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[Due to my health issues, ongoing college struggles and dropping views, I will be putting this book on hold after 11 Apr. I will continue with just one book, which is the wizard series as per the Patreon suggestion. Will continue after a month or so. Thank you]
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The chamber was dimly lit, the flickering glow of torches casting elongated, dancing shadows across the ancient stone walls. The basilisk's massive, coiled body glistened like polished emerald beneath the muted light, its scales reflecting the faint shimmer of magic still lingering in the air. The creature's heavy, rhythmic breathing echoed softly, like the distant rumble of a storm waiting to break.
Amidst this tense stillness, Professor McGonagall's voice sliced through the quiet like the crack of a whip.
"Silvanus, are you sure you're not kidding?!" she demanded, her usually composed face flushed with indignation. Her lips, pressed so tightly together they had nearly disappeared, trembled with the force of her fury. Her sharp eyes were fixed on Professor Kettleburn, who stood with one foot precariously balanced atop the dormant basilisk's broad head.
Kettleburn's mouth quirked into a sheepish smile as he pretended to busy himself examining the serpent's scales. His hands fumbled over the creature's ridges, but his eyes betrayed his discomfort, darting nervously toward McGonagall's piercing gaze.
"Putting such a dangerous creature in the Forbidden Forest," she continued, voice rising with every syllable, "right beside Hogwarts Castle! If it escapes—if it so much as looks at a student the wrong way—you'll be responsible! Or do you think sixty-two detention observations aren't sufficient? Do you truly wish to immortalize yourself with an even more catastrophic record?"
Kettleburn winced at the number. Sixty-two detentions—his infamous tally for unorthodox and, more often than not, perilous experiments with magical creatures. His prosthetic leg creaked as he shifted his weight, pretending not to hear her while directing his attention to the basilisk's closed eyes.
"This... this is a scarce species....this ....this is extraordinary," he muttered under his breath, his voice laced with awe. He crouched low, tracing a gloved finger along the rough ridge above the creature's lid. "Reptiles like snakes and geckos lack eyelids... but this one can close its eyes. How curious. Could it be part of its natural defensive mechanism? Or perhaps an adaptive trait tied to its gaze-based magic?"
McGonagall's eyes narrowed into slits. Her jaw tightened further.
"Silvanus!" she barked.
He straightened abruptly, his back audibly cracking with the motion. "Ah, yes, Minerva?"
"This is not an academic curiosity," she snapped. "It's a basilisk. A thousand-year-old apex predator capable of killing with a single glance. And you want to house it in the Forbidden Forest?"
Professor Kettleburn rubbed the back of his neck with one hand and tapped his cane against the stone floor with the other. "In my defense, it's not just any basilisk. It's a historical specimen. Possibly the oldest recorded in magical history! The opportunity to study its behavior... its instincts... its magical adaptations... it's a once-in-a-lifetime discovery."
"That 'discovery'," McGonagall shot back, "could very well become a student's last discovery if you get your way."
Kettleburn grinned, though it wavered beneath her icy glare. Then, without warning, he hopped off the basilisk's head, landing with surprising agility for a man of his years. His wooden leg thudded against the ground, and he swiftly limped toward the door.
"Right, well," he said, glancing nervously over his shoulder. "We can... revisit this discussion later. Maybe... next time Minerva isn't present."
"Don't you dare walk away from me, Silvanus Kettleburn!" McGonagall shouted, her voice reverberating through the chamber.
But Kettleburn was already halfway to the door, his cane clacking furiously against the stone floor as he made his escape.
"Albus!" he called over his shoulder. "We'll discuss that basilisk habitat later—without the watchdog present!"
McGonagall's nostrils flared. "Watchdog?!" she repeated, her voice rising an octave. With that, she stormed after him, her heels striking sharp, angry notes against the floor.
The door slammed behind her, leaving behind a lingering echo that gradually dissolved into silence.
Now only two figures remained: Albus Dumbledore, his twinkling blue eyes soft with quiet amusement, and Professor Dracula, who stood with his arms crossed, idly watching the basilisk's slow, even breathing. The air seemed heavier in their presence, the charged stillness of ancient magic pressing in from the chamber walls.
Dumbledore was the first to break the silence.
"So," he said softly, stepping closer to the basilisk and running a hand over its cool, glassy scales, "this is the creature Salazar Slytherin left behind to guard Hogwarts."
Dracula shifted his gaze toward the serpent, his expression pensive.
"It fits the description," he replied. "A creature powerful enough to survive for centuries, driven by a singular instinct to protect Slytherin's bloodline. I should've realized sooner. The lifespan, the abilities... only a basilisk could match those traits."
He extended a pale hand toward the serpent's face and snapped his fingers once, sharp as cracking ice.
The basilisk stirred. Its massive body uncoiled slightly as its eyelids fluttered open. Twin slits of golden-green light shone through the darkness—until its gaze landed on Dracula.
The creature froze. Its eyes widened momentarily, then squeezed shut with almost comical urgency. It let out a low, rattling hiss and slithered backward, pressing itself into the corner like a frightened puppy.
Dumbledore chuckled, the sound soft and warm. "The great basilisk of Slytherin," he said with a smile, "reduced to a cowering snake in your presence. It seems, Professor Dracula, that you've left quite the impression."
Dracula smirked, though there was little humor in his eyes. His fingers absentmindedly traced the basilisk's scaled brow.
"I might have... overstepped... in our early interactions," he admitted. "Salazar bred it to be aggressive and dominant. I was curious whether that trait could be suppressed through repeated exposure to magical exertion. Turns out... it can."
Dumbledore's smile faded slightly. "You exhausted it until it broke."
"Yes," Dracula murmured, his voice quieter now. He stroked the basilisk's cold skin with uncharacteristic gentleness. "I never thought of it as cruelty at the time. More like... playful experimentation. But now…" He exhaled, his lips tightening. "Now it just looks like I tortured a frightened animal."
The basilisk, sensing the shift in his demeanor, hesitated. Then it slowly extended its head and pressed it into Dracula's palm.
"You know," Dumbledore said after a moment, "Salazar Slytherin never truly understood his own creation. He bred it for power and obedience. But like all living creatures, it craves more than just orders. It craves connection. Safety."
Dracula gave a faint nod but said nothing. He continued stroking the basilisk's head, and the great serpent relaxed further, coiling itself loosely at his feet.
After a pause, Dracula shifted the conversation.
"So... what's the plan, Albus?" he asked, his voice regaining its usual edge. "You're not seriously considering Kettleburn's proposal to toss this thing into the Forbidden Forest, are you?"
"Merlin, no," Dumbledore said with a soft laugh. "That forest already has enough mysteries. Centaurs, acromantulas, thestrals... adding a basilisk would disrupt the entire ecosystem."
Dracula arched a brow. "Plus, the students."
"Precisely. Every year, a handful of brave—or foolish—souls venture into the Forbidden Forest, despite the warnings." Dumbledore's eyes twinkled with faint mischief. "A basilisk would be a rather... extreme deterrent."
"You're remarkably relaxed about the fact that students routinely break your rules."
"Rules are there to guide, not to imprison," Dumbledore replied, smiling serenely. "Curiosity is an integral part of youth. We must provide boundaries for safety... but also leave enough room for adventure."
"But how can you be sure," Dracula asked, voice low and laced with skepticism, "that those naughty boys of yours won't find a way into the depths of the Forbidden Forest?"
Dumbledore's lips twitched into a knowing smile. The silver in his beard shimmered as he tilted his head slightly. "Don't worry," he replied, his voice carrying that familiar, infuriating calm. "The most dangerous areas of the Forbidden Forest are equipped with powerful protective enchantments. Little wizards cannot pass through, no matter how determined they might be."
He gave an almost conspiratorial wink. "And should one of them somehow venture beyond those boundaries… well, I would have allowed it personally."
Dumbledore chuckled but said nothing.
After hearing the second half of Dumbledore's words, Dracula couldn't help but curl his lips in mild disdain. With an air of disinterest, he popped a blood-flavored lollipop into his mouth, the coppery sweetness doing little to mask his irritation.
He had almost expected this. In fact, he was certain that Harry Potter and his little band of friends were bound to suffer again—
When the time was right, the old headmaster would undoubtedly loosen the protective enchantments around the Forbidden Forest, just enough for the so-called Chosen One to wander into the more dangerous depths. All part of his grand plan to build courage, creativity, and resilience in the boy, testing his character with every perilous encounter.
And it was precisely this kind of calculated, long-term manipulation that Dracula found unbearably dull.
He let out a soft sigh, then patted the basilisk's scaly head, the creature responding with a low, rumbling hiss of contentment.
"So," he said, eyes meeting Dumbledore's, "if not the Forbidden Forest... then where?"