Percy Jackson and the Locket of Salazar [Book 6]

5) Beard Growing 101 (It's a Required Course)

Once we were a decent distance away from Slughorn's house (the one that wasn't his at all), Dumbledore said, "This will do, boys. If you will grasp my arm." I pouted and grabbed at his shoulder and, with the uncomfortable feeling of being stuffed through a straw, I arrived with the others at The Burrow.

I was admittedly very excited for The Burrow, because it had been a while since I'd eaten and Mrs. Weasley made some dam good food, the beds were bound to be warm and cozy, and some of my favorite people in the world lived there. Before I could make my way toward the home of happiness, however, Dumbledore spoke, "If you don't mind, Harry, I'd like a few words with you before we part. In private. Perhaps in here?" Dumbledore pointed toward the stone shed the Weasleys kept their broom sticks in. "I'll call you in whenever I have something to speak to the both of you about, Percy. In the meantime, I'm sure you could find something fantastical in the stars."

"Ouch," I said dryly. "I didn't realize I was the third wheel. Now I know how Grover feels." As I said it, though, I had some suspicions on what Dumbledore was talking about, and understood why it would be private. The death of Sirius weighed heavily on me, and I wasn't his godson, nor could I find as much blame within myself as Harry could. Maybe they were talking on other matters, but either way, Dumbledore had a way with words that I did not, and would certainly uplift Harry in ways that only a mentor could.

I sat on the cold, packed dirt of the lane that led to The Burrow, feeling wetness seep into my jeans. The night air of August was humid, but there was a bit of a chill to it. The Dementors' mist didn't seem to pervade the country, and neither did light pollution. The stars were bright overhead, tiny pinpricks of light that reached my watchful eyes. I looked at the constellations, at Zoë's, and wondered whether they could be taken out of the night sky. If Kronos had won, so many things would have changed. Would this sky before me be one of them, or would it remain as constant as ever; a monument to terrible change, or a fixture of hope?

I'd have to point out the constellation of Sirius to Harry soon. If he couldn't sleep — grief had a way of making you immeasurably tired but unable to shut your eyes — then at least he could look out and see the constellation. I looked at the Hunter whenever I couldn't sleep.

I heard the door to the stone shed creak open, and looked back at them. They stepped out of the shed, Harry's eyes strangely red and puffy.

"The ground is cold," I said, pushing myself to my feet as they made their way over to me. "And I think a bug crawled into my pants. I've decided to call her Jolene."

"Well, I hope Jolene doesn't mind to join in on a conversation that doesn't involve her," Dumbledore said, smiling. "It is my wish that you both take private lessons with me this year."

"Private — with you?" Harry blinked.

"Will you teach me how to grow a beard?" I pleaded. "Luke was right when he said I'd never have to shave, but I don't want him to be right. I want a long, luxurious face mane."

"I'm afraid that it's not the man who chooses the beard, but the beard who chooses the man, Mr. Jackson."

"That's not funny. That's not funny at all."

"To each their own, I suppose," Dumbledore's eyes were twinkling. "But, to answer your question, Harry, yes, private lessons with me. I think it is time that I took a greater hand in your education."

"If we're not learning about beard growth, what are we being taught?" I asked sadly.

"Oh, a little bit of this, a little bit of that," Dumbledore seemed to be growing more and more amused at my exasperation.

"If I'm having lessons with you, I won't have to do Occulemency lessons with Snape, will I?" Harry was much more hopeful about the situation than I was.