JohnnyZ
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[Castling] Chapter 35
🕑 Added 2024-12-25 23:50:28 +0000 UTCWe didn’t get a chance to talk properly. The common room filled up again as students returned, and it got too noisy, so we slipped out and hid behind our oak tree by the lake.
“I started hearing the voice about two weeks ago,” Harry confessed, looking guilty as sin.
“So, you kept it quiet for two weeks while risking everyone else’s lives?” I said, raising an eyebrow. “Bravo, Harry. Really top work. Why am I not surprised?”
“No, Ron!” Harry snapped, his face flushing. “The snake didn’t want to hurt anyone. It was just hissing, ‘Master... I can feel the master... soon... soon I’ll find you... I’m coming for you.’”
I snorted. “Right. And that’s all it said? Nothing else?”
“No,” Harry said, shaking his head. “It just kept following me. Slithering along behind the walls wherever I went in the corridors. I thought if I ignored it, maybe it’d leave me alone and go back to sleep. But then it started whispering about being hungry… needing food. And then, well, the thing with the cat happened…”
“And your brilliant solution was to go straight to the starving snake?” I scoffed. “You’ve got a death wish, Potter.”
“Don’t take the mickey,” Harry muttered, looking embarrassed. “I know it wasn’t the best idea, but it worked, didn’t it? You can’t imagine how magnificent she is! Massive! Eyes like this—” He gestured dramatically.
“Hang on, why didn’t you get petrified?” I asked, a sudden thought popping into my head. I couldn’t help wondering about basilisk venom and Horcruxes. Trust Harry’s reckless idiocy to work in our favor.
“She’s got this sort of membrane over her eyes,” Harry explained, sounding far too pleased with himself. “She only pulls it back when she’s bathing or intentionally trying to petrify something. But she hardly ever uses it—only in self-defense or on command. And she doesn’t eat petrified animals. She hunts without venom, even.”
“So why’d the cat get petrified, then?” I asked.
“Zara didn’t touch her!” Harry said indignantly. “She told me there’s a vent leading from the Forbidden Forest into her catacombs—for ventilation. It’s got enchantments to lure small prey in—rabbits, voles, other snakes, rats—so she can hunt. But it’s also got a barrier to stop familiars from sneaking through, something like paralyzing charms. Mrs. Norris must’ve sensed the basilisk and was keeping watch. She’s always snooping around and reporting back to Filch.”
“And what about people?” I asked, feeling a chill creep up my spine. It made a grim sort of sense—Mrs. Norris being the first to get petrified when Ginny tracked Zara down.
“The vent’s too small for people to fit through,” Harry said quickly. “And it’s enchanted so wizards and magical creatures won’t notice it. Ron, do you think they’ll be able to save Mrs. Norris?”
“They’ll save her,” I said with a shrug, leaning back against the tree and chewing on a blade of grass. “The mandrakes are ready now.”
“So… do you think they’ll figure out Zara, then?” Harry asked nervously.
“Why would they?” I said with a skeptical squint. “They didn’t last time, did they? Basilisks have been considered extinct for a thousand years, and there are loads of dark curses with similar petrifying effects. Back when Myrtle died, they blamed Hagrid’s pet.”
“You’re joking?” Harry gasped.
“Nope. He spent two months in Azkaban while they investigated,” I said. “He was only thirteen at the time. If Dumbledore hadn’t vouched for him, it’d have ended badly. Even so, he was lucky Myrtle was Muggle-born. If she’d been pure-blood, they’d have executed him outright. As it was, they decided he was too young to blame entirely, so they let him off with a lifetime ban on magic and a job as the groundskeeper, thanks to Dumbledore’s intervention.”
“That’s awful… Do they really lock kids up in Azkaban?” Harry asked in a hushed voice.
“Not wizarding kids, no. But Hagrid’s half-giant,” I said. “The magical community treats him as a beast, not a person. He’s got no rights. As long as he keeps his head down, they act like he doesn’t exist. But give them a reason, and he’d be back in Azkaban faster than you could blink. Giants are treated like creatures—same as Veela and werewolves.”
“But Professor Flitwick’s part goblin,” Harry said uncertainly.
“Goblins are different,” I explained. “They’re a race of magical beings—fierce and proud. When wizards tried to oppress them, the goblins fought back with a vengeance. There were bloody uprisings, then a full-scale war. They wiped the floor with us using their own magic and brute force. In the end, someone bright enough decided to sign a treaty, splitting up power. That’s why wizards begrudgingly respect goblins. Honestly, Harry, weren’t you paying attention in Binns’ class?”
Harry waved me off impatiently. “Never mind the goblins. What about Hagrid?”
“Forget Hagrid for now. What about Zara?” I said, smirking. “You’re dodging the real story.”
Harry sighed. “Fine. Through the wall, I promised her food to get her to talk.”
“And then you showed up in person,” I said, unable to hold back a laugh. I burst out properly when I saw his scowl.
“Prat,” Harry muttered, turning away. But he couldn’t stay cross for long. “Ron, she said she senses part of her master’s magic in me. Without it, she can’t go back to sleep. There’s some sort of charm to keep her young and dormant, but it needs reactivating. She promised to sleep again if we feed her first. But here’s the thing, Ron—” Harry hesitated. “She needs two pigs. Or a ram. Where on earth are we supposed to find those at Hogwarts?”
“Not a problem,” I replied, pondering the options. “We’ll rope the twins in. Only thing is, I don’t have any Galleons—just Muggle money.”
“I’ve got some!” Harry grinned, looking far too pleased with himself.
“Right, but why’s she so hungry if she’s been hunting?” I asked as we made our way back to the castle.
“She hasn’t eaten properly in years,” Harry explained, clearly on the defensive. “Rats and rabbits aren’t enough for her. She needs a proper meal to get her strength up before she goes back to sleep—something to last her a good while.”
“Fair enough,” I shrugged. “But I’ll need you to ask her for some venom. Think she’d give it up?”
“We’ll ask,” Harry said easily, grinning like he’d just won the House Cup. He was absolutely chuffed with himself—new adventure, pet basilisk, the whole nine yards. Honestly, the bloke’s got no sense of self-preservation, and don’t even get me started on the hero complex. Now he’s not just the Boy Who Lived; he’s the heir of Slytherin, or close enough. Absolutely mental.
The operation kicked off by the end of the week. The twins didn’t let us down, though we had to get creative.
“Fred, George, got a plan,” I said, pulling them aside. “Need your help.”
They shared a look, smirking. “Go on, then. If it’s trouble, we’re in.”
“Here’s the idea,” I began. “We get two pigs in Hogsmeade. Quietly. Harry and I’ll release them in the girls’ showers near Herbology. Pigs go mental, girls run screaming out half-dressed, and then—bam! Colin with his camera. Filtch’ll lose it chasing them down. Serves him right; ever since Mrs. Norris got restored, he’s been insufferable.”
The twins howled with laughter, but it wasn’t like I’d invented the idea. Older students had been pranking each other in the showers for years. Snakes, mice, even magical concoctions to attract cats—nothing new there.
“Brother George,” Fred declared, feigning a tearful sniff, “our little Ronniekins is all grown up.”
“Indeed, Brother Fred,” George replied, clapping me on the shoulder. “We thought you’d turned out like Percy—no fun at all.”
“Alright, pay up, Ron,” Fred said once they were done taking the piss out of me. “Six Galleons for the pigs, three for an enchanted bag.”
“George,” I added, trying to sound casual, “could you grab me four neutral crystal vials while you’re at it? Five ounces each, with white stone stoppers.”
“What for?” George asked, narrowing his eyes.
“Gifts,” I lied smoothly. “End-of-term stuff. Can’t exactly nip out of school myself.”
He seemed satisfied, though the fancy vials weren’t cheap. I winced, handing over the coins, but at least I didn’t have to fleece Harry for the money.
After exams, we made our move. Most of the students had cleared out for the afternoon, so Harry and I slipped down to the Chamber of Secrets.
Harry checked that Myrtle wasn’t in her toilet before opening the passage, and down we went. To this day, I don’t know what possessed me to go along with it. Maybe I figured the basilisk wouldn’t attack since Harry had that bit of Voldemort’s soul in him. If she thought he was her master, she’d obey. Still, I had to wonder—if I got my hands on the diadem Horcrux, would she listen to me too? Pity there weren’t any books in Hogwarts about this sort of thing.
The basilisk was massive—way bigger than I’d imagined. I’d pictured something as big as the Hogwarts Express, but she wasn’t quite there. Still, at least fifteen meters long and twice the girth of an anaconda.
When she spoke to Harry, I could barely hear it—a faint, hissing whisper, like air escaping a tire. But when Harry answered, the sound was louder, sharper. It hit me then—they weren’t just speaking out loud. It was more... mental, like they were in each other’s heads. Did Harry even realise?
She gave up the venom easily enough. Apparently, she didn’t need it for hunting—just for defence. Salazar Slytherin had even left a contraption for collecting it: a massive stone bowl with a slab in the middle, like a tombstone. The snake bit down on it, and the venom dripped into the basin.
The amount was staggering—nearly a litre of thick, green venom. Way more than I’d expected. Safe to say, the operation was a success.
The basin had a stone channel underneath, which let the venom flow neatly into a container—but only when you placed the flask properly on the platform. It was all very precise, thank Merlin, because even though I’d brought my dragon-hide gloves, they wouldn’t have helped much if even a single drop splashed. One wobble, and I’d be done for.
Turns out, I’d wasted my money on those flasks—there were loads already here, clearly meant for venom collection. We ended up with five and a bit flasks, each holding five ounces.
After that, Zara had her meal. It was...mesmerising to watch, though Harry went white as a sheet, and I felt a bit queasy myself when the pigs started squealing like mad. The moment we let them out of the bag, they expanded to full size and woke up properly. Looked like Fred decided to make Filch’s life extra hard and got wild, hairy black hogs—proper loud and quick on their feet. Harry and I scrambled onto a statue while Zara elegantly snapped them up, two gulps each. I reckon she could’ve fit a couple more in, easy.
While Harry was settling her down to sleep again, I poked around the Chamber looking for shed skin. All I found was a scrappy bit about a metre long, snagged on some jagged stone where she’d slithered past.
The skin itself was a surprise. I’d thought it’d be tough like dragon hide, but it was thin—almost like parchment—except stretchy, a bit like nylon. I rolled it up, and it ended up no thicker than a towel. There wasn’t any more to be found, though. Tom must’ve nicked the rest ages ago, and the bit near the exit was so old it crumbled at a touch. I left it alone.
I also found a broken tooth—not a fang, mind you, but still sharp enough to do the job. Figured it’d work just as well as Gryffindor’s sword if the situation called for it. You never know—maybe just pouring venom on a Horcrux would do the trick, but stabbing it might be necessary. Best to have both options. I tucked it away carefully to avoid cutting myself.
In the end, I didn’t collect much in the way of trophies. What I did have, I stashed in my bag with the Undetectable Extension Charm.
At least the skin wasn’t radiating any dark magic. If it had been, I’ve no idea how I’d have smuggled it out. Even so, I wasn’t sure if it was actually worth taking. Maybe I was lugging it around for nothing.
The twins were easy to deal with. I told them Snape had caught me and confiscated the pigs, then given me detention cleaning cauldrons. They had a good laugh at my expense and said it was too early for me to try pulling stunts on the older girls. Then George winked and, lowering his voice, promised to teach me a few proper tricks when I was older.
As for Mrs. Norris, she was unpetrified in no time. There was a bit of half-hearted investigation into who might’ve cursed the cat, but no one really cared. Filch had plenty of enemies, and wizards aren’t exactly known for being kind, even to their own. A cat didn’t stand a chance. The whole thing blew over quickly, though Filch became even more insufferable, prowling the castle and nitpicking over every little thing.
Meanwhile, I had other priorities. About a week before we left for summer, I snuck into the Room of Requirement under Harry’s Invisibility Cloak. I was hunting for the diadem but came up empty-handed—even after returning a couple more times. Maybe it was charmed to avoid detection, or maybe the Room itself couldn’t guide me to it. Whatever the reason, it was frustrating.
Eventually, I roped Harry into coming along. He was gobsmacked by the sheer amount of rubbish in there, but we had a good rummage. I stayed close, counting turns off the main path while he explored. Along the way, I destroyed the Vanishing Cabinet, just in case.
And then, just like that, Harry stumbled on the diadem. He didn’t think much of it, plonked it on some random bust that already had a wig, and stuck the Horcrux on top. Then he wandered off, as if it were no big deal. Looks like Horcruxes are drawn to each other.
After dinner, I went back alone, checked the diadem with my magic, and didn’t sense anything too dodgy—just the neutral hum of an enchanted object. I picked it up, turned it over in my hands, but resisted the faint urge to try it on.
It hit me that Tom probably had a system with his Horcruxes. Some, like the diadem, were designed to influence people—to make them wear it obsessively or scribble in the diary without a second thought. Those were meant to act as beacons, giving the fragment of his soul a way to regain a body or take over someone’s. That’s probably why they weren’t heavily protected—because their job was to seek out a host. Like when Lucius slipped the diary into Ginny’s cauldron, following instructions from the Dark Lord himself.
The rest, though, were his backup plan—properly hidden and well-defended, like a paranoid maniac’s emergency supply. By then, he was full-on Voldemort, completely unhinged. But it’s all guesswork. I’ll never know the truth.
Anyway, I set the diadem on the floor and poured venom over it. Didn’t go overboard, but it was a shame to destroy something so beautiful. The venom hissed, the jewels darkened, and the delicate metalwork melted. A high, keening scream rang out—like that of a terrified woman—and black smoke billowed from the diadem before it cracked in two. And that’s how I destroyed my first Horcrux.
The cleanup was the worst bit. Venom had seeped into the floor, along with some nasty black goo, and I couldn’t just leave it. Someone else might stumble across it—like Trelawney in a drunken haze—and that’d be the end of them. No way I was taking that risk.
I had to carve out a chunk of the floor with magic and burn it in magical fire. Then I spent ages rinsing the diadem to dilute the venom before drying it off and tidying everything up. Finally, I used the Chamber of Secrets to get rid of the remains, chucking them into one of Zara’s tunnels and sealing it with rubble.
The last few days before the holidays were packed. We said goodbye to Hagrid, Harry had one last scuffle with Malfoy, and we hung out with Hermione in the library.
The train ride home was a laugh. In just a week, we’d be off to Romania, and Harry couldn’t shut up about it. He kept asking the same questions about Charlie and the dragons, and Hermione listened like it was all brand-new.
Dean got invited to stay with Seamus, and Neville was off to visit his uncle—the same nutter who once chucked him out of a window. Personally, I wouldn’t go near a bloke like that, but wizards...well, they’re wizards.
