Some Respect
Tom didn’t visit the Chamber for weeks out of fear that Dumbledore would catch him at it and rescind his clemency. But day after day, it seemed that all he meant to do to him was… nothing. He watched him extra closely in the Great Hall, yes. But he didn’t seem to be putting any particular effort into tracking Tom’s movements around the castle. Didn’t seem to be too impressed with him ignoring the phoenix at mealtimes, either. But he didn’t say anything about it. Not for weeks. He didn’t say anything to Tom at all, actually, not even calling on him in class. Not that that was terribly unusual.
So he eventually got over his fright and went back down. He couldn’t use the bathroom entrance anymore, of course. The professors had the whole bathroom blocked off. As though Regina could or would come up by herself. He took the way he’d found through the dungeons instead. There was no secret door to find there, just a maze of passageways that eventually became more like tunnels and less like corridors. It was the way he’d discovered the Chamber in the first place. Navigating the maze was almost absurdly easy; there were paths marked by snakes etched on the walls. Each path was marked by a differently posed serpent. The Chamber was where you ended up if you took the branches marked by sleeping serpents.
Of course, you could only see the serpents if you requested directions in Parseltongue. Somebody who wasn’t a Parselmouth would probably get hopelessly lost down here. He heard that had happened to Professor Tofty for a day and a half when the adults were running around in a panic trying to find the Chamber.
Tom had not accounted for the fact that his unwanted pet could fly now. He yelped and drew his wand on it when it appeared ahead of him far below the lowest dungeon classroom. It lit the entire passageway and it took his eyes a moment to adjust.
“Excuse you!” he exclaimed in annoyance. “You were not invited on this adventure.”
The creature whistled something that unmistakably meant I do not give two hoots whether I was invited. Tom hissed something rude back in Parseltongue. The phoenix gave him a dirty look like it knew exactly what he’d said and hopped curiously down the passageway in the direction he’d been walking.
“You had better not tell Dumbledore I’m down here checking on Regina,” he grumbled, stalking after it.
The phoenix made a kind of snorting noise.
“No, I’m serious,” he insisted. “He will kill Regina. He said he would. He said he’d get his phoenix to bring him down here and destroy her. So you can’t tell him.”
The bird stopped walking and turned around to face him with one hop. It was quite a bit bigger than it had been when he retrieved it from Warren. It was maybe as tall as a small goose, with the long neck and all, but more slender overall. And it still had big feet and long legs. Like a small heron or something. He was pretty sure it wasn’t done growing yet even though it could fly now. Dumbledore’s one was bigger, anyway, and looked even more heron-ish.
Once the ridiculously shiny yellow bird was facing him, it opened its beak and let out such a complex and melodious scolding tirade that he almost laughed. Whatever the hell it was saying to him, it was obviously just as serious as he was.
“Right. Just as long as we’re on the same page, then,” he said when it was done. It let out one more sharp chirp, turned back around, and carried on down the passageway. Well, alright, then.
He still didn’t like it. It was opinionated. It wanted to sleep on his bed, preferably directly on top of him. It wanted to read his books, and hang over his shoulder while he did his homework, and for some reason it seemed to think he appreciated it pointing out spelling or math errors. (Never mind that he always corrected them when it brought them to his attention.) It sang and whistled and made a strange kind of purring noise sometimes if he accidentally did something nice to it. It was annoying. He did not want it.
But it was… sort of acceptable to have it around. It wasn’t as stupid as he’d assumed. Also, the one time he’d tried to compel it to go away and sit in a corner instead of practically on top of him, it had burnt his homework to a crisp (only his homework, not anything else on his desk, including the quill that had been laying right next to it). And then it had glared at him so ferociously that he was pretty sure if he ever tried that again, it would burn him to a crisp. And honestly, if it was clever enough to make credible threats without leaving any evidence behind, he had to at least have some respect for that.
So he walked the rest of the way to the Chamber and checked on Regina. She was sleeping in her nest like she should be. He considered waking her up. He considered taking her through that tunnel that led out to the Forbidden Forest, where there weren’t any idiotic students to get in the way. He wanted to remind himself that this was a power he had. He alone could command this serpent, who was probably the most dangerous serpent in the British Isles. Him. Not Headmaster Dippet, who was no doubt going to deny his request to stay for the summer again, even though there was a war on and London was the last place he wanted to be going. Not Dumbledore, despite all his terrible power and judgemental glaring. No, it was Tom Riddle who could call on the Queen of Serpents and make her obey.
It was the only real power he had. He wanted to exercise it.
The phoenix was looking at him.
Just looking. It didn’t do anything. It didn’t make any noises at him, judgemental or otherwise. It just stood there on the floor and watched him watching Regina sleep.
“It was an accident,” he snapped defensively. The phoenix blinked, but didn’t move. Tom stared hard at it, but it was like an immovable object.
“It was a mistake,” he corrected himself. “I wasn’t trying to kill anybody.”
The phoenix had nothing to say to that, either.
I’m sorry, he’d said to Dumbledore.
Are you? Are you sorry, Tom? Dumbledore had replied.
Who did you almost kill, Professor? And he hadn’t answered that. But for a second, he’d looked like Tom had stabbed him in the heart.
What business did Dumbledore have making a face like that at him? After scaring him half to death, too. Tom had been all but certain he was about to be dragged in front of the Ministry - in front of the Wizengamot - and Regina slaughtered. He’d made that threat and then just… let him go.
It is a known fact that phoenixes only appear to those who have the capacity for immense works, whether great or terrible. And didn’t that describe Dumbledore in a nutshell? Tom had never encountered anybody more brilliant or dangerous than the transfiguration professor whose magic crackled in the air like a storm. But if that was how it worked, the phoenix that was standing here in front of him now was here because he, too, had that capacity.
He’d been trying to figure out why Dumbledore had let him go ever since it had happened. He kept coming back around to the last several seconds of the meeting, when he’d asked him who he almost killed.
Did he hate Tom because they were so vastly different, the way he’d always thought? Or did he hate him because they were similar in some way, and it scared him?
What a thought.
And here Tom stood in the castle of his forefathers with the Queen of Serpents, who would do his bidding even against her own will, and a phoenix the colour of sunlight who he could not compel or control in any fashion whatsoever.
He stood there looking between the two of them for a long time. Then he turned and walked out of the Chamber and back up into the castle.