"Harry Potter- Ravenclaw"Chapter 198: Reentering the World Behind the Mirror
Watching Dumbledore break apart an ice lolly, Snape narrowed his eyes. "So, you found no traces of Dark magic and now you think you can relax?"
Dumbledore offered half the ice to Snape. "Without the Basilisk's help, the so-called 'Heir' won't find it so easy to threaten Hogwarts the same way as before."
Snape folded his arms and leaned back, ignoring the treat. "And what if he teams up with the pure-blood families to stir up trouble another way?"
Dumbledore set the remaining half on a plate. "Then what? Force me out of Hogwarts, let the pure-bloods install their own headmaster, and begin their 'pure-blood reforms'?"
"If the 'Heir' really wants to go that far, I'd be quite happy to see it play out… Frankly, I'm curious which pure-blood families would show their true colors."
A mocking smile flickered at the corner of Snape's lips, his eyes cold. "No wonder Cornelius Fudge is getting more and more wary of you. He's got a point."
Dumbledore shrugged, speaking around a mouthful of ice. "I just think… removing a few destabilizing elements would make Hogwarts a better place. That's all."
"Of course, The Daily Prophet won't print any of that… Have you read The Quibbler lately? That magazine's getting more interesting by the week. I've subscribed for the whole year."
Snape rose to his feet. "If you've already decided, there's nothing more for me to say."
"Oh, before you go!" Dumbledore called as Snape turned away. "About Lockhart's Dueling Club application—he requested an assistant, so I put down your name."
"Suit yourself." Snape shot Dumbledore a sideways glance. "Let's hope he doesn't flee Hogwarts in the middle of the night."
Wyzett cast Ancient Magic: Self-Molding (Devil's Snare Form), conjuring a ring of plant-like tendrils that coiled gently around the Basilisk.
Man and serpent wound their way through the pipes, arriving at the chamber where the Mirror of Erised stood.
"Salazar… Slytherin… mirror…" The Basilisk was visibly excited, gliding back and forth in front of the Mirror.
In Parseltongue, Wyzett instructed, "Close your eyes. Follow the guidance of my Devil's Snare. We're going to meet Headmaster Slytherin."
The Basilisk squeezed its eyes shut, urging, "Good… hurry… hurry…"
Wyzett activated his Oculus Magicae. If things went as before, the Mirror of Erised should flare with a burst of brilliant silver-blue light.
But this time, nothing happened. The Mirror remained utterly still.
"Since Headmaster Slytherin mentioned the Commandment…" Wyzett gazed at the Mirror, pondering how to enter the world within. "Perhaps I need to use the Commandment as a key?"
With the aid of Custodis Meditatio (Guardian's Meditation), the serpentine "ᚾ" Commandment in his mind became crystal clear—so clear, he could project it straight into the Mirror.
The Mirror's usual trio of visions vanished, replaced by the image from Wyzett's mind: the sinuous "ᚾ" Commandment.
"Nauthiz!" Wyzett whispered the incantation.
At last, the Mirror of Erised responded—erupting in a surge of silver-blue radiance that swallowed both him and the Basilisk whole.
When Wyzett regained his senses, he was standing in the world behind the mirror.
This time, unlike the eerie emptiness of his first visit, the center of the mirrored world was dominated by a statue of Salazar Slytherin.
As color returned to Slytherin's stone skin, the serpent at his feet slithered down, coiling into a long, winding staircase.
"You arrived much sooner than I expected." Slytherin slowly rose, his voice hissing in Parseltongue. "It's been a long time…"
The Basilisk responded, "Salazar… Slytherin… Salazar… Slytherin…"
Though its tone remained cold and venomous, Wyzett sensed something new within it.
That icy malice—like the Basilisk's fangs and glare—was its nature, its birthright.
But its devotion to Slytherin, its fierce loyalty, was something earned over time—something that set it apart.
"You've changed a great deal…" Slytherin murmured, gently stroking the Basilisk's scales. "You've done well these past years…"
The Basilisk coiled protectively around Slytherin, its voice growing drowsy. "Not… tired…"
Slytherin nodded, patting the great serpent's head. "Of course… you may rest, now."
The Basilisk's massive body rose and fell, as if cradled by Slytherin's promise, and drifted into a deep, peaceful sleep.
Watching the scene, Wyzett felt a surge of complicated emotion. In this moment, the Basilisk seemed… almost like a child—simple, trusting, vulnerable.
"It's just a magical creature, after all," Slytherin remarked. "They're never as complicated as people imagine."
"But it never preyed on students from Muggle families," Wyzett said, puzzled. "It only ate small animals."
Slytherin posed a question: "What's the greatest difference between Basilisks and other magical beasts?"
"The greatest difference?" Wyzett frowned, running through everything he knew. "It was bred deliberately… like the Acromantulas."
"Headmaster Slytherin, are you saying… this is your creation?" He recalled the legends of Salazar Slytherin and the Basilisk's peculiar habits.
"A Basilisk could hunt anything with flesh, yet it stayed in the Chamber, feeding only on small animals… So its purpose wasn't 'cleansing'—but 'guarding'?"
"An interesting thought." Slytherin smiled faintly. "Cleansing is sometimes necessary—there's always filth that requires a stronger agent…"
Wyzett still looked uncertain. "Headmaster Slytherin, I don't quite understand. What was your true intention?"
Slytherin stroked his beard, fixing Wyzett with a penetrating gaze. "You've done your research… I see you've put real effort into this trial. So this is how the future thinks?"
"I'll satisfy your curiosity. The 'pure-blood' ideal you imagine—I never cared for it. If that were the standard, how many talented witches and wizards would Slytherin have lost?"
"Strength, cunning, resourcefulness, an unbreakable will, a disregard for rules, ambition rarer than courage… Those are the qualities I value."
"Ambition rarer than courage?" Wyzett's mind flashed to the Sorting Ceremony tradition—how older students would always conspire to make the process seem terrifying.
"Wait… Could it be that the legend of the Chamber and the Basilisk was your test all along? A tradition, passed down to sift out the truly ambitious? Especially those from Muggle families?"
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