Note: Sorry about missing last week's posting. A flash-drive disaster, and then too much real-life Christmas and a harp recital and the last of settling my brother's estate.

The Best Revenge

Chapter 42

Harry awakened on Christmas morning to find a pile of presents at the foot of his bed. Grinning, he pushed the covers aside and started tearing through them.

The top parcel was wrapped in thick brown paper, and across it was "To Harry, from Hagrid." Inside was a wooden flute-maybe the very flute Harry had seen him making. Harry blew in it, and the tone sounded a little like an owl to him. He tried out the different notes, first covering all the fingerholes and then lifting a finger at a time. This could be fun. Maybe Hagrid could give him some tips about playing, when Harry dropped by to thank him.

There were so many presents! Glad that he had taken time to find nice things for his friends, Harry bit off the head of one of the chocolate frogs from Ernie, while glancing though a book from Hermione: The Hobbit. It looked interesting. There was a book from Professor McGonagall, too, a thin volume called Runes Made Easy. He had a monogrammed scarf from Hannah, and a self-folding Map of Magical Britain from Susan. Justin had gone mad over the Honeyduke's catalogue, and Harry's present from him were sweets he had never heard of before, called sugar quills. Draco had given him something called a Sneakoscope, with a note enclosed, explaining how it worked.

"I daresay it goes completely wonky in Quirrell's class!"

Cedric had given him a bag of Bertie Botts. Eating those would be an adventure. Harry opened a lumpy little parcel from Sally. It was a tiny model of Hogwarts. When you tapped the Astronomy Tower, it played The Three Brothers. He opened Neville's flat present, and found it was a picture of his parents with two other young people. A note from Neville said they were Neville's parents, Alice and Frank. "They were friends, too." Harry smiled wistfully, and set the picture aside with a sigh. He would put it in his album.

A thin present was written on in Professor Snape's handwriting.

"Open this CAREFULLY."

Inside was an ivory-handled potions knife, much finer than the one that had come with his potions kit. It had a leather sheath that could fasten in different ways to one's clothing. Harry drew the knife out cautiously. It was single-edged and wickedly sharp, like all potions knives, and along the top edge from hilt to tip it was inlaid with silver and engraved with protective runes.

"Whoa!" Harry breathed. He sheathed the knife reverently.

The final present at the bottom of the pile was clearly a book, and a large and heavy one at that. Harry pulled away the silk covering, and found a note from Draco's parents, wishing him a happy Christmas. The book was bound in blue leather and stamped with gold.

"Yes!"

It was a book he had longed to read. The autobiography of his great-grandfather, Charlus Potter: The Seven Pillars of Magic.

It was thick and imposing, but it was full of pictures and a map that folded out and showed his ancestor's journeys. This was a treasure. Harry wondered where the Malfoys had found it, because it certainly was not in the Flourish & Blott's catalogue. He would write them a thank-you first of all.

The presents from the room by the owlery were great, but these were even better. These were people who knew Harry, and wanted to give Harry presents. They weren't just paying tribute to the "Boy-Who-Lived." Still, he looked forward to uncovering more of the owlery room's secrets after Boxing Day.

He was starving. He threw on his clothes and hurried up to the Great Hall. For a change, he was not the first student there. The Weasleys had all arrived, and the twins and Ron were laughing and roughhousing. Every one of them was wearing a thick jumper, and each jumper but Ron's bore the wearer's first initial.

"Good idea," said Harry sliding into his place. "Today I can tell the twins apart."

"So you think, Oh Boy-Who-IsToo-Clever-By-Half," declared a twin in a blue jumper with a large yellow F. "But who's to say we didn't switch 'em?"

Harry laughed. "They look nice and warm. Where did you get them?"

"Mum knits them," Percy told him. His own jumper was golden brown with a red P. "She loves knitting. Makes us all one every year."

"That's really nice of her." He nodded to Ron. "It's a good idea when it's this cold."

Ron stabbed a sausage and grumbled, "I hate maroon."

Harry glanced at him disapprovingly. Some people did not know how lucky they were. Imagine having a kind mother who took the time to knit jumpers for all her children!

"Do you have any plans today, Harry?" Percy asked politely.

"I was going to walk down to the lake after a bit," Harry told him. Professor Snape was not yet at breakfast. He might be sleeping in. Professor McGonagall was sipping her tea, and Harry gave her smile and a nod. She nodded back, looking pleased with him.

"Reckon you got a good haul of presents," Ron remarked.

"Sweets and books, mostly," Harry said casually. He saw no reason to tell Ron about his cache of gifts by the owlery. "Susan gave me a map of magical Britain. Where do you live?"

"Ottery-St. Catchpole. Quite a few magical families there: the Lovegoods, the Diggorys-"

"Really? That's neat. I'll bring it with me later and you can show me."

Ron nodded, and pushed his eggs around his plate. He said, "I could go out with you later. Maybe we could build a snow fort."

"Sounds like fun," Harry said. Ron was really making an effort to be friendly, and Harry hoped that after the holidays Ron would persuade Zach Smith not to be such a git.

"Severus, if you don't wake up, you'll miss Christmas altogether!"

Snape groaned, and squeezed his eyes open for the second time that morning. Dratted woman. He felt wonderfully relaxed and comfortable, and if she would just stop smiling at him...

He pulled a pillow over his face, and Charity poked him. "You have presents."

"I already received my present from you."

"Your other present, then. I have some, too. Do sit up, Severus, and let's open them together."

He pushed the covers aside, and looked blearily at the parcels she was piling on his legs.

"I daresay it's socks from Albus again."

Still, it was quite a novelty to be opening gifts with a companion-even better that the companion was a woman in the same bed. Her bed, of course. Charity preferred her own rooms for their meetings. When his Slytherins were in residence he had his duties as Head of House, and needed to be where the alarms would awaken him. At least if he had some pitiful first-year at his door, they would hardly be nosing about in his bedroom. The change to Charity's rooms was novel and pleasant: it really was rather like having a holiday himself.

Charity explained the charm on the little gift from Harry. Snape snorted at it, but was secretly pleased. One never knew such a thing might be useful. And it could be hidden in plain sight, which was sometimes all the better.

And she was enchanted with the scent he had brewed for her. Literally, but that was the charm on the crystal flask. She noticed it and laughed about it, but seemed genuinely pleased with his creation.

"Harry helped with it," he told her.

"He's becoming quite the useful little apprentice, isn't he?"

"I suppose." Snape frowned, thinking it over. "There's no need to set his future in stone this soon."

"Severus, I was just teasing! Oh, look! Albus gave me socks, too! Aren't they frightful?"

Her own present to him was a beautiful nightshirt, a blend of Spellcombe wool and Leafspinner silk that was exquisitely soft to the touch. With the flaring collar and well-cut sleeves, it was, he supposed, an entirely romantic garment.

"It looks like something Lucius Malfoy would wear," he grunted, and was instantly aware of how graceless that sounded. Charity was not at all put out.

"No, it looks like something you'll wear. It's temperature-charmed, too. I thought you'd like that shade of grey."

He cleared his throat. "I do like it. Very much. I'm surprised you didn't get me pyjamas."

"Certainly not," she laughed. "Nightshirts are so much more practical."

He took the hint, and observed, somewhat later, "You know, the house-elves piling the gifts there, while we're asleep-"

"-or while we hope we were asleep-" she murmured.

"Ugh. It's all rather-"

"-creepy. I agree. We're so dependent on elves, here in Britain. It took me sometime to get used to them again."

"None in New Zealand, I've heard."

She blew out a breath. "No, none in New Zealand, not even in the Village. I have simply got to have some breakfast." She pattered off to the bathroom, doing whatever it was she did. Snape sifted through his presents, hoping Harry had not already sliced a finger off with his new knife. Maybe it was reckless of him, but Snape felt it was always useful to have an edge-sometimes literally-and the silver on the blade might make all the difference someday...

Charity returned, braids neatly arranged on her head, but with part of her hair down, which Snape thought quite festive and attractive.

"Bathroom's all yours," she announced brightly.

When he returned, she had not yet dressed. She was still in her nightdress, sitting on the bed.

"Severus..."

When people used that voice, it boded no good. He eyed her warily. "Something on your mind?"

"Maybe this isn't the time, but I've been feeling guilty about this-"

Snape drew himself up stiffly, with what dignity he could muster in his current complete undress. "You don't think we should see one another any more?" It was no more than he should have expected.

She stared at him, aghast. "No! No! God, no! That's not at all what I meant! Of course, I want to see you!"

Relaxing somewhat, he asked, "What, then?"

She burst out, "I've never told you about my past!"

He blinked. "You have a past?"

It never occurred to him that such a nice, sweet-tempered person might have a past. Of course, she was in her thirties and had had a life before she came to Hogwarts, but there were pasts, and then there were pasts. He certainly had one himself. She couldn't possibly have one of those.

"Severus, I was married."

"Oh."

Well, that wasn't so bad, surely. Certainly better than "Severus, I am married." or "Severus, I am going to be married-but not to you."

It all came tumbling out. There were only a few hundred witches and wizards in New Zealand. Most of those of European descent lived and worked in the muggle word. Charity had gone to muggle university to learn to be a teacher. She had found a job she loved, and had met "Brian."

"Brian McGillicuddy. I was Charity McGillicuddy for three years."

"I salute your taste in returning to 'Burbage.'"

"Yes, well..."

She told him the whole story, while he dressed. Brian was a teacher, too. They met, they got on, they fell in love. Snape tried not to sneer, since it was all too clear where this was going.

"And then he found out you were a witch."

"He was rather excited about it, really. At first," she muttered, turning her head away. "He loved to see me cast charms. He was full of questions. He read all my Hogwarts texts."

Snape stared, rather surprised. "He was all right with it? Not the usual 'Die, spawn of hell' thing?"

"Oh, Severus, don't joke!" she pleaded. "He was all right with it-until-" She paused, and then, looking very miserable, she told him, "He was all right, until he found out that he could never learn to do magic himself."

"Ah." Snape sat down by her, thinking. This was a reaction he had not heard of before.

"He was crushed. Imagine learning that there's a whole magical world out there-but not for you, no matter how clever or motivated you are. Of course, I know that squibs must suffer, too, but at least-"

"Did he meet your family?"

"Yes-and they got on so well at first. Brian loved the Village and he loved my parents' house. This was all before the truth had quite sunk in, you understand. He wanted to live in the Village, and it might have been possible. They were thinking of building a school at the time, and would need teachers there, even with the small number of children. The Village isn't entirely hidden from muggles you see, and the authorities were asking questions. After a while, though, when he understood that he couldn't become a wizard, things changed."

"I daresay." She was leaning on him, and he did the appropriate arm-around-her thing, hoping that she would not get all wet and weepy. He hated that. Fortunately, she merely looked sad. That was not so unpleasant to deal with.

"To make a long and dreary story short, once he realised that he couldn't be a wizard, he was very bitter. And he told me that he didn't want to have children with me. Ever. There was no changing his mind. And it was then that I knew that I wanted a child more than anything in the world."

"Oh?" Snape essayed a brief uneasy glance at the top of her head. Charity wants children? He was not entirely sure how he felt about that.

"So we divorced. A legal, muggle divorce-all very tidy, since we had no children and not much property to speak of. And-this sounds dreadful, I know, but I did it. I obliviated all his memories of my magic."

"It sounds sensible to me. Why didn't you have the Ministry do it?"

Instantly she turned on him, thumping him on the chest. "Oh, be serious! There isn't a Ministry in New Zealand! The Village has a Mayor, and there's a volunteer Watch, and a two-room liaison office with the Australian Ministry with a single witch who's out taking tea most of the time! When you're magical in New Zealand, you deal with things yourself. I miss it sometimes. This whole immense bureacracy in Britain-it's so oppressive when you come back to it..."

"Yes, the Ministry is a many-headed monster. No argument there. So you rid yourself of this Brian. Well done, I say."

"But don't you see, we were teaching at the same school! And I didn't do such a brilliant job of obliviation, to tell the truth. He loved to play Dungeons and Dragons-it's a muggle fantasy game-and he forgot all about that, too. It was just an intolerable situation. At the end of term, I resigned, and I needed a change. So I thought I'd come back to Britain, now that You-Know-Who was gone."

Snape decided that it was time to treat this all as a happy ending. He gave her a tentative squeeze. "I daresay your family was sorry to lose you."

"They haven't lost me! Didn't you see what my mother sent? Actually, everyone was very supportive. They wanted me to find a proper wizard and bring him back with me."

"Is that your sinister scheme for me? To catch me in your toils and drag me Down Under?"

She looked up at him and shook her head, with a small laugh.

"At the moment, my only sinister scheme is to have breakfast. You're not angry that I kept my marriage a secret?"

"Everyone has secrets. It's not as if I've told you all of mine."

Professor Snape arrived for breakfast just as Harry was leaving. He ran over, eager to see his guardian.

"Happy Christmas, Professor! Thanks for the knife!"

"Shh! Lower your voice, Harry."

They were not far from the doors to the Great Hall. Snape watched as Quirrell finished and left by the door behind the Head Table. Harry watched, too, eyes narrowed.

"Yes," Snape said, taking up the conversation. "You're very welcome, Harry, but don't go on too much about that. Others might not approve of my choice. We'll have a look at the sheath next time we meet. I always keep a potions knife up my sleeve, myself. You've seen how I never know when I might need to gather ingredients."

Harry nodded, looking very wise and serious. Snape did not tell him about the other knife in his boot. Another advantage of being a half-blood. Purebloods never expected a physical attack. It had saved his life once, and none of his fellow Death-Eaters the wiser.

"And I thank you," Snape said, "for my Mystery Egg. Well done. A clever charm, and it simply looks like an attractive knick-knack."

"Professor Burbage taught us the charms. We had a lot of fun making things. She's a good teacher."

"My ears are burning," said the witch in question, entering the Hall, dressed all in green. "Happy Christmas, Harry."

"You, too, Professor! You smell really nice."

Snape rolled his eyes. Charity only smiled kindly, and said, "Thank you, Harry. Professor Snape said you were a great help. I appreciate your time and effort. Now I really must have something before I fall by the wayside!"

"Harry," Snape cautioned when she was out of earshot, "you really ought not to make such a personal remark to a witch and a Hogwarts Professor, especially about how she smells. In fact, never begin a sentence with 'You smell' unless you're ready to draw your wand."

"But she does smell nice! That perfume is great!"

"Then say something about the scent itself. You have to be tactful with witches. Hot-tempered, some of them."

"But not Professor Burbage. She's really nice. What did she give you?"

"Clothes," Snape answered vaguely.

"That's nice. Ron's mother knitted him a jumper. We're going to build a snow fort, but I thought I'd find Hagrid first. He carved me a flute. I always thought I'd like to play music."

"Hagrid might not thank you for waking him so early in the morning. I believe he was going to enjoy Christmas Eve in Hogsmeade, and might have-been up rather late."

"Oh, all right. I'll see him at the feast tonight, then."

"Sound thinking."

"Oh! And Draco's parents sent me a copy of that book by my great-grandfather! About his adventures," he explained, seeing Snape's blank expression. "The Seven Pillars of Magic. I expect you'll want to read it when I'm done."

Snape's expression was more grimace than smile. "Do take your time. Don't hurry on my account. I believe I'll join Professor Burbage now. Enjoy your day."

The snow fort developed into quite a noble structure over the course of the morning. Not quite Hogwarts, of course, but once they got Percy interested it grew impressively. They learned to make uniform building blocks of ice, and charms kept the roof up over their heads. Out of the wind, it felt positively cosy inside.

"And there's a window and all!" Ron admired.

The twins were devising steps to take them on top of the fort, where they could keep watch for enemy wizards. Percy explained the term "crenellation" and those were added. Behind them, they could throw spells and snowballs in safety. A little low wall by the doorway provided extra protection.

"If we cast cooling charms this should last for weeks!" Fred said, looking at their handiwork with satisfaction. "Why didn't we ever build one of these at Hogwarts before?"

"We must have been mad," George agreed. "But next year, let's build it on the rise by the lake. More defensible, I should think."

"We need more ammunition," Harry said, busily making snowballs and piling them into neat pyramids. They were really good snowballs, too: the sort you made by packing the snow tightly between your hands and squeezing until they were hard and easy to throw. Not exactly iceballs, of course. Harry remembered the time Dudley had hit him in the face with an iceball and broke his glasses. Somehow the broken frame had cut his face, and drops of red blood fell on the white snow, while Dudley and his friends jeered...

"This is nice," he remarked to Ron.

"Yeah, best snow fort ever! We make them at home, but it's sort of flat there and we never took so much trouble before. Yeah, this is nice. I wish we had a door and all and could sleep out here some time."

"You mean like camping?" Harry had never gone camping himself. He thought it did sound fun.

"Oi! Percy!" Ron shouted. "You reckon you could make a door?"

Percy regarded the structure with a frown. "I'm afraid I can't. Mind you, I think there might be a way. Or perhaps a tunnel would do. Perhaps there's something in the library..."

"The Word of Doom!" moaned George. "Thanks ever so for reminding him, Ron."

"No, really!" Harry said. "I think that's a great idea. We can have our fort all through the holidays, at least. I think it would be neat to find ways to make it even better. Maybe we can freeze ice to be like glass, even, for the window." He remembered the heavy blue-and-gold gift from the Malfoys. "I know! I have this book by my great-grandfather about his adventures. I think he went to the South Pole once. Maybe there's something there."

"Really?" Percy looked rather swoony. "You have in your possession a copy of The Seven Pillars of Magic? Really?"

"Uh-oh, the boy's in love!" Fred threw a handful snow at Percy. "Pull yourself together!"

Percy huffed, brushing himself off. "That only shows your ignorance. I've heard of the book of course, but-"

"Hark! Enemies approaching!" George growled from the battlements. "Get up here! It's him-"

"-or us," Fred said, eyes gleaming, as he skidded up the steps. "And somehow I think it's going to be him. Quick, Potter, the snowballs!"

Slipping and giggling, Harry and Ron made a supply line, Harry passing to Ron and Ron to Fred. Percy peered around the corner and shrieked faintly.

"Professor Quirrell!"

"Shh! Get down!" Ron whispered, tugging on Percy's cloak. Completely overcome, Percy dove into the fort, hiding his eyes. Harry's jaw dropped. Surely Fred and George would not dare-

"Take that, Dark Wizard!"

"-and that!"

Apparently they would. Harry heard two soft thumps, and a positive hiss of fury.

Peering with horrified delight over the little wall, Harry and Ron watched as Professor Quirrell turned to face his attackers. His purple turban was unraveling, sliding off his head. He was trying to draw his wand and hold on to the turban all at once, and he was sliding on the path now-

"For the Burrow!" Fred shouted.

A snowball exploded in Quirrel'ls face. Harry trembled, bracing for retaliation.

To his surprise, there were only enraged hisses, as Quirrell stumbled, both hands clutching to steady the turban. There was a slow, awful moment when he swayed dangerously, and then his legs flew out from under him and he sat down unceremoniously on the ice.

Ron guffawed. Harry felt a little guilty. He had never liked being tormented, but surely Professor Quirrell could just throw a snowball back at them or take points or even cast a spell at their precious fort to melt it to a puddle. If it had been Professor Snape, he thought, we'd all be puddles now. Instead Quirrell was clinging to that silly turban as if only that mattered.

Percy peeked out, utterly dismayed, and ducked back in again.

Quirrell struggled up, slapping the turban in place, and dashed away down the path to Hogsmeade.

"I see why he wears that turban," George reflected. "Reckon he's completely bald?"

"He wasn't before," Fred considered. "Maybe it happened on his travels. Funny-shaped head he has. I'd wear a turban too."

"Yeah, all bumpy like that. Ugly," Ron agreed.

"But why didn't he fight back?" Harry wondered.

The potion was ready-had been ready for two days. Snape turned the vial in his hands, admiring it. Tonight was his best chance to administer it, and to that end, he would need the assistance of-

"-Muffy is here, Master Potions Master!"

"I have an important task for you, Muffy. This needs to go into Professor Quirrell's mulled wine at dinner, and only Professors Quirrell's wine. It needs to go in just before it's served to him. The less time the potion spends in the wine, the better."

"Muffy understands," the little elf declared. "Muffy understands more than Master Potions Master thinks."

Elves really did go everywhere...

"Perhaps you do," Snape said. "This potion is not a poison. I am hoping it will help Professor Quirrell. You must not fail."

"It will help Little Master Harry," Muffy replied. "Muffy will not fail. This is easy. Master Potions Master does not understand how easy it is for Muffy."

Everyone took elves for granted. Snape pondered the matter as he entered the Great Hall, dressed in his best robes, the ones with the velvet trim that Charity liked. For today's Christmas dinner, everyone would dine at a single round table that had mysteriously appeared on the dais of the otherwise empty Great Hall. Snape snorted as he strode toward it. There appeared to be place-cards...

Dissatisfied with the seating, he attempted to move his card, and found he could not. Oh well, he would like to be placed to keep a better eye on Quirrell, but he could hardly object to having Harry on one side and Charity on the other. Dumbledore was attempting to mix the students with staff. He rounded the table and pitied the Ravenclaw who would have Filch as her dinner companion.

It was the usual Yuletide bacchanal, made more pleasant this year by his companions. Harry babbled happily to Charity about presents, and whispered about tomorrow's anticipated revel with his friends. He then told Snape the story of the Snow fort and the Trouncing of Quirrell in tones of hushed awe.

Snape discreetly watched Quirrell through the meal. Dumbledore had to know something, because there was a red-faced Percy Weasley sitting right by the Defense Professor, looking like he'd rather be anywhere else. The boy was making earnest, desperate conversation with Vector. Probably the one least at fault, but either of the terrible twins would simply have brazened it out. Percy was apparently capable of remorse.

Harry was more than delighted with their Christmas feast.

"I never saw such a dinner, Professor!"

Snape granted that it was very good dinner indeed. Living at Hogwarts made one used to good food, but he could remember pretty thin times in his own boyhood. How much more so must Harry. It would do no harm to indulge the boy by pulling a cracker with him, though the white mice were a bother. Harry put on his admiral's hat, and Charity said she wanted a picture of him like that. Albus was now wearing a flowered bonnet.

Has the man no pride at all?

Harry nearly broke his teeth on a silver sickle in his slice of pudding, and then excitedly showed it to Snape. There were more crackers, full of gifts, and Harry had balloons and puzzles and a set of chocolate gobstones, filled with butterbeer.

The mulled wine was served: in great golden goblets for the staff; in small silver cups for the students. Snape could not hear the cheerful noise echoing through the hall. His every nerve was focused on the goblet at Quirrell's place, the spiced scent rising enticingly. Quirrell was still playing with his pudding. He reached for the goblet. Snape tensed.

Flitwick asked a question of Quirrell, who drew his hand away from the goblet. Snape ground his teeth.

Charity said something to him. Snape could only grunt, not comprehending anything at the moment. Quirrell reached for the goblet again.

He must not-must not-catch Quirrell's eye and give the game away. He looked through his eyelashes at the pasty hand on the stem of the goblet. Quirrell was lifting to his mouth-

-and drinking! Snape felt himself ready to explode, wanting to bellow in triumph, wanting to pound his fist on the table in sheer relief.

He felt a nudge. Harry was asking, "Would it be all right if I went over and said thanks to Hagrid now? I want to thank Professor McGonagall too. I'll be very quiet."

Hagrid was certainly growing very flushed and jolly.

"Yes. I daresay now would be the time."

Harry ran around the table, speaking to his professors, wishing them Happy Christmas, pausing to whisper his thanks to Minerva, and then speaking more openly to Hagrid. The half-giant's response was clearly audible over the chatter.

"Glad yeh like it, Harry! Wasn't sure-but yeh did seem interested-"

He could not hear Harry's softer voice, but what he said clearly pleased Hagrid.

"Yeh fetch it right here, Harry, and I'll show yeh! No time like the present, I allus say!"

Harry ran off, presumably to find something-oh, that flute Hagrid made, most likely. Snape tried to reply intelligibly when spoken to, all the time watching Quirrell without being observed to watch him. The fellow was getting rather sleepy, just as he should...

He drank his own mulled wine, enjoying the scent, the taste on his tongue, the gold of his cup, and the joyful ambience of the feast and the company and the soft hand on his thigh under the table.

Perhaps this was what happy Christmases were like.

Note: Yes, I know the seating was different in PS/SS, but the situation is somewhat altered due to Snape's guardianship of Harry, and I like to think that Dumbledore would honour that.