Chapter Text
The sun has set just over an hour ago and the entirety of Hogwarts Castle has fallen into a comfortable sort of quiet. All the ambient noises have crescendoed into the forefront, orchestrally taking over the soundscape and making the night come alive. Everything is enhanced and magnified from the sound of the wind blowing through the leaves of the trees below to the soft lapping of the lake’s waves at the shoreline. Being this high up on the castle, staring down at the almost miniscule landscaping below, is its own form of meditation. Your head has been running wild from the moment it was almost unwillingly lifted from the pillow this morning. There was so much that needed to be done and so little time. There were classes to attend, new spells to learn, new chapters to read, more beasts to rescue, more potions to make, more poachers to defeat- more and more and more. Everything you needed to do in five years now needs to be done in one.
When you first heard about coming to Hogwarts, the idea of curling up with a book in front of the common room fireplace and losing yourself in the new mysteries and amazement of magic sounded absolutely, positively wonderful. You stayed awake at night in nervous anticipation. Somewhere between then and the dragon attack on your carriage, that idea has been buried and burned, given an impromptu funeral and tossed into the deep recesses of your imagination. Ever since the moment your feet landed on this school’s soil, they’ve been moving at record speed, never slowing down and never relenting. Every second wasted is a second that could have been spent doing something more important. Why finish a book if it means you can’t rescue a beast? What can be taught in a book that you can’t learn from real world, first-hand experience? What does finishing your homework early mean in the grand scheme of things if some innocent villager loses their pet, their plants, their parents, their livelihood… their life? If you don’t stop the poachers, who will? If you don’t defeat the dark wizards, who will? If you don’t complete the trials and uncover the secrets- who will? If not you then who? Every second of every minute of every hour of every day could be spent doing something that doesn’t consist of you being cooped up in a cramped common room with nothing between you and the textbook on the desk beneath you but your nagging, anxiety-ridden thoughts. It has been driving you nearly insane.
With your feet on either side of your broom, letting the wind blow through your hair as you perch on the landing over the great hall, staring down at the boathouse below, its architecture absolutely dwarfed below by the surrounding forest and mountains, even if it’s just for a second, it is easier for you to take a deep breath. Feeling the cool air burn its way down into your lungs and adding a sting to your eyes, it is enough to make you feel like a person again. Not a savior or a hero or an up-and-coming-witch-phenomenon but a plain, old-fashioned student. Just you. The you you were before you discovered you could see traces of ancient magic. Before you knew that magic wasn’t just used for charms and tricks but also for murder and torture and suffering. Here, surrounded by the concerted quiet of nature, it is easy to let those incessant, nagging thoughts appear and float off in your brain like the leaves on the lake below.
Bathed in the dancing flames of the stone brazier beside you, you can feel the chill of the night air. The stars above are beautiful and breathtaking, each one twinkling and shining in their own unique way. For a moment, you realize that it’s no real mystery why Amir spent all his freetime gazing through the lens of a telescope. The universe was vast and breath-taking. It, itself, was an ancient form of magic. If you listen to some students or professors, somewhere out there, buried within the burning, beautiful balls of gas, lays the answer for anything and everything if you just knew how to look. Stargazing was easier than fighting through mobs of dark wizards and poachers and trolls.
You’re in a crouching position now, the broom handle nestled between your legs, your knees bent and eyes above, ready to push off from the stone ground beneath you when a voice causes you to nearly leap off the wall in sheer terror.
“Where do you think you’re going on that broom? It is well past curfew and it is freezing,” The voice calls out from the dark of the archway behind you.
The small hairs on the back of your neck are standing on end as you slowly pivot around to face the voice, your hands on the broomstick beneath you tightening their grip.
Half of you wants to run away. The other half of your brain is absolutely paralyzed in fear. Damn your instincts. It’s going to take more than a year of training for you to eliminate the freeze portion of fight-flight-or-freeze.
One part of your brain immediately identifies the voice.
Another part of your brain is in a deep denial that although you recognize the voice, you really don’t want to.
As soon as you turn around just enough to see Professor Sharp’s identifiable features illuminated in the dull flicker of lantern light, your eyes widen. Your hands tremble. Your breath catches in the back of your throat.
Your brain shuts down.
You can’t tell him about the Keepers. You can’t tell him about the poachers. You certainly can’t tell him about the dark wizards.
“I have a cloak on sir,” Is all you say, addressing the very last part of his statement as you stare down at your clothing.
Terrible answer aside, you aren’t going to admit that even through the cloak, you’re shivering.
Your response is met by an unceremonious snort.
“Well thank you. I appreciate you addressing the least pressing of my concerns first,” Professor Sharp responds with a raised eyebrow. Despite the snort, he does not look amused. It would be deadly to mistake his expression for amusement. And despite his statement, he does not look grateful for your response.
You swallow the lump sitting at the back of your throat and you shoot a nervous glance around you. There’s no one else out on the landing aside from you and Professor Sharp. Then again, it’s late at night and cold. Why would there be? With a deep breath you wonder why Professor Sharp is out here as well but you aren’t about to interrogate a Professor as to his location when you are the one sneaking out and skirting curfew. At the very least, you’d get a “Do as I say, not as I do” lecture. At the very most, he could expel you here and now.
“I-,” You try to explain but choke on the answer.
Professor Sharp tilts his head as if he’s either giving you time to explain yourself or handing you a shovel for you to dig yourself further in your own grave. Knowing the Potions Professor- it’s probably the latter.
“I wanted to work a little bit more on my field guide sir, and well-,” You pause with a frown, “Completing it requires me to explore the area outside of the Hogwarts grounds as well.”
You qualify to yourself that at the very least, it was partially true. You did want to work on the field guide. It just so happens that your motives for leaving weren’t all that simple.
Professor Sharp immediately does not appear to be amused by that answer either. The grave seems a little deeper now. You sure are making progress digging. A scowl crosses his face but he makes no attempts to move closer. He crosses his arms over his chest and leans against the stone wall next to him.
“And you believe it is wise to trapeze around the Forest and surrounding towns on a broom in the middle of the night into a land absolutely racked with dangers? You want to knowingly fly into the territory of dark wizards, trolls, wolves, centaurs?” You resist the urge to answer the unmistakingly rhetorical questions. “You’re going to need more than a field guide to help you pass your O.W.L.s. We can’t teach you common sense,” Professor Sharp retorts and you flinch.
You resist the urge to bite back a response that you’ve already dealt with all those dangers and, as of right now, have escaped with only a couple burns, scrapes and bruises. You doubt that response will earn you any favor with the already irate Professor.
You sneak a glance behind you once more at the drop-off from the landing to the lake below.
“Do not mistake my limp for an impediment to me catching you. If you run or fly off right now, I will hunt you down relentlessly and you will have detention with me every night until either the day you graduate or until the day you die- the latter highly likely to occur first if you keep sneaking off the school grounds late at night,” His scathing voice snaps your attention back to the Professor. He has taken a few steps forward in the time it has taken you to turn back around.
“Keep sneaking off grounds, sir? I don’t know what you mean, I -,” You start to counter but he holds a hand up.
“I’m going to stop you right there and suggest you stay silent instead of telling me what I am quite confident is a lie,” He urges and the words you were going to use to passionately defend your (false) innocence die in your throat. They are buried in the grave you are still somehow digging.
A sense of shame and embarrassment takes over, a red flush crawls its way up from your chest to rest, uncomfortably, in a burning red slumber on your cheeks and face.
“The rest of your professors may turn a blind eye to your excursions. They may sleep soundly in their beds at night while you throw yourself off a roof and headfirst into danger, oblivious to the risks you are undoubtedly taking but I cannot. I will not,” He lectures, enunciating each word slowly and carefully towards the end so that each syllable causes your hands to shake against the wood of your broom.
“You must be either exceptionally skilled for a new fifth year or exceptionally lucky with a seriously talented guardian angel looking out for you- but make not mistake, all it takes is one second of looking the wrong way, one single error in judgment, and you’re in an early grave,” Professor Sharp lectures and you turns your head away for a second and he only steps closer. “There might be another dragon attack that you don’t escape. A troll ambush you don’t come out on the winning side of. A duel that doesn’t go in your favor. A million horrendous scenarios but the result will be the same. Death, despair or disability. My colleague, Fig, may view this as a fine way of learning and honing your magic but I do not. ”
You cannot be sure if his lecture has concluded at this point but, even if it were, you have no explanations or statements in which to counter his accurate points. You can’t help but stare down at your boots, the shame weighing heavily on your brain and diverting your gaze downward.
A silence falls between the two of you. While the waves of the lake below were relaxing before, now they’re like a dull pulsating between your ears, like a slower and steadier version of your erratically beating heart.
You desperately want to make a case that the world and creatures out there need you. Despite all your anxieties and worries though, you know that, in reality, there is nothing in the world that you can say that will convince this ex-Auror to let you fly away from the castle on your broom right now. There is very likely nothing you have done that he hasn’t seen before- that he and the other Aurors haven’t dealt with or are still dealing with. So instead of protesting, you swallow all your worries and shame and you lift your chin up from the ground and stare him straight in the eyes.
“Yes, professor. I’m sorry,” You say and relax your grip on the broom. You let your shoulders sag forward.
The deep scowl on his face seems to relax as well and for a brief, fraction of a second, you see something besides anger and upset reflected in his eyes.
You see worry.
“Give me your broom,” He states clearly, holding out a hand.
“But, sir-,” You protest, eyes wide, painfully gripping the broom in your hand once more as you take a step backward.
“Broom. Now,” He demands clearly, his voice more stern and unyielding.
Despite your mind begging you to do otherwise, his unwavering tone commands absolute obedience and you find yourself pulling the broom from beneath you and placing the handle into his outstretched hand.
“Sir, I have flying class tomorrow and I-,” You want to argue more but he cuts you off once again.
“You can pick it up in my classroom tomorrow after sunrise, after I’m assured that you haven’t been sneaking off. You will at least be easier to catch on foot and make no mistakes,” He pauses. “Broom or not- if you do still manage to sneak out and skirt curfew, I will catch you. Do I make myself clear?”
You try to hide your head to the side but nod nonetheless.
“Yes sir. I’m sorry sir,” You respond, your voice low and quiet.
“I don’t need your apologies. I need you to be smarter,” He responds all too quickly.
He turns away from you, heading back into the arched corridor with your broom held firmly at his side.
You pause for a second, the thoughts that were pushed to the back of your mind a moment ago suddenly surfacing one after another as if they were drowning and are now surfacing for greedy gulps of air. You turn back towards the ledge, staring down at the lake below. The water is an inky black in the night with iridescent shimmers of silver and blue and white speckled across the surface.
Your plans of shutting down a poacher camp have been successfully thwarted. Even if you could beat Sharp down the stairs and off the grounds, and you’re not even sure that you stood a decent chance of that even with his injury, he would catch you eventually and you shudder to think what kind of punishment he would issue in that case. You sigh and close your eyes tightly.
“If sleep eludes you,” his voice interrupts again and you slowly turn to see Professor Sharp turned back around and staring at you. “I can guarantee one of your housemates has a textbook on Arithmancy that will have you snoring in no time.”
His voice doesn’t change in tone but you can almost swear that he just told you a joke.
You look back at him in astonishment. A small smile curls the edge of your lips.
“I appreciate that advice, Professor,” You groan. “But I’d much rather throw myself from this tower with no broom.”
“Very well. Perhaps we will review sleeping draughts next week,” He frowns and pauses as if he wants to say more but restrains himself from doing so. You watch the mental struggle unfold before he turns back around and heads back towards the interior of the castle.
It is only after his footsteps fade off into the ambient noise of the night air, as your heart rate lowers and your breathing steadies, that you realize he could have reprimanded you more and didn’t. He didn’t deduct any house points and aside from taking your broom away until tomorrow, he didn’t issue any real punishments.
Perhaps he knows that trapping you on school grounds and secluding you with your own thoughts is enough punishment for one night.
Taking in the night-time sky one more time, you take a deep breath before turning around and heading back towards your bedroom.
Quests and adventures were going to have to wait, at least for one more night.