Warm But Tainted Blood (Drarry)

chapter five

The chair is cold againist his skin, the peircingness of it stinging him through his robes. Harry grasps the warm tea cup in his now-scolded hands, relishing in the heat. It is earl grey tea, but Harry does not plan to drink it. He's never been a tea fan, nor does he trust the Headmaster not to drug his tea.

Two minutes of pure silence since his entrance had passed, excluding Dumbledore's small greeting to Harry. Harry had only nodded in response. There was a sense of uneasiness in the air, though Harry wondered if his suspicion was misplaced.

"My dear boy," Dumbledore smiled, an iconic twinkle in his eyes (eyes that Harry wants to avoid; everytime since he has arrived and met them he feels striped to his bones, his mind an open book), "Only the first month in and already so much has happened, yes? I called you in to see how you're coping, Harry."

"Oh," Harry says, relaxing a bit, if only bit. "I'm fine. I'm coping." Harry wonders if that's true.

"I'm so glad to hear that," he sipped his tea. "If you ever need anything, you only need ask, you must know. I promise I will provide– and I never ever break promise." He laughs like he knows something Harry doesn't– like he heard a joke that Harry just didn't get. But the laugh is anything but malicious, so Harry overlooks it.

"Of course," Harry mutters simply. He wonders if this it it– if expressing concern and support toward a student was all he was called in there for. He almost laughs at himself, recalling his earlier suspicions. Paranoia, he concludes. Harry has always been prone to paranoia, especially regarding adults. It is another aspect of himself gifted to him from his muggle relatives, one he is struggling to fight. "Thank you, sir."

The Headmaster smiles, and they slip into a comfortable silence. Harry tries to tell himself that this atmosphere is natural, not one spun by the careful hands of a liar. In the end, Harry lets himself relax, but he does not drink the tea.

Some time passes before Dumbledore dismissed him, as curfew was almost upon them. Harry is almost at the door when Dumbledore calls: "Harry? One last thing. You needn't worry yourself about solving this whole dragon situation. Trained professionals are already working tirelessly on it, and I wouldn't want you more stressed than nessacary, yes?"

"I'll keep that in mind, sir." He won't, but there's no reason to argue with the Headmaster. If he's in the good graces of any adult, then that's all the better. He'd rather not piss the guy off.

Dumbledore gives Harry a smile, and Harry returns it before leaving the Headmaster's office, mind already swirling with how to get Malfoy's help.

Draco Malfoy was returning from  St. Mungo's the next morning, and Harry struggled to contain his excitement.

¶∆¶

Dumbledore thumbed the mostly full vial of veritaserum with a sigh. He needed to know young Harry's true feelings on some things, but supposed it did not matter that he didn't this time around. Later would do. (Later would always do.)

¶∆¶

Harry writes a letter. It is small, simple, and to the point.

Dear Malfoy,

Library. After lunch.

- HP

He resists adding little notes like "Library, but NOT to snog" because he deemed that entirely inappropriate. (That doesn't mean he didn't consider it.)

The library had been easily repaired, as it turned out; the destruction done to the room only temporary. A complex version of reparo restored the texts.