Hazel was afraid.
There was nowhere left to go, and she was alone. She had ran towards the voice without thinking, believing that it was just some trick and she was about to see behind the curtain. But there was nothing but an empty portrait, a dark corner, and shadows. An endless maze that led to nowhere.
Her heart was pounding. She turned away from the frameless portrait, her bare feet chilled by the cold dungeon stone. How would she ever find her way back to the dormitory in the dark?
She wandered, but no matter where she went she returned to the frameless portrait, now home to a wizened and nameless head, with long and sleek hair and a flowing beard. If she had been in better spirits, she might have been reminded of Albus, but as it was, she saw only a sinister old man.
"Help me."
The portrait didn't answer, but his gaze pinned her to the wall.
"Help me!" She cried. Her voice echoed off the stone walls.
"Child, why do you fear?"
"I'm lost."
"And you think you are the first child to be lost in these dungeons?" he said. Hazel could hear the laughter in his voice.
"Of course not," she said. "But there's a monster loose in the castle."
"A monster, you say?" the old portrait laughed and it chilled Hazel to the bone. "You think this castle is not full of monsters, just waiting to be born? You think that this is the first peril Hogwarts has faced, or that it will be the last?"
"I'm not a fool," Hazel said.
"You are a child. You are one of the monsters. You are of my blood. You were destined for greatness and squandered it in search of fool's gold—immortality—ha!— as if such a thing were attainable. Even the strongest of ghosts fade to mere shades. Even the grandest of portraits lay forgotten! You should have sought immortality in greatness, my child, as befits one of the Slytherin blood."
"I'm not the Heir!"
"And I am no fool, Tom Riddle. I see your dirty blood and maimed soul. I see you for what you are, despoiled by Herpo's foul magic! It ends to tonight, Tom Riddle, for the great basilisk was first mine!"
"KILL!" the old man screamed, and then Hazel heard the disembodied voice again. She started running, to where she didn't know, but her feet pounded the stone.
The voice came nearer and nearer, and when Hazel collided with something warm and solid in the darkness, she screamed.
"Potter!"
Hazel threw her arms around him. She had never been so happy to see Professor Snape and his dingy grey nightshirt.
"Professor, the monster! It's here!"
"Potter, cease this foolishness. You have no more seen the monster than I have, or you would be dead."
"I hear it! It talks to me! That's what I've been hiding!"
"What?"
"We need to run, it's going to kill us! That loony old man set it on me!"
"Potter, speak sense!"
"He said it was his! He-he said I had a maimed soul and dirty blood, he said—"
"KILL!"
"—it's a basilisk, and it's here!"
It slithered behind her, and the professor kept his eyes trained on hers. He turned his back on the monster, placed himself between him and her. He held her tightly to his chest, holding her head straight as she twisted to look at it.
"Don't look at it, Hazel. Look in the mirror."
Hazel looked up and saw her own pale face and the professor's in a mirror that had not been there only moments before. Then she saw two great yellow eyes, and saw no more.