Chapter Text
“Welcome, students, to another year at Hogwarts,” the ever-charismatic Headmaster Pym said loudly, his voice echoing throughout the vastness of the Great Hall. The grand room fell into hushed tones as older students tried to quiet the chattering younglings, excited by the prospect of a new school year. “Before I lose your attention, there are a few announcements I would like to make.”
The students hung on his every word, most knowing from experience that the information the headmaster would provide at the start of the welcome feast could literally impact their safety at the school. “Firstly, as many of you are aware, Professor Selvig retired from his post as Herbology professor at the end of last term. He was a great wizard with several decades at this school. While he will be missed, I take great pride in announcing our new Herbology professor, a Hogwarts alumnus himself, Professor Parker.”
Peter rose shakily to his feet as he had been instructed, his knees brushing the underside of the table. The weight of hundreds of eyes pressed down on him, and his hands instinctively curled into the hem of his robes to keep from fidgeting. He imagined the wide, curious looks in his direction were eager to determine what kind of professor he would be, especially considering how young he was. And to be frank, he had no idea what the answer would be. Would he be well-liked? Well-respected? Would he be overly strict and loathed?
Optimistically, he hoped that no matter what his students thought of him personally, he could still positively impact each one of them in that room in some way, even if it was just to get them to respect Herbology a little bit more.
Having a seat on that side of the Great Hall and being referred to as Professor Parker felt surreal. He had spent seven years sitting among the students at one of the four expansive tables in the center of the room. Now he was off to the side, sitting with the other professors, where all the students could lay their gaze on him. Recognizing some of the faces in the crowd as former peers from when he was a 7th-year did little to calm his nerves. His parched mouth longed for a cool sip of pumpkin juice to settle his stomach.
Peter smiled meekly as the crowd clapped on command, some already losing interest. He waved slightly before quickly taking his seat once more, grateful he didn't need to make some kind of speech. All the faces looking in his direction seemed happy enough with the announcement. Well, everyone except…
He had promised himself he wouldn’t look, but his peripheral vision betrayed him, catching sight of a figure sitting to the right of the headmaster, making very little effort to clap along with the rest.
Peter tried to stay focused on the scenery in front of him. The shine of the empty plates waiting for the feast. The enchanted ceiling, which twinkled with starlight, peeked out behind rolling clouds. Hundreds of floating candles flickered above their heads. The warm glow of the roaring fireplace off to the side of the room. The feeling of home that warmed him to his core as the familiar scent from his youth surrounded him. All of it deserved his attention far more than the man sitting a few seats away.
His jaw clenched as he broke his reserve and panned his eyes over to the figure in black who had ceased cheering far sooner than anyone else.
Despite everyone else in the room having their eyes fixated on him, Peter wasn’t surprised in the slightest when he looked over at Professor Stark and saw the man paid him no mind.
While the vast majority of the Hogwarts faculty had welcomed him back with open arms upon his arrival, he knew that his former Potions professor was against his employment at the school.
It wasn’t speculation alone; the proof had been clutched in his fingertips, the black ink swirling on parchment. He had been in the headmaster's disorderly, untidy office three days prior, accepting his position with a friendly handshake and routine paperwork. It was at that time that Peter had happened upon the letter Professor Stark had sent to Headmaster Pym, practically begging him to reconsider his decision to employ him as their Herbology professor. It had made bile form at the back of his throat as he read such a flurry of unflattering words.
He wasn’t sure whether Pym's ignoring his trusted colleague was a testament to how deserving and talented the man believed Peter to be, or a sign of their desperation to find a replacement for Professor Selvig. What he was certain of, however, was that Professor Stark hated him.
When he had stared at the job offer letter he had received by owl weeks earlier, he had strongly debated whether to accept. He was eager to return to his alma mater, but the thought of facing Professor Stark again caused him to falter. Seeing clear confirmation of the man’s distaste made Peter wonder if he could take back the handshake, turn away from the school, and never return.
He may not have been a Gryffindor, but he mustered up what bravery he had and accepted the position; Stark be damned.
Even when he saw the look of disinterest and lack of enthusiasm in his new coworker's introduction, Peter wasn’t going to let it get the best of him.
Tony Stark was not going to get to him.
The young professor assumed that Stark would do everything in his power to avoid him like the plague. Despite the greenhouse’s close proximity to the Potions classroom, Peter didn’t foresee them running into each other very often, especially if he stuck to his plan of traipsing through the castle grounds to reach the Great Hall rather than taking the logical shortcut near the dungeons where the Potions classroom sat.
The Divination Professor couldn’t even have foreseen the twist of Professor Stark actively seeking him out later that evening, after the feast, as Peter was tending to the sleeping patch of Fanged Geraniums in the greenhouse.
“Parker,” the husky voice that always made Peter weak in the knees said gruffly with a nod of greeting.
Frowning bitterly, Peter echoed the nod. “Professor Stark,” he muttered, not bothering to hide his indifference at the man’s arrival. Standing up from the dirt, Peter brushed himself off as he got a better look at the man standing before him.
It had been three years. Three years, and still, his pulse skipped at the sight of him, just as it had back when he was a student in Stark’s class.
He should be over this.
He was over this.
And yet, as he took in the way the flickering candlelight danced across the older man’s sharp features, a traitorous part of him wanted to step closer rather than turn him away.
Stark looked as devastatingly handsome as his memory had painted him. Only a few more flecks of salt in his beard and dark circles under his eyes were proof that any time had passed. The man had shed his professor's robes from the welcome ceremony and stood before him in a slender black dress shirt, waistcoat, and matching pants. The younger man ignored the way the look, paired with dark eyes, made his mouth water. “Is there something I can help you with?” he asked, moving about with his list of end-of-night tasks that took priority over anything the other man might have to say.
Tony avoided his gaze, a far cry from the air of confidence and arrogance he normally exuded. He could tell by that alone that this would not be a social call, nor would it be a delayed congratulations (not that he had expected either to begin with).
“Selvig and I had… an arrangement. He would provide me with some select ingredients and in exchange, I would brew any potions that he needed throughout the year,” Stark explained.
Peter’s brow furrowed as he attempted to digest what was being asked of him. “I’m not following—There’s already a set list of plants I need to provide for your Potions lessons.” To which he planned on dropping off in Stark’s office when he was away at dinner, when needed, completely no-contact. “That’s already been arranged.”
As the Herbology professor, Peter had been granted a rather extensive selection of plants acquired from all over the world, the vast majority of which were of rare and magical origin. Having had a green thumb throughout his life, Peter had brought in his own plants as well, looking forward to teaching curious minds all that Herbology had to offer.
One of the primary uses of the plants Peter was to raise was for Potions class, as it made more sense for them to use in-house herbs rather than procuring them elsewhere. Peter knew about the commensalistic relationship between Potions and Herbology, but given that he would not need to work directly with Professor Stark, it hardly affected him.
“This would not be for class. It would be for my own private reserve,” he clarified, handing Peter a parchment with a variety of somewhat rare plants with the quantities next to them.
There was a beat of silence, just long enough to be noticeable. A twitch in Stark’s fingers, the almost imperceptible shift of his weight. Whatever reason Stark had for these plants, he wasn’t being entirely truthful.
Peter emitted nervous laughter. “I’m sorry, but you want me to grow plants for you for your own private, personal reserve to use for—Merlin knows what? Why would I do that?”
“It would be in exchange for—”
“Potions, right, you said that. But in case you forgot, I’m actually good at potions. I don’t need your help.” No disrespect toward Professor Selvig, but Potions was certainly not his best subject. Peter, on the other hand, had breezed through, earning an O on his N.E.W.T.S. exam, the highest possible grade for graduation. “What do you even need some of this for?”
“I told you, it’s for my—”
“Private reserve, yeah, I get that. But, for example, Sophophorous beans… that’s not exactly something someone casually needs. So, what’s it for?” He knew he was being a brat for asking, but he refused to give in to shady demands without knowing the full story, especially from the man who likely believed he could push him around.
“It’s personal,” Stark replied, starting to process that getting what he wanted was becoming far more challenging than what he had expected.
“Why don’t you just buy them yourself? It’s not like you can’t afford it,” Peter said. Everyone knew the Starks. They were a wealthy, pureblood family led by the patriarch Howard Stark, who had been killed in Peter’s second year. Tony was Howard’s only heir, taking over the family’s company that was worth more Galleons than he likely knew what to do with. It was a mystery to anyone why he was still a teacher when he could have been swimming in luxury, not sleeping in a dungeon.
Some of the plants he was requesting would not be easy to procure outside of the greenhouse, but if anyone could get their hands on them, it would be the Stark family. At least nothing on the list had been illegal. He knew Stark was not the best at growing his own ingredients, hence why Peter was providing plants for his lessons, but that’s as far as he would let that go. Especially when he had no idea what Stark was up to.
“That’s none of your business,” the older man replied cryptically.
Peter arched a brow. “But it is—You’re making it my business by getting me involved. So, unless you can tell me what the ingredients are for, I’m afraid I can’t help you.” The thrill of denying Tony Stark was like electricity running through him. As minimal as it was, it gave him the upper hand for the first time in their history of knowing each other.
“There’s no malicious intent here, kid; it’s just personal,” he muttered back with frowning lips.
“Not a kid anymore,” Peter said, the childishness of his retort carrying little weight. Although he had mostly avoided his gaze throughout the visit, their eyes locked at that moment. They stood face-to-face for the first time in years and for the first time as equals.
He could almost see the gears turning in his head, the calculations shifting. Three years ago, Peter may have caved under that gaze, scrambling to prove himself. He stared into amber pools, trying to ignore the familiarity of Tony’s cologne and suppress the feeling of warm nostalgia blooming in his chest. He hated how much he missed it…missed him. “Haven’t been for a while,” Peter added quietly.
He couldn’t help but notice how the older man stiffened at his words, his gaze dropping away once again. There was no real acknowledgment of what he said; there were no apologies nor any sarcastic rebuttals. Although he nodded, it was done in such a way that it was unclear if he was agreeing or merely giving up. Either way, the stoic expression made him look…sad.
Tony sighed, running a hand through his hair. “You always did have a habit of making things difficult, Parker.” The words were light, but something in his tone made Peter freeze. A memory stirred—late nights in the Potions classroom, Tony’s exasperated muttering as Peter perfected a brew beyond his year level, the way his gaze lingered just a little too long.
“If you reconsider my offer, you know where to find me,” Tony muttered. Before the boy had a chance to process the words, the other man had turned on his heel and left the greenhouse.
Groaning, Peter pressed his forehead against the wall with closed eyes. This was a mistake.