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Harry ran with his head down, feet pounding wildly against the floor, but his mind was in complete chaos, haunted by the frozen forms of those who had been petrified.
They're still alive… as long as they drink the potion…
That single thought clung to him like a lifeline. But right on its heels came another wave of panic, tightening around his throat like an invisible noose.
Ron! Hermione! What if… what if they didn't get petrified in time and were—
A storm of frantic thoughts exploded in his head, colliding and spiraling out of control. For a split second, a wild, desperate idea flashed through his mind…
Parseltongue? Could I use it to control the basilisk? To drive it away?
But he forced the thought down hard, crushing the impulse before it could take root. Without even slowing, he kept sprinting ahead.
No! This isn't just about me anymore. I have to find a professor — find the Headmaster…
That decision, made in the heat of terror, stung even more than facing the basilisk itself — because Harry had never seen himself as a coward. And now, he was choosing to abandon his friends and flee alone.
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Elsewhere...
Sargeras held a small crystal vial tightly in his left hand. Inside it, Peeves was furiously hurling himself at the glass walls, thumping out low thud-thud sounds mixed with muffled, garbled curses.
Sargeras' stride was calm and deliberate, his steps unwavering, and his destination clear: Moaning Myrtle's bathroom.
The staircases were empty. Not a soul in sight. Only the faint, distant sounds of students shouting echoed from somewhere far down the corridor.
Then, all of a sudden…
A chilling, slimy, and overwhelmingly foul stench surged toward him, as if a wave of cold, viscous muck had burst from around the corner of the corridor and was crashing his way.
Sargeras' pupils narrowed in an instant. His wand slipped silently into his palm, and he instinctively tightened his grip on the crystal vial — inside, even Peeves seemed to sense the oncoming dread. The mischievous ghost curled up in fear, trembling, no longer making a sound.
And then came the footsteps. Rapid. Urgent. Racing toward him from farther down the hallway.
A figure burst out from the corridor's bend, spinning on the spot before bolting up the stairs.
It was Harry Potter!
He saw Sargeras at once.
"Professor?" Harry froze for a split second, then immediately pointed back down the corridor, shouting breathlessly, "The basilisk! It's in the hallway!"
Without hesitation, Sargeras tapped into the raven's shared vision — and in a flash, the sight of dozens of stone-still, petrified young students filled his eyes.
And the creature that had caused all this, the basilisk, had its enormous jaws stretched wide at that very moment, lunging with terrifying speed toward the fleeing backs of Ron and Hermione.
Sargeras vanished from the stairwell in a flash. And in the very next second, he reappeared in the center of the corridor, descending with a silent fury that was colder than ice.
The usual calm in his expression was completely gone, replaced by a raw, unyielding will to destroy.
"Magical Roar," he intoned.
The incantation burst from his throat, low and resonant, thick with killing intent.
An instant later, a colossal surge of magical energy tore through the air, slicing across the hallway like a storm unleashed.
It was a spiral-shaped shockwave, even larger than the basilisk itself, wrapped in swirling gray-black magic. It surged forward like the gaping maw of a beast from the abyss, roaring with the fury of total annihilation as it slammed directly into the basilisk's massive body!
BOOOOM—!!!
The entire corridor quaked violently. Paintings flew from the walls and shattered on the floor. The ceiling cracked and rained plaster and stone like a sudden downpour. The force of the blast shook every inch of the castle.
The basilisk was hurled backward by the impact, its immense body crashing against the far wall with a sickening crunch, the deep, hollow crack of shattering bone reverberating through the corridor. Then, like a broken heap of dead flesh, it slid limply to the floor.
Its two enormous eyes had been forced from their sockets by the sheer force of the blow, hanging grotesquely by a few bloodied strands of sinew. Thick, yellowish brain matter mixed with fresh blood oozed steadily from its shattered nostrils and the corners of its gaping mouth.
Its colossal body had also split open in several places, spilling out sticky, foul-smelling guts and torn intestines through jagged rents in its scaled hide.
Even its legendary scales — so tough they had withstood magic for centuries — were now shattered and crumbling. Wild, chaotic magical energy, burning like molten blades, had carved through its flesh and bone, searing everything it touched.
And yet — somehow — it still wasn't dead.
The thousand-year-old basilisk's life force was far more tenacious than anyone could have imagined!
Sargeras stood in the midst of the ruined corridor, silent and still, his presence as cold and dangerous as a drawn sword.
He raised his wand and drew a small, fluid circle in the air. From its tip, several beams of gentle, silvery light shot forth, wrapping around every petrified statue in the corridor, including the still-stunned Ron and Hermione, and swiftly, yet tenderly, pulled them behind him, out of harm's way.
"Hssss—ROARR!"
The dying basilisk erupted into a final frenzy. It thrashed violently, its enormous head swinging upward before lurching forward in one last, desperate burst of rage. From its gaping jaws, a thick stream of dark green venom sprayed outward like a high-pressure cannon. The liquid was putrid and acrid, aimed directly at Sargeras and the young wizards gathered behind him.
But Sargeras was just as quick to respond.
His wand sliced through the air with sharp precision, and in an instant, the scattered suits of metal armor lining the corridor began to melt. They flowed together, transforming into scalding molten iron that surged forward and poured straight into the open mouth of the basilisk.
Then, with one swift motion, he stabbed his wand forward once more. The venom still suspended in midair suddenly froze and warped, reshaping itself into a flurry of gleaming daggers. Each one turned on the serpent and shot back with terrifying speed, like blades flung by a raging wind.
"Swish! Swish! Swish!"
One after another, the venom-forged daggers tore into the basilisk's already broken body, stabbing deep into its wounds. But the creature seized that very moment of desperation and pain, letting out a screech filled with fury and venomous rage; a howl that echoed with bitterness and agony.
Then, without regard for its mangled body or the blood pouring from its wounds, it swung its massive tail with all the strength it had left, and brought it crashing into the enormous stained glass window beside it!
CRASH—!!!
The entire window shattered with a deafening roar, taking a large portion of the surrounding wall down with it. The basilisk twisted its broken body and, through the wide gaping hole, forced itself out of the corridor.
Its blood-slicked, mutilated form slammed into the courtyard below with a deep, guttural thud. A heartbeat later, it writhed and scrambled into the shadows, vanishing into the darkness in a frenzy.
Sargeras stepped up to the broken edge of the wall, his cloak fluttering in the wind. Below, all he could see was a long, winding trail the beast had left behind; a trail soaked in blood and streaked with patches of corrosion, and the crushed shrubs in the courtyard that marked its violent escape.
He turned slowly, eyes sweeping over the corridor, now in complete ruin. Dozens of cold, silent statues stood frozen in place, scattered among shattered stone and debris.
"Everyone… put on your glasses immediately! Stay indoors."
His voice wasn't loud, but it carried like a spell, cutting cleanly through the air. It reached every corner of the castle, slipping straight into the ears of everyone still inside.
Then, without so much as glancing back at the still-shaken Ron and Hermione, Sargeras vanished once more into a swirling blur of feathers and black smoke, racing off in the direction the basilisk had fled.
This beast, blind and wounded as it was, had been reduced to little more than a cornered animal — its strength nearly spent. It had to be finished now.
And additionally, the resilience of the basilisk's scales had far surpassed anything he had anticipated. He had expected to kill it outright with a single spell — to blow it apart like a sack of meat. But even after nearly shredding it to bits, the creature had still managed to flee.
Fortunately, it didn't take long before he found the trail again. And by then, the other professors had finally arrived.
Snape was the first to intercept the creature, striking swiftly with a shout of "Sectumsempra!", his wand slicing forward in a sharp, practiced motion.
But the laceration curse, deadly as it was, left only a pale streak across the basilisk's thick, armored hide. All it managed to do was slice off one of the serpent's now-useless eyeballs. Beyond that, the creature remained almost completely untouched.
Then Sargeras descended from above, his robes billowing as he landed. With a single sweeping motion of his arm, he summoned a flock of blazing fire-ravens that let out high-pitched shrieks as they dived straight at the basilisk.
These fiery birds were incredibly quick and eerily precise. One after another, they shot into the torn gaps of the basilisk's shattered body, their burning forms drilling deep inside and igniting its internal organs from within.
Wracked with unbearable pain, the basilisk thrashed wildly, its body twisting and convulsing in a frenzy. And just as it opened its mouth to let out another scream, the remaining fire-ravens seized the moment… rushing forward in a wave and pouring straight into its open jaws.
In the end, this massive creature was burned from the inside out, reduced to nothing more than a charred, curled-up husk — a hollow shell of snake scales and scorched flesh.
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The basilisk was gone…
But the true culprit, the one hiding in the shadows, was still nowhere to be found.
The fear that had once haunted the castle returned. The shadow of the Chamber's monster crept in again, and this time, the younger students couldn't hide from the feeling anymore. That bone-deep fear of the Heir of Slytherin gripped them once more.
And what made things even worse was that Sargeras' supply of potion wasn't enough to undo so many petrifications at once.
All he could do was draw out two precious drops and use them to heal Hermione Granger's injured eyes… but as for the other students lying petrified, there was simply nothing more he could do.
After all, if he could only save a few, then saving anyone at all would seem unfair.
Not to mention, the potion itself was extremely rare; valuable enough to be used for healing, detoxification, even curse-breaking. Dumbledore had a phoenix of his own; why not have Fawkes cry up some tears?
And then there was the number of victims this time. Too many. Dumbledore could no longer suppress the news.
The recent revelations about the excavation accident caused by Gringotts had barely died down before the creature attacks at Hogwarts conveniently stole the headlines — and while the goblins certainly helped fan the flames, Dumbledore had genuinely gotten himself into serious trouble.
Especially when news broke that Draco Malfoy had been petrified.
His father, Lucius Malfoy, came storming in almost immediately, bringing with him several other prominent pure-blood families. Furious and unrelenting, he demanded that Draco be taken home at once.
The Daily Prophet exploded with reports. Articles and rumors filled the pages. A growing number of parents began trying to withdraw their children from the school. Letters from the Ministry of Magic arrived nonstop… at least nine of them, each one veiled or outright accusatory.
And now, hardly anyone was even talking about the basilisk's corpse, let alone the heir who had controlled it from the shadows…
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Inside the hospital wing, Sargeras stood by a long row of beds, staring at the petrified students lying motionless under the sheets. His face gave nothing away. Whatever he was thinking, he kept to himself.
Dumbledore and the rest of the professors were still holding out hope — waiting on Professor Sprout's greenhouse-grown mandrakes to fully mature.
But to Sargeras, that line of thinking made no sense. Did they really believe that only mandrakes they personally grew could be trusted to brew the antidote?
Was there truly no way to buy mature mandrakes anywhere in all of Diagon Alley?
He could understand the hesitation when it came to using a magical cure on a cat. Maybe even one person… fine. But now, with dozens of young witches and wizards lying stiff as statues in the hospital wing, they still insisted on waiting for this supposedly "pesticide-free" batch of potion?
Even Lucius Malfoy had enough sense to take his son home. Was Hogwarts truly incapable of getting its hands on a single bottle of restorative draught made from ready-grown mandrakes?
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[Chapter End's]
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