After successfully producing the male egg, Salazar wasted no time starting the incubation. Vizette could see how he'd woven lessons from the previous 180 trials into this 181st one, refining every step.
He kept feeding the toad Thestral blood to bolster its "death" attribute. Then he reworked the old chicken coop, blending ritual magic with alchemy to craft a cutting-edge hatchery, centered around an alchemical array.
Drawing on the books in his mind and Salazar's meticulous breakdowns, Vizette pieced together the founder's intent: hatching the male egg was bio-alchemy in action.
The well of magical knowledge ran deep. Bio-alchemy, bloodline magic—these were fields Vizette knew of but hadn't delved into. For now, he committed it all to memory, planning to unpack it later through study and experimentation.
...
As the plan advanced smoothly, fresh memory fragments surfaced.
In these visions, the toad began to transform. It had clearly absorbed some enchantment from the rooster egg; its skin paled day by day, movements sluggish, as if petrifying into gray-white stone.
The male egg fared oppositely. The toad's fading color migrated to it, draping the shell in a thick, concealing layer that masked its pale base and crimson veins.
When the toad fully ossified into a statue, the rooster egg completed its metamorphosis into a basilisk egg.
The new shell gleamed with vibrant patterns, echoing the shed snakeskin markings from the cavern tunnels—lush green overall.
Salazar adjusted the alchemical array into a ritual circle. With a flick of his wand, silver-blue light erupted from the tip.
As a former founder, Salazar clearly wielded ancient magic too.
He channeled it now to nourish the egg and sustain incubation. Vizette noticed Salazar pairing the ancient power with mental spells, forging some rapport with the egg.
The ancient magic's infusion prompted new notes from Salazar.
[Integrating ancient magic... directing the basilisk egg's instincts to draw it in...]
The egg responded to the nurturing with tremors, their rhythm quickening over time.
[Forming a magical bond with the basilisk... building trust... prepping the incantation...]
From the records, Vizette mused, "So Slytherin's aim was the Parseltongue Command..."
What even is an incantation? 'Contract' suggests a binding pact. Is it some magical agreement?
Building on that, he connected the dots: Ancient magic... mental spells... rapport... trust...
And Slytherin's own gift—Parseltongue. With the basilisk still lurking at Hogwarts, I'll cross paths with it eventually. Channeling ancient magic, linking via Parseltongue and mental spells—could that ease things when the time comes?
Watching Salazar commune with the egg sparked a sudden idea.
Mandrake! The one I infused with ancient magic... could we form a magical pact?
But plants differ from beasts; direct imitation won't work. Rushing in blind could prove disastrous...
Magic brimmed with potential—and peril. Even safe branches held risks; a mispronounced incantation could backfire wildly.
Flitwick had cited a wizard named Baruffio, whose garbled spell once shattered his ribs against a rampaging bison.
Minor wounds were wizarding trifles—Harry had regrown his arm bones with Skele-Gro after a mishap. Far worse were magical mishaps, which could maim if mishandled.Anthony had regaled the dorm with tales of the legendary Auror Alastor "Mad-Eye" Moody, hailed as the era's finest. Moody's moniker stemmed from losing an eye to a dark wizard in pursuit; he'd replaced it with a magical prosthetic that spun 360 degrees, spotting threats from all angles.
Vizette counted his blessings at Hogwarts. For thorny questions or experiments, professors offered guidance. Even if they'd never faced the exact issue, their wisdom sparked ideas and minimized disasters.
...
The memories cut off as the basilisk hatched.
Some enchantment likely blocked the rest; Vizette couldn't witness the incantation's forging.
Regret nagged, but satisfaction prevailed. Salazar's visions had yielded a treasure trove of lore—enough to fuel years of study.
As the fragments dissolved, a disorienting weightlessness gripped Vizette, like endless descent into void.
He'd felt this before; it signaled his return to awareness. Wakefulness neared.
In the plunge, he let go, savoring the rare calm.
Like a leaf adrift on a current, his mind wandered freely...
Unbidden, thoughts turned to Christmas break and summer, life's quiet joys.
Fleeting images flickered—dreamlike vignettes.
They slipped like sand through fingers when grasped too hard. Only in surrender did peace settle, light as a feather, accompanying him.
He sensed the Ravenclaw common room, the window's view of the shadowed Forbidden Forest.
Thestrals stirred there, erupting skyward on leathery wings before diving back into the trees.
The Hogwarts greenhouses bloomed in his mind's eye, magical flora thriving, tendrils questing for dawn's dew...
—