Chapter 306: Pocket the Sword of Gryffindor?
The corridor lay in deep shadow.
Sean did not look his best.
His robes had been torn in several places by falling rubble, and dust from the collapsing stone clung stubbornly to the fabric.
In the moonlight, only the Sword of Gryffindor gleamed with a steady silver light. Thin traces of blood still clung to the blade.
Even Sean's expression carried traces of exhaustion.
Master-level Material Transfiguration was not especially difficult for him—but in actual combat he had been forced to compress his casting time to the absolute minimum while simultaneously maximising the power of each spell.
He had, after all, just performed multiple terrain-altering transfigurations in rapid succession—each one ten metres across and two metres deep.
Such feats were not far removed from the combat prowess of the most accomplished duellists of ancient times.
And that was without counting the constant strain of maintaining Soul Transfiguration. The owl and the Bowtruckle had appeared perfectly in tune with him, but in truth they had demanded a great deal of his concentration and energy to direct.
Ten minutes to end the fight had cost him almost all his physical reserves.
Now he stood there, travel-stained and dishevelled.
Fortunately the outcome had not strayed far from the plan. The Basilisk had been coaxed—through a combination of physical force and magic—into a deep slumber.
Gripping a Basilisk fang in one hand, Sean walked quietly along the corridor, his footsteps making only the faintest sound.
Soon he reached the entrance to the Headmaster's office.
There, waiting in the moonlight, stood Harry, Ron and Hermione, staring at him without blinking.
"Sean's…" Harry began.
He had never seen anything leave Sean looking quite so battered. Even last year, when facing the obstacles protecting the Philosopher's Stone, Sean had moved with calm confidence.
Now his robes were torn, dust streaked his hair, and he carried the Sword of Gryffindor—its blade still smeared with greenish blood.
"Did he succeed… or fail?" Ron's voice shook.
The haze that had surrounded the whole affair had finally lifted.
They now understood exactly what a second-year was up against.
The books had been very clear: a Basilisk fifteen metres long. Simply coiled in place, it could probably faint two first-years just by existing.
"Sean!"
Hermione was already running towards him.
Harry and Ron exchanged a helpless glance before hurrying after her.
"Good evening, Hermione, Harry, Ron."
Sean quietly stowed the Sword of Gryffindor. It appeared to be absorbing the Basilisk's blood and venom, so rather than sheathing it immediately he had kept it out for observation.
"Good evening… no, I'm not good at all!"
Hermione's eyes darted over him in frantic inspection, checking for missing limbs or serious wounds. Only after a long moment did she let out a trembling breath of relief.
"Sean, you—"
Harry's words caught in his throat. After a pause he managed,
"The Basilisk. I mean… it was the Basilisk, wasn't it? Is it dead?"
Sean shook his head.
"You really went to face the Basilisk alone! Merlin's beard!"
Hermione gasped, then quickly clapped a hand over her mouth.
"Hogwarts has a Basilisk… it's not dead… Hogwarts has a Basilisk… it's not dead—"
Ron kept repeating the words in a dazed monotone.
He swallowed hard and glanced nervously around—at the moonlit walls, at the empty corridor—as though expecting an enormous serpent to erupt from the stone at any moment and swallow them all, robes and all.
Sean, too tired to fully register their reactions, simply wanted rest. Once the sword was safely returned, he could finally sleep.
The three of them were perceptive. Seeing the unusual dullness in Sean's eyes, they swallowed every question that rose to their lips and watched in silence as he entered the Headmaster's office.
"Sean… why were you carrying the Sword of Gryffindor?"
Ron spoke up suddenly. The greenish blood on the blade was impossible to miss.
But… facing a Basilisk head-on and at least landing one blow? Right now Ron was prepared to swear that no one in Ravenclaw was more worthy of drawing Gryffindor's sword than Sean.
"…The Basilisk's skin is covered in scales that can deflect spells."
Hermione had already pulled the relevant book from her bag and was reading aloud.
The three of them stood quietly for a moment.
Harry took the book and read slowly, word by word:
[Parseltongue can place a Basilisk into a deep sleep, halting its growth and inducing a state resembling suspended animation…]
"We have to do something," Harry said abruptly.
"We don't know where the Basilisk came from, but I'm certain someone is using it to cause trouble. That's why Sean went to deal with it alone, even though it was dangerous.
Now he didn't succeed, and we still don't know who's behind it. Remember what happened with Professor Quirrell… he was being controlled by Voldemort…"
"You think it's Lockhart?" Ron's eyes widened.
It would explain why the man acted like such an incompetent buffoon—perhaps it was all an elaborate disguise.
No wonder Sean hadn't said a word.
Another of Voldemort's servants had appeared at Hogwarts!
"Then—then we—"
Hermione looked between them, uncertain.
"We should tell the Headmaster."
"Don't be daft, Hermione," Ron said wearily.
"We'd be better off telling Snape. Remember? When Quirrell was after the Stone, it was Snape who kept watch on him."
Hermione fell silent. A dozen alarming possibilities flickered behind her eyes.
Meanwhile, inside the Headmaster's office…
The grimy, crumpled Sorting Hat gave a tiny twitch in the moonlight—it had been lifted.
Sean studied it carefully, searching for an angle at which he might slide the Sword of Gryffindor inside.
"No—no, that's not something that can be done just like that. Keep it away from me, young wizard."
The Hat's faint, urgent voice echoed in Sean's mind.
Sean was quiet.
He had assumed the Hat and the sword were linked—both were Gryffindor's legacy, after all.
Did that mean he would have to simply take the sword away?
"You've done very well, my boy. Just leave it on the desk."
A gentle, kindly voice spoke from behind him.
Sean turned. In the moonlight, Dumbledore's long silver beard shone almost luminous.
"I must say, you have broken more than a hundred school rules tonight—"
The words took a moment to register.
Basilisk. Chamber of Secrets. Voldemort…
His mind was still crowded with far weightier matters. For a heartbeat he had forgotten he was still a Hogwarts student.
"Oh, how delightful," Dumbledore continued, his beard quivering with amusement. "You solved the riddle alone, fought a deadly serpent in the small hours, and now you are troubled by a matter of regulations…"
"You need not explain yourself to me, child. I have often thought that you walk a rather singular path.
But you must forgive an old man's curiosity.
Why would you push yourself so hard to defeat a dangerous Basilisk? What do you hope to gain?"
Dumbledore's tone was mild, yet the question clearly reached deeper.
"I knew the Basilisk had awakened," Sean answered evenly. "Before any tragedy could occur, I had to do everything in my power."
There were many things at Hogwarts that could not be hidden from Albus Dumbledore.
(End of Chapter)
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