"Couldn't have taken someone more respectable," Sirius grumbled under his breath, after Apparating to Hogsmeade and setting off toward Hogwarts—all of them except Hagrid, naturally, under Disillusionment.
"I'd rather know who I'll turn into if necessary," Tom murmured quietly.
"Filch," Snape replied calmly.
"Are you certain?"
"Yes—" he produced his own vial and tapped the neck, which was considerably wider than Riddle's. "Hagrid—wide neck; Filch—narrow."
"No, but really—couldn't you have taken at least, I don't know, Sinistra? Babbling? Hooch, for that matter?" Sirius chimed in again.
"How exactly do you envision that?" Andrei asked. "Was I supposed to request a lock of hair from each of them, appealing to my hopeless infatuation, or something?"
Sirius snickered, and Regulus snorted and nudged his brother in the ribs. All six felt each other's presence perfectly despite the invisibility—they could hear each other, and the distance allowed it; they were walking literally shoulder to shoulder—after the snowfall, the path was narrow, barely room for two. Or one Hagrid.
In his wake they quickly dried their shoes to leave no tracks, and walked calmly, meeting almost no one except a quartet of Gryffindors and a couple of Hufflepuffs, until they reached that bathroom.
Snape had brewed the Sleeping Draught multiple times, testing various iterations within the walls of their home—there was no shortage of willing test subjects there—and had finally got it to work on ghosts. And so it was simply dispersed, catching poor Myrtle in one of the cubicles—the ghostly body oozed formlessly from under the door like a shapeless mass.
"That's Myrtle?" Sirius pulled a face.
"Is that how they… sleep?" Remus asked, surprised.
"Fancy testing it yourself?" Hagrid offered to Sirius.
"How?"
"Nowhere near as interesting as you're imagining," Snape cut in, turning to Riddle. "What—or who—are we waiting for?"
After that everything went precisely to plan—the entrance opened, everyone slid down the chute in turn, except Hagrid, who had to drink his Polyjuice first to fit in the too-narrow space. Snape alone showed off, practically levitating—landing with such lightness that only Andrei, standing right behind him, seemed to notice.
Andrei himself fared considerably worse: after Hagrid's body, adjusting to Filch's turned out to be quite difficult, so the supply of Invisibility Potion he'd kept on his own person perished—he came down squarely on his own bag. It was precisely this that had caused him to "catch" Snape with the rest of the potions kit.
"Plan B," Snape shrugged when Hagrid showed him the smashed vials. The medical supplies and Polyjuice were with him.
"I should have left you all the potions."
"Exactly what I said."
"Maybe we can manage without?" Sirius suggested. "The Headmaster's not here, after all."
"And if we run into students, we erase their memories?" Andrei frowned. "And who's our specialist in that? And the portraits, Sirius? Enough—I'm done with this."
There was no carpet of bones underfoot—the corridor below was fairly clean, mostly just dust. But in the first hall they saw the shed skin, and it was impossible not to be impressed.
"Have you seen this before?" Hagrid asked Tom.
"Hm?" He turned, wide-eyed, at the figure of Filch moving with a gamekeeper's mannerisms. "Yes. I have."
"Take it, sell it?"
"Try," Tom shrugged.
They approached the skin—quite thin, nearly translucent, it turned out to be unexpectedly brittle. Not foldable—it would crumble.
"Quite so…"
"Does anyone know an Elasticity Charm?"
"Is there really such a thing?"
"Soak it—water, vinegar, salt," Andrei sighed, meeting Snape's astonished look. "Well, how else do you make something dry wet? There should be a suitable pool there. The question is whether vinegar and salt count as food. But that can wait."
"Like birch rods?" Sirius flinched, grimacing—evidently recalling a not-very-happy childhood, and exchanged a look with his brother.
"Does Gamp's Law apply to them?" Regulus asked, clarifying.
"Salt can be non-edible…" Snape mused, clearly knowing something relevant. Of course—he hadn't been planning to flay the basilisk! He'd come precisely to find shed skins.
The second doors opened just as easily, only everyone except Tom Riddle felt something like an elastic curtain that didn't immediately let them through. Snape barely noticed it, absorbed in hauling a metre-long piece of skin—so it wouldn't fall apart. And headed straight for the pool. To soak the skin, yes.
"Hagrid—how many parts vinegar to how much salt?"
"Just try water first," he replied. "Wait—a fresh one's coming out now."
While Snape carefully swirled the piece of skin in the pool that had opened to their right, Tom stood before the statue and began to hiss. The basilisk appeared without fanfare—it needed none. The completely silent gliding of the enormous powerful body could in itself make anyone shudder. In the silence it felt even more terrifying. Andrei tensed, carefully keeping his eyes on the floor—fortunately there was no water on it and he wasn't at risk of catching the basilisk's reflected gaze.
The Black brothers disappeared behind the columns with their wands ready.
"I asked it not to petrify you," Tom said, after a brief hissing exchange. "It said it wouldn't look. But not for long. And it's curious what's being done to its old skin."
"Tell it that it may be very useful to us, if we can make it elastic," Snape looked up from the soaking and finally saw the basilisk in all its glory—releasing the skin to bob in the water. He exhaled with a whistle: "That's… just… what a…"
The giant serpent hissed at him in perfect unison, and Tom translated:
"Beaaautiful?"
Snape, calculating how much precious venom this specimen might yield, declared with complete sincerity:
"Magnificent! Ab-sol-ute-ly… staggering!"
From behind the columns appeared the Black brothers, seemingly having temporarily lost the power of speech.
Thank goodness for that, Andrei thought. Otherwise Tom would have translated something from Sirius's repertoire—he was quite capable of it.
The serpent hissed something again and fell silent. Its eyes—Andrei could see them clearly now—were filmed with something bluish, like cataracts. He remembered once standing beside a launch vehicle; the sensation was similar: dangerous power, irresistible force, but under control.
Tom, suppressing laughter, explained that the final word had particularly pleased the serpent. Andrei understood it was time to produce the treats and hinted that they'd brought a couple of nice little lambs along. The basilisk was gratified.
And so the visit concluded to mutual satisfaction before long: the basilisk was fed and mildly entertained, while our heroes had obtained the venom, touched a legendary creature (standing next to which alone was something one could remember all one's life), and most importantly, the serpent had mentioned that the side passages contained more shed skins, fresher ones.
Snape made to dart in that direction but was caught by Hagrid, while Regulus was already extracting the soaked skin—now it could be rolled up without trouble. They had wanted to ask the basilisk many more things, but after a good meal it immediately proposed to sleep again—you can't fight nature—so further conversation had to be postponed by a month. Or more. Or they could use the basilisk's own hunting passage, which it had rather graciously shown them—comfortable enough for a serpent, but for a human… tolerable, let's say. An option of last resort.
So this obsessive scholar will need me as a translator for the basilisk, Tom reflected, and in much the same way will everyone else—without me, no one will dare approach it. Also not a bad job, and rare at that. I'll be besieged with requests, but not constantly. Though… there's still Harry—who's going to teach him? No one but me could. A small child probably can't address a basilisk correctly. And perhaps…
What a convenient creature, Andrei thought. Guards the place, terrifies all comers so thoroughly nothing will ever wash it out, and eats practically nothing per day on average. Worth feeding the animal regularly… What if it grows even more? How do magical serpents handle growth—all their lives or eventually not? Still, there's plenty of room here. But now how to wheedle a couple of extra lambs per month out of the Headmaster? I'll give myself away.
The Black brothers and Snape—remarkably!—were quietly sharing impressions of what they'd done and seen.
Finally they approached the chute; Sirius and Regulus produced brooms they'd shrunk with charms and began enlarging them. Snape swept past with a satisfied expression, his own bag under one arm and a couple of pieces of skin under the other, positioned himself under the chute opening, drew what appeared to be a fairly complex wand movement, and flew straight up. Everyone simply stared.
Tom seized a broom first and shot upward; the others followed. The moment everyone was out and the entrance sealed, Filch's body began to contort—Hagrid's proper form gradually returning.
Tom barely managed to ask Severus what that charm was, and learned with surprise that it was he himself—his adult version—who had taught it to the young Potions master, right after Snape received his Mastership. He very much wanted to ask to see the wand movement—perhaps it would help him recreate the charm from scratch—but before Tom had time to think about this, Lupin burst into the bathroom:
"The Headmaster's back! He's doing rounds! He'll be on our floor soon!"
When three Hagrids and three Filches emerged from Moaning Myrtle's bathroom—the sight of them scattering in all directions was quite entertaining. Fortunately there had never been any portraits in that corridor.
* * *
Sirius Black was the luckiest: he was first out through an old side exit he'd known since his school days, ending up right beside the Whomping Willow—which was standing remarkably still, naturally, since Regulus was holding the right knot. He crouched down to observe from under the roots.
From the main doors, at a leisurely pace, emerged Hagrid—wandered about a hundred metres away, stopped, scratched his head, waved his hand, and turned purposefully toward his own hut.
Remus is overdoing it, Black thought.
Immediately after, out burst a Filch—Sirius waved to draw his brother over—and there was Regulus beside him, out of breath and pleased.
"Shall we go to Hagrid's hut?" Sirius asked.
"Let's wait a bit more," Regulus suggested, and Sirius shifted into his Animagus form to make it easier to fit in the narrow opening together.
Only no one else came out of the school.
"We have to go in. After them," Sirius whispered after a quarter of an hour. "I've never had to rescue Snape before…"
"You've never had to rescue Voldemort either," Regulus muttered. "And if it's Remus in there?"
"Remus seems to have got out. And Voldemort's not exactly Voldemort anymore—that is, he's not… ah!" He waved his hand. "Let's go?"
"Wait. We should at least be under Invisibility… I can't concentrate!"
At that moment the school door opened, and a Filch slipped out as though someone were chasing him. The large black dog hurled itself toward him, seized the hem of his robe, and dragged him toward the Whomping Willow—now standing remarkably still, since Regulus was pressing the right knot.
The three of them couldn't fit in the passage, so they set off along it until they emerged into the Shrieking Shack.
* * *
The reason for Tom's delay turned out to be none other than Argus Filch himself. Who met him nose to nose—bad luck. Tom barely had time to conjure a frame around himself—like a mirror—with a simple Shield Charm on its surface. And just for himself, as a precaution. And then it began… It turned out the caretaker was rather tender about his own appearance; at least, he behaved almost like a young woman, examining his "reflection" from every angle with a deeply suspicious expression. Poor Tom was forced to mirror his every movement. He was not lacking in intelligence or quick thinking, but acting talent—alas. Filch grew increasingly puzzled and increasingly glowering, until Tom finally lost patience entirely: pulled a face and stuck his tongue out at the caretaker.
The man recoiled in horror at his "reflection," stumbled, and crashed to the floor—which Tom immediately exploited: cast a Confundus and bolted down the staircase, barely feeling his own feet.
Nobody noticed the strange gleam that settled from that evening in Argus Filch's rheumy bluish eyes. Nobody heard him mutter to himself, again and again, about how the Headmaster had once described his new acquisition—the Mirror of Erised—and how it showed one's heart's desire; how he'd been surprised to discover what he himself apparently yearned for most. To misbehave. And also—to finally buy that blue robe; after all, why was he any worse than wizards, if he managed such an enormous castle?
And certainly nobody saw the thin lips of the school caretaker spreading into a dreamy, anticipatory smile.
* * *
Snape in Hagrid's form moved rather awkwardly as well—Polyjuice had always been the back-up plan, not the first choice, and for good reason. Andrei decided to keep a loose eye on him, which turned out to be exactly right. Because the moment Snape spotted Dumbledore at the far end of the corridor and heard "Rubeus, what are you doing here?"—he apparently quite involuntarily flinched, spun around, and in several bounds vanished around the nearest corner. The very corner where "the real" Hagrid was standing.
Andrei didn't deliberate long—whispered to Severus to drink the antidote, Transfigured a handkerchief into a bag, and bundled him swiftly inside. They were just in time: the Headmaster, for all his grandfather's manner, appeared to be only performing senility—he walked very fast.
Hagrid smiled as vacantly and dopily as possible, hid the bag behind his back, and made a show of examining the floor with his toe. Naturally, Dumbledore—disagreeably surprised to find his personal half-giant concealing something—set about establishing the facts.
"Well… I wanted to show you," Hagrid began, sighing and spreading his hands. "Then I thought, well, you might be cross…"
"Go on, show me," the Headmaster replied gently. "Then we'll see."
"I caught a little kitten," the gamekeeper beamed to his full width. "A little manticore."
And he stroked the bag fondly—which snorted—extending it toward the Headmaster with a torrent of fond descriptions of "the lovely little kitten" and plans to introduce it to his fire crabs.
Acting-kitten Severus Snape, inside the bag, rose to the occasion with remarkable speed. Unknown what he Transfigured the imitation sting from—fortunately he'd seen one up close and had even handled one separately from the manticore itself—and jabbed it with all his strength into… somewhere.
A black, sinister-looking spike emerged through the thick fabric precisely at the level of the Headmaster's face. He recoiled instantly, the condescending smile vanishing.
"Why have you brought a beast into the school?" Dumbledore frowned. "What will you do if it escapes? If it injures one of the children? Do you know how much the antidote costs?"
"That's just what I— " Hagrid sighed and looked at his feet. "I thought you'd be cross…"
And stroked the bag again, this time landing on… the place where the back loses its noble name. Snape, predictably aggrieved by this intrusion upon his person, jabbed again. Hagrid hissed and stuck his wounded finger in his mouth. The Headmaster watched all of this with scientific interest—but when he understood that "manticore venom" had no effect on a half-giant, as spells and most potions didn't either, he quickly hustled Hagrid out of the school and instructed him never again to bring his captured creatures inside.
Hagrid sniffled once more that the Headmaster didn't want to look at "such a sweet little kitten," extracted a promise that he would "absolutely come and visit," and trudged toward the exit.