The Best Revenge

A few notes: Thanks again for your wonderful support. I wanted to deal with a few issues before the story goes much farther:

First, I was surprised at how many of you said that I was making you hate Dumbledore. I thought I was going pretty easy on the old fellow. It is true that if you look very closely at all the things he's doing, he's not what I would describe as a nice person. He is very much a user of people, and I think it's a scandal how little he cares about giving his students a good education. I spent a lot of time a few months ago fuming about how a great many of the wizarding world's troubles are due to Dumbledore. That said, the Dumbledore in this story is not a thief and sincerely believes (though he may be wrong) that the things he does are necessary to secure the greatest good for the greatest number. My greatest reservation about him is that he appears to believe that the ends justify the means. I think the historical record indicates that tainted means pretty much always produce a tainted result. However, it would be difficult to argue that the wizarding world has much regard for history, if the presentation of the subject at Hogwarts is any indication. I don't want to write an essay on how Dumbledore let the wizarding world down. I could, but we've heard it all before.

Many of you were also pretty appalled at James and Lily's bad money management. Be careful about taking Snape's thoughts about them for gospel: he is not capable of putting any but the worst construction on anything James Potter ever did. To be completely fair, I believe that 1) they were rightly convinced that defeating Voldemort was the most important thing they could do. 2) There was no reason to be cheap, because if Voldemort won, it was the end of the British wizarding world. Better for Harry to be poor than a slave--or worse. 3) Once James had committed himself to supporting the war effort financially, it was impossible for him, young, proud, and under Dumbledore's influence as he was, to draw the line when the money started running low. 4) James, like many young people who grow up in wealth, had no idea what it would really mean to be poor. 5) Lily might have grasped the idea that they really could die. James, however, had not, and believed that after they defeated Voldemort they would be able to recoup their losses, either through work or making a deal with Celestina Warbeck to get the estate back.

Chapter 9

Harry was up before dawn. He had slept fitfully through the night, waking to unfamiliar sensations of softness beneath him and too much space around him. It certainly wasn't unpleasant, but it was strange. By half past five, he was kneeling on his bed, looking at the apricot sky through his bedroom window. He could see like never before. It had been odd, not to need to fumble for his glasses, not to put them on so carefully, afraid of the sellotaped crack in the nosepiece. Everything was so clear! He could read the tiny print on the bottom of one of Dudley's boxes: "Collector's item for 14 years upwards." He could see things at a distance, too! He could read the street sign at the corner: "Wisteria Walk." If he looked down past his window sill, he could see the massy blooms of the hydrangeas, blue and pink and mixed. He opened the window, and breathed in air fragrant with fresh cut grass and summersweet. The low-angled light cast grey shadows on the plain white walls. His own room. It seemed very big to him, even with all the things piled on the bare wooden floor.

Next, he had the pleasure of making his--own--bed. He tucked in the corners just right, smoothed the blanket, and plumped up the pillow to the fullest possible extent. Then he stood back and sighed with satisfaction at a job well done. Professor Snape would see that Harry deserved to have the room that the Professor had fought for. The Professor promised to come back at seven o'clock. Harry shivered at the thought of what would happen if he did not. Then he decided to put aside his fears. He was in his new room. None of this was a dream. Professor Snape had defied the Dursleys, not once, but twice. He wasn't scared of them, and Harry saw no reason not to trust his word. He only wished it were seven o'clock already!

Should he put on yesterday's clothes? They were the only things that fit him well, but there was a smear of chocolate on the shirt, and the slacks were creased in places, even though Harry had folded them carefully the night before. Of course, if he put on something new, perhaps Professor Snape would shrink that for him as well, and then he would have two good sets of clothes! He sorted through the ragged grey underpants, chose the best of them, and put the rest carefully away in a drawer. No need for the Professor to see those! His socks were pretty terrible too. Socks and underpants might not cost much, though. Maybe they could take a few quid and buy new. Maybe even some real pyjamas, too! Maybe at Gringotts he could have some of his magic money changed for the regular sort, and then he could get all sorts of things he'd always wanted. Did wizards ride bicycles?

But there was already so much right here! Harry chose one of the better-looking shirts from the closet, and a pair of khaki slacks like the Professor's. He buckled his good-as-new belt firmly, to hold the slacks up, and then considered his options.

Professor Snape had said not to open the door to anyone but him. He had also said the Dursleys were locked in, and would sleep until eight. Maybe he meant not opening the door if someone were there? Harry wanted to use the bathroom, brush the taste of sleep from his teeth, and get a fresh glass of cool water. He crept close to the door and listened. He could hear Dudley and Uncle Vernon snoring. Nothing seemed to be moving in the hall or downstairs. He could always tell if Aunt Petunia was up, because the slippers she wore had hard little heels that clacked on the kitchen tiles, and for such a scrawny woman she was not particularly light on her feet. She was never up at dawn, anyway. He took another look at the gorgeous colours in the sky. The Dursleys didn't know what they were missing.

If he were quick and quiet there should be no trouble. Mum would have gone, Harry told himself. Professor Snape says that she was fearless! Harry turned the knob very carefully, and eased the door open. He peered out, up and down the hall. The bedroom doors were shut. If he didn't turn the water on full blast, it would hardly make a noise at all. He could go barefoot, and that way he could be as stealthy as Professor Snape himself.

He was into the bathroom in a flash, glorying in his freedom. First into the bathroom today! No waiting, bladder about to burst, until Aunt Petunia unlocked his cupboard door. He grinned happily, enjoying the luxury of all the time he wanted in the bathroom. Washing his hands with hot water and plenty of soap, he studied his face in the mirror.

He looked different without his glasses. He looked like a new boy. He felt like a new boy!

"So I should," he whispered. "I'm a wizard, and I'm going to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry! I have a room full of gold and silver at the goblin bank, and I have a magic wand."

The green-eyed boy in the mirror agreed with his every word. He made silly faces back at Harry as he brushed his teeth with the good toothpaste. Grinning again, he let the water run until it was very cold, and then filled his glass to the trembling brim. Carefully, he tiptoed back to his room, and shut the door noiselessly. Yes!

He began sorting the treasures from the trash. The books were easy to do, and Harry piled them neatly in a tall stack in a corner. There were all sorts of books here he'd like to read--some he'd already read at school--and a few that failed to interest him, like the Dog Breeders' Guide, a birthday gift to Dudley from Aunt Marge. The books he knew he would never want went into a separate pile. He had promised Professor Snape to read his own birthday present books first, but afterwards he would read Treasure Island and Riddle of the Sands and The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes. To his vast delight, he found another book about the Bastable family, The Would-be-Goods. There was a student dictionary, too, which was not very exciting, but which might help him with schoolwork. Dutifully, Harry decided to put it in the "save" stack.

Some of the sports equipment was easy enough to deal with as well. The things that required a large outdoor area like the croquet set and the badminton net were obviously useless. So were the broken tennis racquets and the splintered cricket bats and the ice skates. That last made Harry shake his head. What was Aunt Petunia thinking? There were all sorts of deflated inflatable odds and ends. There were smashed toy machine guns that used to blink and make "realistic" noises. There were model kits without the pieces and pieces without the instructions and somehow a lot of colored sand from something Harry couldn't guess at. There was a real microscope, which Harry became rather excited about, but which proved to be without any lenses. He sighed and discarded it.

Harry quite liked Legos, but had never had much chance to play with them. Dudley had boxes and boxes of them. A few of the newest had real motors for making things that could move. Some of the sets were scattered, and some of the big pieces were broken, but there was plenty here for hours of fun. Harry gathered the Legos together into one large container, and noticed that there were grey, non-matching blocks amongst them. He dug further into the boxes and found that the grey blocks were part of a castle-building kit made in Spain. It was a huge set, complete with round turrets and arrow slits and conical roofs. Harry sorted the grey blocks back into the castle set and put that kit and the Legos to one side.

In another box of miscellany, he found the base of the globe. Professor Snape had fixed his glasses: maybe he could fix the globe, too? It was an especially nice one, with bumps where there were mountains. Dudley had spun it a few times and pronounced it "boring." And he had said the same thing about the Young Astronomers' Home Planetarium, which had a light inside and could show the constellations on the ceiling. They taught Astronomy at Hogwarts. Maybe he could use the planetarium to study the sky. He had never been out much at night, and the streetlights on Privet Drive were so bright that you couldn't see many stars anyway. The planetarium seemed to be all right, once Harry put it in its broken box the right way. The planetarium joined the globe and Legos.

There was a real easel, with a bolt missing, and there were all sorts of art supplies. Aunt Petunia had taken to heart the advice of one of her lady friends one year, who had gone on about the importance of the "enriched environment," and that "there was only a small window of opportunity in which to make your child's natural talents bloom." Aunt Petunia had talked to Uncle Vernon about the value of music lessons, but Uncle Vernon would not hear of piano lessons for Dudley, which he said were for "pansies."

"I won't have you making a bloody pansy of our Dudders, Pet! You'll be wanting to put him in tights and make a ballet-dancer of him next!"

And nothing had come of possible trumpet lessons or guitar lessons or any other kind of lessons. There was the constant fear that Harry might somehow "get at" any musical instruments carelessly left unattended in the house, and "do something" to them. In the end, Dudley had resolutely declined to bloom, and his "natural talents" seemed to be limited to stuffing his face and menacing smaller children.

But the remains of the failed attempt were stored here. Harry particularly liked a big flat box filled with pastels and charcoals and watercolours and coloured pencils. A few items had been lost, but the set was a great improvement on his three crayon stubs. There were some sketchbooks and pads of art paper. Some of the paper was ruined, but quite a bit could be salvaged. That was added to the pile. There were boxes of stamps and ink pads, and all manner of craft kits. He would have to go over each of them carefully, to see what he liked.

Dudley had been given an elaborate chess set for his last birthday. Harry had thought it was interesting, but on opening the box, he found that being used as a platter had ruined the board, and half the pieces were missing. Disappointed, he set it in the "Discard" pile. So too with all of the board games. Besides, he had no one to play with. So Risk and Clue and Chinese Checkers and Trivial Pursuit were rejected, along with all the puzzles that the closet had held. Harry knew that there could not be a whole one amongst them, and he didn't want to spend hours working on one to find that a crucial piece was gone.

Dudley's first Walkman seemed to be all right, but the headphones were broken, and most of the tapes he could find were in bad shape. After some thought, Harry decided to keep it, and see if Professor Snape would allow him to buy new headphones and some tapes of his own. It would be neat to have music to listen to, and with headphones his relatives would never know.

There was a jumble of toy soldiers and action figures. Harry hadn't had the chance to see many of the programs and films that the action figures were based on, and kept only a few of the nicer ones. He had always liked hearing about Spiderman, and had once been able to read half of a comic book that Dudley had torn. Spiderman had special powers, too. The red and blue figure was surprisingly intact. Darth Vader and Luke, however, were missing their heads, and Princess Leia had been gruesomely burned to death after undergoing unspeakable tortures at the hands of Dudley and Piers. Harry grimaced, and gave the three of them decent burial in the heap of things to be disposed of.

The box of lead figures he hesitated over. They were an expensive gift from a business acquaintance of Uncle Vernon's. Dudley had opened them at a party at the man's house, and then Aunt Petunia had put them away as soon as they were home. She had not wanted to throw them out just in case the acquaintance ever visited. Harry hefted the surprisingly heavy box. Special Collector's Edition: Arthur Pendragon. He lifted the lid and nearly shouted with joy.

Here were people dressed something like the wizards and witches he had seen yesterday! He studied each of the five exquisite figures with delight: King Arthur, red-cloaked, armed with his magic sword Excalibur; Queen Guinevere, golden-haired and dressed in white and blue; Sir Lancelot, all in silver armor; Morgan le Fay, an Enchantress (could that be a kind of witch? Harry wondered) with black hair done up very posh on top of her head with a jeweled headdress, wearing a slinky green gown and holding a sparkling wand; and the white-bearded Wizard Merlin, robed in purple, staff in hand, looking ready to cast spells just like Professor Snape! This was a genuine find, and Harry decided that he must devise a way to display the figures properly.

I wonder if wizards in the olden days used bigger wands? The Professor will know. Blimey! Maybe Merlin was real!

He also wondered what Professor Snape would say about the chemistry set on the floor of the closet. It had vials like his potions vials. A lot of the sulfur was gone. Dudley and Piers had experimented with setting fire to it one day, and had made such a stink that Aunt Petunia had almost raised her voice to them. He grinned in memory. For once she had been at a loss, unable to think of any way to blame it all on him.

The suitcase held some of Dudley's winter clothes that Aunt Petunia had not remembered to give away: a rather nice suit in which Dudley had looked like a sausage; thick and wooly scarves; some white dress shirts that Harry eyed speculatively; some heavy winter slacks; and some jumpers, mostly in horrible colors. Professor Snape could change colors too, he remembered. It was a lot to ask of him, but wasn't it better to fix these things with magic than to waste money?

Harry sorted through the boxes of clothing very soberly, trying to imagine what a wizard would think important. Since the Professor was talking about getting some new clothes and shoes, Harry decided to keep only the best things, and looked longingly again at the leather jacket. He might even have gloves this year.

He worked steadily, forgetting to look at the time, and started when he heard a soft knock at the door. He glanced at the clock. Seven already!

"Potter! Are you awake?" a deep, mellow voice called softly.

"Yes, sir!" Harry instantly opened the door, smiling widely, and then stepped back in confusion when he saw not just the Professor, but what could only be a witch as well!

She was certainly a real witch. She wore robes of green like Morgan le Fay, and she had a tall, conical hat on her head. Straight and stern, she looked about the room unhappily. Then she saw Harry, and her thin face softened into a gentle smile.

"He does have his mother's eyes, " she murmured.

Professor Snape led the witch into the room, shut the door, and said, "Professor McGonagall, this is Harry Potter. Mr Potter, Professor McGonagall will be one of your teachers at Hogwarts. She is here to help us today."

Harry said excitedly. "Happy to meet you, Professor. Your name was on my letter!"

"So it was," she replied. "I was quite pleased to hear that you were going to be joining us this term."

She had a pretty Scots accent. Harry liked the sound of it. He stepped back, and gestured. "I've been working hard on my room since I woke up! Isn't it brilliant?"

Professor McGonagall managed an odd smile, and said tartly, "I'm sure it's a vast improvement on your former lodgings! I was very sorry, Mr Potter, to discover how badly your relatives have treated you. When Professor Snape told me last night what they had been up to, I knew I had to come and help set things right today."

Harry wondered what was going to happen to him. "I really like my room. Do you think the Dursleys will let me keep it? Or will I stay here? Last night," he said to Snape, "you thought that I might go somewhere else."

"Do you want to go somewhere else?" Snape asked, giving the boy an unreadable look.

"I really like my room," Harry repeated, "but the Dursleys are not going to like me having it."

"That is what we are here to discuss, Mr Potter," Minerva assured him.

"You should have some breakfast while we talk, Mr Potter," Snape said. "As long as you can be done before eight, you can make what you like."

"What would you like, Professor?" Harry asked McGonagall politely.

"My dear lad!" she protested, very distressed. "We did not mean--"

Snape said smoothly. "We have already breakfasted at Hogwarts, Mr Potter, but thank you for the invitation."

Harry hurried down the stairs. "Maybe some tea, then?" he asked, glancing back at his visitors.

The two professors looked at each other with expressions that Harry could not interpret. "Tea would be very nice, Mr Potter," said the witch, after a moment.

Harry led them to the spotless, airy kitchen and gestured to the table. "Please take a seat. I won't be long." He hesitated, and then asked Snape, "Are you sure it's all right?"

"Have exactly what you like, Mr Potter," Snape ordered him. "We have a busy day ahead, and you will need all your strength."

Minerva watched, fascinated and rather appalled, as the little boy set about his work with practiced efficiency. There was not a trace of self-important bustling. With great economy of motion, the kettle was on the hob, bread brought out to be toasted, an egg cracked deftly with a single hand, two rashers of bacon set to fry. She looked at Snape rather helplessly. It was all very well for a wizard to be self-sufficient, but the boy's expertise clearly showed that Severus' tale of servitude and exploitation was no more than the truth.

"Milk or lemon for your tea? Harry asked.

"Lemon, please. No sugar."

"For me too, Mr Potter," Snape told him. He noted approvingly that the boy took out a fresh lemon and cut it into thin, identical slices. He'll be a dab hand at preparing potions ingredients. Snape cast a heating charm on the water to set it boiling. The boy lifted his eyebrows in surprise, but had the tea in the strainer--good quality English Breakfast tea--and the cups set out in short order. The pot was rinsed with boiling water first. Snape was very pleased. Potter knew how to brew tea properly. It seemed a good omen.

While that was reaching the perfect strength, the toast popped up, making Minerva jump. Snape smirked at her, and she narrowed her eyes. Harry did not notice, as he was examining the many pots of jam the Dursleys had in stock. He had never tasted any of them. He wondered if he would like orange marmalade or lemon curd better. Or maybe honey? That he had tasted, when Aunt Petunia taught him how to glaze a ham. Plunging into the unknown, he snatched up the jar of raspberry jam, and then quickly turned the bacon. That done, he began filling a glass of water from the tap for himself.

Snape cleared his throat. "Mr Potter, perhaps you might consider milk or juice rather than plain water. I also have a potion for you to drink when you sit down."

"Sorry, sir," Harry apologised. "The milk and juice are just for the Dursleys."

"Today they are for you," Snape declared.

This required another decision, and Harry opted for orange juice, which he thought would be tasty with the crisp saltiness of the bacon. He filled the glass, and then took a look at the tea. It seemed just right, and he served his professors with a certain pride. He had never played host before, but he had seen his aunt and uncle do it many times.

"You're sure you wouldnt care for some toast, at least?" he asked.

"Just tea, " Minerva replied gently.

Snape's gesture told Harry that he should see to his own breakfast. It seemed odd, making such a meal only for himself, but once on his plate it looked very appetizing. He waited for them to try their tea. It was never a good idea to take the first bite at this table. Another glass was at his place, filled with a milky blue liquid.

Minerva saw him waiting, and sipped from her cup. "This is delicious, Mr Potter. Thank you."

"Yes, well done. Now drink your potion and then tuck in," Snape said brusquely. "You eat, and we'll tell you what came of our meeting with the Headmaster last night."

Harry quaffed down the potion obediently. It tasted odd, and rather nasty, but he supposed medicine was supposed to taste like that. Then he ate his breakfast, trying to mind his manners. It was a little unnerving to have a hearty meal while grownups watched him. He kept his eyes on his plate, and found it was less worrying that way.

Snape began. "Mr Potter, you will remember that yesterday I told you that the fact you survived the Killing Curse had made you rather famous in the wizarding world. There are any number of witches and wizards who would be eager to obtain custody of you."

Harry looked up, surprised but a little wary. Who would want him?

"However," Snape continued, "it's all very mixed up with politics. If it were known that you were no longer living with your family, there might be legal battles over you, and some of the participants might not want what is best for you, but want to make use you and your fame for their own ends."

Harry made a face. That didn't sound so good. He bit into the jam-laden toast, and found it was as delicious as he had imagined.

Professor McGonagall put in, "Obviously, we do not want that to happen to you. We discussed placing you with some nice people we know, or even having you come to live year-round at Hogwarts, but that would be contested by anyone related to you."

"I have other relatives?" Harry said, his eyes brightening.

Snape answered, rather sourly. "The wizarding world is small, Mr Potter. Nearly everyone is related, one way or another. In your case, none very closely, because the Potters were only sons for three generations, but any relationship counts among us. As you know, simply being related by blood does not ensure kind treatment. Some of your relatives are decent people, and some are not. If it went before the Wizengamot, we have no guarantee that you would find yourself any better off than you are now."

Harry nodded, rather resigned to his fate with the Dursleys. He only hoped he would not have to give up his room!

Snape grunted, "Professor McGonagall had an idea that would keep you here, technically under your family's roof, but safe from interference by them."

Minerva took another sip of the excellent tea, and laid out the plan. "You will have almost no contact with the Dursleys from this day on, Mr Potter. Perhaps no contact at all, really. We will see that your room is made very comfortable, and you will have no need to step out into the part of the house where the Dursleys live. We will see to it that they do not trouble you."

Harry was worried. "What about--you know--the bathroom? And meals? How will I eat? Will I be locked up in my room until school starts?"

"Of course not!" Minerva was scandalised. "Naturally, you're right to be concerned about such things, but we have thought it through carefully. You'll have your own bathroom. We'll put it in today--"

Harry's eyes widened. "I'll have an ensuite! Wicked!"

McGonagall looked at him reprovingly for interrupting her.

"Sorry, Professor, but that's really great."

"I am glad you approve. Your meals will be brought to you three times a day from Hogwarts by one of the kitchen elves."

Harry bit his lip, not wanting to interrupt, but wondering what a kitchen elf might be. Snape saw the question in the green eyes.

"House elves are small magical creatures who serve witches and wizards, Mr Potter. They live to cook and clean, and they have remarkable powers of their own. Hogwarts has a large staff of such elves in the kitchens. The Headmaster has agreed to assign one to you, who will serve your meals, clean your room, and do your laundry. You will be able to concentrate on your studies without distractions."

Seeing Harry's face, McGonagall reassured him. "They are very kind and friendly beings, Mr. Potter. They will consider it quite an honor. They can also carry messages, if you have any problems or concerns. We, of course, will be back and forth frequently from now until the start of term."

"I do like my room," Harry told them. "And having my own bathroom and regular meals will be great." Bravely, he said, "I have lots of books and things to do in my room. I'll be fine staying there for the next month, really."

Impatiently, Snape growled, "Don't play the martyr, Potter! You and I will be out to the shops any number of times, and Professor McGonagall here believes it to be a good idea for you to have your own entrance to the house. You may come and go as you please, as long as you're sensible. If you're not, we will lock you up until the start of term!"

The thought of all this was dizzying. "My own door? How will you do that?"

Snape gave him an exasperated look. "How do you think? With magic."

"Am I allowed to watch?"

"Why not?" Snape asked. "You just may learn something."

"The time, Severus," Minerva said warningly.

"Thank you. Now, Mr Potter, your relations will be awakening presently from their beauty sleep." He smirked at Harry's laugh. "When we arrived, Professor McGonagall and I took pictures of your cupboard as evidence against them. Remove anything you plan to keep, and then the cupboard will be sealed, and your relatives will never think of it again. No, don't worry about the washing up. I'll deal with your family, while you and Professor McGonagall begin work to improve your room. I'll send your uncle to his place of business and your cousin out to terrorise the neighbors. Your aunt and I may need to undertake some errands this morning. After I've finished with your relatives, I'll go out again and get the items necessary for your new bathroom and entrance."

There was really very little of value left in the cupboard. Harry retrieved his books and his action figures. A picture he had drawn of a flying motorcycle (his teacher had written, "You have a wonderful imagination!" on it) was carefully detached from the wall. The clothes he hoped never to see again. The fish still lay on the carpet, eyes sunken, looking very past its prime. It was beginning to stink horribly.

Minerva was amused at the sight, and told Harry, "A shotgun into a salmon. An excellent example of the art of Transfiguration. I am proud to tell you that I taught Professor Snape, when he was no older than you. I taught your parents, too. Your father had a rare talent for Transfiguration, which I hope you share. It is a difficult and dangerous subject, but infinitely useful. What Professor Snape did last night somewhat resembles the very first lesson you will be learning, which is how to turn matchsticks into needles."

Harry frowned.

"I can see you are wondering what the point of the exercise is. It is easier to transfigure things that resemble one another. We start small, and then apply those lessons to larger and more complicated items."

That made sense. Harry nodded. As they went upstairs, he said to Professor McGonagall. "Magic is pretty amazing."

"Mr Potter, you don't know the half of it."