The problem with the new Defense Against The Dark Arts professor, Wolf decided as the man in question mumbled about Patronuses, was that he was far too attractive for his own good. His features weren't feminine, by any means, but there was still something pretty and dainty about him. Maybe it was the hair—that long, white hair, flung over his shoulder in a careless "I went to sleep like this last night because I don't give a fuck what you guys think, I'm the one getting paid for this" braid just to keep it out of his way—or maybe it was the way he flicked his wand as he demonstrated the motions of casting this particular charm, but either way, Wolf found himself keeping his book firmly clasped over his lap.

The students around him—Ravenclaws and his fellow Hufflepuffs—were completely silent, though whether it was awe or sheer confusion depended on which side of the classroom you asked. The patronus charm was tricky at the best of times, and though Wolf had read up on it, he still didn't much get it. Not that the professor was making it any easier, of course; he was now demonstrating an incorporeal patronus, a wispy little thing that looked like nothing more than a cloud of smoke, and somehow the fog that he swirled around himself made the man that much more appealing.

He had to find an excuse to talk to him.

Of course, Wolf thought, he could have been like any other student with the hots for a teacher—because he wasn't stupid enough to deny, even to himself, that that was what this was, a simple school girl's crush on a man he had absolutely no chance with—and just raised his hand and asked some completely asinine question...but no, he didn't want to look stupid in front of the man, so it had to be the right question, an absolutely perfect one that would make him stand out in a classroom of roughly fifteen students, mostly female, who probably thought that the professor was good looking, too. He had to be cool, he had to be funny, he had to be fucking adorable, and now was not the time or place for it. Of course, he couldn't very well stalk the professor after school hours either—that would just be creepy, and he couldn't afford another detention, the next time Sprout wrote home to his mother she'd threatened to pull him out of Hogwarts and beat some sense into him herself and that would get him exactly nowhere nearer to his goal—and he couldn't just hang around after class, the professor would have another class just after this one and it was the first years, he thought, and they were always the first to be clamoring around the doors, into the classroom as soon as it was over, so eager to learn how to wave their wands and do silly little things like repairo or something, and—no, he had to stop that, he was one of those first years once.

He didn't even know the man's fucking name.

Maybe that was part of what made him all the more alluring, Wolf decided idly, leaning back in his chair to get more comfortable and barely suppressing a grin as the professor stuck his wand behind his ear. Of course, if he'd been listening he would have known it by now, but was it really such a bad thing? The name was mysterious, after all, it was cunning, it was alluring, it held power, it was—

"Er, 'scuse me, Professor Black?"

Oh, it would be Nymphadora Tonks that would muck that up, wouldn't it? She proceeded to ask a question that Wolf neither heard nor cared for the answer to, and, disappointed, the boy began doodling in the margins of his notes—scant as they were. At the top, he'd merely written "Patronus" in a sloping handwriting that nobody but himself could read, and then, methodically "The purpose of the Patronus charm is—" and then the professor—Professor Black, she'd said?—had started talking as the chalk moved itself across the board with gentle clacking, and he'd completely lost his train of thought or the ability to control his fine motor skills. And Professor Black—oh bugger, Professor Black.

He knew that name, of course he did, everyone in the Wizarding World over the age of five or so remembered that name because there had been a big commotion about it, one of those disasters that you absolutely never forgot, especially because Harry Potter had been involved. He had been about eight when it happened and it had been all anyone in the Wizarding World had talked about for over a month, mostly because it was one of the most gruesome attacks in the war that hadn't been directly related to...well, him; twelve people had died, not including the Potters and Peter Pettigrew, and all they'd found of the Pettigrew bloke had been his little finger. God, he was part of that family? The Blacks were famous for being—first and foremost—pure bloods, and supporters of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named—which, in Wolf's opinion, was far too long a title for someone who'd been dead and gone for the past nine years, he was quite happy people were beginning to shorten it to You-Know-Who at least—and they were also famous for hating muggle borns and blood traitors, and he was at the very top of that second list. Before, somewhere, he'd been harboring some faint fantasy that he might be exactly what the professor was looking for in a man (he refused to call himself a boy, he was 17, he was of age!) and that after he'd graduated they would go rowing off into the sunset, because everybody knew that Black wouldn't last more than a year. Hell, Black had to have known himself; his hair was white, but his face was that of a young man, and Wolf didn't know of any magic that did that. He must have been at Hogwarts himself not too terribly long ago.

But whatever. It was just another pretty guy at Hogwarts he didn't have a chance with. There were other pretty boys in the world that he could have a chance with.

When Professor Black called the class to attention to practice the charm themselves, Wolf could only manage a wisp of fog.

You're a teacher. He's a student. You don't even know if he's legal. Even if he is legal that's gonna look bad on you and on him and on the rest of the school. It's only been four years, you know how Hogwarts is, they'll tear the boy apart in a heartbeat and spit him out like it's nothing. He's probably not even into guys. Even if he is, you're a fucking teacher.

Angel sighed as he stuck his wand behind his ear and contemplated the sandwich in front of him. He didn't have much of an appetite, what with his internal monologue talking his ear off.

Not that it even matters because why would he be into you, even if it was permissible, even if this wasn't just some hair-brained scheme that snuck in when you were watching him try to do a patronus, like how is that even sexy in any way, you are a weird motherfucker.

"Fuck you," Angel muttered to that little voice, picking up the sandwich and taking a big bite out of it. "She already blasted me off the family tree anyway."

The thing about Diagon Alley, Wolf decided as he strolled down it on the first day of his summer vacation—his LAST summer vacation, really, because by the time September rolled around he would be in training to be a Healer at St. Mungo's and he wasn't sure if he was ready for that kind of thing, not yet, but he'd kind of been training for the past seven years now and if he wasn't he was never going to be so he was determined to just jump right into it—was that nothing every changed. He had changed, certainly, over the past nine months. He'd obsessed over a teacher and had a fling with a really nice fifth year named Star and he'd met this adorable first year named Ever who had gone on and on about the Weasley twins—and he knew that lot better than anyone, he suspected the whole of Hogwarts knew the surname "Weasley"—and how they had done something or other, he didn't even remember what anymore, but he'd helped her sort it all out and they'd struck up a right good friendship out of all of it and—there were countless ways he had changed, but this old road probably never would. There was Florean Fortescue's, and Eeylops Owl Emporium, and the Apothecary, and Ollivanders, and Florish and Blotts, and just...everything was always exactly as he remembered every time he came back, and he couldn't help but feel that this place, more than any other, was home to him.

It was a nice day, for once, no rain, not a cloud in the sky, and—was that...Professor Black down the way? Well, he really should go say hi to him, no matter he'd only saw him the day before yesterday, it would really be a bit rude not to and—

Alright, he may have still been obsessing a bit. He tugged on his ponytail once, for good luck, and ran up behind the man, tapping him on the shoulder.

"Hello, Professor!" he chimed brightly.

"Oh, Crow! Hello! How are you, then?"

"I'm alright, I was just..." Just what, Wolf, just what ?! How had he gone from practically speaking and having a real conversation with the man of his dreams to not being able to finish his sentence. Brilliant. "I...I was just...about to go to the Leaky Cauldron for a butterbeer and...waswonderingifyou'dfancyjoiningme," he finally managed to make himself spit out, all in one go, and felt his face heating up something awful. "Er, I mean, if you're not busy, I know you've probably got quite a lot to do—"

"Not really, actually," said the professor, hooking an arm casually through Wolf's and turning him around toward the pub. Dumbstruck, the younger of the two said nothing as they meandered that way, and he couldn't help but wondering if he was dreaming all this. As discreetly as he possibly could, he reached up and tugged on his ponytail again, hard. A few hairs came away in his hand with a little sting, and no, apparently he wasn't dreaming, but something definitely wasn't right here. Unless his memory had been modified, he didn't recall slipping the professor a love potion, and he wasn't entirely sure that he even knew how to brew one—antidotes were one thing, but the potions themselves were on an entirely different playing field that he'd never once considered going near—so that option was probably out because he didn't know anyone else that could do it either. Fuck. Well, there was the option that Professor Black had gone temporarily insane and that some kind of bug in his system had convinced him that being seen in public with Wolf was a good idea, wasn't there? He didn't know—he didn't think he cared to, either—and allowed himself to be led into the Leaky Cauldron by his former teacher.

Angel wasn't sure what the hell to think about what was going on. He'd noticed, of course, the glances that Wolf had given him over the school year—he'd have to be blind not to—but now that he wasn't a teacher, now that it wasn't pretty much impossible and unethical and illegal to be out with him, now that the boy was of a legal age and such things were proper, it was hard to get him to speak a word. Wolf had barely stammered out his order to Tom, who'd glanced at the boy and then tipped his hat to Angel—a frequent visitor—but now that he had his butterbeer in front of him, he seemed a bit preoccupied with that, and Angel found himself struggling to come up with some topic of conversation. He grabbed for a straw and stuck it down the neck of his bottle, sipping thoughtfully for a moment, and when he blinked himself back into the current situation it was to see Wolf blinking at him.

"...What?" Angel managed as he wiped his mouth on the back of his sleeve.

"Why're you using a straw?" the younger wizard blurted out, cocking an eyebrow. "I mean, it's just—I've never seen anyone drink butterbeer through a straw before. Aren't you meant to have it out of the bottle? It's like...it's like Coke. It's fine through a straw but it tastes better somehow if you just swing it back." And he demonstrated, his cheeks flushed a fine pink. Angel bit back a grin; the poor dear had obviously realized he was babbling, and chugging his drink was his excuse to shut his mouth. At least it had gotten him talking in the first place.

"When I was little there was this girl, Harleigh. We're still friends and all, it's just she's a model in Switzerland at the moment, showing off all the latest dressing gowns from some French line that's apparently collaborating with Beuxbatons for some ball, a student design program thing they've got there. Anyway," Angel said, waving his hand idly, "she got the idea when she was on this health kick when we were twelve or so that butterbeer was exceptionally bad for your figure."

"It probably is," Wolf agreed, and took another huge swig.

"Quite," Angel grinned. "Well, she decided that to prove it to me she was going to put that liquid potion that Madame Pomfrey gives out to help girls stop biting their nails all around the rim of my bottle while we were sitting in the Three Broomsticks one day." Wolf's mouth had twisted up in a grimace, and Angel nodded wisely. "Hence, I use straws. You are right, though, it does taste better out of the bottle."

"Well, I promise I haven't put anything on the mouth of yours, and I doubt Tom has either," said Wolf, glancing around for the barkeep. "I reckon he'd lose patrons for that and he doesn't really want to get rid of his business."

"You're probably right about that," the elder agreed. For a moment, there was silence while Angel contemplated his bottle, and, with a little sigh and a smile tugging at the corner of his lips, he pulled out the straw and took a swig. "Yep. Much better." He grinned at Wolf, and Wolf, still with that faint pink in his cheeks, managed a grin back—one that, for once, he didn't hide behind a swig of his drink. Silence fell again, but this time, instead of complete, unnavigable awkwardness, it was twinged with the gentle uneasiness that Angel generally associated with...well, with first dates.

Was that what this was? He opened his mouth to ask, and then thought better of it. Really, it would probably put the boy off—or he'd think he was fantasizing, the teacher-student dream come to life as it only had before in his dreams, so of course it would have had to be another dream—and he covered his slip-up by taking a page from Wolf's book and having a sip of his butterbeer. Maybe it was an unmentionable first date thing, then...but that didn't mean he had to treat it any differently.

"What's your favorite color?"

"What?" Wolf blinked, caught off guard by the question, and wow, his eyes were gold, weren't they, and not just golden brown, but actually gold. "Oh, er—I don't suppose I've really got one. I like a lot of different colors. What's yours?"

"I like blue. All shades of it." The boy's hand was lying on the counter, and it was no difficult thing to reach out and cover it with his own. The younger wizard blinked for a moment, and there was that blush back in his cheeks, that disbelieving look in his eyes, and for a moment Angel had the inclination that he was all wrong about Wolf's little crush on him throughout the school year and that maybe he should pull his hand back and then Wolf bit his lip and the corner of his mouth tugged up into one of the most perfect shy smiles that Angel had ever seen and he felt his heart skip a little beat. Right then, he thought, he could have kissed the boy and been quite glad to do it, but there was a time and a place and he had always had a bit of a flare for the dramatic, and this was neither. Besides, they'd only ever had a student-teacher relationship before, and maybe it was chemistry and maybe it was the way that the younger man in front of him was absolutely heart-breakingly beautiful, but he wasn't going to ruin it by going in and doing something far too soon.

A couple of hours and three butterbeers later, that was thrown entirely out the window when Wolf apparently swallowed his bundle of nerves and kissed Angel at his door.

For a moment, Angel didn't respond, and Wolf was terrified that he'd gone too far and ruined it all before it had even started—whatever it was—and then one of the older man's hands were coming up to twist into his hair and the other was reaching back to open the door. With a flick of his wand, the door came unlocked and opened, and the two of them stumbled inside, and with another flick the door was closed and Angel had Wolf against it.

He'd never kissed like this before. He'd never been kissed like this before. The kiss wasn't something that happened after just a few hours of talking and mild flirting, this kind of kiss was something that happened after...well, after a year of wanting it and not being able to do it and—no, it was not in any way possible that the Professor had had a crush on him just as long as Wolf had had a crush on the Professor—and should he really be calling him the professor in his head, shouldn't he be calling him by his first name now and—why was he thinking about any of this when the man was impatiently pressing against him and trying to get closer and abruptly sending all the blood in the body below his waist? Wolf pulled the man closer, grinding up against him experimentally, and when Angel whined low in the back of his throat and wrapped his tongue around his, pulling, sucking, Wolf found himself abruptly needing the support of the door at his back. Angel's lips found his neck, his shoulder, his collar bone, nipped lightly at his jugular, kissed along his jawline, and the younger man found that he could no longer think of anything at all. Angel stroked down his sides, ran his fingertips lightly over his hip bones, across his stomach, and Wolf, feeling pretty much like a bowl of jelly, tentatively repeated the same motions, kissed down his neck, scratched lightly down his back...and that was when Angel moaned the first time, cutting himself off by reconnecting their lips and Jesus fuck he was warm and he was pulling him back from the wall, and Wolf just followed his lead, stumbling after him, not daring to open his eyes because this just had to be a dream, and he'd had so many more like it but if he woke up from this one he thought his heart might actually break with the disappointment, and then Angel was pulling him down, on top of him, on something soft, a bed, that's what it was, and then he was flipping him over and Angel was straddling him and grinding down against him and fuck do that again and he may have whispered his name against the man's lips but he wasn't sure because Angel was pulling off his shirt and kissing down his chest, down his stomach, long swipes of his tongue followed by short kisses and then the ball of his belly button ring was in his mouth and he was tugging on it and Wolf heard himself make some kind of sound and decided he was immediately tired of being the only one to get teased.

It was easy enough to get Angel's shirt off, to roll him over gently and kiss up his spine, across his shoulder blades, down his arms, and then the white haired man was turning over and Wolf was kissing across his stomach, barely lingering over the button of his jeans, undoing them quickly, and then his hand was wrapped around him and Angel let out a breath like he'd been holding it and the softest sigh as Wolf slowly started moving his hand up and down, leaning forward and stealing the sigh right off of his lips and God damn could he be any more beautiful than he was right now with sweat on his brow and that carefully braided hair a mess and his eyes half lidded and he didn't have the words for it or for him and in the thirty seconds that it took him to stop and ponder Angel was on top of him and pulling his zipper down and the boxers out of the way and kissing and touching and stroking and fuck.

"Angel," he whispered, and it was the first time he could really remember saying it and Angel noticed, his eyes locked on his and stayed there for a moment, just a moment, but it felt like the longest fucking span of time in the world before his mouth was on him and he was licking, sucking, and Wolf was groaning almost immediately, sensitive, overstimulated, and then Angel was stopping and the whine low in his throat hitched into a gasp when his hand replaced his mouth, fast, long enough for Angel to steal a kiss and then his hand was gone and his nails were scraping down his sides and pulling his pants completely off, he was kicking his shoes off to get his legs free and Angel was yanking his own down and Wolf had to stop for a minute, had to stare, because he was at least ninety five percent certain by this point that this wasn't a dream, this was actually happening, his school girl crush had turned into he was somehow about to do this with his teacher and—fuck, before he could even finish the thought Angel's mouth was back on him even as the older man was reaching into the drawer, getting a bottle, and Wolf heard the lid click as he popped it open and whined again when the kisses came up, across his stomach, across his chest, but then Angel was sliding a finger into him, slowly, gently, and he bucked up against it and almost screamed when Angel added another finger, a third, stretching and God, they were really going to do this, and then Angel's lips were back on his and their tongues were dancing slowly, lazily, and his fingers were gone and he was looking into Wolf's eyes again, open, honest, questioning, and Wolf couldn't answer, he could only grind helplessly against him and bite down his neck and then Angel was inside him and holy fuck he almost screamed.

Instead he just gasped out Angel's name and had to stop, had to stop moving and stop thinking and keep himself from coming too soon and blowing it and then Angel's hand was around his dick and moving at the same pace as his hips and he couldn't think of much else, he could only think of how good it felt and how much he wanted him to go faster. He pulled Angel's hand away, flipped him over, straddled him, slid down on him again, and Angel moaned his name and he almost lost it then and he almost had himself in control until Angel's hand wrapped around him again, faster, quicker, and he almost fucking screamed the man's name into his mouth and when he came Angel seemed to really let go, to reach up and throw his hands in his hair and pull and Wolf quickly got rid of the rest of the braid and did the same, ran his fingers through his hair, got to the end, tugged on it gently, and when the older man moaned he smiled against his neck, nipped his jugular, got a handful and nearly yanked and then Angel was coming inside him, biting down on his shoulder hard and Wolf bit down on his lip to keep from moaning when the man fell back on the pillows, breathing as hard as he was, his eyes glazed over, staring at him as if he almost couldn't believe what they'd just done. Wolf dropped his forehead to the professor's, hair making a curtain around the two of them, and kissed his nose, his lips, and his chin.

"Shit," Angel whispered, and Wolf couldn't help snickering.

"Yeah, shit."

And for a while, they said nothing at all.

The last thing Angel wanted to do was wake the man up, but it was getting late and he probably still lived with his parents for the moment—he had just graduated—and they were probably getting worried about him. He nudged Wolf gently, and when he groaned and shifted away Angel sighed and resigned himself to getting up and cleaning himself up before he came back and tried again.

The shower was hot and welcome and it didn't take long before he was humming to himself, and he didn't hear Wolf come in, or shove the curtain back, and nearly jumped out of his skin when long, tan arms circled around his waist and lips fell on the back of his neck.

"You left me," the younger man mumbled sleepily. Angel turned around to face him, trying not to smirk as Wolf rubbed sleep out of his eyes, and pressed a kiss to his temple.

"I had to. You wouldn't wake up. I'll meet you back in my room, alright?" Wolf nodded, still half dozing, and started washing up as Angel slipped out.

The professor found a pair of warm sweatpants to slide into and decided against anything else, flopping back on the bed with a little sigh. Was this going to be a thing now? Were they going to be a thing now? Or was this a one night stand kind of deal? He didn't want it to be—he generally wasn't that kind of guy, though he was by no means innocent to the occasional fling—but he had to consider the possibility. Maybe, just maybe, Wolf wouldn't want to stick around—and why would he? He didn't know anything about Angel, not really, and Angel didn't know anything about Wolf, but he'd like to, and he didn't want to not have that chance just because they'd rushed into something but...that might be what happened. This might have taken that away from him.

A cleared throat in the doorway chased away his thoughts, and the image of Wolf standing there with a towel wrapped around his waist didn't help. The younger man looked around quickly, snagged his boxers and jeans, and pulled them on before draping the towel across his head, letting it soak up some of the water. He sat down hesitantly beside Angel, but looked at him steadily, and Angel felt his respect for the man soar even more than it already had; it was no easy feat, to look someone in the eye after such an encounter, as he had very good reason to know.

"So," Wolf began, surprising him—he thought he'd have to speak first. "Just so...neither of us goes into whatever this is with clashing ideas. What is this?"

"It's..." Angel sighed, wishing he had the answer himself, and then looked up into the younger man's eyes, the little smile that Wolf was quickly becoming familiar with tugging at the corner of his lips again. "It's whatever you want it to be, babe."

"I like the sound of that," Wolf admitted, leaning in closer, cautiously putting a hand to Angel's cheek. "Babe."

"Me too."

Their second kiss wasn't anything like the first. It wasn't hungry or urgent and there was no real need in it. It was...a getting to know you kiss, Angel decided. Gentle, probing, questioning...perfect. Probably what their first kiss should have been, but he had never been too picky about the particulars, and he didn't think Wolf was either. It was over in a minute, and they were looking into each other's eyes again, searching, and Angel didn't have anything to say and it seemed the cat had Wolf's tongue too, so they just stared at each other a bit stupidly. And that was okay for Wolf, because he had time to think and realize that he was perfectly okay just being himself with Angel.

"D'you wanna go out sometime?" he managed. Angel grinned.

"Yeah, I think I do."