First story ever. Read and review and do help me out. The story will get updated every 1-2 weeks. Expect the chapter length to go up as well.
J.K Rowling was the creator. I'm just borrowing her amazing creation.
Parseltoungue in Italics and thoughts in bold.
"So concludes the tale of Harry Potter," echoed Riddle's distant voice through the Chamber's ethereal confines. "Alone in the silent abyss of the Chamber of Secrets, abandoned by comrades, vanquished by the Dark Lord he recklessly challenged. Back to the embrace of your Mudblood mother, Harry, she granted you twelve borrowed years. But Lord Voldemort triumphs in the end, as destiny foretold." As the whispers of mortality encircled him, Harry found solace in the thought that if this was death, it was not as daunting as anticipated. Even the pain began to dissipate, leaving him in a state of serene detachment.
Yet, instead of plunging into the obsidian abyss of death, the Chamber gradually reasserted its presence. Fawkes, the phoenix, maintained his comforting perch on Harry's arm, tears creating a luminous halo around a wound that, upon closer inspection, was absent. Something came flying out of the mouth of the statue, something shining, fixing itself onto Harry's left index finger. A surge of light reshaped it into a perfect fit, dispelling the magical concealment from Riddle's gaze. Startled, Riddle exclaimed, "NOO. How is this possible!? How are you worthy, but not me?"
He raised his wand menacingly. "But it matters not. I prefer it this way—just you and me, Harry Potter, heir against heir." Harry gazed in awe at the ring which had seemingly attached itself to him. Suddenly it spoke, but not to him, "Get the diary you flaming piece of poultry, and stop gawking". It was too low for Riddle to hear, but Harry heard it clearly and so did the aforementioned flaming piece of poultry.
Then, in a rush of wings, Fawkes had soared back overhead and something fell into Harry's lap - the diary. For a split second, both Harry and Riddle, wand still raised, stared at it. Then, without thinking, without considering, as though he had meant to do it all along, Harry seized the basilisk fang on the floor next to him and plunged it straight into the heart of the book. There was a long, dreadful, piercing scream. Ink spurted out of the diary in torrents, streaming over Harry's hands, flooding the floor. Riddle was writhing and twisting, screaming and flailing and then he was gone. Harry's wand fell to the floor with a clatter and there was silence. Silence except for the steady drip of ink still oozing from the diary. The basilisk venom had burned a sizzling hole right through it. "Good riddance," Harry heard in his head but he passed the sound off as his exhaustion.
Exhausted and drained Harry picked himself up off the ground. Looking again at the ring he tried yanking it off but it stayed fixed. He heard the hissing again "I will not come off youngling. For so long have I waited for one like you to seek me. My heir, your life has been ravaged by the twisted one, but I will help you fix it, so mote it be." The was another flash of light and at this point Harry was so overwhelmed he just did not know what to do. As if the ring sensed his thoughts, it hissed, "Retrieve the sword youngling, it is meant for you and unlike me he does not have enough power."
Feeling out of his depth, Harry proceeded to wrench the sword out of the Basilisk's mouth carefully as he didn't want to accidentally stab himself again. He went to pick up his wand from where it had fallen and as soon as he switched the sword to his left hand it grew warm. Harry looked at it, alarmed. He couldn't let go of it. "Don't worry youngling, he is bonding with you," hissed the ring. Taking that as its cue, the sword seemingly melted and flowed around Harry's left hand caressing the emerald ring on his finger. He felt some of the liquid metal flow into him while the rest formed a ring with a ruby, similar to the emerald one on his index finger. This ring affixed itself onto his middle finger and just like before, there was a flash of light and it fit perfectly on Harry's finger.
Suddenly Fawkes had flown back to him and like an overgrown puppy started nudging his head against the rings. He felt the rings heat up in response and Fawkes burst into a joyous melody.
"Yes, yes, you overgrown chicken, we're glad to see you too," hissed the ring. Then suddenly it felt angry, "what is this, how many has this abomination created," and Harry's hand was yanked towards his scar, where the rings burned. With a scream of pain, Harry fell backwards and blacked out. The last thing he saw was copious amounts of black smoke billowing out of his head.
Sybil Trelawney, the eccentric Divination professor, found herself engrossed in a floo call of a peculiar nature. She was deeply immersed in a conversation with her friend, a fellow practitioner of the mystic arts hailing from France. The discussion, rather unexpectedly, revolved around the mundane decision of who would take charge of procuring the next bulk order of sherry. Unbeknownst to her, the magical world outside her floo network was in tumult. The news of a recent attack, an event of great significance and concern, went unnoticed by Trelawney. Her focus was steadfastly fixated on the conversation and the pressing matter of sherry distribution. As her head remained engulfed in the dancing flames of the floo network, she remained blissfully ignorant of the unfolding events beyond the enchanted fireplace.
Suddenly, without warning, Trelawney's body seized up, succumbing to an unseen force that transcended the physical realm. Unmindful of her surroundings, with her head still submerged in the flickering fire, she found herself compelled to utter words that transcended the realm of ordinary discourse. Unfolding before her was the second prophecy of her mystical life, delivered in a trance-like state, as if her very being had become a conduit for the whims of fate and foresight.
"Deep in the chamber
Chosen by magic to rise
To raise magic
Chrysochlorous eyes transformed
The heir is rising
No end in sight until duty fulfilled
Deep in the chamber
Chosen by magic to rise."
After saying the last line she collapsed and her head was yanked out of the fire. Her friend, knowing that this was a Prophecy spoken by a seer rushed to call Unspeakable Delacour, the head of the French Department of Mysteries.