"Finally we meet."
Tom Riddle Sr. turned toward the fireplace, a hand still on the doorknob. He froze at the unexpected sight of himself, only younger.
His younger self assumed a cool smile. "Oh, you look like you've seen a ghost."
The older man stepped forward, entranced. The figure sat in his favourite chair was a perfect representation of himself, as if he were looking at a fleshed out photograph. Memories of his youth were ushered forth in his mind.
"I am quite real." The young man pulled a stick from his coat pocket and brandished it.
The elder spun around as the door almost hit him in closing. It locked itself.
"What are you?"
"I am your darkest dreams made flesh."
"Preposterous, magic is hokum, cheap trickery-"
"I am your Lord and Master." He spoke quietly and tilted his chin up slightly.
He laughed. "Not in my family house, you are not."
"I could have been your family. Had you accepted me, had you accorded me the proper respect, befitting my blood."
The elder laughed. "Oh, my bastard has sought me out. I'd heard that Mad Merope had died, relieved, I'd thought you'd gone with her."
The younger stared. The elder swayed a little, suddenly he felt as if he were blanketed in a snake's posturing gaze.
"What is your name, bastard?"
"Tom Riddle, bastard" the younger spat viciously.
"Who knows you are here?" The elder wanted to contain what could be a messy situation.
His tone became light and crisp. "I am alone."
"Good."
"Not for you."
"How so?"
"I want it that way."
"I will give you nothing."
"What do you imagine I could want, Father?"
The elder flinched. "The family money. There is no use, we invested too heavily in the Great War. This house is the last vestige of our nobility. I refuse to let an inbred mongrel like you tarnish my family's good name, our name is all I have left."
The younger man laughed almost imperceptibly softly. "We are similar in more than looks, it seems." He stood. "You will acquiesce to my demands, or suffer a thousand misfortunes for your disobedience."
"Do I look like I was born yesterday? You're half my age, a child, what could you do to me, Lord of this land we stand on?"
"I am the Lord Voldemort. I have a mastery and command of natural laws akin to a God. You will bow to me, and accept my authority."
"You wear a Dracula cape and wave a stick to cast your 'magic'. You are insane, just like your mother."
The young man flourished his hand, arms remained down by the draping at the sides of his black cloak.
The elder felt a stony weight on his shoulders, he crumpled on the floor onto his knees.
"Wand magic is inelegant, on this we concur." The pressure increased, the elder strained, struggling to stand. "I could kill you quickly, but it would derive me no pleasure. I have suffered lifelong, waiting for this meeting, hoping there were a misunderstanding. I had hoped we might become allies, that you might give me answers to my many questions. Is that not the role of a good father? To guide, to assist, to educate?"
"I would rather die childless and let this house rot than accept a freak like you."
"Careful, I am not as easily dismissed as my poor mother. Reject me, and I will destroy you. I would flay your soul until it wandered this earth for the rest of time."
"You're bluffing."
"I have no need." He walked forward, twirling his wand between his fingers thoughtlessly. "You see, you are on the ground, the rightful place of a common human. I, the talented, intelligent, ruthless et cetera et cetera immortal tower above you. Can you not recognize, from your vantage point, the natural order of power?"
"Immortal? Ha! Which insane asylum did you escape from?"
The wizard's eyes caught the dim glow from the fireplace. Usually brown, they shone red. The older man choked on a gasp.
"Resilient, I'll give you that."
"Take what you want and leave."
"I only want two things from you."
The elder grimly bore his invisible weights. Tolerance of pain ran in the family it seemed.
"This house will do nicely for my plans. As for that other thing-" he strode up to the man he dared conceive as his father without a wall of bile rising up to his throat. He grabbed his father by the throat. "I would see you suffer for the dishonour upon my mother, myself, and worst of all, my noble House."
The elder's face, so similar to his own, contorted into confusion mingled with pain. "What are you?"
His son laughed, it sounded like a hissed lullaby.
"The descendant of the most honourable Salazar Slytherin, heir to powers immeasurable and soon to be the greatest sorcerer the world has ever known."
"What are you going to do to me?"
"I will blanket your final hours in pain. Your exquisite screams will balm my lifelong doubts that I could ever align myself with a magic-less cretin like you." He laughed deeply, the laugh of a psychopath from the face of an angelic seventeen year old boy. The fireplace roared.
Tom Riddle Sr's brown eyes widened, his nostrils flared.
His son smiled at him; he had grown fangs.