"How long can it live?" Severus's voice was as steady as a priest reciting a eulogy at a funeral.
"In theory, more than a year, but..." Gerhart's voice grew quieter. "But its body is stitched together from living tissue. Fortunately, the muscles, nerves, and heart are still functioning. It gets hungry, thirsty, sleepy, and hurt. It can die too. But not anytime soon. At least—at least it will be enough."
Severus took a suitcase from his pocket. It was black and small, scarcely larger than a thick book. Its corners were plated with copper, covered in fine scuff marks. He placed it on the floor and tapped the lid three times with his wand. The case sprang open.
The space inside was visibly vast, glowing with a dark crimson light like blood. The light spilled from the opening, spreading a patch of dark red radiance across the floor like a water stain.
Gerhart looked at that patch of light for a moment, then looked away. He waved his wand at the Artificial Basilisk. A flash of dark green light passed, and the monster lowered its head and obediently crawled into the suitcase.
The moment its body touched the dark red light, it jerked as though it had been scalded. Then its body began to shrink—not gradually, but all at once, as if someone had sucked the air out of it. Its scales receded beneath its skin, the bony spines sank into its skull, and its body went from barrel-thick to arm-thick, then from arm-thick to finger-thick. It curled in a corner of the suitcase like a crumpled strip of dark green cloth, still slowly writhing.
Severus shut the suitcase and tapped its lid three times with his wand. The case locked, and the dark red glow vanished through the gaps