Tom Riddle's POV
The Great Hall of Hogwarts stretched before me like a battlefield awaiting its opening move. Empty. Silent. Even the enchanted ceiling seemed to anticipate what was about to happen. Only one person remained inside: Albus Dumbledore, my mentor, my adversary, the one who had taught me transfiguration and yet never fully understood the depths of my ambition. His piercing blue eyes met mine, scanning, calculating, and perhaps just slightly afraid—though I wouldn't have admitted that if I were him.
"I see you haven't aged a day, Tom," he said calmly, though there was a trace of worry behind the measured tone. "Fifty years, and yet you look… nineteen. You've delved into powers that I do not fully understand. I know about the Horcrux, Tom. You leave me no choice. Surrender now, and perhaps we can end this without needless bloodshed."
I paused, letting his words linger. A faint smile crossed my face. My mind flickered over our history: the orphanage, my first years at Hogwarts, the subtle manipulations, the way Slytherin's house bent under my will, and how I had patiently cultivated influence over the magical world for decades. And now, here we were—teacher against student, history against destiny.
"Albus," I replied, voice low but dripping with cold amusement. "I respect you, and perhaps I even have a soft spot for you. But this… this ends tonight. You will either yield or you will fall. I give you one last chance to surrender."
He shook his head. "I will never surrender to darkness, Tom. You were brilliant once… but you've let ambition consume you."
With that, the tension shattered.
I raised my wand. The first spell was instinctive—tables, benches, chairs, everything in the hall became missiles under my control. They spun through the air at impossible speeds. Dumbledore's one hand moved in a calm, elegant arc, transfiguring the wood into fine dust before it could touch him. A small, satisfied grin formed on my face; he was fast, yes, but predictable.
I followed immediately with a wave of fire, twisting it into serpentine forms that coiled and twisted toward him. He countered with a shimmering dome of water, absorbing the flames in a swirling vortex, sending scalding steam curling through the hall. My phoenix eyes narrowed—I recognized the subtle movements of his wand; he wasn't improvising. He was prepared, anticipating my attack. But I had anticipated that.
I flicked my wand sharply, and the chandeliers above us tore free from their chains, swinging wildly before transfiguring into an eagle and a lion midair, claws and talons snapping at Dumbledore. He barely raised a hand, shattering them midair with a wave of transfigured stone constructs, but the effort left a trail of dust and debris falling around him. I smiled. He was powerful—but I was faster.
The air thickened with magic as I conjured Fiendfyre, shaping it into a massive serpent that lunged toward him. Dumbledore responded with his own firestorm, a wave of brilliant golden-orange flame that engulfed my Fiendfyre. The collision created a shockwave that shook the hall, sending dust, chairs, and shards of ice flying in all directions. I rolled through the debris, leaving a dome of earth reinforced with wards behind me, protecting my body from the residual magic and elemental backlash.
From this new position, I lashed out with black lightning, arcing from the floor, walls, and ceiling simultaneously. The bolts were black as midnight, infused with a shadowy aura that resisted his water defenses. Dumbledore moved swiftly, summoning multiple layers of stone walls, but even he flinched as one bolt grazed his shoulder. A small trickle of blood formed where it nicked him—a reminder that even he was vulnerable.
I pressed forward, sending a wave of cutting spells in multiple directions, forcing him to raise layered shields from stone, water, and air. He barely managed to block the attack, yet a fragment of my spell hit his arm. Sparks flew where the magic collided, leaving a faint scorch mark. He was staggering slightly, though his eyes remained locked on mine.
"You've grown strong, Tom," Dumbledore said, voice calm, almost gentle, even as his defenses trembled under my relentless assault. "Stronger than I anticipated. But raw power alone will not win this fight."
I didn't answer. Words were wasted when survival and dominance were at stake. Another flick of my wand sent ice shards spinning toward him like jagged blades, each one precise and deadly. He countered with stone bullets, and the shards shattered midair in a shower of glittering shards. I then split a Killing Curse into three simultaneous beams. His defensive transfigurations twisted and bent to absorb them, but one graze cut across the hem of his robes. A faint trickle of blood revealed just how close the curse had come.
"Impressive," he muttered, eyes narrowing. "You've perfected spells I only dreamed of mastering at your age."
I smirked. "You taught me well, Albus. But lessons end tonight."
A flick of my wrist, and a massive sphere of water rose from the floor, attempting to engulf him. He countered with a telekinetic push, scattering the water, but the displacement allowed me to send a volley of black lightning and cutting spells in tandem. He dodged, leaping into the air via his phoenix, casting a stunning spell mid-flight. I deflected it with ease, sending the magical energy ricocheting toward the walls, causing chunks of stone and plaster to rain down.
Our spells clashed again and again, lighting up the hall in bursts of flame, electricity, and raw magical energy. Each time I struck, he adapted; each time he adapted, I evolved my attack. My Phoenix King circled overhead, providing mobility and reconnaissance, and Fiendfyre shaped into serpents, lions, and dragons lashed out with incredible precision. Even his Phoenix was hard-pressed to defend him against the constant barrage.
I felt my chest tighten, a small strain. Even as I summoned multiple wards and shields, the sheer force of Dumbledore's counterspells tested my limits. One of his stone constructs slammed into my dome of earth, shaking it violently. Sparks of magic danced where stone met wards, and I could feel the fatigue creeping in—though I had Phoenix regeneration and my Hufflepuff cup at the ready, I could not ignore it.
Dumbledore's eyes flashed with understanding—he knew I had layered protections, but he also realized how resourceful and ruthless I had become. "Tom… power without restraint is dangerous. Even you may not survive what you've become."
I laughed, dark and low, feeling the surge of dominance. "Survival is no longer a question, Albus. Victory is inevitable. And you… will learn that."
The battle escalated further. I sliced through the air with my wand, creating cutting spells, black lightning, and Fiendfyre serpents simultaneously. Dumbledore countered with an intricate dance of water, fire, stone, and telekinesis. Sparks flew, and the Great Hall groaned under the strain. Windows shattered. Chandeliers crashed. Ice and fire collided. The castle itself seemed to scream as ancient enchantments tore at the very fabric of the magic within.
I had him on the defensive, forcing him to raise multiple layers of shields, each one more complex than the last. Yet even with all my power, he was still alive, still standing. His calm, piercing eyes assessed me through the chaos, and I knew—I had not yet won.
I stepped forward, prepared to layer another set of killing curses and elemental attacks—but something in his stance, the way he tilted his head slightly, reminded me that I had underestimated him. For the first time in decades, I realized I was facing an equal in magical genius. And while my power surpassed his in raw capacity, his experience, battle intuition, and improvisational mastery made him unpredictable.
For a moment, we paused—magic still crackling in the air around us, debris raining down. I could feel the Phoenix's gaze on me, waiting for my command. Fiendfyre hissed and twisted, ready to strike again. The hall was unrecognizable—tables and chairs shredded, stone walls cracked, water pooling in broken tiles, smoke curling from scorched floors.
I allowed myself a breath. Dumbledore did the same. Our eyes met. Neither of us had given in, neither had faltered completely. This was far from over.
"Very well, Tom," he said quietly, voice cutting through the magical chaos. "Let us continue. If we are to end this, it will not be tonight in one burst of magic. But know this—I will not yield."
I nodded, raising my wand once more. "Then we fight until one of us cannot stand, Albus. Prepare yourself."
And with that, the second stage of our battle began. Spells collided with destructive force, transfigurations ran rampant, and Hogwarts itself shuddered beneath the might of two of the most powerful wizards in history.