The Phoenix and the Serpent

Chapter Seven - Serpents and Secrets

As Tom drifted awake the next morning, he heard Kenneth and Julian arguing. They were speaking in angry whispers, so Tom couldn't quite make out the words, but he caught his name several times. Uneasily, he wondered if Kenneth would convince Julian to stop speaking to him. Careful not to move, so as not to rustle his sheets and give away the fact that he had woken up, he strained his ears to try to hear as much as he could.

"... threatening me, now?" Julian was whispering harshly. ".... my father!"

Kenneth's reply was just as heated, and slightly louder. "... that Mudblood! .... disgrace! How can I associate with you if you associate with him?"

"I am a Romano!" Julian snapped back, his voice now loud enough to be heard clearly. "It would take far more than associating with Potter to mar my status! It isn't as though he's a Muggle-born himself, or even a half-blood. And he's a Parseltongue!"

"Fine," Kenneth said angrily. "Do what you want."

"I will," Julian said coolly.

There was a long silence, which was broken at last by the door to the room being opened and then slammed shut.

It was clearly Kenneth who had left, for Julian said aloud into the silence, "Prat!"

Tom waited a few moments, then began to rustle his bed sheets. He waited a moment longer, and then sat up in bed; the mattress made a satisfying creak.

"Tom? Are you awake?" Julian called. He sounded alarmed.

Tom waited a moment and then drew open his hangings, rubbing his eyes as he spoke. "Just woke up," he said, and yawned, hoping his voice sounded sufficiently sleep-garbled. "Thought I heard a bit of shouting, but it must have been my dream."

Julian looked relieved. "It's getting late," he said, obviously eager to change the subject. "We should head up to breakfast soon. I'll wait for you."

"Thanks," Tom said, surprised. "Just give me a minute or two, okay?" He looked around the room and saw that Daniel and Brian were not, as he had expected, still asleep. Their hangings were drawn back, their sheets crumpled, but the boys themselves were nowhere in sight. "Where are Brian and Daniel?" he asked, surprised.

"Brian decided to start waking up early to train for Quidditch," Julian explained. "He mentioned it to me last night. He was already gone by the time I woke up."

"What about Daniel?" Tom asked, puzzled.

"The same," Julian answered shortly, and quickly turned away to rummage in his trunk, cutting off the conversation.

Still trying to ignore Daniel, then, Tom thought, and he sighed. It would take a lot more than one conversation before Julian would begin to reconsider his old beliefs. Still, Julian had stuck up for Tom against Kenneth, and that was far more than Tom had any right to expect. Quickly, he got dressed, checked up on a still-sleeping Medusa, and gathered his school supplies.

"Ready?" Julian asked.

Tom nodded. He picked up his pile of books, and together they made their way to the Slytherin common room.

Jennifer was waiting for him in their usual spot, and she looked shocked to see him with Julian.

"Just a minute, Julian," Tom said quickly, and he hurried across the room towards Jennifer.

"What's going on?" Jennifer demanded in a heated whisper. "Why are the two of you acting so friendly?"

Tom made sure to keep his voice just as low. "He's not nearly as bad as most of the others," he said quickly. "He doesn't like Muggle-borns, but he doesn't bother them, either, and he seems like a decent sort. I want to try to spend some time with him, try to win him over." Tom gave Jennifer a quick smile. "We're just walking down to breakfast together, but you go ahead to our usual spot, and I'll sit down next to you. If Julian wants to sit down on my other side, that's his choice. Okay?"

Jennifer quickly glanced over at Julian - Tom saw that he was determinedly looking away from the two of them - and then looked back at Tom. "Okay," she said, sounding somewhat resigned.

"You'll be okay on your own, right?" Tom asked, somewhat anxiously.

Jennifer's eyes flashed. "Of course I will!" She sounded highly indignant.

"Because of the Slytherins," Tom added hastily. "I mean, will be okay on your own against the other Slytherins? It's mostly me that they're scared of, I think."

"I know what you meant," Jennifer said, a bit coldly this time. "I'll be fine." She quickly gathered up her school things and hurried across the common room and out into the dungeon passages.

Tom watched her go, anxiously hoping that he hadn't offended her too badly. Should I run after her? But then, what about Julian? If I leave without him, he'll be offended as well! And he's from one of the old Pureblood families; he won't forgive me easily.

"Tom?"

Tom turned around quickly at the sound of Julian's voice.

"It's getting late," Julian said cautiously. "We should go." He hesitated. "Unless... has something urgent come up?"

"No, let's go," Tom said, putting on a smile. I won't be able to catch up to Jennifer now anyway.

When they arrived at the Great Hall, and then at the Slytherin table, Tom was relieved to see Jennifer sitting in their usual spot. He'd half-expected that she would go off to sit with her brother.

"Good morning, Jennifer," he said, taking deliberate care to make his voice sound cheerful. He slid into the seat beside her, and looked back at Julian. "Join me?" he said, gesturing to the spot on his left.

Julian looked wary, and he hesitated for several long moments, but at last he slipped into the seat. "Please pass the muffins," he said, and Tom let out the breath he'd been holding.

The situation quickly deteriorated, however. Tom tried to start a conversation with Jennifer, but clearly she was still a bit angry at him, because her answers were short and curt. Julian was clearly uncomfortable with sitting at such close proximity to a Muggle-born, and Tom was reluctant to begin any conversations with him, for fear that Jennifer would feel that he was ignoring her.

Exasperated, Tom fell back on the one method that he knew was a sure-fire way to goad Jennifer into speaking; challenging one of Jennifer's pet theories. He closed his eyes and tried to remember their homework session the night before, and within moments, he'd recalled something that they'd disagreed about.

Sure enough, Jennifer could not resist an argument. Tom tried not to let his relief show as he argued back as best as he could, trying not to let himself be distracted by Julian's presence. Frequent glances at Julian showed that he was trying his best to look uninterested - and failing dismally.

Just as the debate was reaching its most heated, Tom turned to Julian. "What do you think?" he asked.

Julian hesitated for a moment and then glanced around; to Tom's relief, no one was looking in their direction. Would Julian be willing to acknowledge that he'd been listening?

"You're wrong," Julian said finally.

Tom tried not to smile in relief. "Prove it!" he challenged.

The debate was back on. When Jennifer jumped in as well, Julian avoided looking at her, and didn't acknowledge what she said directly, but he built on her arguments to strengthen his own position.

It was a start. For the first time in his life, Tom didn't mind that he was clearly losing a debate.

Still, Tom gamely tried to defend his position; the longer he could keep this dynamic going, the better. He had retreated to arguing his main point, rather heatedly, when suddenly he realized that his voice sounded unnaturally loud.

The table had suddenly gone completely silent; everyone was staring apprehensively at something behind Tom's back.

Tom turned his head, and found himself face-to-face with the Headmistress, who looked unusually solemn.

"Come with me, Mr. Potter," Professor McGonagall said brusquely.

Tom desperately tried to figure out what he'd done wrong. He hadn't broken any rules, had he? And anyway, why was Professor McGonagall herself coming to get him? Only the most serious offences were taken to the Headmistress. Had something happened at home? Tom tried to quash his growing alarm.

"Good luck," Jennifer whispered with a commiserating look, and Julian looked sympathetic as well. Tom attempted to smile in return, but he couldn't quite manage it. The others Slytherins, by contrast, looked positively gleeful that Tom had gotten into trouble. Kenneth - who was sitting alone, just a few seats down - was strangely expressionless. His eyes darted over towards Tom and then returned firmly to his plate.

Tom frowned. He'd been almost sure that their end of the table had been deserted.

"Hurry up, Mr. Potter," Professor McGonagall said sharply. "I haven't all day."

Reluctantly Tom stood up, and Professor McGonagall led the way across the Great Hall, out into the entranceway, and up to the second floor, her pace brisk; Tom had to fall into a half-run to keep up. She stopped before a large and extremely ugly stone gargoyle.

"Teagasgair!" she said, with a pronounced Scottish accent. This was evidently a password, because the gargoyle sprang suddenly to life and hopped aside as the wall behind him split in two. Even full of anxiety for what was coming, Tom couldn't fail to be amazed. Behind the wall was a spiral staircase that was moving smoothly upward in circles. As he and Professor McGonagall stepped onto it, Harry heard the wall thud closed behind them. They rose upward in circles, higher and higher, until at last, slightly dizzy, Harry saw a gleaming oak door ahead, with a brass knocker in the shape of a griffin.

Was this Professor McGonagall's office?

Apparently it was, for as soon as Professor McGonagall had stepped off the stone staircase at the top, she opened the door without stopping to knock. Tom followed Professor McGonagall inside.

"Wait here," she said curtly, and walked across the room and disappeared through another door.

Tom looked around. One thing was certain: it was the most fascinating room Tom had ever been in.

It was a circular room, large and beautiful, whose wall-to-wall bookcases were packed tightly with ancient-looking books. The walls were covered with portraits of old headmasters and headmistresses, all of whom were snoozing gently in their frames. There was also an enormous, claw-footed desk, and sitting on a shelf behind it was the shabby, tattered Sorting Hat.

Tom turned to look around the rest of the room and gasped. Standing on a golden perch behind the door was a magnificent, swan-sized bird with a glittering golden tail as long as a peacock's and brilliant red plumage. It had a long, sharp golden beak and beady black eyes, and was fixing Tom with its piercing gaze.

And then, suddenly, the phoenix began to trill, a strange unearthly music that unaccountably reassured Tom and helped his pounding heart return to its normal rate.

"I see you've met Fawkes," Professor McGonagall said crisply from just behind him.

Tom whirled around, startled at McGonagall's sudden re-entrance, but the phoenix was still singing, and Tom's previous anxiety had been forgotten. "He's incredible," Tom said in awe. "Is he yours?"

"In a manner of speaking." Professor McGonagall stroked Fawkes. "He belonged to Professor Dumbledore, and for Dumbledore's sake, he has stayed on to assist me after Dumbledore's death." She turned to look at Tom with a strange expression on her face. "What do you think of him? Do you like his singing?"

"Amazing," Tom said honestly. "Is it... magic, or something?"

"What makes you say that?" McGonagall asked, her expression still unreadable.

Tom shrugged, uncomfortable. "Well... I was nervous, when you brought me here," he said awkwardly. "I couldn't think of anything I'd done wrong, and - well, most students aren't ever called into your office. But as soon as Fawkes started singing, I stopped worrying. I know that phoenix tears have healing powers, but does their singing also have some sort of magical property?"

Professor McGonagall smiled. "Yes, it does indeed," she said. "And I'm glad to see that you were affected by it the way that you were. However" - her smile disappeared - "I'm afraid I do have a serious matter to discuss with you."

Fawkes had stopped singing, and Tom felt his apprehension returning in full force. He waited anxiously for McGonagall to explain.

Professor McGonagall looked as though she was reluctant to begin. "One of your House prefects spoke to me this morning," she started at last. "It seems that your snake has been threatening one of your roommates - hissing at him, preventing him from entering the dormitory whenever you are not around."

Tom gaped at her. "Medusa?" he said, astonished and indignant. "She would never do something like that! Who? Who was it who said that? It was Kenneth, wasn't it?"

"I'm afraid I cannot tell you who it was," Professor McGonagall told him, not without sympathy. "However, I do know that there must have been at the very least some truth to the accusation, because I spoke to the boy myself, and I have ways of detecting outright lies that are spoken in this office. Considering that under normal circumstances, snakes are not one of the pets that are allowed at Hogwarts, I feel that I can no longer allow your snake to remain here."

Tom stared at McGonagall in dismay. "But Medusa isn't a pet!" he tried to explain. "She's my friend - I talk to her all the time! And Medusa would never hiss at one of my roommates for no reason! Maybe if Kenneth was looking through my trunk, or - or trying to pull a prank on me, but Medusa knows that she's supposed to avoid the other students, and she knows that she'll get sent home if she does anything she isn't supposed to. She would never do something like that!"

"I'm sorry, Tom, but I'm afraid your snake can no longer remain here at Hogwarts." Professor McGonagall sat down behind her desk and pulled out a piece of parchment. "I'll write to your father to discuss how to send it back safely. You may go."

Tom watched in alarm as Professor McGonagall dipped her quill into a pot of ink. "Medusa didn't do anything wrong!" he said. "Kenneth hates me, and he hates Medusa - this is just his way of getting revenge! It isn't fair!"

McGonagall paused to fix Tom with a stern look. "You have been dismissed," she said. "I understand that you are upset, but after all, it is only a snake."

Only a snake? Medusa was a friend - why couldn't McGonagall understand that? And without Medusa to make the other Slytherins wary of him, he and Jennifer would be completely unprotected! Tom let all his worry and distress show on his face, and he edged closer to the desk with what he hoped was a suitably pathetic look. "Please let her stay," Tom pleaded. "The Slytherins all hate me and Jennifer. Without Medusa to make them think twice about starting up with us, we'll be miserable!"

Professor McGonagall's expression softened. "Jennifer is the Muggle-born?"

"Yes," Tom said, letting his voice become even more anxious-sounding.

McGonagall sighed. "I understand that it is not easy for you to be in Slytherin House," she said, and leaned over to pat Tom's shoulder. She sat back in her chair and straightened a stack of papers. "However, I'm afraid that isn't a sufficient reason to allow your snake to remain here at Hogwarts once it has threatened a student."

"Surely, Minerva, you can give the boy a chance to prove the snake's innocence?" a deep voice said, reprovingly.

Tom whirled around, startled. One of the old Headmasters whose portrait hung on the wall just above the doorway, across from the desk - Professor Dumbledore - was looking at Professor McGonagall with a slight frown, his eyebrows raised.

McGonagall seemed taken aback at the interruption as well. "This is a simple student affair, Albus," she said, the quill she was holding poised motionless in midair. "Surely you needn't concern yourself? And your suggestion is impractical. I can see no way for the boy to prove the snake's innocence."

"Practical or not, Tom should be given the chance," Dumbledore said firmly. "Perhaps he will surprise you." He smiled, his eyes twinkling. "A few days - or weeks - will do no harm, surely?"

"Very well," McGonagall said after a moment's hesitation. "Though I must admit I am mystified by your concern." She turned to Tom. "As Professor Dumbledore has pleaded on your behalf, I will give you until the Holidays to prove that your snake did nothing wrong. That gives you nearly two weeks. If you cannot prove this, you will not be allowed to bring your snake back with you to Hogwarts after the Holidays."

"Thank you," Tom said, relieved at the reprieve. He turned to Dumbledore's portrait. "Thank you, sir," he said again, gratefully.

Dumbledore smiled, his eyes twinkling. "I believe in second chances," he said, and then turned again to Professor McGonagall. "Minerva? If it isn't too much trouble, may I speak with you privately for a moment?"

Professor McGonagall looked surprised. "Certainly." She turned to Tom. "Wait here," she said, and walked briskly across the room and through the doorway that she had entered earlier. The door closed behind her, and after a muffled "Silencio!" Tom heard nothing more.

Tom turned back to Dumbledore's portrait, and saw that the old man has disappeared from the frame. Of course, Tom realized. She must have another portrait of him in that other room. Are they talking about me?

A sudden trill broke the silence, and Tom turned, startled; he'd almost forgotten about the phoenix. Fawkes was still perched on his stand, but his beady eyes were fixed on Tom with a strange intensity.

Tom shifted in place. He was uncomfortable at being subjected to such a piercing scrutiny, but he somehow felt that he couldn't look away. He tried not to blink, and wondered uneasily why Fawkes was paying him so much attention.

Just as Tom's eyes were beginning to water under the strain of keeping the phoenix's gaze for so long, Fawkes suddenly let out another trill, and then, without warning, spread his wings and flew across the room to perch on Tom's shoulder.

Tom staggered back, unprepared for the sudden weight, but he recovered quickly, and Fawkes folded up his wings and settled down, his feathers incredibly soft against the side of Tom's face. Tom turned his head to stare in wonder at the incredible sight of a phoenix perched on his shoulder. He felt a thrill of exhilaration. How many people could say that a phoenix had granted them such an honor?

Hesitantly, Tom reached up to stroke the phoenix, half-afraid that Fawkes would consider such a move offensive. To Tom's relief, Fawkes trilled in obvious pleasure, sending vibrations pulsating down through Tom's shoulder and on through the rest of his body. Within seconds, all his tension had faded away; it was as if he had been given an extra-strength calming drought.

Dumbledore's hushed voice suddenly drifted into the room. It was a low murmur, indistinguishable - but where was it coming from? With his right hand still resting on Fawkes' feathers, Tom quickly glanced around the room. The door through which McGonagall had left was still closed, the silencing charm no doubt still in place.

Tom tilted his head, still trying to locate the sound. No, definitely not from the door, he decided. But then where is coming from? He listened again, slowly swiveling in his place. Is it coming from the portrait?

Tom hesitated for a moment. Eavesdropping was most certainly not something that his parents would approve of - even though they had done plenty of eavesdropping themselves, if Uncle Ron's stories could be believed. But Tom was almost certain that Dumbledore and McGonagall were discussing him, and the temptation was too strong to resist. Slowly, Tom approached the portrait - and sure enough, Dumbledore's voice grew more distinct.

"I insist, Minerva!" Dumbledore was saying, his voice resolute.

There was a long silence, and when Dumbledore spoke again, Tom realized that only Dumbledore himself could be overheard through the portrait.

"Yes, Minerva, I understand that," Dumbledore said, his voice softened. "And you know that you are always welcome to ask for my assistance. I am, after all, sworn to assist all future Headmasters and Headmistresses. But I have already failed the boy once. Now that I have, against all odds, been given another chance, I am determined to take it."

There was another silence, and Tom, bewildered, wondered who they were talking about. They clearly weren't talking about him, but then who were they discussing? And why now, of all times?

At last Dumbledore spoke again. "Excellent," he said, sounding pleased. "I assure you, you won't regret this."

The conversation sounded as though it was closed, and Tom hurriedly backed away from the portrait so that McGonagall wouldn't realize he'd been listening in to the conversation.

When Professor McGonagall returned to her main office several moments later, her lips were pursed and her expression showed that she was clearly unhappy about something.

"This is for you," she said curtly, and handed Tom a small picture frame, face-down.

Hesitantly, Tom took it and turned it over. It was a miniature portrait of Dumbledore, and he was smiling up at Tom.

"There's no need to look so surprised, my boy," Dumbledore said cheerfully from the frame, eyes twinkling merrily. "Minerva has kindly agreed to loan this portrait of mine to you for as long as you are a Hogwarts student."

"See that you take good care of it, Potter," Professor McGonagall added sternly. "This is the only small portrait of Professor Dumbledore that exists. All the others are far too large and unwieldy to be kept anywhere but firmly fixed on a wall."

"But...why?" Tom stammered. His mind was racing frantically. Clearly, it was whether or not to give him this portrait that Dumbledore and McGonagall had been discussing. But then he must have been the boy they were referring to - and that made no sense at all!

"Professor Dumbledore will explain," McGonagall said brusquely, gathering up a pile of papers on her desk and tapping them against the hard wooden surface to straighten them. She did not look at Tom. "You have until the last day of the term to prove Medusa's innocence. If you fail to convince me that Medusa should be allowed to remain, you will bring her home with you for the Holidays and leave her there. You are dismissed."

Tom stared at Professor McGonagall, still confused and somewhat shaken; why was McGonagall suddenly acting so coldly towards him? And why had Dumbledore insisted that he be given the portrait? Tom glanced down at the frame, and Dumbledore smiled back cheerfully. "We'd best be going, Tom," he said. "I'll explain once you find someplace private; I'd rather that no one else becomes aware of this portrait's existence."

Fawkes, who had been perched on his stand across the room, suddenly spread his wings and soared towards them. Lightly, Fawkes brushed past Tom so that just the tips of his wings grazed the side of Tom's face. A moment later, Fawkes was again on his own side of the room and perched on his stand, still and silent.

"Well?" Professor McGonagall said sharply, looking up from her papers to pin Tom with a glare that was unusually stern, even for her.

Clutching the portrait of Dumbledore in one hand, his mind a whirlwind of confusion, Tom fled from the room.