The Best Revenge

Chapter 35

"This is disgusting." said Draco, for perhaps the hundredth time during their Saturday morning detention.

"Draco, it's not so bad," Harry disagreed. "I've seen worse. Come on, we've only got this bit left."

In fact, Harry felt very competent and experienced compared to Draco, who plainly had never cleaned anything in his life. Used to Dudley watching him without lifting a finger himself, Harry was not as put out as he might otherwise have been at Draco's helplessness.

"What do you mean, you've seen worse?" Draco asked suspiciously, slopping water down the walls. He absolutely refused to squeeze the excess water from a sponge, calling it "gross" and "foul." "Do you mean you've done things like this before?"

"Well, Draco..." Harry did not want to reveal unpleasant details of his life with the Dursleys. "Muggles have to do things by hand. It's normal to pitch in with chores like this."

"Are you saying those muggles made you work for them-like a house elf?" Draco stopped his pretense of cleaning and stared at Harry. "I knew it! They were horrible!"

"Don't make me do all this myself," Harry told him, feeling harassed. "We can talk about my family some other time." He was kneeling in soapy water that had soaked through his pants and socks. The soap had a sharp, unfamiliar smell that was rather unpleasant. He threw Draco's neglected sponge at the blond boy. "Get that bit in the corner and I'll finish up here. If Filch gets back and were not done, we'll probably get another detention!"

Draco sulkily returned to diluting the few remaining bloodstains with water until they were invisible. The professors had largely cleaned the corridor the night before. It had only taken Harry a little over an hour and a half to scrub and mop, with Draco's repulsed, unwilling assistance. He could probably have done it more quickly working alone, but he was not going to let Draco behave like Dudley-not entirely.

"There!" The floor was wetter than it should be, but all in all, it was much better than it had been.

Draco was leaning on the wall, loafing again. Harry made him help gather up the supplies.

"Too bad we didn't net Quirrell last night," Draco remarked. "I wonder what happened to him?"

Harry slapped his head. How could he forget?

"Muffy!" he called. Draco looked at him in surprise and then blinked as the house elf appeared.

"What can I do for Little Master Harry?"

"You said you had ways of watching Professor Quirrell. Did you see where he went last night?"

Draco interrupted. "You set the house elves to spy for you? That's brilliant!"

Harry shrugged and turned again to Muffy. "Well?"

The house elf said, "Professor Purple Hat is been hiding from us. He waits until everybody goes away, then he sneaks out and goes upstairs."

"What!"

Slyly, the elf told them, "And just a few minutes later, he comes down again, his leg all bloody. A big something bit Professor Purple Hat and he was not pleased-no-not pleased at all."

Harry grinned at Draco. "Fluffy stopped him! Hurray for Hagrid!"

"Absolutely useless, that Quirrell," Draco snorted with contempt. "Couldn't even deal with a Cerberus!"

"Maybe there's something about them. Do you know how to fight one?"

"Well-no-but it can't be that hard. I mean, if Hagrid can get the thing upstairs, it can't be that hard, can it?"

"I'm not sure, Draco. I think Hagrid must be especially talented with animals. Maybe one of the professors helped. Maybe there are special spells and things. We should read up about Cerberi and find out what works."

"Or just ask your friend the groundskeeper. He must know."

"But then he'd want to know why we want to know. We got lucky that one time, but if we ask outright he'll get suspicious. Surely there's something in the library..."

Snape was in a far better mood by tea-time than Harry could have predicted, based on the man's angry words last night. He waved Harry in, looking up from a heavy leatherbound book. Once Harry was perched in his usual chair, he set the book aside and regarded the boy.

"I understand that the corridor is now, if not pristine, at least better than it was last night."

"Yes, sir. Draco and I worked really hard-that is-Draco hadn't used a mop or a sponge before, but he picked up quite a bit about-"

Snape said dryly, "I can well imagine how the work was apportioned between you. Perhaps the experience will help you restrain yourself in future when you feel that irresistible urge to be a hero."

"It wasn't like that!" Harry protested. "We really thought Quirrell was moving on the Stone! And we were right!"

"What do you mean?"

"He did go after it! After the rest of us were out of sight!"

"How do you know?" Snape pressed him.

"Muffy told me."

"Muffy?"

"The house elf," Harry confided, extremely proud of his resourcefulness. "I asked her to watch who went toward those stairs. Muffy said he went up but came down right away, and that it looked like Fluffy had bitten him! So you see," he added virtuously, "we had the right idea."

"Don't talk like that to me," Snape growled. "The troll could have ground you to strawberry jam. The headmaster's orders were contradictory, true: but you knew better. I told you that there are protections around the Stone. You chose not to believe me. Do you think I'm stupid?"

Harry blushed. "Of course, not, Professor!"

"Then don't treat me as if only you have all the answers! This is not your fight, Harry. Let me deal with this my own way. But I can't do it and protect you from your own recklessness at the same time!" The tea arrived, and Muffy ducked her head at Snape's cold stare. "You!" he commanded. "Muffy! In future you will report Professor Quirrell's movements to me!"

"Yes, Master Potions Master!" whimpered Muffy. With a "pop" she vanished.

Snape gave Harry a serious look, while shoving a plate of biscuits at him. Thinking of what Charity had said to him, he tried to soften his voice. "I know, Harry, that you are not accustomed to having other people look after you. I know that you are accustomed to doing everything yourself, but you are a child, and I am your-proxy-guardian. I am dealing with this-" he paused and went on in a leap of faith"-and Professor McGonagall is also involved. You respect her abilities, do you not?"

"Yes, sir," Harry slouched in his chair and did not look at Snape. "I just wanted to help," he muttered.

Controlling himself, Snape replied, "I know you do. And the best thing you can do to help is continue your studies. Focus on your schoolwork. Learn all you can. Become the wizard you ought to be. This issue with Quirrell is serious, but it is being handled. If you need a diversion, spend time with your friends. The first quidditch game of the year is coming up. Or play gobstones- or you could improve your chess game."

"Draco always wins," Harry sulked.

Feeling his blood pressure soar, Snape forced himself to drink his tea. "Then teach the game to a novice," he suggested acidly. "Teach it to Longbottom. There's no better way to learn something well than by teaching it to someone else!"

He simply did not dare tell Professor Snape about the cloak. The Professor was so worried about protecting him that he would certainly take it away and put in Harry's Gringotts vault, along with all those other family heirlooms. Harry was not sure if he could tell anybody about something so precious. Hermione would want to tell a teacher. Draco would want to tell his father. Neville would worry about getting in trouble. Justin and Ernie-now that was a possibility...

Yes, he might show it to them. They would really enjoy seeing a cloak sort of like the one in the story, even if it didn't look much like the legendary Cloak of Invisibility. The borrowed black cloak they had used for the play had become the image in his own mind of that famous treasure. This was different: almost not like a real cloak at all-more a big piece of cloth that you draped over you like a ghost costume. Still, it worked, and it opened all sorts of possibilities for Harry.

Before he showed it to his friends, he wanted to try it out all by himself. It had been his father's after all, and that made it rather grand. Maybe his dad had had it when he was in school!

Thus, Harry lay quietly in his curtained bed that night, waiting until Justin and Ernie were fast asleep. He had gone to bed before them, fully dressed under his covers, the cloak folded under his pillow, hoping he did not doze off and ruin his own plans.

There-the first faint snore. Harry waited a little longer, pushing the curtains aside, watching for any movements. Slowly he slid out of bed, and pulled out the cloak. Draping it over himself as best he could in the dark, he felt his way to the door, and opened it just enough to squeeze through. The light in the arched corridor showed him that his feet were visible, and Harry adjusted the cloak accordingly.

Satisfied, he tiptoed down the hall to the shallow flight of stairs up to the Common Room.

A number of his fellow badgers were there: a handful of the sixth and seventh years. In the firelight, Herman Wintringham was playing the lute softly for a group of girls who lounged dreamily on cushions. A few couples snogged discreetly in shadowy corners. Harry made his way through the room unobserved, nearly hugging himself with glee. The cloak really worked!

If he were quiet, no one would notice the portrait opening. Everyone was busy, engrossed in music or romance, and Harry cracked it open a little and clambered through, tugging the soft folds of the cloak as it snagged. He shut the opening with care. The two blonde goddesses were curled up, asleep in the flowery meadow. Harry grinned to himself, and set out to explore Hogwarts all by himself. He wanted to find the other Common Rooms, at the very least. The Slytherins must be near Professor Snape, so he set out in that direction first. This would be a night to remember.

Harry was too tired to be at his best that week. The lure of invisibility was just too strong. Every night he wandered through the castle, finding new rooms and new wonders in them. His classwork suffered a little, but no one had complained-yet. The greatest trouble that faced him at the moment was Defense Against the Dark Arts.

Professor Quirrell must know Harry suspected him. That was the only explanation for why he was treating him so badly in class. The professor was demonstrating jinxes and hexes today as a break from all the reading aloud they had done in the first weeks. It would have been interesting, though Harry had already learned quite of few of the spells from Professor Snape.

Unfortunately, Professor Quirrell was demonstrating the various hexes and jinxes by using Harry as a target.

"P-Potter! Up here!"

Reluctantly, Harry rose to his feet, scowling defiantly.

"No-leave your wand at your desk, Potter! Today you're a mere m-m-muggle."

Zach Smith sniggered, elbowing Ron Weasley. Ron answered with a dutiful grin, but felt very uncomfortable. Most of the class watched in uneasy silence. Professor Quirrell was never nice to Harry, but this seemed ominous.

As soon as Harry was standing at the front of the classroom, Professor Quirrell began a very odd speech. Particularly odd, since his customary stammer was absent throughout the whole of it.

"A muggle. You might ask, why a muggle in Defense class? None of your other teachers dare say this, but I tell you that muggles, in certain circumstances, can pose a real and terrible threat. For instance-have any of you ever heard of-Jack the Ripper?"

Justin raised his hand. "Yes, Professor, he killed a lot of women about a hundred years ago."

"Mr Finch-Fletchley. Excellent. Your own muggle background is of some use today."

Justin scowled.

Quirrell continued, "Jack the Ripper is only one example of what the muggles call a serial killer. The phenomenon is not rare in the muggle world. Muggles are prey to numerous mental diseases which can cause them to become savage-violent-malicious-cruel."

He would have liked to show them the pictures, but he dared not risk the kind of outcry that would ensue. Instead he described the career of the unknown killer also called Red Jack-how he mutilated his victims-how he sent one woman's kidney to the London muggle aurors-how he blended into the foul muggle world and was never caught.

"And lest you think this a single instance, let me tell you of a Frenchman named Vacher-of the muggle cannibal Fritz Haarman-of H. H. Holmes, "the Torture Doctor," a muggle Healer, who built a vast hotel solely for the purpose of torturing and murdering his clientele. And for you young ladies-lest you imagine that muggle females are no threat-let me tell you of the muggle female Belle Gunness, who slaughtered her own children, preyed on lonely men, murdered them for their gold, and then-" he grinned thinly, lips vanishing "-fed them to her pigs. She escaped with her ill-gotten gains, and she too, like Jack the Ripper, was never caught."

A faint, terrified rustle. The children's eyes were glazed in horror.

"Muggles often attack children for deviant, perverted reasons. They kidnap them and subject them to unspeakable suffering before killing them in various ways over long periods of time. Muggle parents fear to leave their children unattended in public, lest they be snatched by such monsters."

Harry shifted anxiously. He wanted to protest-to say that muggles weren't all like that, but he knew perfectly well that some were. What could he say? His own family had locked him in a cupboard. He had not known many nice muggles himself. This was going somewhere, and Harry knew that it would be unpleasant, especially for him.

"It may happen," Quirrell continued, "that you might find yourself in the muggle world from time to time. If you were to be separated from your friends and family, and a muggle attacked you, what would you do?"

A silence. Then Susan slowly raised her hand.

"Miss Bones?"

"I'd run away, Professor."

"A reasonable answer. Retreat is often the appropriate response to an attack. But what if the muggle could run faster? What if you were trapped in a narrow alley, or against a wall, with nowhere to run? What would you do-Mr Finnegan?

Seamus spoke up boldly, "I'd fight him! I'd punch him in the gob!"

"Bravely spoken. But this muggle-" here Professor Quirrell stepped forward and placed an object in Harry's hands "-has a knife." He stepped away revealing the long, menacing weapon in Harry's hand. Harry was too far from a desk to put it down, and he was afraid to throw it away. It looked terribly sharp: double-edged, and serrated where the blades curved into the handle. He held it up to look at it, staring in horrified fascination. The rest of the class gasped at the sight.

"So he has a weapon, Mr Finnegan. You can, as you so quaintly put it, 'punch him in the gob,' but he can stick the knife in you at the same time. Does anyone have a better idea?"

"Professor," Ernie said, "We're not allowed to use magic in front of muggles. It's against the law."

"And we're too young," Parvati added. "We'd be punished for using magic away from Hogwarts."

"Mr Macmillan brings up the Statute of Secrecy, a very important law. Yes, we are all bound to protect our world from muggles, but not at the cost of our lives. Miss Patil is fearful of transgressing against the regulations that forbid underage magic use. Once again, the law is clear: such use is forbidden, except in cases of self-defense. I am shocked that this class has so little instinct for self-preservation. Such a timid lot. Would you really prefer to have your throats cut rather than be scolded by the Ministry?"

The class was silent.

"Miss Brown, since no one has anything to say, I ask you, would you rather have your throat cut than be scolded by the Ministry?"

"No, professor," Lavender whispered.

"I'm very glad to hear it." Quirrell smirked. "There is no reason for any of you to be harmed by a mere muggle. You have wands. You can defend yourselves. The only question in your mind should be: 'which spell should I use?'"

He pointed to Neville. "Mr Longbottom! Any suggestions?"

Neville goggled at him in horror.

"No? Mr Thomas? No? Hmm. Well, perhaps the task of staying alive is just too much for this class. Yes, Miss Bones?"

"The Aurors use stunners to stop dark wizards, sir. Would a stunner work?"

Quirrell smirked. "Can you cast a stunning hex, Miss Bones? An impressive achievement for a first year. Stand up, let's see you. What is the incantation?"

"It's stupefy, sir."

"All right, then-there is a muggle coming at you with a knife. Cast your stunner before he stabs you!"

Susan stared at him. "I don't want to stun Harry!"

"Then you're going to die. Stun him!"

Susan pointed her wand at Harry very shakily. "Stupefy!" she called out, sounding very hesitant. A trickle of red light fizzled at the end of her wand. Quirrell uttered a high-pitched laugh.

"Sit down, Miss Bones. You're dead." He smirked at the rest of the class. "Who's next?" He walked over to the Gryffindor boys. "What, given your level of skill, could you actually use against an opponent? You can suggest everything from the petrifaction hex to the Killing Curse, but if you are not capable of them, they are useless to you. What will work? Mr Smith-you're a brave Gryffindor. Stand up and defend yourself. What are you going to cast?"

Zach Smith, watching Harry up at the front, had given the matter some thought. "I could use a tripping jinx, professor."

"Can you perform a tripping jinx, Smith?"

"Yes, sir. I think so."

"You had better. Mr Potter- come at Mr Smith with the knife. Don't look so horrified, Potter, just walk towards Mr Smith slowly. Hold the knife up, Potter. Now, Smith! Defend yourself!"

"Impedimenta!"

One moment Harry was walking: the next he was tumbling to the floor. The knife flew out of his hand and spun away toward Sally, who shrieked and fell out of her chair. Screams filled the room. The knife clattered against Sally's desk and skittered to a stop. Harry, shocked and shaken, pushed himself up.

"Five points for the spell, Mr Smith, and another five for disarming your opponent. Good work. I think it would behoove you all to learn this jinx. Simple, effective, and with no lasting effects to raise suspicion. The muggle himself will not understand that it was magic: he will believe that he tripped. Mr Weasley, can you perform this spell? It could save your life."

"I'll try, professor."

"Good lad. Potter, up you go." He hauled Harry up, surprisingly strong, and slapped the knife back in Harry's hand, muttering a spell. "Here's your weapon. I think a sticking charm will be much safer for us all-we don't want you inadvertently throwing the knife at another student again!"

"Professor!" Harry objected, trying and failing to drop the knife, "I don't think this is a good-"

"Professor!" Susan protested, "Harry could get hu-"

"Weasley, defend yourself!"

"Impedimenta!"

Harry crashed to the floor face first, the knife clenched in his fist. He lay winded, his nose throbbing. He could feel cold steel against his ear, and a thin trickle of something wet.

"Harry!" screamed Hannah.

"Harry!" half the class shouted.

Ron Weasley gaped, and collapsed into his seat, clutching his head in his hands. "I've killed him! What'll Mum say?"

"I'm all right," Harry ground out. "I've cut my ear, but I'm all right." Very carefully, he moved the knife away from his head, still unable to let go of it. Susan and Sally and Hannah, Ernie and Justin, Dean and Seamus-even Lavender and Parvati- crowded to the front of the classroom, and helped pull him to his feet. Dazed, Harry reached up with his left hand to feel his ear. A stinging pain made him pull the hand away, and the children gasped and shrank back to see his fingers covered with blood. More blood trickled into his mouth, and he realised that his nose was bleeding.

"I'm taking Harry to the hospital wing," Susan declared, angry and frightened.

"I'm all right," Harry insisted, trying to wave them away. There were screams and shouts of "Bloody hell!" as the knife cut a swath through the air.

"Perhaps that is enough for today," said Quirrell, looking disappointed. "Finite."

The knife dropped, and embedded itself point first in the floor, just missing the toe of Harry's boot.

Harry glared up at Quirrell, gritting his teeth with the pain. Before he could say anything, Susan was pulling him away, tutting anxiously over his wounds.

As Harry staggered through the door, Quirrell was already telling the students to return to their seats, and was giving Ron Weasley five points for a successful tripping jinx.

Note: I thought it would be interesting to let Tom teach a class for once, rather than for him to just hinder Quirrell. Harry has irritated him more at this point than he did in canon, and Tom has very little impulse control when it comes to revenge. It also gives him an opportunity to poison the children's minds against muggles, without saying anything that can be challenged as a lie. The murderers I cite are all real. Who knows what sorts of book Tom read when he was in the muggle world-or what sorts of ugly experiences he had there?