Harry Potter : Cael Vale’s journey to Hogwarts

A few days had passed since the Ministry took Hagrid away.

The halls of Hogwarts had grown quieter—but not calmer.

Whispers still flitted like ghosts through the corridors. The tension had taken root in the walls. Students passed one another with suspicious glances, and the absence of Headmaster Dumbledore cast a long, cold shadow over every common room.

And far beneath them all, deep in the belly of the ancient castle, something stirred.

Stone slithered against stone as a hidden door shifted open. Moist air, thick and old, rolled into the cavernous tunnel. Bare feet stepped softly on damp rock, echoing deeper into the darkness.

A hooded figure, cloaked in secrecy, walked with purpose through the coiling tunnel, torchlight flickering faintly from a wand-tip held low. The smell of decay lingered. The air buzzed with ancient magic.

And then—the whisper.

A slow hiss in the dark.

The figure stopped before a colossal stone gate carved with serpents, and hissed in Parseltongue:

"Open. Let me in."

The serpents unraveled, and the Chamber of Secrets opened.

The diary-holder stepped into the vast hall of stone columns and moss. The carved statue of Salazar Slytherin loomed ahead, tall and menacing, watching as though still alive.

A deep growl trembled through the air.

From the shadows behind the statue, something massive stirred. Scales slid. Yellow, lidless eyes blinked slowly.

The Basilisk had awakened.

It coiled toward the figure, tail lashing, tongue flickering between saber-like fangs. It was majestic, and terrible. It did not bow.

Its voice slithered across the stones in Parseltongue, ancient and powerful:

"You keep me caged. I smell fear, I smell blood… I hunger. I cannot wait much longer."

The figure raised their wand higher, jaw clenched in anger. "You forget your place, monster. You were bred to serve the Heir of Slytherin. I carry his soul."

The Basilisk's eyes narrowed. "You are not him."

"I am him," the figure snapped. "I am his vessel. His memory. And you will obey me."

The snake hissed low and long, its massive body coiling around a broken column. The sound was full of threat and tension.

"I have served for centuries. In darkness. In silence. The last Heir released me for purpose. I will not be leashed forever. I will strike—man, ghost, beast, all—even you, if you keep me bound."

The diary-holder stepped forward, fury crackling in their voice. "You'll do nothing unless I say so."

The basilisk lunged forward—only slightly—its jaw snapping shut mere inches from the figure's chest. The gust of its breath nearly knocked them back.

Silence hung between them for a long moment.

Then, slowly, the serpent drew back, its scales rasping like swords being sheathed.

The diary-holder's breath came sharp and fast. Then, in a colder voice, they said:

"Dumbledore is gone. The school is defenseless. Panic is everywhere. One more attack… just one… and the gates of fear will be wide open. Then, we begin our plan."

The basilisk hissed again, this time with a thread of satisfaction.

"Then give the word. Let me slither free."

The figure turned away, cloak brushing across ancient stone. "Soon."