The Chamber
It was rather disconcerting to find himself faced with a classroom full of wide-eyed first years, gaping at him as though Harry was the most fascinating thing they'd ever seen. He didn't remember ever being as small as them, and he certainly never stared at Quirrell in such a way even though the man wore a purple turban.
Shaking his head and doing his utmost to ignore the surreal feeling of being responsible for the education of the children in front of him, Harry cleared his throat.
"What are the Dark Arts?" he asked.
One of the Slytherin students tentatively raised her hand and Harry nodded for her to speak.
"Dark Magic," she answered nervously.
The innocence of her offering elicited a smile from Harry and he nodded.
"Exactly that," he praised. "Take a point for Slytherin Miss…?"
"Moon, Professor."
Harry offered her another smile.
"Now, what do we consider Dark Magic?"
This time, no students raised their hands.
"It is not an easy question to answer, and though Miss Moon was correct, it is much more complex than that. Both questions will be answered throughout the coming year. My job is to give you a strong foundation to build upon, in here, and for those of you that wish to attend the Defence Club."
"Will we be learning spells?" one of the Gryffindor students asked.
"We will," Harry confirmed. "At first, it will be basic spells, but even the most basic magic can save your life when facing the Dark Arts."
The boy frowned.
"You'll just have to trust me," Harry chuckled.
"But you didn't use basic magic in Diagon Alley," Moon pointed out.
"I did not," Harry agreed with a sigh.
He'd been wondering how long it would take before the incident in the alley was mentioned. Five minutes had been the best he'd hoped for.
"Can you teach us that?"
"You won't be ready for that kind of magic for some time, but you will learn many useful things in here, and in your other practical subjects. Both Transfiguration and Charms are very important when it comes to Defence Against the Dark Arts, which more than anything else, is bringing together many branches of magic as one. Now, I'd like you to turn to page three of your textbooks and read up until page seven. If you've done it already, read it again. I cannot stress how important the theory is. Without a good grounding in knowledge, the practical side will be very difficult."
It was odd to see them follow his instructions, and Harry took a moment to sit behind his desk and observe.
It would take some time to adjust to his new position, and he took a moment to reflect on his own professors, the good and the bad.
Quirrell had been a stuttering mess, but he'd not been terrible at his job despite being possessed by Voldemort.
Lockhart had somehow been better than Umbridge, and neither of them could hold a candle to Remus.
Harry released a deep breath at the thought of the fallen werewolf.
He had been a brilliant wizard in his own right and a fantastic professor. Harry and the rest of the students had learned much from him, and there hadn't been a single question Harry had posed to the man he couldn't answer.
Inevitably, his mind drifted to his fourth year.
Crouch posing as Alastor Moody.
Objectively, Crouch had probably been the most effective professor, though it was with reluctance that Harry would admit such a thing. He despised the man with a burning passion, almost as much as he did Voldemort, and he intended to keep his word.
When he found the opportunity he sought, Crouch's death would be vicious and his final moments filled with nothing but misery and suffering.
Nevertheless, Harry had learned much from him, that he couldn't deny.
"Are you finished?" he asked as he stood a few moments later.
The students nodded and he offered them a smile.
"Good. I would like you to summarise what you've read in just a few sentences and then we are going to learn a most useful spell."
They began whispering excitedly amongst themselves, keenly removing their quills, and beginning the more mundane task, the prospect of learning something practical motivating them.
Harry nodded approvingly and began circulating around the students, offering pointers here and there for those that were stuck.
"What about this, Professor?" Moon asked, catching his attention.
Harry approached and took up her piece of parchment, nodding to the girl.
"Good work," he praised.
The little blonde blushed and busied herself for another minute as Harry made his way to the front of the class, feeling more comfortable in his new role with each passing moment.
"Wands out," he instructed, shooting a pointed look to the very corner of the room where he'd sensed a familiar presence the moment he'd entered.
(Break)
Albus smiled as he took his leave of the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom. Not that he'd expected anything less, but Harry truly was a natural at teaching the subject, and he knew the first- and second-year students would be in good hands.
For the first time in almost three years, he had no concerns as to the level of education the students would be receiving.
With Severus teaching the older students, and Horace having been convinced to return to the castle, all was well with the school.
Thoughts of the Potions professor did, however, cause his brow to crease in a frown.
Horace had not been pleased to see him at first, and the man was being especially guarded, or perhaps obtuse around him.
Albus had no doubt that he knew something, even if he was unaware of the significance of it. How he would get Horace to talk was another matter entirely, but one he would need to broach.
The sooner, the better.
He'd once been close to Tom Riddle, close enough that the Dark Lord would have considered him a confidant in his formative years. Yes, if anyone knew anything about a young Voldemort's ambitions, it would be Horace Slughorn.
Extracting information from him would not be easy, and Albus was rather it was done in a mutually agreeable way. He could likely overpower Horace and force what he needed from him, but that would not do.
No.
Horace was a sentimental man if nothing else, and though he was reluctant to ask for Harry's assistance once more, it could prove to be inevitable.
Lily Potter had been one of Horace's favourites throughout his first and lengthy stint at Hogwarts. So much so, he'd tendered his resignation upon hearing what had happened to her.
It was only the mention of Harry being a student that had finally convinced him to return, so it only grew more likely that Albus would find himself relying on the boy to obtain what they needed.
He released a deep breath as he reached his office, wishing that at least one thing pertaining to the war could be simple.
Nothing ever was when it came to Voldemort, and even Harry was proving to be an exceedingly complex character in his own right.
Wise beyond his years, ambitious, and talented to boot.
What had shaped the young man, Albus could only guess, but time and again, he proved himself far beyond what could ever be expected of one so young.
His timely arrival in Diagon Alley during the Order's time of need had all but cemented the thoughts Albus had already been having.
Harry Potter was indeed Tom's equal and would perhaps even surpass by the time the two of them met.
Though that was not a given.
Tom Riddle had done things that no other could even conceive, had carved an unforgivable path, and delved into magicks that ought not to be explored.
Nonetheless, there was no denying that Harry possessed his own talents, magic that none had been able to understand, despite their best efforts.
Albus had his own thoughts on t, his own inklings, and it all stemmed from the boys' heritage.
Peverell.
Harry possessed the cloak and the stone, the latter of which he strongly suspected being responsible for the ghostly figures he often employed.
Not that the world would come to learn of it.
Harry was not foolish enough to speak of the artefacts in his possession, and once more, Albus felt the weight of the elder wand that rested up his sleeve.
With it, he could not begin to fathom what Harry would be capable of, and without it, perhaps there was a chance that he could not hope to defeat Tom at all.
It mattered not.
Albus had already made his mind as to what he would do with it, and by right, it belonged to Harry and with the two other Hallows the boy had already obtained.
The time was nigh that they were all united and wielded by the Peverell blood.
"The power he knows not," the headmaster murmured as he drew the wand and laid it on the desk before retrieving the one he'd received shortly after his eleventh birthday.
Neither appeared to anything more than any other wand, but both had served him over the years, his own even better than the infamous Deathstick.
With fond smile, he picked it up, revelling in the warm, acceptance, knowing that the elder wand had never been truly his to wield.
It obeyed him well enough, but Albus had merely been a keeper of it, and it was time that it found a home with its rightful owner.
It was time for Harry to become everything he truly could and would need to be.
(Break)
She'd been back at Beauxbatons for less than a day, and yet, she was already growing tired of the stares, even if they weren't the same. Gabrielle knew what they were all thinking, what they wished to ask her.
They'd all seen the article and photos in the newspaper, the entire country had, and ever since, she'd not been granted a moment of peace whenever she'd appeared in public.
Explaining what had happened to her mother and father had been embarrassing enough, and it certainly did not help that the former had described her sudden influx of hormonal as Gabrielle 'feeling hungry' to clear up her father's confusion.
Fleur had been all but intolerable, and Gabrielle had wanted to nothing more than for the ground to open up and swallow her.
The one who had been least affected by it all had been Harry. He had taken her moment of weakness in his stride, though he had certainly made his fair share of jokes about it. Not out of cruelty or teasing mind, but to make light of the situation.
He insisted that it was not a big deal, but Gabrielle begged to differ.
It truly would have been less embarrassing to have urinated herself in front of him.
She groaned at the memory, at the sudden desire that had filled her being in his presence.
It was something she would sooner forget, but knew it would remain with her, likely until the day she died.
Were it not such a traumatic experience for her, she would have appreciated Harry's dismissal of it, but Gabrielle now had a new fear. She was no longer frightened of the lake at Hogwarts, nor what some of the boys in her school would attempt to do to her given the chance.
No, those fears paled in comparison to enduring what she had if she ever saw Harry again.
He'd already promised he'd visit, but Gabrielle would not be able to blame him if he didn't. Who wants a Veela around them that could turn rather lecherous at any given moment?
Well, most men would be flattered and unable to resist the magic washing over them, but not Harry. He'd always shown exceptional control around her, Fleur, and her mother.
Nonetheless, it was not something Gabrielle wanted to be repeated, though, as she had mentioned to Harry already, it was a distinct possibility.
She groaned at the mere thought, breathing to control the very same magic that threatened to break free as she pondered what it had felt like to be held in his arms.
As amazing as such a simple thing was, she knew she needed to get a grip of that rather feral instinct. Harry had been understanding thus far, but Gabrielle could not expect him to continue on knowing it could happen again.
What if she lost control of herself completely?
It wasn't as though he couldn't fend her off if it came to it, but she would rather it didn't.
Gabrielle doubted she would be able to live that shame down.
(Break)
Fudge looked terrible; thinner, pale, and as though he was just about ready to crack under the pressure of all that was weighing down on him. Sirius struggled to muster any sympathy for the man, and more so, he knew it was time to strike.
He was not one to kick a man when he was down, but Cornelius Fudge was out of his depth and dangerous to maintain such an important position with what they faced.
As the man cleared his throat, Sirius stood and shook his head almost disappointedly before he addressed him.
"Unless you are here to present a plan of action of what the Ministry intends to do, you should save your breath, Minister," he urged. "The time for platitudes and excuses must end, so if you cannot stand tall and lead us with strength, integrity, and unwavering bravery, it is time for you to step down and allow someone who will replace you."
His words were candid and maybe a little harsh, but now was not the time for reticence or caution. With what was unfolding around them, the time for the Ministry to act was now.
Fudge's eyes widened as most within the chambers murmured their agreement, and as he looked upon the sea of faces, few were friendly or sympathetic.
"Is that what you all wish?" he asked defeatedly.
"You are not fit to lead us through this," Augusta Longbottom retorted bluntly. "You have hidden and denied what we have known for some time now, Cornelius. If you were able to face him, you would have heeded the warnings months ago."
There was no witty reply from the Minister, nor any harsh reprimand or bravado. Instead, he simply nodded.
"Very well," he sighed, almost relieved. "I will step down from the position as soon as a successor is named. I suppose we shall begin with nominations. If there are any names, they shall be submitted, and so long as the person accepts, they will be considered by you all."
"I nominate Pius Thicknesse," Lucius Malfoy declared.
He too appeared to be more tired than usual, though his skin always had been pale, the bags under his eyes gave it away.
"I wholeheartedly accept," Thicknesse declared as he stood and offered Lucius a bow.
So, Thicknesse was at least sympathetic to Voldemort's cause or had been cajoled into obedience. Sirius suspected the former. The man was known to be slick, but there was no sign of duress or discomfort from him.
"I nominate Sirius Black," Dumbledore called, eliciting an interested eruption of whispering. "He has been there, fighting and defending those who cannot when needed. He is personally funding those business that have been destroyed, and since arriving amongst us, he has been nothing but honourable."
The Lords and Ladies gathered in the chambers looked at the frowning Sirius expectantly.
He didn't want to be the Minister of Magic.
He'd spent more than a decade in Azkaban, had neglected the political acumen his grandfather had tried to instil within him from a young age as his successor, and had shunned the pureblood way of life.
"I second the nomination," Augusta Longbottom declared.
"Aye, me too," Lord Boot offered, standing proudly.
Sirius allowed his gaze to sweep across the room once more, and what he saw was nothing short of strange to him.
Hope.
Each of those that seemingly wished for him to accept the nomination were looking at him with hope in their eyes.
Did they truly believe in him so much?
As things were, that mattered little. They were seeking a leader who would not shy away from what was coming, who would fight for them, and do whatever was necessary to put an end to Voldemort.
Although Sirius had his doubts, he stood, knowing he was all of those things they needed.
"I humbly accept the nomination," he murmured.
(Break)
It was difficult at best, but quite impossible to see the somewhat solemn boy running the Defence Club, the relaxed and often witty one who she had private tutoring with, and the enigmatic one that wizarding Britain was trying to figure out as the very same.
Daphne did not even wish to consider the evidently flirty and playful side of him she had not seen for herself. That was seemingly reserved for the French beauty he'd been photographed with.
"Thinking of him with the hottie again?" Tracey asked.
"No," Daphne denied.
"You're a shit lair, Greengrass," her friend sighed. "I can tell when you're doing it. Your faces scrunches up like you've just sucked on a lemon."
"It does not."
Tracey hummed as she quirked an eyebrow in disbelief at her, and Daphne chose to ignore it in favour of casting a Jelly-legs Jinx at the laughing girl.
"How're you doing?" the voice of Harry sounded.
"Fine," Daphne said dismissively.
Harry frowned and merely offered a shrug before moving on to the next pairing.
"That was rude," Tracey commented. "You're not usually rude to him."
Daphne rolled her eyes.
"It's okay that it's bothering you. I bet it will bother a lot of people when they find out. What's wrong with someone here?"
"It doesn't bother me," Daphne sighed. "I just thought that with what happened to Bell… well, you know."
"That he'd spend the rest of his life alone?" Tracey snorted. "Come of it, Daphne. When he's of age in less than a year, he will have just about every Lord with daughters in the country showing an interest in him. You dad might even reach out to him."
"He bloody well won't!" Daphne huffed.
Tracey shook her head.
"You might be able to lie to yourself, Daphne Greengrass, but I know you. It does bother you, even if you don't want to admit it. I'd jump at the chance for a date with him, and there aren't many that wouldn't, even if they won't admit it either. I've even caught Parkinson undressing him with her eyes."
Daphne grimaced once more.
"I don't need to hear that."
"Well, I had to suffer it, so you can share it with me," Tracey replied with a smirk. "Anyway, it's not like anyone has a chance. Not competing with the French girl. If they are in a relationship."
"You saw the photo," Daphne sighed grumpily.
"Maybe it's a one-sided thing," Tracey said with a shrug. "You can't see how he's looking at her. Besides, wouldn't he have mentioned you to her?"
"Why would he mention her to me?"
"In your little not-so-private tutoring sessions. I followed you once."
"You followed me?" Daphne hissed.
Tracey shrugged.
"I thought you were sneaking off with a boy and I was right. I should have known it wouldn't have been to a broom closet though."
Daphne shook her head in disbelief.
"You can't tell anyone."
"Would I?"
Daphne offered her friend a smile knowing her secret was with her. Tracey was loyal enough to her to be a Hufflepuff, after all.
"So, what do you talk about?"
"Magic, mostly, and sometimes politics. I told Potter he should think about becoming Minister one day."
Tracey nodded thoughtfully.
"I doubt we'd get any more dark lords with him in charge."
"And he'd make a difference," Daphne mused aloud. "He cares about people, and he wouldn't be bribed or blackmailed into doing what anyone else wanted."
"You admire him."
Daphne frowned again.
"Not like that," she answered, though it was clear Tracey didn't believe her.
"If you say so," the girl grumbled. "You know, you could stop torturing yourself and just ask him."
"I'm not torturing myself."
Tracey offered her a pointed look.
"Maybe they're just friends. It's that French champion's sister, the girl he pulled from the lake."
"And maybe he likes her," Tracey returned. "Maybe he doesn't."
Daphne watched Harry helping some third years with the Stunning Spell.
So what if he and the Delacour girl were together? She had just been under the impression that he wasn't interested in anything like that. She smiled sadly as she shrugged and levelled a scowl at the grinning Tracey.
"People wouldn't like it if he married a Veela."
"No, but who's going to argue with him? If he wins the war…"
Daphne shook her head though she knew what Tracey said was true. If Harry won the war, he could marry a hag if he wished and it would be accepted. Not that she'd thought about marrying him, or the possibility that her father might just see him as a good match for her.
Would he?
It took only a moment of pondering the question to realise he would if Harry did indeed win the war. His reputation was already rather astounding and there wasn't a single lord that would not consider Harry Potter a good prospect.
Those who held such values would even forget that he's not a pureblood for such a prestigious match.
"Tomorrow?" Harry asked quietly as he reached them once more.
Daphne felt a sudden jolt of bitter envy and shook her head, immediately regretting the words that passed her lips.
"No, I have things to do."
Her tone was dismissive and Harry looked at her questioningly before shrugging.
"Okay," he replied simply before moving on once more.
Tracey looked at Daphne disapprovingly.
"That was just mean," she muttered. "Why did you do that?"
"Do what?"
Tracey said nothing else, leaving Daphne to wallow in her guilt. Harry hadn't deserved that, and she knew that she'd taken something out on him that wasn't his fault.
"Well, if you did like him, you've probably just blown it," Tracey said, eventually breaking the silence. "You really are one of the stupidest people I know."
Daphne frowned.
"Harry Potter is taking time out to teach you privately!" Tracey whispered harshly. "Most girls would kill for less than that, and you just threw back in his face. If you had any sense left, you'd apologise to him for being a bitch. That was really unfair. He's been nothing but nice to you."
As the session came to an end, Daphne only felt worse.
Tracey was right. She was unwaveringly loyal to Daphne but had no qualms in telling her when she was wrong, and she had never done so vehemently.
Daphne released a deep sigh as she followed her friend, shooting a glance to Harry who didn't even look her way. Why would he when she'd been so petty?
She wasn't one to swallow her pride and apologise, but she knew she would have to if she wanted to make this right.
Before she could muster to courage to do so, Harry was gone and Daphne chastised herself internally for her outburst.
No, Harry hadn't deserved that, and she did not like the jealousy that had plagued her since she'd seen that article.
She'd never been a jealous person and it simply didn't sit right with her.
Why was she jealous of the French girl?
That was a question she did not wish to consider right now, not when she had some grovelling to do.
(Break)
Harry laughed, more so than he could remember doing over the past year as Sirius explained what had happened in the Wizengamot meeting. His godfather had merely intended to discredit Fudge, to sow the seeds of doubt as to his competency to remain in his position, and now, he was poised to be the next Minister of Magic.
"It's not funny!" Sirius protested.
"It's hilarious," Harry disagreed. "Well, you might just get a biography written about you. I can see it now; 'Sirius Black: From Murderer to Minister'."
Sirius winced as he shook his head.
"I don't want to be the bloody Minister!"
Harry took pity on the man and offered him an encouraging smile.
"For what it's worth, I think you'll be brilliant," he said sincerely. "People respect you, and you've proven that you'll fight for them. Everything else, you can get yourself some good advisors for."
Sirius didn't seem convinced, but he nodded.
"If I'm voted in."
"I don't think you'll have to worry about that," Harry snorted. "I bet the newspapers in the morning will be begging for you to replace Fudge."
Sirius hummed.
"Come on, it won't be so bad," Harry soothed. "It will be better than sitting around that dusty house, shouting at your mother and trying not to throttle Kreacher."
"True," Sirius conceded. "I still can't get rid of the old cow."
"She did that on purpose," Harry chuckled. "Your mother couldn't stand not being around in some way to keep her nose in the family affairs. I bet she didn't expect you to be the next Lord Black though."
"No," Sirius agreed. "I must admit, I do take a lot of pleasure in rubbing it in her face. The house wouldn't be the same without her."
"Just wait until she hears about you being the Minister."
Sirius's eyes lit up mischievously.
"Would you like to hear me break the news?"
Harry nodded and Sirius lowered the mirror as he left the study he'd been in. It was only a moment later that he heard the man's footfalls on the hard floor of the hallway and the sound of the curtains that his Walburga from being pulled back.
"FILTHY SWINE!" the woman screeched. "YOU BROUGHT ME NOTHING BUT SHAME! I SHOULD HAVE DROWNED YOU AT BIRTH!"
"That's the nicest thing you've ever said to me," Sirius replied cheerfully. "Now, I wish you'd shut up, I have some news."
"News?"
"I've been nominated to be the next Minister of Magic."
The was a moment of silence, and Harry thought that perhaps he'd been disconnected until a shrill scream almost burst his eardrums.
"YOU, MINISTER OF MAGIC? YOU'D TURN THE OFFICE INTO A DEN OF DEBUCHERY WITH YOUR WHORING WAYS! YOU LIE WITH SCUM AND HARLOTS NOT WORTHY!"
"I do!" Sirius declared cheerily, revelling in the fury of his mother.
Much to Harry's relief, the ranting began to fade and he was once more greeted by the happy expression of his godfather.
"That made my day," Sirius chuckled. "It might be worth being Minister just to piss her off."
Harry shook his head amusedly.
"It's a shame that a portrait can't have a heart attack," he mused aloud. "Good luck tomorrow. Let me know how it goes."
"I will," Sirius promised before ending the call and Harry returned the mirror to his trunk before turning his attention to the monumental task of this evening.
The Chamber awaited him several floors below, and he needed to focus.
Releasing a deep breath in anticipation, he turned the stone over in his palm three times and waited for the arrival of Salazar Slytherin.
"Is it time?" the man asked as he appeared.
Harry nodded.
"Are you sure about this?"
Slytherin offered him an encouraging smile.
"So long as he has not addled her mind, I see no problem," he said reassuringly.
"And if he has?"
"Then your little venture could prove to be problematic. I, however, will be on hand. She will remember me."
"And what if she doesn't?"
"Then the outlook could be bleak," Salazar answered honestly. "She is a one-thousand-year-old basilisk, after all."
That was something Harry certainly had not forgotten.
"How big do they grow?"
Salazar's expression darkened somewhat, and for the first time, he showed a hint of concern.
"They never stop," he admitted, "but I cannot think of any known to live so long. It is possible she did, especially if food was scarce."
"So, I should expect the unexpected."
"Always," Salazar replied.
It was with the ominous warning ringing in his ears that Harry covered himself in his cloak after releasing the man back to his place of rest, temporarily, of course. It was a foolish endeavour, and he would be reluctant to even attempt it without his guidance.
Taking his leave of the room on the seventh floor, he pondered the various outcomes.
At best, the basilisk would be compliant and Harry would leave with another Horcrux in his possession. A worst, he would die down there, likely to never be found.
He knew which one he preferred, but as ever, he did not expect all to go to plan without a hitch.
Nothing ever did for him, and there were oh so many things that could go wrong.
Nonetheless, he steeled his resolve as he checked the map, ensuring the bathroom on the second floor was empty before entering and making his way towards the sinks.
Etched into the tap of one of them was a serpent that none would pay any mind to. Not that they would see it behind the fitting. Even if they did, the chamber would be inaccessible to them.
"Open," he hissed, stepping backwards as the sink began to descend into the floor, and once again, Harry found himself releasing another breath in anticipation for what was to come.
Lighting the tip of his wand, he shook his head at the foolishness he was displaying, but he knew it was something that was no longer avoidable.
"Come Death, come," he murmured, knowing that a Horcrux could be within his reach and that if the worst were to happen, Voldemort would have a significant weapon in his arsenal in the form of an exceedingly dangerous creature.
With that on the forefront of his mind, Harry entered the tube, sliding metre after metre until he was deposited into a small cavern filled with a myriad of animal bones.
Standing, he remained still, listening for any sign of movement ahead.
When he was certain nothing was lurking in the shadows, he summoned Salazar once more.
"Good," the man whispered. "I'm afraid it only get riskier from here. Come, let us not stand on ceremony."
Harry nodded and led the way, pausing a short way down the adjoining tunnel as he came upon something that gave him second thoughts. The shed skin was not so old, and as he scooped a section of it into his arms, even Salazar appeared to be concerned.
"It can't be any more than a few years old," he murmured. "You should keep that. Basilisk skin is very useful and exceedingly valuable. Well, it was in my time."
Carefully, Harry rolled it up with a wave of his wand and placed it within his trunk. What use it would be, he didn't know, but at the very least, he would have a rather unique souvenir from his visit here.
Pressing on, perhaps against his better judgement, it wasn't long until he came upon a large, iron door inlaid with several gold serpents.
"Proceed with caution," Salazar urged. "If she was not confined to her lair, she could be on the other side."
Nodding and resigning himself to that very possibility, Harry opened the door, closing his eyes once he had ensured he was wrapped in the confines of the cloak.
He wasn't sure what, if any, protection it would afford him, but he somehow felt more comfortable within the folds of it.
Much to his relief, and that of Salazar's, the large chamber was empty save for some statues that ran the length of the walkway, and the sound of gently flowing water.
"She is in her lair," the founder confirmed, pointing to the large wall at the end of the room.
It was carved in the shape of the man's face, though it was rather unflattering.
"I am no sculptor," Salazar defended, answering the unasked question.
Harry said nothing as he began the long walk towards the carving, listening for any sound other than the water.
"I suppose any hidden room here would be…"
"Through her lair," Salazar confirmed. "If by some chance someone found the chamber, it is unlikely they would have reached my inner sanctum."
"You really didn't want anyone down here, did you?" Harry grumbled.
The man grinned as he shook his head.
"So, I'm going to have to open that door."
"It is inevitable," Salazar sighed. "Perhaps you should speak with her first. She already knows we are here."
"How do you…?"
His words were cut off as he heard what appeared to be something large being dragged across the stone floor on the other side of the carved wall, and Harry took a step back with his wand raised.
"Who's there?"
The voice was haunting, with no small amount of threat in the tone.
"It is Salazar," the founder declared fondly. "It was I that rescued you from the poachers and brought you to the castle. You were just a hatchling and liked to rest at my feet whilst I worked in the study you guard."
"Salazar…"
This time the voice spoke wistfully, as though the basilisk was attempting to remember the man and the times they'd shared together some one thousand years ago.
"I used to feed you pigs. They were your favourite."
All was silent for several moments.
"No, my Sal left me long ago," the voice eventually replied sadly. "He promised he would return…"
"I died," Salazar said apologetically. "I did not intend on being absent for so long, and I died."
"I didn't. The magic here keeps me alive, even when I no longer wish to be."
Salazar appeared to be heartbroken.
"Do you wish to die?"
"Mostly," the basilisk answered. "He stopped coming too."
"He?"
"The other Slytherin. The one who called himself Tom. He left me too."
"He was a bad man," Salazar grumbled. "Tom is of my blood, but he is not my heir! I have another with me of my blood, a good man who wishes to take care of you."
"He is like you?"
Salazar peered at Harry for a moment, scrutinising him carefully.
"He is like me in many ways, but better. He will not abandon you."
Harry frowned at the statement.
The last thing he needed was the responsibility of looking after such a creature, and yet, he could not ignore the pleading look of Salazar Slytherin, nor the hopeful voice the basilisk spoke in.
"He will stay?"
Salazar continued to stare at Harry who found more than a little ounce of empathy within him. The man had clearly cared for the basilisk, and he could not deny the snake was fond of him.
How could he deny either? What choice did he truly have?
"I will care for you," he promised. "I will bring you food and anything else you need."
The basilisk hissed incoherently.
"I would like that. I would like to share a bond once more."
Harry breathed a sigh of relief at the sincerity in the voice, and even Salazar deflated.
"You can set her free, Harry Potter," he assured him. "She means us no harm, and you may have just gotten a most loyal ally."
Harry eyes the carved wall with trepidation and readied himself for what was on the other side.
"Open," he whispered, knowing he was putting a lot of faith in Salazar Slytherin.
The mouth of the carving opened with an unpleasant grinding sound, and the sound of movement from within the cavern came almost immediately, though nothing could have prepared him for what emerged.
"Bloody hell," Harry whispered fearfully as the enormous serpent slithered into the chamber.
He'd never seen anything so imposing, not even the dragon during the first task of the tournament could compare. At around sixty feet and capable of swallowing him hole, the basilisk's mouth was full of fangs that would pass through him without resistance.
She looked around curiously, her large, blue eyes coming to rest on them, and Harry had never felt so vulnerable in his entire life.
If it came to it, he didn't fancy his chances in a fight with the magnificent creature, but as he expression softened, he knew it wouldn't come to that.
She looked upon the ghostly form of Slytherin with such a tenderness that he would not have believed possible, and then at him almost hopefully.
"This is Harry Potter," Salazar introduced. "He is my grandson many times over."
Harry froze as the basilisk extended its thick, muscular neck until the nose was barely an inch from him. She sniffed deeply before nudging him and retreating.
"He is like you, but different," she declared.
"Harry will care for you."
The basilisk continued to stare at him for a moment and pressed her head against his chest, almost sending him sprawling.
"You can pet her," Salazar chuckled. "She likes to be scratched around her nose."
Harry did so tentatively and was surprised to hear and feel a deep, rumbling growl of contentment being emitted from the snake.
"She's like any other creature, Harry. She just wishes to be cared for, safe, warm, and fed. I always found her to be rather affectionate."
Harry could only nod dumbly in response, and though he could not be certain how long he stood carrying out perhaps the strangest thing he'd ever done, the basilisk eventually withdrew and slithered into one of the nearby bodies of water.
"She likes to swim," Salazar snorted amusedly. "The pool below us is big but may need to be added to. I never envisioned she would grow so much."
"She's beautiful in her own way," Harry remarked, thinking of the many shades of green to her skin. "I thought that I would die from her gaze."
"Only if she intends to," Salazar explained. "When her eyes are blue, she is no threat."
"Unless she decides to eat me."
Salazar nodded and offered him a grin.
"Best keep her fed. Come, my study awaits."
He led the way into the lair of the basilisk, and through to another hallway where a door was situated at the end. Pushing it open, Harry was taken aback by the cursing of the founder as they entered the empty room.
"He took it all," he growled furiously. "My life's work, and he took it!"
"What was in here?" Harry asked.
"Everything! My research and my most treasured possessions."
Harry offered the man a look of sympathy.
"I'm sorry."
Salazar waved him off, though his anger remained palpable.
"So, it doesn't look like he hid one here," Harry said disappointedly. "I suppose it makes sense. He didn't kill his muggle family until he was sixteen, and he couldn't open the chamber again. Not when he'd barely gotten away with it last time. I was convinced he'd hide one here."
It was frustrating to say the least, and as Harry pondered the revelation that there was no Horcrux to be found, he could only shake his head.
"He may have hidden one elsewhere in the castle," Salazar said quietly. "Perhaps he couldn't risk it, but it is possible he found another place. Hogwarts is full of hidden rooms. You yourself found quite the exceptional example of one."
Harry frowned thoughtfully.
"Maybe," he conceded, "but it would have to be somewhere he was certain it would not be found. I don't even know what it is I am looking for."
Salazar conceded the point with a nod.
"I would not give up on it," he urged. "From what you have told me of him, he would be egotistical enough to do just that. Besides, there are few places safer than Hogwarts."
Harry nodded as he left the empty study, pausing to pick up one of the fangs the basilisk had lost over the years.
"Careful," Salazar warned. "They are laced with her venom. You would not want that in your blood."
"I know," Harry murmured as he levitated a few more. "The venom is what I need to destroy the Horcruxes. It's one of the few things known to be able to do it."
Salazar seemed to be rather proud of that fact, and though his scowl returned as he offered a final look at his ransacked study, he offered Harry a smile of encouragement, leading him back into the main chamber.
"It took me many years to build this," he sighed. "Take care of it, Harry Potter, and of her. She deserves a little happiness."
"I will," Harry vowed, eliciting a nod of gratitude from the man.
"And make sure he can bring no more shame to my line. I shall be at peace knowing you will send him to me in due course."
With no further pomp nor circumstance, Salazar Slytherin vanished and Harry allowed his gaze to sweep around the Chamber of Secrets.
The gesture was most appreciated, but what was he going to do with such a room?
Of course, the basilisk would remain here and he would need to visit to feed and spend time with her, but he could think of little else it offered, for now.
He chuckled at the strangeness of his excursion here.
He'd not found a Horcrux, but he would be leaving unharmed, though with the burden of caring for a creature that was likely alive the same time as Ignotus Peverell.
It was with that equally daunting and amusing thought that he took his leave of the room, no closer to finishing the war, but somehow satisfied with his efforts.
How many people could claim to have a thousand-year-old basilisk as a friend, after all?