The Best Revenge

Chapter 31

Dumbledore was smug and unsurprised that Snape had been unable to lay hands on the Philosopher's Stone. However, he was both surprised and disappointed that Minerva McGonagall had failed.

She stared back at him unflinchingly. "I think, all things considered, that it is just as well," she remarked. "There is no reason I should actually have possession of the Stone. What is important is to make certain that it is beyond the reach of He-Who-Must-Not-Be Named."

"We are not satisfied that your measures will suffice," said Snape.

"Obviously, we must agree to disagree," Dumbledore replied soothingly.

The two of them left soon after, determined not to share their future plans with the Headmaster.

"Perhaps it's time to confide in Pomona and Filius," said Minerva.

"Possibly. They are no happier about the presence of the Stone than we."

"And after being required to create diversions, they might like to assist in creating a real trap."

Snape paused. "However-" He came to a stop, thinking it over. He had not heard from Flamel, and did not want to raise Minerva's hopes unduly by hinting that outside help was on the way. "I think it would be unwise to mention our concerns about Quirrell. Neither of them, however accomplished, is an expert in the Dark Arts."

"All right," Minerva agreed, "but I reserve the right to consult with them if we fail to find the solutions to our current predicament."

It was time for more research. Minerva quietly retreated to her own study and the books she would not and could not share with Snape.

Snape himself was deep in his edgier references: The Book of Raziel the Angel, The Book of Baphomet, The Red Book of Carfax Abbey.

No one source had all the answers, but he was finding ideas here and there. A circle of copper wire and sea salt inlaid into the floor in front of the mirror would assist in keeping anyone looking into the mirror from attempting to move away. A mildly hallucinogenic potion could loosen the bond between a dominant spirit and its victim. That might be of some help in rescuing Quirrell, but would not expunge the shred of the Dark Lord from Harry.

The accidental horcrux in Harry, in fact, appeared to be the knottiest problem before them. Harry's youth posed a special challenge. An exorcism at this particular age would destroy his magic and could conceivably kill him. As far as Snape could see, they would simply have to wait until Harry was older and stronger, and his magic was more developed and stable.

In the interim, they would attempt to divide Quirinius Quirrell from his fellow traveler. And they would attempt to make certain that the Dark Lord's look into the Mirror of Erised would last a lifetime-and beyond. Snape rubbed the bridge of his nose. The crabbed handwriting of the old volume before him was straining his eyes...

He wanted to study, to read, to research, to do anything but think about his experience before the Mirror of Erised. He had always found pleasure dwelling on his memories of Lily, and now he found he did not want to think about Lily at all. His mirror vision had been too disturbing-too ugly-and, of course, too absurd. He knew perfectly well that the Philosopher's Stone could not grant new life to the long-dead. Even the most exaggerated, unreliable sources never claimed that. It was a bizarre fantasy, bordering on necrophilia. The phantom of the Mirror did not behave in any way like the real Lily he had known. It was all a painful jumble, and he would read this book and not-

"Severus?"

He looked up from the book, expecting Minerva in the fire. It was, instead, Charity Burbage, smiling at him, as she so often did these days.

"Was there something you wanted?" he asked, not entirely politely.

She smiled again, apparently dismissing his tone as normal for him. "May I come through?"

"If you must."

Charity seemed to feel that they had somehow "bonded." Ever since she had come to Hogwarts last year, she had tried to make friends with him. They were, after all, quite close in age. Charity had been a Hufflepuff two years ahead of him, and a prefect-a fair one. He recalled her intervening in a very disagreeable encounter with Potter & Company outside the Charms classroom. She had otherwise not made much of an impression on him during his school years. She was much podgier in his hazy memories, and with as unfortunate a complexion as his own had been in those days.

He doubted he had made much of an impression on her, either. With no classes in common and coming from different houses, there was little reason for them to interact. Her siblings were much younger than he, and he had not known them at all. She had informed him since her return that her brother had been three years behind him, and in Ravenclaw, and her little sister had just completed her first year in Hufflepuff when the whole family decamped to New Zealand immediately after Charity had finished school. There was yet another brother, he understood, who never attended Hogwarts at all. Only Charity had returned to the mother country, and he suspected she was a little lonely and at loose ends without her family within easy reach.

Hence the attempt at making friends, he supposed. She seemed to have taken his involving her in Harry's club as an invitation to renew her efforts. He wondered if she expected to be offered refreshments. She was certainly dressed very nicely and smelled of high-quality Castile soap and a scent distilled from lime flowers, lemongrass, and-yes-a touch of plumeria. He wondered where she obtained the perfume. Plumeria was notoriously difficult to distill without destroying the delicacy of the fragrance. It was fresh, unfamiliar, and-not unpleasant.

More smiles. He gestured vaguely at a chair, and she seated herself at once, her scent wafting over with her movements.

"I hope Harry has told you how awfully well the club is going!"

"I have received that information from him. And from you, too-every day-in the staff room."

She laughed. "Yes. I have been going on about it, haven't I? I'm so excited about it. Last year was rather difficult, you see, with that ridiculous book and feeling my way. This club though-it's given me such hope and purpose. One of these days, the Governors will allow me to replace the textbook, and I'm preparing for it."

"You've found something better?"

She beamed. "I'm going to write it myself!"

He raised an inquiring brow, and let her prattle happily.

"Those wonderful children have given me no end of good ideas," she told him. "I still have to make certain they can pass their O.W.L.s and their N.E.W.T.s, so I'll have go over the very wrong-headed and peculiar way the test questions are phrased, but considering how easy the actual material is, I'll have lots of time to teach them real things that young people actually want to know: food and fun and how to get about-and clothes and fashions and holidays. And I can sneak in a bit of politics and science along with it. I'm already sketching out a syllabus."

"In your copious spare time? I salute you."

"Thanks! But you know, my course load is nothing like yours, Severus. I don't know how you manage, really. I only have a section each of third through seventh years, and I've whole half-days to myself. I'm so glad about the club. Last year I hardly felt I was earning my pay!"

"How nice for you. I certainly earn mine."

"Oh-I know!" she sympathised. "It must be such a burden. And your duties as Head of House, too! You'd think that the Headmaster would hire additional staff for the core subjects so that you could concentrate on the gifted students in the later years."

Snape somewhat rearranged his opinion of the woman opposite him. His teaching schedule was extremely demanding-perhaps overly so. It was very perceptive of Charity to notice that. The stress of avoiding accidents, day in, day out, took its toll. No other teacher at Hogwarts faced the difficulties that Snape himself did. It was part of the reason that his standards for his N.E.W.T. classes were so extremely high. If more students were to be permitted admission to them, he would have to break the sixth and seventh years into two sections each, which his schedule would not permit; or he would have insanely large classes in which he would teach potions of the greatest delicacy-and danger.

"Yes-well, you know Albus," he remarked carelessly. "The eternal optimist. His experience teaching Transfiguration doesn't really give him much understanding of my situation."

"Well, I think it's awful," she replied candidly. "And if anything went wrong, you'd be held responsible. Perhaps if you had an apprentice, he could take over some the duties and teach the younger students."

"I've considered it, but I would have to train an apprentice, and that would take time as well."

"I hadn't thought of that. And of course, the parents might not like it if their children didn't have the best to start them out right."

Snape was much struck by her insight. She was, he acknowledged, an intelligent woman. Her book on adapting to the wizarding world was very well done. That she found the current text wanting was only proof of her good sense. And she was nice to Harry-very nice, in fact.

"I've made some wine lately-something of a hobby of mine," he said, abruptly changing the subject. "Would you care to sample some? Nettle or blackberry."

"Oh-what fun! Yes, I'd love to. Blackberry, please."

Snape owned a very nice set of cordial glasses: blue-stemmed, and rimmed and flourished with gold leaf. A tiny emerald was set into the side of each one to ward against poisoning. He was proud of the set, since it was nearly the only heirloom he had left from his mother's family. His spinster Great-aunt Cornelia Ketteridge had paid the occasional visit-when she could -and would bring money and gifts, which had included this set of glasses. Snape barely remembered her, as she had died when he was five or six, but he cherished his precious copy of Beedle the Bard and his gobstones as relics of her kindness and goodwill. When she died, things at home had rapidly taken a turn for the worse.

He was pleased with Charity-very pleased with her generous and sensible remarks-and opened the cupboard that held these special glasses. The blackberry wine looked good in them, glowing richly purple against the gold designs.

She admired the colour, too, he saw. She sipped her drink carefully-thoughtfully-he was pleased to note. She did not gulp it like a savage swilling beer. She hummed with pleasure.

"This is marvelous."

He set down with his own glass and broached a subject that had occasionally crossed his mind.

"Your hair."

She looked up, nonplussed, one hand reaching up anxiously. "My hair? Is something wrong with it?"

"No-I mean-all those braids. They're very interesting. Do they have some sort of arithmantic significance?"

"Well," she said, blushing, "actually..."

Harry found that drawing an ellipse was far more difficult than drawing a circle.

In the Explorers' room, behind a decorative screen, he was doing his best to reproduce a drawing in the manuscript Professor McGonagall had given him to copy last summer. Finn's Window he had mastered. He had also learned about the other two Wonders of Finn the Enchanter. Professor McGonagall had told him that education was never wasted. His little copy was proving its worth now.

An ellipse was an oval, with two foci instead of one focus, With two pegs, a string, and a piece of chalk, Harry eventually managed to construct a very creditable Finn's Eye. In the centre of the five concentric ellipses, a triangle held a figure of three connected characters. The Ogham letter that indicated "birch" also was the sign for sight. He added the flourishes, the little rhombus to the left, and then tapped it three times, whispering "Nusquam occultus est, Finn!"

He turned slowly, three times widdershins, and then tapped it again, saying the same words.

Three more turns, another incantation, and the spell was done.

He held his breath.

A trembling pause, a curious hissing noise, and then a little round hole, where the pupil of the eye would be, drilled its way through the wall. A thin beam of blue light sparked dancing motes of dust and shone a white circle on the screen hiding Harry from the rest of the Explorers' Room. Looking through the hole, he found he could see the entire hall clearly, far better than he could have with a simple peephole drilled into the wall.

Professor McGonagall might approve of his interest in independent study, but he doubted she would approve of his purpose, which was to spy on the staircase leading to the third floor corridor.

Slinking out of the door, he grinned at the sight of the pristine corridor wall. Just as the manuscript promised, the Eye was invisible from the other side.

He couldn't possibly be here all the time-nor had Professor McGonagall given permission to share these family spells with anyone else. He had already done too much that might put his new friends in danger. The greatest problem was to get away by himself. His friends were so very friendly, after all. They actually liked spending time with him! The solution had come to him last night.

"Muffy!" he called softly.

The little female elf was before him, pale eyes huge and worshipful.

"What can Muffy do for Little Master Harry?"

"Muffy! Im Harry-just Harry! Just like before school started!"

The eyes, blinked, once, twice. Harry sighed, knowing that "Just Harry" was a concept that caused Muffy extreme discomfort. What was not beyond her, however, was the favor he next asked.

"Muffy will help Little Master Harry," the house elf responded eagerly to his request. "Muffy's friends will help, too."

"I really appreciate it, Muffy," Harry replied. "There's no way I could do this myself. I need to know if Professor Quirrell tries to go up those stairs there. Don't let anyone see you, You'll be safe here in the Explorers' Room. Just step behind this screen and look out the little eye I drew in the wall. No one will notice you that way."

His conscience pricked him a little, and he added, "But if you see a student going up there, find a way to distract them. Make them turn back. They could get hurt up there."

More students came to the next Explorers' meeting. Lavender Brown and Parvati Patil, Pansy Parkinson and Daphne Greengrass. Anthony Goldstein and Michael Corner.

Professor Burbage arrived and greeted Harry, full of good humor, her hair more elaborate than ever. Harry noted that some of the girls admired her hair, and were copying her today, after a fashion. Susan's long plait had become very complicated, and Hannah's pigtails each seemed to be composed of half a dozen smaller braids. He saw several of the girls touching their hair and asking questions, and heard them talking about Arithmancy in whispers. He shook his head, unable to see any connection.

Neville was patrolling the room, and said, "Malfoy's late. His friends, too."

"I wonder what-"

Just then, the door swung open, and Draco swaggered in, bearing a shepherd's crook with all the dignity of an old-fashioned wizard's staff.

"Witches, wizards, and worthy explorers!" he proclaimed, "I give you-Ovina, the purest ewe of the Greater Spellcombe breed!"

Behind him, on either side of a snow-white sheep of impressive size, were Crabbe and Goyle, grinning proudly. Crabbe had the animal on a lead of pale-blue satin. A pale-blue bow jauntily decorated her tail. The boys guided her up to the front of the room, and all the girls squealed. Ovina blinked, but stood placidly, accepting their admiration as her due.

"-Oh, the darling thing!"

"She's gorgeous, Draco-"

"What a sweet face-"

"You said sheep smell bad, Malfoy, but she's perfectly clean-"

The boys were won over when Ovina persistently attempted to chew on the back of Draco's robes. His furtive attempts to shoo her away were somehow missed by Crabbe and Goyle until half the room was roaring with laughter.

"Well-yes-" Draco remarked, glaring, trying to put the best face on it. "She's a Malfoy sheep. She knows quality when she sees it."

"-or tastes it," Pansy teased.

Draco made a face. "Well, come on, then," he said, motioning to her. "Touch her wool. It's nice, really."

Pansy pushed ahead of the rest of the girls, much to the annoyance of some, and stroked the curly wool of the ewe's head. "She's soft."

"Best wool in the world!" Crabbe affirmed stoutly.

Hermione came up on the other side. "I've never touched a sheep. Do they bite?"

"Do they bite?" asked Goyle with scorn. A pause. "Well-sometimes-"

Pansy backed away hastily.

Crabbe reassured her, grinning. "Naw-this one never bites. Right lady, she is. Come on."

Hermione came forward, stroked the wool, and then boldly plunged her fingers into it. "She is soft."

Harry wanted to try it himself, but held off until the girls had their chance. Neville attempted to herd the girls into a semblance of a queue. Susan and Hannah took their turn, giggling, and then Lavender and Parvati.

"Oooh! She smells like lavender!" Lavender was excited and flattered. She pulled her hands from the wool and said, "And my hands! They're soft, too! Here! Parvati! Feel them!"

All the girls started crowding then. Neville was brushed aside. The rest of the boys rolled their eyes and waited. Professor Burbage came up, wanting to touch the ewe herself, but a little worried.

"Is she-house-trained?" she asked Crabbe in a whisper.

"Don't you worry, Professor," that young lad assured her loudly. "She won't be leaving a present on the floor! My Dad bespelled all the shit out of her when they cleaned her up!"

Some of the girls-and a few boys-dissolved into embarrassed titters at his blunt language. Charity decided not to rebuke him. The word was appropriate- in context-sort of-

"You can do that?" Terry Boot, asked, very interested.

"It's easy," Goyle declared, he wand already out. "Copro-"

"Perhaps not now," Charity interposed. She whispered to Goyle. "Someone might use it for a prank, you know."

Crabbe and Goyle gravely assured her that such an idea had never crossed their minds.

All, in all, the well-groomed and lavender-scented Greater Spellcombe ewe was a big hit.

"Lanolin," Hermione said, after some thought. "That's what makes our hands soft. It's the lanolin in her wool."

"What's lanolin?" Hannah asked, puzzled.

"The chemical in sheeps' wool that makes it soft. In the muggle world it's used for hand cream and-"

Crabbe and Goyle looked at each other in dawning comprehension.

"Reckon she means woolwax." Crabbe decided, ignoring Hermione's indignant face. "Greater Spellcombe wool is dripping with it. Slimy stuff it is."

"Oh! Woolwax!" Pansy said, understanding. "Of course! Everybody knows about woolwax. That's the proper name in our world," she said, with a disparaging glance at Hermione.

Charity was on the alert, and was not going to allow one of the muggleborn to be made to feel bad. She said, "That's just the sort of thing I hoped you all would learn here! Now-Daphne, is it? Can you name a common potion that uses woolwax?"

"Er-ah-Sleekeasy?"

All the girls nodded sagely. Draco and quite of few of the boys nodded as well.

"Very good," encouraged Charity. "Tell everyone what Sleekeasy is, please."

"It's a potion for your hair. My mother uses gallons of it. It makes it smooth and shiny."

"It sounds just the thing for Granger," snarked Pansy.

"Excuse us a moment," smiled Charity. She stalked over and took Pansy by the elbow. "Come with me." she said in a tone that brooked no defiance. They walked away, out the door. They were not gone long.

Draco said to Hermione, "Don't mind Pansy. That's just how she is. If she can get a dig in anywhere, she will."

Charity was quickly back with a chastened Pansy.

"Sorry, Granger. I didn't mean anything by it. I use Sleekeasy myself."

Charity decided to fade into the background once more. Harry and the rest of the boys now took the opportunity to admire the sheep themselves. As further entertainment, Crabbe revealed an unexpected talent: he could perform the standard shearing charm with ease and considerable precision. The club members watched, fascinated, while he sheared a neat pattern on Ovina's left flank

"W-W-E!" Harry read. "That's brilliant!"

A round of applause.

Ovina's patience seemed to falter a bit. Crabbe said, "Reckon it's time she was home."

More applause, as the ewe was paraded out the door by Crabbe. Draco told Harry, "Dobby, our house elf, will take her back-"

"Are we ever going to dance?" Lavender was loudly wondering. There were a rising tide of interest and conversation.

"Dancing," Harry groaned.

"This is fun, Harry!" Neville insisted, pulling him to the centre of the room. "I never got to dance with other kids before. It's much nicer than dancing with Gran and Uncle Algy!"

"There is that," Harry agreed in a mutter, not willing to imagine dancing with either or both of those individuals. It was nearly as unthinkable as dancing with Aunt Petunia-or Uncle Vernon.

A laugh burst out of him, but everyone was laughing and talking and nobody noticed. Feeling much better about dancing with fellow students, Harry allowed himself to enjoy the talk that ensued about the Shepherd's Dance: how it was danced for lambing time and shearing time; how the crook was to be decorated with ribbons, and with wool or flowers, depending on the rite; the proper apparel and proper location for the dance to have genuine power.

First Lavender, and then the balance of the girls pleaded with Charity to show everyone what the clothes looked like. Charity sighed, and transfigured Lavender's robes into the garb of a Lady of the Meadow: a snowy shift with long bell sleeves, a primrose petticoat, and a sleeveless woolen gown the colour of spring leaves. Her sensible schoolgirl shoes became dark green dancing slippers, and a wreath of wild roses crowned her head.

"All right," Charity said, "And now, which of you lads will be The Guardian of the Flock?"

Draco was ready to put himself forward, but Harry caught him discreetly by the arm. "Just for today, Draco," he whispered, as Charity gestured a beaming, red-faced Crabbe out of the crowd.

"Oh, very well," Draco muttered. "I suppose it means a lot to him. Mind you, I look better in the clothes than he does!"

Harry had no doubt that Draco would certainly look more glamourous, but Crabbe looked right in the tall boots and knee breeches, in the embroidered saffron-coloured shepherd's smock. His wreath was of glossy oak leaves, and they lent the hulking boy a certain nobility. He took up the shepherd's crook and "made a leg" to Lavender in the most old-fashioned wizarding way of bowing. A duplicating charm gave all the boys and girls their own crooks.

"They'll only last an hour," Charity warned them, "and if I see any horseplay with them, that will be the end of the dancing!"

A tune surged through the air, a pulsing rhythm, a hint of melancholy. Crabbe led the boys, and Lavender the girls, and they ceremoniously clashed their crooks together and advanced and retreated, and then formed a long line, bringing the ends of the crooks down with a thump on the beat. A kick to the side, another resounding thump, and Harry was beginning to believe that after all, proper magical dancing was rather fun.

Especially when there was a sumptuous tea to follow.

Note: My friend JOdel, who has given me a great deal of help with this story, reminded me that braiding and knots (whether hair or cords or what-have-you) is part of a magical discipline called ligature. Sometimes it is used to summon winds, but I like to think it could be used for other purposes.

Many of you want to know what Minerva saw in the Mirror of Erised. I like it remaining mysterious, and up to the readers' imagination. However-Dumbledore may get a clue, by the fact that Minerva wanted to use the Stone, that she is not the happiest of witches. Here are some possible scenarios: she wants to de-age herself and live her life over, not spend decades futilely crushing on a gay man who never regarded her as anything other than a good student and good friend; she may want to deage herself and use a time-turner to settle Tom Riddle's hash back in their school days. She may want to extend her life and become Headmistress and change all the things about the school that have bugged her for years. She may want to enjoy her youth and beauty (and Maggie Smith was a very beautiful woman when young) and marry and have a family. Choose the scenario or combination thereof that you prefer!