Meanwhile, in the Ravenclaw dormitory, Ginny jolted awake, drenched in cold sweat.
She sat up in bed, her mind racing to piece together the nightmare she'd just had—or perhaps it wasn't a dream at all, but a glimpse of something real, something from the future. In her dream, she was grown, fighting alongside Harry and a group of Aurors. The details were hazy, but she remembered their enemy shrouded in a dark, churning mist that blotted out the sky. Aurors leaped and Apparated between towering buildings, and soon, more allies joined the fray.
Muggles poured in from all directions, pointing and gawking at the wizards atop the rooftops. Ginny even saw a group of priests spilling out of a church, their fingers tracing strange symbols in the air. An elderly man, clearly their leader, was shouting, laughing, and crying all at once—a bizarre, jarring sight. Ginny and Harry stood together on a pointed rooftop, their hands clasped. Harry gave her a reassuring hug and a steady look before launching into the air to confront the figure in the mist. A moment later, he recoiled sharply. Ginny surged forward, a brilliant violet-gold beam piercing the darkness. Then she was falling, plummeting through the air. She saw Harry, and a shadowy figure tumbling from above…
Ginny clutched her chest, gasping for breath.
It took a long while for her to realize the pain in her heart stemmed from the fragmented dream, but it felt so real—as if she'd truly been struck by a spell, as if she'd lost something vital. She wasn't sure what it was—her life, perhaps? A distant rumble of thunder echoed outside.
"You alright?" came a soft, dreamy voice from the bed near the window.
"I'm fine, Luna," Ginny replied. She looked up, catching Luna's face in the moonlight. There was an odd familiarity to it, like a memory left behind by another version of herself. Ginny wasn't sure if Luna had been among the allies who joined the fight in her dream.
"Want some water?" Luna asked gently, her hair a tousled mess, her expression half-asleep as always, like nothing in the world could truly ruffle her.
"Thanks," Ginny said.
After sipping the water, her nerves finally settled. She sat at a desk, spreading out a piece of parchment and dipping her quill in ink. The tip hovered just above the page, frozen.
Ginny wrestled with indecision, her thoughts a tangled mess. A spark of frustration flared within her. She was only eleven, after all! Sure, she'd somehow gained these memories, but they were so weighty, so critical. Why did she have to make the call?
"Sometimes we need a bit of courage," Luna's hazy voice drifted from behind the curtains of her four-poster bed. "You know, Gryffindor courage."
Ginny took a deep breath.
"Dear Professor Dumbledore, regarding the most sinister magical invention I mentioned in my last letter, I have some new information to add…"
In the Chamber of Secrets.
The Basilisk shuddered violently. From its massive, oak-thick body erupted a deep purple glow intertwined with dazzling golden light. Its upper half reared high, its flat, monstrous head thrashing side to side, smashing pillar after pillar. Harry dodged flying chunks of stone as the purple and gold beams wove together like a net, seeping into the creature's glossy green scales. The Basilisk thrashed in vain, its struggles futile. At last, its scales seemed to shift, taking on a new hue. Its movements froze, its body rigid like a gnarled stick planted in the ground. The upper half, suspended in midair, slumped slowly to the floor, scattering stones in its wake.
A deafening crash roared through the chamber, like thunder in their ears.
Harry crouched behind a pillar, the Basilisk's head landing right in front of him. Its eyes were open. His mind went blank. It took a few seconds to notice that the eyes weren't the vivid, glowing yellow slits Hermione had described in her research. They were dull, grayish, almost… lifeless. Harry thought of the diary in Tonks's hands. It was as if the Basilisk's eyes had died.
The changes didn't stop there. The serpent's once-vibrant, venomously glossy green scales were now ashen, tinged with a sickly yellow, like withered grass. Harry couldn't help but think of the Dursleys' old washing tub, where a cheap shirt, eerily similar in color to the Basilisk's faded scales, had bled out its dye.
Heads peeked out from behind nearby pillars. They watched as Hodge Blackthorn approached the Basilisk, extending a hand as if to gently touch the unremarkable horn on its forehead. As they drew closer, they saw Hodge holding a small, glowing glass vial, no bigger than a thumb. Inside swirled a yellowish substance, almost liquid-like, laced with a wisp of black.
Harry felt a wave of unease. The contents of the vial reminded him unsettlingly of a soft, yellowish eye, and staring at it gave him a creeping sense of petrification. He glanced at the others—Ron, Hermione, and Tonks—and saw the same discomfort mirrored on their faces.
"What is that?" Tonks asked, her curiosity cutting through the tension.
"Something extracted from the Basilisk," Hodge replied. To be precise, it was a magical essence he'd stripped from the creature using ancient magic, likely mixed with some venom and fragments of the snake's memories.
"I don't mind if you take some materials too," he added. "Basilisks are rare, and rare means valuable."
"Really?" Ron's eyes lit up.
"You'd have to do it yourself."
"Oh," Ron said, rubbing his hands together eagerly. "No trouble at all!" He circled the Basilisk, muttering, "I can think of uses for the hide, the scales, maybe even the meat… I wouldn't take much, just enough to cover a new wand, maybe a set of robes…"
"Ron! You can't take anything," Hermione snapped.
"Just a little…" Ron's voice trailed off under her glare. He slumped, muttering, "Fine. I didn't even help with anything." He turned away from the Basilisk.
"I'd suggest at least taking a fang," Hodge said. "A reminder: Basilisk venom is highly toxic. The only known antidote is phoenix tears. Beyond that, the venom can destroy inanimate objects beyond repair." He moved to the Basilisk's head, carefully extracting a dagger-like fang near the venom gland.
"You mean…" Harry's mind leapt to Horcruxes. He exchanged a knowing look with Hermione. Of course—Voldemort had more than one Horcrux. They'd need a way to destroy them.
Nearby, Hodge approached Tonks, who was eyeing the Basilisk's horn with fascination, clearly tempted to touch it. He took the diary from her, using magic to guide the fang to pierce a small hole in its cover.
The diary didn't react.
Hodge let out a relieved breath. He turned back to see Harry, Ron, and Hermione huddled together, debating which fang to take.
"Oh, by the way," Hodge called out, "I forgot to mention—the Basilisk isn't dead."
"What?"
————
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