"Harry Potter- Ravenclaw"Chapter 176: Cockerel Eggs and the Killing Curse
Snape's voice was an uncanny imitation—pitch-perfect, yet dripping with mockery and that signature, sly sarcasm.
Madam Pomfrey arched an eyebrow and turned to Dumbledore.
For a moment, Dumbledore was at a loss for words. He glanced at the night sky outside the window. "Poppy, it's already quite late. You ought to get some rest as well…"
"Care to guess who made me get up in the middle of the night?" Madam Pomfrey sighed. "The two of you should be off to bed too! Out—go on, I need to lock up."
But Dumbledore lingered, still smiling. "Poppy, I'd like to have a word with Harry, if you don't mind."
She shot him a fierce glare. "He's had Skele-Gro—he'll be growing bones all night! Come back in the morning!"
Seeing Dumbledore rebuffed, a cold, satisfied smirk tugged at Snape's lips…
Wyzett's senses returned. He found himself once again in the Chamber of Secrets, the domain of Salazar Slytherin.
But this time, Dumbledore and Snape were nowhere to be seen.
Suddenly, a wizard appeared, clad in deep green robes and cradling a hefty, ancient tome.
His features were sharply defined; perhaps from a life spent poring over books and rarely venturing outside, his skin was so pale it seemed glazed with porcelain, almost devoid of color.
"In a stone-walled underground chamber, I bred two cockerels… waited half a year… yet no so-called cockerel egg appeared… the subsequent toad incubation was impossible as well…"
From the wizard's muttered research and the unmistakable surroundings, Wyzett instantly recognized him—Salazar Slytherin himself.
It was clear: Wyzett was witnessing a memory—one belonging to Salazar Slytherin.
And this particular memory was priceless, for it concerned the creation of a basilisk.
According to the library's records, the birth of a basilisk was a process steeped in magic: first, a cockerel's egg was needed; then, it had to be incubated by a toad.
But the real challenge was this: how does one obtain a cockerel's egg?
That was Salazar's problem as well—he was striving to create such an egg by magical means.
Wyzett found himself deeply intrigued. He, too, wanted to know how to conjure, by magic, an egg capable of producing a basilisk.
The experiments unfurled, and Wyzett followed Salazar's memories, watching him draft plan after plan in a bold, flowing hand:
Twelfth experiment: Magically fuse the anatomical structures of cockerel and hen… stimulate with potions… observe for seven days…
Thirty-sixth experiment: Apply magical suggestion to the cockerel… disrupt its daily rhythm… induce confusion… maintain vitality with potions…
Seventy-eighth experiment: Garnet possesses "fertility" properties… implant inside the cockerel… feed it mashed mandrake root…
…
Salazar's experimental notes were vast—ritual magic, transfiguration, dark arts, mental magic, and, most notably, blood magic.
Blood magic was a field Wyzett had barely touched. He could only commit every detail to memory, hoping to study it further in the future.
The Chamber grew increasingly cluttered: bookshelves, desks, journals, and now—remarkably—a chicken coop.
At last, Salazar synthesized his prior research into a single, comprehensive experiment, blending ritual magic, alchemy, blood magic, and more:
One hundred eighty-first experiment: Extract every essence from the cockerel… place it in a garnet vessel…
Transmute sunstone, flint, sulfur, magnetite, and green vitriol alchemically, then add to the garnet container… seal with mashed mandrake root…
After seven days, an egg-like object forms in the garnet container. Inject thestral blood; transfer the egg into the cockerel's body and incubate for seven weeks…
Introduce an Irish phoenix to live among the cockerels… eliminate the other cockerels with the Killing Curse… eliminate the Irish phoenix with the Killing Curse… the cockerel shows signs of laying…
Salazar observed as the once-vibrant cockerel faded, its colors leaching away until it finally crumbled to ash—leaving behind a single, oval cockerel egg.
The egg was a ghastly, bone-ash white, its shell veined with red lines like blood vessels, occasionally pulsing as if alive.
Salazar nodded in satisfaction and recorded his findings:
Cockerel successfully completed production, laying a cockerel egg.
…
Blood magic remained a mystery to Wyzett, but using his knowledge of ritual magic and magical craftsmanship, he pieced together the process.
Thestral blood, the Irish phoenix, the repeated use of the Killing Curse—all served to infuse the egg with the essence of death.
The result was clear in the basilisk itself: not only did it possess deadly venom, but its gaze could kill.
Every aspect radiated the power of death.
Even the petrification caused by indirect exposure to the basilisk's gaze likely related to the garnet vessel, sunstone, flint, and other alchemical ingredients…
The entire process of crafting the cockerel egg was worth endless study. Wyzett was sure that as his magical knowledge grew, he would uncover even deeper secrets within.
Salazar's experimental journey was an eye-opener.
And, after witnessing the Killing Curse so many times, Wyzett realized he had, almost unconsciously, mastered the spell's casting.
When unleashed, the Killing Curse erupted as a blinding, icy green light, accompanied by a faint, venomous whisper—so soft it was nearly inaudible.
That whisper was sharp and laced with malice, like Death itself murmuring in the dark.
Only by watching Salazar cast the curse over and over had Wyzett become certain the whisper was real.
…
The Killing Curse, like the Imperius Curse, was an Unforgivable Curse.
Both shared a chilling similarity: to cast the Killing Curse was technically simple—pronounce the incantation correctly, and the spell would fly.
But there was a crucial difference: to truly wield the Killing Curse, the caster had to infuse it with intent—a burning desire for the target's death.
That was why it was Unforgivable. Anyone capable of casting it had, by definition, the will to kill.
There was another detail: the caster's wand would tremble violently as the curse was released, requiring extra care to aim true.
Wyzett had noticed this from Salazar's grip—each time he cast the curse, his fingers clenched the wand so tightly that veins stood out along the back of his hand.
And yet, when the green light burst forth, the wand tip always flicked upward, just a little…
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