An intense cold swept over them all. Harry felt his own breath catch in his chest. The cold went deeper than his skin. It was inside his very heart…
“Knocking the stuffing out of me won’t make Aunt Marge forget what I could tell her,” he said grimly.
“Exactly,” said Dumbledore, beaming once more. “Which makes you very different from Tom Riddle. It is our choices, Harry, that show what we truly are, far more than our abilities.”
And Father won’t tell me anything about the last time the Chamber was opened either. Of course, it was fifty years ago, so it was before his time, but he knows all about it, and he says that it was all kept quiet and it’ll look suspicious if I know too much about it. But I know one thing–last time the Chamber of Secrets was opened, a Mudblood died. So I bet it’s a matter of time before one of them’s killed this time… I hope it’s Granger.
“You’ll find that hard to prove,” said Hermione. “He lived about a thousand years ago; for all we know, you could be.”
Harry could feel the seat vibrating beneath him, hear the engine, feel his hands on his knees and his glasses on his nose, but for all he could see, he had become a pair of eyeballs, floating a few feet above the ground in a dingy street full of parked cars.