Chapter 194. Victory
The Basilisk had lost its sight, but its keen senses still let it roughly track Harry's movements.
After batting away Harry's spell, the maddened Basilisk loosed a blood-curdling roar, its massive body lunging toward where Harry was.
Harry rolled aside in a hurry, yet the serpent's tail still caught him, slamming him hard into the stone wall.
He grunted, a stab of agony shooting through his waist.
Gritting his teeth, Harry scrambled up, wiped the blood from the corner of his mouth, and his expression turned grave.
Now was not the time to panic. He had to keep calm.
His magic couldn't penetrate that hard outer shell.
So he had to find the Basilisk's weak point.
The Basilisk didn't give Harry more time to recover. It undulated forward at once, closing in, its two enormous fangs glinting coldly.
Harry forced himself to endure the pain, but his gaze was locked on the gaping maw.
Deep in that throat there was no hard scale to protect it—this was the opening he'd been waiting for!
"Confringo!"
Harry roared, and the tip of his wand flared with dazzling red light.
"Boom!"
The spell shot into the Basilisk's mouth and exploded deep in the soft tissues of its throat.
At once, the Basilisk let out a deafening screech and toppled sideways; dark green blood gushed from its mouth and splattered across the floor.
Seeing this, Harry knew his attack had worked.
However, before he could feel any joy, the wounded Basilisk flew into an even wilder rage.
It thrashed on the ground, its thick tail sweeping toward Harry. He barely leapt clear, but the aftershock still flipped him over, and his wand flew from his hand.
This thing's life force was absurdly tenacious!
Harry bared his teeth. His left hand felt numb, and as for his ribs—there was no feeling left at all.
Worse, having been tricked once into opening its mouth, the Basilisk didn't do it again.
It would be even harder to hurt it next.
All at once a clear cry sounded from above his head. Harry looked up as a soot-coloured bundle dropped neatly into his arms.
Fumbling, he tore it open and found the Sorting Hat inside.
"The Sorting Hat?" he shouted to Fawkes. "What use is this tatty old hat right now?"
Of course, Fawkes wouldn't answer him.
Instead, the hat in his hands murmured, eerie and indignant, "How rude… I'm not some tatty old hat…"
For a moment Harry didn't know what to say—but the Basilisk's next attack had already arrived.
Because of the earlier blasting curse, the Basilisk didn't dare open its mouth; it simply slammed its upper body hard toward Harry.
Even so, Harry didn't dare to meet it head-on.
If it hit him, the Basilisk's strength would be enough to pound him into mince.
Fortunately, the Basilisk couldn't see, and its strike didn't aim at Harry precisely.
With a desperate, scrabbling roll, Harry dodged by a hair's breadth.
"Listen, young fellow," the Sorting Hat's voice rang out amid the chaos. "The great Sorting Hat can help you.
"Now, put your hand into my brim!"
Suddenly, the hat in Harry's hands grew heavy.
He had no idea what was happening and could only follow the hat's instructions, shoving his hand in—"What's this!?"
Harry cried out as he drew a gleaming silver sword from the hat.
Rubies were set in the hilt, flashing even in the gloom of the chamber.
But surprise gave way to doubt.
A sword?
Was he supposed to chop a giant monster with a sword?
He was a wizard!
Who used a sword in this day and age?
Before Harry could make sense of it, the Basilisk whipped its tail viciously at him again.
Harry raised the sword on instinct to block; the tail skimmed past his head, and the sharp blade carved a deep gash across the Basilisk's scales. Dark green blood sprayed out at once, spattering Harry's face.
"Hiss—!"
The Basilisk gave a cry of pain, thrashing its wounded tail in frenzy.
Harry wiped his face, finally realising that the sword in his hands was no ordinary weapon.
He clenched his jaw and tightened his grip.
His injuries were serious. If this dragged on, it would be very bad for him.
Of course, the Basilisk might now be hurt even worse than he was.
At that moment, Fawkes seemed to sense Harry's intent and suddenly let out a flurry of cries, scrambling the serpent's senses.
Harry jammed the Sorting Hat onto his own head, held his breath, and darted around to the front of the Basilisk's head.
He raised the sword high; its silver blade threw off a cold gleam in the dark.
The Basilisk seemed to feel the danger too. Ignoring Fawkes's interference, it whipped its head wildly.
Harry seized the moment. As the Basilisk dipped its head, he drove the sword with all his strength into its already-blinded right eye—"Thunk!"
The blade slid in with ease through the eye socket and straight into the brain.
With a final, ear-splitting screech, the Basilisk's huge body convulsed and flung Harry away.
But the fatal wound had been dealt.
With a thunderous crash, the behemoth finally collapsed. The Sword of Gryffindor still jutted from its head, blood seeping endlessly from the wound.
Harry lay flat on the ground, utterly spent, gasping for breath.
His severe injuries made his vision swim and blur.
Just then, Fawkes drifted down beside him and came close.
Half-dazed, Harry felt a few warm drops fall onto his face.
Phoenix tears!
He remembered at once—the tears of a phoenix were said to have powerful healing properties.
The warmth spread through him and, like a miracle, the burning pain in his body eased at once.
Harry blinked and found that the blurriness was clearing.
"Thank you, Fawkes."
He spoke weakly, forcing himself up—he couldn't just lie here. He needed to report what had happened to the professors.
"Fawkes," Harry said to the phoenix as he sat on the ground, "go and tell Professor Dumbledore."
He didn't know why Fawkes had been here battling the Basilisk, but clearly, notifying Dumbledore now was the right choice.
Fawkes evidently thought the same.
In the blink of an eye, the phoenix vanished.
Almost at the same moment, with a ripple of distorted space, Albus Dumbledore's tall figure appeared at Harry's side.
Relief washed over Harry.
At least he wouldn't die in this eerie underground palace.
The moment he landed, Dumbledore saw the fallen Basilisk in the distance and Harry, covered head to toe in blood.
He said gently to Harry, "Oh, it seems you have been through an exceptionally fierce battle, Harry."
Harry nodded weakly, trying to push himself up again, but his legs felt as heavy as lead.
With a wry smile at Dumbledore, he said, "Professor, I might need a bit of help."
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