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Chapter Text

Nothing was eventful about this day.

Nothing has set this day apart from the one before it, and certainly nothing would set it apart from the day after. But there was a sort of charge in the air, an undercurrent that has always been there but has thus far gone unchecked. 

Now it was sparking with renewed energy, tired of being stagnant, tired of being only a conception that has never left the confines of this room, let alone this paper. 

Tossing and turning all night leaves one's mind to wander, maybe even tire itself out, but there was something relentless about his thoughts this evening that kept him up into the morning. 

Aesop blinked open his eyes blearly, met with the ceiling as they strained to focus.

He had been scrunching his face so tightly that he had begun to see illusions of color behind his eyelids, still plaguing his vision in the ever present gloom. 

Eventually all he saw in his watering right eye were small cracks in the ceiling, trailing down to the aging and faded wallpaper of his quarters. The red patterns evaded him at such a distance, shrouded by darkness.

He had spent the earlier hours of the night listening to the crackling of his fireplace, hoping maybe by counting the sparks flying up into the chimney from his propped up view on the pillow he shoves under his back for support every night he could lull himself to sleep. Like the Phoenix, the fire died out and eventually blanketed itself as ash over torched logs. 

However, instead of being reborn from the ashes conveying its doom, the fire decided to re-light itself in his mind, licking at the confines of his skull, begging his body to speak what it whispered in his head like the most skilled Parselmouth.

Now, well past the witching hour, the thoughts have only intensified, the desperation disguising itself in his tongue, speaking into him as if from his own mind. Cruel trickery he supposes, even if self-inflicted.  

He rose with effort, straining his abdomen to assist the feat. The action was further assisted by his legs, or at least they tried to assist. His left leg felt a severe pinch almost instantly, one that clenched his muscles due to their inactivity in bed and traveled up his side. 

He gritted his teeth, breathing through them to avoid a vocal reaction to the surge of pain. Opening his mouth, shallow breaths evaded him in ragged pants. His eyes squeezed shut as his brows pinched together. 

His hands planted themselves heavily into his firm mattress, bearing the worst of his weight. He managed to push himself up into a sitting position, his spine resenting the movement as he pressed himself against the headboard.

His thermal blanket fell from his chest in folding secession, gathering in his lap and exposing his torso to the cool and stuffy air of his quarters. He audibly reacted when his back hit the cold wooden headboard, arching away from it before easing backwards slowly.

Everything, even the simplest of tasks, seemed damn near impossible when he woke up. His body, more specifically his leg, unused except for frivolous tossing throughout the night, had grown cold. Like metal rusting in water; the limbs shifted roughly, each movement causing a gasp to rise from him as if he could feel the bones scraping each other in his leg. 

Every morning was like this for Aesop. 

The endless flaming charm he placed on his fireplace in the main room couldn't seem to breach the chill that would encapsulate his leg until he got moving again. 

He'd grown accustomed to this of course, but that didn't make it any more enjoyable. Just one of the many chores of the day. 

It just so happened that today of all days was a national holiday, one of the few Hogwarts actually took seriously - more surprisingly, Headmaster Black - and allowed students and teachers time off until the next day. Of course, Aesop had no idea what the holiday might actually be. For all he knew it could be a grading day. Nonetheless he appreciated it all the same. 

He, very carefully, swung his legs over the side of the bed, letting out a sharp exhaling hiss when blood flow began to return to the left of the pair. He carefully flexed his knee inward and outward cringing at the same grinding sensation from before becoming intensified. His leg, at the moment, was bare. The night allowed him relief from the uncomfortable metal binding St. Mungos so gratuitously braced his leg with. 

Maybe the effort that the doctors put into the leg brace was lost on Aesop because deep down he knew he was unable to be helped. Thoughts like that were never allowed in the forefront of his mind long enough to be humored. 

Alas, he put it on everyday without fail, blending it into his morning routine seamlessly. The most difficult part of the brace that made him truly hate the process was the fact it had to be built into one of his shoes, and that in order to go out he always had to wear that shoe's other half. It restricted him on his clothing choices and for a man with expensive taste, that can be excruciating. 

He reaches for the socks having been laid out by him the night prior on the beds wooden footboard, ones that reached his upper calves as to avoid chafing from the straps of the braces.

The brace in question leans unassumingly against his nightstand, disguised as a normal boot, taunting him silently as he reaches for it, extending himself with a few grunts of effort before retrieving it. The metal, mostly shielded by the boot itself, is cool against his hands.

The other half of the boot was kicked off carelessly the night before, set several paces away from his bed. Aesop noticed this with an unfavorable huff, scolding his past self, eyebrows knitting as he leaned to the side to reach under his pillow for his wand.

Aesop's days as an Auror did not only scathe him physically, but also implemented rather questionable habits. One of these being the fact that he slept with his wand under his pillow. It wasn't unnatural for Aesop to have dreams of peril and awake in a cold sweat, reaching for his wand and shooting basic casts at his unassuming fireplace until he finally came to. 

Soon enough he felt the unmistakable trim of his wand, pulling it out from its confines and placing it in both of his palms, looking downwards at it for a brief moment. 

___ 

Aesop recalls the first time he ever set foot in Ollivanders. 

Gerbold was still dutifully running the store as he is to this day, just a few decades younger. 

His father, an Auror before him, had sent him into the Wandmakers store alone, lingering outside to go and retrieve some of the more trivial items on his “Hogwarts Necessities” list. 

Aesop had walked tentatively into the stuffy store, the looming walls of seemingly endless wands were a bit overwhelming to such a young boy. 

He approached the empty desk and was about to call out when - 

“Ah ah, no need, I heard you come in.” The voice of an older man rang out from the depths of the store, announcing his approach. Aesop, startled, let his mouth hang open for just a second too long before snapping it shut.

Gerbold stepped forth from the gloom, the case of a wand already in hand. Once he catches sight of the boy just barely protruding over his counter his expression shifts. “Bless me, another Sharp.” He clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth in thought. “You see, I haven't the faintest idea who someone is when they come in, but I have a feeling about the wand before the bell above the door can even chime. Seems backwards, but I can assure you, it is a tried and true method.” Gerbold explains simply, giving the young Aesop a good once over. 

“How's your father?” The Ollivander asked, carefully taking off the lid of the wand case when he deemed he had looked at him long enough. 

“He's good - er, Sir.” Aesop staggers slightly near the end, smoothing the lapels of his un-sorted school cloak in an attempt to appear unaffected. 

“Good, good. Here - why don't you give this a wave.” Ollivander, having finally removed the lid of the wand case, gives Aesop a rather sleek black ebony wand - in which Aesop waves and the lamp upon Ollivander's desk separating the two of them transfigures into a barrel. 

This comes as a surprise to the both of them, especially young Aesop who places the wand down instantaneously, putting a lot of distance between the two of them.

“Curious..” Ollivander picks up the ebony wand and places it back into its case, but doesn't place the lid on. “Not a definitive no, but not exactly a yes.. we'll circle back to this if need be." He explains, turning around to examine a shelf behind him.

Aesop, looking rather sheepish, can't bear to look at the barrel now procured onto Mister Ollivander's counter space; instead, he gazes at the floor. 

“Ah, here we are.” Ollivander grabs a shorter looking case, blowing dust off of the top and removing the lid and wand, examining it reverently. “Cedar, Phoenix feather; might be able to harness this.. unusual prowess you've so graciously demonstrated.” Ollivander says in humorous tones, to which the young Aesop only turns redder upon being handed the wand. 

Aesop takes his free hand and shields his eyes when flicking the wand this time around, praying for a lack of temperament. 

“Ow,” Ollivander utters, and Aesop hears a slight thud. He removes his hand from his eyes, opening them, and spots a new case on the counter in front of them. 

“Did.. I do that?” Aesop questions, looking at the new wand case curiously.

“Yes I believe you did - not before hitting me in the back of the head with it first, however.” Ollivander, now noticed by Aesop, is rubbing a spot on the back of his head. Aesop looks mortified. “Either that or the wand helped you find this.. which is excruciatingly fascinating.” Ollivander seems to be enchanted by this discovery, enough to relieve Aesop of his own embarrassment momentarily. 

Ollivander opens the lid and stares at the wand within. Due to Aesop's height he cannot see much, except the downturn in Ollivander's expression that Aesop chooses not to comment on. The Wandmaker carefully plucks a spiral handled Blackthorn wand from the cases center, twirling it experimentally in his hands. “Dragon Heartstring core.” Ollivander murmured simply before passing it onto the young Sharp. 

“Give it a go,” Ollivander encourages quietly, leaning back from his position hunched over the desk top.

At once, the wand in Aesop's hand begins to glow at the tip, like he just casted the most perfect illumination charm. A warm sensation passes through his right hand, traveling throughout his being before settling deep within him, and Aesop gasps.

“I believe, dear boy, you have just found yourself a wand.” Ollivander's voice is hollow at the edges, his smile lackluster as he observes the implications this wand could have in store for the boy. Aesop, unassuming, gives the wand a reverent once-over. Ollivander, sensing something, feels the need to speak up.

“Listen closely when I say this, young Sharp,” Ollivander starts, gaining Aesop's attention. “This wand will remain with you through the thickest and thinnest of times, but will only truly bond when the worst has transpired. In the end, it might very well be the closest companion you'll ever have.” 

Aesop blinks, shocked at the Wandmaker's suddenness.

"Don't underestimate this." 

___

Aesop tilts his head up blinking rapidly to fight the onslaught of emotions that memory always seemed to give him.

He had been too young, too reckless to take into account what anything Ollivander had to say. Only until after the worst had transpired, did he truly understand what the Wandmaker had meant. 

He shakes his head, hanging it once more before straightening and aiming his wand at the other half of the pair of boots. 

“Accio,” The deep timbre of his voice is aided by the early hours in which he has risen, his voice having gone unused for the better half of the night and into the morning. The boot levitates slightly, dragging slowly across the floor, highlighting his groggy state. “Oh for Merlin’s-” He grumbles the rest, running a hand down his face.

“Wingardium levi- O..” half-way through the spell, he yawns, drawing out the ‘O' quite loudly before finishing with a quick “..sa.” The boot levitates fully with a lazy flick of his wrist and he guides it up onto the bed beside him with its other defiled pair. 

He's able to get his socks on with minimal struggle, the movement helping breathe life back into his limbs. He uses his wand further to summon his clothing for the day to him on his bed. No matter what he is doing in a day, his outfit reflects his standards, which happen to be extremely high. 

He merely dresses in his undergarments and pants at the moment, the suspenders that would be hidden by his many layers of clothing now hanging limply by his legs. His torso is left bare purposefully. He straps on his braced brown boot and buckles the other before he helps himself stand. 

He wobbles only slightly at the sensation before he is moving towards his wash stand pouring in water he had prepared the night before - heated over the fireplace.

Aesop cups his hands into the water and pulls them up to his face, splashing the warm water along his skin. Droplets trail down his chin and dip over his Adam's apple, settling at his collar as he continues to relish in the warmth. Grabbing a bar of soap, he lathers his hands and face in suds before once more washing it away. He merely holds his hands over his face when he has finished, the tips of the forefront of his hair dripping. Water accumulates in his brow, dripping down the bridge of his nose and spilling into the corners of his mouth when he takes his hands away. 

One droplet, dripping from a piece of hair sticking to his forehead, cascades down the left side of his face, eventually trailing in the wake of his scarring, dipping down the valley of the permanent mark to his neck and further until it disappeared in the hair on his chest. 

Aesop blinks irritability, feeling his vision grow hazy in his left eye as he stares at the wall. He steps back from the wash bowl, draining it, before turning to look at the rest of his sleeping quarters with squinted eyes. Most everything seemed blurry around the edges, even after his room had lit its own candles at the realization he was up and about. 

He was told to expect something like this by St. Mungos, which he had been experiencing the past few years. The vision in his left eye was steadily decreasing, becoming what the doctors at St. Mungos described as a cataract due to injuries it sustained when he was an Auror.

He tries to rub the condition out of his eye, blinking a few more times for good measure before sighing and limping back to his bedside, towel in hand. He lightly dabs at his chest, ungracefully ruffling his dampened hair in an attempt to dry it.

. . .

A good half hour has passed before Aesop deems himself appropriately dressed to leave his quarters, fixing himself in the mirror. He had fixed his hair and placed on one of his many finely tailored suits, adjusting himself however he deemed fit. 

Though Aesop didn't imagine he'd be doing anything of utmost importance today, he still appreciated displaying himself in a respectable manner. 

The downside to this, is the amount of time he spends standing in front of the mirror to edit his appearance. At times his knee would start to quake and he'd have to pull up a chair and sit down instead. It was, to put it bluntly, aggravating to the proud man. 

He hunched forward over himself, placing his elbows on his knees, holding his face in a clear display of exhaustion and exacerbation.

The chronic pain he suffered on a daily basis was enough to send him spiraling on days where his mind felt weaker. So much so that he'll dive into obscure and sometimes ridiculously complex studies that not even he will understand when he reads what he scribbled down on scratch paper the following day.

One of his earliest, yet somehow most relevant studies regarded obscurities that only a man of complete desperation would default to. He doesn't like to refer to himself as such, but there's only so long a man can lie to himself before he begins to lack trust in his own thoughts. 

___

It had been late, another frivolous night of thrashing about in the throes of his dream scape, another scenario quickly turning sour in favor of plaguing his mind with the memories of his last mission as an Auror. 

They continued ot haunt him, and he was certian they always would.

When he awoke however, he didn't find himself paralyzed with fear, rather, paralyzed with such intensity to steal back his life from fate that his mind began to race with possibilities.

He dove into studies, studies in which even the most skilled of potioneer couldn't even comprehend the purpose of. But Sharp, a definitive Potions Master, had a knack for discovering pairings of ingredients that would otherwise go overlooked.

He managed to pluck the following from various amounts of tombs: 

Granian Hair - In which Aesop understood would be an enhancing ingredient, most likely added last. Granian Hair, a rare product, was a major component of the Exstimulo potion which would enhance a single spell cast. Perfect not just for enhancing a spell, but potions as well.

Anjelica - A protective herb, sometimes called by muggle-kind: "Root of the Holy Ghost". Has a reputation with both healing and warding off unwanted spirits. He is particularly fond of this herb, as it represents resilience.

Wormwood Essence - Used by witches and wizards for ages; undeniably reliable yet bitter. Linked to many potions that enduce peace with a likeness to death or incredible euphoria. He understands this is an essential if he really wants to be rid of his ailments. 

Plangentine - Restorative based plant, which is exactly what Aesop desired. It's leaves are used in Wiggenweld, which the man is infinitely familiar with; as he hasn't gone a day without it for years. 

Spleenwart - A standard ingredient used in various amounts of potions, with varying qualities based on what it is brewed with. Many deem this plant purifying, Aesop couldn't imagine a better addition. 

____

This was the fire that plauged him so.

Ever since he found these ingredients, his desperation fought with his reason to go and demand that Pippin help with these brews. And thus far, reason had triumphed. But, today felt different. 

He felt.. eager.

To do what exactly? Well, to put it bluntly, get a move on. He was well aware of what he should be moving along with, after all, it's a little hard to play dumb with yourself.

Aesop, situated on his arm chair, tugs his undershirt over his head from where he summoned it from his bed, sighing as he pulls it down. He kicks a fold out of the rug beneath his feet with his bum leg, ignoring the shock of pain.

At once, with his fire so dim, he sees his shadow increase in depth before him, stretching out along the ground along with the rest of the items in his room.

The lamp from his desk had brightened, lighting his back and casting dramatic shadows. 

He pivots in his seat, head peering around the flourishing back of his arm chair to peek at his desk. The furious lamp light coming from under the green tinted glass was enough to make him squint. When the lamp in question realized he had taken notice of it, it begins to flash, dimming then brightening repeatedly. 

"The sentience of this castle is crude at times." The professor says aloud to no one in particular, rising with effort. He, much more elegantly than previously, walks to his desk side, supporting himself by gripping the chair there, peering at the desk top cluttered with paper and viles, drawers askew.

"What is it you want?" Aesop questions his desk sternly, like to a child craving attention. He knows exactly what the desk wanted him to uncover, but part of him wanted it to urge him to do so. In his conflicted mind, he'd feel a little more at peace if he was pressured into something rather than execute an action himself. Even if the pressuring was being done by his work station.

Aesop, a proud man, seemed to so greatly fear change. With change came uncertainty, and his certainty seemed to be the one thing he was able to hold onto. 

The inanimate object seems to shrink under his intense approach, but soon retorts by shining brighter, making half the bulb brighter in the direction of the right side of his desk. He gets the idea, picking up a stack of papers and sifting through them as if he'd just recieved a hearty bundle of post from his owl. 

He knows exactly what crumpled with age slip of paper is awaiting him at the bottom of this stack, and is all the less eager to uncover its implications. 

Those herbs he had so meticulously studied in the earlier days of his injury did not simply float idle in his mind. Aesop took to writing them down, on everything. Any combination, any certian factor or dosage that needed to be considered, all of it. He had eventually come to terms with the ingredients now listed on the paper being his only chance at redemption but was never bold enough to approach it alone. 

Each time he'd discover a new ingredient that captivated his interest, he'd scribble it down in quick succession, his cursive scratch being very close to being illegible. He had planned to take this scrap of paper to his physician but even then, couldn't muster up the courage. 

Maybe he was tired of false hope, that's as good of a reason as any to give up. 

When he had been released from St. Mungos, having just turned down the Ministry's request for him to work a desk and recieved an Owl from a good friend of his, Matilda Weasley, who previously worked in the Curse Breaking Department at the Ministy about a teaching job opening at Hogwarts, did they assign him a physician. 

Dr. Pippin, who had taken over his father's potion store in Hogsmeade, kindly accepted the request from St. Mungo's to care for Aesop's medical needs. 

The two grew close over the course of Aesop's career as a teacher, and Pippin even inspired him to better his abilities with Potions. 

He pulls the vintage list from the stack. 

he sets the rest of the papers and leters back on the desk, holding the slip of parchment between forefinger and thumb, succumbed to silence for a good moment. He reads over the list, at first only mouthing the words then soon in quiet mumbles, repeating the ingredients and letting their names hang like whispers in the Ravenclaw common room. 

He quickly shoves it into the pocket of his pants before hobbling over to his arm chair to snag his coat over his shoulders, struggling momentarily with the arms. It was as if reading those words had possessed him, and his mind finally snapped, commanding his body to help itself. 

And with that, he left his room. 

. . .

Seeing a crippled professor willingly race himself down the corridors of your school, still struggling with his coat must've been a sight to the poor students and fellow teachers who have never known him as anything other than steady and collected. Pain sped up through his leg, but the promise that he may be able to rid himself of it, for the upteenth time, was enough to keep him going.

He practically skidded to a halt at the end of the hallway where the faculty wing floo flame laid, panting heavily. He procured floo powder in his hand, speaking without much forethought. 

"West Hogsmeade!" He declared, frightening a few passing Hufflepuffs when he threw in his powder at the small green flame and was enveloped entirely. 

.

Chapter Text

Aesop is shrouded in green light which fades to that of the morning sun bathing the fall colors of hogsmeade in natural hues that blind him momentarily. 

Maybe he had been a tiny bit irrational.

Now thrown into the bustle of early Hogsmeade goers and townsfolk, he feels like he just made a horrible decision. However, he was here, Pippin's Potions were just around the corner, all he had to do was make it there.

Aesop finds himself frozen by the floo flame, ignoring the taunt of Ignatia's 'what are you up to now?' Coming from behind him. In all honesty, he didn't exactly know. It seems some part of him was tired of doing nothing about his woes and forced him to do something about it. 

And it seemed that part of him still held the reins, as he was currently making a slow approach to Pippin's while he mulled this whole trip over in his mind.

He managed to climb the stairs with little to no struggle - Hogwart's seemingly endless supply of stairs had made sure that his legs remained strong as ever. 

However, instead of being short of breath from the climb, he found himself caught of guard by the sight of one of his students right out front of Pippin's establishment. Not shopping nor browsing, no. He was.. twirling a sign? 

Rather poorly at that. 

"Ehm, Mister Weasley." Aesop cleared his throat to announce himself before greeting the young boy, who's freckled face seemed to pale at the sound of his professor's voice. 

There stood Garreth Weasley, a remarkably creative young boy who's confidence in his craft most times got the better of him, which Sharp wasn't afraid of pointing out to the entire school. The ginger haired boy pivoted at once, his eyes wide and humiliated, the once spinning sign dropping limply to the stone pathway in a clatter that seemed to knock him out of the stare he was so rudely directing at Aesop. 

"P-Professor!" Garreth stumbled, immediately reaching down to grab the sign and dust it off, it's size proving to be a difficult hold in the young boy's arms. "What are you doing here? Not that you don't- eh, have the ability to go where you want, just ah, uhm, I was wondering how you got-"

Aesop holds up a hand to stop the boy's rambling, who's face immediately falls, mouth snapping shut. Aesop raises a brow in his direction, trying to keep his lip from quirking in amusement. "I could be asking you the same thing, boy. You do understand headmaster Black has relieved us of today's.. what would you call this?" Aesop gestures to all of Garreth, including his sign as he approaches in a few hobbling steps. The outside chill was getting to him. "Errands?" 

Garreth looks to the ground miserably, kicking a spare pebble a few measly inches. "Aunt Matilda's got me up to it." He mumbled under his breath, hoisting the sign up as it had begun to slip. "She said she's disappointed in my 'extensive amount of slip ups in Professor'-" Just as Garreth was quoting his aunt, and Aesop's higher up, he cut himself off, looking up at Aesop with a sheepish expression.

"-Professor Sharp’s classes." He finished, looking to be expecting severe verbal backlash. 

"Ah.. I see." Aesop muttered carefully, looking up and away to Pippin's shop. He can't help but let a small smirk quirk his features before fighting it down. He turns back to Garreth. "I'm to understand that she has you doing civil service for Mr. Pippin?"

"Its humiliating-!" Garreth interrupted before hanging hid head once more. "Uhm.. Not the fact I'm doing it for Mr. Pippin.. of course, he's great, he's better than great actually. He's helped me with a lot of your assignments actually.. uhm-" Garreth continues to ramble while Aesop gives him a pointed look. Seeing the young boy so out of his element really was shocking to the man. He never knew the boy could be so humiliated over something other than potions.

It was of great surprise to Aesop when he learned from Matilda that Garreth looked up to him. She had pulled him aside during dinner in the Great Hall one evening to discuss something of importance with him. Garreth had had a particularly experimental day in his class, successfully blowing up a cauldron, and Aesop wasn't in the mood that day. He had called the boy to his office after class and had sternly told him off, taking a whopping 85 points from Gyrffindor and placing them behind Ravenclaw after a nearly spotless lead for the entire year. He was too far into his mind to realize the absolutely broken look Garreth had given him when dismissed.

So when Matilda passed that knowledge on to him the very same day, Aesop couldn't view Garreth any other way then as a pupil. Some days he'd even see a younger vision of himself in the boy. One who still looked up to his father. One that still was learning to cast his Patronus for his first trip to Azkaban as an Auror. 

So maybe he did understand Garreth in this moment, and maybe even resonated with him.

"-It's just that all my friends are out at Honeydukes today and I'm stuck here twirling this blasted sign." Aesop had just caught the tail end of Garreth's ramble, enough to respond to it.

"On a holiday at that." He added thoughtfully, and Garreth's shoulders only dropped more. Aesop regarded him carefully. Sometimes he couldn't see how Garreth could be more intimidated by him than his own aunt, as she was a stern woman, but nonetheless, some softer part of him pitied the boy who looked up to him.

"Well, I'll see to putting in a good word to Pippin." Aesop says while looking off to Pippin's front door. Garreth's predicament had put him ina spot where he physically couldn't avoid going inside anymore. Out of the corner of his eye he can see the shocked Garreth look up immediately, blinking in shock.

"I did see you twirling that.. 'blasted sign' after all." At Aesop's quoted words, Garreth's shoulders raised to his ears before he forced them back down. Aesop, seeming pleased with this, gives a nod to no one in particular.

"Im sure Mrs. Weasley would be pleased to hear something complimentary from Mr. Pippin." He thinks aloud, subtly shifting his weight from one leg to another. He had been standing far to long to be comfortable, that and floo travel always seemed to jumble up his stability.

Meanwhile, Garreth was fixing him with an astounded look, mouth just barely open in surprise. "Thank you, professor-" the Weasley says almost breathlessly. 

"Believe me it was nothing." Aesop replies almost instantaneously, looking away once more to Pippin's door. He begins to move towards it before pivoting once more back to Garreth. "I'll be seeing you first thing tomorrow for class - no funny buisness, do you understand?" He let's a little bit of sternness seep back into his tone for authenticity. Garreth gives an enthusiastic nod.

"Good." There's a quiet moment they share where no one dares to move before Aesop speaks once more.

"Well?" Aesop nods to the sign in Garreth's hands. "I believe you should start twirling that sign again unless you want to make me out to be a liar." 

Aesop had never seen someone move with such speed as Garreth did in that moment, instantly casting wingardium leviosa on the unsuspecting sign and spinning it newfound vigor.

Aesop nodded silently and turned to make the short trek to Pippin's door, staring at the stained glass window for a moment before making his way inside. 

___

There's a certian smell that lingers to any room that houses potions. 

Whether it be his classroom or an establishment, its unmistakable to know what goes on inside once you smell it. 

Once St. Mungo's had released him, he had been asked to report immediately to his new physician after settling into Hogwarts. He had made a cane assisted floo to Hogsmeade, very similarly showing parallelism to the one he made today. 

With his cane, he had stumbled his way to the 'building with the stained glass windows' as Matilda had informed him. The eclectic style and colors immediately making themselves known against the bright summer backdrop of Hogsmeade. 

He taps the cane on the door in a knocking fashion before entering, immediately hit with the pungent smells of potions.

It was if he'd never left St. Mungos. At the time, he was sure that smell would haunt him, become a burden to his mornings after knowing he'd have to wake up to it, live it, breathe it and drink it. But, surprisingly, he now found comfort in the smell. It's familiarity was welcomed in his otherwise unpredictable life. 

He calls out, stating he's here to see about a 'Mister Pippin'.

"Mister Pippin was my father." A voice had answered from the far corner of the store. A man stood with a box in hand, placing viles in their respective compartments. He turns, making an approach to his counter and setting the box down, gesturing for Aesop to join him. "You can call me Parry." 

Aesop makes his way to the counter, leaning heavily on his right side with the cane. He looks Parry up and down thoughtfully, regarding him. The man was a decade younger than he was today. 

"You must be Mr. Sharp correct?" Parry asks him, giving him a welcoming smile as he fiddled with an empty vile to busy his hands. 

"That was my father." Aesop corrects playfully, grunting his way through the sentence in a way that made his words seem less warm. He shifted after realizing this. His pain was immensely present, especially while he stood; It made him speak through gritted teeth. "You may call me Aesop."

Parry looks to apprecaite Aesops gruff attempt at humor through his pain, extending his right hand to him. "Well then, Aesop, its a pleasure to meet you. I suppose I should thank you for your service?" 

"No need." Aesop says genuinely, staring at Parry's extended hand, seriously mulling over letting his cane go to shake it.

However, Parry notices before Aesop can make any proud, dire decisions and immediately holds out his left hand instead, giving him a mere "my apologies." As if it was no hassle and simply second nature.

Aesop manages to crack a smirk at the idea of shaking left hands with someone, but does so anyway, firmly clasping the other man's hand. "The pleasure is all mine." 

___

“Come on in, healing potions are a speciality here; should you need any. Do let me know if I can be of any assistance at all.” Aesop is broken from his memory induced trance by Parry's voice, blinking his way out of his mind and breathing in the smells of the shop.

Parry is standing at his counter, a decade older than in his mind's eye, fidgeting with a vile as per usual. The slightly older man doesn't seem to realize Aesop is who has walked in, too busy mulling over the empty glass in his hands.

"Employing children now, are we?" Aesop asks, a small smile splitting his face at the sight of his friend. He makes his way inside, the door closing behind him with a polite chime. 

"Aesop, Is that you?" Aesop watches as Parry fixes the glasses resting on his nose, peering towards him. At once his mood seems to lift but refrains himself enough to banter with Aesop. "I'll have you know I had absolutely nothing to do with Garreth's services to me. In fact I think the whole idea to be rather absurd. It's his aunt who has-"

Aesop had been approaching during Parry's extensive explanation, shaking his head in amusement, soon cutting him off with, "I'm aware. I've spoken with him." 

The Pippin shakes his head, a fond look in his eyes as he gathers himself, setting the vile down. "I'm familiar with the boy, I've never seen a mind with such creativity. He's a frequent client here."

"So I've heard." Aesop replies smoothly, giving Parry a mock scrutinizing look. "I'm even under the impression you've been helping him with my assignments?" Aesop questions in a roundabout way, not exactly pleased but not exactly upset with his close friend.

"Whatever gave you that idea?" Parry replies equally as collected, this game of banter they played being very familiar to him. 

"People talk." Aesop said with a witty shrug.

Parry breaks the playful moment with genuine truth, enough to bring Aesop out of it as well. "He only comes to me when he really needs it, it's clear he wants to excell, so don't think I'm feeding him answers." Aesop gives no reply, only a thoughtful look flashing in his eyes.

"That boy sees you in a very fond light, Aesop. I hope you know that." Parry adds softly, leaning back. 

"I do, Parry."  Aesop responds, coming back to reality for a moment enough to respond. He nods slowly as if just coming to terms with the idea after hearing it from his companion.

"I have no idea why." Parry jokes at Aesop's  expense, earning a flat look from the professor.

Aesop clears his throat. "I'll have you know I'm here to give you a good word about Garreth's diligence towards this task so you may pass it onto his aunt." Aesop looks to be sticking his nose up, speaking curtly. "So if I were him I'd view myself in a fond light as well." 

. . .

Parry blinks, pursing his lips to think of a quip. "Dear merlin, you aren't feeling ill are you?" 

Aesop merely laughs, a quiet gruff sound, dismissing the banter all together. 

Parry holds out his left hand to him. "I haven't seen you here in quite some time. You haven't come here to purchace have you? I would think a potions master wouldn't need another man's Wiggenweld." Parry chuckles at his own words.

"No. I haven't." Parry smiles as Aesop's left hand takes his in a firm hold, not so much shaking but more so squeezing before letting go. Aesop looks to close off a little at this, as if he had expected to ignore what he wanted when it was right in front of him. It was much easier to ignore it in Hogwarts. 

"Pray tell then." Parry emplores, grabbing his box of viles again and turning to restock the shelf he previously stood at. Aesop moves to trail atter him, stopping after a few hesitant steps. "As much as I'd like to think you're visiting me out of the kindness of your heart, something is telling me there's more happening here that I cannot see." 

"You'd be correct." Aesop replies simply, moving to rest against Parry's desk and sighing in relief at the aid the counter provided. 

"Will you tell me how so?" Parry pried, still dutifully storing away.

. . .

"I believe you already know." Aesop sounds ashamed.

Parry visibly halts, staring ahead at the shelf, his expression unreadable. "No.." 

"Yes." Aesop replies with newfound conviction after a moment, looking to the floor.

"No, Aesop." Parry repeats, turning to him. "You cannot do this again." Parry's voice is lined with sudden worry. 

"This isn't up to your decision." Some part of Aesop spoke up to spit this out, tired of the senseless back and forth. A more sensitive side of him cannot drag his gaze from the hardwood flooring.

"I'm not deciding for you, I'm imploring you. Aesop, please. You've went looking for a cure before and-" the previous mood between the two men has long since died. Parry now approached Aesop like you would a skittish animal, the box long since discarded to the floor.

"-This time is different-" Aesop insited, interrupting, still speaking to the ground. His words were heavy with emotion.

"-the things it did to your health. It mentally destroyed you, It was as clear as day that you were-"

"-You don't get to speak to me about my mentality!"  Aesop's patience snaps, his head raising to see Parry now a mere foot away. He draws back slightly, making his tone stern rather then crack with anymore emotion than it already had.

"You are my physician, not my psychiatrist. I know what it did to me. You pretend that you do." Aesop can't bare to look at Parry while he seethes at him, looking to regret every moment of it behind the desperate anger in his eyes.

"This time is different." He repeats, as if trying to convince himself. Aesop was a different man when the only thing that came between him and a painless life was dangled right before him yet just out of reach. Part of him villinized Parry in this very moment.

"..Aesop." Parry begins, voice wavering.

"What do you know about these herbs?" Aesop reaches into his pocket, pulling out the folded crumbled paper and holding it out between them, urging Parry to take it. 

Parry takes a step back. "I'm not helping you with this." 

Aesop looks up to Parry, allowing himself to feel betrayed by these actions, even if some smaller voice in his head knows Parry is trying to help. "Of course not." Aesop grunts out angrily, shoving the list back in his pocket.

"You can do this to yourself until you've had enough but do not involve me."  Parry explains, looking visibly pained as he wrings one wrist with his other hand, eyes cast downward.

Aesop takes this as his cue to leave, pulling himself out of his comfortable lean and moving to the door, back turned to Parry as he walks away. The planks creak under his weighted limp, echoing in the silence.

"I'll be here when you're done." Parry says, shattering the quiet tension between them.

Aesop almost breaks down right there, the tone of Parry's voice is almost enough to make him blurt out an apologies after apologies at his harsh words, but his conviction stops him. His stubbornness tells him he's gotten this far already, it'd be pointless to stop now.

So he says nothing, and leaves the store.

. . .

Aesop emerged from Pippin's Potions, breathing hard, distracting a certian student a few paces away, still dutifully spinning the sign. 

"Professor! Is everything alright?" Garreth's call drags Aesop out of his mind and back to the present. 

Aesop casts Garreth an unreadable look before approaching him, steps confident despite his limp. Garreth looks perplexed at the intense approach. When he stops infront of him, Garreth releases the levitation charm on the sign, catching it. "Do you know anyone who is impeccably knowledgeable with herbs?" Aesop asks suddenly.

"What..?" Garreth sputtered, confused. He holds the sign a little tighter as Aesop leaned down.

"Do I have to spell it out, boy?" Aesop asked, brows knitting together.

Garreth shakes his head instantly, then appears to be thinking very hard about his answer. "Well.. Professor Mirabel is-" 

"-Of course.." Aesop interrupts, looking angry with himself for not thinking about that sooner.

He goes to turn away before pausing and looking back. "Thank you," he muttered awkwardly before making his way to the floo flame where he arrived.

He leaves Garreth short circuting in confusion, clutching his sign. 

.