Processed snake skin, intact basilisk scales, sturdy snake bones, and finished steel purchased from Muggles... Beside his small cabin, Harry stoked a blazing furnace, forging new equipment—including a set for himself. In the end, he crafted a total of seven finished pieces.
For Hermione, Ron, Neville, and Luna, considering the young age of these three friends and his apprentice, the materials used were relatively modest. The design of their chainmail was similar to the set Harry had worn last year, but since these four were still growing, the armor would need to be dismantled and remade—or at least resized—when they got older.
In contrast, the chainmail crafted for Sirius and Snape required far more materials, as adult bodies demanded larger sizes and greater protective coverage.
The seven sets of chainmail were quite similar in style, with no major differences between them. The basilisk scales, which naturally shimmered with an emerald glow under light, had been dulled to a matte finish to prevent them from glinting and giving away the wearer's position in the dark... Though, honestly, would anyone really wear chainmail for stealthy operations?
No one could resist the allure of new equipment—not even Harry. Unable to wait for the freshly forged armor to fully cool, he donned his set immediately.
"Wow!!!"
On the other side, Ron was enthusiastically pounding his fist against the basilisk scales on his chest, his eyes practically sparkling with excitement.
Even with their luster dulled, the chainmail exuded a rugged charm. Harry's craftsmanship drew inspiration from orcish techniques, and orcish creations often carried a wild, primal beauty—a style distinct from both modern society and the wizarding world.
Harry had deliberately shaped the left shoulder of the armor into the form of a snarling, dark green snake head, its fangs bared. The snake's eyes glowed faintly with magical light, as if ready to strike at any moment.
It was honestly a bit creepy to see in the dark.
"What do you think, Harry?!" Ron shouted excitedly, swinging the hammer Harry used for forging. "Do I look like a real shaman now?!"
"More like a blacksmith," Hermione interjected before Harry could respond, her tone teasing. "A true shaman should always be surrounded by the four elements, like when Harry gave us that first lesson last year."
"Ahem, Hermione, that was just a demonstration," Harry said, a touch embarrassed as she brought up the lesson. "The suit I wore that day didn't actually have any special effects. Those elemental orbs floating around me? I asked the elements to put on a show to grab the students' attention."
"Oh? To grab the female students' attention?" Sirius's ears perked up, catching a key phrase. "Merlin's beard, Harry, I'm thrilled to hear you've got such ideas in that head of yours. You're finally acting like a proper kid!"
"If your flea-bitten ears aren't festering with sores, you'd have heard Harry say 'students,' not 'female students,'" Snape sneered, struggling to move in his armor. "But for a mangy dog like you, whose brain is perpetually in heat, I suppose that's all you can comprehend."
"What did you say?!" Sirius roared, instantly furious. "Ha! Look at you, you slimy worm, barely able to move in that armor! Are you even a man?!"
Though Harry's influence had stopped Sirius from calling Snape names like "Snivellus," the two still couldn't coexist peacefully.
Unlike Sirius, who was bouncing around energetically in his chainmail, Snape moved with visible effort, looking as though he might start panting after a few steps.
"Enough, both of you. Can't you just calm down?" Harry interrupted with a weary sigh before their argument could escalate further. "But, Snape, you really should work on your physical conditioning. A strong body is our foundation for winning battles."
"Physical conditioning..." Snape's expression twisted slightly. "Me? You? We're wizards, Harry—wizards who cast spells. We don't need these Muggle methods."
"You only say that because you haven't tasted the benefits of magical armor," Harry countered firmly. "Imagine this: someone sneaks up and tries to stab you in the kidney or some other vulnerable spot. This armor will protect you. And it offers considerable resistance to spells, too."
"Exactly, Harry! Keep going! Let that slimy snake hear more!" Sirius said gleefully. "They say a thousand years ago, Godric Gryffindor dressed like this—armor on, wand in his left hand, sword in his right."
"Like Harry?" Ron asked, eyeing the weapon at Harry's waist with a hint of envy. "Except Harry's got a warhammer instead of a sword. What part of the basilisk was that made from?"
"The fangs, obviously," Harry replied simply. "That's why I don't let you touch it. If you got poisoned, it's no joke. Basilisk venom can only be cured by phoenix tears, and making Fawkes cry on demand might mess with my claim to her."
"Aha! You've got your eye on Dumbledore's phoenix?" Sirius nudged Harry, the armor clanking loudly, a teasing grin on his face. "Nice thinking, Harry. Godric Gryffindor had his sights on the goblin-made sword, didn't he?"
"That's just a legend, Sirius!" Hermione cut in, exasperated. "In goblin eyes, anything they craft belongs to them. Even if a wizard provides the materials or pays for it, they see it as a loan. Gryffindor's sword was his, no matter what those greedy goblins claim."
"Alright, alright, calm down, little lady. We're just joking," Sirius said, raising his hands in surrender before Hermione's fervor.
"Gryffindor lived a thousand years ago," Snape said, frowning. "Muggles aren't the same as they were back then. I highly doubt anyone's going to try stabbing my kidney—or anything else—nowadays."
"Wear it, Snape," Harry said, shaking his head. "I'm more worried about you and Sirius than Hermione and the others. One of you lacks common sense, and the other's always poking around dangerous places. You need to train your body, Snape."
Harry didn't finish the thought, but he trusted Snape understood. After all, Dumbledore had already shared the secret of Voldemort's Horcruxes with his trusted allies. If any trace of a Horcrux surfaced or caused trouble, not only would Lucius need to investigate, but Snape might also have to gather intelligence. Safety was paramount.
"...I understand," Snape said quietly, accepting Harry's concern without further argument.
Potions-based training would begin tomorrow.
"Wait a second, Harry," Sirius said, his brow furrowing as he sensed something amiss. "Lacking common sense—that's not about me, is it? It can't be, right? Azkaban's dangerous, sure, and the Forbidden Forest counts too—"
"By the way," Harry cut in, smoothly changing the subject, "unlike the suit I wore last year to grab students' attention with fake effects, this basilisk armor actually has some unique properties. You should be able to feel them when you wear it."
In more technical terms, the armor the seven were wearing could be described as:
[Thousand-Year Basilisk's Cuirass (Epic)
Chest; 284 Armor
+97 Intellect/Agility
+179 Stamina
+14 Haste
+7 Critical Strike
Thousand-Year Basilisk's Abomination (2/2)
Thousand-Year Basilisk's Cuirass
Thousand-Year Basilisk's Kilt
Set Bonus (2): Fragments of the basilisk's tormented soul linger within. When attacked, there is a chance to summon the basilisk's spirit to harm your attacker. Your spells also have a chance to summon the basilisk's spirit, infusing your damage with a cursed serpent venom.]
[Thousand-Year Basilisk's Kilt (Epic)
Legs; 132 Armor
+84 Intellect/Agility
+142 Stamina
+19 Haste
+11 Mastery
Thousand-Year Basilisk's Abomination (2/2)
Thousand-Year Basilisk's Cuirass
Thousand-Year Basilisk's Kilt
Set Bonus (2): Fragments of the basilisk's tormented soul linger within. When attacked, there is a chance to summon the basilisk's spirit to harm your attacker. Your spells also have a chance to summon the basilisk's spirit, infusing your damage with a cursed serpent venom.]
A straightforward two-piece set, prioritizing raw defensive power over flashy effects. Harry planned to reforge the armor later, once he gathered rarer materials from the magical world, to further refine and enhance it.
"I can definitely feel something," Sirius said, his expression curious. "I feel stronger, like my movements are quicker. Honestly, I think I could take on Dumbledore right now!"
"Hahaha!" Snape didn't hesitate to let out a mocking laugh.
"What's so funny?" Sirius shot him a glare but didn't take it too personally, knowing the sensation was likely just his imagination. He shrugged awkwardly. "Seriously, though, Harry, why'd you make the shoulder look like a venomous snake? It's not very Gryffindor. Our house champions should have lions!"
"Because this is armor forged from a thousand-year-old basilisk, not some thousand-year-old lion," Harry said, rolling his eyes at his godfather's unreasonable complaint. "To properly channel the material's inherent power, the armor's shape needs to guide the magic. Stop being picky, Sirius. You're lucky to have it at all—sorry, Hagrid, your body's just too big for me to make you a set."
"Oh, don't worry 'bout that, Harry," Hagrid said, waving it off casually as he helped Neville adjust his armor. "I'm quite fond o' the dagger you gave me. It's dead sharp—helps a ton in the Forbidden Forest."
"That's a dagger?" Ron muttered under his breath. "It's practically as long as my arm."
Hagrid's dagger was called [Thousand-Year Basilisk's Fang (Epic)]. Though named after the basilisk's fang, it was actually forged from snake bones and steel. Harry had been wary of using the actual fangs, fearing Hagrid's carelessness might lead to accidental poisoning.
Even a half-giant's blood probably couldn't withstand basilisk venom.
As for Harry's own warhammer, that was forged from the basilisk's fangs.
[Thousand-Year Basilisk's Bite (Epic)
One-Hand; Hammer
239-643 Damage, Speed 2.6
+217 Agility
+104 Stamina
+23 Haste
+24 Critical Strike
Equip: Your attacks have a high chance to inject the enemy with Thousand-Year Basilisk Venom.]
Simple and brutal. By the standards of combat in the wizarding world, Harry reckoned his hammer was among the deadliest weapons around.
"ROAR!!!"
As the group eagerly tested their new gear, a dragon's bellow echoed through the air. Ragehorn swooped down and landed beside Harry, likely drawn by the commotion in the suitcase world. With a light nudge of her snout, she pushed Sirius aside, ignoring his jealous glare and nuzzling Harry affectionately—carefully, so as not to hurt him.
No man could resist the allure of a living dragon, and Sirius was no exception. Unfortunately for him, Ragehorn had no interest in his charm.
"Alright, alright, I know you missed me," Harry said gently, stroking Ragehorn's scales. "What's that? You don't like the smell of my armor? It's just the scent of the trophy—it's dead, eaten, gone. Hmm? You want a set like this? No way, you're far too big. Even if we stripped every scale off that basilisk, it wouldn't be enough to make armor for you..."
Under the envious gazes of the others, Ragehorn let out low, rumbling growls, but Harry clearly understood her and continued their conversation.
After a year, Ragehorn had grown from a tiny, desk-bound hatchling into a magnificent, powerful dragon. Not yet fully mature, but under Harry's careful rearing, she boasted a stronger frame and more radiant scales than her kin at the same age. Most importantly, she was far smarter, able to understand Harry's words and follow his commands with precision, even if she couldn't speak like a human.
Classic tauren beast-taming techniques.
Well, maybe a bit too smart—she was clever enough to demand new "clothes" for herself.
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