The Proud Man's Contumely

Chapter Six: This Mortal Coil

The lesson, though strenuous, was not considerably long, for which Harry thanked his lucky stars. Though he was certainly not as adept as he would have liked, Harry succeeded in disarming Snape twice more. However, as his anger cooled and his energy dwindled, he found himself easy prey for Snape's advanced skill. Sometime around eight in the morning, after Harry had collapsed in the room's lone chair and begged rather pitifully that they take a break, Snape declared the session over and swept from the room without another word. Perhaps the sincerity in Harry's voice had frightened him off. Not that Harry had expected praise, but he had wanted some idea of when he would next be subjected to this torture.

Harry drug himself to his feet and peeked behind the (luckily) de-doxied curtains just as Snape strode off the front steps and, a few paces down the deserted street, apparated. Harry stared at the empty space Snape had occupied only moments before and reflected on the rather odd, though strangely freeing, exchange between them. Then he gazed up over the roof tops of the stark and decrepit building across from him at the soft pastel morning that hung over London and longed for his Firebolt. The weather was perfect for flying. Not that he would have been allowed to do so, or really have had the energy just at the moment. The sun had not yet even risen over the low wall of morning clouds; he still had an entire day ahead of him, and all Harry wanted was to crawl back into bed. Muscles Harry wasn't even aware he had until that morning were beginning to ache. He felt like he'd been hit by the Knight Bus.

He made his way slowly down the stairs, each step a challenge all it's own, but his efforts were well rewarded. The rest of the house had begun to stir and Harry reached the kitchen just in time for a second round of breakfast. His first, though plentiful, had not been shown the proper respect, and after the morning's exertions he was again famished. Mrs. Weasley wasted little time remedying this. She loaded his plate with sausages, garnishing it with a hail of Poor Dears and That Dreadful Man. He was thoroughly savouring a second stack of pancakes when Hermione immerged, soon followed by Ginny and, finally, a barely conscious Ron.

His sausages devoured and so no longer a diversion, Harry asked Mrs. Weasley if Remus had returned. He had not. That meant that the shirt Harry wore, still clingy with sweat from his lesson and likely to soon prove unbearably offensive, would have to be tolerated a while longer. It also meant his lesson on part-humans would probably be cancelled. Harry had the rest of the day to himself.

Hermione showed him the library where he ended up napping as she perused the shelves, covetously calling off all the more interesting titles. ("The Dark Wizard's Lexicon. No Death Eater should be without it, I'm sure. Ooh. Poisons to Serve Your Friends: Inconspicuous Concoctions to Fool Even the Most Astute Apothecary...How nasty. And here's an encyclopaedia of potions and their uses. This could come in very useful next term. Oh, and Harry listen to this one...")

They were put to work in the afternoon, winning new ground in their never-ending battle with the decade of grime that coated the house. Though Harry was excused from this labour, he lent a hand anyway, having nothing more exciting to do. He was set to work on the baseboards with a toothbrush and a pail of cleaning potion so powerful, he was convinced it was mostly comprised of acid and demanded a pair of dragon hide gloves. He worked his way around the room, scooting around the floor and scrubbing lazily until he sat beneath the family tree of the noble house of Black. It was easy enough to spot the scorch mark that had once been Sirius' name. Not far from it was Bellatrix'. Casting a couple of quick glances over his shoulder, Harry tried to see if his cleaning potion would eat through the name as well as it did the rest of the filth in the room. Unfortunately, it did not. So Harry sought to ignore it and studied the other names, most of which were rather odd and many foreign. Not far from Lestrange was a Lubershnitz. Different. Sirius also had cousins named Pakle and Jixy, and Cobbleshot. Hmm. Albert Cobbleshot? Rainey Cobbleshot? It sounded familiar, but Harry couldn't recall ever meeting anyone by that name. Well, the stitching was in pristine condition, which meant Harry probably wouldn't really want to know them anyway.

Around five, Mrs. Weasley drug Ginny and Hermione to the kitchen with her, and after a hearty diner at six, Harry officially ran out of steam. Before heading to bed he remembered to pull Ron aside and warn him about Phineas. ("You mean he's been listening the whole time?!" asked Ron, turning an alarming shade of crimson.)

With each step that carried him closer to the promise of a cosy bed, Harry's energy ebbed further and further away, so that by the time he reached his room he was amazed he'd made it there at all. As he made a b-line for his bed, he decided he didn't give a light about Phineas and shed his clothes right and left before falling, bare but for his faded blue boxers, atop his sheets, where he promptly lost consciousness. He never heard Ron come up to bed, neither did he hear him rise, but when he woke Ron was already up and dressed and appeared to have been for some time.

"What time is it?" Harry mumbled groggily.

"'Bout eleven," Ron said. Harry gaped disbelievingly.

"Eleven?"

"Mum said we should give you a bit of a lie-in, as you had a hard day yesterday and are gonna have a hard afternoon today as well."

"I'm going to have a hard rest of my life," Harry grumbled and rolled onto his stomach, pulling the sheets over his head. But the way it's looking, that might not be very much longer he thought to himself. Ron gave him a sympathetic look.

"Well you won't be alone, y'know. Me and 'Mione are taking the liberty of training up as well, just in case you need us." Ron threw an uneasy look over at Phineas' painting and started to whisper. "She's finding all sorts of great stuff in the library. We've got your back, mate." Harry's sleepy mind was still trying to digest the ''Mione' part (Since when is she called 'Mione?) and it took him a bit to absorb everything Ron had just said. When it sank it, however, he ripped back his sheets and sat up, giving Ron a very serious look.

"Now, Ron, I don't want you two thinking you have to do that. It isn't that I don't appreciate the thought; but I almost got you killed last time." As Harry said this, it seemed he only just realized it, perhaps hadn't wanted to accept it, especially after what Snape had said the morning before. Though, now that he thought about it, and as much as he hated to admit it, the man just might have had a point. "This is my battle," he said sombrely, more to himself than to Ron. "I can't keep asking you guys to risk your lives for me."

"Why not? You're risking your life for all of us," Ron argued. Harry gave Ron a disgruntled look and reached for his glasses before rolling out of bed. "Fine then, if it makes you feel better, it's nothing to do with you alright?" Ron continued. Harry lifted his head from where he was stooped to retrieve his pants and raised an eyebrow at Ron sceptically. "We just want to be able to jinx the snot out of ferret boy next year. Satisfied?" Harry frowned at him. He couldn't keep them from studying, but he refused to condone their help. Finally he shrugged and Ron nodded as if all was settled.

As he tightened his belt (curling a lip defiantly at Phineas' canvas) Harry glanced around for his shirt and found it had disappeared. He told himself irritably that he should have learned something from yesterday's episode, but he'd simply been too tired last night to care about where his clothes landed. Harry had dropped to all fours between his and Ron's beds to look beneath them when there was a knock at the door. He let Ron answer it as he continued to hunt.

"Is Harry awake yet?" the visitor inquired softly. Harry immediately rose to his knees.

"Remus!" he exclaimed happily, beaming at their most welcome guest. Professor Lupin turned toward the sound of his name, for a moment unable to discern where it had come from. When he spied Harry kneeling behind the bed, his mouth fell open and his eyes widened, but then narrowed in an almost feral way. Harry leaned forward onto Ron's bed, head cocked questioningly, but Remus had turned away. The man cleared his throat, speaking to Harry as if with some difficulty, and was looking everywhere but at Harry, which again the young man found slightly bothersome.

"Excuse me," he rasped. "I didn't realize you...perhaps it would be better...I'll come back later." He stepped toward the door.

"No!" Harry objected rising to his feet. "I'm not busy or anything. I just woke up is all." Remus glanced over his shoulder at him and seemed somewhat relieved, though still uncomfortable. Clearing his throat again, "Yes. Well. Ron, would you excuse us please?"

Ron, who had been watching the professor with increasing perplexity, came from his daze and shrugged. "What for? He's gonna tell me anyway."

Don't be so sure of that anymore,

Harry thought. Besides, he could tell by his sober expression that Remus did not want an audience. "Go on, Ron. I'll meet you downstairs in a bit," he prompted.

"Not going downstairs. Was going to Ginny and 'Mione's room."

"Then I'll meet you in Ginny and 'Mione's room," Harry said impatiently. Reluctant, but arguing no further, Ron shrugged and left. Remus closed the door securely behind him but didn't turn around.

"So what's up?" Harry asked, swiping at his bed-hair. He was now very awake and even chipper almost.

"Harry, don't you think you ought to put on your shirt," Remus said, a little sharply.

"Can't find it," Harry explained, reaching over and peeking under his pillow for good measure. "I'll have to wear one you've brought me." Finally Remus turned and looked at Harry, though was reluctant to make eye contact.

"Actually, that's what I've come to talk to you about," he said anxiously. Harry scrunched up his nose in confusion. What was there to talk about? Where had Remus disappeared to for the last two days if not to collect Harry's things?

"Um...you wanna sit down or something?," Harry offered, yanking at his pants leg and sitting himself. Remus was beginning to make him nervous just hovering by the door like that.

"Oh no," Remus said very quickly, but after another furtive glance seemed to change him mind and haltingly took a seat on the corner of the bed furthest from Harry. Do I smell? Harry wondered, chancing a subtle sniff. No. Well, not especially.

"Harry," Remus began. "About your things. Actually, about your relatives...and...are you sure you can't find your shirt?" he asked to the floorboards.

"I've not looked very well," Harry shrugged. "Why are you on about my shirt?"

"Because it's the only one you'll have until we make it over to Diagon Alley to buy you some new ones," Remus replied.

"What?" Harry asked with a small laugh, thinking for a moment this was a joke. "Why?"

Remus sighed. "Because you don't own another. In fact, you don't have anything at all anymore except your wand and the clothes you came in."

"Plain. English," Harry requested tersely, becoming irritated with his cryptic friend. Remus pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and finger.

"Harry, you see, the Dursleys...Well, it's your cousin...," Remus took a very deep breath and fished something out of his pocket. "Harry, have you ever seen one of these?" A colourful, paper straw rested in his palm.

"Yeah. Ron sent me one for my birthday. The twins made it. But I left mine behind," Harry explained shortly, wondering what in hell a potentially intoxicating candy had to do with his wardrobe.

"Did you give it to your cousin?" Remus asked urgently.

"No," Harry began, but recanted. "Well, yes, Sort of on accident. I gave him the box of chocolates Hermione sent me, and I forgot that I dropped it in there."

"Did your aunt and uncle see you give it to him?"

"Yeah, why? What's going on?"

Remus studied Harry's face, trying to gage his reaction. "Harry, your cousin is dead," he said gently. The words seemed to float in the air between them, surreal. Harry looked at Remus sceptically, then started to smile and admit he'd almost been had. But something about Remus' grim expression made him pause.

"Dead?" Harry whispered. Remus nodded sadly.

"Poisoned," he explained. "It took quite a bit of doing, but we managed to get this from the muggle policemen," he said, referring to the now empty straw.

"You mean it was the candy?" Harry blinked. "But Ron tried then too," he rushed to explain, "and he's just fine."

"No. It wasn't candy. The candy had been replaced with a poison." Harry shook his head, not comprehending, then gasped and looked back up at Remus.

"Wait...surely you don't think Ron or-"

"No, we don't suspect Ron or the twins," Remus assured him quickly. "But we do think Ron's letter was intercepted."

Hedwig! Where was she? Harry now wished he hadn't ignored her. Had she tried to tell him? Had she been hurt? He didn't even pay that much attention to her, might only have noticed if she had been bleeding on his letters. Now that he thought about it, he hadn't seen Hedwig since she had dropped off Ron's gift and wasn't sure she knew he was at Grimmauld Place. But surely she'd have come straight there after she found he wasn't at Privet Drive.

"Dudley's dead," Harry said dazedly. It still hadn't sunk it. Someone had tried to kill him, Harry, and he had inadvertently killed Dudley. The first and only time he'd ever made any sort of friendly gesture toward the boy, and it had killed him. But not from shock as Harry might have expected.

...How many more lives will be lost on your account...

"I didn't mean to," Harry blurted, but to no one in particular, unaware of the tears of panic that were rising in his eyes. "I...I didn't know," he insisted shakily.

"Of course you didn't, Harry," Remus consoled, laying a comforting hand on Harry's knee and appearing quite distraught himself. "We aren't blaming you at all...but we've got to be very careful from now on. They came much too close this time."

Harry could just imagine his aunt and uncle, raging over the death of their 'darling' son. Despite their strained history, Harry couldn't help but feel sorry for them. They'd saved his life by taking him under their roof, and it had cost them their own child. Harry knew they'd never believe him even if he could bring himself to express his condolences. They'd never ever forgive Harry if they found out...

"Do they know? I mean, Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia, do they know that the poison was...meant for me?," he asked timidly. Remus didn't answer right away.

"They seem to believe you did it yourself," he said slowly. "They think that's why you disappeared. They had the muggle law enforcement looking for you. Of course the police aren't so sure. Dudley ran with a tough crowd. They think his death involves drugs....or at least, if they didn't before they do now. The Ministry has been working since day before last to get it all straightened out. But yes. Your relative are blaming you."

"Me?!" Harry couldn't believe it.

No. He could believe it, and it infuriated him.

"So is that why they wouldn't give you my things?" Harry demanded, jaw clenched. "Couldn't you have just taken them?"

"I couldn't take them, Harry, because there was nothing left to take. Your Uncle destroyed everything. All evidence you ever existed at Privet Drive."

Harry was absolutely livid. He couldn't even shout another incredulous 'What?!' God, he felt like smashing something. Preferably Vernon's skull.

"It's unfortunate," Remus said with regret, "but I'm afraid, all things considered, you won't be able to return to Privet Drive."

"I wouldn't go back if they begged me on their hands and knees!" Harry bellowed.

"You don't understand, Harry. You've lost your only real safe haven."

"As long as Dumbledore is secret keeper, I'm safe here," Harry argued.

"It's not the same kind of protection, Harry. Not as secure."

"I should have come here before, anyway," Harry went on as if Remus hadn't spoken, growing more and more upset. "I should have come last summer, while Sirius..." Harry choked on the remainder of his sentence. Instead of comforting him further, Remus withdrew his hand and looked away, drawing a painful breath himself and looking more in need of consolation than his ward. Having mentioned Sirius, however, Harry was reminded of something else. He looked pleadingly at Remus.

"My Firebolt. Remus, please tell me he didn't-" Harry had barely started his sentence before Remus frowned at him sadly and began to shake his head. Harry was really incensed now. His Firebolt! A gift from Sirius and his most prized possession...gone forever. Every muscle in Harry's body was taut, he clenched and released his fists, flexing his arms in a near futile attempt to reign in his anger and not tear around the room in an absolute rage. He lifted his head abruptly to demand something else of Remus, but instantly forgot what it was.

Remus was staring at him but, per usual, not in the eye. Though this time it was different. His mouth had fallen slack and his eyes were somewhat glazed. He looked...hungry, a ravenous animal catching sight of fresh meat. Harry had never seen that look before, most certainly not when directed at himself. It made him shiver, but not in an adverse way, and his heart began to beat a little faster. Then he became very self-conscious of the fact that he was still bare-chested, though made no move to cover himself. Harry just stared, awestruck, at the man who was staring at his chest, until Remus noticed his attention. He flushed badly and jerked his eyes away, suddenly restless and stammering.

"Yes...er. Well. I suppose we'll have to get you some new things this week...first thing. I do believe your Hogwarts letters have come in this morning. Yes. So it will be quite convenient..." But Harry didn't absorb a word. He was still silently regarding Remus, as though entranced by him. He would never, could never, forget the expression Remus had worn, if only for a moment, as he had looked at Harry.

"If you can't find your shirt," Remus continued to the far wall, standing abruptly, "perhaps Ron can lend you one. Oh...Though you aren't the same size. Let's see, I might have one. Then there's always....Sirius' closet," he said, voice trailing off to a hoarse whisper. He glanced at Harry and looked as if he wanted to say something else, but abandoned it and strode hastily to the door. There he stopped, half-way through. He swallowed hard and wet his lips, and chanced another glance over his shoulder.

"I'm...I'm sorry, Harry," he said softly. Then he was gone.

Harry watched him go, still dumbfounded. For the life of him, he could not be quite sure exactly which part Remus had just apologized for.

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