The corridor leading to the second-floor girls' bathroom was quieter than most. There were always distant footsteps, muffled laughter, doors opening and closing somewhere far away. The castle lived and breathed, even in its loneliest corners.
But this stretch of hallway was different.
Not because no one passed through it—
—but because no one lingered.
Students walked faster here. Conversations faded. Eyes stayed forward. No one stopped near the old wooden door at the end of the corridor. No one reached for its handle unless they absolutely had to.
It had become one of those places.
The kind people avoided without ever quite admitting why.
Which, for Harry—
Made it perfect.
Draco slowed his steps several paces before the door, his expression tightening as he looked at it like it might bite him.
"I just want it on record," he said, folding his arms tightly across his chest, "that this is a terrible idea."
Hermione didn't even slow down.
"It's a bathroom, Draco," she said, her tone flat. "You'll survive."
Draco let out a sharp breath.
"It's a girls' bathroom," he corrected, his voice edged with irritation. "And not just any girls' bathroom—this one is haunted."
Harry glanced at him briefly.
"You came anyway."
Draco hesitated.
Then sighed, long and dramatic, as though the weight of his suffering was immeasurable.
"I regret all my life choices."
Harry didn't reply.
He simply reached forward—
—and pushed the door open.
The moment they stepped inside, the air changed.
A subtle drop in temperature brushed against their skin, cool and damp, carrying with it the faint scent of old water and stone that had never quite dried.
The bathroom was… neglected.
The sinks were chipped, their porcelain cracked along the edges. The mirrors above them were clouded with age, their surfaces warped just enough to distort reflections slightly. The pipes running overhead groaned softly, a constant, low metallic complaint as water moved somewhere unseen within the walls.
Like time moved slower here.
Like the room remembered something the rest of the castle had chosen to forget.
And then—
"OUT!"
The voice shattered the silence.
It echoed violently against the tiled walls, sharp and indignant.
"OUT, OUT, OUT! Boys are not allowed in here!"
A splash erupted from one of the sinks.
Water burst upward—not real water, but something ghostly, translucent—and from it rose a figure.
Moaning Myrtle.
She hovered above the sinks, pale and shimmering, her hair drifting around her face like it was underwater. Her expression twisted with outrage, lips pulled tight, eyes blazing with offended fury.
"How dare you come in here!" she snapped. "This is my bathroom! Mine! And you—"
She stopped.
Mid-sentence.
Her gaze locked onto Harry.
For a moment—
She simply stared.
Her anger didn't disappear.
Curiosity slipped into its place, threading through her expression like a quiet, unexpected change in the wind.
Harry stepped forward slightly, calm and composed.
"Apologies my lady," he said, his voice even, almost gentle. "We didn't mean to intrude."
Draco blinked.
Hermione blinked.
Myrtle blinked.
"I—well—" Myrtle faltered, clearly thrown off. "You still shouldn't be here."
"You're absolutely right miss," Harry said smoothly, inclining his head just slightly. "And we won't stay long."
There was no defensiveness in his tone.
Just calm acknowledgment.
"We only came because we need your help."
Myrtle's eyes narrowed.
"My help?"
Hermione leaned slightly toward Draco, lowering her voice.
"Is he… negotiating with her?"
Draco didn't take his eyes off Harry.
"I think he's charming a ghost."
Myrtle drifted closer, her earlier fury now tangled with suspicion—and something else.
"No one ever asks for my help," she said, her voice quieter now. "They just laugh. Or avoid me."
Harry didn't hesitate.
"That's unfortunate," he said, his tone softening just slightly. "Because you seem like someone who knows this place better than anyone."
Myrtle straightened in midair.
A flicker of pride crossed her face.
"Well… I do live here."
"And we need someone who understands this bathroom," Harry continued.
Hermione stared at him, disbelief plain on her face.
Draco shook his head slowly.
"This is ridiculous…"
Myrtle hesitated.
Her gaze moved between them.
Then back to Harry.
And something in her expression shifted again.
The resistance faded.
"Well…" she said slowly, "what do you want to know?"
Hermione's jaw parted slightly.
"That actually worked…"
Harry allowed himself the faintest hint of a smile.
"We want to know what happened to you."
The words settled heavily in the air.
Myrtle's expression changed immediately.
Curiosity vanished.
Something deeper took its place.
"We're sorry—if it's difficult—"
"It was tragic," Myrtle interrupted, rising higher into the air as her voice swelled with dramatic intensity. "Absolutely tragic. No one ever understood how horrible it was!"
Draco winced slightly.
"I have a feeling we're about to hear everything…"
Hermione elbowed him sharply.
Myrtle began drifting back and forth, her movements restless, her voice gaining momentum.
"I was minding my own business," she said, "in one of the stalls. Crying, of course—because Olive Hornby was teasing me again—horrible girl—absolutely dreadful—"
Hermione's expression softened.
"That sounds awful."
"It was!" Myrtle said immediately.
Harry said nothing.
"Then I heard someone come in," Myrtle continued. "A boy."
Harry's focus sharpened.
"He was speaking," she said. "But not properly. It sounded… strange."
"Strange how?" Harry asked.
Myrtle frowned slightly, searching for the memory.
"I don't know," she admitted. "It sounded like… hissing. Not words I understood."
Harry and Hermione exchanged a glance.
Draco frowned.
"Hissing?"
"I told him to go away," Myrtle continued, her indignation returning briefly. "I was very upset! And boys shouldn't be in here—so I opened the stall door to tell him—"
She stopped.
Her movement slowed.
"And then?" Harry asked quietly.
Myrtle's voice dropped.
"I saw them."
Hermione leaned forward slightly.
"Who?"
Myrtle shook her head.
"I didn't see anyone," she said. "Not really."
Harry stepped a fraction closer.
"What did you see?"
Myrtle's gaze unfocused slightly.
"Eyes."
The word echoed softly in the tiled room.
Hermione inhaled sharply.
"Eyes?" she repeated.
Myrtle nodded slowly.
"Two… very large… yellow eyes."
Silence fell.
Draco crossed his arms again, frowning.
"That's it?" he said. "You saw eyes and—what—died from fright?"
Myrtle turned on him instantly.
"I did not die from fright!"
"Then what—"
"I died!" she snapped. "Just like that! One moment I was there, and the next—"
She snapped her fingers.
"Gone."
Harry's mind was already racing.
Hermione spoke carefully.
"Did you feel anything? Pain? Magic?"
Myrtle shook her head.
"No… nothing. Just… darkness."
Harry's gaze shifted.
"Where exactly were the eyes?" he asked quietly.
Myrtle pointed vaguely toward the sink area.
"Over there… near the mirrors. I didn't have time to look properly."
Harry moved.
Each step deliberate.
His eyes scanned everything—the carvings on the sinks, the cracks in the porcelain, the patterns worn into the stone by time and water.
Every detail mattered.
Draco sighed loudly behind him.
"So… we came all this way for a ghost story about eyes."
Hermione shook her head immediately.
"No."
Her voice was firm.
Grounded.
"This matters."
She looked at Harry.
"Something that kills instantly… just by being seen."
Harry nodded once.
"Yes."
His voice was quiet.
Then he said it.
One word.
"Serpent."
Hermione's eyes widened.
Understanding flashed across her face.
Draco frowned deeply.
"What?"
But Harry didn't explain.
Not yet.
He turned away from the sinks.
Hermione stepped beside him immediately.
"You figured something out," she said quietly.
"I am not sure."
Draco looked between them, irritation growing.
"Well? Are you going to tell us, or—"
Harry didn't answer.
His gaze lingered on the pipes.
"Not yet," he said.
They left the bathroom quietly.
For once, Draco didn't complain.
For once, Hermione didn't argue.
The corridor outside felt colder than before.
Not truly colder—the torches still burned with the same steady glow, the stone walls unchanged—but something lingered beneath it now. A quiet awareness. A weight that hadn't been there when they first walked in.
Students passed them in small groups, their voices bright and careless.
Laughter echoed.
Footsteps hurried.
Normal.
Everything was normal.
Which made it feel all the more wrong.
Hermione walked beside Harry, her pace quick, almost urgent. Her fingers flexed slightly at her sides, as though she was already reaching for books that weren't there.
"We need to go to the library," she said immediately. "There are creatures—magical creatures—that can cause petrification or even death through indirect means. We just need to narrow it down—"
"Hermione."
Harry's voice cut through her words.
Her eyes snapped to him.
"We'll go tomorrow," he said.
For a second—
She didn't process it.
Then her eyes widened.
"Tomorrow?" she repeated. "Harry, this is the biggest lead we've had! We can't just—just wait!"
Draco groaned softly, dragging a hand down his face.
"Oh, here we go…"
Harry turned toward Hermione fully.
"You're tired."
"I'm not tired," she said instantly.
"You are," Harry replied without hesitation. "And if we go into this half-focused, we'll miss something important."
Hermione opened her mouth—
Ready to argue.
Then she paused.
"I could at least start researching," she muttered, her voice quieter now.
"And fall asleep over a book in ten minutes," Draco added dryly.
Hermione shot him a glare sharp enough to cut stone.
"I would not—"
"You would," Draco interrupted lazily. "You nearly did it this afternoon."
Hermione inhaled sharply.
Harry, for just a moment, allowed himself the faintest smile.
"Rest," he said. "We'll do it properly tomorrow."
Hermione let out a long breath.
"Fine."
They reached the split in the corridor.
One path curved upward toward Ravenclaw Tower.
The other led deeper into the castle—to Harry's quarters.
Hermione hesitated.
"You promise we continue this tomorrow?"
Harry met her gaze.
There was no hesitation in his answer.
"Yes."
She studied him for a moment longer.
Then she nodded.
"Alright."
Draco didn't linger.
He turned immediately and began walking.
"Finally," he muttered. "Sleep. A concept I quite enjoy."
Hermione followed after him—
But not without one last glance over her shoulder.
They left.
The corridor fell silent again.
Harry stood still.
Then—
He turned.
Not toward his room.
But back.
Toward the bathroom.
He already knew.
There was no need for books.
Two yellow eyes.
Instant death.
A language only one kind of wizard could understand.
A basilisk.
Harry exhaled slowly as he walked.
The realization settled into him completely now.
Salazar Slytherin had not hidden something simple.
He had hidden something ancient.
Something feared even among wizards.
Something that could turn an entire school into a graveyard if left unchecked.
And the key to controlling it—
Was a Parselmouth.
The castle felt different now as he walked alone.
The same corridors.
The same torches.
The same stone.
Yet every shadow seemed deeper.
Every echo sharper.
As though Hogwarts itself was watching.
Waiting to see what he would do.
He reached the bathroom again.
The door creaked open with a low, drawn-out sound.
Inside—
The same dim light.
The same damp air.
Myrtle floated near the ceiling, drifting aimlessly until she noticed him.
"Oh," she said. "You again."
Harry stepped inside.
"Yes."
She tilted her head, peering at him more closely.
"Where are the others?"
"Asleep."
Myrtle frowned.
"You're not?"
"No."
Then her expression shifted slightly.
"Something's different," she said.
Harry didn't answer.
He simply walked forward.
Toward the sinks.
His fingers brushed across the cold stone.
One sink.
Then another.
Then another.
Then—
He stopped.
A carving.
Small.
Subtle.
Almost invisible unless you knew to look for it.
A snake.
Harry's eyes narrowed slightly.
"Of course."
Behind him, Myrtle drifted closer.
"What are you doing?"
Harry didn't turn.
"Opening it."
Myrtle blinked in confusion.
"Opening what?"
Harry placed his hand against the sink.
And then—
He spoke.
Not in English.
Not in any language taught in books.
The sound that left his lips was soft.
Hissing.
It filled the room, sliding along the tiles, curling through the air like something unseen but very real.
"Open."
The response was immediate.
The sink trembled.
A low rumble spread through the stone beneath their feet.
The pipes overhead groaned, louder now, straining as something deep within the structure shifted.
Then—
With a heavy grinding sound—
The sink split apart.
Stone sliding against stone.
Revealing—
Darkness.
A circular opening yawned beneath it.
Deep.
Far deeper than any structure in the castle should allow.
A vertical tunnel dropping into complete blackness.
Myrtle gasped sharply.
"You—what—what did you just—"
Harry stepped back slightly, his gaze fixed downward.
The darkness didn't reflect light.
It swallowed it.
The Chamber.
He turned his head slightly toward Myrtle.
"This is where it came from," he said.
Myrtle stared at the opening, her ghostly face paling even further.
"That's where I died…"
Harry nodded once.
Then stepped forward.
Myrtle's voice rose, panic threading through it.
"You're not going down there, are you?"
Harry paused at the edge.
"Yes."
"You'll die!" she said. "Whatever's down there—it killed me!"
Harry looked down again.
Into the endless dark.
"I know what's down there."
Myrtle drifted closer, her voice quieter now.
"What is it?"
Harry didn't look at her.
His voice was soft.
"A basilisk."
Myrtle recoiled slightly.
"A… what?"
Harry stepped onto the edge.
He jumped.
The darkness swallowed him whole.
Author's Note:
Enjoying the story?
Consider joining my Pat*reon to get early access to more chapters and exclusive fanfictions! Even as a free member you will get one extra chapter and you'll receive early access to chapters before they're posted elsewhere and various other fanfictions.Your support helps me create more content for you to enjoy!
Join here: Patre*on(dot)com(slash)Beuwulf