Hello, guys!
Because of the holiday season, I want to celebrate with you in two ways.
The first is that, starting today, Monday the 22nd until Sunday, January 4th, I will publish daily chapters so you have plenty to read during these holidays.
After that date, I will return to my usual schedule.
The second surprise is that, starting December 24th, I will activate a 50% discount on all tiers of my Patreon.
The promotion will be active for 2 weeks, ending on January 6th.
If you wanted to read the advanced chapters, this is your chance.
Merry Christmas!
Mike.
Patreon / iLikeeMikee
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Chapter 34: Serpentine Negotiations
The cavernous hiss reverberated in the vast chamber, a sound so low Timothy felt it more as a vibration in his feet than as a sound in his ears.
~"Who are you?"~
The question hung suspended in the sickly green air. The Basilisk's head, the size of a family car, floated barely ten meters from him, motionless. It was a mountain of emerald muscle and ancient power. Its huge milky eyelids remained closed, an instinctive precaution that Timothy appreciated for its efficiency, but he could feel the weight of its attention, a physical presence in the silent room.
Timothy did not move. His heart beat at a calm and measured pace. His Occlumency was a fortress of ice, its conceptual walls as cold and impersonal as granite. There was no panic. There wasn't a single jolt of adrenaline. Fear was an inefficient response, a disordered chemical reaction to an unknown variable. And this variable, although colossal, was right in front of him, asking for data.
He was not facing a monster. He was facing a specimen. A living relic, a biological-arcane miracle that the world believed to be a myth. And it was speaking to him.
Most importantly: it wasn't attacking. It was... confused.
He could feel it, a vibration through the Parseltongue that wasn't aggression. Riddle's Archive had shown him young Tom's intent: a torrent of hatred, arrogance, and a need to command. The Basilisk was conditioned to respond to that specific frequency of rage.
But from Timothy, it received none of that. There was no hatred. There was no fear. Only an absolute calm and a curiosity so intense and focused that it was almost as tangible as the stone itself.
'It doesn't smell of rage', he analyzed, his mind translating the sensation he received from the beast. 'It smells of confusion. And... of a thousand years of isolation. It smells of loneliness'.
Riddle had used this creature as a weapon, a slave. A miscalculation. Treating it as such would be a waste of a priceless resource, a living library of ancient magic. No. He would not act like a master. He would act like a scholar. Like an equal.
He accessed the knowledge of Parseltongue in his Archive, feeling the hissing grammar settle in his mind, as natural as English. He formed the response, not a command, but a statement of facts. He breathed the damp air of the tomb and hissed back into the darkness, his voice quiet and full of an analytical calm that deliberately contrasted with the memory of Riddle.
~"I am a Speaker, like the memory in the diary. But I am not him. My name is Timothy"~.
The name hung suspended in the stale air of the Chamber. ~Timothy~. A human concept, simple and unpretentious, offered to a creature of myth and power.
The Basilisk remained motionless, its colossal head as still as the stone statue from which it had emerged. The only movement was the rapid flickering of its forked tongue, tasting the air, tasting Timothy's intent. The milky eyelids remained sealed, but Timothy felt the weight of an ancient intelligence analyzing him.
Finally, the voice of low thunder hissed again.
~"A name"~, resonated the snake, the sound vibrating the stone floor. ~"The Master... the first one... never gave me a name. I was 'Guardian'. The second... the memory... was noisy and full of rage. He called me 'weapon'. None gave me a name. Why have you awakened me, Timothy-Speaker? I do not smell... impure blood here. There is no... purpose"~.
The answer was a data goldmine. The Basilisk could differentiate between speakers. It could remember Salazar ("the first") and Riddle ("the memory"). And it was conditioned to a purpose: to kill.
But Timothy had no intention of killing. He intended to know. His Occlumency was a fortress of calm, but beneath the surface, the scholar's euphoria was overflowing. This creature was a living relic, a library of primal knowledge that predated any Hogwarts book. Fear was a waste of this opportunity. His fascination overcame any instinct of self-preservation.
He took a deliberate step forward, closing the distance to eight meters.
~"I am not interested in blood"~, hissed Timothy, his Parseltongue was fluid, a skill his Archive had assimilated to perfection. ~"Riddle's purpose was childish. I am interested in you... your species... your creation"~.
The interrogation began. Not like a master commanding a servant, but like a scientist interviewing an impossibly ancient colleague.
~"How long have you lived? How long have you been... alone?"~
The Basilisk seemed surprised by the question. ~"Time... is a circle down here. The Master put me to sleep. The memory woke me. And now you. The sleep is long. The hunger is deep"~.
Loneliness. Hunger. Key variables.
~"Do you remember Salazar himself?"~, pressed Timothy, his Archive mind buzzing, ready to record.
The giant head tilted, a slow and thoughtful movement. ~"I remember... the Master. Smell of cold stone. Smell of intent... sharp. He made me... big. He gave me purpose. Protect the nest. Wait for the Heir. Purge... the indignity"~.
~"How did he create you?"~, asked Timothy, his voice a low and urgent hiss. ~"The books speak of a chicken egg incubated by a toad. It is... illogical. It is nonsense. Are you a born creature or a construct?"~
The Basilisk hissed, a sound that could have been a reptilian laugh. ~"I was born from the egg. I grew with the stone. The Master fed me... with magic. He fed me with his will. He changed my... essence. He made me... eternal. He made me... his Guardian"~.
There it was. It wasn't simple breeding; it was an alchemically enhanced familiar. A guardian imbued with Salazar's magic, linked to the Chamber itself.
~"And the Chamber?"~, asked Timothy, gesturing toward the damp walls. ~"What magic did he use to build it? I feel it. It is... conceptual. It is different from the castle above"~.
The snake tasted the air again, as if tasting the flavor of the memory. ~"The Master... sang to the stone. The stone... obeyed. He cut the tunnels with... sound. With will. This place... is his will made stone. It is his nest. It is... safe"~.
Timothy almost smiled. Conceptual magic. Arcane engineering. Just as he had suspected. Salazar wasn't a simple mason; he was an architect of reality, like him.
The Basilisk moved an inch closer, its confusion returning. ~"The Master was cold. The memory was... hot. Full of rage. You... smell different. You smell of books. You smell... of the Room Above"~.
Timothy froze. The Room Above?
~"Can you feel... the Room of Requirement?"~
~"A place that changes"~, hissed the snake. ~"A nest like this, but... new. Noisy. You smell of that place. The Master... never went there"~.
His mind exploded with the implications. The beast wasn't just a guardian; it was a living magical sensor of incredible sensitivity, linked to the fundamental magic of Hogwarts. It could sense the Room of Requirement from the depths of the castle. This creature wasn't just a trove of rare ingredients. It was the most valuable dataset he had ever encountered.
The conversation had been a resounding success. He had confirmed the nature of the beast, its loneliness, its hunger, and its incredible connection to the castle's magic. Now, it was time for negotiation.
The Basilisk was still watching him, its massive head tilted, waiting. It had answered his questions. Now it wanted to know his purpose.
~"You have been down here a thousand years"~, began Timothy, his Parseltongue hiss was calm, methodical, and completely devoid of Riddle's arrogance. ~"Alone. And hungry"~.
He used the beast's own word. ~"Hunger"~.
The Basilisk hissed, a low sound of affirmation. ~"The sleep is long. The hunger is deep. The memory only woke me to hunt... and the hunt was scarce"~.
"Exactly", thought Timothy. Riddle had treated it as a weapon, not a living being. An asset management error.
~"The memory was a fool"~, hissed Timothy. ~"He misused you. I offer you a deal. An exchange"~.
The snake's head lifted an inch. ~"A... deal? Speakers do not make deals. Speakers command"~.
~"I am not him"~, replied Timothy coldly. ~"And my interest is not murder, it is knowledge. I offer you maintenance in exchange for resources. It is a logical exchange"~.
~"Maintenance?"~
~"Food"~, said Timothy. ~"Not the rats from the pipes. Real, substantial food. Large animals. As many as you need to be satiated. And also"~, he added, playing his strongest card, ~"intellectual company. The world above has changed in a thousand years. There are things I have seen... things I have archived... that would fascinate you. I will tell you about them. We will talk"~.
The Basilisk fell silent. A thousand years of loneliness. A thousand years of hunger. The offer was... overwhelming.
~"And what... do you gain, Speaker-Scholar?"~, hissed the beast, its voice now tinged with deep suspicion. ~"What do you want in exchange for this... generosity?"~
It was time.
~"First, your total cooperation. You will allow me to enter and leave this Chamber whenever I wish. Second, the skins you shed"~, he said, gesturing toward the previous cavern where he had claimed the first shed. ~"They are your waste. For me, they are valuable resources"~.
~"Waste"~, hissed the snake, seeming almost amused. ~"Take them. They are of no use to me"~.
~"And third"~, said Timothy, his voice dropping, his intent becoming sharp. ~"The most important one. I want your venom"~.
The atmosphere in the Chamber changed instantly. The Basilisk reared up, its massive head towering above Timothy, its invisible hood seeming to flare in pure menace. A deafening hiss filled the room, vibrating Timothy's bones.
~"VENOM!"~, it roared. ~"To use against me? Like the Master did with his enemies? Am I your next tool?"~.
Any other wizard would have fled. Harry Potter would have drawn his wand. Timothy stood firm. His Occlumency was a wall of ice. He showed no fear, only a slight... disappointment.
~"No"~, he hissed, his own voice cutting through the beast's rage. ~"What a waste"~.
The Basilisk paused, its anger momentarily derailed by the sheer oddity of that response. ~"Waste?"~
~"Killing is inefficient"~, explained Timothy, as if speaking to a slow student. ~"Your venom is one of the most potent alchemical agents on the planet. It is a conceptual solvent of incredible power. I need it for my work. To study it. To understand how it works. You cannot give me your venom willingly without killing me, but you can deposit it in a container if I command it. It is a safe collection"~.
The Basilisk's head lowered slowly, its confusion returning. A Speaker who didn't want to kill. A Speaker who wanted to learn. A Speaker who offered food and conversation in exchange for waste and venom. It was the strangest proposal it had received in its millennium of existence.
The Basilisk processed Timothy's offer. The logic of the Speaker-Scholar was strange, devoid of the rage or fear it was accustomed to, but it was... attractive. The loneliness of a millennium was a pressure much greater than the fear of a new Speaker.
~"Your words are... strange, Speaker-Scholar"~, hissed the beast, its massive head still tilted with suspicion. ~"The memory also promised rewards. But it only brought... rage. You speak of food. Show me."~
A test. Logical. Timothy nodded. ~"Fair."~
He looked around the vast chamber, searching for base material. The floor was covered in stone debris and the bones of millennia of prey. It was more than enough. He concentrated. This wasn't the high-level alchemy of the Philosopher's Stone, a concept his own mind still struggled with. This was standard biological Transfiguration, something he had archived and practiced. His control was now absolute.
Wandless, he focused his will on a pile of rocks and bones the size of a carriage. He accessed his Archive, extracting the conceptual blueprint of a boar. No... not big enough. He needed something... substantial. He adjusted the parameters. A cow. A one-ton cow.
The stone shook. There was a sickening, wet, tearing sound, like a tree being uprooted, as inorganic matter was forced to rewrite its own history. The stone swelled, softened, covered itself in skin and hair. Bones fused and reformed. In less than ten seconds, where there had been a pile of debris, now lay the fresh carcass of a cow of impressive size, the smell of fresh blood and copper filling the stale air of the Chamber.
The Basilisk's head snapped up. Its forked tongue shot out, tasting the air. ~"MEAT!"~
In a blur of motion that defied its colossal size, the snake lunged. There was a sound of breaking bones and tearing flesh. In an instant, the one-ton offering disappeared down its throat. The Basilisk hissed, a sound that this time was one of pure and absolute pleasure. It coiled lazily, the bulge of its meal visible even through its thick coils.
~"You have complied"~, rumbled the voice, now noticeably calmer. ~"I accept the deal. Skins. Company. And... venom. Whenever you wish"~.
"Excellent", thought Timothy. It was time for the first harvest.
He pulled a thick glass vial from his pocket, the size of his forearm, which he had conjured and runically reinforced in his laboratory before coming. It was basic field collection equipment.
~"Now"~, he hissed. ~"Your venom. In this. Without opening your eyes. Without... complications"~.
The beast, now satiated and curious, obeyed. It opened its colossal jaws, revealing rows of sword-sized fangs. Timothy approached calmly, his Occlumency a wall of ice. He held the reinforced vial under a meter-long fang, and the snake bit down gently.
A thick liquid, dark and sickly green, welled from the fang, filling the vial instantly. Timothy sealed it magically. The most dangerous asset on the planet, enough to destroy a thousand Horcruxes, was now in his possession. He stored the vial in his shrunk trunk, next to the shed skin.
Mission accomplished. He turned to leave. It had been a night of resounding success.
~"Wait... Speaker-Scholar"~.
Timothy stopped at the exit of the great hall. He turned. The Basilisk's head was still watching him, eyelids closed.
~"Will you return?"~. There was an emotion in the hiss that wasn't hunger or threat. It was... a hesitation.
~"Yes"~, replied Timothy. ~"Our deal is ongoing. I will return to bring you food and to continue my research. And for our... conversation"~.
~"Good"~.
Timothy was about to leave again, but something in his logical mind stopped. "Basilisk". "Guardian". "Beast". These were designations, not identifiers. It was inefficient.
~"Do you have a name?"~, he hissed.
The Basilisk tilted its massive head. ~"Name? Like 'Timothy'?"~
~"Yes. A unique identifier"~.
~"I do not need 'name'"~, replied the beast, confused. ~"I am the Guardian. I am... the Beast of Slytherin"~.
Timothy frowned. It was a prisoner's pride in its cell.
~"No. Those are titles. Titles given to you by the Master. But you are not a 'thing'. You have thoughts. You have memories. You have feelings... hunger, loneliness, confusion. It is right that you have a name"~.
The great snake fell silent. The concept was strangely alien. Riddle had never suggested such a thing. She was a tool, a weapon. But this Speaker treated her like... an individual.
~"I know not of names"~, it admitted finally, an almost shy hiss. ~"Speakers give names. I... do not know how to choose"~.
Timothy considered it. It was a responsibility he hadn't anticipated, but it made sense. It would give her an anchor. He looked at her emerald green scales, her connection to the castle's founding. Salazar... No. Too obvious. He searched his Archive, in the mythologies he had copied. He needed something that signified both power and antiquity.
~"Ophion"~, he said finally.
~"Ophion?"~
~"A primordial god. A Titan. A great serpent that existed before the other gods. It seems... appropriate to me"~.
The beast tested the sound. ~"Ophion..."~. It hissed. ~"It is... acceptable. I like it"~.
~"Good. Rest, Ophion"~, said Timothy. ~"I will return soon. We have much to talk about"~.
He left the Chamber, leaving the newly named guardian in the darkness, coiled over her meal, with a proper name for the first time in a thousand years.
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Also, does anyone know how Power Stones work?
I think they are weekly or something like that.
If you have stones, please don't hesitate to use them on the story.
Thanks.
Mike.