Slaying the Basilisk

Harry took a deep breath, the air stinging his lungs with the smell of dust and blood.

He bent down and picked up the Sorting Hat, his fingers touching the greasy fabric.

"Mr. Sorting Hat, help me... tell me what to do?"

The hat twisted in his hand, but didn't open its mouth to speak or sing as it usually did.

Harry felt a weight settle in his palm, a hard object pushing through the tip of the hat and sliding into his hand.

He grasped it, the cold touch of metal spreading through his palm.

He pulled hard—

A gleaming silver sword appeared in his hand, its blade razor-sharp, flowing with a cold luster under the dim green light of the Chamber.

The hilt was set with an egg-sized ruby, and near the guard, a line of small, elegant script was engraved: Godric Gryffindor.

So... the help had been here all along.

Not some complicated spell, but the most direct thing—the courage and strength that belonged to Gryffindor.

Harry tightened his grip on the hilt. It was heavy, but strangely, it steadied his wildly pounding heart a little.

He took one last look at Lin Du's petrified statue. The frozen face still seemed to carry a calm trust.

"I can do this," he said to himself.

Harry gripped the sword with both hands, forced himself to calm down, and began to move carefully, using the stone pillars as cover to circle the blind but dangerous giant beast.

The Basilisk's thick tail swept past with a roar, shattering a pillar, and rubble flew past Harry's ear.

He pressed himself tightly behind another pillar, holding his breath, his mind racing faster than ever before.

Professor Lin's ghostly footwork during the fight, his precise and efficient spell choices, and finally that decisive strike...

The images flashed back in his mind.

He couldn't attack blindly. There was only one chance.

He had to find the vital spot.

He remembered Hagrid casually mentioning that the weakest part of a snake was the roof of its mouth...

The Basilisk charged again at the sound, and Harry rolled nimbly out of the way.

The giant snake's head slammed heavily into the ground, the impact numbing Harry's feet.

Now!

The moment the Basilisk raised its head to lock onto him again, Harry unleashed all his courage and speed, just as Lin Du had demonstrated—no more hesitation, no more fear.

He sprinted, leaped off a fallen stone block, and threw himself—

He landed on the Basilisk's huge, slimy head!

The stench of scorching heat hit him, and under his feet were cold, hard scales and scorch marks left by the Fiendfyre.

The Basilisk thrashed its head wildly, trying to shake him off.

Harry clamped his legs tightly around the snake's neck, one hand gripping the edge of a raised scale, the other raising the Sword of Gryffindor high.

The silver blade cut a cold arc through the darkness.

"For Professor Lin!"

Harry shouted in his heart, and with all his strength, he drove the sword straight down into the top of the Basilisk's head!

The sword cut through the hard scales and bone like butter, sinking deep into the snake's brain!

"Ssssskreee—!!!"

The Basilisk let out a deafening, agonized shriek, its entire body convulsing wildly as if struck by lightning, thrashing as if the Chamber itself would collapse in its death throes.

Harry held onto the sword hilt with all his might, like a small boat in a storm, tossed and shaken, but he gritted his teeth and refused to let go.

Warm, highly corrosive snake blood splattered onto his hands and robes, burning white smoke into his skin, but he didn't feel it.

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After what felt like an eternity, the frantic struggle gradually weakened.

Finally, the giant snake's massive body twitched a few times and crashed to the ground, silent.

Harry collapsed onto the cold floor, gasping for breath.

His arms were cramping from overexertion, his sleeves were eaten through by the snake blood, and his exposed skin stung, but he barely felt it—

He had done it.

He had really done it.

Not by luck, not saved by someone else, but by his own judgment, courage, and... the trust Lin Du had placed in him, and the timely sword that had appeared.

He struggled to his feet, his legs still weak, but each step was steadier than before.

He walked around the Basilisk's mountain-like corpse toward the center of the Chamber.

In front of the upright silver-haired statue, Harry stopped.

The stone face was calm, even carrying a trace of that unique, lingering detachment that belonged to Lin Du—as if lost in thought, not frozen by a curse.

Harry looked up at him, emotions churning in his emerald eyes.

"Professor," he said, his voice hoarse but clear.

"I did it. The Basilisk... is dead."

He paused, tightening his grip on the sword hilt as if drawing more strength from the cold metal. "I didn't... let your trust down."

No response came, only the eternal silence of the stone.

The immense exhaustion, the belated fear, and the complex emotions surging from completing the task finally broke through the dam at that moment.

Harry leaned back against the cold stone base of the statue and slowly slid down to sit.

The Silver Sword was carefully laid across his knees, the Ruby still glinting faintly in the gloom.

He buried his face between his knees, his shoulders trembling slightly.

"Thank you," he said, as if to the statue, or to himself. "Thank you for trusting me... and thank you for... standing in front of me at the end."

Just then, a soft, melodious cry rang out above his head.

Fawkes the phoenix landed lightly on the shoulder of Lin Du's stone statue. It lowered its head, gently touching the cold stone cheek with its beak, then turned to Harry.

Those wise black eyes looked at the exhausted boy, as if carrying understanding and comfort.

It spread its wings and shed a few teardrops, brilliant as pearls.

The droplets fell on Harry's corroded hand, and the searing pain miraculously began to ease and heal. A gentle warmth dispelled some of the chill and fatigue.

Fawkes let out a clear cry, rubbed its head softly against Harry's sweat-damp hair, then flew up again, circled once, and finally landed back atop the statue, standing guard there quietly, like a warm, unquenchable lamp.

This silent comfort made Harry's nose sting.

He took a deep breath, struggling to steady himself, and wiped his face roughly with his sleeve.

Just then—

From the entrance of the Chamber came an urgent hissing sound (Parseltongue)!

Followed by the grating of the stone door sliding open, and the sound of hurried footsteps and gasps drawing closer.

"Harry! Merlin's trousers, you're really in here!" Ron's shrill voice rang out first, full of disbelief and panic.

"Oh, Merlin... this, this is..." Hermione's sharp intake of breath.

"Potter!" Professor McGonagall's stern call carried barely concealed shock.

Harry looked up toward the entrance at the sound.

Ron and Hermione were charging in front, both pale as ghosts. Close behind was Professor McGonagall, her lips pressed into a bloodless line, her clenched wand betraying her inner turmoil.

And Snape, in his black robes, moved like a shifting shadow, quickly scanning the entire Chamber—

His gaze swept over the Basilisk's massive corpse, over Harry and the Silver Sword on his lap, and finally, those unfathomable black eyes locked onto the figure behind Harry: the silver-haired, quietly petrified statue guarded by the phoenix. His pupils abruptly contracted.