The people over there planned to take advantage of Senior Tom's immaturity and arrogance, and in the end, they stabbed him in the waist.
Here, Ted finally saw his chance.
The basilisk, worn down by the relentless crowing of Anzu the rooster, had begun to weaken. Its massive muscles trembled, its flesh quivered and shuddered as if tearing itself apart. The once fearsome creature now looked ragged, on the verge of collapse.
Most importantly—it had lowered its guard.
[Predict Enemy's Movements (Blue)] — Ted used the card on himself. The spell sharpened his senses and reflexes, raising the chances of a successful strike.
He had prepared for this. A Level 5 Silent Blade spell shot forth from his wand, invisible and deadly. The shimmering blade arced through the air, slipping past the basilisk's thrashing coils, before piercing straight into its last remaining eye with precision.
Ted was too cautious to leave even one eye intact. He wasn't about to risk luck against a basilisk. Destroying it outright was the only option.
The eyeball burst with a sickening pop. Ted let out a long breath of relief. At last—the counterattack could begin.
"Frost Arrow Rain!" he shouted.
Though he had not yet mastered the full Blizzard spell, a signature of the legendary mages of Azeroth, he could still summon a deadly storm of ice bolts.
Dozens of shimmering arrows of frost appeared above him, streaking downward in a storm.
They struck the basilisk's massive body in rapid succession, ripping open seven or eight deep wounds. Corrupted black blood oozed from the holes, made worse by the constant crowing of Anzu.
The rooster truly was the unsung hero of the battle.
"Diffindo! Diffindo ! Diffindo!" Ted invoked the spell thrice, his attacks carving long, fifty-centimeter gashes across the monster's scales.
The serpent's legendary hide offered no defense this time, and more black blood poured freely, splattering across the stone floor.
The sight was brutal, almost unbearable.
But this was Slytherin's ancient pet, a basilisk that had lived for a thousand years. Its weaknesses were undeniable, but killing it outright would not be so simple. Even with Anzu's crowing breaking its will, the beast still had enough strength to fight on.
And fight it did.
The basilisk realized death was closing in. Instincts kicked in—if it was going to die, it would fulfill its master's final order and drag its killers down with it. It roared silently, blood gushing from its ruined eyes, and lunged at Ted with terrifying speed.
Ted's reflexes saved him. He slid backward across the icy ground he had conjured beneath his feet, gliding two or three meters just as the serpent's massive tail smashed into the stone floor.
BOOM! A pillar a meter thick shattered instantly, cracks splitting several meters up its length. The basilisk had nearly torn the chamber apart.
It no longer cared about pain or blood. Sightless, furious, it charged wildly, determined to crush Ted into the earth.
Ted, skating gracefully across the ice, conjured jagged spikes and blades in his wake. Rows of ice thorns erupted behind him, ready to cut into the serpent's flesh. But the basilisk ignored them, barreling through and crushing the icy defenses, tearing its body even further in the process.
Anzu, terrified, fluttered desperately to the side, keeping a safe distance while continuing to crow. His voice cracked and faltered, but he refused to stop. The sound kept the basilisk weakened, even as the rooster's wings beat frantically in his attempt to stay alive.
Blood poured freely now, the basilisk leaving a gruesome trail as it pursued Ted relentlessly.
"This way—Ted, over here!" Ron hissed urgently from the shadows. He had joined the fray, firing a spell at the basilisk. But the curse splashed harmlessly against its scales, vanishing without effect.
Ron froze in shock. "It's useless… I'm useless…" he muttered, despair filling his voice.
Ted, panting, quickly cast [Restore Energy (Green)] on himself, refreshing his body and lungs. "Ron! Stay back! This snake's gone mad!"
But Ron's pride burned at his own helplessness. He gritted his teeth and suddenly remembered something.
If his spells couldn't pierce the basilisk, then he could turn the battlefield itself against it—just like during the troll fight months ago.
Transfiguration… Yes.
Focusing with all his will, Ron aimed his wand at a massive chunk of rubble—over a meter wide.
He had never tried something so difficult before, but desperation fueled him.
His magic surged, flowing through Lockhart's old cherry wood, dragon heartstring core wand. The wood hummed and glowed faintly as if responding to Ron's determination.
The boulder shrank, compressed to the size of a basketball.
Ron's eyes widened in disbelief, but he didn't stop. He flicked his wand and, with a burst of the Levitation Charm, hurled the shrunken stone directly at the basilisk.
As it sailed through the air, the magic broke—the rock expanded instantly back to its original size, slamming into the serpent's side with a deafening crack.
The impact was devastating. Flesh burst, black ichor spraying everywhere. The basilisk's body convulsed as the massive stone nearly tore it in half. Its colossal head slammed heavily against the floor, limp.
"Yes! Hahaha!" Ron shouted in triumph, his voice echoing across the chamber.
But Ted's instincts screamed danger. His heart dropped. "No—Ron, look out!"
Even broken and bloodied, the basilisk's head jerked up violently. The dying beast wasn't finished yet.
The vitality of a creature like a snake is strange and unnerving.
A basilisk, in particular, clung to life in ways that seemed impossible. Sometimes, if left to soak in wine for weeks, it could stir back to life. Even decapitated, its fangs could still deliver death.
Ron, careless in his relief, hadn't expected the basilisk to lash out again.
With one violent swing of its massive head, the basilisk snapped its jaws wide and struck—its mouth large enough to swallow Ron whole in a single gulp.
"Ron!" Harley screamed, her heart dropping.
"Ah!" Ted roared, summoning every ounce of his willpower. Psionic energy surged around him, condensing into a sharp, translucent spike that shot forward at impossible speed, piercing into the basilisk's head.
Mental Spikes!
The serpent's tongue, forked and glistening with venom, was already brushing against Ron's face when the psychic strike landed.
With a guttural screech of agony, the basilisk recoiled violently, shaking its massive head. The force of the movement flung Ron across the chamber like a ragdoll.
But Ron wasn't done. Even as he was hurled through the air, his hand fumbled and threw something—a faintly glowing stick, his battered old wand.
In the split-second before losing his grip on consciousness, Ron unleashed the one spell he had struggled with for weeks. The spell Tom Riddle had once shown him in arrogance—the Thunderbolt Explosion. His wand, cracked and nearly useless, shone with finality as he hurled it into the basilisk's gaping maw.
BOOM!
The basilisk's mouth erupted in a thunderous explosion, sending fragments of its fangs flying in all directions.
Seizing the chance, Ted used a tenfold Mage Hand, invisible and forceful, to yank Ron away to safety, dragging him several meters out of reach.
"Ron, are you alright?!" Ted dropped to his knees, supporting Ron's pale body.
Ron gasped, clutching his thigh. "M-My leg… hurts…!" His face twisted in pain where the serpent's strike had slammed him.
Then he froze. A hot, sticky sensation ran down his arm. Dark red blood trickled across his hand, dripping onto his leg.
"B-Blood?" Ron stammered, twisting his arm. A long gash, at least ten centimeters, carved across his flesh.
The wound wasn't deep, but the blood running from it shimmered a darker, unnatural red.
Ted's stomach clenched. Sweat beaded on his forehead, though his voice stayed steady. He quickly fished out a small vial from his pouch—a bubbling, light-green potion—and poured it into Ron's mouth.
Ron gagged and let out a strangled sound as the potion slid down his throat.
"It's the antidote," Ted assured firmly.
Ron's eyes widened. "I-I've been poisoned?"
"Yes. But don't panic, you've already taken the antidote. Just rest… sleep, and you'll be fine." Ted's voice softened, though worry gnawed at him.
Ron's head dropped as his eyelids fluttered. "Oh… alright then…" And with that, he slumped into unconsciousness.
The basilisk, writhing and weakened, was already spent. Tom Riddle's spectral form had begun to fade, his notebook falling lifelessly shut.
The battle was ending.
But Ted's fear was only beginning.
He shook Ron gently, then shouted, "Neville! Neville! Call for help!"
His homemade antidote could only delay basilisk venom—it couldn't cure it.
Neville, sprinting toward them, saw Ron's limp state and felt dread pierce his chest. "Who—who do I call?!" His voice shook as he met Ted's frantic eyes.
"Call someone! Call Dumbledore! Hurry! We need him!" Ted's composure cracked, his desperation spilling through. "NOW!"
Ron felt lighter in his arms—terrifyingly so. Ted's hands shook as he held him. It was as if the boy's very life was slipping away.
Neville's panic boiled over. He cupped his hands to his mouth, voice breaking as he screamed, "Dumbledore! Dumbledore! We need help! Somebody, please save Ron!"
Their friends came rushing over—Hermione, Jerry, Harley—all with fear written across their faces. Jerry stumbled forward, tears already streaking his cheeks. "What's happening to Ron?! What's wrong with him?!" His voice cracked as he reached out helplessly.
Ted's gaze locked on the far end of the chamber, his heartbeat hammering like a war drum.
A brilliant glow flared in the distance—a streak of crimson light, cutting through the gloom with breathtaking speed.
Relief crashed over Ted like a wave. His entire body sagged, knees threatening to buckle.
Hermione caught him, holding him upright.
A fiery red phoenix soared above them, its cry pure and echoing, carrying warmth through the cold chamber.
With a shimmer of golden light, something small and worn dropped from its claws, landing squarely on Neville's head.
"Ow!" Neville yelped, rubbing his scalp as the Sorting Hat tumbled into his hands.
But no one had eyes for the hat. Fawkes, Dumbledore's phoenix, landed gracefully before Ron. The bird's sapphire eyes glowed with compassion. Lowering its head, it pressed its beak gently to Ron's arm. Then, with a mournful song, it let fall glittering tears—tears bright as crystal.
Phoenix tears. The one cure for all poison, even that of the basilisk.
Ted's chest heaved. His vision blurred, the weight of fear and relief threatening to knock him out entirely.
"Dumbledore…" he whispered hoarsely, clutching Ron tighter. "I owe you one."
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Word count: 1751
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