Chapter 151: Water Snake Hatches
After dinner.
Accompanied by the headmaster, Melvin headed to the girls’ bathroom, preparing to enter the Chamber of Secrets to deal with that basilisk, the founder’s heirloom.
The copper faucet of the bathroom sink, a Muggle creation from when the school renovated the pipes two centuries ago, had a polished surface. Thanks to regular cleaning and magical protection, there were no oxidation marks on it, only slightly stained with some water spots, and the snake-shaped carving on the handle was clearly visible.
A few drops of potion combined with memory, after a hissing sound, the faucet began to spin rapidly, releasing a soft white glow.
In the white light, a pitch-black pipe opening emerged, emitting the characteristic fermented smell of a sealed pipe, slightly pungent.
Melvin dispelled the memory cloud: “According to my investigation, the original chamber entrance wasn’t here. During the school’s pipe renovation in the 18th century, a student named Corvinus Gaunt participated, transforming the chamber entrance into its current form.”
Dumbledore’s face was full of curiosity, but he didn’t ask Melvin. After casting waterproof and moisture-proof magic, he leaned close to the pipe to sniff, then added a bubble-head charm to block the smell, and dove headfirst into the damp, slippery pipe.
A cluster of bright blue flames lit up inside the pipe, drifting with the internal airflow, closely following behind the two wizards.
After a winding slide, they finally landed on the stone platform before the tunnel. The blue flames drifted out, splitting into four or five, the soft firelight spreading, illuminating the stone walls and dispelling the cold and eerie atmosphere.
Melvin looked down at the floor, where footprints of various sizes were scattered messily, all left by Lockhart leading the drama club members. They had probably lingered here for a few minutes, with some footprints even on the wall, appearing to be from second- or third-year students.
“Hogwarts… always has surprises waiting for later generations to discover.” The old man’s emotional voice echoed in the stone chamber.
Melvin turned his head and saw Dumbledore standing by the wall, curiously examining the surroundings. His bright blue eyes reflected the firelight, even seeming eager to try, not like a hundred-year-old headmaster, but like a second-year student.
If he weren’t there, Melvin suspected the headmaster would also leave footprints on the wall.
Melvin shook his head and continued forward: “Combining school history records and legendary stories, this is the chamber that Slytherin built privately after falling out and arguing with Gryffindor, without telling the other three founders. Shortly after completion, Slytherin left.”
“In the centuries after Slytherin’s death, successive headmasters joined many historians to investigate many times. But they found no clues. Regarding the method to open the chamber, Slytherin only told his blood relative descendants, the wizards of the Gaunt family.”
Dumbledore also knew these records and slowly said, “It’s said that Slytherin left a monster in the chamber, expecting the heir to open it at the right time and use the monster to purge the school of Muggle-born students.”
In the stone-lined tunnel, the soft blue firelight illuminated the passage. Temperature changes drove air convection, and the echoing footsteps made the enclosed space lively.
Melvin controlled the blue flames to lead the way ahead, passing through the winding tunnel with the headmaster: “In fact, over the past nine hundred years, the basilisk has been in long-term dormancy and hasn’t actively harmed any students. Moaning Myrtle’s incident was more like an accident. The culprit was Voldemort, who used Parseltongue to control the basilisk.”
Dumbledore nodded slightly.
Soon they reached the tunnel end, where a thick stone wall blocked the path. Two carved vipers intertwined, their necks arched, emeralds inlaid in their eye positions glowing faintly. In the center was a straight crack, indicating it was a double door that opened left and right.
“I’ve always had a question.” Melvin played the recorded Parseltongue with potion again, turning back to ask the headmaster, “How does the historical community define Slytherin? He was paranoid and irritable, adhered to pure-blood supremacy, indulged in dark magic, bred a basilisk… Is he a dark wizard?”
The stone door opened with a response, revealing the true face of the chamber.
This was Slytherin’s chamber, dim and cold. Stone pillars on both sides had python stone carvings coiled around them, baring sharp poisoned fangs, flicking forked tongues, with scales clearly visible. There were no torches, only fluorescent green cloudy vapor flickering on the dome, eerie and sinister yet exuding a sense of grandeur, like a hall.
In the distance was Slytherin’s statue, his face not handsome, aged and bald, even somewhat ugly, standing there with a dignified posture.
Dumbledore stood at the chamber entrance, not responding for a moment, just gazing at the distant statue from afar, then looking at the crushed stones on the floor—remnants from the basilisk’s battle with the little wizards. The scene was somewhat messy.
“Those who use dark magic to pursue personal power and wealth, to satisfy personal desires, are dark wizards. Those lacking empathy, disregarding others’ lives and dignity, slaughtering the innocent, are dark wizards…”
Only after stepping into the chamber did he conclude, speaking softly: “None of this has anything to do with Mr. Slytherin.”
The headmaster’s slightly hesitant words echoed in the chamber, Slytherin’s statue standing at the deepest part of the chamber, as if gazing across a thousand years at this headmaster.
The Parseltongue voice sounded again.
“This means: Speak to me, Slytherin, greatest of the four giants.”
Melvin turned back to explain to the headmaster, adding at the end, “Considering this is the passphrase set by Slytherin himself, I think he might be a narcissist.”
The statue’s mouth of giant stone opened with a dull sound. Far from the firelight, the cloudy vapor’s green glow dim, the statue shrouded in shadow, only the mouth opening visible, with a vague giant snake outline emerging, slithering along the statue to the front.
Yellowish vertical pupils lit up, larger than lanterns, wild with a hint of confusion. Purely visually, the scene had great spectacle value.
But in another dimension, more concealed magic enveloped them—the vast magic power of a nine-hundred-year 5X-class dangerous creature, the death- and petrification-bringing gaze even more terrifying than venom, deadly on contact.
Melvin set up protection only in front of himself, carefully observing the legendary wizard beside him.
He didn’t see exactly what the headmaster did, but the overwhelming magic was silently annihilated by another vast, powerful magic just before reaching them, like snow melting into warm water, neutralising without a ripple.
“I noticed its eyelids are very thick. Did you adjust them with transfiguration?”
Dumbledore said this with a very calm expression, as if silently blocking the petrifying magic was a trivial act, showcasing the mystery and power of a legendary wizard.
He didn’t know if it was an act or if he was really that skilled.
Melvin showed no psychological reaction, also pretending calm: “The basilisk can’t control its life-taking magic, which relies on its gaze to kill, but with a physical barrier blocking eye contact, it can only cause petrification. This ensures student safety, like Muggle contact lenses.”
Dumbledore nodded slightly, continuing to observe.
The basilisk let out dissatisfied hisses, annoyed at these two who didn’t speak Parseltongue. It had been hit with too many stupefys during the day, and with winter now, the hibernation instinct of snakes made it very sleepy.
If not for sleeping eight hundred years before and fifty years after last waking, it would want to keep sleeping.
Melvin ignored the basilisk’s noise, not arguing with an animal that couldn’t speak human language. He pulled out several acromantulas from his pocket and tossed them casually to the basilisk.
The acromantulas expanded upon leaving the undetectable extension charm space, landing with a dull thud.
The basilisk’s yellowish gaze brightened, about to lean in for the delicacy, but noticed the spiders’ color was off and raised its head with dissatisfied hissing.
Melvin didn’t speak Parseltongue, but he understood. He waved to produce two handfuls of hot flames, perfunctorily roasting the spiders until the scent of cooked protein emerged, then withdrew the flames.
The basilisk happily devoured them.
Dumbledore watched the basilisk swallow the spiders without chewing, silent for a long time before saying: “Acromantulas… Does Hagrid know about this?”
“He doesn’t yet, and even Aragog might not have noticed.”
Melvin said calmly, “The acromantula population reproduces too fast. Even centaur and unicorn tribes can’t stand it, and there’s not enough food for the spider population. Every winter, a batch starves. I caught a few while they were hibernating, which helps lighten their burden.”
“…”
Dumbledore’s gaze was somewhat complex.
Melvin smiled softly: “Books say basilisks are acromantulas’ natural enemies because their eight eyes can’t close, easily meeting the basilisk’s gaze. Actually, there’s another reason: basilisks find them especially delicious.”
Hearing this, Dumbledore also smiled: “What do you plan to do with the basilisk?”
“I plan to keep it.”
“Why?” Dumbledore didn’t seem surprised.
“See that scale on its head?” Melvin pointed. The basilisk was eating dinner with its head down, exposing the top where a slightly lighter scale hid a round milky-white snake egg. “Horned serpent egg. I need the basilisk’s magic power to hatch it.”
Dumbledore followed his gaze, curiosity in his eyes: “That’s just a secondary reason, right?”
“Yes, I don’t think the basilisk should be killed or sent away.”
Melvin couldn’t pinpoint when or why this idea formed, perhaps influenced by the horned serpent: “The basilisk has lived here nearly a millennium, longer than the castle’s teachers and students. It hasn’t actively harmed any students. Slytherin’s purpose in leaving it can’t be verified, but it surely wasn’t to purge anyone.”
“What do you plan to do?”
“Not sure yet. Preliminary plan is to seal the chamber entrance completely. Once Harry wakes, use Parseltongue to put the basilisk back to sleep.”
Dumbledore pondered briefly and shook his head slightly: “I can’t approve this plan. As long as the chamber exists and the basilisk remains, there’s risk of discovery and exploitation. If someone manipulates it again, even without Parseltongue, just luring it out would be fatal danger to others.”
Melvin was speechless for a moment.
The old headmaster was right. The basilisk was like an easily ignited explosive bomb—eye contact alone caused casualties. Even without intent to harm students, its presence in the school was a danger source.
Melvin looked at the basilisk ahead. It had eaten 7 acromantulas, its snake body bloated and distended, moving sluggishly, completely unlike its fierce ferocity against students that morning.
“Relocate it to the depths of the Forbidden Forest?”
“The centaur elders would curse me.”
“To the African rainforest?”
“That would probably violate 470 International Confederation of Wizards laws.”
“This won’t work, that won’t work…” Melvin spread his hands. “No choice then, kill it.”
Dumbledore glanced at him, ignoring the complaint: “I have a friend very experienced in handling such dangerous creatures. He can make a habitat box to hide the basilisk, in a place only the headmaster knows.”
“Mr. Scamander?”
“Yes, he’s always enthusiastic about these matters.”
Dumbledore said unhurriedly, “Until then, looking after the basilisk is your job.”
“No problem.”
Melvin nodded in agreement. “I need to monitor the horned serpent’s hatching anyway.”
The reclining basilisk ahead hissed.
The two wizards looked up to see bright glow entering their eyes—not the yellowish snake pupils, but frost-white moonlight glow.
In the flowing glow, scales trembled, the oval snake egg vibrated, a crack spreading along it like wet paper tearing, almost silently.
The glow receded. The basilisk approached them, its head scale opening to reveal the deflated eggshell inside—nutrients absorbed, leaving a soggy young snake.
Melvin leaned in to examine: pearl-white with a hint of flesh pink, scales not yet formed like mesh patterns, still flowing with faint moonlight.
A small horn on the forehead, unobtrusive.
Glossy black eyes like obsidian.
The freshly hatched young snake, unsure if it could see clearly, stared blankly at Melvin, appearing very dazed, its blue-purple tongue flicking, constantly swaying.
Melvin couldn’t help smiling, extending his index finger to touch the affectionate young snake.
The young snake, unable to distinguish fingers, bit down. No teeth had emerged, no bite mark, let alone venom—harmless.
Melvin flicked it lightly with his finger. The water snake hatchling flipped over, realizing it was wrong, then affectionately rubbed his fingertip with its head.
His other fingers naturally hooked the snake body. The young snake coiled around instinctively, using the finger as a climbing aid, wrapping Melvin’s hand, head nestling and rubbing the soft flesh at the base of his thumb, not repelled at all.
Melvin met its gaze, chuckling softly: “Little one, from now on, you’re Yurm Gaunt.”
The young snake, oblivious, flicked its tail tip lightly.
“Why that name?” Dumbledore beside him suddenly asked.
Melvin played with the young snake, explaining softly: “It was nurtured by snakewood, which turned from Slytherin’s wand, so it counts as Slytherin’s descendant, hence the Gaunt surname.”
Dumbledore watched the human-snake interaction, reminded of Muggle mythology stories.
Yurm Gaunt, also known as Jörmungandr.
World serpent, snake of the world.
