Chapter 40
After finishing the two advanced books he'd found in the Black family library, Albert gently set them down on the table in front of him. His eyes then drifted toward the most mysterious part of the library—the Forbidden Section.
As he approached it, a quiet thrill stirred in his chest. This was the place his father, Sirius, had never been allowed to access—not even after returning from Azkaban. Now Albert stood before it, the sole heir of the Black family, with complete freedom to explore.
He opened the creaking wooden cabinet door… only to find a single book resting on the second shelf. It was bound in dark green leather, and it pulsed with a sinister aura that sent a shiver down his spine.
Albert paused. Something about this book felt deeply wrong, like it didn't belong in a home—but in a prison for cursed objects. Still, his curiosity was stronger than his fear. He extended his hand and touched the book.
The moment his fingers grazed the surface, a horrifying sensation overwhelmed him. It was as if unseen eyes had opened within the pages, staring at him with a malevolent hunger. The presence was unmistakable: watching, breathing, waiting.
Startled, Albert dropped the book with a gasp, stepping back in alarm.
"Merlin's beard… what in the world is this doing here?!"
Those eyes—yellow with slit orange pupils—had burned into his mind. Not human. Not even remotely so. More like a… serpent. A massive, ancient serpent.
"Wait a second… the aura, the eyes… Could it be? Is this… the Basilisk?"
The thought chilled him.
The Basilisk—an ancient, mythical creature, bred centuries ago by Salazar Slytherin himself. A beast so dangerous its gaze alone could kill. Slytherin had discovered it during his travels in the Americas, where he experimented on it until it became a legendary monster with petrifying, even lethal powers.
It had been hidden in the Chamber of Secrets, deep within Hogwarts, meant to guard Slytherin's hidden treasures until his heir—Tom Riddle, or Lord Voldemort—came to claim them.
Somehow, a thousand years later, Riddle succeeded. The reason he didn't perish under the Basilisk's deadly stare? He carried the blood of its creator.
Albert glanced down again at the book lying motionless on the floor.
His heart pounded. Picking it up again could be dangerous. Deadly, even. But if he backed down now, he'd never learn its secrets. Steeling his nerves, Albert crouched and cautiously picked it up again.
To his surprise, nothing happened.
No eyes. No presence. Just silence.
He examined the cover. Embossed in the leather was the image of a great serpent, coiled protectively around a bald man—clearly meant to represent Salazar Slytherin.
Albert opened the book. Its title read: "The Basilisk and Its Language."
"There's a language?" he muttered. "If that's true… then learning it might give me a chance to survive an encounter with a Basilisk. Even if there's no guarantee it would obey me… it's better than nothing."
He quickly flipped past the introductory chapters—he already knew the Basilisk's origins well from his past life. What he sought now was power. Knowledge.
Halfway through, he found what he was looking for: a two-column page, the left side written in strange symbols and the right offering phonetic pronunciation in English.
The first translated line read:
"To issue a command, say: Sissurissis."
Albert hesitated… then whispered the word aloud.
The book shook violently in his hands, as if reacting to an ancient incantation. Then, just as suddenly, it stilled.
He blinked. His breath caught.
His eyes darted around the room, expecting the glowing serpent eyes to reappear, but they didn't. Still, the fear lingered. The Basilisk's gaze had no known countermeasure. No defense. Not even a mirror could save you if you looked too long.
"I need to be extremely careful with this," he whispered to himself.
Realizing how dangerous this book could be, Albert decided not to push his luck. He set it aside with the other three books he planned to read later—when he was more rested and prepared.
His eyes drooped with exhaustion. The long journey from Hogwarts to the Black family home had taken its toll.
Earlier that evening, he had told Kreacher not to prepare dinner, and now he was glad he had.
Albert quietly made his way to his bedroom, closed the door behind him, and let sleep take him swiftly.
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