The number of professors who actually came to assist was small. After receiving messages delivered by ghosts, the others had already scattered across the castle to ensure the students' safety.
Thus, the only ones who joined Professor McGonagall to provide support were Professor Flitwick and Professor Snape, wizards with considerable combat experience and practical skills… Well, and Gilderoy Lockhart, who insisted on tagging along, prattling incessantly the entire way.
If the situation hadn't been so urgent, and if McGonagall hadn't held onto the faint hope that even Lockhart could contribute something, she would have found it utterly intolerable.
But now, Dumbledore's blunt words had unintentionally stirred McGonagall's thoughts—not those kinds of thoughts. It wasn't that she, as deputy headmistress, was finally eyeing the headmaster's position. No, what she and the other professors noticed was something else entirely: when Dumbledore spoke of wanting to retire, his gaze was fixed unwaveringly on Harry.
What did that mean?
A young, sufficiently powerful headmaster capable of protecting Hogwarts.
This wasn't even a hint—it was an outright declaration. But wasn't Harry far too young for that?
As these thoughts swirled among the group, a commotion of rapid, heavy footsteps approached from the far end of the corridor. Within seconds, they burst into view.
"Harry! Are you alright, Harry?!"
The voice arrived before the person. Sirius Black, face etched with panic, shouted as he ran, trailed by Hermione and Ron, who had fled earlier.
"Don't worry, Sirius, I'm fine," Harry said, giving his godfather a quick hug to calm him down as he skidded to a halt. "The enemy's already dead."
"We took Neville to a safe place and were looking for help when we ran into Sirius in the corridor," Hermione explained rapidly. "So, that's the basilisk? The monster that attacked us?"
"Basilisk!" At the word, Sirius's face contorted with rage. "Why is there a basilisk in Hogwarts?! Dumbledore, is this how you protect the students?!"
As a guardian of a student, Sirius had every right to question the headmaster.
"I'm sorry, Sirius," Dumbledore replied, unable to deflect the accusation. He bowed his head sincerely. "I have no excuse for this. It was indeed my failure."
"It's not Dumbledore's fault, Sirius," Harry interjected quickly, grabbing his godfather's arm to prevent him from doing something rash in his anger. "Hogwarts is a thousand-year-old castle. With magic at play, it's full of secrets. Even Dumbledore can't monitor every corner."
Wizarding spells could conceal far too much.
"…Monitor every corner," Sirius muttered, shuddering as if struck by a sudden thought. He fell silent, clearly mulling something over.
Without another word, Harry exchanged a glance with Dumbledore, who nodded and began arranging the next steps.
The underground classrooms in this area would be sealed off until they located the room where the basilisk had been hiding. Until the castle was deemed completely safe, students would not be allowed to move freely and would need to travel in groups.
Dumbledore also assigned professors to patrol and tasked them with rebuilding the now-ruined classrooms—a considerable undertaking. For now, he made only preliminary arrangements.
The professors who had come to help were dismissed, even Lockhart, who grumbled incessantly as McGonagall forcibly dragged him away. Sirius, still reluctant, was tasked by Harry with escorting Ron and Hermione to the Shaman's office.
Given the basilisk's relentless pursuit of the three children during the fight, Harry wasn't entirely convinced the creature had acted on its own. If it had been following someone's orders, he didn't dare leave his friends in a castle that seemed to harbor such deep secrets. At least the Great Totem, which Harry had personally established, was a place free of threats like basilisks.
In the end, only Dumbledore, Harry, and Snape—who was handling the basilisk's corpse—remained at the scene.
"How's it going? Can we salvage anything useful?" Harry asked, assisting Snape.
A basilisk lurking in the shadows, striking when least expected, was undeniably dangerous. Even Harry had been caught off guard. If not for the warnings from the petrified ghosts, he might have looked directly into its eyes and joined James and Lily in the afterlife.
But once the basilisk was fully exposed, the massive creature was nothing short of a treasure trove waiting to be mined.
Basilisk bones, fangs, venom, scales… These were prime materials for crafting armor, weapons, or even selling for a fortune.
"There's some, but not as much as I'd hoped," Snape said, carefully stowing a pristine scale in his bag. He stood, a touch of regret in his voice. "If the rumors are true, this basilisk was left here by Salazar Slytherin himself before he parted ways with the other founders and left Hogwarts. That means it's a thousand-year-old basilisk, far more powerful than an ordinary one."
Once assured that Harry wasn't in mortal danger and that his injuries were treatable, Snape's potion-master instincts had kicked in.
"I'm certain Slytherin modified this creature," he continued. "Not only did he extend its lifespan, but he also enhanced its magical resistance and scale thickness. However, your shamanic spells, particularly those lava orbs, deal primarily physical damage. The scales, designed to counter wizarding curses, didn't perform as expected."
"Only about ten percent of the scales are reusable," Snape added. "The bones are mostly intact, and the fangs are in good condition. The eyes, capable of producing a curse, were destroyed by Fawkes, which is a pity—they could have been used to craft a potent dark magic artifact. But your safety, Harry, is far more important." He gave Harry a pointed look.
"If another unknown threat arises, I'd prefer you prioritize your safety, retreat, and wait for others—for me—to provide support before acting."
"I will," Harry nodded.
For some reason, this Snape—speaking not with his usual biting sarcasm but with earnest, heartfelt concern—felt more like a proper godfather than Sirius ever did. Sirius would likely be furious to hear it, but Harry couldn't help the thought.
"What about these ghosts?" Harry asked, turning to the petrified ghost statues scattered across the floor. They had been frozen after glimpsing the basilisk's eyes, a reasonable outcome for beings already dead. "Even Nearly Headless Nick, the host of this deathday party, is a statue now… He can't even mourn the fact that his party was ruined."
Harry had already cast dispelling curses on the ghosts, but whether due to their spectral nature or the unique magic of the basilisk's gaze, the damage lingered. Full recovery would require further treatment.
"Don't worry, Harry," Dumbledore said, approaching from the wall where the basilisk had emerged. He smiled. "As far as I know, Professor Sprout has planned a lesson on tending Mandrakes this year. Their cries may be deadly, but when properly processed, they're an excellent antidote for dark magic. Nick and the others will recover… Hopefully without any psychological scars."
"They're already dead," Snape snorted. "These ghosts will probably just be thrilled to have experienced something novel."
"Be that as it may, they came to Hogwarts at Nick's invitation," Dumbledore said, shaking his head. "I hope they don't hold it against him. But I believe I've figured out where the basilisk was hiding, Harry."
"It's been moving through the castle's pipes, hasn't it?" Harry gestured toward the broken wall and the dripping, shattered pipes. "We just need to follow them to find its lair."
Two translucent ghosts suddenly phased through the wall.
"The person you asked for, Dumbledore."
Leading the way was the Bloody Baron, Slytherin's house ghost, followed by the spirit of a young girl.
"Thank you, Baron," Dumbledore said, nodding. "This saves us a great deal of trouble."
"No trouble at all," the Baron replied curtly, casting a lingering glance at the basilisk's corpse before phasing back through the wall.
"Myrtle?" Harry asked, addressing the young girl's spirit. It was his first time meeting Moaning Myrtle, the girl who had died at Hogwarts during her school years. He'd only heard about her from Ron.
"Oh, Harry, so nice to see you—I mean, Headmaster Dumbledore, why did you need me?" Myrtle asked, visibly nervous.
"I did come to Nick's deathday party tonight," she continued. "He invited every ghost in the castle, but I don't know how things turned out like this! The moment that monster appeared, I fled through the ceiling without looking back!"
Her thick glasses and greasy, flat hair, reminiscent of a younger Snape, gave her a distinctly gloomy air.
"Calm down, child," Dumbledore said gently. "We just have a few questions. Do you remember how you died?"
With the basilisk hiding in Hogwarts and knowing from Dumbledore's research that Myrtle was the only student to die on school grounds in centuries, he had made a bold connection. Her death had occurred in a second-floor bathroom, and now, with the basilisk's use of the castle's pipes confirmed, Dumbledore had summoned her via the Bloody Baron.
"How I died?!" Myrtle's voice shot up, almost shrill. She looked as if she wanted to dive into a wall or unleash a tirade, but the sight of Dumbledore and Snape steadied her.
"Olive Hornby called me a crybaby, so I hid in the bathroom," she said, her face crumpling. "Then I heard a boy's voice—really loud. I opened the door to tell him to leave, and then… I died."
"You opened the door, and that was it?" Harry raised an eyebrow. "That's all?"
"Pretty much," Myrtle said, frowning as she recalled. "I just remember seeing a pair of huge yellow eyes, and then I was floating. Then I was dead. I left, I came back—and I decided to haunt Olive Hornby for mocking my glasses!"
She was still indignant about her past, but Harry, Dumbledore, and Snape exchanged knowing glances, their eyes settling on the basilisk's massive head—specifically, its blinded eyes, ruined by Fawkes.
Harry remembered clearly: it was through his Vision spell that he'd seen the basilisk's glowing yellow eyes, cursing his soul. If he hadn't dispelled it quickly, he might have ended up a statue himself.
"I think it's quite clear," Snape said slowly. "Myrtle died years ago because she looked into the basilisk's eyes. Direct eye contact kills instantly, but indirect contact curses the soul, causing harm. These ghosts, already dead, couldn't die again, so they became statues."
"Basilisk?" Myrtle tilted her head, glancing at the corpse. "That's what killed me?"
"That's the most likely conclusion for now. Thank you for your help, Myrtle," Dumbledore said with a warm smile. "You've helped us solve a mystery."
"Oh, you're welcome, Headmaster," Myrtle said brightly. "It was kind of fun to talk about it again. If you're all okay, I'll be off then."
"Of course."
With Dumbledore's permission, Myrtle zipped through the wall, leaving without so much as a word of resentment toward the creature that had taken her life.
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