The Proud Man's Contumely

Chapter Eight: The Observed of All Observers

Harry could hear their voices from the third floor landing. Almost every member of the Order he knew of, as well as several others he'd never seen before, were gathered downstairs, spilling out of the kitchen and into the hallway. Harry doubted the house had been so busy, or so full, in decades. A collective cry of relief rose when Harry and Remus appeared coming down the last flight of stairs, and the news of his arrival was relayed loudly throughout the crown like a several-voiced echo sounding down the hall.

Harry had never seen so many adoring, upturned faces and he paused on the third step to the last, amazed, feeling like a messiah surveying his disciples. With so many eyes upon him, Harry became keenly aware that he was, although he had just spent countless hours in a packed wardrobe, still not fully dressed. However, he was too caught off-guard by the few strange looks he was fetching, which went beyond happy relief to a kind of admiration (though Harry couldn't remember doing anything so very admirable) to feel entirely uncomfortable. Actually it was rather thrilling, a very new sensation. And one that was abruptly dampened when he caught sight of Snape's cool, critical stare from the shadows behind the open kitchen door. Snape's look made him feel naked, even more so than he actually was, and Harry suddenly recalled how chilly the air of the house was and shivered.

Snape crossed his arms disdainfully, but the pale, stringy, blond witch beside him, who leaned in now to whisper in Snape's ear, did not appear nearly so disapproving. She stared openly at Harry and there was something a bit sly in her look. Harry passed his hand over his chest unconsciously, as though he could feel her eyes rake over him like feather tips.

As Harry returned her gaze wonderingly, Dumbledore appeared striding swiftly to the fore. The crowd parted for him, apparently intuitively as all eyes were still locked on Harry. "Thank heavens," Harry heard him breath as he approached the foot of the stair.

Albus Dumbledore, the most powerful wizard in the world, gazed reverently up at Harry. All this did little to banish Harry's sense of unreality. He stared at the Headmaster as if he were an apparition, looked out at them all as though at a congregation of phantoms.

"Harry," he heard Remus prompt him softly from somewhere beside him, lightly taking his elbow. Harry allowed himself to be lead to the kitchen, on Dumbledore's heels, eyes sweeping almost unseeing over the veritable sea of people through which he passed. They seemed slightly grotesque to him, like the smiling faces on funhouse walls.

It seems the entire throng had emptied into the hallway upon Harry's arrival, with the exception of Tonks, Kingsley Shacklebolt, Mad-eye Moody, and Arthur Weasley, who were gathered at the far end of the table and almost tripped over themselves to greet him. Kingsley stood to the side and merely nodded smilingly at Harry, but Mr. Weasley rushed past the others to stand directly before him.

"Good Lord," he sighed. "It's so good to see you're all right, Harry," he smiled, taking Harry by the shoulders and hastily inspecting him as if to assure himself Harry was indeed still in one piece.

"Back away from the boy, Arthur. Give 'im some air," Mad-eye called gruffly from somewhere behind him, nonetheless clip-clomping over to station himself in the exact same position Mr. Weasley had just relinquished. Moody studied him distrustfully, prodding him here and there, and Harry threw him a disgruntled look and moved his arms to shield his ribs from further assault.

"Say," Moody called over his shoulder to the others. "Just how do we know this is the real Potter?...Looks a bit suspicious to me," he grunted under his breath, his magic eye sweeping up and down Harry while his normal one squinted Harry in the eye. "Thought he was scrawnier than this," he added with another prod. Harry's brow furrowed in offence. "And I never knew the boy to have a penchant for nudity. If you ask me, we should-"

"Oh come off it, Mad-eye," Tonks interrupted, elbowing the former auror aside. "Wotcher, Harry!" she grinned, hitting him playfully in the arm. "Gave us a run there. Where've you been hiding anyway?" Harry felt like objecting that he hadn't been hiding really, but that would have been something of a lie wouldn't it? Harry was a little overwhelmed by all this attention and wondered if the entire Order was going to paraded in front of him one by one to poke and shake him to their satisfaction. Thankfully, however, Dumbledore dismissed everyone before Harry could sustain any more bruises, requesting that only Remus and, most unfortunately, Snape remain behind. As the others filed out, throwing him happy waves, or in Moody's case suspicious glances, Harry was seized by Mrs. Weasley and almost forcibly seated at the table.

"Now you be sure to drink this all down, Harry dear," she said, setting a cup of steaming tea before him. She felt of his brow and generally fretted over him (Dear gods, Albus, he's so very pale! And he's clammy all over. Just feel of his skin) before she too was ushered outside with the others.

"I cannot understand this commotion," Snape snarled, huffily snatching up the teapot from the table in front of Harry and setting it, almost violently, on the counter. "He was in a wardrobe for crying-out-loud! You'd think he was snatched from the icy grips of Death it-self."

"Severus," Dumbledore said calmly, "We are all merely relieved to find he is indeed safe. We might easily have not been so fortunate." Snape rolled his eyes as if to say 'Oh, yes. He's alive. How fortunate.' "Let us not make too light of the situation until we've heard what Harry has to say." Snape snorted and stalked moodily to the darkest corner of the room, but Harry could still feel his glower, even if he could no longer see it.

The tea did indeed help and Remus and Dumbledore sat patiently on either side of Harry as he finished it. When he had regained his bearings, Harry recounted, with many furtive glances at Remus (whom Harry thought appeared far too calm considering their recent encounter) all that had happened in the wardrobe. He wondered if Snape would be placated to hear why he was there for so long in the first place, or if he would be disgusted further. Dumbledore listened thoughtfully as Harry described the strange conversation with the intruding voice. Finally, Harry admitted the burning in his scar when he woke and was struck by a sharp pang of repentance seeing the shocked and dismayed expression this elicited from Remus. Surely if he'd know of it he'd never have allowed Harry to delay him on his way to alert Dumbledore. Though he felt slightly guilty about the omission, Harry couldn't say he quite regretted it. So many things seemed to click into place as a result of Remus' confession, even if it hadn't exactly gifted Harry with peace of mind. But with that admission, Harry concluded his narrative, feeling that what had transpired after between himself and Remus had no bearing on the pertinent situation and was no one's business but their own.

The tale was short and surprisingly easy to share, yet all three men seemed deeply effected by it. Dumbledore leaned back in his seat and clasped his hands in his lap, lightly tapping the tips of his index fingers together as he thought. Harry knew that behind his placid expression the headmaster's mind was working furiously. Remus stared intently at his own hand lying before him on the table. Even Snape had been drawn from the shadows to fix Harry with a pensive, though otherwise innocuous, look.

"Severus," Dumbledore said quietly, waking from his thoughts. It was all that needed to be said. Snape nodded once, curtly, and glided swiftly and soundlessly across the room toward some errand only fully understood by the two men. He slipped out of the door into the buzz of the hallway which momentarily aggravated the weighty stillness of the kitchen before Snape closed the door securely behind him again. The quiet made Harry anxious. Were they upset with him? They both looked so...sober.

"Professor," he ventured softly, addressing Dumbledore, "I'm sorry...to have upset everyone." And Harry was sincerely contrite that so many obviously important people had dropped everything and rushed to this god forsaken house simply because he was meditating in a wardrobe.

"Oh, do not apologize, Harry," Dumbledore said kindly. "I'm afraid all this commotion is my fault. We should have performed a more thorough search of the house. But you see, when you were not immediately found, it was rather hastily assumed you were no longer on the premises." This allayed Harry's guilt somewhat. "It is indeed understandable that you sought a moment of solitude," Dumbledore continued. "Remus' news was, no doubt, quite a shock to you. However, I ask that from now on you not wander off alone. In fact, I must insist that you be in the presence of another at all times, at least while you still remain here at Grimmauld Place." Great. Now they thought he needed a babysitter.

"One of the reasons being," he went on, "is that your disappearance was not the only call for alarm tonight." Harry was a little shocked. In a way, he was relieved he had not been the sole cause of this mess, but at the same time had been a little intoxicated by the thought that he might have been, that he merited such a reaction. Snape's insistence that he was merely a prop had left him questioning his worth.

"What's happened?" he asked, wondering if her really wanted to know.

"The dementors have abandoned Azkaban," Dumbledore informed him plainly with no prelude. Harry grew wide-eyed. "I knew it was an eventuality, however I had hoped it would not come so soon. It appears Voldemort is growing in influence, and shall undoubtedly continue to do so, even without the aid of his most prized soldiers."

"Without his best soldiers?" Harry asked hopefully. "So the Death Eaters didn't escape with the dementors?"

"Well, it cannot be said that the dementors escaped, per se. The only thing holding them to Azkaban was the promise of a permanent supply of helpless subjects on which to feed. Apparently, Voldemort offered them something much more enticing. Mad or emotionally ruined prisoners are not nearly as appealing as fresh prey and fresh fear, with the freedom to kiss at will those unsuspecting victims of Voldemort's designs.

"But to answer your question, Harry. No. They did not escape. Not all of them. The ministry responded quickly and were able to rectify the situation somewhat. Dementors can be driven away with a patronus, but not necessarily contained. Unarmed wizards, on the other hand, are an entirely different matter." Harry wanted to ask, if not all the Death Eaters had escaped, then who exactly did? But what did it matter really? The only Death Eater Harry was concerned with was Bellatrix, and she hadn't been in Azkaban.

"The situation was not nearly as dire as it could have been. However, coupled with your apparent disappearance, the Order was a bit anxious and rushed to the conclusion that something unfortunate might have happened to you, hence the gathering here tonight."

"But," Harry reasoned, hoping he didn't sound impertinent, "how could it? I mean, if you're the secret keeper, the house is totally safe isn't it?"

"Nowhere is entirely safe, Harry," Dumbledore gently corrected him. "I would think your recent experience in the wardrobe confirms that. There were several possibilities. One being you had been lured out of Grimmauld Place somehow. Unfortunately, there is no place we can be certain of your safety so long as Voldemort still has access to your mind."

Harry was a little insulted. He'd fallen for that ploy before, yes. But he wasn't stupid enough to let it happen a second time. "What could possibly have drawn me out," he asked testily, "when all I care about, all I have left, is right here?"

"We felt that may have been it exactly," Remus spoke up, for the first time since they had left his bedroom. Harry turned to him, nonplussed. The man had gone through an almost magical transformation. All signs of anxiety and timidity were utterly gone, and his gaze as he looked at Harry was strong and sure. Harry found this bothered him even more than Remus' previous demeanour. At least then he'd been acting sincerely. Now, Harry wasn't so sure.

"Phineas overheard you this morning," Remus explained. Harry groaned. Maybe he should do to Phineas what Remus had done to Mrs. Black. "He said you told Ron this was your battle and yours alone, and that you were going to make sure you would never endanger your friends again."

"Well," Harry objected, "that's quite an exaggeration. All I said was-"

"It was feared that you might have set out alone, thinking that you would remove any danger to us by removing yourself," Remus cut in. Urgently, "Harry, I can't insist enough that you do not pose any threat to anyone here. I need you to understand that everyone involved with the Order is, and has always been, as well protected as is possible, and should something happen to any of us it is most assuredly not your fault in any way." Harry was taken aback and swallowed uncomfortably, knowing Remus was answering the question put to him by Harry earlier, one Harry felt wretched for asking in the first place, now that his fey mood had worn off. "If ever something unfortunate does happen," Remus continued adamantly, "circumstance, Harry, circumstance brought about by Voldemort, is the only thing that is to blame."

Harry genuinely appreciated this reassurance and nodded his understanding, chest burning and eyes stinging. Remus blinked back a tear of his own and clasped Harry's shoulder, with no reluctance at the contact whatsoever, and squeezed it firmly. Though he still rather suspected it's sincerity, Harry found himself very grateful for Remus' show of confidence, for he found he relied on it much more than he had realized.

"Yeah, I know," Harry said. And he had all along really, he now realized. "I know I wouldn't stand a chance against Voldemort by myself. I know if I ever left here on my own I'd only be captured and...." And I know you'd come to rescue me like last time, and that would only put you in more danger. But Harry couldn't bring himself to voice this. Remus and the Headmaster glanced at one another.

"To be honest, Harry," Dumbledore said confidentially, "When you were not found, capture was not our primary concern." Harry looked between the two, puzzled.

"Harry," Remus said gently, picking up where Dumbledore left off, "I want you to promise me that you will never do anything to harm yourself." For the umpteenth time that night, Harry was shocked.

"Harm myself?"

"If you ever feel...despondent, if you ever feel overwhelmed by everything that is happening, I want you to come to one of us so we can talk things through. I apologize for my recent behaviour, but I want you to know I'm always here for you should you need me....As is Albus."

"Never think you are alone in this, Harry," Dumbledore confided. "Never think there is no where to turn. Understand, we still hold the advantage. There is always cause for hope."

"We care about you very much, Harry," Remus said now, "And we don't want to see you hurting, no matter the nature of that hurt, physical or emotional."

Harry was overcome, and for a while couldn't speak. He'd never considered hurting himself. Did he really give off the impression that he might?

"So," he managed to force passed the knot in his throat. "You don't think I'm just ...a prop? I'm more than just bait to you, and you aren't just keeping me alive for the sake of the mission?" It was an almost cruel thing to say, but he hadn't been able to help himself. He needed to hear Snape's taunts contradicted.

"Do try to have some patience with Professor Snape," Dumbledore begged gently. Harry gawked at him. How did he know those were Snape's sentiments? "We all sometimes say things, in the heat of the moment, that perhaps we do not mean." Harry had a hard time believing Snape hadn't meant every hissed syllable. "Trust your own heart," Dumbledore continued as if in answer to that thought. "If you know in your heart something is true, or untrue, then there is nothing anyone can say to you to hurt you in that way."

Harry knew in his heart that was not entirely true, though he understood Dumbledore's meaning. Harry nodded and sighed shakily. "You don't have to worry about me," he said, smiling weakly. "I'd never do anything to...hurt myself. Not intentionally....I'm not that selfish," he added. Despite what Snape might insist.

Harry thought this statement might have relieved the two, but they simply nodded their appreciation, still looking rather tense.

"It's good to hear you say that, Harry," Remus said. "As there's something I've been waiting to tell you, because I was worried about how you might handle it." Harry's small smile faded and his heart skipped a beat. He didn't like the sound of this at all. What could conceivably be the matter now? He was fast running out of possible tragedies. Harry's warm fuzzy feeling was rapidly ebbing away, replaced by an increasing dread.

"At first, I hadn't wanted to ruin your birthday," Remus explained hesitantly. "And at the time we weren't sure of all the implications. We wanted to wait until the situation was fully resolved. Afterward, well, I felt you had a enough to consider. When you weren't found for our session, I thought, perhaps, I'd made a mistake in that, that the news, should it have come from someone else, someone you weren't close to, might be enough to...nudge you over the edge." Harry was certain he wouldn't like what Remus was about to say, though wished he would just out with it already. He began to shift in his chair restlessly, looking to Remus to continue, but it was Dumbledore who spoke.

"As you might recall, Harry, when you arrived I asked if anything had happened that you wanted to share." Harry nodded. " My reason was, shortly before your arrival, your owl Hedwig appeared at the front steps."

"Hedwig?" Harry asked quickly. "I've not seen her for days. I was beginning to worry. Has she been here the whole time? Where is she, can I see her?" Harry was babbling, he knew it. He was trying to ignore the gnawing sense that he already knew the answers to these questions. Remus winced slightly.

"When she arrived she was very badly injured," he explained. "She had no wounds, but several broken bones. Her wings were unharmed, which was undoubtedly no mere stroke of luck. Still, it was a miracle she made it here at all."

"S-she's alright...isn't she?" Harry stuttered, panic rising in his voice. He suddenly had a hard time drawing breath. "You helped. You fixed her. She's okay!" he said loudly, as if his insistence could make it so. The two of them only looked at Harry remorsefully.

"I am sorry, Harry," Dumbledore said sadly. Harry began shaking his head.

"Understand, we did all we could," Remus averred.

No. No, this wasn't supposed to happen. They'd had their sappy, touching moment. Things were supposed to be okay now, damn it. They were all supposed to smile and hug and go to bed feeling all warm and happy, with a sense that everything had been resolved. This wasn't right! This was against the damned rules!

Harry grimaced and rubbed his eyes with the heel of his hand. He didn't feel like crying really. He just...God, he didn't even know what he felt like doing. Maybe laughing; long and hard and joylessly. He even began to. Remus touched his arm consolingly. Did he think those were sobs?

"As I said, we weren't sure of the implications. When you didn't arrive right away, but Hedwig did, and in such a state, we worried she wasn't the only owl accosted and that the portkey had been found. We didn't even consider that any of the other packages might have been tampered with. After you finally appeared, but said you sensed nothing out of the ordinary, we thought perhaps she had been injured after leaving Privet Drive. It was only some time later, when the Ministry was alerted to your cousin's death that we were able to put everything together."

Harry lowered his hand and looked blankly at Remus. Was he saying Dudley's death could have been avoided? But Harry didn't care about this explanation. He didn't care about Dudley, or the Ministry, or the other owls. Harry looked about him, helplessly, seeing nothing at all.

"I ignored her," he said in a dead voice. "She tried to tell me something was wrong. She clicked her beak and made a fuss...But I just thought she wanted attention. I thought...." He trailed off. Remus reached out to console him again.

"Harry-"

"Don't touch me!" Harry snapped, rising to his feet and away from Remus so quickly it toppled his chair. He took a deep breath, and slightly more civilly said, "Please. Not right now. Don't touch me." Harry suddenly felt so very tired. He didn't want to be here. He didn't want to see these people. He didn't want to talk. For a moment he considered how ironic that was, seeing as an hour ago he was heartbroken that Remus wouldn't touch or look at him. Now, all he wanted was to be left alone by him.

"I didn't say a word to her," Harry went on, growing extremely angry. Whether at the situation or just himself, he wasn't entirely sure. "I watched her fly away and I was glad about it! Because I was feeling sulky and I didn't want to be bothered," he spat. I'm not that selfish, am I? Lord, I am full of crap.

Dumbledore looked deeply concerned and rose from his chair to approach Harry. Despite himself, Harry couldn't bring himself to be as waspish to Dumbledore as he had been to Remus. He didn't say a word, only fumed as the Headmaster stroked his back comfortingly, as though literally working to the surface all those emotions Harry was trying so desperately to repress. Damn the man! Harry didn't want to be sad. He wanted to be angry! It felt so good being angry, and was so accustomed to it by now.

"It's all right, Harry," Dumbledore whispered consentingly. "There's nothing shameful about what you're feeling. Cry if you want. It's perfectly natural."

"No," Harry tried to refuse, but it came out more as a whine and a tear was already sliding down his cheek, as if to spite him. "I don't want to. I'm. I'm not a child," he insisted, lip quivering.

"What does that have to do with anything?" Remus asked, rising himself now. Harry looked up at him through his lashes as if the answer should be obvious. Grown men don't cry over losing their pets.

"It wasn't like she w-was my family or anything. Or my best f-friend," he hiccupped.

"What difference does that make?" Remus replied with a gentle scowl, laying his hand on Harry's shoulder again, and this time Harry allowed it. "The point is you cared about her."

"It takes courage to feel, Harry," Dumbledore said, drawing Harry's attention so that he looked him in the eye. "It takes a stronger man to confront his feelings and allow them to run their natural course than it does one to hide from them and deny they exist. It takes a wiser man to cry. Never fear your feelings, Harry. Your capacity to feel is your greatest strength and, in his inability to, Voldemort's greatest weakness. Remember that."

Dumbledore's gaze was so steady, his words so sure, that for a moment Harry was tempted to believe him, decided to pretend for that moment that he truly did. Because, now that the flood had begun, Harry couldn't stop it. He turned to look at Remus' kind, encouraging face through his film of tears, and his lip was still quivering, still stubbornly trying to hold back the deluge. But when Remus opened his arms beckoningly, Harry's last resistance crumbled and he fell into them, tugging at Remus' lapel. His knees gave way and he ended up dragging Remus to the floor with him, and Remus stroked his hair soothingly as Harry cried on his shoulder; releasing the tears so very long denied: for Cedric, for Sirius, for Hedwig, and for himself. He abandoned himself to them and a part him wondered why he had ever sworn off this wonderful catharsis. Maybe when he was spent he would remember, but at the moment his previous logic escaped him. Right now, it didn't matter...nothing did, except that he not stop.

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