At least Snape had asked permission to read that letter the night before. Of course Harry had his suspicions about what might have happened had he refused, but still, Snape had done him the courtesy of asking. Even if he hadn't meant it as much as he should have, it still counted for something.
Whereas Remus was still sitting there, apparently unaware that a young man of sixteen violently estranged from his only family just might want a bit of privacy for his phone call home!
Harry turned the phone off and thrust it in his pocket, deciding that he'd try again later, and that he'd do it away from prying eyes . . . and ears. Of course, being as Remus was a werewolf, and Harry had long suspected he had unusually good hearing, that might take some doing. Still, Grimmauld Place was a big house. He'd find a quiet spot in which to talk. Somewhere.
That reminded him.
"Snape keeps saying this is my house," Harry volunteered as he jumped to his feet. "Is that just a turn of phrase, seeing as I'm staying here for who knows how long?"
Remus looked surprised. "No, it is your house, Harry. Sirius left you everything he had, right down to the socks in his drawers. You didn't know?"
"There were no socks in his drawers," Harry remembered bleakly.
"True. While Severus was dealing with the portrait and the tapestry --Merlin, you have no idea what he had to go through to unstick those monstrosities-- I cleared out Sirius' bedroom for you."
"What on earth for?"
"Well, they were reminders--"
"Yeah, reminders I might have liked, you great lout!" Harry exclaimed. He suddenly had a strong urge to hit someone, most likely Remus; his wand hand actually began itching as though it wanted to throw a violent curse. Thinking that might prove useful, he ran upstairs for his wand, nursing his fury all the way, and then took the stairs three at a time on the way back down, his right arm extended as with a rapid spiral movement he hurled "Rompere!" at Remus.
Or rather, at Remus' reflection in a mirror; Harry wasn't really going to hex Remus, even if he was mad enough to do it.
In the end, though, it didn't matter. The mirror didn't so much as waver under the curse, let alone crack clean through.
Frustrated, Harry yanked off one of his trainers and threw that at the mirror, which still didn't break. "Oh, yeah?" he shouted, thinking that he'd had about enough of this. The next item to go sailing through the air was a small bronze statuette.
Remus flinched when the mirror shattered into a thousand pieces. "Harry . . ."
Turning toward the voice, Harry gave a sheepish smile. "Um, I'm not as out of control as it probably seems. The shoe was pure anger, I'll admit. But then I wondered if the damned mirror had been spelled unbreakable, if that was why my hex failed." He shrugged. "There goes that theory. By the way, though, don't toss out anything else that belonged to Sirius. It really wasn't your place."
"Nothing's been taken from the house except the two things Severus removed," Remus soothed. To Harry, even the tone implied an insult. "Everything else was boxed and put down in the cellar."
His cellar, Harry thought, the phrase itself rather unnerving. He really owned the house, the whole house? "Why didn't anybody tell me all this was mine? Snape seemed to think I knew already."
"Professor Snape, Harry. As to the other, I don't know. Albus should have let you know, as he was appointed executor. Maybe it has to do with the way Sirius died, the circumstances somewhat nebulous."
Maybe it has to do with Dumbledore treating me like I'm still an eleven-year-old he can manipulate, Harry thought, his wand hand itching again. This time, he didn't bother trying to curse anything. Maybe it has to do with last summer. Dumbledore knows I'd rather have come here than gone to Privet Drive, but instead of laying out my options, he made out I had no choice. He didn't trust me to understand the wards, or to realise that my interests would best be served by keeping my mother's blood sacrifice in force. I wonder what else he knows but hasn't told me.
"Is there anything besides the house I should know about?" Harry's voice rang with echoes of dark thoughts. "From Sirius?"
"His Gringotts' vault is yours as well," Remus offered, wincing slightly. "And the Blacks were like the Potters, Harry. More wizard gold than the rest of us actually think decent."
Touch of jealousy, there, Harry thought. "I suppose Dumbledore has the key?"
"Professor Dumbledore, Harry," Remus said, though he nodded.
A sudden thought seized Harry's mind, something he really should have thought of before. Remus had said in his letter that Snape was "graciously providing" the Wolfsbane potion, but that phrase might have more to do with Remus' innate civility than with the stark truth. "Is there anything you need?" Harry thought to ask. "I mean . . ." He didn't want to offend, after all, but he did want to offer. "Um, maybe a lifetime supply of your Potion?"
"It doesn't keep," Remus said, a slight smile curving his lips. "Though you're right; it is quite expensive. As long as Severus and I work together in the Order, I think he will continue to supply me. But I do thank you, Harry."
"It's nothing," Harry answered, and meant it.
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Remus kept Harry busy until nightfall not only with more failed Patronus charms, but with a whole host of ego-shattering experiences. Not that Remus had intended as much, Harry knew. That, and that alone was about all that had kept him from actually yelling at his former Defence teacher.
In a way, it was ridiculous. Just how many times did Remus have to see him stumble, before he concluded that this spell or that just wasn't going to work? Not that Harry thought his magic was gone for good; he'd believed Snape's comments about his dream. He just thought, by then, that Remus' methods weren't going to yield anything of use.
He'd dreamed again, that afternoon, though until he checked with someone, he wouldn't be able to say if these latest dreams were in any sense prophetic. Again, the dream had seemed to have two distinct parts separated by a sensation of mad whirling. This time, though, nothing in the dream had seemed particularly alarming. He'd seen Snape and Remus in Dumbledore's office, exchanging mild pleasantries for a few moments; Remus had looked absolutely awful. Ashen-faced, weak, trembling, his eyes a bleary red, but he'd sat there, polite as you please, and answered, Why yes, Severus, Lucinda is quite well. And Snape had smiled and nodded, rising from his chair, a murmured If I may? crossing his lips before a small stroke of his wand had severed a few strands of Remus' hair.
Then the dream had spun round in faster and faster circles, Dumbledore's office vanishing into a rush of swirling colour, and Harry saw a forest scene, an empty glade, tree branches shifting as a slight breeze picked up. The woods were peaceful and dark, late at night. Abandoned. But something was coming, someone was coming . . .
Harry woke up before anyone or anything arrived.
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Remus had offered to help him in the cellar, but Harry made it pretty clear that he wanted to be alone. He had more than one reason for that. This time, after he flipped open the mobile and dialled, Uncle Vernon picked up. Harry opened his mouth to speak, but in the end, he didn't say a word. He'd wanted to talk to Dudley, but when it came right down to it, he found he didn't have the nerve to so much as ask for him.
You've faced down the Dark Lord with far less anxiety than you display before your relatives, Harry remembered Snape saying.
Disgusted with himself, Harry vowed that next time Vernon Dursley answered, he'd face him down, too.
The phone call out of the way for the moment, Harry quickly found the boxes piled high with Sirius' things. Clothes filled most of one largish box. Several smaller ones held personal items, among them titleless leather-bound books spelled to stay shut. Curious, Harry laid those aside and kept diving through the boxes.