"No." Sherlock shook his head. "You aren't him."
Tom suddenly lowered his head, staring at him with a hideous expression.
"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. "I don't know through what magic, but Voldemort split his own soul. One part of it was placed into his diary from his school days, and then there was you."
Tom quieted down, the hideousness on his face gone, replaced by an unpredictable, dark expression.
"You are very clever, Professor Cavendish, you really are very clever. If I had encountered you as my Professor back when I was in school, perhaps everything I did would have been seen through by you long ago."
He said sinisterly.
"But even if you see more things now, it's useless. You're about to die!"
As he spoke, the Basilisk, which had been curled in the corner and self-mutilating to relieve its pain, finally recovered.
Black blood continued to drip-drip onto the ground from the large hole torn in its lower jaw.
But its vitality was extremely tenacious; even such an injury did not kill it. Instead, it continued to sniff around for Sherlock's scent, intending to resume its attack.
Sherlock, however, paid no attention to the Basilisk waiting for its chance to attack; his eyes were fixed tightly on Tom.
"So you admit what I said is correct. You aren't some memory of Voldemort's at all—you are him! You are a part of his soul!"
"Yes! You're right."
Tom admitted it generously. He didn't think anyone here could escape alive, so these things would never be known by anyone else.
"I am him, and he is me. Our souls share the same root and origin!"
A brilliant smile appeared on Sherlock's face.
Harry and Ron were stunned as they looked at his smile. Since they had known Sherlock, they had never seen him smile so wholeheartedly.
Though his face was currently covered in blood and filth, and his robes were tattered, it still couldn't hide his dazzling, radiant smile.
"Then I understand," he said softly.
He then reached out his hand and touched Tom's body, which appeared real but was actually illusory.
Tom sensed something was wrong and began to grow nervous.
"What do you want to do?"
Sherlock did not answer him, for his mouth had already begun to chant an obscure and difficult incantation.
A grey light began to glow at the junction where his hand met Tom's body!
Tom clearly felt his body being kneaded and compressed by a strange force, as if he were being twisted into a thin line!
He had no way to resist that power; it seemed specifically designed for souls, and fragmented souls at that!
He cried out in unease and fear.
"What have you done to me! Stop! How dare you! Do you even know what you're doing!"
His shrill voice didn't cause Sherlock's movements to pause for even half a second!
The grey light glowed across Tom's entire body, even preventing him from maintaining a human form!
A piercing scream echoed through the Common Room!
Sherlock felt the mark on his left arm burning intensely, but he did not stop his movements. He continued to use the soul-repairing 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, turning into a soul body that was as pure as it could possibly be.
And the repair magic was kneading this soul into a thread, using the spell as a needle to stitch his own torn soul.
While Sherlock was using the repair spell on Tom, the Basilisk's movements did not stop.
It stretched its body, which had been tensed from pain, and followed the scent to find Sherlock's group.
Harry was still wearing the Sorting Hat, constantly trying to communicate with it, but to no effect.
The hat seemed to have turned into an ordinary hat, devoid of any magical properties.
After Tom was pinned by Sherlock's spell, the Binding Curse on the boys vanished.
Harry looked at the Basilisk that had already crept close. Gritting his teeth, he jammed the Sorting Hat onto Neville's head and shouted to Ron.
"We have to find a way to help Professor Cavendish, help him keep the Basilisk busy!"
Ron pulled out his wand. The magical tape on it had failed at some point, and his broken wand was once again held together by only a few strands of wood.
He threw his wand to the ground in frustration, then picked up Neville's wand, which Tom had dropped.
Harry and he began to run through the Common Room. Their spells hit the Basilisk's thick hide harmlessly; though they couldn't cause any effective damage, they could lure it away from Sherlock's direction.
Fawkes, who had been knocked aside, finally broke free from Tom's spell at this time.
It spread its wings and glided through the air, venting all its rage on the Basilisk, repeatedly attacking its already blinded eyes with its sharp beak.
But the Basilisk's resistance was also extremely violent!
While the loss of hearing and sight had weakened its combat effectiveness, in another sense, it had also been enhanced.
It lashed its body about wildly. Ron couldn't dodge in time and was struck by its tail, slamming hard against the wall!
"Ron!" Harry shouted anxiously.
Ron didn't answer him; the impact had knocked him unconscious on the spot.
Neville's lips trembled as he watched Ron get knocked out and Harry and Fawkes still entangled with the Basilisk. His face grew paler and paler.
"Help them! I want to help them!" he pleaded repeatedly to the hat on his head. "Please, let me help them!"
Suddenly, something very hard and heavy fell onto the top of Neville's head, nearly knocking him out.
He saw stars before his eyes. He grabbed the top of the hat to pull it off, but felt something long and hard inside it.
It was a magnificent sword!
"Thank you!" He didn't know who he was thanking.
Neville raised the sword, stood up from the ground with all his strength, and marched forward toward the Basilisk's direction!
He laboriously raised the sword high over his head, stumbling bit by bit toward the Basilisk's massive body, and finally plunged it hard into its flesh!
"Hiss!!!"
A tragic and low roar rang out once more!
The Basilisk thrashed violently, directly flinging the already exhausted Neville away!
And at this moment, Sherlock also completely finished the stitching magic.
He felt himself in an incredibly wondrous state; he had never felt himself to be so powerful!
So powerful that it seemed as long as he wished, he could accomplish everything in his imagination with just a thought!
His eyes flickered with a faint golden glow as he looked at the still-struggling Basilisk.
Sherlock gently reached out one of his hands. No incantation, no wand waving, no spellcasting gestures.
He simply moved a thought.
Countless broken tables, chairs, and benches in the Common Room floated up, these fragments harmlessly surrounding the Basilisk.
Then they suddenly turned into countless long spears several metres long!
In an instant, they pierced through its body!