A.N. Small update to the end of this chapter, Chapter 3 is being rewritten and will be out by Wednesday.

Harry picked up the Sorting Hat, his fingers brushing against its worn, frayed edges. It felt old and raggedy. The weight of a thousand choices had passed through it, but it had nothing left to give. He recognized it thankfully, but he could not for the life of him understand why this was brought to him.

He swallowed, his throat dry, his limbs aching with exhaustion. His mind was frayed, stretched too thin, and barely staying conscious. Ginny was running out of time, and he needed to act.

Across the chamber, Riddle exhaled slowly, his smirk widening as he clasped his hands behind his back. "A hat," he mused, his voice light, almost entertained. "And a songbird. That's all they sent you."

Harry didn't answer, too busy looking at the hat for answers.

Riddle chuckled softly. "No grand entrance. No friends or help. Not even a plan." He let the words sink in before tilting his head. "Did you expect a miracle, Harry? Is this what you were hoping for? Dumbledore's old hat and a bird?"

Harry clenched his jaw, gripping the hat tighter. He hadn't expected anything. He hadn't had time to. But now, with the weight of the hat in his hands and the emptiness in his mind, a sick, gnawing feeling settled into his chest.

He couldn't save himself with this.

"Ah," Riddle sighed, as he paced slowly, his steps echoing through the vast chamber. "That realization. It always comes eventually. The moment when you understand—truly understand—that they never meant to save you."

Harry's heart pounded painfully in his chest. "That's… That's not true…" His voice was hoarse, but firm.

"Isn't it?" Riddle stopped, tilting his head slightly. "You've seen the truth already. You just refuse to accept it. Think, Harry. No one came for you." His smirk curled, slow and knowing. "You were left to fight this battle alone. They've abandoned you."

"They've abandoned you, and no one is coming. They left you alone, up against Lord Voldermort."

Harry's grip on the hat tightened, his pulse loud in his ears. He opened his mouth—but nothing came.

Riddle relentlessly continued, "You want to believe in them," he said, his tone almost sympathetic. "But deep down, some part of you already knows the truth. You were never their equal. You were their symbol, their weapon. And now?" He exhaled, shaking his head. "Now, they've discarded you. Sent you to die with trinkets that can do nothing but cry over your corpse."

Harry's breath hitched. His hands trembled.

Riddle gave him a calculating gaze. "You could still join me, you know," he said softly. "Why waste yourself fighting for people who don't care if you live or die? I would never abandon you, Harry. I would never erase your memories."

Harry's head was spinning. He wanted this to end. He wanted the noise in his mind to stop, for the exhaustion to go away, for someone to tell him the truth and make everything make sense again.

And yet—

His grip on the hat slackened.

"You don't have to fight anymore," Riddle continued, his voice so soft it came out as a purr. "You could be powerful. You could be respected. You don't have to be their hero."

Harry's breathing was uneven. He felt like he was standing on the edge of something vast, something final, and he didn't know which way to fall.

"I…" His voice was hoarse, broken. "I—I don't know."

Riddle's smirk widened. "That's not a no."

Harry swallowed, his stomach twisting painfully. He didn't have an answer. He didn't know. He was too tired to know. But even through the haze of exhaustion and the hollow ache in his head where his memories should have been, one thought surfaced.

He didn't know who he was, but he knew what he wasn't.

His grip tightened again, his fingers digging into the hat. "I won't side with a murderer." His voice shook, but the words were steady.

Riddle's smirk didn't falter. If anything, it only grew. "A murderer," he repeated, as if tasting the word. He let out a quiet chuckle, shaking his head. "Is that what you think I am?"

Harry didn't answer.

Riddle exhaled through his nose, tilting his head slightly. "And yet, Harry, tell me—what would you have done? If they had shunned you? If they had cast you aside?" He took a slow step forward, his voice calm, almost patient. "Would you have bowed your head? Would you have let them define what you were worth?"

Harry's grip on the Sorting Hat tightened, but he didn't speak.

Letting out a small sigh, Riddle shook his head, disappointed. "My father was a Muggle. My mother was a pureblood—for all the good that did her. She tried her best to woo my father, only to be tossed aside like garbage when he was done with her." His voice was eerily emotionless and detached.

He took a step forward, his expression unreadable. "Hogwarts was hell for a time. I was sorted into Slytherin, of course—being the heir of the great Salazar Slytherin. But that wasn't known at first, and until it was, I was seen as nothing more than a mudblood who didn't know his place." He sighed, staring past Harry as if lost in a distant memory. "But despite that, it was still far better than the orphanage I was forced to call home for eleven years."

Harry swallowed, shifting uncomfortably.

"What I did," he continued, "was what they made me to do. They chose to treat me like an outsider and reminded me each and every day. After all, beat a dog enough, eventually he learns to stop barking."

"But I learned quickly," Riddle continued, pacing slowly. "You see, power is the only thing that matters in this world. It's the only thing that earns their respect. I was nothing to them, a no-name orphan, a Mudblood in their eyes." His jaw clenched slightly, and for a brief moment, his composed façade cracked slightly. "They whispered about me. Looked down on me. Ignored me. I wasn't fit to be the dirt on their feet."

His smirk returned, sharp and knowing. "Until I forced them to grovel at mine."

Harry's fingers curled around the Sorting Hat.

"Tell me, Harry," Riddle said, his tone almost amused, almost kind. "Was it any different for you?"

Harry hesitated.

"Do you remember how they treat you, despite being the savior of their world?" Riddle's voice was quiet now, but every syllable dripped with intent. "Even without your memories, you know, don't you? That feeling—that doubt. The way it felt when they look at you. The way they whisper behind your back."

Harry's grip tightened. He tried to shove the thoughts aside, to ignore the words curling around his exhausted mind.

But Riddle wasn't finished.

"Think, Harry," he pressed. "You—their hero, their Chosen One—and yet, what do they give you in return? Do they respect you? Do they treat you as an equal?" His smirk widened slightly. "Or are they simply using you?"

Harry's breathing was uneven. The exhaustion in his body seemed to have tripled, but not in the way that came from battle. It was the kind of tired that seeped into his very soul.

"I…"

"You're lucky, in a way. You don't remember it," Riddle went on, eyes glinting. "The way they look at you. At us. The way they whisper when they think you aren't listening. 'Not really one of us.'" His voice dipped, soft and knowing. "You feel it, even now. The doubt. The loneliness. No matter how much they pretend to care, you will never be one of them."

Harry's stomach twisted, but he forced himself to push back. "That's not true."

Riddle's smirk returned. "Isn't it?" He let out a quiet chuckle. "Tell me, then—why did you end up down here alone, with only Weasley's brother to help you? Why did no one else come?"

Harry clenched his jaw.

Riddle took another step forward, his expression unreadable. "They respected me, Harry," he said, his voice quiet now, almost reverent. "And rightly so. But it wasn't until I forced them to acknowledge me—until I showed them that might is right—that they finally understood." His dark eyes burned with intensity. "Only then did they show me the respect I rightfully earned."

His smirk curled again. "Would you like to know the real difference between us?" He tilted his head. "You still think you belong down in their world. With the rest of the sheep. I knew better."

Harry's fingers dug into the hat, his breath uneven.

Riddle leaned in just slightly, his voice dropping to a whisper. "But, that can change. There's always a place for you by my side. All you have to do is say yes."

For a moment, Harry couldn't breathe.

He exhaled, steadying himself. "You just want to be feared, you don't care for their respect."

Riddle's expression darkened.

Harry shook his head, exhaustion weighing on him like lead. "They hurt you, so you hurt them back," he muttered. "You think that's respect?"

Riddle studied him for a long moment.

Then, slowly, his smirk returned, colder than before. "You disappoint me, Harry," he murmured.

His grip tightened on Ginny's wand.

"Perhaps you just need a more of an incentive."

Before Harry could react, Riddle turned slightly, flicking Ginny's wand through the air.

"Speak to me, Slytherin, greatest of the Hogwarts Four…"

The air shook.

A deep, grating scrape echoed through the chamber, like massive stone scales slithering against rock. The ground trembled beneath Harry's feet.

From the darkness, something moved.

A slow, chilling hiss curled through the air, and suddenly, the exhaustion in Harry's body was gone, swallowed by a deep fear that crawled through his bones.

"Let's test our strength, Harry!" He hissed, eyes meeting Harry's, challenging him to dare to speak back. "The Boy Who Lived, puppet of the wizarding world, versus Lord Voldemort, the heir of Slytherin!"

Riddle was smiling maniacally, as the Chamber of Secrets opened for the final time.

The hiss slithered through the chamber, sharp and hungry.

Harry's breath came short, his heart hammering against his ribs as he scrambled backward, clutching the Sorting Hat like a lifeline.

He knew what this was. He knew what it could do.

Even with the gaps in his memory, that knowledge was still there—coiled in the back of his mind like a warning left behind by a past version of himself.

A Basilisk.

One look. That was all it would take. One glance, even a flicker of an eye meeting his own, and he would be nothing more than a lifeless body on the cold stone floor. He squeezed his eyes shut, forcing himself to think of anything he knew to escape.

"Bring me his corpse! Lay it out in front of me!" Hissed Riddle, egging the serpent on.

The scraping of scales against stone sent a chill racing down his spine. He couldn't see it, couldn't look, but he heard it—its body slithering forward, slow and heavy..

Harry turned sharply, his foot slipping slightly on the damp floor as he began to move—slowly, carefully, keeping his hands out as he edged around the chamber.

"What's wrong Harry? Where's the bravado from before?" Riddle's voice rang out mockingly.

Harry ignored him, swallowing down the wave of panic threatening to crawl up his throat.

He just had to get to get away and think of some-

The stone groaned behind him as something massive shifted, and suddenly the scraping of scales was too close.

MOVE!

Harry threw himself to the side just as a violent crash sent a shockwave through the chamber. A pillar must have split apart, hearing as shattered chunks of stone rained down where he had been standing only moments before.

He hit the ground hard, skidding across the cold stone. His elbow burned where it scraped against the rough floor, but he barely registered the pain. His fingers clenched around the Sorting Hat as he scrambled back up, heart racing, breaths ragged. He blindly pointed his wand, still tired from the shield spell, as he shot out the first spell he could think of.

"LUMOS MAXIMA!"

From the center of the chamber, the Basilisk let out a furious, echoing hiss. It recoiled back for a second, but started slithering back again.

"Not a bad idea, Harry," Riddle hissed again, his voice laced with amusement. "Run. Hide, if you like. You won't last long."

Harry's fingers dug into the floor, steadying himself. He had to think. He had to—

A shriek tore through the air.

Harry's head snapped toward the sound just as a burst of heat and light filled the chamber.

The Basilisk let out a screeching roar of fury, its massive body writhing, tail thrashing wildly against the chamber walls.

Harry's breath caught. The bird. He had forgotten about it in the heat of the moment, but it didn't matter. It could distract the Basilisk for a second, as he regained some lost stamina.

Riddle, however, was furious.

"Get off of it!" he snarled, as spellfire could be heard from behind. "You useless, wretched thing—! Ignore the blasted bird!"

More spellfire was heard, as a sickening rip was heard behind him.

"NO! Damnit, you don't need your eyes! Just smell him! You can still smell him!"

Harry's stomach lurched as realization slammed into him all at once. The Basilisk was blind. It couldn't see him anymore!

The knowledge sent a fresh jolt of adrenaline through his veins. The fear was still there—still clawing at the edges of his mind—but now there was something else.

A chance.

Harry sucked in a shaky breath and moved.

He ran —eyes finally opened again, ears straining for every movement, every shift of the serpent's massive body. He could hear the rush of wings, the crack of stone, the furious, hissing roars of the Basilisk as it lashed out wildly, striking at nothing.

A brush of air rushed past his face as its tail whipped across the chamber, missing him by inches.

With a sense of desperation, he threw the Sorting hat on as he dodged another whip of the basilisk's tail.

'Help!' He screamed in his mind. 'Please help me!'

The hat was silent. No whisper of guidance, just fabric pressed against his sweat-soaked hair. He needed to get away. He needed to—

A blast of magic exploded near him, sending him sprawling forward. The chamber spun as Harry hit the stone floor, pain jolting up his arms. The Sorting Hat flew from his head, rolling across the ground.

And something metallic clattered onto the floor beside him.

"Just because she's blind, doesn't mean I am too." Riddle's voice was a low, dangerous whisper. "He's right in front of you! Get him!"

Harry barely had time to process what had happened before his fingers brushed against something solid.

Something sharp.

The Basilisk struck, as Harry turned, his body moving before his mind could catch up, and without thinking, he drove the silvery object straight into its open maw.

A sickening shlck filled the chamber as the sword he was now holding pierced through flesh—sliding straight into the roof of the serpent's mouth.

The Basilisk's screech was deafening. A horrific roar of agony rattled the walls, sending dust and debris tumbling from the stone pillars. Its massive body thrashed violently, coils slamming into the floor, knocking over ancient statues as it convulsed in its final moments. Riddle had to dodge, as it nearly hit him, but sent the Diary flying, thankfully missing Ginny by an inch.

But before Harry could even process what had happened—

A fang sank in.

A white-hot, blinding pain tore through his arm as the Basilisk's tooth punctured deep into the flesh on his forearm.

Harry choked on a gasp, his entire body locking up as a searing burn rushed through his veins. It was like fire, liquid and sharp, racing up his arm, through his chest, almost spreading through him like a poison—

Because it was a poison. The Basilisk venom was now coursing through his veins.

The Basilisk lurched, its movements sluggish now, its massive frame collapsing with a final, shuddering hiss. But Harry barely registered it. His legs buckled, as the sword slipped from his grip, knocking out another of the basilisk's fangs across the room, clattering against the cold stone floor before stopping a few feet from where Ron still laid.

He had done it. He had killed the monster. But he was still going to die.

The chamber blurred around him, shapes and shadows twisting as his vision swam. His breath came in ragged, shallow gasps. His fingers felt numb. His arm—his whole body—felt heavy, weighed down by something thick and suffocating.

He stumbled, pulling out the fang, before it fell onto the floor. He was barely able to keep himself upright. Somewhere, just beyond the rushing in his ears, he heard a slow, satisfied laugh.

"Bravo," Riddle mused, his voice smooth, amused. "But after all, what could I expect? A Gryffindor to the end."

Harry clenched his teeth, trying to lift his wand, trying to move, but his body wouldn't listen.

"You fought well, Harry," Riddle continued, pacing leisurely toward him. "Truly, you did. I would have been honored to have you by my side as I reclaimed this world for my own."

He lurched once again, as he barely stayed upright. The veins on his arm had gone pitch black, not unlike the tendrils in his mindscape from before.

"P... Please... Let them go," He managed to stutter out, his body shaking and weakening with every passing second. "It's me you want... Not them."

Riddle's eyes twinkled with amusement, as he kept walking over to him.

"Surely you don't think I'll let them go once I've gotten so close? A minute more, and my body will return to me."

He stopped, voice lowered, eyes gleaming in the dim torchlight. "The girl served me well. Even in death, the Basilisk served me well. That venom—it's already working its way through you, isn't it? I imagine you can feel it, spreading… taking hold…"

Harry did feel it. His pulse had slowed. His limbs weren't just heavy anymore—they were cold. His heart hammered sluggishly in his chest, each beat weaker than the last.

The realization hit him all at once. He was going to die here. Right in front of Riddle. Right in front of Ginny, who still lay unmoving on the floor. Right here, in this cold, empty chamber, where no one would ever find him.

His knees gave out. The stone rushed up to meet him as he collapsed. Riddle stood over him now, looking down with something almost like pity.

"Ah," he murmured. "So, so close. The venom should have just about reached your chest." His smirk widened. "Don't worry, Harry. I'll make sure you're remembered. The Boy Who Lived—dead at last, bested by Lord Voldemort. Even Dumbledore's bird is crying!"

Harry tried to glare at him, to summon some last spark of defiance—

But his vision was fading. Everything was fading.

He felt so cold, his eyes full of unshed tears, as the heavy lids threatened to close for the last time.

A shaky breath escaped him, as he felt something else fall on him.

A single golden tear dripped onto his skin.

Warm. Gentle.

Burning away the cold.

More followed, trickling down his arm, soaking into the puncture wound. The pain in his chest, the suffocating weight of the venom was receding. Harry blinked, sluggish and dazed, as a soft trill echoed through the chamber. He turned his head just slightly, his breath catching.

The bird from before was perched beside him, tears flowing into where the fang had sunk in.

Even though his memories were still fractured, even though he couldn't quite grasp the name lingering on the edges of his mind—he knew then why it had come.

Riddle's expression twisted, his smirk faltering as he took a sharp step back. "No! Get away from him!-"

The bird, gold and brilliant, flew away as he fired a spell, but it did nothing to stop the cold from leaving Harry's veins. The warmth settled deep into his bones, filling every dark corner Riddle had tried to hollow out. Harry let out a slow, shaky breath, his strength slowly returning. He pressed his palms against the floor, pushing himself up, unsteady but alive.

Riddle's lips curled into a snarl, his grip on Ginny's wand tightening. "No. NO!"

He raised the wand, a green hue emanating from it.

"You always find a way, don't you?!" He blurted out, his handsome features ruined yet again by the sheer hatred in his look. Harry was pushed back slightly as magic was expelled from Riddle in waves. "This time, you won't get a chance to survive!"

He barely had the strength to lift his wand, as Riddle's was already aimed at him.

"AVADA KE-

"OI! TOM!"

A new voice echoed through the chamber, cutting Riddle off.

Riddle froze, as he turned sharply to gaze at the speaker.

Harry turned too, just in time to see Ron awake, gripping the same Basilisk fang that got knocked out by the sword.

Riddle's eyes widened in surprise. "I was sure that fall would have kept you down longer. That's fine, you'll serve well as a witness to my retu—"

But he never finished the sentence. Ron brought the diary out from his other hand, and plunged the fang right in.