HP: Pure-Blood Glory

In the deep, dim corridor, a lone, flickering lantern moved slowly, its heavy footsteps echoing in the vast, empty space. Wherever the light fell, the portraits on the walls would either open their eyes, glare angrily, or greet with a smile. Their gazes converged on the man holding the lantern.

The man's hair was like a nest of weeds, dry and tangled. His drooping triangular eyes gave him a fierce, sinister look, darting about like a hunting dog seeking prey. His old, tattered clothes and awkward, mismatched shoes added to his disheveled appearance.

A decidedly unlovable cat followed at his side, its eyes glowing an eerie green.

The dim candlelight along the corridor flickered gently, casting the shadows of man and cat onto the mottled, ancient walls. The scene was particularly eerie.

Suddenly, a figure bathed in cold, white light descended from the ceiling.

"Meow!"

The cat arched its back, baring its fangs and claws, emitting a piercing howl.

The man immediately stepped back two paces, his expression a mix of vigilance and terror.

However, he soon relaxed, letting out a visible sigh of relief.

"Ah, it's you, Lady Grey. What brings you here all of a sudden?"

He grinned as he spoke.

Lady Grey raised her eyes to look at the man, attempting a smile. However, her lips barely lifted—she clearly wasn't in the mood.

"Good evening, Mr. Filch. I've come to this corridor to handle a matter," she said, her tone formal.

"Please refrain from approaching the far end for now."

The lightheartedness in Filch's expression faded, replaced by a frown.

"Is there a certain student, perhaps one close to you, out for a midnight stroll?" he asked.

Lady Grey didn't answer, instead appearing troubled.

"Then I'm afraid I can't oblige," Filch said sternly. "I'm the caretaker of Hogwarts. I can't overlook a student breaking the rules, not even for you. It's my duty."

Lady Grey shook her head. "That's not it, Mr. Filch, but—"

"That's enough, Argus."

A voice came from behind Filch.

He spun around, startled but immediately turned respectful. "Professor Dumbledore! What brings you here?"

Dumbledore stood there, with a gentle smile that radiated calm and ease, a feeling that seemed to spread to all who saw him.

"Just a small matter to take care of. No need for patrols tonight, Argus. Take the night off"

Dumbledore said, patting Filch on the shoulder.

Filch looked both surprised and hesitant. "But what about the students sneaking out? Professor Dumbledore, you have no idea! Those students, especially the Weasley twins in third year, they're out almost every night! I've been 'this close' to catching them!"

"You should let me bring back those 'devices'! That would teach them to behave!"

He muttered under his breath.

Dumbledore paid no mind to Filch's grumblings, his smile unwavering. "Those 'devices' were never meant to be used on students, Argus. Now, go and get some rest."

"There shouldn't be a night without someone patrolling the school..."

Filch started to argue again, but Dumbledore interrupted him mid-sentence.

"I'll take over your patrol duties," Dumbledore said, winking at Filch with an almost childlike playfulness. "Don't worry. As an old man, I'd rather not waste my time on something as trivial as sleep."

Filch opened his mouth, clearly wanting to object further, but Dumbledore had already moved past him and was walking toward Lady Grey, entirely ignoring Filch's protests.

With a sigh, Filch shook his head and turned to walk back the way he came.

He knew there was nothing more he could do to change the situation.

He was used to being overlooked by now.

What more could a Squib expect in a world of magic?

A caretaker's position was already a considerable gift. At least it allowed him to remain close to the magical world he so admired, rather than being cast entirely into the Muggle world, severed from all things magical.

But his spirits soon lifted. Tonight, he had the rare luxury of a night off—no need to outwit those mischievous brats or endure their pranks. He could take a nice bath and enjoy an early night's sleep.

Oh, and he could finally bathe Mrs. Norris. The poor cat hadn't had a proper grooming in quite some time.

With these thoughts, his steps grew noticeably lighter as he walked away.

Meanwhile, Lady Grey looked at Dumbledore with a complex expression.

"You felt it too, didn't you?"

She asked in her cold, ethereal voice.

Dumbledore nodded. "I'm the headmaster. It's no surprise I noticed."

"What lies within is not something just anyone can claim"

Lady Grey said solemnly, as if trying to dispel certain thoughts.

Dumbledore gazed at her deeply, then simply said, "I am the headmaster."

With that, he turned and began walking toward the corridor's deeper shadows, not waiting for her response.

Lady Grey watched his retreating figure, her gaze a mix of respect, fear, and uncertainty. After a moment, she followed him.

Regardless of her reservations, she had to see for herself.

Before long, the two reached the tapestry depicting 'Barnabas the Barmy' being clubbed by a group of trolls.

Dumbledore stood in front of the wall opposite the tapestry, his face pensive. Lady Grey, on the other hand, seemed uncertain—both drawn to and hesitant about what lay ahead.

After a moment, Dumbledore appeared to have pieced something together, speaking with quiet wonder.

"What a remarkable place. Truly extraordinary."

Lady Grey said nothing, though she straightened slightly, a faint trace of pride in her ghostly posture.

They lingered a while longer, and then Lady Grey glanced at Dumbledore.

He had closed his eyes, seemingly asleep.

This left her momentarily at a loss. Hadn't he just said he didn't want to waste time on sleep?

Before she could ponder further, Dumbledore's head jerked, and he awoke with a start. He blinked around the corridor, then smiled sheepishly at her.

"Forgive an old man's lack of energy," he said with a touch of humor. "Sometimes, even I falter."

Lady Grey neither agreed nor disagreed, merely nodding silently.

Dumbledore stared at the wall, pondering for a moment. Then, he spoke suddenly.

"I'd really like to take a look inside."

"I won't go in," Luke replied calmly. "Not unless we have a proper conversation first."

The door in question remained unresponsive, quietly situated in the corner, as if indifferent to the situation, leaving the choice entirely up to him.

However, the tightly shut door behind Luke clearly had a different message.

Luke had already tried blasting it with Incendio and Aguamenti, but it was to no avail. Not even the slightest effect.

He wasn't particularly disheartened by the failure.

Unless it was something as destructive as Fiendfyre, which could feed on and grow with magical energy, he wasn't surprised that ordinary spells had no impact on the door.

Still, Luke wasn't about to back down.

From his belt, he pulled out a rolled-up sleeping mat and swiftly laid it out on the floor.

His demeanor conveyed an unyielding determination: 'I won't compromise.'

Doris, his tiny snake companion, didn't quite understand his actions but saw an opportunity to come out of hiding. She slithered out of his pocket and coiled herself comfortably around his neck again.

Luke let her be, yawning as he sat on his mat, clearly preparing to sleep.

"I'm not joking. I'm genuinely tired. I'll sleep here, and if I don't show up tomorrow, this place will no longer be a secret."

"Trust me, if this place becomes widely known, you won't like it. A thousand visitors a day, all seeking something, disturbing your peace—it won't be pleasant."

The door remained silent, unmoving.

Luke was unfazed. He stood, gave a polite bow.

Then shed his cloak, unfastened his belt, and gently pulled Doris off his neck. He lay down on the mat, pulling the blanket up to his neck.

"Would you mind putting out those candles? Thank you."

There was no response. If anything, the candle flames seemed to burn even brighter.

Raising an eyebrow, Luke reached into his belt and pulled out a sleep mask, slipping it over his eyes. Enveloped in darkness, he closed his eyes, ready to fall asleep.

He wasn't bluffing.

When it came to life-and-death stakes, Luke never wavered on his principles.

About ten minutes later, a soft sigh echoed through the room.

"You… are more stubborn than even Salazar."

The voice was cool and feminine, and though he couldn't see her, Luke could form an impression from her tone alone.

Proud, intelligent, wise—and perhaps not that good at certain things. A surprising contrast that made her feel unexpectedly relatable.

Luke chuckled at the thought, finding it both amusing and a bit disrespectful.

"Perhaps, though I haven't seen him" he said, pulling off his sleep mask and sitting up.

Doris, unsettled by his sudden movement, wrapped her tail around his hair, tugging on them.

It didn't hurt or cause any real trouble, so Luke ignored her antics.

"You seem to have guessed who I am"

The voice spoke again.

"I've already visited a similar room, though I didn't actually step through the door. Peeves was the one who led me there."

"And I'm well aware that the Chamber of Secrets is exactly where it's supposed to be."

"As for your identity," Luke said, his expression unchanging, "the raven on the door has already given me the answer."

"Lady Ravenclaw."

The Room of Requirement fell into silence.

After a moment, Ravenclaw's voice emerged again.

"Your detailed analysis, rather than brushing it off as 'gut feeling,' confirms to me that you're indeed a descendant of Salazar and not of that foolhardy lion."

"If my bloodline were tied to Gryffindor, I'd be just as proud of my heritage and would strive to live up to the honor of that name."

Luke replied as a matter of factly.

"Why don't you come in? Are you afraid I'll harm you?"

She asked.

"Yes, I am," Luke responded bluntly. "While my intuition tells me it's safe, my rational mind advises that it's better to avoid unnecessary risks."

"Don't you desire my power?"

Ravenclaw sounded both puzzled and intrigued.

If she had initially thought this boy was merely overly cautious, his words now revealed something else entirely.

He knew there was no danger, yet still refused her offer.

Why?

"I won't hand over my power outright; that would be meaningless. But I can offer you my knowledge—to enhance your wisdom, help you learn faster, understand more deeply, apply more effectively, and innovate more boldly."

"Knowledge is far more precious than mere power."

Luke was silent for a long time. He understood this well—the value of knowledge and information.

But...

Taking a deep breath, Luke smiled faintly and said, "I carry the blood of Slytherin, inherited from the direct family line. I know the legacy of Slytherin lies in the Chamber of Secrets, and while I have the right, I currently lack the means to claim it."

"I share Gryffindor's talents (Innate Magic), and I've found his encrypted notes. Though I'm uncertain whether they contain direct references to his unique magic, I'm confident they'll eventually lead to clues."

"These are the legacies tied to my bloodline and innate abilities. They're gifts I neither can nor wish to reject."

"They bring me power and knowledge, along with the responsibilities I am willing and bound to bear."

"But the 'knowledge' and 'wisdom' you offer are not exclusive to me. I'm certain there are others far more suited to inherit your legacy."

"I decline your gift because I firmly believe..."

"Every gift from fate carries a price tag. I'm already burdened with enough heavy responsibilities and have no desire to take on another."

Luke wasn't kidding. He understood his exceptional talents, and with the system's guidance, he had boundless potential. But taking on too much could hinder rather than help.

What good would it do to bear the legacies of all four founders?

His path was his own to walk. Though the way ahead remained unclear, he could already sense the direction he needed to take.

Therefore, he felt little need for additional inheritances.

However… none of these reasons were the main one.

After a prolonged silence, Ravenclaw finally chuckled softly.

"You're a clever child."

Luke's smile was equally bright.

"I've always believed that knowing when to refuse is also a form of wisdom."

*****

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