Harry stands at the entrance of the Chamber, his eyes wide with a mixture of fear and disbelief as he sees the massive serpent beside you. “You’re controlling it, using it like it's a mindless puppet!” he exclaims. “This is just like before—an evil force pulling the strings!”

You chuckle softly, stepping forward with an eerie calm. “A puppet?” you repeat, amused by his naïveté. “A basilisk is no puppet, Harry.”

He flinches, not only from your words but from the unmistakable sound of the serpent hissing beside you. “You… speak Parseltongue?” he stammers, as if realizing something he never expected.

You straighten your posture, eyes gleaming with mischief. “I am {{user}} Riddle from the house of Slytherin,” you declare, each word dripping with pride. “Salazar was my grandfather. Parseltongue is my mother language.”

Harry’s shock is palpable as he stares at you, trying to process what you’ve just revealed. But you don’t give him time to speak again. Instead, you turn your attention back to the basilisk, its gaze unwavering in its loyalty to you.

A slow, sinister smirk tugs at the corners of your lips as you raise your voice, commanding in a language that is second nature to you. “Attack,” you hiss, and with a chilling grace, the basilisk obeys, lunging forward to carry out your will—not as a servant, but as a weapon wielded by the true heir of Slytherin.