Prof!Harry AU (Patreon)

Because his brit red carpet look SCREAMS professor and we all know it

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Harry had a predicament. 

It was one that he had never had prior to this very moment which is why it was throwing him so completely off the rails. A problem that makes him feel borderline skeevy and unintentionally terrible for something he hadn’t done but had given thought to doing. How could he even let the idea glimmer in his mind? It was against every code of conduct and ethical standard that he could think, the moral turmoil of it makes his head spin and his stomach churn. Is he a bad person? Was that it? 

Harry was a professor -- he worked very hard to get to this point, struggled through many sleepless nights, thousands in tuition, and at least thirty thousand pages in notes. And not to stroke his own ego but he was damn good at what he did; no matter the level (though he preferred to teach his higher levels) many students who were not interested in Psychology left his class with a renewed interest and enjoyment with the course. He got lovely reviews on the professor rating sites he had utilized as a student and course evaluations had numbers that some could only dream of. 

To reach this a few years before he turned thirty? He was proud of himself, and he would do nothing to mess that up. 

But then there was Y/N. 

Y/N who came into his PSY 486 (advanced topics in psychology), pursuing a minor in psych and possessing an uncanny ability to make his heart flutter. 

He hadn’t thought much of it at first; she was just his sweet student who visited during office hours and ended every email with a Thank you so much!! I hope you’re having a great day! sometimes accompanied by a smiley face (it was dependent on the weather -- it came more often when the sun glimmered through his office window). Her questions were insightful and thoughtful, she watched him speak like he held the key to the universe, and often even made him fluster with how focused her attention could be. The work she turned in was introspective and conceptualizing, and hell, more often than not had he expressed to her that she may have a career in this field if she so chose -- and if not, then she would at least have to take the position of his TA, because “There aren’t a lot of thinkers like you, y’know? You should share what you have to say with more than just me.” 

“Stop it,” with her gaze cast downward, she smiled almost like it was to herself, “You’re gonna give me a big head.” 

Harry normally had a student that he felt the need to look out for in some regards -- or maybe it was just because they were so well versed, he noticed when things were off. A normally good student’s grades slipping warrants a concerned email, and a student looking more blue than usual when their affect has habitually been much more bright, is enough to have him request to see them in his office hours. Maybe it’s the psychologist in him, but he worries, he can see when people are spiraling, and if in any way he can disrupt that spiral he’d insert himself, even if it wasn’t necessarily his place to do so. 

The problem was, he really had no reason to be keeping an eye on Y/N. She was doing well, she showed up to class on time and regularly, and the days she didn’t he received an email explaining her absence (along with the understanding that she could not make up in-class points if he were to assign anything, but Harry always sent her the assignment anyway). By mid-semester, her grades remained steady with no significant fluctuations that might be worrisome. She asked questions, attended his office hours, completed and submitted assignments weeks before they were due and even came in to review exams and discuss her essays with him for further clarification on her grade and what she could work on -- she was the model student. 

He has no reason to be keeping an eye on her but he is, and he hates himself for it. 

While it isn’t to the severity of some student-teacher relationships, and while they were close in age, he was still in a position of authority over her. The dichotomy of their places in life was not in a large, stark contrast either, but that made it no better did it? There was still a large stigma behind it that Harry himself took a part of and shared disgust in, especially in the more extreme cases. Was it unheard of for a professor and student to be in a relationship? Not in the slightest, but typically they both were garnering something from it and it wasn’t love. 

It wasn’t like that though, and he’s not saying that he loves her. He’s just. . .intrigued by her -- more intrigued than he thinks he ought to be, but as long as he set boundaries and reminded himself of their importance, then he would be fine. Harry had long since decided, after some aggressive inner turmoil, that he merely had these fleeting thoughts because Y/N reminded him of himself, and he had never claimed to be anything short of a narcissist. 

Besides, Y/N had given him no reason to think she was interested. . .hell, she could have a boyfriend for all he knew! There was some solace in that; even if he wanted it to go somewhere, if she didn’t like him, then there were no complications, and that was the end of the story.

Or, at least that works for approximately two weeks, until Harry is in between the shelves of the library searching for a book he planned on scanning a few sheets from for pre-lecture readings. There are normally hushed conversations that he pays no mind to until he’s closer to the edge of the bookcase and it grew a little more pronounced. Whoever was talking clearly had little care for who could hear them speak, but Harry had a sinking feeling in his stomach from the very beginning that while it wasn’t for anyone’s ears but the two in the conversation, it definitely wasn’t meant for his. 

“--he’s got fuck me eyes, I’ll say that much, but he doesn’t just give them to everyone. He’s giving them to you especially.” 

“Shut up!” That’s Y/N’s voice -- he recognizes the honeyed, silvery voice that fills most of his office hours from start to finish, “He doesn’t give me “fuck me” eyes, he’s my professor.” 

“That you’ve got a fat crush on,” the other voice said, belonging to a girl who sounded vaguely familiar, but only if he’d heard her in passing, “I think this could bloom into something hot, don’t you? Soft, innocent little student and her overly attractive psychology professor. It’s like everybody’s wet dream.” 

Harry’s breathing hitched in the realization that they were speaking about him, his heart stuttering over a beat as his fingers that once danced along the worn gold engraving on the books binding, paused. He should leave -- he shouldn’t be listening to this, but he’s glued to his spot. . .cemented even. His body flushed with a feeling of both alarm and intrigue.

“If he was going to fuck a student, it wouldn’t be me -- no matter how much I might want it to be,” she snorted, he can imagine her shaking her head as she does sometimes in his office. . .like she’s trying to shake the thought out of her head entirely, “I would have to be one of them really pretty girls, rolling out of bed looking adorable and soft and not like a monster from the black lagoon. Plus, he could have so many women who have their shit together and aren’t in their last year of UNI, panicking about what the “outside” world will be like. And he’s such a sweetheart he deserves someone that pretty, y’know, and I just don’t make the cu-- ow! What did you do that for?” 

“Say one more mean thing about yourself and I’m slapping your cheek.” 

“It’s just a crush anyway -- I’ll get over it.” 

Harry’s face is burning as he retreats from the stacks, away from their voices, down a small corridor with isolated study rooms. His heart feels like it might speed out of his chest, his blood roars through his ears, he thinks he’s broken out into a sweat, and his sympathetic nervous system had aggressively kicked in. She wanted to sleep with him? No. No! That was just -- she was just chatting with her friend, wasn’t she? There was nothing behind it but mindless chatter with her friend. 

Christ, if that wasn’t going to be the only thing he’d thought about! 

A week.

It had been one week since he had overheard the conversation, meaning one week of him unintentionally avoiding her, but wanting nothing but a reason to speak with her all at once. Harry couldn’t wrap his head around it -- he couldn’t see not only why she wanted to sleep with him, but more so why she had placed him on some sort of pedestal in which she would be unable to. He thought she was lovely and had circumstances been different, he would have pursued her without a second thought about it.

However, this thought makes Harry panic even more, that instead of questioning why Y/N would think a relationship was him was a plausible idea, he was questioning why she thought it wasn’t.