Man of Archives

Moving to New York was simple and fast. All I had to do was use the portkey, which I got for free from the guild. That was a nice touch, considering that traveling from the West Coast to the East isn’t a cheap endeavor.

 

Vasily Khvostov turned out to be a decent guy. His parents emigrated to America from Moscow's Magical Macrograd. Slavicstan and Moscow Macrograd are two distinct geographical entities. The former is on the border with other countries whose names end in "-stan," but it's populated by Slavs who emigrated during the war against Grindelwald. Moscow’s Magical Macrograd is a region around Moscow, bordering the Saint Petersburg area. The geographical divisions there are so complex that even the devil would struggle to figure them out.

 

Being a “true New Yorker,” Vasily could share a lot of fascinating stories. For example, how MACUSA once caught Grindelwald, only to let him slip away, which was a great embarrassment for them as an organization. Or the rampage of a magical monster in New York that destroyed the city center and managed to escape. Both events occurred around the same time, forcing Seraphina Picquery to resign.

 

Another notable aspect of magical America is that they are magically weaker than the wizards of England. However, they make up for it with a greater variety of magic. They freely adopt magical practices from the Native Americans, whom they once genocided. While Europe fought wars with goblins, America waged wars with the Native Americans.

 

They settled me in a small house on Long Island, in one of several magical districts in New York. This area wasn’t commercial, just residential. I must say, I prefer such neighborhoods over the ones crowded with people trying to sell something.

 

The house was a single-story structure with large windows. The front yard was small but sufficient for some belongings or just to sit and relax. The main resting area was the backyard, fenced off by a low wooden fence from the neighbors. In the center, there was a fire pit where magical rituals could be performed. A few trees and a small gazebo created the perfect place to relax in the summer heat.

 

If no one had told me, I would never have guessed that wizards lived around me. It all felt like a typical middle-class neighborhood where people had decent jobs. But no, they were all wizards.

 

The plan was clear. Vasily almost immediately introduced me to the wizards from the Charm Guild. They were calm people who didn’t mind me trying to earn my master’s title in a short time. One old man, with a strange pipe in his ear, even gave me some literature.

 

“Here,” he said, handing me a small bag. “You’ll need this.”

 

“What’s in there?” I asked, noticing the faint smell of spices wafting from him.

 

“It won’t be pleasant if you’re not prepared for mastery,” he replied.

 

A woman, also on the committee, shrugged, slightly irritated. She didn’t have much mental shielding, so I could sense where her irritation came from, but why would I need to delve into that?

 

“Thanks,” I said.

 

As I later found out from Vasily, this old man gives every student copies of his study materials. You’d think someone would want to stop him, but those people don’t live long enough to try. The old man is a master of curses that can ruin anyone’s life, no matter how powerful or high-status they are. He’s one of the oldest wizards on the continent, after all.

 

The materials I received turned out to be invaluable. After reviewing and analyzing them, I identified where to dig deeper to gain a more complete understanding of charms and eventually reach the master level. Since Dumbledore wasn’t around to guide me, I had to figure it all out on my own. Without my extensive Archive, the task would have been much more difficult.

 

They allowed me to practice and refine my spells in a remote building owned by the Transfiguration Guild. It resembled a hangar that hadn’t been used in a long time, judging by the layer of dust coating everything.

 

To become a Master of Charms, one must obviously master the theory at the highest level. Fortunately, many aspects of Transfiguration can be applied to Charms. The practical exam is also challenging: to earn the title of master, you have to enchant a space so that certain natural laws within it are altered.

 

It’s a difficult process because you need to deeply understand these natural laws. Without my background in physics from high school, it would have been much harder. But I was able to base my work on what I already knew.

 

Preparing for this wasn’t easy, as I also had to study other materials for additional exams. To earn the title of Bachelor, one needs to be able to cast both the Fidelius Charm and the Unbreakable Vow.

 

I passed the Journeyman exam without any issues. It followed the same structure as the Transfiguration exam: theory first, then practical. Once that was done, I could have stopped if I wanted, but I had no intention of stopping. That’s why, just three days later, I was already taking the Bachelor exam. The Fidelius Charm was straightforward enough. The Unbreakable Vow was more challenging because it had to be crafted in such a way that no one would feel wronged or suffer. The theory was important too, but thanks to my Archive, I had long since mastered that level. This allowed me to focus on practicing and refining my spells to a higher degree.

 

Meanwhile, Vasily had arranged for me to conduct a Master Class in Transfiguration at Ilvermorny, the local magic school. Ilvermorny ranks among the top magic schools globally, although it’s not on the same level as Hogwarts, Beauxbatons, Durmstrang, or Mahoutokoro. The school is known for teaching Muggle Studies at the highest level, after which students can earn one of the local school diplomas. Once I pass the master’s exam, I’ll head to Ilvermorny for final preparations.

 

“Good morning,” greeted the first wizard overseeing my Charms mastery exam. “How are you feeling?”

 

“Not bad, thank you,” I replied with a nod. I felt ready for the tests they had prepared. The final spell for altering natural laws was also ready.

 

The old man with the pipe in his ear was there too, engrossed in a Muggle magazine featuring nude women. An elderly witch nearby rolled her eyes at the images. It was an ordinary magazine, as none of the pictures moved.

 

“So,” began the head of the commission, a short Black man with a cane. The handle of the cane was intricately carved from white wood. “Today we are gathered to conduct the Mastery exam in Charms for Timothy Jodi. You’re all familiar with him, as most of you oversaw his Bachelor and Journeyman exams.”

 

His name was Jerome Okononobe, the local chairman of the Charms Guild council. Vasily had arranged my exams with him.

 

“The examiners will be Giovanni McNamura, Alicia Treble, Dominic Familiar, and Donna McFuffle,” Jerome said, pointing to each examiner in turn, starting with the ancient old man. “And I, Jerome Okononobe, will be presiding.”

 

All the wizards evaluating me were Charms Masters. Giovanni McNamura, however, also had mastery in Potions, which set him apart from many other wizards, as it’s rare for anyone to delve deeply into fields outside their primary expertise. When I become a Master of Charms, even more opportunities for acquiring knowledge will open up. Many doors that had been only slightly ajar will swing wide open for me.

 

“Candidate for Mastery,” Jerome addressed me, “are you ready?”

 

“Absolutely, Chairman Jerome,” I replied confidently. “I’m ready.”

 

The exam, as expected, began with the written portion. It was no different from the written part of the Transfiguration exam, so I calmly answered all the questions, adding my reflections and important details to the responses. Diagrams of spells, accompanied by descriptions, filled the blank sheets.

 

After five hours of intensive writing, I completed the theoretical part.

 

“Excellent work,” Jerome nodded, quickly scanning through my answers before handing them to Alicia, who immediately began grading. I expected she would finish evaluating my work just around the time I completed the practical portion of the exam.

 

“I’m sure you’ve mastered the theory. Do you think the practical will go just as smoothly?” Giovanni asked, a slight smirk deepening the wrinkles on his face. You could easily think of him as a grandpa.

 

“Well, I’ve prepared,” I said with a casual shrug.

 

“Then let’s not waste time,” the wizard replied.

 

For the practical exam, we moved to another room. It was completely bare—no desks, no chairs, not even light. The walls, floor, and ceiling were unadorned. Silently, I let a small magical light escape from my wand, illuminating the room so I could properly assess the workspace.

 

“You know what to do,” the wizard said, drawing a glowing line on the floor with a flick of his wand. “One caveat: everything from this line to the exit must remain unenchanted.”

 

“Got it,” I nodded.

 

This small restriction would make the enchantment process a bit more difficult, as I’d have to adjust some spell parameters on the fly. I began moving my wand, allowing magical energy to flow from it, filling the designated space. Then the actual enchantment process began.

 

Changing the laws of nature with magic is both simple and complex. There are two main approaches. The first is modifying the existing laws of nature. This is considered the harder route because you need to grasp the magical foundation of the law, understand how it works, and, using other related sciences, develop a method of modification. Each wizard has their own method of modification, so studying others is useful only for understanding how to solve a particular problem. The second approach is to remove these laws entirely and create something new. This path is more energy-intensive. For those who cannot cast spells without a wand, it’s a closed option.

 

Since nobody really knows yet that I can perform wandless magic, the first option suited me best. That’s what I had prepared for, choosing to work with two laws of nature: gravity and mechanics. Explaining how everything works in detail would take years. Without knowledge of magical theory or Charms, no wizard could fully comprehend how or why this happens.

 

After two hours, the room still looked the same, but if you focused, there was a subtle feeling that something was off. Changing one law of nature inevitably affects others. I tried to minimize this, but some influence remained.

 

“Done,” I said, exhaling and wiping a drop of sweat from my forehead.

 

“Hm,” Giovanni muttered, boldly stepping across the line. In an instant, he had to flip himself mid-air as gravity now pulled in the opposite direction. The old wizard made a few graceful leaps before nodding approvingly, noting that instead of a rapid fall, his landing was gentle. That was the effect of the second altered law.

 

After a few more seconds, Giovanni returned to the original side, once again flipping himself deftly before landing. I never would have thought an old body could possess such agility.

 

“Excellent execution,” the wizard nodded, then looked at Jerome. “Accepted.”

 

“Any objections?” Jerome asked the other examiners. They all shook their heads in agreement, as none would dare disagree with the continent’s oldest wizard.

 

As if they would ever oppose him.

 

“Great,” Jerome nodded, and we returned to the exam room.

 

Alicia had already finished grading the theoretical part and was relaxing, reading a book. As soon as we entered, she snapped it shut.

 

“Well?” Jerome asked her.

 

“Nothing to criticize,” she replied calmly. “Honestly, his answers could serve as an example for any Mastery candidate. Even I, as an experienced Master, learned something new from them.”

 

“Wonderful,” Jerome nodded. “Then I hereby declare Timothy Jodi a Master of Charms.”

 

After that, the remaining tasks were mere formalities and paperwork. By evening, I had received my certification and a ring. The ring activated immediately and settled on my finger. I admired it with great satisfaction—within a month, I had achieved what many spend their entire lives pursuing.

 

The next few days were spent resting and continuing to analyze books. The number of books was slowly dwindling. I think with a month of constant meditation, I’ll be able to finish. I should probably get to that after completing the Master Class.

 

Having become a Master in two disciplines, I joined an elite, unnamed club of probably fewer than twenty wizards. And with my ability to perform wandless magic, I believe I rank among the top ten on the planet. Maybe I’m wrong, but still.

 

The Master Class will take place at Ilvermorny. The school is located atop Mount Greylock in Massachusetts. Unlike Hogwarts, which is a fortress designed to withstand attackers, Ilvermorny is a grand stone manor. Surrounding it, aside from the forest, are small houses for students.

 

I was given a room inside the manor, one of the apartments reserved for teachers. Vasily, who organized the Master Class, arrived at the school with me. The sky was clear that day, without a cloud in sight.

 

A young woman, dressed in a simple, solid-colored robe with a small school crest on her chest, greeted us at the entrance. Upon seeing us, she smiled warmly.

 

“Good afternoon, gentlemen,” she greeted us. “The Headmistress has been expecting you.”

 

“Greetings, Jen,” Vasily nodded. “Let’s not delay. Lead the way. Timothy, meet Ilvermorny’s caretaker.”

 

“Timothy Jodi,” I introduced myself.

 

“Jennifer Welms,” she replied with a smile. Her curiosity was easy to sense. “Follow me.”

 

We followed her, passing groups of students who watched us intently. Most of them didn’t fully understand why we were there, although… that’s not entirely true. Some did, and they quickly shared the information with the others.

 

The headmistress’s office was at the very top of the manor’s main building. It offered a stunning view, which I couldn’t help but admire. Along the way, we passed portraits depicting the school’s most glorious days and famous alumni. As I had read in books, this school was originally intended to be a copy of Hogwarts. But from the moment it was founded, it became clear that wouldn’t happen. First, the school’s founder was a witch who had been rejected by Hogwarts, and her partner was a non-magical person. So, a witch and a Muggle stood at the school’s origins.

 

This raised many unpleasant questions for the early graduates, but they quickly proved they could integrate into the magical world. After that, wizards became the school’s directors, and only magical students were admitted. The founders quickly faded into history, and the school has continued to function to this day.

 

Walking through the school, it was hard not to notice its surface-level imitation of Hogwarts. For example, the moving stairs between levels, the Great Hall for meals with a simple illusion spell, and even the division into four houses.

 

The headmistress’s office was also adorned with portraits of former headmasters, who watched with great interest everything happening in the room. The headmistress herself appeared to be around forty, though she didn’t look her age at all.

 

“I’m pleased to welcome you to the school,” she said in a charming voice.

 

“Headmistress Wendy,” Vasily greeted her. “You’re as radiant as ever.”

 

“Oh,” she sighed, nodding toward two chairs. “Please, have a seat, my dear friends.”

 

“Allow me to introduce Timothy Jodi,” Vasily said, gesturing to me. “This is Ilvermorny’s headmistress, Wendy Sunday.”

 

“I’ve heard much about you,” she smiled. “How are you enjoying the United States?”

 

“A different continent, a different country,” I shrugged. “The people are a bit different too, but I haven’t had much time to immerse myself fully.”

 

“I understand,” she nodded. “Achieving Mastery in such a short time doesn’t leave much room for leisurely exploration.”

 

“Exactly.”

 

“Good,” she nodded. “Let’s go over the details of the Master Class again. The main preparations are already in place, and the Great Hall can be converted for the event at any moment. Do you have any special requests?”

 

“I’ll need to see the preparations first before making any comments,” I replied calmly.

 

“This evening, I’ll show you everything,” she nodded.

 

“I’m confident everything has been done excellently,” Vasily said. “But I have a question. Can the school accommodate the influx of guests?”

 

“Has the number of guests increased since last time?” she asked.

 

“No,” Vasily replied. “A hundred wizards have bought tickets for the entire week.”

 

“We can accommodate them,” the headmistress nodded after a brief pause. “I’d like to ask something. Can the students attend the Master Class?”

 

Vasily looked at me, leaving the decision up to me.

 

“I don’t mind,” I said with a wave of my hand. “Let them come. Maybe someone will learn something interesting or see something new.”

 

“Thank you,” the headmistress nodded.

 

That evening, Vasily and I stood in the Great Hall, watching as several wizard servants set everything up for the Master Class. Round tables for the adult wizards, chairs at the back of the hall for the students, and a podium for me.

 

“This is how everything should look,” the headmistress said as the servants completed their work.

 

“Hm,” I muttered, jumping onto the podium. From there, I could easily see the entire hall. Pulling out my wand, I cast a few simple Transfiguration spells to get a feel for how everything would work. Then, I transfigured a statue and moved among the tables and chairs.

 

Everything looked interesting, and to be honest, even impressive.

 

“Not bad,” I nodded. “Very good, actually.”

 

“Do we need to add or remove anything?” the headmistress asked.

 

“No, I think once the Master Class begins, we’ll see how it all works,” I replied with a dismissive wave.

 

“Excellent.”

 

And so, I accepted the Great Hall for my part of the agreement with Vasily, which was to conduct the Master Class. I spent the rest of my time at the school before the event. Meals were either taken alone or with Vasily in the nearby town.

 

I was tempted to ask him why he was helping me, but I held back. Various theories—some rather outlandish—crossed my mind, but I either dismissed them or recorded them in the Archive.

 

The free time I had after finalizing my Master Class plan was spent analyzing books. Unfortunately, my searches through Ilvermorny’s informational resources revealed a disappointing picture. There were simply no books here that I found particularly interesting or valuable. The library was much smaller than Hogwarts’, and it lacked anything like the Restricted Section. In general, there was no real “catch” for me here.

 

***

 

Hermione was walking down the third floor of the school, pondering the material she had been studying. Along with her were a few other Hogwarts students, eagerly discussing the game between Slytherin and Gryffindor, which the former had lost.

 

She was carrying a few books because, somehow, she had lost her bag. Or rather, no… she was certain she hadn’t lost it, because no matter where she looked, it was nowhere to be found. She had even asked Professor McGonagall, but the professor had simply brushed it off, advising her to forget about it. But she couldn’t.

 

Turning a corner, she saw Harry Potter and Ron Weasley, whom she considered her friends. But now, in their hands, was something she never expected. They were holding her clothes—the ones her mother had given her as a present for her thirteenth birthday. Those clothes were very dear to her.

 

Exhaling and refusing to jump to conclusions, she stopped. The other students passed by without waiting for her to catch up. Potter and Weasley smiled at them as they walked by. Once the students were gone, they exchanged sneaky glances and, with smirks, began tossing her clothes behind the figure of a magical knight.

 

“Imagine her reaction,” Ron said. “She’ll definitely talk about it for days. She’ll probably even cry.”

 

“I never thought I’d enjoy watching this,” the boy with glasses admitted quietly.

 

Hermione was no fool. She knew she liked books more than most people and that she didn’t have many friends she truly enjoyed talking to. Harry and Ron were part of that small group. But now, seeing and hearing this… it hurt her deeply, leaving emotional wounds that felt raw and painful.

 

Clutching the books tightly, determined not to cry, she waited to see what would happen next.

 

“Did you see how she cried when her bag went missing?” Ron said, grinning nastily.

 

“Yeah,” Harry snickered. “My cousin used to cry like that when he didn’t get enough birthday presents. It was pretty disgusting to watch.”

 

Hermione couldn’t understand why this was happening. Why had her friends decided it was okay to bully her? Why were they being so cruel?

 

“By the way, have you done the Transfiguration assignment?” Ron asked Harry.

 

“No,” Harry shrugged. “I’ll just copy from our know-it-all.”

 

Hermione gritted her teeth as hard as she could, forcing herself not to explode and confront them.

 

“And are you still keeping that diary you took from Ginny?” Harry asked.

 

“Yeah,” Ron nodded. “It turned out to be more than just a simple diary. It’s magical.”

 

“What’s magical about it?” Harry asked.

 

“It answers my questions,” Ron said. “Too bad it doesn’t give answers to homework. The person who made it must have been just like our know-it-all.”

 

Hermione couldn’t take it anymore. She stepped out from behind the corner, her anger barely contained.

 

“So that’s what you think of me?” she hissed furiously. “Got it!”

 

“Hermione!” Ron shouted, startled. “It’s not what you think!”

 

“Then what are you doing with my things?” she demanded, pointing to the pants her mother had bought her.

 

“This?” Harry stammered, fumbling as he tried to hide them.

 

“You jerks,” she hissed, barely holding back the tears threatening to fall.

 

She quickly turned around and walked off aimlessly. Unable to hold it in, she allowed herself to cry quietly. To calm down, she decided to head to one of the abandoned bathrooms in the basement. Once inside, she locked the door and broke down into sobs.

 

Hermione felt hurt, humiliated, and betrayed. Her gaze eventually fell on the cracked wall of the bathroom, and she remembered the events of last year—when only one person had helped her. It was the seventh-year student Timothy Jodi, who had shown remarkable talent in magic. He had even been hired as Professor McGonagall’s assistant, which confirmed her belief that he was incredibly smart. She often saw him with books, which gave her a sense of distant kinship.

 

How she wished she could talk to him now and ask for advice. But she had no idea how to contact him. When she returned home, she would ask her father for his phone number and call him. Having made that decision, she stood up and looked at herself in the mirror.

 

Seeing her tear-streaked face, she turned on the faucet and waited for the rusty-brown water to run clear before washing her face. The cold water brought some relief, allowing her to think about her next steps. If it turned out that her friends weren’t really her friends, she would have to keep moving forward on her own.

 

After pulling herself together and realizing there were still a few minutes before curfew, she hurried back toward her house’s tower. But along the way, something strange caught her attention—a soft rustling sound, and a trail of tiny spiders scurrying away.

 

An eerie sense of wrongness washed over her. Her hair stood on end, and goosebumps ran down her body. Something big was behind her. Slowly, she reached into her pocket and pulled out a small mirror in a pink case. Just as she opened it, at the last moment, she saw a large, yellow eye with a slit pupil staring straight into her soul. Then, there was darkness…

 

***

 

Headmaster Dumbledore sat in his office, grimly reviewing Madam Pomfrey’s report. The information was far from encouraging. On top of that, he had already questioned the ghosts and portraits about what had happened.

 

The situation with the dozen students who had ended up in the hospital wing strongly reminded him of an incident that had occurred decades ago. Back then, only one student had died. Now, things were different… Three students were already dead, and he had to decide what to do next. Fortunately, they were from Muggle-born families, so dealing with their loss wouldn’t be too difficult. A few spells and potions, and their families would forget they ever had a child. Yes, it was a harsh solution, but he had no other choice.

 

As for the students who were merely petrified… they needed saving. Severus Snape had been tasked with finding a way to revive them. But so far, he hadn’t come up with anything besides the Mandrake Draught. And, as luck would have it, mandrakes were out of season.

 

The Ministry and other wizards were already starting to take an interest in what was happening at the school, as the petrified students were children of magical families. The situation, overall, was far from sweet lemon drops.

 

“Kurly?” asked Fawkes, the phoenix. “Kurly?”

 

“Yes,” Dumbledore sighed, pulling out some parchment for a letter. “I think it’s time to reach out to a few of my friends.”

 

“Kurly-ur-ur?” Fawkes chirped, tilting his head.

 

“And what good would that do?” Dumbledore asked, surprised. He hadn’t paid much attention to his student, who was currently on a world tour. “Well, yes, he’s at Ilvermorny now, conducting his Master Class. But what could he possibly do?”

 

“Kurly?” said the phoenix, spinning its wing near its head.

 

“Explain yourself properly, or I’ll put you on Hagrid’s feed,” Dumbledore threatened, though he wasn’t serious. He wasn’t going to let his bird make odd gestures without an explanation.

 

“Kurly-ur-ur, kur-kur,” Fawkes insisted.

 

“Ask him to hurry back and bring supplies?” Dumbledore repeated, thinking. That was an option, but he wouldn’t use it. Why disrupt the boy’s most important life stage?

 

Suddenly, an image of Professor McGonagall appeared before him, looking deeply worried. Without wasting time, Dumbledore opened the passage to his office. Within seconds, she burst in.

 

“A student, Ron Weasley, has gone missing,” she said urgently, causing Dumbledore to tense. “Potter went to look for him and took Lockhart with him.”

 

Just then, the Bloody Baron’s ghostly head materialized.

 

“There’s a basilisk in the school, and it’s chasing Potter.”

 

“What!” Dumbledore exclaimed. “Minerva, take care of the students. Send everyone to their common rooms.”

 

The headmaster sprang to his feet, donning his battle robes—something he hadn’t done in years. Moments later, the sword of Godric Gryffindor appeared in his hand. With a wave of his hand, a dozen different artifacts fastened themselves to his belt.

 

“I understand, Headmaster,” McGonagall nodded and left quickly.

 

“Fawkes, take me to Potter,” Dumbledore commanded.

 

The phoenix didn’t need to be told twice. He flew to Dumbledore, grabbed him by the shoulder, and within seconds, they were in an underground chamber. Dumbledore reacted instantly.

 

With a flick of his wand, a protective shield enveloped Potter. The massive tail of the basilisk slammed into the shield and was violently repelled. Out of the corner of his eye, Dumbledore saw Lockhart’s torn corpse but didn’t dwell on it. A far greater danger lay before him.

 

Meeting the basilisk’s gaze, Dumbledore felt the force of the magical strike against his enchanted glasses. But they held up. He resisted the urge to let a smug smile cross his face and instead focused on launching his attack on the monster before him.

 

A concentrated wave of fire, hot enough to melt the stone beneath it, surged toward the snake. The beast attempted to dodge, but it was too late. The wave transfigured into a massive hand that grabbed the snake like a worm.

 

With another flick of his wand, the hand began to squeeze. The basilisk let out a loud, furious hiss, opening its mouth unnaturally wide. In a flash, it shed its skin, avoiding most of the damage.

 

But Dumbledore was no novice. With another flick, the hand dissolved into gray ash, which began to cling to the snake’s body. The basilisk, caught off guard, thrashed wildly in the water, trying to shake off the ash, but to no avail.

 

Above, Fawkes began to sing. The phoenix’s song made the basilisk thrash even more violently as the ash heated to a white-hot glow.

 

“Not so fast,” Dumbledore said calmly. He hadn’t even broken a sweat yet—this was merely a warm-up. With a jab of his wand, an invisible magical hand ripped one of the basilisk’s eyes from its socket. The snake, not expecting such a swift strike, thrashed harder, but it was no match for a wizard of Dumbledore’s caliber. Another flick of his wand, and the second eye was torn out as well.

 

The basilisk slammed into everything around it, unable to comprehend how to exist without sight.

 

“Stop!” A tall, thin figure appeared, emerging from an unnoticed scroll. Dumbledore instantly recognized Tom Riddle. Fascinating questions began racing through his mind.

 

“Young Tom,” Dumbledore addressed the apparition. He tried to probe Riddle’s mind, but found nothing. “How do you feel? Any pain?”

 

“Albus Dumbledore,” the youth sneered.

 

“I’m curious, what kind of artifact is this?” Dumbledore nodded toward the diary. “Could it be a Horcrux? Did you really go that far, Tom? Really?”

 

“You don’t understand!” Tom yelled.

 

“Tsk,” Dumbledore shook his head. “You were a fool even in your youth. And I didn’t see it. What a pity, what a pity.”

 

“I won’t let you win!” Riddle shouted, beginning to chant something before switching to Parseltongue.

 

The apparition’s eyes glowed faintly white. From the diary rose a small orb that shot into the basilisk, which was slowly dying under Dumbledore’s magic. The headmaster’s sharp eyes also caught sight of the frail figure of Ron Weasley, who looked as though he hadn’t eaten or drunk anything in weeks. Dumbledore immediately recognized the signs of severe magical and physical exhaustion.

 

But his attention remained on the snake, which was beginning to transform. Dumbledore frowned as its body started to shift and grow. It was clear he couldn’t let it complete the transformation.

 

With a flick of his wand, the ash burst into flame, producing unimaginable heat, but it wasn’t enough to kill the magical beast. Dumbledore’s calm demeanor was fading. Another flick of his wand, and arcs of electricity surged through the basilisk’s body, leaving deep wounds that healed almost instantly.

 

“Fawkes,” Dumbledore nodded toward Potter and Weasley.

 

The phoenix chirped and quickly transported the two second-years to the infirmary. He moved with urgency, knowing he needed to return to aid his master in the battle.

 

“Well, snake, will you tell this old man a bedtime story?” Dumbledore asked, his calm exterior giving way to battle-ready intensity. “But first, let’s change the location. I wouldn’t want to destroy the castle.”

 

The headmaster flicked his wand, and the basilisk vanished into a Portkey vortex. Fawkes knew what to do and swiftly transported Dumbledore after it. They appeared in a mountainous region far from any human settlements. And even if someone did live here, they were likely hermits.

 

The basilisk immediately spotted its enemy and lunged at him, mouth wide open. But Dumbledore remained unfazed. With a flick of his wand, a silver dome shielded him. The snake slammed into the dome and hesitated for a brief moment. That moment was all Dumbledore needed. The dome transformed into a powerful shockwave, sending the basilisk flying several dozen meters away. The ground trembled, trees snapped, and rocks shattered.

 

Dumbledore didn’t intend to give the snake a chance to recover. With another flick of his wand, a multi-ton steel cube materialized and dropped onto the basilisk’s tail.

 

“Shy-yaaa!” the basilisk hissed in agony, its tail crushed flat.

 

“Well, well, well,” Dumbledore muttered, rolling up his sleeves.

 

With another flick of his wand, the basilisk was pinned to the ground. A subsequent flick, and the earth beneath the creature transfigured, binding it with even stronger structures.

 

The rest was simple. In ten minutes, Dumbledore had drained the creature’s blood using spells he had learned from Flamel, ones he never thought he would need. Afterward, he began skinning the basilisk, a process that took another hour. Finally, he butchered the body, meticulously sorting the bones, teeth, and meat into separate piles.

 

He worked efficiently, not wasting a single gram of ingredients. As the first shadows of dusk fell, he finished collecting the valuable materials and returned to Hogwarts. Only the devastation left behind marked the site of the great battle.