Tick-tock, tick-tock!
Harry, eyes tightly shut, felt a wet, sticky sensation on his hand, accompanied by a faint, fishy stench.
"Harry!"
Was that Hermione and Ron's voices?
So… I'm not dead yet?
Harry slowly opened his eyes. The first thing he saw was a sharp, venomous fang, poised just above his arm.
Startled, he yanked his hand back.
The sound of tearing flesh echoed, and a silver light flared inside the Basilisk's mouth as Harry pulled away.
Only then did he realize—he had grabbed something from the floor and stabbed it straight into the creature's open jaws.
He pulled with all his strength. Foul-smelling blood gushed out as the silvery glow intensified, illuminating a corner of the dark Chamber of Secrets.
At last, the object came free from the Basilisk's mouth.
Bang!
The massive serpent's head, now lifeless, thudded to the floor with a tremendous crash that echoed through the chamber.
By now, Hermione and Ron had rushed to Harry's side. Ron looked frantic. "Are you okay?!"
Harry gave a weak smile and shook his head. "I'm fine."
Ron let out a shaky breath. He was clearly blaming himself—his mistake had nearly gotten Harry killed.
"It should be dead… right?" Hermione asked, swallowing hard as she stared at the monstrous, unmoving head.
Even though she'd known this was a trial, the pressure and fear she'd felt were entirely real. For a moment, she'd truly thought Harry was going to die.
"It wasn't that hard, was it?" Harry quipped, shrugging as he finally looked down at what he had used to kill the beast.
It was a single-handed longsword—magnificent and gleaming.
The silver light from earlier had come from its polished blade.
The entire sword shimmered with an ethereal glow. A large ruby the size of an egg was embedded in the hilt, and the crossguard and blade were etched with intricate, ancient designs—more befitting a king's vault than a battlefield.
Despite having been buried in the Basilisk's skull, it bore not a single stain. The blade remained spotless, shining brilliantly in the dim light.
It looked metallic, but in Harry's hand, it felt almost weightless.
Excited, he raised the sword and gave it a few testing swings. "Ron, look at this!"
But there was no reply.
Turning, Harry saw Ron staring silently at the ground, lost in thought.
"Ron? Hey, Ron!"
Ron blinked, then looked up at the sword. "Cool…" he muttered, but his voice was flat, distant.
Hermione watched him closely, stroking her chin.
Is he blaming himself? she wondered. I thought he was too thick-skinned to feel guilt.
"Oh, right! Malfoy's still lying there!"
Harry suddenly remembered the other boy still unconscious on the floor. "We can't leave him."
The trio hurried over—only to stop dead in their tracks.
A black shadow swept past their eyes.
A man appeared out of thin air, as though stepping out from the darkness itself.
"I didn't expect you three to actually kill the Basilisk," he said, applauding mockingly.
Even with the creature dead, he sounded almost amused.
"But it's too late now~"
With a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth, he spread his arms and calmly stepped over to where Draco lay sprawled.
"I've gathered enough power. Soon, the Dark Lord Voldemort will rise again!"
A wild grin twisted his face. "And you—none of you—can stop me!"
"Then I guess I'll have to try!" Harry shouted, lunging forward and driving the longsword at the man's chest.
The man didn't move.
The sword passed through him like smoke.
Harry's eyes widened. There was no resistance. No impact.
"You're far too naive, Harry Potter," the man said with a sneer.
Only then did Harry realize—the blade had passed through a misty, translucent form.
He yanked it back, and the black mist recoiled and re-formed, the figure standing unharmed.
"I am merely a memory, bound to a notebook," the man declared, spreading his arms. "You can't touch me."
"When I return, Harry Potter," his voice grew colder, "you'll watch every one of your friends and family die—one by one."
Harry's grip tightened on the sword. His mind raced.
A memory… in a notebook?!
"Hermione!" he shouted, eyes flashing. "Throw me the diary!"
Hermione didn't hesitate. She flung the notebook toward Harry.
"What are you doing?!" the figure barked, alarmed.
Harry let out a roar and slashed the sword through the air.
A blinding silver arc swept outward, like a crescent moon.
For a heartbeat, everything slowed.
Harry's eyes, trained from years as a Seeker, tracked the sword's edge slicing through the diary mid-air.
There was no resistance—just a clean, effortless cut.
By the time the notebook hit the floor, it had been sliced neatly in two.
"NO!!!"
The man let out a terrible, anguished cry.
The three turned to see him clutching his face in agony.
Then, his entire body exploded into swirling black mist. Haunting cries echoed through the chamber.
The mist thinned… and vanished.
Harry stared at the empty air, still tense, unsure if it was truly over.
Pfft…
An awkward giggle broke the silence.
Ron and Harry turned toward Hermione, surprised.
Her face was flushed red.
"What's with you?" Ron asked.
"I—I'm just happy!" Hermione said quickly. "Harry, you did it! You defeated Voldemort again! Isn't that worth celebrating?"
She beamed at him, and Harry scratched his head sheepishly.
"I guess it's over now…"
They waited several more minutes, just to be sure the shadow wouldn't return.
Finally satisfied, Ron perked up and ran to Harry's side, eyes gleaming. "This thing's way better than a wand!"
"That's still an external tool," Hermione countered with a sniff. "No matter how sharp it is, it's just that—a tool. Magic comes from within."
"Then why do you need a wand to cast spells?"
"Who said I need one?" Hermione tilted her chin proudly. "Some wizards can cast spells without a wand."
"Oh yeah? Like who?"
"Professor Dumbledore."
That silenced Ron.
"But…" Harry frowned, glancing at the still corpse of the Basilisk. "We haven't figured out how to save Kai Adler."
Hermione wrinkled her nose. "The professors will work something out. We already know the culprit—" she gestured toward the Basilisk, "—and now Hogwarts won't be shut down. Hagrid will be cleared."
Harry and Ron nodded in agreement.
"Only one problem left," Harry muttered. "How do we get back up?"
Just then, a loud cry echoed through the chamber. The fiery red phoenix descended once more, gliding gracefully from a stone pillar. It flew directly toward the prone Draco.
With a flash of golden claws, it seized Draco by the collar and lifted him effortlessly—like a kitten in its mother's jaws.
Harry blinked as the bird extended its claws toward them.
"You're giving us a lift?"
The phoenix let out a cry of affirmation.
"You two go first," Hermione said suddenly. "There's too many of us, and I don't want to be crushed between two sweaty boys."
Harry chuckled. Fair enough. He grabbed Ron, and together they took hold of the phoenix's claws.
Hermione watched them rise toward the surface, her arms crossed.
Then, she turned back toward the empty chamber.
"Stop hiding."
A swirl of black mist appeared before her, gathering quickly.
The shadowy form of Voldemort materialized once more.
But Hermione didn't flinch. Instead, she frowned.
"How long are you going to keep up this ghostly façade?"
The figure gave a helpless smile.
His features began to shift, his body shrinking slightly.
In just seconds, Kai Adler stood before her, looking calm—almost amused.