Sweet Revenge

What to do in the face of a Dumblebee

Harry woke up one morning with a particularly refreshed air about him. He hummed to himself as he pulled on his robes and d̶i̶d̶ h̶i̶s̶ m̶o̶r̶n̶i̶n̶g̶ s̶t̶r̶e̶t̶c̶h̶e̶s̶ bounced out the door. 

He was in such and inexplicably good mood that day that he remained jubilant even when Draco stole Blaise's hairbrush and Blaise exhibited his habitual morning yelling. 

Harry continued down to the Great Hall -one step ahead of his friends- and buttered up his toast. Theo looked at him weirdly. 

          "Merlin, Harry, you never butter your toast..."

Harry only hummed in response, taking a large bite out of the toast for emphasis. 

It was true, he supposed, that he never really slathered butter on his toast at Hogwarts, but he did so enjoy it. He felt he only ever had the luxury of doing so at Tom's place because Tom, too, could enjoy buttered toast and black tea. Tom had the best butter selection -from France to New Zealand to Brazil- and the best tea selection. 

He breezed through the first part of his day and alighted to lunch, but before he could take a bite of his food, Uncle Sev swept down from the Head's Table with a terrifying expression on his face. 

          "Harry, Professor Dumbledore wishes to see you."

Then in a quieter voice,

          "Stay silent no matter what he says. Don't look him in the eyes. Don't eat his goddamned lemon drops or his blasted tea."

----------

Harry's mood was dampened significantly by this information. He highly suspected that he would be meeting with the Potters shortly after his "conversation" with the grand Dumblebee. 

Still, he trudged up the steps behind the (obvious af) Griffin door. 

He knocked. 

There came a muffled, 

          "Come in,"

to which Harry wished the man on the other side was being suffocated. 

He pushed open the door and was met by a sight so hideous to his eyes -which had only seen the elegant decor of Slytherin Castle and Malfoy Manor- that he literally had to push back to tears of anguish that threatened to spill forth. 

Even Azkaban was better-looking than this...mess. 

Said "mess" included Alex Potter, because the git was standing like a fat personal bodyguard behind Dumblebee's chair. 

          "Ah, Harry. Very kind of you to join us," the elderly man intoned. 

Harry simply stood rigidly by the door and regarded Alex with the most Uncle Sev-ish eyes he could muster. 

After several moments of awkward silence, Dumbledore offered,

          "Care to have a seat?"

Harry maneuvered himself into the seat opposite Dumbledore's and then stared intensely at the spot right above Dumbledore's head. 

          "Now, Harry my b-, er, I know that you and Alex have had a bit of a rough history, but I hope you will put those thoughts aside for now so that we may discuss your futures."

Harry slid his thumb over the currently-invisible ring on his forefinger. Miles away, Tom felt the ring on his own hand get hotter and dragged his thumb across it to accept the call before warding the door to his office with as many muffling charms as he could in what little time there was before he had to remain silent.