If Slytherin can keep a Basilisk as a pet, why can't the Dursleys?
Rumor has it that Slytherin left a secret Chamber at Hogwarts, and only his purest-blooded heir could inherit it—and the Basilisk.
But here's the thing: neither the Sorting Hat nor the Basilisk is some kind of magical ancestry test. They can't tell if someone's blood is "pure" or not.
And honestly, "pure blood" is such a subjective term.
What even counts as pure blood?
Is Tom Riddle pure-blooded? Yet he was the heir to the Chamber.
Slytherin's way of verifying his heir was simple: Parseltongue. If you can speak to snakes, you're in the running to be his successor.
So, when Dudley started hissing in Parseltongue, the Basilisk was already leaning his way.
The catch? There can only be one heir. When Voldemort kicked the bucket, the magical contract binding the Basilisk fizzled out.
---
A contract was made, both sides agreed, and the deal was sealed.
The Basilisk was scarfing down the food Dudley provided, savoring every bite. This was the most satisfying meal it had eaten in a thousand years.
Its eyes half-closed in contentment, tongue flickering lazily. The Basilisk was in a great mood.
Sure, it had a new master now.
But this one was way better than the last.
He fed it. And fed it well.
Dudley had no plans to keep the Basilisk cooped up in Hogwarts Castle. Right now, he was riding its massive head as they slithered toward the Forbidden Forest.
The Forest was huge—big enough for one Basilisk, or even a whole nest of them.
Plus, it was home to the Basilisk's favorite snack: Acromantulas.
Yup, Dudley set the Basilisk up near the Acromantula colony's hollow.
A little feast now and then? Perfectly reasonable.
This wasn't about revenge for the Acromantulas attacking him. Dudley wasn't that petty.
It was for the good of the Forbidden Forest. Without a natural predator, the Acromantulas were breeding out of control. If things kept going, half the Forest would be overrun by those giant spiders, throwing the whole ecosystem out of whack.
Yup, totally true.
"Why did Slytherin make that statue in the Chamber look so… creepy?" Dudley asked, lounging atop the Basilisk's head, chatting casually as they moved.
"Was that really what he looked like?"
Maybe it was his imagination, but after a full meal, the Basilisk seemed to talk more smoothly, its thoughts clearer.
"That's not Slytherin's statue," it hissed.
"In your wizard terms, the old master was quite handsome. Even in his old age."
The Basilisk shook its head slightly, tongue flicking as it greedily sniffed the air. This place was a million times better than that dark, stuffy, airless Chamber.
"?"
If the statue in Slytherin's Chamber wasn't Slytherin, then who was it?
The Basilisk's next words confirmed Dudley's suspicion.
"It's the old master's good friend, Gryffindor."
"…"
Wow, that's next-level.
Building a statue of Gryffindor in the Basilisk's lair, then having the snake slither in and out of Gryffindor's mouth? Slytherin was an absolute genius at trolling.
Talk about peak mischief.
Then again, considering the Sorting Hat's songs practically dragged Slytherin through the mud, it's safe to say…
Best friends, bros, and ultimate frenemies.
"Can you tell me how to gain Slytherin's authority over Hogwarts Castle?" Dudley asked.
"You'd need to pass the old master's trial," the Basilisk replied.
Dudley pressed further. "What about Tom, the last heir? Did he pass it?"
"He only studied the old master's knowledge. He never took the trial."
"Why not?"
"He wasn't qualified."
"What does it take to qualify?"
"I don't know."
The Basilisk knew a bit about things from a thousand years ago, but not much. It was just a hatchling back then, after all.
Mostly, it had gossip.
Like how Gryffindor had a crush on Ravenclaw, how Hufflepuff had a thing for Gryffindor, or how Gryffindor's sword was commissioned by Slytherin from the goblins.
According to the Basilisk, Slytherin was the one who spilled all this tea.
Wait a sec—why's it all about Gryffindor?
"I'll come check on you every now and then, with your favorite food," Dudley said.
Soon, they reached their destination: a ridge near the Acromantula colony's hollow.
"Don't go killing other magical creatures, except for the Acromantulas over there."
If left unchecked, the Acromantula colony would become a major threat to the Forbidden Forest. Scratch that—they already were. Their numbers were ridiculous. Their territory was practically a dead zone—no magical creatures, no regular animals, not even insects.
This was even with Aragog keeping the colony from eating humans. But Aragog was old, his days numbered. Dudley had noticed during his last visit that some spiders were already ignoring Aragog's orders. Once he was gone, those Acromantulas would definitely start attacking humans. It was in their nature.
This wasn't just talk—it was seriously dangerous.
Except for a few powerful beings, they were a threat to everyone.
"There's nothing here that can withstand your gaze," Dudley warned.
The Basilisk's eyes were a death sentence—wizard or magical creature, didn't matter. Maybe someone on Voldemort or Dumbledore's level could survive, but who could say for sure?
Its passive death stare was handy but risky for accidental casualties.
Once Dudley had tamed it enough, he'd evolve it further and keep it at his side.
That'd be a huge surprise for any enemy.
"Got it. I'm gonna nap for a bit," the Basilisk hissed.
Freshly fed and ready to sleep—classic snake behavior.
It coiled into a massive pile and flopped down, not bothering to find cover or hide like other snakes would.
Made sense. At the Basilisk's level, it was a top-tier predator, even in the Forbidden Forest.
It didn't mess with others, and no one dared mess with it.
Dudley wasn't planning to let the Basilisk hang out with Charizard and the others. That death stare was passive, and an accidental glance could mean game over. He'd reconsider once he figured out how to control it.
Speaking of which, could the Acromantulas' fear of the Basilisk be because they had so many eyes?
Leaving the Forbidden Forest, Dudley headed straight to the Headmaster's office. Fawkes was back at its perch, preening its feathers. When it saw Dudley, it let out an excited trill.
"Thanks to you this time," Dudley said, tossing a bag of magical creature feed to Fawkes.
Fawkes chirped happily and dove into the meal.
Looking at Fawkes' increasingly vibrant feathers, Dudley suddenly remembered—wasn't Fawkes due for a rebirth soon?
Not only was there no sign of a fiery rebirth, but Dudley swore the phoenix looked like it had gained weight.
"Dudley, if you keep feeding Fawkes like this, it won't be able to fly," came a voice.
---
I scoured the books and couldn't find a single line saying the statue was Slytherin himself. No clue where the idea that it's labeled "Salazar Slytherin" came from.
Movies don't count, of course.