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
- 7
- 8
- 9
Lemon Drops and Blood Pops
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Chapter Eight:
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Harry never wanted to go to Hogsmeade ever again. He was sooo not letting Minerva maneuver her way out of taking his monthly duty. He shuddered. Just the thought of that stupid sixth year who had gotten roaring drunk ten minutes before they were supposed to head back to Hogwarts… He’d wanted to slap some sense into the kid. There had been two teachers in the Three Broomsticks. Did the idiot not think they’d notice?
Of course, Harry ignored the fact that he’d been on his fourth drink, and hadn’t been much better off than the kid. He just faked sobriety better. What could he say? He had the skillage. Or maybe it was just practice…
But the look on Minerva’s face when the kid had upchucked on her beautiful purple robes had been far worth the inconvenience of the entire day.
Now dinner was almost over, and Harry had to remind himself of the chess date he had with Dumbledore. The older man had already retired to his office (apparently Headmasters actually had work to do? Who’d a thunk?), so Harry was alone when he wandered the long way around to the gargoyle. He had to admit, he had missed Hogwarts’ halls when he’d been working in America. The monthly trips to see Hermione just hadn’t been enough. He’d never feel more at home than he did in this old, quirky castle.
When he finally found himself in front of the gargoyle, he stared at it for a few minutes to see if it would open on its own. Apparently he wasn’t that lucky. Letting out an annoyed sigh, he started listing off every single candy he knew, though he was pretty sure most of the ones he knew hadn’t been invented yet.
Five minutes of no success, and Dumbledore finally opened the bloody gargoyle. He glared at the man, who looked far too innocent.
“There you are! I was wondering if you’d forgotten,” he said jovially, blue eyes sparkling.
Harry scowled. “I’m sure you are very aware of the fact that I’ve been standing down here for the past five minutes, codger.”
Dumbledore had the audacity to look hurt. “Why, I would never do such a thing!”
Harry rolled his eyes. “You are so full of it,” he grumbled and pushed past the amused man, yanking his beard as he went.
“Hey!” Dumbledore cried out indignantly.
Harry raised an eyebrow as the staircase began to rise. “You left me waiting for five minutes. Not a good start to the evening, Albus.”
Dumbledore thoughtfully pulled on his beard. “I am sorry, there was some business that I had almost finished when the wards alerted me to your arrival. Though, I must admit I’m curious. Why the sweets?”
Harry stared at him. “What is your password?”
“Red currant rum.” He smiled blithely.
Harry felt a toad lodge itself in his throat. “Indeed,” he choked out, inwardly berating himself. ‘Oh, smooth, Potter. Very smooth.’ The voice reminded him of Snape. He shuddered at the thought.
The stairs stopped moving and Harry got off, leading them into Dumbledore’s office. The Headmaster had set up a chess set between two comfortable chairs by the fire, and a tray of sweets, tea, and (thank god) coffee was set on an adjacent table.
“If you’re more amenable to spirits, I also a selection you could choose from.” Dumbledore smiled brightly as he pointed Harry towards the chairs. Was he supposed to pick a which chair? The booze comment had thrown him, so he sat down on the black side without much thought. Ron had always wanted to go first, as Harry hadn’t been very good at chess until the fifth year after they graduated. Now Harry was glad Ron had forced him to do it. The game had only helped him moderately concerning real-life battle situations, but now this skill would enable him to at least play Dumbledore although he likely wouldn’t win.
Dumbledore was still smiling. “You prefer black? Normally my opponents choose white.”
Harry blinked. “I’m used to black, so I’ll stick with that.”
The older man nodded thoughtfully as he sat down and prepared some tea. As he stirred the sugar in with one hand, he moved a pawn two paces forward with the other. The game had begun.
Three cups of coffee, two pumpkin pies, and one glass of brandy later found Harry losing, badly, and really not caring. The conversation was worth being made a fool out of.
“So, Albus, what’s your favourite colour?” He only asked it to throw the man, not knowing that it would turn their chess-match into a very interesting evening indeed.
Amber eyebrows rose in surprise. “Blue. And you?”
“Purple.”
Dumbledore blinked.
“Just kidding. I wanted to see the look on your face. Black’s my favourite colour.”
Dumbledore frowned slightly. “Why black?”
Harry shrugged. “I dressed in black for most of my job, and I had a close friend whose name was Black, so it sorta stuck. Why blue? Why not yellow?”
Dumbledore smiled. “Blue is a good colour. We see it every day, and it can remind us of a clear blue sky or the chaotic churning of the sea.”
Harry shrugged. That was as good an answer as any, really. “Your favourite animal?”
“Phoenix.”
Harry smiled. He should have guessed.
“Not going to ask me why?” Dumbledore looked genuinely curious.
Harry grinned. “You have a bird perch next to your desk.”
“Aah. You?”
“Hippogriff.”
Amber eyebrows rose. “Really? Why?”
“I had a really cool Care of Magical Creatures teacher. He got sacked, unfortunately, but not before I got to ride one. That was a cool year.”
“Hmm…”
They traded a few more moves, and Harry had to admit Dumbledore was good. Even better than Ron. It was taking almost every ounce of concentration to not lose in the next few minutes. The leftover ounce was committed to the conversation.
“What’s your favourite dish?” Dumbledore asked as Harry narrowly escaped a checkmate.
“Hmm…” Harry had to think about that for a second. “Dunno, really. I’ve never tried anything exotic. My favourite normal dish would probably be a hearty chicken and mash potato dinner.” He really missed Molly Weasley’s cooking. She had survived the war, but most of her children and her husband hadn’t been so lucky. Or was it unlucky? Hermione and he had made it a tradition to spend every major holiday they could with her, so she could cook her huge meals and the table would be half-full. She’d been devastated.
He missed the calculating gleam in Dumbledore’s eyes as Harry tried to think up his next move and not get totally creamed. “What about you?” he asked when he finally made a move.
“I like Greek food. I’m afraid I can’t bring myself to choose a favourite, though,” the Headmaster bemoaned.
“Hmm… Oh, I just remembered. I got Minerva to agree to take over all my Hogsmeade weekend duties. Don’t let her get out of it, okay?”
Dumbledore chuckled. “That won’t do you much good, I’m afraid. She can be slippery when she wants to.”
“That’s why I need your help. We can trick her into signing a contract.”
They both laughed. “I will endeavour to alert her to her new duties, but I take no responsibility for the claws that will befall you.”
“Agreed.”
Harry chuckled, moved a piece, and frowned when Dumbledore didn’t take the obvious route that would have Harry losing in three turns. “You know, you don’t have to dance circles around me to drag out the game. We can always play another.”
Dumbledore smiled brightly. “Really?”
Harry smirked. “I’ve been getting my arse kicked in chess for years. I’m not going to suddenly stop playing.”
“Checkmate.”
Harry looked down at the chessboard in surprise.
Dumbledore was still smiling.
“Ouch. Well, now that the kiddie gloves are off, how about you break out the spirits? I could use some liquid courage,” Harry grinned as Dumbledore chuckled and summoned some booze form the liquor cabinet. “If I’m gonna get my arse kicked, might as well enjoy the kick.”
He found himself immensely enjoying the rest of the evening. He even managed to not get so smashed that Dumbledore had to escort him to his rooms again, which to him was an amazing accomplishment. As he was walking down the halls at 1 AM Saturday night (or was it Sunday morning?), he really wished he knew a drinking song. Maybe Dumbledore knew one? His brother owned a bar, after all. But those two hated each other… He shook his head. Too serious of thought for such an good evening.
wWwWw
“You want me to what?”
“Well, I assumed since you were in the broom-making industry that you could fly. You can fly, correct?”
Harry stared at Minerva like she had grown two heads. “And why did you come to me to do it? Why can’t you? They’re your bloody Griffindors.”
She looked highly irate.
A slow grin spread across Harry’s face. “Unless you won't let yourself be caught dead on a broom. Is that the case, Minerva?”
She scowled. “I don’t see why you can’t do it. It’s not like you have anything else during this period, and I do have Head of House duties that take up my time, as well as Deputy Headmi-“
“I’ll do it on one condition.”
Her eyes narrowed suspiciously. “And what is that?”
“That you take over all my Hogsmeade duties, officially. Albus keeps telling me you are refusing to admit that you agreed to do it.” He grinned. She glared. “Unless you’d rather be caught dead on a broom, hundreds of feet of the ground, with little ickle Griffins falling out of the sk-“
“Fine! I agree!”
She was so easy. Harry smiled brightly. “Thanks! So, when’s this class exactly?”
“Ten minutes.”
His eyebrows rose. “Wow, you’re cutting it close there Minerva.” He grinned and started jogging towards the pitch to escape her glare. She was so easy to rile up!
The class of Griffindors and oh god no. Slytherins. No wonder Minerva hadn’t wanted to teach this class. Eugh. Anyway, the class of lions and snakes were curiously hovering around outside when he found them. He grinned as he walked towards them, as a couple students had seen him and the looks of abject horror on their faces were very amusing to witness.
“Alright you lazy white-arsed pencil-pushing wimps-for-wizards, and witches, front and center!” he barked out, reminiscing about the good ol’ days as the kiddies responded to his drill sergeant voice like frightened little ducklings. “Good. Now, I’ll have you know that flying is a very particular art form, and if I see you dissing the art then I will personally kick your – yes?”
The girl who had raised her hand blinked nervously. “What does diss mean, sir?”
He stared. Oh yeah, pop culture. To diss wasn’t even in the vernacular yet, let alone the dictionary, wasn’t it? “Diss. Short for DISRESPECT!” The entire class jumped. He grinned evilly. “Thank you, Miss Gryffindor First Year for showing us all the courage that got you that red and gold scarf. Now, moving on. Dissing the art means you diss me, which means you diss my business. And as a stick-carver I won’t allow it. So if you want to pass this class, I suggest you show the brooms their proper RESPECT!” He was pretty sure this wasn’t a graded class, but who were they to know?
Another hand was up. “Yes?”
This time, a Slytherin boy had mustered up the courage. “I-is it true, Professor Underwood?” Harry gave the kid a blank stare. “T-that you’re the owner of U-under the Wood?”
Harry resisted the urge to roll his eyes, because he was pretty sure that if he did the boy would cry. Or pee his pants. He looked pretty excited that their teacher was the founder of the flourishing broom business. “Yes, it’s true. Any other inane questions before we move on?”
No one looked willing to open their mouths.
“Good! The brooms are in the shed. Go get one.” He cast a powerful unlocking charm at the shed a couple yards away, as it was unlikely a simple alohamora would work with so many students on the rampage.
It took a while, but after much clamouring every student had a broom in their hands. He was pretty sure they were all crap, too. He stared at the brooms that had been pulled from the dark recesses of the broom shack with growing horror.
“Brooms on the ground!” he barked. They all scrambled to obey. “Nobody flies until I’ve checked that all these withered old sticks aren’t going to die mid-air and kill you.” He grumbled under his breath. He should donate some decent brooms to this school. The quality, even for this age, was ridiculous! He made a mental note to owl Darcy later that evening.
He spent the next ten minutes of class running his hands through the enchantments on the crap brooms and burning a few to cinders. Some of them weren’t good enough to be anything more than fertilizer. He mentally scoffed. By the time he was done, some of the kids were going to have to share. The seeker in him cried for these poor buggers.
He gave them all the instructions he remembered being given in first year, with modifications of his own. And he only let three students up at a time, in case he needed to pull an amazing seeker move and save one of the kiddie’s arses from being permanently planted into the ground. In death. He wasn’t sure if the firsties were scheduled to have another lesson at some point, but he made another mental note to ask Minerva about it. Since first years weren’t allowed brooms of their own, he figured the least the school could do was let them actually practice flying with a decent instructor to keep them from killing themselves.
Once he had his method going – five minutes air time, then rotation – he found he actually didn’t mind teaching the litter blighters how to fly. And as there weren’t any injuries or inter-house conflicts between the students (in the air, at least), Harry was rather content when he ended the lesson with a vague promise that they would probably have another scheduled soon and no, he didn’t know if it would be him again. For some reason, they actually seemed sad when he locked the brooms away. He wasn’t sure if it was because they would miss the brooms or his own irresistible charms.
wWwWw
Classes passed uneventfully for the next month, and soon Halloween rolled around with Harry none the wiser. The first thing that clued him in to the date was the pumpkins. They were bloody everywhere!
“So, what are you dressing up as?” Minerva asked him at lunch that afternoon. Dumbledore was mysteriously absent, so Harry didn’t have to strain around the Headmaster to see the other half of his conversation. He stared at her uncomprehendingly. She frowned. “You do know that it’s compulsory for all teachers to attend the ball, right?” She smirked at the alarmed look on his face. “How did you miss the notices, Harry? Haven’t you been to the teachers’ lounge lately?”
Harry groaned and buried his face in his scrambled eggs. He was pretty sure Minerva looked disgusted, because it wasn’t long before she was pulling his face out of his plate. Yep. Disdain.
“How could you not notice?” She seemed genuinely confused after she wiped the disgust off her face.
Harry grumbled and wandlessly removed his egg mask. “Maybe I’ll go as an egg monster.” Minerva looked decidedly unamused. “I don't know! Okay? Maybe my subconscious mind wanted to spare me from the horrors of reality.”
Minerva rolled her eyes. “You are so overly dramatic.”
Harry grinned. “What are you dressing up as? A cat?”
She glared at him.
His grin broadened. “Don’t tell me you’re actually dressing up as a cat. That’s highly unoriginal.” Her glare intensified. “Hey, even egg monster’s more original than that. You should go as Frankenstein’s wife or something. You have enough hair, we could really easily stack it and put white streaks on the si-“ he pushed his chair back and slid under the table at her retaliating gesture. “Why Minerva!” he called out from under the table. “Did you actually just throw food at me?”
“I will gut you like a fish, Underwood!”
Harry grinned and wandlessly cast a sonorous charm. “FOOD FIGHT!”
The chaos that ensued would go down in Hogwarts a History as the most epic food fight to ever stain the Main Hall. Dumbledore would later be heartbroken that he had missed it.
wWwWw
Harry scowled at his reflection in the mirror. He was pretty sure at this point, after getting a premature egg costume dumped on him during lunch time, that he did not want to be an egg monster for Halloween. Which left him in his current predicament. He had ten minutes to throw a costume together, and he’d been staring at himself in the mirror in indecision for the past half an hour. Going as a vampire was so déclassé, since he was half-vampire, and most of the superheroes he knew of hadn’t been invented yet. Or, he was pretty sure they hadn’t been invented yet. Which left him with little idea of what he wanted to be for Halloween.
He was interrupted from his brooding by a knock at the portrait. Sighing, he left the bathroom to see who was bothering him.
His eyebrows rose in surprise. “A-albus!” Then the sight and smell of what the old man had dressed up as hit him full-force, and he had to stumble back a few steps and cover his mouth as his fangs nearly split his lip they came out so fast.
The delight that had been shining in Dumbledore’s eyes quickly diminished as he saw Harry’s reaction to his costume. He entered the rooms, the portrait swinging closed behind him, with a concerned expression on his face. “Harry? Are you alright?”
Harry kept his eyes closed, knowing they would be glowing an unearthly green through his glamour. Harrison Underwood had been a normal-looking guy with brown hair and hazel eyes, but Harry knew the magic of his vampire gaze would overpower the hazel and turn his eyes to their familiar Avada Kedavra green.
He felt a hand on his shoulder and flinched, stepping back into the wall.
“What’s wrong, Harry?” Dumbledore asked, his voice sounding bewildered and concerned.
Harry mentally swore. Well, it was either tell the man to get rid of his bloodied robes or jump him to get his fix. God he wished he had a blood pop right about now. “Can you banish the blood, please?” he asked, angry at himself for the waver in his voice.
There was a pause, and for a moment Harry thought Dumbledore would ignore his plea, but then the smell of blood was nearly gone and he could breath again. He sighed in relief, but it was short-lived. Dumbledore pulled his hand away from his mouth and gasped at the fangs Harry had been hiding beneath.
“Wha-“
Harry tried to pull himself from Dumbledore’s grip without hurting the man, but the wizard’s grip belied a strength he hadn’t thought the human capable of. He felt a whine building in the back of his throat because Christ he hadn’t wanted Dumbledore to find out he was a vampire this way and what if the man wasn’t as accepting as he had been of creatures even half-creatures in his own time because god he didn’t want to go to the Ministry he knew what they used to do to vampires during this-
“Harry! Look at me!”
Harry absently noted that he was hyper-ventilating as he followed the order of the man he most respected in this world of prejudice and pureblood supremacy. Blue eyes were staring at him from less than a foot away, and he could see his own blazing green fire reflected on his corneas. He immediately flinched and looked away, closing his mouth tightly to hide his fangs, as if the man hadn’t already gotten a good look at them.
“Harry, calm down. I need you to breath, okay?”
He took deep breaths, and his nose scrunched at the lingering smell of blood on the air. He needed a blood pop, or he was going to sink his fangs into Dumbledore’s neck at any second. He slipped into the shadow behind him and shadow-walked to the far side of the room, where he kept his supply of blood pops. He nearly tore off the lid to get to them, and ripped the wrappers off of three before shoving them all in his mouth. He closed his eyes and let himself relax for a moment as the taste rolled over his tongue and temporarily sated his urge for the sticky, sweet substance. God he hated being like this.
When a tentative hand touched his shoulder, he swung around ready to punch the potential enemy in the face and froze an inch away from blue eyes. Shit. He was so getting fired. The misery must have shown on his face, because Dumbledore smiled softly at him.
“If you think I’m going to fire you, you’re wrong, my friend.”
Some of the tension leaked out of him, and he felt slightly less cornered with three white sticks poking ridiculously out of his mouth. Now he just felt ridiculous with three white sticks poking out of his mouth.
“Why not?” It came out slightly garbled around the three candies in his mouth, but he had to ask.
Dumbledore was still smiling. “Who would I play chess with?”
It was so ridiculous Harry started laughing bitterly. He ran a hand through his hair and checked that his glamour was still in place. It was. At least one thing hadn’t gone totally wrong tonight.
“I would never fire as dedicated a defence teacher as you, Harry. I admit I am… surprised, at this newest development, but you seem remarkably in control for a vampire.”
“Hamph.”
Amber eyebrows rose. “Pardon?”
Harry scratched the back of his head and pulled out the blood pops. “Half,” he repeated. “I’m too freakish to actually be a full vampire.”
Dumbledore looked confused. “I didn’t know people could be half vampire.”
Harry snorted bitterly. “Yeah, well, I seem to be the exception to every rule. I survived a failed turning during a hunt a couple decades back, and this is what I turned into. I’m a normal human with a little abnormal strength and speed, and I require a fix every two weeks.” He shoved the pops back into his mouth.
Dumbledore smiled. “I trust you are no threat to my students?”
Harry gave him a bizarre look. “No!” he said indignantly through the candies in his mouth. He sounded ridiculous to his own ears.
“Then I see no reason for tonight to be remembered. Now, what are you dressing as for Halloween?”
And so continued one of the most bizarre Halloweens Harry had ever experienced, and that was saying something.
“An elf? No way. That’s even worse than the cat costume I harassed Minerva about during lunch time!”
Dumbledore pouted. “It isn’t if you change your hair and let your natural eyes free of the glamour. And wear a costume. I used to be the transfiguration teacher, I’ll have you know.” Amusement shone in the blue eyes.
Harry stared. “You’re serious, aren’t you.” He sighed. Well, it wasn’t like he’d come up with anything brilliant in the half an hour he’d spent staring at his reflection. “What colour hair?”
Dumbledore grinned at Harry’s acquiescence. “White, of course. And make it long. At least to your waist.”
Harry grumbled as he tapped his scalp with his wand to grow his hair and changed his glamour to reflect a longer bone structure. He kept it clear around his eyes, and saw that they were still glowing eerily in the mirror, though likely not nearly as bright as when he’d been in blood lust.
“How’s that?”
Dumbledore positively beamed. “You have very interesting eyes, Harry! Now, let me just…” He did some complex waving of his wand and Harry watched as his regular robes melted into something he’d probably seen in a movie.
“Leggings? Honestly, why can’t I be an elf with trousers?”
Dumbledore looked positively amused. “Because then you wouldn’t be an elf. You’d be an elf with trousers.”
Harry shot him a bizarre look before just giving up. He checked himself out in the mirror and had to admit his costume was much better than a cat get-up. Oops, but he’d forgotten the ears. A quick addition to his glamour and he was set to go.
“So,” Harry asked as they left his rooms to head to the Great Hall, “Why did you actually put real chicken’s blood on your count Dracula outfit?”
Dumbledore looked abashed. “I’m afraid I may have gotten a little… overzealous, in my costume.”
Harry snorted. “Darn right. Red dye could have worked just as well. It’s not like any of the students would be able to tell it was real.”
The Headmaster shrugged. “I wanted to win the costume-of-the-year contest.”
Harry laughed. Wow, that thing was still going? Or, er, had already started? Or whatever. Time travel just plain confused him sometimes.
-Toki Mirage-
Does anyone actually care if I write the Halloween party? Cuz I can skip it if no one cares. On the other hand, I could write a very entertaining scene where Harry taunts Minerva with his awesome costume… decisions, decisions…
If anyone is interested in an incredibly useful source, you can find a Harry Potter timeline at the following url. Just take out the spaces.
http:// www. hplex. info/ timelines/ timeline . php
Also note that I will follow the timeline of Harry Potter as it suits me and may bend and twist some things beyond recognition as my story require. So, for example, while I am aware that Dumbledore becomes headmaster around 13 years after Tom graduates, and Tom resurfaces around 15 years after graduation to reapply for DADA, I’m shaving it to ‘around 10 years’, because who /really/ honestly and truly cares how close to canon I get this? Cuz it’s so not canon. :)
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Lemon Drops and Blood Pops