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Tom Riddle | Voldemort Headcanons, Part IV

Resurrection / The End of the Line

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Came back changed. The body was functional, but wrong; it was unbalanced, unfamiliar.

He was fascinated by it. Caught staring at his reflection like he couldn’t quite believe it was him. Watched himself move. Smiled at his own teeth.

Started forgetting names and faces. Entire people he’d killed became vague shapes. He didn’t care.

Refused to eat in front of others. Rarely ate at all. The new body didn’t hunger the way the old one did.

Spoke of death as a “temporary affliction.” Said it with conviction. Finality was beneath him.

Had backup plans for his backup plans - but rarely shared them.

Never rested. Sat in silence for days, surrounded by layered wards, staring into nothing.

Felt his Horcruxes weakening. Said nothing, but it felt like bleeding in reverse, like something inside him was being unmade.

Started speaking Parseltongue unconsciously. Mumbled to himself when stressed. Whispered to shadows.

No longer dreamed. When he slept, it was cold, heavy, and dreamless -> like he was trying to pretend death wasn’t real.

Began to rot things around him without meaning to. Magic warped the air. Plants died. Mirrors cracked.

Grew paranoid even of the loyal. Thought Snape was playing both sides. He was right and wrong.

Couldn’t feel the difference between prophecy and paranoia anymore. Everything felt like a warning.

Would stare at Nagini for hours. She was one of the last things he still trusted.

He kept an archive ( letters, tokens, names ) of those he believed had betrayed him, no matter how small the offense.

Wrote in it with a shaking hand he refused to acknowledge as weakness.

Would walk the halls of Hogwarts in his mind. Still saw it as his. Still thought he’d return. He did.

Watched Harry during battle like he was looking into a cracked mirror. Couldn’t understand how someone so ordinary had become his equal.

Thought Dumbledore would come back somehow. Kept waiting for it.

Refused to say the word “Horcrux” aloud in his final year.

Died thinking he was still winning. That was the worst part. He mistook silence for respect, and fear for loyalty.

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Tom Riddle | Voldemort Headcanons, Part III

The First War / His Fall

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Power didn't need to be loud: he never raised his voice, even in anger. There was a coldness to him. A chill in the air when he entered.

He spoke without blinking.

During Death Eater meetings, he expected silence.

Rarely appeared on the battlefield. When he did, it was brief and devastating. His magic didn’t discriminate. Collateral damage, especially in the Muggle world, was never a concern.

Believed it was a waste to spill magical blood.

Showed off when killing to inspire fear. Otherwise, he killed with clean, exact precision.

Spoke of Hogwarts often, it was his beginning. He believed it would be his throne.

He pit Death Eaters against each other to maintain dominance and control through competition.

Loyalty was rewarded: access to forbidden spells, ancient rituals, private lessons. He taught the Dark Arts to his inner circle - Bellatrix especially.

Began using hexes and curses on Death Eaters when they disappointed him. Correction through pain.

Had secret lieutenants outside the branded Death Eater circle - even his marked didn’t know all his agents.

Maintained multiple hidden safehouses, untraceable even by his own followers. Where the Lord "lived".

Wore glamours when meeting new followers: to appear more human, more charming.

Survived on magical sustenance and dark energy rituals. Rarely ate. Didn’t need to.

Considered himself chosen. A god. Not a man with followers - a force with worshippers. Hence: The Dark Lord.

Researched magical beasts obsessively. Attempted necromancy on some. Had partial success.

Once tried to invent a spell to erase his own past. It failed.

In a fit after the failure he burned the orphanage down with Fiendfyre.

Saw the wizarding world as broken and wanted to break it further to rebuild in his image.

Loathed Muggle disciplines like psychology but used them to manipulate.

Quoted obscure literature no one else recognized. Always to remind the room he was more educated than them.

Attempted to convert the younger members of the Order into spies. Played on doubt.

Underestimated the Order’s willingness to die for one another.

Studied the Potter family tree extensively before choosing Harry.

Considered killing Dumbledore in private - but decided it needed to be public. A moment. A monument.

After his fall, he remembered every detail of the night. No matter how faint. Like a scar.

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Tom Riddle Headcanons, Part II

Post-Hogwarts / The Rise

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After graduation, he traveled in near-isolation. Always researching. Always learning. Always alone.

Learned how to weaponize silence, entire conversations could pass without him speaking. He only spoke when absolutely necessary.

Moved with unnerving grace. Quiet. Precise. Like a cat that had never been caught.

If he had an Animagus form, it would be a snow leopard: rare, deadly, and never meant to be tamed.

His eyes developed a faint red tinge from years of dark magic, just a stain that never left.

He wore jewelry: rings mostly, but for a time he wore enchanted emerald earrings. They were of his own creation, allowing him to read even the more reluctant minds.

Smelled like grapes, black tea, and the faintest trace of vanilla. A scent you remembered even when you didn’t want to.

Began to think ( and sometimes speak ) in the third person. Referred to himself as Lord Voldemort more often than not.

Learned several languages. Wore glamours. Signed with different initials. He played many roles, this was a time when he was whoever he needed to be to achieve what he wanted.

Still wrote in his diary. Everything went in: theories, rituals, betrayals, names. It was enchanted to never run out of pages. Always kept on his person.

Spam-used Legilimency on anyone he passed: shopkeepers, strangers, political figures. He liked knowing what people thought before they spoke.

Flirted with exact precision, never sincerity. Charm as manipulation. Nothing more.

Slept no more than a few hours at a time. Not from insomnia but from control.

Ever the gossip, he collected knowledge like gold: political scandals, secret alliances, bloodline histories. Not just in Britain, everywhere.

A compulsive book hoarder. Duplicated Hogwarts texts before he left. Chased the rare, the banned, the forgotten. It was almost liberating to have knowledge like no other.

Took trophies from his victims: wands, rings, torn bits of robes. Physical echoes of conquest.

Had minimal contact with his knights in Britain. He’d vanish, then reappear perhaps with a new scar and never explain where he’d been.

Never stopped perfecting his appearance. If anything, he became more beautiful the darker he grew. Even his most loyal followers were a tad unsettled.

Still thought of Hogwarts. The Chamber. The basilisk. With possession. They were his.

Once, on his travels, he came dangerously close to death. Within the year, he made the cup and the locket into Horcruxes. He never forgot how it felt to nearly vanish.

He needed to be remembered. Maybe Tom feared being forgotten more than he feared death.

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Tom Riddle Headcanons, Part I

Pre-Hogwarts / Hogwarts Years

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Since the orphanage, he never fully lets go in sleep = a lifelong light sleeper. Then at Hogwarts, he could be found reading or wandering the castle at all hours in his early years. He was never caught.

Never trusted anyone. By third year, he had warded his bed and belongings with increasingly vicious hexes. Black or Lestrange learned the hard way.

A quiet kleptomaniac. Stole galleons, quills, robes - anything. Methodical about it. His paranoia ran so deep, he regularly rearranged his trunk in case Dumbledore ever searched it.

Had vivid nightmares after the basilisk incident, mostly of Hogwarts being shut down before he could finish what he started.

Changed his accent in first year. Dropped the cockney edge and mimicked the clipped, polished tones of the purebloods in his house.

“I am Lord Voldemort” was first scribbled in his diary. That diary? Full of code names, castle maps, psychological profiles, and his early blueprints for taking over the world.

Kept up with the Hogwarts rumor mill in secret. Justified it by saying it was “tactically wise” to know everything. But really, he was a gossip.

An obsessive people-watcher. At the orphanage, it was boredom. At Hogwarts, it was strategy.

Practiced facial expressions in the mirror until they looked natural - or like nothing at all. Same with his handwriting: refined, sharp, and aristocratic by design.

Loved snakes from the moment he first saw one. In childhood, they were the closest thing to “friends.”

Obsessed with control. Emotion, voice, posture, clothing, wand movements - all deliberate. Never spontaneous unless it was anger.

Loved thunderstorms. Would sometimes sneak into the Forbidden Forest past midnight just to be alone in the rain, thinking.

Secretly believed he was smarter than every professor - and was mostly right.

Hated Transfiguration. Not only because of Dumbledore, but because it was the one subject he wasn't naturally brilliant at.

Ironically adored Defense Against the Dark Arts.

Once tried to use Legilimency on Dumbledore, failed spectacularly, and freaked out. He didn’t know about Occlumency yet, and the experience shook him.

In another life, he might’ve studied law — but he’d never practice it. He wanted power, not rules.

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