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Shouta Aizawa was everything that Toshinori Yagi wasn’t, and that was a problem.
Or so Toshinori had decided without counsel.
He may have been one of the greatest Aurors of their time, but that mantle didn’t stop him from fixating on trivial matters far outside of his control when it came to his personal life.
“I’m too old for him,” Toshinori said, the dejection in his voice poorly concealed.
“If you’re old, what does that make me? Hmm?” Chiyo clucked, thwacking Toshinori on the crown of his head with her clipboard. “You’re both capable of making decisions. Let him make this one. He’ll say ‘no’ if he’s uninterested.”
“He could feel pressured.”
“Ah, yes,” Chiyo sighed. “Our feared Potions Master, best known for being unyieldingly stuck in his ways, may feel pressured into going on a date with you. It’s not only possible; it’s probable. Tch.”
Chiyo shook her head and flicked her wand, prompting her quill to jump to life. In a blur, it began to scribble out her notes, leaving no ‘t’ uncrossed or ‘i’ undotted.
Ignoring the plaintive look forming on Toshinori’s face, she turned to rummage through a drawer, withdrawing the ointment she prepared for him monthly. Every moon, she fixed him a fresh batch and summoned him to the Hospital Wing, where she examined the injury that even St Mungo’s had been unable to heal.
In many ways, Chiyo held Toshinori together, though not without taxation. She kept his injury a secret, at his behest, and tended to him well, but she often scolded his misguided rambles and attempts at self-sabotage.
Over the course of Toshinori’s tenure as Hogwarts’ Defense Against the Dark Arts professor, Chiyo had earned the famed Auror’s trust. Still, she didn’t coddle her students, much less grown wizards capable of unimaginable feats. So sympathy simply wasn’t something she offered him.
“Mock me if you like,” Toshinori sighed, defeated. “I feel this is one battle best suited to a younger heart, one with fewer scars and baggage.”
“Dearie, you’re aging me.” Chiyo frowned. “I’m no head doctor. I can brew a mean potion and mend a broken nose in a jiffy. Speaking of which, please tell that young pupil you spoil that I won’t have more Skele-Gro until next month. So if he could please refrain from melting, shattering, or disapparating his bones again, that would be most agreeable. Where was I? Oh! Right. I’m excellent at what I do, and I’m not so humble as to hide it. However, there are limits to how much hand-holding I can do around here, and frankly, I’ve already surpassed my quota by a considerable measure.”
Chiyo waved her wand, dismissing her quill and clipboard.
“Listen closely, Toshinori Yagi. This is the last I’ll say on the matter. Professor Aizawa is a smart man—wiser than you, no doubt. He’s capable of deciding what’s best for himself, and you have no place deciding for him. Ask him out, or don’t. But I must implore you: choose a path and get to walking it. None of us are getting any younger. We can both agree on that.”
Cool resolve glinted in Chiyo’s eyes, only softened by the affection that crept into her expression when she patted his knee.
“Apply nightly,” she instructed, pressing the ointment into Toshinori’s hands. “Next checkup, I don’t want to hear that you’ve been forgetting again.”
“Ah.” Toshinori grimaced. He rubbed at the back of his head, hoping his expression wasn’t as sheepish as he felt. “I’ll do better…and thank you.”
“No thanks necessary. Just take care of yourself—and ask Shouta out. Maybe I’ll forgive you for talking my ear off all these months.”
Toshinori stood and returned Chiyo’s smile in kind. He could feel his cheeks burning. Despite how motherly she acted, he had no doubt that Chiyo was deeply invested in his crush on Shouta, and he couldn’t find it in himself to blame her. He’d spent the better half of a year talking about the man, after all.
“I’ll see what can be done,” Toshinori said in a wistful tone.
“Excellent.” Chiyo clapped. “Now get out of my sight. I’ve had enough of you.”
“I’m not his type. Let it go,” Shouta sighed, repeating the same sorry excuse he used every time Hizashi got overly nosy.
“Oh, so you know his type?” Hizashi grinned, thumping him on the back as they descended into the dungeons.
Shouta didn’t know Toshinori’s type. It wasn’t like colleagues shared that sort of personal information with each other, disregarding Nemuri and Hizashi, of course.
There wasn’t a name for the peculiar brand of pain Shouta felt when he thought about how he knew so much about Toshinori and yet so very little. The man was internationally famous. It was impossible not to know of him and his exploits. And for many, knowing those tales was enough.
Shouta felt differently. He didn’t care about the man’s accolades. He wanted to understand why Toshinori’s eyes lost their shine when he thought no one was looking. He wanted to learn how to earn the soft smile that Toshinori gave sparingly, and he wanted to know if he liked cats, how he took his tea, and whether he preferred rainy days or snowy ones.
And he really wanted his heart to stop behaving like a dying Chocolate Frog every time Toshinori passed by in the hall without looking Shouta’s way.
“I’m not playing this game with you.” Shouta frowned. “He’s probably not even gay. It’s illogical to assume he is when it’s more likely that he isn’t, and it’s entirely impractical to waste time talking about this.”
“Isn’t it more impractical to assume he’s not?” Hizashi countered. “C’mon, man. Look at it like this. If he’s not gay, he’s not gay. But if you don’t even try to find out?”
The look Hizashi shot Shouta was too knowing for comfort.
There were many perks of being colleagues with a childhood friend. Hizashi having intimate knowledge of Shouta’s vulnerabilities and self-limiting habits was not one of them.
“I don’t remember asking you to meddle,” Shouta grumbled, picking up his pace.
“Meddle?” Hizashi laughed. His voice, as raucous as ever, bounced off the stone walls with more breakneck speed and bone-crushing force than a Bludger caught between World Cup Beaters. “Since when?!”
With Hizashi, Shouta had no hope of slinking into class without alerting his students, which meant no practical ruses like pretending not to show for class but really being there the whole time. It also meant he was likely to be bombarded with questions from eager learners. Each Year had them, and several were relentless in their pursuit of his expertise: the righteous rule follower Tenya, the astute bookworm Momo, and the eccentric wildcard Mei. Toshinori’s pet project Izuku was another.
“Don’t act like you didn’t hear me,” Shouta groused. “You meddle. You enjoy it, and you enjoy it even more when it involves me.”
“Fine.” Hizashi pouted. “Be sad and lonely and alone. It’s not like I care, and it’s not like your sulking and moping affect me at all.”
Shouta pinched the bridge of his nose, unamused by his friend’s theatrics.
“Don’t you have a class to get to?” Shouta asked pointedly.
“Ah, guest professor today!” Hizashi chirped. “Was thinking I could sit in on your class, heckle a bit, see where it goes. That sorta thing.”
“Absolutely not.”
“Aww, Shou! It’s a joke. You’re too serious,” Hizashi cackled. “Fine. Be a grumpy old man. But think about it, yeah? Toshinori isn’t as far out of your league as you think he is.”
With a shit-eating grin, Hizashi winked and morphed into a cockatoo. As he flew off, his ear-splitting laugh echoed violently in the Dungeons’ corridors.
Shouta sighed and rubbed at his eyes.
Hizashi was sweet—in his own boisterous way. He simply didn’t understand. Opening up to others came easier to him, and rejections didn’t hit him as hard. He was no stranger to hearing ‘no,’ and he’d never let that sort of thing slow him down. Shouta admired—and sometimes even envied—Hizashi’s knack for letting things roll off his back like that.
Ducking into his classroom, Shouta slunk to his desk, ignoring his students’ bickering, flirting, and gossiping.
For half of a beat, he stood at the front of the class, waiting for them to quiet down. When they didn’t, he smiled.
“10 points from each House. Complain, and it’ll be 20.”
All eyes snapped to the front. A few jaws fell open. Others scowled.
“Poison Antidotes,” Shouta drawled. “I hope you’ve all come prepared. Those of you who don’t have a firm grasp on Golpalott's Third Law will be taking a trip to the Hospital Wing today.”
“Shouta!”
Shouta picked up his pace. Chiyo’s legs were much shorter than his. If he hurried, he could slip away without having to jog to lose her.
“Don’t you walk away from me!”
Grimacing, Shouta slowed enough for Chiyo to catch up to him.
“Good afternoon,” he greeted.
“Is it a good afternoon when my wing is full of your students?” Chiyo challenged, leveling Shouta with a withering stare.
Shouta only grunted in response. It wasn’t his fault that Kaminari Denki, boasting that he knew Golpalott's Third Law by heart, had neglected to address the theory’s questionable validity. Shouta had said understanding the law was imperative. Thus, understanding that the law wasn’t necessarily applicable to all poisons was also imperative—a factor that Kaminari had overlooked.
Shouta had little sympathy for students that took Advanced Potions lightly. It wasn’t a goof-around elective course like Divination.
And he wouldn’t hear criticism that he was harsh on his students when the reality was that their failure in class would always pale in comparison to failures outside of Hogwarts’ walls. At least here, he could brew an antidote or usher his students to the Hospital Wing. In the real world, they were on their own. So it was best that they learn these tough lessons sooner than later, though he’d be loath to admit that.
“I’m sure I can overlook such transgressions,” Chiyo hummed, her dark expression brightening a dangerous degree.
Mischief was afoot if ever Shouta sensed it; Chiyo’s excessively cheerful smile and crinkled eyes said as much.
“Say, Shouta, dear.” Chiyo clasped her hands tightly to her bosom. “Could you do an old gal a small favor? I need an escort in two days’ time. My reflexes aren’t what they once were, and there are herbs I need to collect in the Forbidden Forest. The greatest burden to you would be your time, of course.”
Shouta didn’t believe for a minute that Chiyo needed his help. Her magic and wisdom had only grown over the years.
“Is Professor Nishiya ill-equipped to this task?” Shouta deflected. He wouldn’t be able to call Chiyo’s bluff, but perhaps she’d reconsider the request if he pushed back. “He’s an exemplary herbalist, is he not?”
“Oh, I’m afraid he’s quite busy.” Chiyo beamed. “There’s a rather dreadful sort of rot that’s ailing the Whomping Willow, you see. He’s been doing what he can to save the poor thing in between classes and all of his other responsibilities. I could never ask such a thing of him when he’s already doing so much. It wouldn’t be right. You understand.”
“Indeed,” Shouta agreed through gritted teeth. “In two days, you said?”
“Yes, dear. Meet me in the Great Hall, ten minutes past curfew, and do dress warmly. Oh! One more thing, if I could trouble you a moment longer. You’re our esteemed Potions Master. If you require antidotes, brew them yourself. I’m already quite busy keeping everyone patched up without you adding to my workload. Between those bloody Quidditch matches and Toshinori’s pupils, my beds are nearly always filled, which reminds me I really must speak with him. I’ll be off then!”
Chiyo all but disapparated from Shouta’s side, swallowed by the tide of students that filled the hallway the second she split from him.
Shouta groaned. Staying in Chiyo’s good graces had always been troublesome, and the herculean effort often made him question his change in careers. Working for the Ministry of Magic had come with its own burdens, but he’d been able to clock out at the end of the day and leave work behind. At Hogwarts, his days never ended, and his personal time had never felt more sacred or been more scarce.
Comfortable silence hung over the Great Hall, but Toshinori felt far from comforted. He had furled and unfurled the parchment Chiyo had given him countless times, and his heart stuttered in his chest at the faintest of noises. It was an unbefitting state for an Auror of his caliber to be found in, but little could be done to soothe his frayed nerves.
He’d always felt at ease around Chiyo, but he’d spent little time with Hogwarts’ other staff members. And while he was happy to do his dear friend a favor, he’d slept little the last several nights, far too busy worrying over his colleagues’ expectations—and how easily he could disappoint them.
Keeping his distance had allowed Toshinori to maintain a mysterious air that supported the rumors and praise his name incited. Getting close to the other professors would shatter their respect for him in a heartbeat. He was certain of it.
Once they saw how broken he’d become, they’d lose all reverence for the man hailed as a god in the Wizarding world. It was an eventuality he hoped to delay indefinitely.
“Professor Yagi?” a voice drawled, enunciating each syllable.
Toshinori spun on the spot.
“Good evening, Professor Aizawa.” Toshinori smiled.
Neither man commented on the wand that had reflexively slipped into Toshinori’s hand.
“Where is Professor Nishiya?” Toshinori asked, wiping his perspiring palms in his robe’s folds.
“Otherwise engaged,” Shouta replied, cocking his head. His brow scrunched for a moment, and displeasure flickered in his eyes.
Toshinori’s heart sunk.
“Ah, I see. So you’re his replacement, then?”
“So it would seem,” Shouta grumbled. “Though I sincerely doubt we’re both needed for this task.”
“Oh. Perhaps you’re right.” Toshinori fiddled with the hem of his sleeve, hating how his voice sounded. “I’ll let you off the hook. I’m sure Madam Shuzenji will understand.”
Even annoyed, Shouta was disarmingly attractive. The realization only made Toshinori’s heart sink further.
Being disliked stung no matter the circumstances. Still, Toshinori couldn’t help but wish the professor sent to replace Shinji had been anyone other than the man he’d been helplessly pining over.
This hadn’t been how he’d wanted to make his first impression. Nor was it how he wanted to find out that he was loathed by the object of his affections.
“No,” Shouta sighed. “I’m here to settle a score with the old bat. I’m already here. Let’s just get this over with.”
“As you wish, then,” Toshinori murmured.
Abandoning the Great Hall’s warmth, the men trudged across the grounds, their hoods pulled up to abate the worst of the evening rain.
Neither spoke, and Toshinori wasn’t sure whether he should be grateful for their mutual silence or loathe it in its entirety. Its suffocating weight magnified the squelching of their boots on the sodden path, and Toshinori’s every breath rattled in his chest like a caged bird frantic to fly free.
It wasn’t until they’d passed over the Forbidden Forest’s border and were swallowed by its dark canopy that either dared to speak.
“Lumos.” Shouta raised his wand. “After you.”
“So, uh, Professor Aizawa,” Toshinori started, pulling out his wand in kind. He’d never excelled at small talk, but the prospect of an awkward exchange sounded preferable to resuming their silent trek. “I hear you worked for the Ministry before Hogwarts. What prompted you into teaching?”
“Busybody friends,” Shouta replied, his tone curt.
“Ah, I see.” Toshinori paused, unsure if he should drop the matter. With Shouta behind him, he had no gauge of his expression. Though even that would have provided little insight to the brooding Potion Master’s true feelings.
“Do you enjoy yourself at least?” he prompted.
“I’d enjoy myself more if I weren’t spending my evening in the Forbidden Forest.”
“Fair enough.” Toshinori kept his voice good-natured, but a wince pinched his brow nevertheless.
“It’s not all bad,” Shouta added after a moment.
Toshinori’s breath caught in his throat. He didn’t respond and continued to walk deeper into the forest at an even pace. The biting edge in Shouta’s voice had softened, and he didn’t want to annoy the man back into silence by talking over him.
“They’re idiots mostly,” Shouta said breezily, likely referring to his students. “They’re lazy and would rather gossip than study, but it’s satisfying to watch them grow when they apply themselves. A few have already forgotten how to hesitate.” He fell silent, and Toshinori wondered if the spell of Shouta sharing had been broken.
“They’ve become more rational,” he said finally. “They’ve learned to look ahead, beyond. They won’t let their dreams end midway.”
“It sounds like I could learn a thing or two from you, Professor Aizawa,” Toshinori said with a gentle laugh. “I feel a bit like a fraud if I’m honest. Being a symbol of peace is different from raising the next generation to meet an impossibly high bar, and I find myself struggling.”
Toshinori’s lips had been loosened by Shouta’s honesty. He’d had no intention of sharing his teaching insecurities, but he found it freeing to open up with only Shouta and the trees as his witness.
“I don’t think I was meant for this—for teaching. It’s much harder work than I’d anticipated.”
“Undervaluing teaching?” Shouta sniped, catching the weakness in Toshinori’s wording.
Mortified, Toshinori froze, ready to whip around and apologize. Shouta had only just opened up, and he’d gone and shoved his whole foot in his mouth by insulting his colleague.
A firm hand at his back pressed him forward, and the sound of Shouta chuckling carried to his ears.
“A joke, Professor,” Shouta laughed. “Perhaps we should start with your sense of humor. For now, though, I suggest we get to task.”
It didn’t take much longer for the pair to find the clearing described in Chiyo’s note, though it did take some trial and error to collect the delicate carnivorous fungi that she’d requested without killing it—or being attacked by it.
Worse for wear, the pair emerged from the forest triumphant: Toshinori, glad to have had the chance to see beyond Shouta’s cold exterior, and Shouta, having several bones to pick with Chiyo.
“Thank you for your help.” Toshinori offered Shouta a grateful smile. “It would seem this errand was better suited to more hands after all.”
“Mm,” Shouta grunted.
Coming to a stop outside Hogwarts’ great walls, Toshinori hovered, unwilling to part ways but knowing that their time together was over. Chiyo’s insistence that he ask out Shouta bobbed in the back of his mind, but the timing didn’t feel right. Trying to catch Shouta in the hall and then asking him for teaching tips was probably a safer opening than asking him point-blank.
“Are you free next weekend?” Shouta asked, interrupting Toshinori’s train of thought.
“I don’t know. I probably ought to—”
“The Three Broomsticks,” Shouta interrupted. “Join me for a drink.”
“Oh!” Toshinori’s eyes grew to the size of saucers, enchanted by Shouta’s offer. “Are you asking as…”
“As a date, yes,” Shouta clarified.
“That would be nice.” Toshinori swallowed thickly, suddenly short of breath for an entirely new reason, though his nerves were still to blame.
“Good.” Shouta nodded stiffly. “Goodnight, then.”
Without waiting for a reply, Shouta bustled off, leaving a rather petrified Toshinori alone with his racing thoughts.
Golden rays streamed through the Three Broomsticks’ lattice windows, illuminating dust that drifted in the inn’s smoke-saturated air. Unsurprisingly, the establishment was packed, which would have irked Shouta had its occupants been more lively. He didn’t mind the muted din that swaddled them as he watched Toshinori sip his Butterbeer.
“Are you not much of a Butterbeer person, Professor?” Toshinori asked, his eyes sparkling as they darted to Shouta’s neglected tankard.
“Just call me, Shouta. ‘Professor’ is too…”
“Formal?”
Shouta met Toshinori’s gaze. The man was practically glowing. It was as if he’d never taken the liberty of venturing outside of Hogwarts’ grounds before and was a giddy first-timer in Hogsmeade.
It was rather cute.
“More or less—and you’re correct. I don’t particularly care for Butterbeer. Every now and then, though?” Shouta shrugged.
“I see.” Toshinori nodded. “Well, if it’s not the drinks you enjoy, then I hope my company can suffice.”
“It does,” Shouta drawled, lazily scanning Toshinori’s face.
Blushing, Toshinori tore his gaze from Shouta, taking another sip of his drink.
“So, Shouta,” he started, wiping foam from his nose. “Where do we go from here?”
“For now,” Shouta breathed, his voice much softer than he’d intended it to be, “I just want to get to know you. The ‘Toshinori Yagi’ you, not ‘All Might.’ We can go from there.”
“Oh, alright.” Toshinori’s blush deepened. “What do you want to know?”
“Several things, but I’ll start small. Do you prefer rainy days or snowy ones, and how do you feel about cats?”