Chapter 105: The Basilisk Appears, Silven Is Attacked

By the time Silven had memorized all of this, it was already nine at night, and the Headless Hunt team began another round of headless hockey, drawing away most of the ghosts.

Silven seized this opportunity to quickly leave the underground classroom; perhaps other ghosts held more clues, but he didn't need many—three were enough.

More importantly, curfew was nearly upon him.

Silven wasn't worried about Filch, but the underground classroom was Snape's domain, and he himself was a Gryffindor—better to be cautious.

Especially after learning of Harry and Ron's ordeal, he had no desire to be locked in detention by Snape.

Besides, the underground classroom was freezing; Silven felt as if his entire body had turned to ice, unresponsive—he only wanted to return to the common room and sit by the warm fireplace.

When he stepped outside, Silven saw the melancholy ghost again, but this time he didn't disturb him, merely hurried through the eerie corridor toward the stairs leading to the entrance hall.

The candles on either side were dim, reduced by the wind to the size of rice grains, offering virtually no illumination.

"Lumos!" Silven whispered; his wand glowed with a soft light, revealing the position of the stairs ahead.

Upon reaching the entrance hall, his body warmed instantly; the frost on his hair melted rapidly, damp strands clinging to his forehead, uncomfortably so.

Silven wiped his head with his pointed hat and quickened his pace toward the stairs.

The entrance hall at nine at night was empty, not a soul in sight—even the portraits' inhabitants seemed asleep; moonlight streamed through the doors, falling upon the armor and casting long shadows on the floor.

"Somehow it's kind of creepy," Silven suddenly grew tense, unconsciously quickening his steps toward the nearby marble staircase.

His footsteps echoed through the empty hall, and beneath them, faintly, came a subtle, rustling sound.

But when Silven stopped to listen closely, the sound vanished.

His unease grew stronger; he couldn't tell if he'd truly heard anything, or if prolonged exposure to ghosts and the cold had induced hallucinations.

He could only hasten his pace again, sprinting full speed up the marble stairs, running nonstop to the eighth floor.

Here, Silven finally relaxed slightly, gripping the railing as he gasped for breath.

Whether real or imagined, he was safe here—after all, Dumbledore's office was on the eighth floor; no one would dare…

"Miaow!" A piercing cat scream suddenly erupted behind him.

Silven shuddered violently, instinctively turning his head toward the sound.

In the instant he turned, two strange yellow lights materialized from the darkness before him—two enormous, bulb-like yellow eyes.

At the same moment, Silven heard the rustling sound again, clear and distinct—as if a colossal creature were slowly crawling through the narrow corridor.

Basilisk!

Absolutely no mistake.

Silven's entire body froze, forcibly suppressing the urge to turn around and look.

But how could this be?

He had confirmed it himself—no blood writing on the wall, Mrs. Norris was fine, Harry hadn't heard any strange sounds, everything had been normal—so why had the basilisk appeared without warning?

And right here, on the eighth floor, outside Headmaster Dumbledore's office, attacking him, a genuine pure-blood wizard?

Countless questions flooded Silven's mind, but he had no time to think—only one thought remained.

Run!

Silven felt as if he'd been thrown back to last year, being relentlessly chased by Fang on the fourth floor—except now the location was the eighth floor, the three-headed dog had become a basilisk, and the only similarity was their equal lethality.

And the basilisk was even more terrifying than the three-headed dog.

Silven dared not look back; he kept his head down, stumbling forward in a frantic dash.

But how could a twelve-year-old wizard outrun a basilisk? So Silven prepared to use the same trick as before—relying on the castle's moving staircases to delay the basilisk.

Just as he had delayed Fang last year.

But Silven forgot: Fang had been driven mad by dark magic, losing all reason—but the basilisk had not…

He was just about to sprint up the stairs when a massive tail whipped around from behind.

The tail was as thick as an oak trunk, emerald-green, gleaming with the vivid, poisonous luster unique to venomous snakes.

The instant Silven made contact, he was flung backward, slamming hard against the wall.

His arm exploded in agony; when he struggled to his feet, the basilisk was only a few steps away—he could even smell its overpowering stench.

One could imagine the basilisk had opened its jaws, lunging toward him.

Everything happened too fast; Silven had only just drawn his wand.

A blue unicorn emerged from the wand's tip, charging straight at the basilisk.

But Silven knew clearly—the unicorn was no match for the basilisk; not even a living unicorn could stand against it, let alone one in spirit form.

Yet at this moment, it could serve one crucial purpose.

Through the unicorn's blue body, Silven finally saw those cold yellow eyes.

His consciousness blurred; his body froze in an instant.

"Clink…" A small bottle slipped from his stiff fingers and clattered to the floor.

At that moment, the diving basilisk abruptly halted, lifting its upper body high into the air as if searching for its prey's trail.

As for Silven beside it—in the basilisk's eyes, he was merely a stone: no scent, no warmth, indistinguishable from the wall; it would never waste its fangs on stone.

So the basilisk saw the unicorn.

Silven had turned to stone, but the unicorn, his "shield," remained unchanged—its bright blue body still glowed vividly in the basilisk's gaze, even lowering its head to slam forcefully into the basilisk's skull.

Then it passed straight through the basilisk's body.

The basilisk felt as if burned, letting out a pained hiss, furiously opening its jaws to bite the unicorn—only to be burned again.

As if biting into a searing cloud of steam.

Realizing it could not overcome this creature, the basilisk fled decisively—but the unicorn showed no intention of letting it go, chasing after it relentlessly.

Soon, both vanished, leaving only petrified Silven sitting on the floor.

Silven was in a strange state—he could not move, yet was not entirely motionless.

For he could clearly feel his wand still clutched in his hand, that familiar sensation of fingers touching the wand's shaft—no illusion.

Silven also saw a cat rushing up from downstairs and leaping onto his lap.

It's Tom…

Silven remembered—he'd heard a cat meow when he first arrived on the eighth floor, which had let him dodge the Basilisk's gaze in time.

That cat must be Tom.

Luckily, it was downstairs then and didn't look directly into the Basilisk's eyes.

Silven wanted to stroke the cat's head, but his arms wouldn't move… come to think of it, his fingers had just felt a breeze—was that because of Silvermane?

Petrified Silven sat there for a full minute before the professors finally arrived, drawn by the commotion.

Leading the rush wasn't Dumbledore, whom Silven had placed his hopes on, but Professor McGonagall.

At first, she was angry at the sight of motionless Silven—until she drew closer and realized something was wrong.

"Get up, Mr. Ollivander, why are you sitting in the hallway… Good heavens, what on earth is going on!"

"Petrificus Totalus," Snape stepped out from behind, his voice dripping with malice. "Perhaps Mr. Ollivander was trying to stop a student from sneaking out after hours."

Snape didn't name the student, but every professor present knew who he meant.

Last year, Harry, Ron, and Hermione had petrified Neville when he tried to stop them from leaving the common room past curfew.

The professors all knew this.

"It's not even curfew yet, Severus," Professor McGonagall said.

"But using Petrificus Totalus on a classmate is still a vile act," Snape said, pressing his wand against Silven.

Tom, crouched on Silven's lap, instantly bristled, his back arching high, fangs bared, hissing "hisss… haa… hisss… haa" at Snape.

"Get off, you foolish cat—I'm trying to save him," Snape frowned.

"Let me handle it," Professor McGonagall said, instantly transforming into a tabby cat.

But before she could do anything, Tom lowered his fangs and claws, and slowly leapt aside.

An awkward silence fell.

"Finish this farce quickly."

Snape waved his wand, and a silver light landed on Silven.

"Tell me—who did this?"

Silven stared at Snape's confident face, wishing he'd look closer… at least make sure the petrification was truly undone before asking.

"What's wrong?" Snape noticed Silven's unmoving eyes.

He waved his wand again.

"Counter-spell!"

This time it was a blue spell—but it vanished instantly upon touching Silven's body.

Completely ineffective.

Snape's face darkened, especially after seeing that foolish cat's strange expression; his grip on the wand cracked with tension.

Why did he feel mocked by a cat?

Fortunately, Lockhart and Flitwick arrived then, along with the tardy Dumbledore, breaking the awkward silence.

But Dumbledore could not lift Silven's petrification either.

A beam of Bai Guang illuminated the dim corridor as Dumbledore stepped beside Silven, studying him closely and tapping his wand gently against Silven's body.

"This is a highly advanced Dark Magic."

"Dark Magic…" Professor McGonagall clenched her chest tightly.

"You mean a student was attacked by Dark Magic at the entrance to the common room?"

"It's absurd… utterly absurd… who could have done this?"

"That, I fear, only Mr. Ollivander himself can answer," Dumbledore murmured.

"Unfortunately, I wasn't there," Lockhart said. "I encountered something similar in Ouagadougou—I documented it in detail in my autobiography…"

Professor McGonagall didn't look at him; she kept her eyes fixed on Dumbledore.

"What's the state of Mr. Ollivander now?"

"Completely petrified."

"Can't it be undone?"

"There is a way," Dumbledore said. "Professor Sprout recently acquired some Mandrakes; once they mature, they can be brewed into a potion to reverse Mr. Ollivander's petrification."

"Yes," Professor Sprout nodded. "But the Mandrakes are still very young—they'll need time to mature."

"Let me brew it when they're ready," Lockhart said. "I…"

"Excuse me," Snape cut him off bluntly. "I believe we needn't wait that long."

In his hand was a small bottle he'd picked up from the floor moments earlier while casting.

The bottle was already open; Snape leaned close and sniffed the opening.

"Mandrake juice," he raised an eyebrow. "Not fresh, but sufficient for a Revival Potion."

The professors exchanged glances.

Why did it feel so odd? Dumbledore had just said they needed Mandrake juice—and there it was, right beside them.

As if someone had deliberately placed it there.

But who would do such a thing? Surely not the one who cast Petrificus Totalus on Ollivander.

"Regardless, this is fortunate," Dumbledore said. "Before the Revival Potion is ready, let's move Mr. Ollivander to my office."

He waved his wand, and Silven floated upward.

The professors parted on either side, clearing a path—and revealing what lay behind it.

"A unicorn…" Professor McGonagall froze, unable to help asking: "Dumbledore, does the school have a unicorn ghost?"

Dumbledore said nothing; he too was somewhat at a loss about what was happening.

He had never heard of a unicorn's ghost haunting Hogwarts Castle.

Then, under the professors' incredulous gazes, the unicorn began to run, head lowered, charging at full speed.

In what seemed like the blink of an eye, it was right before the group.

A few professors tried to do something, but how could they possibly block a ghost? They could only watch as the unicorn slammed hard into Silven.

"Thump-thump…"

The next second, a heartbeat seemed to appear around them.

After the unicorn charged through, Silven only felt a warm current rapidly spreading outward from his chest, and the sound of glass shattering seemed to ring in his ears; his stiff body regained sensation.

At the same time, he also fell from midair to the ground, landing right on his already fractured arm.

"Ah!" The sharp pain made Silven cry out.

Wait—he could make sounds now?

Silven was stunned for a moment, and once he came back to his senses he immediately shouted:

"The Basilisk! It was the Basilisk that attacked me!"

Paying no mind to his already fractured arm, he found Dumbledore in the crowd and said loudly:

"I saw it—the Basilisk crawled out from the girls' lavatory on the third corridor to the left on the second floor, the one that always leaks. There's also a ghost inside called Moaning Myrtle!"

……

(End of chapter)