Declaimer: The characters of Harry Potter belong to J.K. Rowling. The fanfiction (seen in bold) The Best Revenge belongs to Arsinoe de Blassenville. This chapter is unbetaed.

I'm sorry this took much longer than I originally anticipated! I don't have much of an excuse or reason other than I've been busy with college. Here is the next chapter of this story

The three of them changed out of their Wizemgamot robes—Ron had a spare bedroom for himself at Grimmauld Place for days where he was too tired to Floo home—and then settled themselves comfortably in the living room. Harry sat in one of the chairs as Ron sat on the couch with Hermione close to his side. Harry had Kreacher bring them some tea and cakes as well since he had a feeling they were going to be there a long time. By the look of the book it was going to take them several sessions spread over several days—or even weeks—to finish.

After making sure he was comfortable enough Harry opened the book to the first chapter and read.

The Best Revenge

Chapter 1

Harry Potter was coming to Hogwarts. He was coming soon: only a few pages away by the self-updating potions calendar on the wall of Severus Snape's laboratory.

"It's being told from Snape's point of view," Ron noted. "I thought this was about your life, Harry."

Harry shrugged, "The other Snape had said that he collected memories from other people as well, not just me. Plus he's the one who made the book so naturally his own memories are in it—possibly most of it."

"I think this book starts with the event that started the butterfly effect," Hermione said, "So that means the major event has something to do with Snape."

Snape would have the rest of July, when he would brew Poppy's list for the infirmary. He would have August, his last blessed month of freedom to finish his private projects before the arrival of the dunderheads.

"I think that's his favourite word," Ron joked.

Then the latest scion of that rotten stock would be swaggering through the halls of what had been to Snape both haven and prison for so many quiet years.

The trio rolled their eyes. Snape always seemed to be one for dramatics.

He glared at the calendar, resenting it. With nightmare clarity he pictured James Potter, snitch in hand, lording it over a new generation, smirking at him from the back row of the student desks, waiting for the chance to humiliate him once more. Living through the misery of his student years had been bad enough: now he would have to relive them, day by miserable day. It had been seven years of hell. He had raised the possibility of a sabbatical with Albus, and had been refused with a smile and a dozen good reasons.

Harry sighed, a little annoyed at the book and Snape already. He really wasn't at all like his father… well, not as much as Snape liked to make it seem like he was.

Restless, he shut down the current potion, and put it in stasis. He was too distracted to work well at the moment. Harry Potter was coming to Hogwarts, and Snape might as well try to command the tides as prevent the imminent catastrophe.

"Just how long are we going to have to read about how much Snape thought I was a carbon-copy of my father?"

Everyone else was astir with excitement. Whispers about The Boy-Who- Lived rustled through the halls. Not just his colleagues, either: even the ghosts gossiped discreetly. The very portraits were uncommonly active, awaiting the young hero.

Ron and Hermione stifled laughs at the extremely exasperated tone Harry used as he read.

Climbing a staircase and stalking quickly down a hall, Snape scowled at the worst offenders, a gaggle of shrill voiced witches forever celebrating Beltane. One of them, the sultry, buxom one with flaming tresses, always made eyes at him when he passed. Today she blew him a sympathetic kiss. He did not respond, and felt like lashing out as they commented on his weakness for red hair.

Harry wasn't sure he wanted to laugh loudly or feel embarrassed because he knew that this was a subtle reference to Snape's attraction to his mother. Ron seemed to be in a similar situation; unsure if he should laugh or feel uncomfortable since he too had red hair—not that Snape had a weakness for any of the Weasley family. Hermione outright laughed at her two friends and Snape.

Minerva was working on the Hogwarts letters today. She had said as much at breakfast. Like himself, she did not spend the whole of the summer at the school, but was back and forth as her duties demanded. Not like Sprout, engrossed in her gardens for the entire time. No, Minerva had just returned for the letters.

"I always wondered what the professors did during the summer," Ron said allowed.

"What, did you think they just stayed at the school the whole time?" Hermione asked incredibly.

"Well…yeah. I mean Sprout seems to stay there all the time." Hermione just rolled her eyes at Ron.

She had worked out a system that had served her well for years. Obviously, she did not write each letter herself, but had the Hogwarts Quill produce them en masse from a template. All the birds of the owlery hovered nearby, ready to deliver the letters throughout Magical Britain.

"So that's how the letters are sent," Hermione said, "I always wondered about that. It is all quite ingenious really. Especially since every student needs to get a letter and there are close to three hundred students attending Hogwarts at a time."

For all that, he thought she looked harassed, after he knocked and was invited in to her office. Meticulous as she was, the letters resisted organization: Parchment flew about, folding itself, flying past the seal. Green ink and purple wax puddled on the floor, despite her efforts and those of the house elves.

She gave him a sharp glance. "Come to make yourself useful?"

"Probably not."

"I certainly hope not," he grunted.

"Looks like you think like Snape, Ron." Harry laughed.

"I've had all I care for of making myself useful in the dungeons today. I'm about to grow bonespurs from all the Skele-Gro I've brewed."

"Typical Snape," Harry said with a smile.

"Puir wee laddie," she said, utterly without sympathy,

"Typical Mcgonagall," Hermione laughed.

catching the latest parchment escaping from the Quill, and waving it off in the proper direction. "Wayward things. I sometimes wonder if the Quill wants these children here at all."

Snape slumped into a chair. "I can think of one of the little buggers I'd prefer not to see."

She pressed her lips together reprovingly. "Pull yourself together, Severus. He's only a child."

"Only The Child-of-Destiny-Who-Lived-to-Rule-All-Hogwarts. Can you imagine how spoiled rotten he is?"

"Me? Spoiled? When pigs fly."

"I have met Draco Malfoy," she replied, peering over her glasses, brows raised.

The three laughed loudly at that. While spoiled wasn't the word any of them would use for Harry it was the perfect word to describe Draco Malfoy—especially back in their starting years.

Snape scoffed, watching the owls catch each whizzing letter in unfailing talons. "He's bound to be worse."

"Hardly."

A letter fluttered by, and Snape was distracted by it.

Neville Longbottom

The Terribly Untidy Room with all the Plants

Longbottom Lodge

Lancs.

"Sounds exactly like a room Neville would have," Hermione said fondly.

"I'll say," Ron said dryly with an eye-roll, "His part of the dorm was always a mess."

"I was talking about the plants, Ronald. And I don't want to hear you talk about messy rooms. I've seen both your area of the dorm and your room at the Burrow and it's nothing to laugh at."

Ron flushed.

Minerva was quiet for a moment, letting another piece of parchment fly, and then remarked, "I'm not too sure of that. Who knows what those wretched muggles he lives with have done to him?"

"Wait…. What?" Harry said lowly.

"Lily's sister and her husband. I daresay they dote on him."

'How can he say that?' Harry thought, 'he knows what Aunt Petunia was like and how she felt about magic.'

"Possibly. Possibly not. I told Albus—" she scowled and vanished another splotch of green. "—I told him that I had taken a look at them, and that they were the worst sort of muggle—smug and suburban and small-minded. Scarcely a book in the house, and the two of them slobbering over their own little boy in a very unhealthy way. It all gave me a very bad feeling."

"She knew about my aunt and uncle?" Harry said shocked, "And Dumbledore knew from the start too?"

Ron and Hermione shared a glance.

"The idea of Harry Potter here gives me a very bad feeling. I daresay Albus had his reasons."

"Well, obviously the boy's godfather-" She paused, and a quick flash of misery spread over her stern face, and was just as quickly overcome.

"Quite," Snape replied after a moment of deep and holy satisfaction. The murderer Sirius Black was safely in Azkaban, where he belonged, and where he could threaten no one else. It had taken the lives of thirteen muggles and his friend Pettigrew to convince the wizarding world of what Snape had known for years: Black was a killer—a violent sociopath without any regard for the lives of others.

This part came out more like a grumble than anything else. Harry had a feeling that since the book was going to be starting from a point in time where the truth about Sirius was never known to anyone that there was going to be some slander, but that didn't mean he had to like it.

If his homicidal tendencies had been nipped in the bud, back in those dreadful school years... Well, as far as he was concerned, those unnecessary deaths lay directly at the Headmaster's door. Dumbledore had viewed Black's attack on Snape's life as a merry prank gone wrong. Snape had known better then, and did not mind being proved to have been right all along,

Harry wanted to roll his eyes at Snape's immaturity, but found he couldn't. After all, there was a degree of truth in his statement. Dumbledore had let the Marauders get away with more than imaginable. Maybe if the Headmaster had been a little stricter towards the group then maybe the relation between them and Snape would have been different.

Nonetheless, Black had been the Potter child's guardian, and with his incarceration, Albus had stepped in, and placed the child not with any of his eager wizarding relations, but with Lily Potter's muggle sister.

There was a pause, "Is he allowed to do that?" Harry asked Hermione who just shrugged.

"I'm not exactly sure."

"We could always ask Percy, Kingsley, or my dad," Ron suggested. "They probably would know the most about the legal system or direct us to someone who does know."

"Right, we'll ask at the Order meeting next week," Hermione said.

No one had seen him since, other than a few pushing gawkers.

"'Gawkers' is right. None of them were subtle at all."

No doubt it was intended to keep the boy safe, but Snape wondered, judging from his own experience, if life in the muggle world was really a good thing for any wizarding child.

"It really all depends on the muggles," Hermione said at the book defiantly as if it was challenging her. Harry swiftly moved on before something bad happened.

Curious in spite of himself, he asked, "Does Albus visit the boy?"

"I wish he did. Things might have gone better for me if Dumbledore popped by every so often."

A letter flew by, and Snape snorted at the address:

Draco Malfoy

The Green Room. (It's NOT Called the Nursery Anymore!)

Malfoy Manor

Wilts

All three of them roared with laughter, Ron the loudest of the three. Big Bad Draco Malfoy's bedroom was still called the nursery at the age of eleven.

"I wonder how he reacted when he saw that on his Hogwarts letter," Harry said between wheezes. The thought of what Draco's reaction might have been pulled the three back into another intense fit of laughter. It took nearly five minutes for them to calm down enough to continue.

"No," Minerva replied, with a disapproving scowl. "No one has been allowed to visit. I asked if I might, a few years back, and Albus told me he had promised the aunt to leave them alone. That did not speak well for her, as far as I was concerned."

"He really should have been checking up on you," Hermione said sadly, "Mrs. Figg didn't really do that great of a job of making sure you were okay."

"I quite agree." Another letter flew by, lazily spiraling in the fresh breeze from the window. Snape saw the name, and summoned it.

"Three guesses who's letter that is," Ron whispered to Hermione.

"I only need one to know."

Harry Potter

The Cupboard Under the Stairs

Number 4, Privet Drive

Little Whinging, Surrey.

Hermione's eyes squinted and Ron's fists tightened at the mention of Harry's old living arrangements. Harry shuffled in his seat uncomfortable.

Snape's eyes widened. What's this?

With an attempt at unconcern, he asked, "Does the address reflect the child's current location at the moment the letter is addressed?"

"No," Minerva answered irritably. "That would be impossibly difficult. It's generally directed to the place where the child regularly sleeps. Now if you don't mind, I'm very busy, even if you're slacking off."

"Do you read the addresses as you work?"

"I hardly have time!"

"They didn't know," Hermione said slowly as realization dawned on her, "since Mcgonagall doesn't address the letters personally she never knew where you slept." Suddenly the 'ingenious' letter delivering system didn't seem so ingenious anymore.

Snape studied the heavy yellow parchment thoughtfully, and set it aside.

How very interesting. The Cupboard Under the Stairs. The words rattled about in his head, conjuring unpleasant visions, recalling ugly memories. As a child, he had been locked in a wardrobe on occasion and he disliked small spaces to this day.

All three of them felt sorry for Snape. They knew his home life wasn't the greatest, but for it to be so similar to Harry's…

He thought more seriously about his memories of Petunia: how unpleasant she had been to him personally, and how bitter and jealous of Lily she became over the years.

"Jealousy can do that to people," Hermione said sadly. Ron shuffled a bit in his seat. Noticing this Hermione placed a comforting hand on Ron's.

She wouldn't dare—or would she?

"She would."

He snorted. Why not? A helpless child at her mercy with no one overseeing her…an opportunity to get a bit of her own back…Lily's parents long dead, of course... Dumbledore's promise of no interference…There's no one, absolutely no one to prevent her from treating the boy exactly as she likes.

"And how true that statement is," Harry said.

"Do you simply send the letters out and hope for the best?"

"What? Of course not. I visit the muggleborn children personally." She jerked her chin, indicating a small stack of envelopes on the desk. "Otherwise we'd never hear from them. Where would they find an owl?"

Hermione laughed, "One of my parents' first questions was about the owls."

Harry smiled, "that was my first question too."

He smirked. "Do you think Harry Potter has access to an owl?"

"He had a point," Harry mused, "why was I getting letters in the same manner as wizarding family children? I lived with muggles."

"Maybe it was because you're a half-blood and it picked up on that," Hermione said, "the letter are self-writing."

She saw the letter on the table beside him and glared at him. "Don't try to stop the letters going out, Severus. Unpleasant things would happen to you."

"The thought never crossed my mind."

"Liar, liar pants on fire," Ron sang.

It appeared that Minerva was nearing the bottom of the list of names. The Quill wrote the letters, Minerva signed them, the parchment fluttered itself dry, and the Quill addressed the letter. It gathered up a supply list from a waiting pile, and folded itself neatly. It was then passed under a glass globe filled with warm purple wax and promptly punched with a wet and hearty smack that resembled a kiss. If Minerva did not catch the letter to add to the muggleborn stack, the letter flew to the waiting owl and was gone in a moment.

"As effective as the process is, it does have its flaws as we just saw, er, read."

The rhythm was almost hypnotic. Snape watched the process, thinking about the son of James Potter. Then he thought about the son of Lily Evans. Then he thought about the poor-relation nephew of Petunia. If only the child were a girl, he thought. I could think of a girl as Lily's more easily.

"What would your name have been if you were a girl? Harriet?" Ron laughed as Harry tossed the throw pillow on the chair at him. However, it veered sharply to the right and towards Hermione who ducked on instinct. Ron shot his arm out and was able to smack the pillow away as he grinned towards Harry. "That's the reason why I'm a Keeper and you're not a Chaser. You're aim sucks."

It was rather pleasing to imagine a young James Potter reduced to poverty and sleeping in a boot cupboard.

Harry rolled his eyes.

It was not so pleasing to imagine Lily in the same situation.

"The son of the man Snape hated and the woman Snape loved—he must have always been at an internal war with himself on the matter," Hermione said.

"Too bad the image of your dad trumped that of your mother."

Petunia has a husband and a child of her own. Perhaps there is some rivalry?

"There a bit more than some rivalry," Harry commented.

She wouldn't want her sister's child to outshine her son the way Lily always outshone Petunia herself.

This idea passed through Harry's mind for a moment, but he quickly pushed it away… for now.

I wonder if the husband is a restraining influence. The address would seem to indicate otherwise. Perhaps this Mr Dursley is a weakling, dominated by Petunia.

Harry snorted.

The girl was horribly shrill at times—and spiteful, too.

"He's got that right."

James Potter's son. The bully's son bullied in his turn.

'Ironic in a sense,' Hermione thought quietly to herself. She didn't like at all what the Dursleys put Harry though, but she couldn't ignore the irony of the situation. 'A bittersweet outcome really.'

What had ten years with Petunia done to the child? Snape grimaced. Dumbledore behaved as if he had never heard of abused or traumatized children, and when told of cases, tended to dismiss them as exaggerations.

Harry grimaced. That was true. Dumbledore and even some others had practically brushed Harry's words off when he did mention how much the Dursleys hated him.

It was a constant puzzlement to Snape. Dumbledore had known generations of students, many of whom arrived bearing mental and physical scars. Only a blind state of denial could explain the Headmaster's blithe optimism.

"No one really wants to admit they'd been wrong about something. Especially something so serious," Ron said with a low voice as his thoughts flickered back to all the times where his pride got in the way of apologizing and facing reality.

Perhaps Dumbledore's childhood was perfectly idyllic, and he cannot imagine anything else. Ten years in a cupboard? The boy may be half-mad.

"Half-mad? You were absolutely barking at times," Ron said with a grin as he dogged a pillow that Harry had conjured to throw at him. "Your aim's improving," Ron said in jest.

He may be neurotic, withdrawn, repressed, hopelessly damaged. So much for the Boy-Who-Lived. Does Dumbledore think of him only as a symbol?

Harry was starting to wonder that too.

It was time to say something, he decided. "I know Lily's sister rather well, actually. We grew up in the same town, the Evans girls and I. Petunia resented Lily from the day she got her Hogwarts letter. She may not like sending her nephew to Hogwarts. Perhaps I should pay a call on her and discuss it."

"Really, Severus," Minerva protested, "the responsibility is mine."

"But you have all the rest to attend to."

"They won't be allowed to refuse to send him to Hogwarts, you know."

"What does happen if someone refuses to send their child to Hogwarts?" Harry asked turning toward Hermione who shrugged.

"I'm not exactly sure. They certainly can't allow their child to not have any formal training otherwise their magic could become unstable and cause serious and permanent damage."

"They probably send them somewhere else if they don't want their kid going to Hogwarts," Ron piqued in, "Maybe even teach the kid themselves or hire some private teacher if they can afford that."

"I do recall Draco mentioning to his friends that he father originally wanted to send him to Durmstrang," Harry said.

Snape could imagine Dumbledore's response to anyone who tried it. "I would imagine not. I'm sure I can make it clear that that is not an option."

"Perhaps my appearance might be salutary."

"Oh, yes, I daresay," sneered Snape. "Mine, however, might be even more so."

"I don't doubt that for a second," Harry said, "I'm sure Aunt Petunia will absolutely love seeing Snape again."

She paused in her work, eyeing him narrowly. "You disliked her."

"I dislike everyone."

All three of them laughed. Wasn't that the truth.

"Don't be too intimidating, Severus."

"I shall be exactly as intimidating as I need to be."

Ron grinned, "Which means he's going to be extremely intimidating."

She laughed ruefully. "If she really is uncooperative, I expect you to take young Harry for his supplies yourself. Dumbledore has his Gringotts key. Do you think you're equal to giving the grand tour of Diagon Alley to Harry Potter?"

'Oh boy' Harry thought to himself. Shopping with Snape, that sounded like a disaster waiting to happen.

He frowned, and gave her a considering nod. He picked up the letter again, careful to keep the address from Minerva, and thrust it into a pocket. His lips quirked, remembering himself as a wide-eyed small boy, holding the hand of a small, equally wide-eyed Lily. It was a precious memory, carefully guarded from the greatest practitioners of Legilimancy.

Even though Harry was increasingly becoming accustomed to the fact that Snape and his mother had once been best friends the idea that they had gone to Diagon Ally together, hand-in-hand none the less, was something that never crossed his mind.

The smiled curdled a little. It should have been James Potter who took his small son to see the wizarding world for the first, ravishing, glorious, unbelievable time. How Potter would have strutted down the Alley, waving at his friends, making grand entrances as he showed off his heir at all the shops. Snape pictured father and son lingering over the Quidditch supplies.

As much as Harry was displeased with the sneering tone that was in Snape's words he couldn't deny that the description of what could have been how a Diagon Ally trip with his father seemed pretty accurate.

But James Potter was dead, and would be rolling—no, thrashing- in his grave to see himself replaced by his hated enemy. The thought made him feel a trifle giddy.

"A giddy Snape," Ron repeated, "I can't imagine that at all and what I am imagining is rather terrifying."

"Yes," he answered aloud, feeling cheerful for the first time in weeks. "I can think of no one better."

"I can," Harry rolled his eyes. Harry could think of a long list of people that could have been better than Snape to go to Diagon Ally with. No matter how brave and heroic Snape had been, even if he was still alive Harry wasn't jumping at the idea of going shopping with him.

At lunchtime, Dumbledore was quite astonished at Snape's involvement in the case: astonished, and perhaps (though this was well-hidden) not entirely pleased, despite a beaming smile.

Hermione frowned a bit at this.

"My dear boy, I am so pleased to see you letting bygones be bygones. Do you really wish to deliver Harry's letter personally?"

"I believe it will save time in the end, Headmaster," he replied, all of his mental shields in place. "I have no desire to make more of a to-do over a first-year student than necessary. Besides, I confess a slight curiosity to see Petunia Evans after so many years."

Snorts were sounded all around.

"If you really believe there will be some difficulty, Hagrid would be more than willing—"

"I am not afraid of difficulties," he replied, rather stiffly, "and I have other errands in the Alley. A brief diversion. As I told Minerva," he remarked, nodding in her direction, "I am the best qualified person: I know the aunt personally, and as a halfblood who lived in the muggle world in childhood, I can anticipate Potter's questions and concerns better than anyone else here."

"Those are some concrete points," Ron noted.

Harry nodded. He loved Hagrid and would never forget the wonderful experience he had with the half-giant as he showed Harry around Diagon Ally and bought him his first real birthday present, but it was painfully obvious that Hagrid was clueless when dealing with the muggle environment or Harry's more complicated questions about the magical world.

Albus peered at him, with just a touch of reproach. "I do hope," he said gently, "that you are not looking upon this as an opportunity for an act of retribution on James Potter. While I know that the two of you had your differences as students, it would be very, very wrong if you were visit your resentment on an innocent boy. I daresay young Harry is much like his father, and that might cause you to brood over wounds that should have healed long ago-"

Hermione's frown deepened. Dumbledore was a great wizard who fought for the light, but over the past year it was showing that sometimes his methods were less that savory. Mentioning the old rivalry between Snape and James Potter was a low blow. And who was he to say that Harry was 'much like his father?' Dumbledore had never even meet Harry (again) until he arrived at Hogwarts.

Minerva broke in, rather sharply. "They certainly should have, and you oughtn't to stir the pot by bringing them up again, Albus.

"Good things never happen when you mention old wounds," Ron said drearily.

It was very thoughtful of Severus to offer to help me. He was quite right to point out that Harry will have no way to reply. Besides, it's important that someone else understand this process—"

Dumbledore smiled again, and waved a hand to calm her. "Yes, yes, my dear Minerva. There is much in what you say. It was very kind of Severus—very kind indeed. Nonetheless, my boy, if you find yourself too busy this afternoon, it will be no trouble at all for Hagrid to go." He gave Snape another searching glance, combining hope with doubt—a glance Snape had seen all too often.

"That's a glance I never liked receiving," Ron said, frowning "Mum gives it sometimes and it just makes you feel awful really. I can't imagine what getting one from Dumbledore must feel like. Especially since it sounds like it's a look Snape gets often."

He grimaced and looked away, attacking his roast beef vindictively.

"That poor roast," Ron said in mock sadness.

His thoughts whirled. What was the old man at? The Headmaster's words had brought to mind how much James Potter had done to torment him. Minerva's intervention had calmed him somewhat, and now he was wondering what game Dumbledore was playing.

He did not want Snape to retrieve the Potter boy. That much was clear. However, he did not want to forbid him outright, since that would be impolitic, as Minerva had already agreed. Despite his fair words, his demeanor was clearly meant to discourage. In this situation, it roused Snape's curiosity. Was there something wrong with the boy? Something he did not want Snape to see?

It was Harry's turn to frown. He didn't l like listening to this negativity about Dumbledore after all the man had done for the Wizarding World, but Harry also couldn't shake the feeling that Snape may have been on to something. That Dumbledore was planning something since, like the book said, it was obvious that the headmaster didn't want Snape to retrieve Harry at all.

Shaking his head of these thoughts Harry continued on with the reading.

Dumbledore had not insisted that Minerva go herself, but had wished to substitute Hagrid. Why? Hagrid had always treated Snape well, but no one could accuse the fellow of being the ideal choice to advise a new student, or to explain the intricacies of the wizarding world. What made Hagrid so desirable?

"If it had to be anyone other than Snape to deliver your letter than literally anyone would have been fine," Hermione cut in, "Why is Dumbledore insisting that it has to be Hagrid? I'm not so sure about this…" The last part Hermione mumbled more to herself.

He was big and imposing, of course, which made Snape suspect that the Headmaster did in fact expect "difficulties." Perhaps Dumbledore knew a great deal about the boy's situation, and that in turned raised a train of thought that Snape had no time to explore. What else?

"Hagrid's height is very imposing, especially when he loses his temper," 'and boy did he lose his temper. Harry thought the last part to himself. "But Mcgonagall's tone is just as scary and Snape's entire person can be downright terrifying."

Minerva was shrewd and observant, and if there were something amiss in Petunia's household, she would pick up on it immediately.

"She always knew right away when Fred and George have been up to trouble," Ron said in a somber voice as Hermione squeezed his hand and Harry sent him a sympathetic look.

Hagrid was unlikely to notice silent hostility, at least, and might not think to mention it. Furthermore, Hagrid was an ardent old Gryffindor, and vocal about it. Unlike McGonagall, who was scrupulously fair, he would likely prejudice the boy in favor of his parents' house, and fill the child's ears with tales of his father's shining qualities.

Harry felt a bit sheepish there. That was very true. His first impressions of the houses were that Gryffindor was the best, Slytherin was nothing but evil, and that Hufflepuff was for the leftovers. Ravenclaw wasn't even mentioned by Hagrid once. Instead, Harry had only barely heard it mentioned by Hermione during their first meeting and even then she hadn't mentioned what Ravenclaw stood for and had declared that Gryffindor the house she aspired to be in as Dumbledore had been there. All in all, pro-Gryffindor propaganda was carved into Harry's brain before he even arrived at Hogwarts.

Snape vowed that if he could prevent nothing else, he would make it his mission to prevent that.

Ron raised an eyebrow at that. He couldn't imagine Snape being fair to all the houses since he himself was bias towards his own. Though, on the other hand plenty of shocking things about the Potion Master that went against all pervious assumptions Ron had about him had been revealed over the past year so it wasn't really that unbelievable.

And yes, Hagrid was personally loyal to Dumbledore—all right, fair enough. Dumbledore wanted the boy to be given the most admiring, laudatory image of Dumbledore possible. Perhaps it was an old man's harmless vanity. It could also mean that Dumbledore regarded the boy as important enough that he wanted to be able to influence and manipulate his actions.

Harry scowled at the words, but whether it was at the preposterousness of the idea or the fact that it scarily seemed all too possible, he wasn't sure.

He had long understood that Dumbledore believed the Dark Lord would return someday. There was that cursed, abominable prophecy—

The one that will vanquish the Dark Lord approaches…

"I hate that prophesy," Harry muttered under his breath.

The juicy roast beef tasted of dust and ashes. Despite Dumbledore's dire predictions, Snape personally believed that the prophecy had already been fulfilled, and thus was of no further value. As an infant, The Boy-Who-Lived had indeed vanquished the Dark Lord.

"That is a thought to ponder," Hermione said. "By all accounts the prophecy was fulfilled the night he attacked your family at Godric Hallow. Voldemort had died; even if it was just part of him he did die."

"Are you saying that after that night the prophecy was filled and I didn't need to face off against him again?" Harry asked.

Hermione shrugged, "I'm not an expert on prophesies, and you know how I regard divination in general. So I don't really know if there are loopholes or anything like that. I'm just saying that it was a possibility."

Harry's lips pursed into a thin line, but he continued reading.

Snape wondered if the boy was cognizant of his status. Since Petunia had not seen fit to capitalize on it in any way, it was possible—just possible—that he was not.

"Absolutely not."

What would be the affect on an ignorant boy, coming from the humdrum life of muggles, to find that he was a hero? To find out that magic was real, and that he was already a famous wizard? Would he coast through life because of something that he could not possibly remember, with all his glories behind him? It would be all too easy to mold such a boy into the semblance of his reckless, shallow, impulsive father.

Harry didn't consider himself to be like his father very much other than looks and a few personality traits, but he was highly impressionable at first since he was literally pushed right into the center of the Wizarding World with no knowledge at all. Now that he thought about it, Harry was always told more about his father than his mother. In fact it wasn't really until Harry had met Slughorn that he learned anything about his mother other than she had green eyes and red hair and was good at Charms.

On the other hand, if Snape would not step aside in favor of Hagrid, Dumbledore's fallback plan might be for Snape to meet Famous Harry Potter angrily and resentfully, to willfully ignore any problems evident in the boy's life—perhaps to maliciously withhold such information from others. That would inevitably push the boy toward anyone who seemed to be Snape's opposite number. By reminding Snape of his most painful grievances, Dumbledore was subtly encouraging him to do his worst.

"Basically," Hermione said softly, "Dumbledore wants himself, and by extension Gryffindor, to be the first impression you have on Hogwarts and magic in general. By being your first real impression he would be able to influence you to trust him the most out of anyone else."

Harry's grip on the book tightened. He didn't want to believe that such an idea was true. Dumbledore was a great man who always did what was right and what was the best for the greater good.

Or was that the powerful influence planted in a young Harry's mind talking?

Harry was already left with more questions than answers and they hadn't even finished the first chapter yet.

Snape hissed at his defenseless plate, realizing that he had almost fallen in with the old man's scheme. His curiosity was now aroused to the highest degree. He must play this carefully, seeming to be uninterested, even slightly contemptuous of the boy—hardly difficult—and yet intent on his duty. He would get the key from Dumbledore immediately. He would probably have to accompany the child to the Potter vault. That was a bonus. Perhaps he could have a glimpse of the Potter wealth, the fame of which had been a weapon in James Potter's hands.

The idea that his father flaunted his wealth, possibly in a similar fashion to Draco, was unsettling.

Snape did not care much about money, per se, but he had often pondered what he could have done with his life—the places he could have seen, the studies he could have pursued-had he been as rich as Lucius Malfoy or the Black Family—or Potter.

'Like me,' Ron thought woefully to himself.

He certainly would not be endlessly reliving his wretched youth as a teacher in his old school. Potter had been rich, certainly—a careless, rich pureblood—so rich that he could marry a muggleborn witch with no money of her own and carry it all off effortlessly.

Hermione huffed. There was absolutely nothing wrong with coming from a family that didn't have money like the Malfoys and certainly nothing wrong with being a muggle-born. She blamed the narrowed mindedness of people in the 70s who had the ridiculous idea that woman shouldn't work.

Of course, Lily had been very special. Any other muggleborn witch would have looked foolish and awkward and out of place in the circles Lily had married into. Lily had never looked out of place in her life. If the boy could model himself after his mother, now, there would be hope for him. Snape pictured a small head bent over a pile of books: a diligent student, not sliding by like his father on charm and raw talent…

Ron snorted, "So basically Hermione or Lupin then?" The only response was the well-deserved smack of Hermione's hand hitting Ron's back.

Dumbledore appeared to be nearly finished with his pastries. The remains of the overloaded plate of sugary dainties made Snape a little queasy, as he contemplated the smeared gobbets of brown and red and pale green. It reminded him of the aftermath of an Entrail-Expelling Curse.

"Ugh," all three of them groaned. That was not an image they needed to imagine. Ron found himself pushing away the plate of cakes seemingly losing his appetite.

"I shall need Potter's Gringotts key," he announced crisply, setting down his own fork with a silvery clink.

"Today?" Dumbledore looked at him in incredulity. "Surely it is too early for Harry to receive his letter."

"A Hogwarts letter can never arrive too early," Harry said with week laugh.

Minerva was listening, and swiftly interposed. "No, Albus. Harry's eleventh birthday is today. I had planned to send the letter, but Severus will hand-deliver it. And the sooner the better," was her muttered addendum.

Harry paused, "It was my birthday that day? How is that possible? We were in that shack on the rock in the middle of the nowhere on my birthday. And didn't it mention that it wasn't the end of July yet? My birthday is the thirty-first of July."

"Maybe this might be one of those slight but not impactful differences the other Snape spoke about?" Hermione suggested. "Remember I did mention that your birthday might be a day or so off?"

Snape refrained from smirking. At times Minerva could be a cunning and powerful ally.

"And an equally cunning and powerful enemy," Ron laughed.

"Today?" Dumbledore repeated. "His birthday? Perhaps it would interrupt his aunt's arrangements for his birthday party. The boy may be surrounded by his young friends. Hardly a discreet situation in which to reveal such sensitive information. Surely tomorrow would be better, Severus—"

Harry scoffed loudly.

"It is convenient for me to attend to this today, and I would have thought I had established my credentials for secrecy and discretion." Snape was tired of games. "The boy can consider the letter a birthday gift. The key, if you please, Headmaster."

He looked directly in Dumbledore's eyes, and thought, with no attempt to shield his mind, Sod all if I'm going to wait for morning.

All three of them laughed. Only Snape (and Mcgonagall) could or would tell off Dumbledore in such a way.

Dumbledore's bushy eyebrows rose in mild surprise, but the key was duly handed over. Snape gave the table a curt nod and strode away, girding himself to face an old acquaintance and a noisy children's party in darkest Surrey.

With that last bit finished the first chapter of the book was completed and left them all in varying states of confusion and unclarity about everything.

Hermione summoned a bookmark, a heavyweight red one with gold stars scattered on it, and handed it to Harry. Marking their place Harry closed the book, but still held it in his hands staring at the cover once again; his thumb idly running over the imprinted words The Best Revenge.

"Well, we certainly found out a lot of things," Ron said trying to break the silence, "and we're only done with the first chapter."

"Yeah," Harry said looking up towards the other two, "but is anything we learned really all that great?" Thoughts of Mcgonagall having an idea as how awful his aunt and uncle were, Dumbledore not knowing at all about what his relatives were like, and the possibility that Dumbledore was manipulating Snape and Harry to fit whatever plan he had going on flashed in Harry's mind and made his stomach churn.

"Well, Snape is going to go to give you your letter personally and pay a visit to your aunt and knowing Snape he won't go easy on her. Especially since it sounds like they already seem to have a rather sour past together," Hermione said trying to find the silver lining. No one liked the idea that someone they regarded with high praise and admired was not as amiable as thought to be. She knew that feeling personally.

"There really isn't any use moping about it now, I mean; we don't really know anything yet, right? Only assumptions and theories. Remember we are reading this from Snape's point of view and we all know that Snape thought negatively of just about everyone," Ron added with a weak smile.

Harry gave his two friends smiles. He knew they were trying to cheer him up and that alone helped his mood pick up. It was true they couldn't really get an idea about what was going on when they had only read one chapter. While they wouldn't understand everything that happened in the book they weren't going to understand anything if they didn't continue reading.

With a heavy sigh Harry now knew to the full extent of what he'd gotten himself into by reading this book. The next couple of week was going to be very long; very long indeed.

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