The Best Revenge

Author's note: The heavy pressure of work and the demands of family (I am executor for the estate of my deceased brother and his wife) make it very difficult to respond to every review. I am very sorry, and hope the situation will ease. I do appreciate your interest. Since some of you have raised the same questions, I will try to answer a few of them here:

Is this a "bash-Dumbledore-the-thief" story?

While I enjoy a good Dumbledore bash as much or more than anyone, I am trying for something different here. This is, after all, an alternate universe. I also wanted to write something different than the many super-rich Harry stories. While the books don't really answer the questions that Harry's assets or lack of them raise, I felt an explanation might be possible. My Dumbledore is not an evil person: however, his eye is always on the big picture, and he is so old that everyone else seems like a child to him, which is why he never tells people anything more than he thinks their tiny minds can handle.

Will Harry be in Slytherin?

I love Slytherin!Harry stories. There are a number of excellent ones out there. However, once again I am trying to do something a little fresh with the theme. The essential reason that Harry might have done well in Slytherin, I think, was due to the horcrux (It's all in your head!). If the Hat discounts that extraneous influence, it might choose differently for Harry, whose views and needs might change if his month prior to school is different than the one presented in canon.

Will you continue the story through all seven years?

That's a very interesting question. After thinking for months about things I disliked in canon, I have accepted that JKR is a professional writer—a professional writer—who had a seven book contract. In order to fulfill that contract and earn money, she had to create situations that would draw the story out and make each adventure last a full school year. To do this, she required characters who did not communicate very effectively—or at all. She also required absurdities like the whole premise of Goblet of Fire. However, my Harry now has a mentor whom he will trust, who is intelligent and has a broad knowledge of the Dark Arts. He will talk to him, and vice versa. Minerva McGonagall will also be more personally interested in Harry and consider his best interests. As I am not writing this fanfiction in any hope of remuneration, there is no financial incentive for me to create misunderstandings. We all know that Quirrell is possessed by Voldemort, and so there is no possible mystery for me to develop here—only the question of what are they all going to do about it! I do not have to make the mystery last an entire school year to fill a book, so events may transpire very differently and more quickly than in canon. This is not meant as a JKR-bash. She is a professional writer, and has successfully made a great fortune. Her choices were reasonable ones, given her aims, though I still deplore the direction the story took in HBP and DH. Dickens padded his novels, too.

As to canon, since this is an alternative universe, I feel free to alter certain details (you will notice this especially in Harry's first meeting with Quirrell). Generally, this is because I don't like that canon detail and don't think it makes sense. In a similar vein, I am only admitting to Hogwarts the first years who are actually presented in canon—not the ones from Rowling's well-known notes. Therefore, the class is smaller, and there is no Su-Li or Tracy Davis or Kevin Entwhistle, for example. If JKR didn't put them in the books, they don't exist. My only exception is "Moon" who is mentioned at the Sorting, but who has no first name, gender, or house. I am not using this individual. I like the smaller enrollment, since I've wondered how the teaching staff, as presented, manage all the classes. It might be marginally possible, but the teaching loads are pretty heavy. Anyway—on to the story!

Chapter 5

Snape grimaced at the boy's question. He wanted to tell the boy about Hogwarts in his own way, without the boy being given notions by someone else.

"Do you mean "houses" at Hogwarts?" Snape asked Harry.

"Yes, sir. That boy at the clothing shop said that his brothers were in Gryff—Gryff—"

"Gryffindor," Snape pronounced impatiently. "All Hogwarts is divided into four houses. The houses each have dormitories and a Common Room. Your house is your family while you are at school. The houses are Slytherin, Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff, and Gryffindor."

"My letter didn't say which house I should go to, sir."

"That is decided when you arrive at Hogwarts," Snape said, trying not to be annoyed at the subject. It was a reasonable enough question. "Here is the bookstore. We will purchase your supplies first, Mr Potter, and then have dinner. I promise to answer your questions then."

"OK." Harry hoped he would find out what a "dark wizard" was, too. It sounded kind of neat.

On hearing that Harry was a first year, the clerk at Flourish and Blotts presented him with a stack of books. Harry wanted to look around, and Snape was inclined to indulge him a little. It was a disgrace that the boy had never been encouraged to read at home.

Harry was soon excitedly studying Curses and Counter-curses by Vindictus Viridian. "I'm trying to find out how to curse Dudley."

"Understandable, but you are not allowed to use magic out of school while you are underage, unless in very special circumstances. I will deal with the Dursleys myself. On the other hand, the book is really not a bad introduction to dueling spells. Buy it if you like, but read through your assigned texts first."

He left Harry to pay for the books, and sought out three more books that might be of use to a boy who had only today discovered he was a wizard. He bit his lip, undecided, and then paid for them himself. He spotted Harry and presented the books to him: So You've Found Out Magic Is Real! by Charity Burbage; Hogwarts, A History; and The Tales of Beedle the Bard.

Tapping the cover of the first book, he said, "Read this before anything else. It explains a great many things that students raised among wizards take for granted. This will tell you about wizarding customs, social rankings, how your magical education prepares you for jobs in the magical world, and also how the Ministry of Magic operates."

"There's a Ministry of Magic?" Harry asked, surprised.

"There is indeed. It is our government, and it would be wise to know our laws, especially those that pertain to dealings with muggles."

"What are these others, then?"

"The first will tell you about the school which will be your home for the next seven years. Hogwarts is a thousand years old. You can imagine how much lore has accrued over the centuries. As to the last--you might call it a book of fairytales, but they are stories known to every wizarding child in Britain. They'll give you a bit of light reading, and also help you understand your fellow students' background."

"It'll be great to have books of my own. I've only got Wind in the Willows and The Story of the Treasure Seekers now."

"Well, these are yours. You can take them home and commit them to memory, if you like, and no one can ever take your education from you."

Harry looked briefly depressed. "I'll try. I want to do well, but everybody's bound to know more than me." He looked at the floor and muttered, "I bet I'm the worst in the class."

"Unlikely," Snape told him quietly. "Your mother was one of the top students of her year—remarkably talented both in Charms and in Potions--and she grew up in a muggle family, too. The old wizarding families may talk all they like, but I've never noticed that children from their families do significantly better than the muggleborn—or the halfbloods."

Seeing that Harry was puzzled by these terms, he said briskly, "I'll explain about that later. For now, it is enough for you to know that how well you do in school lies entirely with you. If you study your books and apply yourself, I am certain you will be worthy of your mother."

"I'd better pay for these now, sir."

Snape said stiffly, "I have already paid for them. You may consider them a birthday present."

"Thank you sir!" The boy seemed astounded that anyone would give him a present. It was depressing, but considering Petunia, it was entirely possible that birthday presents were something that only "darling Dudders" received. "I promise I'll study them really hard!"

"Then that will be all the thanks I require," Snape acknowledged. He shrank the books and put them away.

"Was my father a good student, too?" Harry asked as they stepped out of the store.

"He was—" Snape considered what to say. Faint praise might be better than an outright attack. "He was not as outstanding as your mother, but he had some talents of his own. He was a good student of Transfiguration, and a good quidditch player. In time, you will discover your own particular strengths as a wizard."

"What did you like best in school, sir?"

"I was very interested in Defense Against the Dark Arts and in Potions. I am currently the Potions Master at Hogwarts."

"Hmmm," Harry considered. "What sorts of things can you do with potions?"

Snape burst out passionately, "You can do everything with potions! They are the subtlest, the most versatile, the most comprehensive of all the magical arts! Come now, here's MacMillan's Magical Supplies. You need a cauldron—"

"To make potions in?"

"What else?"

Once in the amazing shop, Harry gazed admiringly at a solid gold cauldron. Snape rolled his eyes, and declared, "Pewter, Mr Potter. You will need years of training before you make the sorts of potions that require a gold cauldron." The proper cauldron was selected, along with a nice set of scales that Harry clearly found intriguing and the necessary vials. The standard-size collapsible telescope completed their purchases there, and then it was on to the apothecary, an old acquaintance of Snape's, who gave Harry a special price on his best-quality ingredients, as a favor to the Professor. Harry hung back, staring at silvery unicorn horns.

"Come," Snape gestured, "we still have much to do."

"Are those real, sir?" Harry asked. "They have amazing stuff here!"

Snape's impatience softened slightly. "They do indeed," he agreed, with a parting nod to the apothecary. "Very likely we shall be returning to Diagon Alley at least once before school begins, and you can spend more time examining his stock then."

"I'd like that." Harry told him.

Snape allowed himself a smug little smile. "Here is the shoemaker. You should order something decent to wear with your uniform."

Harry was measured by a harried shop assistant. He was informed that they were extremely busy, but that a pair of black ankle boots—the last word in fashion for the discerning young wizard—would be ready in a week. They would be water-proof and scuff-proof, and could expand magically somewhat to fit his growing feet. And they would be made with beautifully patterned chupacabra leather, especially imported from Central America.

"Not cheap," Snape told Harry when they left the shop, "but an extremely good investment."

"I don't suppose I can wear them when I'm not with wizards and witches, though," Harry said. Rather wistfully, he remarked, "Maybe if Uncle Vernon gives you that other money, I could buy a new pair of trainers. I'd like to have a new pair of those when I'm at home."

"New muggle clothes and shoes would certainly be wise purchases," Snape agreed. "We can do that another day."

Harry looked up quickly, immeasurably reassured by the fact that Professor Snape was talking about return visits. So much of this seemed like a dream that Harry feared he would wake up and find himself in his cupboard again.

Another small shop, the stationer's, was next, where Snape helped Harry choose notebooks and a ream of parchment. The shop smelled of dust and ink. Snape informed Harry that he should purchase a good supply of black ink, as well as plenty of quills.

"We write with quills?" Harry asked anxiously. "I don't know how to do that. Why don't we just use biros?"

"Tradition, I'm afraid," Snape shrugged. "You'll need a penknife, too—one of those over there—yes, the little ones. You'll need to learn how to trim your quills." Seeing the boy utterly at a loss, he told him, "I'll show you how. You have an entire month before school begins. Your mother was worried about the quills, too, but she picked it up fairly quickly. There is a trick to writing with a quill. Here." He added a little calligraphy pamphlet to Harry's purchases. "To help you learn how to make your letters with a quill. And here. A planner. Your mother always used one. It will help you keep track of classes and assignments."

The boy was studying the planner like an explorer discovering a new world. Snape observed, "I daresay you found it rather difficult to do homework in a cupboard. We'll make certain you have a desk in your new room. Sometimes there are homework assignments to be done over the summer."

"I'd like to have a desk." Harry smiled. "I could draw there and everything! Aunt Petunia always had Dudley use the kitchen table when they did his homework, but I wasn't allowed. A desk of my own is better, anyway." He glanced at the pamphlet. "My handwriting is awful. I guess it wouldn't hurt to start over again on that. It's sort of like drawing, too."

"It is, rather. Good handwriting will make life easier for you at school." And it will make life infinitely easier for your teachers, he forbore to say aloud. "Now," he muttered, half to himself, "All that remains is the wand."

He led the boy back down the street. As they passed Eeylops Owl Emporium, Harry paused, watching a beautiful snowy owl flutter to the shop window. It perched and looked out at him, holding the boy's green eyes with her yellow ones.

"She's gorgeous," Harry breathed.

"Yes, very nice, Mr Potter," Snape said, hardly paying attention, "Owls are useful creatures." He realized that Harry was still standing in front of the window, and retraced his steps to collect his charge. "But we really haven't time to shop for pets today. Perhaps when we come for your shoes we can see if there is a creature you fancy. It might be best if your new room were prepared to receive a pet first."

"Good idea," Harry agreed, turning his head to see the owl as long as possible. "It says on the letter that I can have an owl."

"Or a cat or a toad." Snape thought it a bit absurd for the boy to waste his money on an owl, but he had had so few pleasures in his life…"Ah—here is Ollivander's. He's an outstanding craftsman. Come along, come along,"

They stepped from the bustle of the Alley into the solemn silence of the wand shop. Snape shut his eyes, letting the scent of polished wood, of citrus oil, of dust and time and magic bring back to him that long-ago day when he stood here in the boy's place.

"Severus can go first!" Lily told her mother, trying to be polite. She whirled, bright hair snapping, nearly dancing with excitement, shiny black shoes tapping a light rhythm as she paced restlessly.

Mrs Evans was bewildered by Diagon Alley, but in the end, she had been forced to go. Mum had promised to take him and Lily, but had put them off for nearly two weeks with one excuse or another. She was feeling poorly, she was too busy, she needed more time to get the money together. Finally Mrs Evans had come to the house with Lily one morning, and told Mum that they were going today, and wouldn't she like to come along? Mum had stared at them, and then gone to the kitchen and taken a hidden roll of bills from a flour sack.

"Here." she said curtly, thrusting them into Mrs Evans' hand. White powder sifted down onto the floor. "You! Severus! Go along with Mrs Evans now, and see that you mind her. You want to be a wizard? Here's your chance!" She turned her back on them, walking away, back to the kitchen table. She slumped into a chair, head in her hands. Under her breath, she muttered, "We'll see how you like it."

Severus knew that Mrs Evans was doing her best for him, stretching his bit of money as far as it would go, adding some of her own when she thought he wouldn't notice. He did notice it, but he swallowed his pride and feigned ignorance. He had to have enough left for a good wand, even if his cauldron and his scales and some of his books had been Mum's first.

"No!" he whispered, in awe of the shop piled high with oblong brown boxes. Somehow they made him think of coffins. "No," he repeated, a little frightened. "Ladies first. I know that."

"That's very nice of you," Mrs Evans praised him, pretending that she wasn't rather frightened herself. The sudden appearance of the silver-eyed old wizard did not seem to do much to reassure her.

But Lily was not frightened. She stepped forward boldly to meet Mr Ollivander, and laughed a bright, friendly laugh as she was measured and questioned and tested. In due course, there was a fountain of golden sparks, and Lily was the possessor of her own swishy willow wand.

"A nice wand for Charms work," Mr Ollivander informed Mrs Evans. "I wouldn't be surprised if your daughter showed considerable talent for the subject."

"Charms. How nice," Mrs Evans ventured weakly. Snape caught Lily's eye, and they shared a secret grin. Mrs Evans didn't understand anything about magic. She thought Charms were something for young ladies to learn in finishing school.

And then—"Severus Snape. It seems only yesterday that I was selling a wand to young Eileen Prince. Ten inches, cypress…"

It took quite a time to find the right wand. Snape felt like sinking through the floor, terrified that Mr Ollivander would find nothing suitable for the son of a muggle and a witch who had turned her back on her family. Mrs Evans was kind to bring him here, but her patience was starting to show, and Lily was wild for some ice cream—

"Severus Snape," whispered a reedy old man's voice, "twelve inches, the last of my special ash tree, heartstrings of a particularly nasty Hungarian Horntail. A strong wand, good for dueling. It is still satisfactory, I hope?"

"Entirely," Snape answered, returning to the present. "I am assisting a new student today."

Mr Ollivander came forward, full of wonder.

"Harry Potter!" he declared. "I thought I'd be seeing you soon." He stepped forward into the late afternoon light, studying the boy before him. "You have your mother's eyes."

"I do?" Harry was surprised. No one had ever told him he resembled either of his parents, other than in being a worthless freak. He glanced up at Snape for confirmation. Snape responded with a tight grimace that served as a smile.

"Yes. Your mother had green eyes."

Lost in thought, Snape paid little attention to the old man's description of Lily's wand, and then of James Potter's wand. Snape had known them both well enough, and briefly wondered what had become of them. He looked up suddenly, seeing that Ollivander had brushed the boy's hair aside and was touching the lightning-bolt scar.

…"I'm sorry to say I sold that wand that did it," Ollivander was saying. "Thirteen-and-a-half inches. Yes. Powerful wand, very powerful, and in the wrong hands…well, if I'd known what that wand was going out into the world to do…"

Snape saw the boy's alarmed expression and interrupted. "A wand for Mr Potter? So we can see what he can do?"

"Yes, of course. Let me see."

Snape watched the measurements with a cynical eye, wondering how much was simply showmanship to impress the children. A long succession of wands was attempted, but Ollivander snatched them back almost as fast as he put them in Potter's hands. It was taking quite some time, and Snape could see the boy was getting tired.

Probably hungry, too, he thought. He might not have had lunch. Or breakfast. I've got to get the boy some dinner before he faints from hunger. Not the Leaky Cauldron, though. Not yet.

Ollivander, however, was energized by the challenge. At length he muttered, "Tricky customer, eh? Not to worry, we'll find the perfect match here somewhere—I wonder, now—yes, why not—unusual combination—holly and phoenix feather, eleven inches, nice and supple."

No sooner had the boy taken the wand in his hand than a stream of red and gold sparks shot from the tip. Light danced on the shadowed walls. The boy's face filled with delight. He grinned at Snape triumphantly.

"Didn't I tell you that you were a wizard, Mr Potter?" Snape inquired archly. Red and gold. A hint of a sorting into Gryffindor? Or is it simply a manifestation of the phoenix core?

Ollivander was watching the boy with a wide, pale stare. "Oh, bravo! Yes, indeed, oh, very good. Well, well, well…how curious…how very curious…"

Impatiently, Snape bit out, "What is curious?"

"Ah, Professor Snape. I remember every wand I've ever sold. Every single wand. It so happens that the phoenix whose tail feather is in Mr Potter's wand, gave another feather--just one other. It is very curious indeed that he should be destined for this wand when its brother—why, its brother gave him that scar."

"My scar?" Harry burst out. "I don't understand—"

Snape hissed at Ollivander, "You are worrying the boy, Ollivander. What brother?"

Ollivander's memories were far away. "Yes, thirteen-and-a-half inches. Yew. Curious indeed how these things happen. The wand chooses the wizard, remember…I think we must expect great things from you, Mr Potter…After all, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named did great things—terrible, yes—but great."

"Thank you so much," Snape grunted, wanting the boy out of the shop instantly. "How much?"

The seven galleons were counted out, and Snape hustled his charge away with a light push. Under his hand he could feel the boy's thin back, the bones light as a bird's. Snape fancied he could feel a shiver. Once out in the sunlight, he found he could make himself sound reassuring.

"I think a hearty dinner would do us both good. Don't worry about Ollivander's Delphic ravings. I'll explain that bit of theatre when you have some food in front of you."