the flower dancer // quirrellmort

4 • he's the night

The giant griffin annoyed Tom greatly.

If there was one thing that annoyed Tom the most about Albus Dumbledore, it was the dramatics. The eight-foot griffin statue that guarded the entrance to his office was just the beginning.

Tom made his way through the shadows, and he could hear the faint echoes of music playing. Although he despised it, he could instantly recognize the tune: Breaking Free from High School Musical. Another aspect of Dumbledore that angered Tom to his core: his taste in everything.

As Tom reached the tall, glamorous double doors that separated Dumbledore's inner office from the rest of the space, he took a deep breath. He almost considered turning right around, just going back to his dorm and saying he forgot. Still, there was a small part of him that didn't want to disappoint Dumbledore. So he sucked in one last breath and pushed a small button on the wall. This was a bell that rang inside the inner office, alerting Dumbledore of his presence. Tom was pretty sure no one else knew about the bell -- Dumbledore only put it there for him. "If you ever need to talk to me, push this button," he had told him.

The chime rang out, muffled on Tom's side of the door. "Tom!" The music shut off just before the last chorus. "Tommy! Sit down!" Dumbledore's smile was as big as his round face, his snow-white beard protruding from under his chin like a plant.

This room was the strangest in the office. Trinkets and knick-knacks of all kinds lined about a dozen bookcases. Figurines of various movie characters (mostly superheroes) filled his desk, causing Tom to wonder how (and if) the man ever got any actual work done. The icing on the cake was a giant poster hung right next to the desk. It was a blown-up magazine cover that sported a buff Zac Efron lifting up his shirt.

Tom sat down in the armchair always reserved for him and watched Dumbledore as he situated himself across from him. "Hi," Tom said quietly, casting his gaze downward. He often had a problem with eye contact when he was talking to Dumbledore.

"How has the school year been treating you so far, Tom?" the old man asked, crossing his legs.

Tom shrugged. "Fine."

"Professor Slughorn was telling me earlier that you had some stomach problems?"

Tom remembered his lie. "I'm feeling okay, now. Just a small bug."

Dumbledore nodded. "Well, gee, I hope it doesn't spread to any of the other children."

"I'm sure it'll be fine," Tom said, picking up the teacup that was always waiting for him.

"What's the first potion you were assigned this year?"

Tom sipped his tea, which was the perfect temperature. Dumbledore knew exactly when to brew it for their sessions. "Polyjuice," Tom answered, smirking into his cup.

This made Dumbledore sigh slightly. "I don't want any misbehaving, Tom. No funny business with that potion like last year."

"No funny business," he repeated.

There was a pause as Dumbledore stared at him, probably studying him. He did that a lot. It made Tom uncomfortable. "Polyjuice Potion is a tricky potion," Dumbledore finally said, breaking the silence.

"Tricky for others, maybe," Tom muttered, focusing his eyes on the bobbing brown line that was his tea meeting the cup. "Slughorn made us have partners."

Dumbledore's eyebrows rose. "Partners? Who did you get paired with?"

Tom thought back to the image of Quirinus Quirrell, so skinny that his robes swallowed him, so quiet that no one knew he was there -- until they did and beat him up. His nose was hooked from being broken so many times, and his voice barely had any grounding. "Just some Ravenclaw."

"Maybe you should get to know this Ravenclaw. Maybe you two could become friends!" Dumbledore had a hopeful smile on his face that Tom knew too well.

"I don't wanna do that."

"Do you still have the diary I gave you last year?" Dumbledore asked, changing subjects.

"Yes," Tom replied. "It's a journal. Diaries are for girls."

"Sorry, journal. Do you write in it?"

Suddenly, Tom was embarrassed. He did write in it. He wrote his complete, true feelings in his journal. It was a place where he was vulnerable, more vulnerable than he had ever been before. "Every once in a while. You can't read it."

Dumbledore chuckled. "I don't want to read it, Tom. It's just for you. I recommend that you write in it about your day before you go to sleep each night. Dia-journals can be very therapeutic."

Tom shrugged. "Won't it fill up too fast if I write in it every day?"

"Then I'll get you another one. And another one. And however many you need." This was one of the things Tom actually liked about Dumbledore. The headmaster was always ready to bend over backwards for Tom whenever he wanted. "I think it will do you some good to write about your feelings."

Tom rolled his eyes. The action screamed louder than anything he had already said.

"It will do you good," Dumbledore said sternly, and Tom finally looked up. "Since you clearly don't enjoy discussing your feelings with me, I'd like you to try with your journal. It's healthy to let things out."

"Okay," Tom said, surrendering.

Dumbledore just looked at him for a moment. "I know you didn't grow up with much of an outlet for your feelings, Tom. But this is the fifth year you've been at Hogwarts. I really want you to try to make a friend this year, okay?"

"I have my club."

Dumbledore nodded. "Yes... your club. Remind me of the name?"

Tom grinned to himself. "The He-Man Woman Haters. But we're thinking about changing the name."

Dumbledore never said anything bad about Tom's club, but Tom knew he disliked it. "I want you to branch out, Tom," he told him. "Can you try to make a new friend? Someone not involved in your club?"

"Maybe," Tom mumbled.

"Who is your Ravenclaw partner in potions class?"

He had to stop himself from laughing as he suddenly remembered the name. "Quirinus Quirrell."

Dumbledore thought for a moment. "Ah, yes, Quirrell. I seem to recall the boy coming to me about a bullying problem not too long ago... I do hope that settled down a bit."

It didn't, Tom thought, amused.

Dumbledore sat his teacup down with a clink. "I really think you should befriend Quirrell. He seems like a nice boy."

"I don't like talking to people," Tom said, knowing that by now, he'd very much worn that sentence out with Dumbledore.

"I know. But who knows? You may end up liking Quirrell!"

Tom shook his head. If he was sure of one thing, it was that he was never going to like Quirinus Quirrell as long as he lived.