The boy stared at me in stunned silence for a good five minutes, barely even breathing.

“It can’t be,” he finally managed to say. “Are you sure, Ron? Do you think that’s why Dobby didn’t want me to come back to school? Did he know I could… hurt the other students?” Harry’s words came in a rush, then he froze.

“So… does this mean I’m the Heir of Slytherin? Am I…?”

“Oi, slow down,” I interrupted before he could spiral into full-blown panic. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves or we’ll end up blaming Merlin next. We don’t even know if the monster’s awake. All we heard was the entrance opening, not the beast itself. Maybe it’s just the lair’s password activating in Parseltongue. Nothing bad’s happened yet. You’ve read Hogwarts: A History—the monster only acts on the Heir’s orders.” I added that last bit more to calm him down than because I believed it. His panic was getting to me. “You didn’t touch or read anything else in there, did you?”

“No, of course not!” Harry said quickly. “So what do we do now?” He still sounded unsure, but at least he wasn’t on the verge of losing it.

“First, we head to the library,” I said. “We’ll look up what kind of giant snake it could be. Best to know what we’re dealing with.”

“And when we find it?” Harry asked, curiosity sparking again. “Why are you so sure it’s huge?”

“Do you remember that pipe we ran past?” I asked. “The one on the right, near the exit? That wasn’t a pipe—it was a shed snakeskin.”

“No way,” Harry gasped. “But it was… it was at least twenty feet long!”

“Well, it’s not called a monster for nothing,” I pointed out. “And who knows, maybe it shed that skin ages ago—could be twice the size now. Come on, let’s grab some dinner and head to the library first thing in the morning.”

Neither of us was in much of a mood for conversation. After dinner, we went back to the empty common room and, without a word, worked on a couple of essays for homework. Then we went to bed early. Neither of us felt like discussing the unknown monster, but it was all I could think about. I slept terribly and woke up ridiculously early. So did Harry, by the looks of it.

“Ron, maybe we should wait for Hermione,” Harry suggested on the way to the library. “She’s better at finding things in books. She’d figure it out faster than us.”

“Oh sure,” I said sarcastically. “Let’s tell her about the monster so she can start jumping at every shadow.”

“Fair point,” Harry admitted after a moment’s thought.

“Besides,” I added, “what’s there to figure out? We’ll grab a couple of Bestiaries. Salazar lived a thousand years ago—modern books won’t cut it. Doubt Hogwarts has much on mythical creatures.”

I was right. The librarian, bleary-eyed and clearly annoyed at having visitors so early, handed over three ancient tomes that looked like they were as old as Slytherin himself. The creatures inside were absolutely vile—pure nightmare fuel. Plenty of snakes, all long extinct, of course.

There was the Spotted Winged Serpent, which spat acid five metres.

The “Breath of Death,” a ten-foot-long serpent that exhaled poison capable of dissolving flesh.

A Water Serpent that poisoned entire ponds before hunting.

And the Fire Wyrm, which not only spat venom that liquefied its prey but also left trails of fire just from moving across the ground.

All of them had been bred by wizards and later wiped out—probably because they started eating their creators.

“Er… Ron, I think I’ve found it,” Harry said, interrupting my reading as he held out a massive book. “Look—Basilisk. It kills with a single look. And remember how Myrtle said the last thing she saw was big yellow eyes? Sounds about right, doesn’t it?”

Bingo, Harry, I thought, eyeing the diagram of the creature—a huge snake with a crown-like horned crest on its triangular head, hatched from a chicken egg incubated by a toad.

“It says here spiders are terrified of it,” Harry pointed out, jabbing his finger at a paragraph. “And it obeys only the one who created it—or their descendants—who can speak Parseltongue. But I haven’t ordered it to do anything yet. That means the students are safe, doesn’t it?” He sounded almost hopeful.

“Not necessarily,” I said, dragging him back to reality. “We’ve no clue what instructions the original owner left in case the snake woke up. Last time, a girl was killed. What if it’s still set to target Muggle-borns? But that’s only if it’s actually awake,” I added quickly when Harry went pale. “Let’s keep an eye on the spiders. If they start scarpering, or you hear that voice again, we’ll go straight to Dumbledore.”

“But…” Harry started to protest.

“Harry, let’s be real. Say the snake is awake. Maybe it’ll slither around quietly in the dungeons. But we’ve no idea how the doors and passages to its lair are enchanted. We got in without hissing, and the entrance closed behind us. If the locks are all Parseltongue-based, what’s stopping the snake from hissing them open and leaving? Might not come straight to the Great Hall, sure, but what if someone else is poking about, exploring the castle? What about Filch, trying to cut through a shortcut? Anyway, if the spiders bolt and you start hearing voices, we go straight to the Headmaster. Agreed?”

“Fine,” Harry muttered, trailing after me, looking miserable.

“Oi, what’s with the long face?” I asked, catching up to him. “Worried they’ll expel you? You’re not at fault. The castle’s meant to be explored. We didn’t break any rules, so we’re not in trouble. The staff’ll call in specialists to deal with the snake. End of story.”

“It’s not that,” Harry grumbled. “It’s just… can you imagine what’ll happen at school? People already give me funny looks, wondering how I killed a powerful wizard as a baby. And if they find out I can talk to snakes? They’ll run for the hills. They’ll start calling me the Dark Lord, I just know it. You said yourself Parseltongue’s a rare gift. He’s the only other wizard who had it. Why do I have to be such a bloody freak, always in the middle of things?” He punched the wall in frustration.

"Don’t mope; there’s still a chance the snake’s long gone and croaked ages ago," I said, giving Harry a reassuring clap on the shoulder.

"Yeah, right, not with my luck," he muttered, though he did seem to cheer up a bit.

By the next evening, the castle was back to its usual hustle and bustle as the students returned. Two days of idleness later, the holidays ended, and we fell back into the familiar routine of school life.

Harry hadn’t heard anything odd since, nobody had been Petrified, and the castle was still crawling with spiders—not literally, though; it was winter, and most of them were hiding from the cold. The one in our dorm didn’t seem inclined to scarper, either. Even Dobby hadn’t made another appearance. Gradually, we let ourselves relax.

Enjoying the story? Show your support by reading it on the official site.

Gryffindor smashed it in the last two Quidditch matches, practically guaranteeing the House Cup, which put McGonagall in a cracking mood.

Snape, of course, still kept an eye on us, but nothing too over the top—more like he was just waiting for us to slip up. Judging by his expression, he wasn’t entirely convinced we weren’t up to no good, but he didn’t have proof. After the whole Chamber incident, we’d been keeping our heads down. Even Harry had started knuckling down with his studies. Hermione was in full-on drill sergeant mode—she’d whipped up a revision schedule for exams ages in advance. Even Neville got dragged into it. She worked him as hard as us, bless her, and the poor bloke didn’t have it in him to say no. She’d make a right terror of a teacher one day.

I barely had time to keep tabs on Harry myself, what with Flitwick piling on the coursework and me running interference for Luna every other day when her stuff got nicked. Then, in the spring, Mrs. Norris was Petrified.

It happened a couple of weeks before Easter hols. At first, the cat just went missing. Filch spent a solid week wandering the castle with bits of ham, calling for her like a madman. He even ignored Peeves’ antics, which had to be a record, and didn’t snap at a single student. But Mrs. Norris didn’t turn up.

Now, I wasn’t exactly Filch’s biggest fan, what with his knack for being an outright git, but the look on his face when he realised she wasn’t coming back—it was rough. We Gryffindors actually teamed up with the Hufflepuffs that weekend to help look for her. I considered using the Way to have a proper search, but honestly? I didn’t fancy running into the Basilisk. No way was I risking it for Filch’s cat.

The teachers offered their condolences and then just carried on, suggesting he get another cat. Even Dumbledore, after a polite word of concern, seemed ready to leave it at that. He and Snape had just stepped outside for some air when Filch cornered them, still clutching his scraps of ham.

Oddly enough, it was Snape who showed a bit of humanity. He suggested they try summoning the cat in case she was injured somewhere. Of course, he made it sound like he was doing everyone a huge favour, but still—he tried.

Anyway, Snape cast some charm that looked a derivative from Carpe Retractum, and after a few minutes, Mrs. Norris’ stiff, frozen body came flying in from the direction of the forest. I thought Filch was going to keel over then and there, the way he started wailing.

Dumbledore suddenly seemed interested. He cast a couple of spells on the cat, frowned, and whisked her and Filch off to the castle. Snape followed, tossing me one of his patented “I’m watching you” looks before stalking off dramatically.

By the time I turned back around, Harry had vanished. He skipped dinner, too. Hermione and I searched everywhere for him. We couldn’t risk using the Way, so it was a wild goose chase. Just when I was about to go get McGonagall involved, Harry turned up.

Hermione tore into him like a Howler, delivering a lecture that must’ve gone on for twenty minutes. Honestly, she’d lost some steam by the end—probably too relieved to stay properly angry. After she was sure he was alright, she stomped off to bed.

That left me to give Harry the third degree. He looked knackered and a bit miserable, but he’d been acting off for a while—distracted and broody. Any time I asked what was up, he’d just say he was fine. I figured it was Hermione grinding him down with revision schedules. Poor Neville looked just as fed up.

"Look, Harry," I said, getting straight to the point, "we’re going to Dumbledore first thing tomorrow. No more mucking about."

"But what if it was a mistake?" Harry said uncertainly. "What if it didn’t mean to Petrify Mrs. Norris? If it wanted to kill her, wouldn’t it have eaten her straight off?"

"Who’s ‘it’? The snake?" I asked, a bit confused. "Mate, I don’t claim to be an expert on Basilisks, but I couldn’t care less why it went after the cat. The point is, it’s awake, and people could get hurt. We’re going to Dumbledore. You agreed."

Harry opened his mouth like he wanted to argue but then thought better of it. He clamped his mouth shut, nodded, and said, "Alright. You’re right, Ron. We can’t let anyone else get hurt. Tomorrow morning, we’ll go."

He even managed a tired smile before heading up the stairs to bed. And I thought that was the end of it. But when I woke up the next morning, Harry was gone.

All I found was a note.

That idiot had written that he’d try sorting the problem himself first, and if he wasn’t back by breakfast, then I should go straight to the Headmaster and spill the beans about the basilisk. Ever the optimist, he reckoned everything would be fine—he’d thought it all through, and the risk was “minimal.” And he’d explain everything in detail afterwards—if he came back, of course.

At that moment, I hated the brat more than ever.

It was obvious he’d gone after the basilisk alone—you didn’t need Trelawney’s crystal ball to see that. Judging by the barely rumpled bed, he’d snuck off in the middle of the night. Potter was a proper Gryffindor nutter—no brakes, no limits. Once he got an idea into his thick skull, neither logic nor reason could stop him. I’d learnt that well enough during the business with Snape and the Philosopher’s Stone.

My first instinct was to leg it straight to Dumbledore. But as I fumbled about in the dark for my clothes, I reconsidered. There was still an hour till breakfast. Either Harry was still alive and fine, or the basilisk had already eaten him—and in that case, rushing wouldn’t help much. Either way, there was no point in panicking.

That hour was the longest of my life. The minute hand on the clock in the common room barely seemed to move. The lads woke up, came downstairs, and headed off to breakfast. Hermione popped in but dashed off again to swap a book with someone in Ravenclaw, saying she’d meet us in the Great Hall. Before long, the common room was empty, leaving me alone with the silence.

And then Harry burst in, making a racket. He nearly tripped over the carpet and sent a suit of armour crashing to the floor when he grabbed it for balance. His eyes were blazing with excitement, and there was a triumphant smirk plastered across his face. He looked chuffed to bits—at least until he caught sight of my cold, deadpan glare.

“Er… Ron,” he started, hesitating as I slowly stood up. Oh, he knew what was coming. Dead men don’t get told off, but the living? Fair game. “You’re angry, aren’t you? Of course you are…” He began babbling nervously, trying to justify himself under my withering stare as he edged closer. “But it worked! I’m alive, see? Everything’s fine. I sorted it—I’ve dealt with the basilisk.”

I didn’t say a word. Just stood up and smacked him right in the nose. Then, as he grabbed his face, I landed another blow to his side.

“That’s for lying, Potter,” I snarled, standing over him as he doubled over, clutching his ribs. “And for Hermione—I owed you that one.”

Harry winced but managed to sit up on the sofa, dabbing at the trickle of blood under his nose with a handkerchief. I hadn’t hit him too hard—just enough to make a point. When he finally looked up, he met my glare with a steady, calm gaze.

“You’re wrong, you know,” he said, sounding far too composed for someone who’d just been clocked. “Yes, I didn’t tell you, but I sorted it the way I thought best—without putting anyone else in danger. I learnt that lesson after what happened to Hermione. But can’t I decide what to do with my own life without needing permission?”

“Permission?” I snapped, narrowing my eyes. “We agreed—after we spoke to Myrtle—that if anything happened, we’d go straight to the Headmaster. And then you went and cooked up this harebrained scheme without so much as mentioning it to me. What do I get? A bloody note. Is that your idea of friendship, Harry? Friendship’s a team game, not you playing solo Seeker while the rest of us cover for you.”

“You wouldn’t have agreed,” Harry shot back stubbornly.

“Maybe not,” I admitted. “But you didn’t even give me the chance to try. You didn’t share your plan—you just went off on your own. And for the record, I still think the simplest, smartest thing to do was to tell the staff.”

“They’d have killed the basilisk!” Harry exclaimed, springing to his feet. “They wouldn’t have listened—they’d just kill her outright. And Zara didn’t mean to petrify Mrs Norris!”

“Zara?” I choked out.

“Well, yeah,” Harry mumbled, looking sheepish. “She’s a girl, see? So I thought, like, Salazar—Zara…”

“Oh, well, that explains everything,” I said sarcastically. “Don’t you try and wriggle out of this, hero.”

“Don’t be cross, Ron,” Harry said imploringly, scooting closer and giving me a light nudge with his shoulder. “I was wrong to leave you a note instead of talking to you. I won’t do it again, I promise. But you’ve got to let me handle things my way sometimes. Isn’t that the team game you wanted?” he added cheekily, looking me straight in the eyes.

“You’re right,” I conceded reluctantly. “I’m not your nanny. But no more sneaking about behind my back, got it?”

“Deal,” Harry beamed. “And now I’ve got loads to tell you! Oh, and—you don’t fancy meeting the basilisk, do you?”