39 - Calling the Basilisk

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The moment the crowd stepped beyond the last organ and entered Slytherin's chamber, it felt as though they had crossed the threshold of time itself, stepping into an ancient and forgotten world.

The chamber was vast, an underground palace stretching into the darkness, its towering walls carved from ancient stone. Time had left its mark on these walls—cracks ran like veins through the rough surfaces, and patches of moss clung to them, filling the air with a damp, earthy scent. Each stone bore the weight of history, whispering forgotten stories of a bygone era.

Serpentine engravings coiled along the walls, their forms etched in unnervingly lifelike detail. Twisting runes surrounded them, pulsing faintly with an eerie green glow. The light flickered unpredictably, as if responding to some unseen force, sending strange shadows dancing across the chamber like restless phantoms.

The floor was cold and damp, the moisture seeping through the soles of their shoes. Every footstep was met with a chilling sensation, sending a shiver straight to the bone. Water dripped steadily from the ceiling, the droplets echoing softly through the cavernous space like the slow ticking of an ancient clock, marking the passage of time in a forgotten realm.

There was an almost sacred stillness here, a haunting silence that suggested the chamber had been untouched for centuries, waiting patiently for this moment. It was a place outside of time, neither belonging to the past nor the present, an eerie sanctuary lost in the depths of Hogwarts.

At the far end of the chamber, the colossal statue of Salazar Slytherin loomed over them, a stone sentinel carved with unparalleled precision. His face was stern, his gaze unyielding, his robes draped in frozen motion as though he might step forward at any moment.

Towering stone pillars flanked the chamber, their surfaces adorned with intricate carvings of great serpents. These pillars stood like ancient guardians, their thick, unyielding forms supporting the heavy ceiling above. The snakes etched into them seemed to coil and slither, their scales so meticulously detailed that they appeared ready to shed their stone prisons and slink into the shadows.

A faint green hue from the runes cast unsettling, shifting shadows, painting the chamber in an eerie light. It was not just the air that felt heavy—it was the very presence of the place, as if something ancient and powerful still lingered within these walls.

Lucius Malfoy gripped his wand tightly, his knuckles turning white as he struggled to maintain composure. His breath was uneven, betraying the fear he refused to voice.

His voice trembled slightly as he asked, "Where is the basilisk?"

The words barely carried through the chamber, swallowed by the weight of silence.

Umbridge was in an even worse state. Her hands trembled so violently that her wand nearly slipped from her grasp. She swallowed hard, her face drained of all color. Her wide, darting eyes betrayed her terror, flinching at every faint noise, every imagined movement in the shadows.

But not everyone succumbed to fear.

"Do not worry," said Dumbledore, his voice steady and unwavering.

Even in this unsettling place, his presence was a beacon of calm, his tone carrying the assurance of a man who had seen horrors beyond reckoning and emerged unshaken.

Then, with a deliberate motion, he activated the enchanted recording.

The eerie echoes of Parseltongue slithered through the chamber like an incantation from a forgotten age. The ancient and primal sounds resonated through the air, seeping into the very stone. The voice was otherworldly, filled with an unsettling mixture of authority and menace.

The chamber responded.

The ground quivered beneath their feet, a deep, primal tremor that rippled outward, sending tiny stones skittering across the floor. Dust rained from the ceiling as the tremors intensified, growing into a rhythmic pulse, a heartbeat of something vast and ancient stirring from its slumber.

Then, with a slow, grinding groan, the great stone mouth of Salazar Slytherin's statue began to part.

A fetid stench burst forth from the darkness within—a putrid mix of decay and something far older, something unnamable.

Then came the sound.

A slow, dragging rasp, the scales of a colossal creature scraping against stone, drawing ever closer. The sound was sharp, grating, setting teeth on edge, like the whisper of a blade drawn across rock.

"Hissss~"

A low, sibilant hiss slithered through the chamber, carrying with it a primal menace.

"Hissss~"

"It's coming," Lucius whispered, barely able to suppress the tremor in his voice.

Umbridge let out a strangled whimper, her entire body locking in place. Then, in a frantic burst of panic, she turned and fled blindly into the darkness, her figure vanishing in a graceless, stumbling retreat.

Lucius averted his gaze, unwilling to face what emerged.

Ms. Bones instinctively took a step back, but she could not look away.

Only one among them did not recoil.

Wes stepped forward.

His stance was firm, his gaze steady, his presence unshaken by the oppressive dread that had seized the others.

"Dumbledore?" Ms. Bones' voice wavered, filled with disbelief. "You can't mean for him to—"

"Rest assured, Amelia," Dumbledore interrupted, his voice calm but resolute. "Wes can handle this."

Ms. Bones hesitated, torn between trust in Dumbledore's judgment and her growing concern for Wes' safety. Her fingers curled tightly around her wand, ready to intervene if necessary.

And then, from the darkness of Slytherin's mouth, the basilisk emerged.

A monstrous head crowned with black scales broke free first, followed by the endless coils of its massive, emerald-green body. It was a living titan, its sheer size enough to eclipse the chamber in its terrifying presence. The serpent stretched over fifteen meters long, its every movement exuding power, its mere presence pressing against them like an invisible weight.

Its eyes, though covered by ancient scales, seemed to radiate malice.

A thick, suffocating aura of danger spread through the chamber like venom in the air.

Ms. Bones gasped, taking another step back. Even without meeting its deadly gaze, she could feel the raw power it exuded. Cold sweat beaded on her forehead, her breath quickening.

Lucius, too, faltered.

His fingers twitched around his wand, but no spell came to mind that could truly counter something of this magnitude.

Only Wes remained unwavering.

With an almost casual motion, he shrugged off his robe, twirling his wand in one hand.

With a flick, the robe expanded, swelling to an enormous size.

His movements were smooth, practiced, as if he had done this a thousand times before.

Then, with precision, he sent the massive fabric soaring through the air.

Before the basilisk could react, the robe wrapped tightly around its head, covering its deadly eyes.

"Normal fabric won't stop a basilisk," Dumbledore remarked.

"Good thing mine isn't normal," Wes replied confidently.

The basilisk, momentarily confused, thrashed violently, slamming its enormous body against the statue in an attempt to rid itself of the obstruction.

But the robe held firm.

"See?" Wes smirked. "That should keep its eyes sealed."

"Excellent thinking," Dumbledore praised, his blue eyes twinkling.

"Now, everyone," he continued, "you may look freely. The basilisk's eyes are no longer a threat."

Lucius and Ms. Bones hesitated before cautiously turning their gaze toward the creature.

"Merlin's beard…" Ms. Bones whispered, awe-struck. "How did something like this remain hidden in Hogwarts for so long?"

"We're here to remove that danger," Wes said, rolling up his sleeves. "Step back."

Raising his wand, he muttered an incantation.

"Incendio!"

A torrent of flame erupted from his wand, forming a massive fire dragon. Its scales shimmered with an intense glow, its form twisting and writhing as it shot toward the basilisk.

The serpent roared in fury, thrashing violently as fire engulfed it.

The chamber became a furnace.

The temperature surged, flames licking at the ancient walls.

The basilisk's pained hisses echoed like the dying screams of a nightmare.

The battle had begun.