Snape stood in the center of the Chamber of Secrets, his wand hand still slightly raised, looking like a man who had prepared for a marathon only to find the finish line moved to the starting blocks. He stared at Sebastian, then at the massive, ice-encrusted Basilisk, then back at Sebastian.
"Three minutes," Snape whispered, his voice dangerously low. "You dealt with a thousand-year-old apex predator in the time it takes to boil an egg."
Sebastian brushed a stray speck of dust from his sleeve, looking entirely too smug. "Well, efficiency is the soul of business, Severus. Why drag out a fight when a well-placed jinx and a gallon of sleep-draught can do the job? Besides, the lighting in here is terrible. I didn't want to trip over a coil and look uncool."
Snape didn't answer. He stepped toward the frozen behemoth, his black robes whispering against the bone-strewn floor. Up close, the Basilisk was even more terrifying than the shed skin had suggested. Its scales were thick, dull green, and hard as iron. The air around the beast was heavy with the cloying, sweet scent of the Draught of Living Death. Sebastian hadn't just put it to sleep; he had practically pickled the creature's nervous system in sedative.
Snape did a quick mental calculation. If he had faced this thing alone, he would have had to rely on dark, destructive curses to survive. To capture it alive, to preserve the "assets" as Sebastian called them, required a level of precision and raw power that made Snape's chest tighten with a rare, bitter envy. The gap between them wasn't a crack; it was a canyon.
"Don't look so miserable, Severus," Sebastian said, interrupting Snape's internal crisis. "Think of the science. Here, hold these."
Sebastian tossed two crystal phials into the air. Snape caught them purely by reflex.
"The venom is the real prize," Sebastian continued, expertly prying the snake's jaw open with a levitation charm. He worked with the clinical detachment of a butcher, milking the translucent, deadly liquid into a large basin before transferring it to the bottles. He then reached in and, with a sickening crack, pulled out three of the smaller secondary fangs. "These are saturated with toxin. Perfect for weaponizing or breaking high-level curses."
Snape opened his mouth to protest the 'barbaric' handling of the creature, but Sebastian shoved a filled phial of venom into his hand.
"Your commission, partner," Sebastian grinned. "Consider it a hush-money payment for not mentioning how much I'm going to charge the Ministry for 'pest control'."
Snape looked at the vial. The venom was shimmering with a faint, toxic green light. He felt his anger evaporate, replaced by the sheer greed of a master potioneer. This was enough to fuel a decade of research. He tucked it away inside his robes without a word, though he did take the liberty of drawing two large jars of blood from a vein near the snake's neck. Waste not, want not.
With the "farming" complete, Snape finally looked at the chamber itself. The scale of the place was staggering. The towering pillars, the serpent motifs, and the gargantuan statue of Salazar Slytherin at the far end. The face of the Founder was ancient and ape-like—a testament to the rumors that Salazar had spent his final years merging his own essence with magical beasts to extend his life.
"He was obsessed," Snape murmured, standing before the statue. "The pursuit of the ultimate bloodline. He didn't care about looking like a man; he only cared about the magic. It's... admirable, in a grotesque sort of way."
"It's a bit much for my taste," Sebastian countered, pacing around the base of the statue. "A bit too 'look at me, I'm a dark lord.' I don't buy that he built this whole place just to house a giant snake and a big stone face. Salazar was a scholar. He needed a place to write down his secrets, away from Godric's incessant shouting about 'honor' and 'bravery'."
Snape looked annoyed at the interruption of his moment of reverence. "And where do you suggest we look, oh Great Investigator? The snake's mouth is empty."
"Patience, Severus."
Sebastian closed his eyes. He didn't use a spell; he simply let his own magical core expand, sensing the ley lines of the room. Most of the chamber was dead stone, but near the right side of the statue, there was a flicker—a hum of ancient, protective wards that felt slightly different from the rest.
He walked to a blank section of the wall. There were no carvings here, no handles, no obvious signs of a door. He thought about the diary, about the way Tom Riddle had spoken to the sink in the bathroom.
He didn't need a complex password. He just needed the right language.
"Open," Sebastian hissed in Parseltongue.
The stone rumbled. Two spectral snakes appeared on the surface of the wall, their eyes glowing red as they recognized the 'voice' of a master. They slithered apart, and the wall simply dissolved into a fine mist of grey dust.
"Simple, yet effective," Sebastian remarked, stepping through the threshold. "Hurry up, Severus. The real history is in here."
The office was a stark contrast to the damp, bone-filled cavern outside. It was perfectly dry, preserved by ancient atmospheric charms. The walls were lined with floor-to-ceiling bookshelves, packed with leather-bound volumes that looked like they hadn't been touched in centuries. In the center was a massive desk made of dark, petrified wood, covered in scrolls and alchemy equipment that would make a Gringotts vault look like a junk drawer.
Sebastian ignored the gold and the rare instruments. His eyes went straight to the desk. He picked up a piece of parchment that sat atop a pile of notes. The ink was dark, the handwriting sharp and elegant.
He felt a chill go down his spine. He knew this handwriting. He had been staring at it in the diary for weeks.
"Severus," Sebastian said, his voice dropping the playful tone. "Take a look at this. Tell me if you recognize the 'last visitor' who was doing his homework down here fifty years ago."