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Chapter 654: The Attacked Sirius
🕑 Added 2025-03-23 14:03:10 +0000 UTCThe Headmaster’s Office wasn’t far from where Kyle had been on the eighth floor. He followed Professor McGonagall through the dimly lit corridors, the moonlight streaming in through tall windows.
Kyle’s curiosity burned—he wanted to ask why he was being summoned at this late hour. But one look at Professor McGonagall’s tightly pressed lips and stern expression made him decide against it.
After a few minutes of silent walking, they arrived at the Gargoyle guarding the entrance.
“Tooth Splintering Strong Mints,” McGonagall said crisply. The Gargoyle sprang aside, revealing the spiral staircase leading up to the Headmaster’s Office.
Kyle followed her into the passage. It was already past midnight, but as they neared the top, Kyle could hear voices—animated and urgent. The muffled chatter made it clear that something serious was being discussed.
The office was unusually lively when Kyle entered. Dumbledore, wearing white pajamas dotted with strawberry prints, was crouched in front of the fireplace. Behind him stood Harry, looking anxious, and Snape, who wore his usual brooding scowl.
The scene was peculiar enough to make Kyle pause for a moment. His eyes swept the room curiously—had Harry broken yet another rule, only to be dragged here by Snape? But then his attention shifted to the fireplace, where a fiery visage was taking shape.
The face in the flames was none other than Mr. Weasley’s. His expression was grave as he spoke.
“Yes, Professor Dumbledore,” Mr. Weasley said, his fiery lips moving as though he were standing right there. “Sirius was indeed attacked by Death Eaters. When Moody and I arrived, they were torturing him with the Cruciatus Curse.”
“How is Sirius?” Harry asked urgently, stepping closer to the fireplace. “Is he okay?”
“Oh... Harry,” Mr. Weasley said with a hint of hesitation. “Calm down. Sirius has been taken to St. Mungo’s Hospital for Magical Injuries. The Healers say he’s not seriously hurt, just in need of rest.”
“Thank you, Arthur,” Dumbledore said.
“It was the least I could do,” Mr. Weasley replied. Then his expression darkened. “But Professor, I don’t know if Moody told you—things aren’t looking good for Sturgis.”
“I know already,” Dumbledore said gravely.
Mr. Weasley’s face vanished from the flames. Almost immediately, a portrait of a witch with silver curls stirred to life on the wall.
“How are things, Dilys?” Dumbledore asked.
“One good, one bad,” the witch said. “Both of them have been taken to St. Mungo’s. I saw them pass right under my portrait. One is just unconscious, but the other…” Her expression became grim. “He’s in a bad way. Sykes says the dark magic he’s been exposed to is particularly nasty. It’ll take at least six hours to brew an antidote, but he won’t last that long. You’ll have to act quickly.”
“Thank you, Dilys,” Dumbledore said, turning to Kyle. “You do carry that suitcase of yours around, don’t you?”
“Of course,” Kyle replied.
“Good,” Dumbledore said. “We’ll be making a trip shortly.” He waved his wand, and his strawberry-print pajamas morphed into a regal purple robe as he turned to Harry.
“Are you going to St. Mungo’s?” Harry asked quickly. “I want to come with you, Professor. I want to see Sirius.”
“A reasonable request,” Dumbledore said, nodding before glancing at Snape. “Severus, we’ll discuss the matter we spoke of when I return.”
Snape’s face darkened even further, his lip curling.
“You should know better, Potter,” Snape said sharply. “If you can see the Dark Lord through that cursed scar of yours, then the Dark Lord can see you just as easily. The last thing we need is your empty-headed recklessness putting you in mortal danger.”
“I’m aware, Severus,” Dumbledore said calmly. “But a little while longer won’t make a difference, I assure you.”
Snape gave an irritated snort but said no more.
“Three travelers, then,” Dumbledore mused. “I’ll take Harry first. Kyle, Fawkes can escort you.”
Kyle winced inwardly, suppressing a sigh. He would have preferred to switch with Harry—traveling with a Phoenix was a rare opportunity, but it was one he wanted to miss. But before he could voice his thought, Dumbledore had already grabbed Harry’s arm and vanished with a sharp crack.
Fawkes, perched nearby, took flight and landed gracefully on Kyle’s shoulder.
“Alright, Fawkes,” Kyle said with a resigned smile. “Lead the way.”
The Phoenix chirped and spread its magnificent wings.
Kyle barely had time to notice Snape’s faint smirk before there was a blinding flash of gold and red fire. The ground seemed to vanish beneath him, and the world spun violently. He felt like a Bludger that had been hit too hard, tumbling wildly through the air.
When the spinning finally stopped, Kyle landed—rather ungracefully—on a table.
Thud.
The table collapsed under him, sending parchment and quills flying across the floor in a messy heap.
Kyle’s landing had been less than graceful, and Harry, already present, cautiously asked, “Kyle, are you okay?”
Although Harry himself was still adjusting to the dizziness caused by Apparition, he couldn’t help but find Kyle’s exaggerated reaction a bit much. Without the table to break his fall, Kyle might have hit the wall outright. And considering Kyle could Apparate, Harry found it surprising that he wasn’t used to the sensation by now.
Kyle waved his hand dismissively to indicate he was fine. After suppressing the nausea swirling in his stomach, he looked around to assess his surroundings.
The room appeared to be a small office, its shelves crowded with cauldrons and jars of various sizes, all brimming with mysterious ingredients. Besides Harry and Kyle, Dumbledore was present, as was a familiar face—Director Sykes of St. Mungo’s.
The renowned Potioneer was staring at Kyle, her gaze alternating between him and the Phoenix perched on his shoulder.
“I’ve never seen Fawkes take to anyone besides you, Albus,” she remarked, her tone tinged with amazement.
“Fawkes trusts Kyle deeply,” Dumbledore said with a wave of his wand. The table Kyle had knocked over instantly righted itself, the scattered parchment neatly reassembling.
“Time is of the essence, Sykes,” Dumbledore continued. “The Ministry will be here soon, and we must act before they arrive.”
“I understand,” Sykes said, though she hesitated briefly, frowning. “But are you certain he can counter the dark magic afflicting Sturgis?”
“He’s the only one who can,” Dumbledore said with quiet conviction.
Sykes didn’t question him further. She set down the silver tray in her hands and gestured toward the door. “Follow me.”
“Come along, Kyle,” Dumbledore instructed, then turned to Harry. “You stay here for now.”
“But Sirius—” Harry began to protest.
“You’ll see him, Harry, but not now,” Dumbledore said firmly before ushering Kyle out of the room.
The hallway beyond was dimly lit, the flickering oil lamps casting shadows that barely illuminated the ancient corridor. Their footsteps echoed softly as they walked, the atmosphere oppressive with an air of urgency.
At the end of the corridor, Sykes pushed open a heavy black door. The room inside was even darker, the shadows clinging to every corner like a shroud.
“Some wounds caused by dark magic react poorly to light,” Sykes explained. “If exposed, they could worsen. Fortunately, the curse in this case doesn’t have that property—otherwise, it would be even more troublesome… Lumos.”
She lit her wand, revealing a sparse room dominated by a single bed. On it lay a wizard whose body was crisscrossed with pulsating dark purple lines, like veins infected with malevolence. The marks seemed almost alive, writhing as they slowly spread across his body.
“What’s the plan?” Sykes asked, turning to Kyle and Dumbledore. “The antidote will take at least six hours to brew.”
Kyle’s gaze shifted to Dumbledore, who spoke with calm precision.
“We need to contain him in his current state—both body and soul,” Dumbledore said. “Dark magic, in most cases, cannot spread through petrification. I sent Fawkes to Dorset earlier, but he found that the necessary materials were no longer there.”
Petrification… Dorset.
Realization dawned on Kyle. No wonder Dumbledore had asked if he had his suitcase.
“Understood,” Kyle said. He placed his suitcase on the ground, opened it, and promptly jumped inside.
Sykes watched him with a mixture of confusion and curiosity. Dumbledore’s plan to turn Sturgis into stone was clear enough—it was a known countermeasure against certain types of dark magic. However, ordinary Petrification Charms only worked on the body, not the soul. She had tried it before without success.
What puzzled her even more was Kyle’s behavior. He seemed as though he genuinely could perform magic she’d never heard of. And that suitcase… Was it enchanted with an Undetectable Extension Charm?
The more she thought about it, the stranger it all seemed. She glanced at Dumbledore, hoping for an explanation, but he merely stared at the suitcase, offering no clarification.
Moments later, the suitcase began to bulge and jump, as though something enormous was trying to force its way out. Then it happened.
A massive serpent, easily fifty feet long, slithered out of the tiny suitcase. Its sheer size filled the room, its scales gleaming faintly in the dim light.
Sykes’s wand slipped from her grasp, the light at its tip vanishing as it clattered to the floor.
“That’s… a Basilisk,” she stammered, her voice trembling with shock. “Don’t look it in the eyes!”
Dumbledore remained calm, as if expecting her reaction. He produced a silver lighter, clicking it once to release a soft, floating orb of light. At the same time, Sykes’s wand flew back into her hand.
“Don’t worry,” Dumbledore said reassuringly. “Its eyes are closed.”
Sykes took a shaky breath, her panic subsiding slightly. Recalling the serpent’s entrance, she realized Dumbledore was right—the Basilisk’s eyes had been shut. If they hadn’t been, she doubted she’d still be standing.
...
Sykes opened her eyes after steadying herself and cast a strange look at Dumbledore. “So, the legends are true... Hogwarts really does have a Basilisk?”
She had heard rumors before—patients at St. Mungo’s whispering about a Basilisk lurking in Hogwarts, its victims cursed. At the time, Sykes had dismissed these tales. She was well aware that the Basilisk’s Deadly Sight wasn’t a curse but a lethal magical property.
To her, it had seemed like just another exaggeration. Students often embellished their stories, parents believed them, and through countless retellings, ordinary incidents transformed into fantastical tales. She had encountered even wilder rumors, like the one claiming Dumbledore was assembling an army in the castle to overthrow the Ministry of Magic.
So when she’d first heard of the Basilisk, Sykes had brushed it off as likely being some Magical Creature that had wandered from the Forbidden Forest into the castle.
But now, seeing the creature with her own eyes, she had no choice but to believe it.
“It’s not Hogwarts’ Basilisk,” Dumbledore clarified, shaking his head and gesturing toward Kyle, who had just climbed out of the suitcase. “It belongs to him now.”
Sykes’ expression shifted again, disbelief mingling with incredulity.
A student owning a Basilisk? When had Hogwarts become so permissive? Such a thing wouldn’t even have been allowed at Durmstrang, renowned for its tolerance of dark magic.
It dawned on her why Dumbledore was moving so quickly. If the Ministry arrived and saw this Basilisk, Hogwarts itself might be shut down, its reputation irreparably tarnished.
She glanced back at the massive creature. This was her first time seeing a Basilisk in person, and its sheer presence was overwhelming. The enormous body, gleaming emerald scales, and the lethal, dagger-like fangs peeking out as it moved… The sight was far more awe-inspiring than any description in the books.
“Professor, what’s the next step?” Kyle asked, having positioned the Basilisk properly and now looking to Dumbledore for guidance.
“Very simple,” Dumbledore said, waving his wand. A large, ornate mirror appeared on the wall opposite the bed. He turned toward Kyle as Fawkes, perched nearby, flew down to Sturgis.
The Phoenix blinked once, letting a single tear fall onto Sturgis’s lips.
“Phoenix tears,” Sykes murmured, her voice tinged with reverence. “The most miraculous healing substance in the wizarding world...” Her gaze was now fixed on Fawkes, burning with awe and a hint of envy.
For a Healer like Sykes, a Phoenix was a dream companion. Many in her profession had fantasized about acquiring one, and she was no exception. She had even tried to entice Fawkes before with rare and valuable herbs, but the Phoenix had never paid her any attention.
Meanwhile, the effect of the tears was immediate.
On the hospital bed, Sturgis twitched as his body began to respond. His eyelids fluttered before snapping open, and suddenly he sat bolt upright, letting out a piercing scream.
“Now…”
“Open your eyes!”
Dumbledore and Kyle’s voices rang out in unison.
Startled, Sturgis instinctively looked at the mirror across from him. In its reflection, he locked eyes with the Basilisk’s vivid orange-yellow gaze.
The effect was instantaneous. Sturgis froze, the scream dying in his throat. His body turned rigid as he was completely petrified.
As soon as Sturgis fell silent, Kyle quickly ordered the Basilisk to close its eyes. The massive serpent obeyed, and without wasting a moment, Kyle guided it back into the suitcase.
...
When Kyle climbed out of the suitcase, Sykes was already examining Sturgis with her wand.
“It’s unbelievable,” she said in astonishment, her voice filled with awe. “The spread of dark magic has completely stopped... This must be what they mean by the Basilisk’s Curse. I never imagined the Basilisk’s gaze could have any effect other than death.”
“Magic is truly remarkable,” Dumbledore said softly, his eyes twinkling with quiet reflection. “The world remains full of mysteries. I doubt even Herpo the Foul envisioned that his most sinister creation—a pure killing instrument—could one day be used to save lives.”
“You’re absolutely right,” Sykes said, lowering her wand. “In this case, I’ll have enough time to prepare the antidote.” She paused for a moment, then added thoughtfully, “You do know how to reverse petrification, don’t you? Mandrake Restorative Draught, I assume?”
“Precisely,” Dumbledore said with a nod. “Would you like me to provide fresh Mandrake? We have a batch growing in the school’s greenhouse.”
“That would be perfect,” Sykes agreed.
While St. Mungo’s also had fresh Mandrake stock, she saw no reason to refuse Dumbledore’s offer.
“I’ll write to Professor Sprout and have her deliver it,” Dumbledore said.
The conversation between the two became noticeably more relaxed now that the immediate danger had passed. However, whether intentionally or not, their gazes repeatedly drifted toward Kyle.
Sykes’ look was mostly one of curiosity, her eyes studying him as if trying to solve a particularly intriguing puzzle. Dumbledore’s gaze, however, carried a weight that made Kyle feel slightly uneasy. It wasn’t harsh, but it had an intensity that left him feeling faintly guilty, even though he couldn’t quite place why.
“We should return,” Sykes said suddenly, breaking the silence. “I need to start preparing the antidote immediately. That way, when the Ministry of Magic arrives and starts asking questions, we won’t waste time.”
