Chapter 80:
The door to the living room shut behind them, and Harry folded his arms, still keeping a tight grip on his wand.
"Take a seat," Dumbledore instructed, dropping elegantly upon a sofa.
"I'll stand, thanks," Harry said coldly, still angry at what he had returned to. The Headmaster sighed, sounding bone tired, but didn't push. "What did you want to talk to me about?" Harry questioned, staring at the other.
Dumbledore laced his fingers together beneath his chin.
"Have you thought any more about my offer for private lessons?" the old man returned.
"That would depend on what the lessons entailed," Harry said, trying to suppress the curiosity that had got him into trouble so many times before. "And what your reasons for offering them so suddenly are."
"They are about Horcruxes," Dumbledore stated flatly, "and the war, and what we will need if we are to prevent Voldemort from winning this war…that is, if you are still interesting in standing against Voldemort?"
"Of course I am," Harry snapped.
Dumbledore nodded, eyeing him with an unreadable expression.
"Then you will agree to the lessons - bearing in mind you cannot share their contents with Mr Riddle?"
"Tom's not Voldemort," Harry rebutted, immediately, feeling his voice growing icier once more.
"I do not wish to get into an argument with you again," Dumbledore said quietly, "but even you must surely realise that nor is he against Lord Voldemort and his stance? As such, it would be unwise to share the contents of the lessons, your own personal…feelings aside. So, you will take the lessons?"
But Harry was distracted now.
"What do you mean my feelings?" he questioned. "Just to clarify."
"I mean," Dumbledore returned calmly, "your romantic attachments to Mr Riddle."
Salazar. He could not believe this, nor did he want to.
"I trust," Dumbledore continued, "that you would not let them impede your ability to function in this war, if Tom were to become Voldemort?"
Harry noted the 'if' immediately, but didn't dare attribute it to anything more or less than the Headmaster's famous capabilities for diplomacy.
For a claimed Gryffindor, Dumbledore could be sly and subtle too.
"Just to clarify," Dumbledore added, serenely, but there was just a little something in his voice…something that spoke of memories.
Harry got the urge to burst into maniacal, hysterical laughter, and barely managed to avoid the temptation by pressing his lips together tightly…let Dumbledore think it was fury, he didn't care.
He was just…seriously? He smiled, grimly.
"You sound as if you speak from experience, headmaster? Don't tell me you had a relationship with your students, that's just disgusting!"
It was cruel of him, but he was feeling vicious, and he had the pleasure of watching Dumbledore pale to a startling green colour of skin.
"I can assure you," Dumbledore spat, seeming to lose his temper, "that I have never had nor would I have what you are suggesting with one of my-" Dumbledore for once, seemed to stunned for words.
Harry felt a brief flash of guilt, but squashed it instantly.
"No need to be so flustered, professor…and I'll take those lessons. Good day, headmaster."
He walked out with a spring of success in his step.
Damned curiosity.
Harry walked into the hall to find that, largely, no one had moved…and Bill was berating the Weasley twins who were holding the fleshy strings of Extendable Ears in their hands.
Molly had disappeared, into the kitchen if the clashing of pots and pans were anything to go by.
"What did Dumbledore want?" Tom began, only to have the Headmaster walk out, looking noticeably more collected than he had a few moments prior.
Harry almost smirked, though the urge vanished when Dumbledore beamed at him as he stepped towards to door, tilting his crooked hat to them all in farewell.
"Our lessons will start after the Christmas Holidays, Harry. I am so happy to see you embracing the light side again," the old man said cheerfully, patting him on the shoulder.
He felt Tom's eyes snap to him, murderous, but ignored it for the sake of grinning at the Headmasters back and calling out his own spiteful comeback.
"Careful Albus, you'll make my boyfriend jealous!"
Everyone stared at him with incredulous eyes.
He saw the Headmaster's back stiffen completely, his walk sauntering for a split second, and grinned. It was sick, completely wrong and sick…but the reaction was hilarious.
Tom was a bad influence on him.
But Dumbledore did have some experience with something, and Harry intended to find out what, though he sincerely believed Dumbledore wouldn't be with his students...that was just...eugh.
He repeated; Tom was a bad influence on him.
The door slammed shut for the second time that night, causing Molly to rush back in, wild eyed.
"Was that the Headmaster leaving? I was going to ask if he wanted some tea…?"
"I think he was in a bit of a hurry actually," Harry frowned, mildly. "Can't think why, really."
"Oh," Molly said, looking troubled. "Well, I'll get a start on dinner then."
The Weasley matriarch's lip trembled, probably at the remembrance that her husband wouldn't be joining her. Her hands began to shake.
Harry's eyes widened, the darkness abruptly boxed up at the sight.
"It's alright," he said, quickly, "I can make dinner. I'm a good cook, honest…you take a bit of time for yourself, okay?"
"I couldn't-" Mrs Weasley began, but there was a glimmer of temptation, of hope, to be allowed to escape the reminder for just a little while, to be allowed and acknowledged in her grief.
"Sure you can," Harry smiled. "It's no trouble. I enjoy cooking."
"Well," Molly hesitated, "if you really want, dear, that's very sweet of you." She patted his cheek clumsily in affection, tottering towards the stairs. "I think I'll go have a nice lie down…"
Harry shot Ron a pointed look to go with her, or any of her family, to keep her company. To his surprise, or maybe not, it was the Weasley twins that jumped into action, wrapping arms around their mother and going with her, gentle looks upon their faces.
Harry headed for the kitchen, aware that Tom was following close on his heels, and that Sirius and Remus were not far behind.
He walked over to the counters, opening cupboards to see what was in. He could feel Sirius and Remus giving each other pointed looks, as if arguing who was going to speak.
Harry anticipated the question, rolling his eyes and wondering if he should put them out of their misery and tell them their answer before they asked. Nah…
Tom was radiating fury too, but his voice was mild, his personality characterised by a self control that would wait until later before tearing into a ruthless twenty-one questions routine about Dumbledore and what he wanted and meant.
"You cook?" the Slytherin Heir asked instead, leaning against the counter next to the one he was pulling ingredients out on.
"No, I just toss stuff in and pray that I'm doing it right and won't give anyone food poisoning," Harry replied sarcastically. Tom sneered at him, and Harry smirked.
"Harry," Sirius began, abruptly, having apparently been forced by Remus to do the talking as he was Harry's Godfather.
"Padfoot?" he questioned, before ordering Tom to get him the pasta out of the cupboards - causing the other to shoot him an incredulous, indignant expression at being demanded to fetch things like a household. Harry simply arched his brows, and Tom summoned the pasta, slamming it onto the counter between them.
"Is he - are you -" Sirius sounded utterly uncomfortable. Harry's lips twitched with amusement, and Remus seemed to finally take pity on his best friend.
"So, you two are a couple? When did this happen? You didn't mention it…before," the werewolf questioned, seeming to suddenly come to the realisation of the awkwardness of what he was asking halfway through. "I…I didn't realise you-"
"Fancied guys?" Harry offered politely.
"That," Sirius muttered.
"I don't," Harry said, shooting a smirk at them over his shoulder. "And we're not a couple. I was just messing with Dumbledore."
There was a silence.
"Oh," Remus said.
"So you're not-?" Sirius started.
"No," Harry said.
"Okay. Well, that's good, I mean-" Sirius shot Tom a glance, "it would be good…fine…either way. Whatever you want."
Tom was regarding the two with a derisive glint to his eyes, before he abruptly walked out of the kitchen in a clear sign of what he thought of this 'emotional' conversation.
Harry's smirk broadened, before he abruptly wiped it to innocence when Tom stuck his head into the kitchen again, a different sort of glint to his eyes now.
"You know Lestrange is going to kill you, don't you, sweetheart?"
Who would have believed it was the day before Christmas Eve.
A/N: To follow the pattern of updating particularly fast when I didn't like the previous chapter…Thanks for the reviews, much appreciated.
ht t ps:/ docs. google. com/leaf?id= &hl=en_USß Awesome Fan Wallpaper by Krysania, for Fate's Favourite. Check it out, I feel loved! 3
(you'll have to put the address together, FF wouldn't let me post it otherwise...)
Hope you enjoyed the chapter :)