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Who did Voldemort hate the most?
There used to be no debate: the person he hated, feared, and resented above all was Albus Dumbledore. Even after Harry's survival left him half-human, half-ghost, convinced the prophecy was real, Voldemort still never placed Harry at Dumbledore's level.
But now two new names had climbed to the top of his hate list, standing right beside Dumbledore.
The first was Grindelwald. That bastard didn't just compete with him for the title of Dark Lord—he even chased him across half of Europe and hunted him through the forests of Albania, leaving him in an even weaker state. If Bellatrix hadn't eventually found him, who knew how long it would've taken him to recover?
The second was Tom. A filthy Mudblood who dared to share his name, ruined his attempt to steal the Philosopher's Stone, and even killed the basilisk he'd left behind at Hogwarts.
The two of them together seemed hell-bent on erasing him from both history and reality. How could he not hate them?
"Tsk tsk… lil Voldy, just look at yourself."
Tom shook his head, wand casually pointed at Voldemort's twisted posture. "Where's that old Head Boy dignity now? Seriously, if I snap a picture of you like this and send it to Azkaban for your old followers to see, what do you think they'd say?"
He didn't just threaten—he pulled out a camera and snapped two quick shots.
He wasn't sure yet if he'd show them to the other Death Eaters, but he was definitely sending a copy to Grindelwald so he could hand it to Barty Jr.
You call this thing "Father"?
"Tom," Voldemort rasped, voice cold and serpentine, "you're not walking out of this desert. The Sahara will be your grave. As a gift to someone who shares my name, I'll even make sure you have a tombstone."
The boy sighed in disappointment. "Voldy, your biggest problem is that you never know your place. Look at the state you're in. Who gave you the right to posture in front of me?"
"I'm the Dark Lord. Even if I was down to a tenth of my full strength, killing you would still be child's play... Avada Kedavra!"
Green light burst outward. But a metallic clang followed—an armor-clad knight, covered in rust and dripping sand, appeared before Tom and blocked Voldemort's killing curse with its shield.
Tom raised his hand. The sky roared to life. Air and sand twisted into dozens of tornadoes, encircling them.
Voldemort's expression contorted—an insult.
The storm wasn't meant to attack him. It was laced with magical interference to disrupt the space around them, preventing Apparition.
What did that mean?
Tom was afraid he'd run?!
Fury detonated inside Voldemort. He snapped his hand forward, tongue flicking out as streams of Fiendfyre poured from his mouth, coiling into giant serpents. He thrust his other arm skyward, unleashing black lightning that rained toward Tom, trying to return the humiliation with interest.
Tom wasn't even trying to play with him—the half-ruined Voldemort wasn't worth that effort. He stepped once, crossing through the lightning in an instant, appearing before the Fiendfyre serpents. A blast of brutal cold erupted from his wand, freezing the monstrous flames into ice sculptures.
"That's impossible!"
Voldemort stared in disbelief. Apparition under this level of magical interference was already ridiculous—but freezing Fiendfyre with a single spell?
What kind of cheat was that?!
Shock didn't slow him down. Voldemort's attacks only grew more vicious. Chanting under his breath in a voice that scraped like broken glass, he spoke in Parseltongue. It wasn't for show—Parseltongue amplified his spellpower.
...
Moments ago the two had been dueling atop a rocky hill. Now the terrain was ruined and cratered, the hill reduced to a basin.
An invisible curse tried to latch onto Tom, but the boy let out a cold snort. A phoenix's clear cry shattered through the battlefield, sweeping away the malevolent magic.
"What the…?" Voldemort was genuinely speechless. Since when were curses that easy to brush off?
"Focus, little Voldy—"
Tom seized the opening and lashed his wand forward. Silent spells carved through the air, blasting the ground to pieces. The atmosphere itself ignited, closing in like a suffocating net. Voldemort found himself pinned at the center, attacks hammering in from every direction. He threw up his strongest defenses, but each one collapsed the moment it appeared. Only a silver shield remained.
Tom's power made Voldemort's scalp prickle—or it would have, if he still had hair. The bombardment alone could have made his hair stand on end.
"Avada Kedavra!" x2
Both Tom Riddles shouted the killing curse at almost the same instant.
A crackling shriek split the air as the spells collided, tangling into a single beam. Barely half a second passed before Voldemort's magic collapsed under the overwhelming force.
What remained of the curses hit the silver shield. It wailed, held for a heartbeat, then shattered—just long enough for Voldemort to slip away.
He rode the wind upward, racing into the sky. But just as he got elevation, a column of purple light speared down from above, moving several times faster than normal magic.
The snarl vanished from Voldemort's face as the purple light swallowed him whole.
Tom lowered his wand with a sunny little smile.
The ancient magic Andros taught him really was something. Devastating power and impossible to guard against.
"Right — Andros called this type astral magic. Once I'm back, I can look into it further. It might actually be useful for my trial in space."
The sand tornadoes faded. Floating in the air was a clump of something that looked halfway between mist and matter.
"Alright, Voldy. Reality sunk in yet?" Tom asked, smiling without warmth.
"Why… why are you this strong?"
Voldemort didn't try to flee. He was too busy questioning his whole existence. A one-sided fight had been expected, sure—but wasn't he supposed to be the one dominating?
The suffocating pressure Tom put on him earlier made him genuinely wonder if Dumbledore had taken Polyjuice and turned into a teenage boy.
But the fighting style, and that punchable face, clearly said otherwise.
"Because I'm simply stronger than you," Tom said with a sigh. "You failed to kill me in the Forbidden Forest back then. From that moment on, you never had a chance."
"If I were you, I'd find a hole to crawl into and wait for death. Why bother coming out here just to suffer?"
"Don't get cocky!"
Voldemort's current form had no face, but his voice came out tight and furious, squeezed through gritted teeth. "I am immortal. No one has walked further on the road to eternal life than I have."
"Dumbledore couldn't kill me. Grindelwald couldn't kill me. You won't either! I have conquered death."
Tom didn't bother answering. His eyes simply lit up with crystalline blue light. Voldemort sensed danger and tried to scatter.
"Ah—!"
Screams tore out of the black mist as it visibly thinned, then exploded apart and vanished.
"Dead for real?"
Tom raised a brow. Switching to magic-sight, he scanned the whole area. He eventually spotted faint traces of scattered magic drifting in every direction. He chased them for a while before they abruptly winked out.
"Man, he's really a pain to kill…"
Tom shook his head, half amused, half exasperated—and gained a bit of respect for Herpo the Foul.
Horcruxes were basically a cheat code. Unless every Horcrux was destroyed, or Voldemort's own consciousness unraveled and he gave up on living, he genuinely couldn't die.
His last move had been developed specifically for shredded soul fragments—based on Grindelwald's descriptions and long discussions with Ravenclaw. It used will and mental force like a grindstone to crush soul and intent, far more effective than simple spells.
It definitely hurt Voldemort, but killing him was another matter entirely.
Back on the ground, Tom picked up a red gemstone that had burst out of Voldemort's body. He examined it a moment but saw nothing obvious.
"Reducto."
A flash of magic passed over it. The gem didn't even crack.
It had to be the treasure Voldemort stole from Gringotts. Surviving astral magic without a scratch proved how extraordinary it was.
"Whatever. I'll just ask the goblins."
He pocketed the gem and lazily flew toward Cairo.
---
Two and a half hours later—
The main Gringotts headquarters was unusable for now. Almost every enforcer, and a bunch of Aurors sent by the Ministry, had locked down the area to protect the vaults.
Luckily, the goblins were rich enough to own half the city. They had several properties in the Heka Corridor and converted one of the hotels into a temporary office.
After getting the address, Tom strolled right in.
He found Noby, the goblin who'd handled him before, and several of the highest-ranking elders. Without preamble, Tom took out the red gemstone.
"This thing is what you guys lost, right?"
While he spoke, he watched their expressions. They tried to keep straight faces, but the flash of joy in their eyes and the tiny twitches in their features didn't escape him.
"Think before you speak. Doesn't matter what you say, the gem is my loot now," Tom warned.
One of the elder goblins opened his mouth, then deflated. "Fine, Mr. Riddle… no one is going to take your spoils."
"That gem is called the Tear of Isis."
.
.
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