The one being targeted was supposed to be you, Rowan thought as Hermione tugged him out of the library.
Most of the students were at the Quidditch pitch. Inside the castle, only Rowan, Hermione, and a handful of others remained. From the Basilisk's perspective, a Muggle-born witch like Hermione was the perfect prey. Even more so because she was close to Harry.
Rowan wasn't worried.
He needed the Basilisk to show itself. To clear Hagrid's name. To force Dumbledore's hand and get him out of the castle for a while. If anything, the timing was ideal.
"It's here."
They hadn't gone far when Rowan sensed it at the corner ahead. His telepathic ability wasn't on Professor X's level, but detecting hostile intent nearby was easy enough. The Basilisk's malice was enormous, crude, and impossible to miss.
"Rowan… something's wrong," Hermione whispered, stopping abruptly.
She had heard it too. The scrape and slither echoing through the corridors behind them.
"Don't turn around," Rowan said calmly, gripping her hand. "It's probably the Basilisk. If you see its eyes, you're dead. Keep moving. Trust me."
They hurried toward the staircase. Behind them, the sound surged closer. The Basilisk had realized it was being led away and accelerated.
Hermione's legs trembled, but she still forced herself to speak.
"Rowan, you go find Dumbledore. I'll slow it down."
She even raised her wand.
Rowan wrapped an arm around her waist instead.
"No," he said firmly. "We're getting out together. Close your eyes. Don't look. Whatever you do."
The Basilisk lunged.
In that instant, Rowan cast his spell.
White wings burst from his back as he lifted Hermione off the ground, narrowly avoiding the snapping jaws below. With his free hand, he flicked his wand downward.
"Diffindo."
An invisible blade struck the Basilisk's rising head. It didn't break through its defenses, but the impact forced the creature to recoil, hissing in pain.
Rowan surged forward, wings beating harder, racing for the stairwell.
Hermione clutched him instinctively, burying her face against his chest.
"Rowan… you can fly?!"
"Later," he said shortly. "This isn't the time."
The Basilisk pursued them relentlessly, but Rowan never pushed his speed to the limit. He needed it angry. Focused. Close.
When the distance grew too wide, he slowed deliberately. When it faltered, he sent another cutting spell backward, just enough to keep it chasing.
He needed witnesses.
Words alone wouldn't convince anyone. Paintings would.
They burst into the corridor of Hogwarts' constantly shifting staircases. Figures in the portraits screamed as the massive serpent surged into view.
"What is that thing?!"
"Hide, hide!"
"Merlin save them!"
Every painting saw it.
That was enough.
Rowan shot upward at the stairwell's edge. The Basilisk, unable to navigate the moving stairs, let out a furious hiss before retreating into a nearby pipe and vanishing.
"Dumbledore will be at the pitch," Rowan said, banking sharply. "We're going straight there."
He didn't stop. At the eighth floor, he smashed through an open window and soared into the open air, Hermione still in his arms.
By the time they reached the Quidditch stadium, Rowan had already settled on his explanation. Self-created flight magic. Rare talent. Extraordinary student.
Snape had done worse at their age.
Besides, Rowan Mercer had always been known as exceptional.
He didn't notice Hermione looking at him differently now.
"And now, for the fourth Quidditch match of the season, Gryffindor versus Ravenclaw. Let's welcome—Merlin's trousers, what am I looking at?!"
Lee Jordan froze mid-announcement.
Above the stadium, Rowan descended from the sky, white wings spread wide, Hermione in his arms.
The entire school went silent.
"There!" Rowan spotted the professors' stand and flew straight toward it.
He landed, wings retracting as Hermione steadied herself.
Snape was the first to stand. "Mercer. Explain. Now."
Rowan didn't waste time.
"Headmaster. Professor. Hermione and I were attacked near the library. By the Basilisk."
Gasps rippled through the staff as Hermione confirmed the account.
Dumbledore's eyes sharpened, though whether from surprise at the Basilisk or at the children escaping it was unclear.
"Minerva," he said calmly, "cancel the match. Keep the students here until the castle is secured."
Professor McGonagall nodded and relayed the order at once.
"Well done," Dumbledore said warmly, turning back to Rowan and Hermione. "Twenty points each to Gryffindor and Slytherin."
With that, he led Snape, Flitwick, and the others back toward the castle, while McGonagall stayed behind to maintain order.
Above them, the Quidditch pitch buzzed with shock, awe, and more than a little fear.
The Basilisk had been seen.
And now the game had changed.
...
Read up to 100 chapters ahead and access exclusive novels by joining my Patreon!
patreon.com/Zyxxar