Lesser Virtues, Greater Goals | Tomarry

Chapter 12: Small favors

"I've decided to take you with me." Says Tom one day of the first week of July, in quite the neutral tone that surprises the Chosen One.

"Take me - take me, where? To one of your cult meetings?"

"Just the market nearby." Harry can practically hear the amusement in the response. "Don't be too disappointed."

The younger pulls a face of pure annoyance. "I wouldn't be eager to participate in a cult of those who practice the Dark Arts anyway."

"Of course not." Mutters the heir, eyes too done for whatever is associated with the Light Side. "God forbid it that Dumbledore's little soldier is tainted the least bit by the 'evil' bit of magic. What will the world come to?"

Harry does catch the bitterness underneath the sarcasm and makes the once more impulsive decision to satisfy his never-ending curiosity. "Why do you hate him?"

"Hmm?" The first piece of the French toast that Tom has been cooking in a frying pan is ready and off it goes to a green plate, hot and smelling marvelously.

"Dumbledore." Insists the younger one. "You seem to really hate him."

"I do."

"Well, my question is 'why'?"

The Slytherin pauses from rolling the second slice of the French toast around and almost burns it on the one side. He takes it off with a spatula and places it on the same plate. With a swish of his hand the burning part is now scrapped off. Much better.

He shuts down the oven before responding. "He likes to play God." He sets the plate with the two bread slices in front of the boy. Afternoon lunch. "It gets on my nerves at the best of times."

Harry isn't so sure about this. "No. That sounds like you, not him."

Tom arches a questioning brow. The surprise is honest this time, though he doesn't act on it. "Eat."

Harry twists his lips downturn but complies. He might as well continue the argument with a full stomach. He adds honey to the toasts from the jar Tom had gotten out and placed on the table for him. They're much better with honey than Nutella, like his cousin prefers. And so, he devours the pieces hungrily.

He sees a cup of orange juice to the side as well. It didn't exist two seconds ago. He drinks it up with seven sips.

"Alright. I'm done." He declares once he is finished and puts the plate, fork and cup inside the sink.

"Good." Says the other, seemingly satisfied. "Go brush your teeth, wear something better and come downstairs for us to leave."

'Wear something better?' Where would he find something other than the white shirt and black pants that classify as his school uniform?

"Um..."

"What?"

"I don't have anything better." Harry manages to say without his voice faltering. "You kidnapped me while I was wearing my uniform. I wash it every day. I don't have anything else to wear."

Tom sighs. "You mean you haven't checked the drawers?"

The Gryffindor looks up at the older, eyes completely clueless. "What drawers?"

________

"Ah. These draweres, the ones inside my cupboard. Well, it's not my fault that you made them so high." Mutters the Savior, upon being shown multiple combinations of clothes inside the cupboard of his room. "I couldn't reach their handles and open them."

"Maybe you're just short." Muses Tom, tone absolutely nonchalant.

Harry glares daggers at him. "Haha. Very funny."