Suppose everyone in the Chamber had not been so focused on what was happening. In that case, they might have noticed that one Gilderoy Lockhart had started cowering behind the door to the Chamber, listening to everything being said.
The smile had gone from Riddle's face, replaced by a gruesome look.
"Dumbledore's been driven out of this castle by the mere memory of me!" he hissed.
"He's not as gone as you might think!" Harry retorted. He was speaking randomly, wanting to scare Riddle, wishing rather than believing it to be true.
Riddle opened his mouth but froze.
Music was coming from somewhere. Riddle whirled around to stare down the empty Chamber. The music was growing louder. It was eerie, spine-tingling, and unearthly; it lifted the hair on Harry's scalp and made his heart feel like it was swelling to twice its average size. Then, as the music reached such a pitch that Harry felt it vibrating inside his ribs, flames erupted at the top of the nearest pillar.
A crimson bird, the size of a swan, had appeared, piping its weird music to the vaulted ceiling. It had a glittering golden tail as long as a peacock's and gleaming golden talons, which were gripping a ragged bundle.
A second later, the bird was flying straight at Harry. It dropped the ragged thing it was carrying at his feet, then landed heavily on his shoulder. As it folded its great wings, Harry looked up and saw it had a long, sharp golden beak and a beady black eye.
The bird stopped singing. It sat still and warm next to Harry's cheek, gazing steadily at Riddle.
"That's a phoenix," said Riddle, staring shrewdly back at it.
"Fawkes?" Harry breathed and felt the bird's golden claws squeeze his shoulder gently.
"And that —" said Riddle, now eyeing the ragged thing that Fawkes had dropped, "that's the old school Sorting Hat —"
So it was. Patched, frayed, and dirty, the hat lay motionless at Harry's feet.
Riddle began to laugh again. He laughed so hard that the dark Chamber rang as though ten Riddles were laughing at once.
"This is what Dumbledore sends his defender! A songbird and an old hat! Do you feel brave, Harry Potter? Do you feel safe now?"
Harry didn't answer. He might not see what use Fawkes, or the Sorting Hat were, but he was no longer alone, and he waited for Riddle to stop laughing with his courage mounting.
"To business, Harry," said Riddle, still smiling broadly. "Twice — in your past, in my future — we have met. And twice I failed to kill you. How did you survive? Tell me everything. The longer you talk," he added softly, "the longer you stay alive."
Harry was thinking fast, weighing his chances. Riddle had the wand. He, Harry, had Fawkes and the Sorting Hat, neither of which would be much good in a duel. It looked terrible, all right… but the longer Riddle stood there; the more life was dwindling out of Ginny… in the meantime, Harry noticed suddenly Riddle's outline was becoming more explicit, more solid… If it had to be a fight between him and Riddle, better sooner than later.
"No one knows why you lost your powers when you attacked me," said Harry abruptly. "I don't know myself. But I know why you couldn't kill me. Because my mother died to save me. My common Muggle-born mother," he added, shaking with suppressed rage. "She stopped you from killing me. And I've seen the real you; I saw you last year. You're a wreck. You're barely alive. That's where all your power got you. You're in hiding. You're ugly; you're foul —"
Riddle's face contorted. Then he forced it into an awful smile. "So. Your mother died to save you. Yes, that's a powerful countercharm. I can see now… there is nothing special about you, after all. I wondered, you see. There are strange likenesses between us, after all. Even you must have noticed. Both are half-bloods, orphans raised by Muggles. Probably the only two Parselmouths to come to Hogwarts since the great Slytherin himself. We even look something alike… but after all, it was merely a lucky chance that saved you from me. That's all I wanted to know."
Harry stood, tense, waiting for Riddle to raise his wand. But Riddle's twisted smile was widening again.
"Now, Harry, I'll teach you a little lesson. Let's match the powers of Lord Voldemort, Heir of Salazar Slytherin, against famous Harry Potter, and the best weapons Dumbledore can give him…."
He cast an amused eye over Fawkes and the Sorting Hat, then walked away. Harry, fear spreading up his numb legs, watched Riddle stop between the high pillars and look up into the stone face of Slytherin, tall above him in the half-darkness. Riddle opened his mouth wide and hissed — but Harry understood what he was saying…
"Speak to me, Slytherin, greatest of the Hogwarts Four."
Harry wheeled around to look at the statue, Fawkes swaying on his shoulder.
The tense air seemed to reach a crescendo as bird and boy stared at the gigantic stone face of Salazar Slytherin, waiting for the fearsome Basilisk to appear.
A frown creased Tom Riddle's handsome face, and he called out again.
"Speak to me, Slytherin, greatest of the Hogwarts Four."
An awkward silence filled the stagnant Chamber as there was still no response.
"Having a little trouble Tom? Perhaps those insecurities about your blood purity weren't so unfounded after all."