Chapter 164. The Devil's Snare's Growth
Dumbledore stepped to the mouth of the chute; his figure blurred and vanished into the darkness.
Adrian Wesson glanced around at everyone, then followed close behind.
The shaft was like a slide that hadn't been cleaned in years. Wesson hurtled down at speed; the wind roared past his ears with a clammy, damp chill that set one's nerves on edge.
Along the way, he noticed many other branches, criss-crossing in all directions.
Of course—through this maze of pipes, the Basilisk could move wherever it pleased. No wonder Moaning Myrtle and the Chinese Chomping Cabbage hadn't been able to spot it.
He didn't know how long it was before his speed slowed—there was the exit.
With a neat twist mid-air, Wesson landed steadily on a slick flagstone, crisp and clean in one motion.
He brushed off his robes and looked up to see Dumbledore standing not far away, gazing into the dim corridor ahead; there was mud on his clothes.
Harry and Professor McGonagall soon arrived at the bottom as well.
"Lumos!"
Dumbledore swept the Elder Wand; a gentle white light rose from its tip, floating like a lantern in mid-air and illuminating the damp, eerie passage ahead.
It was a broad tunnel. Inky green moss coated the wet stone walls; drops hung from the ceiling and pattered onto the floor—clearly, no one had maintained this place for ages.
What drew the eye were the long dragging marks on the ground, as if some behemoth had crawled here—very fresh impressions, evidently left by the Basilisk not long ago.
"Stay close to me," Dumbledore's voice echoed along the tunnel.
They followed him onwards. Soon, a gigantic object lay in the middle of the way.
"What is that…?" Professor McGonagall halted. "It looks like the skin of some creature."
Indeed—before them was a shed snakeskin left by the Basilisk, a slick green that made one's skin crawl.
Wesson stepped forward and ran a hand over it; snakeskins this large were rare.
Perhaps… it could go into a few potion recipes.
"A great serpent," Wesson nodded. "The answer is right before us. The monster hidden in the Chamber is a Basilisk."
"Basilisk?"
Harry repeated the unfamiliar name—this was the first time he'd heard it.
"A magical creature—more dangerous than a dragon by some margin. Any living thing that meets its eyes directly dies on the spot," Wesson explained.
At his words, Harry shivered and thought back to those strange voices he'd heard before.
No wonder he alone could hear it—because the source was a great serpent; no one else could understand.
"I think we need a helper," Dumbledore said.
No sooner had he spoken than a shrill cry rang out of nowhere.
A thread of flame appeared in the gloom; it burst, and a scarlet figure materialised in the air.
Who else could it be but Dumbledore's phoenix, Fawkes?
Wesson nodded inwardly. A Basilisk's petrification was basically ineffective against a phoenix.
"I'll trouble you, then." Dumbledore stroked Fawkes's head. Fawkes immediately flew to the front of the group.
Wesson, meanwhile, kept the Devil's Snare on him on constant alert.
Devil's Snare had no eyes, and yet it could accurately distinguish the things around it; to this day, Wesson still hadn't worked out how it managed that.
Right now, though, it was his best combatant against the Basilisk—serpents did not breathe fire.
Led by Fawkes, they took several turns.
"I never knew there was a place like this beneath Hogwarts," Professor McGonagall couldn't help but murmur.
"That is quite normal," said Dumbledore. "Even I cannot plumb all of Hogwarts's secrets."
Just then, a stone wall loomed before them.
Two intertwined serpents were carved upon it, each with eye sockets set with gleaming emeralds.
"Harry," said Wesson.
In truth, Harry already knew what he ought to do. He cleared his throat and produced a sound like a snake.
"Open—"
He had begun to find the knack of speaking Parseltongue.
The two serpents uncoiled from their twined posture; the door split apart, revealing a vast underground hall.
It was a space broader and longer still, with many colossal pillars carved with serpents rising to the ceiling—an awe-inspiring sight.
Yet rather than awe, Wesson felt a greater vigilance within, for he knew the Basilisk might lash out from some corner at any moment.
Alert, they kept watch on their surroundings and continued after Fawkes.
By the light of Dumbledore's spell, a gigantic statue came into view before them.
Harry stared, stunned. It was a very, very old face, almost simian, with sparse whiskers trailing in thin strands down to the hem of the wizard's robes.
To be honest, it was not a handsome fellow—one might even call it ugly.
And yet, somehow, Harry could sense that this had been an exceedingly powerful wizard.
As for whose statue it was—there was no need to say.
"Salazar Slytherin," Wesson murmured, eyes fixed on the carving. "An awe-inspiring figure."
"I think… there is no Basilisk here," Professor McGonagall looked behind the statue. There was no path beyond.
Let alone a Basilisk—they hadn't seen a single living thing.
Of course, the Basilisk had certainly been active here once; the trails on the floor said as much.
"No need to rush," Wesson drew Harry to the very front, then turned and said, "To bring the Basilisk out, we still need a password—naturally, in the language of snakes. Now, except for Fawkes, everyone had better close their eyes."
Then he patted Harry's shoulder and said, "The password is—'Speak to me, Slytherin—the greatest of the four founders of Hogwarts.'"
Silently, Dumbledore stepped forward and took the Elder Wand in his hand.
He had an indistinct feeling that everything seemed to be slipping beyond his control.
The Chamber, the Basilisk, Harry…
Everything was in a muddle.
Harry took a nervous step to the front, ready to speak the password Wesson had given him.
"Oh, wait," Wesson paused. "Allow me to make some preparations first."
All eyes swung to Wesson at once.
Wesson smiled slightly; his robes billowed though there was no wind. Countless black-green tendrils surged from beneath his hem as if alive—the Devil's Snare vines shot forth and spread at astonishing speed, and in a blink they wove themselves into a sky-blotting net that filled nearly half the Chamber.
This was the Devil's Snare's year of quiet growth bearing fruit at last!
Its toughness hadn't changed—but in sheer quantity, it was worlds apart from last term.
Everyone stared, dumbfounded, at the outrageous sight; even Dumbledore's expression shifted a little.
Wesson nodded, satisfied. "All right, Harry—you may begin."
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