The Best Revenge

Chapter 7

Harry was in no hurry to leave the restaurant. His throat was thick with the cool, rich milk, and with talking—talking more than he ever had in his life before tonight. It was simply super, sitting with someone who understood about him and didn't shout and didn't shove and didn't call him names. Aunt Petunia always made a point of "warning" his teachers about him each year, telling them that he was a troublemaker and a liar. After that, even the nice ones looked at him with a little suspicion.

Not Professor Snape, though. He knew Aunt Petunia was the liar. He had stood up to her—he had towered over her and made her listen to him. He had shown Harry a whole new secret world—a world where Harry Potter belonged. He had promised Harry that he would have a room of his own and that he would go to Professor Snape's magic school, instead of to Stonewall High. So far, so—great!

But what will Uncle Vernon say? As nasty as Aunt Petunia could be, as bullying as Dudley was, Harry knew that all real power at Number Four, Privet Drive lay in the moist and meaty hands of Vernon Dursley. Harry always watched those hands from the corner of his eye. He had his pride, and did his best not to flinch, and never to grovel, and to stand up for himself as far as he could, but it was always a good idea to keep track of Uncle Vernon's hands…

Professor Snape's hands were very different. Long-fingered and expressive, they looked like hands that did interesting things. They were callused and marked with a few small scars. Harry wondered what making Potions entailed, exactly. Harry's hands had marks like that too, from cutting vegetables and getting splashed with hot bacon grease. The fact that his hands were something like Professor Snape's pleased him no end.

And I have green eyes like my Mum. She had been a real witch and very smart. Professor Snape said that she was a top student, and liked Charms and Potions best. Harry could hardly wait to look at his schoolbooks. He hadn't told Professor Snape half of the foul things he had heard about her and Dad. Professor Snape was put out enough when he heard the car crash story. What would he say if he knew that Uncle Vernon said they were drunks? What if he knew that Aunt Marge had said that Dad was a worthless layabout, and Mum was—Mum was—

Harry frowned and pressed his lips together. He would never repeat such lies to anyone. Fiercely, he wished Aunt Marge were here too, so Professor Snape could tell her off good and proper!

Snape saw the boy's frown, and raised his brows in inquiry. "You are not eager to discuss the matter with your relations?"

"Oh!" Harry realized that Professor Snape had been talking about going back to Privet Drive. He shrugged. "Uncle Vernon doesn't like anybody to tell him what to do. His face turns a funny shade of purple, and he clenches his hands like this"—Harry made a fist—" and he narrows his eyes like this-"

Snape snorted at Harry's attempt at a menacing squint.

"—and then he starts yelling. When he's really angry he starts out soft and gets louder and louder." Harry made a sour face. "I know you're a wizard and everything, but you should be careful around him. You know how people say 'his bark is worse than his bite?' That's not like Uncle Vernon at all. The teachers at my school are afraid of him. The neighbors, too. I can tell."

"I've faced far worse than a purple-faced muggle in my time, Mr Potter. Nonetheless, I thank you for the information. It doesn't do to underestimate an opponent, even if he doesn't have a wand."

Snape paid the bill and the two of them left the restaurant, which was now filling up with customers. Busy as she was, the waitress gave Harry a bright smile and a "Goodnight! Happy birthday!" as they departed. Harry smiled back, and braced himself to face the confrontation to come.

"Professor Snape—"

"What is it, Mr Potter?"

"No matter what happens, I want you to know that this was the greatest birthday—no, the greatest day of my life. I wanted to thank you for the books and the dinner and the cake and going with me and talking to me. It was really neat, talking to you. I've never talked to grownups much." He kicked at a stone. "I've never talked so much to anyone before. So—thank you."

Snape quite suddenly realized that the boy thought things were not going to turn out at all well tonight. He caught Harry by the shoulder and looked into his eyes for a second, catching a glimpse of himself slinking away, tail between his legs, bested by a huge troll of a muggle. The next image was one of the boy himself being thrown bodily into his cupboard, while the Dursleys laughed triumphantly.

Irritated, he snapped, "Stop right there and listen well. Vernon Dursley will not get the better of me, Mr Potter! And you will have a room of your own and you will go to Hogwarts!" He gestured to an alley, "Step over here. I'll apparate us back directly to Privet Drive. In fact—" He concentrated, and in the space of two breaths they were standing in the upstairs hall of the Dursley home. Harry's jaw dropped, but Snape raised a finger for silence.

He whispered, "Ordinarily, it's unthinkably rude to apparate directly into someone's house. However, I don't care to have your uncle try to slam the door in my face. Let's see if your Aunt has done as I told her to."

Silently, he made his way the few feet down the hall to the smallest bedroom. He looked back to see Harry tip-toeing behind him, in conscientious and ridiculous mimicry. Harry gave him a guileless, trusting smile. Snape rolled his eyes. Somehow I really don't see Slytherin in his future.

They slipped into the room and had a look about. Snape blew out a breath. What a dump! Hadn't he heard that phrase in a film once? "What. A. Dump!"

It was a barren, dismal place. Petunia had indeed cleaned it. The windows were washed, the bare wooden floor was swept, the piles of rubbish were gone. What was left was the most unwelcoming room Snape had ever seen this side of a cell in Azkaban. In fact, it looked rather like a prisoner's cell. The narrow bed was made up with sheets as coarse as sandpaper, a thin and mingy grey blanket, and the flattest, sorriest imitation of a pillow in existence. The straight-backed wooden chair must have come from a factory office. The chest of drawers looked even cheaper than before. It was unfinished pine, and the inside of the drawers was hardly more than pasteboard. Topping it was the only lamp in the room: a hideous object featuring two children with huge heads and grotesque eyes like those of lemurs. They were apparently well-dressed famine victims, to judge from their garishly bright clothing and spindly bodies. The torn shade was made aggressively cheerful with a trimming of little orange velvet balls. Snape turned to express his opinion of this enormity.

The boy was beaming, exactly as if he thought the room was magnificent.

"All mine!" he murmured. "I've never slept in a proper bed before, you know."

"Yes," Snape managed, trying not to blast something. "I know." He cleared his throat quietly, and said, "Let us surprise your relatives." He stepped out of the room and frowned. There was noise coming from the next room. He peered warily, and Harry peered warily in his turn, some two feet below him. Fat Boy was watching his telly, ears covered with huge headphones. He was devouring an enormous bowl of ice cream, dripping chocolate on the floor as he crammed the overloaded spoon into his mouth. Like a Strasbourg goose, Snape thought in disgust.

"It's his favorite program," Harry whispered. "He won't hear a thing, not even if there were thunder and lightning!"

"Good," Snape sneered. "Very good. Now come along, but stay behind me." He gripped his wand tightly, and made his way to the staircase.

From the top of a stairs was a straight view down toward the lounge and the front door. Snape edged to the corner and heard the Dursleys before he saw them. They were waiting at the front door like a pair of cats at a mousehole.

"—tell me what to do in my own house!" A man's voice, throbbing with rage. A pompous, self-satisfied voice. Snape hated that voice.

"We've got to be careful, Vernon," Petunia was saying. "You don't know all the tricks these freaks can do! I knew him when we were children, and he was just like the boy—sneaking and deceitful, making trouble whenever he could! He's vicious, Vernon! He once used his freakishness to drop a tree branch on my head!"

Snape smirked. Harry grinned.

Petunia was still going on about it. "I could have been killed! But it's typical of them. He's one of the worst, Vernon. I was so terrified this afternoon. I couldn't make a sound! He threw me onto the couch and I couldn't move! He said he'd turn you into a cockroach if you gave him trouble! And he threatened our Dudley!"

The man's voice took on a crafty tone. "Then we won't give him a chance, Petunia! When they come back, open the door and let them in. Then slam it behind them and drop to the floor. We'll see who's the better man! No one threatens Dudley!"

Drop to the floor? Just what is he planning? Snape risked a glance-

-And saw the light running down the gleaming barrel of the shotgun in Vernon Dursley's hands.

Snape grasped Harry's shoulder with a grip of iron. When the boy looked up, wide-eyed, Snape pointed firmly at the floor and mouthed, "Wait here!"

For two knuts he would have killed them. Or transfigured them into cockroaches and stamped on them. Or into mayflies and then opened the door- The lifespan of a mayfly was extraordinarily short. Within a day or two—

There was an ancient Roman curse that could turn them into human-shaped piles of lava dust. There was a dustpan in Potter's cupboard. It would be fitting, perhaps—

He briefly allowed himself to indulge in the fantasy, but he knew he would have to face Dumbledore later, and Dumbledore would not understand. Not even if they had threatened his life, and possibly the boy's.

Therefore, he would do this with a minimum of violence. Not the way Dumbledore would choose, perhaps, but with extreme restraint, nevertheless.

Softly, he cast a Jelly-Legs Jinx first on Vernon, and then on Petunia. As they stumbled and fell, completely disoriented, he dealt with the shotgun.

"Good evening," he greeted them, coming down the stairs. "So kind of you to wait up for us."

Petunia uttered a thin, wild shriek. Vernon bellowed in rage, scrambling clumsily on hands and knees, fumbling for his weapon. He staggered toward Snape, face flushed purple.

With an air of cool inquiry, Snape asked, "Are you going to hit me with that-"

Vernon reached him, and tried to fire.

"—fish?"

"Bloody-bastard!" Vernon dropped the gleaming, thrashing twenty-pound salmon to the floor. Petunia screeched, pointing at it in disbelief and indignation.

"Sit down and shut up!" Snape roared in command. With a few flicks, the Dursleys were immobilized, staring at him in silent hatred and horror. "That's better. I've never seen such a pair of bumbling idiots. That doesn't excuse your evil intent, of course. Did you actually think you could get away with killing me? How were going to keep the boy quiet afterwards, do you imagine?"

He looked deep in their eyes, and what he saw revolted him. Petunia, at least, only pictured imprisonment and threats and starvation. Vernon's image of a two shrouded forms dumped at a distant construction site and covered with cement disturbed him more. The salmon flopped feebly on the white carpet, and then lay still.

Staring at the man, he hissed, "Two birds with one stone? Is that how you pictured it? It's never going to happen. You have no idea of the things I could do to you, but unlike you, I have a few shreds of decency. Oh—we haven't been introduced, have we? I am Professor Severus Snape, Potions Master at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Vernon Dursley, I presume?"

The man's face was a study. Snape fought back a grin, and called out, "You can come down now, Mr Potter. I have the situation well in hand."

The boy descended the stairs slowly, eyes huge and fixed on the helpless couple sprawled on the floor. "Where did the fish come from?" he wondered. "Should I throw it away? It's making a mess of the carpet."

"That," Snape said repressively, "is the Dursleys' problem, not yours. Not ever again. You see that they can do nothing to harm us. And your uncle does look rather colorful, I must say. That particular shade of pinkish-purple is called puce, Mr Potter. It is just the shade you want to achieve when making a potion called Skin Regenerator. Commit it to memory."

"Yes, sir," Harry answered dutifully. "Puce," he murmured to himself, trying to remember the strange word.

A bellow interrupted the lesson. "Mum!" Dudley demanded from upstairs. "I need more ice cream!"

"Ah, yes," mused Snape, "the third member of the Unholy Family. I think we should have Dudders join our conference. Mr Potter, go get your cousin."

Harry blew out a breath and dashed up the stairs. Dudley was still watching telly, grunting in approval at an explosion.

"Dudley!" Harry yelled to get his attention. He pulled the headphones away from an ear and shouted, "Dudley! Your Mum and Dad need you downstairs."

Dudley turned narrowed eyes on him and pushed him away roughly. "What are you doing here, freak? Dad said you were gone for good."

"Well, I'm not, and they want to talk to you right now!" He ducked as Dudley chucked a remote at him, and ran back downstairs. Dudley lumbered after him, shouting, "Get me some ice cream or you'll be sorry!"

Dudley was halfway downstairs when he saw Snape. His dull gaze widened, and he saw his parents, lying unmoving on the floor. With a squeal, he tried to turn and run, but after an "Immobilus!" and a "Mobilcorpus!" he was downstairs and next to his father, eyes bulging.

"Dudley—I can call you Dudley, can't I?" Snape asked, with a mocking smile. "Your parents and I—and Mr Potter there—" he inclined his head in Harry's direction—"feel that it's time you learned some important things about your family history. First of all, magic is real. That's why you're on the floor, unable to move. I did that. I'm a wizard. So is your cousin. I came today, because you cousin will soon be starting his studies in the finest school of magic in the world, Hogwarts. Your parents seem to have some problems with that, but it's simply too bad. Mr Potter is a wizard and must be educated as becomes his station in life. His mother—your Aunt Lily-was a witch and his father a wizard. They were highly regarded in the wizarding world. They did not die in a car crash, but were murdered by an evil being called—" he winced—"Lord Voldemort. After the evil wizard killed your aunt and uncle, he attempted to kill your cousin too, but he failed and was destroyed. Mr Potter is very famous in the wizarding world, and was placed with his muggle family so he would not be inconvenienced by celebrity stalkers. Muggle means 'non-magical,'" he explained condescendingly. "The three of you are muggles.

"However, you and your mother and your father have failed to be anything resembling a normal, decent family. You've tormented your orphaned cousin. He's been undernourished and neglected and locked in a cupboard. Money rightfully belonging to him has not been used for his benefit. For those crimes your parents can go to prison for many years. Have you even heard the term 'child abuse,' Dudley? I'm sure you have. Did you associate it with your cousin? Well, you should have. Your mistreatment of your cousin stops now. Any harassment of Mr Potter—" he turned a menacing glare at each of three Dursleys in turn—"stops today, or there will be consequences. Permanent consequences. Mr Potter now has his own room—what was once your second bedroom. Anything left in it is his. You will not insult him, you will not trouble him, you will not demean him to your associates."

Snape paused, feeling frustrated. His Legilimency made it evident that he was not getting through to these people. They were waiting for him to leave so they could punish the boy. There was no realization that they were wrong: there was simply anger and fear and resentment. They had had control of the boy so long that they viewed their treatment of him as part of the natural order of things, which a freakish monster was unfairly attempting to subvert. It was time to try something else.

"Stupefy!" As he cast the spell on each of them, their eyes shut. Wearily, he turned to Harry. "I'm sick of this lot. Let's go have another look at your room. They'll stay here until I remove the spell."

"Do you think they'll do as you say?" Harry asked as they climbed the stairs.

"They will when I'm done with them. I'll make certain you're safe for the night, and then I'm going to talk with the Headmaster at length about your situation. It may be best that you live elsewhere." Snape considered taking the boy directly to Hogwarts, but felt uneasy about it. Dumbledore had always been so very positive that Potter needed to be with his family. It was possible that there was something about the situation that Snape did not know. "I promise I'll be back in the morning, and then we'll decide what to do."

Harry ran into his new room and bounced gingerly on his new bed. "This is brilliant!" he grinned. "Look! I even have a closet!" He ran to the closet door and opened it with a flourish.

"Whoa!" He jumped to dodge the avalanche of falling toys and books and clothes. Petunia, it seemed, had simply crammed the closet with the contents of the room. A suitcase tumbled out and burst open. A globe, detached from its broken stand, thumped to the floor and rolled to the wall under the window.

Snape and Harry looked at each other, and then at the jumble spilled out before them. Snape snarled, "Stupid woman. Never mind, Mr Potter, I'll get rid of this rubbish!" He raised his wand to vanish it.

"Wait!" Harry yelped. "Some of this might be good stuff! You said everything in the room was mine, didn't you?"

"Of course."

"Well, let me sort through it. Look, there are some books here, and Dudley's planetarium that he didn't want, and a lot of Legos!" Eagerly, he began pawing through the pile, pulling more things from the closet. "There's a leather jacket hanging up in here!" he told Snape, very excited. "Aunt Petunia always gives the good clothes away, but she hasn't taken the last lot yet!" Harry showed Snape a nearly new jacket of soft brown cowhide, and pleaded, "Do you think you could make other clothes fit me like you did before? Please, professor?"

Snape grimaced and allowed, "I suppose so. But not tonight. I must get back to Hogwarts and report to the Headmaster. I want you to get the things you need from the cupboard and get ready for bed. Fetch yourself a glass of water while you're about it. Before I leave, I'll lock the Dursleys in their bedrooms for the night and make sure they sleep late tomorrow. I'll put wards on your room so they can't possibly come in and bother you. You should be up and dressed before seven, because I'll be back then. Don't open your door to anyone but me. Am I perfectly clear?"

"Crystal, sir!" Harry then pointed out, "I don't have a clock."

"There's one in the guest room. You can borrow it for tonight."

While the boy gathered his belongings and showered—"using as much hot water as I like!"—Snape set about doing the things he had not particularly wanted the boy to witness. He roused Petunia, questioned her about the location of documents relating to the boy's child benefits and where the money in the house was kept. Her resistance was futile, since Snape took the information he wanted directly from her mind. Stunning her again, he located the appropriate papers and then removed the eighty-odd pounds from Vernon's wallet. Dumbledore might not approve the use of the Imperius curse, but Snape had a potion in his stores that would serve nearly as well tomorrow.

We'll visit the bank, and we'll get the boy some muggle clothes—

"I'm all ready for bed now, sir!" the boy called in his clear voice.

"I'll be up presently," Snape called back. Quickly he moved the older Dursleys to their own room, and Dudley to his. He turned off the lights and the insupportable glare of the television. He roused them from the stunners only to cast a Morpheus charm on them that would keep them asleep for twelve hours.

Locking their doors, he then went to find Potter, scrubbed clean and smiling, sitting in the midst of his booty.

"You need your rest, Mr Potter," Snape told him. "You've had a busy day today, and tomorrow will be much the same."

"I don't know if I can sleep!" Harry said. "This is all so brilliant! Will you really be back tomorrow, sir? Do you promise?"

Snape lifted his wand, and intoned, "I, Severus Snape, swear on my magic that I will return tomorrow. Are you satisfied now?"

"Yes, sir! Can't I stay up a little longer?"

"No. Into bed with you. Did you set the alarm?"

"For six o'clock, sir. I want to get up and work on my things in the morning."

"Very well. Your relatives will not awaken until after eight. Expect me at seven. And what did I say about opening the door?"

"Only if it's you."

"Right, then." He gestured peremptorily at the bed, and the boy jumped in, drawing the bedclothes up to his chin.

"I've got real sheets!" he told Snape.

"So you do." Snape then bespelled the door and after a moment's hesitation, the window. No muggle could enter through them, and unless led directly to them, no muggle would even take notice of their existence. He saw the boy watching him intently, repeating the incantations soundlessly. He rewarded the attention with a sour smile, and flipped off the light.

Harry said softly, "Good night, Professor Snape. Thanks again!"

"Good night, Mr Potter. Sleep well, and—happy birthday."

He shut the door of the darkened room behind him, and cast a shield charm on it. Now the muggles could not even kick it in, even if they noticed it. Feeling he had done everything he could to protect Lily's child for the moment, he apparated silently back to the gates of Hogwarts.

Harry lay awake for some time, smiling into the darkness, relishing the softness of the mattress under his body. He believed, for the first time he could remember, that he had a future worth living for.

Thank you, all my kind reviewers. I am hoping that after these Easter holidays (Holiday-Ha!) I can begin responding properly to your comments.

Yes, the "fish" line is adapted from the movie Dogma.