The Proud Man's Contumely

Chapter Fifteen

The Dreamless Sleep draught Snape gave him worked as well as any Pomfrey ever had. Though, Harry supposed that stood to reason. Snape must be responsible for stocking the infirmary stores, in addition to his teaching duties. And Harry had taken more than his fair share of all those cupboards had to offer. No small wonder the man was so easily exasperated by him. Keeping up with all of Harry's various mishaps, medicinally and otherwise, was likely a full time job in itself. And so Harry also supposed Snape had been his saviour more times over than he had previously reckoned, if only in a less direct way. Though it wasn't as if the man was gracious about it. He could practically hear Snape grumbling about Harry's carelessness as he bottled yet more salve for the infirmary stores. Of course, it isn't like Harry had asked the greasy git to go above and beyond. He certainly didn't like Snape ghosting his steps and nosing into his business. Harry quite felt he could do without that kind of assistance. And as far as the medicine was concerned, well Harry didn't enjoy taking it, or having occasion to, anymore than Snape did making it. As Harry threw back a second round of the draught, having been awake for a whole ten minutes (too long) he wondered that Snape even bothered. But then, he supposed it was a matter of necessity. He wondered, too, why he was even so concerned with the matter just now. Though it seemed better to fume on this than surrender to the nagging of the several other, even less pleasant thoughts from the back of his mind, where he intend to keep them locked.

Each time Harry woke, a fresh vial of the potion was waiting for him on the tiny bedside table, as was a tray of food, likely magicked to stay warm till he woke to consume it, though the latter of these Harry invariably ignored. Eating held absolutely no interest, and he doubted he could keep anything down for very long. Just smelling the steaming broth and buttered bread sitting so close sickened him, and he was tempted, more than once, to fling it toward the far wall. There were times, as well, when he felt like doing the same to the potion, he was so thoroughly irritated by the thought that they were keeping him sedated, like some psychotic on the closed ward. He didn't suppose he could blame them really. Harry didn't know himself what he might do, or was capable of doing, though that did little to lessen his insult. Perhaps his potentially dangerous, volatile condition was why Snape was keeping such distance, and was not found stooping over him with an irritated, impatient glare demanding that he eat. Not that it would have done him much good. Harry would only have told him to take his food and his potion and put them where the sun didn't shine...and he wouldn't be referring to the dungeons. And so it was fortunate that he left Harry alone, because in the end Harry always found there was nothing for it. He didn't want to ignore the draught. Instead he'd like to drink it by the bucket. When Harry was awake his body screamed for food it wouldn't tolerate. When he was awake his mind raced all too quickly toward things he wasn't prepared to confront, and he feared what dreams might come should it ever slow sufficiently to allow him natural sleep.

There were no windows in his small, subterranean prison, no clocks ticking on the wall, no way at all to reckon the passage of time. It was always night here, and Harry had no idea how long he'd been cloistered. Though he didn't care really. Time became abstract, not the rigid, harsh thing he'd known it to be when there were things like classes to attend and meals to be taken and schedules to be obeyed. Time was a lulling, indifferent sea in which he drifted on a fickle tide of consciousness. There was little to ground Harry in the here and now, whatever that was, save for the occasional bit of noise from the other rooms. Still, there was never much to be heard, save the turning of locks or the scratch of quill on parchment. Though once, Harry woke to the sound of voices.

Snape's low timbre cared well through the empty rooms, and if one could ignore the words, that voice was so very sedative, relaxing, might have caressed Harry back to sleep...But Harry could not ignore his words. At first, in his grogginess, Harry thought the man might have been talking to himself. And his amusement at this possible eccentricity was enough to make him listen more closely, at which time he did notice a second voice. Though, this other voice was echoic and distant. Too much so to be blamed on the stone walls. Harry realized it must be coming from within the hearth. Considering this, the second voice was far too soft spoken for Harry to decipher a word, but somehow he recognized...or rather simply knew somehow...that it belonged to Remus. Harry wondered fleetingly at the shiver that ran up his spine with the recognition, though told himself it must only be due to the knowledge that the two men were speaking about him.

"I don't know that we shouldn't just tell the boy and have done with it," Snape complained, obviously quite put out. "He's too bloody nosy to remain oblivious for much longer. If nothing else, thanks to you and that little stunt you pulled with them in class, Granger will no doubt put two and two together soon enough and spell it out for him. There's no knowing what he might do when that happens, without someone there to administer the proper threats."

Remus' reply was indistinct but reproachful.

"Oh all right. The proper warnings. Though I do think it might be wise to put a bit of fear into him. He obviously doesn't appreciate the simple concept of consequence, or how great they would be in this situation."

He wasn't sure, but Harry thought Remus was defending him. He quelled his gratitude, however, like an altar boy quells a lustful thought at mass. He was still quite too sleepy to remember why he felt the need.

"Treating him like an adult does not automatically make him one," Snape argued. Harry could hear the sneer in his voice. "Merlin knows you lot should have figured this out by now."

Remus was arguing again. Harry felt compelled to listen at the door, but convinced himself it was his still sleep heavy limbs that deterred him, and not his fear that he might actually be eager to hear the sound of Remus voice, and not his words, more clearly.

"Yes. Of course I know the Headmaster's stance on the issue, and as in several others, I do not quite agree."

Why on earth did Remus sound so worried? What were they talking about? What was it Harry shouldn't know?

"Well, it is your responsibility to prepare the boy in these matters, Lupin," Snape said, sounding somewhat resigned. "And it is a lesson he will need to learn. I've persuaded Rainy here, but..."

Remus interrupted, sounding absolutely adamant about something.

"No. But there are others. And the Dark Lord has commissioned me personally to seek them out and sway them to his cause...Just as before." Whatever Snape was referring to, he seemed extremely bitter about it. More so than Harry could ever recall him being before. Which was saying quite a bit. "I cannot fail at it forever. Either I will have to go about the errand earnestly to avoid suspicion, or he Dark Lord will find another to do it in my stead. And I think you might understand why I'd rather that not happen."

Harry thought he might as well, remembering Bella's cry in the Ministry.

MASTER, I TRIED, I TRIED--DO NOT PUNISH ME--

Harry was just now comprehending the situation Snape must be putting himself in on the Order's behalf...at Dumbledore's request...

Severus, you know what I must ask you to do. If you are ready . . . if you are prepared ...

Harry was finding his forced indifference toward the man was turning to dislike, despite that he was trying desperately to will it otherwise.

"As it is," Snape continued to Remus, with Harry listening more intently now. "I've claimed my duties here are too demanding for me to travel abroad, and the Dark Lord certainly doesn't want to compromise my position in relation to the Headmaster." Snape's voice became dark and dreading. "But he will succeed in this, Lupin, with my help or no, I have no doubt. He's already made progress with the werewolves, as I'm sure you may be aware. The half races are resentful toward wizardkind, ripe for this conversion, and the Dark Lord is all too conscious of this. Surely you understand that. I understand it perfectly myself, and were that my personal circumstances were otherwise..."

Was Remus being accusing? That was a rarity.

"Of course not," Snape spat in response. "You know where my loyalties lie. And you know ruddy well why. Don't be ridiculous."

Yes, that apologetic tone suited Remus much better Harry thought.

"Well, I have no suggestions on how else to proceed, except just as we have been. Though mark my words, that boy will be the death of me, if not us all.... Spare me. You are as stubborn as your flea-bitten former compatriots.... Oh, so be it," Snape clipped sardonically. "Potter is brilliant and discerning and will be our bloody saviour. Now if you will excuse me, I must go slave over our fearless knight-in-ruddy-armour's fresh batch of bottled coma." Harry was rather impressed that Remus could convey so much hostility without uttering a word. Remus was suddenly gone. There was a slamming of heavy doors and the turn of locks rang in the abrupt stillness.

With no hesitation whatsoever, Harry reached over and seized his ration of 'bottled coma', unstopping it and downing it to the very last drop.