The path was winding, but the future was bright.
Leon, shining like the sun, had finally found the true entrance to the Chamber of Secrets. This was the first step of his grand journey.
"Hiss hiss." (Open)
Leon directed his Parseltongue at the faucet engraved with a small snake.
The bathroom was deserted. Moaning Myrtle, the resident ghost, must have slipped through the pipes to snoop in some prefect's bathroom. The massive rumble of the Chamber's opening went unnoticed.
A flash of white light, and the sink collapsed, revealing a pipe-like entrance to the Chamber.
Leon took a deep breath, preemptively casting a Hover Charm, a Shield Charm, a Cushioning Charm, and a Shock-Absorbing Charm. Then he stepped forward.
It felt like sliding down a giant waterpark slide—twisting and turning, steep and slick with some kind of gross, slimy liquid. He slid far, so far that Leon half-wondered if he was heading for the Earth's core.
Finally, the pipe leveled out, slowing until it stopped.
Plop.
Leon landed butt-first in a puddle.
"Ugh, disgusting!" He scrambled up, firing off Drying Charms and Cleaning Charms until his new robes were practically bald from the scrubbing. For good measure, he added an Impervius Charm to repel water and fire.
The Chamber, buried deep underground, was even damper and filthier than Voldemort's memories had suggested. No one else was around—no "inner ghosts" to worry about—so Leon felt free to light the place up.
With a wave of his hand, he conjured a massive orb of light, illuminating the tunnel. The walls and floor were slick with moisture, coated in mold and moss. Every few steps, he spotted animal carcasses littering the ground. The deeper he went, the more bones he found.
Leon strained his ears. Apart from the drip-drip of water, there was no telltale rustle of a serpent slithering. Still, he stayed on high alert, eyes half-closed, using only his peripheral vision to navigate. If anything moved, he'd snap his eyes shut instantly. The Basilisk's death-stare was no joke.
Cautiously, he crept forward to the tunnel's first bend. Levitating a bone from the ground, he transfigured it into a mirror and floated it around the corner to check.
The light was dim, but he could make out a massive, coiled snake shape in the distance, perfectly still. Recalling what he knew, Leon figured it was likely just the Basilisk's shed skin. Still, he wasn't taking chances.
He pulled a glass bottle from his pocket—the one containing Peeves. Before the poltergeist could make a sound, Leon silenced it with a charm.
The bottle floated ahead of him. Peeves, in all his poltergeist life (or ghost life), had never been so humiliated. Being bested by Nearly Headless Nick was one thing, but a first-year? When Leon dropped his Disillusionment Charm, revealing himself, Peeves was livid. Smoke literally poured from the sealed bottle as he fumed.
Peeves realized he didn't need to speak—Leon could pick up his thoughts. So, he unleashed a tirade worthy of a keyboard warrior. "You Gryffindor demon spawn! Just you wait! Once your ol' pal Peeves is free, I'll hit you with all one hundred and eight of my tricks! If I let you have a single peaceful day, I'll eat my hat! %&@#…"*
Leon smirked. Peeves was in high spirits—good. He even picked up a few choice insults for later.
Following the bottled poltergeist, Leon safely reached the giant shed Basilisk skin. It was surprisingly fresh, gleaming green and vibrant, practically screaming toxicity. The coiled skin formed a small hill, easily six or seven meters long.
Slipping on medical gloves, Leon touched the skin. He pulled out a scalpel, tempted to cut off a piece for study, but the skin was so perfectly intact that he couldn't bring himself to ruin it. He decided to leave it there for now—surely a Basilisk this old had left other sheds around for samples.
Bypassing the skin, Leon decided to stop wasting time. From his locket, he pulled out a T-72 tank model and set it on the ground. Not a model, mind you—a real one, shrunk down. Leon had snagged it during a shopping spree with Grindelwald after the fall of some Muggle union, adding it to his collection.
With a spell, the tank returned to full size. Leon climbed in through the hatch, settling into the magically modified, ultra-comfy cockpit. Using magic to power it, he drove the T-72 forward, its treads crunching over animal bones.
After what felt like ages, he hit a dead end. Well, not entirely dead. Through the tank's periscope, he saw a wall carved with two lifelike serpents, each with massive emeralds for eyes.
Leon hopped out, stowed the tank, and approached the wall. Without much effort, he climbed the serpent carvings to their heads. With a few crack-crack tugs, he pried out the emerald eyes. Five minutes later, he had four high-quality, impressively large magical gems tucked into his locket.
Satisfied, he hissed the password. The wall split open, revealing a door. The eyeless snakes promptly exploded into rubble with two loud bangs. Leon, eyes closed, saw nothing and claimed innocence.
He stepped through.
This was the heart of the Chamber. Though his eyes were shut, Leon knew the layout from Voldemort's memories: a long, narrow room with a high ceiling supported by serpent-entwined stone pillars. At the far end stood a massive statue of Salazar Slytherin himself. The Basilisk often rested here but didn't Leonr for long naps.
Confirming the Basilisk wasn't nearby, Leon cracked one eye open, cautiously scanning. He moved forward to the statue's base, avoiding its dusty stone toes, and hissed the password loudly: "Speak to me, Slytherin—greatest of the Hogwarts Four."
Rumble!
The statue's stone head shifted, its mouth yawning wider and wider. The unmistakable rustle of the Basilisk's scales grew louder.
Leon ducked behind the statue's heel, eyes clamped shut, and locked the pocket holding Peeves' bottle for good measure.
Bang! Something massive hit the ground, shaking the floor.
The Basilisk was out.
"Hiss hiss hiss."
Leon understood: "Who are you? Why did you wake me?"
The stench of the Basilisk's musky odor grew stronger as it slithered closer.
"Hiss hiss…"
Leon quickly responded, spinning a tale of being a curious Slytherin first-year visiting the Chamber. He bombarded the snake with questions—its name, age, previous master, daily routine—chatting it up like he was checking in on a lonely pet.
But the Basilisk wasn't the sharpest wand in the shop. It answered only its name—Basilisk—and fixated on food and killing. "Kill… tear… eat… need meat…"
Leon sighed. No surprise there. Woken from a nap, a bit cranky, and starving? Fair enough. The Basilisk probably thought he smelled like a tasty snack.
Using its own senses, the Basilisk realized Leon lacked Slytherin blood and wasn't worth obeying. Hungry and impatient, it lunged at the delicious-smelling human.
A foul, bloody stench hit Leon as the snake struck. With a nimble leap, he dodged its jaws, casting a Hover Charm mid-air. He landed squarely on the Basilisk's head.
Safe from its gaze, Leon peeked briefly to assess. The Basilisk was massive, its body thick and covered in glossy, iron-hard green scales with razor-sharp edges. Even without its venom, fangs, or death-stare, its raw strength was a nightmare.
But Leon had a plan.
As the Basilisk thrashed to shake him off, Leon dove forward, wrapping his arms around its "seven-inch" vital spot. Time seemed to rewind to the day he'd swallowed a fragment of Voldemort's soul and survived. Now, he learned the Basilisk's soul didn't taste like crispy chicken—it was chewy, like donkey hide, far better than Voldemort's soggy, paper-like soul.
Chomp chomp chomp.