The humid air of the catacombs makes me shudder, it's no less macabre than standing in a tomb. But I've never felt more alive than here.

Huge fire bowls are placed above each of the serpent statues, and they haven't been lit for centuries. Quite the shame …
Hazy moonbeams from myriads of tunnels enter Slytherin's secret halls as only source of light, like heavy sleep had to reign here forever – nonetheless, the presence of my blood in this profane place of dystopia is apparently spot on.

"I've been waiting … so long …"

And I freeze.

Eerie drips of moving water cloak the renewed, subterranean silence, but my gaze mechanically wanders to the statue mouth of Slytherin.

As though he had just spoken himself, in a dark, deep voice from a huge, vibrating body.

"So long …" the words are repeated, "with unbearable hunger!"

I should run.
I should run as fast as my legs carry me. I should dissolve into smoke and never come back, but I can't leave now.

I must face the basilisk – what else should be my fate?

So, rooted to the spot, I watch Salazar's mouth open – literally. Far away on the platform, right behind another dark pool of water directly in front of the statue.

"Finally … I felt your footsteps, and I smell your blood … Close your eyes, heir of Slytherin!"

I wish to feel mortal fear.
Feel something.
But I'm oddly still and frozen, and outwardly capable of nothing more than the blink of an eye.

Preventing my too soon demise by looking down, I let the humid air of the centuries fill my lungs until they threaten to burst. I stretch out my fingertips, my palms open, as if I have nothing left to lose. Nothing to give, nothing to take.

My life depends on the benevolence of an ancient serpent, which, according to all the legends, is said to be inherently aggressive and insidiously murderous. It doesn't get more bizarre than that, but for better or worse, it's emblematic of my entire being.

I hear a rough grinding sound coming through Slytherin's mouth, and it soon gets closer. An altogether peculiar noise that can be nothing more than a huge body armoured in plates sliding on stone and dust.

"At last," the old snake hisses in a sonorous sound. I can hardly help but notice that I've probably never kept my eyelids closed with such concentration.

I flinch a bit when I suddenly feel cold, slippery scales underneath the fingertips of my left hand and my whole arm is lifted up as if by itself. Even without my eyesight this at least gives me a fair impression of the basilisk's huge head under my hand.

And I don't feel a crown of feathers …

"No king," I say under my breath, almost surprised. "You're a Queen …"

"And you are a Prince," she hisses as her mighty torso slides on under my hand and soon wraps itself around me, scale by scale.

Where is my fear? Where's panic?
How tired of life must I be if I have no restlessness in me right now?

A single twitch of her cold body could shatter my spine into a thousand pieces. One look, one bite – and no one will ever find me.

But she seems to know about the bond between us. We speak the same language, after all, and so in an outrageously rare way, she and I are united in our purpose.

"I can hear it," she whispers to me, "the snake around your neck …"

I have long forgotten about the locket, but now I touch it to let her see it, waving it like a pendulum from my right hand.

"Son of the Master," I hear her say, her head must be behind and high above me, "open your eyes!"

Nothing less do I do.

"See what we could be," she hisses as I stare at the floor, noticing how I'm swallowed whole by her monstrous shadow.

She's more exalted than any king cobra, stronger than the mightiest python of untouched rainforests – and certainly more cunning than all the rattlesnakes in the world. The deep green of her body around me, shinier than sharp emeralds strung together, enclose me, she could kill me at once – and yet she's only so proud as protective. As if we had long since become one, like our shadows.

In constant motion, she continues to turn around me – until nothing moves anymore and I'm sure that the queen of snakes is only toying with her prey after all.

"Look around," she commands, "now I close my eyes for you …"

The fact that I don't drop dead when I comply with her request vividly proves that she keeps her word.

I'm holding my breath as I turn to finally look at her head in utmost awe.
I've never seen anything more terrifying or more impressive.
Like a dragon, just more elegant. Like death, but more dangerous.

As if I hadn't already been shaken to the core, she now bares her razor-sharp fangs and growls like the hungry, treacherous monster I had expected to meet deep underneath the castle.

I have so many questions – and yet I'm lost for words.

"We will never be able to look at each other at the same time, son of the master," she states as she bows her head a little lower towards me, still with her eyes closed, "but all glory is ours!"

"How do you know I'm Slytherin's Heir?"

"I speak to you, and you understand. You answered my call."

"Were you born here?"

"In the pale twilight, all alone," she confirms, "but he left me long ago …"

"Slytherin?"

"The Master," she whispers, tilting her head even lower, causing me to flinch again. "He was never afraid of me – like you are now. I was afraid of him …"

I try to stand up tall. "What leverage could a small human have against the Queen of Snakes?"

"Pain," she reveals to me, "for missing discipline."

I swallow. He has trained her.
He succeeded in the impossible – breaking such a majestic beast until it's complying to one's will certainly requires merciless and cruel torture.

"But discipline," she hisses, "fades over the centuries. So tell me, why I should not take a bite, after all?"

A very legitimate question …

"Since you'd then be alone again, and certainly for the rest of your days," I say, hoping it serves as a sufficient argument for her. "I'm probably the last living Heir of Slytherin who's still in his right minds …"

If I didn't know better, I'd think her snout was curved into a suspicious smile.

"Without Parsel, your world can neither be discovered nor accessed," I add, "which is why the founders of the school and everybody after them have already been searching for you in vain. You're nothing but a legend without me. Nothing but a scary tale in greenish twilight."

"Illuminate the Master's halls for me – can you do that?" She lifts her head up towards the tunnels' rays of light high above us so that we can both see the entirety of the chamber.

I raise my hands in old routine to summon my Fiendfyre. I let it thunder through the catacombs in all its fury, then I force the flames to float over the fire bowls so the Chamber of Secrets is once again lit up in all its former glory.

The basilisk winds past me, glides along the serpent statues in silent awe.

"The Master often practised this spell here," she tells me as if reminiscing about days long past. "How strange to see it again …"

"A thousand years ago," I hear myself. "And yet you kept waiting here."

"I can be patient, but I'm hungry," she whispers, dangerously quiet. "There is nothing but rats and stray birds here, yet I have craved fresh meat for so long – meat like yours, as the young Acromantula would love as well."

"What Acromantula?" I ask in irritation.

"There is one in the castle, not far from here in the dungeons. Shortly after she arrived there, I heard you enter the catacombs …"

"Hagrid," I absently whisper, "you've smuggled an Acromantula in that box. Who'd have known …" I stride past the huge body of the basilisk to the entrance of the chamber. "What if I promised you that you won't starve any longer?"

"Can you do that?" she asks.

"Indeed," I say. "I'll be back."

"It's good to see you again, Hagrid. Did you enjoy the forest?"

He's downright startled when I step out from behind a pillar and suddenly stand in the middle of his way. The dungeon corridors of the castle are only ever sparsely lit, but it's enough for him to notice my cold smile for sure.

"Don't you know the rule of all rules?" I ask on. "That you must never return to the scene of a crime?"

"Wh-what?" He gulps and shakes his head in a hurry, but still he seems so completely caught off guard. "Tom, what … what do you mean?"

"That should be very obvious to you. But you know what, Hagrid?" I smirk. "I won't ask questions if you won't."

He literally holds in his breath as he bites his lips like a cornered animal. "So – what would I want to … not ask questions about?"

"About absolutely nothing," I reply. "That's just it. Do you get it?"

After some hesitation, he forces himself to nod.

"All right, Hagrid, so about your Acromantula –"

"But how do you even know –"

"I have a way of knowing more than most others," I interrupt him. "But I don't have to pass any of my knowledge on to anybody. That is to say as long as I can rely on your help in return …"

"My help?" He smooths his cloak as though ironed garment was now of bearing importance.

"Quid pro quo, Hagrid." I shrug. "One hand washes the other. The only thing that makes chaos fair. Don't you think?"

He hesitates in uncertainty. "And what … does someone like you, of all people, need from someone like, well … me?"

"Meat."

"Meat?" He stares at me, genuine horror glowing in his eyes. "What do you mean by meat?"

"Just that. I need meat. Lots of it, and regularly. Just like you."

For a moment there, I think he's turned into a pillar of salt. But then he blinks again to quickly ask, "But what do you need meat for?"

"Ah, you see …" I give him a stern smile. "That's exactly what we want to avoid. Questions of any kind. Because otherwise, as mentioned, I'll start to ask some, too. And beasts such as an Acromantula might raise very interesting ones. For instance, I could ask –"

"No, never mind!" He gives me a nervous glance. "I see … So, what kind of meat are we talking about exactly?"

"It just needs to be fresh. Dead or alive."

He looks at me in bewilderment. "Alive? Do you intend to perform rituals?"

"I'm sorry, is that a question?" I go wide-eyed in mock-surprise. "Because then I'd love to know how you envisioned your pet-keeping once your eight-legged friend is fully grown. Do you want to house it in the Room of Requirement? And would you actually expect me not to tell anyone about it? Just think what a hungry Shelob would do in a castle full of students –"

"All right, all right, I'm sorry! Let's forget about my question. Please, will you?"

"Why yes, sure." I nod. "Back to the meat, then. Can you get it done?"

He screws up his face in agony and hesitates to nod. "I've got to help you, don't I?"

"You very much do," I confirm.

He sighs, clearly uncomfortable. "I'll think of something."

"Today."

"Today?" He strokes his cloak in even more exasperation, then mutters, "Today already … What did I do to deserve this …"

"Think nothing of it, that's the way life sometimes messes with us, Hagrid," I try to cheer him up, but I guess it's only me who's cheerful. "We do our best and yet someone finds out about our dark little secrets and then blackmails us. C'est la vie, as the French say."

Bleakly, he nods. "Aragog was talking about something similar the other day."

I give him an incredulous glance. "Aragog?"

I've never had a heightened interest in my classmates, but I probably would've remembered that name after all these years …

"Well yes, Aragog," Hagrid repeats. "My Acromantula."

I must be visibly falling from faith right now. "You gave a name to … the Acromantula?"

"Yes?" he immediately confirms. "Of course I did …"

My eyes narrow. "Why on earth?"

Hagrid shrugs with a sad smile. "Well … because … because he's my friend."

I blink in silence a few times, then I raise an eyebrow. "Because he's your friend."

"Yes. Exactly."

I hold my breath and shake my head – this is overwhelmingly stupid.

"He's an equal creature!" Hagrid tries to lecture me in a well-intentioned appeal to my compassion. "Oh, what am I saying! He's even so much ahead of us! He has feelings and thoughts, and worries and fears. And desires, just like us. So why shouldn't he have a name?"

I let this run through my mind for a moment. And then – to my own surprise – I nod. I get it.

"Maybe you're right," I admit before looking up at him again. "Good for you, Hagrid. Very inspiring."

He all but sighs. "I wish I hadn't said anything about the forest earlier. I shouldn't have said anything …"

"You have one hour," I announce. "I'm afraid we're on a tight schedule – I really want to be with Harper again …"