Chapter 353: The Ordinary-Looking Slytherin Descendant
One of the most fascinating aspects of Hogwarts Castle was the sheer number of secrets it concealed.
Even Albus Dumbledore himself could not claim to know them all.
Yet there was one secret he could state with certainty—among all living wizards, only he and Tom Riddle (the version bound within the diary) were aware of it.
The vast underground world beneath Hogwarts.
And now, within Slytherin's Chamber of Secrets, Dumbledore stood before the skeletal remains of a Scottish ox.
Scottish cattle—commonly known as Highland cattle—were famous for their extraordinarily long coats, the longest of any cattle breed in the world. They thrived in the cold, desolate Highlands, an ancient and resilient lineage capable of digesting tough vegetation that most other cattle avoided. Their heavy hair protected them against relentless wind, rain, and snow.
Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, along with the magical village of Hogsmeade, was located in Scotland. The region's remoteness and rugged terrain made it ideal for concealing magical sites from Muggles. The school's precise location was unknown to the wider wizarding world, but as headmaster, Dumbledore knew it lay deep within the northwestern Highlands—Sutherland—where the population was sparse.
Logically speaking, the skeleton of a native Scottish animal appearing beneath Hogwarts should not have surprised him.
Yet Dumbledore knew one unassailable fact.
The basilisk had never left Hogwarts—nor had it ever entered the Forbidden Forest.
If it had, it would have been discovered long ago. The Acromantula colony in the forest would never have tolerated such a presence; they would have fled en masse.
Which meant—
No matter how reluctant he was to admit it, the creature whose bones lay before him must have come from the underground world known only to the headmaster.
And the basilisk itself belonged to that world as well—dwelling somewhere beyond even his authority to perceive.
"What are you staring at?" Riddle asked. "That thing?"
"So the basilisk resides there too," he continued, realization dawning as he studied the skeleton.
"What concerns me," Dumbledore said quietly, lifting his gaze, "is whether the intruder came for the basilisk… or for the underground world itself."
"You're overthinking it," Riddle replied dismissively. "Maybe they were just curious about the Chamber. The basilisk is probably fine."
With that, he walked deeper into the tunnel.
Dumbledore followed, quickly regaining his composure.
"This must be its shed skin," he said, examining the massive green husk lying coiled on the stone floor. "About twenty feet long."
"Well," Riddle said suddenly, stopping in his tracks, "Christmas is coming."
"You want it?" Dumbledore asked, glancing at the skin again.
Riddle nodded. A flick of his wand sent a pale blue light washing over the basilisk skin, which began shrinking at a visible speed.
Less than a minute later, a strip no longer than three inches rested neatly in his palm.
"As a colleague—and his former superior—I think Severus deserves a meaningful Christmas gift," Riddle said casually, slipping it into his pocket. "A thousand-year-old basilisk skin should suffice."
"I strongly advise you to give him nothing at all," Dumbledore replied dryly. "Treating Severus as if he doesn't exist would likely make him far more comfortable."
Their footsteps echoed clearly as they continued onward.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
The tunnel seemed endless. After countless turns, it felt as though centuries had passed before they finally reached its end.
A massive stone wall blocked their path, carved with two intertwined serpents. Their eyes were set with large emeralds that gleamed faintly in the darkness.
Without a word, Riddle stepped forward and hissed, deep and rasping:
"Open."
The serpents slid apart.
The stone wall split down the center, retreating smoothly to either side, and the two of them stepped through.
Beyond lay a vast, dimly lit chamber. Stone pillars carved with coiling serpents supported a ceiling lost in darkness, casting elongated, distorted shadows. A greenish haze lingered in the air, imbuing the space with an eerie, ancient atmosphere.
It would have been a perfect setting for a Muggle haunted house.
Even moving cautiously, their footsteps echoed hollowly against the ghostly walls.
When they passed the final pair of pillars, a colossal statue emerged from the darkness, pressed against the far wall—so tall it nearly reached the ceiling itself.
Riddle raised a hand to his forehead.
He already knew what he was about to see.
Dumbledore, however, looked up with unconcealed curiosity.
Only one wizard could have left a statue in this place—one who never left behind a portrait.
Salazar Slytherin.
Dumbledore froze.
His pupils contracted sharply.
The statue depicted an elderly man with a strangely simian face. A long, sparse beard flowed nearly to the hem of his carved robes, and two large stone feet rested flat against the smooth floor.
"This is… Slytherin?" Dumbledore murmured, rubbing his eyes.
"Yes," Riddle replied flatly. "That's Slytherin."
"Actually, it makes sense," he continued. "Every known descendant of Slytherin who left a portrait—Gormlaith Gaunt, Isolt Sayre… even my mother, from what the orphanage records described—wasn't exactly known for their looks. Ordinary, at best."
"So it seems our ancestor was never particularly handsome," Riddle said calmly. "I'm the exception."
"My looks come from my Muggle father."
"This is my mother's blessing," he added with a self-mocking smile. "She made me exactly like him."
For a fleeting moment, doubt flickered through Riddle's thoughts.
The summer after Myrtle's death… the Gaunt shack… the murder of Tom Riddle Sr. and his parents—Thomas and Mary Riddle—for abandoning Merope Gaunt.
Morfin Gaunt, framed and sent to Azkaban.
"Hm," Dumbledore said gently, breaking the silence. "What about the basilisk? There are no signs of it moving through this chamber. I suspect it doesn't reside here."
"It's behind the statue," Riddle replied. "That space likely connects to the underground world through a separate network of pipes."
"You're correct," he added, his smile turning strange. "But the basilisk can also be summoned here."
"Perhaps," he mused, "this was Slytherin's idea of ritual."
Indeed—
In terms of aesthetics, at least, he was hardly a pure Slytherin heir.
(End of Chapter 353)
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