In that case i would like to request numbers 36 and 48 from your celebration prompts for an Sharp x fellow professor reader ☺️
First time writing for Sharp so sorry if it's bad 😬
lil disclaimer: reader is a fairly new Ancient Runes professor after working as a traveling runes researcher for years.
Nightcap
Professor Sharp x Professor!reader
1.5k words
cw: drinking, fluff
You were finishing up your nightly rounds when light from a cracked open door catches your eye. It’s coming from the Potions classroom so your immediate thought is a student is up far too late brewing. You have your wand at the ready, fully prepared to tell off the pupil and remind them that they aren’t to be out of bed after curfew. You hold your breath as you ease the door open quietly. You scan the classroom. There’s no student in sight and all the stations are clean and empty.
“Huh,” you breathe, noticing the light is coming from the open office.
So not only was a student out of bed, they were in a professor’s office, likely stealing from Professor Sharp’s personal stores.
“You know, it’s quite late,” you say as you enter the office expecting to see a student caught red-handed.
There was no student. Again, but worse.
A sigh.
“I suppose it is…” Professor Sharp says, looking up from the pile of essays on his desk.
“So sorry, Professor!” you say quickly, eyes wide. “I thought a student was in here.”
“No, it’s just me.” He looks you over. “Finishing your rounds, I assume?”
You nod. He sighs again, sending worry coursing through you. Were you annoying him by simply being in his office? You really had thought a student was in here.
“I think I will finish these tomorrow,” he says, adjusting the stack of paper and moving it to the side. Then he looks back at you. “Would you care for a nightcap?
The offer takes you by surprise. Yes, you were coworkers, but Sharp usually kept his distance from the professors. When you started, Professor Garlick described him as a bit harsh and standoffish. Yet, here he was offering you a drink after you interrupted his grading. He could have easily just dismissed you, kicking you out of his office and claiming he was going straight to bed himself. The offer hangs in the air as all of this runs through your mind. You’re not sure if Sharp notices your delay in answer, having stood up to retrieve the alcohol and cups from a cupboard.
“If you’re pouring,” you say, taking a step into the office.
You remove some things off of a barrel and move it closer to his desk. When Sharp turns around with the drinks, he lets out a low laugh; it’s the first time you’ve heard him laugh all term.
“You could’ve conjured a chair, you know,” he tells you and you blush.
You look down at the barrel you’re perched on. “Bit late for that now…”
He sets the drink down in front of you before bringing over his own barrel.
“Also, you needn’t call me Professor. Aesop is fine.”
“I’m still getting used to being a professor myself, that’s all,” you say, reaching for one of the cups. “Being back here, even after years of being in the field, I feel like a student again.”
“I remember that feeling. At least it wasn’t injury that brought you here.”
You snort a laugh, realizing that it was probably an insensitive response since Sharp’s leg was why he was teaching rather than still being an auror.
“Yay for needing financial stability,” you say before taking a sip, hoping it will prevent you from putting your foot in your mouth again.
“You’re still doing what you’re passionate about though, aren’t you?”
“It’s more consulting and writing about ancient runes. I really liked getting to travel and seeing where they are inscribed, discovering new artifacts. That’s a bigger thrill than standing in front of students and lecturing.”
“Better than me. Closest thing I have is tracking down which student had the gall to ‘borrow’ from my personal stores,” he says, using air quotes.
You lean toward him. “Has someone been stealing?”
“Not recently,” he says, giving you an amused smile. “Hoping to show off some detective skills?”
“Goodness, I don’t know if I would actually be any help with that. More your department of expertise,” you say with a shake of your head. “I had thought I was catching a student red-handed when I came in.”
“Must’ve been a disappointment to find me,” he says, looking away from you.
Your eyes widen slightly.
“No. No! It’s better I found you… I’m glad I found you… Trust me… Although, I didn’t mean to interrupt your grading.”
“It’s good you interrupted. I was probably giving Acceptable work O’s.”
“And we can’t be having that,” you say with a small laugh.
Sharp looks over you again, a smile playing at his lips. It’s an unfamiliar look on his face, but you like it. You think you’d like to see him genuinely smile more often.
“Besides the name thing, are you adjusting to Hogwarts well?”
“Oh, I think so. I do enjoy not having to sleep in a tent.” You debate your next words. “It’s also nice to share a drink with someone.”
Sharp gives you a disbelieving look. “I find it difficult to believe that someone as beautiful as you didn’t have someone to drink with.”
“You flatter me, Pro-... Aesop,” you say, correcting yourself as you almost called him Professor Sharp. “But it’s true. I usually drank alone, unless a friend was visiting or I was collaborating on a project.” You take a sip of your drink. “I’m fairly convinced that I’m difficult to approach.”
“Some people are scared of a beautiful woman who exudes confidence,” Sharp says.
With the drink in your system, you feel a bit more confident, which you’re appreciative of.
“Are you, Aesop, scared of beautiful women who exude confidence?” you ask, leaning forward again, your elbows digging into your knees.
Sharp clears his throat. He’s scanning your face, trying to get a proper read of your intentions. When he offered a nightcap, he hadn’t expected the conversation to take this turn, not that he was complaining. He just wanted to be sure. He smirks at you.
“Don’t get my hopes up, darling, if you’re just going to leave like everyone else.”
You raise an eyebrow with your head cocked to the side.
“Leave like everyone else?” you repeat, unsure of who had all left him.
He sighs but his expression toward you is soft. “Being an auror isn’t kind on one’s relationships.”
“Neither is being a traveling researcher,” you say with a smile. “But you’re retired and I’m stationary.”
“Those are… both true.”
“And I have no intentions of leaving.”
Sharp was looking at you with an intense look on his face. One that was begging you to be serious and sincere. His internal thoughts were asking how he ended up in this situation, with the temptation of you in front of him, saying things he had only dreamed of. Since his auror partner died, he had avoided getting close and forming real relationships with anyone. But something about you had him offering you a drink. Something about you got his hopes up that maybe, just maybe, he didn’t have to be so closed off to the rest of the world.
You finish your drink and set the cup on his desk. He’s still staring at you. It’s obvious he’s lost in his thoughts of uncertainty.
“Aesop, just kiss me.”
He didn’t need to be told twice by the beautiful woman in front of him who exudes confidence. He sets his own cup down next to yours before leaning forward toward you. One of his hands gently holds your face as he brings his near. His eyes hesitantly search yours, half expecting you to say “Sike” and pull away. You don’t. You’re waiting patiently for him to close the space between you.
When he does, you can’t stop yourself from smiling. The kiss was a little too forceful, but he quickly eases the pressure. It shifts into something far more gentle in nature than you thought Sharp had in him. You deepen the kiss, one hand going to hold his arm and the other finding his knee. Your lips move in sync.
You feel breathless when he pulls away. There’s a nervous smile on his face that gains confidence as he sees your own smile. There air between you is charged with unsaid emotions and the uncertainty of where this left you.
“This is probably my favorite way to end nightly rounds,” you say with a nervous laugh.
“With a nightcap?” he asks, earning a light shove from you.
“Aesop,” you say, a lightness in your voice.
“Well, um, if it was late when you first got here…” His voice trails off.
You laugh, “It certainly is late now.”
You stand up and walk to the door, ready to say good night. Sharp follows you, but the confidence in his walk is hindered by the development in your relationship.
He clears his throat. “So this was a one-night thing?”
You shake your head, going on your tiptoes so you can press a kiss to his cheek. “There’s no way this was just a one-night thing.”
He wasn’t surprised when you showed up at the classroom after curfew.
He had gotten used to you showing up at all hours of the day. If he didn’t know you as well and personally as he did, he would’ve been under the impression that all you ever did was roam the corridors of the castle and pop in whenever you felt like it.
Sometimes your visit was just for a quick hello, other times it was for a “real” reason. He never knew what to expect whenever you came bopping in, but not that he was complaining.
He heard your footsteps from the hallway, a heads up that let him know you were about to enter. He was familiar with the sound of your steps, and he could only imagine why you were coming at such a late hour.
Of course he knew it wasn’t Potions related at all, but he still liked to make the same joke every time you came by when the school day was over.
“Are you here for a late Potions lesson?” He didn’t even turn away from the chalkboard to look at you. “It’s a bit late for that.”
“Afraid not,” You grinned, standing in the open doorway. “Is it such a crime for a student to visit her favorite professor?”
“I suppose not. It is an occasional occurrence,” He answered. “Although, lately the random visits have been usually saved for my personal chambers.”
“That’s true,” You grinned. “I was hoping that you’d be up for consoling a broken Quidditch player.”
His anxiety kicked in then, his protective mode turning on immediately…despite your bubbly tone. He forgot about the Potions formula he had been glancing over, his head peeking around the wall that blocked you from his sight.
The sight of your dirty practice uniform and the dirt caked on parts of your face and arms were a tell-tale sign to him that you were coming from the Quidditch field. There were a few scattered scrapes on your legs, and the way that you held your posture made it clear that you were hurt somewhere else on your body.
Abandoning his prep for the next day’s Potions classes, he swiftly approached you. He was gentle as he ushered you further into the room, closing the classroom door behind him and guiding you to his desk chair.
“How did this happen exactly?” He asked.
He was careful as he assisted you in lowering yourself into the chair. Your muscles definitely needed the rest, and if your shoulder hadn’t been hurting you so much, you could’ve fallen asleep right there.
“I had Quidditch practice tonight,” You answered. “These night practices are killing me. Quidditch is impossible to play in the dark…even with illumination charms.”
He put the pieces together without you even saying it. He was very observant when it came to you and had an impressive memory.
“Did you fall off of your broom again?” He asked, taking your chin into his hand to get a better look at your face.
“Yeah,” You replied dryly. “Bludger knocked me off.”
He made a small hum as he glanced over your features to check for any cuts or scrapes that you might’ve missed. He was relieved to see that despite being a little battered up, you were otherwise in good spirits.
“That’s the second time this week,” He remarked. “Where is this carelessness coming from?”
“It wasn’t careless. It’s dark out and I didn’t see the Bludger,” You corrected. “And that’s just part of playing Quidditch. It happens.”
“Not to you it doesn’t. You’re the best on the team,” He said. “Where did the Bludger hit?”
He watched carefully as you brought your hand to the base of your neck, tapping the space between your collarbone and shoulder.
“Right here,” You sighed. “It didn’t start hurting until practice was over. That’s when I came here.”
“You mean that you got back on your broom after you fell?” His face contorted into an expression of disbelief.
With a careful hand, he pulled the collar of your jersey down just enough so he could see the area that made contact with the Bludger. Sure enough, there was a decent bruise well on its way to being fully developed by tomorrow morning.
“I didn’t fall very far. I was pretty close to the ground,” You shrugged. “My shoulder took most of the damage.”
“Are you certain you’re not hurt anywhere else? You didn’t get hurt when you hit the ground?” He gingerly rotated your arm to test its mobility.
“Like I said, I didn’t fall far. The school’s Quidditch field just isn’t equipped to be played on at night.”
This was a common complaint amongst Hogwarts’ Quidditch players. Playing early in the morning and at night was just too dangerous when visibility was low. Aesop was right that this wasn’t the first time that this had happened to you in recent weeks. There had been several close calls, but only twice had you actually hit the ground after falling off. You were just lucky that your body had taken both hits instead of your head.
“Then why do you play on it at night?” He asked the obvious.
“It’s not up to me. The team captain sets the practice schedule,” You explained. “You know that I prefer to practice in the morning.”
Aesop knew that he could lecture you about being more careful and trying to convince your team’s captain to adjust the practice schedule to be during the daytime, but he knew that you weren’t up for a scolding…and he knew that you probably wouldn’t listen anyway. Quidditch was your greatest passion, and he knew that nagging you about it wouldn’t do you any good.
“It isn’t broken, and it doesn’t seem to be dislocated,” He stated, referring to your collarbone. “But I can guarantee that it will be uncomfortable tomorrow if you don’t take something. Is it hurting you now?”
Aesop was a worrier. You didn’t want him getting all fussed up over a little Bludger bruise. If he knew about even half the injuries that you sustained from Quidditch, he would’ve tried to convince you to quit by now. Sure, it felt like your arm was about to detach from the socket, but you weren’t going to tell him that.
“It’s a little sore.” You partially lied.
He leaned against the edge of his desk that was closest to you, his arms crossing over his chest. He caught the slight change in pitch in your voice when you answered, immediately alerting him that you weren’t being totally truthful.
“I thought you said that it started hurting after practice?” He recalled. “If you’re hurt, I need to know.”
It was difficult to get anything past him. You knew better.
“Wiggenweld would probably be a smart idea…” You sighed, feeling ashamed for trying to pull a fast one on him.
“That’s what I thought,” He scoffed. “I presume you don’t have the ingredients to make it yourself?”
You couldn’t help but huff at him. You were beginning to think that he was feeling inconvenienced that you had walked all the way here for his help.
It wasn’t like you were asking him to brew anything super complicated. As a matter of fact, you weren’t asking him to brew anything at all. Aesop always kept Wiggenweld close by.
“I don’t. That’s always why I came here,” You shook your head. “If it’s too much trouble, I can just go to Pippin’s and buy a few vials.”
“It’s late. You shouldn’t be wandering around Hogsmeade at this hour,” He reached into the inside pocket of his jacket, retrieving a small vial of the bright green liquid. “You really should keep Wiggenweld on you at all times. Especially if you’re going to keep getting beat up during Quidditch.”
He wasn’t wrong. You spent enough time on a broom that it was only a matter of time where luck would outweigh your skill, and the luck wouldn’t be in your favor. This wasn’t the first time that you had sought Aesop out after a bruising Quidditch session, but you knew that you couldn’t always expect him to be there to patch you up every time.
“I’m sorry I bothered you with this.” You removed the cap off of the bottle, eyeing the liquid inside.
His expression softened, his stern demeanor relaxing into a more comfortable position. He sheepishly shoved his hands into the pockets of his pants, nudging your foot with his as a gesture of reassurance.
Aesop forgot sometimes that his genuine worry for your health and well-being sometimes came off as aggressive and irritable. That was certainly not his intention.
“You didn’t bother me,” He gave a small smile, gesturing towards the vial in your hand. “Drink up. Down the hatch.”
As common as Wiggenweld was, you wished that some genius potioneer would work towards finding a way to make it taste better. Nonetheless, you gulped it down in two swallows, immediately feeling its effect. The sharp ache in your shoulder subsided gradually until it fully disappeared, and the scrapes on your lower extremities faded within seconds.
“Better?” He took the empty container from your hands.
“Much better,” You sighed. “Thanks.”
“Of course. Are you certain that you’re alright otherwise?” His brows furrowed in concern.
“I’m okay. I just need to get cleaned up and go to bed,” You shifted, preparing to stand up. “I won’t keep you any longer.”
He reached for your hand, helping you to your feet as if you’d collapse. He hated to see you go, and he definitely didn’t want you to leave with the thought that you had irritated him.
“I assure you that you’re not imposing on me,” He said, pulling you in between his legs to keep you from going just yet. “Did you get a chance to eat before practice?”
He always asked that question. Every single time he saw you after practice, he asked you that same question. His arms wrapped around your waist, keeping you close to him.
“No. I was running late.” You replied, knowing what he was going to say next.
One of his hands came to your collar, checking to be sure that the Wiggenweld had done its job.
“You need to eat,” He tutted. “You use a lot of energy playing Quidditch, especially with how rough you play. You need to replenish the energy.”
“I’m tired.” You whined.
“I don’t care,” He remarked. “You need to eat something.”
“I want to shower and go to bed.” You argued.
“Eat, shower, and then bed. If you eat then you can use my shower.” He offered.
A certain glow appeared on your cheeks, shining through the layers of dirt and exhaustion. His heart soared at the sight. His soul exploded with joy and fulfillment with the knowledge that you were so positively responsive to him.
“And sleep in your bed?” You pleaded.
He let out a low chuckle. He had known that question was coming.
“That can be arranged,” He pressed a soft kiss to the middle of your forehead. “But food comes first.”
He wasn’t going to let you get away without getting some food in your belly. He was right after all, you needed the nourishment to make up for lost energy. He swayed you away from his desk, escorting you out of the classroom and accompanying you to The Great Hall. Dinnertime was well over, but there was always a way to scrounge up a meal after hours.
Side by side, the two of you walked together through the corridors to get to your destination. The castle was mostly quiet, considering that everyone else had turned in for the night. Peeves, as usual, was cackling and jabbering about something somewhere off in the distance.
The two of you continued to chat along the way, catching up on what had happened since you had seen one another last. His pinky finger found yours, wrapping around it as a small gesture of affection. It was a comfort to him if nothing else, but he’d feel better once he knew you were fed, clean, and comfortable.
He liked taking care of you. He wanted you to feel your best always, and he would do whatever he had to do to ensure that you were happy.
“Are you coming to my Quidditch match on Saturday? I’d like you to see that all these scrapes and bruises aren’t for nothing.”
Aesop wasn’t particularly the world’s biggest Quidditch fan. He kept up with the pro-Quidditch leagues and followed the scores of his favorite teams. However, as far as going out of his way to actually go see a match was unlikely.
But in recent months, he had been frequenting the Hogwarts matches…mainly the ones where you were playing.
“Frankly, I’m beginning to think that you’re purposefully getting all roughed up as an excuse for my off the record medical services.” He joked.
“I would hardly consider them to be services. Anybody can spare me a vial or two of Wiggenweld,” You bantered. “But in all seriousness, will you come?”
He chuckled again, much lower and even sweeter this time. A sense of warmth and peace rushed over you when he pressed a kiss to your temple, a hum of affirmation sounding from his chest as he did so.
Aesop Sharp x Fem! Student! Reader
Tags: None.
Word Count: 2.8k
“I’m really happy you did.”
꩜꩜꩜꩜
When you came barreling into the classroom, he was sure that something horrible had happened.
He was used to you coming by pretty much any time of day, but when you came rushing in positively panicked and frantic, he knew that something was wrong.
You looked as if you had sprinted all the way from Poidsear Coast based on the way you were barely able to stand. There were beads of sweat scattered across your forehead, despite the frigid January air outside. Your breathing was short and rapid, both from over exertion and emotional turmoil.
This was not normal behavior for you. He found it peculiar, which is why he dropped everything to assist you. He shot up from his chair at his desk, making the quickest strides towards you that his battered leg would allow him to.
Your arms were wrapped around your midsection, clinging to your abdomen for dear life. The expression on your face was particularly concerning, because you looked as if you had just witnessed something unthinkably tragic.
“What’s wrong?” He had asked, his hands gripping the bottom of your forearms as if you’d collapse. “Are you hurt?”
He felt partial relief when you shook your head no, but he still didn’t have an answer for what was happening.
He could feel the chill of your skin through the material of your robes. He couldn’t believe you were out in this weather so severely underdressed. You could’ve at least ditched the robes and put on a coat.
“Are you sick?” He tried again. “Talk to me.”
There was some slight movement underneath your robes, and the way that you had your arms wrapped around yourself made it clear that you were keeping something shielded underneath.
“He’s hurt!” You wailed.
“Who is hurt? What is that?” He asked, making the connection that whatever you had bundled up in your robes was the cause of your stress.
Your right arm freed itself to pull the left side of your robes back. Your left arm was supporting the weight of something, and the sudden exposure to the cold air of the classroom caused it to stir.
You presented a small creature, just barely small enough to fit in one of your palms. It had soft black fur, a long snout, and a fluffy tail. Aesop identified it as a Niffler, and based on its current condition, it wasn’t looking so good.
Its body was curled up in a ball, the muscles on the small animal were constricting and releasing rapidly, causing it to shiver like no tomorrow. It was lethargic and what little voluntary movement it did make was slow and weak — very abnormal behavior for a healthy Niffler.
“It’s a Niffler! I found him at the bottom of a tree up on a mountain.” You cradled its limp frame.
“Nifflers are usually burrowed down this time of the year. I wonder what it was doing all the way up there,” Aesop glanced over the critter. “What in Merlin’s name were you doing up there? And without a coat?”
Quite frankly, Aesop was much more concerned about you getting sick from being outside without a sustainable source of heat. The Niffler was the least of his worries, but it was at the top of your list.
“I was trying out my new Quidditch broom!” You shrilled, growing more upset by the second. “I was only going to be gone for a little while!”
It wasn’t necessarily uncommon to see a Niffler out and about during the winter months of the year, but it certainly was odd to find one so far from the ground.
A Niffler as little as this one would have a hard time traversing out in the open with all the snow and ice on the ground. Nifflers were meant to be underground travelers, and they typically thrived in the warmer months.
“You could’ve at least worn a sweater,” He grumbled under his breath. “What was it doing?”
“He probably escaped a poacher or something,” You rambled, clearly more concerned with the current issue at hand. “Aesop, you have to help him! He was nearly frozen when I picked him up, and he’s not getting any better.”
Aesop realized then that this was a rescue mission. You hadn’t brought this little Niffler all the way here just to show him off (which you had done before with Nifflers and other various beasts), you had brought him to seek help in trying to keep him from becoming a popsicle.
“I have no expertise in this area. Did you try taking it to Professor Howin?” Aesop suggested, clearly not confident in his beast tending abilities.
“I can’t find her! She wasn’t in the classroom and no one knows where she is.” Your voice wavered as if you were on the verge of tears.
This was far beyond Aesop’s skill set. He knew nothing about Nifflers or how to care for them. He certainly didn’t know how to reverse hypothermic shock on one.
“He’s so little, he won’t make it on his own!” You wailed, the tears welling up in your eyes and one more rejection away from spilling.
He knew how passionate you were about beasts. From the smallest Puffskeins to the largest Hippogriffs, you were a lover of all magical critters.
If there was anything that could get you this worked up, it was a beast who needed help.
“I wouldn’t even know where to begin, I have absolutely no training in taking care of wild beasts.” He persisted, but his voice was sympathetic.
That was when the waterworks came, tears leaking from your eyes and spilling down your cheeks faster than you could wipe them away. You trembled all over, both from nearly getting frozen yourself and with fear. You were shaking like a leaf and scared to death for what was going to become of this defenseless little Niffler.
“Aesop, please!” You begged. “He’ll die if you don’t help him!”
He was taken aback by your sudden passion and determination. It was very rare for you to get assertive and even more rare for you to be this desperate for help.
Him giving in to your pleas was mainly because he couldn’t stand to see you so frazzled and upset.
He wasn’t sure what he was going to do, but he had to do something.
“Alright, darling, alright. You must calm down,” He cupped your face in his hands, stroking the apples of your cheeks with his thumbs. “Look, I will…I will do what I can. Now, please — try to relax.”
He didn’t want to be responsible for whether or not this Niffler survived or not. But he supposed that doing nothing was worse.
He took the Niffler from your hands carefully, holding it close to his chest to keep him from losing any more heat. He seriously had no clue where to start, but he was going to do what he could to at least try to save him.
If nothing else, he could get the little guy stable enough to where he could make it to someone who did know what they were doing.
He carried him to his desk, setting him down carefully and with ease. He sat in his chair to get closer to the Niffler, and you were standing next to him.
His main objective first was to get some heat back into the Nifffler’s body…gradually, of course.
“I need your robes. Take them off.”
In better circumstances, you most definitely would’ve made a dirty joke and teased him. But you obliged silently, whipping your robes off of your body and handing them over.
Aesop made a silent note that not only had you failed to wear a coat or sweater, but you were also wearing short sleeves. From now on, he was going to start making you carry hand warmers around.
He properly wrapped the Niffler in your robes, bundling the shivering critter up as much as he could, leaving just his head to be sticking out. He drew his wand, casting a warming charm to speed the process along.
“As long as we keep it wrapped up-“
“It’s a boy.” You sniffed, correcting him.
Normally, he would’ve made some kind of sarcastic remark back to you, but he knew you were upset and only trying to do what you could to help.
“Right. Well, as long as we keep him wrapped up, I believe he’ll have a fighting chance,” He said. “I’m afraid I don’t know what else to do beyond that.”
A makeshift heating pad really was the best he could do. He had toyed with the idea of giving the Niffler some kind of potion, but he wasn’t confident that a critter this small could handle something that potent.
He was going on the theory that the robes wrapped around the Niffler would hopefully create an incubator effect, and it would bring him back and show some improvement in him within a few minutes.
Aesop knew that there wasn’t much else that he could do for the Niffler. It was up to time and fate at this point, and for your sake and the Niffler’s, he hoped it wasn’t too late.
You had gone quiet now other than an occasional sniff and sigh. Aesop watched the way that you were so attentive and focused on this Niffler. This was tugging on your heartstrings for sure, and he just hoped that he wouldn’t have to see what would happen to you if the Niffler didn’t make it.
He wanted to console you, yet he didn’t think he was doing a very good job of it. It was something he was working on. He was learning to be more sensitive and not so dismissive in situations like this.
While a nearly frozen to death Niffler wasn’t a big deal to him, it was extremely important to you. And if it was important to you, then it was important to Aesop too.
The next four or five minutes passed, and neither of you said anything. You were both silently monitoring the Niffler, anxiously awaiting any show of improvement. Aesop was nonchalant each time he checked to make sure he was still breathing and had a heartbeat. He didn’t want to do anything too urgently and make you more upset.
It was touch and go for a little while. It couldn’t have been more than seven or eight minutes total, but it felt like an eternity. Aesop had never tried to save the life of a Niffler before, and he had never felt more helpless than just waiting for something to happen…or not happen.
But just when he was beginning to feel defeated, the Niffler’s shivering began to slow down and he started making more consistent movements and sounding out a few squeaks.
Whatever he had done, it was working.
“What do Nifflers eat?” Aesop asked, stroking the fur on the head of the Niffler, trying to comfort him so that he wasn’t completely panicked when he fully woke up.
“They’re herbivores. Roots, shrubs, and weeds mainly,” You let out a shaky breath, but hope was returning to your eyes. “And treats too.”
“Do they eat dandelion roots?” He inquired.
You nodded, and Aesop took his next course of action.
“There’s a few jars of dandelion roots in the closet. Would you bring one?” He requested.
“Where in the closet?” You asked.
“Left side of the wall, second shelf.” He instructed.
There was a swiftness in your legs as you all but sprinted to the closet, quickly locating the roots exactly where he had said.
“He will likely be famished when he starts coming around. It’s best to have something for him to eat,” He said once you had returned to his side with the jar. “He’s going to need the nourishment.”
He was showing improvement. His movements and noises were becoming more frequent, which was a good sign.
“Nifflers are hyperactive when indoors,” You said. “He’s going to freak out when he fully wakes up and realizes he’s far from home.”
“I don’t think that’s likely. It’s going to take some time for him to feel energized again,” He remarked. “I just hope he doesn’t spot anything shiny around. I do know that they go ballistic over anything of that nature.”
Aesop felt relief when you laughed at that. It was a small one, but genuine. You were feeling better, which made him feel better.
The Niffler’s snout began to twitch, his eyelids slowly opening to reveal his black, shining eyes. He blinked a few times, confused as to why two human faces were in front of him.
“It’s alright…you’re okay.” You used your softest voice to soothe the Niffler.
Aesop screwed the lid off of the jar, the clinking noise causing the Niffler to twitch in surprise. Aesop kept his movements slow and calculated. He didn’t want to startle him any more than he already was.
“Do Nifflers bite?” He asked as he removed a singular root from the jar.
“Not usually, no.” You said, continuing to speak sweetly to the Niffler.
Aesop was hoping that you were right, because he didn’t want to have his finger chomped on as repayment. Nonetheless, he offered the dandelion root to him, waiting curiously for a response.
The Niffler raised his head, taking a few sniffs before beginning to nibble on the end of it. There was no telling when he had eaten last, and based on how quickly he was chewing through it, Aesop guessed that it had been quite a while.
The Niffler made it through about half the jar before he sounded out a small belch, followed by a satisfied hiccup.
“That should perk him up,” He couldn’t help but grin when the Niffler nuzzled its head into his hand. “He looks better.”
He did indeed look better. Within five or ten minutes, he would be wreaking havoc and making a mess of this Potions classroom.
Aesop stood from his chair, standing tall and turning to face you. Not only did the Niffler look better, but so did you.
“I believe that your new friend is going to be just fine,” He declared, his small smile shining with pride. “No more tears, hm?”
He swiped at the last of your tears, pressing a kiss to your forehead with a hum. He knew that you would be okay now, but you had spooked him something awful.
“You really think he’ll be okay?” You sniffed.
“I do, but I suggest that you try to track down Professor Howin again and have her take a look at him.” He advised.
“Alright,” You scooped up the Niffler, keeping your robes wrapped around him snugly. “I’ll check her classroom again.”
He nodded, giving the Niffler one last scratch on his head. He seemed to like Aesop…that or he was just grateful for the dandelion roots.
“Thanks for helping him,” You almost glowed. “I’m really happy you did.”
That gave him a bigger sense of pride than saving the Niffler. There was nothing that he wanted more than to make you happy. He worked towards making sure you were comfortable, happy, and well. Suddenly, all the anxiety and stress of keeping a Niffler alive was well worth it.
“Once you’ve left him with Professor Howin, why don’t you come back here? Take a break for a little while,” He said. “And you can tell me all about your new broom.”
“Okay,” You smiled, and his heart fluttered. “I’ll be back.”
You turned to leave and continue your search for Professor Howin, but he stopped you before you made it far.
“Before you go…” He said, retreating to the closet. He rummaged around for a moment, but returned with an article of clothing in his hands. “Put this on. Please?”
You swapped the Niffler for the dark blue sweater, slipping it over your head and straightening it once it was on. It smelled like Firewhisky and sandalwood…Aesop Sharp’s signature scent.
He kissed the crown of your head once he returned the Niffler to you, his hands giving your shoulders a playful squeeze.
“Alright. Much better. I’ll see you in a minute.” He sent you on your way.
He returned to sit at his desk once you were out the door, a long sigh escaping from his chest. He chuckled to himself. What in the world had happened to him?
He couldn’t believe that he, the infamous and hardened master potioneer, was now bundling up frozen Nifflers and feeding them from his personal ingredients inventory.
He was suddenly filled with so much love and joy just by you thanking him for doing something seemingly so small…something that never would’ve moved him in such a way before.
He had changed much more than he originally realized.
