"I disagree. You said that last time, about the prophecy. It is too late for such notions, Professor. Firstly, Sirius and mama want me to stay out of the fight as well, but they still make a point to keep me updated. They do not belittle me with withholding information. And secondly, it does not matter how much you adults think you can protect me from this. My name has come out of the Goblet of Fire, Professor. We all agree that it must be Voldemort who has done so. I am involved, even if we don't want me to be. I do not have the luxury of being treated as a child any longer. And lastly, are you not training me to kill Voldemort, is that not what this is? I am allowed to learn Voldemort's weaknesses, just in case, but only spoon-fed information when you think it is necessary?"
Harry, against his judgment, lifted his eyes to meet Dumbledore's in a violent staredown.
"I assure you, Professor Dumbledore, that if I could walk away from all this bullshit, I would do so. I would gladly let the adults fix all this. But I have seen that to do would be irresponsible. I do not hold most adults in my life to a very high standard. It seems like all you do is plot and gossip and do very little to actually fix things. We may go to war!
I may have been a baby when the last one ended, but I still bear the scars of those times. You cannot assume none of us will be forced to help fight. I am sick and tired of this charade. You can't expect me to sit around and play Quidditch while Voldemort pulls the strings of this tournament behind our backs, while the Ministry forces me to lie and tell everyone that everything is going to be fine all the while Voldemort might be planning another terrorist attack -"
Harry paused and breathed for a second.
"I'm sorry Professor. That got a bit, er. It's been a stressful few weeks, as you said."
Dumbledore looked neither mutinous nor angry at his outburst. Though his eyes were not twinkling and his half-moon spectacles slipped down his nose as he bowed his head.
"I apologize, Harry." The words sounded genuine. "It was not my intention to upset or disrespect you. I can see now that I am the only party still attempting to treat you as a child. Voldemort and the Ministry through the tournament will not give you that respect. It is unhelpful. and I will stop treating you as such."
"May I go, professor?" Harry had put his foot in his mouth enough, thank you. He was not sure the last time he'd had a proper rest or meal, and he was hungover and grouchy.
"Yes. We can continue our discussion another time. I will be more… forthcoming. But Harry, I would hope that you and your family treat me with the same courtesy. As we are allies, we should treat each other as such, agreed?"
"Yes sir. I'm sure they would love to speak with you on this topic."
"And indeed we shall, but another day, my boy. If I may recommend, water and a heavy meal will do wonders for your hangover and mood, rather than caffeine and sugar."
Harry nodded once and fled from his seat.
Running down the corridors, he sequestered himself in an empty hall behind a suit of armor and gagged. Overwhelmed, he gasped and shook with adrenaline. Fine, he was fine. Everything had turned out fine.
He'd successfully outmaneuvered Dumbledore. Sure, the man would no doubt have questions that would need to be answered, but he probably, probably, didn't think Harry was a necromancer. (He probably thought mama was one, but uh…) They could work on a cover story. He had agreed to be their ally, at least while they tackled Voldemort, and Harry had weaseled some information out of the man that he would have refused to give up otherwise.
His gasps turned to a mad bout of laughter.
Harry wanted to get drunk again. That it was only two in the afternoon was irrelevant. If he wasn't drunk, he was being forced to deal with his variety of problems. Problems that he needed to settle in a boring, non-murderous way. He vowed to never take up smoking, he had enough vices.
Maybe he should go take another dip in the lake. The urge to curse someone was tickling under his skin. He deserved a medal, for not caving yet this year. He handled all his issues with grace - or at least with a reasonable amount of violence. But he had not raised his wand to Dumbledore and had talked out all his feelings instead. Maybe he'd gone a bit barmy on poor Neville and then his Headmaster, who had only deserved about half of his unfocused ranting, but it was an improvement, he was sure.
He hoped his mama would focus on the good news and not the bit where he'd revealed a load of his secrets to two different people. He could no longer hide from their overdue conversation either, not with the chance that the Headmaster might corner her for information at any moment.
He was still profoundly embarrassed that he had essentially stormed off to cry and throw a temper tantrum yesterday. He would be blaming it on puberty if anyone asked.
.....
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