A Dangerous Choice
Despite your best efforts throughout the week to stop obsessing over what you mean to the professor, you can’t help but take a short trip down memory lane as you walk to your next potions tutoring session with him.
It wasn’t this comfortable with Professor Sharp in the beginning. In fact, in the beginning… Well, you’d still had a faint attraction to the ruggedly handsome potions professor, even though you’d been thoroughly intimidated by his stoic presence in class. As you spent more time with him, however, that little rush of pleasure you got whenever you interacted with him only grew stronger. He was assigned to be your academic advisor, having the most hands-on experience with the career path you wanted to take. Thus, your extra lessons were frequently taught by him. Contrary to your (and the majority of the student population’s) expectations of Sharp’s persona, the professor was kinder than he let on, and more patient with students he sensed were genuinely working towards success. He wasn’t the loudest or most enthusiastic professor around, but he was always watching his students carefully, whether to put unruly troublemakers in place or offer a helping hand to those who needed him.
And, as you had soon learned from your one-on-one lessons with him, Professor Sharp had quite a wicked sense of humor, if you caught him at the right time. You often found yourself laughing at quick, sarcastic comments he’d make as you grew closer to him.
Sure, he was rarely impressed and a difficult taskmaster, especially unwilling to suffer fools in his class, and always sounded like he had just woken up on the wrong side of bed with how gruff his voice and mannerisms were, but… He was also extremely tactful, observant, genuinely invested in his students’ success, affectionate, and surprisingly fond tolerant of dumb jokes. Not to mention the whole tall, dark, and brooding look he had going on. You let out a loud sigh, not noticing the glances you get from passing students as you walk.
The man was—and there was no other way around it—charming. It was impossible not to be so fond of his presence, or the comfort and excitement it provided. Intelligent and warm-hearted. The complete package, in your mind. You doubt you would have found him “warm-hearted” by any means had you not been there to witness the effect his injury had on him, however. A byproduct of you spending so much time with Professor Sharp was that he occasionally let the mask slip—the constant pain he was in was tough to keep hidden away 24/7.
You’d stumbled across him when he was at one of his lowest points, and were able to help him concoct a temporary remedy, stubbornly keeping him company despite his firm protesting. It was at that point he began expressing himself more during your tutoring sessions, through small gestures of affection or fondness. A ruffle of your hair. A pat on the hand. More vocal with his approval. Tapping your shoulder to get your attention, or gently grasping your forearms to steady you when you stumbled (a more frequent occurrence than you’d like to admit—you didn’t think you were that clumsy). His increased tolerance for your rambling and nudges mid-banter.
All those things and more, considered… To your immense surprise, he was quite an affectionate man. That certainly did nothing to temper your growing attraction to him. You hoped it wasn’t obvious to other students or professors, and especially not Sharp himself. Your classmates, at least, seemed to only think he was your favorite professor, nothing more. And, interestingly enough, that you had claimed the title of Professor Sharp’s favorite student, as much as he openly rebuked it.
Professor Sharp’s favorite student. You secretly enjoyed the sound of that. A smile played on your lips as you finally arrived at the potions classroom door. Unfortunately for you, it wasn’t long before your smile was replaced by a deep scowl.
Not only was the door to the classroom locked (you’d been a little late, granted, but you didn’t think that warranted a complete shut-out), but you’d also been suddenly ambushed by an oddly infatuated Garreth Weasley, and were now cornered as he proclaimed his deepest affections for you.
“Oh, Fen, I—I do believe I’ve fallen for you—!” Garreth cries out, and you whip around and recoil in shock, your back hitting the wood of the classroom door. “Won’t you go out with me?!”
“What the hell is wrong with you, Garreth?” You demand fiercely, your confusion making you more reactive. This was quite possibly the last thing you expected, heading to your tutoring session today. You’ve only ever spoken to the known troublemaker about mundane things, and now all of a sudden he’s confessing his oh so sweet love for you?
“Your concern for me is delightful—but alas, I desire your response to my proposition!” He continues on, undeterred by the faces you’re making at his words. Passing students nearby snicker audibly at the commotion he’s causing. Garreth suddenly waxing poetic about how shiny your hair looks or the lovely flush to your cheeks surely isn’t an ordinary prank. Could it be… A mishap with a love potion?
“Merlin’s beard,” you mutter darkly, wishing you could sink fully into the ground. Why wasn’t Sharp opening the damned door? “Which absolute idiot thought it was a good idea to give you Amortentia?”
Natty would think this was positively hilarious if she were here. You’re lucky there are only a handful of students who are present to witness your current sticky situation, but word gets around fast enough at Hogwarts. This’ll be a big pain in the arse later. Even more than it already is. Which is a lot. He reaches out to grab your hands in his, simpering. “I’d treat you right! We both know it! And we’d be such a good match, too! Your looks, my brain?”
You scoff in his face and try to wrestle your hands out of his while he speaks, growing more uneasy. Your next words are emphasized with every pull you make. “You—daft—little—Bloody hell, get off me Garreth, or I’ll hex you to—”
There’s a distinctive click behind you as the door to the potions classroom finally creaks open. You hear a very familiar baritone voice ring out, and you sigh with a mix of relief and annoyance at Sharp’s late arrival. “Mister Weasley. Perhaps instead of accosting busy students like Miss Fen on their way to important meetings, you should follow their example and study, for once in your life. Hurry along now. I’m sure there’s an empty cauldron waiting for you somewhere.”
Garreth pales upon seeing the professor behind you, and you almost laugh at the look on his face. “But—”
You suddenly feel a large, warm hand on your shoulder. Something in Sharp’s eyes must scare Garreth, because your classmate follows the professor’s gaze down to your hands in his, and promptly releases them as if they’re aflame.
“I sorely doubt whatever nonsensical fawning you have left to try is more important than my scheduled appointment with her,” Professor Sharp firmly ends the discussion, leaving no more room for Garreth to protest. The ginger-haired student takes one last moment to eye your professor’s steady hand still on your shoulder, but leaves soon after, muttering unintelligible things to himself as he slinks away.
That could have gone a lot worse. As you and Professor Sharp enter the classroom, his hand unfortunately leaves your shoulder. You immediately miss the butterflies it gave, but you sit down at his desk with him smoothly and without a hitch.
“Thank you, even though you could have opened the door sooner to save me from my demise. The door was locked for our ‘important meeting’,” you start, giving him a less-than-pleased look.
“With that tongue, I do believe I’ve saved someone from meeting an early demise, but it certainly wasn’t you,” Sharp retorts, raising an eyebrow in amusement. “You could have saved yourself had you arrived in a timely fashion. Might I ask what had you so preoccupied you couldn’t make our lesson at the arranged time?”
Oh, you know… Just lost in thought about you. You blink rapidly at his line of questioning, then change the subject before you can flush a telling shade of red. “Um. Nothing,” you stammer out a bit too quickly. Both of Professor Sharp’s eyebrows are raised at you now.
“I mean—nothing that concerns you,” you add on hastily, trying to remedy the situation.
Something indecipherable passes through Sharp’s eyes. Shit. Fuck. You might have just made it worse. You gape blankly at him, as though you weren’t the one who just said what you did.
There’s a tangible awkward tension in the air now. Professor Sharp’s dark eyes regard you without letting an emotion slip from his ever-stoic face. Your eyes dart down, unable to hold his gaze for long, only to see his fingers drum a quick rhythm onto the surface of his desk.
“Right,” He says abruptly, bringing your attention back to his face. He looks… Bothered. “Well. Let’s hope the “nothing that concerns me” is not a cause for concern, yes?”
“Yes, professor. I—I’ll do better.” You grimace, hoping he won’t notice.
“Hm.” Sharp hums out a low note of what you take to be positive feedback, before reaching across his desk for his tea, his eyes still trained on you. You glance at the teacup as he picks it up—or rather, what should have been the teacup. Professor Sharp has unknowingly picked up the poison antidote required for today’s review, and you sputter in shock in an attempt to stop him from taking an absentminded sip. “Wait—Sir! That’s not—”
Before you can stop yourself, your hands have reached out to grab the potion from him. The potion almost sloshes over as Professor Sharp jerks back from the feeling of your hands around his own, but it manages to stay in the bottle. He gives you a startled, complicated look, and you stare at him dumbly in return, your hands still on his (noticeably larger) hand.
“Uh, the potion, Professor. We need that for the lesson. Your tea’s still over there.” You nod to the cup of tea still placed neatly on his desk, steaming calmly as if nothing happened.
“Ah,” Professor Sharp manages, with some difficulty. You must have given him quite the shock. He clears his throat in an attempt to regain his composure as he puts the potion down in exchange for the tea, and you hide a small smile. So your professor had his clumsy moments as well. It was oddly endearing. “Much obliged.”
You nod solemnly. “Wouldn’t want you to keel over before our lesson begins. I still have so much to ask of you.”
Professor Sharp almost chokes on his sip of tea at that, and decides it would be safer for the tea to remain on his desk instead. “My, are you alright, professor?” You ask innocently.
He gives you a look that shows his displeasure, but you smile at him anyway. “I will be once this is dealt with,” he grumbles shortly. “You may ask your questions now—or better yet, hold your peace until next week.”
“Next week?! I won’t be able to wait that long!” You protest loudly. You’re more referring to not being able to wait to see him for that long, but he won’t know the difference.
“Cheeky thing.” Sharp reaches over and lightly flicks your forehead. “I presume you’ve brought your notes for review?”
“Yes, sir, but—well.” You chew on your lip a little, working up the courage to ask about the predicament you’d found yourself in just a moment ago. Your professor glances up from the papers he’s gathering at his desk to watch you as you struggle to word your question.
You think back to how he handled the situation with Garreth. The hand on your shoulder felt… possessive, in a way? Like he was trying to ward off others… But you suppose that, in essence, was what he was trying to do at the time. You’re reading too much into this. ‘Why were you so upset when Garreth held my hands? Why are you so affectionate with me but not the others?’ Are you inebriated? Out of your mind? You can’t ask that, there’s no way that’ll lead to anything productive. Besides, Sharp would probably give you one of his usual half-answers that you swear he only saves for when you have a pressing question regarding his emotional state.
“Er—What sort of love potion do you think he took?” You settle for a neutral question, pushing down the other questions threatening to come out. “Judging from the escalation of emotion after physical contact, do you think it could have been Amortentia?”
Your professor’s gaze on you, as it so often is, is unreadable. “...You don’t believe Weasley would hold you in such high regard otherwise?”
“I—No, sir,” you frown. Of course not. Amortentia is known for causing extreme infatuation. You doubt anyone could naturally evoke those emotions from another being. Your answer, however, comes out as more self-deprecatory than anticipated. “There’s no reason for him, or anyone for that matter, to find me attractive to that extent.”
“Then you are a fool.” It is said simply, firmly, and so matter-of-factly, that it almost doesn’t pass as an insult.
…You blink at Professor Sharp, staring wide-eyed at him.
He, on the other hand, shuffles through his papers casually, as though he hasn’t just insulted you to your face. …Was it an insult?
“Are… Are you saying… It’s reasonable for people to be infatuated with me?” Your face flushes dark, and you make no move to hide it. You’re still processing what he’s said.
“Don’t let it go to your head, Lee.” Professor Sharp moves to place his pair of rectangular reading spectacles on his nose bridge. “Now. Take out your notes. I want to see what you’ve written for today.”
That’s not a no, and something in your chest flutters wildly at the thought, even as you pull out your required materials. “Why, I’m flattered, Professor. To think you had such… Faith in my ability to attract,” you grin at him but word carefully, knowing full well you’re treading a fine line.
At that, Professor Sharp glances briefly over at you, nearly doing a double-take when he spots your beaming face. His expression grows cloudier, and he clears his throat. “You misunderstand me, Miss Lee. I simply encouraged you to have a more realistic view of yourself. Had your ego been too high, you would have likely have heard the opposite from me.” His grumpy tone doesn’t bother you as much as it should.
“What, that I’m ugly? Completely unattractive, and dull to boot?” You tease, finding his unnecessarily surly attitude funnier by the second.
His dark eyes flash as he fully turns to you, attention away from his papers. “Of course not. I make no habit of telling lies to—” Professor Sharp breaks off, perhaps sensing that he’s made an error in indulging you. But he continues on. Maybe you didn’t catch what he said, after all. “—To further my agenda, even if it is to correct foolish misconceptions.”
Only, you did catch what he said. He wouldn’t tell you that you were unattractive, because he doesn’t lie. Who’s the flatterer now? Your growing smile only serves to enhance Professor Sharp’s frown. The dark-haired man takes your papers and roughly flips through them, discreetly finding a way to avoid your gaze. The tables have turned.
“Odd you were sorted into Slytherin, then,” you comment nonchalantly, trying to play off your good mood.
“There are better ways to get what you want besides lying,” Sharp informs you with a sigh. He makes a couple marks on your papers with a quill, a quiet scratching noise coming from the parchment. “You’d do well to remember that.”
Recalling all the times you’ve lied to Sharp’s face, mostly to keep your feelings for him a secret, you wince. If only he knew why you’d lied, you don’t think he’d be commenting on it.
“In any case, even if Garreth weren’t under the influence of Amortentia, I’d not accept his affections,” you say suddenly, wanting to continue the earlier topic. There’s a part of you that’s itching to let him know how you feel.
Professor Sharp is quiet for a long moment as his eyes travel down the inky lines you’ve written. The silence is filled with the peaceful sounds of quill meeting paper, and you wait so long for a response you start to question if he’d heard what you said.
“It is, quite frankly, none of my business.” Sharp finally audibly mutters, and you’re not entirely sure who it’s for. The next time he speaks, his voice is clearer, and more direct. “Gallivant around the school with whomever you desire. Whether they be some amortentia-crazed student or that other boy who follows you everywhere.”
“I… Gallivant?” You can’t stop a sliver of hurt in your voice at his apparent lack of care for your personal matters, as appropriate as it is.
Sharp looks up to consider you once more. If he notices your dismay at his words, he doesn’t comment on it. “I only ask that you keep your wits about you when choosing said partner, to remain safe.”
He can’t be serious. Safety is his main concern here? As Professor Sharp goes to pat your head in the way you both have grown accustomed to, your words make the both of you freeze.
“And if I make a dangerous choice?” You breathe, meeting his eyes straight on. “...Must I keep my wits then?”
Professor Sharp’s expression darkens, and you swear you see something within him crumble before his emotions are once again masked and hidden deep within. His fingers curl into your hair, lingering just a few moments more as they trail down the side of your face. Or perhaps the tenderness of his caress touch is a product of your own wishful thinking.
“Even more so,” he tells you softly, but resolutely—and soon the warmth of his touch is gone and your head feels empty and there is more distance between the two of you than ever before. Seemingly too insurmountable of a gap to be traveled. You wouldn’t mind losing your wits for him, you meant to tell him. You’d rather be ignorant for the rest of your life than give up the time you have with him, you’d say. But the moment has passed. It is too late.
The next time you meet Professor Sharp, the soft affection you could once see so plainly in his eyes has disappeared.