The Best Revenge
Chapter 30Between them, Snape and McGonagall raised enough questions about the safety of the Stone that Dumbledore suggested that they test the defenses for themselves. They had not told him what the children had discovered, but they said enough that the headmaster understood he could not dismiss their concerns without some concrete reassurances.
"Go this Friday evening, if you like. I'll see that everything is in place."
"Everything ought to be in place already," Minerva pointed out.
Dumbledore smiled faintly. "It will all be ready when needed. I think it will set your minds at rest to see how very thoroughly the Stone is defended against those who would steal it for themselves."
"The Cerberus must be just through these doors," Minerva speculated. She felt carefully in her right pocket for the tiny object.
"Just as long as you don't require me to sing," Snape grunted.
"But Severus," Minerva protested, a glint in her eye, "You have a lovely voice! I shall never forget that Christmas when you and Albus and Elphias Doge regaled us with The Wintersday Carol."
"I have not drunk a half a bottle of firewhisky at a sitting since, and thus I'm not singing," Snape said grimly. "If that's your plan, you can just-"
"Shhh!" she hushed him.
Though the narrow crack she tossed a little gold box with a whispered charm. The glittering cube spun rapidly, six feet above the stone floor. There was a growl and a tentative snap, and the rattling of chains as the beast crept forward.
With a faint smile, Minerva pointed to a corner, and murmured "Engorgio! Harmonia mysteria!"
Snape started as an organ's high, reedy sonority spilled out of the room. The opening figure was repeated, going down, octave by octave, to the lowest vibrating register, and then worked its way up in a massive arpeggio, At the top, ominous minor chords crashed out. The Cerberus flinched, all six eyes bulging. A pause, and then the chords broke into sonic filigree, fluttering and fluting.
Snape peered around the door. A pipe organ had installed itself in a corner of the room The Cerberus was transfixed by the sounds, standing rigid with fascination. Snape glanced back at Minerva, who was nodding with satisfaction. The organ played on, and gradually the Cerberus subsided into blissful, drooling, snoring sleep.
"The Toccata and Fugue in d minor?" Snape asked. "Isn't that a bit of overkill?"
"If a thing's worth doing-"
"Oh, spare me!"
Snape edged past the massive bulk, nose twitching at the odor of the creature's breath. Minerva appeared quite at her ease, and trotted ahead, raising the trapdoor with a wave of her wand. She looked down, her brow knitting in thought. Snape looked over her shoulder. Darkness yawned below them. There were neither steps nor ladder. There was not even a hint of where the bottom might be. Minerva glanced about and summoned a handful of straw. With a whisper, an ethereal spiral staircase assembled itself.
Snape waved her ahead. "Age before beauty."
She only smiled. "Pearls before swine."
She stepped onto a riser, which circled downwards like a leaf in a whirlpool. Snape was on another riser himself in a moment, his wand out and a bright "Lumos" reflecting on stone. Above them the sounds of the organ echoed more and more faintly There was a faint "thump," and the staircase was stopped by something soft. Their lighted wands showed clearly what was under their feet.
"Ah, Pomona!" Snape sighed. "Devils Snare."
Instantly he called forth an intense light, and the branches slithered away out of their path.
"Not a very daunting barrier," Minerva sniffed, "Pomona must have been afraid of hurting someone."
"I daresay it would stop a first year," Snape sneered. "Or a muggle."
A stone passageway loomed ahead, sloping downwards, and they moved along it, listening for any threats. There was only the trickle of water, a faint thread of organ music, and the distant whisper of a draught in the hall. Not too much farther on, the passage opened into a brilliantly lit room, its ceiling arching high above them.
It was full of small, jewel-bright birds, fluttering and tumbling as they flew about the room. On the opposite side of the chamber was a heavy wooden door with a massive bronze handle and lock.
"Very pretty," Minerva said, with a nod to the birds. "Obviously Filius' work."
"Do you think he was down here?" Snape wondered.
"Well, I wasn't," Minerva pointed out. "I merely gave a template-actually a shrunken version of the real barrier. I daresay Filius made something similar, and Albus installed it. Yes, very pretty-"
Snape eyed the birds warily. "They don't look dangerous, but perhaps it would be best to be prepared."
He let Minerva move ahead, while he watched the birds, his wand out to defend them both if necessary. On the other side of the room, Minerva attempted to charm the door open, but with no success.
"That's odd." She spoke another command, more sharply this time.
Snape was studying the glittering little birds. His eyes roamed the chamber for anything hazardous and stopped at the sight of "Broomsticks!" he said. "What do you suppose-?"
His eyes followed the birds and then he understood.
"Keys!"
"What?"
"They're not birds, they're keys!"
"Oh! Very clever. Well done, Severus. So they are. We must simply summon the key to this door. Accio!"
Nothing happened. Minerva huffed with annoyance. "Bespelled to resist a general summoning. There's nothing for it, then."
She summoned a broomstick instead, and was in the air in a flash.
"Gryffindors," Snape muttered.
He hated using a broomstick. He had never been any good as a boy, and had learned some measure of skill by hard, unrelenting work. It had never been "fun" for him. Nonetheless, everyone else, from the Malfoys to Minerva McGonagall, was mad over broomsticks. Snape launched himself after the Deputy Headmistress with hardly a moment's hesitation.
He hissed as a swarm of the winged menaces buzzed around him. One tangled in his hair. Snape grabbed at it and threw it away, wincing. They wove through a whirl of rainbow feathers. How was he to know which one they needed?
"There!" shouted Minerva, pointing ahead, "The big one with bright blue feathers! It matches the size of the lock!"
Trying to locate the one out of the many proved difficult. They caught keys with yellow feathers, keys with green feathers, and then, as they grew more crafty, keys with feathers of baby blue and teal and indigo. Snape glimpsed their quarry for a moment, and nearly had it. It got away from them, speeding ahead, vanishing in a cloud of its brethren.
McGonagall soared up, trying to look at the situation from above. Snape doggedly twisted through the mass of them, wishing he had tied his hair back. Minerva gave a shriek of triumph and dove. Feathers spiraled crazily around her, and suddenly she was nearly on Snape. Surprised, he tried to get out of her way, and was startled to feel her hand brush his back.
"Got it!" she cried. "It was sitting bold as you please on the back of your robes!"
The key fluttered defiantly in her grasp. "None of that, now," she chided it.
She landed gracefully, and walked quickly to the door. Snape was behind, wand out. Minerva turned the key in the lock and the door swung open on darkness.
As they stepped through, light flooded the room, and they found themselves on the edge of huge chessboard, on the black side. The chessmen were taller than they. Opposing them, far away across the black-and-white floor, were the white pieces. Snape was impressed at the monumental scale.
"Your work, then?" he asked.
"Yes," she replied, looking about with pleasure. "Very nice, if I say so myself. Bespelled to play a good game, too."
"Shall I take a nap while you play against yourself?"
"What nonsense!" Minerva flicked her wand and murmured a password, and the entire board floated up to the ceiling. "We haven't time for games. Come along, Severus."
He followed along behind her, glancing up warily at the massive stone square over their heads. They reached the far side and Minerva turned and flicked her wand again.
The chessboard descended behind them, very slowly, and crunched into repose, just as it had been a moment before. Not even the knights' swords quivered.
Quirrell was a fairly good chess player. I have no idea about the Dark Lord, Snape mused. It was impossible to imagine the Dark Lord playing a game. Snape had never seen him require recreation of any kind-unless one considered torture and murder recreation. There had always been an inhuman quality there-or perhaps it was more accurate to say a lack of human qualities. Now that he knew what the Dark Lord was willing to do to himself, it was easy in retrospect to perceive his-incompleteness. He was, quite literally, not all there. It explained so much, and it made Snape feel like a great fool not to have seen it before.
Another passageway. Snape sighed. He pushed the door open for Minerva.
Something was waiting for them on the other side.
Crash!
An immense club slammed into the wall, inches from Minerva's head. She ducked out of the way, gasping, her wand tracking the threat. Snape pushed forward, his nostrils full of the reek of troll.
"Stupefy," he roared, and heard Minerva's simultaneous hex.
A hideously comical look of astonishment, as the troll's jaw dropped open, it sagged to its knees, and then keeled over onto its face. There was a crunch. Snape's nose twitched in sympathy.
"Quirinius' challenge, I believe," Minerva considered, dusting off her robes. "He's always said he had a way with them."
Snape only snorted. Of all the things on Earth to boast of, "I have a way with trolls," had always struck him as rather pathetic. If Quirrell had used it as a pick-up line with witches, he was definitely stupid enough to let himself be possessed by the Dark Lord.
"Another creature that has no business in Hogwarts," Minerva muttered to herself. "This is intolerable!"
Another door was before them, and they opened it slowly, their wands ready for any more unpleasant surprises. Inside the chamber, Snape recognized the challenge at once.
"It's mine," he told Minerva. "Come on."
They stepped over the threshold, and immediately the doorway was filled with purple flames. Minerva started and then looked at the next doorway, where black flames had sprung up, barring the way. Snape was very proud of these flames. The purple had been a secret joke, based on Dumbledore's insufferable finery. The black flames had been difficult to perfect, but they were extremely impressive in this setting. He led Minerva to the table in the center of the room: a table where seven differently-shaped bottles were waiting. He smirked at her.
"Potions!" she muttered, "Why does it have to be Potions?"
She picked up the roll of parchment by the bottles and read the puzzle. "A poet, too! Who would have imagined? Did Albus write this?"
"He did not!" Snape answered, a little hotly. "He absolutely did not! I wrote it all myself, brewed all the potions, charmed the flames. I did it all myself, and no one helped me!"
Minerva studied the puzzle again, and said under breath, "We really, really, do not have time for games!"
"You don't know the answer, do you?" Snape asked smugly.
She narrowed her eyes at him, rather vexed. "In time, I've no doubt I could reason it out. I did not require you to play my game. In courtesy, I expect not to be obliged to play yours."
"Oh, very well." Still smirking, he passed her the smallest bottle. "A swallow will do."
She swallowed, after a wary glance at him. "Not bad at all."
"My own creation. Hagrid found that the blackberries were especially good this year." He took a swallow himself. "Quite acceptable, if I say so myself. Two of the other bottles hold some nettle wine-also of my own making. It's not bad either."
The black flames died down with a whisper.
"And now, let's see what Albus has concocted for the grand finale."
It was a high, but not particularly large chamber: windowless, and lit by ever-burning candles in tall candelabra of black wrought iron. There was only one other furnishing in the room: a tall cheval looking-glass propped against the far wall. Very tall indeed, taller than Snape himself, it stood on two clawed feet of bronze ormolu, and the frame was an ornate work of carving and gold leaf, gleaming richly in the mellow light. Around the top of the frame was an inscription, incised in clear but ancient characters: Erised stra ehru oyt ube cafru oyt on wohsi.
"Have you seen this before?" Snape asked.
"Never." Minerva moved closer, her lips moving as she sounded out the strange words. "What language is that? None that I know-but perhaps-"
"Yes" Snape agreed "I believe it's-"
He stopped, stunned and transfixed by the reflection. He was not alone-nor was he standing beside Minerva McGonagall.
Lily was holding his hand.
His heart leaped with joy and dread. She was there beside him: alive, beautiful, unchanged by the years. Her bright hair moved with an unseen breeze. Her dimples flashed in a lovely smile. Harry was there too, smiling. And his. It was the same Harry, too. Perhaps the hair was slightly straighter, the nose a thought longer, but it was certainly Harry. It was also undeniably Harry Snape, not Harry Potter.
How was this possible? Lily is dead.
Snape moved closer to the mirror, his eyes drinking in the changing visions greedily. He had found the Philosopher's Stone. It was right there, right there in the mirror. It was his for the taking...
He is brewing the Elixir of Life, there in the dungeons. It is perfectly real: Snape is following the well-known steps, approving of the care he is taking with the stirring and the judicious adding of the phoenix tears at the critical moment. Time-consuming, certainly, but not the most difficult potion he has ever brewed.
The next step is more complicated. He is sneaking out of Hogwarts with the potions, saying nothing to anyone. He is apparating to Godric's Hollow, to the cemetery of the kissing gate and the admirable old church, to the stone of white marble, to the grave of James and Lily Potter. He will destroy the last enemy, which is Death.
Removing the earth poses no problem for him at all. He has used a digging charm for years, retrieving curious roots, capturing burrowing insects for ingredients. Never on this scale, of course, but it is going well: the layer of sod removed neatly and set aside, the pile of earth growing taller. Snape puts more power into the charm and the pile grows faster, the yawning hole before him grows deeper. Such things take time, but he has all the time in the world to rescue Lily.
A smooth surface is emerging. The wood of her coffin, still shining, its varnished wood charmed impervious to the elements. All the earth is whisked away, and the coffin levitated up, up, up into the living world. Snape can see the edge of the other coffin in the grave and sneers. For James Potter, there will be no resurrection.
There are wards and charms to protect the dead. They pose no barrier to Snape, whose intentions are the purest. He clenches his jaw, knowing that the next few moments will be painful-yes-very painful and distressing, but they must be borne, and then the world will be changed.
The coffin lid is removed, and set gently aside. Lily is under the Sun once more.
She is still Lily yet. Her hair is as bright as ever. The dark yellow parchment-like skin has shrunk taut, her lips are black and withered. Her jaw has dropped open, turning her lovely smile into a macabre grin. The eyes are sunken far back into the skull. Preservation charms can only do so much, alas. The stink of decay is faint after eleven years, but it has permeated the inside of the coffin. She is an object of fear and horror, but she is still Lily.
Snape kneels by the side of the coffin, and pours the Elixir over the strong, white teeth, down into her throat, and waits.
The process is slow. Snape waits at the side of the coffin, while the sun moves across the sky. His knees are aching, and he shifts to a more comfortable position. This task will require all his patience.
The skin changes first, almost imperceptibly. Yes, the color is changing. Her hands, too: the claw-like fingers are swelling slightly, as natural fluids fill the tissues. Her eyes-how had he not noticed? - are changing, too, as the lids rise up in their sockets, supported by the resurgent eyes. The lips are plumping and turning rosy, the cheeks filling out, the whole body- Did her finger move?
Snape watches the hands for what might be hours, waiting for another hint of life. He casts a cleaning charm, and then a refreshing charm on Lily's robes. She must not be distressed by the smell of death. Was that a breath he heard? He glances up to see her eyelashes fluttering slightly. Her breast is moving now, a slight rise and fall. It takes time for the Elixir to rebuild and reconstruct, but it is infallible.
It is dawn at last: a ravishing sight. The clouds in the east are radiant peach and apricot, lined with silver and lilac and primrose. The light is soft, tender, even. And Lily opens her eyes.
"Severus?" He smiles down at her, love filling his heart to bursting. She smiles back.
"You've saved me. I thought I was dead. It was all darkness and confusion. I couldn't find a way out. Where is Harry?"
"Harry is at Hogwarts and safe. We will go there now and see him."
"Oh, yes! Take me to Hogwarts," she whispers. "Take me home."
Under the glorious colours of the rising sun, he takes her in his arms, and lifts her from the coffin. They embrace. Lily is kissing him: a perfect kiss. The vanquished coffin is vanished, the earth spelled back into the waiting cavity with a word, the sod laid seamlessly down. With another word, Lily's name disappears from the white marble. Lily takes his arm, without a backward glance at the grave, and they whirl away from this place forever.
Hogwarts welcomes them. They are at home in the dungeons. They are married in a flash of white and black and joy. They have always been married. Harry visits them in their quarters, as he has since he started regular studies at the school. Life is perfect, and has always been perfect. He will live with Lily for always and always...
A shoulder jostled against his arm. It was not Lily. Snape frowned, the thread of daily reality disturbed.
Lily is speaking to him
Another interruption.
Snape scowled. This was most unwelcome. He turned to rebuke the interloper.
"Professor McGonagall? I did not hear you come in."
Minerva stared at him wildly, blue eyes red-rimmed.
"Severus? What are you doing here?"
Snape looked about him in confusion. They were in a windowless stone chamber, lit by candles, in front of a mirror -where Lily stands waiting.
"Severus?" Minerva gasped. Her hands went to her face, and she glanced fearfully at the mirror. "How long have we been here?"
He swayed, dizzy and disoriented. No-I've got to get back to Lily-
A lurch, and he stumbled against Minerva, knocking them both to the stone floor. She cried out in alarm and pain. Snape clutched at his elbow, grunting with the discomfort of tingling nerves.
"Lies," Minerva moaned. "All lies."
Lies. Snape gathered the shreds of reality about him, trembling with grief:-with devastating loss-boundless sorrow. Lily had died to him once more, and this new passing was fresh and raw. He crawled to the wall and sat with his back to it, feeling as empty as a discarded cauldron.
He dared not look at the mirror, but longed to. Just another glance-the last-
"Severus," Minerva croaked, on her hands and knees. "We've got to get out of here. Don't look! Whatever it's showing you is a lie. It wants us to stay here forever and ever"
-Always and always.
He could not hear Mirror-Lily, but saw her mouth the words, smiling.
Minerva caught at his face, and made him look at her. "-until we die."
Why was Minerva talking? He wanted to see Lily again. He wanted to see himself too: young, happy-almost handsome. That was the true reality-this was some terrible caricature of life.
Minerva's face was wet with tears. No! She was in front of the mirror.
And then she slapped him. Hard.
"Severus. It's a lie, whatever you saw. A filthy, mocking lie."
She hit him again, and he realized that he was weeping, too.
"Now get up. We're going to turn to the door and we're going to walk out of here."
They helped each other struggle up, their limbs stiff from too many hours in front of the mirror. Minerva nearly fell again, and Snape grabbed her arm and helped her out of the room. He thought of Lily, waiting...
He took a deep breath, and forced himself to walk on.
"What did you see, Minerva?" A silence.
"Never ask me." she hissed. "Never ask me!"
They made their weary way back through the labyrinth without further speech.
Her quarters were closer. Snape felt he could not move another step when they entered. He threw himself into an armchair gratefully, wondering if he would fall asleep right there.
"I'd offer you whisky, but it's nearly daylight," Minerva told him. "You will have to make do with tea."
It was hot and strong and it helped. Snape swallowed it down, surprised at how thirsty he was, not even daring to think about potions. Tea was honest. Tea was safe.
"So now we know," he said.
"Yes," she said, after setting down her cup. "We know how Albus plans to trap the monster. I'm not sure it's a perfect trap, but it nearly got me. If I had been alone-"
He gave a sharp nod. "Luckily we were together. I would have happily spent the rest of my life there."
"Don't!" she protested. "Don't think about it! If it weren't for He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, I would destroy that cursed thing today. "I show not your face but your heart's desire.' What a monstrous thing to keep here in the school! What if a student were to find it?"
"It might not be so dangerous for a student," Snape considered. "Presumably, a student would have less to regret, and their heart's desire, whatever it might be, would be less absorbing."
"You and I know," she responded tartly, "that our students don't have the perfectly blissful lives that Albus imagines them to have."
He sighed, imagining what Harry might see reflected. He felt a brief, poignant pang of grief for the lost Harry Snape of the mirror. Oh, my boy, my boy. Quite a wonderful lad.
"As you say," he agreed, clearing his throat. "It's not the perfect trap. If there were any distractions, or another person in the chamber, he might be drawn away. Besides, if he remained there long enough, Quirrell would die, and presumably the Dark Lord's spirit would be released. Does Albus imagine that it would seek to enter the Mirror?"
"It's-possible." She blew out a breath. "The Stone is clearly in there-somehow. Very clever of Albus."
"I suppose. Is it clever enough?"