Erwin accepted the vial with a nod, a spark of satisfaction lighting his eyes. Finally, it was done. Brewing this had taken ages—even Snape had struggled with it. Now his automated potion cauldron could finally hum to life.
"Use it wisely," Snape warned, his voice low and measured. "So-called 'luck' is just dulled emotions letting you think straight under pressure. Overdo it, and you'll dull more than your nerves."
Erwin nodded. "Understood, Godfather. I won't push it."
Snape gave a curt grunt, satisfied. Erwin was no fool; he didn't need hand-holding. They spent another hour processing herbs and simmering a fresh batch before calling it a night. By the time they slipped out of Snape's office, the castle clocks chimed past eleven.
The corridors lay silent and empty as Erwin yawned, rubbing his neck. Late nights grinding over potions left him drained.
Then came the sound—a low, muffled hiss echoing from the pipes overhead. Erwin froze, parsing the words effortlessly. The black kitten in his arms stirred, its eyes snapping open. It leaped down, hackles rising as it glared at the sewer grate.
Erwin chuckled softly and whistled. The kitten bounded back into his arms, still tense. "Easy now," he murmured. "Nothing to fret over."
It mewed in agreement, and Erwin glanced up at the grate. Ginny must have already set things in motion. Quick work. Poor Mrs. Norris wouldn't know what hit her—a mangy cat facing down a monster. Pity, in a way.
But the real chaos was just beginning. Erwin shook his head with a wry smile. No rest for the wicked, it seemed. Duty—or misPatriarch—called.
A week slipped by in a blur. The basilisk stayed quiet, likely still shaking off centuries of slumber. But Erwin knew the timeline; it wouldn't be long now.
That evening, after a raucous dinner in the Great Hall, the students shuffled toward their common rooms for study hour. Erwin lagged behind, wandering the corridors, when the hissing returned—faint but unmistakable.
"Blood... fresh blood. I'll rip you apart! Kill... kill!"
Erwin's mouth quirked. Locked away too long, had it? Ranting like a cornered beast. The words rang a bell, though—straight out of Harry's nightmares. Filch was in for a rough night.
With a sympathetic sigh, Erwin pressed on toward the Slytherin common room. But as he rounded a dim corner, his steps faltered.
There, slithering into view, was the basilisk itself—massive scales glinting in the torchlight, yellow eyes fixed ahead.
Erwin stared, mind racing. It wasn't supposed to roam like this, not out in the open. And why him? Of all the corridors in Hogwarts, he turns a corner and—bam—face-to-face with a killer serpent. Lady Luck had a twisted sense of humor.
Attack? But then what? Skip the script entirely? Play it cool, and risk those deathly eyes locking on? Wait—they already had. Why wasn't he stone?
The basilisk paused, head tilting in confusion. Its orders were clear: petrify, sow terror. But this boy... he wasn't fleeing. He smelled familiar, almost welcoming. And those eyes—meeting its gaze without shattering. Impossible.
They stood frozen, an absurd standoff in the empty hall. Neither blinked.
Finally, Erwin broke the silence. "Why don't you get on with it, then? Plenty of chaos left to cause."
The basilisk hissed, testing him. Erwin nodded. "Aye, I get you. But you're blocking the way, big fella. One wrong turn, and someone spots you. Even a rooster's crow could end it all."
The word "rooster" sparked a flinch—the beast recoiled, old fears surfacing. Before it could respond, its gaze snagged on the ring gleaming on Erwin's finger. Excitement rippled through its coils.
"Hiss! Hiss hiss!"
Erwin held up his hand. "Hold it. Think, you ancient lump. I can't exactly parade as Slytherin's heir waving this about. Or have I gone daft?"
Two sharp hisses.
"Right," Erwin said dryly. "I am the heir."
The basilisk surged forward, eager, but Erwin waved it back. "Whoa, easy! Not here, you scaly menace. Back to your tunnels—do what you're meant to. I'll summon you proper when it's time."
A flicker of hurt crossed the creature's eyes, almost comically human. It whined in protest.
Erwin groaned. "Pulling the sad-puppy act? Fine, I hear you—you can't tail me now. But if you don't scarper, I'll hex you myself. Off!"
Dejected, the basilisk drooped, slinking away into the shadows. It glanced back every few feet, eyes pleading.
Erwin pinched the bridge of his nose. "For Merlin's sake... Fine. Sneak a dip in the Black Lake later—I'll toss in some dinner tonight."
That perked it up. Two joyful hisses, and it vanished into a nearby grate with a final, affectionate glance.
Erwin massaged his temples, exhaling sharply. Bumping into a basilisk like it was a stray cat? This deviated wildly from the plan. The plot was veering off the rails.
He scanned the corner ahead. "Headmaster Dumbledore, how long do you plan to lurk? Your robes are peeking out—crimson as a Gryffindor banner."
Dumbledore stepped into view, his half-moon spectacles twinkling with amusement. "You two seem to have quite the rapport."
Erwin snorted. "Spare me. Bold move, letting Harry stumble into this mess. A basilisk loose in the castle? One slip, and it's not just petrification—you're done for. Precedents aren't kind."
Dumbledore's smile faded slightly, but his tone stayed serene. "Those were darker days; the first opening blindsided us all. This time, I've got it well in hand."
Erwin shrugged. "Your funeral—or not. Doesn't touch me. That beast's got potential, though. It'll make a fine pet."
"Indeed," Dumbledore agreed mildly. "A relic of Slytherin ought to find its true master."
...
WANT 15 BONUS CHAPTERS?
Enjoy the read, and let's get started on the next goal immediately!
Power Stones: [140]/200
5 Star Reviews: [12]/20
— MrGrim