The Proud Man's Contumely

Chapter Two: Outrageous Fortune

"Thank you, Professor," Harry said, and he'd meant it.

"I think we're passed formalities, Harry," Lupin replied with an uncharacteristic terseness. It bordered on exasperation, and Harry felt quite sure it couldn't be attributed to the unusually tired rasp in Lupin voice. "This isn't Hogwarts, and I'm no longer your professor now am I? Call me Remus," he finished in a consenting whisper. Harry gave him an uncertain smile and nodded. Lupin regarded him for a moment with an expression Harry couldn't quite decipher and then quickly released his shoulder and looked away. The action made Harry a bit uncomfortable. To hide this he looked around him at the dimly lit antechamber, which he found he now recognized.

"We're still here, then?" Looking about as well, Lupin nodded ruefully.

"Wasn't this a bit dangerous?" Harry asked, referring to the toy snitch displayed in his open palm. "I mean, what if Voldemort had intercepted the owl? Might have been a nasty surprise to find him here instead of me." Remus took the toy from him and studied it as though gathering his thoughts, but Harry could tell the gesture was diversionary, and he was becoming increasingly disquieted by Lupin's reluctance to look at him. He was bothered, too, by the dark shadows he saw beneath the professor's eyes which he felt certain were not caused by the lack of proper illumination in the small anteroom.

"The plan had its risks," Lupin conceded with a small sigh. "But we felt this was safer than transporting you here by broom again. Besides, to anyone other than yourself this would just have seemed a worthless plastic bobble, given by a very poor, or very cheap, friend." Lupin's shadow of a smile appeared to Harry more like a grimace. "It was keyed to you, designed to activate at your touch and yours alone. A very tricky bit of magic, but Dumbledore does have a knack for these sorts of things."

"Dumbledore?" Harry asked with slight surprise. "Is he here?"

"Of course he is," Lupin replied, returning the snitch to him. "He's waiting for us in the kitchen. Come along, Harry," he said, rather too solemnly for Harry's liking. "There are many things we need to discuss." He gave Harry's shoulder a hesitant pat and, for the first time since Harry had arrived, dared a brief moment of eye contact before turning abruptly to lead the way. Harry hesitated to follow, but only for a moment. He was unsure what to make of Lupin's behaviour and appearance. The professor had always seemed far more weathered and world-weary than was proportionate to a man of his age. But this advanced maturity had always been accompanied by an air of resignation, a subtle but unshakable optimism. Though now Harry sensed a definite despondence, and as he followed him, he noticed Lupin's posture was more bowed than usual, as though he bore a weight more oppressive than merely his lycanthropy.

As they wound their way through it, Harry found Grimmauld Place to be just as dour as he remembered it. The silence, broken only by the tick of Lupin's boot heel on the hardwood, was almost suffocating despite the sharp chill in the musty air. Harry wondered vaguely where Ron and Hermione must be hiding and if they were even aware of his arrival. From the tone of their cards, Harry guessed they had not been let in on Lupin and the Headmaster's plan.

The old house was not, however, completely unchanged. Most apparent was the absence of the long row of stuffed heads of house elves that had once lined the hall. Small oval-shaped patches of immaculate wallpaper shown where they had once hung, preserving it as the walls had stained and darkened around them. The ovals stretched on like a stencilled pattern down the length of the hall, fading in and out of the shadows between each generously distanced, low burning sconce.

Though Harry studied his surroundings with mild curiosity, he noticed the professor drifted through them with blatant and conditioned indifference, as though he were a ghost haunting this place and not a corporeal resident. Harry tried to imagine what it must have been like for him to return to this house after than fateful night at the Ministry, knowing that this dreary leviathan had been where Sirius had been forced to spend the last months of his life, miserable and restless. Harry knew that Lupin had been at Sirius' side for much of that time, perhaps the only thing that had made his godfather's tenure here bearable. And now Lupin was locked here himself, with little more than those memories and the brief presence of scurrying, preoccupied members of the Order to keep him company. That and, at the moment, school children likely too concerned with each other to provide much in the way of companionship.

Harry's apathy gave way to an almost crushing compassion, and he resolved to devote as much of his time to Lupin's company as he could or that his former teacher would allow. He looked about him at the bleak expanse of locked doorways, draped windows, and grim hallways and shuddered, amazed that the man had tolerated it all for this long. For that matter, Harry now wondered how he himself was going to bear it, and for a moment almost longed to be back in his bedroom at Privet Drive. It may have been lonely there, but at least there had been sunlight through the window and no constant reminders of his recent lose. Harry was struck by a sudden dread.

He was in Black Manor. But there was no Black. Not any longer. The realization was disconcerting, and as they rounded the corner by the foot of the stairs he actually reeled and almost stumbled.

He took a deep breath. He needed to get a hold of himself. After all, it was only a house. And Remus was here, and Mrs. Weasley. And Ron and Ginny and Hermione as well.

Harry looked down at the floor directly in front of him to steady his step and noticed his hands were shaking badly. He also realized he still held the snitch but in a dangerously loose grip. Harry made to stuff the toy into his robes, but his suddenly clumsy fingers caught on the edge of his pocket and knocked the snitch from his hand. He snatched at it, only succeeding in batting it away from him with added force.

It fell to the floor with a startlingly loud, hollow clatter that was exaggerated by the resonate surroundings. Ahead of him, Professor Lupin started and spun toward the sudden commotion. He watched as Harry scrambled frantically after the still bouncing snitch, snatched it to him as if it were his most prized possession, and then froze in place on his hands and knees in a kind of terrified anticipation.

Nothing happened.

The silence stretched on between them as they stared at each other in equal but separate confusion.

"She didn't scream," Harry said finally, completely awestruck.

Lupin relaxed. "Ah," he said slowly, realizing the inspiration behind Harry's odd behaviour. Then he smirked (something Harry had never seen him do and didn't think suited him at all) and lazily gestured toward the wall beside him. Harry inched forward and craned to see around the banister, and his mouth fell open.

The space where Mrs. Black's portrait had once hung was now bare. But instead of the pristine wallpaper that denoted the former position of the now absent house elves, the paper there was curled back in a very large, charred circle, and smoke and scorch marks rose from it all the way to the impossibly high ceiling. Lupin stared at the spot with lax but open contempt.

"Don't fret about making a bit of noise, Harry," he said with a wry expression. "She'll not be bothering us ever again." The words had been so low Harry had barely heard them, and judging from Lupin's expression Harry thought it best not to ask questions.

Without offering to help him to his feet, Lupin turned and continued toward the kitchen. So Harry pulled himself from the floor, casting an uneasy glance at the retreating back of his friend and then another over his shoulder at the scarred, Mrs. Black-free wall as he passed.

Stepping into the kitchen was like stepping into an entirely different world. The cold, musty air was here replaced with the warm and enticing aroma of Mrs. Weasley's excellent cooking. His mouth already watering, Harry looked over to see a large pot of what appeared to be stew simmering over a low fire that cast a cosy glow over the entire room. There was nothing here that wasn't inviting. Baskets of various, colourful vegetables and other items sat snuggly on the countertops between mixing bowls and cooking utensils and recently emptied cups and bowls. Everything in the room seemed either fresh or well used, as opposed to the rest of the house which was simply old and worn.

Standing at the far end of the long dining table waited Professor Lupin, and sitting to his right was Dumbledore. When the Headmaster caught Harry's eye he rose and beckoned him further inside with a welcoming smile.

"I see you have arrived safely," he said, pointing Harry to a seat directly across from him. "Very good."

Harry slid into the proffered spot as Lupin took a seat at the head of the table to his right. Harry, who hadn't realized just how hungry he was until that moment, glanced hopefully to the bubbling stew and then back at his two hosts. But it seemed refreshments would not be included with this meeting.

"You are welcome to whatever you may find; afterwards," Dumbledore assured him. "Molly has even been so kind as to leave the stew on for you. Right now, however, I feel we need your full attention."

Harry's stomach growled loudly. "I'm sorry, Professor, but that may be impossible with Mrs. Weasley's cooking so close by," Harry said honestly. Dumbledore's eyes twinkled behind his half-moon spectacles. At least he had no problems looking Harry in the eyes now, which settled Harry's nerves considerably.

"Indeed," he chuckled, steepling his fingers delightedly on the table before him. "But there are a few things we must get out of the way before we feast." With some difficulty, Harry ignored his stomach and settled himself in for what promised to be a weighty, if not lengthy, conversation. But true to form, Dumbledore did not come immediately to the point.

"How have you been, Harry?" he asked quietly. Harry swallowed and cleared his throat, but his voice suddenly eluded him, so he merely nodded slowly.

"As well as can be expected, I guess," he was finally able to croak. Dumbledore nodded his sad understanding.

"Harry, has anything odd happened lately?" he asked now, very seriously. "Anything at all you wish to share with us?" Harry looked nervously between the two professors. But of the many times Dumbledore had asked him this question, or something very like to it, Harry for once had nothing to hide.

"You mean besides that the Dursleys are acting like human beings?" Harry asked, earning him a smile from the Headmaster. "Nothing I can think of," Harry shrugged. Dumbledore was visibly relieved.

"Alright," he said. "Now, since I believe Remus here has some other business to attend to, I think firstly we should discuss the matter of Sirius' will and your inheritance." Harry was taken aback, not only because this was the first time he'd heard his godfather's name spoken aloud since he'd left Hogwarts, but also because it never occurred to him that Sirius might have written a will. It certainly didn't seem like the kind of thing he'd concern himself with. Though, now that Harry thought about it, it made perfect sense and was likely standard for all members of the Order. He wondered vaguely if he should write one himself. Dumbledore let him process this news, waiting to continue until Harry looked back up at him expectantly.

"As I'm sure you know, Sirius was the last remaining member of the Black family to bear that name. However, because of his long imprisonment much of the Black fortune has either been seized by the Ministry or redistributed among his many relatives." Harry seethed at the mention of Sirius' time in Azkaban, but even more so at the thought of Draco Malfoy enjoying Sirius' rightful inheritance. As though the Malfoys simply weren't wealthy enough already.

"Because of this," Dumbledore continued," Sirius' holdings were few. Among them, however, is Number Twelve Grimmauld Place, which was likely overlooked, or ignored, due to its apparent abandonment."

"I've inherited Order headquarters?" Harry blinked.

"Well, not exactly," Dumbledore corrected. "For so long as the Order has need of it, or until you leave Hogwarts, whichever comes first, the deed will be held by Remus here. Which brings me to the next matter, the matter of your guardianship." Stunned, Harry looked over at Lupin, having a very good idea what the Headmaster was going to say next. But Lupin was looking at Dumbledore who then began to speak again.

"Granted, you are, as of today in fact, sixteen and of age...Which reminds me, I have not yet wished you a happy birthday. Yes, Happy Birthday, Harry," he said, twinkling again. Harry thanked him quickly, eager for him to go on.

"Oh, yes. However. While you still attend school, any question or decision that might arise concerning your well-being shall now be directed to Remus, as necessity dictates." Finally, Lupin met Harry's eye.

"Sirius asked me long ago if I might take over his responsibilities as your godfather should anything ever happen to him," Lupin informed Harry. "To which I readily accepted."

Harry felt a new surge of affection for his former professor and gave him a wide, grateful smile. One he was relieved to see was mirrored on Remus' face as well. "Splendid," he said in response to the pronouncement. No other word could describe it.

"Thank you for trusting me, Harry," Remus said, gracing him with another weary smile. And Harry realized he did trust this man, completely, and was relieved that his 'well-being' did not now rest in the hands of another, even Dumbledore's. After Sirius, there was no one else Harry could think of he'd rather call godfather.

With that, Remus excused himself. Either he really did have somewhere else he needed to be or whatever was left to be said was strictly between Harry and the Headmaster. Odds were, Harry figured, it was the latter. Dumbledore waited until the door swung to a close behind Remus, then turned back to a still grinning Harry.

"Now then, on to the next order of business," he said, a bit more solemnly. "Though I understand at the time you felt it a necessity, and I can't say I quite disagreed, I must ask that 'My Army' be disbanded." Harry was crestfallen. He'd really grown to enjoy DA meetings, especially since Neville had begun to show promise. He felt he quite had a knack for teaching as well. Though, in all honesty, Harry wasn't sure he had the heart to continue DA anyway, especially since that near disastrous night in the Department of Mysteries. Dumbledore's words mirrored Harry's thoughts.

"It was indeed a grand effort, and your intentions were admirable, but I'm afraid too many lives, including your own Harry, were needlessly endangered as a result. However, your new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher will ensure outside study will be quite unnecessary...for most others."

"You've found a new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher?" Harry asked, very interested.

"Of course. And while, I admit, judging from my past appointments you might be a bit wary of her, I assure you that I have taken special care in my decision this year."

"Her? Who is she? And why is she such a wonderful choice?" Harry asked, not meaning to sound so critical. Dumbledore only smiled.

"You will be meeting her shortly." Harry felt he should have known better than to expect a straightforward response. "While Ms. Cobbleshot will indeed prepare your classmates," Dumbledore went on as though he had not been questioned. "Considering your exceptional circumstances, Harry, you will be undergoing additional training this year." Harry had, of course, expected this. He waited for the Headmaster to elaborate, but the wizened old man simply looked at him sadly and thoughtfully for a moment.

"I realize, Harry," he finally began, "that in the past I have played far too distant a role in your life." Harry nodded acceptingly, as though to absolve the Headmaster. "No, no. It is inexcusable, Harry," Dumbledore gently insisted. "I had reasoned that should the occasion arise, as it has far too often, that you should encounter Voldemort, he would go to great lengths to ensure it was under circumstances which made it quite impossible for me to come to your aid. I felt you needed to learn to rely on your own resources as the situation required. And I must say, you have never disappointed me in that respect." He smiled proudly down at Harry. "Though, in retrospect, I realize it has led you to be far too independent, to feel you had no choice but to take matters into your own hands. As I understand it, there have been several instances when you should have, but perhaps felt you could not, confide in me. And for that, I am truly sorry, Harry."

Dumbledore was the one apologizing, so why did Harry feel suddenly guilty? He looked sheepishly down at the table in front of him.

"I want you to know, Harry," Dumbledore said now, drawing Harry's attention once again, "that you should feel free to be completely honest and open with me at all times, without fear of reprisal. It is imperative that you do so. The threat we now face overshadows propriety and school rules. And there is nothing you could do or say to endanger my faith in you. For my own sake, I must know that you fully understand and appreciate that."

Harry nodded emphatically. "Yes, sir. Of course."

Dumbledore sighed with relief and smiled his appreciation down at Harry. "Very good," he said to himself. "Now, let us discuss the real reason we are here," he began again, all seriousness. "I'm sure I have no need to tell you that, now that Voldemort's return has been publicly confirmed, he will pursue his schemes with ruthless urgency. Though many of his key followers now reside in Azkaban, I have no doubt he will manage to free them again soon enough. This has, however, thankfully delayed him. His first and primary endeavour will undoubtedly be your murder."

Harry gulped and squirmed slightly. This was not news, of course, but it really had never been discussed so frankly.

"While you have shown extraordinary resourcefulness in the past, you are presently no match for Voldemort now that he has regained his former strength. He well knows your potential..."

Funny, Harry wasn't sure he did himself, nor did he entirely trust everyone else's faith in him.

"...and will be anxious to strike before you can be taught to use that potential against him. We can waste no time, Harry. You will begin training immediately. And with the pressure of O.W.L.s behind you, it should be no problem for you to continue your regimen after term begins."

Harry nodded his understanding, but the weight of the conversation was beginning to suffocate him. Lamely, he sought to lighten the tone. "You know," he said, raising an eyebrow in mock earnestness. "Angelina may be fit to be tied if my lessons cut too much into her Quidditch practices. I'll have no choice but to tell her to loose her wrath on you."

Dumbledore smiled a bit, but wasn't easily swayed from his previous mood. "Ah, I do not think that will be a problem," he told Harry. "As all Quidditch matches have been cancelled."

"You're cancelling Quidditch?" Harry gaped, totally crestfallen. It was one of the few things that made his stressful existence tolerable, and he'd been denied it for far too long already as far as he was concerned. Well, at least he could still make a few laps around the pitch when things got too stressful.

"In light of present circumstances," Dumbledore explained. "This coming year, I'm afraid all students will be confined to the castle and inner courtyards."

There went the last of Harry's hopes. "No trips to Hogsmeade," Harry grumbled dejectedly. It wasn't even a question. Dumbledore slowly shook his head. Harry now cursed himself for giving away all his Honeydukes goodies. "You realize, with my luck, I'm likely to be held personally responsible for all of this," Harry said, dreading having to meet his disgruntled classmates.

"I'm afraid it cannot be helped," Dumbledore said with no hint of apology. Harry resigned himself to a Quidditch-less castle-arrest and bade Dumbledore continue with a baleful but acquiescent nod. The headmaster accepted the invitation without hesitation.

"Beginning tomorrow you will have regular lessons with a variety of instructors on a range of subjects," he said, getting right down to business. "Seeing as Voldemort is likely to hold some sway over many of the more dangerous or mistreated races and part-humans, Remus has volunteered to instruct you on how to identify and protect yourself from various attacks of that nature. In that same token, Hagrid will familiarize you will some of the more dangerous magical creatures." He paused for Harry to nod his understanding. "Professor McGonagall will be giving you extra lessons in transfiguration, as it can be a most useful skill when attacked by things other than spells. Also Professor Flitwick will be teaching you some very useful charms. You will, of course, be receiving additional attention from Professor Cobbleshot as well. Unfortunately, you will be unable to meet with her until term begins."

Harry was beginning to feel quite overwhelmed, and he could tell Dumbledore wasn't even finished yet. As he was attempting to come to terms with the prospect of his every waking moment being occupied by survival training, he thought he heard a soft rustling, as of well starched fabric, and very subtly the air in the room somehow...changed. Harry pulled himself from his misery long enough to look over and find Professor Snape standing stock still in doorway of the kitchen, looking very much like a deer caught in headlights. It seemed he did not expect to find Harry there as he was glaring at him, it seemed to Harry, as if greatly disappointed by the discovery. When their eyes met, Harry involuntarily bristled and Snape's eyes narrowed by a barely discernable degree; a subtle gesture which, on that sallow, pointed face, somehow always spoke volumes.

"Snape," Harry muttered acknowledgingly under his breath.

"Professor Snape," Dumbledore reminded him quietly but firmly before turning to the intruder. "Severus, what excellent timing. Come in and have a seat." Without otherwise moving, Snape shifted his gaze to the Headmaster and raised an eyebrow. Apparently unaffected by the flat out refusal of his invitation, Dumbledore elaborated. "I was just about to inform Harry here that he is to resume his Occlumency lessons with you tomorrow."

"What?," Harry said, completely aghast. "I thought you would be teaching me Occlumency. What was all that talk about playing too distant a role?" he demanded, forgetting all sense of seemly behaviour.

"Harry," Dumbledore said patiently, "this is exactly what I had been working toward telling you. Though I have been far too distant, and though I hope to become much more involved with your affairs; as always I have your best interest in mind, and in this matter we think it best that you continue to study Occlumency with Professor Snape."

"We?" Harry looked incredulously from the Headmaster to the Potions Master. Snape, it appeared, had been well aware of the arrangement though had not intended to be present for the announcement of it. Still, the sneer that had developed on Snape's face as Harry and Dumbledore had argued morphed into a amused smirk before Harry's eyes. No doubt the slimy git was enjoying Harry's present distress. It suddenly angered Harry beyond words that Snape had been allowed to witness it at all, and he drew himself up, determined not to give him any further satisfaction. But Harry's change in demeanour only served to amuse Snape even more. Harry was absolutely fuming.

"I can't see how this is in my best interest," he blurted, looking pointedly at Snape. "What if he just decides to abandon me again?"

Snape's cool façade crumbled and his entire body seemed to contract, as if it was taking every ounce of willpower he had to keep from strangling Harry then and there. It was Harry's turn to pull a satisfied smirk.

"Do you see what I endure, Albus?" Snape hissed as he and Harry glared daggers at each other. Dumbledore quickly intervened.

"Professor Snape and I have discussed the events of last term," he said, trying unsuccessfully to draw Harry's attention away from Snape. "What happened was indeed unfortunate. But he has been gracious enough to overlook it and is willing to continue your lessons together on the condition that you apply yourself to his teaching."

Harry gaped disbelievingly at the Headmaster. He was beside himself. "Gracious enough to-...apply myself-...But it was him that threw me out!" he finally managed to spit out.

"I'm afraid I cannot be swayed in this, Harry," Dumbledore said with an air of finality. Harry was undeterred.

"But why can't you teach me? Or anyone else??" Harry begged.

"Harry, there is no one else. Even if I had the time to devote to your daily teaching, I still do not believe my tutelage would be as conducive-"

"But he hates me!" Harry interrupted.

"Exactly, Potter," Snape intoned. Harry shuddered and turned to glower at him. He never knew velvet could chafe so badly.

"Mister Potter," Dumbledore gently corrected. Snape curled his lip and continued.

"Whoever might attempt to use Legilimency against you, Mr. Potter, will very likely not like you. The attack will be neither gentle nor pleasant. It will be a sudden and savage rape of your subconscious in search of your most painful memories or anything else that might make an effective weapon against you. Albus, we feel, does not have the heart, nor the ability, to train you properly."

"Oh. So he isn't a cruel and sadistic bastard and you are?" Harry said. Snape only raised his eyebrow and gave him what might almost be construed as a smile.

"I would not have put it in quite that way," Dumbledore said now, not at all pleased, "But that is the gist of the matter." Harry looked from one to the other, finally crossing his arms and heaving an exasperated, though defeated, sigh.

"I think I have had quite enough of this discussion, Headmaster," Snape said now. Harry refused to look at him again. "At your convenience, however, I do need a word with you." Dumbledore nodded and waved his consent. In a flurry of billowing fabric, Snape was gone.

Harry openly pouted, staring holes in the table before him rather than meet the Headmaster's eye. Dumbledore regarded him for a while before speaking.

"I need your implicit trust, Harry," he said candidly. "Though I realize I have done little in the past to deserve it." Harry lifted his eyes sheepishly. The man was too good at subtly instilling guilt. Damn him. Harry wondered if it was at all intentional. Of course Harry trusted the Headmaster. It was only that nightly sessions with Snape was just such a depressing prospect.

"The times are dire, and you must be ready, Harry, must be willing to endure what is required to become so." Harry uncrossed his arms and nodded, unable and unwilling to find his voice. "It may have little effect on your feelings toward him," Dumbledore continued, more gently, "however I'd like you know that I have immense trust in and respect for Professor Snape. I cannot force you to do the same. But I must ask that you behave toward him as though you do," he finished, looking over the top of his glasses at Harry.

"Of course, Professor," Harry said weakly. "I'll listen to him. I promise." Dumbledore smiled at him and nodded.

"Well I do believe that is all. You won't begin until tomorrow. Might I suggest you go get settled in, relax, enjoy your birthday?" His twinkle returned. "I don't want to ruin anything, but I hear tell Molly has a bit of something planned for this evening. Which reminds me," he said, rising and taking up two soup bowls. "Shall we feast?"

Harry shook his head. "Um, no thank you, Sir. I'm not all that hungry any more."

"Are you certain? I really shouldn't, but I think I'll stay and have another bowl. Molly uses extra lima beans, you know." He chuckled. "It's as if she knows all my weaknesses."

Harry excused himself, waiting until he had passed through the door to turn back and glance at the old wizard so happily munching Mrs. Weasley's stew. "Lima beans," Harry muttered to himself. Then, shaking his head, he made his way up the stairs.

*~*~*