The office glowed with the silver-blue light of ancient magic.
Professor McGonagall stood stiffly by the hearth, tartan robe drawn close.
Snape was a dark silhouette near the wall, eyes glittering like black glass.
Sprout had mud on her sleeves, breathless from the run.
Flitwick, barely reaching the height of the chair's arm, clutched his wand like a conductor ready to strike a single, vital note.
Before them sat the three students — Shya Gill, Talora Livanthos, and Cassian Black — pale but resolute in the circle of lamplight. The open tome of ancient creatures lay between them, its parchment breathing faint tendrils of dust.
Dumbledore stood behind his desk, hands folded on the wood. "Let us hear it once more," he said softly. "From the beginning. For the benefit of my colleagues."
Shya began. Her voice was steady, each word sharp as flint: the spiders, Myrtle, the pipes.
Talora filled in the rest — her trembling hands sketching the routes the spiders had taken, the strange voices in the walls, the puzzle pieces that led them to the Basilisk hypothesis.
Cassian finished it with the grim certainty of the Black family's lore — the myth of the serpent king and its gaze that kills.
When silence fell, Dumbledore inclined his head.
McGonagall's face had gone white. "You're suggesting," she said slowly, "that the creature Slytherin left behind—still lives?"
"Not suggesting," Shya said. "Hypothesizing. But yes. Everything points to it."
Flitwick's eyes shone with horror and awe. "A Basilisk that ancient would be… unspeakably powerful. Centuries beyond its natural span. It shouldn't even be alive."
"It shouldn't," Dumbledore agreed. "Yet we stand upon a convergence few understand."
He gestured, and a map unfurled across his desk — an old parchment stitched with golden threads that pulsed faintly with life.
"The Founders built Hogwarts where seven leylines meet. Cosmic rivers — life and death intertwined. The school thrives on that current. If a creature sleeps beneath us, it may have drawn upon that same power. Sustenance, or perhaps a tether."
A silence rippled through the room. Even Snape's expression flickered from disdain to unease.
McGonagall crossed herself instinctively. "Dear Merlin…"
Dumbledore looked up, the candlelight catching the half-moon glint of his glasses. "You have done something extraordinary," he said to the students. "Fifty points each to Ravenclaw, and fifty each to Slytherin — for bravery, intellect, and restraint."
Cassian said nothing, but his shoulders straightened. Talora looked dazed. Shya, though, only frowned faintly. "Points won't help if someone dies."
"That is precisely why we are here," Dumbledore said, his tone quiet but heavy with power. "Miss Livanthos — tell them your theory."
Talora swallowed hard and recounted Myrtle's account of her death — the hissing voice, the yellow eyes, the pipes beneath the second-floor bathroom. "I think that's where the Chamber opens," she finished softly. "But only a Parseltongue could… open it."
Snape's voice cut through the air like a blade. "And we have only one known Parseltongue in this castle."
McGonagall's eyes flashed. "Severus—"
Dumbledore raised a hand, silencing them both. "Known," he said simply. "Only one known. We do not make conclusions on partial truths."
Flitwick piped up anxiously, "We should act regardless! Wards — layers of them. The second-floor bathroom should scream blue fire if it so much as hums with magic."
Sprout nodded briskly. "And I'll send word to Hagrid. Roosters — as many as he can gather by morning. Every corridor, every landing. They'll help keep the peace and perhaps… the fear at bay."
Snape folded his arms, reluctant but thoughtful. "A beast that feeds on ley energy cannot be killed by common means. But perhaps we can trap it long enough to strike."
Dumbledore met each of their eyes in turn. "Then it is settled. As of tonight, we raise the Ancient Protections. They have slept for eight hundred years — but they will wake again."
He drew his wand and whispered a word that none of the students understood. The air trembled. Lines of light burst through the floor, crawling up the stone like veins of molten gold. The entire office thrummed — a low, rhythmic heartbeat.
Flitwick whispered, awed, "The castle… it's answering."
"These wards," Dumbledore said softly, "will not let a student die within Hogwarts' walls. So long as the heart of the castle endures."
No one dared ask how he knew.
When the meeting finally ended, the air in the corridors felt changed — thicker, humming, alive. The Headmaster's dismissal was a silent command, and the group filed out past the stone gargoyle.
In the antechamber, the party split naturally along house lines.
Professor Snape's voice was a low murmur in the sudden quiet. "Black. With me." He did not wait for a reply, his dark form already moving toward the staircase that descended into the dungeons. Cassian fell into step behind him, the warmth of the office giving way to the castle's deepening chill.
Roman was waiting just outside, his posture rigid with anticipation. He fell in silently beside Cassian, his eyes asking a dozen questions that would have to wait.
Snape led them in silence, his presence a prowling shadow. The new wards thrummed around them, a sensation like walking through a web of invisible, vibrating strings. As they reached a particularly dark junction, he stopped, turning to face them. His black eyes gleamed in the torchlight.
"The castle's defenses are awake," he said, his voice barely carrying. "Do not mistake this for safety. Ancient magic is a shield, not a coddling blanket. It will not stop you from making a fatal error in judgment." His gaze lingered on each of them—Cassian and Roman. "The Slytherin dormitories are the safest place for you now. Do not stray. Is that understood?"
Cassian met his gaze steadily. "Perfectly, sir."
Snape gave a curt nod. "Then go." He watched, a silent sentinel, as they approached the stone wall that concealed the common room entrance. Only when the password was spoken and the wall had slid shut behind them did he melt back into the shadows of the dungeon.
***
Meanwhile, Professor Flitwick, barely reaching Talora's shoulder, guided her and Shya through the brightly lit, moving staircases toward Ravenclaw Tower. His wand traced delicate patterns in the air, and Talora could see the runes on the walls flicker in response, glowing faintly as the wards rippled past them like gentle, ethereal tides.
"You've done a remarkably brave thing, both of you," Flitwick chirped, his tone a blend of awe and anxiety. "But remember, bravery and wisdom must hold hands, yes? The castle is protective now, but old magic doesn't always sleep peacefully. It can be… particular."
Shya, walking slightly ahead, didn't turn but offered a quiet, "We'll be careful, Professor."
Talora nodded in agreement, her senses overwhelmed by the new, thrumming life of the castle. "It feels… alive."
Flitwick smiled a sad, knowing smile. "It always was, my dear. We just forget to listen." He halted them before the enchanted knocker of Ravenclaw Tower. "Straight to your dormitory. The wards will be strongest where the heart of your house resides."