I cannot believe it. How could he do this to me?! We were friends! Friends! I called him my brother. My brother!
I pound my hands against the wall, the door, hard, harder. “We were friends!” The scream rips from my throat. “Friends!”
He has sealed the entrance to this Chamber, the main Chamber, which is where I am to live out my starvation and desperation until I die. My friend!
How he could do this, I know not. From what I could hear, the passwords were in Parseltongue, the language I taught him, the language that is my birthright! What a cruel irony is this!
I had been open to reason – it was such a minor disagreement. I had been ready to concede, to meet his terms. Such a small thing!
What a vicious betrayal this is! To think that all this time, all this time, he had been building this chamber, the snake statues, the huge statue – of himself, it must be. He is not a sculptor and it does not flatter him, but what do I care? I am here to die, coldly murdered by one I thought a friend, a brother, the one man I could depend on, trust, to the end of the world.
I pound my hands on the wall, ignoring the blood running from them. “We were friends!” He can’t hear me now, he’s too far away, but I can’t stop screaming. “We were friends! We were friends!”
A cruel irony that the world will think me responsible for this. What story will he pose? How far the villain will he make me? My friend!
The grate of the first barrier is faint. He is out of the entire Chamber.
My face is soaked, my eyes stinging. My friend!
“We were friends! We were friends!” The words rub my throat raw, rip apart my soul. “We were friends! I trusted you! You above all others!”
He has taken even my wand, stripped me of the dignity in a self-chosen death. Here I am doomed to slow, unbearable starvation.
I taste blood in the back of my throat and it drips from my palms, but I do not feel it. It is nothing against the pain of my soul. My brother!
How could he do this to me?
“How could you do this to me?” I slam my hands harder against the cruel stone, demanding an answer. He is far away, gone forever, but I am beyond reason, beyond rational thought. “Answer me! How could you do this to me?” My voice is broken, sobbing.
It is not death. That I have faced before with a little fear and enough courage. My friend! My brother!
“We were friends! We were friends! I called you brother! Godric! I called you brother!”
The tears come hot now, and as my vision blurs my legs give out and I sink to the floor, and, it almost seems, through it.
A broken whisper is all that is left. “How could you do this to me? Godric, how could you do this to me?”
It hurts all the more because I cannot hate him. Were I to escape, I would go back. I would trust him again. I would somehow believe that he would have come back for me. But he will not.
I still love him, and it shatters my heart.
“My brother!” The scream is anguish, and I almost think that maybe, maybe, he can hear it.
It is not the argument at all, I know. I was in his way in some other fashion, and this just gave him the perfect cover to dispose of me. So callous, cold to the end – I never, never, had I lived a thousand years… Not Godric. Not my brother.
The statue opens its mouth. I know what emerges. I know the text he was reading by Herpo the Foul, but I thought it insignificant. Now I know.
A Basilisk. But I refuse to suffer a slow death by starvation for his pleasure, I refuse to suffer even the small amount of pain that the fangs will cause me.
I will have my small revenge, even if he will never know it.