The Forbidden Love of Aesop Sharp

Chapter 7 - Hospital Wing

A month had elapsed since the Sorting Ceremony, and the students had settled back into their academic routines. The younger ones were enthusiastically exploring every hidden corner and enigma the castle held, while the more accustomed ones found amusement in playing pranks on the newcomers.

Throughout this initial month, my primary responsibilities revolved around healing minor injuries – from broken arms to noses, often caused by the older students' ill-fated pranks on the newcomers. The most serious incident involved a student's leg wedged between two steps during an unexpected movement of the Grand Staircase. Fortunately, after a good night's rest and a mending potion, he was able to return to classes promptly.

I sighed and lit one of the candles on my desk. The weather outside was so tumultuous that I struggled to read what I was writing, even though it wasn't yet ten in the morning.

Despite the early hour, the day was shrouded in gloom. Since dawn, I had been diligently working on drafting a comprehensive report for Headmistress Weasley, summarizing the events of the first month.

This was an integral part of my role, as I was responsible for providing her with a meticulous inventory of supplies in the Hospital Wing and a list of ingredients requiring replenishment. Although most of the essential remedies and care ingredients were produced or sourced within Hogwarts and its vicinity, there were always some hard-to-get items that needed to be ordered.

Furthermore, I was tasked with reporting any injuries or illnesses that required further investigation. Going above and beyond my official duties, I also managed the inventory of potion ingredients, as I utilized a significant portion of the resources from Sharp's private stock. Consequently, he requested that I meticulously record every item I used for replenishment purposes.

I sank further into my chair after adding the final point to my report, feeling rather proud of having accomplished this task after spending hours on it.

Automatically, my hand reached for the silver chain around my neck, which held the key to Sharp's office. Wearing it as a pendant ensured that I wouldn't misplace it and had access whenever necessary. It also served as a subtle reminder of him since our daily interactions were rather strained.

Following our last argument, during which he made it clear he had never felt for me what I had felt for him, I had more or less given up on fighting for him.

While I harbored doubts about the veracity of his statements, the harshness with which he had pushed me away wounded me deeply, leading me to abandon a battle that appeared unwinnable. He had made his choice and chosen to reject me; who was I to contest that decision?

Leaving my office, I stood before one of the infirmary's windows, drawing back the curtains to allow the dim daylight to filter through the ominous, nearly black clouds outside.

The first Saturday of October had arrived, signaling the start of the Quidditch season. On this particular day, the Slytherin and Gryffindor teams were facing for the first time in the year. Standing before the window, I peered out at the relentless rain, which was now accompanied by fierce lightning that tore through the sky, obscuring any view of the Quidditch pitch.

My thoughts wandered, and I couldn't help but wonder if Sharp was present, watching the match unfold and perhaps thinking of me. Despite our ongoing disagreements, we had continued our private potions tutoring sessions. Those six hours each week spent in the cold; dim dungeons had become the most dreaded moments of my week.

As soon as I entered, he would give me instructions for the potion and linger behind me, leaning over my shoulder to scrutinize my every move.

Beyond that, our interactions ceased. I refrained from initiating any further communication, responding with a curt "yes, sir" to each of his directives, avoiding eye contact or any unnecessary physical contact.