The Proud Man's Contumely

Chapter Five: To Take Arms Against a Sea of Troubles

Harry woke surprisingly early the next morning and, though he was still rather exhausted, found himself unable to go back to sleep. After much futile tossing and turning he gave up and rolled out of bed to begin searching for his clothes. He'd not brought a change and would have to make do with the outfit he'd worn the day before until Remus returned with his things. In fact, Remus might have already returned and not wanted to wake him, and that hopeful thought lent some speed to Harry's search.

Harry shuffled around the room, half-asleep, having not yet even put on his glasses, drawn to bright coloured patches amid the grey tones of the room which he supposed to be his scattered articles of clothing. White. A shirt? Yes, there was his shirt. A smear of green, his jumper. Now where had his pants got to? A smudge of ochre peeked from under his bed. He stooped to retrieve it, but as he was bent and squinting into the dark beneath his bed, he heard a derisive snort and a snigger. Harry straightened, bleary eyed and sans spectacles, and looked about the room, but the only other occupant was Ron, or the lump in the bed across from him he assumed must be Ron, sawing logs still and dead to the world. Harry stuck his finger in his ear and gave it a wiggle. It was too early in the morning to think. He stooped again to resume his search.

"What a lovely pair of under shorts, Potter," came a voice from behind him. Harry leapt to his feet and did an about face. Phineas Nigellus was sitting in his frame and eyeing him in mild disdain. Harry flushed and lowered his armful of clothes to cover himself, dropping most of them in the process.

"Do you mind?" Harry asked curtly.

"No. Not at all," Phineas replied lazily with a casual wave of his hand, apparently having no intention of leaving or even turning away.

'Git,' Harry thought, trying to crouch and feel for his pants without turning or uncovering himself with his wadded shirt. He'd never been particularly fond of Phineas, and now felt completely justified.

"Did they know," Harry asked sharply, groping the bare floor boards behind him, "that you enjoyed watching half-dressed boys when they appointed you headmaster?"

"I do not like watching boys, you impertinent whelp," Phineas replied with cool condescension. "I was simply commenting on the shabby condition of your wardrobe." Harry looked down and had to concede his faded blue boxers had seen better days. He blushed, dearly hoping these were not the pair with the holes worn in the seat. "As I seem to remember, your father was not exactly destitute. Surely you could come up with something less disgraceful," Phineas continued.

Finally

, Harry's fingers closed on corduroy and he yanked his pants from under the bed and slipped into them as quickly as possible, feeling a wave of relief when he got the zipper up.

"No. I do not 'play for the other team' if that's what you meant," Phineas sneered, refusing to leave Harry to dress in peace. God, had he taken dictation? Harry had forgotten about their voyeuristic roommate. Dumbledore had surely charged him with keeping an ear out, which made Harry rather uncomfortable. They'd have to be careful what they said from then on. No doubt Phineas had already reported the stolen library books. Though, if Dumbledore took offence to that he'd surely have spoken of it by now. Harry had a sudden thought as he pulled on his glasses and spied Ron. He certainly hoped his and Hermione's summer activities had been confined to holding hands and doe-eyed looks.

"Still," Phineas said thoughtfully and eyed Harry shrewdly, yet seemed oblivious to Harry's pointed attempt to ignore him. "A man doesn't necessarily have to be so inclined to appreciate something fine. It's a matter of aesthetics really."

Harry froze. Did Phineas just call him fine?

"Was there something in particular you needed?" Harry snapped, pulling his jumper over his head and reaching for his shoes. Phineas drew himself up brusquely.

"Dumbledore sent me to make sure you woke at a decent hour."

"Well, I'm awake. You can go now," Harry said curtly. With a 'tsk' and a bit of indignant murmuring, Phineas disappeared behind one side of his frame. Trainers laced, Harry was ready to be gone and made for the door.

"Good luck," came Phineas' voice from the empty canvas. "From what I hear you'll need all you can get." He was still sniggering as Harry closed the door behind him.

Harry trudged to the kitchen, not completely alert but awake, and irritated. And hungry. It couldn't be later than six o'clock, and Harry found himself wondering what time Mrs. Weasley started her day. He'd likely have to scavenge. Though he didn't mind it.

When he stepped into the kitchen, a small fire was indeed crackling in the grate and a plate of bacon, eggs, and biscuits sat steaming on the end of the table closest the door. But there was no sign of Mrs. Weasley. Harry eyed the breakfast ravenously, assuming hopefully that it was meant for him. But then he noticed something else that instantly ruined his appetite.

In the shadows at the far end of the table, almost invisible in his black robes and lank shield of greasy black hair, sat professor Snape, as sour and formidable as ever. Harry's day just went from bad to worse, and he'd only been awake for ten minutes.

"What a surprise," Snape smirked. "Eager to begin are we?" Harry had the fierce desire to crawl back into bed and hide beneath his sheets until the day was over. "I was just about to rouse you," Snape informed him. What an unpleasant way to wake up, Harry thought with a slight shudder, imagining opening his eyes to Snape stooping over him like a vulture.

"We're to begin so early?" He complained through a yawn as he wiped the last of the sleep from his eyes.

"The sooner the better," Snape answered in clipped tones. "We do not have an unlimited window of opportunity. The Dark Lord is eager to do away with you." He said this in a way that insinuated he didn't quite blame him. "And at your rate of comprehension it will be a miracle you survive until Christmas. It is indeed unfortunate that you require such time-consuming distractions as sleeping and eating..."

Doesn't everyone?

Harry thought. Snape made it sound as if he was exceptional in this. The miracle Harry thought will be surviving the morning with you.

"...so let's get that out of the way so we can begin, shall we?," Snape finished, nodding to the plate before Harry.

"Funny," Harry replied through clenched teeth, "Suddenly I'm not quite so hungry anymore."

"I did not ask if you were hungry," Snape replied smoothly but firmly. "I told you to eat. You need your strength. Though, I doubt the entire contents of the cupboard would be sufficient, considering." Snape looked Harry up and down, probably trying to decide whether or not to comment further on Harry's scrawny frame. "And I thought I made it quite clear last term how you were to address me, Mr. Potter."

Harry had to bite down on his lip to refrain from answering back. You promised Dumbledore. You promised Dumbledore. This became Harry's mantra as he plopped down moodily in front of his plate.]

"I see those muggles you live with failed to teach you anything in the way of manners," Snape said disgustedly as he watched Harry shovelling food into his mouth. "Though I sympathize, as I myself find it very difficult to teach you anything at all."

Harry's mantra was momentarily forgotten. "You told me to eat," he slurred, intentionally through a mouthful of biscuit, "Sir." He then concentrated on his eggs. Despite his aggravation, one couldn't not enjoy Mrs. Weasley's cooking. About mid-way through his meal, however, noticing the sudden cessation of the stream of insults from the opposite end of the table, Harry glanced up at Snape. He seemed to be concentrating on Harry's meal as hard as Harry was. The man followed every forkful from plate to mouth as if starving. Harry wondered why in hell he didn't just have some himself and stop ogling his.

"Do you have to watch every bite?," Harry asked peevishly. "I promise I'm not hiding them down my jumper." Snape started and looked flustered.

"Hurry up," he snarled, rearranging the sleeves of his robes as if they suddenly irked him. However, it was not humanly possible to ingest food any faster than at the rate which Harry now inhaled his breakfast. He threw Snape a suspicious look through his bangs, which went unnoticed as Snape pretended to be fascinated with his own lap until Harry pushed his plate back noisily and downed his orange juice, setting the empty cup down with a bang.

"Quite finished?" Snape asked, eyebrow raised as Harry glowered at him as though he'd been waiting impatiently on Snape for hours.

"Quite," Harry replied, smacking of sarcastic politeness.

"Good."

Snape led him to an unused room on the topmost floor, far from where the rest of the house slept. Probably so he can berate me as loudly as he wants without interruption, Harry thought darkly. Snape entered before Harry and held the door open for him to follow. The room was large, though empty but for a few scattered pieces of furniture covered in yellowing and mildewed sheets. Snape closed the door and swept further inside the room, turning abruptly toward Harry when he reached it's centre, wand already in hand. Harry scrambled for his own wand, half expecting to be hit by legilimens before it was out.

"Relax, Mr. Potter," Snape said, his lip curling. "I have come to the conclusion that my previous method might not have been the most efficient." Harry tried to do as he was told, lowering his wand but finding it difficult to loosen his death-grip on it. "Now, I realize you've slept since, but do you by any chance remember how to prepare yourself for a Legilimency attack?" Snape asked, his eyebrows arched as if he doubted it.

"Clear my mind. Let go of emotion," Harry said shortly.

"Very good," Snape said in feigned admiration. "At this rate you may yet live to see Easter." Harry seethed, every muscle clenched in his effort not to say something he'd regret. This is impossible, he thought.

Snape eyed him coldly. "This is impossible," he muttered to himself. So they were in agreement. There's a first time for everything. Snape put away his wand and found a chair among the sheeted furnishings, sitting down heavily. Harry wondered if he was expected to do the same.

"You realize, Mr. Potter, that should the Dark Lord attempt legilimency, you will not be warned beforehand and so will not be given the opportunity to prepare. You must be able to achieve the desired state of mind instantly and at will. Starting today I'd like you to perform daily meditation. Though what is desired here is not exactly relaxation, meditation will strengthen your discipline of mind."

"Meditation?" Harry asked sceptically. Snape glared at him until he remembered himself. "...Sir?" he added quickly. Snape took a calming breath and answered.

"Yes, meditation. I realize you may not be extremely world savvy, but surely you know what meditation is don't you?"

"Yes, Sir," Harry replied tersely.

"Bravo," Snape said dryly . "As it comes naturally to me I cannot, nor do I care to, instruct you on the process." Snape sneered. "Though I'm sure you can alert Miss Granger to your need. No doubt, if she isn't already as well versed in this as she is every other subject under the sun, it should be no problem for her to procure the necessary information."

"You want me to involve Hermione in this? Sir? I thought I was supposed to keep this all a secret, pretend I was taking remedial potions?," Harry cheeked.

"I did not tell you to inform her why you were meditating, only that you shall be and require her assistance," Snape said snidely. "Though, contrary to what you may believe, I am not an imbecile Mr. Potter, and know perfectly well that you share everything with Granger and Weasley...as unwise as that may be. Though it seems you have no qualms about endangering the lives of those around you out of your selfish craving for pity and attention."

"How dare you!" Harry shouted.

"Propriety, Mr. Potter," Snape reminded him darkly.

"Bugger propriety!," Harry spat, all memory of his promise forgotten. Snape eyes narrowed and glinted dangerously, but Harry wasn't intimidated. "You don't know anything about me and I'm sick of your assumptions. I'm sick of the way you treat me because of them."

"I know enough," Snape replied, voice low and threatening, "have seen enough to recognize your total disregard for caution, consideration, common sense, and the well being of those around you...Like father like son," he finished in a low hiss.

"I am not my bloody father! Don't you get that?!" Harry bellowed. Snape rose swiftly to his feet.

"I cannot believe the fate of the world rests in the hands of an impertinent child!"

"I am not a child!," Harry whined, sounding very childish indeed.

"Dumbledore is a fool. He's been far too free with you, allowing you to run amok unchecked. Even after everything, you still don't seem to comprehend that your impulsive behaviour may bear consequences other than you intend." Snape was standing menacingly over him now. "It takes a veritable army of us to chase along behind you, trying to keep you from killing yourself. I shudder to think how many more lives will be lost on your account!"

Harry thought that terribly unfair. "It wasn't my fault that my parents...that Cedric...," Harry croaked, his voice proving fickle as he fought, what he considered to be, his childish tears.

"I suppose what happened to your travesty of a godfather has simply-slipped-your-mind," Snape forced through gritted teeth. That time, he'd gone too far.

"You can't blame me for Sirius!," Harry cried desperately, shoving at Snape, finding his proximity suffocating. "...you can't-"

"Can't I?," Snape said coldly, as oblivious to Harry's shoves as a stone statue.

"Voldemort," Harry squeaked. "He-"

"Did not intend or even wish Black's physical presence at the Ministry that night."

Harry stopped struggling and glared at Snape, anger replacing desperation. "If you hadn't goaded him...if you hadn't thrown a fit about the pensieve and stopped giving me my lessons!" Snape looked down at him icily, suddenly very calm.

"Your godfather was a grown man, Mr. Potter, though he rarely behaved as one. Still, he had enough sense to understand the danger of his situation. That he decided to risk his own life to save yours was his prerogative. Despite my 'goading', he refrained from leaving this house until the day he died. And at that time, considering your immediate peril, I assure you, no amount of pleading on my part...or anyone else's on the face of this earth...nothing short of a full body binding spell would have kept him here." Harry had backed away from Snape until he was pressed flat against the wall behind him and was shaking so badly he might have collapsed if he hadn't.

"As far as your Occlumency lessons are concerned," Snape continued condemningly, "If you had made the slightest effort to cooperate, I might have reacted differently. I might have called you back after I'd had time to calm myself. But it was apparent to me my efforts were in vain. I could have spent every waking moment attempting to teach you Occlumency, but as you welcomed the Dark Lord's bait, it would have been utterly futile." Harry couldn't reply, could barely stand, he was so angry. Just what did Snape know about it? He didn't know what Harry had been going through. He didn't know what it was like. No one did, or ever had. Who was he to lay blame?

"I'm sorry, Mr. Potter," Snape said now, sounding completely unrepentant, "but you can no longer live under these self-delusions. We simply cannot afford it. We don't have time for your self-pity. I won't pretend to believe a word of, or to give a damn about, what that ridiculous prophecy has to say. But that doesn't matter. What is important is the Dark Lord does believe it. And the longer we keep you alive, the more time we buy, the longer we have to derail him before he launches an earnest attack. The truth is..." he said, his voice dropping to an ominous whisper as he leaned in closer to Harry "...you provide a very valuable distraction, Mr. Potter. And. Nothing. More."

A virgin sacrifice

, Harry thought Just like in Hermione's book.

No...it wasn't true. Couldn't be. Harry straightened and squared his shoulders, looking Snape dead in the eye. "You're a bastard," he said evenly, his anger and absolute hatred of the man in front of him reaching such a pitch that it suddenly lent him an inexplicable calm and clarity of thought.

Snape raised one eyebrow, though otherwise seemed unfazed, and reflected Harry's distaste back at him. "And you are an arrogant, ungrateful, incompetent, reckless, and insufferable prat," he replied in the same even tone. They glared at each other for a long while. Something was happening, a subtle change came over the very air. They were no longer even bothering to feign respect or resignation, or even tolerance. For a moment they hated each other openly, and something clicked into place. For a moment Snape's presence was not unbearable. Their admissions, spoken and unspoken, had somehow had a freeing effect and Harry thought, wonderingly, that he just might be able to do this after all.

"Now," Snape intoned, "are you quite ready to get on with it?" Harry nodded and Snape took several steps back, not bothering to count down before he uttered an impassioned 'Legilimens!' But Harry had been ready for it. A few fuzzy images of Mrs. Figg's photo album full of cats, and then the dark, cobwebbed corners of the inside of his lonely little cupboard drifted across his vision, but he never lost sight of Snape. After only a moment's disorientation, Harry was able to cast a disarming spell, consciously and intentionally, and Snape's wand went flying out of his hand and over his head.

Harry's heart hammered in his chest and he felt utterly spent. He was bent double, but he still held his wand, and he was still standing. Harry felt vindicated, and lifted a triumphant gaze to Snape. The man eyed him critically.

"Bravo," he whispered, stone-faced. But this time, Harry could have sworn he could detect genuine approval in the Potion Master's voice.

*~*~*