Harry grasped the diary in a shaking hand; his sweaty palm leaving smears across the lush leather exterior as he raised the basilisk fang in his other hand. His vision was starting to blur and his breathing was getting heavy. Across the room the shade of Tom Riddle turned and gasped. Harry brought the fang down against the cover of the book, the tip had broken slightly, jagged and blunt, and it puckered the cover where it pushed roughly against the old leather.

In Harry's poison addled mind, it moved slowly, so slowly. He could see the leather try to bend, to resist, but his hand suddenly twitched, and the basilisk fang ripped down the cover of the book, tearing the thick leather to shreds in its wake as easily as cutting a pie. Tom gasped as the fang penetrated into the pages of the diary, parting the decrepit paper, which bent and cracked around the shaft, and he cried out as if the fang were ripping into his own flesh.

Where the fang met the book, a hissing sound, and a bubbling fluid swelled out, pooling across the cover of the book, and spilling over onto Harry's hand. Tom cried out again, and a shudder wracked his body. The ghost began to hiss in a distorted echo of the sound coming from the diary. Harrys addled mind was having a harder and harder time telling them apart... they mingled into a single hiss from everywhere in the room, from under Harry's hands, from Tom... then with a final wail tom shuddered and collapsed, vanishing into nothingness. The hissing in Harry's hands slowed, and was still, preserved as it was, the final memory of tom riddle was a hard enormous fang sticking straight up stuck in the diary.

Later harry wrapped the whole mess up in his sock.

AN wtf am i doing