Dawn’s gaze flickered as he stared at Ael’s back.

The more he thought about it, the more convincing the theory became.

If Ael had not inherited Voldemort’s memories and soul fragment, how could he suddenly possess Parseltongue?

That would also explain Thomas’s attempt to kill Harry. He too must have been influenced by Voldemort.

And because the spell had already taken effect long ago, with Voldemort’s fragment fully integrated into its host, Dawn had been unable to detect any alteration in the structural patterns.

He rubbed his chin.

But there was still a problem.

When Olivia cast that division spell, she vanished entirely. Why could Voldemort still reverse-influence those students?

The answer surfaced almost immediately.

Horcruxes.

Olivia had divided all of herself, memories and soul alike. That was a form of death.

Voldemort, however, had divided only a fragment. The rest of his soul remained anchored within his Horcruxes.

Even Dawn had to admit that Voldemort’s luck this year far exceeded what he remembered from the original storyline.

Not only had he slipped beyond the Headmaster’s sight using the Flesh-Splitting Curse, he had also discovered something Olivia left behind.

What made Dawn uncomfortable was that both spells were, in one way or another, connected to him.

He clicked his tongue.

What was Voldemort’s goal?

Dividing himself among others—what did that accomplish?

Dawn placed himself in Tom Riddle’s position.

Voldemort sought immortality above all else. Did he believe that as long as someone inherited his memories, he would continue living?

No.

Voldemort would never settle for that.

An image flashed through Dawn’s mind: Thomas lunging at Harry with a knife.

Could it be—

With Horcruxes sustaining his immortality, Voldemort could slowly erode each host, eventually turning them into himself?

A castle full of Voldemorts.

For a fleeting moment, Dawn almost looked forward to the Headmaster’s reaction.

But he quickly calmed himself.

The situation likely was not that dire.

Thomas had been overtaken.

Ael, however, appeared to have digested the fragment instead.

His thoughts drifted upward, as though he could see through the floors to that hidden room and the portrait of the golden-haired girl.

All of this was speculation.

If he could learn the spell’s location or incantation from Olivia’s portrait, he could verify everything.

Unfortunately, the portrait was stubborn.

And as Leia Hickman, he could not approach it without raising suspicion.

Dawn shook the thought away.

The lavatory had grown unnaturally quiet.

Everyone was still processing the revelation of Parseltongue. Only Ael shifted nervously.

Dawn glanced at Dumbledore’s back, briefly considering whether to share his suspicions.

Compared to Dumbledore, he disliked Voldemort far more. And unlike the basilisk, this matter held no personal gain.

But how would he explain his source?

After weighing the consequences, he dismissed the idea.

Revealing it would only bring trouble.

Besides, as Headmaster, he likely already had access to records of unusual incidents.

With portraits like Phineas Nigellus in the office, he might connect the dots himself soon enough.

“Let us deal with the basilisk first,” Dumbledore said at last.

He seemed unwilling to linger on unanswered questions.

“Pomona, Filius, please remain here. If the basilisk escapes, stop it.”

“Of course, Albus,” Flitwick replied confidently.

With a flick of his wand, Dumbledore smoothed the grimy pipe and slid down.

McGonagall transformed into a tabby cat and followed.

Dawn eyed the pipe with distaste.

Even cleaned, it was still a sewer. He cast a Levitation Charm on himself and drifted downward.

Snape, wrapped in black mist, glided after them.

Dawn’s eyes sharpened.

That flight spell was far superior to his own method.

He wished he could study it properly, but the dark mist obscured any structural patterns.

They landed in a damp stone tunnel littered with animal bones.

Ahead lay a massive shadow.

Closer inspection revealed a shed basilisk skin, glistening green and coiled across the floor.

“Excellent,” Snape murmured, eyes gleaming. “Dumbledore, I claim this.”

“If no one objects,” the Headmaster replied mildly.

No one did.

Dawn briefly considered asking for a portion, but no suitable excuse came to mind.

He watched Snape efficiently harvest and pack the entire skin with obvious displeasure.

They continued onward.

At the tunnel’s end stood a wall carved with two entwined serpents, emerald eyes glittering.

Without prompting, Ael stepped forward.

“Hiss… open.”

The serpents parted.

The wall split and slid aside.

Beyond lay a vast chamber supported by towering serpent-carved pillars.

At its far end loomed an enormous statue—an aged, monkey-faced man with a long beard.

“So this is Slytherin?” McGonagall muttered.

Dawn, more interested in Voldemort’s past discoveries, asked lightly, “What do you think he left behind here, Headmaster?”

Dumbledore considered.

“Perhaps some form of bodily enhancement experiment.

There were records suggesting Slytherin once considered augmenting students’ magic during the height of the witch hunts.”

McGonagall frowned sharply. “Altering students’ bodies? That is irresponsible.”

“Times were different,” Dumbledore replied gently. “From his perspective, it may have seemed like survival.”

He paused.

“And it appears he experimented on himself first.”

McGonagall sighed, her anger softening.

A sudden scraping sound echoed from the statue’s mouth.

“Close your eyes,” Dumbledore instructed Ael, sealing his eyelids with magic.

Snape distributed a potion. “Sensory Draught. You may see without sight.”

Dawn accepted a vial, though he felt little fear.

Since mastering the dual-layer structural pattern, he had refined his transformations significantly.

He could now preserve the phoenix’s regenerative trait within certain forms.

Moments later, the basilisk emerged.

Massive. Vivid. Its body thick as a tree trunk.

It hissed and raised its flat head.

And then—

Nothing dramatic occurred.

Fawkes appeared in a burst of flame and blinded the creature instantly.

By the time Dawn finished recording its internal pattern, Dumbledore had already bound it firmly.

The legendary monster fell within minutes.

The debate that followed, however, proved more prolonged.

McGonagall insisted the basilisk be killed or at least removed from the castle.

Snape argued that, blinded and restrained, it could provide valuable potion ingredients indefinitely.

“It is Slytherin’s legacy,” he insisted. “Like the Sorting Hat.”

McGonagall refused.

Dumbledore hesitated.

Dawn noted how fervently Snape argued—far more passionately than he ever had about Harry.

Finally, the Headmaster decided. “I will contact Newt. He will remove the basilisk from the castle.”

Snape’s expression darkened. “Then we should kill it. A blind basilisk may yet recover.”

That would at least secure the entire carcass.

Dumbledore refused again.

Snape said nothing further. He stepped forward, efficiently extracting blood and fluids into crystal vials.

Once finished, Dumbledore gestured toward the statue’s mouth.

“Let us investigate further.”

They ascended into the statue and followed a circular passage to another serpent-marked wall.

Ael spoke again.

“Speak to me, Slytherin, greatest of the four.”

The wall opened.

Dawn stepped forward eagerly.

If they found something, would Dumbledore attempt to seal it away?

He would have to think of a counterargument— But the chamber beyond was empty.

Bare shelves.

Empty desks.

No artifacts.

Voldemort had taken or destroyed everything.

Dawn cursed silently.

He scanned the walls for hidden chambers, tracing magical currents.

There were none.

The room held nothing more.

___________

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