The Best Revenge
Chapter 10
Rancid air hung heavy in the bedroom. Vernon Dursley lay sprawled on his back, mouth open, snoring like a dragon. Petunia was curled on her side, her face etched with anxious dissatisfaction, even in sleep. Snape regarded the pair with revulsion. There were many situations in which potions were superior to charms. Most sleeping potions would assist an individual in finding rest, or minimize the body's functions to permit long-term sleep. Snape had had none of those potions on his person last night, and thus had had to resort to a Morpheus charm.
The charm was effective, but forced sleep on the individual, ignoring all other signals from the body. After twelve hours, the Dursleys' mattress was sodden with voided urine. Well, that was easily dealt with.
They would awaken at any moment. Snape listened briefly to the excited young voice talking with Minerva in the bedroom down the hall, and turned to the subjects before him. The potion he would use on them was perfectly legal, but only because the Ministry did not know it existed. Snape had created it long ago, when his views were somewhat different than they were now. It had a mild affect on witches and witches, but the impact on muggles was overwhelming. It had made dealing with his father in the elder Snape's last years bearable. He felt no remorse at using it on the Dursleys. It certainly would interfere with the exercise of their Free Will, but that was all to the good, as far as he was concerned. A sentence to Azkaban or a muggle prison also interfered with one's Free Will, as did the possession of a conscience. Since the Dursleys had no conscience whatever where it concerned Harry Potter, Snape felt he had every right to directly dictate changes in their behavior. A night's sleep had not cooled his anger. He had decided that, among other things, they should repay more of the boy's money. He would tell Minerva a story about a mild compulsion charm. As to Dumbledore, Snape was not pleased with him. What he did here was none of Dumbledore's business, and he would take care to see that Dumbledore knew as little as possible. He produced an atomizer, and sprayed the potion directly up the Dursleys' nostrils, careful not to breathe it in himself.
It did not act exactly like the Imperius Curse, but rendered the subject submissive and suggestible for at least half a day. Ideas and memories would remain permanently. After allowing ten seconds for the potion to do its work, he put the atomizer away, and cast a "Finite" on them.
"It is perfectly normal for me to be here, and you will listen to me and obey me. Petunia is going to give Harry Potter five hundred pounds for clothing and spending money. That is a good idea, and when either of you see the account records, you will think it was the least you could do for him. You will not think about Harry anymore, or ask him to do anything for you, or try to enter the cupboard under the stairs. You will not try to open the door of his room, and in fact you will not even see it. Harry Potter is not your problem. If anyone asks you about him, you will say that you've had a bit of luck with the boy. It turns out his parents paid his expenses to their old school, and he'll be gone most of the year. A good thing all around. Maybe they'll make something of him at that school of his. You will say that it's called Stornaway School. That is the public name of Hogwarts, by the way, and it has a good reputation. Then you will change the subject. You will never say the actual name of Hogwarts, of course, and you will never mention magic or talk about freaks. The boy goes to school on the first of September. On that date, Vernon will not go to work until after lunch, because you are supposed to take Harry to King's Cross for the morning train. You will not actually take him there, because someone else will take him, but that is the story you will tell people. After that date, you will tell anyone who asks that you've heard he's doing well. During the summer when he is home, you will tell anyone who asks that you don't see much of him. He likes to get his own meals, and he's always studying or meeting friends from his school.
"You, Vernon, will get up, clean yourself, and go to work as usual today. You will not notice Harry or me or any strangers. You will not have breakfast. You could stand to lose a stone or two. Petunia-sit there quietly until I return."
He entered Dudley's room. The smell was even fouler here. After administering the potion spray, he said, "Dudley, it is perfectly normal for me to be here, and you will listen to me and obey me. Sit here until your father is finished in the bathroom. Then open your window, shower, and dress in clean clothes. Then go out for a good long walk of at least an hour. You will not have breakfast today. You could stand to lose a stone or two. Perhaps you should eat more fruits and vegetables, and fewer sweets and fatty foods. Perhaps you should make an effort at your new school. You shouldn't bully other people. If your mother asks you to help her with the house or garden, you will do as you are asked. You will not think about Harry anymore. If anyone asks you about him, you'll tell them that he's going to his parents' old school, and during the summer holidays in the future you will say that he spends all his time studying or seeing his school friends. You will not call him a freak, or insult his parents. You will not like it when your friends do it, and you will tell them you don't like it, and that you've decided to grow up. Then you will change the subject. You won't remember about magic or about my visit last night. Today if you see me or Harry or any other strangers in the house, you will not notice us. You will not try to enter the cupboard under the stairs. You will not remember about your second bedroom or anything left in it. You will not even notice the door."
Snape had no idea what the effect of his suggestions prefaced with "Perhaps-" would have on the boy in the long term. He wondered if he should feel guilty, but decided not to be. His words would give the boy a kind of artificial conscience, something like the ethical restraints that his parents should have instilled in him over the years. It might be interesting to have a look later, and see what actually took place.
While Vernon, and then Dudley, showered and took their leave, Snape looked in to see how Minerva was faring with the boy.
"Professor Snape!" Harry nearly shouted, eager to show him the changes. Snape noted that his fresh clothing now fit him. "Look at my new desk! Professor McGonagall can make furniture out of cardboard boxes!" He explained helpfully, "Cardboard comes from trees, too, so it's easier to transfigure it permanently into things made of wood than if you used plastic or other stuff that's not related."
Snape blinked. "Very impressive. You're a lucky boy, Mr Potter, to have a Transfiguration Mistress do your redecorating."
There was a polished desk of dark oak pushed under the wide-open window. The legs and edges were carved with a barley twist motif. The top of the desk was covered with dark red leather, as was the seat of the matching chair. The globe he remembered as broken last night was repaired and set neatly to one side. An elaborate brass inkstand was ready to be filled. Minerva was smiling smugly.
"I think it will do nicely," she agreed. "Mr Potter, put your quills away-yes, there. The ink is poured in there. Parchment here, your planner-a good idea-yes, just over there. A bookcase next, I believe. Where would you like it?"
A broken box was very soon a tall, handsome bookcase-also of oak. It stood against the wall opposite the window, near the door. The bottom of it was enclosed with cupboard doors, to keep the hoard of toys tidy. Instantly the boy began arranging his books and small treasures. Minerva sat in the elegant desk chair, watching the boy with dry amusement.
"While you are being brilliant," Snape remarked acidly, "please do something about that." He pointed to the lamp. Minerva shuddered. Snape added, "Nothing to the working bits, of course, since the boy will need to use it, but something about the appearance, certainly."
Minerva cocked her head, studying it. Before she could wave her wand, however, there was a flutter outside, and the bushes rustled with the weight of a tawny owl.
Snape remembered the multitude of spells he had cast since yesterday, and all but slapped his head with horror. What if the boy were blamed? "Bloody hell! Is it the Misuse of Magic Office?"
Minerva waved the bird in and removed the message. "Calm down, Severus. Mafalda Hopkirk is an old friend of mine. When you stormed out of Hogwarts yesterday, I sent her an owl telling her that Hogwarts staff would be in and out of Mr Potter's house until the beginning of term." She looked over the note. "Yes-she understands that any magic done here is being done by qualified adults."
Harry watched it all in amazement. Shyly, he approached the owl, stretching out his hand. "Owls deliver messages? That's fantastic! I have got to get myself one!"
"An excellent idea, Mr Potter," Minerva answered absently, as she unfolded another piece of paper from the message.
Snape was considering the situation. In effect, Minerva had just removed the Trace from the boy's wand. It would make it much easier to get the boy acclimated to his studies now.
Minerva handed the attachment to him. "Fill in your name-here. You need to have Mrs Dursley sign this."
"What is it?" Snape looked it over. It was a standard Ministry form, but one he had never seen before.
"If she signs it, it will name you her proxy for Mr Potter's contacts with the wizarding world. You'll act as her deputy guardian while he is at school, and for situations involving magic."
Harry looked up hopefully. Snape was puzzled.
"I've never heard of such a thing."
"It's not often done," Minerva allowed. "In fact, not for years. I asked Mafalda to track the form down for me." Turning to Harry, she said, "Years ago, Mr Potter, when I was a young student, there was a boy at Hogwarts who lived in an orphanage. While we permit muggle families of students to know about magic, an institution cannot be permitted the same rights. We send grade reports to your guardian, and ask them to sign permission forms, and contact them if you are injured. Obviously, we couldn't send a grade report for things like Charms and Potions to the head of a muggle orphanage, who might well be replaced at any time. Therefore, one of the boy's professors became proxy guardian for magical affairs."
"His Head of House?" Snape asked.
"Actually, Albus was his proxy. The boy was not a Gryffindor, but Albus had been his first contact in the wizarding world."
"Why not Albus again? He's the Headmaster." Snape looked away from the hurt disappointment on Harry's face. He continued, "He would undoubtedly consider it his prerogative."
Minerva shook her head. "I don't think so. You know what we discussed last night? Others might want to be Mr. Potter's proxy, but you're in a unique position. No other witch or wizard was Lily and Petunia Evans' childhood neighbor and playmate. It makes perfect sense, especially to people who really don't know the truth of the situation. No one will think to question it."
Snape stood mulling it over, and Harry felt hopeful again. He stroked the owl's soft feathers, and received a gentle nip in return. Smiling, he remembered the beautiful white owl in the shop. Perhaps it was still for sale.
"Well, Mr Potter," Snape asked. "What do you think about this? Be warned: if I am in charge of your dealings with the wizarding world, I will expect exemplary grades and sterling conduct."
"You'll be seeing my grades instead of Aunt Petunia?"
"Exactly. It probably is for the best that the Dursleys not receive owls from us. I'm planning on altering your family's memories so that they will almost never even think of you, much less think of bothering you. Even if Petunia were well-disposed towards you, I believe a wizard would be of more use to you in guiding your studies."
"I think so too!" Harry agreed, relieved. "It would be great if you'd be my guardian."
Snape corrected him carefully. "I won't be your legal guardian, Mr Potter. Just the proxy. If people ever ask you who your guardian is, you must tell them that it is your Aunt Petunia. If they press you, you can tell them that she appointed me to be her proxy for magical affairs because we have known each other all our lives. It's stretching the truth, but it will keep other people from trying to get hold of you."
He strode down the hall and presented the form to a tractable Petunia for her signature. He signed it as well, and returned to find Harry still admiring the tawny owl. The boy watched, fascinated, as Snape demonstrated how to fasten a message and direct an owl.
The boy told McGonagall, "When we were at Diagon Alley, I saw this white owl. It was gorgeous. I hope it's still there when I go back to get my boots."
"I hope so too, Mr Potter," the witch replied kindly. "Now back to the matter at hand. What do you think a lamp should look like?"
Snape left them to it, realizing that this morning the boy would learn more about the principles of Transfiguration than most pureblooded children learned in their entire childhoods. He stopped by Dudley's room to cast a "Scourgify" and then a drying charm on the bed. He did likewise in Petunia's room. Then it was time to take Petunia out on their errands. This was going to be much more complicated.
He sent her off to shower and change, telling her that they were going to the bank today, and she would need to dress appropriately, and bring all the papers about Harry's benefits. With a sniff, he instructed her to behave politely to everyone, including himself, and to speak of the boy as "Harry."
Snape disliked being seen on the street with Petunia Evans Dursley. He had never liked her from the day they met, and there was something wrong about walking beside her. Twice they ran into acquaintances of Petunia's, and Snape had to describe himself as an "old friend of the family," while enduring Petunia's smiling acquiescence. No one seemed to find anything inappropriate about seeing the two of them together, which Snape found perversely irritating.
He had decided that it would be best to set up Harry's account at a different bank than the one the Dursleys patronised. The five hundred pounds that would be the initial deposit was withdrawn from the Dursleys' account and then taken to another bank. With a little mental pressure, Snape was able to have the account set up in Harry's name with both Petunia and Snape himself shown as custodians. The child benefit and guardian's allowance would be deposited directly into the account in future. All statements would be sent to Snape's muggle address. Snape forced himself to smile and respond pleasantly to the bank clerk's silly small talk. He would have to return here from time to time, and did not want to attract unwanted notice or incur any hostility. Petunia, under the influence of the potion, was uncommonly docile and accommodating. When she was not being horrid her face relaxed, and she did not look so entirely unworthy of being Lily Evans' sister.
On the way back to Privet Drive, Snape had another surprise. Walking at some distance ahead of them was a woman he believed he knew: a squib named Arabella Figg. Snape remembered that she had run errands for Albus during the war. She had learned to fit in among the muggles quite well, but Snape wondered what she was doing in the neighborhood.
Only for a moment. Instantly, he realized that she must be here on Albus' business. Quietly, he asked Petunia, "Do you know that woman over there?"
Pleasantly, Petunia answered, "Mrs Figg. A little odd, but quite useful. She often looks after Harry when we want to go out with Dudders."
"How long has she lived here?"
"Oh-nearly as long as we have. I believe she took the house on Wisteria Walk not long after Harry came to us."
"I see."
He did. Albus knows everything, the twinkling old spider. The woman was placed in the neighborhood in order to report to him. What exactly did she tell him? Snape decided a discreet interview with Arabella Figg would be desirable.
That would come later, however. He led Petunia back to Privet Drive, and sat with her for over an hour, listening in as she dealt with a bureaucrat over the telephone about the boy's benefits and the bank account. When all was settled, and she hung up the receiver, Snape had her look at the address he had written.
He said, "Whenever you receive any correspondence about Harry, whether from the government or elsewhere, you will forward it to me immediately to this address, and then you will forget about it. I will deal with Harry's affairs. Do you understand?"
"I understand," she answered obediently.
"So glad," Snape muttered. Aloud he said, "And if Harry's Aunt Marge comes for a visit, you will send me a note to the same address, telling me the dates." Snape knew that eventually he would have to deal with Vernon's sister, who seemed to have known and collaborated in the boy's abuse. "Then you will forget about it. Clear?"
She nodded.
"Very well, Petunia, we're done here. You will take up your usual housework. You will not notice Harry or me or anyone else about the house. You will have to work somewhat harder, of course, now that you don't have your nephew to help you. If things become too difficult, you should ask darling Dudders to help you. It's so important for a boy to know how to take care of himself. Teaching him how to do house and garden work is really for his own good, and it's your duty to teach him. If necessary, you'll have to persuade Vernon, but you know that right is on your side." Her bland lack of response annoyed him. He hissed, "Are you aware that Vernon and Dudley are dangerously obese?"
"Yes." It was said with perfect calm.
"Don't you care if they die young?"
"Not very much. Vernon is so disgusting. I hate his sister Marge. If he died, I wouldn't have to see her anymore."
"What about your son? Isn't he worth any effort on your part?"
In the same unnervingly calm voice, she complained, "It's so hard to get him to do anything. I'd rather not be bothered. Harry did everything so well, after all."
"No more Harry, Petunia. Not ever again. Now listen to me. You are going to take Dudley to a doctor, and you will follow the doctor's advice. If Vernon objects, you should make an appointment for him, too. They both could stand to lose a few stone. And you can't keep covering up for Dudley's bullying and bad behavior. Find him some sort of sport or class to take up in the summer holidays in future. Take him there yourself if you must. And starting today, you will tell him that you expect him to make good grades at school and to behave like a gentleman. Is that clear?"
"Yes."
Snape blew out a breath, and slumped back on the sofa beside Petunia, wondering why he was bothering. Was it because he believed it would have pleased Lily? Would it have pleased her, in fact? Lily could be very hard on people who disappointed her, as he knew too well. One wrong word, uttered in a moment of panic, had estranged him from her forever, with no hope of mercy or forgiveness. He had heard gossip that she had not attended Petunia's wedding, after some sort of row at her own. It was entirely possible that Lily would have thought the Dursleys deserved one another. She was not very understanding of people who caused their own problems. He smirked, remembering the things she had said to Black when she caught him with a cigarette. And she had despised Snape's father for his drinking. Less vocally, she had let Snape understand how much she despised her own father for the same failing. No one had seen her at her parents' funeral. Perhaps she was too angry to go. Snape took a quick breath, suddenly grasping where the germ of Petunia's vicious story of her sister's drunken "car crash" had come from-the horrible accident that had killed the elder Evanses in the spring of '81. Lily and Petunia were sisters, after all, and there was a certain resembl-No. Such thoughts were disloyal, and he put them aside.
He took comfort in the reflection that there were sound reasons for what he was doing. The Dursleys were bound to attract attention eventually by their aggressive, ridiculous attempts to prove themselves normal. Their behavior was so pathological that it must end in Dudley or Vernon arrested, or Petunia going off the deep end and murdering them, or fed-up neighbors burning the house down over their heads. It was all too probable that one day someone would take note of their abuse of their nephew, and then the muggle police would be involved, and Dumbledore's carefully crafted plan to hide the boy would collapse like a house of cards. Ultimately, the best way for the Dursleys to escape scrutiny was to scrap their deranged pretense of normality and exchange it for the real thing. Besides, if Vernon or Dudley suffered a catastrophic illness while Harry was still in school, it might disrupt life at Privet Drive, and call for further, more complicated interference. The house, he gathered, was not yet paid for, and the loss of Vernon's income would require a change of address. This would inconvenience his own plans for Harry Potter.
Of course, he smiled nastily to himself, he might have put the cat among the pigeons with the ideas he had planted in Petunia and Dudley's heads. Suggestions made under the influence of his potion could only do so much to affect general behavior, and might affect different individuals in different ways. Oh-he had no doubt that they would obey specific orders, but something as vague as "do better in school?" It would be interesting to see what came of it. It was time to be on his way, and do the necessary shopping for alterations to the boy's room.
Still, there was still one thing left he wanted from Petunia.
"Tell me all about what happened at Lily's wedding."
Harry admired his new bed. It was both incredibly posh and incredibly comfortable. He had explained to Professor McGonagall about feeling uneasy in such an open space. She had responded by transfiguring his plain single bed into a curtained oak four-poster, complete with canopy. It was still a single bed in size, but the most gorgeous he had ever seen.
"You will find the beds at Hogwarts very similar," he was told.
It was very cozy, when he drew the bedcurtains. He popped out again, and thanked her profusely. He thanked her yet again when she improved the ugly chest of drawers into something bigger and finer: carved dark oak which matched the desk and bed. He had two spare chairs for his visitors, and she had left some space between the chest of drawers and the door, because she told him he would want a place for his Hogwarts trunk.
The lamp had changed shape and color many times. In its final form, it was a handsome desk lamp: white, sprinkled with Snitches and Quaffles and Beaters Bats, all in gold. It was shaded with a dome of warm amber glass. Professor McGonagall loved Quidditch, and had played on the Gryffindor house team as a Chaser. She knew even more about it than Professor Snape. Harry liked his lamp, and felt it gave a properly magical touch to his room.
The walls were left white- not that there was much to be seen of them with the tall furniture and the two doors and the window. The door to the closet was opposite the window, just after the bookcase when one entered the room from the hall. The bed fit into the far corner of the room. The foot of it was only three feet from the closet.
"Yes." Minerva surveyed the room carefully. "That will do. Your bed lies against the outer wall of the house. In that space between the foot of the bed and the closet, we'll put your private entrance." She gave a sharp, pleased nod, and then asked, "Have you decided on a colour for the curtains yet?"
The curtains had begun as brown, and then evolved into a kind of russet, and then into a dark blue. Harry sorted through his paints and crayons until he found what he liked best. In short order, the window curtains, the bedcurtains, the cushions of the two spare chairs, and a soft woolly rug made from a ragged jumper were a radiant turquoise.
"Maybe a little darker," Harry suggested. They amused themselves, adding a little more green, or a little more blue, or darkening it, or lightening it, until it was perfect: soothing, but neither gloomy nor girly. Harry stroked the velvet of his bedcurtains and duvet, and was more than satisfied.
"Best Room in the World" was his verdict. "Thank you so much, Professor."
"You're very welcome, Mr Potter," Minerva smiled, considering her work. She did not think of herself as one who needlessly coddled children, but Harry had had a wretched life, and it was a kind of catharsis to be able to put some of it right for him, even if only with material goods. She studied the bare walls, and remembered something from her own childhood. "Perhaps a little plain-" she decided.
She lifted her wand once more, and a pattern began emerging, a border of black symbols near the top of the white wall.
"What are those, Professor?" Harry wondered.
"Runes," Minerva replied. "You can do all sorts of magic with runes: Rituals, wards, Symbolic Magic. They can reveal one's true nature and give clues about one's destiny. Real, solid, good old-fashioned magic-not like that tea leaf rubbish in Divina-" She stopped herself, self-conciously, "Well, that's neither here nor there. Before we used wands much here in Britain, there were Runes and Ogham and Dalriadan script. This first set is Old Futhark. Next is Young Futhark. Here is Ogham." The black symbols marched on, neat and uniform. "Next I think I'll write the Greek alphabet, and then the Egyptian hieroglyphics. I shan't bother with the Latin alphabet, since you know it already of course, and the magic in it has mostly dissipated over time." She sighed. "Too much rubbish written in it. Too many muggles using it. It still tells one things, and it can persuade, but much of the magic is gone. However," she told him, "Take Young Futhark here. There's a lot of power in these Runes. Would you like to see your name written in Runes, Mr Potter?"
Harry grinned in response, enjoying the experience of anyone being interested in himself and his name. The symbols did not make much sense to him-the "H" of Harry looked like something between an "N" and an "H," but Professor McGonagall seemed to be very struck by the letters for some reason.
Minerva was indeed startled by what she saw. Neither Lily nor James had studied Runes. Magic had fashions, like everything else, and in their day Runes had been considered "irrelevant." Everyone in their set was all for Astronomy-perhaps because of poor Remus Lupin's problem-and Care of Magical Creatures. Lily likely had never seen her child's name in this old tongue, and had never seen what Minerva now did.
Oh, my. Power and magic and prophecy. The doubled Tyr for the warrior path and the doubled Raido for a journey. Property-an inheritance? Ordeals and hindrances. Well, that's certainly true. Another Raido. The Runes quivered and blended, and then grew clearer. No mere journey, then. An heroic quest. He's such a little boy! Albus is not telling me everything. Really! Harry's adventures did not end the night of Voldemort's disappearance. They've scarcely begun!
Thinking of the house wards gave her a new idea. She shook her head to clear it, and asked briskly, "Would you like to learn to do some real magic of your own today?"
A.N.-Once again, thank you all for your support. I wrote most of this last summer, and your interest has given me the energy to continue! Until next Sunday, then!