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Harry ran with his head down, but his mind churned with images of those who had been petrified.
They're still alive… as long as they drink the potion…
This thought was like a lifeline, but then panic seized his throat. Ron! Hermione! Will they… be attacked before they can be petrified…?
Should I... Conflicting thoughts exploded in his mind, and for a mont a wild idea surfaced. Use Parseltongue? Control it? Drive it away?
But he crushed the urge to turn back, forcing himself to run forward without a mont's pause. No! This isn't just about ! I must find a Professor—find the Headmaster…
That decision stung him even more than facing the Basilisk itself—he had always despised cowardice, yet now he was abandoning his companions to escape alone.
…
Sagres tightly gripped the crystal bottle in his left hand, inside which Peeves was futilely hurling himself against the walls, producing dull thuds and muffled curses.
His steps were steady, his goal clear—Myrtle's bathroom.
The stairway was empty, with only the faint sound of students quarreling sowhere down a distant corridor.
Suddenly, a cold, slimy, intensely foul-slling aura—like a tangible tide—surged from around the corner.
Sagres's pupils constricted sharply.
His wand slid instantly into his palm, and he clenched the crystal bottle instinctively. Inside, Peeves seed to sense it too, curling himself into a terrified ball.
Then ca the sound of hurried footsteps, drawing closer—Tap! tap! tap! tap!
A figure burst from the corner, quickly turning and racing toward the stairs.
It was Harry Potter.
The other person saw him as well.
"P-Professor?" Harry froze for a mont, then imdiately pointed down the corridor and shouted, "Basilisk! It's in the corridor!"
Sagres instantly connected to Noctis's vision, and dozens of frozen young stone statues appeared before his eyes.
And the culprit—the Basilisk—was at that very mont opening its massive, blood-red mouth, lunging to bite down on Ron and Hermione's backs.
Sagres vanished from the stairwell in a flash. The next second, he stood in the center of the corridor, radiating cold fury.
His usual composure was gone, replaced entirely by a pure will to destroy.
"Fauces Rugientes Abyssi!"
The low incantation, thick with murderous intent, burst from his throat.
A powerful surge of energy tore through the air, sweeping down the corridor in an instant.
It was a spiralling shockwave, even larger than the Basilisk, laced with gray-white magic—like the roaring maw of the abyss—carrying an aura of utter annihilation as it slamd violently into the Basilisk's enormous body.
Boom—!!!
The entire corridor shook violently, wall hangings tore loose, and chunks of the ceiling crashed down, sending dust and debris raining like a storm.
"Hiiisss~~
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