"And how do you plan on doing that?" Blake responded coolly, doing his best to sound like the man's last sentence hadn't sent shivers down his spine.
"I shall try to persuade you not to let the knowledge that the monster is a Basilisk be released to the school."
"And if that doesn't work?"
"Then, unfortunately, I shall be forced into taking a more hands-on approach."
Blake clenched his jaw. He didn't think Dumbledore would go so far as to wipe his own student's memory or do any other direct intervention on his choices, but apparently, he was mistaken.
I underestimated how far Dumbledore would go for his plans. Regardless of whether or not he'd got a good reason though, the fact remains that for as long as Connor, and Hermione, and the other muggleborn students are outside and unaware, someone is almost guaranteed to die.
But what am I supposed to do? He might be reading my mind literally right now. If you can, Dumbledore, f*ck you. Either way, one thing's clear: I'm not going to be able to tell Connor or the others right now. Dumbledore could ask me to make an Unbreakable Vow, or put a charm or a curse on me even if I tried. In fact, he probably will without telling me. But the alternative is to be Obliviated and lose all the progress I've made so far already.
Blake stared at Dumbledore long and hard.
"What would it take for you to release the information about the Basilisk?"
Dumbledore inclined his head, and Blake thought he could see the beginnings of a smile starting to form at the corners of his lips. F*ck you, Dumbledore.
"I would need to know who the Heir of Slytherin is, and where the Chamber of Secrets is."
"And how haven't you found it yet?"
"I'm not sure. The Heir eluded me last time, and continues to do so."
"And there's only one person that this Heir could be, is there not?"
"Not necessarily, but it could be."
"No, it's likely to be true. It's Voldemort, he's probably possessing someone again."
"Potentially, yes."
Blake narrowed his eyes. "Respectfully, Professor, do you even want the Chamber or Heir to be found by me? The way you're responding to my questions, it's almost like you don't want to divulge any details you know."
Dumbledore sighed.
"I do, Blake, however, there are many, many factors to consider. You're not old enough - perhaps, one day, when you're older, I could tell you such a thing, but for now, I'm afraid I simply cannot."
"That's fair enough," Blake responded. "But tell me one thing, then. I only want to know one thing. What was the name of the student who told the teachers that Hagrid opened the Chamber?"
Dumbledore smiled.
"And if I tell you, do you swear not to mention the name in any way to any other person who doesn't already know, and not to mention the Basilisk until this issue is resolved?"
Blake thought about the words for a moment.
"But you're fine with Harry, and presumably Hermione and Ron by extension, knowing?"
Dumbledore's eyes twinkled. "I wouldn't be opposed to that, no."
"I don't plan on telling them either way right now, but fine, I agree to those terms."
"Then I suppose we have a deal, Blake," Dumbledore said, the twinkle of his eyes resurfacing once more.
"So?" Blake prompted. "What's his name?"
"Tom Marvolo Riddle."
Blake's jaw dropped. I've read his name in the records!
"The head boy from 1944-45? But he's not even a pureblood, his surname's not mentioned anywhere!"
Dumbledore just looked down. "Yes. Tom was a halfblood."
Does that mean he's not Voldemort? Surely Voldemort couldn't be a halfblood! But suddenly, Blake remembered another conversation with McGonagall.
"You look confused, Mr Renshaw. Is something the matter?"
"No, Professor, it's just that - well, in that case, wouldn't a lot of halfbloods just become bigoted to fit in with them?"
McGonagall's nostrils flared.
"Of course, Mr Renshaw - if they're cowards that would choose to discriminate and harm others just for the validation of other people!"
Blake was willing to bet all his Galleons that Tom Marvolo Riddle was indeed Lord Voldemort, and the thought disgusted him.
Could he just be pandering to purebloods for support? Blake wondered. No, that hate in the chamber last year - he truly hated mudbloods. But so…
Thinking of someone who was so ashamed of his own blood that he became a mass murderer, Blake felt nothing but disgust. So, the great Lord Voldemort, one of the greatest Dark wizards to ever live, is nothing but a cowardly, insecure, weak-minded man.
But that wasn't the matter at hand - not now, anyway
"So, if I can find anything related to Tom Riddle, then I'll be twenty times closer to getting the stone, won't I?"
/
Blake was mistaken. Nothing he had found had helped. Aside from the fact that it was obvious that Voldemort was the one behind the attacks, he could find no further proof. All he'd found out about Tom Riddle was that he was an exemplary student, earning Merits and Distinctions every year without fail, even becoming a Prefect and a head boy. Ambitious enough to succeed to that level. Cunning enough to frame Hagrid, and try to resurrect himself.
It's weird. Lord Voldemort shares similar Slytherin traits to me.
"You coming?" Zabini interrupted Blake's internal monologue.
"Duelling club starts in 10 minutes."
Blake sighed. He had hoped to keep a low profile right now, especially in regards to Duelling, but Professor Lockahrt had insisted on his presence. "Promising young talent, that Renshaw is! Almost as good as I was back when I was at Hogwarts!" he had said.
The club started, and Blake paired himself with Zabini. The club continued somewhat as expected. It was slightly difficult to evade Lockhart, but Blake pulled through, until it was Harry and Malfoy duelling on the table.
Suddenly, Malfoy conjured a live snake, and it immediately went to attack a Hufflepuff student - Justin, he's the only Hufflepuff boy that's not a customer, I should speak to him later. Blake was hardly worried - even if Lockhart was incompetent, Snape was here. They'd be safe.
But to Blake's horror, something else happened. Harry started speaking a strange language, in a strange tongue - something incoherent, something reptilian.
As students screamed and gossiped, Blake could only think back to what Moaning Myrtle had said about the last time she'd heard, and what Harry had just done.
Hissing.
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