Gotta start off by saying this: I didn't think I was going to love this man as much as I do, when I started the game. But here we are. Feel free to send in requests btw!
Word Count: 1k+
Warnings: None
❗️Reader is 18 in this ❗️
━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━
The Potions Classroom, Late Afternoon
The lesson had long ended, yet you’d lingered. Your parchment still out, quill idle. You’d been speaking with a classmate, Leo, who was clever, loud, and always far too eager to fill the room with a charm he hadn’t quite earned.
You laughed at something he said.
Not a polite chuckle. A real laugh. Bright. Effortless. The kind of sound that Sharp rarely, if ever, coaxed from you.
Across the room, you felt it before you saw it. His gaze. The sharp stillness that always preceded something he wouldn’t say aloud.
Professor Sharp stood at his desk, pretending to mark papers, but the quill in his hand hadn’t moved in some time. His jaw was set tight. His eyes narrowed. But it wasn’t the familiar sternness of a dissatisfied professor.
It was something else.
Tension.
Restraint.
As Leo leaned a little too close, brushing your arm while pointing to your notes, you saw it. The briefest flicker in Sharp’s eyes. Not anger. Not annoyance.
Jealousy. Quiet and bitter, like a potion gone slightly too hot.
When your classmate finally took the hint and left, Sharp spoke before you could reach the door.
“Interesting… the way you smiled just now.”
You stopped and turned.
“With him,” he added, voice low. “It was… easy.”
You blinked. “He was just-”
“Helping you with your notes?” he interrupted, though his voice was calm, too calm. “Of course. How noble of him.”
You frowned, stepping closer, searching his expression. “You think there was something more?”
His eyes finally lifted to yours, and what you saw wasn’t jealousy alone. It was longing, tangled with something he was clearly trying to suppress.
“I think,” he said, carefully, “that I’ve grown too used to hiding what I feel to notice when it begins to show.”
A beat passed. The silence between you stretched, heavy with things unspoken.
“He made you laugh,” he added, softer now. “And for a moment… I resented him for it.”
You tilted your head, voice just above a whisper. “Why?”
His gaze held yours, unflinching now. And finally, quietly, with a trace of ache:
“Because I wanted to be the reason you smiled like that.
The words hung between you, fragile and electric.
You took a step closer, slowly, deliberately. The scent of herbs and crushed flobberworm still lingered faintly in the air, but now all you could focus on was him. The man who never said what he felt… until now.
“You could have been,” you murmured, voice low. “You still can be.”
He drew in a breath, deep, steadying. But his hands betrayed him, fingers twitching slightly at his sides as if fighting the urge to reach for you.
“You shouldn’t say things like that,” he said, though there was no conviction in his voice. “Not to me. Not here.”
You tilted your head, reading him with the same precision he so often demanded in class. “Why? Because it’s improper? Because we’re supposed to pretend that whatever this is, whatever we are, doesn’t matter?”
He looked away then, just for a moment. His voice was quieter now, as if he were afraid someone would hear him.
“Because I’m used to being alone. And you… you’re the first person who’s made me wish I wasn’t.”
You step forward, not to touch, not yet, but to close that last inch of space between you.
“I don’t need you to be perfect, Professor. I just need you to stop pretending you don’t feel what I already know is there.”
His eyes snapped back to yours, sharp with something unguarded. He didn’t speak for a moment. Didn’t breathe.
And then,
Very softly. Almost like a confession:
“Every time you walk into that classroom, I feel it. Every time you look at me like I’m something more than a name on your timetable. And Merlin help me, I’ve tried to ignore it.”
He took one small step closer, so close now your shoulders nearly touched.
“But if I let this happen… if I let us happen… I won’t be able to go back. I won’t be able to pretend.”
A beat. His voice dropped, warm and reverent:
“Are you ready for that kind of truth?”
You didn’t look away. Not for a second.
“I don’t want you to pretend,” you said, voice calm and quiet, “Not with me. Never with me.”
Your hand finally moved, slow and deliberate, brushing lightly against his. A whisper of contact. Enough to feel the tension that lived beneath his skin, coiled and waiting.
He didn’t pull away.
Didn’t dare move, either.
“I’ve known what I wanted for a long time,” you went on. “And I waited because I thought… maybe I was the only one feeling it. But now I know better.”
His fingers curled, barely brushing yours in return.
“You were never alone,” you whispered. “Not really. You just had to let someone close enough to prove it.”
He exhaled sharply, like he’d been holding that breath for weeks, months, maybe longer. His eyes flicked between yours, as if memorizing the way you looked in this exact moment: unafraid, unwavering.
“You make it… very difficult to keep my walls up,” he said, voice low and rough with honesty.
“Good,” you murmured. “Then let them fall.”
Something in him broke at that moment. Not in pain, but in surrender. Quiet, beautiful surrender.
He stepped in fully, no more space between you now, his forehead brushing lightly against yours, his hand ghosting along your jaw but not quite touching, still waiting for one last permission.
“Tell me this isn’t a mistake,” he whispered, as if the fear still clung to the edges of hope. “Tell me I’m allowed to want this.”
And when you spoke-
“It’s not a mistake,” you said, steady as ever. “And yes… you are.”
-he kissed you.
Not rushed. Not desperate. But deep, and real, and full of all the things he had held back for too long. Regret and tenderness. Fear and need. Longing and restraint, finally, finally unraveling.
When he pulled back, barely, he rested his hand on your cheek, eyes burning with something vulnerable and alive.
“Whatever this is,” he said, his breath brushing gently against your lips, “I’m in it. Fully. No more pretending.”
Suddenly had another thought about Aesop Sharp's injury...
What if the reason why traditional wizarding healing methods don't work on him is not because of some curse? It's because he's actually healed, but healed wrong?
While I dont have the specifics lore data, what I observe in magical healing is basically: drink this, let your body sort itself out. Usually it works, hence why wiggenweld is considered to be a cure all for injuries. But what if there is a chance that if your injuries are too extensive, the nerves/muscles/bones get reattched wrong?
We don't know what really happened in Scarborough, only for a fact that his partner got killed and he barely survived with his life. If he got his scar during that fight, we can guess that yeah, it's really bad. And if he lay there with his bones crushed, maybe compound fractures, severed nerves, and arterial damage with possibility of him bleeding out, any one who probably found him (or maybe he himself?) will make him drink Wiggenweld to stop further bleeding. The problem is, even in natural healing, your body can reattach itself the wrong way. There is no evidence, to my knowledge, that wizards have no extensive medical knowledge beyond: this potion or spell closes wounds, so it's OK.
That's why no potion nor spell can help him in his limping state. Perhaps when his body healed, some nerve got compressed or his bones got fused in an awkward angle. And even if he drank another healing potion, nothing will happen because per his body, he's already healed. The chronic pain was not accounted for in the healing process.
His possible cure maybe getting injured again and hopefully this time someone sets his body right before the healing sets in 😅.
Christmas Eve 1893 marks the first anniversary of Professor Sharp and his beloved.
I may have miscalculated in my posting... Aaand, then I was way too full of schnitzel and potato salad yesterday, so I decided to leave the posting of the final chapter for today. Anyway, happy holidays everyone!
Chapter 6 - Home
The potions master momentarily felt like he travelled back in time. When he closed his eyes, and took a deep breath, he could’ve sworn he was a young boy again, a young boy who was anxiously willing the clock to tick by faster, already feeling the no doubt delicious Christmas dinner on his tongue, and already seeing himself opening up his presents the next day.
Aesop opened his eyes.
He was no longer a young boy. He was not really a young man anymore either. And yet he still felt anxious, watching the large grandfather clock by the wall tick by, the pendulum swinging heavily. Then again, he had a good reason to be anxious.
Today marked a year since he and his sweetheart revealed their feelings to one another. And what a year it had been. The professor hadn’t felt this happy in over a decade. He wouldn’t have expected to still be able to experience something like this, he didn’t expect to fall in love, to have the craving for partnership, for family, to feel the way it did when he kissed his young lover under the mistletoe for the first time.
The young woman flipped his life around, and Aesop thanked whatever was out here for it every day.
Where he’d normally spend the Christmas holidays at Hogwarts, he was now in his home. It’s been years since the house was as decorated as it was, years since it had a beautifully lit Christmas tree standing in the corner where a desk normally stood. It’s been years since the smell of gingerbreads and fruitcakes wafted through the house like it did now, the cinnamon tickling at Aesop’s nose, and it’s been years since Aesop actively aided in preparation of Christmas dinner.
They were having a beautifully plump roast goose with stuffing, roast potatoes, yorkshire pudding and gravy, and Merlin if Aesop’s mouth wasn’t already watering. They even had a plum pudding for later. Some friends and family would visit them during the next few days, so Aesop wasn’t too worried about the bounty of food going to waste.
He had a wonderful time preparing the meal with his beloved, occasionally stealing a sweet biscuit, or her even sweeter kiss. Their dinner was waiting on the dinner table, and his sweetheart was in the midst of making herself appear more presentable for the occasion (even though Aesop thought she looked perfect already). The professor himself was already donning a crisp white shirt (brand new), a sleek dark brown waistcoat (also new and tailor-made), a pair of elegant and comfortable slacks, and a deep green patterned tie, and he was currently nursing a glass of Firewhisky, in an attempt to steel his nerves a little bit.
It felt as if the ring he had in his pocket, his grandmother’s engagement ring, was burning, like it was just as anxious as he. Like it already ached to rest on her finger…
When his beloved then appeared in the doorway, her cheeks slightly flushed and her eyes warmer than his spot by the fireplace, Aesop’s heart skipped a beat.
Absolutely worth the wait.
His darling was wearing a long, dark teal gown, with a high collar, slightly transparent lace upon her clavicle, and at the end of her tight sleeves. The dress was very elegant, but not too overwhelmingly grandiose, and it fit her like a glove. Her hair was styled into a lovely hairdo, and on her neck sat the necklace Aesop gifted her half a year before.
“You look like a dream, my sweet,” he breathed out, not able to tear his eyes away from her.
She smiled at him, coming closer to her lover. Aesop laid down his glass and stood up, his hands immediately reaching for her own. While looking directly into her eyes, he slowly lifted each hand, bringing his lips onto her knuckles.
Still smiling, she came even closer, and in turn kissed his cheek: “You don’t look half bad yourself, Professor Sharp.” Aesop chuckled, and finally connected their lips.
After a while of tender kisses, during which they gripped at each other carefully, not wanting to ruin the work the other put into their appearance that evening, Aesop linked her arm with his, giving her a small grin: “Come - let’s eat. I’ve been looking forward to that goose all day!”
And so they sat together at the table in the dining room, opposite of each other at the same end of the table. They shared a little toast to each other’s good health and their love, before diving into their meal. The goose was positively succulent, the potatoes crispy on the surface, but soft like butter on the inside, and everything was absolutely excellent.
“You did a stellar job, love,” he commented once after swallowing his bite and politely dabbing at his lips with a napkin. His beloved smiled, and her cheeks once more took on that lovely shade of pink. “Oh, hush, you,” she waved her hand, “you and I both know that were you not there, the poor goose would probably be dry like sand.”
“You’re selling yourself way too short, my dear, I merely gave you a few tips here and there,” Aesop grinned into his plate, before popping another piece of potato into his mouth with a content hum. His sweetheart reached for her glass and absent-mindedly swirled the liquid inside it.
“On the other hand,” her voice was soft and quiet, “you’re always there, praising me for every little thing, while barely acknowledging all the wonderful things you do, things you can do.” Her other hand, which had been lying on the table, was then enclosed in a gentle grip of the potions master.
“Can’t help it,” he said, his voice so low, was the young woman any farther away from him, she’d struggled to hear it. “I can’t help but be awed by you, everything about you. And I don’t think I’ll ever stop feeling this way.”
Both of them leaned over as much as the table (and their dinners upon it) would allow, and their lips met in an incredibly tender kiss. Aesop’s other hand caressed her warm cheek, thumb running over her cheekbone. She revelled in the feeling of his (meticulously trimmed) stubble scratching at her skin gently, and she blindly set her glass down to be able to reciprocate the sweet touch of his hand.
Only once both of them were out of breath and kissed dizzy did they pull back, sharing one more smile before returning to the food.
Later, as their empty plates floated off to the sink, Aesop took it upon himself to pour them both another glass of the sparkling wine. When he sat back down, a look of surprise unfolded on his face. As if it appeared out of nowhere, a small box wrapped in gold and white paper lay on the table before him.
Aesop looked at it curiously: “Aren’t we… aren’t we to open our presents tomorrow?”
His beloved smiled and rested her chin on her hand: “Our christmas presents? Yes, of course. But this, um… This is actually a different occasion present. It’s for our anniversary. Go on, open it up!”
Aesop felt a little awkward. He had a little plan for today, and the plan didn’t include her also giving him something. But of course, he was silly, he should’ve expected that from her. “You shouldn’t have, my love,” he whispered gingerly, a small flush creeping onto his own weathered cheeks. Still, he reached up to carefully unwrap the box and open it.
Inside, was a stunning hourglass, its frame an intricate blend of silver and crystal. The hourglass itself appeared to float in mid-air, suspended between the ornate base and elegant top. The sand inside seemed almost otherworldly, a fine mist that shimmered and swirled with a soft, ethereal glow in the light. He studied the piece in awe, marveling at the delicate craftsmanship and the care that had gone into its creation.
"It’s enchanted," his sweetheart said, her voice warm with affection. "When you’re brewing, you don’t need a pocket watch or a regular hourglass. You simply tap it with your wand and speak the time needed for the next step. When the time’s up, a small bell-" She gestured to a tiny bell perched atop the hourglass, "-will ring, signaling that it’s time to move on."
“Oh, (F/N),” Aesop breathed out, carefully settling the hourglass down, as if afraid he could break it. It wasn’t exactly an unprompted fear - his hands were shaking slightly, and they were definitely a little clammier than a few minutes ago.
“Do you like it?” she asked gently, her own hand coming to rest on his, her smile so full of love, so wonderful, and all for him. Aesop felt blood rushing in his ears, his heart pounding heavily in his chest. He found he wasn’t able to wait any longer.
Quietly, he took a hold of both of her hands, and brought them to his lips again. The kisses he pressed along her knuckles were even slower and more tender than before. “I love it, sweetheart. It’s a gift much lovelier and finer than I would ever deserve. And yet… And yet I'm about to ask you for an even greater gift…”
Aesop Sharp rose from his seat, never letting go of the young woman’s smaller hands, and he slowly circled the table until he was right in front of her. She turned in her seat, looking at him with slight confusion and bewilderment. Still, she didn’t pull her hands from out of his hold.
The professor then descended upon his right knee, his breath hitching in his chest, and he thought she must’ve been able to see how much his heart pounded even through his waistcoat. “(F/N)...” he whispered, his voice sounding nearly foreign to him. He noticed her gasp as she realised what was going on. His left hand left hers in order to reach into his pocket, and she laid the now free hand over her own heart, her eyes wide and noticeably glistening more than they were a minute ago.
“Sweetheart, I-...,” Aesop cleared his throat, his voice soft and slightly unsteady, “the past year spent with you has been among the happiest in my life. If not the happiest one ever. Every morning, when I wake and find you in my arms, I have to pause, just to make sure you’re really here, that I’m not lost in the softest, sweetest dream. And every night, when I hold you close, I delay sleep as long as I can, just so I can savor the moment a little longer. No matter what we’re doing - whether it's kissing, making love, taking a stroll, cooking, sparring, or simply sitting side by side while we each go about our day - whenever you're with me, I feel... I am home. And I never want to feel any other way.”
Finally he presented the ring, and (F/N)’s tears slid past her eyelids and fell into the fabric of her dress. “You've given me so much, my dearest, way more than an old fool like me deserves. And yet here I am, asking for more,” Aesop chuckled, bewildered to find his own eyes dampening.
“Miss (F/N) (L/N) - There is nothing that would make me happier than to be able to spend the rest of my life by your side. Will you marry me?”
The softest of sobs left the young woman’s lips, but even as she brought her free hand up to wipe at her teary eyes, her head was already bobbing up and down. Still, Aesop waited with bated breath, needing to hear her.
“Y-yes,” she finally said, taking a deep shaky breath and finally looking down at him again, cheeks red and eyes still swimming with tears, but the most beautiful smile blooming upon her features, “yes, Aesop. Yes, of course I’ll marry you, Merlin, come here-”
Without further ado, she pretty much collapsed into his arms, the chair she’d been sitting on nearly falling to the ground from the force. Aesop too swayed a little as her body crashed into his, but his arms were tight around her less than half a second later, and he pressed her even close to him, clinging to her as if she was his only saving grace. Their mouths blindly searched for one another, and when they connected, their hands no longer had any restraint, hungrily grabbing and holding onto any part of the other they could reach.
After what felt like hours, the two of them separated, but only far enough to be able to look at each other. Aesop was no longer on one knee, but rather sitting fully on the ground, his legs partially hidden by her skirts as she kneeled between them, still clinging onto him. The professor smiled, and lifted her left hand between the two of them in order to slip the previously forgotten ring onto her ring finger.
Its gems glistened beautifully upon her small hand, and she admired it, another tear escaping her eye.
“Oh, it’s beautiful, Aesop…” she whispered before connecting their eyes again.
The potions master brought her hand closer again, and kissed her knuckles for the third time that evening, his lips ghosting over the ring. “Yes,” he whispered, before pulling her hand to rest over his heart, “yes, it is more than beautiful…”
Both knew they weren’t really talking about the ring.
“Merry Christmas, Aesop.”
“Merry Christmas, (F/N).”
---
Hello! If you've enjoyed the chapter, I'm very very grateful for likes and/or comments <3 You can read all of my stories here on tumblr, or over on my AO3
