Lessons in Unorthodoxy

Albus Dumbledore was a brilliant man and a brilliant leader. Outside the Death Eater circles, there was little doubt about that. But it was also a widely accepted fact that the Headmaster of Hogwarts was anything but orthodox, and in fact overstepped lines that most people would fear to even look upon. He certainly never treated his students as most of the Headmasters before him had done.

No one would ever really challenge Dumbledore’s methods, however. Not even Harry Potter.

So it was that during the first of their ‘lessons’ together in Harry’s sixth year at Hogwarts that Harry didn’t object when Dumbledore moved just that little bit closer to him than was perhaps prudent between student and teacher. Harry thought nothing of it, writing it off as an aging man who was self-admittedly past his peak – just look at what had happened to his hand, after all – being slightly wobbly in his stance, and thus unable to fully control his nearness to others. It really wasn’t a big deal. With Lord Voldemort as the topic of their discussion that meeting, though, it occurred to Harry to worry about Dumbledore’s fitness to be the head of their side of the war. That was slightly worrying.

When a wrinkled hand fell low on his back and stayed there the next lesson, a slight frown creased Harry’s brow, but he quickly decided that Dumbledore was merely conveying that he was comfortable in Harry’s presence. That thought actually served to put a smile on his face, and Harry quickly forgot all about the pressure on his spine, which continued for a good portion of the rest of the lesson. Hearing about Voldemort’s past was much more important than a few touches, after all.

When Dumbledore embraced him at the end of the lesson, he was unsure what to think. A show of trust was one thing, but Harry didn’t think that a teacher – or a Headmaster, as the case may be – was authorised to go about throwing their arms around their students. He squirmed slightly, but didn’t push the man away, reluctantly accepting the hug.

When in their next lesson Dumbledore seemed overly excited over some memory that he was going to show Harry, he seemed eager to be as close as possible to his student. Harry wasn’t entirely comfortable with nearness between them by then, but he wasn’t about to push his mentor away for expressing his emotions in such a harmless way. However, when Dumbledore’s hand fell a lot lower than it had during their previous encounter, Harry automatically bolted completely upright in shock and moved swiftly across the room out of range of Dumbledore’s touch.

The Headmaster, of course, apologised profusely, but moved towards Harry and rested a hand on his shoulder as he did so. Harry allowed it, deciding he was just trying to show how sincere he was. The rest of the lesson progressed more normally and Harry tried to forget the feeling of another person fondling his backside. The feeling of disquiet remained regardless of his efforts.

The task that Dumbledore had set him of retrieving the full memory that he had been so excited about seeing at least gave Harry something else on which to focus. Harry didn’t quite understand how he was meant to do so, nor why Dumbledore felt the need to entrust him with such an important task, but it decided to give it a shot anyway. He truly did want to please the Headmaster. Nevertheless, he didn’t really have opportunity to force Slughorn’s hand. Dumbledore seemed less than happy with him when he called Harry back to his office for another meeting.

The grip on the back of Harry’s neck as Dumbledore berated him was harsh, and Harry flinched both from pain and from the uncomfortable notion that the Headmaster was displaying dominance over him. He barely refrained from cowering when he was thrust back against the wall angrily. Seeing Harry’s aggrieved expression seemed to awaken the calmness that Harry was so used to seeing in the old man, however, and Dumbledore reached up and caressed his face and kissed his forehead in apology, softly reminding Harry just how important that memory was. Harry resolved to do anything not to see that side of Dumbledore again.

Needless to say, Harry had rushed to Dumbledore’s office the moment he had, by luck, obtained the full memory. He was eager to erase any remaining annoyance or disappointment Dumbledore may harbour towards him; he didn’t want a repeat of their last lesson, after all.

Thankfully, Dumbledore smiled rather widely and congratulated him. He was less happy about having Dumbledore’s lips suddenly planted somewhat clumsily against his. Harry’s efforts to extract himself from the Headmaster’s grasp proved to be in vain; the old man wasn’t as fragile as he might sometimes seem. Harry wasn’t going to be freed until Dumbledore was ready to let go.

At least it was better than being thrown against a wall.

Later, the idea of being able to go with Dumbledore to retrieve the next Horcrux he found was comfort enough to make Harry disregard the clammy sort of unclean feeling that had permeated throughout him since Dumbledore had kissed him. He left the office reasonably happy, if still a little disturbed.

The next time Harry was called upon, he was stunned for a reason entirely different from Dumbledore’s advances. The time had come. They were going to find the next Horcrux.

He had a bad feeling about the whole thing.

“… it would be very wrong of me not to warn you that this will be exceedingly dangerous.”

“I’m coming,” Harry interrupted, and was awarded with the kind of stare that he had never seen directed at him; Dumbledore’s gaze was hungry.

“I knew you would,” the Headmaster replied. He then enveloped Harry in a hug, which Harry allowed, though the Headmaster’s arms no longer made him feel at all secure.

Harry panicked slightly when Dumbledore kissed him on the mouth once more, but he didn’t truly struggle until Dumbledore’s good hand reached around and began to unlatch the front of Harry’s school robe.

“Harry,” Dumbledore whispered, “Harry, please stop wriggling like that. I’m not going to hurt you.”

Harry knew instinctively that Dumbledore was telling the truth on that matter. The Headmaster would be certain to be careful enough that it wouldn’t hurt him very much physically. That didn’t change the fact that the very thought of … that … made him shudder in revulsion.

Harry didn’t struggle anymore, though. Dumbledore wasn’t going to let go anyway, so what was the point? When Dumbledore dropped Harry’s oversized jeans along with Dudley’s old underwear to the floor and kneeled before him, Harry didn’t move away; he only flinched almost imperceptibly, which Dumbledore either didn’t notice or chose to ignore.

The mouth on his sex – for all its age – wasn’t all that experienced, from what Harry could tell, though he didn’t exactly have a basis for comparison. It was, however, still somewhat pleasurable, and Harry found himself hardening against his own will. He shuddered and was unsure whether it was in a bad way or not.

He thought of Ginny, about how he was betraying her by allowing this, but what could he really do to stop Dumbledore? The man had him caught, as it were. And it was his own fault anyway, for not turning the Headmaster away earlier, back when his advances were still mainly innocent. He simply prayed that Ginny might eventually forgive him for this, and that he might forgive himself.

When, later, Dumbledore bent him over and took him, Harry let silent tears run down his cheeks, but found himself bucking back into the assault anyway, seemingly unable to control his responses. He lay on the floor afterwards, feeling very much ashamed and strangely unsated despite the evidence of release on his stomach and the floor of the office. At the same time, Dumbledore was tucking himself back into his robe, looking very content, as if he was entirely aware of the turmoil he had evoked.

The Headmaster looked over at Harry and frowned, for Harry’s face must have revealed something of his anger at himself and of his despair.

“What has upset you?” he asked.

Harry wanted to cry then, for how could Dumbledore not realise that he truly hadn’t wanted what had just occurred between them? How could such a wise man be so blind?

“I’m not upset,” Harry lied.

Dumbledore didn’t look particularly convinced. “Harry, you were never a good Occlumens –“

The word reminded Harry of the revelation earlier that evening and suddenly he had the perfect excuse for his anger.

“Snape!” he shouted, and proceeded to rant about his teacher’s treachery as if that was the true cause of his distress, even as he redressed himself. Dumbledore seemed to buy it, at least, and perhaps that was all that mattered. When Dumbledore dismissed him so that he could grab his Invisibility Cloak from his dormitory, Harry quickly scuttled out of the room, making sure his clothes were straightened sufficiently that no one would be able to tell what he’d been doing.

“What did Dumbledore want?” Hermione asked when he arrived, then abruptly added, “Harry, are you okay?”

No, he certainly wasn’t, but he wasn’t about to tell her that for fear that she would demand to know why.

“I’m fine,” he replied shortly.

He was anything but fine when he was shovelling poison down Dumbledore’s throat, his stomach clenching with guilt at Dumbledore’s declaration that, “I am not worried, Harry. I am with you.”

He was about as far from all right as he could when he witnessed Snape murdering the Headmaster of Hogwarts with a single curse. He really was angriest of all at Snape then, for his trustworthiness, or the obvious lack thereof, had proven real. Dumbledore was gone. Harry was alone.

By the end of the night, the interlude in Dumbledore’s office seemed to be the least of his problems.

He realised in the following days, as he one by one turned away from his girlfriend, his school and his very life thus far, that Dumbledore had known that he was going to die. His actions were the last desperate act of a man trying to prove to himself that he lived yet, and that death would be bearable after all because he had done all he wanted to while he lived. It wasn’t any less unforgivable for that fact, but it did seem to make Harry want to lay the blame on his own shoulders. He should have been able to support Dumbledore in another way, after all.

Instead, he’d allowed the man to have sex with him, then allowed the man to die.

No one could ever know that, of course. He was and always would be, in their eyes, Dumbledore’s man through and through. In tarnishing both their names, he would all but shatter all of the ideals that the Order of the Phoenix and the rest of the rebellion were built upon. He couldn’t do that.

Looking upon the white tomb in which Dumbledore’s body would rest ad infinitum, however, Harry allowed himself a quiet sigh. It was of relief as much as it was of sadness. As much as Harry mourned the loss of the main mentor in his life, he couldn’t ignore the small part of him that was glad that he would never again feel the old man’s prying hands upon him. Perhaps Harry’s guilt would eventually die as well.

~Fin~