This is a story that has been rattling around in my head for a few weeks, and it just highlights all my doubts about the plot as well as all the plotholes in the books. Don't get me wrong, the books were great, but I just don't think that some parts were plausible. Now, obviously I don't own the books, though I would like to live in a castle.
Warning: This story will be rather dark as I have a twisted, horrible, mind and can't help torturing my favorite characters.
Harry Potter, Boy-Who-Lived, and Golden boy of the wizarding world was dying. He lay on the floor of the Chamber of Secrets; the body of the basilisk lay nearby, the monster's blood spreading outward in a dark pool. Ginny lay to his left, her body cold and still as the life drained out of her and into the book that projected the visage of Tom Riddle.
He had fought the Basilisk, armed only with a phoenix and a sword; he had fought and fell (killer since birth). He had plunged the sword into the Basilisk's mouth, blade cutting through muscle and bone (and oh, the sound) if he lived, (but he wasn't going to, too late, too late) he would never forget that sound.
He lay there, staring up at the ceiling, the fang still in his hand, his consolation prize (I might be going, but I won't go alone). The sword lay somewhere off to the side glistening wetly with blood. He heard a rustle of wings as Fawkes landed next to him.
"Remarkable how quickly Basilisk venom penetrates the body, isn't it?" Riddle said, leering down at him, his face triumphant. "And look, even the bird's mourning your death." The memory laughed, staring down at his future (not anymore) enemy.
"You were brilliant, Fawkes, I just wasn't fast enough." Harry told the beautiful bird as Fawkes cried over his wound. The tears dripping down his beak and landing in the wound, stinging slightly, but not registering past the pain in the wound itself or the cold ache spreading through his body.
And isn't it strange that the blackness at the edge of his sight receeded? Wasn't it supposed to go black? Strength was returning to his limbs as he clenched his hands experimentally.
"Wait!" Riddle made a grab for the phoenix but went straight through the bird. He had realized too late that phoenix tears have healing properties. "You, Bird! Stop that!" Harry reached over and took the book from Ginny's hands, ignoring Riddle as he cursed, he opened it to a random page. He looked up at Riddle and stabbed the book with the Basilisk fang held in his hand. He watched as the image of fractured like glass. Ink spurted up around the fang, spattering Harry's hands. Riddle reached towards him threatening, then Harry closed the book and stabbed through the cover, Riddle shattered fading away into dust.
Next chapter is the summer after second year. This story is a bit episodic and drabble-fic-ish at the moment, but it will pick up with longer chapters a bit later on. Now, show of hands, who hates me yet? No one? Oh, that'll change.