A drabble for the Fic Exchange II on xoxLewrahxox's forum.

Prompt: Any of the Basilisk's attacks.

"Come out."

The whisper, hissing, poisonous, dangerous, feels eerily wrong slipping from the little girl's rosy lips.

Adrenaline pumps through veins that aren't his as his creature, his legacy crawls towards them from the depths of the castle. She closes her eyes at his will. He will lead her, his perception coupled with the snake's – a monstrous, distorted, beautiful view of the world, a patchwork of vibration, sensations, emotions, smells caught by a flickering tongue, buzzes of magic his shallow spirit perceives better than any human could. She steps back and hisses his words obediently.

"Time to kill."

She walks lightly to the door, frail girl with fiery hair and dainty hands, his weapon – and he would smirk, really, if he were tangible enough.

Bloodlust makes him tremble, a mere shadow within her chest as she glides ahead, a deadly angel with the great serpent by her side – they both can feel it, they sense the faraway rumble echoing in their chests as it progresses in the pipes, they know it is close to them, within the very walls, desecrating the safety of the castle. They walk into Slytherin's footsteps, the Heir and his obedient doll, and he feels this thrill so passionately, it's almost like having a body again.

They are so tightly entwined by now that he doesn't quite know which perception is the first to sense the boy. It doesn't matter anymore – he could as well be a part of her soul, and her mind is nothing but his, one hunter feeling their prey in the distance, one heartbeat like the maddened countdown before the kill. She parts her lips, and he almost believes he will taste the air on her tongue – a snake's sharp sense, as a snake's sibilant voice slips from her throat as if it did belong to her.

"Now."

She stands there, motionless, as the snake slides from the pipes, as its head raises arrogantly, and she sees the flash of the camera – but the anger is his, and his alone. Perhaps because she knew the boy – but as she turns back and sleepwalks to her dormitory, she is but a puppet who means nothing in their deeds, and his frustration takes some relief in pondering her stained innocence.

Later, she will wake up alone in the common room. Later, she will cry for her friend, and perhaps, try to remember her night.

And he will comfort her.

Dear Ginny, I understand your pain. You know that I am there for you...

Always.