Behind the mask of ferocity, a lonely, misunderstood creature hid. He had no company in his home; a chamber designed specifically for his keeping in accordance to his master's wishes. Being a cold-blooded creature, he craved the sunlight that so very rarely shone into the room. It filtered in murkily through a grate embedded in the banks of the Black Lake that was only just large enough to press one of his beady eyes against, on the rare occasion the sun was at the required angle. He tried hissing at the Giant Squid once when he was still young, hopeful he might have found a companion, but the squid merely squirted ink in his eye and swam away to watch some students messing around on the other side of the lake.
All he had ever desired was another of his kind; without this he was lonely and often resorted to amusing himself with the echoes his hisses made in the darkness to keep him amused. His home was not often lit, and his eyesight had improved dramatically since the last time he had human company, which happened to be when his master's heir ordered him to murder all of the Muggleborn children at Hogwarts. The purebloods' magic-imbued bloodlines soured their scent drastically, while the Muggleborns had a fresher, cleaner scent, so different from the dank, mouldy smell of stagnant water and dead rats that was all he knew in his prison. It was almost a shame to kill them really.
Shut inside his lightless prison, he had an endless amount of time and not much to amuse himself with. Therefore, he spent many hours of the day pondering his existence, and other such deep subjects. He considered himself something of a philosopher. He spent many a day pondering death, and its consequences. He had only ever killed one person; that ghost girl who lived in the toilet above his chamber. All the others had been lucky and he was grateful for their serendipity. He felt something like regret every time he saw them look at him; their faces frozen in a mask of terror. Their unflinching gaze made him feel repulsed; at his master, at his maker, at himself. And at what he was capable of doing.
Incidentally, he had been released from the chamber a combined total of sixty-seven times, all with the intent of murder. After the tenth time, he no longer needed his master's direction – he could smell the difference between the children's parentage as easily as he could smell the difference between a fish and a rat. His master was a half-blood, but he was… strange. The stench of pure evil rolled off him in bitter waves, making the basilisk cringe and hurry to do his bidding, in order to distance himself from the vile odour. It was different with the girl; her young innocence was pleasing to him, but increasingly marred by the sharp influences of his old master, whom he had long thought dead.
Love was an unknown concept to the basilisk. Yes, he was fond of rats of a meal and partial to the smell of Muggleborn, but he had never had a friend, let alone someone to bond with as deeply as love. He longed for another of his kind, at the very least to provide some variety in his monochromic life. The list of major events in his life was disappointingly short, consisting of his placement in the chamber, his assistance of his true master and later the small ginger girl, and the battle resulting in his death. He didn't know, at the time, that his master's plans to kill both the Potter boy and the ginger girl would result in his departing of this world.
In the basilisk's opinion, killing the Potter boy was a foolish and unnecessary move in his master's plans. Being the only non-evil being who could speak his tongue that he had met during his entire existence, the Potter boy was an object of great interest and almost a… fascination to him. Like a museum exhibit he could interact with – not that he knew what a museum was, nor an exhibit. The basilisk never shared his opinions with his master, already knowing it to be a lost cause and that he would be forced to do his master's bidding whatever he said to attempt to persuade him to the contrary.
Society has always shunned his kind. They lived in a paralyzed fear of the beady eyes, smooth scales and needle-sharp teeth, viewing them as devious creatures. To them, snakes represented an embodiment of evil, to be feared, loathed, and avoided at all costs. The basilisk knew this. His master had told him of it once, trying to turn him against humankind. It didn't work; it simply made him feel something akin to sadness, and he sank deeper and deeper into the metaphorical ocean of his apathetic existence. He was obedient and impassive; an unfeeling minion made simply to carry out his master's wishes.
Killed brutally by his master's enemy, his ending death throes were violent but magnificent to the very last moment. And as the basilisk left this life to be carried into another, he was finally calm and truly free of all his resentment, despite his painful end. He had accepted his bittersweet fate and was honestly happy to be leaving this chamber of pain; he had been chained and unable to leave for so long. He had been imprisoned in a cell of his master's making, and the basilisk was eager to venture to a new place where, hopefully, he would finally meet his lost kin.
Written for the Acrostic Competition with the word Basilisk (letters are in bold), and the If You Dare Challenge with prompt #920, Chained and unable to leave.
Hope you enjoyed it; please R&R! :)