Adult-FanFiction.org : Harry Potter

Lemon Drops and Blood Pops	By : TokiMirage Category: Harry Potter AU/AR > Slash - Male/Male Views: 12434 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 2
Disclaimer: JKRowling owns all that is Harry Potter. I own everything else. I make no money writing this.

Chapter List
- 6
- 7
- 8
Lemon Drops and Blood Pops
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Chapter Seven:
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Harry woke up the next morning with a roaring headache and an urgent need to take a piss. He dealt with the latter problem first, and a quick pepper-up potion took care of the first.
“You should lay off the caffeine, dearie. It’s not good for your complexion,” his mirror helpfully supplied as he shaved his face with a spell and brushed his teeth.
He gave it a weird look. “Do I look like the kind of man to need beauty advice? ‘Specially not this early in the morning. You’re SOL until a chick decides to move into my rooms, dearie.”
The mirror gasped. “How rude!”
Harry grinned. “Oh, this is completely polite. Rude would be to curse you to tarnish the colour of mustard for the rest of your unnatural life.”
He left the room before the hunk of tin could conjure a response.
He yawned and stretched, absently casting a tempus charm to check the time. He had enough time to get dressed and eat. He’d have to start his morning workout tomorrow, now that he was actually in the business of defence again. He’d been getting slack in his broom-making old age. Or whatever.
When he went down to breakfast, most of the students were already there and stuffing their faces. If Harry had planned on eating a full breakfast, he’d probably be late to his class like half the students here. Luckily, three glasses of water to rehydrate and a cup of coffee for wakefulness were all he needed. The toast would just be extra.
“Good morning, Harry!” Dumbledore greeted cheerfully, his right-hand seat mysteriously vacant once again.
“’Morning, Pr- Albus.”
“Pralbus. Very interested name. I think I’ll keep it.” He smiled, a slight twinkle to his eyes. Harry gave him a weird look. “You seem quite set on calling me Professor, Harry.”
Harry shrugged. “Habit, sorry.”
“Which is precisely why I find it odd. I’ve only ever told you to call me Albus, so why would you default to ‘Professor’ so often?” A wicked gleam had entered the man’s eyes.
Harry suppressed his instant ‘oh-shit’ instinct and let his assassin’s bull-shitting face take over. He knew from experience that his face was now nothing more than innocent confusion. The kind of innocent confusion he would give to a target after he bumped into him or her in the subway before shoving a blade up their ribs and into their heart. “Really? Hmm… well, I did have a teacher once who looked quite like you. He hadn’t accomplished quite so nice a beard, though.” Harry smiled. Like me, like me, forget that you don’t know anything about me.
Dumbledore ‘aah’ed, as if that explained everything. Mission accomplished.
Harry reached for the water first, just as he’d planned, and gulped it down in seconds. When it refilled a moment later, he drank it. And the next. Only after the third did he move on to the coffee and proceed to down that mixture after casting a wandless cooling charm on it. There we go. Now he was actually ready to pretend to be a normal defence teacher that wasn’t trained to be one of the top assassins in the world. Phew.
And now the bonus. Toast.
Which was how he found himself, quite unintentionally, looking like an idiot when the professor on his right tried to engage him in conversation only to find he had nearly shoved a whole piece of toast into his mouth.
Oops.
wWwWw
Class proceeded rather… hectically, for the first month. It didn’t take long for Harry to adjust to the pace, but he found himself incredibly annoyed by the incompetence of past teachers. He was teaching some of the same material in every year, when some things should have been covered already before seventh year. He found that the graduating class was his most difficult, as he had to prepare them for their NEWTs as well as the war that was going to happen in the next two decades. Which made him start thinking about his plans to deal with Tom.
He sighed, sipping from a tumbler of brandy as he sat in front of the fire in the teachers’ lounge. He doubted anybody would come in and bother him this late at night. Besides, the lounge had the best chairs besides Dumbledore’s office.
Tom. From what he knew of the timeline, Tom began his crusade in the 70s, but it was only the 50s right now. That meant the kid would spend the next twenty years frolicking with the darkest dregs of wizarding society. Harry didn’t know when he wanted to take him out of the picture. The wars, both of them, had been horrible. They had both brought his old wizarding world into a new age, though. It took a lot of work, but magical creatures had finally been acknowledged as magical beings, and since most of the pureblood families had been wiped out in the war, the prejudice that had been bred into past generations had finally come to an end.
This wizarding world needed it. A catalyst like Tom to get the ball rolling. In the 21st century, muggles had been more advanced than their supposedly ‘superior’ counterparts. With his little trip to the past, or dimension hop, or whatever, Harry had to go through this trying process all over again. How did he know if he was making the right decision, not killing Tom as soon as he’d come to the past? He didn’t. But based on his previous experience, he hoped that he’d be able to help shape this new world into something he could be proud to live in.
“Your face is far too serious for a Friday evening, my friend.”
Harry started, and was immediately angry with himself for not noticing the older man’s presence sooner. He tried to smile up at him in greeting, but it obviously fell short when the concern didn’t leave pale blue eyes. “Hey Albus.”
“Hello, Harry,” Dumbledore greeted as he sat down in a arm chair on the opposite end of the fire. The strategic part of Harry’s mind noted that the angle enabled the man to easily watch Harry’s face while not having to move his head and look like he was observing. “Now, what is it that troubles you on the night before a Hogsmeade weekend.”
Harry snorted. Oh right, because he should be so excited about having to watch the little blighters for a whole day, since this month he was on babysitting duty. The only bright side was that Minerva would be there as well to have intelligent conversation with, and Slughorn would be there looking disgruntled. How he loved to poke fun at the bumbling potions master. Not that there was anyone to share his jokes with. ‘Hey, there’s the idiot that showed the future Lord Voldemort what a horcrux was! It really was hard to kill that bastard, wasn’t it?’ Yeah. That’d blow over sooo well.
Dumbledore was looking at him with even more concern. Crap. He’d been thinking to much, and now his silence made him suspicious. Now he actually had to tell the man something, because you couldn’t be quiet for that long only to say “Nope! Nothing!” It made you look really sketchy. Assassin lesson 1.0.2: Don’t look suspicious!
Harry racked his mind for a simple, slightly truthful excuse that could get him out of this situation… Hm… What’s the best way to inspire pity? “My friend died around this time a couple decades back.” Phew. Now, which friend did die around this time? Because he was pretty sure lots of people had been dying at one point… Neville. Yes, Neville died in November. He’d been part of a scouting parting sent to locate which forest the Death Eaters had been camping out in while they wiped out local muggles. Because of a stupid, drunk squadron leader who couldn’t handle the pressure, he’d died saving the lives of 15 phoenix soldiers.
“I’m sorry,” Dumbledore said a few moments later.
Harry shrugged, trying to ignore the hole in his chest from all the dead comrades… the loss of Hermione. “Don’t be. Had nothing to do with you. And he died a good death, I suppose, saving lives.” He sighed, and muttered, “good death my arse.” Though, it was better than dying a stupid death, like the squadron leader who had run away at the sight of the Death Eaters and ended up tripping into a ravine. Harry had been very angry when he found out such an incompetent man had been entrusted with his men’s lives. Every leader after that incident had been required to see Harry weekly for a quick psych evaluation. Harry would never know what to tell a girl to think if her parents split up and she was having blame issues, but he knew a breaking man or woman when he saw them.
“Nevertheless, I am sorry for your loss, Harry.”
Harry looked up from the fire, his brooding interrupted once again. Dumbledore was still watching him, a calculating, yet, concerned look in his eyes. This was the man who would create the Order in the next twenty years. This was the man who had died and left Harry alone to fight the never-ending war.
Perhaps it would end sooner, this time. Perhaps Harry would end it sooner this time.
Which brought him back to his plans to bring magical creatures into the light of equality. The society existing today was incapable of such a leap. It had only been after nearly fifty years of war, total, that wizarding society had changed enough to facilitate the birth of the new age.
He felt like he was in a Star Trek movie or something. Which made him realize exactly how sad it was that one of the only pop-culture references he knew was Star Trek. He’d have to do something about that. Maybe get Dumbledore addicted to soap operas. Wait, no. Eugh. Was TV even invented yet?
He smiled at Dumbledore, just slightly. Not a real smile, but the smile that would communicate with words ‘I understand’ and ‘Thanks’. The message was received, and the two sat in comfortable silence for some time afterwards.
Harry never did ask Dumbledore how he found Harry that night. To him, it didn’t really matter. Though, if he were to think about it seriously, he would probably come to the conclusion that Dumbledore had the portraits on payroll, or something equally Headmaster-ish.
wWwWw
Hogsmeade.
Harry cursed as he was nearly knocked over by an overly eager third year rushing to the newly budding Zonkos. Was he like that in third year? Hmm, no. He’d been sneaking around under an invisibility cloak. Running around like a headless chicken wasn’t conducive to being sneaky.
And Minerva was looking far too amused. ‘I foresee terrible pranks in your future!’ Trelawney’s voice sounded in his head. Minerva was beginning to look worried. Oops, better slip that evil grin off his face. He smiled at her innocently and turned his attention back to the devils swarming around him. He was supposed to be the dearly-feared new Defence teacher! Where had the fear and respect of his awesome powers gone?
“Don’t like children, much?”
Harry turned around to see Minerva. Hadn’t the evil smirk warned her off already? “If I didn’t like children, I wouldn’t be teaching, Minerva.” Kuduh.
She gave him that tight-lipped not-smile of hers that he knew meant she was trying to bite back a laugh. “Of course, Harry. I just meant that you appear to be a little out of your depth.”
Harry brightly smiled at her. “Why thank you, Minerva, for offering to cover my Hogsmeade duties for the rest of the year! I’ll be sure to tell Albus as soon as we get back.” When her face slackened with a mixture of surprise and horror, Harry inwardly cheered. Harry: 1, Minerva: 0.
He ran off after the kiddies before she could come up with a clever retort and get herself out of it.
He was relaxing in the Three Broomsticks, sipping on a red currant rum he’d glamoured to look like a butterbeer (why get caught drinking on the job if you don’t have to?), when Dumbledore sat down across from him. He blinked, slowly. Another surprise visit from the Headmaster? Not that he didn’t appreciate the man’s company, but they seemed to be running into each other a little… often.
“’Evening, Albus.” Harry smiled. He only had to suffer Hogsmeade for one more hour, and then he was free. The rum helped.
Dumbledore smiled brightly. “Good evening, Harry!”
“What brings you to Hogsmeade on this grey, leaf-strewn day?” It was fall, after all. Heh. He rhymed. Twice. ‘You know you’re buzzed when you notice rhyming in your own head,’ he thought to himself, suppressing a snicker.
“I was just writing some letters when I looked out the window and saw what a beautiful day it was. I just had to go for a walk, so I decided to come and visit Hogsmeade.” Dumbledore smiled.
Harry raised an eyebrow. ‘He’s getting codgier. Is that even a word? Hmm… maybe I should use barmy instead.’ “Really? How nice.”
He was still smiling. “I thought so.”
Madam Rosmerta chose that moment to come by, and Harry got a few more moments alone with his thoughts before Dumbledore had turned his attention entirely back to Harry. Would he see through the glamour? Would he care if he did? If he did, would he say anything? Harry cut off his worrying with a strong mental boot to the arse. ‘No point in freaking yourself into acting suspicious, idiot,’ he thought to himself, smiling blithely at his employer. “How went the letter-writing?”
“Hm? Oh, very well. Very well indeed. You see, I’ve been playing this game of chess with an old friend for the past couple years, and I finally received his latest move in the mail.”
Harry stared. No. Way. Was that the game Dumbledore was still playing when Harry had gone to school? “I see,” he said faintly, taking a looong sip of his rum – er, butterbeer. “And how is that going for you?”
Dumbledore smiled. “Very pleasant indeed. I will probably contemplate my next move for the next week before sending him a reply.”
Harry raised an eyebrow. “Why don’t you play a game with someone not hundreds of miles away?”
Dumbledore actually pouted. “Minerva won’t play with me anymore.”
Both his eyebrows rose, this time. “And why’s that?”
“Because I keep winning.”
Harry snickered, and Dumbledore looked like someone had kicked his puppy. But Harry could see that calculating glint behind the twinkling eyes. It was no surprise that Dumbledore kicked arse at chess. He’d turned the world into a chess game in the future. Harry had despised that part of the man after he’d died, but there hadn’t been much point in getting angry at a dead man when he had a war to win. He wasn’t sure if that character flaw still bothered him. Maybe this time he would be able to do some counter-moves. Oh well, might as well let the bored old codger win this fight. “I’ll play against you.”
Blue eyes lit up. “Really? Splendid! How does tonight sound? After dinner?”
Harry’s lip quirked. “Shall I meet you in your office?”
“Yes, yes. See you then,” he smiled, scooped his butterbeer off of Rosmerta’s platter as she came to deliver it, and escaped the bustle of the Three Broomsticks.
Harry shook his head at the man. Masterfully manipulated, he was. He could smell it on the air. But now he was going to play back.
He smirked to himself and sipped on his rum.
-Toki Mirage-
Sorry to all who are still waiting on the next chapter of BS. My muse is still buried under extended deadlines. Which makes me sad, but she’ll never know I said this, because she won’t read an HPAD fic. :(
Oh well. Anyway, LDBP is getting some luvin’ in the meantime! I’m still working on BS at the same time though, so those of you who still like that fic, don’t worry! The next next chapter is being made. And chapter seven will be out as soon as it’s mused. Which may take weeks, I’m sorry to say. On the bright side, chapter eight will likely be out faster than ever! Normally it takes me months… Eheh…
Oh, and someone actually told me upfront that they like this fic better than BS! So I dedicate this chapter to LadyMegsie, who left me an awesome review and got my creative juices flowing. Thank you Megsie!
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Lemon Drops and Blood Pops