The Best Revenge
Chapter 29After forcing himself into a semblance of calm and hearing the children out, Snape sat them down, gave them some of his excellent hot chocolate laced with a Calming Potion, and told them to say nothing to anyone of their conversation.
"I need to think about this," he said tersely.
"We need to do something!" Harry contradicted, a little wildly. "Professor Quirrell might be getting the Stone right now!"
"Drink your chocolate, Harry," Snape managed to make himself sound soothing. "I promise to give this my full attention. It would be impossible for Quirrell to get the Stone tonight or anytime soon. It is well-protected with a variety of safeguards, one of which was designed by myself."
"What kinds of safeguards?" Hermione and Draco asked simultaneously. They glared at each other, blushing.
"Ah," smirked Snape. "Great minds think alike, it seems. I am not going to tell you, for obvious reasons. The less you know about them, the safer the Stone is."
He waved his hand, dismissing their indignant protests. "Attempt to believe that you know less of magic than I. If Quirrell thought you knew about all the challenges, he might find a way to get the information unbeknownst to you." With a frown, he said slowly. "For that reason, I suggest that you make it a practice never to look Quirrell in the eye. Not directly."
"I don't, anyway," Harry agreed, enjoying his drink. "Whenever I look him in the eye it makes my scar hurt."
"Really?" Draco asked. "I didn't know that. Why do you suppose it does that?"
"Dunno. Have you figured anything out, Professor?"
He was too tired to lie. "Yes." Snape said. "And I don't want you to tell anyone else that bit of information, if you please. You lot," he said, fixing each student in turn with a black and menacing stare, "say nothing of it. Not to your housemates. Not," he said sternly to Draco, "to your parents. Tell no one." He noticed Neville's uneasy shuffling, and remarked caustically, "You're very quiet, Mr Longbottom. Would you care to share your thoughts?"
Neville glanced up at him and shook his head quickly.
"I insist," Snape said coldly.
"Well-" Neville ventured timidly, "there's a lot more here than meets the eye. My Gran always says that, but I reckon this time it's true."
"Five points to Gryffindor," Snape drawled. "Don't look so gobsmacked, Mr Longbottom. I am awarding you these points in order that you remember that you are absolutely right. It is immensely important that nothing gets out that could be of use to Quirrell."
Hermione wondered. "Why doesn't Professor Dumbledore just send him away?"
"Why do you think, Miss Granger?"
Draco squinted shrewdly over his cup. "Dumbledore wants to keep an eye on him. He wants to know what he's up to."
"But," Harry objected, "Professor Dumbledore wouldn't care what he's up to if he sent him away so he couldn't get the Stone."
"Whatever the reason," Snape told them, "it is of the greatest importance that you say nothing about any of this to anyone. Don't even think about it when Professor Quirrell is near."
It was on the tip of his tongue to include Dumbledore in his warning, but that might be too alarming to the children. Besides, Dumbledore was unlikely to come in contact with them. He was not exactly a "hands-on" Headmaster, at least in the sense of spending much time with the students, other than at meals. Quirrell was a greater threat, and it was enough that the children be warned against him.
"I think it's time for all of you to be safely home in your Common Rooms. You look about to fall asleep." He took the cup that threatened to fall from Neville's relaxing grip, and said, "Do I have your promise not to divulge these very important secrets?"
They were alert at that, giving him eager assurances. Snape believed Longbottom, and the girl, too, for the most part. He had a feeling that Draco would keep his word unless he felt his father urgently needed to know something. And Harry-
He sighed, seeing the boy's thoughtful frown. Harry had so little experience trusting the adults in his life. Snape believed he had made real headway with the boy, but he sensed that if Harry thought for moment that Snape could not adequately protect the Stone or that he, Harry, was imperatively called upon to step in, there would be trouble. Serious trouble. Somehow he must allay Harry's anxieties, and he would not do it by patting the boy on the head and telling him that all was well. That would make Harry instantly suspicious that his concerns were being dismissed, and then he would cease to confide in Snape and simply go his own way. That could not be permitted to happen.
"I shall hold you all to your word. There is much at stake." Snape told them gravely. "And now, the hour is late. Talk about this amongst yourselves if you must, but be discreet. Do you all understand the word?"
A brief, indignant ruffling, and some rueful smiles. Snape hustled the children away, nodding impatiently at their thanks for the chocolate, giving Harry's shoulder an attempt at a reassuring squeeze. Slytherin and Hufflepuff were in different parts of the dungeons, but Harry and Draco were soon bound for their dormitories and some needed rest.
Longbottom gallantly declared that he would see Miss Granger safe to Ravenclaw Tower before returning to Gryffindor. Snape grunted ironic approval, and watched them as they departed down the corridor. The Granger girl waved a farewell.
"Thank you, Professor Snape. Sleep well!"
Snape grunted again in response. He knew that sleep would be impossible for him until he dealt with the crisis at hand. He hurried back to his quarters, deep in thought. As soon as the door closed, Snape stalked over to his fireplace.
"Minerva!"
"Less than three weeks, Minerva," Snape hissed, his robe whipping around him as he paced her quarters. "Less than three weeks into term and a quartet of first years has not only deduced the presence of the Philosopher's Stone, but they have divined that Quirrell is a threat to it."
"They came to you?"
"Indeed they did-their innocent little faces full of concern for my adult stupidity. I was informed of the presence of the Stone. I was informed that Professor Quirrell is not what he seems to be. I was further informed that the threat on the third floor corridor is a Cerberus named Fluffy, which is guarding a trapdoor, presumably the door that leads to the Stone. Less than three weeks."
"What did you say to them?" Under her breath, she muttered, "Fluffy?"
"I told them part of the truth. What else is to be done? I suppose I could obliviate them-and Dumbledore might prefer that solution, but that would not prevent them coming to the same conclusion eventually, and I do not wish to obliviate Harry. Obliviations are dangerous, and never work exactly as they are supposed to. I think what we will have to do is accept that these children know something of what is going on, and include them in our plans."
"But the danger, Severus! A Cerberus on the third floor. It's a wonder the Weasley twins haven't already been devoured!"
"They are in danger anyway, because of Dumbledore's mad scheme." He sneered. "Hagrid must have been enchanted to have an excuse to foist such a monster on Hogwarts."
"Sometimes I wonder about him, too." Minerva agreed. "A Cerberus! I think I have something about them here." She studied the contents of her bookshelves, and pulled out a heavy volume. Taking it over to her desk, she paged through it, murmuring, "Calypso-Centaur-Cerberus! There's quite a bit here," she told Snape cheerfully. "They're fond of music. Did you know that?"
Snape refused to admit that he did not. He had actually never seen a Cerberus himself, and was rather curious about it.
"Perhaps it would be just as well if you did not lend that volume to Quirrell."
"I never lend books," she answered absently. "You know that. Not even to Albus. Especially not to Albus."
Snape smirked. One Christmas, after a few drinks, Minerva had told the story of her precious copy of the Ogham Book of Ballymore, its pages stuck together with a vile yellow substance that Minerva suspected was melted lemon sherbets.
The runic connection struck him. Perhaps this was the right moment to see if he could surprise her. He said, " Speaking of Ancient Runes, Lucius Malfoy is quite impressed that Harry's scar is in the shape of a Rune-Sygel, I think he said. He called Harry a Child of Destiny. Pompous arse. I'm surprised you hadn't noticed it."
Minerva said nothing, but pursed her lips and peered at him inscrutably over the rims of her spectacles.
Snape's voice rose slightly. "Am I to surmise that you did notice the significance of Harry's scar, but have chosen not to give me this bit of useful information?"
Minerva shook her head. "It's really not something of which I could speak freely-"
"Oh, sod your super-secret witch lore!"
"Watch your tongue with me, my lad!" Minerva snapped back. "It would have been just as well if no one had spotted that Harry's scar was a rune, but now that you know, you can see that news of it would hardly make Harry's life easier."
"Especially that particular rune, I take it!"
"Yes," she said shortly. "It's a powerful sign, but it's open to all sort of interpretations."
"Well," Snape said dryly, "Lucius Malfoy has interpreted it to mean that Harry Potter is destined to be the Next Big Thing. The Dark Lord is so very out-of date-so-so-Eighties."
Minerva actually cackled. "Well, that's one problem solved. No wonder Harry spends so much time with Draco Malfoy. I would have thought Draco would put him off, but the boy is behaving better than I expected. Harry's mother's protection seems to have wider implications than I would have dreamed."
"It's not perfect, though," Snape told her.
On impulse, he decided to confide in Minerva. With her knowledge of Old Magic, she might have some helpful insights. "Something was left over that night. I need to tell you something very serious about Harry, and I must have your word that you will not tell Albus. He might take it very badly."
After a moment's thought, Minerva gave her word, waiting in suspense. Snape did not see any reason to dance away from the truth.
"Harry's scar is tainted with Dark Magic. Though that rune of Lucius-and yours-might have sealed it in, it's leaked a bit."
"Dark Magic from the Killing Curse?"
"Possibly. As you can imagine, it's a unique situation. Have you ever heard of a-horcrux?"
Minerva frowned, searching her memory. She shook her head.
Heavily, Snape continued, "It's the foulest of Dark Magic. There is little written about it, but my understanding is that a wizard seeking immortality tears off a shred of his soul during a murder ritual and deposits it in a receptacle of some sort. As long as the soul shard is safe, the wizard cannot be truly killed."
"Oh!" Minerva said, her brow clearing, "Like Koshchei the Deathless! I remember that old legend. The needle in the egg and the egg in the sparrow-or whatever it was. What has that to do with Harry?"
"I think that the bit of Dark Magic in Harry's scar is in fact a piece of the Dark Lord's soul."
Minerva gasped, her mouth open like a fish.
Then she scowled and answered back with fierce indignation. "I don't believe it! Harry is nothing like that-that-"
"I didn't say he was! The shard is sealed away for the most part, but there is evidence that it relates to the Dark Lord."
"All right." She poured a whisky for herself and another for Snape and sat down, her jaw set to endure the bad news. "What evidence?"
"Harry is a parselmouth."
Minerva looked at him in amazement. "And just when were you planning on sharing that bit of news? How dare you accuse me of keeping secrets? Have you witnessed this?"
"No. The boy told me himself, quite innocently, when we first met. It was one of the ways he understood that he had magical powers. A story about chatting up a snake at the zoo one day. I simply cautioned him to keep that to himself. I've never asked him to show me this ability-" he considered the matter "-though perhaps I should."
"Perhaps you should!" Minerva rejoined tartly. "I'll believe it when I see it. What else do you have that isn't hearsay?"
"Something very serious indeed. All right. When he met Quirrell at the Leaky Cauldron, as I told you, Harry clutched his scar and fainted."
"But that might mean-"
"-And," Snape interrupted her, "I did not tell you at the time, but when I touched Harry's scar, I felt a-tingle-in my Dark Mark."
There was a long silence, broken only by the crackling of the fire and the sound of glass against wood after Minerva downed her whisky in a single swallow. She poured herself another. Finally, she said, "Do you think he meant to do it?"
"No. I don't think he meant to give Harry a bit of himself at all. It doesn't make sense to me. It is possible, however, that he went to the Potters that night with the intention of using their murders to create a horcrux. There-was a prophecy about the Dark Lord, and that he was in danger from a child born in the seventh month."
He studied Minerva's startled expression. After a moment it changed to one of sudden illumination. She sighed as if understanding something for the first time.
Grimly, she only said, "Go on."
"The Dark Lord believed that the child was Harry. Albus obviously believes it, too. It fits, as far as I know, since I only know the first two lines."
"-which are-?" she inquired with hint of acid.
""The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches...Born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies..."
"What thundering rubbish!" Minerva hissed under her breath. "All this fash for a prophecy!"
"But it does fit, I'm afraid. He would have taken real joy in using a child of prophecy as a tool to give himself immortality. He must have brought an object with him to bespell, but we may never know what that was. Apparently, the ritual went wrong-it is obviously a very difficult one-and the Dark Lord was destroyed and the shard he intended for the horcrux went awry and hit the boy. His mother's protection saved the child from both Killing Curse and largely from the soul shard, locking it away and sealing it with that rune. Nonetheless, a horcrux of a sort was created, and it kept the Dark Lord's soul from moving on. That's one scenario I've come up with. I've also considered that it was completely an accident and that the Dark Lord's soul was already compromised by his many murders."
"-And his soul fell to bits, with a portion hitting Harry and the rest slinking off to plot his return," Minerva finished impatiently. "I don't find that convincing. It's too convenient. That horrible creature was all about grand schemes. I can well imagine him dreaming up something so disgusting-making use of a child's death! But he wasn't as clever as he fancied himself!" she added tartly. She thought a little longer. "If Albus is right, and he's trying to find a way back, do you think he knows about Harry-about that bit of soul, I mean?"
Snape shuddered. The thought made him ill. "I really, really, hope not. I see no reason to believe so. If Harry were connected to the Dark Lord's consciousness, he would have had dreams, visions-perhaps direct contact. He has told me nothing of the sort. His behavior in no way resembles the Dark Lord's. There is only the tenuous connection between the Dark Lord's mark and his scar. And his discomfort in the presence of Quirrell-specifically when Quirrell looks in his eyes. Which could mean-"
He stopped. What it truly meant became clear to him at last, inescapably logical. Minerva looked up at him, pale and frightened. He suspected he looked rather frightened himself.
"You don't think-" Minerva whispered. "He's here? That monster is here and he's teaching the children!"
"You'd think he'd be a better Defense teacher," Snape muttered bitterly.
"Is that Quirinius at all? Could it be-"
"This is-extraordinary," Snape said, shaking his head. "I believe it's a genuine possession. Some of Quirinius is still there, but somehow the Dark Lord has got his claws into him."
"Could the fact he made this-horcrux-explain it? How a soul can survive and inhabit another's body?" She thought a little more, and asked, "Can Quirinius be saved?"
"Albus thinks not. I did not understand earlier when we were speaking of Quirrell that Albus has already determined that it is a case of possession. He must believe it to be a voluntary one. He spoke of Quirrell as doomed."
Minerva lurched to her feet, hands twitching, "Looking very sad, and shaking his head more in sorrow than anger, I'll warrant! Well, I won't believe it until I see proof of it for myself! How does he know it was voluntary? Was he there?" She bustled back and forth, thinking hard. "Look here, Severus: there's work to be done! We must get that creature out of Quirinius-out of Hogwarts-out of Harry!-out of the world! What is Albus thinking? Has he gone senile? Is he asleep?"
Snape was thinking himself. "He mentioned a plan to contain the Dark Lord. It must have something to do with those defenses we've been putting together."
"Well, you and I are going to have a hard look at those so-called 'defenses.' Albus can't be serious! A chess-game? What use it that?"
"A chess-game?" Snape asked, distracted. "I made a logic puzzle." Seeing her fuming, he said, "Albus spoke of keeping the Dark Lord's attention fixed on the Stone rather than going off and rallying his old followers-and perhaps finding other-more practical-- ways to regain his form."
Minerva looked at herself in her mirror, her face bleak. She was casting off the most central tenet of her life: her reliance on Albus Dumbledore. "Is the Stone he showed us even real? Is that just a game as well? Is this all smoke and mirrors with nothing solid to depend upon?"
"I don't know. We'll find out. I agree that we should have a look at Albus' vaunted defenses, starting with Fluffy. We'll have to be discreet."
"Of course. And we must keep the children safe, above all. No matter how brilliant Albus fancies his schemes, " she added, utterly disillusioned.
Snape bade her goodnight. Minerva had not moved, but was still studying herself in the mirror, as if looking for answers. Snape knew she needed time to think, and left without another word.
He went immediately to his desk, readied a quill, and began writing a letter. How often had he dreamed of a scholarly correspondence with this great man! He had not, however, imagined writing on such a subject, or with such a grim purpose.
Worthy Grand Master Flamel,
I am the Potions Master of Hogwarts, where the extraordinary item of your devising may be in more danger-and a greater danger to others- than perhaps our Headmaster has led you to believe. Having heard of your love of privacy, I would not force my acquaintance upon you were the situation not of the gravest nature...
"-and a bar of Honeyduke's Finest for each of my favourite firsties," Cedric said, doling out the precious treats at the Hufflepuff table.
"You're the best, Cedric!" Justin said, busily unwrapping his own keepsake of Hogsmeade village.
A flurry of heartfelt thanks followed, and then ecstatic moans.
"So tell us about Hogsmeade, Cedric," said Harry. "What's it like, really?"
Cedric nibbled a licorice whip. "Like any other village, I suppose." He smiled mischievously. "That is, if it's an all-magical village."
"And that means it's unique," Sally nodded, breaking off a small piece of her chocolate bar. "What?" she asked Hannah. "I'm going to save the rest for later. Anyhow-I want to know about all the shops. I hear there's a tearoom there, kept by a witch, where students go on dates-"
"Madam Puddifoot's," Ernie groaned. "Oh, spare us!"
"I passed by it," Cedric admitted. "It's very-pink."
"So you passed by it-quickly, I hope," said Justin. "And then you moved on to greener pastures."
"There's a splendid quidditch shop, where I found a better pair of gloves. A bookshop, a stationer's-all the sorts of things a village hard by a school would want to stock. Two pubs. The Three Broomsticks is the one to go to."
"Is it much like the Leaky Cauldron?" Harry asked. The Leaky Cauldron was the only pub he had ever visited, and thus the yardstick by which he measured all others.
Cedric frowned. "Nicer, I'd say. Cozier. Much cleaner. Madam Rosmerta, who owns the place, is a quite a looker. It's a place for wizards and witches and nobody else. It feels-I don't know-safe. You know how just about anybody might stroll up to the bar at the Leaky Cauldron-hags, dark wizards-even muggles, now and then"
The six first-year Hufflepuffs nodded gravely, even though this was news to most of them.
"Maybe it's just London itself," Cedric mused, half to himself. "There's an edge about the Leaky Cauldron. It's a strange place: anything could happen. There's a bit of danger in the air. It's not a bit like that at the Three Broomsticks. It's hard to imagine anything bad happening there. And the butterbeer is first-rate!"
"I heard about the other pub in Hogsmeade," Susan sniffed. "The Hog's Head. Auntie says that place is dodgy enough!"
"Could be, I reckon. I didn't stop. Saw the fellow who runs the place, though, and he is a strange sort, if you like."
"Did you see the Shrieking Shack?" Hannah asked. She told Sally, "It's supposed to be the most haunted place in Britain. It's creepy and dilapidated, and I heard that if you get too close, you hear the most horrible screams."
"It was a right shambles," Cedric agreed. "I didn't hear any screaming, mind you."
"I can't believe we have to wait a whole two years until we can go to Hogsmeade." Susan said indignantly. "I think it's just wicked to tantalise us so!"
"At least we have the Explorers' meeting to look forward to," Ernie comforted her. "What's for tea tomorrow, Susan?"
"I thought we'd have something that went along with the farm theme," Susan told them, her face brightening. "Pasties and Devonshire splits, Farmhouse Fruitcake, and the little biscuits they make in Tinworth called Goblins' Gold."
Ernie was pleased to display his knowledge. For the edification of the muggle-raised, he explained. "Obviously, they're not really made of gold. They're very crisp, though, and very cheesy. It's the cheese that gives them their yellow colour."
Cedric turned a mock-scowl on Susan. In a high, very Susanish voice, he complained, "I think its just wicked to tantalise a poor, deprived third-year so!"
Susan made a face at him. Hannah said eagerly, "You should come to a meeting and give a presentation. Hagrid's going to give one, so why shouldn't you? You could talk about quidditch!"
Cedric thought about it. "I could tell you about the World Cup," he considered. "The last one was in Spain. Quite a lark, meeting wizards and witches from all over the world. I still have the pictures and some of the things I bought."
"Sounds like fun," Justin said, "I went to the Olympics in Korea. It was like the whole world was there."
Then he had to explain the Olympics to the wizardborn, who were amazed at the variety of events presented.
"Like a World Cup and a dueling competition and flying races all in one!" Ernie said. "I wouldn't know what to look at first. Do they have these Olympics often?"
There was more talk. Eventually, Cedric had to go to practice, and once he was out of sight Susan immediately asked Harry, "Have you found out anything more about that thing?"
"What thing?" Harry teased.
She poked him. "You know. That thing on the third floor!"
Everyone craned in as Harry spoke softly. "I did find out a bit about it. Stay far away from there: it's dangerous. I had to tell Professor Snape about it. He said it's a very important secret and that we mustn't talk to anyone about it, and that we shouldn't even think about it. He's working on it."
"Well, then," Hannah said comfortably, "there you are. Nothing for us to worry about."
"I suppose so," Susan worried, "but some people are so nosy and careless. If anyone were to be hurt-"
"Nobody's going to get hurt as long as they don't go anywhere near there," Harry said firmly. "If we see anyone headed there, we should stop them."
"Unless they're a professor," Ernie added practically.
"Right, "Harry agreed. "Unless they're a professor." And then Ill just watch them, he decided to himself. Very carefully.
Note: Due to a lengthy business trip, I may not be able to post next Sunday. I will, however, post as soon thereafter as possible.