Define "Bad Influence"
You’re not usually one to be distracted easily. Typically, it takes quite a lot to veer your focus off track. This makes it all the more unusual today, for your thoughts to wander so quickly.
Well, speaking of distractions…
The bright yellow sunlight streaming through the sparse trees around you envelops you in warmth as you absentmindedly consider your circumstances. Your time at Hogwarts has, for the most part thus far, done wonders for your motivation. Learning under some of the brightest and most talented spellcasters, potion masters, and theorists has adequately prepared you for your career goals—if not over- prepared you. Not that you’re complaining. To get such a high level of education was why you decided to transfer here in the first place.
Only—if it weren’t for that tiny holdup. Your time at Hogwarts… For the most part , that is. If you’re being honest with yourself, the tiny holdup is more of a big problem. Especially considering you’re taking the majority of your extra lessons under the so-called problem. The biggest distraction of your learning journey, and it isn’t even a life or death scenario…
“As much as I highly encourage students to think things through, now is not the time to be lost in the clouds, Miss Lee.” The problem Professor Aesop Sharp directly addresses you now: a dry, impatient note to his voice.
Oops. A bad move on your part, to lose focus like that, especially since you were the one who suggested the change in environment for today’s lesson. Normally, your dueling lessons are taught in the empty DADA classroom. Sharp had made the exception only after you’d practically begged him to, the beautiful weather simply too good to pass up.
Glancing to the side of the forest’s clearing you two are currently standing in, you give him a sheepishly apologetic smile. “Yes, Professor.”
You alter your stance, fixing your gaze on the training dummy set far away on the opposite side of the clearing.
“Now. Wand at the ready. It’d be wise to actually pay attention this time.” His insistent tone makes it hard for you to bite back a grin, but you obey his instructions regardless, bringing your wand up in a position to strike.
“Show me what you’ve learned.” As soon as Professor Sharp gives you the go-ahead, you flick your wand up and across the air, twisting it in complicated gestures as you cast the spells you need. The surge in magic flows quickly through your body and out your precious wand, landing two feet upwards of where the dummy stands. You sigh, frustrated with your performance and not wanting to see your instructor’s own reaction.
As often as you expect Professor Sharp to express his disapproval, he proves you wrong time and time again. You hear his solid, dragging footsteps approach and stop just by your side. He’s close enough that you can smell the smoky, dark, and slightly spicy hints of his cologne(?) or whatever it is that normally accompanies being with the professor in close quarters.
You watch, almost mesmerized, as his warm fingers steadily reach up to brush against your own, grasping your wand. He gently corrects the placement of your hand, two of his fingers trailing down to your wrist to press it firmly.
“Less in the wrist,” he tells you in a low voice, as if he hasn’t numerous times before. “On account of the swish of your wand.”
It takes a significant amount of willpower to not react when you feel the tip of his wand lightly tap twice between your shoulder blades. “And straighten your posture. You know better.”
His soft chastising is the least of your concerns right now, but you do as he says anyway. You don’t realize you’re holding your breath until he returns to his spot to observe you, calling out further directions. “ Breathe this time. It won’t do any of us good to have you faint before the Auror exams.”
That does the trick. You snort and roll your eyes, a more determined set to your shoulders. This time, the series of hits lands on the dummy square in the chest. Your own satisfaction at your work is met with Professor Sharp’s slow nod when you turn to face him.
“Very good, Fen,” he allows, mulling over your performance. “Despite the earlier distraction… I would say you’ve done well today. Continue to practice this series, and you’ll be well on your way to Auror-level exercises. And take the time to do it properly .”
You feel like you can sense it coming, and so you say it right as he does.
“Shortcuts only ever lead to shortcomings,” you declare, in a poor attempt to mimic the low timbre of Sharp’s voice. The man himself squints at you, thoroughly unimpressed. That, plus the pleasant surprise of you getting it right, makes you crack up. The two of you stand in the forest, surrounded by magic and nature, your professor staring as you let out peals of bright laughter.
“Are you quite done now?” He looks taken aback at your laughter, and only mildly affronted. “You seem to be pleased with yourself. Always so easy to entertain.”
“I am, very much so,” you grin up at him. “I can’t believe I timed it so well.”
Sharp’s dark eyes regard you for a moment, then he shakes his head, a small chuckle tugging the corners of his mouth faintly upwards. “Yes, well. It’s clear you’ve been studying more than what I’ve asked of you. Must you endeavor to hang onto my every word as if it’s my last?”
It’s a joke that hits a littletoo close to home, and you can feel your cheeks go hot. “Soon enough,” he continues, not noticing your redness. “Hogwarts will have two intimidating potions professors limping through its halls.”
You grab onto the new topic as if it’s a lifeline. “Ah, so you admit you’re intimidating! Well, not to worry, Professor Sharp. No other potions professor could take your place.” Shit. Was there too much adoration in your tone just then?
Sharp just seems to wave it off, to your relief, and the two of you start to head back to the castle at a slow pace. “Enough with the flattery—you won’t get out of practice that easily. As for my reputation, I do not admit anything. I do, however, find it amusing how little students think their professors hear.”
You tilt your head at him as you walk. “Is it done on purpose then, to scare students into behaving properly?”
“ Careful , Fenimore,” your professor reprimands you, but with a glint in his eyes. “Another professor might take that as a question of their character.”
In response, you send him a look, as if to tell him to cut the bullshit. “I’m afraid that wasn’t an answer, professor .”
Professor Sharp relents, sighing heavily as though your very presence is giving him a migraine. “You act as though intimidation is enough to stop foolish students from exploding cauldrons. A certain Mister Weasley would be proud to show you otherwise, I’m sure.”
You laugh at that, and he smiles wryly. “Though perhaps I should be telling you not to go around following bad influences.”
“Of course not , Professor! What exactly do you think of me?” You gasp loudly, pretending to be hurt by his words. Before the two of you can walk out of the comfort of the forest, Professor Sharp snorts and brings his hand up to pat your head, his long fingers mussing up your hair as he does so.
He continues forward, the fond and affectionate gesture seemingly of little importance to him. You, on the other hand, pause a short way behind. It hasn’t been the first time he’s done that, but you’re still getting used to it. The warmth of his hand lingers on your head, and you chew on your lip, watching him walk before you. Slowly, you reach up to touch your hair, where his hand was only seconds ago, and sigh.
The professor doesn’t stop to wait for you, his pace held steady—he might have noticed your pause, but he’s not given any indication of it. You take a deep breath and continue onwards, feet beating a quick pattern into the grass as you catch up to him. You ignore the ever-present question ringing in your mind, choosing instead to focus on the way your instructor glances over at you when you arrive, his brow quirking slightly.
What exactly does Professor Sharp think of you?