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Chapter 51
"Apply it," Riddle said.
Malfoy uncorked the bottle. The silver liquid shimmered with the unmistakable purity of unicorn blood. Even Riddle seemed momentarily satisfied.
"Lucius is truly loyal. These things aren't cheap," Riddle mused, sounding almost indulgent.
"Yes… they're not cheap," Malfoy replied. Riddle didn't notice the faint black sheen swirling within the silver, or the grim twist on Draco's face.
Basilisk venom isn't cheap either, Malfoy thought viciously.
Then he suddenly turned and shouted:
"Hermione—RUN!"
Before Riddle could react, Malfoy whipped out a small hidden knife and drove it hard into the diary. Over and over. Pages tore. Leather screamed. The pristine black cover shredded into punctured, oozing holes. The tainted unicorn blood and basilisk venom seeped together into every crack.
It happened in seconds.
Riddle—still poised to perfect his body—barely had time to register what was happening. Hermione stood frozen in shock.
"You really don't know how to run for your life, do you?" Malfoy snapped, furious that Hermione hadn't moved.
"You… betrayed me," Riddle hissed.
His body twisted grotesquely, limbs contorting as the poisonous mixture tore through him. He thrashed, skeletal arms flailing, eyes blazing with disbelief.
"You—kill them!" he shrieked to the basilisk. It was his final command.
Then his form dissolved like smoke in a draft. Lockhart's wand clattered to the floor, untouched.
"Are you stupid? RUN!" Malfoy roared.
Hermione could barely comprehend it—Lord Voldemort, so arrogant and untouchable, had vanished in an instant. It felt unreal.
"Close your eyes!" Malfoy shouted as the towering stone face of Salazar Slytherin began to move. Its mouth yawned open into a vast darkness.
A sound slithered from deep within. Something enormous was rising.
"Find Dumbledore!" Malfoy yelled. "If you're any slower, we're both dead!"
He clamped his eyes shut. The basilisk was moments away. People assumed large beasts were slow—but the basilisk was one of the fastest creatures alive.
The serpent burst from the statue's mouth—massive, shimmering green scales glinting in the torchlight. Its body was as thick as an oak trunk, venomous sheen rippling across its hide. It lifted itself high, weaving drunkenly around the pillars, tail smashing stone as if it were parchment.
A thunderous crack erupted above Malfoy. Pure instinct saved him—he rolled aside, narrowly avoiding the basilisk's strike.
"What are you DOING?" he yelled. "Do you want me dead?"
He could sense Hermione hadn't moved at all—paralyzed with fear.
A violent hiss tore through the chamber as the basilisk whipped the pillar aside like a twig.
"Bloody hell," Malfoy muttered, running toward the sound. The basilisk seemed to know he was the harder target, and it shifted its attention.
Why didn't I bother learning Parseltongue?
He regretted it bitterly—but regret was useless now.
At last Hermione snapped out of her daze. She squeezed her eyes shut and tried to run—but panic tripped her, and she crashed to the ground.
The basilisk's tongue flicked, tasting her fear.
He isn't one of Voldemort's followers… thank Merlin, she thought, one last flicker of relief.
The serpent loomed above her. The stench of its breath washed over her.
She braced for death.
But pain didn't come.
"OPEN YOUR EYES!" Malfoy's voice barked, furious and close.
Somehow, she obeyed.
A sharp slap cracked across her cheek. Fire bloomed under her skin, forcing her back to reality.
Her eyes widened—Malfoy's arm was impaled by a basilisk fang. Blood poured down the serpent's teeth. Yet the basilisk's jaw remained gaping open—held back by something wedged inside.
Malfoy's wand.
"Next time," Malfoy hissed through clenched teeth, "I'll buy Ollivander dinner and compliment his wand craftsmanship."
Despite the agony, he smirked at his own joke, as if trying to steady her nerves.
Hermione finally saw it clearly—his wand was bracing the basilisk's upper jaw, stopping it from snapping down and killing her.
"How's the slap?" Malfoy gasped. "If you didn't like it—go help. NOW."
His voice trembled despite his attempts to sound calm. The pain was shredding him.
"You'll die! It's too late!" Hermione cried in terror.
"Shut up. Dumbledore will fix it," Malfoy said. "But if YOU don't leave… I really will die."
He raised his uninjured hand—weak and shaking—as if to slap her again just to shock her into motion.
"Okay—okay! I'm going!" Hermione sobbed. Tears streamed down her face as she turned and ran.
"Good," Malfoy breathed. "Good… go."
He exhaled shakily, watching her retreat. Then he pulled out the third vial he'd brought. With only one functional arm he nearly toppled over, spilling half of it, but he managed to pour the liquid over the punctured wound.
"I've bled too much today," he muttered, trying to laugh at himself.
The laugh died instantly.
A sharp crack echoed.
"I take that compliment back," Malfoy hissed.
His wand split cleanly in two. He could almost hear it wail as it died. The basilisk convulsed violently, enraged and unrestrained. Its tail lashed, stone splintering. Its jaws clamped harder, pressing toward Malfoy's face.
"Am I really finished?" Malfoy whispered, a bitter, breathless laugh escaping him.
He dodged the tail as best he could, but the crushing pressure on his arm grew stronger and stronger.
Death was inches away.
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