This was the moment Dudley had been waiting for—Voldemort's Horcrux caught off guard.
A faint red glow shimmered across the back of Dudley's hand. Countless stone arms materialized out of thin air, seizing Audrina (Voldemort) by every part of her body, pinning her in place. Most crucially, her wand was snatched away.
"Tom, old chap, looks like I've got the upper hand," Dudley said with a smirk.
His voice echoed as he appeared in front of Audrina (Voldemort).
"No!" she screamed.
In that instant, Dudley plucked the diadem from her head.
The moment the diadem was removed, Audrina's skin began to change. Her once-normal complexion turned ashen, and her body aged rapidly. Wrinkles creased her face, her golden hair faded to gray, and her skin sagged like crumpled parchment.
This was what happened when life force was drained.
She had only herself to blame for trusting the Horcrux's lies. If she'd taken a page out of Madison's book, she wouldn't be in this mess.
"Never trust anything that can think for itself unless you can see where it keeps its brain." That was the golden rule Swift had drilled into everyone for surviving in the wizarding world.
The diadem in Dudley's hand grew warm, then scalding hot, vibrating as if desperate to escape his grip. Whispers filled his ears—some seductive, others threatening.
It was trying to control him.
A Horcrux needed more than just one young wizard's life force to fully revive. It would take at least a dozen. Voldemort (the diadem) had a clever plan: take out Dudley first, then use the Basilisk to kill off a few young wizards, absorbing their life force in the chaos until it could fully resurrect.
Too bad the plan was doomed from the start.
The whispers grew louder, but Dudley just scratched his ear, unbothered. A golden light enveloped his arm, and the diadem let out a piercing shriek as black smoke poured from it.
Ripple Effect, the ultimate bane of dark creatures.
And Horcruxes? They were right in its crosshairs.
Unfortunately, Voldemort's soul fragment had fused completely with the diadem. Separating the two was next to impossible.
What a waste of a perfectly good magical artifact, ruined by this filth.
Say what you will, but Voldemort was the wizarding world's top squanderer. Just look at his Horcruxes: relics from the four Hogwarts founders (the diadem, locket, and cup) and even a Deathly Hallow (the Resurrection Stone).
"What a pity," Dudley muttered.
He pulled a box from his pocket, tucked the diadem inside, and hurried out of the Chamber.
There were more pressing matters to deal with—the thousand-year-old Basilisk.
When Dudley arrived, Fawkes was locked in a fierce battle with the creature in a narrow corridor, dodging and weaving with incredible agility. Pixie was nearby, snapping her fingers to provide support, while the students had already been evacuated.
As a top-tier magical creature, the phoenix was no less formidable than the Basilisk. This particular serpent, however, had been weakened by a millennium of slumber and starvation.
Fun fact: this Basilisk had a tuft of scarlet crest atop its head, marking it as male—unlike the one from the Chamber.
Pixie's magic worked well enough on smaller creatures, like house-elves, but against massive, magic-resistant beasts like Basilisks or dragons, it was little more than a nuisance. The real fight fell to Fawkes.
"Stop! The command's been lifted," Dudley called out in Parseltongue.
"The Heir is gone."
Whether it was his words or not, the Basilisk's movements slowed slightly.
"Hungry!" it hissed.
"Food!"
"Stupid bird!"
Dudley was hearing the Basilisk's voice for the first time—hoarse, like a throat torn raw.
Since the Chamber was sealed, the Basilisk had mostly slept, and that slumber lasted a thousand years. If Tom hadn't woken it fifty years ago, it probably would've died in its sleep. Even after being roused, Tom hadn't bothered to feed it, locking it away for another five decades.
If not for its extraordinary resilience, it would've starved long ago.
Now, it was ravenous—on the verge of madness.
"I can get you food, but you need to stop first," Dudley offered.
"Food!" the Basilisk hissed again.
"Stupid bird!"
It ignored Dudley, too small to bother with. All it wanted was to devour Fawkes for a quick snack, even if Dudley was speaking Parseltongue.
It had made up its mind: no more listening to Heirs and their nonsense. It would eat the bird and leave.
With the last Heir's death, the contract binding it had broken. Freedom was within reach.
No more orders. No more starvation. Three days without food was torture enough.
It wanted freedom!
It wanted to eat!
The Basilisk would never be a slave!
Suddenly, it felt a tug at its tail, as if something had grabbed hold. Before it could turn to look, an overwhelming force yanked it backward.
The next moment, it was airborne.
Boom!
The Basilisk's massive body slammed into the castle corridor, crumbling the walls around it.
Hogwarts, the thousand-year-old castle, took a -10 HP hit. Good thing there was a Repair Charm for that, or Dudley might've been slapped with a fine for damaging a historical artifact.
"Ow!" the Basilisk hissed.
"Whoever did that, I'm eating them!"
Its stomach acid churned, pushing its patience to the brink. No one who'd never gone hungry could understand.
Then, it caught a whiff of something—a scent it hadn't encountered in a thousand years.
Following the smell, it spotted a bag of… something.
Granules.
Magical Creature Feed (Serpent Special).
"Smells… good."
The Basilisk's eyes locked onto the bag, ignoring Fawkes entirely. It lunged forward, swallowing the bag whole.
Delicious. Absolutely delicious.
The flavor exploded in its mouth, and the Basilisk nearly closed its eyes in bliss.
Just one bite, and it was hooked.
"Want more?" a voice asked.
Before it realized, someone was perched atop its head.
Dudley sat steadily on the Basilisk's crest, safely out of reach of its deadly gaze and perfectly positioned to talk.
"Want!" the Basilisk replied without hesitation. It wasn't dumb—its intelligence was on par with a phoenix.
"Then… be my companion, like you were with Slytherin."
"Impossible! You're not the Heir. The Heir's dead. I'm free!" it hissed.
"I'm a Parselmouth too," Dudley countered.
"But I'm free now! No more chains!" the Basilisk insisted.
It could already see its dream: freedom! No restraints! Going wherever it pleased!
"I'll give you more of that food. All you can eat," Dudley said.
The Basilisk froze.
All it could eat?
The words echoed in its mind.
To hell with freedom!
The Basilisk would never be a slave—unless food and shelter were included!