Chapter Three.
Harry awoke feeling thoroughly depressed. He had tossed and turned for hours before falling into a restless sleep, and had dreamed of flashes of green light and a woman's screams. His mother's face had floated before his eyes, sometimes with her hair auburn and smooth, sometimes brown and bushy. The room was still and gloomy, and even the portrait of Phineas Nigellus was empty. At least tonight Ron would be there to share it with him.
Silently he dressed and went down the hall to Hermione's room. He raised his hand to knock and then yanked it down again. Harry shuffled uncomfortably outside the door, feeling awkward and foolish. What on earth would he say to her? What could he say? "Hi Hermione, how's your summer been?" Idiot, he thought. "I know how you feel, but at least they didn't suffer." Now that would be comforting! "I'll kill him for this, Hermione, I promise – it's my destiny...maybe." Harry cringed; he was beginning to sound like the stories in the back of Witch Weekly – or worse, Gilderoy Lockhart. Perhaps it was best just not to say anything. He rapped hard on the door before he could change his mind. There was no answer. He knocked again, harder. "Hermione?" Carefully, he pushed the door open and stuck his head into the bedroom. It was empty. Harry felt even more foolish.
Behind him a throat cleared, and Harry jumped in shock, bashing the side of his head on the door. Scowling, rubbing his ear, he turned to find Lupin standing on the landing in a shabby dressing gown.
"I'd try the kitchen if I were you," he remarked.
"Thanks," Harry muttered, heading for the stairs.
"I'll be down in a few minutes," said Lupin. "Try not to wake the portrait as you go past," he added plaintively.
Harry edged past the velvet curtains covering Mrs. Black. Snores reverberated from it, dry and rasping. He had forgotten about the old witch, and supposed that it was only luck that he hadn't woken her the night before. One of his shoes caught the fringed end of the hall rug, and he tripped slightly, causing a hitch in the snores, a sleepy grumble. Hurriedly, he skidded into the kitchen.
Hermione looked up from a bowl of porridge.
"Hi," she said with an attempt at a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes.
"Hi," said Harry awkwardly. He shifted from foot to foot and wondered what she wanted him to do. Should he hug her? Pat her on the back? That had seemed to work with Cho, but she had been in tears at the time, hanging off him and sobbing. This wasn't nearly so easy. He opened his mouth, stopped, and shut it again.
"Would you like some porridge?" asked Hermione.
"Um, yeah. Porridge would be good. Thanks," said Harry.
"It's not good actually," said Hermione. "I made it myself, and the bottom of the pan got all burnt. Tonks tried to show me how to make it with magic, but her spell kept going wrong, and I... I wasn't really paying attention."
"I'm sure it will be fine," said Harry.
"I couldn't have used it anyway, what with the Restriction for the Use of Under-Age Magic," said Hermione. She had filled a bowl from a pot on the stove and pushed it across the table to him, careful to keep some distance between them. The porridge had black lumps floating on top of it.
"There's milk and sugar on the table," she said pointlessly.
"It looks great," Harry lied. "Thanks." He felt hopelessly inadequate, and wanted to kick himself for being so formal. Instead, he began to sprinkle brown sugar slowly over his porridge, making sure to cover all the burnt bits. Hermione, he noticed, was woefully stirring her own breakfast, fixed on the lumpy surface. There were dark rings under her eyes.
This is ridiculous, Harry thought. I've got to do something.
"How are you, Hermione?" he blurted.
Hermione looked across at him. "I'm fine thanks, all things considering," she said politely and automatically, and seemed almost to cringe at the sound of her own voice. "Things are getting better," she added, in a tone with something of forced cheer in it. Her spoon was trembling against the side of her bowl. Without thinking, Harry reached over to catch hold of her hand and promptly knocked over the milk jug. Liquid streamed across the table and poured into Hermione's lap. She squealed and jumped up, grabbing a tea towel and scrubbing at her skirt.
"I'm so sorry," Harry stuttered. "I didn't mean to, it was an accident..."
"Easily fixed," said Lupin, coming into the kitchen. He drew his wand and waved it at Hermione. "Scourgify!" The milk disappeared from her clothes.
"Now then, what's for breakfast?" said Lupin, moving towards the stove. "Something smells... good," he added uncertainly, catching sight of the pot. He peered into it with a mournful expression and covered it with a lid. "So who's for toast?" he asked brightly.
Harry was refilling the milk jug when he heard a scratching coming from one of the cupboards. It sounded like a rat had gotten stuck back behind the boiler. Harry froze. It couldn't be, could it? Surely Lupin would have wrung his neck. Perhaps he was hearing things... but then the door to the boiler wobbled slowly open, and from a nest of grime crept Kreacher, a filthy tea-towel wrapped around him like a loin-cloth. He was muttering to himself, a sneaky creaking whine that raised the hair on the back of Harry's neck.
"Nasty messy mudblood, dripping all over Kreacher's nice clean floor..."
"Harry! No!"
Harry pounced on the house-elf, reaching for the scrawny body. He was so focussed upon him that for a moment he didn't notice that he had stopped moving towards him. Lupin was hauling on him from behind, keeping him away from the elf. Harry struggled desperately, but Lupin was stronger, and he heaved him across to the other side of the kitchen, keeping himself between them.
"What are you DOING!" Harry bellowed at him.
Kreacher was staring at him with a sickly pained disgust. "She never would have believed it, no never! My poor mistress! Her house, her beautiful house, and full of vermin now, mudbloods and half-breeds and all the family gone away, even the blood traitor..."
"He isn't gone away, he's DEAD!" bellowed Harry. "And you killed him!"
Kreacher sniggered delightedly. "Oh no, not me. Master chose his own traitorous path."
"That's enough, the pair of you!" snapped Lupin, in a voice so terrible that it quelled them both. "Kreacher, get out of here now! Go and feed Buckbeak or do whatever it is that you do! I don't care where you go but stay in this house and keep out of sight. Now!" he snarled, and Kreacher scuttled nervously towards the door. Whipping his wand towards the door, Lupin locked it behind the elf, loosed his grip on Harry and leaned against the wall, looking pale and ill.
"You knew," said Harry quietly, stunned. He had never felt so betrayed in all his life. "You knew that... that creature... was still here."
"I knew," said Lupin. Harry could hear the sadness in his voice but he could also hear the total lack of apology. "That wasn't the way I had planned for you to find out, believe me. He's been spending most of his time in the attic lately, not appearing for days at a time. I couldn't bear to tell you last night, not with everything else..." his eyes slid over to Hermione "... but I thought that I would have today at least."
"Apparently Kreacher thought the same," said Harry savagely. "How can you stand up for him, after what he's done? How can you even bear to look at him? Why didn't you just... why didn't you just-"
"Kill him?" Lupin interrupted wearily. "I'm a lot of things Harry, and they're not all good - but a murderer I am not."
"He's right, Harry," said Hermione. "Kreacher may be horrid, foul, but we can't just kill him."
Harry stared at her. "Did you know about this?" Hermione's face was chalk-white, and there were tears on her cheeks but she met his gaze bravely. "I see," said Harry coldly.
"Do you," said Hermione. "Do you really? I know what Kreacher did. I know what he is. And I know what you're not. You can't fight evil by being it yourself, Harry."
"We're in a war, Hermione!" Harry said brutally, without thinking. "People are going to die and you better learn to accept it!" He could have bitten his tongue out the instant that he said it. Hermione looked like she was about to faint. Slowly, jerkily, she moved towards the door and pushed at it clumsily, fists banging helplessly against the wood for several seconds until Lupin had recovered enough to undo the spell.
"Hermione!" Harry called. "Hermione, wait!" but all he heard in response was the sound of ghostly footprints trailing up the hall. Leaning back against the kitchen wall, he slid down onto the floor and crouched there. Harry wasn't sure who he hated more at that moment, Lupin or himself. Kreacher, he decided. When Lupin spoke, he seemed very far away.
"Kreacher stays, at least for the next few days. You won't touch him, Harry. Is that understood?"
"It's not fair. It's not fair," Harry repeated brokenly. "He gets to go on like nothing happened, like everything's the same. Why is he here? Why can't he go?"
"Where would he go?" Lupin sounded older and more tired than Harry had ever heard him.
"Let him go to the Malfoys!" Harry said with a flash of malice. "Let him live in the streets. I don't care."
"I see. You'd leave him to suffer, put him back into slavery, disregarded and abused."
"So? He'd deserve it!" said Harry.
"Does anyone deserve that?" said Lupin gently. "Kreacher is what he has been made, a product of that life to which you would return him. What good would it do, Harry?"
Dumbledore had told him much the same thing, Harry remembered numbly. He didn't feel nearly as sympathetic. "You talk about him as if he's like the rest of us. As if he had feelings! As if he were-"
"Human?" Lupin interrupted with bitter humour. "No, Kreacher’s not human. But then I'd know all about that, wouldn't I?"
"I didn't mean it like that," snapped Harry. He refused to be made to feel anymore guilty than he did already. "But he's soft in the head, all twisted up. He doesn't care about things the way normal people do!"
"He has been taught not to care," said Lupin softly. "Why should he have the same loyalties as others?"
"I don't care about his loyalties! I don't care about his life!" Harry yelled. "This is Sirius's house and he doesn't belong here any more!"
"It's Sirius that doesn't belong here any more," said Lupin bleakly. "This is no longer his home, Harry. This is just the place where he used to live."
Harry felt as if he had just been slapped. "Then who does this house belong to now? What do they have to say about it?"
Lupin sighed heavily. "I expect it will belong to you."
"Me?" said Harry, astounded.
"Sirius didn't have any living family – at least, none that he'd want to leave anything to. But he was also your godfather, and I know that he had changed his will after he got out of Azkaban. I imagine he'll leave everything that he had, the entire Black estate – which is really quite substantial – to you."
"Fine," said Harry. "Fine. If this is my house, I want Kreacher gone. Now."
"It's not your house yet," said Lupin. "Not legally, not until the reading of the will. Until then I'm looking after things, and Kreacher stays – at least until we can find a humane alternative."
"When is the will being read?" Harry spat out.
"Three days time, at Gringotts Bank. I hope that by then you'll have reconsidered, Harry."
"You've got to be joking," said Harry. "He doesn't deserve to live! I'll do it myself if I have to..." He cast a defiant eye at Lupin, who was standing with his head bowed, and his jaw clenched. When he spoke, the words ground out of him as if they choked him.
"Whatever else Kreacher has done, whatever else he is, Harry, he saw Sirius as a threat. Does he not have the right to defend himself?"
"No," said Harry resentfully.
"Ah," said Lupin softly. "There are those in the wizarding world who would treat me – who have treated me – in the same way that Kreacher has been treated all his life. Can I help what I am? I'd change it if I could. You tell me, Harry – are my rights less than theirs?"
"It's not the same thing," said Harry.
"No? Last term, during your astronomy exam, Hagrid was attacked by Ministry officials. Did he deserve that?"
"No!" said Harry, shocked.
"Why not?" said Lupin. "He's a dangerous beast, uncivilised, not even fully human. Only a half-breed. You saw what he did to those officials."
"He was only defending himself!" said Harry, his voice rising. "You didn't see it! You weren't there! Umbridge was... she was..." he trailed off. "Oh, very clever," he said grudgingly. "But it's not the same thing."
"Why not?" said Lupin.
"Because Sirius was a good man!" Harry shouted, pushed passed endurance.
"And is the Ministry for Magic fully bad? They have Dolores Umbridge, true, and Cornelius Fudge. But they also have Arthur Weasley, Madame Bones, Kingsley Shacklebolt and many others. It depends upon your perspective, Harry. Sirius was a threat to everything Kreacher has ever known, all the twisted values that have been forced upon him from birth"
"He should have known better!" said Harry.
"And how could he have known? Did you know, before you came to Hogwarts? Do you still know? Be honest now, Harry. If you were sent back to the Dursley's right now, forever, with no escape possible ever again – could you honestly say that you could spend the rest of your life never raising a single hand in your own defence? Could you "know better" forever?"
Harry stared at his hands. He thought of Privet Drive, of the years of starvation and neglect. He thought of the cupboard under the stairs, and always being treated as if he were less than nothing. He thought of Aunt Marge, floating off into the distance.
"I don't know," he said finally, honestly.
"Well, you've got three days to think about it. I can't make the choice for you. I can barely make it for myself!" said Lupin in a tone of quiet self-loathing. Harry, staring at the floor, saw him swivel out of the corner of his eye, and assumed he was leaving the kitchen. A few seconds later, a plate with some cold toast, slathered with butter and honey, was pushed into his hands.
"Here. Take it. You haven't had breakfast yet. I saw the porridge, it doesn't count."
"Thanks," said Harry awkwardly.
"Go on," said Lupin. "I'll clean up. I suggest you go and apologise to Hermione."
"Yeah," said Harry. He stopped at the door, feeling a trifle ashamed of himself. "Professor?"
"Yes?" said Lupin, his back to him.
"I don't think that I can agree with you on this," said Harry quietly. "I just can't. He deserves to die."
Lupin sighed heavily. "Maybe he does at that." He turned, wiping his hands on a dishcloth. There was a curious look on his face. "But do you deserve to kill him? Are you so eager to become a murderer, Harry?"
Harry couldn't answer; he just stared wordlessly back at his former teacher. After a few seconds, Lupin seemed to nod to himself, and turned quietly back to the bench-top. With a feeling of escape, Harry took himself and his toast out of the kitchen.
Harry found her in the library, staring at a book that he could tell she wasn’t really reading. Nervously he went up to her, clutching the plate of toast like it was a sacrificial offering.
“Hermione? Um... could I sit down?”
Hermione tucked her legs up under her and nodded at the toast. “Is that for me?”
“Yeah. I think so. Lupin sent it up.” Harry sat down gingerly on the sofa and put the plate between them like a shield. He took a deep breath. “I’m sorry about what I said. I didn’t mean it the way it sounded. I just didn’t-”
“It’s alright,” said Hermione softly.
“But it’s... what?” said Harry weakly.
“It’s alright. I know you didn’t mean to say it. You’ve... you’ve lost someone as well. You must be feeling as bad as I am this summer.”
“I just wish I was handling it as well as you are,” said Harry.
Hermione snorted. “Tell that to Professor Lupin. He said the same thing a few days after... a few days after it happened. We were in the library at the time, actually,” she continued conversationally, looking around, “...and I threw fourteen copies of Hogwarts: a History at him.”
Harry gaped in astonishment. “You did what? How many?”
“Fourteen,” admitted Hermione in guilty tones. “He only managed to duck the first five. It’s not funny, Harry!”
“Yes it is,” Harry choked out. He caught sight of her expression and managed to clamp down on the laughter, but he couldn’t stop himself smirking. “I just never expected that anyone would have fourteen copies of Hogwarts: a History,” he added innocently.
“I don’t; this library does,” said Hermione defensively. “All the different editions. Well, they keep updating them, don’t they?”
“I bet you’ve read all fourteen,” said Harry.
“I’m only trying to keep up,” said Hermione composedly.
“Good for you,” said Harry, and hastily stuffed a piece of toast into his mouth to keep from sniggering. Hermione glared at him.
“I’m not the only one who needs to do extra reading,” she said smugly. “Here. I got this for you. Happy birthday.” She tossed him a parcel from an end-table. It landed in his lap like a brick, and Harry just knew that under the bright wrapping was a hideously complicated and difficult book. He tore open the wrapping and read “The Annotated Guide to Antipodean Antidotes – This looks really good, Hermione,” he said, trying to sound enthusiastic.
“You’ll thank me for it later,” she said briskly. “You only just scraped into Potions, you know, so you’re going to have to work really hard this year.”
“Don’t remind me,” said Harry. “Please, Hermione, please tell me you’re taking potions too. Don’t leave me alone with Snape!”
“I’ll be in nearly all your classes actually,” said Hermione. “The only ones I’m not studying this year are Divination and Muggle Studies. I can’t believe you’re taking Divination again!”
“It seemed like a good idea at the time,” said Harry dismally. “You did alright on your OWLS then? Hermione?”
“You didn’t see it,” said Hermione slowly. At Harry’s puzzled expression she reached back behind the sofa cushions and pulled out a very tattered, very crumpled copy of the Daily Prophet. Across the top of the front page, in big black letters, Harry could read the headline: “Highest OWL Scores Since You-Know-Who!” Hermione gave him a few seconds to look and then tossed the paper aside. “Actually, we tied,” she said shortly. “The only person who’s ever done better is Dumbledore.”
“That’s amazing,” said Harry honestly. “You must be really pleased.”
“You’d think so, wouldn’t you?” said Hermione in a small voice. “I just wish Mum and Dad could have seen it. They would have been so proud.”
Harry reached over and squeezed her hand. “Hermione, I’m really, really sorry about your parents,” he said. There. That wasn’t so difficult now, was it? chirped a voice in his head.