Harry's words were like a dagger, slicing deep into Tom's pride. His expression darkened imdiately.
"Just a few insignificant injuries, Potter. Don't get cocky." Tom shook his head, raising his wand as the stone serpents and Fiendfyre grew wilder, lunging viciously toward Harry.
Harry countered with precise magic.
The ground beneath the serpents softened.
While snakes are adept at navigating swamps, the heavy stone constructs lacked their agility. They struggled futilely, sinking deeper into the quagmire.
Compared to the Voldemort Harry had faced in his first year, this fifty-year-old Tom Riddle had a sharper intellect but far less skill in magical combat. As Professor Flitwick often said, his tactics were far too obvious.
Transfiguration was rely a ans to trap Harry, followed by a Killing Curse to finish him off.
A good plan.
But immature.
Even without Flitwick's training, Harry could have handled him. Now, with proper training, it was hardly a contest.
After several exchanges of spells, Harry conjured a silver lion Patronus, leaping forward as he crafted a bridge with Transfiguration. He sprinted across, driving his sword straight into Tom's forehead.
"Checkmate."
"Now it's my turn, Tom."
Black mist swirled as Tom's form dissipated once again. The Fiendfyre flared wildly, losing control. The stone bridge warped, transforming into a hollow sphere that enclosed Harry, carrying him out of the fire's reach.
Boom!
An impatient Killing Curse shattered the stone sphere.
Tom reappeared, his face a storm of fury.
Harry extended his hand, summoning a shimring golden shield around him.
"That's twice, Tom," Harry said, staring him down. His words were sharp and deliberate. "Even small wounds add up."
"How many more tis can you hold out?"
"Ten? Twenty?"
"You're finished, Tom."
Tom's voice dripped with cold malice. "And how much longer can you last, Potter? This chamber will be your grave."
"I've always been known for my endurance." Harry grinned, brandishing his sword in one hand and casting spells with the other as he charged at Tom.
Their battle raged on, but this ti, Tom faltered.
His relentless defense left him vulnerable. The cracks in his technique widened.
Within monts, Harry's sword struck again, plunging into Tom's chest.
The black mist dissipated more rapidly than before, the Fiendfyre once again losing stability.
"Third ti, Tom!" Harry pulled out a calming potion and drank it, steadying his focus.
The battle resud.
"Fourth ti." Harry decapitated Tom's spectral form with a swift slash. "You're running out of stolen power, aren't you?"
"You're as stubborn as my uncle's old radio," Harry quipped.
The diary pulsed with darkness as Tom's form reassembled, his face blending with the swirling black mist, almost indiscernible.
Harry pressed his advantage, refusing to give him a mont's respite.
Another strike.
"Fifth ti!"
Tom grew increasingly fragile, his attempts to retaliate becoming feeble. Harry's strikes beca more effective, each attack pushing Tom closer to collapse.
If one strike couldn't kill him, then ten might.
Harry's plan was simple: wear him down until he could no longer manifest a corporeal form or cast spells, then throw the diary into the Fiendfyre to destroy it completely.
"Potter!" Tom bellowed, lifting himself on a platform of black mist. "I intended to use you as my final offering before my resurrection."
"You've surprised , but this ends now."
The Fiendfyre roared higher, filling the chamber with oppressive heat as Tom's form grew faint.
"No one but a Parselmouth can enter the Chamber of Secrets," Tom snarled. "We'll both die here, together."
Harry scoffed, cutting him off. "You sound like one of those bitter romantics, Tom. I'm not interested in dying with you."
Tom's expression contorted with fury, as if Harry had struck a nerve.
Harry tilted his head, his tone turning sly. "Did I hit a nerve? Was there soone you liked?"
"Oh, wait, no. Even with your twisted personality, if they didn't know about your nightly visits to the girls' bathroom, they might've been chard."
Tom ground his teeth audibly.
"You've buried your past so deeply, no one knows that Voldemort used to be Tom Riddle," Harry continued thoughtfully. "Are you running from your na? From your family?"
"Did your parents have... complicated relationships?"
Tom's face grew darker with every word.
He said nothing, channeling all his power into his wand. Flas erupted, surging wildly and filling the chamber, leaving no corner untouched.
Harry darted and weaved through the chaos, retreating toward the entrance.
A stone serpent crashed into the doorway, blocking his exit.
"Potter, you're not leaving," Tom growled. "This is where it ends."
A clear, resonant sound interrupted him.
The familiar presence of powerful magic washed over the chamber. Harry looked up to see Fawkes returning, clutching a figure in its claws.
Professor Dumbledore.
"Riddle, this ga is over," Dumbledore said, his face grim as he raised his wand.
Without uttering a word, he flicked his wrist, and the flas recoiled.
The once-mighty Fiendfyre faltered, curling in on itself as if cowed, before fading into nothing.
The stone serpents stilled, lifeless once more.
"Dumbledore." Tom's translucent form trembled. "Why are you here?"
Dumbledore's gaze was unwavering. "Hogwarts is under threat from a dark wizard. I will not abandon my students."
"Taking care of a shadow of your forr self won't take long. I can handle both tasks. Tom, you were my student—I know you well."
Harry sheathed a potion back into the Sorting Hat. "Professor, you're just in ti. Any later, and I'd be serving as roasted lion."
Dumbledore smiled kindly. "You handled yourself admirably, Harry. He's no match for you. In ability and character, you surpass him."
Harry shook his head. "I couldn't kill him."
"All I could do was force him back into the diary. To destroy him, I think we'll need Fiendfyre."
Dumbledore hesitated briefly before raising his wand again. He murmured an incantation, and a ghostly blue fla erged.
Unlike Tom's black Fiendfyre, this blue fire was colder, sharper, and more potent.
The flas engulfed the diary.
A shriek echoed through the chamber as Tom's form contorted violently. Thick, black liquid oozed from the diary, igniting upon contact with the blue fire and evaporating into dark smoke.
The sinister aura dissipated, the chamber falling silent.
Dumbledore waved his wand, extinguishing the flas.
What remained was a charred, lifeless diary.
He picked it up with a second flick of his wand.
"Professor, can you tell now?" Harry asked quietly, his gaze fixed on the diary. "What exactly is this?"
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Powerstones?
For 20 advance chapters: /michaeltranslates
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