Face like an angel but she's far from that

✩₊˚.⋆☾╶⃝⃤☽⋆⁺₊✧

𝕋ℍ𝔼 cold, damp air of the Chamber was filled with tension, thick as a shroud. Harry's breath came in sharp bursts as he stood before Tom Riddle, who watched him with a cruel amusement. The towering stone serpents along the walls seemed to writhe in the flickering light, their emerald eyes glowing ominously. Ginny lay motionless on the stone floor, her pale face stark against the dark, slick tiles.

From the shadows, Ophelia watched silently, her figure blending with the gloom. A wicked smile played on her lips as if she were a spectator in a theatre, enthralled by the performance. Her golden eyes gleamed like a cat's in the dim light, flickering between Tom and Harry. Her dark curls framed her face, and the faint shimmer of emerald embroidery on her black robes caught the light as she shifted slightly, her presence unnoticed.

Tom's dark gaze flicked towards her briefly but dismissed the notion as his focus returned to Harry. "Let's match the power of Lord Voldemort, Heir of Salazar Slytherin, against the famous Harry Potter," Tom declared, his tone shifting into something colder, sharper.

With those words, the sound of stone grinding against stone filled the chamber. The massive mouth of Salazar Slytherin's statue began to creak open, the deafening sound sending shivers down Harry's spine. From the gaping maw, a shadow moved a long, sinuous body uncoiling in the darkness. The Basilisk emerged, its scales glistening like liquid emeralds, its yellow eyes glowing with an unnatural, venomous light. The beast was enormous, its movements eerily graceful for something so deadly.

Harry's heart raced as he instinctively took a step back. He had only seconds to react, but before he could act, the sound of footsteps echoed through the chamber, drawing both his and Tom's attention. "Well, well," a voice purred from the shadows, filled with mockery and delight. Ophelia stepped forward, her smile sharp as a blade. "What a lovely display, Tom Riddle. Dear cousin."

Her tone was laced with sarcasm, but her eyes glinted with something more—amusement mixed with calculated interest. She sauntered into the light, her dark robes flowing around her like liquid shadows.

Tom's expression tightened at her words. "Ophelia," he said with cold disdain, "this is no place for you."

Harry, bewildered, stared at her. "Ophelia? How—how did you get down here?"

She tilted her head, her smile never faltering. "Honestly, Harry, you didn't think there was only one way into the Chamber, did you?" Her voice was smooth, almost teasing. Without waiting for a response, she stepped beside Harry, placing a firm hand on his shoulder.

Before Harry could process her sudden appearance, she turned him away from the growing shadow of the Basilisk. "You'll thank me later," she muttered under her breath, her tone half amused, half serious. The Basilisk slithered fully into view, its massive body coiling as it raised its head high. Its jaws parted slightly, revealing fangs dripping with venom that hissed as it struck the stone floor. Ophelia's eyes flicked towards the creature briefly, her expression unreadable.

"Tom," she said, her voice cutting through the tension, "you always did have a flair for theatrics. But do you really think this will end well for you?"

The Basilisk's scales gleamed like molten emeralds under the flickering torchlight, its sinuous body coiling and uncoiling as it loomed forward. Its unblinking yellow eyes locked onto Tom Riddle, then shifted to Ophelia, its forked tongue flicking out to taste the air. The chamber felt alive, pulsating with ancient magic and the primal presence of the serpent.

Tom stood frozen, his face etched with confusion and disbelief. "What are you doing?" he demanded, his voice sharp as a dagger.

But Ophelia didn't answer him. Instead, she stepped forward, her boots clicking softly against the damp stone floor. Her expression was calm, her golden eyes fixed on the Basilisk with something Harry couldn't quite place—something almost tender.

"You beautiful creature," she said softly, her voice carrying a dangerous lull, like a deadly melody.

The Basilisk froze mid-strike, its great head lowering slowly as if hypnotized. Its vast yellow eyes softened—not in weakness, but in recognition. It let out a low, rumbling hiss as it bowed its head slightly, allowing Ophelia to step closer. With an eerie grace, she reached out and gently brushed her hand against the serpent's rough nose.

Harry felt his stomach drop as he watched. There was no fear in her eyes, no hesitation. The creature—so fearsome, so ancient—had submitted to her.

Tom's voice was sharp with panic. "How... How are you doing this?!"

Ophelia turned her head slightly, her golden eyes glinting with amusement as they met Tom's. Her lips curled into a smile, soft yet wicked. "The Basilisk can only be summoned and controlled by the descendant of Salazar Slytherin, isn't that right, Tom? Only the Heir."

Tom's pale face went even paler, his confident facade beginning to crack.

"But" Ophelia continued, her voice dipping into a sinister silkiness, "what they don't tell you, cousin, is that the truest Heir of Slytherin—one whose bloodline runs pure and unbroken—holds absolute control over the beast. It will never harm them."

The Basilisk turned its head slightly, its massive body coiling protectively around Ophelia as it snarled at Tom. Harry took a step back, his scar burning, his chest tight with fear and realization.

Ophelia's smile remained, but her eyes darkened as she continued, her voice venomous and smooth. "I am Ophelia Gaunt. Heir of the Gaunt family. Direct descendant of Salazar Slytherin himself."

Tom took a step back, his face contorted in fury and desperation. "No... this cannot—"

"Kill him."

The command was soft, but it struck the air like a thunderclap. The Basilisk lunged forward with terrifying speed, its jaws wide and fangs glistening with venom. Tom screamed as the serpent crashed into him, its massive head pinning him against the stone floor. Harry stumbled back, his eyes wide with horror as Tom's screams echoed through the chamber, raw and inhuman. The Basilisk struck again and again, its fangs sinking deep into his spectral body, venom burning through his very essence.

Tom writhed, his translucent form flickering as if it could no longer hold itself together. His screams became a hollow, wretched wail.

But Ophelia had already turned away.

Her attention was on the small, leather-bound diary lying on the ground, soaked in ink and stained with blood. With slow, deliberate steps, she approached it and knelt, picking it up delicately between her fingers.

"Such a fragile little thing," she murmured.

Harry staggered forward. "Ophelia, stop! You don't have to—"

But her wand was already pointed at the diary. "Incendio."

Flames erupted from the tip of her wand, consuming the diary instantly. The chamber lit up in an angry orange glow, the fire reflecting in Ophelia's cold, eyes. Tom's screams reached a crescendo as his body began to disintegrate, pieces of him breaking apart like ash caught in the wind.

"No! NO!" he howled, his form reduced to flickering shadows.

And then... silence.

The Basilisk let out a low, satisfied hiss before Ophelia turned her gaze toward it. With a single, fluid motion of her hand, she gestured downward. The massive creature obeyed without hesitation, slithering back toward the statue of Salazar Slytherin, its great head disappearing into the gaping mouth from which it had emerged.

The silence that followed was suffocating. Only the faint crackle of the burnt diary lingered in the air.

Harry stood frozen, his chest heaving. He looked at Ophelia—her calm posture, her faint smile, the golden gleam in her eyes—and finally, he understood.

"You... You're the Heir of Slytherin," he whispered.

Ophelia turned slowly, her smile widening ever so slightly. "Very good, Harry. You're sharper than I thought."

She walked past him, her robe trailing behind her, her presence cold and untouchable.

"Now," she said softly as she disappeared into the shadows, her voice echoing faintly in the cavernous chamber, "let's get out of this dreary place, shall we?"

Harry was left standing in the middle of the Chamber of Secrets, staring at the smouldering remains of the diary and the place where Tom Riddle had once stood. His scar throbbed, and an icy dread coiled in his chest.

The Heir of Slytherin wasn't gone.

She was walking freely into the world above.

𓆙

The Great Hall buzzed with its usual chatter, the enchanted ceiling reflecting a soft, overcast sky. Golden plates gleamed under the floating candles, and the smell of warm toast and pumpkin juice filled the air. Among the sea of students, a peculiar sight caught everyone's attention—a small, fluffy creature with glittering eyes and tiny paws was scampering across the Slytherin table, clutching a handful of shiny silver spoons.

"Grim!" Ophelia hissed, leaning over the table with an exasperated yet amused expression. "Give those back, you little menace!"

The baby Niffler squeaked in protest, its tiny nose twitching as it tried to shove the spoons into its already-overstuffed pouch. Students nearby giggled, while others reached out cautiously, attempting to pet the mischievous creature when a familiar voice sliced through the noise.

"Ophelia. It's Hermes."

Her gaze shot toward the door, and there he stood, as mischievous as ever, his smile almost a challenge in itself. Hermes was nothing if not a whirlwind of energy, his dark curls bouncing as he scanned the room with his sharp, observant eyes. In a blink, he dashed toward Harry and Ron, wrapping them both in a hearty hug. "Welcome back, Hermes," Ron greeted, the warmth of the reunion settling over the room like sunshine breaking through clouds.

Hermes grinned, his eyes flicking over the students before locking on Ophelia. He offered her a smirk, a silent challenge that sparked something playful in her chest. Before she could stop herself, Ophelia sprang from her seat, her feet moving faster than her thoughts. She was at his side in an instant, flinging her arms around him in a hug that took him completely by surprise. For a moment, he was stiff in her embrace, but then he relaxed, returning it with a warmth that softened the sharpness of his usual demeanour.

"Someone missed me?" Hermes teased, his voice low and amused.

Ophelia rolled her eyes, pulling away but not entirely letting go of the moment. "You kidding? I'm just glad you're well. Because next year? I'm going to beat your butt."

A laugh escaped him, and his eyes sparkled with that unspoken challenge. "I'd love to see that, Guant."

Ophelia grinned and gave his arm a playful punch, a familiar, gentle gesture that spoke of their rivalry, but also of the deep-rooted affection that ran between them like an unspoken promise. "We'll see, Granger."

With that, she turned, walking back toward her House table, but not without one last glance over her shoulder, where Hermes stood, still watching her with that crooked grin plastered across his face.

The moment passed as quickly as it came, but the weight of it lingered in Ophelia's chest, the pulse of it keeping her warm through the rest of the evening. As she settled into her seat, the hum of the hall stilled as Professor McGonagall's sharp voice cut through the chatter.

"Could I have your attention, please?"

The students quieted, shifting toward the head table, where the professors sat in their seats, faces all business. But Dumbledore was the one to rise, his voice warm and rich as ever, a smile tugging at his lips.

"Before we begin the feast... let us have a round of applause for Professor Sprout, Madam Pomfrey, whose Mandrake juice has been so successfully administered to all who had been Petrified."

The Hall erupted into applause, the sound swelling through the rafters, a release of pent-up tension as students clapped in grateful relief. Ophelia's hands joined the chorus, the sense of togetherness washing over her in waves. "And also, in light of the recent events... as a school treat... all exams have been cancelled."

The students cheered—loudly, exuberantly. The relief was palpable, but as much as Ophelia wanted to join in the joy, her eyes flicked to Hermes. He was sitting with his hands folded, his face carefully neutral, but the faintest furrow in his brow gave him away.

"Oh, no," he muttered, more to himself than anyone else. Ophelia couldn't help but smile at his disappointment—Hermes, ever the perfectionist, was more concerned about the lost opportunity to outshine everyone than the collective relief of the student body. It was just like him.

Before she could think further, the doors swung open, and in walked Hagrid, his massive form taking up more space than anyone could imagine. He looked flustered, his face red from running, and as he stepped toward the Gryffindor table, the students fell silent.

"Sorry I'm late," he bellowed, his voice always so hearty and full of warmth. "The owl that delivered my release papers got all lost and confused. Some ruddy bird called Errol."

A chuckle ran through the hall at the mention of Ron's owl, and Ron turned pale, but Hagrid was already making his way toward the trio of Gryffindor boys. He paused before them, his eyes watering as he looked at each of them.

"And I'd just like to say that if it hadn't been for you, Harry, Ron, Hermes, and Ophelia... I would still be you-know-where. So, I'd just like to say thanks."

There was a pause—a stillness in the air as Hagrid's voice cracked, thick with emotion. Ophelia couldn't help herself. Before Harry could stand, she was already running toward Hagrid, throwing herself into his massive arms. For a moment, the large, burly man stood there, startled, before he wrapped his arms around her in a gentle, crushing hug.

"There's no Hogwarts without you, Hagrid," Harry said from behind her, his voice filled with affection, his own arms joining the embrace.

Ophelia felt the warmth of Hagrid's massive form, the comfort of being enveloped in that familiar safety. The room seemed to hold its breath, and for a moment, everything was perfect.

As Dumbledore stood to join in the applause, the entire Hall followed suit, clapping, and cheering for Hagrid. Ophelia pulled away from the hug, wiping a stray tear from her cheek, and smiled at him. He was beaming, his own eyes brimming with tears, as the whole school rose to their feet in a chorus of love and appreciation.

Except for Draco Malfoy and his group, whose icy stares stood out like a stark contrast to the warmth of the moment.

But Ophelia didn't care. She smiled brightly, her hands clapping with everyone else, her heart swelling with pride for the man who had given so much to this school.

And in the midst of all the noise and the love, she caught Hermes's eye again. He raised an eyebrow, and she smirked at him, their silent rivalry still simmering beneath the surface—but for now, it was just another part of the dance they shared, the complicated, yet heartwarming bond between them.

As the Hall erupted in joy, Ophelia's heart felt full, the echoes of laughter and clapping vibrating through her. This, she thought, was home.

✩₊˚.⋆☾╶⃝⃤☽⋆⁺₊✧

THE END OF CHAMBER OF SECRETS

By: SilverMist707

I hope this is okay <3