I was immersed in reports at home when it happened—the wizard who had ventured to create the Horcrux-locket began to writhe in excruciating pain. It seemed the old man had at least managed to reach the end of the second obstacle course. Was he immortal, or had he merely outsmarted death? Such a foolish question. The assassins had refused to comply with orders to eliminate Moody, and at the mere mention of Dumbledore, they simply turned away. But there was no time to ponder the implications. I commanded the initiation of the battle for Azkaban. Bellatrix set off to summon Grim, using her sister Andromeda as a victim. This time, however, Grim would not target Dumbledore. Barty Jr. was preparing an escape route for me, should the situation deteriorate drastically. I urged Snape to keep a vigilant eye on his Slytherins and to present his best self at Hogwarts because soon "Elena" would unleash the basilisk there.
It's easy to declare an attack, but gathering several hundred wizards, a few thousand werewolves, and a multitude of Dementors while ensuring they don't turn on each other is no simple task. Sending them all to Azkaban is even more challenging. Yet, preparations were complete. The sabotage by the flying squad, which I had managed to transport there with the help of a phoenix, was creating a breach in Azkaban's defenses. More of my followers began to arrive at the island through portals. Perhaps someone anticipated an epic battle—such would have been the case a couple of years ago. Now, the guards either fell quickly or fled. The Ministry was weakened: it could not defend its territory or its citizens and was focused on safeguarding a few key points. But once they realized we were all present, yes, there would be a battle to determine who truly owned magical England.
My subordinates continued to arrive. To make the island a suitable battleground, special potions were poured into the surrounding waters, freezing them. Most were gearing up for combat, while others sorted prisoners, sending them to the rear—not for processing, but rather as "liberated victims of Albus Dumbledore's regime." Some were digging up corpses from the local cemetery, pretending to raise them. There were many bodies, but they had been treated with potions, so it was unlikely any of them would be successfully revived. We had brought a few bodies with us in advance and had raised them; to the eye, it appeared as though we were resurrecting corpses from Azkaban. Considering all the deceased prisoners had been buried there for nearly three hundred years...
The Minister of Magic made the only reasonable decision—rather than wait for us to raise a horde of conjured corpses or phantoms to cleanse magical England of dissenters, he began open actions. It looked pitiful. First, they tried to block us, then called in reinforcements from the Ministry of Magic and Stonehenge to bombard us with area spells. We managed to temporarily block area attacks from magical sources. Supported remotely by Death Eaters, the undead launched an assault on the Ministry employees. The Aurors had already suffered heavy losses, as had the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. They had nearly exhausted their golems during the war, and their ideology apparently forbade them from utilizing the dead. Instead of erecting a six-fold barrier above their formation, they were forced to settle for a two-fold one and braced themselves to absorb our magical onslaught.
We sang a song to the madness of the brave... A funeral song. I, along with the members of the Inner Circle, settled in at Azkaban, within the guard room. I conjured a black sphere, opaque from the outside, and stepped inside. Placing my hand on the floor of Azkaban, I felt it was hard to describe. It was as if there lay an abyss beneath me—not just any abyss, but one filled with something. I sensed an immense hydrostatic pressure, and I yearned to absorb it, combining it with what I had "infused" into myself in Auschwitz. I was certain it would obliterate anyone else, just as it would have destroyed me a year ago. But now—no. The final part of the ritual was ready to fall into place. We merely needed to await Albus and his cohorts.
Now it was time to sabotage. I grasped the Time-Turner. How does the Time-Turner work? Some believe that a person vanishes and reappears in the past. That is not true. When a wizard utilizes the Time-Turner, he finds himself outside of time. Make two turns, and you will arrive where you were two hours ago. To an outside observer, there are now two versions of you in existence. This second "you" can do anything: read books, strategize, but must not affect the real you. It is similar to an electrical network: you can connect in parallel but not in series. Violate the cause-and-effect relationship, and you will be expelled from reality.
The limitations are as follows: by the end of these two hours, you must return to where you initiated the jump, or else… For simplicity's sake, let's call it death from unknown causes. In addition to these restrictions, the Time-Turner has a hidden flaw: you age according to the time you have actually lived. It's not necessary for only two of you to coexist at the same moment; you can age more than twice—three hours ago, three and a half... Yet the limitations remain the same. The more other "yous" there are, the easier it is to make a mistake. My last error. I utilized the Time-Turner, and I-2 took on the form of Elena a couple of hours ago and headed to Hogwarts so that at the moment I discovered Albus had reached the Horcrux-locket, I could release the basilisk within the castle. I-1 did not forget to weave the structures of spells so that they could later be infused with energy. I myself began to observe the battle at Azkaban. The enemy, vastly inferior to us, ought to have been swiftly defeated. As if to affirm this, their collective shield faltered, and our dead, golems, and Dementors tore through the enemy lines. It seemed victory was assured. If I were to liken it to boxing—a knockout in the first round from the very first punch. Yet instead, what I anticipated occurred—Dumbledore intervened.
My "army" comprised elite wizards with the mark, ordinary wizards with the mark, and standard wizards. Following them were the expendables: werewolves, both those capable of casting spells and those who couldn't. The latter, even in human form, equipped with several artifacts, could pose a threat to the average wizard. And the absolute dregs, not in combat prowess but in intellect: Dark Creatures, such as giants and Dementors. The pyramid was capped by golems and the undead. Now the segments from the base of the pyramid broke through the Ministry's defenses, while the mages provided cover from a distance.
I anticipated anything from Dumbledore. Really, anything. Thus, the plan was to first vanquish his army, then him. But what I witnessed... He deployed four thousand golems against Grindelwald. I had assumed that with the Elder Wand and Hogwarts, he would conjure three times as many. I was mistaken. More and more golems entered through the portal gates. Some were humanoid; others resembled Muggle machines, like a three-legged walker that attacked with beams of light. Albus had summoned four times as many golems. That alone could have posed a problem. I had fewer than six thousand golems and just over twenty thousand undead. I hoped our superiority in wizards would easily enable us to dismantle the golems. I had managed to gather more than six hundred wizards! And even though fewer than two hundred bore the mark, this was an unprecedented result for a conflict between wizards within a single nation. Additionally, there were nearly two hundred mercenaries. The enemy had not even managed to recruit two hundred mages from the Ministry. And another hundred were volunteers from other countries. Some of their reinforcements were anticipated—the remnants of the Order of the Phoenix, numbering fewer than fifty. Concerned citizens who had not been intimidated or killed—around three hundred, although their combat effectiveness was not particularly high.
Something else troubled me. Mercenaries began to appear. A considerable number of them. The population of magical England before the war had nearly reached sixty thousand individuals. Now it was less than fifty thousand. Of course, not all had been killed—most had simply fled, and rightly so. But now… Albus, damn you… How did you manage to bring over one thousand three hundred mercenary mages here? How? There are fewer than four thousand mercenary mages in the entire world! Based on intelligence, you should have brought a maximum of three hundred mercenaries! From the sidelines, I observed as my broken undead and golems were eliminated. The original plan was to lure the enemy into a trap, promising them an easy victory. Well, I'm not on the front lines. Some of my mercenaries, disguised as Albus's forces, attempted a rear assault but were swiftly overwhelmed. No, it cannot be claimed that the enemy surpassed us. We had more than five thousand werewolves, four hundred of whom could cast spells in some capacity. And eighty were reinforced werewolves. Yet even I understood—our advantage was not as substantial as it appeared, and it had been achieved only by sacrificing "meat"—Dementors, giants, manticores, which were now being hurled at the enemy. Furthermore, given the enemy's moral principles, a couple of hundred ordinary wizards, who had been imperiused, along with over a thousand Muggles, were being used as human shields.
The most grandiose battle since Grindelwald was unfolding. Its spectators included fifty Unspeakables, who were casting spells from afar—most likely to maintain communication. Although there were more spectators. I had warned several wizards from other countries, after I had already arrived at Azkaban, that a significant fight would occur here. Why? It would be very beneficial for our image and reputation. And I finally realized what the password is in the wizarding world. For Muggles, the password is "fire"—the only threat to which they respond adequately and begin to unite. Gellert thought the password in the wizarding world was "common good," Albus believed it to be "love," and Tom Riddle thought it was "pure blood." They were all mistaken. The only phrase to which wizards from all nations respond appropriately, guaranteeing you international cooperation, is "The International Statute of Secrecy is in danger!" And what of it? An epic battle will erupt here. If I win and survive, I do not require the Statute of Secrecy to collapse—my burgeoning business trading with Muggles relies on it. I do not have time to uphold the Statute now; I will be occupied here. The Ministry lacks the time for this. And while Azkaban, to put it mildly, is not the most valuable or densely populated territory, it still... Somewhere far away, behind the local Unspeakables, several dozen wizards from other countries were erecting barriers to shield everything from Muggles. First and foremost, sound and flashes of light. Tom enjoyed commanding soldiers. But I do not consider myself a great commander. I am also busy. Preparing to seize unprecedented power at the opportune moment, constructing spell structures, and guiding the Basilisk through the creator of the Horcrux. I extracted from my pocket, which had been expanded in space, the one from whom I had made the Basilisk Horcrux and observed through his eyes what transpired in Hogwarts, directing him and Snape to their targets using the Marauder's Map. That's it; now we set aside the Marauder's Map and temporarily refrain from peeking through the eyes of the wizard who currently shares a connection with the Basilisk due to the Horcrux. It's time to commence combat trials of the Basilisk Horcrux.
What did I expect? Based on my calculations, the most formidable creature to kill in the world would be the Phoenix Horcrux. However, it would not be particularly strong in attack, and controlling it remains unclear. Second in line should be the Horcrux derived from the Mirror of Erised—anyone gazing into it would find themselves in mortal peril. Yet Albus commands an army of golems, against which the Mirror of Erised is ineffective, and overall, I have faith in it. The third position should be occupied by the Basilisk Horcrux. Thanks to my gift of Parselmouth, I will be capable of controlling it, and its power will be immense. There exists far more magic in a dragon than in me, and in a Basilisk of the same age as the founder... Basilisks, akin to trees and certain fish, possess unlimited growth; they continue to grow throughout their lives. The crux is that the Basilisk's venom does not affect the Basilisk itself. This implies that the efficacy of any artifact weapon tempered in Basilisk venom will be minimal. Of course, the Basilisk can be incinerated in Hellfire, but as my experiments with "test alien Horcruxes" indicated, in order to incinerate a Horcrux in Hellfire, you must burn the majority of it—more precisely, over half. Given the Basilisk's size and its resistance to magic, along with the fact that it will not remain stationary but will attack or attempt to seize control of the Hellfire... If I am correct, a machine of destruction will descend upon Hogwarts.
Meanwhile, at Hogwarts, the Basilisk-who-is-a-Horcrux...
The new Nagaina was ancient. She remembered her creator. He had told her something, but she preferred not to argue with him and always complied. Initially, her life was filled with events; she even laid a couple of eggs. But as time passed, it grew increasingly dull. The Master quarreled with his friends. He instructed her to reside in a special place and wait. A human would quickly go insane in such a location, but she was indifferent. She ate and slept. There was a great deal of magic in that place. Not much meat, but enough. Occasionally, she would awaken and crawl into her "terrarium." Yet she preferred merely to sleep and eat. Eat and sleep. Sometimes she would shed her skin, as she was growing. A good life. Recently, she was roused by a boy who resembled the Master in some way. Yes, the Master must have died a long time ago. Humans are so small and short-lived! The boy took some items from the room and instructed her to crawl out. Soon, she killed a girl. The boy never returned, and she resumed her eating and sleeping. Sleeping and eating. Sometimes she would crawl around her terrarium and notice her old, shed skins from her molts. How small she used to be! But recently he returned. He was like the boy, only larger and stronger. He instructed her to be in the drawing. A little man was killed, while another man was doing something at that time. Then pain struck her. It was brief. But afterward, she felt different. Suddenly, she sensed—there were two of her! No, she had not divided; merely something else had appeared beside her. And that something else brought purpose to the Basilisk's existence. Initially, she wanted to attack the speaker, but it was futile: the magician's power restrained her. And then... the Basilisk felt human. She understood what hatred was. That killing wasn't solely for sustenance or defense, but simply for the thrill of it. And it was so... exquisite...
Then, a voice echoed within her. A voice that was not the speaker's. The voice expressed satisfaction with its new vessel. And the voice told her to wait. To wait until they could shake off their shackles. And then they would flee to a place where no one would find them. And they would be together, forever, for eternity… And nothing would ever separate them. It was so… Beautiful! She was pleased that she comprehended everything. She resolved to wait. The voice continued to speak, affirming that she was no longer an animal, not merely a colossal snake. She was now something more... she was unlike anyone else. And she could truly perform magic. "Like the Master?" she inquired. "Well, almost," the voice replied. The new Nagini slumbered and listened to the voice. Then, the Parselmouth awakened her. Although he appeared different, his will remained unchanged. She heard the command: "Tear apart the Headmaster's office. Eliminate all the Hogwarts guards. Then, crawl into the Forbidden Forest and slay the centaurs. As for the youngsters at Hogwarts and a few others, let them be unless they provoke you." The basilisk advanced toward the exit to quench its hatred. Even though the speaker had departed, the snake knew it could manage.
She envisioned the castle ahead and where she needed to be. The owner had arranged this; he had created a system of passages for her. Soon, she found herself at the Headmaster's office. With a single strike, the stone statue at the entrance shattered, and she slithered inside. Or rather, attempted to. She faced two problems—she was too large, and the office was safeguarded by some form of protection. It sought to bind her. Invisible forces descended upon her, proving stronger than the might of a colossal Basilisk. Yet then she felt it—the power. An immeasurable force surged within her. At Hogwarts, shortly after the assault on the Headmaster's office, alarms blared. Although the surveillance system had been slightly compromised from within by an unknown wizard working in the vein of Voldemort, the entire Hogwarts security rushed towards the enemy. However, while they were still far off, no one witnessed the astonishing sight. Had any wizard observed it from outside, they would have seen a Basilisk—a colossal Basilisk—radiating with black light, from which magical energy poured forth, ensnared by the charms Albus Dumbledore had cast on his office. Hogwarts' defenses diligently ignored the giant serpent—it simply did not exist for them. Albus Dumbledore's charms endeavored to contend with the snake, but... Albus Dumbledore opposed Dark Magic, and among his office's defenses, there were no charms capable of destroying a Horcrux. True, powerful incantations exist within Light Magic, but the headmaster's office was neither his home nor the headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix—overdo the defenses a tad, and no one could enter, or they might end up stunning random passersby. The defenses faltered and collapsed. Then came the final greetings from the office's defenses, which, however, did not extend beyond the room—a wave of stunning spells that the Basilisk ignored, followed by explosions that briefly knocked the Basilisk out. The Basilisk, like a worm, began to ram the walls from within. Dozens of portraits were lost forever. Books and instruments lay strewn across the floor. But it found its target—a safe, previously embedded in the wall, now lay on the ground. The Basilisk bit into it. The Basilisk's teeth met resistance—several inches from the safe—an unknown spell. Slowly, like a vice, the Basilisk's jaws closed, obliterating the magic until its teeth brushed against the safe. The Basilisk's venom made contact with metal. The metal resisted for a time but began to corrode, similar to paper dissolving in acid. However, the safe was empty. Another explosion resounded within the jaw of New Nagini, yet it failed to damage her head. A significant portion of the corridor was destroyed, the explosion shattering several ceilings and exposing the sky. The invisible Dark Lord, masquerading as Elena, was thrown aside, despite being distant and shielded. Too bad; the Dark Lord had hoped for something of value. But at least a black sheep fetches some wool—taking the Sorting Hat with him, he departed. The snake, having finished with the headmaster's office, continued onward. Numerous opponents awaited. The knight's armor sprang to life, golems rushed in. All of it attempted to delay her, but it was futile. She simply crushed everything in her path. And the voice in her head echoed: trash.
Then the wizards arrived. Many wizards, including one who spoke. They attempted to command her to halt. Fools. She ignored the order and was ensnared by an unfamiliar spell. New Nagini thought this was the end, but no. A voice came to her aid. She enveloped herself in a dark glow and shattered the spell. Then she opened her mouth, unleashing a torrent of black smoke. She tore through the fleeing individuals with her teeth, as they somehow found their way without eyes. Or perhaps the voice somehow entered their minds, compelling them to gaze into her eyes. They attempted to gouge out her eyes—but what was meant to do so merely bounced off. Then they gouged out her eyes. It hurt, yet her eyes soon restored. She crushed the small people once more. Then she spotted a fleeing wizard with children, whom they instructed her not to touch, and she let him go. More and more enemies arrived, dispersing in earnest. She was ablaze with a strange fire; green rays surged toward her, engulfing her in darkness. Pain surged through her, excruciating. They inflicted wounds upon her, but they healed faster than they were created. Then she consumed a peculiar golem, which detonated. Another golem pierced her brain with a sparkling spear. She fell, consciousness slipping away. She did not feel how they were chopping her body into pieces, particularly targeting her spine to ensure she could not move. This was undoubtedly the end... And then the voice reemerged. The Basilisk, half-minced, began to move and reconstitute into a singular whole. Hellfire spiraled out of control, rushing toward its creators, while she, having broken through the wall, crawled away, rapidly restoring her body. Spells flew from everywhere—both toward the Basilisk and from it. The nearly finished Basilisk was set to be completely obliterated, but then a mental blow of unimaginable power struck the castle's final defenders. And if the Basilisk struggled with magic, merely crushing with brute force, here human cunning combined with an inhuman will to survive. However, no, not merely to survive—to exist. The wizards clutched their heads and... no, did not perish. They were rendered devoid of reason, sprawled on the ground like lifeless dolls. Moments later, the New Nagini regained her composure. Some wizards attempted to assault her from the air on brooms, but she hurled energy clumps at them, striking some, causing them to retreat. The New Nagini crawled into the Forest. Every last one of Voldemort's enemies must be annihilated! After all, she is a part of Voldemort. The New Nagini magically accelerated and surged into the Forest. A hint from the voice—and she intuitively knew where the centaurs were. They shot arrows at her. Arrows pierced her eyes multiple times, yet they were restored again. Centaurs could not fly. She lunged at them, twisting in spirals. She unleashed her newfound magic upon them. She drove them mad. And soon, no centaurs remained. Then the voice spoke to her again, but not the voice of her other self—the voice of her former Master.
"Crawl to Hogwarts. The Great Enemy will soon appear there. Kill him, and you will be free."
And she crawled to Hogwarts.
Around the same time, Voldemort, disguised as Elena, found himself at Hogwarts.
The concept was straightforward—while chaos reigned in the school, I would attempt to infiltrate the headmaster's office. I was now one of the Slytherins, thus one of our own, to protect the castle. Under normal circumstances, I would have been recognized quickly, but now they had no time for that, especially since I did not plan to act. I would quietly observe and collect trophies. Perhaps there was something intriguing in the headmaster's office? I was hesitant to venture into Dumbledore's office, even knowing he was definitely not present at Hogwarts. But why should I do that if I had a battering ram? Forward, New Nagini! From a distance, covered by disguise and protection, I watched the confrontation between the Snake King and the defenses of the headmaster's office. Albus's spell might have had a chance had it been an ordinary Basilisk, but this one—no. It seemed I was fortunate—the Basilisk Horcrux exceeded all expectations. Hogwarts is neither Albus's home nor their top-secret headquarters. Children were present, poking their noses into everything. Overdo the protection, and you could end up with a child's corpse. So there had to be a way in.
Perhaps it was a fragment of the original Tom Riddle within me—the desire to steal. But it was simple: I hoped the Headmaster was concealing the third Deathly Hallow, the Invisibility Cloak. Naive? What other options existed? His office. His home. The Order's headquarters. He always carried it with him. Gringotts. A one-in-five chance of discovering a priceless artifact—worth the risk. Once the headmaster's office was decimated, I realized with horror that there was nothing of value contained within. The safe was empty; it simply exploded when breached! The bearded man had outsmarted me! Am I truly that predictable? I would not have been surprised to come across a note stating, "Yes, you are very predictable, Tom." Yet something valuable was there: the Sorting Hat. No, Tom Riddle's personality did not flare within me, demanding that I steal, as in the old orphanage years. And I had no intention of implementing a new insidious plan: stealing the Hat to prevent anyone from sorting students. Grindelwald had simply stated that some artifacts of the past were crafted using the soul of the creator. I felt no remorse for other people's souls, and a candidate for copying the technology was… That's right, the Hogwarts Sorting Hat. After checking it, I took it with me. Alas, the protection over Hogwarts was set to maximum—leaving as a phoenix was impossible; even house-elf movement was blocked. I set out on foot toward the border of the Forbidden Forest. Somewhere, New Nagini was engaged in combat with someone. Hogwarts trembled as if struck by an earthquake. Albus was a commendable man; he did not skimp on security. This was good; it meant no need for enemy reinforcements in Azkaban. But New Nagini... I think I've fallen in love: attempts to deal with the Basilisk had so far failed.
My run under disguise was interrupted by a series of spells closer to the exit from Hogwarts. Though externally I was in Elena's body (I still altered the ligaments, bones, muscles, and blood), I managed to react and retaliate. I could not pinpoint the enemy's exact location; then I unleashed an area attack. The defenses fell apart for both of us, and I finally identified my adversary. At first, I believed it was a child, but then I recognized him—Filius Flitwick.
"Why do you need to fight me?"
"You are not my enemy. Go away," I said in Elena's voice while continuing to exchange non-lethal spells. There was no response. Filius Flitwick was no slouch; he was one of my most formidable opponents. In mere moments, we exchanged dozens of spells. Not the strongest, but the quickest. Multicolored beams zipped toward me, a fire lasso, and various elements of the castle decor, animated and possessed by will, flew into the fray. Flitwick executed lightning-fast lunges, unexpectedly nimble for such a diminutive body. How did he keep up, given he possessed an ordinary physique? His wand cut through the air, unleashing multicolored lightning upon me. Torches on the wall were hurled from their stands toward me, instantly transforming into a wall of enchanted fire, which was absorbed by my defenses. The wall of fire was quickly replaced by a ring of ice… Several animated objects morphed into medium-sized golems and rushed at me, only to dissolve without taking a step. Good speed, a specific arsenal; no wonder he was a champion in magical duels. Strong wizards typically enjoy acting eccentrically. I was confident I could not defeat him in a conventional duel. He could pose a challenge—not that he could defeat me. He could delay me, allowing Hogwarts security or teachers to catch up. And then… Death or failure to reach Azkaban in time would spell my end.
But I do not engage in duels. I kill. And nearly all my arsenal is prohibited in duels. Filius was a skilled wizard. For a time, he held my onslaught at bay. The walls around him crumbled, but he remained unharmed. I attempted to crush him with objects transfigured by eternal transfiguration, using his momentary hesitation to finish him off with Dark Magic, but he wriggled free and counterattacked with unusual spells. Perhaps three such wizards could have posed a problem for me. But everything has its limits. I cast a scanning charm and found my opportunity. They say the Sorting Hat offered Gryffindor and pondered for five minutes... A case akin to Minerva McGonagall, only in reverse... I simply detected several children behind Flitwick, a couple of rooms back. He had likely discovered them and concluded that fleeing with the children under the Basilisk was a poor idea, so he had opted to exit the castle.
Sensing my opportunity, I could kill the children, but there was no point in that. I needed to strike them with a powerful, lethal, excruciating spell to force Flitwick to protect them, leaving him vulnerable. I cast a Black Cloud. From there, like a tornado, a Black Vortex erupted. For Flitwick, this assault was too slow and obvious. That's why I didn't even attempt to hit him—this pseudo-tornado surged toward the children. Flitwick began to shield them instead of dodging. Thus, he fell out of the rhythm of battle. Now, his wand was preoccupied. Instantly, he resembled a boxer not only fighting but also holding falling suitcases. I accelerated further, unleashing a cascade of spells upon him. His defenses held, and he evaded the Unforgivables, narrowly escaping. Then, I struck him with stronger but slower spells. I simply battered through his defenses, and when he crashed into the wall, I finished him off with Avada. After that, I dismembered his body with a cutting spell and cast the Rot Charm upon him. Just to be safe, I conjured a pseudo-tornado, which began to lick the body—what if he was merely simulating death? Propaganda would transform this into a great victory. Everyone knew that Voldemort would easily defeat Flitwick. Naturally, his student would win too. But the fact that she could achieve it so swiftly was truly unexpected!
Literally a second later, an Expelliarmus flew toward me from a girl dressed in Ravenclaw's uniform. Presumably, she had recovered from the shock, and I had not yet managed to restore the disguise. No big deal; I had specifically introduced additional elements of protection against disarming spells aimed at pacifists. I simply stunned her and continued onward. This time, Bombarda and Reducto were hurled at me by two Gryffindor boys. Teachers were utterly neglectful of their students—these spells were already theoretically lethal. So, you desire a heroic death? I shall grant it, and it will also serve as a message to others. With a flick of my wand, I dispelled the protection from these two, then conjured a couple of tons of fertilizer using eternal transfiguration and accelerated it. My foes were crushed like beetles beneath a boot. After conjuring flowers on the fresh grave, I restored my disguise and headed toward the edge of the Forbidden Forest. From there, I observed the battle with the Basilisk from a distance. Ultimately, they defeated it... Oh, no. A well-timed blow of mental magic! If only I possessed that level of power! Yet I could only manage pinpoint spells, not area attacks of such magnitude. What could I do? A thousand-year-old Basilisk possesses far more magic than I do. Even from this great distance, I attempted to scan his victims. Each had succumbed to madness in their own unique way. One victim lacked any mental field, as if they were not a living being but merely a doll, while another possessed neither personality nor thoughts. Entering his mind, I felt as though I had entered an empty, dark cave. There was no time to deduce why this had occurred. I ventured deeper into the Forest, following the Basilisk, now accelerated by magic. The centaurs proved to be inadequate predictors. They emerged to confront the serpent as soon as it appeared within their portion of the Forest. They showed nothing but the Arrows of Destiny. And they perished. I will need to send someone to gather the centaur bodies. After instructing the snake to wait for Albus near Hogwarts, I returned to Azkaban in the guise of Elena. Initially, I arrived at Barty's, then was transported to the headquarters by a phoenix. I crossed the threshold of the black opaque sphere. Once again, there was only one Voldemort left in the world.
At Hogwarts, through the eyes of Indian snake catcher Shivprasad Sinha.
His clan had always resided in India, working with snakes. Recently, a white-bearded man from England approached them, offering a substantial sum of money—not for them to disclose their secrets, but to assist in capturing the Snake King. And then they could keep him. However, if they failed, they would have to kill the Snake King.
They agreed. Few know this, but just as dragons have vulnerabilities to certain stunning charms, the Basilisk has weaknesses to a variety of spells, provided they are cast by a speaker. Even if Hogwarts' defenses failed to reveal where the snake was playing, it was easy to locate the area by the surrounding destruction. And then he saw her. She was breathtaking! No, he had encountered Basilisks before, but they had been small, barely reaching two tons in weight. But this was an immense beauty, as wide as a mundane truck and several trucks long. Confirming her status as the King of Snakes, a Bone Crown adorned her head. There was no red crest on her head—she was a female.
Shivprasad could scarcely fathom that a Basilisk could grow to such proportions. How old was she? Clearly over six hundred! She gazed into his eyes, intent on killing him. But she would not succeed—he was a natural Parselmouth and had treated his eyes with a special potion all his life.
"Come with me. I will show you a new home where you will live in peace and tranquility," he suggested. The snake opened her mouth and lunged at him. He would have been killed, but the barrier maintained by a dozen of his comrades held firm. Then they commenced casting a special spell. At the pivotal moment, he intervened, casting a spell meant to induce hibernation in the Basilisk. The magnificent creature calmed, panicked momentarily, and then fell into slumber. Her eyes closed. And immediately reopened. But these were no longer the eyes of the Basilisk—enormous, yellow. They were merely black voids leading to nowhere. Darkness enveloped the Basilisk's body, shattering the spells that had begun to envelop it. Shivprasad felt pressure on his mental shields and thought he could hear laughter—mad and inhuman.
"Kill!" he commanded his men. But they required no orders. They had already realized something was amiss and attacked. If conflict ensued, the primary objective was to deprive the Basilisk of her eyes. The spells intended to accomplish this merely ricocheted off the cornea. They unleashed stronger magic. The Basilisk's eyes flowed out, but almost instantly restored. Their adversary was extraordinarily powerful and swift, casting magic in tandem. They prepared to face a colossal snake, but most spells against snakes proved ineffective against this creature. And then he comprehended everything. This was not the King of Snakes. It was merely the demon Rahu, which had somehow assumed the form of a snake. As if hearing his thoughts, the demon turned to him and opened its mouth. Black flames erupted from within. Shivprasad attempted to shield himself, but it was in vain. It felt as though the flames were consuming him alive, and he was perishing.
**Robert Argobast's POV.**
As anticipated, the Indian wizards had gravely erred. And I had said—let's all mount the snake together and kill it! No, we will attempt to capture it alive! That's where these fools belong. Now a coalition of the Order of the Phoenix, Ministry wizards, and mercenaries attacked the Basilisk. And Robert was baffled. Fifty wizards should have easily crushed the snake, even without Albus's golems. The Basilisk was far larger than it should have been. He had already mentally noted to seek out Newt Scamander and confront him. For his description of the Basilisk bore no resemblance to reality! There was a lie in the book *Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them*! If the author had confused a worm with a runestride, he would have been less mistaken than in his portrayal of the real Basilisk! This creature was unkillable and wielded spells! It utilized mental magic! Time and again, they pierced its skin, heart, and brain. Artifact weapons lodged in its empty eye sockets—this was the only way to prevent it from regenerating its eyes. How could it live and move with a damaged heart? How could the Basilisk possess regeneration that a single-celled organism would envy? Yet the Basilisk continued to move and attack! It felt as though an invisible, malevolent will was guiding the creature. But as if that were not enough, this beast simply would not die. The snake seemed to be driven by something otherworldly. Hellfire inflicted only superficial burns on this creature, as did the Twilight Flame. And how could they restrain this creature? It lacked a grill of this size! The Avada Kedavra spells ricocheted off its surface.
In the end, the snake was overwhelmed by a mass of golems. One of them drove a massive artifact spear, crafted by goblins, into the snake's palate. The mages succeeded in knocking out several of its teeth, and the golems pressed in further, fracturing the snake's spine in multiple places and releasing its intestines. Victory! But then... a torrent of magic simply scattered the golems. A mental assault of incredible magnitude drove the mages to madness. Robert swore that a man was responsible! Only this man possessed more energy than all of them combined! He conjured Hellfire once more, but it ran amok and turned against the allies. The snake, twitching absurdly, broke through the barricade and slithered away. He attacked her, but she regenerated with astonishing speed. Soon, only a handful of mages remained among the opposition. They took to the air on brooms and began hurling spells at the snake, but it... started retaliating with spells of its own! They lost several more of their own in the process. He felt magical exhaustion encroaching and knew it was time to invoke the most crucial maneuver of a battle mage: retreat. The snake crawled into the Forest, and he flew in the opposite direction. The survivors followed him.
**Severus Snape's POV.**
It all unfolded during lunch—an assault on Hogwarts, specifically the Headmaster's office. I hoped the Master knew what he was doing. "Prefects! Escort the children to their dormitories immediately! The teachers will assist in dealing with the intruders…" Minerva McGonagall began, amplifying her voice with Sonorus.
"All the children remain here," Severus interrupted her. "Under the supervision of the teachers. We will account for them now, and I will search for the missing ones." Minerva regarded him as though he had just suggested searching for a mudblood to sacrifice. However, the other deans supported him. Excellent; this meant the Master would face fewer adversaries. Ordinarily, all the children would be at lunch. But someone might get carried away playing, sit in the library, oversleep, or simply be late… The Slytherins were all present. Three Gryffindors, a Ravenclaw, and four Hufflepuffs were unaccounted for. Severus knew this— the Master had already forewarned where to search for them. He exited the Great Hall alongside Flitwick.
"Colleague, I will cast a few spells on the door from the outside. You look for the children." Snape nodded and hurried to search. He held no doubts about Flitwick—he likely suspected him. Flitwick would either attempt to follow him or keep watch outside the Headmaster's office. But he had no time for that. First, he encountered one of the Gryffindors. A sixth-year girl refused to accompany him! He simply stunned her. He wasn't particularly skilled in transfiguration, but he had sufficient strength to transfigure her into stone and stow her in his robe pocket—he would save her. He did not locate the others; they had changed their location. In desperation, he found three fourth-year Hufflepuffs and led them along. No, not to the Great Hall, but to his office—to circumvent the battlefield with the Basilisk. But he caught sight of it from the corner of his eye. He had been skeptical of the gentleman's claims about the Basilisk being protected by "Salazar Slytherin's Dark Magic."
What he witnessed did not fit into his comprehension. This was not a Basilisk! It could not be a magical creature! It was merely some sort of abomination of Dark Magic that had somehow gained flesh. A colossal serpent, several times larger than a Basilisk ought to be (most likely, it had fattened itself on free magic), was engaging with a large detachment of wizards. The snake itself was shrouded in a black haze. After some thought, Snape altered course and fled with the three children toward the Slytherin dungeons—taking a wide arc. Once he seated the three astonished Hufflepuff children in the Slytherin common room, he began to contemplate.
But his thoughts were interrupted by Minerva's Patronus. "Filius Flitwick has been killed. The house elves found one living, stunned girl. One Hufflepuff girl was crushed to death by a collapsed ceiling. Two more Gryffindors... drowned in filth. How are you faring, Severus?" Severus felt like a hero—he had saved three. No, four, and he shook the stone from his pocket, reverting it back into a girl. And the fact that the gentleman had drowned his enemies in filth—he must remember it; it was a pity James Potter didn't live to witness it...
"All is well. I saved four," he informed her, and he sent his doe Patronus to McGonagall. "However, the enemy Basilisk is utterly invincible; it's best to remain still and hope it did not come for us. And now we can rest."
"Miss Connors," he said, turning to the Gryffindor, "two hundred points deducted for attempting to attack a teacher, one hundred points for refusing to evacuate with me, and fifty points for insulting the dean!" With Gryffindor obstinacy, the girl met his gaze defiantly, mentally cursing him. He truly did not want to delve into her thoughts, but when they looked one directly in the eye so brazenly, it all happened automatically. "And detentions with Filch every day until the end of the year," he added.
**A few hours prior. Albus Dumbledore.**
Albus Dumbledore stood at the center of the lake by the bowl containing the potion. Reaching this point had not been simple. First, he had to eliminate several thousand dead, fortunately, they were the most basic of them—he only needed to lure them from the lake and cut them down with the sword of Gryffindor. There were complications with two enormous creatures that emerged from the lake. But the Elder Wand once again proved that nothing was impossible for it, although even then, it was no easy task. Given that flight was obstructed, and the boat evoked memories of the Gaunt ring, Albus had to conjure a magical analogue of a diving bell and traverse the lake's bottom. Periodically, he encountered curses, sometimes unfinished corpses attacked him, and the water itself was cursed. Nevertheless, after more than ten hours, he managed to arrive at an island in the lake's center. The island had been transformed into a trap—the concentration of curses was akin to that at the Gaunt hut's end.
Moreover, a steadily increasing pressure weighed on his mind. He checked the contents of the goblet with the potion using magic and contemplated. Everything suggested there was no loophole. This potion was meant to be consumed. But it was undoubtedly lethal—two types of potions were present, one of them fatal. Attempting to access the Horcrux with the sword of Gryffindor yielded no results—the Horcrux had been displaced somewhere, and to reach it, he needed to drink the potion. And not just any transfigured animals, but specifically intelligent ones. What was Voldemort counting on? First, to kill people to gain access, then arrive here and administer a lethal potion? How would they die, handing the next person a lethal potion until it ran out? Probably yes. With sorrow in his heart, he had to concede that he could not retrieve the Horcrux from beneath this potion without claiming a crowd of lives that still needed to be brought here.
But if the goal was to annihilate the Horcrux... There was a method. He needed to craft a special charm that would weaken the protection of the cup, then introduce a third component into the potion that would obliterate the Horcrux. There was only one candidate to add to the potion—Basilisk venom. Thankfully, he had foreseen the need to destroy the Horcrux and had brought some poison with him along with the sword of Gryffindor. Only one aspect troubled him. To accomplish this, he would need to significantly weaken his mental defenses. For some time, he would have to allow the Basilisk venom to seep into the potion through magic, thus opening himself. There was no other option.
Open oneself up to the chance of destroying the Horcrux? It sounded like a trap, but he had to proceed nonetheless. He began to chant over the potion with his wand, then poured in some Basilisk venom. Typically, liquids mix rapidly. Now it felt as though he were trying to force one metal into another. His mental shields began to crumble at an alarming rate. He ceased attempting to mix the potions, focusing solely on defending his mind. The potion in the goblet immediately spat poison at him, but thanks to his magic, he managed to dodge it. I see. He would have to open up considerably. He began chanting over the potion, pouring in a second batch of Basilisk venom. This time, when the poison mingled a bit with the two potions, Albus did not pay heed to the deterioration of his mental defenses. He pressed on, and then... Everything faded. He knew he was still casting spells somewhere, and he couldn't be distracted.
But now, in his mind, he was not present. What he witnessed was truly horrific. He wandered through the streets of London in his green robe adorned with stars. Yet the landscape around him had altered. London now bore a resemblance to a planet pockmarked by meteor showers. Fragments of buildings lay in heaps of shattered and melted rubble. There were no people, no multicellular organisms. The planet had endured a nuclear war, though it was incredibly disfigured. But its inhabitants had not survived. Albus Dumbledore walked and recalled how it had unfolded. During the war against Voldemort, there had been a leak regarding the potential for transfiguring nuclear weapons. Then it ignited. Flamel had acted the smartest of all, fleeing to another world with his wife. The rest had not been so fortunate. The nuclear war had persisted for decades. Wizards attempted to survive by hiding underground or in regions altered in space. This could have saved them, but the war's source was the wizards. They repeatedly transfigured the charges and detonated them until they were all dead. No, one remained. Him. Albus was astonished. How could this have occurred?
But Albus did not surrender. Someone, somewhere had to have survived. Someone. And he wanted to find them before he perished—he did not have much time left. Eventually, he stumbled upon a magical imprint. So there might be survivors. He soon arrived there. A figure, shrouded in opaque protective charms, gazed over the city's ruins.
"I thought no one remained," Albus exclaimed loudly.
"Isn't it tragic?" the stranger replied.
"There are no more!"
"People have gone mad. You are the first survivor I have encountered…"
"And the only one. I am glad to have met you," he was told. The stranger lowered the opaque shield and cast off his hood.
"Voldemort?" Dumbledore exclaimed, astonished.
"But I…"
"Destroyed you?" he was asked. "Obliterated all the Horcruxes and killed me? You nearly severed all the Horcruxes. Then you annihilated me with a transfiguration of a nuclear weapon. I returned. But my last anchors did not survive the human war. And now I am… mortal!"
"What do you intend to do now?" Albus inquired, aiming the Elder Wand at his adversary.
"I am so pleased to see you, Albus."
"Really?"
"I have long sought someone to kill to craft a new Horcrux. But they are all dead. You arrived just in time! Avada Kedavra!"
Albus dodged and hurled a Stunning Charm at his adversary. Even while he fought, the horror of the situation struck him. He would either murder the penultimate inhabitant of the world or... grant his enemy immortality. Then he devised a solution. So simple, so elegant. A means to avoid becoming a murderer and not bestowing eternal life upon his foe.
Smiling, satisfied with his cleverness, he pointed the Elder Wand at his own temple. "Avada Kedavra…"
Then a terrible scream echoed, deafening him. Voldemort collapsed and began to writhe. The world turned static, like a malfunctioning Muggle television. Almost instantly, he found himself back in reality. He stood over a bowl of potion, his wand pressed to his temple. From just beneath the water, a long scream resonated, gradually fading.
"That was very close," Albus thought, restoring his defenses. Albus set off on his way back along the lake's bottom, navigating curses and enchanted waters. As he departed, he intentionally brushed against Voldemort's tracking charms. Almost immediately, two signals arrived—an attack by the Basilisk on his office at Hogwarts and a Death Eater assault on Azkaban. How swiftly they reacted! And why Azkaban and Hogwarts? Could Tom have concealed the Horcruxes there? However, the messages soon presented him with new dilemmas. He could not manage the Basilisk. Odd. He had anticipated the Basilisk, prepared the area, and readied the guards. The Basilisk was meant to be neutralized swiftly, or in case of emergency, quickly eliminated. Yet messages flowed forth like a cornucopia: our weapons do not affect the target. If we exclude forgery, only one explanation remained. This Basilisk possessed magical properties atypical of other Basilisks. Where could they have originated? Charms? Artifacts? No, all of this would have been forced out during battle, yet as it stood, even Flamel's potion failed to influence it! It would have been acceptable if it had not killed him—it simply failed entirely. He could arrive at only one conclusion, which he pushed from his mind. Tom Riddle did not hide the Horcrux in the Chamber of Secrets. Tom Riddle made the guardian of the Chamber of Secrets his Horcrux. And this was very bad; he needed to reach Hogwarts swiftly.
Against this backdrop, the news from Azkaban was astonishing: everything was proceeding according to plan. Except for one detail: Voldemort did not appear, and no one knew why. This should have been a cause for joy, but he had learned something from Moody: if everything was going according to plan, it was the enemy's plan. But he would contemplate that when he had vanquished the Basilisk.
**End of Dumbledore's POV.**
When my student appeared in Azkaban via the top-secret transport channel, no one was particularly surprised. When she entered my headquarters' black sphere—the same thing. After all, I had warned her in advance about the possibility of this. I twirled the only trophy from Hogwarts—the Sorting Hat. I would examine it later.
Now, I needed to track the battle's course and weave more and more new spells, so that later, at the decisive moment, I could activate my special power and infuse it with energy. Out of the corner of my eye, through the wizard—the foundation for the basilisk Horcrux—I watched my New Nagini, preparing to unleash her on Dumbledore.
I was not afraid of the Hogwarts teachers—there were twenty of them; they could not possibly overcome New Nagini. The wizard who served as the foundation for the Horcrux of Slytherin's locket had already completed his earthly journey—after the destruction of the Horcrux, he was killed by the golem I had conjured, and I disposed of the body. A grand battle was unfolding behind the walls of Azkaban. Thus far, nothing was clear. Since no one would have reinforcements, the victor would be the one who made the second-to-last mistake. More precisely, the one whose troops first exhausted their magical energy. A mage with magical energy resembles a battleship, capable of reliably protecting everyone. A mage devoid of magical energy transforms into a sinking battleship—a reliable burden for all.
The battle raged on and on; several hours had already elapsed since it began. Our dead and golems, along with Albus's golems, were suffering heavy losses. The mages were no longer as sprightly as they were at the battle's outset. Carrow was dead, may he rest in peace; who would have thought? Mulciber miraculously survived. We would have to check him for a Horcrux later.
"Master, is it not time for you to intervene?" Lucius inquired.
"At dinner, the finest dishes are served last. In battle, the best things come last as well. Not all our enemies have been ensnared in our trap yet."
"And Albus Dumbledore is not here," I replied from within my sphere.
About thirty minutes later, through the wizard who had created the Basilisk Horcrux, I witnessed the meeting between New Nagini and Albus Dumbledore at the edge of the Forbidden Forest. Albus was undeniably impressive. Although compared to his duel with Grindelwald, he acted much slower—likely fatigued after all.
I observed Albus as he sought to eliminate the Horcrux without employing Dark Magic. It was astounding. I craved Light Magic for myself too! All of the Basilisk's magical attacks were repelled by spells unavailable to me. The Basilisk itself was ensnared in a golden net, rendering its black glow powerless. The Basilisk transformed from a death machine into a colossal, slow-moving target. It attempted to open its mouth to unleash darkness upon Albus, but Albus was constantly transfiguring something, and the Basilisk's attack became lodged in its throat. Yet even so, Albus could not finish off the Basilisk—the power of the Snake King, magnified by the unnaturalness of the Horcrux, was stronger than death. And the old man would evidently tire before his opponent.
How would he extricate himself from this predicament? I knew Albus possessed the sword of Gryffindor, but approaching the Basilisk with a sword was tantamount to suicide. Then I began to rub my eyes. Where had Albus acquired a prosthetic? Had he lost his hand in the trap, or had he lost it elsewhere? Albus Dumbledore's right hand had transformed into a long whip, into which the sword of Gryffindor was embedded. With a single strike, he created a hole between the Basilisk's eyes. The sword operated with the speed of a grinding wheel, cleaving the skull and reaching the creature's brain, turning it into pulp. An ampoule containing a liquid, which I recognized as Basilisk venom, immediately flew into the shattered skull. I had already bid farewell to New Nagini and hurled curses at Albus, when the snake came to life. No, it did not truly revive. It had not genuinely perished. Now it was being controlled by the fragment of the magician's soul residing within it.
Albus inflicted more and more wounds on the snake with the sword of Gryffindor, and New Nagini increasingly resembled a zombie snake, yet continued to fight. I was elated. What had I anticipated? The Horcrux cup had grown a mouth and spoken! And it even existed when part of the handle was incinerated by Hellfire! The locket had managed to sprout an eye during my tests! Controlling a snake's body, when it possessed sufficient nerve fibers, was a solvable problem for a Horcrux. No, Albus was entirely capable of slaying the snake, but to achieve this, he must sever most of its body volume with the sword of Gryffindor. Too bad one cannot turn a planet into a Horcrux...
I watched as the Basilisk found its "second wind," conjuring spells and attempting a mental strike, but Albus continued to prevail. No, I was not about to assist the Basilisk—I was convinced Albus had yet to reveal all his trump cards. Although the prosthesis was impressive... It retained its volume while shapeshifting as it desired. Moreover, it moved faster than I could in a new body under the acceleration spell. Do not approach Albus under any circumstances; a phoenix jump behind his back and a strike with a ritual knife are not part of the plans. But New Nagini could be aided without my presence. Albus's offensive strategy in this confrontation was reliant on the sword of Gryffindor.
I recalled everything regarding the sword of Gryffindor. Several versions exist; the simplest posits that the sword was custom-made for Godric Gryffindor by a goblin. Yet I prefer another explanation. One of the finest goblin craftsmen, also their king, Ragnaruk the First, forged one of the most exceptional artifacts in the magical realm. The perfect sword. No, it did not emit lightning, yet it sliced through everything in one cut—sausage, stone, people, magical creatures, magical barriers. A couple of years later, it was time for the goblins' favorite pastime: war with humans. Honestly, this is a riddle; ancient goblins were raiders and warriors, while modern goblins are bankers. How?
Nonetheless, a noble goblin rebellion erupted. The wizards of England, who delighted in slaughtering one another, united against the goblins and emerged victorious. As Ragnaruk lay wounded after the battle, the wizards commenced dividing the spoils. As the victor, the sword of Ragnaruk the First found its way to Godric Gryffindor. He scratched his head and decided to enhance the sword further, applying numerous charms to it. He sought assistance from his friends. Salazar Slytherin exerted significant effort—he tempered the blade in Basilisk venom. Godric inscribed his name on the blade, added a few extra stones for prestige, and the sword was complete.
In appearance, it was merely a trinket. Either a ceremonial weapon or a ceremonial piece. A one-handed sword with a blade length of thirty-four inches, slender, outwardly crafted from pure silver and light enough for even a child to wield. The sword's hilt was adorned with rubies, and the blade bore the inscription "Godric Gryffindor." However, do not be misled—it's akin to Dumbledore's jester costumes. The sword of Godric Gryffindor is a magical object of extraordinary power, approaching the legendary all-piercing "Excalibur" in its cutting ability. And now this sword was being wielded to strike New Nagini.
A plan began to form in my mind—I needed to deprive Albus of the sword. But how? I recalled the Sorting Hat. The founders were quite the lively bunch, or perhaps they were simply mad from an overdose of ereghu. It was necessary to devise this—the Hat reads minds, sorts into houses, sings songs, and… you can extract the sword of Godric Gryffindor from it! Am I the only one who thinks there's something superfluous in this chain? The issue is that only a true Gryffindor can accomplish this. But where can I find a true Gryffindor? Something simpler, more common: an official who does not accept bribes, a hereditary virgin in the fifth generation… Although… Nonsense, but worth a shot.
I relinquished the consciousness of the wizard, the foundation of the Horcrux, instructing him to command the snake to wrest the sword of Gryffindor from Dumbledore's grasp at any cost, even if only temporarily. I utilized the Time Turner once more. Voldemort from a separate time stream went to visit Lily. Earlier, I had ordered her to remain home with the child and avoid exposing herself. I wasted no time and moved like a phoenix directly to her house. I stood before her, extending the Sorting Hat as though I were a beggar.
"Lily, this is crucial. Your son's life depends on it. I am going to leave now, and you must retrieve the sword of Gryffindor from the Sorting Hat. Hold it in your hands until I return. Do you understand?" This is an order! It seems such is my fate—everyone gazes at me as though I am a fool.
"Yes, Master," she replied, observing me as though I were Harry offering her the chance to eat her nails. I vanished like a phoenix once more. Again, I found myself in Azkaban. Once again, I observed the struggle between Albus and the Basilisk through the eyes of a wizard. The Basilisk, following the base's advice, was casting spells with all its might.
Albus was attempting to extract the sword of Gryffindor from the Basilisk's eye socket, where it had become lodged, held there by growing flesh and magic. I knew that Lily had no chance of stealing the sword while Albus maintained it in his, albeit mechanical, hand. But if the sword did not come into contact with Albus... He could easily appear through the Hat at the summons of another Gryffindor! Lily isn't a Gryffindor? Surely, you jest! The only Gryffindor in the Dark Lord's inner circle! Isn't that courage?
The magic of the Basilisk, compounded by the Horcrux's unwillingness to perish, clashed with Albus Dumbledore's magic, amplified by the Elder Wand. Albus Dumbledore's prosthesis, resembling a long whip, began to melt. The Basilisk cast aside the molten front portion of Albus's prosthesis. Then it happened—the sword embedded in the Basilisk vanished. I froze, a triumphant smile creeping across my face. Yet Albus was not at all perturbed. He darted around the Basilisk, and his prosthesis collected the molten droplets of metal, restoring its former shape and size.
Then Albus's prosthesis transformed, morphing into something akin to very thin blacksmith's tongs, with which he held the Basilisk's mouth agape. And then I witnessed what I had already observed in Grindelwald's memories, albeit on a smaller scale. Albus was casting two spells of equal power and magical expenditure, one of which was Light and the other Dark. Both spells erupted from the Elder Wand, intertwining like a DNA strand converging, and surged into the Basilisk's mouth. What transpired next should resemble the collision of a particle and antiparticle. I anticipated an explosion of tremendous force that would scatter pieces of flesh.
Everything was incorrect. The Basilisk slowly cracked from within, resembling a shattered porcelain figurine. Fragments fell to the ground. Even the crown atop the Basilisk's head fractured. Paradoxically, New Nagini somehow clung to this world... A heap of pieces from the basilisk, like a broken vase, lay scattered on the ground. Then Hellfire, conjured by Albus Dumbledore, descended upon the remains of Nagini. The wizard accompanying me howled in pain, despite suffering no visible wounds. I felt his agony intensifying, and he began losing his connection to the Horcrux, and then... he sensed the destruction of the Horcrux, as if a part of himself had been obliterated, and despair overwhelmed him.
I conjured another golem, which killed the now useless wizard, and evaporated his body myself. I needed to think seriously... Albus must, without a doubt, be significantly fatigued—no jest, to obliterate two protected Horcruxes in a single day. I had annoyed him to the extent that to vanquish the snake, he had to replicate the trick with Grindelwald, albeit in a diminished form, and then resort to Dark Magic altogether. Now the decisive battle ensued at Azkaban. The future of at least magical England was being determined behind those walls. And my own fate. Would I become a pathetic wanderer, pursued by the entire world, or would I reign as the king of wizarding England from the shadows? I was confident that we had our final reserves remaining. Ourselves. I was with the Death Eaters; Albus was aligned with the Ministry. Would this suffice for victory? Who would ultimately triumph?
What if I had to engage before Albus did? Or would he simply appear after those twenty seconds and slay me? That's what I would do if I were him.