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HRHL# Chapter 142: Sit Down and Listen to Your Senior’s Heartfelt Words {2}
🕑 Added 2025-04-04 23:29:48 +0000 UTC“Of course I know—young wizards your age, especially a Gryffindor,” Professor Dumbledore said with a kind smile. “Gryffindors are never short on courage and curiosity, are they?”
With that, he walked over to his seat and settled down.
Harry moved to sit across from Dumbledore, following suit.
“So, you’ve seen it all?” Professor Dumbledore asked.
“Yes,” Harry nodded.
“And what—what do you think?” Dumbledore pressed, his gaze taking on that piercing quality once more as he looked at Harry.
Harry didn’t flinch. He met Dumbledore’s eyes directly and said, “I think that Riddle must be hiding something—I don’t believe Hagrid’s the type to lose control of a pet, even if that Acromantula was indeed pretty dangerous.”
At Harry’s response, Dumbledore’s kind smile returned.
“Very sharp insight, but—” Dumbledore looked up at Harry, “why do you think so? Is it just because Hagrid’s your friend?”
“Of course not. People killed by Acromantula venom are easy to identify, Professor,” Harry replied. “Besides, I know what really killed Myrtle—Elizabeth Warren, I mean.”
Dumbledore, who had been smiling warmly, faltered slightly. Raising an eyebrow, he asked, “Oh? You know?”
“Yes, Professor,” Harry answered with certainty. “It’s a Basilisk—a Basilisk. It’s come up again recently. It’s the one that petrified Filch’s cat, and it’s behind Colin’s attack too!”
“Why do you think that?” Dumbledore asked neutrally, a hint of curiosity flickering in his eyes.
“Professor Rackham just told me,” Harry explained. “He said that if you look directly into a Basilisk’s eyes, it kills you—but if you see its eyes through something else, it won’t kill you outright. Instead, it puts you into a deep petrified state.”
“For example, Filch’s cat saw the Basilisk’s eyes reflected in a puddle on the floor, and Colin saw it through the viewfinder of his camera. That’s why they were petrified!”
“I see. So you’re saying there’s a Basilisk loose in Hogwarts?” Dumbledore asked. “You mentioned Professor Rackham—where did you meet him?”
“You know him?” Harry raised an eyebrow.
Dumbledore chuckled. “Of course I know Professor Rackham. In the Map Chamber, there are three professors, aren’t there?”
With that, he gave Harry a sly wink.
Three?
Harry froze for a moment.
He didn’t correct him, though, and instead asked, “How did you know?”
“Because your mother told me,” Dumbledore said with a soft sigh. “Your mother, Lily Potter, awakened her talent for ancient magic at fifteen and stumbled into the Map Chamber beneath Hogwarts by accident.”
“That chamber seems to be reinforced with some kind of ancient magic. I once tried to get in myself, but I couldn’t find a way,” Dumbledore admitted, looking at Harry. “What I didn’t expect was that you’d turn out to be an heir to ancient magic too, Harry.”
It clicked for Harry then—Dumbledore knew about the Map Chamber because his mother had told him.
It seemed Lily hadn’t revealed anything about Veratia, though—which made sense. After all, Veratia was Gellert Grindelwald’s sister.
Given that Grindelwald was a wizard famous enough to land on a Chocolate Frog card, his dark reputation needed no explanation. It was only natural that Lily would keep Veratia’s identity from Dumbledore to protect her.
“I’d say it’s the magic of love at work,” Harry said. “You know how my mother learned of an ancient spell from the professors in the Map Chamber. I saw her memories in the Pensieve there. She willingly let Voldemort kill her to activate that ancient magic, passing its legacy to me—and even giving me the ability to resist and reflect the Killing Curse…”
Dumbledore was visibly moved. He stared at Harry, stunned, before letting out a sigh.
“Lily…”
“Your mother was the most brilliant witch I’ve ever met—and the most righteous. If she could have set aside her prejudice against dark magic and learned a trick or two, things might have turned out differently.”
“You—” Harry hesitated, glancing at Dumbledore. “You’re encouraging someone to learn dark magic?”
“Oh, not usually,” Dumbledore replied. “But when you’re fighting unscrupulous dark wizards, mastering only light magic won’t do. You don’t think the Aurors avoid using a few harmless little hexes when capturing Death Eaters, do you?”
“Harmless little hexes?” Harry blinked, caught off guard.
“Oh, that’s a Gaunt family saying,” Dumbledore said with a mischievous smile. He reached out and poured Harry a glass of lemonade. “I once came across a Gaunt family book in some forgotten place. The title on the cover read Harmless Little Hexes. I owe a few handy spells to that book.”
“I’ve always thought learning shouldn’t be too rigid, Harry,” Dumbledore continued. “But your mother… well, she had her reasons—complicated ones—for resisting dark magic so fiercely.”
“Because of Professor Snape?” Harry asked.
Dumbledore looked at Harry with surprise, clearly not expecting him to know so much.
After a moment, he nodded.
“Yes, because of Severus. Since you’ve asked, I assume you already know the full story. It’s a pity—back then, Severus was so consumed with following Voldemort that he ignored the feelings of those closest to him.”
“Speaking of which, in that memory just now, you saw Voldemort too,” Dumbledore said with a light chuckle. “Guess who he is. You’ll never see it coming!”
“Could it be…” Harry thought for a moment before guessing tentatively, “Headmaster Dippet?”
“Hey, kid!” a familiar, frail voice barked from the wall. “Don’t think I can’t hear you badmouthing me behind my back!”
Harry turned to see Headmaster Dippet’s portrait glaring at him.
He grinned sheepishly. “Sorry, Headmaster Dippet. Professor Dumbledore told me to guess someone I wouldn’t expect…”
“It’s Tom—Tom Riddle,” Dippet grumbled irritably. “Who else did you think it could be?”
That answer genuinely shocked Harry.
He couldn’t fathom it—how could that polite, refined Slytherin prefect be the deranged Voldemort?
“But… him?” Harry struggled to reconcile the two. “Tom? Voldemort?”
“Yes.”
Dumbledore raised his hand, tracing his fingers through the air. Hissing flames formed familiar looping letters.
Tom Marvolo Riddle.
Harry repeated the name aloud. “Marvolo” sounded oddly familiar, like he’d heard it somewhere before.
Dumbledore flicked his fingers, and the letters rearranged themselves.
I am Lord Voldemort.
Harry wrinkled his nose in disgust.
Classic teenage rebellion—overblown self-importance on full display.
“So that’s it,” Harry said flatly. “He rearranged the letters of his name to make ‘Voldemort’?”
“Yes, Harry,” Dumbledore said with a smile. “He abandoned his original name. He hated that his father was a Muggle, so he cast it aside for something that better suited his… flair.”
“I think ‘Tom’ sounds nicer,” Harry quipped. “It’s ironic, though. I never would’ve guessed a fanatic for pure-blood supremacy would turn out to be a half-blood. Merlin, that’s rich.”
“Isn’t it just?” Dumbledore chuckled warmly.
“So the Death Eaters following him don’t know?” Harry asked.
Dumbledore shook his head. “No, the Death Eaters don’t know Voldemort’s a half-blood. Aside from me and a select few, no one does.”
At that, Harry’s expression shifted—first disbelief, then suspicion, then disgust, and finally exasperation.
“What’s that look for?” Dumbledore asked, puzzled by the rapid parade of emotions on Harry’s face.
“I’m just saying, Professor,” Harry replied, “if I were you, I’d plaster Voldemort’s half-blood status all over the papers. Merlin’s beard, it’s the perfect weapon! Why haven’t you used it? I don’t get it.”
“You don’t think the Death Eaters would abandon him if they found out, do you?” Dumbledore said with a wry smile, shaking his head. “Harry, you’re still a child—you don’t know Voldemort’s nature. He rules through fear and violence…”
“But it’d at least annoy him, Professor,” Harry interrupted. “Even if it doesn’t hurt him directly, ticking him off would be worth it.”
Dumbledore straightened in his chair, eyeing his star pupil with renewed interest.
Merlin’s beard, that idea…
It had some merit.
Harry leaned back tactically, watching Dumbledore.
You’re still the master, huh? he thought. But there’s always room to learn…
Why bother trying to deal Voldemort’s reign a “substantial blow”?
They were British, after all!
And what was the British way?
Even if there’s no real gain, you grab a stick, stir the pot, and enjoy the chaos.
He’d picked that up from Cassandra’s brother, Ignatius Malfoy—who, by lineage, would be Lucius’s grandfather.
“Looked at that way, it’s actually a rather constructive suggestion,” Dumbledore said, nodding. He couldn’t help but think this kid would thrive in politics.
He’d certainly outshine the current Minister of Magic, Cornelius Fudge.
“But I’ve got one more question, Harry,” Dumbledore said, folding his hands on the desk. “I recall your mother saying the gift for ancient magic only awakens after fifteen, and you’re only twelve this year…”
“It’s because of the Philosopher’s Stone, Professor,” Harry explained. “You remember—I accidentally absorbed its power. That’s when I started feeling the pull.”
“After taking in the Stone, a voice kept guiding me to the Map Chamber. That’s where I met Professor Rackham and the others—and found the Pensieve with Mum’s memories.”
“I see,” Dumbledore said, a note of wistfulness in his voice. “Professor Rackham… such a shame about him. His descendants really tarnished the Rackham name.”
“That’s just how it goes,” Harry said, equally reflective. “Like people say, back when Septimus Malfoy was the shadow ruler of the wizarding world, the Malfoy family was untouchable. But now? Look at them today.”
“Quite so,” Dumbledore agreed with a nod. Clearly, he too thought the current Malfoys were a far cry from their former glory—like a dragon spawning a lizard, each generation weaker than the last.
“So, Professor,” Harry pressed on, “I think the school needs to take action—catch that Basilisk soon. It’s about the students’ safety. Filch’s blasted cat and Colin were lucky, but I don’t think that luck will hold. If the next student ends up like Myrtle—killed by the Basilisk’s stare—the Ministry might pin it on Hagrid again.”
“And this time, I don’t think Hagrid’s getting off easy. Azkaban might be waiting for him,” Harry added.
“Very well,” Dumbledore said, nodding. “Anything else to add, Harry?”
“Let me think…” Harry paused, then continued, “The professors in the Map Chamber told me Salazar Slytherin left a letter in his study.”
“Slytherin?” Dumbledore blinked.
“Salazar Slytherin,” Harry clarified. “One of the school’s founders.”
“Go on,” Dumbledore prompted.
Harry recited the letter’s contents.
“‘Next, I will put that creature into a slumber until someone who shares my vision awakens it. The chosen heir will right the wrongs others have carelessly committed. Those unworthy will only sully my legacy, but my heir will take up the task of purifying Hogwarts.’”
After finishing, Harry added, “But Slytherin didn’t say in the letter where he hid the Basilisk—”
Dumbledore fell silent for a moment, then said, “Perhaps you should ask Professor Binns about this. You know he’s been teaching History of Magic since Hogwarts was founded. His sharp mind and clear thinking were praised by Slytherin himself, which is why he was invited to become the school’s History of Magic professor.”
“So he was friends with Slytherin?” Harry asked.
“Perhaps. I’m not sure,” Dumbledore said, shaking his head. “What we do know is that Binns is older than Hogwarts itself—if you count his living years and ghostly ones together.”
He ended with a small, dry chuckle.
“Got it, Professor,” Harry said with a nod. “I’ll ask him after History of Magic the day after tomorrow… Oh, and one more thing: the Basilisk isn’t acting alone. Whoever’s controlling it has to be a descendant of Salazar Slytherin. Look—he said his heir would take up the task.”
“A Slytherin descendant?” Dumbledore froze, as if struck by a hammer.
His mind raced back fifty years—when something similar had happened at the school. A Basilisk had been unleashed then too. Now it seemed… a Slytherin heir was behind it?
Could it be the Gaunts…?
No, impossible.
Dumbledore thought back. The youngest Gaunt at the time was Morfin, but he’d graduated years before and never returned to Hogwarts.
Then who?
Unless…
His suspicions settled on Tom Riddle—young Voldemort.
But Riddle wasn’t a Gaunt—
Wait. Tom had once told him and Dippet that his mother was a witch and his father a Muggle… Could his mother have been a Gaunt?
Murmuring to himself, he said, “Could this be the truth?”
“What truth?” Harry asked, curious.
Dumbledore didn’t hold back. “Perhaps I should visit the area around the orphanage where Voldemort—Tom Riddle—grew up. I suspect his mother might have been a Gaunt.”
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