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Harry Potter And A Dish Served Chilled

An original doclettish, fanfic, by Future.

In which, Snape reminds his Godson, that to a Slytherin, revenge is a dish best served chilled with a pinot of your enemy’s anguish on the side.

Disclaimer: JKRowling owns all of this, even if she turned over the last two books to a committee…her bad guys and heroes are equally pathetic…and her idea of romance apparently tastes like dishwater…

Chapter 1

“You’re dead Potter!” Draco Malfoy’s voice was low, seeped in malice.

Harry raised his eyebrows. “Funny,” he said, “you’d think I’d have stopped walking around…”

Malfoy looked angrier than Harry had ever seen him. He felt a kind of detached satisfaction at the sight of his pale, pointed face contorted in rage.

“You’re going to pay,” said Malfoy in voice barely louder than a whisper. “I’m going to make you pay for what you’ve done to my father…”

“Well, I’m terrified now,” said Harry sarcastically. “I s’pose Lord Voldemort’s just a warm-up act compared to you three—what’s the matter?” he said, for Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle had all stricken at the sound of the name. “He’s your dad’s mate, isn’t he? Not scared of him, are you?”

“You think you’re such a big man, Potter,” said Malfoy, advancing now, Crabbe and Goyle flanking him. “You wait. I’ll have you. You can’t land my father in prison—“

“I thought I just had,” said Harry.

“The dementors have left Azkaban,” said Malfoy quietly. “Dad and the others will be out in no time…”

“Yeah, I expect they will,” said Harry, “Still, at least everyone knows what scumbags they are now—“

Malfoy’s hand flew toward his wand, but Harry was too quick for him. He had drawn his own wand before Malfoy’s fingers have even entered the pocket of his robes.

“Potter!”

The voice rang across the entrance hall; Snape had emerged from the staircase leading down to his office, and at the sight of him Harry felt a great rush of hatred beyond anything he felt toward Malfoy…Whatever Dumbledore said, he would never forgive Snape…never…

“What are you doing, Potter?” said Snape coldly as ever, as he strode over to the four of them.

“I’m trying to decide what curse to use on Malfoy, sir,” said Harry fiercely.

Snape stared at him.

“Put that wand away at once,” he said curtly. “Ten points from Gryff—“

Snape looked toward the giant hourglasses on the walls and gave a sneering smile.

Snape turned back to Harry with a smirk, and with his voice dripping with malevolent promise, sneered, “Ah, I see there are no longer any points left in the Gryffindor hourglass to take away. In that case, Potter, we will simply have to—“

“Add some more?”

Professor McGongagall had just stumped up the stone steps into the castle. She was carrying a tartan carpetbag in one hand and leaning heavily on a walking stick with her other, but otherwise looked quite well.

“Professor McGonagall!” said Snape, composing his expression, while striding forward. “Out of St. Mungo’s, I see!”

Yes, Professor Snape,” Said Professor McGonagall, shrugging off her traveling cloak, “I’m quite as good as new. You two—Crabbe—Goyle—”

She beckoned them forward imperiously and they came, shuffling their large feet and looking awkward, looking first at Malfoy in stunned disbelief, then, to Snape for conformation.

“Here,” said Professor McGonagall, ignored the byplay, thrusting her carpetbag into Crabbe’s chest and her cloak into Goyle’s, “take these up to my office for me.”

They turned and stumped away up the marble staircase.

“Right then,” said Professor McGonagall, looking up at the hourglasses on the wall, “well, I think Potter and his friends ought to have fifty points apiece for alerting the world to the return of You-Know-Who! What say you, Professor Snape?”

“What?” snapped Snape, though Harry knew he had heard Professor McGonagall perfectly well. Snape’s voice was clipped with barely suppressed rage, as he asked, “How could getting his dog killed and his friends injured merit house points? He endangered the entire…operation.” He choked off with a glance at the furious face of his godson, Draco.

Professor McGonagall saw Harry flinch under the verbal assault, so she pressed on quickly, “So, that’s fifty each for Potter, the two Weasley’s, Longbottom, and Miss Granger.” As she finished, a shower of rubies fell down to the bottom bulb of the Gryffindor’s hourglass. As an afterthought, she added, “Oh—and fifty for Miss Lovegood, I suppose,” and a number of sapphires fell into Ravenclaw’s glass. “Now then, you wanted to take ten from Mr. Potter, I think, Professor Snape—so there we are…”

A few rubies retreated into the upper bulb, leaving a respectable amount below nevertheless.

“Well, Potter, Malfoy, be about your business now,” Professor McGonagall continued briskly, waving her free hand absently.

Harry was still shaking in rage, almost overcome with his loathing for Snape and Malfoy. Torn by his guilt, heart aching from the truth in Snape’s accusations, Harry wheeled and fled back up the corridor he’d come down, blindly, with tears streaking down his face, while trying to choke back his sobs until he was at least out of earshot.

Once Professor McGonagall had slowly stumped up the staircase and entered the Great Hall, Malfoy turned to Professor Snape and started to ask, “But, Professor Snape…”

Severus Snape growled and snatched him by the collar, pulling the startled scion of Malfoy close. He hissed, “Not here, you fool!” He then spun Draco around and frog marched him down the corridor to the dungeons by the scruff of his neck.

Leaning close to the door to his private quarters, Snape gave a low hiss of the password, and as the door opened, slung Draco through the door with all of his might. Draco stumbled and fell to the floor just in front of the door and looked up into his Godfather’s towering rage.

“Are you a Slytherin or a useless Gryffindor? Have you learned nothing! Remember, revenge is a dish best served chilled, with a fragrant pinot of your enemy’s anguish.” Snape started at a roar, which curled down to a cold, malice-filled purr.

Draco flinched, then gaped before realizing, his Godfather had a plan. A plan that would give him his revenge! He smirked and held up a hand, which his Professor, mentor, and Godfather took with his own answering smirk.

“You have a plan then?” Draco asked.

“Yes, well I was thinking. Potter might be under that fool, the Headmaster’s, protection night and day. The wards of old noble house protect Longbottom. The Weasels have more than adequate wards. Besides, if the whole pathetic clan were there, they have as many as nine wands, without any of their,” he sneered, “pathetic, blood traitor, friends visiting.”

Draco shifted his mentor’s words in his mind. He continued the analysis, as he had many a time as an exercise. “That leaves the Mudblood and Lovegood. The Lovegoods live alone, but who knows what wards that Loony’s dearly departed mother, or demented father thought appropriate. Thus, by process of elimination, that leaves…Granger!” He shared a eager smile, then continued, “She might have some wards, hastily emplaced by Dumbledope’s lackeys, and maybe even minders, but with so many targets, the old fool’s resources have to be spread somewhat thin. Besides, there’s only so much you can do in a muggle neighborhood.”

Snape gave Draco a smug smile. “See? You can be a credit to Slytherin ideals, you simply can not let The-Boy-Who-Will-Soon-Bow-To-The-Dark-Lord get under your skin.” Snape clapped his hand on his protégé’s shoulder and lead him into the sitting room. As Draco sat in one of the large comfy chairs, Severus went to his liquor cabinet and pulled the velvet bag off of an old bottle of French Cognac, pulled two sifters from the rack and poured them both a double shot. Turning back to his Godson, Snape handed him one of the sifters and with a warning flick of one eyebrow indicated that Draco was to wait for the signal before imbibing in the celebratory libation.

“Details Professor: details! What is your plan to crush Potter?”

Snape twirled his drink by the stem of the sifter and smirked. Then, his smile warmed his voice as he said, “Oh, I was just thinking that I might, just might, have a target for your initiation after you take the Master’s mark. In fact, I might, just might, have a way to make sure that Potter is in attendance, so that after we finish turning Granger into potion ingredients and troll chow, we could take him, crushed emotionally directly to our Master.”

Draco’s eyes widened as he saw the beauty of the plan. Not only could he put the uppity Mudblood down, permanently, but also he could have his vengeance on Potter at the same time, thereby currying the favor of the Dark Lord. He lifted his sifter to his mentor in salute, and they both inhaled the heady aroma, then sipped appreciatively from the smooth taste of victory.

After several moments, simply enjoying each other’s company and the thought of Granger and Potter’s just deserts, Draco looked up. “So, what do I need to do?”

“You will go as planned to meet the Dark Lord and take his mark with Crabbe and Goyle, then you will repair to Malfoy manner and prepare yourselves for your initiation. Be imaginative, we wouldn’t want Granger to be disappointed by her send off from this mortal coil, now would we?”

“How will you get Potter to the festivities then, Professor?”

“Simple, I will have that fool the Headmaster assign me to the guard rotation for that stuck-up little know-it-all, Mudblood bitch. Then, when I see Potter’s owl, I will take out any other guards, appartate to your manor and pick up you and your compatriots. We will return, via portkey, capture the owl and Granger, then send Potter another portkey as an invitation with his own owl to join us for the evenings festivities. After you finish off the Mudblood, with Potter watching, we take her body, Potter and portkey directly to the Master, where he can dispose of the heartbroken little ‘hero’ at his leisure.”

“All of that makes sense, except for the owl. Why do we have to wait for Potter’s owl?” Draco asked, as his mind worried at the puzzle.

“Quite simply, because Potter can be contacted by no other method. Only his owl can find him during the summer. But fear not, he normally sends Granger an owl every week. So, we should be able to take care of your vengeance by mid-June.”

“And if Potter declines our invitation?”

Snape shrugged and answered laconically, “Then we still get the Mudblood, you still complete your initiation, and we can still send Potter her head in a box for his birthday present.”

“Boots.”

Snape shook his head at the non sequitur. “Boots? What do you mean?”

“I think I’ll have her hide tanned and made into a pair of boots. That way I can have Mudblood boots for splashing about in mud and blood,” he answered with a snicker and a brilliant smile.