The sentence was in English, not Parseltongue.
Every creature in the room knew what it meant—
Even without a face to show it, Cohen could tell the old Basilisk was disappointed just from the way its snake head drooped.
"There's another human in here?" the Earl yelped. "Have I been blindfolded so long I'm hallucinating voices now?"
"It's a spell Salazar Slytherin left behind," Cohen said, frowning as he realized things weren't so simple.
Slytherin had slapped a curse on the Basilisk, and it wasn't just to protect it from other spells. The real point was to stop anyone from taking it out of Hogwarts.
Slytherin's been dead for over a thousand years, so this spell had to be insanely powerful to still be working today.
Which meant…
The old Basilisk couldn't fit in Cohen's suitcase.
The Unbreakable Vow wasn't even the main issue—Cohen had just thrown that in as extra insurance. The real problem was this restriction curse. The Basilisk hadn't left the school not because it was lazy or a shut-in, but because Slytherin flat-out wouldn't let it.
"Maybe I should…" The old Basilisk coiled into a pile, "find a spot and wait…"
"That Slytherin heir's gonna come back," Sisko said. "He'll make you kill again—why don't you just refuse to see him next time? The guy who came the time before last couldn't even speak Parseltongue. He's like that half-baked Derek from the lab—picked it up on the fly."
"But the second one who came… he was the real deal…" The old Basilisk sounded oddly calm. "I couldn't resist him."
"So neither of you can defy real Parseltongue, huh?" Cohen asked. "What about you, Sisko? Did that 'Slytherin heir' tell you to do anything?"
"Me?" Sisko raised his head to Cohen's level, looking smug as hell. "He's too green to control me. Not every snake's dumb enough to—oh, no offense, old-timer…"
The old Basilisk's feelings took another hit.
"What's different about you compared to other snakes?" Cohen asked.
"Guess those lab folks injected me with something," Sisko said, flicking his tongue. "Dunno what, though—they fed me, so I didn't care."
"?"
Cohen gave Sisko a look that screamed *subway-old-man-phone* levels of disbelief.
"They fed you, and you just let them mess with you?"
"What else was I supposed to do?" Sisko tilted his head, not getting Cohen's point. "They gave me food…"
"So you let them poke around with your body just for some snacks?" Cohen pressed.
"They gave me a whole cow every three days, man."
"What if they stuck some weird crap in you? No sense of danger at all?" Cohen scowled. "I mean, doesn't that gross you out? Selling yourself for food…"
"It's a cow every three days," Sisko said, like it was the deal of the century. "I mooched off them for a year!"
"Go eat your cows, then."
Cohen now had a deeper, more complete picture of Sisko.
This snake was a simple-minded foodie—pretty much Norbert's twin, except it could talk.
Wait, no—there was also that annoying "Son!" habit. Cohen needed to break him of that, or he'd keep feeling like Sisko was taking advantage of him.
"But it's not totally hopeless," Cohen said, turning to the old Basilisk.
Its yellow slit eyes locked onto him nervously. A living person would've been dead by now from that stare, but to the Basilisk, Cohen was some wizard-shaped kin. In over a thousand years, this was the first time a wizard had chatted with it like this. Slytherin's heirs just barked orders—they couldn't or wouldn't say more.
"I've been blending in with wizards for eleven years," Cohen said confidently. "Their moral compass is easy to play. Show them your heart's in the right place, and most'll forgive 'evil' you didn't mean to do. I killed over three hundred people when I was one, and they didn't hold it against me."
("Oh yeah, I was there watching," Sisko chipped in.)
"Don't get it…" The old Basilisk blinked, totally lost by Cohen's spiel.
"He's saying you should tell the castle wizards who wanna kill you that you were forced into it," Sisko explained. "Back in the lab, I made that researcher Derek tell me wizard stories to pass the time. It's like something out of *The Tales of Beedle the Bard*…"
"Proud of needing bedtime stories at three hundred years old, huh?" Cohen said, facepalming. "Don't embarrass me out there."
"So you're admitting I'm your—"
"Can snakes live without their tongues?" Cohen cut in.
Sisko shut up fast.
Good grief, the Earl virus was still spreading!
"But those wizards don't speak Parseltongue…" the old Basilisk said. "I can't explain it to them…"
"No, no, no—" Cohen shook his head. "There are three Parselmouths in this school: me, that 'Slytherin heir,' and one other student—Harry. He'll definitely come after you to protect the school if the heir keeps making you kill."
"There's also a crazy powerful old weirdo who'll back that hotheaded kid up," Cohen went on. "Normally, you'd get taken out by the student. But 'normally' doesn't apply here—because I'm the wildcard."
"So I tell the student I was forced?" the old Basilisk asked, worried. "Will he buy it?"
"Not if you're lunging at him mid-sentence," Cohen warned. "He'd kill you in self-defense, and it'd be fair game—especially if you've already killed someone by then. Killing's a way bigger deal than petrifying. That death fifty years ago? No one's digging up old news. But a fresh one? People won't forget. To save you, we've got two must-dos."
"What are they?" The old Basilisk pinned its hopes on Cohen.
"What are they?" Sisko echoed, just joining the hype.
"What are you all talking about? I'm freezing—am I dead already?" the Earl mumbled, lost in the sea of hissing he couldn't understand.
"First, the easy one," Cohen said. "Even if the heir orders you to kill, don't use your death stare. No direct eye contact means the curse weakens to petrification. Petrification's fixable—Hogwarts has Mandrakes. You won't do real harm, and you can tell Harry you tried your best. Sounds more sympathetic that way. Trust me, that kid's a bleeding heart."
"But how do I… control my eyes?" the old Basilisk asked.
"You can't—but I can," Cohen said, raising an eyebrow. "I told you, I'm the wildcard here. Sisko too. For now, Sisko stays with you. If the heir shows up and says to kill someone, Sisko comes to me. I'll swoop in and stop it."
"No complaints here," Sisko agreed.
He could slack off later—he and the old Basilisk were already buds. There weren't many Basilisks in the world, after all.
"The second part's trickier," Cohen said. "Since Sisko can resist Parseltongue thanks to some lab injection, that could work on you too. Problem is, the lab's gone—everyone in it's dead. Recreating that potion? We'd be starting from scratch."
"So the hard part is…" Cohen sighed, "I suck at alchemy."
(*End of Chapter*)