Chapter 14 - Of Curses, Dementors, and Animagi
Written by Nemesis
On the fifth of November, Medéa McGonagall finally seemed to have recovered from her grand adventure. She ventured out of the hospital wing and began conversing with students in the hallways. Tom quickly befriended her. She was very nice, and had a particular knowledge of the art of the Animagus, one to rival Professor Dumbledore's. "It's a family tradition," she explained. "All of the women in my bloodline have been Animagi. I can turn into a bluebird at will, but it's dangerous to transform when you're pregnant. It could hurt he baby." Medéa let the students put forth suggestions about what to name her child-to-be, and Tom noticed that she decided on one of his own suggestions, Minerva, as a good name for a girl. Though she should really have gone back to the Ministry, Medéa simply sent owls in to work daily. She truly seemed to prefer milling around Hogwarts to going in to work.
Meanwhile, the news of Grindelwald seemed to get worse and worse. Village massacres were turning into a daily event, and any Aurors who went after Grindelwald or one of his supporters usually were killed or injured awfully. Once, when retrieving a Daily Prophet for a friend, he found a photograph of one of the murdered villages in one of the inner pages. Feeling numb, Tom had gone down to breakfast again, given Larkin her paper, and rushed back to the dormitory. For the rest of November, Tom had dreadful nightmares about it; dead people strewn all across the green, a line of young but maniacal-looking Irish children standing over them, and the specter from Tom's dream praising them on their good work.
One Saturday in late November, Tom woke up early in a cold sweat. He had had countless nightmares, including various versions of his old nightmare, and the new one seemed to be even more persistent. Shakily, he pulled on his robes and stumbled down the stairs. He halted at the bottom, though, for he heard voices outside the door.
"He's a bit young, wouldn't you say, Albus?" Medéa McGonagall was saying skeptically. "Twelve, is it?"
"Thirteen in two weeks," Professor Dumbledore replied. Tom realized with a jolt that they were talking about him. His birthday would be on Thursday two weeks from that date. "And as I've told you already, he is exponentially talented, particularly in Transfiguration. He is leading his class, and he takes lessons with the seventh-years. I have no doubt in my mind that he would be able to pull it off."
"How good is he?"
"Good. He turned a classmate into a lobster; that sort of magic is very advanced even for a seventeen-year-old, but at thirteen, it is astounding."
"And taking transfiguration so lightly is also a sign that he will not take this seriously."
"He will, Medéa. The boy is a bit of a firebrand, I'll admit, but he certainly takes things seriously." Tom flushed with anger. Firebrand? He wasn't that hotheaded, what was Professor Dumbledore playing at? "In fact, he takes things too seriously. Trust me, if you let him do this, he'll be spending hours in the library, and he'll probably have it done in only a few months. He's one of those who'll never give up. Give him the chance, and Tom will probably set a world record for fastest person to learn to become an Animagus."
"All right, all right. I'll have to have a chat with him first. Do you want me to help you teach him?"
"That would be greatly appreciated. I'll go get him."
"I don't think that will be necessary," Tom said sharply, throwing open the door. The common room was deserted except for the teacher and the Ministry worker, who both looked stricken at Tom's sudden appearance.
"Tom," said Medéa, smiling. "Come and have a seat with us, we were just talking about you."
"I know. I have good ears." Tom folded his arms and leaned against the doorframe, still irked at being called a firebrand. "You're going to let me do it, then?"
Medéa nodded. She proceeded to explain the rules and the Ministry guidelines, while Tom listened intently. "Once you're done, we'll have to register you, you know. What kind of animal you are, your markings. We have to make sure you don't misuse it."
"I understand, and I thank you for the opportunity," Tom replied. "So, can you decide which animal you want to be?" Tom was not picky about animals, as long as he did not wind up a dog. Tom hated dogs. He had been terrified of them ever since he was five years old, when an angry dog had scratched his right arm deeply. It left him with livid scars on his arm, which were an odd fuschia color and ran from his shoulder to the middle of his forearm.
"You can't choose, unfortunately. It's rather like being Sorted into a Hogwarts House, you get the animal based on your personality traits." Tom was slightly disappointed, but he sighed with relief. He was not exactly playful, and loyalty was definitely not his strong point. It looked like a dog was out of the question.
"We'll start your lessons this evening, at nine o'clock sharp in the Transfiguration room. If you can find anything in the library on the subject, be sure to read it," said Professor Dumbledore. That was a given, of course, for Tom practically lived in the library. "That will be all, Tom. Go on down to breakfast."
"Yes, sir," Tom replied. He pushed open the portrait and strode out of the common room.
Professor Dumbledore sighed heavily and turned to face Medéa again. "I don't know what to think of that boy," he said. "Every time I turn around, I hear of some other amazing magical feat he's pulled off. It usually has something to do with transfiguration or dueling. I'm not sure of his heritage, but I know there are some very powerful wizards in his background. Maria and Marvolo Salamair, to name two. On top of this, Grindelwald wants something with him. Tom received a Dark Arts book last Christmas. Though he doesn't know it, I've managed to intercept eight other messages and books from Grindelwald."
"Well, he's clearly powerful," Medéa said reasonably. "He probably wants the poor boy as a follower."
"Grindelwald would not be so persistent if Tom were just an ordinary boy. I know there's something special about him. I know you think that prophecy is tosh, but Tom could easily be the eleventh or twelfth member of the Circle of Light. Either that, or he's…"
"Tom doesn't seem much like a Dark Heir to me," Medéa responded. "Has a bit of a temper on him, to be sure, but his heart's in the right place."
"I hope so," Dumbledore sighed. "In any case, all I know is that I have to keep him away from Grindelwald. God knows what could happen if he got a hold of that boy. He's powerful and brilliant, a deadly combination. It would be Limerick all over again, but ten times worse."
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Tom's day had been going downhill since Medéa McGonagall had told him he could become an Animagus. He was very much looking forward to the evening's lesson--but first he had to get through the day. Feeling very grumpy by the end of a particularly bad Double Potions with the Gryffindors, Tom stormed up to the library to do some afternoon studying. He showed the cranky Squib librarian, Mr. Lamont, the permission slip Dumbledore had given him to explore the Restricted Section for Animagus information. Tom threw his bookbag over his shoulder and stepped over the rope separating it from the rest of the library.
He quickly found the right book. It was called The Craft of the Animagi, and it was at least four thousand pages long. That done, Tom got up and started to leave, but he stopped. His eye had picked out a skinny black book with gold lettering. The Unforgivable Curses, it said. Tom's mind was whirring. He did need to know all the magic he could get his hands on if he wanted to defeat Grindelwald, and the Unforgivables were certainly good for self-defense. A little harsh, but effective. Tom tried to walk away, but his curiosity got the better of him. He snatched the book and placed an Opticus Charm on it so that it would look like something for Transfiguration. Before his conscience could nag him, he rushed out of the library and back up to Slytherin Tower.
When Tom reached his dormitory, he flung himself onto his bed, whipped the drapes shut, and conjured another ball of bluish fire by which to read. Part of his brain was screaming in protest, but Tom ignored it. By four o'clock, he had read the instructions on each of the curses. When he had finally finished the book, Tom sighed and closed it slowly. He was not sure what had compelled him to do it, but now he had finished, he felt distinctly ill. As he was getting up to take it back, something in his mind stopped him. Was he powerful enough to perform the Unforgivable Curses? If he did not use them on a human, and was discreet about it, it would not be a problem.
It was at that moment that Nepenthe slithered out from the shadows, chasing after a plump white rat that had probably once been a student's pet. Tom hated rats, so guilt would not be a problem… With catlike precision, he pounced on it and seized it by its wormlike tail. The creature was squealing like a piglet. "That was going to be my lunch!" Nepenthe said indignantly.
"It still can be," Tom murmured absently. He conjured a wooden table in the middle of the room, then charmed invisible walls around the edges, so that the rat could not escape. Tom made sure that the door to the dormitory was safely locked and dropped the rat into the enclosed space on the tabletop. The creature kept squeaking crossly.
Nepenthe was very angry indeed. "What are you doing?" he demanded, coiling around a nearby bedpost to watch the operation. "Honesssstly, if this is jusssst to try out ssssome new hex of yours--"
"They're important hexes," Tom insisted rather loftily. "Now be quiet for a second, I need to concentrate." He took a deep breath and released it slowly, shutting his eyes. When he opened them, he stared at the rat as though fascinated by it. In one swift movement, he lifted his wand and aimed it at the rat, crying, "Imperio!"
The rat suddenly stopped squeaking. It gazed around blankly, seemingly in a trance. "Do a back-flip," Tom invoked softly. The rat proceeded to do a perfect back-flip. Tom felt a sudden rush of adrenaline. He realized that if he mastered this curse, he could make people do anything, absolutely anything he wanted. His mind filled with vengeful thoughts. He could make Francis tap dance with a lampshade on his head; he could make Philip crash his broomstick… The list went on and on.
"Okay, um… sing," he commanded. The rat began squeaking out the tune to the national anthem. Tom put a hand to his ear. "Shut up, you're killing the music! Hmmm… act like a turkey." The rat scampered around on its hind legs, trying to peck things, irritably chirping in a way that sounded vaguely like a gobble. Tom had a little fun with the Imperius Curse before lifting it. The next one was the one he had heard about the most, the infamous and terrible Cruciatus Curse. He swallowed hard, relaxed again, and glared at the rat, which was panting from doing a number of gymnastics. Feeling extremely nervous, Tom raised his wand and brought it down through the air. "Crucio!" he yelled.
The rat went suddenly rigid and collapsed, twitching and flailing. It was yelping at the top of its tiny lungs, eyes bugging out and rolling around in its head. Tom nearly dropped his wand in horror, and his hands were trembling. However, as with the last curse, a rush of cruel thoughts came into his head, and however nauseated he was by the idea, Tom thought it might be rather fun to see, for instance, Mr. Carney in that kind of pain. Tom lifted the curse, and the rat, shuddering and still twitching convulsively, got to its feet. Tom might have been imagining it, but it looked like there were tears in its eyes.
"Sssstop!" Nepenthe said sharply. His golden eyes were wide. "Masssster, what are you doing? Those were Unforgivable Curssses, are you mad?"
"Maybe," Tom whispered. There was a murderous, twisted smile on his face, and his eyes were gleaming scarlet. He was briefly possessed by an awful sort of joy, one that was completely lacking in mirth but which simply consisted of a sadistic euphoria. Nepenthe looked terrified, and he shrank away. Tom ignored his pet and whirled on the rat again. For the first time in his life, Tom looked truly and utterly evil. Feeling entirely confident now, Ton raised his wand, shouting, "Avada Kedavra!" Instantly, there was a blinding flash of green light, a rushing noise, and the poor rodent was put out of its misery. Tom's eyes suddenly returned to turquoise, and they were wide and stricken. All color had left his face, and he raised a quivering hand to his mouth. He sank onto his trunk, still staring at the dead rat.
He swore softly, running a hand through his jet-black hair. Nepenthe slithered down the bedpost and crept off toward his basket, and Tom could tell that he was scared out of his wits. For that matter, so was Tom. He rocked backward and forward on the trunk, still stunned. Something--he was not sure what it was--something had taken over. For an awful minute, Tom had not been himself. He had been something so incredibly evil that it sent shivers down his spine to think about it. To be sure, most of the time Tom was no angel. He was moody, aloof, spontaneous, temperamental, impulsive. But he was not evil, not at all. What had happened?
"Nepenthe," he called. Nepenthe did not answer, and Tom did not blame him. "I'm sorry," he whispered to nobody in particular. "I'm so, so sorry!" Though he was tall for his age and still growing, Tom felt extremely small, as though being overpowered by someone bigger than himself. Shivering violently, he got to his feet and evaporated the table. The rat fell to the floor. "Nepenthe, you can have the rat now."
"I've losssst my appetite," Nepenthe shot back coldly. Tom was too miserable to be angry. He evaporated the rat, took the book and burned it in the fireplace, and threw open the door and dashed down to the common room. His heart was going like mad, and there was a burning sensation behind his eyes.
Because it was Saturday, the common room was packed. Tom picked an armchair away from the others and set to work on the Animagus book. He gave up on it soon, unable to concentrate. Daphne Gatefield noticed him and came over. "Hello, Tom," Daphne said. "Why the long face?"
"I'm just tired," Tom announced quietly.
"You look very sick," Daphne said, unceremoniously pushing his bangs out of his eyes and feeling his forehead. "You have a fever, Tom. You should go see Madam Viola."
"I'm okay, Daphne," Tom groaned, shrinking away from her hand.
"Mmmm." Daphne looked skeptical. "Well, I have to go now. I have to meet someone."
"Who?"
"Nathan," Daphne replied. "Nathan Potter. My boyfriend--he's in fourth year." She giggled despite herself.
"Oh. I see." Tom rolled his eyes, thinking that thirteen was far too young to be romantically involved. "Goodbye, then." Daphne nodded and hurried off. Tom struggled to remember who Nathan Potter was, but he was too distracted by his own thoughts to bother.
That night, Tom had more nightmares than he had ever had in his life.
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By the middle of Christmas break, Tom was getting very close to becoming an Animagus. Medéa had left for a week and returned with an adorable baby girl, Minerva. This was good not only because Minerva was a very entertaining little creature, but because Tom had the added example provided by Medéa. When she and Dumbledore transformed into the respective bluebird and bumblebee, it was a lot easier for Tom to understand than when it had just been the bumblebee.
On Christmas Eve, Tom headed down to his Animagus lesson feeling very excited. Professor Dumbledore had told him that he was finally ready to transform, which was amazing, considering that Tom had been studying it for about than a month. Professor Dumbledore and Medéa McGonagall met him in the Transfiguration room. Professor Chapman was there as well with the Restoration Potion in case Tom bunged up. "Are you ready, Tom?" Professor Dumbledore asked.
Going very pale, Tom nodded. He wondered what kind of animal he would be. The obvious suggestion would be a snake, but somehow, Tom did not think that was right.
"Okay," Medéa said. "You need to recite the following incantations for your first transformation, and after that, you can do it at will. Repeat after me." She proceeded to emit a series of bizarre sounding words, which Tom repeated. He suddenly felt very strange and lightheaded. He was shrinking, and fur seemed to be sprouting out of his arms. He supposed this meant he was not a snake, at least. He noticed with some amusement that he had a tail of some sort, and that he was growing whiskers.
As promptly as it had begun, the lightheaded feeling dissolved. Tom looked down at his hands, and he saw two white, furry paws. "This is too weird," he tried to say, but a strange, foreign noise escaped his mouth. He looked up and saw the two professors and Medéa McGonagall looking down at him. Medéa and Professor Chapman looked astonished and impressed, and so did Professor Dumbledore, except with Dumbledore, these emotions were mixed with something else that Tom could not read. "What am I?" he demanded. Medéa seemed to understand. She reached up to a desk and seized a mirror, which she held in front of his face. Tom yelped with shock.
He was a cat. A very pretty, black cat with white paws, a white nose, and a white tip to the tail. The eyes were bright turquoise, just like his human ones, but the pupils were, of course, slits. Medéa reached out and scratched his head, and the irony of the situation suddenly hit him. "I'm a Tom-cat," he thought, and if he had been given human voice, he would have laughed. It looked like his father's name, while not exactly favorable, was at least accurate.
"Turn back into a human now," Professor Dumbledore prompted. Tom thought very hard about becoming human again, and he found himself sitting on the floor, awkwardly tall again, fur-free, and without whiskers. Immediately, he burst out laughing.
"Tom-cat," he gasped between chuckles. "I should have known! Hold on, let me do it again." He turned into the black cat, waited a few seconds, then turned back into himself.
"Tom," Professor Dumbledore said, looking rather grim. "Do you have any idea how advanced that is? Most adults cannot manage that even if they devote their whole lives to it, and now you've figured it out in a month."
"I don't see how that's bad," Tom said, frowning slightly.
Dumbledore sighed. "It isn't bad, just… eerie. Oh, by the way, I got those dementor books for you." He handed Tom a stack of books, all of which were very thick. Professor Dumbledore suddenly smiled, and he turned to Professor Chapman. "Do you want to take bets on how few months it takes him to learn the Patronus Charm?" Chapman gave a rare laugh.
"Patronus?" Tom asked quizzically.
"You'll see," said Professor Chapman. "It's a charm to ward off a dementor."
Tom suddenly felt suspicious. Why did Professor Dumbledore think that Tom needed to know how to ward off dementors? It was not as though he was going to visit Azkaban anytime soon. At that moment, it hit him. Grindelwald used dementors as stormtroopers, as weapons. That meant that Dumbledore must know about what Tom was, or what he thought he was.
"I'll get started on that tonight," Tom said dutifully. "Thank you for teaching me, Mrs. McGonagall."
"It's been a pleasure," said Medéa. "It looks like my work here is done, Albus and Trahern. I'll just go pick up my daughter from the Ravenclaw common room and I'll head back to the Ministry."
"What's Minnie doing in the Ravenclaw common room?" Tom asked.
Medéa laughed. "Lili Po is babysitting her. Very nice girl, great with kids. Well, I'm off."
"Goodbye," the others said in unison. Tom turned to Professor Dumbledore. "Thank you, too, Professor," he said.
"You are quite welcome. Now, unless I'm very much mistaken, your friends are waiting for you in your common room. Off you trot."
Tom strode out of the room, feeling quite pleased. When he was sure nobody was looking, he turned into a cat and dashed along a corridor, resuming his original form when he reached the portrait of the wood nymph. "You make a good cat," the nymph commented.
"Thanks. Antediluvian." The portrait swung open, and Tom clambered inside. His friends, the ones who had stayed for Christmas, were all sitting together, playing Gobstones and Exploding Snap.
"Hi," Larkin said cheerfully. "Ready to tell us where you go every Saturday night or not?" Tom, who had been instructed to keep his teachings a secret, shrugged and sank into an armchair.
"Betcha he has a pretty girlfriend in another House, probably Ravenclaw, and he's been disappearing to meet up with her," Annie suggested. Tom glared at her.
"Nah," said Zuhayr, pretending to sound serious. "He's been slipping off to practice Dark magic in the dungeons."
"No, that's not it," Tom said sharply. "I'd like it to be my business and my business only. And, to answer your question, Annie, Lili is NOT my girlfriend, and I have NOT been sneaking off to visit her. Understood?"
"Mmm hmm," said Annie. "I never suggested that it was Lili."
"It was implied." With that, Tom stood up and left. He truly did not feel like being with his friends. When he got up into the dormitory, he called for Nepenthe, but Nepenthe had been avoiding him ever since he had cursed the rat. Sighing, Tom changed into his pajamas and went to bed, surprisingly sleepy.
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Christmas passed without event, and by the thirtieth, Nepenthe was speaking to Tom again. Tom decided that if he ever did have to test the Unforgivable Curses again, he would do it when Nepenthe was not around. The sight of them seemed to terrify Nepenthe, and the cobra remained rather wary of Tom.
New Year's Eve, however, promised to be fun. The second- through seventh-years were allowed to attend the New Year party, and would spend the day in their dress robes to mark the occasion. At eleven o'clock in the evening, Tom headed down the stairs and met up with his friends. He noticed that Larkin's robes did glow in the dark a bit. Most students were wearing their cloaks, and for good reason. The party would be held out on the grounds, and it was freezing outside.
There was a line of poles that ran around the school with fairy lights strung between them, making a twinkling footpath. The groundskeeper, a trollish man called Ogg, had carved several sparkling ice statues, and the Aurora Borealis was swirling beautifully in the sky. After a few minutes, Lili caught up with Tom, Larkin, Zuhayr, and Adrian. "This is amazing," she breathed. "Want to have a snowball fight?"
"No," said Larkin sarcastically. "Come on, let's go!" They dashed down the sloping lawn and immediately scooped up handfuls of the pristine snow, packing them into balls and hurling them at each other. By a quarter until midnight, all of them were caked with snow, rosy, and ecstatic. Everyone was participating in the snowball fight now, even the dignified seventh-years. Tom was not surprised to see Professors Xavier, Twiddy, and Dumbledore enjoying the romp as well, but he was astonished to see the cool, composed Professor Chapman hurling as many snowballs as any student.
Growing a little bored with the standard snowball, Tom sneaked off and made a pile of his own snowballs. He tapped each of them with his wand, crept back up, and hurled two of them at a group of Gryffindors. The snowballs, which were now snow bombs, exploded, splattering everyone with snow. Soon, everyone was getting in on it, prodding snowballs with their wands and dispersing large crowds of people. It was a raucous good time, and Tom wished it would never end.
Then, horribly, it did.
There was a sudden, deathly silence, even though people were still moving. Tom remembered something he had read in his dementor book; that when a dementor was near, there was utter silence except if someone spoke. People gradually halted, staring around curiously. There was an odd, humming noise coming from the Forbidden Forest. Abruptly, at least one hundred towering, hooded dementors burst from the wood.
Tom had his wand out in a moment. He had never had much luck with the Patronus Charm, but he knew the dementors' fatal power, and he did not want that inflicted on anyone present. "Expecto Patronum!" he yelled, concentrating on the happiest thought he could.
Something tall and white burst forth from his wand. It was in the form of a young woman, with a silvery dress and dark silver hair in long ringlets. Tom took a step back. If that was who he thought it was…
The Patronus looked over her shoulder, and Tom found himself staring into the face of his mother. The Patronus did not speak, but it gave Tom a reassuring smile and strode toward the dementors. At that moment, all of the dementors took deep, rattling breaths, and every happy memory in Tom's mind vanished. The image of his mother flickered and died. Tom's mind was a tangle of misery. Orphanage memories swirled in his head, and there was something about an old woman in white picking him up and carrying him down a pure white hallway, which he did not quite understand. From the screams and sobs of his fellow students, they were being affected the same way by the dementors. Professor Dippet had actually fainted.
That done, the dementors advanced. Tom tried to re-summon the Patronus, but he could not. The instant he came up with a good memory, it was sucked away by another breath from the dementors. With a jolt, he realized that the crowd consisted not just of dementors, but there were some children there, as well. They looked young, only about fourteen or fifteen, and all of them looked familiar… as familiar as the photograph on a newspaper page…
"Should we kill any of them yet, Master?" one of the children called back into the forest. He had a maniacal smile on his face.
At that moment, a man, tall and thin with a mop of fair hair, swept out of the wood. He would have been handsome if his eyes were not bright crimson, and if he had not had such a cruel look on his face. "Leave the brats unless they put up a fight," he roared. "I am here for just one thing." His eyes flicked over to Dumbledore, who was standing resolutely at the top of the hill, his wand out. "Albus Dumbledore, the famous ex-Auror," the man cackled. "I meet you at last. I presume you have heard of me. I am Grindelwald."