Killing

The resentful little mouse suddenly sensed movement. Something was slithering nearby, the vibrations prickling every hair on its body, urging it to either flee in terror or freeze in place, feigning death – even though it was already dead, the instinctual fear clung to it like rot on a bone.

"Squeak!" it cried, its voice lost in the sobs echoing through the tunnel.

"Squeak!"

Rustling.

The thing was drawing closer. It had left its resting place and was crawling along the ground, winding past the tall, serpent-carved pillars, stretching its somewhat stiff body.

"Squeak!"

The mouse could bear it no longer. It bolted towards the tunnel, fleeing the man in the turban who was kneeling and pleading with something unseen. It scurried nimbly along the wall, following the guidance of its summoner's rope. Unburdened by a physical body, it ran swiftly. it knew where there was an opening.

Suddenly, it crashed into a hand.

"The basilisk is out?" Anthony asked.

Halfway back up the tunnel, the wraith rat's anxiety and fear washed over him. It was like eight hundred alarm bells clanging in his mind, the world falling silent around him. The rat's powerful emotions had broken through the distance limitations of his senses.

He instantly knew something was wrong and swiftly retreated to the Room of Requirement, just in time to scoop up the little mouse from the wall, ablaze with frantic magic in his perception.

"Squeak," the mouse said, calmly allowing itself to be placed in his pocket.

.....

Footsteps pounded heavily against the cold stone floor as Anthony sprinted through the tunnel, a wave of self-blame washing over him.

If only he hadn't awakened the basilisk before. if only he hadn't accepted Professor Quirrell's help. He could distinctly feel the aura of death clinging to Quirrell, growing stronger with every passing moment. Something was terribly wrong, and he had been trying so hard to help him.

The closer he got to their previous location, the more palpable the presence of a massive creature became. The tunnel walls trembled slightly, the air thick with danger. The once scattered bones of small animals were slowly parting, like water displaced by a passing ship.

A figure lay sprawled on the ground. A faint light emanated from the chamber behind him, and the large turban wrapped tightly around his head cast an eerie shadow on the uneven floor. A giant green serpent hovered nearby, hissing excitedly, its fangs glinting menacingly.

This basilisk was far larger than the shed skin he had seen before.

Anthony had no time to wonder why the basilisk hadn't devoured the man yet. He couldn't sense the man as a corpse, so he was still alive. Thank goodness he was still alive.

The basilisk turned its head towards Anthony's approach, its yellow eyes devoid of emotion or anger. Anthony caught a glimpse and quickly shut his eyes – he wasn't taking any chances. He realized the creature was astonishingly long, only half of its body visible, the rest coiled within the vast chamber behind it.

"Professor Quirrell?" Anthony shouted, but there was no response.

Taking a deep breath, Anthony raised his hands as he ran.

Suddenly, the tunnel behind him erupted in a cacophony of rustling. The basilisk's food remains he had passed began to stir. Bones clattered against each other as they surged towards the basilisk in a macabre wave.

All manner of small rodents, some missing half their skulls, others with ribs askew, charged towards the gaping maw of the serpent.

They swarmed over the basilisk's head and body, tearing at its iridescent scales, as if trying to bury it beneath their own skeletal forms. They gnawed and bit, clawed and scratched, nearly overwhelming the massive creature.

But the basilisk merely shook its body irritably, attempting to dislodge the clinging nuisances. It opened its mouth and swallowed a wave of skeletons, its needle-sharp fangs scraping against the wall, leaving deep gouges in the stone with a chilling screech.

The cutting curse he cast merely pinged off the basilisk's scales like a knife against porcelain. It was hard to tell if the creature even registered the spell's impact.

Anthony gestured with his hand. The skeletons – now more bones than creatures – clambered towards the basilisk's eyes, attempting to blind it. A few ferret-shaped skeletons made a valiant effort to gouge out the eyes, but they remained unharmed.

The basilisk slammed its head against the wall, sending bone fragments and chipped stone raining down, but more skeletons swarmed up to take their place.

In Anthony's perception, the bones covering the basilisk's body had formed a detailed outline. He dodged the creature's snapping jaws, but its fangs tore through his wizard's robes, leaving a gash on his arm. He shook his arm, attempting to heal the wound, but the process was agonizingly slow.

Quirrell suddenly groaned and collapsed into the mud. "Professor Quirrell, are you alright?" Anthony cried out, but there was no response. He seemed to be unconscious.

He had to get Quirrell out of there as quickly as possible.

Anthony was growing impatient.

He commanded his injured arm to detach from his body and flung it aside. The resentful little mouse crawled out of his pocket, trembling but swiftly joining the steady stream of undead, guiding Anthony.

Then he ripped something from the basilisk's body. The mass was bland and somewhat formless.

The basilisk thumped to the ground.

Anthony couldn't quite describe what it was. It thrashed, attempting to return to its body, but Anthony wouldn't allow it. He needed to contain it, imprison it, prevent its escape.

Instinctively, he shoved the mass into his mouth and swallowed.

It wasn't tasty, just dry, like toilet paper—wait, what was toilet paper?

Despite the lack of flavor, he was oddly satisfied. At least he was full.

And when he was full, he wanted to stretch. So he sprawled out—there was still some room in this green-scaled thing, and he used it to flex his muscles. He felt cold all over, so very comfortable.

Then he noticed something beside him. He must have passed out, because it smelled like a poorly cooked two-for-one meal deal, but at least it had some flavor, maybe.

"Professor An-Anthony?" The voice echoing in the tunnel.

Anthony, he remembered that was his name.

Anthony gradually regained consciousness. He felt terrible, missing an arm, and magic surged and roared within him, like a river forced through his veins.

He turned his head to see Professor Quirrell awake, staring at him with wide eyes, the mountain of bone fragments beside them.

"I'm glad you're alright, Professor Quirrell," Anthony said with a shaky smile, trying to suppress his unruly necromancy. "You're lucky. I suppose this basilisk didn't care for garlic."