The Best Revenge

Chapter 6

In the end, Snape decided that they would have dinner in the muggle world, where they were unlikely to be recognized and interrupted. He doffed his robe and tucked it away, returned his slacks to their proper color, and saw that the shrunken purchases were secured in a nondescript bag. There was a pleasant place in Bloomsbury he knew, and at only a few minutes past six, they were at the restaurant, being shown to a table.

Snape noticed the boy handling the menu rather gingerly, and realized that he might never have been allowed to choose a meal before. "Have what you like, Mr Potter." Seeing the boy's continuing hesitation, Snape told him, "My treat."

"Thank you, sir!" The boy was favoring him with a grateful smile. Snape felt rather nervous, since such expressions were not often directed at him. A pretty young woman came to take their order, making the boy blush.

Snape asked, "Well, what do you want?"

"Oh—I'll have whatever you're having." The boy said it quickly, trying to be nonchalant.

With a smirk, Snape observed, "It's fortunate for you, perhaps, that I'm not in the mood for pig's trotters tonight. The cottage pie here is always good. I'll have that," he said to the girl.

"I like cottage pie," Harry said, eyes shining.

"Cottage pie for both of us," Snape said decisively. "A lager for me and milk for the boy. We'll order our desserts later." Sure enough, the boy's grin grew even broader. "It's your birthday, after all."

"Is it your birthday, love?" cooed the waitress. "How old are you, then?"

"Eleven today," Harry told her proudly.

"Well, a happy birthday to you!" she smiled back.

When she had gone her way, Snape took a deep breath. "I promised to tell you what you want to know, Mr Potter, but first I must ask you this: has your aunt ever told you what happened to your parents?"

Harry studied the worn wooden table. "Just that they were blown up in a car crash, and that they were frea—"

"Don't say it!"

"—they were like me," the boy said softly.

Snape scowled. "First of all, you must always remember that your aunt is a liar. Never believe anything she says. Don't forget that, but do forget anything that she might ever have said about your parents. Your aunt was horribly jealous of your mother when they were girls. She was jealous because your mother was smarter and prettier—and because she was a witch. Apparently Petunia has never gotten over her disappointment at not being invited to Hogwarts, and so she takes it out on you."

"Aunt Petunia wanted to go to Hogwarts?" Harry was amazed.

Snape sneered. "I know for a fact that she wrote a letter to the Headmaster, begging him to admit her. He refused, of course—kindly—but it was still a refusal, and Petunia was devastated. Perhaps that is why she tries so hard to pretend to be perfectly normal now—to compensate for how much she longed for magic when she was a girl."

"I suppose I should be sorry for her," Harry reflected. There was a questioning tone in the words.

"Don't waste your pity on her. She certainly has shown you none. Anyway, Petunia is a liar and your parents certainly were not killed in a 'car crash.' I'm not sure that James Potter was ever inside a muggle motor vehicle, and I'm certain he wouldn't have had a clue how to drive one. The Potters are an old wizarding family, and James Potter grew up as a wizard among wizards. He met your mother at Hogwarts and they were married shortly after they finished school." He took a deep breath, preparing for the harder part of the story. "When we were in school, there was trouble in the wizarding world. A very powerful, very evil wizard had gathered some followers and wanted to force his ideas on everybody else. He used terror and violence to frighten people."

"Were my Mum and Dad afraid of him?"

"They would have been fools not to be!" Snape shot back, more sharply than he meant to. "When we were at the wand shop, Ollivander talked about 'He-Who-Must-Not-Be Named.' Others called him The Dark Lord. Even saying his real name could attract his attention."

"What was his name?" Harry asked, full of curiosity.

"I'll say it once, Mr Potter, and never again. Don't ask it of me. He called himself Voldemort. Lord Voldemort."

"Voldemort," Harry repeated softly.

"Don't make a habit of saying it. It brings back too much. He was truly terrible—certainly Ollivander is right about that. The Ministry was nearly helpless against him. The Dark Lord struck where he pleased. Only Hogwarts was safe, where Albus Dumbledore was—and is—Headmaster. Your mother and father would never have followed The Dark Lord, and on Halloween night, ten years ago, he hunted them down."

He paused, feeling ill. The waitress came, bringing them their drinks.

"Drink your milk," Snape ordered quietly. Harry nodded and began to sip at it.

"It's good," he murmured. "I don't get milk very often."

"I'm going to see about some nutrient supplements for you. You've been on short rations too long." Snape took a long swallow of lager, and went on with the story. "All this must be horrible for you to hear. I assure you it's distressing to tell you. The Dark Lord tried to kill you too, after he had attacked your parents. But something went wrong." He gave a bitter half-smile, and took another drink.

"You would think, with all the times he had used the Killing Curse, that he would have perfected it, but something happened. No one is sure quite what, but it appears that somehow the curse rebounded. It hurt you, of course, and left your unusual scar, but it destroyed the caster."

"So he's gone." Harry said, thinking about it. He looked up and narrowed his eyes. "He is gone, isn't he?"

"Good God, I hope so," Snape said feelingly. "He lost his physical form, at the very least. Perhaps his powers, too. No one found a trace of him. There was a flash of light—"

Harry gasped, "The green light! And a laugh!"

Snape stopped and stared. "How can you possibly remember?"

"I don't know. I just did. I think I've dreamed about the green light sometimes. And a kind of high, cruel laugh."

"The Killing Curse shines green. However," Snape said, more briskly, "there was an explosion that destroyed part of the cottage. His body was never found. Perhaps he was no longer human enough to die—he had undergone unspeakable rituals in his attempt to make himself invulnerable and immortal. In vain, it would seem. If he were able to come back, I'm sure he would."

"What did Mr Ollivander mean about my wand being the brother to that evil wizard's wand? How can a wand have a brother?"

"Ollivander simply meant that your wands share a very similar core. It's nothing for you to worry about. Ollivander told you he only uses unicorn hairs, dragon heartstrings, and phoenix feathers for cores, so many wands have similar cores anyway. In your case—and the Dark Lord's—well—your wand cores come from the same phoenix. And after all, that is not so surprising, since phoenixes are rare birds indeed."

"So you don't think there's anything bad about my wand?" Harry prompted him anxiously.

"Certainly not. Phoenixes are noble creatures. Any evil done by the Dark Lord's wand came from the Dark Lord himself. You have a splendid wand, and I have no doubt it will serve you well. Ollivander is such an old drama queen."

Harry giggled, and gulped down more milk.

The girl came with their food: cottage pie done properly, rich with meaty gravy and the mashed potatoes on top delicately browned. A basket of breadrolls was set temptingly near to Harry, along with all the butter he could possibly want. The girl smiled at Harry, who was too nice a boy not to smile back, despite having just heard the story of his parents' deaths.

"At any rate, that's what happened," Snape told him, beginning on the potatoes. "You were found in the wreckage and taken to your only relatives. The Dark Lord was gone. Some of his followers went to prison, and some awoke from the spells he had used to bind them. There was celebration all around, except for those of us who-thought the price very high."

"I wish he had started on me first," Harry said after swallowing a bit of beef. "He would have been blown up and my parents would have lived."

"Who can say? You should know, Mr Potter, that what happened made you very famous in the wizarding world. People speak of you as 'The Boy-Who-Lived."

"I'm famous?"

"Indeed you are."

"I don't see why," Harry grumbled. "It's not like I did anything. More likely it was my Mum or Dad who did something to protect me, or Voldemort—"

Snape hissed in acute discomfort.

"—Sorry—that evil dark lord who messed up. Why should I be famous? I was just a baby!"

"I agree that it's unlikely that you were the one responsible. Nonetheless, you survived, and since no one else has ever survived the Killing Curse, it impressed many people."

"Whatever," the boy muttered, digging into his dinner. "This is really good, sir."

"It is, isn't it?"

They ate, and talked, and ate. Harry managed to finish every bit of his cottage pie, and he enjoyed his breadrolls, lavished with lashings of butter. Snape ordered him another milk.

He was saying, "You'll find the wizarding world both like and unlike the muggle one. There is magic, but people are still people. Witches and wizards can do amazing things, but there is still stupidity and snobbery, and cleverness and kindness. There are all sorts of ideas and customs that will seem strange to you, which is why I bought Professor Burbage's book for you."

"Do you know her?"

"She teaches Muggle Studies at Hogwarts. I doubt that you will take the class. It is intended for those who know nothing but the wizarding world."

"I wish there was a class for people like me."

"Well, History is supposed to take care of that, but unfortunately—" Snape snorted. "Unfortunately, the teacher is a very dull ghost—"

"A real ghost?"

"A real ghost. He simply never stopped teaching. I've often wondered if he was as dull when he was alive. A course in the wizarding world has been proposed from time to time—" Snape did not think it was the right moment to explain why Dumbledore rejected Lucius Malfoy's annual suggestion. "—but nothing has come of it. Thus the book. Still, there are things I can tell you that would have been too controversial for print. Just as there are social classes in the muggle world, there are different groups in our small wizarding world. There are purebloods, witches and wizards who are descended from other witches and wizards. They consider themselves the wizarding elite. Not everyone agrees. There are halfbloods, who have a magical parent and a parent of muggle extraction. And then there are the muggleborn, whose parents are muggles, and who have no immediate wizarding ancestors. You will find that some people in the wizarding world set a great store by blood and ancestry."

"Am I a pureblood?"

"No. It sounds odd, but you are technically considered a halfblood, since your mother was muggleborn."

"That doesn't make any sense. She was a witch."

"I don't make society's rules, Mr Potter. A pureblood's grandparents must all be witches and wizards. There is a certain degree of prejudice against the muggleborn. Your mother was sometimes annoyed by rude remarks when she was at school." Snape fidgeted a little, remembering one instance all too well.

"Why don't they like muggleborns?"

Snape grimaced. "It's complicated. Some of it is ignorance. Some of the most vocal muggle-haters have never actually met a muggle. Some of it is offended pride when the muggleborn don't bother to learn our customs and traditions—another reason I want you to read the book I gave you. On the other hand, there is a genuine fear of the muggle world in some quarters. We keep ourselves secret, for we must never forget the terrible time of the witch hunts. There are still plenty of muggles who would cause us harm if they knew we existed. Or they would try to enslave us, and harness our magic for their own purposes. I myself think that we are better off keeping ourselves unknown and separate from the muggles. Since the muggleborn have muggle relatives, there is concern that our security could be compromised by careless gossip."

Harry nodded. "If Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon thought that anyone would believe them, I'll bet they'd tell. Except that they'd be embarrassed."

"Is your Uncle Vernon any more reasonable than Petunia?"

Harry raised surprised eyebrows at him.

Snape cleared his throat. "I take it that your expression means that 'reasonable' and 'Uncle Vernon' should not be mentioned in the same breath."

"He hates me," Harry said with perfect conviction. "And he can yell a lot louder than Aunt Petunia."

"Does he ever hit you?"

"Not much. I think," said Harry, frowning at the thought, "I think he's afraid to. Not because he's afraid of me, mind you, but maybe he's afraid he'd kill me if he ever let himself go. And then he'd be in trouble. He likes it when Dudley hits me, though."

Snape scowled, and finished his lager. The waitress was coming to clear the table. Harry shifted uncomfortably.

"Sir, I have to go. I mean—" he jerked his head in the direction of the loo.

Snape waved him away.

The waitress smiled on Snape now. "Your son is such a sweet lad."

"Ah—hmm—he's—" Snape was confused, yet strangely triumphant. I hope you heard that, James Potter!

"We have a lovely chocolate tart. Do you think he'd fancy a bit for his birthday? I can put a candle on it and all."

"Thank you. That would be very nice."

Harry was enchanted by his elaborately decorated slice of cake, and even more by the single candle shining just for him. This had been the best day he could remember, hands down. If only they didn't have to go back to Privet Drive…

"You were going to tell me about the houses, sir," he reminded Snape.

"Yes." Snape was enjoying the tart himself. He consumed chocolate only infrequently, but now and then there was nothing quite like it… "The houses of Hogwarts are an old tradition, handed down by our Founders: Salazar Slytherin, Helga Hufflepuff, Rowena Ravenclaw, and Godric Gryffindor. They built Hogwarts for the purpose of protecting and educating the young witches and wizards of Britain. Each founder prized certain traits in their students, and those traits today are the basis of how you are sorted into your houses."

"What traits?"

"Well—Gryffindor prized courage above all else, and today Gryffindor students are conspicuous for bravery. Rowena Ravenclaw was a scholar, and her favorite students were the most studious and intellectual. Helga Hufflepuff respected hard work and loyalty, and those are the trademark Hufflepuff virtues. And Slytherin—well, Salazar Slytherin was proud of his students' ambitions, and encouraged them to use their wits to achieve their goals."

"So Slytherins are ambitious?"

"Certainly."

"That boy in the shop made it sound like Slytherins were horrible. He said he'd just leave if he had to be a Slytherin."

"Did he indeed? He can leave and welcome, if he doesn't value ambition. Without a drive to achieve, there would be no new discoveries; life would be static; nothing would be accomplished. Many Heads of Department in the Ministry are Slytherins." Conscious that he was not being completely forthcoming, and that it could come back to haunt him, he added, "To be honest, however, there is another Slytherin tradition. Since Salazar Slytherin was unsure of the wisdom of admitting the muggleborn to Hogwarts, generally only purebloods and halfbloods are sorted into the house."

"So some of them are snobs?"

Biting down his first reply, Snape managed a more measured answer. "There are all sorts of snobbery, Mr Potter. I must admit that the evil wizard I told you of was in Slytherin himself. That certainly does not mean that every Slytherin is an evil witch or wizard, or that evil witches and wizards have never come from the other houses. The boy to whom you were speaking comes from a long line of Gryffindors, and there is a long-standing rivalry between Gryffindor and Slytherin. You agree that ambition can be a good thing?"

"Sure."

"As do I. However, all the house traits can be good or bad, depending on how one uses them. Ambition to achieve can be good, but one might have an ambition to be a successful criminal—or a Dark Lord. Loyalty is all very well, and society could not exist without it, but what if that loyalty is directed at an unworthy object? After all, many Germans were loyal to Adolf Hitler. Do you see what I'm getting at?'

"Yes, sir."

"Diligent study can be good, but not if one wastes one's life studying something ugly or worthless. And courage—" he paused, remembering the daring of the Marauders—"Courage is praised in song and story, but courage without reason or justice is only the courage of a wild animal, or a bully."

The boy frowned again, scraping the last of the icing from his plate. "So none of the houses are bad."

"Certainly not. All of them have their good points. It's how you express your ambition, loyalty, studiousness, or courage that makes the difference. And of course, it's ridiculous to think that everyone in a house is the same. Everyone is mixture of the house virtues. Some Gryffindors are loyal, and some Ravenclaws are brave. Hufflepuffs can be ambitious, and Slytherins can work very hard—when all else fails." He smirked slyly.

Harry laughed. "Which houses were my Mum and Dad in?"

"Oh, Gryffindor, the both of them. I suspected your mother would be, of course. She was absolutely fearless. And since many Potters have been in Gryffindor, it's not surprising that your father was too. You'll find that houses seem to run in families. Sometimes I wonder if children are too concerned about disappointing their parents. All the Weasleys have been Gryffindors. That redheaded boy at the shop, I believe, is a Weasley."

"I don't think I'm very brave. Do you think my Mum and Dad would be disappointed if I weren't in Gryffindor?"

"I wasn't close enough to your father to say, but I do know that your mother would be very proud of you, no matter what your house. She would want you to be in the house that suited you best."

"How do you get put in a house?"

Snape's smirk grew conspiratorial. "That, Mr Potter, is a secret. You'll know, soon enough."