The Chamber of Secrets reeked of the stench of Basilisk blood.
"Hss-" Snape drew in a sharp breath, fingers fumbling for the straps of his mask.
When he finally removed the grime-covered facepiece, he greedily inhaled several mouthfuls of the comparatively fresh air, only to realize, as the adrenaline of battle faded, that his hands were shaking uncontrollably.
He sat down on the damp floor of the Chamber, each breath stabbing at his chest. Clenching his teeth, he reached into his robes and pulled out two vials of potion.
Downing the deep-purple Pain-Relieving Draught in a single gulp, he felt a cool wave spread from his stomach throughout his body. The pain lessened instantly. He then drank the silver-colored Healing Potion, and a tingling sensation blossomed from the area of his broken ribs, his bones were knitting together rapidly under the potion's influence.
After regaining a bit of strength, Snape carefully carried Dobby to a flat slab near the Chamber's entrance and gently laid him down.
"Thank you, little one," Snape murmured softly, brushing the dust from Dobby's tiny body.
The elf's face was still frozen in a fierce expression. His reddish-brown complexion had turned a dull, ashen gray under the petrification.
Snape's gaze turned toward the far side of the Chamber, those roosters that had been enlarged by the Engorgement Charm were now standing motionless, eyes closed, resting quietly. Their bright feathers glowed vividly in the dim light, their red combs flickering like flames.
Only the speckled rooster was still strutting proudly, scratching at the ground with its sharp beak, pecking at scraps of Basilisk flesh.
"Come here, cluck cluck," Snape called, pursing his lips to imitate a coaxing sound, hoping to gather his feathered allies into a safe area.
The roosters ignored him with regal indifference, heads held high. The speckled one even gave him a disdainful glance.
Narrowing his eyes, Snape surveyed the fallen debris. These creatures were clearly cleverer than he'd expected.
He raised his wand toward the shattered stone fragments. "Reparo."
As his wand traced the motion, the broken stones levitated into the air and reassembled themselves into pillars and ceiling blocks, crashing back into place with thunderous noise.
The echo startled the roosters, who flapped their wings in alarm, scattering with loud cackles.
When the last stone returned to its original position, the Chamber looked as it had before. The stone statue of Salazar Slytherin still loomed with its mouth agape, eyes staring blankly into eternity.
The only difference was the lifeless Basilisk sprawled before Snape, its scales peeled away, its massive body covered in wounds. Its yellow-green eyes were half-open, devoid of all light.
Snape approached the creature, stopping ten feet away. He raised his wand cautiously and incanted, "Sectumsempra."
The spell struck the serpent, slicing away a large patch of scales. Black blood splattered across the floor like rain.
No reaction. The creature truly was dead. Snape exhaled in relief, a faint, almost imperceptible smile touching his lips.
He retrieved a pair of dragonhide gloves from his pouch and slipped them on, then reached toward the serpent's head with deliberate care.
The monster's gaping maw still gleamed with fangs, venom dripping slowly from its lower jaw.
Holding his breath, Snape drove his goblin-made dagger deep into the serpent's lower jaw, burying it to the hilt. Venom trickled down the handle, hissing as it met the enchanted metal.
Now, the weapon capable of destroying a Horcrux was his. He nodded with satisfaction.
Next, he turned his attention to the Basilisk itself, every part of its body was a treasure.
Snape pointed his wand toward the fangs. Unlike common serpents, every single Basilisk tooth contained deadly venom.
Under the Levitation Charm, the first massive curved fang loosened with a wobble and then came free. Snape quickly guided it into a prepared dragonhide sack.
One tooth, two, three... By the twentieth, the serpent's mouth was bare.
"And the scales," he muttered, glancing at the roosters who had settled down again and resumed pecking at the exposed flesh. "And the meat."
Thinking of their service in the battle, he shook his head slightly and allowed it. "Eat as much as you like. You've earned it."
He began collecting the scattered Basilisk scales. Each deep-green scale was the size of his palm, its edge sharp enough to cut skin. They could be used to craft high-grade armor or to brew some of the rarest potions known.
After carefully harvesting Salazar Slytherin's final gift, Snape leaned back against a cold stone pillar, exhaustion flooding his body again. He mentally estimated the value of his spoils.
"At least three to five thousand Galleons," he murmured, feeling a flicker of energy return. "A king-serpent that lived for a millennium."
He pulled out several large sheets of parchment, reinforced them with a charm, and wrapped the serpent's various parts before storing them inside an Undetectable Extension Charm pouch.
Even with weight-reduction charms, the bag was still astonishingly heavy. When he tucked it inside his robes, the fabric sagged under the load.
"Now it's your turn," Snape said to the roosters, raising his wand. "Reducio!"
A flash of light passed over the birds, but nothing happened. They remained the size of hunting dogs.
Snape frowned, surprised, and tried again. The result was the same.
"Could it be the Basilisk's flesh and blood granted you magical resistance?" he muttered in astonishment. "You're no longer ordinary roosters?"
The birds puffed out their chests proudly, confirming his theory. One even spread its wings and flapped a few times, whipping up a small gust.
Snape pondered a moment, then set the matter aside. He needed to get Dobby to the hospital wing as soon as possible.
"All right, big fellows, come with me."
He tore several strips of cloth from his robe and tied Dobby securely to his back. Using the same rope from before, he looped the seven roosters together. The mutated birds allowed him to handle them calmly, though their eyes still glowed with pride.
Hagrid must have trained them well, Snape thought. They were indeed well-behaved, for roosters, at least.
Lighting his wand, Snape slung the petrified elf onto his back, took hold of the roosters' rope, and started toward the exit of the Chamber.
"Let's go, Dobby. We're leaving," he said softly, though the stone-stiffened elf could not hear him.
They passed through the echoing, shadowed hall and entered the tunnel.
The tunnel wound upward. Snape's footsteps and the occasional cluck of the roosters reverberated through the confined space.
After several turns, they reached the vertical pipe leading upward.
Snape withdrew his Nimbus Three-Star Broom, the cheap model he had purchased earlier, tucked his wand into his robe, and mounted awkwardly.
"Up," he commanded. The broom shuddered and began to rise, but so slowly it was almost painful to watch.
At this rate, he thought, I'll reach the surface next year. Perhaps it hadn't been wise to save money on a broom.
Suddenly, the roosters in his grasp began flapping their wings violently.
"What-!" Snape gasped, gripping the broom tightly as the roosters surged upward, dragging him along with a tremendous force that nearly tore him from his seat.
The cold air roared past him, whipping his hair and robes.
Quickly regaining his composure, Snape allowed himself a moment to enjoy this bizarre mode of flight.
Unfortunately, the journey was short. Within moments, he was thrown out onto the wet floor of Moaning Myrtle's bathroom.
The sink slid back into place, hiding all evidence of the passage below.
Under the flickering lamplight, the roosters stood proudly, eyes gleaming and tails swaying like banners, as though awaiting Snape's approval.
"You were magnificent," Snape said sincerely, showing genuine respect to the flock of birds. He waved his wand to clean the dirt and blood from his robes.
After letting Nagini slip back into his robes, he unbound Dobby from his back and gazed at the elf's stiff features. He decided to leave the roosters in the bathroom for now.
"Stay here," he instructed the birds, who were now grooming their feathers. "I'll be back soon."
The evening corridors were deserted, his footsteps echoing softly along the stone walls.
Carrying Dobby, he made his way to the hospital wing on the same floor.
When he pushed the door open, Madam Pomfrey was dozing in her armchair, a copy of the Daily Prophet drooping from her hand.
Startled by the noise, she jerked awake, and her eyes fell immediately on the elf in Snape's arms.
"What happened?" she exclaimed, rising and hurrying toward him. "Put him here," she ordered, directing Snape to the nearest bed. Her voice was still raspy from sleep, but her professional tone returned at once.
Madam Pomfrey examined Dobby rapidly, her frown deepening with each moment.
"He's been petrified," she finally announced, looking up at Snape. "Severus, are you hurt?" Her sharp eyes swept over his tattered robes.
"No," Snape replied curtly, then added, unable to suppress his concern, "Will Dobby be all right?"
"He's not in mortal danger," Madam Pomfrey said firmly. "Don't worry, I'll take care of him." She drew the curtains around the bed and fixed Snape with a stern look. "But what exactly happened? A standard Petrification Curse doesn't cause this."
"An unfortunate magical accident," Snape said calmly.
"Students shouldn't be conducting dangerous Dark Magic experiments at school," Madam Pomfrey scolded. "You know that as well as anyone. Wait here, I'll notify the Headmaster."
"There's no need to trouble the Headmaster, Madam Pomfrey," Snape said quickly. "It was merely an accident."
"I don't think so," she said sharply, and swept out of the infirmary in indignation.
"Well then," Snape muttered, shrugging. He walked past the curtain to Dobby's bedside. He hadn't intended to tell Dumbledore so soon, but in this castle, keeping secrets from the Headmaster was nearly impossible. So be it.
He gently adjusted the pillow beneath Dobby's head to make him more comfortable, then stepped to the window. Beyond the swaying branches of the Whomping Willow, the Quidditch Pitch glowed faintly in the fading twilight.
There was no match today, but a few figures could still be seen flying in the distance, sweeping and looping through the air.
Before long, the door opened again. Madam Pomfrey returned, this time with Professor Dumbledore.
"What happened to Dobby, Severus?" Dumbledore asked, moving to the bedside and pulling back the curtain. He bent low, his crooked nose nearly touching the elf's gray, rigid face. Peering through his half-moon spectacles, he prodded Dobby gently with long, delicate fingers.
Dumbledore murmured a few incantations under his breath and tapped the elf with his wand, but there was no response. Dobby remained stiff and unmoving, like a newly finished specimen.
At last, Dumbledore straightened up.
"As you said, he's not dead," he remarked softly to Madam Pomfrey. "I know of a potion that can restore him. But, Poppy, may I have a moment alone with Severus?"
Madam Pomfrey nodded and returned to her office.
"Severus, we need to talk," Dumbledore said, turning to him. His voice was calm but brooked no refusal. "I have seen something like this before, many years ago.
"At that time, I was not yet Headmaster, and a certain old friend of ours was still at the school.
"There were students who suffered the same fate... and one unfortunate girl lost her life."
"Moaning Myrtle. I know who you mean, Professor," Snape said bluntly. "I found and entered the Chamber of Secrets. You needn't worry about a repeat of those incidents, the Basilisk is dead."
"That was very dangerous, Severus." Dumbledore's tone was not admiring but stern. "You should have informed me, not gone alone."
"Thank you, Professor," Snape replied. In truth, he had gone alone precisely to keep Dumbledore from acquiring the Basilisk fangs and gaining access to a Horcrux-destroying weapon.
"I admit it was reckless," he added, lowering his gaze. "It won't happen again."
"Very well," Dumbledore said, nodding slightly. "How did you kill it?"
"The crowing of a rooster is fatal to a Basilisk," Snape answered.
"A clever solution," Dumbledore said approvingly, a glimmer of respect in his blue eyes. "A creature that survived for a thousand years, slain by the simplest of fowl. Sometimes, chickens can achieve more than a phoenix. But, " he paused, "why did you do it?"
Snape did not answer immediately.
He slowly reached into his robes and drew out the dagger that had been soaked in Basilisk venom. Pulling it from its sheath, he held it between them.
"This dagger has absorbed the Basilisk's venom," he said evenly. The blade gleamed coldly under the infirmary's lamplight. "As far as I know, Basilisk venom is one of the most destructive substances in existence. It has only one antidote, the tears of a phoenix, which are exceedingly rare.
"And this goblin-forged blade," he continued, "can absorb and strengthen whatever it comes into contact with."
"So, Professor," Snape said quietly, meeting Dumbledore's eyes, "where have you hidden Ravenclaw's diadem?"