The Phoenix and the Serpent

Chapter Eight - Dumbledore's Portrait

Tom stumbled off the spiraling staircase - narrowly avoiding a collision with one of the stone gargoyles - and broke into a run. His roommates were no doubt still in the Great Hall, and would be heading directly to class after breakfast, which meant that his dormitory would be empty. At least, Tom fervently hoped so. Meeting Kenneth now would be a disaster, as Tom knew he couldn't trust himself to keep his temper, and he couldn't bear the thought of facing any of his other roommates, either.

The rough stone walls of the dungeon passageways sped past. Tom was grateful for those extra hours he'd spent memorizing the way back to the Slytherin common room; otherwise he would have surely made a wrong turning somewhere in his haste, and the last thing Tom wanted now was a delay. The sooner he reached his dorm, the sooner he could ply Dumbledore's portrait with his many questions. Even more important, Medusa would be able to explain what had really happened, why Kenneth's accusations hadn't set off the falsehood indicators - and Tom's only hope was that her explanation would give him some way to prove her innocence.

To Tom's relief, his dormitory was indeed empty, and as he burst into the room and shut the door behind him, Medusa raised her head from where she was coiled on top of his trunk.

"What iss wrong, Tom?" she asked with evident concern. "You ssmell anxiouss."

"McGonagall wants to send you home," Tom said, his voice unsteady as the full miserable weight of the situation finally hit him at last. "She told me that one of my roommates - it must have been Kenneth - accused you of threatening him. I only have until the Holidays to prove that you're innocent!"

"Kenneth? Iss that the boy who triess to ssearch through your trunk whenever he iss alone in the room?"

"He's gone through my trunk?" Tom was shocked out of his despair.

"He tried to do sso, but he did not ssucceed. As ssoon as I approached, he ran away. But he was perssisstent, oh yesss. Four times he approached your trunk and used hiss wand to open it, though it wass easy to chase him away. Yessterday I began ssleeping on your trunk whenever you are not present in order to guard it."

Tom clenched his hands. "That must be why he didn't set off the truth-detection alarms - because you were threatening him - but you were doing it for a good reason, and you would never hurt him!"

"Of coursse not." Medusa uncoiled herself further. "You assked me not to harm any student. Would I ever ignore your requesstss?"

"I know," Tom said glumly. "But McGonagall isn't going to believe your word over Kenneth's, not when the alarms didn't go off. I'm going to have to prove it, somehow. And I have less than two weeks!" He looked down at the portrait he was still gripping tightly. At the moment, it was nothing but an empty frame. "If not for Professor Dumbledore, McGonagall would have sent you home right away."

"Professsor Dumbledore? But he iss dead! It was three ssummerss ago, I remember it clearly. Your father was disstraught - though he found ssome comfort in the fact that Dumbledore died peacefully. What iss the meaning of thiss, that he helped you?"

"His portrait helped me," Tom explained. "In fact, he even asked McGonagall to give me a portrait of him, a miniature one - I have no idea why." Tom glanced down at the frame in his hand, and this time, he found Dumbledore peering out from the edge of the frame.

"Are we somewhere private?" Dumbledore inquired.

Automatically, Tom glanced around the room. No one had suddenly appeared, of course, but it was possible - if unlikely - that one of his roommates would show up to retrieve some forgotten book or homework assignment.

His eyes lit upon his bed, with its heavy green and silver curtains, and the obvious idea immediately presented itself to him. "In just a minute," he told Professor Dumbledore.

"Iss that Professsor Dumbledore's portrait?" Medusa raised her head farther and leaned over to try to view the painting, but the frame was empty again.

"I need to talk to Professor Dumbledore," Tom explained to Medusa quickly in Parseltongue. "And then I have to run to class, before I'm late. But tonight we'll figure out some way to convince McGonagall that you'd never hurt a student - and I hope that Dumbledore will be able to give me some advice. Is that okay?"

"Of coursse," Medusa hissed reassuringly, and she curled up again into her basking position, rearranging herself so that she was in the direct path of the firelight from the nearest wall-torch.

Wasting no time, Tom kicked off his shoes and clambered onto his bed. He drew the heavy bed curtains completely closed, and propped up the portrait against his pillow as his eyes adjusted to the gloom.

Tom watched as Professor Dumbledore settled down in his ornate, high-backed chair, and smiled cheerfully up at Tom. "Excellent, excellent," he said. "This certainly looks as though it is sufficiently private for our needs. Explanations first?"

Tom did not hesitate. "Why did you ask McGonagall to give me your portrait?" he asked, his curiosity spilling out in a rush despite his worry for Medusa.

"I was hoping for a change of scenery," Dumbledore said, eyes twinkling. "Professor McGonagall's office is rather quiet these days. I have found myself dozing more frequently as of late, and I prefer to remain more fully awake for a little while longer."

Tom stared at Dumbledore with incredulity. "Do you expect me to believe that?" he asked. Then, belatedly realizing how disrespectful he'd sounded, he hastily added "Sir."

Dumbledore chuckled. "I will admit I have other motives as well, but I assure you that my desire for a less tedious existence does play a significant role in this decision."

"What are your other motives, then? Why me?"

"I find your life more interesting than you might think, Tom." Dumbledore's eyes were still twinkling, but his words were sober. "I observed your father closely throughout his childhood, and you are his oldest son. I am deeply interested in your welfare. But there is more to it than that." Dumbledore paused for a moment, gazing up at Tom with an unreadable expression his face. "As a Slytherin, your Head of House is Professor Snape. He is a superb teacher and a fine man, but he dislikes your father, and your father dislikes him in return. I fear that you will not feel comfortable approaching him if there are any issues you wish to discuss, and since I find myself with spare time on my hands all too frequently, I have decided to involve myself in your life."

Tom considered this. The explanation sounded reasonable enough -- but then why did he sense that Dumbledore was hiding something from him? "There are other students who don't get along with their Head of House." Tom pointed out.

"True," Professor Dumbledore acknowledged. "But you are Harry Potter's son, and you have been Sorted into Slytherin; I fear you will not find it easy to adjust to your House. I owe a tremendous debt to your father for his defeat of Voldemort, and so I find myself compelled to try to help his son."

"How can you help me 'adjust to Slytherin'?" Tom asked skeptically. "No offense, sir, but you're just a portrait, and you seem determined to be kept a secret."

"You might find my advice helpful," Dumbledore said, steepling his fingers. "I was Headmaster for a long while, and I daresay I have gathered some useful bits of knowledge amongst all the fluff." His eyes were twinkling again.

"Can you help me with Medusa, then?" Tom challenged. "How can I prove that she's innocent?"

Dumbledore's smile faded. "I am sorry, but this one time, I cannot help you. Professor McGonagall was adamant that I refrain from assisting you in this matter. She believes that with my aid, you would be able to prove Medusa's innocence even if she is, in fact, guilty."

Tom's resentment towards McGonagall flared. "When else will I need your advice?" he said bitterly.

"Do not reject my years of experience so hastily, Tom," Dumbledore said, looking entirely serious now. "I made many mistakes in my years alive, and many of them exacted a terrible cost, but so many years of experience are certainly worthy of at least some regard. You may be young, but you are an intelligent young man, and I am sure you realize that life is not always easy. You may find yourself grateful for my advice, one day." He hesitated, then added, "And I will allow myself to offer you one suggestion." Dumbledore leaned forward in his throne-like chair. "I am not the only wizard - or witch - whose advice and knowledge can be helpful. It was not me that your father relied on for his help in his years here at Hogwarts...."

Tom stared at Dumbledore. Suddenly, comprehension dawned on him, and he smiled in relief. "Of course!" he said. "I don't know why I didn't think of her right away. Thank you, sir."

"Anytime," Dumbledore said, smiling.

Hurriedly, Tom pulled open the curtains, clambered off the bed, and stashed the portrait at the very bottom of his trunk, taking care not to dislodge Medusa in the process. That accomplished, he pulled out a fresh piece of parchment and a self-inking quill. Hastily, he composed a letter to his Aunt Hermione, explaining the situation and pleading for her help.

As Tom sealed the letter and carried it up to the Owlery to post it, he felt some of his tension loosening. Hermione was brilliant at research - not to mention far more experienced and knowledgeable than he was - and if he couldn't come up with a solution on his own, Hermione might very well be able to help him. Still, much of his anxiety remained; Hermione was always madly busy, and there was a real chance that she might not have the time to help him before McGonagall's deadline.

Over the next week, as Tom waited impatiently for the return of his letter, Tom spent hours in the library - sometimes with Jennifer helping him, sometimes on his own - feverishly doing his own searching for some method to prove that Kenneth had accused Medusa falsely. His biggest handicap was the fact that he was limited to potions and charms that were not forbidden to underage wizards or to Hogwarts students. After all, McGonagall would have to be shown both the method and the results, and so even bending the rules just the smallest bit was completely out of the question.

Truth serums, deceit indicators, hypnotism hexes... all were either illegal, or not nearly specific enough to be of any use, or could not be prepared within a few days - or all three. Tom was quickly growing very discouraged. Even if he could find an appropriate spell or potion, would he be able to convince McGonagall to give him permission to use it on Kenneth? Hexing another student or slipping them a potion without their permission was - strictly speaking - against the rules.

"This is so frustrating!" Tom said to Jennifer yet again, slamming closed another dusty tome. "There are so many ways that I can get Kenneth to confess - but finding a way that McGonagall will approve of is impossible!"

"We still have a little while left," Jennifer reminded him. "There's no sense in giving up now."

"Of course I'm not going to just give up!" Tom roughly pulled another book from the top of a teetering pile. "If I have to, I'll find some way to... to blackmail him, or threaten him, to go confess to McGonagall on his own! I'm not going to let him get away with this!"

"Relax, Tom!" Jennifer said, looking alarmed. "Don't talk like that! If he tells McGonagall that you've threatened him, you'll be in real trouble!"

"He wouldn't tell, not if I scared him badly enough," Tom muttered, but he subsided. He wouldn't really do anything so drastic, not even to be able to keep Medusa here at Hogwarts - though it was tempting. Mum and Dad would be really, really upset if they found out, and even if they never did, Tom knew that he couldn't bring himself to do something that they would disapprove of so strongly.

But as the days passed, Tom's anxiety worsened - and his performance in class suffered as well. While this was a relief for his partners in Defense Against the Dark Arts - Tom was one of the few first-years who could actually manage a Stunning spell - his Professors grew concerned, and eventually, irritated. Even mild Professor Longbottom uttered a few sharp reprimands to "Pay attention, Potter!" and Professor Reid gave him his first-ever detention, depriving Tom of a night he sorely needed for his searching. Tom spent his next two Transfiguration classes glowering at Professor Reid, subsiding only when she threatened him with another detention. In Potions - usually one of Tom's best subjects - his lack of attention and carelessness resulted in an explosion that splattered across the room, sending three students to the hospital wing. Strangely, Snape didn't even yell at him, much less take off points or give him detention, but Tom couldn't even muster up the energy to spend much time wondering about this. Even in his worry-induced daze, though, Tom did manage to think that the way Snape ignored him so completely was very odd....

When Aunt Hermione's letter finally arrived, just five days before the end of term, Tom felt a rush of hope, the first he'd felt in days. He quickly glanced around to make sure that Kenneth was nowhere nearby, then ripped open the letter and read it eagerly.

Dear Tom,

It was wonderful to hear from you, though of course I'm sorry that the circumstances are so unfortunate. Let me get straight to the point, as I haven't much time.

As you may or may not have discovered, there are in fact a number of potions and hexes that would enable you to force a confession from Kenneth, though I cannot say how many of them can only be found in the Restricted Section of the library. However, Professor McGonagall would not approve of any of these methods, so those are not an option.

My suggestion is as follows: find some way to goad Kenneth into admitting to you that he accused Medusa falsely, and then ask Professor McGonagall to use her Pensieve to view your memory of his confession. I know she owns one; Professor Dumbledore left it to her when he died.

Good luck! Let me know what happens.

Love,

Aunt Hermione

"Brilliant!" Tom said aloud, barely noticing the strange looks that some of the other Slytherins were sending his way. He stood up and dashed downstairs to his dorm to hide the letter, giddy with relief - and half-angry at himself for not having thought of this on his own.