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Chapter 94: Soul Stitching
Chapter 94: Soul Stitching
"No." Sherlock shook his head. "You aren't."
Tom suddenly lowered his head, his face contorted with a menacing glare.
"I'm not what?"
"You are his soul, or rather, a part of his soul." The confusion on Sherlock's face gradually cleared, as if he had finally figured something out. "Through some kind of magic, Voldemort split his soul, and one of those parts he placed in his diary from his school days. That's how you came to be."
Tom fell silent. The menacing look on his face faded, replaced by an expression of uncertainty.
"You are very clever, Professor Forrest. You are truly very clever. If I had met you when I was a student, perhaps everything I did would have been seen through by you long ago."
He said this with a sinister tone.
"But it doesn't matter how much you figure out now. You are about to die!"
As he spoke, the Basilisk, which had been curled up in the corner, alleviating its pain through self-mutilation, finally regained some strength. The large hole in its lower jaw continued to drip black blood onto the ground. But its life force was incredibly resilient, and even such a grievous injury did not kill it. Instead, it continued to sniff the air, searching for Sherlock and the others, intent on attacking again.
Sherlock, however, paid no attention to the Basilisk preparing to launch another assault. His gaze remained fixed on Tom.
"So you admit I'm right. You aren't just Voldemort's memory; you are him. You are a part of his soul!"
"Yes! You are correct."
Tom readily admitted it, not believing that anyone would survive to tell the tale.
"I am him, and he is me. Our souls are one and the same!"
A radiant smile spread across Sherlock's face.
Harry and Ron were stunned by his smile. Since they had known Sherlock, they had never seen him smile so genuinely.
Despite the blood and dirt on his face and the tattered state of his robe, his brilliant smile shone through.
"I understand now", he said softly.
Then he extended his hand, touching Tom's seemingly solid but actually ethereal body.
Tom sensed something was wrong and began to feel anxious.
"What are you doing?"
Sherlock did not answer. Instead, he began to recite a complex and obscure incantation.
A gray light began to glow at the point where his hand touched Tom's body!
Tom clearly felt his body being manipulated and compressed by a strange force, as if he were being stretched into a thin thread!
He could not resist this force, which seemed specifically designed to target fragmented souls!
He screamed in fear and distress.
"What are you doing to me! Stop! How dare you! Do you know what you are doing!"
His shrill cries did nothing to halt Sherlock's actions!
The gray light enveloped Tom's entire body, preventing him from maintaining his human form!
Piercing screams echoed through the common room!
Sherlock felt the mark on his left arm burning intensely, but he did not stop. He continued using the Soul Repair Magic he had learned from the book written by the original owner's mother.
He could feel the consciousness within Tom's soul being completely erased, transforming it into a pure, unadulterated soul fragment.
The repair magic was now weaving this soul fragment into a thread, using spells as needles to mend the tear in his own soul.
As Sherlock used the repair spell on Tom, the Basilisk did not cease its movements. It stretched its body, which had been tense from pain, and followed the scent to where Sherlock and the others were.
Harry was still wearing the Sorting Hat, trying to communicate with it, but to no avail.
The hat seemed to have turned into an ordinary cap, devoid of any magical effects.
After Tom was stuck by Sherlock's spell, the Binding Curse on him and the others disappeared.
Harry watched as the Basilisk approached, gritted his teeth, and placed the Sorting Hat on Neville's head. He then shouted to Ron,
"We need to find a way to help Professor Forrest and keep the Basilisk from him!"
Ron pulled out his wand, the magical tape that had been holding it together having come loose at some point. His broken wand was now barely held together by a thin strip of wood.
He angrily threw his wand to the ground and picked up Tom's wand, which had fallen nearby, originally belonging to Neville.
Harry and Ron began running through the common room. Their spells hit the Basilisk's thick skin, causing no significant damage but managing to draw its attention away from Sherlock.
Fawkes, who had been flung to the side, finally freed himself from Tom's spell.
He soared through the air, venting his anger on the Basilisk, repeatedly pecking at its blind eyes.
But the Basilisk's resistance was fierce!
The loss of its hearing and sight had weakened it in some ways, but in others, it had become more dangerous.
It thrashed about wildly, and Ron, unable to dodge in time, was struck by its tail and slammed into the wall!
"Ron!" Harry called out anxiously.
Ron did not respond; the impact had knocked him unconscious.
Neville's lips trembled as he watched Ron fall unconscious, and his face grew paler as he saw Harry and Fawkes still struggling with the Basilisk.
"Help them! I want to help them!" he pleaded to the hat on his head. "Please, let me help them!"
Suddenly, something very hard and heavy landed on Neville's head, nearly knocking him out.
Stars danced before his eyes as he grabbed the hat, trying to take it off, but instead felt a long, hard object beneath it.
It was a magnificent sword!
"Thank you!" he said, not sure to whom he was speaking.
Neville lifted the sword, mustered all his strength to stand up, and marched bravely toward the Basilisk.
He struggled to raise the sword high above his head, staggering closer to the massive creature, and finally plunged it deep into its flesh!
"Hisss!!!"
A loud, agonized hiss echoed through the room!
The Basilisk thrashed violently, flinging the now exhausted Neville away!
At that moment, Sherlock completed his stitching magic.
He felt himself in an incredibly wondrous state, more powerful than he had ever felt before!
Powerful enough that with a mere thought, he could make reality conform to his imagination!
His eyes glowed with a faint golden light as he looked at the still-struggling Basilisk.
Sherlock raised one hand slightly, without uttering a spell, without waving his wand, without any casting gestures.
He simply thought it.
In the common room, countless fragments of broken tables and chairs floated into the air, harmlessly circling the Basilisk.
Then, in an instant, they transformed into numerous spears, several meters long!
They pierced the Basilisk's body, impaling it!
(End of Chapter)
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