In the first week of June, when the sunshine was at its brightest, the final exams arrived as scheduled.
History of Magic, Charms, Transfiguration, Potions, Herbology, Astronomy...
One exam followed another, filling the campus with an atmosphere that was both tense and cheerful. Most students were in good spirits because they believed they could achieve excellent results.
Throughout this year's "game," the students had undergone significant training. According to the professors, they had improved greatly compared to the previous year.
However, not everyone was happy. Some wore grim expressions—especially during exams like Astronomy and History of Magic, which relied heavily on rote memorization rather than practical skills.
"I really wish they would cancel the History of Magic class," Michael complained.
"What's the point of knowing what year the cauldron was invented? I just need to know which one works best!"
"Which brand of cauldron is the best?" Neville asked hurriedly. "I... I want to buy one too…"
Even with guidance from Wade and others, Neville's performance in Potions was still poor. Everyone believed it was because Neville got too nervous.
But it wasn't entirely Neville's fault—Professor Snape frequently targeted him and made cutting remarks.
It was already surprising that Neville hadn't given up entirely. No one could demand more from him.
When Snape wasn't around, Neville could actually manage to brew a passable potion.
Still, he was far from being excellent.
As the saying goes, "Struggling students have the most tools." Neville seemed to hope that external factors, like a better cauldron, might improve his Potions results. Hence, he was keen on buying the best cauldron.
But Michael simply shrugged and said, "Neville, obviously, the more expensive ones are better!"
Neville: "…"
He rolled his eyes and turned to ask, "Where's Wade?"
"He had something to discuss with Professor Dumbledore and left early after submitting his exam," Michael replied.
The others didn't think much of it—they were used to Wade frequently involving himself in adult matters.
…
Headmaster's Office
From a silver, bowl-shaped container, wisps of white mist spiraled upward. An old portrait hanging on the wall suddenly opened its eyes.
Dumbledore's expression was extremely serious.
Before he could speak, Phineas Nigellus Black, the portrait on the wall, spoke first.
"Hmmph! Outrageous! Ridiculous! I've never heard of such a thing!"
"One of the founders, Slytherin, left a basilisk in the school? This is utterly preposterous! What could he possibly do with a basilisk? Kill everyone in Hogwarts? Don't forget, we Slytherins are also a part of Hogwarts!"
"Absurd! Absolutely absurd!"
"The gaze of a basilisk can kill! If there really were a basilisk roaming the school, over the past thousand years, the bones of the dead could have filled the Black Lake!"
Wade ignored his words and turned to Dumbledore, saying:
"So, I'll need your Fawkes' assistance—based on what I know, phoenixes are immune to the basilisk's deadly gaze. Their tears can also heal most toxins, making them the only magical creature capable of countering a basilisk."
The golden-red bird appeared seemingly out of nowhere and perched on Dumbledore's shoulder. It tilted its head to study the student who dared make plans involving it.
Wade smiled at the bird and said:
"I'd like to ask Fawkes to blind the basilisk first by pecking out its eyes. Only then can we safely confront it—of course, this is just my personal request. If Fawkes is unwilling, we can come up with another plan."
Fawkes let out a low cry.
Dumbledore chuckled. "I believe that's a sign of agreement."
Fawkes nodded solemnly.
"Thank you very much, Fawkes," Wade said. "Then let's set the time for June 13th, the day after the Quidditch match. I'll inform the relevant people, and they can choose whether or not to participate voluntarily."
"Very well," Dumbledore said. "Those who join will need to understand what they're up against in advance."
Fawkes nodded firmly again.
With its serious, earnest expression, it looked as though the phoenix were the true headmaster of Hogwarts, with the white-bearded man beneath it merely a steed.
Wade couldn't help but laugh and said, "Of course."
…
"Do you really believe him?"
Phineas was clearly displeased. "Dumbledore, you mustn't let yourself be swayed by a mere student! I admit he's clever, but remember—you are the headmaster of this school!"
Several other portraits of past headmasters nodded in silent agreement. One even muttered, "Good thing I died early... Kids these days show less and less respect for their elders!"
Dumbledore laughed.
"Phineas, Armando, I don't need formal displays of respect from the children. Being able to speak as equals and offering them small bits of help when needed—that's what I enjoy most."
Armando Dippet mumbled something under his breath with half-closed eyes, as if he had drifted back to sleep.
When he was alive, he had also taught a brilliant student—smart, handsome, and highly respectful toward him.
And yet... that student became the Dark Lord who would strike fear into the entire magical world.
Phineas pressed on, "So, do you really believe him? That there's a basilisk hidden in the school, one that no one has ever seen?"
"Why not believe him? That child doesn't speak without confidence in what he says."
Dumbledore picked through the tray and eventually selected a mango biscuit coated with a thick layer of cream.
"Even if there is… even if it truly exists…"
Phineas paced back and forth within his portrait, unwilling to concede.
"It would still be something left behind by Slytherin. Do you understand? It's a precious legacy of the founder! How could you let a few people casually dispose of it? For all we know, it might be the last thing Slytherin left for the world."
A Slytherin relic…
Dumbledore suddenly drifted into thought.
He recalled seeing a black ring in someone's memory—its distinctive patterns and the legends he had once chased in his youth.
After a long silence, Dumbledore heard Phineas still rambling on:
"…It hasn't harmed anyone in over a thousand years. Even if it exists, it's safe! Why not give it a chance? Let it stay quietly where it is…"
"It hasn't been entirely harmless," Dumbledore interrupted.
"What?" Phineas asked.
"Fifty years ago, a student died," Dumbledore said. "Do you remember? Her name was Myrtle. She was only fourteen."
Phineas fell silent.
"Yes, the basilisk may have been dormant for over a thousand years, but I understand why Wade feels it must be dealt with," Dumbledore continued.
"Because someone capable of controlling it has emerged… Tom Riddle, a descendant of Slytherin, with the same Parseltongue gift. The basilisk could be manipulated by Voldemort at any time, turning it into a weapon against us."
After a long pause, another headmaster, Dilys Derwent, asked, "Dumbledore, what about the students' safety? Even without its deadly gaze, the basilisk is not something an ordinary young wizard can handle."
"Oh, that's nothing to worry about. I'll be present that day," Dumbledore replied. "What really concerns me is another matter altogether."
This time, however, no matter how the others pressed him, Dumbledore offered no further explanation.
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