With a strangled yell, Harry ripped his arm free. The fang tore out with it, blood spurting in dark arcs across his sleeve. His knees buckled, and he hit the ground hard, one hand clutching the venomous tooth.

Cassian’s heart jumped into his throat. “Stay down, you stubborn little…”

But Harry wasn’t listening.

He twisted on the floor, fumbling the diary into his lap. The fang trembled in his grip beofre ramming the fang straight into the diary’s cover.

The effect was instant.

The diary convulsed like a living thing, thick black ink jetted out with a hiss that sounded almost human. The pages curled in on themselves, smouldering around the wound.

For a heartbeat, Cassian thought it was over.

But Lockhart, or Riddle, or whatever the hell was wearing his face, was still standing.

Cassian froze. His wand raised, his mind racing. “That is not right. The book is dead. Why is he still here?”

Riddle’s expression twisted sharp, almost feral, as his gaze darted between the writhing basilisk and the soaked, oozing diary at Harry’s feet. “You’ve done it now,” he hissed.

His wand snapped up in a blur, green light sparking at the tip.

Cassian didn’t think… his wand slammed down. Tempestas Verto.

The air tore apart in front of him, wind screaming as it coiled into a burst. The force hit hard, blasting both him and Potter backwards. Harry yelped as they hit the damp stone, sliding across the floor.

“Move!” Cassian barked, shoving Harry behind him before the boy could get his bearings.

Cassian pushed up on one knee, eyes locking on the tiara perched on Lockhart’s head. He didn’t know what it was, but he knew cursed objects when he saw them. And every bit of him was screaming that was the root.

Cassian bit his tongue, eyes flicking to Potter, slumped, bleeding, barely upright. He shouldn’t. He bloody shouldn’t. Every bit of him knew that.

The spell had sat buried in the corner of his mind since the day he dropped into this world.

He’d never cast it. Never tried. The memory that came with it clawed like nails down glass every time he got close. Ancient. Wrong. Something about it made his bones cold and his stomach twist, even thinking the name aloud.

Cassian’s fingers twitched. “I have no other choice.”

His wand rose.

He almost didn’t say it. Lips hovered over the syllables, jaw clenched like speaking them might cost him something he wouldn’t get back.

He whispered it anyway.

“Lumos Noctis.”

The world dropped.

The light didn’t fade. It was eaten.

The torchlight vanished. The glow of his wand died. Even the faint sheen of moisture on the stone disappeared. Darkness dropped like a trapdoor had opened under the castle itself. Thick. Smothering. Absolute. The sort that didn’t just hide things, it swallowed them.

It punched something loose in his head, too.

The moment it left his lips, the memory surged with it… violent, raw, and hellish enough to make his stomach turn. Cassian grit his teeth, fighting the pull. He shook it off, and created ten, twenty… no, more clones. Black silhouettes peeled away from him. They scattered fast, boots slapping against stone, robes flicking in every direction.

Cassian kept low, knees brushing stone, breath shallow. He couldn’t see. No one could. That was the point.

Somewhere ahead, Riddle’s voice snapped. “Lumos!”

Nothing.

“Lumos!” Again, sharper now. Edges creeping in.

Still nothing.

The darkness held. Thick as oil.

Cassian smirked faintly to himself. That was Lumos Noctis… it didn’t just snuff out light, it devoured it whole. Let the bastard fumble.

Another curse hissed through the air, missing Cassian by feet, but the echo told him the direction. He crouched lower, moving along the edge of the chamber.

Riddle might not see him, but there were other ways to give yourself away.

The faint scrape of shoes ahead. A quick, shallow breath.

There you are.

Cassian’s wand twitched slightly, fingers tight around the hilt. One good shot would do it.

Riddle’s voice came again, lower this time, taut with frustration. “Show yourself, coward.”

He followed the sound, weaving between what felt like broken stonework and coiled carvings. The air stank of damp and snake musk. His boots sloshed through a shallow puddle, and he stilled instantly.

“Thought you were clever, didn’t you?” Riddle said, the words echoing from the wrong direction now. “That little parlour trick won’t save you.”

Cassian didn’t answer. He’d read enough to know when a man was trying to draw you out.

“Lumos!” Riddle tried again. The desperation was creeping in now. “Lumos! Lumos! Damn you…”

A scraping sound came from the left. Cassian spun and lunged forward, colliding hard with Lockhart. They hit the ground in a tangle of limbs. Cassian’s hand clamped around the wand before the impostor could raise it. He yanked it free, twisting it out of Lockhart’s grip.

“Damn you!” the man spat, his voice cracking like a whip through the dark.

“Yeah, yeah,” Cassian muttered. His fist connected with Lockhart’s nose with a dull crunch. The sound was so satisfying that he couldn’t help but to grin. He followed up with another punch before the man could even draw breath.

The diadem wobbled on Lockhart’s head and slipped sideways. Then, with a faint metallic clang, it tumbled free, hitting the floor and spinning lazily in the dust.

“NO!” Riddle’s voice rang out, sharper now, the smug calm cracking into fury.

Cassian’s wand flicked up before the bastard could make a move. “Accio Basilisk Tooth.”

From somewhere beneath Harry’s feet, a sharp fang wrenched free and hurtled through the air. Cassian caught it with one hand, the slick surface still warm, venom beading at the tip.

“Let’s see if this stings.”

He drove the fang straight into the band of the diadem. The metal let out a shriek… something alive and furious.

It pulsed under his grip, as if fighting back. Then a crack split the air, and a bloom of black smoke erupted from the delicate circlet, writhing madly.

The mist screamed as it curled in on itself, tendrils snapping and clawing at the air before they collapsed with a final hiss. The smell of burnt copper lingered as the shrieks faded, leaving the diadem, free of Voldemort’s curse.

Riddle made a sound halfway between a hiss and a scream, clutching at his head like he was trying to hold himself together. Cassian didn’t give him the chance. He slammed his fist into Lockhart’s jaw, felt the satisfying crunch, and shoved himself upright.

“I said! Stay down,” he growled, kicking the wand away for good measure.

He waved his own wand, and light spilled back into the chamber. Shadows peeled off the stone.

Harry was on the ground a few feet away, his face pale and slick with sweat, breath coming in shallow, difficult pulls. His arm was clutched tight against his chest, blood soaking through his sleeve.

Cassian crouched beside him fast, muttering a sharp curse under his breath.

“Potter,” he said, trying to keep his voice level. “You are awake?”

Harry blinked at him blearily, his lips pale. “Think… so.”

Cassian’s eyes darted to the jagged hole in the boy’s sleeve where the basilisk fang had gone through. The skin around it was already swelling, streaked with an ugly purplish tint that had nothing to do with the blood.

“Basilisk venom,” Cassian muttered, dragging a hand over his face. “Bloody marvellous.”

Harry’s eyes fluttered. “Did… we win?”

“Define ‘win,'” Cassian said, pressing his hand over the wound to slow the bleeding. “You are bleeding out in the middle of a snake graveyard. Not exactly my idea of a celebration.”

The boy managed a faint, crooked grin. Cassian didn’t return it.

“Stay awake,” Cassian said, voice snapping like a whip. “Eyes on me. Don’t go drifting off just yet.”

Harry blinked heavily, but he nodded.

His voice was raspy, barely more than a scrape of breath, “S-sir, you s-said everyone’s got selfish reasons for doing things. That I’ll rarely meet anyone helping out of the goodness of their heart.” A tear rolled sideways off his temple. “I… I think I found one.”

Cassian gritted his teeth. “Don’t speak,” he muttered. “Not the time to get sentimental.”

Harry tried to laugh, but it caught halfway and turned into a cough. He forced a thin smile instead. His skin was pale, waxy, and sweat had matted his hair flat across his forehead.

Cassian pressed his hand down harder against the boy’s arm, trying to slow the venom’s spread. The flesh beneath his palm felt hot. Purple streaks were crawling fast beneath the skin.

“Fool. I told you to stay put. Not charge at murder-snake with a sword,” he said, flicking his wand to cast another useless diagnostic. “Now shut up and stay alive.”

Harry’s smile tugged up another notch, like it physically hurt to do so. “You’re really bad at bedside manner.”

“I’m not a healer,” Cassian said flatly. “You want coddling, go pass out in Pomfrey’s wing next time.”

A faint laugh wheezed out of the boy, followed by a wince. He sagged a little more against the stone floor.

“Oi,” Cassian barked. “Eyes open.”

“I’m trying…”

Cassian’s mind was racing. Phoenix tears were the only known antidote to basilisk venom. Anything else would barely scratch the surface. He didn’t have time to haul the boy back up the pipes. Even if he did, Harry probably wouldn’t make it that far.

“Where is your bloody bird when we need him, Dumbledore?” Cassian muttered under his breath. “Fawkes, get your feathery arse here.”

(Check Here)

Maybe the stillness is the answer, and I’ve just been arguing with the truth.

—

To Read up to 50 advance Chapters and support me…

patreon.com/thefanficgod1

Please drop a comment and like the chapter!

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep