...
Fiendfyre's greatest weakness was, in truth, nothing.
Admittedly, perhaps he'd been a tad too careless. Tom Riddle let out a curse, idly covering his panicking follower in a competent defensive charm. It certainly wouldn't do to let him die after all the help he'd provided.
With a flick of his wrist, Tom Riddle set off a shockwave of pure magical force. The enclosing demonic fire quickly finding itself been pushed back. His maestro like movements rapidly releasing shockwave after shockwave, in every direction but down. The fire quickly losing any hold over his immediate area. Enough to catch a glimpse of the runes currently frozen in the air around him, his eyes for a moment lighting up in wonder as he realised they hadn't been used to create the demonic fire... He eyed the shimmering fog of swirling air, fire quickly leaking out, joining the rest of it's form- They'd been used to open a rift. Fiendfyre, in the end, truly did come from another world. It wasn't created by magic, it was called by it!
He held in the wince, his hands for a moment freezing as he watched the fire make contact with the Manor's wards, the brilliant flash of white light warning them of worse to come. Barty Crouch was currently stood by his side, his focus set on a singular spell, barely keeping the defensive wall surrounding both, to his amusement, of them in place. The sudden explosion quickly catching the death eater off, his moment of panic however disappearing as none of the aftereffects seemingly touched them. The falling debris idly floating out of their way in the process.
When the after effects of 'Fiendfyre on Ancestral Ground' died off, Tom Riddle found himself staring, almost slack-jawed at the still working runes, entirely unaffected by the backlash of a burning ward. The walls of the manor having been wiped off the face of the earth, the very ground surrounding them cratered. His and Barty's immediate area the only thing untouched. Though he could make out nothing but the erratic fire covered sky when he raised his gaze. The roof of the manor had been the first go-
He stiffened the moment his gaze landed on a flying figure in the distance. His enhanced sight showing the hints of a mad looking grin on the teenager's face. A face that he quickly realised looked to be breaking down, different facial features peeking through. The boy's tattered robes released some kind of light, inscriptions too small for even him to see, his floating form was currently pointing a wand directly towards him.
The screeching fire quickly called his attention away from the psychotic Hogwart's student... Honestly, they got worse by the decades. Towards the fire currently covering three quarters of the sky before him, all of it quickly focusing down on him.
With a tired sigh, Tom Riddle released his magical power, pouring it outwards, covering him in and the frozen Death Eater beside him in an ocean's worth of magical energy. Flicking his wand upwards, he muttered a single spell.
The trick and danger with Fiendfyre was, generally only the caster himself truly had any semblance of control over it. Sure, he could wrestle it out of him, but the moment the caster lost said control. All that was left was an out of control dark spell. One that he, rather not, had to deal with personally.
But at the end, he didn't need to control it. No, he simply had to redirect it's attention.
The danger with casting the spell? When the target is inaccessible, the cursed fire turns towards the nearest source of magic it could instead reach. And with a direct link to it provided for him already?
Why on earth would he get rid of it?
Given the fire's red colouring, it meant the brat didn't even have full control of it in the first place.
He watched, almost bored, as his wand for a moment sparked. The veil of magic surrounding him rising upwards, spreading out far and wide, covering as much area as it could. The spell in question? Oddly enough, a transfiguration one at that, one specifically designed to handle the curse before him. On contact with any of it's flames, the veil currently arcing upwards, would transfigure into a vacuum.
Fiendfyre's greatest weakness was after all nothing. The fire was powerful yes, but it couldn't travel without burning, without latching onto anything first. It's greatest enemy was an empty vessel.
The Dark Lord watched, utterly bored with the situation, as the child realised what was happening. He watched as the vacuum started closing down the middle, the demonic fire suddenly finding itself been scooped up, the two walls of nothingness closing in on it from both sides. Cutting off and directing it down towards the singular, panicking being in the sky.
A single hole down the middle of it, locked onto the glaring eyes on the other side, open enough just for him to peek through.
He watched, the hints of a smile tugging at his lips, as the boy's face drained of colour. His frantic movements slowing down, his hands shaking. Resig-
Except.. Tom stiffened as instead of resignation... He found anger. Fury. Hatred.
And above all-
Determination.
Tom, for a moment, hesitated. His wand arm gripping his greatest friend and weapon- Before he promply stuck said hand out. His face notably straining as he poured out more power. Forced the demonic fire to speed up-
"I am Gellert Grindelwald's final heir..." Tom for a moment blinked in stupefaction as heard the voice. His view opening up the slightest, allowing him to see more. His mind for a moment noting the fact the runes from earlier had disappeared. He barely noticed the fire currently slowing down, if only the slightest.
He was more focused on the fact the boy's right-hand side was currently, quite literally, entirely aflame.. From the bottom of his foot to his shoulder... Did the brat realise he was current-
"My name is Rodrick Grindelwald!" Tom Riddle held in the wince at the sudden reverberated sound, for whatever reasons, the words grating on his skin- His eyes widened as he watched dark smoke emanate the boy's other non-burning side. Strange black marks quickly scrawling across his skin. A rotten smell filling the clearing, likely empowered by the vastly slower fire. Though, despite all the... Whatever it was Dumbledore's abomination was doing. He couldn't in the end completely stop-
That was the moment the necklace around the, he wasn't quite sure he could call whatever mess that was a, student started glowing. Shadows swirling into existence and around in every direction.
"And I'll be damned if my own spell is going to disobey me!"
And with those words, quite literally, everything went to hell.
He watched, stupefied. His mind almost numb as it witnessed the sight of the ages. He watched, speechless as the the burning fire not only halted in it's tracks. Practically freezing in the air even. The fire itself frozen in the shape of the cone-like barrier he'd created for it. It would've been absolutely beautiful sight, if not for the message it intended to send him.
Not only did the ridiculous brat seemingly figure out how to finally tame the damn thing, the blasted fire's red colouring changing by the second. Not only had he managed what should've been impossible...
He'd done it all accidentally.
And as with all accidental magic, though vastly more dangerous, just as much, more powerful.
And for a moment, it truly looked like the boy would simply sicc whatever hell he'd managed to conjure onto him. Yet, the moment passed, a calculating look, one he could plainly see given the sheer amount of magic he was pouring into his eyes, filled the boy's face instead. His earlier eruption of anger once again, somehow, inexplicably contained...
The brat's Occulemency was downright out of this world. He wasn't sure he could've managed such unbelievable control.
He watched, sheer fascination filling his face, as the boy tethered the magical fire's boundless, rather cursed admittedly, energy to himself. The shadows surrounding him, the burning fire replacing half of his body, the curses covering every speck of his physical form enhancing by the second.
And, what did the little stain choose to do with all of that power? With the frozen sea of nearly endless energy...
Tom Riddle watched on, his earlier fascination disappearing, his curiosity, despite all of the previous escalating situations, finally dying down. A surge of contempt building deep inside as he watched the brat waste away the respectable, by his own admission, level of magical power.
The pitiful cries of the demonic blue fire dying out filled the burning sky, whatever hints of it's sentience having likely realised what the wasteful idiot was doing. It's cursed fire slowly but surely losing it's hold, waves upon waves of it's time-halted flames slowly but surely transfiguring, changing into-
He could barely move a muscle, his face barely holding in the urge to twitch as he watched hundreds of thousands of faces slowly start to form inside the flames. Each and every single one directly staring at him-
"Who are you?" The brat questioned calmly, his voice magnified with magic. Tom Riddle's hands shaking as he tried and failed to hold back the urge to answer. His efforts for a moment seemingly pulling through before the brat decided to waste away near half of the energy covering the sky, the number of shocked faces staring down at him diminishing the slightest, all into a single non-verbal unforgivable.
The only one the brat could get away with in broad daylight.
The Imperius Curse.
And with grit teeth, Tom Riddle embarked on the second most disastrous night in history, at least in his honest opinion, not to mention in front of every single spectator before him.
For the second time in his life, Tom Marvolo Riddle, introduced himself as-
"I am Lord Voldemort,"
And without a by your leave, the brat smiling all the way, after reforming his body, disappeared in another burst of fire, his rapidly closing eyes a clear sign of sheer utter exhaustion. The sky and sea of shouting and cursing faces disappearing with him.
The empty sky left behind was almost out of place with the burning wreckage that was Malfoy's home. The sudden eerie silence making it all too easy for the Dark Lord to hear his own heartbeat.
"Barty." He called out, utterly done with the day, before remembering the man had passed out out of his own exhaustion earlier.
He shouldn't have been so lenient on the damn brat.
"What in Salazar's name are they teaching at Hogwarts these days?" He questioned no one in particular. His gaze slowly turning towards the rest of his followers, a few outright knocked out, a few steadily making their way towards him.
He really couldn't quite care who it was at the moment.
He quite frankly had bigger problems to deal with.
And a Grindelwald to crucify.
...
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Tl;dr Instead of using the unholy level of power (For Rodrick at any rate), that from Rodrick's perspective didn't even get a raised eyebrow out of the Dark Lord, for what was likely to be a futile attack. He decided to instead instigate an indiscriminate nationwide Floo call. Courtesy of fire.
Which means that yes, given semi-cursed/cosmic power, Rodrick Grindelwald decided to live-stream the Dark Lord's second coming.
Thank you to one of the reviewers for pointing out Rodrick's ooc moment. Really, humour can in fact take a backseat for that particular moment.