"Of course!" Hermione almost comedically slapped herself on the forehead. "It's so obvious!"
The Golden Trio and Blake sat in the library, speaking in hushed voices, lest Madam Pince hear them.
"Petrification… Parseltongue… it all makes sense!"
"How in Merlin's name did you find out?" Ron asked incredulously.
"Who knows, Ron," Blake said wryly. "But right now, that doesn't matter. We need to find the Heir and the Chamber ASAP. Harry, did you hear anything else at all that could be a clue?" Blake asked.
Harry looked to be in deep thought for almost a minute, but he disappointedly shook his head.
"No. All it ever talks about is killing and eating," he muttered dejectedly.
"No worries," Blake quickly reassured him. "But it's imperative that if you do, you need to tell me - us - straight away."
"I have an idea," Ron said slowly.
"Go on," Blake said, his eyes narrowing. He used to not have much of a high opinion of Ron, but after hearing about the Wizard Chess game for their lives last year, Blake knew he was someone whose opinion he should consider.
"Harry heard the voice in the walls, right? And Moaning Myrtle died in the bathroom? I think-"
"That the Basilisk is moving around via the pipes, and that bathroom is potentially where the entrance is," Blake finished with a grin. Ron smirked.
"Hermione, I think he's smarter than you!"
"Ron! It is not a competition!" Hermione said shrilly. Before anyone could respond, they heard Madam Pince's voice.
"TOO LOUD! OUT!"
5 minutes later, after they'd settled in the courtyard (after much arguing between Hermione and Ron, which Blake actually thought was disguised flirting), Blake eventually restarted the conversation.
"So, we just need to investigate Myrtle's bathroom, right?" Harry said determinedly.
"Yes, but we'll need to be careful," Hermione replied. "I doubt Moaning Myrtle's helping the Heir, considering she was killed by the Basilisk too, but she'll probably get in the way, and she might gossip with the other students that go in there."
"Actually, Hermione - I disagree." Seeing the questioning looks from the other three, Blake continued. "I think it's safe to assume that the Heir only acts when Myrtle's left the bathroom. If we investigate then, we might literally run into him or her."
"But isn't that a good thing?"
"Do you think we could take on a Basilisk by ourselves?" Blake asked, unable to keep the sarcasm out of his voice.
"We can't even look at it properly, because if we do, we'll die, and if that's not enough, it's got one of - if not the most deadly venom in the world, and on top of that, it could literally crush us to death. Unless we had a rooster, we wouldn't stand a chance, and Harry, you said that someone's been killing them all, right?"
"Yeah, that's what Hagrid said," Harry sighed.
"So, what you're saying is, we need to find the Chamber, while Myrtle's still in the bathroom, and without her knowing?" Ron surmised. "That's going to be difficult."
"Yeah," Blake said with a wry smile. "We'll also need a rooster too - I don't want to get into a situation like that without a failsafe - but don't worry I've got that covered."
"And Myrtle?" Hermione prompted.
"I've got that covered too," Blake smirked.
"So what do we do?" Ron asked, apparently feeling quite left out.
"Don't worry, Ron, you've all got the important jobs. Myrtle… lets just say we're friends, for simplicity's sake. I'll distract her - it's you three's job to try and find anything in the bathroom that could indicate anything about the Chamber. Words, letters, symbols, drawings, graffiti on the stalls, in the toilets, on the flush buttons, on the plungers or mirrors or sinks or taps or doors or tiles or ceilings - anything and everything you need to check. Hermione, after you're done, you pretend to come into the bathroom loudly, and that's my signal to leave, okay? Also, Harry - I have a feeling that to open the Chamber, there's going to be some type of Dark or Dark-ish magic required - I wouldn't put it past Slytherin to make the Chamber accessible by Parseltongue, so you can't, under any circumstances, use it. We go in, find the entrance, get out, tell Dumbledore, and he'll kill it and figure out who the Heir is. Is that fine?" Blake said, looking around.
The Golden Trio's faces looked surprised.
"What?" Blake frowned. "Did I say something wrong?"
Harry shook his head.
"No - you're right."
"This plan works for me," Hermione agreed.
"Good - we'll do it this Saturday at 5am then - no one will be awake, so the Heir wouldn't have a reason to act either. It's our best shot."
"5am?" Ron almost shouted indignantly.
"Do you want this to work, or not?" Blake returned.
"Fine," Ron muttered, after some grumbling.
"Good - and lastly, you can't tell a single soul about this."
Seeing the looks of protest on their faces, Blake explained.
"If people know and rumours start, the Heir will eventually come to know - or if the students defend themselves or take countermeasures, the Heir will know. Who's to say the Heir won't just go all out and kill whoever he can now that the secret's out?"
"But someone could die!" Harry protested.
I know, Blake thought darkly, thinking of Dumbledore and his stupid plots. But Dumbledore wants you to be the one to deal with this, Harry. If he thinks that I'm ruining that, he'd just wipe my memory of all of this, and your chances would decrease drastically. Trust me, this is for the best.
"And if we parade the information, a lot more could die," Blake responded, not unkindly. "It's harsh, but that's how it is."
The Golden Trio seemed hesitant for a moment, before reluctantly agreeing.
"Okay then. Meet me at the entrance of Myrtle's room by 5am on the dot. Remember to be as silent as you can, use Muffliato charms if you can - not you though, Ron. Get Hermione to cast it on you, your wand's too messed up," Blake chuckled, remembering how Ron's broken wand had made the ginger boy eat slugs himself instead of Malfoy.
/
That evening…
"I wonder what you could possibly be here for," Blake said sarcastically. He'd been outside in the Forest again, training, when he'd felt something - someone - nearby. Interesting that I can kind of feel magic now, Blake thought. Or maybe it's just intuition. Could I train myself to do it more?
Regardless, his call out was successful, and just as he'd expected, Daphne Greengrass materialised in front of him.
"What do you want, Greengrass?"
"It's a Basilisk, isn't it?"
"I knew you were following me around," Blake accused her.
"Then you shouldn't have made it so obvious," Greengrass retorted, smoothing out her robes as she sat down on a nearby log.
"Myrtle wouldn't have told you anything - she told me you're snooty, and arrogant, and uptight, and rude, and-"
"I didn't need her to tell me. All I needed was for someone to do all the hard work for me, and follow their research."
Blake just laughed.
"D'you think I care if you know or how you know, Greengrass? Why are you even here?" he asked, amused. If Greengrass had really come over here to try and seem like she'd gotten one up over him, Blake would actually cackle. Does she actually think I care?
For a second, Blake thought he could see what looked like hurt in Greengrass's eyes, and he immediately regretted his words. But the next second, her face was back to normal.
"I want some of its venom."
"Get it yourself."
"I'll pay."
"I don't think I'll end up face to face with it, nor do I have any intention of getting into that position."
"I'm aware."
"In that case, 5,000."
"If I don't have to help, done."
"Done."
"Kipler!"
The house elf poofed into existence, and Blake rolled his eyes. He reached out his hand, and held Greengrass's. Apparently, the house elf had already been told what to say.
"Do you, Blake Renshaw, agree to sell Daphne Greengrass a Basilisk fang, if you come into possession of one, for the sum of 5,000 Galleons?"
"I do."
"Do you, Daphne Greengrass, agree to purchase a Basilisk fang from Blake Renshaw, if he comes into possession of one, for the sum of 5,000 Galleons?"
"I do."
The familiar gold, shimmering chains wrapped around their hands, and finally disappeared.
"It is done, my lady," Kipler said, bowing deeply.
"Thank you, Kipler. You are dismissed."
The house elf disappeared with a poof, and the two Slytherins were left alone.
"What's your plan?" Greengrass asked.
"Tell Dumbledore where the entrance is, if I can find it."
Greengrass crinkled her nose.
"You still trust him?"
"I don't have a choice right now," Blake muttered. Perhaps it had been foolish of him to assume that Dumbledore would prioritise students' lives over Harry's progression. If I hadn't told Dumbledore that I knew it was a Basilisk, I wouldn't have to do things Dumbledore's way.
"And you plan on enlisting the help of Potter and his friends?"
"They would've done it anyway. It's better for me to be there to protect and guide them."
"Arrogant to assume you could protect them," Greengrass said intattentively.
"Arrogant to assume I can't," Blake countered.
Greengrass suddenly looked up.
"Do you think it could be him again, Renshaw?" she asked quietly.
"I wouldn't put it out of consideration," Blake replied, unbothered, having expected the question.
"And that's why you asked for Potter's help - he's a direct counter to the Dark Lord, literally."
"Partially, yes. And if Harry's on my side, Dumbledore won't oppose me nearly as much. I think his main concern is to get him to confront Voldemort enough to make him stronger for some kind of final battle."
"I see. And what of your brother?"
"What about him?" Blake replied, slightly tense.
"He's at risk, is he not?"
"Of course he is."
"And what're you doing to protect him?"
Blake looked at her blankly.
"Everything."
The pair stayed there in silence for a while, before Greengrass eventually turned and began on her journey back to the castle. Blake watched her retreating figure, when she suddenly turned around.
"Renshaw?"
"Yeah?"
"Be safe."
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