The Chamber of Secrets was a grand, medieval hall, its ceiling soaring nearly twenty meters high, rivaling the splendor of a Roman cathedral. Ornate stone pillars, carved with coiling serpents, supported the vaulted roof where greenish mist swirled. The floor was paved with deep black stone tiles, and at the far end stood a silent, imposing statue.
Melvin stepped into the chamber, moving slowly along the arched walkway of pillars. Despite his efforts to tread lightly, faint echoes reverberated.
His gaze flicked to the lifelike stone snake statues lining the path. Each was angled slightly differently, their emerald eyes glinting in the shadowy sockets, glowing with an eerie green light. It felt as though they were watching the chamber's visitor.
He knew it was just a trick of light and angle, but the unease lingered.
With a snap of his fingers, dozens of blue flames sprang to life around the room, their warm, clear glow banishing the damp, oppressive darkness.
The chamber was now shadowless, empty, and silent.
The flames illuminated the full form of the Slytherin statue—an unflattering figure with pinched features resembling a monkey or a snake, aged beyond recognition. A sparse, scraggly beard hung to the hem of its wizard robes, and its bare, oddly large feet stood out.
Melvin didn't immediately inspect the statue's interior. Instead, he circled the chamber. Beyond the neatly arranged pillars and statues, there was nothing—no treasure left by Slytherin, no forbidden dark magic research, not even a curse to warn off intruders.
It was possible Tom Riddle had cleared it out.
Returning to the statue, Melvin released a silvery mist of memory, playing Harry's recorded Parseltongue.
"Hiss… hiss…"
[Speak to me, Slytherin, greatest of the Hogwarts Four.]
The mist dispersed, and a chilling sound filled the air. Melvin looked to the statue's mouth as the stone, sealed for fifty years, began to shift. A grating rumble echoed through the chamber, dust falling from the statue's surface as its carved teeth clicked ominously.
Melvin tilted his head back. In the dark cavity beyond the reach of the flames, the Basilisk stirred.
A massive serpent emerged, its body too thick for three people to encircle. Its eyes were still closed, a white, crusted film covering its scales from fifty years of slumber. As its muscular form writhed, the crust flaked off in pieces.
Its forked tongue flicked from its maw, exhaling a foul gust that echoed through the chamber.
The serpent's thick neck curved, half its body slithering from Slytherin's mouth—fifty feet of dark, near-black green scales shimmering under the floating mist above, a scene both terrifying and surreal.
Sensing Melvin, the Basilisk lowered its head. The crust around its eyelids cracked, revealing blazing yellow-orange eyes. For a moment, the chamber's fluorescence and flames dimmed.
Melvin's eyes narrowed, meeting the serpent's cold gaze. A powerful surge of magic flowed through their locked eyes.
Magic has distinct traits—some fiery and explosive, some serene and freezing, some cruel and life-draining. Wizards learn to harness it with spells, but magical creatures wield it instinctively: Demiguise fur grants invisibility, Occamy bodies shift size, dragon flames ignite steel.
The Basilisk's gaze could petrify or kill.
"Protego…" Melvin whispered.
A radiant, molten glow burst forth.
An invisible shield shimmered into place, blocking the Basilisk's deadly magic. At the midpoint of their locked gazes, the transparent barrier held firm.
The Basilisk, likely meeting someone who could withstand its stare for the first time, seemed confused. Its groggy mind struggled, and after a moment, it hissed repeatedly.
"…"
Melvin guessed it was probing him, but he couldn't understand or respond.
The serpent hissed for a while without reply. Realizing it had been deceived, it grew furious, letting out a guttural roar. It slithered down the statue, its shield-sized scales scraping stone, the ground trembling faintly.
As the chamber's guardian, it followed Slytherin's orders: expel all but the true heir.
The Basilisk surged forward, its scales glinting metallically under the blue flames and fluorescence, its massive form exuding overwhelming pressure. Though Melvin felt no fear, his instincts quickened his heartbeat and breath.
The serpent charged, its speed undiminished by its size or long slumber, kicking up a rancid wind as it bared its fangs, ready to make Melvin a snack.
But before it could reach him, an invisible force repelled it, as if it had slammed into a steel wall. Its body jolted, scales shattering in a spray.
The invisible shield halted its charge. Pain flashed in its eyes as muscles tore and dark blood spilled.
For a moment, Melvin saw the serpent's face twist in agony, a low wail like wind through a tunnel echoing from its maw, the chamber resonating faintly.
Its serpentine body absorbed the impact without breaking bones, but the collision left it dazed, twitching in pain, though not gravely injured.
Melvin waved his hand, a Levitation Charm suspending the serpent midair. He pulled out a glass jar, guiding the spilled blood into it with an invisible force.
Rare magical creature materials couldn't be wasted.
The Basilisk lay limp, watching the wizard collect its blood, its tail twitching from pain.
Melvin stood calmly, showing no trace of guilt as the instigator. Tucking away the jar, he reached out as if to touch the serpent's menacing face.
"Hiss!"
The Basilisk struggled to raise its head, baring its fangs again, its roar fierce as air rushed through its throat.
Melvin frowned, sighed, and flicked his wand. A vibrant green beam shot out—a powerful Repelling Charm infused with magic.
The spell roared through the air, leaving a green afterimage. The force struck the Basilisk, hurling its fifty-foot body backward into a coiled-stone pillar, shattering scales across the floor.
The surrounding pool bubbled violently.
The Basilisk collapsed, its long tail limp, utterly spent.
Yet when Melvin approached, it still bared its fangs, its eyes burning with fiercer defiance.
"…"
As their gazes locked again, Melvin felt a brief disorientation, a faint sting at his brow, and a slight stiffness in his limbs. The Basilisk's orange-yellow eyes gleamed with a violent green deep within.
Worthy of Slytherin's creation—it would rather die than yield.
It seemed only a Parselmouth could tame it.
Melvin held little hope but decided to try. He tapped his wand, forcing the serpent's foul maw shut.
He produced a snake egg and a drop of silvery potion mixed with a prepared memory.
Mist rose, forming a young wizard's figure in the fog, eyes puzzled. The boy nodded vaguely at a professor's request, then hissed:
[Hatch… help…]
Hearing the Parseltongue, the Basilisk's eyes widened, golden light filling its pupils. After a moment's hesitation, it lowered its head, parting a few scales to reveal dark, vulnerable skin, as if offering a weakness.
"Put the egg there?" Melvin asked, catching on.
Following the Parseltongue's command, the Basilisk accepted the task of incubating the egg, no longer caring if this wizard was the true heir or minding its injuries—or perhaps too weak to care.
Melvin placed the egg on the exposed flesh, and the scales closed protectively.
The Basilisk tried to slither back to its lair, but movement tore its wounds, spilling more dark blood.
Melvin felt a twinge of guilt. He'd planned to subdue the Basilisk first, then use Parseltongue to gain its full cooperation.
He pulled out Serpentree leaves, squeezing their sap onto the wounds and offering a few to the serpent's mouth.
The Basilisk paused, then swallowed the leaves. Its wounds scabbed and healed rapidly.
Perhaps recalling the tree's magical properties, it froze, then slowly moved its head toward Melvin. The gold in its eyes faded, replaced by an unreadable, almost human expression. It hissed, as if speaking.
Melvin, guessing and nodding, responded, "Alright, you focus on hatching the egg. I'll bring you food regularly—and more Serpentree branches."
"…"
The Basilisk, too tired to argue, coiled its tail and glided back, swift as a bird. It slithered up the statue's staff and arm, vanishing into Slytherin's mouth.
Melvin watched it disappear into the darkness, the chamber left with only blue flames and greenish mist. The scene felt familiar, like watching a Horned Serpent vanish into a stream at Ilvermorny.
He shook his head, smiling, and turned to leave.
---
Friday arrived in a flash.
The bell rang, and Harry, Ron, and Hermione left class, having earned fifteen points for Gryffindor. In good spirits, they discussed visiting Hagrid to gather information.
"We've asked every professor!" Harry sighed. "Even Dumbledore, who was just a Transfiguration assistant back then, doesn't know the truth. No one else would either."
"We need to talk to someone who was there," Hermione said, reaffirming their plan. She muttered, "Myrtle said the creature that killed her had yellow eyes. Hagrid confirmed it wasn't Aragog. Who else can we ask?"
"Aragog…" Ron repeated, shuddering. "Who names a giant spider Aragog? And it was acting strange, hiding in a cupboard. You'd think it was some timid, cuddly pet."
Hermione's eyes lit up. "That's it! Aragog!"
Harry caught her meaning. "You think Aragog's a witness?"
Hermione nodded firmly. "Before Myrtle's death, no one knew about the Chamber's creature. Aragog's odd behavior means it sensed something. We should visit its nest and ask!"
Ron's face paled. "Are you mad? Delivering ourselves as spider snacks?"
"Come on, we'll bring Hagrid!" Harry and Hermione each grabbed a sleeve, dragging him toward the Forbidden Forest.
"Let go! I've got a drama club audition! I'm not going to a spider nest!"
"Help! Murderers!"
"You two killers, I'll haunt you if I die!"
---
The drama club auditions had arrived.
The past few days had been hectic. Once word spread that Marietta was in charge of selecting members, students from all houses tried to bribe or charm her—some chasing fame through the Shadow Mirrors, others just wanting the spotlight.
For a shy, indecisive witch, it was overwhelming. Marietta was fed up.
But she'd learned to cope.
"I only handle preliminary selections. Professor Levent makes the final call."
"Sorry, I can't reveal audition questions."
"And no, I don't like Chocolate Frogs."
Before auditions began, Marietta had repeated these lines so often they sounded mechanical, her tone flat and emotionless.
Cho, standing nearby, laughed. "Hard to believe our shy little Marietta's grown up. You're practically McGonagall now."
Marietta sighed. "I just want this job over with and for Professor Levent to let me off."
"I think you're doing great."
They walked into the Muggle Studies classroom together.
At the front, facing a crowd of eager eyes, Marietta spotted familiar faces. Hufflepuff's Cedric sat in the front row, his smile warm and disarmingly handsome. Gryffindor's Percy nodded at her—nobody doubted he'd be a big name at the Ministry one day. Slytherin's Marcus, meanwhile, glowered menacingly.
Normally, she'd be the one quietly admiring them from the back. Now, their roles were reversed.
Her legs trembled, her breath shaky. Taking a deep breath, she steadied her voice:
"Drama club auditions begin now!"