After wheedling Pansy and Hermione into agreeing to let Harry sit in on a few of the "club" meetings; Harry, Merlin, and Hermione say goodbye to Pansy and start the trek down to the dungeons.
Harry still doesn't think that telling Snape will accomplish anything, but Hermione points out that it would be good to have a teacher both on Harry's side and in the know. Harry just isn't sure that Snape is going to stay on his side after being told the truth (assuming Snape was ever on his side at all, of course).
They've only just hit the first floor when Harry and Hermione run into McGonagall near the Entrance Hall.
She sees them, sighs, and says, "Mister Potter. The Headmaster has asked that I escort you to his office."
Harry feels his stomach lurch unpleasantly. He wants to kick himself: how could he have forgotten to put on the cloak?
"Now?" He squeaks out.
McGonagall purses her lips and nods.
Hermione shoots Harry a worried look, then says, "can I come with him?"
McGonagall shakes her head. "I'm afraid not, Miss Granger." Hermione's face falls. McGonagall gestures for Harry to follow her.
Harry doesn't want to follow McGonagall, but doesn't see what other option he has. He shoots one last desperate look at Hermione (who gives him a grimace in return) before turning and following the professor.
They walk in silence. Harry chews on his bottom lip worriedly.
"Mister Potter," McGonagall says finally. "You have asked me no questions as to what this is all about. I must say that is very out of character."
Harry grimaces. Whoops.
"I already know," he finally says.
McGonagall raises an eyebrow. "Oh? Do tell."
"I was awake last night," Harry admits. "My arm hurt so bad it woke me up right as you and the Headmaster walked in with… walked in."
McGonagall says nothing, and Harry is suddenly worried that this makes him even more suspicious.
"It wasn't me, Professor," he says desperately. "I would've said something then but then the Headmaster said that thing about it having to be me and I panicked and-"
"I believe you, Mister Potter," McGonagall assures, interrupting him.
"Madam Pomfrey assures me you were in bed all day prior. Besides," she adds, a wry smile on her face. "Miss Granger is your best friend. I doubt very much that you'd willingly put her in any danger."
Harry breathes a sigh of relief, but that gets cut short as McGonagall stops suddenly in front of a very ugly stone gargoyle.
McGonagall turns to the statue and says, "Lemon Drop."
Harry blinks, first in confusion and then in amazement as he watches the statue slowly turn up and into the ceiling, revealing a spiral stone staircase.
Harry goes to step onto the stairs and starts as he suddenly feels a hand on his shoulder. He looks up into McGonagall's face, which looks as stern and severe as ever.
She says, "it'll be alright. Just tell the truth."
Harry nods and begins to climb the stairs. As he does, he thinks that McGonagall would make a great headmaster.
Harry cautiously looks around as he exits the stairwell. Dumbledore's office is huge and circular, stone walls mostly covered by assorted portraits, bookcases, and all sorts of marvelous trinkets. The visual effect is so overwhelming that Harry has to do a double-take to make sure that he isn't seeing things- but no, the Headmaster really isn't here yet.
Harry looks dubiously at the cushy chair sat in front of the desk, then at everything else. He decides it wouldn't hurt to look around. Harry gives the room another once-over, and his gaze locks on to the old, ratty, and unmistakable sorting hat.
"Merlin," Harry hisses excitedly.
Merlin pokes her nose out of the satchel.
"What?" She asks grumpily.
Harry must have woken her up, but doesn't care all that much.
"Want to be sorted?" Merlin is fully awake now.
"Yes, obviously," she says, then pauses. "Why are we in Dumbledore's office?"
Harry is too busy snatching the hat off of its pedestal to respond. He belatedly realizes that he probably should have checked for alarms or traps, but nothing happens so he figures they're in the clear.
"Oh," Merlin realizes. "Questioning, right?"
"Yeah," Harry says as he sticks the hat onto his head. "But the Headmaster isn't here yet, and this might be our only chance!"
"Only chance at what?"
Harry shudders as the voice of the hat trickles into his head. He'd forgotten how uncomfortable that had been. The sooner he asks, the sooner he can get the sorting hat off of his head.
"Would you sort my familiar?" Harry asks hopefully. The hat chuckles and Harry shudders again, resisting the urge to rip the hat off.
"I can't say I've been asked to do that before," the hat muses. "I suppose I could give it a shot, but no promises."
Harry wastes no time in plucking the hat off of his head and depositing it right on Merlin's head. Her head is too small for the brim, but Harry holds it up. He's pretty sure that counts. Merlin hisses in indignation, then goes quiet.
Harry stands for a moment, idly wondering what their conversation is sounding like. Can the hat even speak parseltongue? Wait, does Merlin think in Parseltongue or English?
Suddenly Merlin slithers out from under the hat.
Harry puts the hat back on its shelf as he asks, "could it not sort you, then?"
Merlin's tongue flickers. "It said that calling it out would confuse Hogwarts magic."
Harry takes this to mean that it would have enrolled Merlin as a student, and wonders how hard it would be to get the hat to do it anyways.
"Did it give you a house, though?"
"Yeah," Merlin says smugly. "Surprised it, too."
"Not Slytherin?"
"Hufflepuff."
Harry's not surprised in the least, and says as much.
Merlin bites him and he heals it with a fond smile. Suddenly, a gurgly sort of cough sounds from behind him and Harry whirls around, grabbing tight onto his magic.
He relaxes as he sees that, instead of the Headmaster, it's just a previously unnoticed bird sitting like a gray lump on an ornate golden perch. Harry goes over to it, thinking that surely it can't be as sickly-looking as it looks from afar.
He's right. It's worse, up close.
What feathers it does have are gray and greasy looking, and its beak is chipped. Its eyes are bloodshot, and one of them has so much gunk on it that it is practically sealed shut. The poor thing looks seconds away from death. Harry thinks about trying to heal it, but wouldn't know where to even start.
"Hey," Harry whispers. The thing does its best to look up at him, head moving jerkily. Harry winces. "You're, er. You're okay."
Harry is going for comfort, but he thinks he mostly just sounds doubtful.
The bird wheezes. Harry hopes it can last another couple minutes at least. The last thing he needs is for Dumbledore to suspect him of killing his pet bird. Although, honestly, by the looks of it Dumbledore should have put the thing out of its misery ages ago.
Merlin slithers further out of the satchel, reaching her snout towards the bird.
"Careful," Harry warns. "You might scare the poor thing to death."
Merlin flicks her tongue irritatedly at him, then does so again in the direction of the decrepit bird.
"Um, Merlin? Does it really smell that good?"
"Shush," Merlin says, tongue flickering rapidly. "Huh, that's weird," she says after a moment.
"What's weir-ah!" Harry yelps, simultaneously grabbing Merlin and his magic and jumping back as the bird bursts into flames.
"That- was that me? No. Was it? That wasn't me," Harry decides, pulling his magic close.
The bird is rapidly becoming a smoldering orange fireball. Orange- not white.
In what might be the worst possible timing ever, the door behind Harry opens and he whirls around to see none other than the Headmaster.
"Your bird-" Harry says, pointing. "I'm so sorry, I don't know- I don't know what happened, suddenly it was on fire and, and-"
The Headmaster has the audacity to chuckle as he holds his hands up, cutting Harry off. Harry stares at Dumbledore, dimly registering the bird giving one final shriek as it crumbles into ash.
"No need to worry, my boy," the Headmaster says. "Although, he is a bit ahead of schedule," Dumbledore adds thoughtfully.
"Wh- ahead of schedule? What do you mean?" Harry is so lost.
Merlin is back to sniffing the air around the perch.
Dumbledore goes to sit down, gesturing for Harry to do the same.
"Fawkes is a phoenix," he explains. "Phoenixes burst into flame when it is time for them to die, and are reborn from the ashes. Fascinating creatures, phoenixes; they can carry immensely heavy loads, their tears have healing powers, and they make highly faithful pets. Ah, see, there he is…"
Harry peers over and sure enough, a wrinkled little baby bird pokes its head out of the clump of ashes under the perch.
"He's really a very handsome bird, most of the time." Dumbledore remarks. The baby bird chirps indignantly, and Harry's heart melts a little. "I'm afraid Burning Day is not a flattering look for poor Fawkes."
"I think he's cute," Harry says absently, staring at the sooty little creature as Fawkes tries and fails to free himself from the ash.
"That he is, in his own way," the Headmaster agrees.
Harry starts and turns to look at the man, abruptly remembering why he's been called here in the first place. Harry feels his stomach twist anxiously as the Headmaster steeples his fingers together.
"Mister Potter," Dumbledore starts. "Is there anything you'd like to tell me?"
Harry feels a slight tug on his magic and suddenly has the urge to look the man in the eyes. Merlin hisses quietly in warning and Harry jerks his face down, looking at his hands.
Shit. If Dumbledore didn't know that Harry was actively avoiding his gaze before, he does now.
"Mister Potter," Dumbledore says quietly, a warning tone in his voice.
The compulsion gets stronger. Harry grits his teeth and squeezes his eyes shut.
"Please stop!" Harry says desperately as the compulsion gets even stronger.
The compulsion drops and Dumbledore sighs tiredly. Harry cracks an eye open.
"I apologize," Dumbledore says. "But you must understand: the last time the Chamber of Secrets was opened, a student died."
"What?" Harry croaks. "Died?"
Dumbledore nods solemnly.
Harry sits in silence, reeling. Definitely not a prank, then. And Harry really ought to write to Remus. But first…
"Okay, but it wasn't me: my best friend is muggleborn, I'm not even pure-blooded, and I'm a Gryffindor!"
"Only the heir of Slytherin can open the Chamber," Dumbledore says, as if Harry needed a reminder.
"I'm only the heir through conquest, and I have alibis!" Harry protests.
Dumbledore raises a bushy white eyebrow.
"Be that as it may," Dumbledore says after a moment. "Surely you can see the position I'm in. I want to believe you, I do. However, I can't risk the lives of students over the word of one boy."
"It. Wasn't. Me," Harry grits out. "Is there a way to know for sure I'm telling the truth? Without looking in my head?"
"There is… a truth potion," Dumbledore says, slowly. "I'd prefer not to resort to that, though. It is incredibly rare and difficult to make, and the legality of using it would be dubious, to say the least."
"But mind-reading is okay?" Harry asks disbelievingly.
"I'd simply be skimming surface-level thoughts," Dumbledore explains. "I wouldn't be doing any rifling at all. I'd ask you a question, and see if your thoughts match what you tell me."
Harry feels sick. "What if I don't want any of that? What if I say no?"
Dumbledore sighs again. "At that point, I would have no choice but to suspend you and see if the attacks stop."
Harry sits, holding tight to his magic and clutching his stomach. Merlin is hissing in his ear comforting and slightly violent nonsense.
His options are: open his head up to the Headmaster; drink a potion that'll likely put his secrets at risk just as much as Legilimancy would; or go home for god knows how long until another attack happens, leaving his friends alone and unprotected at Hogwarts.
Wait.
"Would Professor Snape brew the potion?" Harry asks.
"I believe he has an emergency store, but yes, Professor Snape would administer the potion." Dumbledore says.
Harry takes a steadying breath. "That one, then. I'll take the potion." Dumbledore grimaces, but recovers quickly.
"This particular potion, Veritaserum, is a very powerful truth serum. Just one drop would have you answering any and all questions posed to you truthfully until it wears off or an antidote is administered. A surface-level scan of your thoughts would be much less invasive."
"I don't see how it would be," Harry disagrees. "Just ask me if I've ever directly or indirectly opened the Chamber, if I ever plan on opening the Chamber, and if I've ever set Slytherin's monster on anyone. Three questions, and you can see I'm telling the truth."
"I see you won't be swayed." Dumbledore gives a world-weary sigh as he stands up. "Very well."
Dumbledore goes over to his fireplace and throws a pinch of floo powder into the blaze, turning the flame green. "Severus Snape," he calls.
Snape's head pokes out from the flames after a moment. "What," he says flatly.
"I must ask you to bring forth a vial of Veritaserum and its antidote, then come through to my office."
Harry sees Snape's eyes narrow, but the man gives a curt nod and vanishes momentarily, before reappearing and climbing through.
Snape sees Harry, who gives him a queasy little smile. The professor stares flatly at Harry before turning his glare to the Headmaster.
"You cannot be serious," Snape says.
"Mister Potter requested it himself," Dumbledore says tiredly.
Harry thinks that he's leaving out a few pretty major details.
"Unprompted?" Snape asks, raising an eyebrow. Oh, good. Snape thinks so too.
Dumbledore sighs, and says, "the Chamber has been opened again. The last time, a student died. Mister Potter is the most obvious suspect, and would prefer to prove his innocence via Veritaserum."
"As opposed to?" Snape says.
Harry once again thinks how unfair it is that it's impossible to like Snape.
"I considered suspending him until another attack occurs, if one should occur, but thought surface level Legilimancy would be preferable. Mister Potter thought differently. If you can think of another option, I am sure both myself and Mister Potter would appreciate it."
Snape rolls his eyes, muttering something that sounds like "the wolf is going to have our heads," before walking over to where Harry is seated. He holds up a tiny vial of crystal-clear liquid.
"This is Veritaserum. While under its influence, you will only be able to speak the truth. I will put one drop onto your tongue, ask you a list of pre-decided and agreed-upon questions," here Snape glares at Dumbledore as though daring him to argue.
When he doesn't, Snape continues, saying, "after you have answered those questions, I will administer the antidote and I can go get my affairs in order." Harry doesn't think he was supposed to hear the last bit.
"Very well," Dumbledore says. "The questions?"
"Like I said earlier," Harry says, pulling his magic in closer than before. It's just on the edge of hurting his chest, but he doesn't want to risk losing control.
"Have I ever directly or indirectly opened the Chamber, do I plan on opening the Chamber, and have I ever set Slytherin's monster on anyone."
"Those sound reasonable enough," Dumbledore says. "What do you think, Severus?"
Snape looks at the Headmaster like he can't believe Dumbledore would dare try to implicate him in this whole mess more than he has already.
"I suggest," Snape says finally. "Instead of asking Potter if he plans to open the Chamber in the future, you ask if he was behind the attack on Mister Creevey specifically."
Harry nods after a moment, and Dumbledore inclines his head. Snape sighs again before uncorking the vial and dropping a single drop on Harry's tongue.
Harry isn't sure what to expect, or if he'll notice the potion taking hold. Then, his brain goes slippery. He doesn't know how else to explain it.
He's so focused on trying to catch a thought, any thought at all, that when he's asked questions he only very distantly registers them. He has no idea what they asked, or what he said. The truth, presumably.
Suddenly, there's a bitter taste on his tongue and his thoughts have traction once more.
Harry has only a moment to feel relief when he's suddenly very aware that he's holding his magic so close he can hardly breathe. He relaxes his grip and takes in a shuddery breath.
Dumbledore is looking at Harry consideringly and Snape is as impassive as ever.
"Did- what did they ask me?" Harry gasps out, grasping at Merlin's coils.
"Exactly what they said they would," Merlin assures, tongue flicking in Harry's ears.
"And what did I say?" Harry asks, feeling his racing heartbeat slow a bit.
"You just said no to every answer. Everything is alright," she says soothingly. "We can light them on fire now."
"I'm not- Merlin, I'm not doing that."
Harry would very much like to do that. Dumbledore's beard especially looks flammable.
Merlin huffs and slithers into her satchel.
"I apologize for doubting you, Mister Potter," Dumbledore says.
"Can I go now?" Harry asks, ignoring his apology.
Dumbledore can apologize all he wants, Harry won't be forgiving the man any time soon. Or ever.
Harry thinks he sees a glint of satisfaction in Snape's eyes, but can't bring himself to care. The magnitude of what he was just subjected to is beginning to hit.
"You are excused," Dumbledore says finally, and Harry stands up and leaves the office without looking back.