Dumbledore closed his eyes, absorbing the memory Vizette had shared. He had organized it meticulously, ensuring no risks in this direct viewing. Even potential hazards wouldn't trouble him.
As his eyes fluttered open, Vizette leaned forward. "Headmaster, is there anything I can do?"
He shook his head. "I sense the cold malice... but no other leads yet."
"It's a start," Vizette replied evenly, rubbing his thumb and forefinger as if sifting through puzzle pieces. "You've confirmed the voice exists—it's not my imagination."
Dumbledore nodded, waiting for her to continue.
Vizette pulled out his notebook, jotting down clues: Salazar Slytherin's Chamber of Secrets... his heir... the petrifying curse... the victim from fifty years ago... Voldemort...
He delved deeper, drawing from fragmented memories of his past life—fan clips set to dramatic scores. As Harry Potter's story dominated those visions, he focused there.
She recalled Harry pressing his hands to a face, skin charring like acid-etched stone. Then Harry summoning a silvery stag Patronus to scatter Dementors. And Harry thrusting a sword into a massive serpent's maw, shadow be damned.
That was it. Vizette scribbled: giant serpent.
But what snake could petrify? He linked it to the attacks.
Dumbledore eyed her notes. "A giant serpent behind Mrs. Norris's petrification?"
"Yes, Headmaster," Vizette said firmly. "Slytherin's emblem is a serpent—fitting for him to raise one."
"A sharp deduction," Dumbledore praised. "But how does it slither through Hogwarts undetected?"
Vizette knew the portraits served as his eyes. "Perhaps it has cloaking magic?"
"An invisible, petrifying giant serpent..." Dumbledore stroked his beard. "We'll need Newt's expertise."
"Oh—Newt!" Vizette smacked her forehead. "We forgot about Africa."
"The murals!" Her eyes brightened. "Scamander mentioned them—depicting African wizards' separations."
Dumbledore nodded. "The term's chaos buried it. I'll retrieve them from my office."
"Schools should nurture learning," Vizette sighed, "not hunt heirs—Voldemort or otherwise."
The word heir sparked something. Giant serpent...
He reshaped it: Salazar Slytherin's heir...
"Snake-related gift..." Vizette murmured, mind racing. "Parseltongue!"
He met Dumbledore's gaze. "Paracelsus—the alchemist, medical genius. In the sixteenth century, he identified Parseltongue!"
"But it dates back further. Salazar Slytherin wielded it in the Middle Ages; they called him a Parselmouth!"
"Even earlier—Herpo the Foul. Ancient Greek texts say he conversed with serpents, likely the first Parselmouth!"
"Paracelsus?" Dumbledore's eyelids twitched. His own name felt short by comparison. The full title—Phillips Aurelius something-or-other—rang vaguely familiar, though unpronounceable.
Vizette added, "He has a simpler name on chocolate frog cards: Paracelsus."
"Paracelsus!" Dumbledore chuckled wryly, shaking his head. "Youth and its memory—mine fades."
Vizette tugged his earlobe. "I researched it recently, Headmaster. That's all."
He waved it off. "Age demands acceptance. I'm not too proud."
Vizette circled back to Parseltongue. "Why did it awaken in me now? If innate, why not with the Runespoor?"
"I can't say yet," Dumbledore admitted, "but let's test it."
He raised his wand to the window, holding steady. Moments later, a coiled serpent hovered outside the infirmary—a level XXXX Ashwinder, ash-gray with glowing red eyes.
As it slithered in, Vizette heard a hiss: Let me go! Time's short—I must lay eggs!
He glanced at Dumbledore. "Can you hear it?"
His smile deepened as he shook his head. "What does it say?"
Vizette relayed the plea. "It's desperate to lay eggs soon."
"Comfort it," Dumbledore suggested. "Assure it I'll return it shortly."
Vizette faced Ashwinder, a strange urge bubbling up. He hissed softly, words forming unbidden: "No harm here. Rest easy—home soon."
The serpent paused, red eyes dimming. It uncoiled slightly, settling on the sill as if soothed.
Dumbledore watched, intrigued. "Remarkable. Parseltongue indeed."
Vizette exhaled, the talent still foreign. But with a serpent's heir loose, it might be their edge.
…
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