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The dark purple flames had already melted away the magical barrier at the entrance. Though they did not emit an unbearable heat, no one doubted their ability to liquefy metal. The twisted mass of black iron that had once blocked the doorway did not turn red-hot—instead, it simply vanished, as if vaporized into thin air.
Perhaps this was the unique property of the magical fire. Or perhaps it had instantly heated the black iron to over 2,750 degrees Celsius, the boiling point of iron.
A Weapon Forged from Vapor
In a space unseen by the naked eye, the iron vapor had already condensed into an invisible, razor-sharp spear—a manifestation of a new magic Tom had never displayed before.
After arriving in this new land, he had encountered far more than he ever had before.
Australia, though often dismissed by old-fashioned English gentlemen as a land of exiled criminals, was undeniably a melting pot of cultures and magic. Here, one could find wizards from every magical tradition, wielding spells and techniques unseen in England's tiny, insular world.
And Voldemort—no, Tom Riddle, as he now accepted himself to be—had abandoned his past life.
His desperate escape had been a humiliating chapter in his story, one he would rather forget.
Yet he could not deny it had changed his destiny.
Trelawney's prophecy had been shattered.
The bond between them had been severed.
There was no longer any fate tying them together.
Harry had personally destroyed the fragment of Voldemort's soul that had lodged within him.
And Voldemort had, of his own will, destroyed the Horcruxes that once tethered him to his past.
A Coincidental Reunion
Grindelwald had spoken to Harry about it after Voldemort's self-imposed exile—a retreat that, for the most part, had been entirely voluntary.
And now, by sheer coincidence, they stood face to face once more.
Tom's feelings were complicated.
Did he hate Harry?
Yes.
But not as much as before.
After witnessing the vast world beyond England, his perspective had expanded. His vision had broadened.
Thinking back on his old dream of ruling England, he almost felt the urge to slap himself.
How narrow-minded he had been.
A lowly birth could not stop a true genius from rising.
But a person's origins could shape their vision—especially someone as stubborn as he had once been.
A New Man, A Familiar Face
His arrogance, his pride, his hubris—these had once forged the mad and myopic Dark Lord.
Now, stepping out of the shadows, Tom Riddle no longer bore the face of a snake-like monster.
His jet-black hair, his pale but healthy complexion—they painted the image of a man who could only be described as very handsome, incredibly good-looking, almost unnervingly attractive.
If he ever had the inclination to debut as a celebrity, he would no doubt become the heartthrob of countless women—from eight to eighty years old, he'd captivate them all.
For a long moment, they simply stared at each other in silence.
Their eyes exchanged unspoken messages, unreadable to the others in the room.
Meanwhile, the surrounding wizards were thrilled, excited, already contemplating how to deal with their captive—
And then, for the first time, the two finally spoke.
"You're still the same, Harry Potter."
"But you've changed."
"I shouldn't call you Voldemort anymore, should I?"
"Tell me—what name do you go by now?"
"Tom Riddle. It suits me, doesn't it?"
"Yeah, I'd say it fits."
Harry smiled, seemingly unbothered by his current status as a prisoner.
"Maybe I should be happy for you?"
"Accepting every part of yourself isn't easy—especially for someone like you."
"Maybe I Should Thank You?"
Tom's lips curled slightly, though his expression remained unreadable.
"If not for everything that happened, I'd probably still be chasing that pathetic dream of mine."
"Let's not pretend," Harry said, shrugging. "I really don't need to hear a 'thank you' from you. That'd be downright creepy."
Tom chuckled.
"You're right. It's best if we never met again."
"But since we have…"
The air between them shifted.
Harry's smile vanished.
"Then we have unfinished business."
"I've made peace with the fact that being an executioner means trouble will find me."
"And you, executioner that you are, don't get to simply walk away from your past and claim we're even."
"A debt of blood lasts ten generations."
"And I will send you to hell."
Harry's voice was calm—but his eyes turned ice-cold.
Breaking the Unbreakable
"Did you really think this could hold me?"
Harry glanced at the wizards who were celebrating their supposed victory, then raised a single hand.
A sharp, iron-gray blade extended from his fingertips—
And in a single instant, the thick layers of ice split apart.
The spells woven into his bindings were ripped to shreds with absolute force, and the massive frozen prison split cleanly in two.
The halved sphere of ice crashed to the ground with a thunderous crack, sending white vapor drifting through the air as the ice sublimated into mist.
The expressions on everyone's faces froze.
All except for Tom.
His face remained unchanged—not out of arrogance, but because he had expected this.
Still, seeing Harry break free so effortlessly deepened his unease.
"What About Her?"
The razor-sharp spear of metallic steam, prepared long ago, flashed forward in an instant, its lethal tip pressing against the magical barrier Harry had left to protect Fleur.
"I am not who I once was," Tom said calmly. "You, more than anyone, should understand what these past months have meant for me."
A barefaced threat, laid out plain and direct.
"Fleur's Hands Should Stay Clean"
"I don't want Fleur to dirty her hands."
Harry's voice was lighthearted, but his eyes were cold.
"But I'll tell you the truth, Tom—compared to me, Fleur can deal with small fry like you lot far more efficiently. Faster, too."
"The dirty work? That's my job. I was never a good person anyway."
Harry grinned.
Then—he vanished.
A Split-Second Escape
The moment Harry disappeared, the magical barrier buckled inward.
The spear tip didn't need to fully pierce through—a mere pinhole was enough.
The metallic steam, deadlier than the most potent venom, would instantly turn the inside of the shield into an inferno far worse than hell itself.
But just as the steam was injected, the shield abruptly detached from Fleur, shoving her outside.
Harry reappeared beside her in the same breath, grasping her arm.
"Five minutes. I'll be back soon."
"Be careful."
Fleur barely had time to respond before she was gone—teleported away with Thor at her side.
The world was vast; she could go anywhere.
"Adults Take Responsibility"
Harry now stood at the melted gateway, his posture relaxed, his tone lazy.
"I don't kill the innocent."
"But we're all adults here, aren't we? And adults take responsibility for their actions."
He glanced at Tom, then tilted his head toward the gathered wizards and researchers.
"You can try to save them, Tom."
Then, raising his black wand, he pointed the barrel at the crowd.
"I'm sure you're very familiar with this spell."
"Avada Kedavra!"
Blinding green light wove itself into a web of lethal lightning, streaking toward its targets in dazzling succession.
A spell passed down from Hufflepuff's own Seti, reborn a century later in the depths of this black-iron tomb—
A legend of the Forbidden Forest, relived once more.
No screams.
No cries for mercy.
Only the sound of silence itself breathing.
(End of Chapter.)