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The corridors of Hogwarts had a peculiar way of swallowing sound after dusk. The castle, so impossibly alive during the day, seemed to settle into itself once the last bells had rung. Portraits dozed in ornate frames, ghosts drifted lazily through stone walls, and the flickering sconces cast long ribbons of gold across deserted hallways.
Your disillusioned form slips down the stairways, which were uncharacteristically obedient tonight. You think back to your first term at Hogwarts; back when you were a hopelessly curious fifth year discovering all Hogwarts had to offer. Professor Sharp had seemed so severe back then, with his dark eyes and weathered complexion. And how he had thoroughly reprimanded you simply because you had found some sort of kindness at the bottom of your heart and decided to steal a fwooper feather for Weasley.
Sharp was demanding, certainly. Exacting to the point of exasperation. But never unfair. Somewhere between correcting your grip on a stirring rod and quietly guiding you through the agonizing period after Fig's death, your opinion of him had changed. And, of course, your relationship developing enough for you to get close to Sharp's face and truly appreciate his rugged looks. The thought draws a wry smile as you round the final corner toward the dungeons. Why weren't you meeting him at his private quarters? Because Sharp was the most stubborn wizard you've ever had the misfortune to know, and there's no fucking way he'd be sleeping even at this ungodly hour. Not when there were essays left to grade, potions to catalogue, and a dozen other responsibilities he had somehow convinced himself only he could handle.
The door to his classroom and office were ajar, which was really an obvious red flag that you should've noticed. After hesitating a moment about whether you should still knock on the open door, you let yourself into your sweetheart's office. At the sight before you, you stilled just for a second, and then let out a huff of amusement. Sharp's head of carefully groomed brown hair was now resting face down on his desk, piles of unmarked essays off to the side. His quill was left carelessly on the table but thankfully no longer carrying wet ink. After a brief survey, you recognize your own essay mixed in with the others from your class.
With a devious grin you place your essay at the top of the stack, where he'd look to grade first after what you were planning to do with him. Hopefully you could get him in a good enough mood to take mercy on your very average essay.
You shift Aesop to lean back in his seat - albeit with difficulty, the man was big - and take in his portrait with tender affection. A faint red mark spread on his forehead, where he had been resting it on his desk. His hair, usually so professional, was just the tiniest bit greasy and stuck to the sweat on his face.
The professor stirs awake at the shift in position, eyes opening blearily and a hand coming up to shield them from the low light of his desk's lamp. Noticing you immediately, he gives you a tired half-smile then lets his eyebrows knit in concern for your sleep schedule.
"Curfew was-," he checks his pocket watch, "more than three hours ago. You should be in your dormitory." He gives you his best impression of the stern professor he pretends to be in class.
"I'm sure you notice that in your current situation, your argument is quite ironic and frankly, baseless," you reply cheekily.
Sharp gives you a dark look before giving up. He takes your hand in his, warming it for a bit before tugging you closer to him. "Won't you join me in my current situation, then?"
With an indulging tug of your lips you let yourself get pulled into his lap. You straddle him, shifting for a bit to get comfortable before splaying your hands on his broad chest. Sharp lifts an eyebrow at your brazen touch.
"You look stressed, sir," you murmur softly. "I know some good ways to, well, relieve that..."
Sharp lets his eyebrow fall and fixes you with an even darker look. "Do you, now."
You shiver a bit at his tone and his lips twitch.
"Mhm. Let me take care of you," you plead. His head falls back a bit and his eyelashes flutter at the insinuation.
"Sweetheart, I'm not even halfway through the essays..."
"You can grade them later. Tomorrow. Tomorrow morning," you press.
Sharp stifles a groan. His restraint was slipping and by Merlin he was tired of pretending he didn't want it. This wasn't how he envisioned the night would end but fuck if he didn't need it now.
"Fuck... yes, please."
You grin victoriously and immediately got to work, letting your hands travel over his shoulders, his neck and throat, his nape, his face. Even while on his lap you still had to slightly look up to meet his eyes. Your hands slip down again to clutch his lapels and leaned forward to press your lips on his. He sighs into the kiss and your impatient self immediately takes advantage of the opportunity, slipping your tongue between his lips.
Sharp's the one that breaks the kiss for breath, panting slightly. Suddenly feeling lightheaded and entirely too restricted by his tie, he loosens it swiftly and throws it mindlessly forward onto his desk.
"Feeling a bit warm, sir?" you jest.
"I was under the impression that you came here to help me, not tease."
"Ah, my mistake. I'll get right back to it." Sharp chuckles before his mirth dissolves into a quiet groan.
You move your lips to his jawline, kissing softly. As you near a spot just above his pulse point, he's suddenly struck with gratitude for the fact that he was sitting down for his legs might've given out otherwise. Warm breath ghosted over sensitive skin as you buried your nose into that one spot, the one that always made him weak when kissed or touched there.
The professor digs his teeth into his lower lip, trying to hide how affected he was from simple kisses. His hands rest at your waist, periodically tensing or squeezing as if unsure what to do with them.
You move even lower, towards his bobbing Adam's apple.
"Lean your head back for me, Professor," you murmur. He does as you ask with a dazed expression.
With new skin to work with you resume your efforts, sucking and mouthing at his throat. A rumble escapes his chest, just loud enough for you to hear. You're made acutely aware of your own need and shift a bit on his lap, trying to get yourself some much-needed friction down there. Out of the blue another strained sound comes from above, making you pause.
Sharp freezes and his hands tighten, holding you in place. "Sweetheart," he pants, face adorably red.
"What?" You're completely bewildered, before realizing. "...Oh."
You grind down experimentally and his head falls forward with a gasp. He moves his hands to the armrests of the chair, afraid of bruising you should he need to grip even harder.
"Relax, sir," you breath. You tip his head back again, that long line of his neck, the pale skin usually hid beneath layers of collars and formal wear. Then came your hands again: unbuttoning the remaining buttons and peeling the clothing back carefully, warm and scarred in some places from old battles.
Each kiss sent sparks through him.
By the time you reached his collarbone, he was pliant; head thrown back, eyes closed tight, his throat rolling with his swallows and his lips parted with arousal. Your hands tangled in his hair, inducing helpless groans whenever you tugged particularly roughly.
The lamp on his desk flickered on last time before sputtering out entirely. Darkness fell but neither of you cared. You weren't done yet... eventually you'd make your way to bed.
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Sharp woke up for the second time in twelve hours. The side of the bed reserved for his love was cold and empty. You must've slipped out, either for adventure or to calm your dormmates' suspicions. With a grunt he sits up and turns to his bedside mirror, studying his haggard image. He looked messy; deranged, even.
And utterly scandalous, with the faint marks still littering his throat and collarbone hollow. How the fuck was he going to teach looking like this?
He stared at his reflection for several long seconds, as if sheer disappointment alone could make the evidence disappear.
It did not.
With a resigned sigh, Sharp reached for his wand. There were spells and potions for most inconveniences in life.
Unfortunately, none existed for the consequences of being too fond of one’s sweetheart.
“Ridiculous,” he muttered to himself.
The faintest hint of a smile betrayed him.