be explained by logic or reason. Like love and death and Gamp's Law of Elemental Transfiguration. And, it seemed, Di Angelo’s talent in Potions.
The boy seemed oblivious to the Potions Master’s struggles. He was friendly with everyone, especially Garreth Weasley, Natsai Onai, and his fellow Hufflepuff, Poppy Sweeting. He was utterly pathetic in Astronomy, and while Matilda praised his "creativity" in Transfiguration, she just shook her head at his horrendous essays. It seemed as though Di Angelo was incapable of theoretical work, dreading diagrams and numbers as much as Hogwarts dreaded him and Weasley entering the room with a Potions kit.
One particular winter night Aesop was patrolling the corridors of Hogwarts when he heard the unmistakable rambling in the darkness.
“But he went and told everyone that I broke into the Lawley’s cellar anyway!” Di Angelo’s voice was only marginally quieter than usual. Aesop growled and followed the sound, eventually finding Di Angelo and Poppy staring at him as if he were a ghost, each holding a heavy leather bag (Nab-sacks?!).
“Sweeting. Di Angelo. Care to explain what are you doing here after curfew?” Aesop barked at them. Poppy immediately lowered her gaze, but Di Angelo just grinned brightly.
“Good evening, Professor Sharp. Or should I say good night? After all, it’s night here, but only evening in Canada, and morning in Japan, so I guess I could say good morning, since it’s morning somewhere right now. Yeah, I think I’ll go with morning because – “
“Miss Sweeting, care to explain yourself?” Aesop asked, ignoring Di Angelo who was debating with himself about when exactly morning and evening start, and who had come up with this. “Where have you both been? And why are you carrying Nab-sacks?”
“Sorry, Professor Sharp,” Poppy said apologetically, ignoring his questions.
One of the Nab-sacks flinched and growled. Aesop narrowed his eyes.
“You can either answer my questions truthfully, or I can go to Headmaster Black and have the Nab-sacks confiscated.”
The fear in Poppy’s eyes has confirmed that Aesop’s bluff had worked. Obviously, he had no intention of involving Black (if only to spare himself from having to deal with this man), but the Hufflepuffs in front of him didn’t need to know that.
“We were in the Forbidden Forest. Rescuing beasts from Poachers,” Poppy said finally. Meanwhile Di Angelo wondered why the forest was called Forbidden, and who had forbidden whom from entering it.
“Poachers? Two fifth-years going outside at night to rescue beasts from poachers? Do you have any idea how reckless and insane you both are? You could have got yourselves killed!” Aesop could hardly contain his anger. This wasn’t about House points and detentions anymore. Those children had risked their lives, yet here they were, standing in front of him, seemingly unharmed, only by some insane stroke of luck.
“But we haven’t, Professor!” Poppy argued fiercely. “We’re fine, it wasn’t that dangerous, and Mars – “
She cut herself off swiftly.
“And Mr Di Angelo what, exactly?” Aesop repeated. Poppy lowered her gaze again.
“Poppy, you can go you-know-where and set Highwing and Caligo free. I’ll talk to Professor Sharp.”
Aesop was so startled by the sudden seriousness in Di Angelo’s voice that he didn’t even protest when Poppy took both Nab-Sacks and swiftly left the corridor.
“Potions Classroom. Now,” Aesop finally managed and Di Angelo silently (when was Di Angelo ever silent?!) followed him.
Aesop gestured at the chair in front of his desk, then set down in his armchair, wincing from the pain in his leg. The winter months were particularly hard on him.
“Does your leg hurt a lot, Professor Sharp?” Di Angelo asked with true Hufflepuff compassion. Aesop cleared his throat.
“That is not your concern, Mr Di Angelo. Now, care to explain what possessed your idiotic mind to go to the Forbidden Forest to rescue the beasts from poachers?”
Di Angelo just stared at him. For the first time that Aesop could remember, he seemed to be at a loss for words.
“La famiglia è tutto,” he finally managed, in an unusually serious and quiet tone.
Aesop was nowhere near fluent in Italian (he was good enough to understand Di Angelo’s expressive swearing after his potions went into flames, though), but he still understood the meaning. Family is everything.
“What family are you talking about, Mr Di Angelo?” Aesop asked in a low voice.
“Poppy. Natty. Garreth. They are family,” Di Angelo replied with such certainty and conviction that it made Aesop blink.
“As admirable as your friendship and loyalty are, they don’t explain your behaviour. How is your closeness with your friends relevant to your irresponsible and insane actions?”
“Poachers attacked Poppy’s Gran. Ashwinders kidnapped Natty,” Di Angelo responded, and something flashed in his eyes – something Aesop had never noticed before. Coldness and determination. Aesop could feel his instincts screaming danger, but before he could react, Di Angelo had reverted to his usual rambling state.
“Do you think the Ashwinders named themselves after the snakes or did the snakes name themselves after the Ashwinders? Logically, it was the criminals who named themselves, but just imagine how cool it would be if it happened the other way around, and the snakes decided to be called Ashwinders… Speaking of talking snakes, did you know that Ominis – “
“Concentrate, Mr Di Angelo,” Aesop interrupted. “The poachers and the Ashwinders were a threat to your friends – I can understand that. But how was rescuing the beasts an appropriate reaction? Why didn’t you – “
And then Aesop saw it. His gaze fell on Di Angelo’s arms, and he spotted a small drop of blood on the yellow hem of his sleeve. Aesop would bet half his storeroom that the blood didn’t belong to Di Angelo or any beast.
His own blood ran cold. He had heard strange rumours of someone wiping out entire camps of poachers, Ashwinders, and occasionally also Ranrok’s Loyalists. Someone insanely good, not leaving any witnesses or traces behind. Aesop dismissed them drunken pub talk, an urban legend of a sort. But now, seeing this coldness and calculation behind the usually absent-minded blue eyes – he wasn’t sure what to believe anymore.
“You are killing poachers and Ashwinders. Because they hurt those you consider family,” Aesop said slowly.
To his credit, Di Angelo didn’t bother to lie.
“Yes,” he said simply. “Because someone has to.”
Aesop swallowed hard. As cold as this logic was, it was sound. Someone had to clear the Highlands and protect the civilians. Neither the Ministry nor this incompetent menace of Singer were doing anything while Rookwood, Harlow and their lackeys were robbing, kidnapping and even killing innocents. Something had to be done.
Just not by a fifth-year student.
“We all failed you,” Aesop said. “You and your friends. You were failed by the adults, by those who should have protected you. I am truly sorry.”
“It’s alright, Professor Sharp,” Di Angelo said with his usual careless smile. “Besides, it’s better if someone who’s really good at it does it. I wouldn’t want anyone to get hurt.”
Aesop continued to stare at the bloodstain on his sleeve. Di Angelo noticed his gaze, then saw the blood.
“Cavolo!” he cursed. “Mamma would be disappointed.”
He took out his wand and muttered a cleaning charm to remove the spot.
“Your mother would be disappointed that you killed someone?” Aesop asked quietly.
“What? No, of course not. But she would be disappointed that I let myself get caught that easily. The first rule she taught me was not to leavy traces,” Di Angelo spoke with such pride and gentleness about his mother that it made something tighten in Aesop’s chest.
“Mr Di Angelo, is your family… assassins?”
Di Angelo shrugged, staring at Aesop with the same grin as always. Meanwhile, Aesop felt as though he were in a strange dream.
“Well, not all of the family,” the boy began. “But my mother and my brothers used to… er… carry out tasks if someone needed to disappear.”
Aesop blinked at this. He didn’t ask about his father, though. At the beginning of the year, he had witnessed Di Angelo and Natsai Onai talking in low voices, on the verge of tears, with Di Angelo saying “I am truly sorry about your father, Natty” with the compassion of someone who must have known exactly how it felt to lose a parent.
“But this is in the past,” the boy grinned brightly. “We left Italy for Canada and then Scotland, and we’re leading a perfectly bloodless life now. Well, except for me, of course,” he said, awkwardly running a hand through his hair.
Aesop blinked again.
“You are just a child, Mr Di Angelo. The people – and goblins, I assume – that you killed, were criminals, sure. But they were still human beings with living souls, and you talk so calmly, so lightly about – “
“I am not taking murder lightly. Taking a life should never be treated as something easy or mundane,” Di Angelo said with surprising seriousness. Aesop swallowed hard.
“Mr Di Angelo, you shouldn’t have been doing this.”
“Someone had to,” the boy repeated. “Someone has to keep people safe. I don’t want Poppy, Natty, Garreth or Amit to suffer again, or to have blood on their hands from fighting. It's better if it's me, since I already have some.”
He grinned and lifted his arm.
“Well… both literally and figuratively.”
Aesop was surprised by the joke, which he might have found funny if he hadn’t been so dumbfounded by what had happened that evening. The boy wasn’t a cold-blooded psychopath; he cared deeply for his friends and was remarkably empathetic, even for a Hufflepuff. And yet he talked about murder with such maturity. He understood the weight of it, yet was still able to abstract himself from it and get things done.
“Be careful, Mr Di Angelo,” Aesop replied quietly.
“I am always careful, Professor Sharp. Oh, speaking of sharp things – Garreth got a new cutting knife and he claims he can cut those white, squishy things – “
“Sopophorous Beans,” Aesop interjected tiredly.
“– that are used in the funny yellow potion – “
“Elixir to Induce Euphoria.”
“Speaking of yellow, did you know that my favourite colour is yellow, but I also like red? Actually, I like all colours, even grey, although too much grey is dull. Speaking of dull – “
“Goodnight, Mr Di Angelo.”
The boy closed his mouth abruptly.
“Goodnight, Professor Sharp. And… I’m sorry about your leg. I don’t remember what you said when I asked you about how you got injured, but it must hurt a lot.”
Aesop would have reprimanded anyone else for mentioning his leg so bluntly, but the compassion on the boy’s face made him unable to think of a rude remark.
“Thank you. Yes, it hurts, but it should not be your concern. You have more than enough burdens of your own.”
Di Angelo just waved him off.
“I’m fine. I can deal with it. After some time it becomes just as easy as cutting this purple fruit thingy.”
“Shrivelfig, Mr Di Angelo. And you can’t possibly compare murder to cutting fruit.”
The boy’s gaze turned serious again.
“No. It’s not the same. Just because I can do it as easily as cutting fruit doesn’t mean it is the same thing. Goodnight, Professor Sharp.”
Aesop nodded and the boy rose to leave, but then his expression turned thoughtful.
“Have you tried Potions to ease the pain in your leg? I would imagine one could brew one. It might involve winged horse hair – “
“Granian hair.”
“Sweet grass stems – “
“Anjelica.”
“Bitter water, orange that is not quite orange, and spleenwart.”
“Wormwood essence, plangetine, and… spleenwart,“ Aesop muttered in surprise. “Did you actually bother to learn the proper name of an ingredient?”
“Yeah,” Di Angelo grinned. “Because it was yummy.”
“And you think that combining those ingredients will somehow help me with my leg?”
Di Angelo shrugged.
“Doesn’t hurt to try, does it? Personally, I try every idea I have, because who knows if I’ll forget it the next second.”
“That is… understandable,” Aesop replied. “And thank you for your advice. I’ll see what I can do.”
“You’re welcome, Professor Sharp. I should get going, Poppy is probably worried.”
With that, Di Angelo finally left before Aesop could even ask him where Poppy had taken the both Nab-sacks.
Aesop was busy for the next few weeks. Whenever he wasn’t teaching classes or preparing for the lessons, he was either in Hogsmeade, gathering the latest rumours, or experimenting with the ingredients recommended by Di Angelo. Sirona helpfully provided him with everything she had heard about “the Angel of the Highlands”, the nickname given by the Highlanders to the person behind the Ashwinders' murders (Aesop had choked on his drink when he first heard this). He had disrupted Harlow’s dirty business. The large goblin camp outside of Feldcroft was gone. Johanna Bickle, the widow of Mr Bickle (who was most probably murdered by Harlow), suddenly found a hefty bag of gold in her house with a note “Compensation for your less. Angel of the Highlands.” The last Sirona heard, Johanna had left the country with her son to start a new life in America. Many other victims of Rookwood’s gang have also received compensation.
Aesop nodded politely at Sirona’s tales. He knew who was behind it all, of course, and sometimes wondered whether the person who first came up with the nickname 'Angel' even knew how close they were to the truth. Di Angelo was clearly doing what he saw as justice: rescuing victims, dispatching criminals and returning their gold. However, Aesop didn’t think that all the gold went to the victims, given how extravagant and obviously custom-made the suits that Weasley and Di Angelo wore to the Yule Ball were, not to mention Natsai’s dress. Or how often he heard Di Angelo inviting his friends to Hogsmeade. Or all the rare ingredients Aesop often found on his desk with short notes such as “thought this thingy was useful” (porcupine quills), “this tasted good and I thought you might like it” (rose oil) and “looks shiny!” (moonstone). Aesop sometimes wondered whether this was the boy’s way of thanking him for keeping his secret or even an attempt at bribery, but he dismissed the idea. Di Angelo was as selfless as they come and was probably incapable of even thinking like a Slytherin such as Aesop. This was a simple act of kindness, something Di Angelo did surprisingly often given his upbringing and hobby of murdering criminals.
Matilda told him that he had baked “the most delicious biscotti I have ever tasted” for Christmas, which he generously distributed among all his friends and basically anyone he saw. Di Angelo sometimes spent time with first- and second-years, who adored him and his chaotic, playful nature. Once or twice Aesop saw someone crying on the boy’s shoulder – whether out of sorrow, like Zenobia Noke after losing her Gobstones, or out of gratitude, like Adelaide Oakes after the boy supposedly rescued her uncle. The boy was loved by pretty much everyone, from his fellow students to the vendors in the Highlands.
One cold evening Aesop was in a particularly bad mood. His leg hurt more than usual, Pippin dismissed Di Angelo’s list of ingredients (“I have no idea how this is supposed to work, Aesop”), and Headmaster Black had requested yet another batch of Cure for Boils. Just when Aesop thought his mood couldn’t get any worse, Di Angelo entered the classroom.
“Hello, Professor Sharp. I was on the Poidsear coast, by the way “Poidsear” means “poacher” in Scottish Gaelic. This is what Sebastian told me. Sebastian is worrying about his sister, I don’t have sisters, I only have three older brothers, but – “
“Did you have something to say, Mr Di Angelo?” Aesop interjected tiredly. The boy blinked, but then grinned again.
“Yes, actually. I found you a cool shiny thing.”
With those words, he placed a vial with something shimmering on Aesop’s desk. Aesop took it carefully, but couldn’t identify what it was.
“The poachers had it – you know the ones I got rid of on the Poidsear coast. Or you can say Poacher Coast, although there are no poachers there anymore. But it needs a new name, I think “Phoenix coast” would sound pretty neat…”
Something clicked in Aesop’s mind. Phoenix. Phoenix tears. An incredibly rare ingredient, basically priceless. Aesop knew what they looked like in theory, sure, but to hold them in his hands…
“Are you trying to tell me that these are phoenix tears?” Aesop asked in a trembling voice. The boy scratched his head awkwardly.
“I think so, yeah. At least that’s what Poppy thinks they are.”
Aesop just stared at the vial in his hands.
“Do you even begin to understand how much this is worth? It’s priceless.”
“It’s alright,” Di Angelo shrugged. “You helped me plenty. Besides, I felt sorry for the cauldron that Garreth and I exploded last week.”
Aesop let out a bitter chuckle. Even if everyone started exploding their cauldrons as regularly as Weasley, a vial of phoenix tears could supply all Hogwarts students with cauldrons for the next couple of years.
“I can’t accept that,” Aesop said sternly, pushing the vial away. “I can’t. It is simply priceless. You are a student, you need – “
“I have enough gold,” Di Angelo shrugged. “Even though I try to distribute the Ashwinders’ gold to everyone who suffered at their hands, and invite Natty and Garreth over to Hogsmeade, and buy beast food for Poppy, and – “
Surprisingly, Di Angelo caught himself and stopped his rambling.
“The point is, I have enough. I don’t need it. Sure, I could use it to prepare a healing potion, but I’m not injured, so… Wait.”
Di Angelo blinked at looked Aesop. His lips curled into a mischievous smile – the same one that Aesop had seen far too often whenever the boy was about to do something spectacularly foolish.
“Should we brew a healing potion for your leg?” Di Angelo asked. Still startled, Aesop nodded in surprise. The boy beamed.
“Alrighty, so I need bitter water, and sweet grass, and flying horse hair, but not the Hippogriff feathers – “
“You mean Granian hair, anjelica, wormwood essence, plangentine, and spleenwart?”
Di Angelo nodded, still grinning.
“How do you know? Do you read my mind? Amit told me that there are people who can read minds, like the Gaunts. Although you are not a Gaunt – or are you? You're not blind like Ominis, and Ominis would have told me if –”
“I know because you told me. All those ingredients. The night I caught you and Miss Sweeting.” Aesop said, getting up and wincing from the pain in his leg.
“Oh, right, I suppose,” Di Angelo said, although Aesop was sure he didn’t actually remember this. Di Angelo’s attention span could rival that of a goldfish. “Well, that’s good, because it means you probably have them.”
“I do.”
Aesop carefully laid the ingredients in front of the boy while he lit the fire under the cauldron.
“What exactly are you intending to do, Mr Di Angelo?” Aesop asked.
“Well, I think we should preheat the bitter thingy, then crush the sweet grass, and mix it carefully with plangentine juice. Then we’ll see!” Di Angelo replied brightly.
Aesop didn’t have it in him to argue. He just silently watched Di Angelo crush the ingredients, mix them and stir the cauldron. None of his actions made any sense, but after months of teaching Di Angelo – or, rather, preventing him from destroying the classroom – Aesop stopped trying to make sense of his brewing process. It was pointless. Di Angelo existed beyond any rules or logic. He was a loyal and empathetic friend with blood on his hands and a kill count that would horrify anyone. He ignored logic and recipes completely yet provided better potions than his friend Mr Thakkar, who was a remarkably precise and logical student even for a Ravenclaw.
And speaking of Mr Thakkar…
The cauldron bubbled rhythmically as Di Angelo stared at it, seemingly lost in thought.
“We have to wait about ten minutes, maybe five, or maybe twenty,” he commented, noticing Aesop’s gaze.
“I overheard you and Mr Thakkar talking about getting caught in a goblin mine. Was it one of the plots in the adventure books you both like to read?” Aesop asked, even though he knew the answer.
“No, it wasn’t,” Di Angelo replied breezily. “Amit and I went to a goblin mine because I needed someone who spoke Gobbledygook. I like the sound of it, but I don’t speak it. Lodgok couldn’t go with us because he was afraid the Loyalists would recognise him, so I asked Amit. He was busy with astronomy charts, but he still went with me because I promised him a conversation with a real goblin.”
“Did you get caught in the goblin mine or not?” Aesop asked.
“Oh yes, we were caught. We were discussing the last book we had read when the goblins heard us and surrounded us.”
“And how are you both alive, then?”
Di Angelo shrugged.
“I told Amit to close his eyes and ears, then I took care of them.”
“You are a good friend, Mr Di Angelo,” Aesop said quietly. “You protect your friends from danger, but you also care about what they see. It's fortunate for Mr Thakkar that he didn't witness what you did to the goblins.”
Di Angelo smiled awkwardly.
“Yeah, he still saw something. We didn’t have much time, so I didn’t clean everything up properly, but… I suppose it could be worse. I felt sorry for Amit because I dragged him into the mine. Have you ever thought about where the world “mine” comes from? It can mean “mine” as goblin mine, but it can also mean “my”, and why would people come up with the same word for two different meanings – “
“I think we shall concentrate on the potion.”
Di Angelo returned his attention to the potion that was bubbling ominously. Aesop had no idea what the boy was doing, but Di Angelo just threw in more ingredients, stirred it a few times and, finally, uncorked the vial containing Phoenix tears.
“You don’t have to do this, Mr Di Angelo. Like I said – it’s priceless. You can sell it, you can keep it for your own use, you don’t – “
But Di Angelo had already poured the vial’s contents into the cauldron.
“Nah, it’s fine,” he said with a grin. “I have enough gold, and if I ever need more Phoenix tears, I can always ask Firefluff. Although I have no idea how to make him cry, but perhaps I could read him a sad story, or show him my Astronomy essay, or – “
“Firefluff?” Aesop asked in disbelief.
“Yeah, that’s what Poppy calls him. Because he’s fiery, but also cute, and Poppy likes him a lot, and – “
“You have a bloody phoenix?!” Aesop exclaimed, raising his voice in absolute shock. Di Angelo just shrugged.
“Yes. We rescued him from the Poidsear coast, or rather, the Phoenix coast. Well, it is not an official name yet, but I really hope it will stick because I like it, and – “
Di Angelo cut himself off, examining the bubbling potion with a strange kind of concentration – a sight in itself.
“I think it’s going to explode!” he mused happily. “We should probably step away!”
Only a few seconds later, Di Angelo’s prediction turned out to be true. The potion exploded in a rather beautiful red-orange flash. Aesop barely managed to duck and cover his ears in time.
“It was a waste,” Aesop said, voice breaking. “We just wasted an incredibly rare ingredient for… for this. I shouldn’t have let you do this, Mr Di Angelo. I apologise.”
“Nah, it wasn’t all a waste,” Di Angelo commented, stepping closer to examine the cauldron remains. “Quickly, before it evaporates.”
Aesop didn’t know why he was indulging the boy, but he collected the remains of the potion in a vial and drank it, as if watching himself from the side. It was an untested, experimental concoction brewed by the most chaotic person he had ever met. Something created without a recipe or even a plan. It was as unpredictable as Di Angelo himself. Something that could easily kill him.
And he drank it. Because he was tired, so tired of the constant pain in his leg, that made him grouchy during the day and sleepless at night. The pain that made him look ten years older than he was, turned a once strong man into a cripple, and made him desperate for any kind of relief. Even though Aesop perfectly understood how slim the chance of being healed this way was, it was still more than he had achieved on his own.
So Aesop drank the potion, only to regret it several seconds later. A sharp bolt of pain shot through his stomach and spread over his body, making him crumple to his knees. He could hear Di Angelo’s worried voice in the background, but before he knew it, his vision blurred and he lost consciousness. His last thought was that he hadn’t paid enough attention to what Di Angelo was brewing, and that if the potion worked, the recipe would be lost forever.
Aesop woke up in the Hospital Wing, lying on one of the beds. Blainey stood over him, looking worried.
“How do you feel, Professor?” she asked and Aesop blinked, processing her question.
How did he feel, actually? A bit tired, certainly, but in a warm, pleasant way, like after a long, active day. But that wasn’t what struck him. It was the pain.
Or, rather, the absence of pain. There was no ache, no pull in his muscles, no cold grip twisting through his leg. This absence was so stark and abnormal that his mind couldn’t grasp it at first. It felt unnatural, yet not unwelcome.
“Professor?” Blainey repeated, sounding more worried, and Aesop swallowed.
“I’m fine,” he replied.
He was more than fine, actually. He felt… good. It was something he had forgotten how to feel.
Blainey still looked at him with concern.
“Mr Di Angelo brought you here and said that you’d drunk an untested potion. I didn’t believe him at first, but you didn’t react to the Rennervate.”
“He was telling the truth. I did indeed drink an untested concoction. I take full responsibility and Mr Di Angelo is not to blame.”
Aesop got up and stretched. Still no pain. It felt unnatural and strange to be able to move without restraint or having to consider which movements caused more discomfort. He could shift his weight onto his left leg again.
“Thank you, Noreen. I’d better get back to work,” Aesop said, smiling. Blainey looked at him as if his smile had startled and worried her more than his previous unconscious state.
“Are you sure you’re alright, Professor?” she asked, her voice filled with new suspicion.
“Perfectly. Have a good day!”
With that, Aesop walked – not limped! – out of the Hospital Wing, ignoring Blainey’s curious stare. He wanted to find Di Angelo and thank him for whatever it was he had done. Hell, Aesop would even allow him and Garreth unrestricted access to the storeroom if necessary, but the boy was nowhere to be found.
It was only in the evening that Aesop saw Di Angelo entering the Great Hall, looking soaked. Poppy trailed behind him.
“It’d be best not to walk so close to me. I thought I felt something in the water. I’ve probably contracted several diseases and may be infested with something,” he explained cheerfully. “Now, when should we go looking for the moonstone?”
“Mars – “ Poppy started, but Di Angelo noticed Aesop walking over to them.
“Oh, hello there, Professor Sharp! I was busy getting this purple healing stuff, and diving in the cave. It’s probably better if you stay away as well.“
“Thank you, Mr Di Angelo,” Aesop said quietly, his voice breaking. Di Angelo stared at him in confusion.
“For what?” he asked with genuine curiosity. “Oh, do you want the healing thingy? I gathered some.”
He reached into his wet robes and pulled out a vial of Horklump juice. Aesop could only stare in disbelief.
This was the boy who had given him a vial of phoenix tears, worth more than all the contents of his storeroom. The boy who had somehow managed to brew a healing potion that was previously unknown to wizardkind, but had immediately forgotten the recipe afterwards. The boy who had healed his leg was standing there, offering him a vial of Horklump juice and looking surprised that Aesop was thanking him.
“I meant for the healing potion, Mr Di Angelo. It worked. My leg is fine, it doesn’t hurt anymore,” Aesop replied. Di Angelo smirked.
“Oh right, I’d forgotten about this. I’m glad it worked. You scared me when you fainted, so I brought you to the Hospital Wing. I wanted to stay, but Poppy had something to do. Then I took a little detour, and – well, here we are. Sorry about the exploded cauldron, by the way. I’ve got to go now, but it was nice to chat. See you!”
He all but pushed the vial into Aesop’s hands and swiftly left the Great Hall. Aesop just stood there, still dumbstruck.
Di Angelo had been nothing but a paradox, an unknown variable, a mystery ever since the beginning of the term. The boy who healed him, gave him his life and peace back, had just run away, leaving muddy puddles behind. Di Angelo didn’t spare a second thought for all that he had done for Aesop.
Perhaps it was fitting that the key to Aesop’s cure lay in the obscure. In something as peculiar, unusual and unpredictable as Marsena Di Angelo.
9 years later
Aesop walked from the Hogsmeade Floo Flame to Brood and Peck. He knew that Mars worked there as an assistant. At least, that was his daytime job.
After defeating Ranrok and Rookwood in his fifth year, Mars continued to watch over the Highlands. Whenever anyone remotely dangerous dared to raise their head and attempt a crime, they were swiftly taken out by “the Angel of the Highlands”. Business in the Highlands thrived, attracting vendors from all over the country and even the world. Aesop knew that Mars was friends with many of them, including Nora Treadwell and her wife.
It took Mars two years after graduating from Hogwarts to convince Aesop to call him by his first name, Marsena, and another year to get Aesop to call him by the name everyone else used, Mars. They developed a friendship of sorts – certainly not one like Mars’ with his closest friends, Garreth (the Potions shop owner) and Natsai (an Auror), but closer than Aesop ever expected with a former student. Mars was still chaotic, of course, but beneath this exterior was an intelligent boy, and later a man, with a curious mind, a mature outlook on the world, and a kind heart. Sometimes, they brewed potions together, with Aesop busy writing down whatever it was Mars was doing and explaining to him exactly why it worked (or didn’t). Aesop often suggested that Mars become a Potioneer himself or at least consider publishing his improved recipes, but Mars just replied that he was “fine” as it was and that being a full-time Potioneer was “boring”. Aesop didn’t fully understand his choice, but he accepted it nonetheless. After all, Mars seemed perfectly happy, having the time of his life assisting Ellie in her shop, rescuing beasts, and keeping the Highlands safe.
But Aesop wasn’t there today to reminisce. His very pregnant wife had tasked him with an important job, which meant he had to visit Brood and Peck. Thankfully, Mars was there, brushing the Puffskeins.
“Hi there, Professor!” he greeted Aesop happily. Mars had grown a lot since Aesop first saw him, but his famous grin remained unchanged. As did his habit of referring to Aesop as “Professor”.
“Hello, Mars. How are things going?” Aesop asked, and was met with ten minutes of rambling about the state of things in the Highlands, the latest rumours, the names of every current inhabitant of Brood and Peck, and everything Aesop ever wanted to know about Puffskein care.
“And how are you? How is Mrs Sharp doing?” Mars finally asked and Aesop smiled despite himself. He had been married for years, and still couldn’t keep a smile off his face when he thought about his wife. If there was anything he was more grateful for than being healed – it was this. Being free of his injury meant he could finally go outside, pursue a beautiful, smart, kind woman, succeed despite all odds, and call her “wife” in the end.
“She’s fine. She gets tired quickly, of course, but otherwise she’s very happy. We both are,” Aesop cleared his throat. “Actually, there is something I wanted to talk to you about.”
“Oh yeah?” Mars’ eyes lit up.
“Yes. We have recently found out that we’re expecting a son, and my wife and I agreed that we couldn’t think of a better Godfather than you, Mars,” Aesop said.
The boy just stared at him. Silent. Blinking.
“Godfather? Me? Your son?” he said in utter disbelief.
“I understand if you would decline. It was just a – “
Aesop didn’t get to finish the sentence, because the next second Mars hugged him so tightly that air was knocked out of his lungs.
“I would love to be a Godfather! Do you have a name already? And a crib? And a pet, of course – every child needs a pet. I recommend a Puffskein, or maybe a cat, or a Kneazle would work too, they are very intelligent, or – “
At least Mars had let Aesop go, and was now showing him all the inhabitants of the shop once again and evaluating how fit they would be as a future pet for the newborn. Aesop couldn’t help but smile.
His wife was right – Mars was chaotic and full of paradoxes. A loyal, kind Hufflepuff with a kill count. He was a good friend who wouldn’t hesitate to put more blood on his hands if necessary. But one thing was certain: if anything were to happen to Aesop and his wife, their son could not be better protected than by having Marsena Di Angelo as his godfather.