Deep inside the pitch-black pipe.
A sleek black cat melted into the darkness.
As he slid, those glowing green eyes carefully scanned every branching tunnel that shot off in every direction. The pipe he was in twisted and turned like a drunk snake, sloping steeply downward the whole way.
Sean knew he'd already dropped way deeper than the dungeons—deeper than even the lowest classrooms.
Until—THUD.
The cat tumbled head over heels across the stone floor, halfway through the roll already shifting back into a bespectacled wizard boy.
"…Don't knock them off," Sean said suddenly.
Whitey (currently perched on his shoulder, paw raised to bat at the glasses) froze mid-swipe.
He rounded bend after bend in the tunnel, face calm, occasionally glancing at the Marauder's Map: Ginny safe in Gryffindor Tower, Harry, Ron, and Hermione pacing in circles on the second floor.
Another careful turn, and there it was: a solid wall carved with two emerald-eyed serpents entwined around each other.
"Hiss… (Open.)"
Sean had always thought magic was ridiculously vast. Parseltongue wasn't even that rare a gift, yet it had kept the Chamber hidden for a thousand years.
Like how phoenixes were drawn to Dumbledore's bloodline—no one really knew what else this land was still hiding.
With a grinding scrape, the snakes slid apart and the wall split open, vanishing into the sides.
Left hand holding a brightly glowing wand, right hand gripping the Sword of Gryffindor, Sean stepped through.
Right now he felt like one of those melee mages from his old memories.
Beyond the wall stretched a long, dimly lit hall.
Tall stone pillars carved with coiling serpents rose into shadows, casting eerie greenish light and long, writhing shadows across the floor.
Sean's heart beat a little faster. He swept his eyes over everything—the six little alchemical toads he'd hidden here ages ago were waiting just ahead, watching the basilisk for him all this time.
Following the map's guidance, he walked until he was level with the last pair of pillars. There, looming against the back wall, stood a statue as tall as the chamber itself.
Salazar Slytherin: ancient, sunken, monkey-like face framed by a thin, straggly beard.
And at his feet—the basilisk.
Huge, glistening poisonous green, thick as an ancient oak. It had been asleep.
Now it was awake.
The alchemical toads leapt onto Sean's arm. His wand flared blindingly bright, turning the silver of the Gryffindor sword into a deadly gleam.
First-floor corridor.
"I heard it! 'Kill… kill anyone who sees…'"
Harry's face went white as parchment. He was flat on the floor, ear pressed to the stones, picking up the faintest hiss of Parseltongue.
The night was dead quiet. All he could hear was that whisper and his own heartbeat.
"Think—what's at Hogwarts that's a snake—and super dangerous—"
Hermione looked frantic but didn't dare move, afraid to break Harry's concentration.
"We have to tell Dumbledore—"
"If Sean hasn't already said anything—" Ron's voice shook.
The corridor was dark. Twenty huge spiders were scrambling in a panic, desperate to squeeze through a crack in a window.
A long silver thread hung down like a rope—they'd climbed up it and were now trying to escape outside.
"Have you ever seen spiders act like this?" Hermione whispered while Harry listened.
Ron had retreated several safe yards, looking like he was physically holding himself back from bolting.
"What are you doing?" Hermione asked.
"I—don't—like—spiders," Ron managed through clenched teeth.
"That's news to me," Hermione said, genuinely surprised. "You've handled spiders in Potions loads of times—"
"Dead spiders are fine," Ron hissed, eyes fixed anywhere but the window. "It's the way they move—"
Hermione actually smiled.
"What's so funny?" Ron snapped. "When I was three, Fred turned my teddy bear into a giant hairy spider because I broke his toy broom. Imagine hugging your teddy and suddenly it sprouts legs and—"
He shuddered hard enough that he couldn't finish.
Hermione's face went serious. "Library. Now. I think I know what snake this is!"
Harry got dragged off the floor and the three of them sprinted away.
Library—long closed, supposedly empty.
A thick book suddenly slid off a shelf as if pulled by an invisible hand.
"Find it yet, Hermione?" Harry whispered.
Hermione stood frozen, staring at the open page.
"Hermione?" Ron tried again.
No response.
They finally pried her fingers off the book and read together:
Among the terrible beasts and monsters of our land, the strangest and deadliest is the Basilisk, also known as the King of Serpents… hatched by a toad from a chicken's egg… its stare brings instant death, its fangs are fatally venomous… spiders flee from the Basilisk, for it is their mortal enemy…
Harry's stomach dropped. "There's a basilisk at Hogwarts? That's what Dobby warned me about—this is the voice I've been hearing—"
Ron looked ready to faint but clapped both hands over his mouth to keep from screaming.
"Where did it even come from? What did Sean mean by 'open'? How are we supposed to help?" Harry's mind was spinning.
No one had answers.
"Harry, listen," Hermione said, voice trembling and thick with tears, "if Sean's found the basilisk, he's not going to just leave it. He always faces danger alone—we have to tell the Headmaster—"
Back in the Chamber.
The basilisk.
King of Serpents.
Petrifying eyes, lethal fangs, massive body—every part of it screamed danger.
Sean stared it down calmly. He'd extinguished his wand; the six alchemical toads were now blazing with light instead.
The basilisk reared, furious, its enormous body dragging across the dusty floor.
It barely got halfway upright before the ground beneath it suddenly dropped a foot.
[You have practiced Master-level Transfiguration (Proficient standard). Master proficiency +10]
That made it angrier. It lunged—and froze again.
Two gigantic dogs had clamped their jaws around its body.
Two three-headed dogs. Wearing glasses. It was ridiculous.
The basilisk thrashed. The ceiling groaned like an earthquake.
Sean kept his eyes on the rocks overhead. Cracks spider-webbed across them.
Massive chunks of stone crashed down onto the basilisk's skull. It flailed wildly, dazed and bleeding.
Sean never stopped. The moment the rocks hit, he was already at the serpent's side, sword raised.
The Sword of Gryffindor flashed silver and cold.
The basilisk shook its head clear—far bigger than the three-headed dogs—and flung Whitey and Tyla off like toys.
Sean stepped back once. Proficient-level Transfiguration finished in a heartbeat.
The floor beneath the basilisk collapsed again, swallowing half its body.
Sean was breathing hard now. Three Master-level transfigurations had drained him dry; the hand holding the sword was shaking.
"Still a little much…"
He walked right up to its face. Through a magical mirror charm he could safely meet its eyes.
Even with the protection, the stare made his mind fog for a split second.
The sword slashed deep into its body—no killing blow yet.
He sheathed the sword, chugged a potion, and heard a familiar ding.
[You have gained the magical creature Basilisk's affection at Master standard. Affection +300]
Sean: "…"
He'd only expected to study it for the taming ritual. This was an unexpected jackpot.
There was something about the Sword of Gryffindor—once it cut the tail, the whole serpent went limp.
A few Stunning Spells, plus Whitey transfigured into a rooster and perched crowing on its head, and the beast finally relaxed.
Killing it would have been easy.
Taming it?
Apparently not that hard either.
While Voldemort's soul was weakened by the Horcrux, Sean had a narrow window to perfect basilisk treats.
The only weird part was how fast the affection was climbing. He'd never seen numbers spike like that.
He almost wondered if he'd accidentally spoken Parseltongue.
Then it clicked. He pulled a book from his bag:
[The first recorded basilisk was bred by Herpo the Foul, a Greek Dark wizard and Parselmouth…]
Dark wizard.
Meaning the basilisk was probably a creature of dark magic.
He opened his status panel:
[Wizard: Sean Grave]
[Dark Magic Talent: Gold (Saint of Dark Magic title active)]
[Note: Normal wizards are Green]
[Evaluation: A once-in-centuries genius in dark magic. Dark magic embraces you willingly. You are a born king of the dark arts.]
For the first time, Sean thought maybe giving dark magic the occasional hug wasn't the worst idea…
He shook his head violently.
Nope. Still a terrible idea.
In the Chamber, the basilisk lay motionless. The Sword of Gryffindor gleamed, and a single fang dropped neatly into Sean's waiting hand.
He closed his fingers around it, eyes deep and unreadable as the ocean.