𝐑𝐞𝐠𝐮𝐥𝐮𝐬 𝐁𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐨𝐧𝐞-𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐭𝐬

The Serpent's Whisper

The Serpent’s Whisper

Regulus Black often sought solitude in the sprawling maze of Hogwarts. The dungeons and forgotten hallways called to him, offering refuge from the constant pressure of being a Black. His family name demanded excellence, and expectations weighed heavily on his shoulders. However, it was not those pressures that led him down the damp, torch-lit corridors that day—it was something else entirely.

It had started innocently enough. Regulus, feeling the need to escape the prying eyes of his fellow Slytherins, wandered deeper into the dungeons, following a faint whisper he couldn’t quite explain. His wand held aloft, the soft glow of Lumos illuminated the cold stone walls.

But then, a noise echoed behind him, soft and slithering. He froze, his heart pounding.

"Who's there?" he asked, his voice steady despite the chill creeping up his spine.

The whisper came again, closer this time, but it wasn’t in English. It was a strange, hissing language that sent shivers down his spine.

It couldn’t be...

Regulus had heard of Parseltongue before—his family had whispered rumors about its ties to Salazar Slytherin and his descendants—but he had never thought much of it. And yet, as the words slipped from his lips, they felt oddly natural.

"Show yourself," he hissed, not in English but in that same strange, serpentine tongue.

To his shock, the sound of movement ceased, as if whatever creature lurked in the darkness understood him. A small snake slithered out of the shadows, its emerald-green scales shimmering faintly in the dim light. Regulus knelt, staring at it in awe.

“You speak?” he asked, the words coming unbidden.

The snake tilted its head, tongue flickering. "Yes. Are you the Heir?"

Regulus blinked, caught off guard. “The Heir? Of what?”

The snake did not answer immediately but instead turned, its body undulating as it moved deeper into the corridor. “Follow me,” it hissed.

Against his better judgment, Regulus obeyed. His curiosity was insatiable, and the snake seemed harmless enough. It led him to a wall covered in ancient, moss-covered carvings. At first glance, it appeared to be just another forgotten corner of the castle, but as Regulus stepped closer, he felt a strange energy radiating from the stones.

The snake stopped and looked back at him expectantly. “Speak the words.”

Regulus hesitated. “What words?”

The creature hissed a phrase, and before he could stop himself, Regulus repeated it. The wall trembled, and the carvings rearranged themselves, forming the outline of a massive serpent. Slowly, the stone slid aside, revealing a dark, yawning tunnel.

The air was thick and damp, carrying a faint, earthy smell. Regulus stepped inside, his wand still glowing faintly. The tunnel twisted and turned, and as he descended, the whispers grew louder. They were not like the snake’s whispers but something deeper, something ancient.

At last, he emerged into a vast chamber. Massive stone pillars lined the walls, each carved with the coiled bodies of serpents. At the far end stood a towering statue of a man with a long beard and piercing eyes—Salazar Slytherin.

Regulus barely had time to process the sight when he felt the ground tremble. A deep rumble echoed through the chamber, followed by the sound of something immense moving.

From the shadows, it appeared—a massive serpent, its scales glinting like polished emeralds, its yellow eyes glowing with intelligence. The Basilisk.

Regulus stumbled back, his heart racing. He had heard tales of the monster, how it could kill with a glance, how it obeyed only the Heir of Slytherin. And yet, as the creature’s eyes locked onto his, he felt no fear—only awe.

“You have awakened me,” the Basilisk hissed, its voice echoing in the chamber. “Are you my master?”

Regulus swallowed hard. “I don’t know. I didn’t mean to awaken you.”

The serpent tilted its massive head. “And yet, you speak the language of serpents. Only the Heir may command me.”

Regulus’s mind raced. He was no descendant of Salazar Slytherin—or was he? His family had always prided themselves on their pureblood lineage. Could there be some long-forgotten connection?

“I’m not your master,” he said finally. “But I want to understand.”

The Basilisk regarded him for a long moment before lowering its massive head to his level. “Then learn, little serpent. But beware—knowledge comes at a price.”

Regulus nodded, determination gleaming in his gray eyes. He had stumbled upon something incredible, something powerful. He didn’t yet know what it meant or what it would cost him, but he was willing to find out.

For the first time in his life, Regulus Black felt like more than just another pawn in the grand game of pureblood politics. Here, in the Chamber of Secrets, he was not just a Black—he was something more.