Lost in his own desolate thoughts after failing to bring the source of his torment to justice and losing yet another friend, Echo walked in a mindless muddle, his gaze unfocused. He turned a corner, then another, his feet carrying him without conscious direction. Before he knew it, he found himself standing in front of a familiar, albeit unsettling, door: the entrance to the second-floor girls' bathroom. He pushed it open, thinking it was the room of requirement, the creak of the hinges startlingly loud in the silence.
Once inside, he leaned against one of the sinks, its polished surface cool against his back. A fresh wave of self-pity washed over him, and he closed his eyes, a single, hot tear escaping. "I just… I wish there was a new way that would open to me," he whispered, the words slipping out in a sorrowful hiss, a language he didn't consciously choose.
As the last word left his lips, the sink before him began to shimmer. A low, grinding sound emanated from beneath it, growing louder, and then, with a deep groan, the sink began to sink into the floor. The marble split, revealing a dark, gaping hole, a bottomless pit leading into unknown depths.
Echo's eyes flew open, wide with a mixture of shock and sheer terror. He stumbled back, but it was too late. The edge of the hole crumbled beneath his feet, and he plunged downwards, a strangled cry escaping his lips.
"Balloonie!" he shrieked, his voice raw with panic.
With a soft WHOOSH, the Wyvern materialized beneath him, its inflated chest acting as a brake, halting his rapid descent. Balloonie, with a few flaps of its tiny wings, then gently lowered him to the damp, stone floor at the bottom of the cavern.
Echo swallowed hard, his heart hammering against his ribs, still trying to climb back into his throat. He had almost died. Again. He looked around, the dim, green-tinged light from some unseen source illuminating a vast, circular chamber. Enormous, serpentine columns rose into the darkness, their surfaces carved with grotesque figures of intertwined snakes. A chilling, damp air hung heavy, carrying a faint, musty odor.
"Well," Echo muttered, his voice echoing unnervingly in the cavernous space, his black hair flickering with a fresh wave of alarm. "What fresh chaos have I unleashed onto myself this time?"
A profound sense of unease settled over Echo, a chilling premonition that prickled at the back of his neck. Yet, beneath the dread, an irresistible pull tugged at him, a deep, resonant hum that seemed to emanate from the very heart of the chamber, drawing him further into the oppressive darkness. His black hair rippled with a hesitant violet as he took a tentative step forward.
But then, a firm tug on his trousers stopped him. Sniffles, its usually playful demeanor replaced by wide, terrified eyes, refused to move, digging its tiny claws into the fabric. Shimmer, a silver blur of agitation, chittered frantically, fluttering around his head and nudging him away from the path deeper into the chamber. Even Balloonie, still hovering patiently, let out a series of low, anxious growls, effectively blocking his way. The three creatures, usually so eager to follow his every command, were now united in their silent, desperate plea for him to stop.
Echo frowned, his violet hair shifting to a questioning blue. "What is it, guys?" he murmured, trying to push past Balloonie. "Are you scared? Do you sense something out there?"
Balloonie merely rumbled, pushing him back with its inflated chest. Shimmer landed on his shoulder, its tiny hand patting his cheek with an insistent urgency, while Sniffles continued to cling to his leg, whimpering softly. Their collective answer was clear: they would not go further, and they desperately wanted him to stay back as well. With a shared glance, the three creatures then turned and, as if in unison, began to ascend the long, dark ladder that stretched back up to the girls' bathroom above.
Echo watched them go, a pang of loneliness mixing with the insistent pull he felt. "It's alright, guys," he called up to them, his voice echoing in the vast chamber. "You can stay here. I… I feel like something is calling out to me. I can't ignore it."
He looked at his outer robe, draped over a nearby piece of fallen masonry. With a sigh, he shrugged it off, leaving it with his three worried creatures, a silent promise that he would return. Then, with a deep breath and a growing sense of foreboding yet an unshakeable resolve, Echo turned and walked deeper into the unknown chamber, its secrets and name still hidden from him.
The chamber slowly narrowed, the serpentine columns drawing closer, their carved eyes seeming to follow his every move. The air grew heavier, thick with a magic that felt ancient and raw. He passed a crumbling pedestal, then another, each etched with symbols he didn't recognize, yet humming with a dark, primal energy. His black hair, now a deep, inquisitive blue, reflected the faint green glow that pulsed from the unseen source ahead. He walked for what felt like an eternity, the silence broken only by the drip of water and the soft scuff of his shoes on the damp floor. The pull intensified, becoming almost a physical tether, drawing him onward. Finally, the passage opened into an even larger, circular chamber.
At its center, a massive, stone statue rose, dominating the space. It was a grotesque, terrifying figure: the upper body of a man, ancient and regal, with a long, flowing beard, but from the waist down, the coiled, scaly body of a gigantic serpent. Its eyes, carved from enormous, luminous green emeralds, glowed with an eerie, unblinking intensity, radiating the dark magic that filled the entire cavern. The statue's mouth was open in a silent roar, revealing rows of razor-sharp fangs.
Echo stared, transfixed, a cold dread creeping up his spine. His blue hair flickered with a sudden, violent surge of purple, then black. This was it. This was the source of the unsettling power, the ancient call that had drawn him here. He recognized the symbol on the statue's forehead, etched deep into the stone: the mark of Slytherin.
"The Chamber of Secrets," he whispered, the name a chilling realization on his lips. "This is the Chamber of Secrets. I read about."
As if his words were a key, a low, guttural hiss echoed through the chamber, seemingly emanating from the statue itself. The enormous serpent-man's emerald eyes glowed brighter, and the very air vibrated with a palpable sense of menace. Echo instinctively reached for his wand, but then remembered he had left his robes and wand within its holster with his friends at the entrance to the Chamber, hoping to return to them to be comforted. He really should strap that holster to his body at some point. Now, he was utterly defenseless. A fresh wave of terror, cold and absolute, washed over him. He was truly, utterly alone, face to face with the ancient, dark heart of Slytherin. His black hair, unable to decide on a single color, flickered wildly, a chaotic storm of red, blue, and purple.
Then, slowly, agonizingly, the enormous statue began to move. The stone groaned, dust rained down, and the serpentine head turned, its emerald eyes fixing on Echo with an unholy intelligence. The mouth, previously a silent roar, began to open wider, a sound like grinding boulders filling the chamber. From its depths, an enormous, scaled head emerged, followed by a thick, powerful neck. The King of Serpents, the legendary Basilisk, uncoiled itself from the statue, its massive body slithering onto the damp floor of the chamber. Its eyes, the size of dinner plates and glowing with the same deadly green as the emeralds, met Echo's.
A shiver of primal terror ran down Echo's spine, but as the Basilisk fully emerged, its scales gleaming with an ancient, deadly beauty, a strange fascination began to replace his fear. His flickering hair settled into a deep, mesmerized blue as his eyes, wide with awe, stared directly into the basilisk's dinner-plate-sized, emerald-green orbs. Every instinct screamed at him to look away, to run, but he couldn't. He was captivated by its terrifying majesty.
The Basilisk, having not feasted in centuries, saw the boy as an easy, delectable meal. It saw the fear, the awe, and decided to play with its prey. Slowly, deliberately, it began to coil its immense body around Echo, not meeting his gaze directly, but creating a loose, menacing circle. The air grew heavy with its ancient scent, and the chilling hiss of its scales rubbing against the stone floor was the only sound in the vast chamber. The coils tightened gently around him, not crushing, but certainly encompassing. Then, with a slow, powerful movement, the Basilisk raised its colossal head, its mouth widening, fangs dripping with venom, preparing to swallow Echo whole.
Just as its massive maw loomed over him, Echo, still in that strange state of fearful enchantment, reached out a trembling hand. "You're… you're so pretty," he whispered, his voice a hoarse, awe-struck gasp.
The Basilisk froze. Its head, inches from consuming him, stopped. Its emerald eyes, though still radiating death, held a flicker of something akin to surprise. Echo, emboldened by the creature's unexpected halt, moved his hand slowly, hesitantly, and touched the smooth, cold scales of its snout.
"Such a pretty snake," he murmured, and this time, the words that flowed from his lips were not English, but a guttural, ancient hiss, "—Sssuch a pretty sssnakessss…"
The Basilisk's emerald eyes, which had been fixed on Echo with predatory intent, narrowed slightly, a ripple of confusion passing through their deadly depths. The boy was not dying, even as he gazed directly into its killing stare. And he spoke… in its own tongue. Parseltongue. The ancient, forgotten language of snakes, a secret passed down through the bloodline of Salazar Slytherin himself. But this boy was not Slytherin. His magic was… different.
Echo, still entranced by the creature's overwhelming presence, continued to stroke its cold, smooth snout. His blue hair shimmered with a profound empathy as he looked around the cavern. "Are you… Are you down here all by yourself?" he hissed, the Parseltongue coming as naturally as breathing. "All alone?" He sighed, a soft, melancholy sound that echoed in the vast chamber. "I know what that's like. I'm alone, too." His gaze swept over the ancient stone and the oppressive dampness. "It's a shame such a pretty thing has been left here all by itself for untold years. Without freedom, without sunlight, without friends." He paused, his voice softening, a genuine offer in his tone. "But if it makes you feel better... I'll be your friend. If you'll have me."
For the first time in centuries, a strange, unfamiliar sensation rippled through the Basilisk. Not fear, not hunger, but something entirely new. Warmth. The boy's flesh, beneath his trembling hand, was so incredibly warm, unlike the cold, calculating touch of her old master, Salazar Slytherin, whose skin was always as icy as his words. But this boy's words were as warm as his skin, yet he held a deep, lingering coldness within him, too. He, too, was trying to hold onto that warmth, to nurture it against the chill of his own isolation. For the moment, the Basilisk would simply enjoy the warmth, a sensation she never knew she craved until now.
Echo remained there for what felt like hours, sitting gently on the Basilisk's immense coils. The serpent, still and attentive, had lowered her colossal head, resting it carefully on his lap. Her emerald eyes, once filled with lethal intent, were now half-closed, a rare and profound contentment radiating from her. Echo, in turn, leaned his head against her smooth, cold scales, feeling the ancient, quiet strength of her body beneath him. His black hair, no longer flickering with alarm or wonder, settled into a peaceful, deep blue.
The vast Chamber of Secrets, once a place of terrifying solitude, was now filled with a different kind of silence – a comfortable, shared quietude. No whispers, no judging stares, no demanding magic. Just the steady presence of a creature and a boy, both alone in the world, finding an unexpected solace in each other's company. He continued to stroke her scales, feeling the subtle shift of muscle beneath his fingers, a silent conversation passing between them that transcended words. In that moment, the weight of the Unbreakable Vow, the betrayal of his friends, and the looming darkness all faded into the periphery, replaced by the simple, profound peace of connection.
He recounted the sting of betrayal, the image of his friends' empty chairs burned into his memory, the whispers and glares of the student body, and the agonizing feeling of being ostracized. His voice, a low hiss in Parseltongue, carried the weight of his despair. He spoke of the House Cup, a victory that felt hollow and bitter, and how it had been the catalyst for his isolation. Then, his voice hardened, the gentle caress of his hand on her scales becoming more insistent. He told her about Lucius Malfoy, the architect of his misery, the one who had sent the forged letter, driven by a petty jealousy and a desire to see Echo fall. He spoke of his burning desire for justice, a justice he had been unable to deliver, a revenge that still gnawed at him.
"I wished for things to change," Echo hissed, his voice raw with emotion. "I wished for a new path, a way to make things right, to go back to how they were. But this… this wasn't what I meant." He looked around the vast, ancient chamber. "Though it is nice to meet a new friend," he added, a flicker of genuine warmth in his blue eyes. "But why are you here? All alone, in this dark place?"
The Basilisk stirred, a low rumble emanating from her massive chest. Her emerald eyes, still half-closed, opened fully, fixing on Echo with an ancient wisdom. "Sssalazar Ssslytherin, my Massster, placed me here," she hissed, her voice a deep, resonant sound that vibrated through the stone, "to await hisss true heir. To purge thisss ssschool of those unworthy of magic. The mudbloods. Those not of pure blood."
Echo frowned, his blue hair flickering with confusion. "Unworthy? Mudbloods? What are you talking about? And… I can understand you. How can I understand you?" he asked, a sudden realization dawning on him. "You're speaking Parseltongue, aren't you?"
The Basilisk chuckled, a sound like shifting gravel. "Yesss, little hatchling. You hear my voicccce and underssstand. It isss the blood of Sssalazar Ssslytherin within you. My Masster'sss blood. You are hisss heir."
Echo blinked, his jaw dropping. "His heir? Salazar Slytherin?" His mind raced, connecting disparate pieces of information. Dumbledore had noted his strange connection to snakes. It all suddenly made a terrifying, perplexing sense. When he had been Isekai'd into this world, he had never expected to be related to someone so influential, so ancient. He had just assumed he was a lucky nobody… or perhaps, an unlucky nobody.
The Basilisk stirred again, her emerald eyes fixed on Echo. "Ssspeak, heir of Sssalazar. You have been wronged. Doesss your heart not crrrave vengeance? Shall I purrrge thisss casstle of those who have cauussse you sssuch pain? The ones who abandoned you? The Malfoy? Ssshall I sssilence their tongue in death?"
Echo's blue hair flared a startled red, and he shook his head vehemently. "No! Absolutely not!" he hissed in Parseltongue, his voice firm despite the lingering ache in his heart. "That's not what I want. Not that way." He paused, a flicker of dark amusement crossing his features. "Though if Lucius were here right now, and I wasn't muddled, I definitely would have used you to scare him into admitting everything. He's such a coward." Echo then let out a low chuckle, a dangerous glint in his eyes. "Perhaps next time he comes back to the castle, and the Dark Lord inevitably gives him new instructions to make my life hell in some other way, you can snack on Crabbe and Goyle. Then, once he sees his cronies gone, he'll be eager to spill his guts."
The Basilisk's head tilted slightly. "The Dark Lord?" she hissed, a questioning rumble in her chest.
"I don't know this person's name," Echo admitted, his blue hair returning to a more thoughtful shade. "But they seem to have eyes for me and my magic. They're behind all of Malfoy's actions, I think. They want me to join them."
"You have my sssecret now, heir of Sssalazar," the Basilisk continued, her gaze unwavering. "What would you have me do? My Master's ancient command was to seek out the Mudbloods, to purge them from this school. Is thisss your desissire?"
Echo's eyes widened, and his hair flared a defiant red. "Absolutely not!" he declared, his voice ringing with conviction, the Parseltongue still flowing effortlessly. "Hundreds of years have passed since Salazar Slytherin's time, and even though some stigma still stays, those who stay rooted in the past and old traditions are doomed to die by the same mistakes made. Whatever fears Slytherin had, they are no longer founded in this age."
The Basilisk regarded him for a long moment, a deep, rumbling sigh escaping her. "Very well," she hissed, her massive head nodding almost imperceptibly. But if you desire something, anything at all, heir, all you have to do is give the command to me."
Echo recoiled slightly, his red hair flickering with vehement disagreement. "No! Absolutely not!" he stressed, leaning forward, his voice filled with a passionate earnestness. "I don't want you to be like a slave or a servant. That's not right. Not for any creature, let alone one as magnificent as you." He took a deep breath. "My first and only command to you, if you accept it, is never to hurt a Muggle-born unless they truly wish to cause harm. Do you understand?"
The Basilisk blinked slowly, a strange, ancient understanding in her emerald eyes. "I underssstand, little heir. Your command isss my bond." She then tilted her head again. "If not a command, then what do you desissire of me?"
Echo offered a small, tentative smile, a genuine warmth finally returning to his blue eyes. "I want you as a friend," he whispered, his voice soft but clear. "But only if you desire it too."
The Basilisk's massive head lowered slightly, her emerald eyes, still warm with the strange new feeling, regarded Echo with an ancient, searching gaze. "Free choiccce?" she hissed, the question a soft, almost vulnerable rumble in her chest. "Truly? For a creature such asss myssself?"
Echo's blue eyes softened further, a gentle smile gracing his lips. "For all of them," he said, his voice imbued with a quiet conviction, and he instinctively switched back to Parseltongue, "—For all the creaturesss I love, great and sssmall, there isss never any control, only decisssion. My magic isss for understanding and connection, not for ssslavery." He stroked her scales once more, his touch firm and reassuring. "You are not a tool, a weapon, or a ssservant. You are a being, with your own thoughts and your own choices."
The Basilisk stared at him, so much like Salazar in his powerful command of Parseltongue, in the deep well of magic that resonated within him, in the same darkness that she sensed, the same drive of ambition that pulsed beneath his skin. And yet, he was so profoundly different. Salazar had commanded with cold authority, and his ambition was focused on purging and control. Echo, though possessing that same intense drive, aimed for connection, for respect, for a warmth that Salazar had never offered. It was refreshing, after centuries spent in the cold, unyielding grip of control, to be offered warmth and true freedom. The ancient burden that had weighed on her for so long seemed to lift, replaced by a lightness she had never known.
"Yesss, little heir, " she hissed, her massive head dipping in a gesture of acceptance, "I will be your frrriend."
Echo's smile widened, a genuine, unburdened joy radiating from him. "Thank you," he whispered, then hesitated. "There's one more thing," he said, his voice a little shy now. "Would you… Would you be willing to be given a name? One of my choices, of course."
The Basilisk blinked slowly. A name. She had never had a name. To Salazar, she was simply "the Basilisk," "the Serpent," a thing, a means to an end. A name had meaning, had purpose, had individuality. It was a recognition of existence beyond mere function. A name was a profound gift, a symbol of belonging. "A name…" she rumbled, the sound filled with a nascent wonder. "Yesss, little heir. I would be honoured. Give me a name."
Echo beamed. "Then I shall call you… Pretty."
The Basilisk pondered the sound, a soft, rumbling hiss escaping her. "Pretty… Yesss. I like it. Pretty." She tested the name, repeating it several times, a new sense of identity settling upon her. "It isss a good name, little heir. Thank you."
Echo then settled back against Pretty's massive coils, a wave of peaceful contentment washing over him. With a sigh of pure happiness, he closed his eyes, his black hair now a serene blue, and drifted into a much-needed, dreamless sleep, the first truly peaceful slumber he had experienced in months. He slept soundly, wrapped in the warmth of his new friend, the ancient magic of the Chamber of Secrets a comforting lullaby.
He slept soundly for what felt like an eternity, the first truly peaceful slumber he had experienced in months. His dreams, for once, were not plagued by whispers or condemning stares, but by the gentle rustle of scales and the deep, resonant purr of a colossal serpent. Then, a faint, insistent chittering began to pierce the veil of his sleep. It grew louder, accompanied by soft whimpers and anxious growls, pulling him reluctantly back to consciousness. Echo blinked, his blue eyes slowly opening. The Chamber of Secrets, still dim and green-tinged, looked exactly as it had when he closed it. He pushed himself up, gently dislodging Pretty's massive head from his lap. From the entrance to the chamber, far above, he could see three tiny figures silhouetted against the faint light. Shimmer, Sniffles, and Balloonie, his loyal creatures, were calling out to him.
"I have to go, Pretty," Echo whispered, stroking her snout. His voice was thick with sleep, but a gentle smile touched his lips. "They're worried about me," he said.
Pretty's emerald eyes opened fully, a flicker of disappointment in their depths, but she merely rumbled softly, understanding.
"Don't worry," Echo reassured her, his smile widening. "It's the summer holidays now. And since… well, since I don't really have any friends to spend time with, I can spend all my time with you! I'll come back as soon as I can." He paused, a thoughtful frown creasing his brow. "Oh, and I should probably bring you some food. What do you like to eat, Pretty? I imagine you get pretty hungry down here."
Pretty tilted her head slightly, a deep, ancient hiss escaping her. "Beeefff…" she rumbled, the word tasting strange on her serpentine tongue. "A long, long time ago, my Massster once fed me a sssmall oxxx. It wasss… good. I have not forgotten the flavor of itss flesh."
Echo chuckled. "Beef, huh? I can definitely make that happen. Lots of beef. And once that muddling spell wears off," he added, a mischievous glint in his eyes, "I'll even use my Beast Magic to take you for walks—or rather, slithers—outside in the Forbidden Forest. You can see the world, Pretty, and feel the sun on your scales. How does that sound?"
Pretty's eyes gleamed with a nascent excitement. "Sssun… outside… it sssoundsss… wonderful, little heir."
Echo chuckled. "Maybe I can introduce you to Wick, too. She's… well, she's kinda like my daughter, since I raised her." He paused, a thoughtful frown creasing his brow. "Actually, on second thought, that might be a bad idea. You two might try to eat each other. And Wick probably has the advantage since she can fly and breathe fire."
He then gave Pretty one last pat on her snout before turning and making his way back towards the opening in the ceiling, where his three anxious creatures awaited him. He ascended the long, rickety ladder, the faint sounds of their chittering and whimpering growing louder with each rung. As he emerged back into the deserted girls' bathroom, Shimmer, Sniffles, and Balloonie immediately swarmed him, chittering and nudging him with obvious relief.
Echo knelt, gathering them close, a soft, genuine smile on his face. "I'm alright, guys," he murmured, stroking Sniffles' fur. "Just made a new friend. A very big, very pretty friend." His hair settled into a gentle, contented blue. "And now, I think it's time we went home. We have a lot to prepare for."
He gathered his robes and his wand, which Shimmer had carefully laid out for him, and with a final glance at the still-open entrance to the Chamber of Secrets, Echo led his creatures out of the bathroom and into the quiet, sun-dappled corridors of Hogwarts. The school was truly empty now, its silence profound. As he walked, a new sense of purpose settled over him. His heartbreak still lingered, a dull ache in his chest, but it was no longer consuming. He had a plan. He had allies. And he had a new, ancient friend who would be waiting for him.
He was still alone in the world, in many ways, but he was no longer utterly lost. He had a path forward, a quiet resolve to heal, to grow, and to, eventually, find a way to make those who had wronged him truly pay. But for now, there was the summer. A summer of planning, of training, and of spending time with a very pretty, very large, new friend.
And with that, the heir of Slytherin, the Dark Beast Wizard, walked out of Hogwarts, ready to embrace the long, complicated summer ahead, with its promise of hidden paths and ancient alliances.