The Best Revenge

Chapter 43

The fool had to be allowed to sleep occasionally. The waste of time was infuriating, but the fool was fragile and already showing signs of damage. And so he, Lord Voldemort, the one who should be Master, must dance attendance for hours while a rush of insipid images flitted uncensored through his host's mind.

Usually, it was possible to withdraw somewhat and use the time to plan. Now and then, however, the images were too strong and spilled over: the white flash of a girl's inner thigh, or the voice of a long-dead grandfather. Sickening, really.

But the fool had been asleep a very long time indeed, it seemed, and was not responding to any attempt to awaken him. Nor were his dreams drifting across the barrier. All the usual things that hurt enough to waken him had failed. He did not seem to be dead- the first, most terrifying thought-but he was in a strangely deep sleep.

Eventually the power of possession would work its magic, and provide eyes to see without the host's cooperation. Such magic took time, alas, and the new eyes were only magical nubs in the host's brain, pushing the idiot's own tissue aside, giving him headaches of exquisite rigour...

That was in the future, if he could keep this pathetic sack of excrement functioning long enough. For now, he could not know the time if the fool would not open his eyes and perform the tempus charm. Or simply look at the bloody clock.

He had nearly been exposed by those Gryffindor thugs yesterday. Not that he had much animus against thugs, mind you. A thug was an excellent tool, when used properly. He respected that the red-headed twins were clever and vicious in their own way, but they not likely to be recruited by him. They were their own closed circle, it appeared, from the off-hand way they treated their own blood kin, and already had an agenda of their own. Simply being twins gave them the extraordinary power of an unquestionably loyal and ruthless ally in any scheme one of them might hatch. With a twin as a partner, he himself would certainly have been unstoppable. One to attack and one to defend...

Useless to ponder the matter, though the Chinese had had some success with duplication spells. He had never been to China, which he regretted. He must put that on his to-do list. Minions were sometimes worse than useless, and their minds were always cluttered with their own futile hopes and dreams. If he could find a way to simply make duplicates of himself, he would never need to play absurd games to lure allies to his side. Now as to those Weasleys...

If some unfortunate accident were to befall one of the twins, the other would be likely to be lost and disoriented, and then it might be possible, with the nicely judged application of sympathy...

What time was it? He could hear noises in the castle, but they were not the usual noises, since the brats were away.

Except for the blood-traitor brood and Potter, of course.

What to do about Potter?

He suspected that the little monster had been party to the assault. He had heard that laugh before. He really needed to do something permanent about Potter, and the sooner the better. It seemed evident now that Snape had always been a traitor: pining after the mudblood, spying for the old fool, and now fostering that little viper in a pathetic travesty of fatherhood. Doing something permanent about Potter would likely cause Snape considerable distress, which would be very agreeable until the time came to do something permanent about Snape himself.

Or should he deal with dear Severus first?

Perhaps that would be best from a practical standpoint. Potter would then be defenseless and could be picked off at his leisure. And it would make the boy's last moments that much worse to know that he was cause of not only his parents' death, but of his guardian's. That might be nice. Yes, perhaps that was the way to go.

But first he must retrieve the Stone.

Wake up, you idiot!

"Are you really going to take all that to the Club Room?" Snape asked, rather exasperated.

"I want everybody to see what I got, and I can't take them into the Hufflepuff dormitories," Harry replied, clutching a bundle to his chest. He had been too excited to sleep longer, even after the pleasant supper of turkey sandwiches, and the haze of mulled cider and good-fellowship and winning a chess game against Fred. It had been a very nice Christmas, but he had really been looking forward to today. The Weasleys had been told he had plans, and so would not be looking for him. Today was for Draco, and Neville, and Hermione.

Ron and his brothers were still asleep, anyway. It seemed like everyone in the world was asleep but Professor Snape and Professor Burbage and Harry himself. The three of them had met for an early breakfast, and Professor Burbage had left already, gone to fetch Hermione back to Hogwarts.

It was a party, of sorts, and Professor Snape thought he should dress up a bit, so he was wearing his second-best set of robes-the tan ones with the cape-thing. He had smoothed his hair a bit, and his boots were shining like mirrors.

They arrived at the Club Room. Snape pushed the heavy carved door open, and Harry hurried through, not wanting to drop his flute. Hagrid had taught him to play half of The Three Brothers last night. Well-he had really taught him to play the whole thing, but Harry could only play the first two phrases well. He played them over and over, and then tried to finger carefully through the third, but there was a note he couldn't find for the life of him!

Huffing as he dropped his burden onto the long table by the wall, he looked around him admiringly. The elves had set up the room perfectly, with the comfortable stuffed chairs drawn up by the blazing fire, and a tea table, and the square table with chairs if they needed to play a game or work on a project. And they would have their lunch there, he reminded himself with great content. What a day it would be!

"It's nearly nine!" he almost shouted. "Do you think-"

"Professor Snape! Harry!" Draco called, rushing in. "Jolly good to see you! Do you like my coat?" He pointed to the lapels of silken, curly black fur. "Look at that! It comes from unborn lambs."

Harry was glad he had not worn a jumper or his student robes. Draco did indeed look quite "spiffing," as Fred or George would say: his boy's version of a wizard's frock coat cut smartly and trimmed with the aforesaid-

"Er-you look great," Harry smiled, feeling rather queasy on the subject of dead unborn lambs. "I'm so glad to see you! Some amazing things have happened."

"You don't say?" asked Lucius Malfoy, striding into the room, glancing about in lofty approval. He nodded cordially to Snape. "Severus."

"Lucius."

"Happy Christmas, Mr Malfoy!" Harry called out, very excited, "Thank you so much for the book! I've really wanted to read it!" He was waving a thick blue and gold volume. Lucius gave him a slight smile.

"Narcissa will be glad you're pleased. The book is no longer in print, but we have a copy in our library, of course. Copying it for you was easy enough, and Narcissa took it to Diagon Alley to be bound to her own specifications. It is quite worth reading and discussing-" he paused, and collected himself "-but not today. Narcissa and I are needed for an event at St. Mungo's. Ordinarily we would take Draco, but I daresay he will enjoy himself better here. "

His gaze fell on his son. "Draco. Mind your manners. I shall be back at five for you."

"Father."

Snape noticed that Draco's posture subtly relaxed as his father's footsteps faded. He lounged by the fireplace, watching the boys chatter, waiting for Charity.

"What's all this?" Draco asked, looking at the pile of gifts.

"My Christmas presents!" Harry told him proudly. "I had a smashing Christmas. We had a really great feast in the Great Hall, and wonderful crackers, and well-it was my best Christmas ever!"

"Oh, I see! That's my sneakoscope! Do you like it? Have you tried it yet?"

The boys poked through the presents, as Harry proudly displayed each one to Draco.

Neville arrived, trailing behind his grandmother, and clutching a huge box of chocolates to his chest by way of shield. He was dressed very formally, in what appeared to be old-fashioned clothes for a little boy, with ruffles on his shirt cuffs, and a waistcoat of bright red and gold brocade under his black robe.

Augusta Longbottom traded stiff bows with Snape, and thawed sufficiently to nod pleasantly enough to Harry. Draco was presented to her, and she granted him a cool but civil acknowledgment. It was an awkward moment, and Snape thanked the Powers That Be that Lucius was not in the room as well.

"Well, Neville, I see that everything's arranged very nicely indeed," she allowed, peering about at the room and its furnishings. "It's certainly a relief that you've found some friends, at any rate. Don't take more than one helping of anything, and don't, for Merlin's sake, eat too much cheese. It'll give you gas."

Harry's cheeks burned, and he moved a little closer to Neville. Draco said nothing, but raised his brows and looked at the floor. Neville simply looked tired.

Snape interposed. "The children will be cared for, Madam Longbottom. Would it be more convenient for you if I were to return Neville to you at five?"

"Thank you," she replied sternly. "But I shall retrieve him. It's best to do these things oneself, I always say."

On her departure, the three boys blew out deep breaths of relief. Snape noticed it, and then grimaced to realise he had done it himself.

"I put the picture you sent in my album, Neville," Harry said. "I really like it."

"I'm glad." Neville replied, a little tersely. "It was Gran's idea." He gave Harry the box of chocolates. "This is the part of the present I thought of myself."

"Ah! Belgian!" Draco noted, eyes gleaming. "Creams!"

"It's great, Neville. Thanks. We'll share them today. I'll open them as soon as-"

"Harry!" Hermione squealed. She burst into the room in a blur of blue velvet and flying brown curls. "Oooh! Neville! Draco! You're here already! Am I late? Mum and Dad just had to talk and talk with Professor Burbage. Hullo, Professor Snape! Happy Christmas!"

She finally had to breathe, and Draco remarked, "You look quite-nice, Hermione. Happy Christmas."

Hermione was much better dressed than they had ever seen her. She wore a blue coat trimmed in velvet, and a simple long-sleeved blue velvet frock underneath. Her frizzy hair had been tamed into shining curls for the day, and was held back with silver hair slides.

Neville nodded, looking rather surprised. Harry agreed, "Yeah, you look great. We all look so great it's a shame we're not going somewhere!"

"Perhaps you're not," Draco drawled, "but we are having luncheon and tea at Hogwarts, and that counts as somewhere!"

Charity laughed, but Snape agreed. "Well said, Draco. Professor Burbage and I trust you will have an enjoyable day, and not destroy the castle. Professor Burbage will be in her quarters if you need anything, and I will be out and about, but she should be able to reach me in an emergency." He glared at them briefly. "An emergency which you should not be having under any circumstances."

Charity winked at him, and her hand brushed his arm as they left the room to the children. The Granger girl was explaining the boxes she had brought: board games that none of the boys had heard of.

"This one is called Clue, and you solve a mystery. It's lots of fun. And this is Monopoly, and the point is to win all the property and money. And this new one is called Outrage and it's about stealing the Crown Jewels from the Tower-"

"The muggle Crown Jewels?" Draco asked. "Really? I hear they're rather fine. Let's do that."

"Don't worry about it," Charity said. "I want to work on my book anyway. I'll be here in my office if you finish early."

Snape went through the fire to his own laboratory, needing time and quiet to think. He took out his potions notebook and began writing his findings from the night before.

As soon as Quirrell was out of his quarters, it would be extremely interesting to observe him. The fellow had practically fallen asleep at the dinner table yesterday afternoon, and had not been seen since. The first result of the potion was thus achieved, but the later symptoms-the hallucinations, the confusion, the anticipated weakening of the power of a possessing spirit-those Snape would like to see and document in detail. The vague descriptions led him to believe that Quirrell should be awake sometime today. Perhaps Quirrell would make a complete idiot of himself at dinner. That was something to look forward to.

In the meantime, there were other things he must do. He had not looked at his owl post yet, and thumbed through it without much interest, until he saw the letter from the firm of Harker & Dedlock.

News, indeed! he decided, eyes widening as he read.

Muffy popped into view. "Master Potions Master!"

"Not now, Muffy!"

A brief, unseen look of anguish, a quick wringing of hands. "But Master Potions Master-"

"Later!" he commanded.

She popped away, and felt she had done her duty. If Master Potions Master was too busy, she must tell Little Master Harry. He was her true master anyway. She had been told to serve him last summer, and no one had yet troubled to change her orders.

Draco was rather disappointed that their game would not give them possession of the actual Crown Jewels, but had enjoyed playing it all the same. The concept of board games was new to him, and he could imagine all sorts of ways of adapting them to the wizarding world.

Still, they were all happy to get up and stretch, and Neville remarked, "It'd be nice to say hello to Hagrid."

"Are we allowed to go out?" Hermione wondered.

Harry glanced at his flute. He just needed that one note...

"If we're quiet, no one will know. I'd like to see Hagrid too. He's teaching me to play this," he said, showing them the flute. "Let's go see him and take him some chocolates."

"I don't know-" Hermione said anxiously, and then glanced at her fragile blue slippers.

"Impermeable!" Draco incanted, with a flick of his wand. "Mother uses that one all the time! Let's see if it works!"

"I'll get my cloak!" Harry said, dashing off. "Be back in a tic!"

"We'll meet you at the door," Neville promised.

The castle was silent, save for the whistle and moan of draughts singing through the ancient corridors. Harry pulled out his invisibility cloak as soon as he was out of sight, and ran to the Sett. Meanwhile the three others clung to the walls and crept along, feeling they were on a grand adventure.

And they found opening the great doors trickier than they thought. There was dull thunder and ominous creaking, and a grinding of hinges that seemed to indicate very poor maintenance, in Draco's opinion.

At last they were out and walking briskly along the path to Hagrid's house. When they knocked on the door of the groundskeeper's hut, they were surprised to see that all the curtains were closed.

Hagrid called out, "Who is it?" before he let them in, and shut the door quickly behind them. It was like walking into an oven.

"Whew!" Draco gasped. "The chocolates won't last long in this heat. Better hand them over straight away."

Hermione hastily unbuttoned her velvet-trimmed coat, and the boys shed their outer layers quickly.

"I wanted to say hello to you on Boxing Day, Hagrid," Harry told him. "And bring you these." He handed over the bag of chocolates, which were already softening. "I brought my flute, too. There's a note I can't find in that tune."

"Let's hear yeh then," Hagrid said, sitting down and listening to Harry's efforts with a judicial air.

Hermione fanned herself, feeling drop of sweat popping out and threatening her mother's efforts with her hair. Draco's scowled, and he and Neville surreptitiously poked at the fire, hoping to dampen it a bit.

"Nah, Harry—" Hagrid was saying, "yeh need to move yer thumb off the thumbhole for that. Like this. Try it."

The phrase worked this time. "I see!" Harry grinned, excited. He played it again. And again.

"Hello!" Neville said, seeing something in the fire. "What's that?"

Draco stared in disbelief. "It's a dragon's egg!"

"Oooh!" Hermione jumped up, and ran to see for herself. "Really?"

Hagrid looked sheepish. Harry stuffed his flute in a pocket and craned past his friends to see into the grate. "Where did you get it?"

"Won it," Hagrid admitted. "Coupla nights ago. I was down in the village havin' a few drinks an' got into a game o' cards with a stranger. Think he was glad ter get rid of it, ter be honest."

"But what are you going to do with it when it hatches?" asked Hermione.

"Well, I've bin doin' some readin'." Hagrid pulled a large book from under his pillow. "Got this outta the library-Dragon Breeding for Pleasure and Profit—it's a bit outta date, o'course, but it's all in here. Keep the egg in the fire—when it hatches, feed it a bucket of brandy mixed with chicken blood every half hour—"

"Is that a Norwegian Ridgeback's egg?" Draco breathed.

Hagrid beamed on the boy for the first time, and clapped him on the back until he nearly knocked the boy face-first in the fire. "Now that's what I like to see! A young feller that knows his dragons! Well done, Draco! Well done, and no mistake!"

Draco grinned back, in spite of himself, but Hermione could not be distracted from the essential point.

"Hagrid," she protested. "You live in a wooden house!"

"—And you could get in the most awful trouble," Neville pointed out anxiously. "It's against the law to breed dragons at home."

"Ain't breedin' a dragon," Hagrid assured them. "Just hatchin' it."

Hermione wasn't having any of that. "And what sort of person goes about carrying dragon's eggs? It all sounds very dodgy to me. Did you know him?"

"Nah, never set eyes on him before—I think." Waving his hands helplessly, he explained. "Kept his hood up. Yeh get a lot o' funny folk in the Hog's Head—that's the pub down in the village. Didn't quite see his face, but I was glad ter meet him. I allus wanted a dragon."

"I daresay," Hermione said stiffly.

"Anyway," Hagrid went on. "We get to talkin', and I told him I was gamekeeper here…he asked a bit about the sorta creatures I look after, so I told him. He kept buyin' me drinks, and we played cards for this egg he had. He wasn't too sure at first—didn' want it to go to someone that didn' know how to take care of it—but I told him, that after Fluffy a dragon would be easy…"

Harry sat back, mouth open, and exchanged quick, horrified glances with his friends. "You told him about Fluffy?"

"Well—yeah—how many three-headed dogs d'yeh meet, even around Hogwarts? So I told him, Fluffy's a piece of cake if yeh know how to calm him down. Jus' play a bit o'music an' he'll go straight of ter sleep—"
He stopped, pulling on his hair in distress.

"I shouldn'ta told yeh that! He blurted out. "Forget I said it! Hey!—where're yeh goin'?"

A whirlwind of coats and goodbyes as the four children left.

"Thanks, Hagrid!" Harry called, face tight with worry. "We've got to get back to the castle and take care of something right away!"

They pelted back at top speed. Hermione, heedless of her footwear, easily kept pace with the boys. They reached the entry hall, and were met by Muffy in full cry.

"Oh, Little Master Harry! You is back! Professor Purple Hat is going up those steps you tells me to watch!"

"When? How long ago?"

"Not long! Not long! He goes up, talking to himself, and then talking back to himself in a different voice!"

Note: Hi, all! Now the holidays are over, I hope to get back to my usual weekly schedule. Yes, the unborn lamb is a real thing. I have an astrakhan evening capelet (astrakhan is the furrier's name for unborn lamb) of my grandmother's in my closet. And Outrage is a real board game and has adorable little miniatures of the Crown Jewels. It would have come out when Hermione was a little girl.