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The basilisk reared its head, its carriage-sized skull casting a monstrous shadow across the cavern. Its yellow slit-pupils slowly opened—through the protective goggles, the gaze looked murky and amber, but it still triggered that raw, instinctive urge to scream and look away.
"Hsssss…" The basilisk flicked its tongue, letting out a low, threatening hiss.
Julien quickly stepped in front of the two girls. He opened his mouth and forced out the clumsy Parseltongue he'd learned from the diary: "Hsss… ha-huu… hsss… obey… sleep… we are… the Guardians…"
The basilisk froze for a split second. The killing intent in its vertical pupils flickered with confusion. It tilted its massive head, studying this tiny human who dared stare straight at it and speak the language of snakes.
Of course, it didn't understand a word the two-legged creature had just said.
At that moment, a cold, mocking voice slithered out from the shadows beside them.
"Black? You really thought you could control the basilisk with those few pathetic phrases I taught you? Don't be ridiculous."
"Voldemort?" Julien stared at the handsome teenage boy who had appeared—sixteen or seventeen years old.
Tom Riddle's form was now half-solid. As Julien would have put it in his previous life, most of Ginny's soul had already been drained into him.
"Correct. I am Voldemort. The name Tom Riddle is far too lowly for my noble bloodline."
"But," Voldemort turned his gaze fully on Julien, "I can't imagine why you'd risk coming down here."
"We're here to save Ginny!" Julien declared firmly. "We won't let your resurrection plot succeed."
"Hahahaha! That's the funniest thing I've heard all year. Someone who spent hours discussing Dark magic with me in a notebook, who begged me to teach him Parseltongue—and your first priority is saving people? Please. You might fool those two little girlfriends of yours, but not me."
Rosier and Liriya both turned to look at Julien.
Julien gave an awkward laugh. "Two? Small price to pay, honestly."
"Julien… Black. We're the same kind of person. So tell me—what do you really want?"
Voldemort's eyes swept the chamber, still searching for anything unusual. "It must have something to do with the memories I'm missing."
Heavy footsteps suddenly echoed from the passage behind them.
"We're here! This is it!" Harry's voice rang through the cavern, followed by Hermione's sharp gasp.
"Merlin's beard…" Both of them froze mid-sentence, stunned not only by the people already there but by the sheer size of the basilisk.
The basilisk whipped its head around. Its yellow slit-pupils locked onto the new intruders. It let out a deafening roar that shook the entire chamber, sending loose stones raining from the ceiling.
"No! Don't look at its eyes!" Hermione screamed, her voice bouncing off the stone walls.
Chaos erupted instantly.
The basilisk shot forward like a green lightning bolt, lunging straight at Harry and Hermione.
"Run!" Julien knew the plan had just gone sideways. He'd wanted to quietly grab the meteorite fragment, but now they had no choice but to fight.
"Rosier, attack from the left! Liriya, slow the basilisk!" Julien shouted as he sprinted toward the base of Slytherin's statue. "Arresto Momentum!"
Rosier didn't hesitate. "Incendio!"
A blazing white flame erupted from her wand—not the ordinary Fire-Making Spell, but an improved "Starfire" version infused with purifying properties. It roared toward the basilisk's flank.
The basilisk hissed in pain, twisting its massive body. Its tail whipped wildly, sending chunks of rock flying everywhere.
"Impedimenta!" Liriya pressed both hands to the ground. Thick green vines exploded from the cracks in the stone, wrapping around the basilisk's tail.
Her nature magic felt unnaturally strong here, deep in the ancient ley lines. Silver-white flowers even bloomed along the vines—Evernight blooms from the North that could briefly paralyze nerves.
The basilisk thrashed, momentarily slowed. Harry seized the chance and dragged Hermione behind a stone pillar. His glasses were cracked, but his green eyes burned with determination.
He glanced at Ginny lying motionless on the rock and then at Julien's group fighting the monster. He wished he could do something—anything.
A clear, ringing cry pierced the air.
"Reee!"
A streak of living flame shot into the chamber. It was small but blazing fiercely, like it had just broken free from a furnace—Fawkes, Dumbledore's phoenix.
As Fawkes flew over Harry's head, he dropped a battered leather hat—the Sorting Hat. Harry caught it, felt its surprising weight, and reached inside. His fingers closed around a sword hilt.
He pulled it out: a gleaming silver sword, about eighteen inches long, with rubies set into the hilt.
Fawkes dove straight at the basilisk while its tail was still tangled in the vines. In a flash of fire and motion, the phoenix pecked out both of the creature's eyes. Greenish venom dripped from the empty sockets, sizzling where it hit the stone floor.
By then Julien had reached the base of the statue. The moment his hand touched the meteorite fragment, the eagle-headed hound totem on his wrist flared with brilliant silver-blue light, resonating with the ancient power inside the stone.
Voldemort, watching the battle, suddenly caught sight of the glowing mark on Julien's wrist and the faint blue glow rising from the meteorite. His expression twisted into pure fury.
"No! I understand now! You cannot touch that—it's my power!"
"Sorry," Julien said, gripping the star fragment tightly. He could feel the ancient energy from Starfall Cove flowing through it. "This is for sealing, not for you."
"Stop him! Hsssss—angh!" Voldemort shrieked at the basilisk.
The creature hesitated, torn between orders. It started to turn toward Julien, but Rosier and Liriya's spells kept hammering it with pain.
While the basilisk was distracted, Harry charged forward, gripping the silver sword. With one clean thrust, he drove it straight through the roof of the basilisk's mouth. The blade burst out the top of its head.
The basilisk collapsed with a thunderous crash, kicking up a cloud of dust.
Not bad, Chosen One, Julien thought. Harry basically closed his eyes and still one-shotted a thousand-year-old basilisk.
"No—!" Tom Riddle—or rather Voldemort—screamed, his cry blending with the basilisk's final death rattle.
"Harry, the fang!" Julien shouted.
Harry didn't fully understand but didn't hesitate. He snapped off one of the exposed fangs and tossed it to Julien.
Julien caught it, dashed to Ginny's side, and drove the venomous fang straight into the black notebook.
The diary convulsed like a living thing, leaking black-green fluid and giving off thick green smoke.
At the same time, Voldemort's sixteen-year-old form began to collapse like a punctured balloon.
"Black… you will open the Star—"
He never finished the sentence. With one last vicious grin, the soul fragment dissolved into nothing.
When the light faded and the dust settled, Julien dropped to one knee, face pale. The meteorite fragment was already safely hidden away.
Ginny Weasley let out a soft groan from atop the stone.
"Ginny!" Harry rushed over with Julien to check on her. She was still unconscious, but her breathing was steady and some color had returned to her face.
"Who was that just now?" Harry asked, looking up at Julien.
"That was a piece of Voldemort's soul from when he was sixteen. He's been hiding inside Ginny's notebook the whole time. He's the real Heir of Slytherin—and he was the one controlling Ginny to open the Chamber."
"So that's how it was," Harry nodded. A lot of things suddenly made sense. "By the way, what was he trying to say at the end?"
"Who knows," Julien shrugged, quickly changing the subject. "Hey, where's Hermione? I don't see her."
"Yeah, where is she?" Harry looked around.
Rosier and Liriya brushed the dust off their robes and started scanning the chamber too.
"I'm right here," Hermione's voice came from behind a stone pillar. She stepped out slowly, a wand pressed against the back of her head.
The person holding the wand stepped into view. His once-pristine blue robes were torn and filthy. His perfectly styled golden hair was a wild mess.
Gilderoy Lockhart.