BlurryDream
patreon
Chapter 655: How About Letting Fawkes Guard the Basilisk?
🕑 Added 2025-03-24 12:22:24 +0000 UTCWhen Kyle and the others returned to the office, Harry was pacing restlessly, his anxiety evident. His impatience to see Sirius, who was still unconscious, was palpable. This time, Dumbledore gave his consent.
Sykes led them out of the office and around a corner into a brighter corridor. Kyle noted that the room numbers on the ward doors all began with a five, marking their location as the fifth floor—St. Mungo’s Spell Damage Ward. He had assumed Sirius would be treated here as well, but Sykes continued past the floor and led them down the stairs.
Along the way, nearly everyone they encountered—both patients and Healers—stopped to greet Sykes, indicating the deep respect the staff and patients had for her.
“Where are we going now?” Kyle asked, unable to suppress his curiosity. “Shouldn’t someone suffering from the Cruciatus Curse be treated on the fifth floor?”
“That’s true,” Sykes replied. “But Black wasn’t under the Cruciatus Curse for very long. It’s more important to treat the wounds from the Runespoor bite first. The venom from their teeth is particularly toxic.”
As she spoke, Sykes glanced at Kyle, her thoughts briefly returning to the Basilisk. Compared to the venom of such a legendary creature, the Runespoor’s poison seemed almost trivial.
Soon, they reached the second floor, the ward Kyle was most familiar with. At the corner of the stairs stood a simple stand, and Kyle paused when he saw it.
“Yes, this is the stand you used to pierce the werewolf with,” Sykes said with a knowing smile. “After the Transfiguration Spell wore off, we returned it to its original place.”
Even Harry, preoccupied as he was with thoughts of Sirius, stopped and stared at the stand.
He had, of course, heard about Kyle’s feat—his defeat of a transformed werewolf at St. Mungo’s had earned him the Order of Merlin. But hearing the story and seeing the location were entirely different. Harry studied the stand closely.
It was… surprisingly ordinary. Just a simple shelf holding a few flowerpots.
To be honest, if Sykes hadn’t pointed it out, Harry wouldn’t have connected such an unremarkable object with the heroic deed he’d heard about.
“Did you ever find out why the werewolf transformed during the day?” Kyle asked.
“A deranged Potioneer,” Sykes replied matter-of-factly. “He was angry because I rejected his application to join the Most Extraordinary Society of Potioneers. That attack was his attempt at revenge.”
“Do you need my help?” Dumbledore inquired.
“Thank you, Albus, but it’s already been resolved,” Sykes said with a small smile.
At that moment, Mr. Weasley appeared, coming up the stairs carrying a bundle of bandages and several potions.
“Oh, Professor Dumbledore, Kyle, Harry,” Mr. Weasley said, surprised. “What are you all doing here?”
“We’ve come to see Sirius,” Harry said quickly. “Mr. Weasley, do you know where he is?”
“Of course,” Mr. Weasley replied, though his expression grew concerned. “But, Harry, you really shouldn’t be here—especially now. It’s dangerous outside Hogwarts.” He sighed, but upon noticing Dumbledore’s calm presence, he said no more. Instead, he gestured toward a door. “Second room on the right. Sirius is in there. Come with me.”
He pushed the door open, and Harry darted inside without hesitation.
“Remember to keep quiet,” Mr. Weasley called after him. “There are other patients in there too.”
Kyle moved to follow, but Dumbledore gently stopped him with a hand on his arm.
“We’ll wait outside,” Dumbledore said. “Sirius can’t see too many visitors at once—it might disturb the other patients. Besides, there’s something I wish to discuss with you.”
Kyle’s expression stiffened. He had been expecting this moment.
With so many people bustling through the second-floor corridors, Dumbledore led Kyle up to the sixth floor of St. Mungo’s. This area, dedicated to shops and tea rooms, was quieter—a place designed for visitors to meet and talk.
Sykes didn’t join them, excusing herself to begin preparing the antidote for Sturgis.
Dumbledore led Kyle into a private tea room and closed the door behind them. The moment they were alone, his demeanor shifted, his face becoming serious.
“I seem to recall,” he began, his voice measured, “that we had an agreement: the Basilisk would not be brought into Hogwarts.”
“Ah, yes...” Kyle replied, a twinge of guilt flashing across his face. But he quickly composed himself, speaking with a tone of justification. “But the situation has changed, hasn’t it?”
“Oh?” Dumbledore’s sharp eyes glinted, and he fell silent, waiting for Kyle to elaborate.
Kyle took a steadying breath. “Because of the Philosopher’s Stone and the diary, Voldemort wants me dead. On the mountaintop, he showed no hesitation in trying to kill me himself. Not only did he order the Death Eaters to target me, but he even came after me personally. If it weren’t for the Mist Gem, I wouldn’t have survived.”
The mention of the Philosopher’s Stone and the diary seemed to soften Dumbledore’s sternness slightly. He was well aware of how much Kyle had thwarted Voldemort’s plans. Combined with Kyle’s discovery of several Horcruxes, it was clear that Voldemort’s hatred for Kyle rivaled—or possibly exceeded—his hatred for Harry.
Dumbledore’s expression grew contemplative. The reasoning was sound; Kyle’s need for self-defense was justified. Yet, the thought of a Basilisk on school grounds still unsettled him.
“I’m only trying to protect myself,” Kyle continued earnestly. “I’m still just a student, and it’s dangerous to face Death Eaters without adequate defenses.”
Dumbledore, who had been reaching for the teapot, paused mid-motion. Kyle in danger from Death Eaters? The thought almost made him laugh. He doubted Nott—now nothing but ash in the wake of Kyle’s Fiendfyre—would agree with that assessment.
“Of course,” Kyle added, “I could handle one or two Death Eaters, but what if they come in larger numbers? I have only one wand—I can’t fend off ten or more at once.”
“Hogwarts is safe,” Dumbledore said quietly. “As long as I live, no Death Eater will set foot in this castle... not even Tom.”
“There are always exceptions,” Kyle pressed. “If members of the Order of the Phoenix were in danger, like they were today, you’d have to leave to help them.”
“If that were the case, I could always return,” Dumbledore countered, giving Kyle a pointed look. “Your argument remains unconvincing.”
“But I can’t stay in the castle all the time,” Kyle said with a sigh.
This was the heart of the matter. He understood that Dumbledore would have preferred him to leave the Basilisk with Newt while he was at school, retrieving it only during holidays. But Death Eaters weren’t going to wait for ideal circumstances to strike.
Kyle thought back to the previous year, when Harry had been lured out of Hogwarts. If the Death Eaters were to pull a similar scheme on him, he wouldn’t have time to retrieve the Basilisk. Keeping it close was the safest option.
Dumbledore’s resolve wavered. He couldn’t deny that Kyle had a point. He knew that Voldemort was focused on amassing power—recruiting giants, rallying werewolves, and extending his influence. Dumbledore himself was preoccupied with countering these threats and wouldn’t always be at Hogwarts to ensure its safety.
And though Voldemort, in the past, wouldn’t have dared attack the castle directly while Dumbledore lived, his fragmented soul might have altered his behavior. The Voldemort of today was not the same as the one Dumbledore had known.
Kyle noticed Dumbledore’s hesitation and seized the opportunity.
“You said it yourself,” Kyle pointed out, “magic is full of unknowns. The Basilisk saved someone today. It can also be used to protect against Death Eaters. It’s like a powerful wand—its danger depends on who wields it.”
Dumbledore blinked, momentarily caught off guard by Kyle throwing his own words back at him. He couldn’t deny the truth in Kyle’s reasoning. A tool’s morality depended entirely on its user.
But…
“You’re forgetting one critical point,” Dumbledore said, fixing Kyle with a serious gaze. “Whoever wields such a weapon must have complete control over it, ensuring it doesn’t turn against them.”
“I can control the Basilisk,” Kyle said confidently.
His confidence wasn’t unfounded. He had taken numerous precautions. While housing the Basilisk with Newt, they had surrounded it with over a hundred roosters in a nearby cave. The protective magic sealing the cave could be lifted at any time if the Basilisk became unruly.
Moreover, Kyle’s suitcase contained a variety of other Magical Creatures that could subdue or counter the Basilisk if necessary—a Dragon, a Nundu, a field of Mandrake Roots, and Chomping Cabbages. Escaping the suitcase was almost impossible.
Seeing Kyle's confident expression, Dumbledore hesitated once more.
“If you’re still not convinced, Professor…” Kyle cleared his throat and adopted a thoughtful tone, “then perhaps we could have Fawkes monitor the Basilisk. I can even build a perch for Fawkes in the suitcase. With a Phoenix overseeing things, there’s no chance the Basilisk could cause any trouble, is there?”
Dumbledore raised his eyebrows, clearly taken aback.
Kyle’s suggestion was undeniably logical. Phoenixes were immune to the Basilisk’s deadly gaze, and Fawkes’ presence would provide a level of oversight that would ease Dumbledore’s concerns. Yet, Dumbledore’s intuition told him that Kyle’s suggestion wasn’t entirely selfless—there was something more to it.
“It seems a bit harsh to use the term ‘monitor,’” Dumbledore said gently. “I trust you, Kyle. You’ve proven time and time again that your promises aren’t made lightly.”
“It’s not about trust, Professor,” Kyle replied earnestly. “It’s about doing the right thing. I understand the concern, and I wouldn’t object at all. Besides,” he added, his tone almost too casual, “with everything you’ve been dealing with lately—Voldemort and the Ministry—I could help take care of Fawkes for you.”
Dumbledore studied Kyle’s face, and for a brief moment, he caught a flicker of evasion in his eyes—a rare slip.
Now Dumbledore was certain: Kyle wanted the Phoenix.
It left Dumbledore feeling slightly exasperated. He had come to address Kyle’s unauthorized decision to bring the Basilisk to Hogwarts, and now it seemed he might lose Fawkes in the process. Worse, Kyle had framed it so logically that it seemed like the most sensible solution.
Indeed, having Fawkes involved would provide unparalleled security. Immune to the Basilisk’s sight, capable of warning others in emergencies, and equipped with healing tears, Fawkes’ presence would be a layer of protection both for the school and for the suitcase.
Yet, Dumbledore hadn’t even considered involving Fawkes when he arrived. Somehow, Kyle had maneuvered the conversation to this point, and what baffled Dumbledore even more was that he was genuinely tempted by the idea.
A sharp knock on the door interrupted Dumbledore’s deliberation.
“Come in,” he called.
The door opened to reveal a young wizard with a St. Mungo’s badge pinned to his robes. He shifted awkwardly before speaking. “Sorry to disturb you, Headmaster, but the Ministry has arrived. They’re in Black’s ward, and things are… well, getting unpleasant.”
“I see,” Dumbledore said, glancing briefly at the badge. “Thank you, Augustus.”
“No trouble at all,” Augustus replied, bowing his head slightly.
Dumbledore turned back to Kyle, his expression unreadable. “Stay here,” he instructed.
With that, he followed Augustus out of the room, leaving Kyle alone.
Kyle had no intention of dealing with the Ministry with Dumbledore present—he was well aware of the animosity between Fudge and Dumbledore, and he had no desire to get entangled in their power struggles.
Still, as Dumbledore left, Kyle couldn’t help but notice that Fawkes had gone with him, perched serenely on the old wizard’s shoulder.
“So petty,” Kyle muttered under his breath.
Alone now, Kyle decided to explore the nearby shop. The small space was reminiscent of a train compartment, stocked with a variety of goods: snacks, drinks, tableware, and even some household items.
He bought a Cauldron Cake and a bottle of Pumpkin Fizz, then returned to the tea room.
The cake, however, was a disappointment. Overly sweet, with a cloying sugariness that overwhelmed his taste buds, it was far inferior to the ones sold on the Hogwarts Express. To make matters worse, the filling wasn’t jam as expected—it was salted fish.
Tiny, fried salted fish, stuffed into the center of the cake without any apparent preparation. The combination of sweet and salty was as jarring as a Troll attempting ballet.
Kyle took one look at the odd pairing, sighed, and set the cake aside, suddenly feeling much less hungry.
The Pumpkin Fizz, thankfully, was normal—a simple, refreshing soda that cleansed his palate.
A knock on the door broke the silence.
Kyle opened it to find Harry standing there, looking mildly flustered.
“The Ministry wouldn’t let me stay in the room anymore,” Harry said. “Professor Dumbledore said I could come here.”
“That’s fine,” Kyle said, gesturing to a chair across from him. “Come in and sit down. You must be hungry too. I just bought something.”
Harry’s gaze fell on the untouched cake on the table. He hadn’t thought about food earlier, but now, reminded of it, he realized he was indeed hungry.
He hesitated, noting the size of the cake—it didn’t look big enough for two. “I’ll go buy another one,” Harry said.
“No need,” Kyle replied with a dismissive wave. “I’ve already eaten. Just grab a drink for yourself.” He held up his Pumpkin Fizz as an example.
Nodding, Harry sat down and broke off a piece of the cake, popping it into his mouth.
“How is it?” Kyle asked, his tone cautiously curious.
Harry chewed thoughtfully before answering. “It’s… kind of average. Definitely not as good as the ones on the train. But the combination is interesting. I’ve never had anything like it before. I think I like it.”
Kyle blinked, baffled. “You… like it?”
Harry nodded, a small smile tugging at his lips.
Kyle shook his head in disbelief, muttering to himself. He couldn’t understand Harry’s taste, but he respected it.
