Who am I?
That question kept echoing in the mind of someone who, at best, could be described as Tom Riddle.
The reason for the uncertainty was because his mind was a chaotic mess, so much so that even he couldn't make sense of his own thoughts.
In some memories, he was the most feared dark lord the wizarding world had ever known. His name alone went beyond being a tale to frighten children, it was taboo. Even in the most joyous wizarding banquets, the mere mention of his name, even as a replacement for "He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named", was enough to send all laughter and cheer crashing into silence.
And yet, in other memories, he was a leader worshipped by millions. People bowed before him and called out his name, Thutmose, with absolute, unwavering faith in their voices.
In fact, several powerful wizards, whose strength was nearly equal to Tom Riddle's own at his peak, knelt before him with fanatical devotion reminiscent of the Death Eaters. Their eyes filled with blind reverence as they bent low, knees pressed against the ground, and kissed his feet as if they had been blessed by a god.
Then there was another memory, one in which he ruled a mighty empire over a land known as Shurima. Empowered by a mystical artifact called the Sun Disc, he was on the path to Ascension, to become a god basking in the glory of immortality.
And in yet another memory…
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Memories tangled into a jumbled web, a complete mess that knotted together into a single, maddening question:
Who am I? Where am I? What am I supposed to do?
Most of the time, he drifted in a daze. But when clarity struck, it was worse. The pain that gripped his mind was so intense it could make even the strongest man want to tear his skull apart.
Still, even in such a broken state, his survival instincts kicked in. Driven by an overwhelming desire to live, he healed his injuries and even reshaped his body anew.
He went so far as to use the Imperius Curse and his deeply rooted ambition to take control of a young wizard whose presence oddly fascinated him.
And none of this came from reasoned thought or planning, it all stemmed from pure instinct. And right now, that instinct told him he needed to get a young wizard inside Hogwarts.
He didn't know why. But in his muddled state, he chose to follow that instinct.
And so, that little brat was brought to him.
The moment he laid eyes on the boy, the Tom Riddle side of him surged to the forefront of his mind. Fueled by fury and a gnawing fear, he became wary, once bitten, twice shy. He could never forget that near-erasure. That terrible fear of almost being obliterated.
So, he did everything he could from a distance to destroy that young wizard, hoping to erase not just the boy, but the shadow of fear the boy represented.
But that was nothing more than a hopeful fantasy. No matter how much force he poured into his attacks, no matter how ragged and desperate the boy's defenses looked, it didn't change the cruel truth:
He couldn't kill the boy from afar.
So, no matter how reluctant, no matter how much he hated the idea, he was left with no choice.
He had to confront the boy personally, because with each second that passed, the chance of killing him dropped lower and lower.
Dumbledore was never one to be underestimated. As the Dark Lord's longtime rival, he knew all too well how persistent that old fox could be. The moment Dumbledore caught the scent of trouble, he would come charging in like a hound on the hunt, and once he arrived, any window to kill the boy would vanish entirely.
After casually destroying the beast that the young wizard had summoned, he finally faced the one who had once nearly wiped him out.
No dramatic speech. No preamble.
Just a flash of green light, Avada Kedavra.
Straight to the point: Die.
But the spell was dodged. The young wizard, glowing with a faint blue aura, moved with ghostly agility, slipping past the killing curse like a loach sliding through mud.
Unfortunately for him, loaches have obvious weaknesses. Voldemort's wand instantly shifted its target, sending a curse flying toward a nearby young witch who looked like she was on the verge of collapsing.
That attack was blocked by a shimmering silver shield conjured by Allen, whose face showed not triumph, but bitter frustration.
The ritual still needed ten full seconds to activate…
And he had just lost his best life-saving ability.
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After the young wizard blocked the Avada Kedavra with that strange, glowing shield, Tom Riddle's sand-textured face lit up with something that looked like victorious glee.
He didn't know what kind of magic it was, but one thing was certain: That boy couldn't use it again anytime soon.
Which meant…
The final layer of the walnut had cracked. And now, the delicious fruit inside was ripe for the taking.
The boy's last-ditch resistance was frenzied, but futile. All sorts of strange spells Tom had never seen before were hurled at him like a storm. But they barely made a dent.
Mildly annoyed, he even felt the urge to strangle this nuisance with his bare hands, and so he did.
A hand made of sand clamped down tightly on Allen's throat.
And the moment his palm made contact with the boy, that anxious, maddening energy that had been gnawing at him, finally began to fade.
He couldn't help himself, he reached out with his second hand and grabbed Allen as well.
With the cursed force vanishing, some of his own power drained away too. But compared to the suicide-inducing torment that had plagued him… it was a price well worth paying.
But just as he prepared to extract more of that cursed energy,
A fireball slammed into him.
It was followed immediately by a powerful control spell, so fast he barely had time to react. It wasn't enough to kill him, but it did interrupt the flow of energy, breaking the link between him and Allen. The boy collapsed to the ground.
Enraged, Voldemort turned his wand on the one who dared interfere, firing off another green curse.
But just before it hit, the fallen boy sprang up, now clad in a purple shield.
He threw himself forward, grabbing the girl and holding her tightly in his arms as the Avada Kedavra slammed into his back.
Then, in a flash of blue light,
Both of them vanished without a trace.