The young witches and wizards stared up, dumbstruck, at the coiled giant serpent. Once a terrifying magical creature, the basilisk now lay in a deep, unresisting slumber.
Melvin retrieved a green emerald from a box. The gem had a tiny, nearly imperceptible hole. As he brought it close to the basilisk, a surge of spatial magic enveloped the creature's massive form. A sudden suction force shrank the mountain-like serpent, swiftly drawing it into the gem's inner sanctum.
"Professor, where will you hide the gem? Inside Slytherin's statue?" Hermione asked, watching his actions.
"In theory, I shouldn't tell you, but since the Chamber will be sealed soon…" Melvin smiled. "Its original spot isn't safe anymore. We'll hide it somewhere more discreet."
He levitated the emerald into the air, guiding it into the swirling green mist overhead. The gem's glow blended with the mist, like a star veiled in clouds, faint and elusive.
Hermione noted the gem's position—directly in the line of sight of Slytherin's statue, as if the stone figure itself pointed to the basilisk's new prison.
"Only the four of us know where the basilisk is. Keep it secret," Melvin said with a grin.
Harry gazed at the faint green glimmer, still dazed. Such a powerful creature had willingly slipped into slumber with just a single phrase, without struggle or delay.
"Let's go. The adventure's over," Melvin said, clapping Harry's shoulder. He grabbed his soft felt hat and led the way out.
The three students hurried after him. Before the stone doors closed, they glanced back at the dim Chamber. It no longer felt as sinister as they'd imagined. The green glow wasn't eerie but carried an inexplicable solemnity.
Melvin led the trio out of the pipe, exiting the girls' bathroom and climbing the stairs.
The Christmas feast had ended late, and their detour to the Chamber had taken another hour. It was now the early hours of the morning. The corridors and staircases were silent, the portraits in their frames sleeping, their closed eyes oddly reminiscent of the basilisk.
"Professor, why wouldn't the basilisk wait until tomorrow to sleep?" Harry asked, keeping his voice low. "It didn't even eat its fill…"
"It's complicated," Melvin replied. "Slytherin left a command for it to obey, and it aligns with the current headmaster's will. If the basilisk is to stay at Hogwarts, it must follow that will."
Melvin shook his felt hat, interrupting the wriggling inside. Jörmungandr, the young Horned Serpent, kept trying to poke its head out, treating the hat as a game and making it noticeably heavier.
He pinched the brim shut to keep the snake still for now.
"Is it waiting for Slytherin?" Harry asked.
"Whatever it's waiting for, it'll probably never come."
"…"
Harry opened his mouth, a pang of sadness hitting him.
Hermione watched Melvin's back, pondering what answers Harry had gotten from the basilisk and what role the professor had played in this affair.
Ron, meanwhile, looked mournful, worried about his rat, Scabbers.
They parted at the staircase. The students headed upstairs, while Melvin returned to his office.
"Oh, by the way, the Chamber entrance will be modified tomorrow. Don't come back here," Melvin called back, remembering to warn them.
"Got it. Good night, Professor."
"…"
The office was quiet. A few letters sat on the desk—replies to Christmas gifts. Wright and others, being nearby, had sent responses the same evening they received Melvin's cards and presents.
Lately, Wright had been impatient. The pensieve project in Romania was complete, but small-scale pensieves weren't selling well, limited to outdated Quidditch matches. Progress in Britain was slow, and Melvin's plans couldn't move forward, leaving Wright frustrated.
His letters nagged about the pace of promoting small pensieves.
Melvin knew Wright was eager to expand into animal-related content, and he shared the enthusiasm, but Britain, the heart of the wizarding world, required a cautious approach unlike Romania.
Wright's letters were chatty, and Old Tom and Old Will were also pressing for new programs. Even some viewers had written, disappointed by the lack of new films during the holidays.
Melvin didn't reply immediately. He sorted the letters, tucking some into his enchanted pocket for safekeeping.
The magical communication book had a message from Christine:
"Merry Christmas."
Unlike Muggle phones or emails, the book lacked timestamps, so Melvin couldn't tell when the message was sent.
He stared at the portrait on the book, then at the simple greeting, and after a moment's thought, replied with the same.
Waiting briefly, he got no response. With the time difference between Hogsmeade and Romania—1 a.m. here, 3 a.m. there—it wasn't surprising.
The felt hat on the desk stirred.
"Hiss…" Jörmungandr's voice came from within.
The snake's small head poked out, staring at Melvin and flicking its tongue in complaint.
Even without Parseltongue, Melvin understood. He tapped its head gently. "I was busy in the Chamber. No time to play."
The snake tilted its head, dodging his finger, and flicked its tail, pushing the hat's brim aside to reveal—
A rat!
Frankly, the rat was hideous—stiff, aged, with patchy fur and dry, leathery skin. Its limbs were frozen in a panicked scramble, one paw missing a toe.
If not for a faint warmth, it could've passed for dead.
Melvin could picture its final moments: clinging to Ron's robe pocket, trying to flee, only to meet the basilisk's gaze and petrify instantly.
It must have fallen from Ron's pocket when they moved the injured students, unnoticed until Jörmungandr found it.
"You were in the hat the whole time. How'd you find this?" Melvin asked, amazed.
"Hiss…"
Jörmungandr raised its neck, its movements tinged with pride.
---
The next morning, Melvin pushed open the hospital wing's door. Not seeing Madam Pomfrey at the potion cabinet, he raised his voice slightly. "Madam Pomfrey, are you here?"
"Down the corridor, first room on the right," a woman's voice called.
Melvin followed it to a clean, simple room. Cabinets lined the walls, stocked with bottles of potions, bandages, and odd medical tools.
A cauldron bubbled in the center, its brownish-green liquid releasing a muddy, herbal scent.
"Professor Levent, what do you need?" Pomfrey asked, tending the cauldron and applying medicine to a patient. "If it's not urgent, come back later."
The patient was Myrtle, still petrified. Her ghostly form couldn't absorb potions conventionally, and the vapor was slow to take effect.
"Any spare Mandrake Restorative Draught? I'd like a bottle for backup," Melvin asked directly.
"Third shelf in the cabinet, help yourself," Pomfrey said without looking up.
The Mandrakes were originally procured by Levent, so his request was reasonable. It wasn't a restricted potion—no toxicity—so even if he used it as jam, it was no concern.
"Thank you, Madam!" Melvin said, leaving in high spirits.
He wasn't planning to spread the potion on toast. It was for Scabbers—poor Peter Pettigrew, petrified and left in the Chamber with the basilisk, likely terrified. Without Jörmungandr, he'd have become just another skeleton on the floor.
Saving the rat meant Peter might owe him a favor, right?
---
Cool potion dripped into the rat's eyes, making them dart wildly.
Melvin and Jörmungandr studied the one-toed rat on the desk. Its stiff, shriveled skin softened, its brittle fur relaxed, and its chest rose faintly as its heart pumped blood. The petrified rat stirred back to life.
Scabbers opened its eyes, saw Jörmungandr's snake face, and froze in terror. Squeaking, it tried to bolt.
Melvin pinned its tail, leaving it to scrabble uselessly. Panicked, the rat turned to bite his finger, only to be whacked on the head by Jörmungandr's tail, dazing it.
Weak from days without food and battered by the ordeal, Peter collapsed, trembling like any frightened rat.
But his beady eyes darted, realizing this wasn't the basilisk and the wizard administering the potion was Hogwarts' young professor.
"Don't be scared. Eat something," Melvin said with a faint smile, pushing a slice of buttercream cake forward.
Scabbers sniffed the sweet cream, nose twitching. Glancing at Melvin, then the snake, it couldn't resist and dove into the cake, devouring it.
This professor seemed friendly…
A thought flickered in Peter's mind. Living in Ron's pocket, in Gryffindor dorms and the Weasley home, he'd heard Levent described as a kind foreign wizard.
"No rush, there's plenty of cake," Melvin said soothingly. "Poor Wormtail, you must be starving."
"Squeak…"
Scabbers squeaked instinctively, a habit from years as a pet, then froze, turning with terrified eyes.
He knows my real name!?
Panic surged. Ignoring the cake, the rat scrambled toward a shelf, hoping its Animagus size could let it hide in a corner and escape.
That hope shattered.
Two faint whooshes sounded.
A Repelling Charm struck first, a gentle but unstoppable force sending the rat crashing into a chair across the desk. A Revealing Charm followed, abruptly ending years of Animagus concealment, stripping away the rat's disguise.
Jörmungandr peered at the short, scrawny middle-aged man—gray, disheveled hair, sparse and unkempt; small, rat-like eyes glinting with fear; a timid expression.
His tattered clothes hung on pale, sickly skin, his posture hunched as if trying to shrink from sight.
"Melvin Levent, Hogwarts professor. Pleased to meet you…" Melvin said politely, sliding the unfinished cake and a glass of pumpkin juice toward him. "Peter Pettigrew."
Calling him out directly, Melvin sent Peter's fear skyrocketing.
"You… you… I…" His voice was shrill, stammering incoherently.
"Don't worry, you're safe at Hogwarts," Melvin reassured, radiating friendliness.
Aside from a tail-whack from the snake and two spells to foil his escapes, the gestures were kind—sweet cake and warm pumpkin juice proved it.
Peter's panic eased slightly. "How… how did you…"
"Know your disguise?" Melvin finished, answering patiently. "It's a special reason I can't share yet. Let's just say I'm familiar with Animagi and can see the real face beneath the rat skin."
"You know who I am?"
"Let's say I saw it in the papers."
"…"
Melvin's kindness helped Peter relax, his rat-like eyes flickering with cunning.
Per the papers, Peter Pettigrew was a hero, fighting Death Eaters during the war, dying while capturing Sirius Black, and posthumously awarded a Merlin Second Class.
This professor might wonder why he'd hide as the Weasleys' pet.
If he could bluff his way through, he'd be safe.
Peter sipped the pumpkin juice, his shrill voice steadying. "Yes, the papers. I went into hiding because of them. After the Dark Lord fell, Death Eaters were still active. I got Black arrested, making me their enemy. I disguised myself as a rat to escape their pursuit."
Peter thought his story was airtight.
Only four people knew the truth: Voldemort wouldn't talk, James and Lily were dead, and Sirius, that fool, was likely a husk in Azkaban, drained by Dementors.
"I don't care why you're hiding," Melvin said slowly. "I just want to make a deal."
"What?" Peter froze, stunned.
---