The Serpent's Whisper
Sirius barely had time to react.
One moment, James was shouting his name, panic lacing every syllable—then the world tilted. A massive shadow loomed over him, scales gleaming like polished armour, a pair of slit-pupil eyes nearly locking onto his. Cold dread coiled in his stomach as he realized, with bone-deep certainty, that he wasn’t going to move fast enough.
The basilisk struck.
Pain, white-hot and searing, tore through his side as the beast’s fangs sank deep. A choked noise escaped him—more shock than scream—but then the venom hit, burning through his veins like liquid fire. His knees buckled, and his vision blurred.
Somewhere, far away, he thought he heard James yelling his name, but the sound was already slipping from his grasp.
The jungle around him twisted, the colours bleeding together like smeared paint. His body felt wrong—too heavy, too light, too far away all at once. The ground rushed up to meet him, but he never felt the impact.
Then, it was still.
Sirius had never given much thought to what came after death—he’d been too busy chasing the thrill of life. But if this was it, it felt an awful lot like falling.
Oh, fuck. Am I falling again?
His stomach twisted as he looked down, and sure enough, the same jungle canopy stared back at him. His head spun. This can't be real.
As he was sent careening into the canopy, bouncing between leaves as big as himself like a rogue basketball, he somehow had the mental clarity to snatch a stick out of the air on the way down. He wasn’t about to face a 50-foot snake without a weapon—even if it barely looked like a twig next to the basilisk.
Gritting his teeth and pretending to be braver than he felt, Sirius swung the stick wildly like a bat, crashing back to the jungle floor.
Except—last he checked, jungle floors didn’t move.
His heart lurched as the ground shifted beneath him, the realization crashing into him like ice water. He was on the basilisk’s head.
Beneath his bare feet—who the hell goes barefoot in a jungle?—he felt the cold, slick scales of the snake’s skin shift under him. The jungle blurred around him, and panic squeezed his chest.
Instinct kicked in. Without thinking, he raised the stick, stabbing it into the thick scales beneath him. In hindsight, that was a stupid idea. It did nothing. The scales were too thick—almost impenetrable.
His grip tightened on the stick as his eyes darted, searching frantically for a weak point. His gaze—bright blue, seriously?—swept over the basilisk’s face, locking on its massive, unblinking eyes. The pupils, thin like a cat’s—or a snake’s—were too close. Sirius quickly looked away, narrowly avoiding eye contact, but then it hit him.
The eyes. That’s its weakness. And if he could blind it, the basilisk wouldn't be able to make eye contact as easily.
Sirius swung the stick, aiming straight for the basilisk’s massive eyes. The stick connected with a sickening squelch that made him want to throw up, and for a split second, everything froze. The basilisk let out a deafening, ear-splitting screech, recoiling as its ruined eye gushed blood like a deadly waterfall. It thrashed violently, its tail slamming through the air, and its enormous head snapped back in agony.
Sirius barely had time to brace himself before he was flung off, the basilisk’s head jerking violently beneath him, tossing him aside like a ragdoll.
He hit the ground hard, his body rolling uncontrollably as the world spun around him. He finally came to a stop in a heap, gasping for air, his heart hammering in his chest.
He hadn’t even noticed Regulus until he felt a hand on his shoulder—warm and solid, much like James's, but with an entirely different weight to it.
"Sirius, you better not die on me now," Regulus muttered, his voice low but sharp with concern.
Sirius turned his head to find Regulus standing beside him, his normally guarded expression softening ever so slightly. His brother’s dark eyes flicked nervously to the basilisk, then back at him.
"You’re alive," Regulus added, looking thoroughly shaken. It made sense; he had just seen his brother die in front of him—something Sirius is still having trouble wrapping his head around. His hands reached out, steadying Sirius as the older boy swayed.
After a moment, Regulus seemed to realize his role as the moody Black brother and straightened up, his face settling back into a scowl. "Good. I’m not carrying you out of here."
Sirius let out a weak laugh, though it came out more like a cough. "I'm not planning on dying, Reg. You’d be a terrible pallbearer."
After he speaks, the ground trembled beneath them.
The basilisk’s enormous form lashed again, and the air seemed to freeze for a split second before it erupted into chaos. Sirius’ heart raced, the adrenaline of the near-death experience still coursing through his veins. He barely had time to gather his bearings before the massive serpent’s eyes gleamed, focused on them, and it began its next charge.
"Move!" Regulus snapped, pulling Sirius to his feet with surprising strength, his hands firm on his brother's arms.
Sirius, still disoriented, felt his legs wobble beneath him, but Regulus' grip was enough to hold him steady. His eyes darted around wildly, the world a blur of motion as he tried to orient himself. The basilisk was too close.
"Reg, we need to—" Sirius started, but his words were cut off by the earth-shaking hiss of the creature.
A sharp hiss echoed through the cavern as the basilisk lunged, its head darting towards them like a lightning strike. Regulus shoved Sirius to the side just in time, his own body thrown backwards by the force, and the massive snake’s venomous fangs narrowly missed his shoulder.
They scrambled away, the world a blur of cold stone and shifting shadows. The basilisk was persistent, its unblinking gaze following their every movement with chilling precision.
"Stay low!" Regulus ordered, crouching beside Sirius and pulling him into a narrow crevice in the rock. The two were barely breathing, hidden in the shadow of the massive serpent.
Sirius’ heart was still pounding from the near-miss, the pressure of the basilisk’s presence overwhelming. His chest heaved with shallow breaths as he glanced at his brother, whose face had gone pale, sweat beading on his forehead. The usual arrogance had drained from Regulus, leaving only a raw, focused determination. It was a side of him that Sirius wasn’t used to seeing.
"How the hell do we kill that thing?" Sirius muttered, his voice tight.
Regulus stilled, tilting his head as he scanned the basilisk’s movements. After a long moment, he looked back at Sirius. "Give me that stick." He finally said, holding out his hand, eyes never leaving the creature.
Sirius stared at the outstretched hand, ready to refuse—but then something caught his mind. His brother wasn’t wearing his usual rings, the silver twisting around his fingers like vines that had always been a part of him. The absence of that familiar sight pulled something tight in Sirius' chest.
Perhaps it was the game. Perhaps it was the realization that everything had changed. But for whatever reason, Sirius found himself handing over the stick, still bloody and dripping with some sort of disgusting eyeball-goo, to his brother’s bare, tanned hands.
Regulus nodded at him, sensing the gravity of the moment. But as his fingers wrapped around the stick, his face immediately contorted into a grimace. He held the stick at arm’s length, avoiding the dripping goo with an exaggerated care.
Regulus raised the stick slowly, calling out to where Peter and James were trying various methods to kill the beast, each with varying degrees of failure. "Hey, Peter! Happen to know where a snake's weak spots are?"
Peter's new head of black locks whipped around to face them, his mouth opening involuntarily as he blurted, "The vulnerable areas of a snake are generally its head, eyes, neck, and the region surrounding its mouth. Though a basilisk's scales are thicker and might—"
Sirius stopped listening when he heard the swish of the stick flying through the air. His mouth dropped open as the stick seemed to be heading straight for the basilisk's neck, exposed by the turn of its head.
He regretted ever opening his mouth when a mouthful of eyeball-goo was flung right between his open lips, having flown off the stick midair.
Sirius sputtered violently, his throat burning as he desperately tried to spit the foul goo from his mouth. His face contorted in utter disgust, his eyes wide with horror as the vile, slimy substance clung to his tongue and teeth. He gagged, his stomach churning at the revolting taste, his hand frantically wiping at his lips in a futile attempt to rid himself of the mess. Every instinct screamed for him to retch, but he fought to stay composed, if only for the sake of not losing his focus entirely.
Despite his mental fight, he barely noticed the stick following the perfect trajectory until it struck—direct hit. The stick pierced the soft scales at the basilisk's exposed neck with a sickening crack.
For a brief moment, the creature seemed stunned. Its enormous body shuddered as though the hit had thrown it off balance. The basilisk let out a low, guttural hiss, its massive head swaying from side to side as it recoiled, clearly disoriented.
Sirius watched in disbelief as the basilisk’s eyes dulled, the deadly gleam fading from its unblinking stare. The serpent's head dropped low to the ground, its immense body swaying before it collapsed with a ground-shaking thud.
For a moment, the only sound in the cavern was the heavy, echoing silence, broken only by the distant drip of water.
Sirius blinked, his mouth still covered in goo, his heart hammering in his chest. “Did we—did we actually kill it?”
Regulus, wide-eyed and breathing heavily, stepped cautiously forward, his gaze fixed on the fallen creature. "We did," he said, his voice tight with a mix of awe and disbelief.
The basilisk lay motionless, its massive form sprawled across the ground like a fallen titan, the deadly menace it had once posed now vanquished.
Sirius shook his head, wiping his mouth again. “I can’t believe that worked... I thought we were done for.”
Sirius wiped his mouth again, still spitting the last remnants of goo onto the ground, his body shaking with disgust. His thoughts were spinning. They’d actually done it. They’d killed the basilisk. We actually did it. The weight of it slowly started to sink in, but before he could fully process, a distant rumble of an engine interrupted his thoughts.
Regulus, still eyeing the basilisk, seemed oblivious to the noise at first, but Sirius—still feeling the adrenaline in his veins—instinctively turned toward the source.
Out of the shadows emerged a strange, gleaming vehicle. It looked out of place—too pristine for this bleak, monster-filled world. It was sleek, silver, and impossibly polished, with chrome accents that shimmered even in the dim light. It looked... expensive.
The engine hummed and purred to a stop, as if the vehicle itself were far too sophisticated to make a loud entrance. The door swung open dramatically with the smooth precision of something far more advanced than anything Sirius had ever seen in this place.
And then, stepping out of the vehicle with a flourish, was a man. Tall, immaculately groomed, with golden hair that looked like it belonged on some absurd magazine cover. His clothes were ridiculously flamboyant—flowing robes in shades of lavender and pale blue, bright enough to make Sirius squint even in the low light. The man beamed at them as though they were long-lost friends, and he had all the self-assurance of someone who believed he was the answer to every problem in the universe.
Sirius' mind raced, the chilling thought settling heavily on him: Was this another person trapped in the game, or something far worse?
"Well, well, well," the man called out with an exaggerated twirl. "What do we have here? Five brave souls, no doubt! You’ve done well to survive this little trial, but I am here now to whisk you away to safety, my dear boys. Gilderoy Lockhart, at your service!"
Sirius blinked, still processing the words as they came. Five? There were only four of them. His brow furrowed, and his eyes instinctively scanned the area. He was sure he wasn’t missing anyone. It was just him, Regulus, James, and Peter. So why had Lockhart mentioned five?
Sirius couldn’t help the incredulous laugh that escaped him, despite the discomfort from the goo still coating his lips. "You’ve got to be kidding me," he muttered under his breath.
Lockhart was still smiling as though they should be awestruck by his presence. He clapped Sirius on the shoulder, causing him to almost stumble under the force. “You two look a bit worse for wear, but not to worry! I’m quite the expert at handling these situations, you know. Have a bit of experience with dangerous creatures. Ah, yes, I recall a particularly harrowing experience with a Chimaera in Greece. No time for details, of course. We’ll chat later.”
Lockhart turned and walked towards his car, Sirius and the rest following after only a slight hesitation. They only made it a couple steps before Lockhart stopped, so suddenly that Peter nearly ran into him, and turned, grinning over his shoulder. He beckoned to the empty clearing, eyes focused on something behind the group following him. "Well, come on, mighty hero!" Lockhart called. "You don't want to let your friends face down danger alone, now do you Mr. Moony?"
Lockhart turned and walked toward his car, his cape billowing dramatically behind him. Sirius and the rest followed after only a slight hesitation, exchanging uncertain glances, still trying to make sense of the bizarre situation. They only made it a couple of steps before Lockhart stopped abruptly, causing Peter to almost crash into him.
With a dramatic flourish, Lockhart spun around, his grin as wide as ever. He looked over his shoulder, eyes gleaming with an almost too pleased look, before he beckoned towards the empty clearing behind them. "Well, come on, mighty hero!" Lockhart called, his voice as smooth as ever. "You don't want to let your friends face down danger alone, now do you, Mr. Moony?"
Sirius froze.
"Mr. Moony?" Sirius echoed, a sense of unease crawling up his spine. He turned his head, searching the clearing behind them with growing suspicion.
But there was no one there.
His brow furrowed. The mystery of this whole situation suddenly seemed to take on a far more ominous tone. Mr. Moony—he thought. Wasn't that the person Sirius had tried to select at first.
But 'Mr. Moony' wasn’t there. And neither was anyone else.
Sirius took a few steps forward, his gaze flicking from the empty space behind them to Lockhart's insufferably smug expression. It didn't add up. He could feel something off about the situation, like an itch in the back of his mind that wouldn’t go away. "Who exactly are you talking to, Lockhart?" he asked sharply, his voice carrying more suspicion than he intended.
For a split second, Lockhart froze, but then he turned around and continued walking, as though nothing had happened. "Now, let's get you heroes to my car. You must be tired!"
Sirius didn't move immediately, still staring at Lockhart's retreating form, his mind racing. The feeling of unease twisted tighter in his chest. There was something off about this man—and not just his pretentious, over-the-top demeanour. The whole situation felt wrong, like a puzzle piece that didn't fit, no matter how hard he tried to force it.
He glanced over his shoulder again, scanning the empty clearing. Mr. Moony. The more he thought about it, the less it made sense. Was it some kind of mistake? Something the game had twisted? Or had they somehow missed someone else entering the scene? He looked at Regulus, whose face was still set in its usual guarded expression, though a flicker of doubt danced in his dark eyes.
Sirius shook his head, forcing himself to focus. He couldn’t afford to get caught up in that now. Not with the basilisk still fresh in his mind. But that damn itch—it wouldn’t go away.
Lockhart, still grinning like a buffoon, motioned toward the gleaming car again. "Come on, no need to dawdle, gentlemen!"
Sirius hesitated for a moment longer, his gaze flickering back to the dense trees surrounding them, but with no sign of anyone else, he relented. He turned toward Lockhart, who was already making his way toward the sleek truck, his overly bright smile never faltering.
"Yeah, yeah, coming," Sirius muttered, stepping forward with a forced casualness, his mind still tugged in a thousand directions.
Regulus followed, his footsteps quiet, but Sirius could feel the subtle tension in his brother’s posture—an unease that matched his own. It wasn’t just the mystery of Mr. Moony that felt wrong, but the whole situation. There was something about Lockhart that made the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. The man was too calm, too collected, like he had all the answers that none of them did.
Sirius climbed into the passenger seat, Regulus slipping into the back. The truck’s leather seats smelled faintly of cologne and new car, a stark contrast to the damp, earthy scent of the game world. Lockhart slid into the driver’s seat with a flourish, his grin still in place, his fingers tapping on the wheel in a maddening rhythm.
"Alright then, off we go!" Lockhart announced, flicking the truck into gear. The engine roared to life, vibrating beneath them as they pulled away from the clearing. Sirius’ eyes stayed locked on the trees for a moment longer, his thoughts a whirlwind.
Sirius exchanged a look with Regulus. The unease in the pit of his stomach deepened, but he didn’t voice it. Whatever was happening now, they couldn’t afford to stay stuck in their heads for too long—not when they still didn’t know the full extent of the game’s rules. They needed answers, and Lockhart, for all his oddities, was the only option.