Chapter 161 - Aftermath! Part-1 (Patreon)

{2nd Floor East Corridor, Hogwarts}

{31th Oct 1991} 

{Dumbledore's POV}

...

Albus could feel his magic thrum under his control, waiting to be unleashed as he slowly walked toward his destination. The wards made it a little easy to pinpoint exactly where the beast was as he walked, and he went over the plan to deal with the Basilisk.

'I can't look at it directly; mage sight would be useless since it would make it easier for it to form a connection.' The main difficulty when dealing with a Basilisk was the issue of sight. While the Basilisk was simply a murder machine to any normal wizard who dared confront it head-on, it had too many holes to exploit to someone of Dumbledore's caliber.

'While brute force won't work against its shells, my plan would simply revolve around the fact that the Basilisk is quite old. It's almost reached the maximum length of a Basilisk in recorded history.' No matter how magical a beast is, the rules of the magic still apply to it. The house elves are born with an unparalleled aptitude for magic, but their magic can only be used when in servitude to a wizard/witch. A Giant similarly has unparalleled raw strength, but its movement speed suffers. 

'If you remove the soul-crushing gaze and the most deadly venom in existence, the Basilisk is quite similar to an evolved version of a giant. The easiest way to deal with a Giant was to either overpower its magical resistance, which doesn't seem likely against a Basilisk, or attack places where it is vulnerabl-'

"Keeeeeee~"

A shrill scream/hiss reverberated through the halls as Dumbledore saw the shadow around the corner. He stopped. The time for thinking was over as he focused his gaze on the ground and instead used all his magical senses to get a feel for the basilisk. It wasn't as effective as his Mage sight, but throughout the years, Dumbledore had been exposed to enough magic that he had gained a passive sense of mana around him: if he stayed still, that is.

'Binding it won't slow it down; its lumbering form makes that option unlikely. Blinding it at that distance would be a problem as well. My mana sense isn't enough to aim accurately for those.' Albus waved his wand. His magic, which had been waiting for a while now, was finally unleashed. He heard several pops as the air was displaced. As he felt his mana pool drop by a fifth, numerous boulders were conjured from thin air.

He likely wouldn't need this many resources, but it was better to be safe than sorry; he felt the Basilisk move. It is supposed to have a good sense of hearing, and the popping stone boulders likely made for a very good beacon. Dumbledore hadn't stopped moving, and neither did the stone. In the moment it took the Basilisk to turn the corner, he had already transfigured almost all of the stones into large chains. 

He didn't have the time to charm them to be unbreakable, but they did their job. With a flick of his wand and a modified Incarcerous spell, the Basilisk was being constricted. It further slowed down its lumbering form. The slowed Basilisk made it easy for Dumbledore to track it as he waited patiently, his eyes looking at the looming shadow as the Basilisk was just a few meters in front of him.

The Basilisk had many ways to kill him. It could smack his head down and reduce him to paste. It could lower its head, forcing Dumbledore to avoid eye contact, making the fight harder moving forward, as his mana sense wouldn't work as accurately if he moved. But instinct was a powerful thing, and even though the Basilisk had a higher intelligence than most beasts, it couldn't suppress its instinct to swallow its prey.

With the opportunity upon him, Albus didn't wait. A small portion of the stones that hadn't been turned into chains were quickly transfigured into metal spikes, and with a flick and an overpowered Despulso, they rocketed upwards.

Bang

Multiple sounds and pieces of debris fell on the area as Dumbledore enhanced his muscles with mana and jumped back. The snake's thrashing continued for a while as its body and tail, still constricted, smacked into the hallway, destroying it. The thrashing didn't last long as the snake stilled after a while.

Albus finally looked up. The head of the Basilisk was nailed to the hallway's roof. He hesitated momentarily before two Conjunctivitis Curses destroyed the basilisk's eyes. Yellow and black blood poured around the Hallway, but Albus ignored it for a moment as he moved. With quick footsteps, he crossed around the Hallway and arrived in front of the abandoned classroom. His sensing immediately gave him the answer, but he still walked through the broken door and looked at the scene. 

Millicent Bulstrode and Marcus Flint were an unusual pairing if he was asked, and he even suspected foul play considering that they were so far apart in their education years, but it doesn't matter now. Miss Bulstrode looked like she had gone peacefully, sprawled on the floor, a look of pleasure on her face. Her male counterpart was missing his upper body. He could identify the boy because of the leaking mana signature.

Looking at the dead bodies of two of his students, two who trusted the safe walls of the castle, fury and anger emerged from inside him. He turned back. While both of these students deserved proper burials and a little more respect, the wards told me exactly where the culprit was and where he had to go to find some answers.

...

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{In the Hidden Room, Third Floor, Hogwarts}

{31th Oct 1991} 

{Voldemort's POV}

Voldemort looked into the mirror. He could see himself in it, holding the Philosopher's Stone, his soul back in a new and improved body with the Ministry of Magic atrium in the background. His mana senses were dampened in this new body, but still, the Black family trait was an aspect of his soul, so he could sense the old man as he made his way into the room. 

A circle of fire covered the room. The flames were magical in nature, and he was sure Quirell's body would not survive.

"Ah, Protego Diabolica. How fitting..." Voldemort spoke as he turned around. Half an hour after the ritual, the body felt more like his own. He had almost full control over it, but from what he could see, Dumbledore dwarfed his mana reserves even then. 

He turned around so that Quirell's face was now facing Dumbledore. He had used possession magic, so his real face indent was dormant and hidden behind the turban.

"Tom..." Dumbledore replied, his words irking Voldemort. The use of a name quite similar to his muggle father caused his magic to flare, but he kept calm. He had no way of beating the old man here, though. He could test whether his strength had declined and see if staying around was a good idea.

"So Basil is dead?" he asked. After the ritual, Quirell's wand felt a little foreign as their souls fought for dominance over this body. The mana that was filling his body was now a mixture of the two souls, which wasn't ideal for spellcasting.

"Yes..." Dumbledore spoke, his eyes glowing with the use of mage sight. His old professor was indeed a formidable figure, and he knew that he was giving away time for Dumbledore to peer into the secrets of his body, so he made his move. 

A concrete slab rose from the floor as the fire around them intensified. Dumbledore likely would cut off the area he controlled, and with his animate transfigurations, this fight wouldn't last long. Still, the brief movement of his collecting his mana and taking a step back was enough to warrant this treatment.

The mana that had already taken the shape of the construct needed for the Killing curse flew from his wand and collided against the wall. It didn't blow it away, but several cracks appeared on the slab.

'Tch, I'm much weaker in this body than I anticipated,' Voldemort thought. The slab slid aside, making a semicircle around, and now stood behind Dumbledore. The old man also realized that he was significantly weaker than before. The transfiguration charm, which he was familiar with, died away at the tip of Dumbledore's wand.

His killing curse should have obliterated the slab of stone, which Dumbledore would have used to transfigure into several of his familiar constructs, and the duel would begin. The lack of a familiar salvo brought their current standoff to an abrupt halt.

"You are quite weaker in this form, Tom." Dumbledore observed out loud for both of them, his eyes once again glowing blue as he continued, "I can see the traces of Unicorn blood flowing through the body. A half-life, cursed one?" 

The question lingered for a while before Voldemort chuckled, "...you still underestimate me, Dumbledore. The side effects of the Unicorn blood can be ignored; after all, it is just a magical beast." 

Voldemort bragged, but then he saw the same emotion swin in Dumbeldore's eyes. Pity.

A sense of fury rocked through his core as he glared. Expending all of his mana, the most familiar and destructive spell came to his lips as he snarled, "Pestis Incendium~"

As soon as he cast the spell, his control over the flames began to waver. He knew the fire was dangerous, even to his soul/wraith-like state, but he allowed the spell to go out of control. The reason for his confidence was the Protego Diabolica. Fiendfyre would never allow any weaker flame to exist in its domain. As the two fires collided and an explosion ensued, he knew Dumbledore would have to control the damage, so he had some time.

Quirell, however, would not survive the destruction. Without a hint of thought about the man, Voldemort let off of the possession spell and wreaked havoc on Quirell's body. The man's death allowed Voldemort freedom from his body; the ritual worked as intended, as he had essentially ripped the magic out of Quirell's body. 

He knew this strength would be in vain, but an idea popped into his head as he looked at Dumbledore waving his wand around, controlling the cursed flame. He willed himself to move. Without a body, his strength would soon start waning, but he had enough magic right now to breach through the runes covering the castle walls. 

He flew through Hogwarts and swiftly arrived at his destination. 

'Tch~ He had to have locked down the dormitories.' The last breach into the Gryffindor common room had taken a lot out of him, but he didn't have to wander around for long. He could sense the boy, like fate calling to him. Within seconds, he was hovering over the sleeping form, but from how the boy was squirming on the bed, he wasn't having a good night.

'Well, it's about to get worse,' Voldemort chuckled as he dove into the boy. His possession magic spun as he attempted to take control of the boy's mana and strip him bare. It would not only give him some boost to hightail out of Hogwarts, but maybe it would last long enough for him to be able to take over a sufficiently powerful wizard.

All of Tom's thoughts ground to a halt as he felt pain seer through him. The last time he had felt something like this had been that night. His thoughts were a jumbled mess as he fled. All plans were pushed aside as he ran away, leaving behind a scarred teen, now screaming as the commotion spread through the Gryffindor Dormitory.

...

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AN—At first, I had a longer duel in mind, but I had to cut it short because Voldemort's ability to fight with Dumbledore in Quirell's body didn't make sense.