The Basilisk Wizard of Hogwarts

Atmosphere

The Hogwarts Express chugged forward, its whistle blaring outside, yet the compartment remained eerily quiet save for the occasional rustle of turning pages. Students milled about the corridor, but the intimidating aura of the two studious figures buried in their books kept anyone from disturbing them.

"Hello, is this seat taken? May I sit here?"

A black-haired girl dragged a heavy trunk into the compartment, sweat dampening the strands of hair clinging to her forehead.

"No one’s here. Sit wherever," Samel replied without looking up, flicking his hand. The trunk levitated smoothly into the overhead rack.

The girl’s eyes lit up.

"Beverly Crouch. Was that the Levitation Charm?"

"Samel Gaunt. And this is Harry Potter."

Beverly settled gracefully beside Harry, who flushed red—whether from his first close encounter with a girl or sudden infatuation, Samel couldn’t tell. He’d never heard the "Boy Who Lived" was shy.

Gaunt? Potter? Beverly’s mind raced. One was the celebrated savior of the wizarding world; the other, a recently sensationalized heir to the extinct Gaunt lineage. To meet both at once…

"What’s your relation to Barty Crouch?" Samel asked. Pure-blood circles were small, and the Crouch family’s dwindling prestige now rested solely on the aging Ministry official.

"He’s my father’s uncle," Beverly answered with poised confidence, every inch the noble pure-blood heiress.

"Wow, what a gorgeous snake! What breed is it?"

Her next question died as a resplendent python slithered onto Samel’s lap, hissing softly. Unable to resist, Beverly reached to stroke Cole’s head.

"You’re not afraid?" Samel raised an eyebrow. Even Harry didn’t particularly fancy slithering creatures.

"Why would I be? My father was a Slytherin. Snakes are Slytherin."

"It’s just a common boa from the Muggle world."

As Samel answered, Cole—disliking strangers—retreated to the window ledge. Samel let him be; he’d never force the snake to endure discomfort, though Beverly looked wistful.

"Any seats here? Everywhere else is full."

A redheaded boy shouldered in. Samel recognized Ron Weasley instantly. Fate works in strange ways, he mused.

"Plenty of space," Harry said warmly, far more welcoming than he’d been to Beverly.

Ron grimaced. He’d only entered as a last resort. The compartment’s occupants were daunting: one icy, one regal, and one bearing the lightning-bolt scar of legend.

After introductions, Ron tensed further. He’d hoped to cozy up to Harry Potter, not share space with a Gaunt—a family notorious for madness—and his massive serpent.

"Hogwarts only allows cats, owls, or toads. Since when are snakes permitted?"

"The rules don’t forbid snakes. Or rats, for that matter," Samel countered coolly, not glancing up from his book. He’d prepared this rebuttal for Snape or Dumbledore.

Ron clutched Scabbers tighter. The air thickened.

"Anything from the trolley, dears?"

The snack witch’s cheery voice punctured the frost.

"No thanks, I’ve got sandwiches," Ron mumbled.

"Two of everything. And I’ll trade these snacks for your sandwich, if you’re willing."

Samel knew sweets were social lubricant for children. He wasn’t antisocial—just disliked reading interruptions. His resting "Snape Glare" didn’t help.

Truthfully, he was starving. Having missed breakfast, he doubted he’d last until the Hogwarts feast.

Soon, wrappers crinkled as everyone indulged—even Beverly nibbled elegantly, while Ron demolished treats like a starved ghoul.

Samel bit into Molly Weasley’s sandwich. The presentation was dreadful, but the flavor… Mother could never, he thought wistfully. Before leaving, he’d secured authentic Chinese cookbooks (sans abominations like strawberry-mapo tofu). If Hogwarts elves could replicate 60% of those flavors, he’d be content.

Post-meal, Samel joined the chatter. Ron remained skittish around him, spouting anti-Slytherin vitriol.

"Every house has flaws. Gryffindor preens about bravery yet breeds dark wizards. Ravenclaw’s ‘raven’s claw’ implies greedy plunderers—they’ve produced more dark wizards than Gryffindor. Be rational."

Harry needed steering clear of Ron’s biases. Mission accomplished when the boy nodded thoughtfully.

Beverly too disliked Ron—her sights were set on Slytherin, following her parents’ path.

As Ron and Harry bonded, Samel set Cole on the table, conversing in Parseltongue. The snake thrashed his tail excitedly against Samel’s arm.

"Easy, Cole," Samel murmured, ignoring the faint yelp from his sleeve where Little Twisty hid. The smaller snake bore the abuse silently, fearing he’d startle the humans.

Cole flicked his tongue smugly toward the sleeve: Know your place, runt.

Samel separated the squabbling serpents and reopened his potions textbook. Beverly watched keenly, unfazed by the oddity. When she glimpsed a emerald tail peeking from Samel’s cuff, she simply smiled. Some mysteries were best left unspoken.