HP: Dangerous Professor from Azkaban

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Harry ran with his head down, but his mind churned with images of those who had been petrified.

They're still alive… as long as they drink the potion…

This thought was like a lifeline, but then panic seized his throat. Ron! Hermione! Will they… be attacked before they can be petrified…?

Should I... Conflicting thoughts exploded in his mind, and for a moment a wild idea surfaced. Use Parseltongue? Control it? Drive it away?

But he crushed the urge to turn back, forcing himself to run forward without a moment's pause. No! This isn't just about me! I must find a Professor—find the Headmaster…

That decision stung him even more than facing the Basilisk itself—he had always despised cowardice, yet now he was abandoning his companions to escape alone.

…

Sagres tightly gripped the crystal bottle in his left hand, inside which Peeves was futilely hurling himself against the walls, producing dull thuds and muffled curses.

His steps were steady, his goal clear—Myrtle's bathroom.

The stairway was empty, with only the faint sound of students quarreling somewhere down a distant corridor.

Suddenly, a cold, slimy, intensely foul-smelling aura—like a tangible tide—surged from around the corner.

Sagres's pupils constricted sharply.

His wand slid instantly into his palm, and he clenched the crystal bottle instinctively. Inside, Peeves seemed to sense it too, curling himself into a terrified ball.

Then came the sound of hurried footsteps, drawing closer—Tap! tap! tap! tap!

A figure burst from the corner, quickly turning and racing toward the stairs.

It was Harry Potter.

The other person saw him as well.

"P-Professor?" Harry froze for a moment, then immediately pointed down the corridor and shouted, "Basilisk! It's in the corridor!"

Sagres instantly connected to Noctis's vision, and dozens of frozen young stone statues appeared before his eyes.

And the culprit—the Basilisk—was at that very moment opening its massive, blood-red mouth, lunging to bite down on Ron and Hermione's backs.

Sagres vanished from the stairwell in a flash. The next second, he stood in the center of the corridor, radiating cold fury.

His usual composure was gone, replaced entirely by a pure will to destroy.

"Fauces Rugientes Abyssi!"

The low incantation, thick with murderous intent, burst from his throat.

A powerful surge of energy tore through the air, sweeping down the corridor in an instant.

It was a spiralling shockwave, even larger than the Basilisk, laced with gray-white magic—like the roaring maw of the abyss—carrying an aura of utter annihilation as it slammed violently into the Basilisk's enormous body.

Boom—!!!

The entire corridor shook violently, wall hangings tore loose, and chunks of the ceiling crashed down, sending dust and debris raining like a storm.

"Hiiisss~~<"

Bang—!!

The Basilisk's massive body was flung savagely aside by the force of the impact, slamming into the wall with a sickening crack of bone before sliding to the ground like a lifeless heap of rotting flesh.

Its two enormous eyeballs were forced from their sockets by the impact, dangling by only a few strands of bloody tissue. Yellowish-white brain matter mixed with blood gushed from its shattered nostrils and mouth.

Its colossal body was ruptured in multiple places, foul-smelling, slimy organs and severed intestines spilling from the gaping wounds in its massive scales.

Even its once-proud, unyielding scales were now shattered, while chaotic magic, like a red-hot blade, furiously corroded its flesh.

But it did not die—the thousand-year-old Basilisk's vitality was unimaginably strong.

Sagres stood in the center of the devastated corridor, his eyes gleaming with a terrifying, icy light.

He twirled his wand, and its tip immediately released several soft rays of light. All the stone statues, along with the still-shaken Ron and Hermione, were gently and swiftly drawn behind him by the magic.

"Creeeeeeee Hisss~~~<<<"

The dying Basilisk thrashed wildly, its massive head whipping around before a jet of dark green, foul-smelling venom—like a high-pressure stream—sprayed directly toward Sagres and the young wizards behind him.

Sagres's reaction was instantaneous. He swept his wand, and the scattered metal armor in the corridor instantly melted into searing molten iron, which poured straight into the Basilisk's open maw.

Then, with another thrust of his wand, the airborne venom instantly solidified, transforming into sharp daggers that shot back at the serpent with even greater speed.

Swish, swish, swish!

The venom daggers tore into the Basilisk's ravaged body, but the creature seized the critical moment to let out a hiss steeped in both agony and malice.

Then, ignoring its wounds and the blood pouring from them, it gathered all its remaining strength in its massive tail and lashed violently at the huge stained-glass window nearby.

Crash—!!!

The entire stained-glass window, along with the surrounding wall, shattered in an explosion of glass and stone. Twisting its mangled body, the Basilisk forced itself through the gaping hole.

Its bloodied, serpentine form crashed into the courtyard below with a heavy thud, then fled frantically into the darkness.

Sagres stepped to the edge of the broken opening, his eyes following the shocking, winding trail the Basilisk had left—streaked with blood, etched with corrosive marks, and flattening the courtyard bushes in its path.

He slowly turned, his gaze sweeping over the dozens of cold stone statues lining the corridor and the chaos left behind.

"Everyone—put on your glasses immediately! Stay indoors!"

His voice was not loud, yet it penetrated every corner of the castle, reaching each person with perfect clarity.

Then, ignoring the still-shaken Ron and Hermione, he transformed in an instant into a raven's shadow, darting in the direction the Basilisk had fled.

This blind, trapped beast was on its last gasp and had to be dealt with immediately.

What's more, the Basilisk's scale-bound magic resistance had far exceeded his expectations—he had thought a single spell would be enough to kill it, yet even after reducing it to little more than shredded flesh, it still had the strength to escape.

Even so, he quickly picked up its trail—and by then, the other Professors had finally arrived.

Snape intercepted the Basilisk, unleashing a fierce Sectumsempra at its head.

However, the sharp cutting curse left only a pale mark on the Basilisk's thick scales, doing nothing more than slicing away its already useless eyeball.

Sagres descended from the air, and with a sweep of his arm, swarms of scorching fire ravens erupted into existence, shrieking as they dove toward the serpent.

The fire ravens were exceptionally agile, darting precisely into the Basilisk's gaping wounds and beginning to incinerate its internal organs from within.

The serpent twisted and writhed madly in agony, its massive body lashing about.

"Hiss—!"

The remaining fire ravens seized the moment, rushing into its open mouth the instant it screamed.

Creeeeeeeeee~~~<<<<

The courtyard smelled of burning flesh and venom.

Sagres stepped forward. The firelight painted him in shadow, "Protego Muspelheim..."

Cree~

Creee~~

CREEEEEEEEEEEEEE~~~~~<

THUD

In the end, the colossal creature was burned from the inside out, reduced to a blackened, curled, hollow shell of snake scales.

…

…

The Basilisk was slain, but the true culprit remained at large.

The shadow of the Chamber of Secrets monster once again hung over the castle, and the young wizards once more felt the fear of being at the mercy of the Heir.

More troubling still, Sagres's potion was insufficient to reverse such large-scale petrification. He could spare only two drops, enough to heal Hermione Granger's injured eyes by Noctis, but he was powerless to restore the other petrified students.

After all, if only a handful could be saved, it would seem unfair no matter who was chosen.

Moreover, the potion was exceedingly precious—effective for healing, detoxifying, and dispelling curses. Dumbledore himself possessed a phoenix, so why had he not allowed Fawkes to shed tears?

And with the sheer number of victims this time, Dumbledore could no longer suppress the news.

Just as the Gringotts excavation accident was exposed, the Hogwarts monster attack conveniently shifted public attention—and while the goblins certainly played a role in fanning the flames, Dumbledore truly found himself in considerable trouble.

Especially after news of Draco Malfoy's petrification spread, his father, Lucius Malfoy, arrived at once with several pure-blood families, furiously demanding—and forcefully taking—his petrified son home.

Reports filled The Daily Prophet, and many students' parents expressed a desire to withdraw their children from the school.

The Ministry of Magic continued to send letters, ninety percent of which were open or covert interrogations.

As for the Basilisk itself, few cared anymore—let alone the Heir hiding behind it.

Inside the infirmary, Sagres stood expressionlessly, looking at the row of students lying on the beds, his mind blank.

Dumbledore and the other Professors still pinned their hopes on the Mandrakes in Professor Sprout's greenhouse reaching maturity. Sagres found this deeply puzzling. Was it because homegrown Mandrakes were considered safer for consumption?

Couldn't ready-made Mandrakes be purchased in Diagon Alley?

A cat was one thing, and saving one person was understandable, but how could dozens of young wizards lie stiffly in hospital beds while the staff insisted on waiting for this "pollution-free" potion?

Lucius had known to take his child home—so why couldn't a large institution like Hogwarts procure a single bottle of resurrection potion brewed from Mandrake?