Chapter Seven.
As relieved as Harry was to have avoided Dumbledore at the Ministry of Magic, he could not do so forever. Grimmauld Place remained the headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix, and Order members were continually dropping in between assignments. Many of them actually had very little free time, as Madame Bones had immediately started the implementation of thorough security and investigative services, doing more in several days that Fudge had done in months, and with considerably less fuss.
Dumbledore’s visit was unexpected. Harry found himself shaken awake in the early morning by Mrs. Weasley, and had dressed silently as Ron’s snores echoed through the bedroom. Hustled down to the kitchen, he greeted the Headmaster dimly, before having a plate piled high with sausages and eggs placed before him by Mrs. Weasley. Blankly, Harry started to pick at it.
“Molly,” said Dumbledore pleasantly, “Do you think you could leave Harry alone with me for a few minutes? There are some things that we need to talk about.”
After she had left, with a none-too-happy expression on her face, Dumbledore pushed away his own plate and, steepling his hands, leaned back in his chair and surveyed Harry, twinkling gently. Harry stuffed a sausage into his mouth. He didn’t want to be rude, but he had very little inclination to talk to Dumbledore. He simply didn’t know what to say, and he could feel the beginnings of the old dull anger begin to rise in him at the sight of the calm face of his Headmaster, who simply waited, with no apparent intention to begin conversation any time soon.
Harry gulped down the sausage. “What do you want?” he said finally, flatly, and was pleased to see the twinkle flicker for a moment in Dumbledore’s eyes.
“I confess that, along with several other things, I wanted to see how you were,” said Dumbledore. “I imagine that this summer has been rather difficult for you.”
That’s an understatement, thought Harry, unimpressed. “I’ve had better.”
“I expect that you have,” said Dumbledore, sighing heavily. “As has Miss Granger, no doubt. Has she been well?”
“You want me to tell you about Hermione?” said Harry, annoyed. “Surely you know better than I about what’s happened to her this summer.”
“It was not my place to tell you, Harry,” said Dumbledore firmly, but very kindly. “That decision belonged to Miss Granger.”
“Fine. Then you can ask her yourself how she is,” said Harry. “It’s not my place to tell you either.” He began on his eggs, wishing that he had thought to put socks on before coming down. The kitchen was cold in the early morning, and his feet were turning numb.
Dumbledore took a piece of toast from the rack on the table and began to slather it with marmalade. “Am I to take it, “he asked mildly, “that you are still angry with me; or is it that you are angry with everyone at present?” Harry looked up from his own breakfast and saw Dumbledore had fixed him with a penetrating gaze. He scowled and stabbed at another sausage. “I see,” said the Headmaster. “And as understandable as your feelings are at present “ I hold no small amount of blame for them myself “ it is imperative that you begin to control them, Harry. Are you still practicing your Occlumency?”
Harry put down his fork with a sigh. “No,” he said honestly, in a dull tone. “Frankly I don’t think I can concentrate on it at the moment. And before you ask, my scar hasn’t been playing up much either. Oh, it prickles a lot but I’m used to that. That is what you want to know, right?” The unspoken accusation that it was all anybody seemed to want to know hung between them, as unfair as Harry knew it was.
“You need to begin with your Occlumency again,” said Dumbledore sternly. “Practice clearing your mind every night before you go to bed, and again when you wake up in the morning. You must learn control, Harry.”
“Fat chance of that while I’m living here,” said Harry gloomily.
“You and Remus aren’t getting on, I hear,” commented Dumbledore lightly. “I would suggest that you try to remedy that before the start of term. I will be asking him to resume his post as Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher. It wouldn’t be helpful for the rift between you to become apparent to the other students...”
“Some people aren’t going to be happy that you’ve re-hired him.”
“True. But dissenting parents can, of course, remove their children from Hogwarts,” Dumbledore smiled. Harry knew perfectly well that no parent was likely to do any such thing. Hogwarts had gained a reputation as one of the safest places in the wizarding world; and they were unlikely to remove their children while Dumbledore remained in power there. Harry mulled over this new change in events rather resentfully, and his thoughts were disrupted when Dumbledore spoke again.
“I hope you don’t mind me asking, Harry, but I confess to being rather curious.” The elderly wizard leaned over the table, tucking his beard over his shoulder to avoid smearing it with jam. Clear blue eyes regarded him intently. “The prophecy that I told you about at the end of last term. Have you shared it with anybody?”
“No!” said Harry immediately. He began to feel rather sick. While at Privet Drive, he had never been able to forget it; the thought of the prophecy had preyed on his mind like a cancer. Coming to Grimmauld Place had given him new things to worry about, and while he had not entirely forgotten it, it had become easier for him to ignore it, to hide it away in a small dark corner of his mind and leave it there. He had begun to be aware that something about the prophecy was causing him a strange sort of discomfort “ something other than the obvious, that was. It was a nebulous sort of instinct that he was desperate not to examine too closely. Harry had come to the conclusion that if he didn’t start thinking about this new discomfort, then he wouldn’t have to deal with whatever it turned out to be...
“It is a heavy burden to bear alone,” said Dumbledore carefully. “There is none that can lift it from you, but I had wondered if it would ease you to share it with others...”
“Absolutely not,” Harry snapped.
“People will find out eventually,” Dumbledore ventured softly. “And there are those who would wish to help you... you might even find it a relief to not have to keep this wholly a secret.”
“If you’re suggesting that I lay this on Ron and Hermione,” said Harry through gritted teeth. “Then you can think again. Not now. They’ve got enough to deal with “ especially Hermione. Besides, it’s not as if they can do anything about it, is it?” Harry didn’t think that he could bear their reactions. He began to understand how Hermione must have felt earlier in the summer “ the knowledge of Professor Trelawney’s prophecy was almost more than he could bear when he only had his own reactions to it to contend with, let alone anybody else’s. “I don’t want them told,” he said decisively. “Not anyone. Not unless it’s necessary or until I say so.” He pushed his plate away from him. The sight of the food left on his plate was making him feel queasy. “If that’s all, Headmaster?” he asked, formally.
Dumbledore sighed deeply. “That is all. But Harry? If you would be so kind as to send Professor Lupin down to see me? I believe he is in one of the bedrooms. Molly told me she heard him making an awful racket in one of them. There’s no hurry...” and he helped himself to another bit of toast, “...so take your time. And if I can make one final suggestion this morning: you might want to have a bit of a chat. Try to clear the air, as it were. There is more to Remus than I think you suspect. You may find him... enlightening.”
Harry nodded abruptly and left the kitchen, feeling uncomfortable and oddly sad. It appeared that lately he was supremely talented at alienating half the people he knew. Worse, he found it difficult to bring himself to care. Since his arrival at Hogwarts, Harry had looked up to Dumbledore as the ideal of what a wizard should be, and the recent realisation that his mentor didn’t have all the answers made him feel like he was groping in the dark. He cursed to himself silently, miserably. Why did life have to be so hard?
He found Lupin in one of the spare bedrooms, trying to wrench an old and extremely ugly light fitting off the wall. He paused in the doorway for a few moments, unwilling to talk to his former teacher but feeling strangely compelled to do so. Dumbledore had made it clear that he thought that Harry would benefit from it, and while he was at present loathe to do anything that would give the impression he was running off to follow instructions like a good little boy, he was not a fool. If Dumbledore did indeed plan to have Lupin teaching Defence Against the Dark Arts at Hogwarts this year, then Harry was going to have to deal with him whether he liked it or not. Harry didn’t much like it, not at all, but he was well aware that Lupin was the best Defence teacher that they had ever had, and that he would be desperately needed by the students this year. He took a deep breath.
“Why don’t you just blast it off?” he asked reluctantly.
Lupin froze for a moment and then turned towards him calmly. “Because that would leave a hole in the plaster.” Noticing Harry’s puzzled expression, he added, “Oh, I could fix the hole easily enough. But it makes me feel better having something to swear at.”
Harry smirked, although it was more because he felt it was an appropriate response than because he was truly amused. “You’d better not let Mrs. Weasley hear you,” he said inanely. Lupin grunted and turned back to the light. It really was rather horrid, Harry noted, extremely ancient and grimy with nasty looking sharp bits sticking out of it. It looked more like something that could be ripped off the wall and used to poke somebody’s eye out than a light fitting. He shifted uncomfortably in the doorway, unsure how to start up a decent conversation, and grasped at the first thing that came into his mind. He was reminded of it by Lupin’s attitude, as if redecorating his new home was a particularly grim task that he would really rather not have had to undertake.
“You really didn’t expect Sirius to leave you the house, did you?” said Harry, stumbling over his godfather’s name. He wondered how long it would take before he could talk about him naturally.
Lupin leaned his arms against the wall and lowered his head, stopping work for a moment. “No,” he said heavily. Turning, he wiped his hands on his robe and sank to the floor. He patted the space beside him, indicating that Harry should come and sit next to him. Harry wasn’t particularly happy about it; it indicated the start of a conversation that was longer than he wanted to get involved in, but he sat anyway, keeping an arm’s length between them. The floor was dusty and he traced patterns on it with his finger. Lupin eyed him carefully. “It wasn’t that he didn’t love you, you know. You mustn’t think that Sirius had forgotten about you, or that he didn’t consider your needs. But-”
“It’s alright,” said Harry abruptly, and was a little surprised to find that he meant it. He had spoken the truth at Gringott’s: he didn’t need any more money and he wasn’t particularly taken with Grimmauld Place. In fact, he never could have seen himself wanting to make it his home. It had only felt like home when Sirius was there, and now that he was gone it was just a miserable, depressing place that more often than not gave him chills. “It’s alright, really it is. But I don’t understand it. When Griphook read the will, you said... you said that Sirius had been stupid and selfish. I don’t understand,” Harry repeated painfully.
Lupin winced. “I’m sorry. I should never have said that in front of you.”
Harry looked at him narrowly, lifting his eyes from the floor for the first time since sitting down. “You shouldn’t have said it in front of me? That’s different from not saying it at all,” he pointed out stiffly. At the silence from his companion, he continued resentfully. “Well? Spit it out. You think Sirius was stupid and selfish. You must have a reason for it.”
Lupin heaved a sigh and when he spoke, it was very slowly. “Sirius was not stupid and selfish. He could, however, do stupid and selfish things, things where he put his own interests in front of the interests of others, even when he knew that he shouldn’t. Like with his will.” It was Lupin’s turn to look at Harry narrowly. “Are you sure that you want to hear this, Harry?” he asked soberly, kindly. “You will not like it, I fear.”
Harry stuck his chin out defiantly. “You promised not to keep things from me again. I don’t want people doing that anymore,” he warned.
Lupin assessed him silently, and Harry met his eye determinedly. He could see his old professor give the barest nod, as if confirming to himself his most private opinions. However, when he spoke, it was on a subject so removed that Harry could find no link.
“How much do you know about the different Houses at Hogwarts?” Lupin asked.
Harry looked at him stupidly. “What?”
“The Houses,” Lupin repeated patiently. “How they were formed, how students are sorted, and the qualities the Founders of each House looked for. It’s more relevant than you think. How much thought have you given it?”
“Less than Hermione,” Harry admitted. “She knows more about this than I do. Um, the Founders each had their own Houses, where they taught the kind of students they liked best. After a while they made the Sorting Hat, which sorts all the students into one of Gryffindor, Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff and Slytherin. It’s done so for centuries.”
“Go on,” prompted Lupin, when Harry paused. “What are the qualities that each House possesses?”
“Well, Gryffindors are brave,” Harry recited, still puzzled as to where the conversation was going and how it related to Sirius. Five years in the wizarding world, however, had taught him that some subjects were best approached obliquely, and he was willing to go along. For now. “That is, they prize bravery above all else. Ravenclaws are smart. Hufflepuffs are supposed to value hard work. Oh, and fair play, I suppose. Slytherins are ambitious.” He petered off, not knowing how much information Lupin was after. His former teacher was looking at him expectantly, and Harry shrugged at him in confusion.
“That it?” is former teacher asked, and Harry could have sworn that there was disappointment in his voice. It made him feel mulish and resentful, and he resumed stabbing at the dust on the floor with his finger. Lupin sighed again. “Very well. How important are these qualities, do you think? Is one House better than another? Or are some people better Gryffindors, for example, than other members of their House?”
Now Harry was really confused. “I don’t understand what you’re trying to get at,” he said grumpily. “I know I’d rather be in Gryffindor than Slytherin, if that’s what you want me to say. That lot are all wrong.” He pondered a little about the second of Lupin’s questions. “I guess... I guess some people in a House are better than others. Some Ravenclaws have got to be smarter than others, for instance. And I think that Ron makes a better Gryffindor than Percy,” he said stoutly.
“Why would you rather be in Gryffindor than Slytherin?” Lupin asked mildly, as if the question was purely academic, and of no great importance.
Harry gaped at him. “You’re kidding, right? Would you have wanted to go into Slytherin?” He snorted in disgust.
“What’s wrong with Slytherin?” Lupin remarked, in the same casual tone. He cocked his head on one side and looked at Harry benignly. It made Harry nervous; he began to suspect that some sort of trap was being laid for him, where whatever he answered would be wrong.
“They’re horrible people,” he said flatly. “Look at Malfoy. Look at Snape. They’re ambitious; they’d do anything for power. All the witches and wizards who have gone bad have been from Slytherin,” he continued, before remembering abruptly that such was not the case.
“Wormtail was not,” said Lupin tightly, “but we’ll come back to him. So it’s your opinion that ambition is bad, is it?”
Harry felt around the question in his mind before he answered, probing carefully. “I think... I think that it can be bad when it’s misused,” he answered slowly.
“Ah,” said Lupin, a smile beginning to form on his tired face. “Now you’re getting somewhere, Harry. Ambition can be misused, it is true, but ambition is not itself wholly bad “ it can have positive affects as well. The desire to improve oneself, to fulfil one’s potential; now that is a positive characteristic.”
“Slytherins aren’t like that though,” said Harry dismissively.
“Are they not?” said Lupin, arching his eyebrows. “Look at Professor Snape “ yes, Harry, Snape.” Harry had snorted disbelievingly and was shaking his head. “You don’t believe me? You may not like him, Harry, and I can’t say that I entirely blame you for that, but look what he has done with his ambition, his talent. I was with him at Hogwarts when we were your age. You know, of course, that he was into the Dark Arts even then...” Harry nodded, remembering that Sirius and Lupin had told him much the same thing once, after he had seen his father bullying Snape in the Potion Master’s Pensieve. “Well,” Lupin continued, “What you might not know is that he was equally as good at Potions. Probably the best that Hogwarts has ever seen, I expect... You see, even then Gryffindor was sharing Potion classes with Slytherin, and before the end of first year it was clear that Snape had a rather extraordinary talent for it. By the end of third year, he was probably as capable as our own Potion Master. But here’s the thing, Harry,” and Lupin bent towards him seriously, “he worked at it, harder than anyone I’ve ever seen, before or since. He had a talent for making Potions, just as you have a talent for playing Quidditch; but it wasn’t enough for him to just be talented, he wanted to be the best. And he is,” Lupin concluded simply. “Remember the Wolfsbane Potion? Do you remember I told you that there were very few people capable of concocting it? It’s true “ I could probably count on one hand the number of witches and wizards in the world who can successfully brew it. Even Dumbledore has admitted that it’s beyond him, but then he was always more interested in Transfiguration, I suppose,” finished Lupin fairly. “Is that sort of ambition so unworthy of admiration?”
“I suppose not,” Harry admitted reluctantly. He also had to admit to himself that if it were, then Hermione should also have been placed in Slytherin. She worked harder at her studies than anyone he knew; as she worked on behalf of SPEW. Harry supposed that one could also be ambitious on the behalf of others, although he didn’t want to let Snape off so lightly. “It doesn’t make him a better person though, does it? I bet Dumbledore had to order him to make it for you. He wouldn’t have done it on his own.”
“I must confess that you are right,” said Lupin with a grim smile. “Dumbledore did order him to attempt it. Snape has never been a friend of mine, and no doubt would dearly love to leave me to my own devices. But in all fairness, Harry,” he continued quietly, “Every month since I have left Hogwarts a vial of Wolfsbane turns up on my doorstep. I no longer teach at Hogwarts, and thus Dumbledore has no authority to make Snape continue to use school supplies on my account. Snape may detest me, he may loathe me, and not without reason, but he does not forget me. There is good in that, even so.”
Harry was silent, dumb-founded. “I don’t know what to say,” he said finally.
Lupin looked at him with what seemed like repressed amusement. “Yes, quite.”
“I still think Snape’s a bastard,” Harry blurted honestly. “And the rest of Slytherin isn’t much better. One good deed isn’t going to change that.”
“Snape is a bastard,” Lupin allowed. “Certainly he is. But to get back to the rest of the Slytherins... you told me that no witch or wizard had turned bad that wasn’t from Slytherin. That is an unfounded legend. We ourselves know an exception to that case, and believe me, Harry they do exist in all the Houses, excepting, strangely enough, Hufflepuff. It just seems that when times are perilous, as is the case when Voldemort is involved, Slytherin House has a higher profile, and it is often easier to blame all ills on them instead of looking at our own faults. All the Houses have their defining quality, Harry, and all those qualities can be subverted.”
“No House is as unpleasant as the Slytherins, though,” said Harry stubbornly. “They’re the only House that doesn’t have a single pleasant person in it. The rest of them aren’t like that.”
“Talked to them all, have you?” asked Lupin dryly. Harry flushed and looked away, and his former teacher resumed. “All House qualities can be subverted, Harry. Never forget that. It may surprise you to know, for example, that all three of the Unforgivable Curses were developed by Ravenclaws.”
“What!” said Harry, amazed.
“It’s true. Ravenclaw tends to attract the best and the brightest minds, but those minds are often so intoxicated by the gaining of knowledge that they may not stop to think about whether that knowledge should indeed be gained. The Unforgivables started out as a purely academic exercise “ it was a challenge to see if they could even be developed in the first place. They were, of course, which some would argue was somewhat short-sighted on the part of their inventors. The Ravenclaws have brilliant minds, but that brilliance is capable of blinding them...”
“Hang on a minute,” interrupted Harry, “You were saying that some Ravenclaws had gone over to Voldemort.”
“Most of those that do don’t get caught,” Lupin pointed out. “At least, not with any convincing proof. They’re not clever for nothing, you know. Also, as quick as they are in theoreticals, there are more who aren’t quite so clever when it comes to sorting out who is right and who is wrong. Makes them more likely to cling to structure and tradition than some of the other Houses.” Harry thought of Marietta Edgecombe, the Ravenclaw who had betrayed Dumbledore’s Army to Umbridge, and Cho’s insistence that she was not a bad person, really, just misguided.
“The Hufflepuffs are a different kettle of fish,” continued Lupin. “Hufflepuffs prize fair play and decency, but again that can be used against them. They can be persuaded to hear out people that others would immediately discount as untrustworthy. You saw what they were capable of in your second year, when many of them thought you were the Heir of Slytherin “ although many in other Houses did as well, or so I heard. It can make them gullible, although it must be said that they don’t stay gullible forever. Once they trust you, they tend to trust you forever.” Harry couldn’t help but remember Cedric Diggory...
“And then there’s Gryffindor,” Lupin concluded sternly. “Bravery can be a good thing, a noble thing. But can you give me an example of how it can be misused, Harry?”
Harry didn’t have to reach far before he came to an example, and as he mumbled it he found himself unable to look at his teacher. “Bravery can be recklessness,” he said, his voice shaking. “It doesn’t let you stop and think. When I... when I went to the Ministry of Magic, thinking Voldemort had Sirius trapped there, I was being reckless. Hermione told me so, she said it couldn’t be true, but I...” Harry cleared his throat restlessly, feeling it tighten and prickle. “I didn’t listen. I was sure I was right! I was so sure! And I dragged her, and Ron, and the rest into danger, and all for nothing.” He hung his head, and swiped miserably at his eyes. He resented Lupin for bringing it up again and making him feel even guiltier. “What’s this got to do with anything anyway?” he lashed out.
“It matters, Harry,” said Lupin quietly, “It matters because the Sorting Hat does not differentiate between true bravery and recklessness, just as it does not differentiate between the other three qualities of the Founders. You’ve met Wormtail. Did he strike you as brave? Really brave, I mean?”
“No,” Harry answered. “He betrayed his friends because he was scared. He was a whimpering, pitiful little coward. He should never have been in Gryffindor.”
“But he wasn’t solely a coward, Harry. Wormtail was weak when it mattered, but he could be as reckless as Sirius or your father. He didn’t baulk at becoming an Animagus, nor did he worry about midnight runs with a werewolf, although all of us certainly knew that it was a foolish, foolish thing to do. And the other thing about recklessness as opposed to true bravery, Harry, is that it can be used against other people. You saw the way that we behaved towards Snape. There was no excuse for it “ I might not have taken part, but I didn’t stop it. You can be the worst sort of bully and think yourself brave, because... because you can look at people who you think are less than you are and think that their bravery is also less.” Lupin’s voice had become very quiet, and very sad.
“You asked why I said that Sirius had been stupid and selfish. In... in the First War, when your parents realised that they were in danger, Dumbledore suggested the Fidelius Charm, and... well. You know the story. It was a terrible time, we knew that there was a traitor in our group, but we didn’t know who.” Lupin’s voice was very distant, and Harry listened in growing fascination. “None of us suspected Wormtail, not really. James would never have endangered you or your mother. So that left Sirius and me as the prime suspects. I admit, I thought it was him, and I tried to persuade your father. I knew that it was a mistake as soon as I had done it. He never would have believed that Sirius would betray him, and my trying to implicate him just made me look guilty. So the two of them had a choice: would they trust me, or Wormtail? And... you have to understand, Harry. Voldemort may have hated all non-humans and part-humans, but then, just as now, he was willing to use them to accomplish his goals. And many of them, tired of being treated badly, of being despised by the wizarding world, allowed themselves to be used. Distrust was growing ever stronger against us. There were only a handful of people who knew that I was a werewolf, and of course two of them were Sirius and James. I don’t believe that that would have been enough for them to turn against me, not on its own, but I had implicated Sirius, and so... they trusted Wormtail over me. It is... it is hard to believe that what I am never played a part in that decision.”
Harry felt suddenly, immensely sorry for him. “Crazy. That was crazy. I’ve seen Wormtail! How could anyone have trusted him over you?”
Lupin smiled sadly to himself. “They looked at him and they did not think to distinguish between recklessness and true bravery, as you have begun to do. Your mother disagreed with them, but James told her that he and Sirius knew me better than she did. That I am sure of “ Sirius told me himself. But Harry, I want you to understand. The world then was a much darker place than it is even now. Difficult choices had to be made, and James and Sirius did the best they could. Never doubt that.”
“That’s why Sirius left you his house,” said Harry flatly, certainly. “He felt guilty.”
Lupin nodded miserably. “There was no need. I forgave him long ago. The house should have been left to you, you needed a proper home and you’re not even of age. And Sirius didn’t do what he should have by you because of that guilt. If it was absolution he wanted, it was a selfish way of going about it. He should have known better.”
“I shouldn’t have stopped the two of you from killing him,” said Harry unhappily. “Wormtail, I mean.”
“You were braver than I that day,” admitted Lupin, “and I am forever grateful that you did stop us. It would have been a terrible crime, killing a defenceless man purely out of vengeance. It doesn’t matter what he did.”
“I’m sorry,” Harry whispered. He felt terribly ashamed of his father and of Sirius and of himself. Lupin’s strong hands reached over and gripped his shoulders, and he found himself being shaken roughly.
“I don’t want you to feel sorry,” said the werewolf sternly. “I want you to understand. There is no bravery in recklessness. There is no bravery in vengeance, or in tormenting something because it is weaker than you or because it is different. That is why Kreacher is staying in this house, Harry, and that is why you will learn to tolerate him. I will not forget those lessons again, and for the sake of your parents I will make sure, if it is the only thing of worth I do in this life, that you do not forget them either. Do you understand?” And his voice was terrible, more terrible and more certain than Harry had ever heard it. He nodded, and tears ran down his face.
“I understand.”
Lupin’s grip on his shoulders loosened. “Good.” He looked very tired, and his eyes were older than they should have been. Harry was suddenly deeply, profoundly grateful to him, to possibly the one adult in his life that didn’t treat him like a child. He did not enjoy the lesson, and it was unlikely that he ever would, but he wished that there was some way that he could let his teacher know that he was grateful for it regardless “ and then he realised that there was.
“Professor,” he said quietly. “Dumbledore’s in the kitchen. He wants to speak with you.” Lupin nodded silently, and moved wearily towards the door. “Professor?”
Lupin turned. “Yes, Harry?”
“Tell Dumbledore... tell him I said for you to ask about the prophecy.” Lupin stared at him closely for a moment, then nodded and left. Harry breathed a sigh. He thought that it was of relief.