The Proud Man's Contumely

Chapter Seventeen: These Are But Wild and Whirling Words

Harry positioned himself over the toilet on unsteady legs. It was clear the deed would not be done quickly, and Harry propped himself in place with one hand on the back of the tank and let his head sink between his shoulders. He left his body to relieve itself, and wondered a bit on Snape, and what he would do when he found out Harry had been snooping, or if he would find out at all. If he did, he'd probably flay him. Though, Harry reasoned it might have been worth it. He'd been so close. And the incident had left him feeling almost...giddy. Alive. Pity the sensation couldn't have lasted longer. It seemed to drain out of him with the steady yellow stream into the dusty bowl below him.

And the bowl was very dusty. Harry lifted his hand from the tank and saw his fingers were coated with it now too. Odd. The toilet didn't look dirty really, so much as unused. As did everything else in the small room now that Harry took the time to look around him. As he gave himself a final shake, he glanced over at the taps of bathtub faucet and saw them covered in rust, wondered if they even still turned or when was the last time they had been. It looked to be a while. Considering Snape's eternally greasy hair, Harry could not say he was exactly surprised.

However, they did turn, with a minimum of creaking, and the water they dispensed ran warm and clear.

It's interesting how one can not quite realize just how weary they are until they lower themselves into a hot bath. Though he had just literally just slept for days, (or perhaps because of it) Harry found he was exhausted. That short but extreme burst of terror likely hadn't helped matters either. Harry felt as though he'd just fought an epic battle. In a way, he reasoned, perhaps he had.

Harry relaxed back against the cool wall of the tub and let his stiffness dissolve into the steaming water, resolving to never move again. Snape apparently didn't use this room. The greasy git could just stride his little paths back and forth from his desk to his room of mysteries, and Harry could become a fixture he ignored, like the shampoo and faucets. Harry actually smiled at his little fantasy, actually began convincing himself it was a good and practical plan...until the water went cold, and he realized he'd have to move anyway, either to retrieve his wand and magic it warm or else to refresh the water manually. He opted for the latter, as it demanded much less effort, despite that it was more temporary. The former would require him to actually climb out of the tub. Still, he moved as little was possible, using his toes to tug at the drain plug and work the faucets. The newly warm water revived his paralytic daydreams, and Harry leaned his head back and dozed.

The train wasn't moving.

Because the train wasn't made to move. The train was made of stone, cold and hard under his bare feet, dark grey and forbidding like the bricks of the dungeons. Everything was made of them, even the seats and the compartment door that could never be closed. Confused, Harry wandered out of his little room and looked out of the corridor window, wondering where he was.

The low light from the sconces, ones that looked as though they had been thieved from the very walls of Grimmauld Place, leaked through the cracked and dirty glass, but fell on nothing, only bled away infinitely into the thin darkness without. Harry felt his heart beat harder before he recognized the fear creeping over him. There was something he ought to be doing, someone he ought to be looking for. Harry peered down the carriage corridor, but it seemed to have no end. Both directions looking exactly the same, Harry decided on his right and began searching. His inspection was slow and thorough at first, but soon built until he was running headlong down the narrow passage, quickly scanning each compartment as he passed.

"Ron?" he called, but was answered only by his own echo. "Ron!" Amid the slap of his feet on the stone and the blood rushing in his ears, Harry came to notice a small noise and froze, struggling to make it out over his own panicked breathing. It sounded almost like...yes. Someone was crying, faintly, somewhere far behind him.

No. No surely it wasn't too late. Harry turned and sprinted back the way he came, but got nowhere. The carriage seemed to simply extend in front of him, the floor expanded beneath his feet, so that two doors appeared beside him for every one he should have already passed. Defeated, Harry stumbled to a stop and fell to his knees, hanging his head, and began to weep more easily and freely than he had ever in his life. "There's too much," he moaned. "Ron. I'm sorry. There are just too many."

The crying still sounded, though it took a moment for Harry to realize it was louder now, and that it was not simply his own echoing back at him. Casting his down-turned eyes to the compartment beside him, Harry spied a figure kneeling within. Hesitantly, Harry stopped crying and drew himself to his feet to crept closer.

"H-Hermione?"

But it wasn't Hermione. A fair head bobbed between narrow, slumped shoulders.

"Malfoy," Harry growled. And Malfoy lifted his silver head, turning to Harry, a malicious grin splitting is pale face. He wasn't crying at all. He was laughing.

"What have you done with her?" Harry demanded, taking the boy roughly by both arms and wrenching him to his feet. But Malfoy only laughed harder until Harry, incensed, began to shake him. He shook him so violently that his slicked hair fell in stiff clumps into his pointed face, so violently Harry was sure he would soon snap the boy's thin neck.

"Answer me, damn you!"

"It-It's too late!" Malfoy finally managed between sniggers. Harry held him still so he could continue, but Malfoy only sneered as though the gesture disgusted him and said, "You're so bloody predictable, Potter."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Harry snapped. "What are you talking about? Why did you say it was too late? Too late for what?" Malfoy grinned triumphantly and snorted.

"It's too late because our traitorous master is dead already. He has been since before you were born. Still, the both of you should fetch our forgiveness from the Dark Lord."

Harry shook his head, not understanding, and dropped Malfoy to the ground like a piece of dripping rubbish.

"You're mad," he said, shaking his head. "You're completely raving."

Malfoy's only answer was to point up at Harry and begin laughing again, on and on until Harry almost gave into his urge to start kicking him. But even as he drew his foot back with a snarl, a sharp rap sounded on the stone frame of the compartment door. Harry turned to find Snape standing calmly in the corridor. How did he get there?

"Let me in, Harry."

"

But if I do that, you'll kill me," Harry replied, wondering how he knew this.

"It will kill you if you don't. Let me in, Harry." Harry was disconcerted. Malfoy still cackled from the floor at his feet. Snape knocked again.

"Harry." Knock knock knock.

"What is going on?!" Harry bellowed, bringing his hands to his ears. Malfoy wheezed for breath. Snape rapped again.

"Let me in, Harry."

"But I can't!"

"Yes you can, Harry. You must." Malfoy was laughing harder than ever.

"No! I mean I can't let you in. There's no door! What are you waiting for?"

"You have to invite me."

"What? Why?" Ha ha ha ha ha! Knockknockknock

"WHAT'S GOING ON? Have you all gone mad?! This doesn't make any sense!"

HahahahaknockhahaknockHAHAHAKNOCK!

"

Just go away!"

Knock knock KNOCK

Harry woke with a start. He was freezing. The water he sat in had long since gone cold and he shivered, shaking the strange dream from his head as he leaned forward to pull the plug to replace it, but a sharp, loud knock at the bathroom door startled him and made him drop the chain.

"Harry! Harry answer me! Are you all right! Harry let me in," came a frantic, muffled voice on the other side of the door and the knob rattled as though someone was trying to rip it off. Harry had to take a moment to still his nerves, but it was cut short when it sounded as though Remus had had enough and was attempting to break down the door.

"I'm here! Remus, I'm all right," Harry called testily. Sudden silence, and then finally Harry thought he heard a ragged, relieved sigh and a body falling to rest against the door.

Then, just as testily, "What on earth-"

"I dozed off," Harry explained before Remus could set in. "I was sleeping."

"Sleeping? Harry I've been pounding on this door for five minutes."

Whoa. Harry must have been more comfortable than he had thought. "I'm. I'm sorry?" he called back. More silence, and then another weary sigh. "That's dangerous, you know. You might have-"

"Give me five more minutes," Harry cut him off, reaching for his soap. He'd had enough of his bath, but might as well do what he'd come to before abandoning it. With no other objections, Harry heard Remus pull himself off the door, his footsteps fading toward the sitting room. Certain he was going to be unbothered for a moment, Harry refreshed his water one last time.

When he was finished, Harry found Remus was waiting patiently in the sitting room with his hands held courteously behind his back, studying Snape's bookshelf from a generous distance, almost like someone viewing exhibits in a museum. Harry almost felt guilty now for riffling through everything, but had to wonder just when Remus had acquired so much respect for Snape and his belongings. Though, perhaps that was exactly Remus' way, to stay neatly out of other people's affairs, to not dirty his hands, even if it meant letting his friends harass harmless schoolmates without provocation. Harry checked himself. Since when had he started sympathizing with Snape? He quickly reminded himself of his and the Potions master's mutual hatred, though unconsciously tugged at his baggy trousers to cover his own embarrassingly threadbare pants.

Letting his still wet bare feet hit the stone floor with a slap as he moved further into the sitting room, Harry finally announced his presence to Remus, who turned to him with a politely expectant expression. Harry wasn't sure what kind of response we had anticipated from the man. Perhaps he hadn't been consciously aiming for one at all. He'd had no towel. That was the real reason he'd refrained from pulling on anything besides his loose fitting trousers. He preferred to dry before struggling into his shirt and shoes. He had no ulterior motives. So why was he so disappointed when he saw only polite apology in Remus' eyes as they grazed his form indifferently before seeking out Harry's own with a slight, forced smile?

"I'm sorry for earlier," Remus began with gentle sincerity. "When you didn't answer, I was afraid..."

Afraid what? That you'd find me in shallow, red-stained water still clutching the broken piece of mirror I'd slit my wrists with?

Slightly unlikely. Snape didn't have a mirror.

Remus looked away from Harry, wet his lips, and took a breath, choosing his words carefully. Harry thought he looked awfully tired. "How are you?" he asked softly, sincerely. When he pulled his eyes back to Harry's, Harry saw only compassion in them. It frustrated Harry for some reason, though his closed expression didn't change as he regarded Remus for a beat longer, as though giving the man a chance to add to the question somehow, before finally looking away. Harry swallowed and shook his head faintly.

"Severus told us you were up and about again," Remus seemed suddenly compelled to confess. Harry looked back up at him. " If you feel up to it, there's still time to join some of the others for breakfast. It's not quite over. If you'd like, that is."

It really was just that simple wasn't it? The rest of the world functioned normally just a short stroll away, and all Harry had to do was go and join it. Harry stared silently at Remus for a long while, and the two seemed to search each other's countenance for some sort of answer, the only difference being that Harry wasn't sure of his question.

"I'll have to at some point, won't I?" Harry asked in a dull voice, though answered himself before Remus had a chance. "I suppose I should just get on with it then."

Remus nodded thoughtfully, though neither moved. Harry cast his gaze to the floor, as though searching for his suddenly elusive determination there. Saying what he was about to do was far simpler than actually doing it. Harry didn't quite know where to begin. Though, he supposed it might do well to finish dressing. He was dry enough.

Without bothering to find a room, Harry put his arms through his sleeves and yanked them to his elbows before lifting his arms to pull his shirt over his head. And that's when he saw it. He had unexpected difficulty, but when he finally managed to wrestle the thing over his dishevelled cranium, Harry just caught Remus' stare, hungrily chasing the last of Harry's bare flesh as it disappeared beneath his t-shirt.

Harry didn't smirk, though felt like it. He only stared at Remus, waiting for him to realize he'd been caught. And when Remus eyes met Harry's, his cheeks did colour if only a bit. But there was no apology left in his slightly shock-widened gaze. Surely he knew now that Harry knew. Harry knew his terrible secret. But having been discovered he held his ground. Harry was slightly shocked himself at how open Remus looked. Not quite challenging, not even inviting, but adopting a manner that seemed to say quite plainly that he would face whatever question or condemnation that came from the young man.

But Harry didn't confront him. Quite strangely, the anger he'd felt at Remus' suspicioned intentions dissolved now that they had been confirmed. Harry wasn't sure what he was feeling now. Embarrassed? Anxious? Not really. Giddy perhaps. The moment turned very awkward, and Harry, unsure what else to do, looked away and bent to pull on his shoes.

"Okay then," he said, straightening again. With no other conversation, Remus lead the way out of the dungeons.