Blake: I'm Already An Honorable Death Eater!

In Voldemort's eyes, the allure of eternal life was something no one could resist, especially someone as ambitious as Blake. The more one sought power, the more enticing immortality became. Voldemort was certain Blake couldn't refuse such a promise. After all, Blake was so similar to Voldemort in his youth—driven by a thirst for power, skilled in manipulating those around him, and, most notably, addicted to dark magic.

However, Blake had something Voldemort didn't when he was young: a close connection to Dumbledore. That relationship could be a useful tool, something Voldemort intended to exploit to its fullest potential.

"Great Dark Lord," Blake spoke with an air of sincerity, "I am willing to join your camp."

His words seemed genuine, but Voldemort noticed the subtle ambiguity. Blake had agreed to join, but he hadn't explicitly offered loyalty. Joining didn't necessarily mean Blake wouldn't betray him later. Still, Voldemort was satisfied, believing Blake's reservations had been erased by the promise of immortality.

"Very good, Blake," Voldemort said with a smile. "Unfortunately, without my physical body, many of the more powerful dark arts are beyond my current ability to teach you. However, once I regain my body, there will be no limits to what I can show you."

Blake's curiosity piqued, and he asked politely, "Great Dark Lord, what do you need to do to restore your physical body?"

Voldemort's laugh echoed through the chamber. "Do you know what the Philosopher's Stone is?"

Blake nodded. "Of course, the Philosopher's Stone represents the pinnacle of alchemy. It can turn any material into gold and create the Elixir of Life…"

He paused, connecting the dots. "Do you need the Philosopher's Stone?"

"Exactly," Voldemort confirmed. "But there's no need for concern, Blake. The only known stone in existence, created by the legendary alchemist Nicolas Flamel, is already within our reach."

Blake raised an eyebrow. "How will we find Flamel?"

Voldemort smiled darkly. "There's no need to find him, because the Philosopher's Stone is right here at Hogwarts."

Blake's eyes widened. "Is it the item Dumbledore referred to when he warned us not to go near the fourth-floor corridor?"

"Precisely," Voldemort said. "Dumbledore, in his arrogance, thought the stone would be safer under his protection at Hogwarts rather than Gringotts."

Blake, skeptical, asked, "Why not Gringotts, the safest place in the wizarding world? Wait, I remember reading about a break-in there. Nothing was stolen, though…"

"Indeed," Voldemort confirmed. "I sent Quirrell to retrieve the stone from Gringotts, but Dumbledore had already moved it to Hogwarts by the time he arrived."

"So, Dumbledore moved the stone here, thinking it would be safer," Blake mused aloud.

Voldemort's grin grew wider. "Yes, Dumbledore, in his self-righteous pride, believes he can protect the stone. He underestimates me, as always. He has no idea how much I've done right under his nose. He can't stop me."

Voldemort, filled with confidence, saw a clear path to acquiring the Philosopher's Stone. All he needed was an opportunity to strike—a moment when everyone would let their guard down. Then, with Quirrell's help, he would steal the stone and restore his body.

Blake, eager to understand his role, asked, "So, what do you need me to do? You wouldn't be telling me all this if you didn't want my help."

Voldemort chuckled. "It's always a pleasure to speak with someone intelligent. You're right, Blake. But don't worry. For now, Dumbledore is still a formidable opponent, and in my current state, I can't act recklessly. We must wait for the perfect moment."

Blake nodded thoughtfully. "So, we wait?"

"Exactly," Voldemort replied. "Wait for my signal. Until then, do nothing. When the time comes, I'll summon you."

Blake agreed, his mind whirling with possibilities. He stood to leave, but Voldemort added, "Once I've regained my body, I'll teach you even more powerful dark magic. And, of course, the secret to eternal life."

Blake allowed himself a small smile. His nights spent pretending loyalty had been exhausting. He'd grown tired of his constant encounters with Quirrell, whose presence was as unpleasant as the garlic he always reeked of. Now, knowing he didn't have to visit every night, he felt a sense of relief.

As Blake left the darkened room, he made his way to the library. Upon entering, he saw Hermione, surrounded by books, her face etched with concentration.

"What are you doing?" Blake asked casually, slipping into a chair beside her.

Startled, Hermione glared at him. "What do you think? I'm studying! There are only a few weeks left until exams!"

Blake leaned back, resting his chin on his hand. "Studying? Shouldn't you have memorized everything during class? Don't tell me you didn't."

Hermione's face flushed with frustration, and an almost imperceptible chime echoed in Blake's mind:

Ding! The emotion of becoming angry from embarrassment is detected! 

Ding! Congratulations to the host for getting a silver treasure chest!

Taking deep breaths to calm herself, Hermione gritted her teeth. "You…you insufferable show-off! Not everyone has a perfect memory like you!"

Blake smirked. "Sorry, but having a good memory does let me do whatever I want."

Hermione's deep breaths were becoming more frantic. She could barely contain her growing annoyance.

"You… you infuriating prat!" she finally snapped. "Leave me alone! You're distracting me!"

Blake shrugged. "Okay, okay. Have you finished your Transfiguration paper yet?"

Hermione's eyes narrowed. "Don't even think about it, Blake."

"Hey, I wasn't going to copy it," he said with a mock-innocent expression. "I just wanted to, you know, check it over for you."

Her patience finally snapped, and she kicked Blake out of the library. As he left, he noticed Dumbledore standing in the doorway, a warm smile on his face. Dumbledore held out his hand, revealing a small, shimmering coin.

Blake, stepping into a quieter corner of the castle, waited for Dumbledore to follow him. The headmaster raised an eyebrow as he approached.

"You told me to come to the library whenever this coin heated up," Dumbledore said softly. "What's happened?"

Blake's face remained calm, but his voice lowered conspiratorially. "It's nothing too big. I told Voldemort that I'm joining his camp tonight. Apparently, I'm now an 'honorable' Death Eater."

Dumbledore's smile faltered.

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