"I see," Dumbledore said, stroking his beard thoughtfully. "Thank you, Blake. That's very useful information indeed."
"So now what, Professor?" Blake asked. "We pretty much know the monster is a Basilisk, we know the location of the Chamber of Secrets, we know how the Basilisk moves around and operates, and we pretty much know that the Heir is a Parselmouth. How can we find who the Heir is?"
Dumbledore looked at Blake with a small smile.
"I'm not sure."
I will not slap an old man in the face, I will not slap an old man in the face, Blake chanted to himself as he tried to relax.
"But why not? Parseltongue is hereditary, right? That means somewhere along the way, Harry and the Heir have a common ancestor - surely you have the resources to trace that?"
Dumbledore frowned.
"Your logic is sound, Blake, but…"
"But what, Professor?"
Dumbledore sighed. "I cannot speak without knowing for sure, Blake. But something - call it intuition if you will - tells me we cannot find the Heir through conventional means."
"Ok, then what do you want me to do then? You asked me to find where the Chamber is? I found it. You asked me to find the Heir, and now when I want to try, you're saying that I can't?"
Dumbledore laughed gently, and Blake went back to his chanting.
"You are remarkably intelligent, Blake. Truly. In fact, you remind me of myself and a dear old friend. But you are inexperienced in the ways of true magic. There is much you haven't seen, much you haven't felt, much you haven't experienced. I've lived over 110 years now, Blake. I've seen magic like you've never seen before. Please, just trust me."
Blake almost laughed. Trust you? But he gritted his teeth, and cleared his mind. The last thing he needed was for Dumbledore to try his Legilimency on him right now.
"Ok, sir. If that's all, I should probably get back to my dorm. Goodbye."
Blake turned around stiffly and exited the office, ignoring the feeling of Dumbledore's eyes piercing his back.
Useless as always.
/
The Christmas holidays came and went relatively uneventfully. As Blake guessed, most of the muggleborn students took the opportunity to leave the castle due to the Heir, and there were, of course, no attacks during that time.
Connor came back cheerily, apparently having enjoyed the short holiday with his mum.
"Mum's Christmas food is better than Hogwart's," he told Blake.
"How would you know? You're a first year student, you've never tried Hogwart's Christmas food before."
"Shut up, Blakey."
But it wasn't all sunshine and rainbows from Connor.
"Ginny's getting worse," he said, whispering. "She won't even talk to me anymore. She doesn't even look at me."
Blake frowned. "Still? That's odd. Have you tried talking to her?"
"Yeah, I have! So many times! But she's always in her dorm, or hiding away. God knows what she's doing."
"Oh well," Blake said, patting Connor's shoulder. "She's probably just worried or sad about this Chamber stuff. I wouldn't worry too much about it, Connor."
The younger brother sighed.
"Yeah, you're probably right."
/
It was January now, and there was still no progress. Blake knew that the Heir couldn't be a Slytherin - if they were, he would undoubtedly have been the first target. Not even a Slytherin's cunning would've prevented them from taking the earliest possible opportunity to wipe him out, Voldemort's influence or not.
But that's something else that's confusing - if Voldemort had possessed someone again, why wouldn't they immediately go for me? Voldemort would still presumably have his memories, and remembering what happened last year, surely I would be at the top of his hit list?
Unless, of course, it is Tom RIddle, and he's not actually Voldemort like I thought he was. But where would an almost 70 year old be hiding within the school, if he's not possessing someone? Surely Dumbledore could've found him out by now. He definitely thought the same thing. Even if Dumbledore does want Harry to be the one to kill Voldemort, I doubt the old man would put his students in mortal danger for any longer than strictly necessary. Knowing Dumbledore, if he knew who the Heir was by now, he would've already created a scenario where Harry can confront him.
Blake sighed. Finding out who the Heir was when even the most powerful wizard of the age couldn't was not going to be easy.
Not a Slytherin.
Not Voldemort.
Most likely to be Tom Riddle, potentially acting through a student - it could be a Professor like last time too, I guess, but I really doubt it. All of the Professors are loyal to Dumbledore - apart from Lockhart, but he's a waste of thought. No self respecting individual would use him.
So, it's a Ravenclaw, Gryffindor or Hufflepuff. They're probably being blackmailed, but how do they receive instructions? I could ask Dumbledore to monitor all communications via Owl, but there could be other ways of communication - maybe the Floo networks? And there's still the possibility that it's not Riddle either. It could just be a student.
Blake groaned.
"This is so annoying."
With yet another sigh, Blake began to make his way down to the Great Hall for dinner, thinking of who the Heir could be - but suddenly, he was stopped.
"Renshaw."
He looked up in surprise. Snape?
"Follow me, please."
Snape said please?
Blake's unease grew, but he followed Snape anyway, and soon Blake realised where they were going. The infirmary. He froze.
There is no way… no way…
Snape stopped too. If Blake had been paying close attention to the Potions master's face, he might've seen something akin to sympathy, but he was staring at the ground. Snape sighed.
"There was a double attack today, Renshaw." For once, Snape's voice wasn't harsh.
"Is he alive?" Blake asked quietly.
"Yes. He and the other victim were petrified. I must inform you that the Mandrakes are soon going to be ready - rest assured that the Professors will not let any-"
Snape's words were interrupted by footsteps. McGonagall, Harry and Ron appeared from the stairs. Blake's numbness grew.
The other girl…
"Blake?" Harry said uncertainly.
"What're you doing here?" Ron asked, frowning.
McGonagall looked as though she was about to cry.
"Thanks for letting me know, Professor Snape. I know it's a big ask, but please - could you ask the Headmaster not to tell my mother about this? I'm sure he'll understand." Blake said monotonously, before turning.
"You don't wish to see him?" Snape asked with an eyebrow raised, almost in concern.
"I'll see him after he's awake, and the Heir's brought to justice."
Ignoring the confused looks of Harry and Ron and the concerned looks of the Professors, Blake turned and retreated back to his dorm, no longer hungry.
He didn't sleep that night.
The next day, the Great Hall went deathly silent as Blake walked in. The news had apparently made its way around the school.
"I'm so sorry, Blake," Tracey whispered. Zabini looked confused for a second, but after a look at the Gryffindor table, realisation quickly dawned on his face.
Whispers began to break out again, but Blake didn't care. He ignored the looks from his friends, thinking of one thing and one thing only.
I let you down, Connor, Blake thought, as he imagined the look of terror in his brother's face as he laid motionless on the infirmary bed, terrified.
And you too, Hermione. But don't worry. By the time you're awake, I'll bring you the good news that the Basilisk is dead, and the Heir is gone.
And whoever's responsible for this - I'm going to make them suffer.
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