Navigating the mountain tunnel felt like traversing a forsaken graveyard, desolate and disordered. Beneath Vizette's feet crunched countless bone fragments, while faint echoes of dripping pipes resounded behind him. Every so often, a gust whistled from the conduits—first a chill against his back, then a mournful sigh past his ear, as if the scattered skeletons themselves were exhaling.
The cave was pitch black, so for safety's sake, Vizette cast a Night Vision Charm on himself to spot any pitfalls and avoid mishaps. With Dumbledore leading and Snape guarding the rear, they pressed deeper into the labyrinthine passages.
"Hold up," Dumbledore whispered suddenly, halting them.
Vizette peered ahead, spotting the shadowy outline of something enormous—a colossal snake, by the look of it.
Dumbledore raised his wand with deliberate calm, and a faint rustle stirred from the floor. Glancing down, Vizette saw a plump rat darting nimbly through the bones, scurrying toward the distant shape.
"Just a shed skin," Dumbledore said, his tone easing back to normal as he resumed walking. "Let's have a closer look."
It was, without question, the largest snake molt Vizette had ever seen up close—big enough for an adult to slither inside without a hitch.
From his pocket, Dumbledore drew a small silver instrument, shaped like a lighter and functioning as one. He flipped open the lid with a sharp click, unleashing a bluish orb of light that throbbed with vitality, casting a brilliant glow.
Under its illumination, the shed skin gleamed vibrant green, etched with intricate patterns that made it shimmer mesmerizingly.
"That's basilisk molt," Vizette said swiftly, piecing together the clues he'd jotted down earlier—the spiders' frantic exodus from the castle windows. "I spotted them fleeing the grounds before, but didn't get a chance to investigate properly. Spiders' natural predator is the basilisk; nothing else would drive them out like that."
"The Basilisk," Dumbledore murmured, stroking his beard. "We're fortunate, then. Dodging a live encounter would have complicated things considerably."
Snape stepped up, inspecting the slough with a critical eye. "Prime quality," he noted. "Far superior to boomslang skin. Vizette, cut it down."
"Right," Vizette replied. Treating it like any other ingredient, he aimed his wand and incanted, "Diffindo!"
The spell struck with a dull thud, leaving only faint white scratches. Basilisks were XXXXX-class beasts, after all—creatures bred by dark wizards, not born in the wild. That selective breeding had honed their magical resistance, likely surpassing even dragon scales.
Vizette eyed the stubborn molt, mind racing for alternatives. Ancient Magic: Improved Diffindo (Beginner) seemed ideal, but he hesitated—would infusing ancient power risk altering the skin's properties? His mandrakes had always been docile during repotting, no shrieks or tantrums. Snape's intent was straightforward: substitute this for boomslang in the Polyjuice Potion. Minimizing variables was key.
...
Drawing on his studies of Ancient Magic: Improved Diffindo (Beginner), Vizette wove its principles into a standard Diffindo to boost penetration. By modulating his wand's arc and magical output "freely," he could amplify both force and finesse.
Decision made, he gripped his wand anew, tracing a slow, deliberate sweep with a subtle wrist flick. "Diffindo!"
A crisp, almost melodic hiss followed as a clean line sliced across the skin.
"Fascinating," Dumbledore remarked, beard in hand. "One incantation, yet layered spells through gesture alone... He even timed the magic's velocity for uniform impact." Glancing at Snape, he added, "You've put him through quite the regimen."
"That was mutual—experience for him, results for me," Snape retorted with a smirk. "Spit it out, then."
Dumbledore's eyes twinkled like an old fox's. "The Diffindo prioritizes controlled severance—precision over brute force. He's elevated it to mastery. Why not push further? Simpler paths exist for such finesse."
Snape snorted. "Ah, yes—the war's great vanquisher, the Dark Lord's sole dread. Is the famed anti-dark-wizard headmaster suggesting I peddle forbidden arts to a student?"
"Precisely. Though it's a shame you've left school; Slytherin misses those points." Dumbledore nodded sagely. "Vizette did voice some... unconventional takes on dark magic, as I recall."
"Fine," Snape growled, eyes narrowing as he approached Vizette. "Enough dawdling. Planning to camp here? Shall I summon a cot?"
Vizette lowered his wand, eyes alight, a notebook materializing in his free hand to scribble notes.
Dumbledore unwrapped a Lemon Drop, popping it into his mouth before conjuring a plump rat with a casual flick and sending it scampering into the gloom.
"Once only," Snape said, shooting Dumbledore's nonchalance a withering glare. "Repeat after me: Sectumsempra."
Vizette tapped his temple, invoking a memory charm to etch the incantation's cadence, lip shape, and phonetics. Satisfied, he echoed, "Sectumsempra."
"Precision and control from the Diffindo—don't slack," Snape intoned gravely. "I'll elaborate just once more. Channel your magic to a focal point, then radiate it outward in a line, like a blade's extension."
Vizette nodded, jotting furiously. The spell's mechanics echoed Ancient Magic: Improved Diffindo (Beginner), Snape's terse explanation bridging any gaps. Unclear bits could be revisited via memory magic; if needed, he'd press Snape for clarification. He was well accustomed to the man's clipped style by now.
Snape circled to the slough's far side, Vizette mirroring him.
"Observe once," Snape commanded, wand raised. "From here to the tip—watch! Sectumsempra."
With a sharp slash, an invisible edge tore through the molt, parting it seamlessly from head to tail in a spray of fine, enchanted fibers. The air hummed with residual power, the cut so precise it barely singed the edges.
Vizette's pulse quickened. This wasn't mere severing; it was a dark incantation honed for lethality, its "divine sharpness" a euphemism for the wounds it inflicted. Yet here, repurposed, it served their needs flawlessly.
Dumbledore chuckled softly. "Impressive control, Severus. Though I suspect our young prodigy will adapt it in ways we can't yet foresee."
Snape sheathed his wand, expression unreadable. "Collect the pieces. We've lingered long enough."
As Vizette gathered the segmented skin, folding it into his expanded pouch, the cave's chill deepened. The basilisk's absence was a mercy, but its legacy lingered—a reminder that greater perils stalked these depths. With the ingredient secured, their path to the Chamber of Secrets lay open, fraught with shadows yet to pierce.
—