Harry instinctively felt that something was off.
According to Riddle, he had absorbed the life force of six individuals, becoming a physical entity. However, his soul was still bound to the diary, requiring a sacrifice to break this shackle.
Harry was the sacrifice!
If he destroyed the diary, wouldn't Riddle die along with it?
But...
Riddle seemed far too calm.
Harry hesitated. Was Riddle truly confident, or was he merely bluffing?
At that moment, Riddle suddenly spoke in a cold voice:
"Potter, do you know why I targeted you and brought you here?"
"Why?" This was hardly the time to dwell on such questions, but Harry was desperate for an answer.
He truly wanted to understand why Riddle, a student from fifty years ago, had focused so intently on him.
Why had he chosen Harry as the sacrifice?
After all, he was just an unremarkable second-year wizard.
"Because of Voldemort," Riddle said softly, "He is my past, my present, and my future..."
Riddle waved his wand, drawing letters in the air that glowed brightly:
Tom Marvolo Riddle!
Then, with another flick of his wand, the letters rearranged themselves:
I am Lord Voldemort!
Harry's mind seemed to freeze.
He stared at Riddle, dazed. This was the man who had once been an orphan, parentless and alone. As an adult, he had murdered Harry's parents, and so many others...
"Harry," Riddle said, "in your past, my future, we've crossed paths twice. Both times, I failed to kill you.
"What could be more fitting than using you as a sacrifice? Doesn't that make for the perfect ritual?"
Harry gripped the Sword of Gryffindor tightly.
"But the diary is in my hands!"
"Then stab it, drive the sword into it. I'll die. Surely you're not afraid, are you?" Riddle sneered.
"Or perhaps... you can't bring yourself to destroy Riddle's soul. After all, strictly speaking, Voldemort is only my future self."
Harry slowly raised his eyes, meeting Riddle's mocking smile.
"You think I'd hesitate? You murdered my parents and hurt my friends!
"No, if there's anything that could bring me joy, it's killing you with my own hands!"
Hatred filled Harry's voice as he raised the Sword of Gryffindor and plunged it downward with all his might.
A terrible, prolonged, ear-piercing scream filled the chamber as a torrent of ink gushed from the diary, spilling over Harry's hands and pooling on the floor.
Riddle's body twisted, becoming more and more transparent, until he vanished completely, but not before he smiled one last time.
With a dull thud, Harry's wand fell to the floor. Silence enveloped the chamber, broken only by the steady drip of ink from the diary.
Harry reached for his wand, but to his horror, he found himself paralyzed. Thick white smoke began to pour from his body.
"Harry, thank you," came a voice, chilling and familiar, "Thank you for freeing me completely from the diary."
A blurry figure formed amidst the swirling smoke, Riddle was smiling once again.
Harry stared at him in bewilderment.
Had he just revived... Voldemort?
…
William slowly stepped into the Chamber of Secrets.
It was a long, dimly lit room. Towering stone pillars, carved with intertwining serpents, rose to support the shadowy ceiling above.
The chamber was empty.
William cautiously advanced. When he reached the last pair of pillars, he found himself standing before a towering statue, dozens of meters high.
He looked up and saw its enormous face.
It was wizened and monkey-like, with a sparse, scraggly beard that nearly reached the hem of the stone-carved wizard's robes. Two large, gray feet rested on the smooth floor of the chamber.
The Slytherin statue.
Strangely, its mouth was wide open, clearly serving as an entrance.
William hesitated for a moment before transforming into a sea eagle and flying inside.
Once he landed, he found himself in a long corridor. At the end of the passage was another room.
Gripping his wand tightly in his right hand, William proceeded down the corridor into the room.
Harry and Ron lay sprawled on the ground, with Fawkes standing guard beside them.
From a corner of the chamber came a faint hissing sound, and the gaping mouth of the Slytherin statue snapped shut. The door to the room sealed with a resounding thud.
"You've finally arrived, Stark," said a young man, around sixteen or seventeen years old, leaning casually in a chair.
"I've been waiting for you for quite some time."
William squinted at the young man, studying him carefully.
"You're the Riddle from the diary? No... Even if a diary could communicate, it couldn't transform into a wizard. Who are you, really?"
"Who am I?" Riddle interlaced his fingers over his wand.
"To put it simply, I am a fragment of Voldemort's soul, a piece he tore off and exiled into the diary forever."
"A fragment of Voldemort's soul?"
"That's right. But just minutes ago, I was reborn, with a new body to house this broken piece of soul..."
William raised an eyebrow. He suddenly realized this situation was far more complicated than he had anticipated.
He had thought the diary was merely imbued with dark magic by Voldemort, not that it housed a fragment of his soul!
It was almost like something out of a legend.
"Want to know how I came back to life?" Riddle asked, idly twirling his wand in his hands. "I went through all this trouble to set the stage, and it would feel meaningless if there were no audience to witness it. The ritual wouldn't be complete without an audience."
"You're my only audience."
"Of course. I'm all ears," William replied, conjuring a chair with a flick of his wand and taking a seat.
"My resurrection required two steps: absorbing a great deal of life force to nourish my soul and then using a special method to break free of the diary's constraints and release my soul from within."
"What special method?"
"Oh, you wouldn't know about it, of course," Riddle said with a sly smile, "Dumbledore adores you too much to let you learn about such things."
"But I've studied for years... To release a soul from its vessel, there's only one way, a sacrifice!"
"Who did you use as the sacrifice?" William asked. "Harry?!"
"Of course not," Riddle replied smugly, "William, this is the best part, it's where the artistry and tragedy lie."
Riddle smoothed his hair and continued.
"In theory, I could have sacrificed anyone's life. Killing Harry Potter would have freed me from the diary as well.
"But only by sacrificing what I cherished most could I gain even greater power."
William's eyes flickered. It sounded eerily similar to obtaining the Soul Stone, sacrificing what one loved most.
"Potter means nothing to me. I neither like him nor hate him.
"Yes, Harry Potter defeated Voldemort, but what does that have to do with me, Tom Riddle?
"Potter isn't even worthy of being my sacrifice!"
"Then who is your greatest love?"
"My greatest love?" Riddle chuckled darkly.
"Of course, it's myself! I only love myself, so I sacrificed a piece of my soul and let Potter destroy the diary."
"If the diary was destroyed, why didn't you die?" William asked, puzzled.
"That involves another fascinating piece of magic," Riddle replied in a hushed tone.
"Although I like to think of myself as separate from Voldemort, he is still my future self.
"Potter, naturally, directed his hatred for Voldemort at me... This hatred made him 'willingly' form an ancient protective magic with me through certain... manipulations on my part."
"Protective magic?"
"Yes. The magic requires two people who hate each other, and one must willingly break the other's shackles, taking on all the damage themselves.
"The conditions to fulfill this magic are extraordinarily harsh. After all, two people who hate each other usually want nothing more than the other's death. How could one willingly protect the other?
"But I was fortunate. Using certain means, I convinced Potter to form the bond with me... He bore the cost of destroying my soul."
Riddle stood up, a triumphant glint in his eyes. "So the diary was destroyed, but I didn't die!"
"Then... is Harry dead?" William asked, stunned.
"No, he's not dead. That's the strange part," Riddle said with a slight frown.
"Odd, isn't it? Just like how he didn't die as a baby when faced with my future self."
"But that doesn't matter now." Riddle shook his head, "I've shared so much with you. As a fair exchange, shouldn't you tell me something in return?"
"What do you want to know?"
"The location of Ravenclaw's Bronze Ring... Where is it?"
Riddle's voice echoed ominously throughout the chamber.
And then, silence fell.