Chapter Text
Peter’s crush wasn’t a problem in his first year. He mourned the Sorting Hat’s decision to place him in Gryffindor, but his appreciation for Professor Stark back then didn't stem from desire, nor did it keep him awake at night. Yes, he found the bold man handsome and riveting. Everyone was in awe of Professor Stark, including the rest of the staff (except Director Fury, but Director Fury was weird and disliked a lot of things and people). The potion master was the most charismatic person Peter had ever met, hands down. Professor Stark just had that kind of charisma that made all the girls and a fair number of boys go ‘wow’.
At twelve (the letter of admission had come a little late), Peter was mostly interested in getting Professor Stark’s approval. He worked hard in Potions, not that the class was a hardship, never mind all those students who complained about the challenging assignments in situ and the forty-inch-long essays. Professor Stark was an amazing teacher. Peter soaked everything the older man said like a sponge, and always wanted more.
“You’re crazy,” Ned informed him one day, agonizing over the last five inches of his own essay for Professor Stark.
“You can copy mine,” Peter replied with a smile. The ink on his parchment had finished drying.
Ned stared at Peter like his friends had grown an extra head.
“And lose a bajillion points because it’s obvious? No, thanks.”
Peter rolled his own essay, eager to see what Professor Stark had to say about the daring theory on which he'd based his homework. There would probably be a lot of red ink. Professor Stark was a generous grader, and liked to tease between scathing (but helpful) remarks. Peter didn’t mind the teasing, even when it was a little insulting. He learned a lot from Professor Stark’s spidery handwriting.
And he loved to learn.
*
“Good work, Mr. Parker.”
The first time Peter earned Professor Stark’s seal of approval, he was thirteen, and halfway through his second year at Hogwarts. He’d been doing extra studying the night before in the hope to impress his teacher, and impress him he did. He’d watched Professor Stark often enough (in person, or in those appealing issues of Potioneer Monthly featuring the handsome man) to recognize the tiniest variation in the older man's expression. A twitch of lips. Satisfaction wrapped up in surprise, flashing in the potion master's sharp eyes. He liked how expressive those brown eyes were.
“Thank you,” Peter said softly, and promptly ducking his head to try and hide his blush.
Professor Stark scoffed. “Don’t get used to it.”
Peter really, really wanted to get used to it.
*
At fourteen, Peter stopped borrowing the potion magazines from MJ and bought them instead. His friend, thankfully, kept her opinion of Peter’s jerking material to a few judgmental glances when Peter started showing up late for breakfast.
Peter masturbated. A lot. He didn’t talk to Ned about it, even if he’d heard his best friend jerk off in the bed next to him. He just… liked to pretend no one but him knew about his crush. If his friends didn’t know, they couldn’t tell him it was wishful thinking, right? Or that he should give his dick a break. Or try and charm the pants off Rhodey, instead. Rhodey was nice. Handsome enough, Peter supposed. But no one at Hogwarts made his blood boil like Professor Stark did.
“Distraction in this class could cost you dearly.”
Peter didn’t drop his wand, but it came close. Professor Stark was so quiet when he moved, and he’d come to stand just behind Peter to deliver his verdict.
“S-Sorry,” Peter stuttered, and hastily added a pinch of dragon scales. The potion turned a bright pink, which meant he’d done something wrong. Shame uncurled in his gut and made it hard to think. The fact that Professor Stark still stood right there, waiting for the inevitable result of Peter’s distraction, only muddled his thoughts further.
“It would be a shame, to let your efforts go to waste.”
The potion master covered Peter’s hand with his own and muttered a spell that Peter didn’t recognize. Probably because Peter was even more distracted now. Professor Stark’s hand was large, warm, and callused, and Peter had spent too many nights fantasizing about the pleasure such hands could give for his thoughts not to go down that road at once. He stiffened, and his teacher’s hand tightened on his as they brewed the potion together.
“Here,” the potion master whispered, and Peter watched the mixture in his cauldron return to an innocent green. “Now, focus.”
And just like that, Peter was alone in front of his cauldron once more. The hand Professor Stark had held burned something fierce, and his dick was so hard he would only need a couple of strokes to explode inside his pants.
Thank fuck for robes.
*
Peter got an Outstanding in Potions, so of course, he continued with that class during his fourth year.
Unfortunately, that was the year Professor Stark chose to leave. An undercover job, according to the ghosts wandering the corridors near the Slytherin common rooms. Peter’s heart ached at the prospect of not seeing his favorite teacher for so long. He wondered if Professor Stark would be in danger, and assumed the older man would be. The Purple Lord may be dead, obliterated by the Avengers a decade ago, but dark wizards would always be around. It was a good thing Professor Stark was skilled with a wand. The range of the nonverbals spells he mastered would no doubt come in handy during this… job.
“Don’t be like that, Pete,” Ned told Peter, interrupting his friend’s daily mopping session. “He’ll be back soon enough.”
“Right.”
Soon enough would be one year, and that was three hundred fifty-two days too long in Peter’s opinion. The moment he learned about Professor Stark's replacement, Peter already missed his favorite teacher’s sharp humor. The low rumble of his voice as he shot instructions to the class… and when he let Peter knew that he did good.
His libido didn’t get the message that Professor Stark wasn’t around for now, and Peter kept masturbating to increasingly detailed (and explicit) fantasies. He had given the whole dating someone his age a go and kissed a boy in Ravenclaw, a sharp blond with ridiculously good aim for hexes nicknamed Hawkeye. But it had been just that: a kiss. No butterflies in Peter’s belly. His cock hadn’t stirred at all.
Peter kept thinking about Professor Stark, and somehow, his instant dislike for Professor Hammer only fueled his fantasy to have his favorite teacher creep into his dorm at night and fuck him hard. Professor Hammer was a jerk. The guy had no idea what he talked about and gave Peter an E. A bloody E, when Peter knew very well that Professor Stark would have given him an O... for Original thinking on top of Outstanding work. The asshole probably had no clue what Peter had written in that fifty-two-inch essay (which was twenty inches more than the required minimum).
“Hammer’s dumb,” Peter told the bottle of Firewhiskey a cold night of November. He really liked that drink. Probably because the color reminded him a lot of Professor Stark's eyes. The warmth in his throat and in his belly, the nice fuzziness of his thoughts, those effects were just a bonus.
Ned, who had always hated potions no matter who taught it, patted him on the shoulder. “You probably know best... oops, sorry!”
Peter had startled at the hand on his shoulder and spilled the content of his glass all over his lap. “It’s okay,” he told Ned with a wan, sad smile. “I’ve drunk enough already. I should go to bed.”
“You do have three optional classes,” Ned agreed, and proceeded to demonstrate how he loved some of his classes by cleaning Peter's clothes with a single spell.
Peter shrugged. “What can I say? I love learning.”
Ned arched an eyebrow, but didn’t comment on that half-lie. Sure, Peter was brilliant, and spent more time studying than any three Gryffindors put together, but that wasn’t the reason he’d started collecting electives.
Peter needed a distraction from the giant hold left by Professor Stark’s absence, and while Arithmancy, Study of Ancient Runes, and Cares of Magical Creatures filled the time he would otherwise have spent wandering by the Great Lake hoping to get eaten by a peek of the Giant Squid, the extra work didn't soothe the ache. Knowledge only nurtured the mind. Pumpkin pudding and date loaves only fed his belly.
What about what his heart needed?
That night, Peter tried to rationalize it all (with the latest issue of Potioneer Monthly pressed to his chest). Crushes came and went, at least according to every book he’d read on the subject. And May, who’d find one too many potion magazines with Professor Stark on the cover not to figure out her nephew’s current obsession.
Peter would get over Professor Stark.
Because this was just a crush, right?