Tom Riddle revealed that the culprit behind the series of incidents was Ginny Weasley. She had stumbled upon his diary and poured her heart into its yellowed pages, writing about her struggles at school, her brothers' endless teasing, the embarrassment of wearing hand-me-down robes, and her secret longing for the famous Harry Potter to notice her.
Tom had responded with carefully crafted sympathy, offering comfort when she needed it most and kindness when she felt alone. Each word was calculated, each response designed to earn her trust. But this was a devil's trap, woven with the patience of a predator.
The more Ginny confided in the diary, the stronger their bond seemed to grow—and the more of her soul Tom consumed. As her essence flowed into the pages, he gained enough power to materialize, pouring his own dark soul back into her fragile body. Through this twisted exchange, he manipulated the innocent girl, using her as his puppet for the chamber's reign of terror.
"I can't forgive that!" Hermione's voice cracked with fury as she raised her wand, her knuckles white against the wooden handle.
She had heard enough. This monster standing before them needed to be stopped, and every second they wasted talking was another moment of suffering for Ginny. Without hesitation, she channeled her rage into magic.
"Flipendo! Destroy it!"
"Oh, you're an impatient young lady." Tom's voice carried an infuriating note of amusement as he casually flicked his wand, deflecting the blue orb of light as if swatting away a bothersome fly.
But Hermione's assault had only begun. Two more bursts of magical energy followed in rapid succession, each one aimed with desperate precision at Tom's sneering face. Yet they proved futile, every spell dissolved harmlessly against his casual defense.
"Useless. Admirable effort for a second-year student, but you might as well be throwing pebbles at a dragon." His dark eyes shifted to Harry, gleaming with malicious curiosity. "Or will you do something, Harry Potter? Show us the power that defeated the great Dark Lord?"
"The Dark Lord... Voldemort?" Harry's voice trembled with confusion. "Why are you talking about him like you know him?!"
"I want to see how a mere baby with no extraordinary magical talent managed to defeat the greatest wizard who ever lived!" Tom's grin widened, revealing perfect white teeth that somehow made him look even more sinister.
Harry's mind reeled. Tom Riddle was supposed to be from fifty years ago—a generation before Voldemort's reign of terror. How could this boy from the past speak of the Dark Lord with such intimate knowledge?
Tom seemed to relish Harry's bewilderment. "Don't you understand yet?"
With theatrical flair, he waved his wand through the air, leaving glowing letters suspended in the dim chamber. His own name materialized in elegant script: "TOM MARVOLO RIDDLE."
Another wave of his wand sent the letters dancing, rearranging themselves like pieces of a sinister puzzle. When they settled into their new formation, both Harry and Hermione gasped in horror.
"I AM LORD VOLDEMORT"
The revelation hit Harry like a physical blow. Everything suddenly made terrible sense—the attack on Muggle-borns, the opening of the Chamber of Secrets, the attempt to frame him. This boy would grow up to become the monster who murdered his parents and countless others.
"Let me tell you something, Harry," Tom continued, his voice now carrying the cold authority that would one day terrorize the wizarding world. "Twice we have met, and twice I have failed to kill you. How did you survive? Tell me everything... the longer your story, the longer you and your friend will live."
"The first time, I don't know," Harry admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. Then his tone hardened with fierce pride. "But I know why you couldn't kill me the second time. My mother died protecting me! She was a Muggle-born who sacrificed everything!"
The words poured out of him, fueled by grief and defiance. "Her love stopped you from killing me! I saw what you really are last year—a pathetic wreck, barely alive. And that disgusting shadow was crushed by Slytherin's Mirabelle Beresford! Now you're nothing but a memory, weaker than a first-year student!"
Tom's handsome features contorted with rage, his mask of composure finally cracking. But he quickly smoothed his expression back into that chilling smile.
"I see. Your mother's sacrifice created a powerful counter-curse. How... mundane." His tone dripped with disappointment. "I had hoped there was something special about you, but now I know better. You're nothing but a lucky child protected by blood magic."
Tom raised his wand toward Harry with lethal intent. "In that case, let's end this quickly. After I'm done with you, I'll pay dear Mirabelle Beresford a visit."
Harry stood defenseless, his wand lost somewhere in the chaos. Hermione moved without thinking, placing herself between her best friend and certain death. Her hands shook, but her voice remained steady.
"You want to fight me?" Tom laughed, the sound echoing off the ancient stones. "A trembling little girl who knows I am Lord Voldemort, yet still shakes at the mere mention of my name?"
He was right—Hermione's entire body trembled with instinctive terror. The name Voldemort was taboo in their world, spoken only in hushed whispers by the bravest souls. Even Hagrid, with all his gentle strength, cowered when forced to speak of the Dark Lord.
But despite her fear, Hermione refused to step aside. She had already lost too many friends to darkness. She wouldn't lose Harry too.
"Flipendo!" she shouted again, pouring every ounce of her determination into the spell.
"Still useless!" Tom deflected it effortlessly.
But this attack had a different purpose, it was a rallying cry to her own courage. What was this young Dark Lord compared to the horrors she had witnessed? When she remembered Mirabelle, blood-soaked and laughing with terrifying madness, this boy's threats seemed almost quaint.
"Everte Statim! Dance in the air!"
"Immobilus. Don't move."
Their spells collided in the space between them, magical energies crackling and sparking before Hermione's magic shattered. Tom's spell continued its deadly trajectory, but Hermione threw herself sideways, rolling across the cold stone floor.
"Glacius! Freeze!"
"Incendio. Burn."
Tom countered her ice magic with flames, the opposing forces creating a brief inferno that cast dancing shadows on the chamber walls. Again, her spell proved insufficient against his superior skill.
This time, Tom cast silently, his lips barely moving as deadly magic shot toward the scrambling girl. Unable to identify the spell, Hermione could only rely on desperate evasion, diving and rolling as curse after curse missed her by inches.
"Serpensortia! Come forth, serpent!"
"Vipera Evanesca. Vanish, snake."
Tom effortlessly banished her conjured snake, then retaliated with another silent spell that opened a shallow gash across her shoulder. Hermione bit back a cry of pain, warm blood seeping through her torn robes.
Harry watched in agonized helplessness as his friend fought alone. His hands clenched into useless fists, without his wand, he was nothing more than a spectator to her suffering. The frustration burned in his chest like acid.
I have to do something!
He scanned the chamber desperately, finding only loose stones scattered across the floor. He could throw them, but they would likely miss Tom and possibly hit Hermione instead.
My wand... where is my wand?! How could I be so stupid?
Magic continued to flash between Hermione and Tom, filling the air with crackling energy and the acrid smell of spent spells. But it was clear who held the advantage. Tom was merely toying with her, drawing out her suffering for his own twisted amusement.
I need to help her. I need power, anything to fight with!
As if responding to his desperate plea, flames suddenly erupted from a nearby pillar. A magnificent phoenix burst through the fire, its crimson feathers gleaming like liquid flame and its golden tail streaming behind it like a banner. Fawkes, Dumbledore's faithful companion, flew directly toward Harry with something clutched in its talons.
The phoenix dropped an old, patched hat into Harry's outstretched hands—the Sorting Hat. But as his fingers closed around the ancient fabric, he felt an unexpected weight within its depths.
Reaching inside, Harry's hand closed around cold metal. He withdrew a magnificent silver sword, its blade gleaming with inner light and its ruby-encrusted hilt humming with ancient power.
The moment Harry gripped the weapon, he understood instinctively that this was no ordinary blade. This sword could match Tom Riddle's magic, could even challenge Mirabelle's terrifying strength. It was exactly what he needed to save his friend.
Harry didn't know he held Gryffindor's legendary sword, the very weapon that could cleave through the darkest magic. All he knew was that Fawkes had brought him hope.
"Get away from her!" Harry roared, charging into the battle with the sword raised high.
He positioned himself protectively in front of the wounded Hermione, then began cutting through Tom's spells with broad, powerful strokes. The enchanted blade sliced through magical energy as if it were mere silk, dispersing curse after curse.
"Harry... what is that sword?" Hermione gasped, pressing a hand to her bleeding shoulder.
"I don't know! Fawkes brought it!"
Harry had no answers, but he didn't need them. Dumbledore's phoenix had delivered this weapon for a reason, and Harry would trust in that purpose completely.
Without hesitation, he closed the distance between himself and Tom, swinging the sword in a devastating arc. His technique was crude, but the blade's power compensated for his inexperience, cutting through a stone pillar like soft butter and missing Tom's nose by mere inches.
But Tom danced away from the attack with maddening ease, his expression one of mild interest rather than concern.
"A fine sword indeed, Harry Potter. I'm certain it would wound me gravely if it actually connected." Tom continued dodging Harry's increasingly desperate attacks, vertical slashes, horizontal cuts, diagonal strikes, all missing their target. "But your swordplay is pathetic. Is this some kind of child's game?"
"Damn it!"
"No matter how magnificent a blade may be, swinging it remains nothing more than primitive Muggle brutality. Do you really think I would fall to such crude methods?"
Tom extended his wand almost casually, and Harry instinctively raised his sword to block. The magical impact sent him tumbling across the stone floor, his ribs aching from the force of the blow. Without the sword's protection, that single spell would have rendered him unconscious.
"Even a dragon-slaying blade is worthless if it cannot touch its target. No matter how sharp, a sword remains inferior to even a child's walking stick when wielded against magic!"
Tom unleashed a rapid series of wordless spells. Hermione managed to conjure a shimmering barrier that absorbed the first few, while Harry's sword carved through the others. But they were fighting a losing battle, even working together, they couldn't match Tom's overwhelming magical superiority.
We can't win like this, Hermione realized, her magical reserves depleting rapidly. She had tried every spell in her arsenal, employed every strategy she could think of. The simple truth was that Tom surpassed them in every way that mattered.
As long as they engaged him in direct magical combat, defeat was inevitable. It reminded her of her duel with Mirabelle at the dueling club—except this time, her opponent wasn't holding back.
But then Mirabelle's voice echoed in her memory: "That's impressive. But your fighting style is a little too academic. All Professor Lockhart said was 'disarm your opponent.' In that case, that's also a viable strategy, Granger."
No matter the method... as long as I can get his wand!
Hermione's eyes narrowed with sudden determination. She gathered every scrap of remaining magical power into her wand, focusing it all into a single, devastating Flipendo. Though her magic was still developing, when concentrated to this degree, it carried the force of an experienced wizard's attack.
"Oh, betting everything on one final strike? How wasteful," Tom sneered.
"You can call it wasteful after you've taken it!" Hermione shouted.
She activated the spell, and then hurled her wand like a javelin!
"What?!"
The spinning wand fired Flipendos from its tip as it flew, creating a chaotic barrage of magical energy that filled the chamber with explosive flashes. Tom's composure finally cracked as he faced this completely unexpected tactic.
But his reflexes remained lightning-quick. A wordless spell smacked Hermione's spinning wand aside, sending it clattering across the floor.
However, Hermione had already launched herself forward, using the distraction to close the distance between them.
Tom recovered quickly, pointing his wand at the approaching girl. She was just a child without her wand, what could she possibly do now?
Hermione answered by grabbing his wrist and executing a perfect joint lock, remembering the self-defense technique Mirabelle had demonstrated at the dueling club. She might not know the formal name of the move, but her body remembered every detail of the motion.
Using Tom's own momentum against him, she twisted his arm outward and threw him to the ground with surprising force.
"Impossible! You used filthy Muggle techniques against me!" Tom snarled in humiliation as he hit the stone floor.
Before he could recover, Hermione wrapped her arms around his waist from behind, holding him in place. She knew she couldn't restrain him for long, he was older and stronger—but she only needed a few precious seconds.
"Harry!" she screamed.
"I'm ready!"
Harry raised the sword high and charged forward. Tom frantically searched for his wand, but it had skittered away when he fell. He couldn't escape either, not with Hermione clinging to him desperately.
"Get away from me, you little—"
Slash!
Harry's blade cut diagonally from Tom's shoulder to his waist, opening a deep gash that painted the chamber floor with crimson. Whether from hesitation or concern for Hermione's safety, the blow didn't sever Tom completely, but it dealt devastating damage.
Tom coughed up blood, his face draining of color as he staggered sideways. Only his supernatural nature as a memory given form kept him from collapsing entirely.
"Impossible... something like this..." he wheezed, pressing a hand to his wounded torso. "I am the future Emperor of Darkness! How could two mere second-year students...?"
Tom staggered away from Harry and Hermione, his movements unsteady. "There must be some mistake... This cannot happen... It's too absurd..."
With tremendous effort, he summoned his diary to his outstretched hand. Though it galled him to retreat, even his pride couldn't deny the necessity. In his confused and wounded state, escape was the only rational choice.
"I will never forget this humiliation!" Tom's eyes burned with hatred as he glared at his young opponents. Then he vanished, using Dumbledore's own invisibility magic to flee, a final insult that only deepened his rage.
The self-proclaimed heir of Slytherin had been defeated by two children.
•°•
Huff... huff...
Tom materialized in one of the chamber's distant tunnels, his breathing labored and his wound still bleeding freely. Though the injury was severe, he wouldn't die from it—he was merely a manifestation of memory, sustained by the diary's power. As long as the journal remained intact, Tom Riddle could not truly perish.
Which meant Ginny's soul would never be returned.
A twisted smile spread across his pale features. They think they've won... but they'll soon learn otherwise.
Nothing had truly been resolved. The basilisk was dead and Tom had been forced to retreat, but those were minor setbacks. Harry and his friends still couldn't save Ginny, and the greater threat remained. Though he had lost the battle, Tom had won the war.
For now, I'll hide and recover. First, I'll reunite with my weakened main consciousness, and then...
Tom looked up, preparing to move deeper into the tunnels, and froze.
A slender, blood-stained arm had emerged from his chest, pale fingers wrapped around his diary like a crimson flower.
"What...?" he gasped, staring down at the impossible sight.
Following the arm back to its source, he found himself face to face with Mirabelle Beresford. The golden-haired girl was covered in blood, her clothes torn and stained, but her eyes blazed with fierce satisfaction.
"Well, well," she purred, her voice carrying the dangerous sweetness of poisoned honey. "It seems the price of eliminating the basilisk was having to clean up loose ends. I never imagined I'd need to personally handle the aftermath."
"You... you're supposed to be..." Tom's words dissolved into a bloody cough as Mirabelle's grip tightened on the diary.
His wand slipped from nerveless fingers, clattering to the tunnel floor.
"What's wrong?" Mirabelle's smile was absolutely terrifying. "Surely the future Dark Emperor isn't finished already?"
Evil flames erupted from her arm, consuming both the diary and Tom's manifestation in searing fire. The heat painted Tom's consciousness red as his form began to dissolve.
There was no way to resist. The future Dark Emperor could offer no resistance whatsoever, he simply vanished without a trace, his scream swallowed by the hungry flames.
---
Author's Note:
Haruko: "I learned the technique with my body!"
Mirabelle: "What technique? That sounds terrifying."
That concludes this episode! This time we had Harry & Hermione VS Tom, with the basilisk already defeated unlike in the original story. Tom himself became the final boss, what did you think?
Since Tom survived despite the Gryffindor sword's power being weakened, and his survival would have meant Ginny's death, I decided to have our protagonist deliver the finishing blow. After all, it's the hero's job to defeat the final boss.
I made several corrections to address plot inconsistencies:
Originally Tom claimed physical objects couldn't affect him, but then Hermione threw stones at him. I changed this so Tom has Harry's wand and can be touched normally.
Tom became invisible despite not having his wand, so I changed it to him escaping with the wand still in hand. Dumbledore will likely retrieve it later and return it to Harry.
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