— — — — — —
"Just call me Cho," Cho Chang said with a soft smile. "Quite the coincidence. I almost never come to the library this early, and I end up running into you."
"I haven't been here in ages myself."
Tom sat across from her and shrugged. "Madam Pince doesn't like how fast I flip through books. She's convinced I'll ruin them."
Cho couldn't help but laugh. "I've heard about that. They say you've earned the title of 'The Library's Page-Flipper'"
Tom blinked. "Who's got so much time on their hands they start making up nicknames for me?"
"No idea. Marietta told me about it." Cho glanced nervously toward the entrance, and sure enough, Madam Pince's hawk-like stare was aimed straight at their table. She lowered her voice to a whisper.
'Marietta Edgecombe, huh.' He mentally recalled her info.
"Hmm... Cho, you don't have to be that careful. I put up a Silencing Charm. She can't hear a word we're saying," Tom reminded her.
Cho glared at him. "And you didn't think to mention that earlier?"
Tom spread his hands innocently. "You didn't ask."
"Riddle, you keep talking like that and someone's going to punch you."
"They can try. But they'd lose."
With the power he had now, unless Dumbledore suddenly went dark side, there wasn't a soul in the school who could lay a hand on him. Even Snape had started speaking to him in hushed tones lately. Of course, that was just Snape trying to cozy up and steal some secrets.
"Right, because you even hit professors," Cho teased. "And the school rules can't even punish you for it. First case in a thousand years. Guess you're making history."
"Well, it's still not as exciting as your Aladdin story and the other ones you slapped your name on."
That made Tom a little embarrassed. "I only did that to blend in with the culture here. It's not like they even know what Arabian Nights is."
"And it's not like I published it as a book and made money from it."
She smiled faintly. He really wasn't much like the rumors. Ever since the Lockhart incident, reactions had been mixed—some cheered, some feared him. After all, who takes a swing at a professor just like that? But spending a couple days around him, she found him surprisingly easygoing. Those scary stories didn't seem to match at all.
They chatted a little longer before Tom finally wandered off to the Restricted Section. He picked out ten books, then stopped. Wilkinson's pass was good for a month, so he wasn't in a hurry to stockpile everything.
He returned with a book on advanced Transfiguration, sat back down across from Cho, and they read quietly together.
In the distance, faint cheers and laughter drifted over from the giant chessboard and Megatron.
Everything felt relaxed and peaceful. The only thing Tom found irritating was that the library banned drinks—and, of course, Madam Pince herself.
Moments like this begged for a cup of coffee, or at least some sort of energy drink. And as for Madam Pince, well… she was clearly mentally unwell. Her obsession with "protecting" books bordered on madness.
Turn a page too quickly? She'd glare.
Whisper with a classmate? She'd scold.
'When I become the Dark Lord—ugh no Tom not that.'
'When I become the Shadow Headmaster,' he corrected himself, 'I'm definitely reforming this library.'
---
The weekend drifted by pleasantly, and then it was back to another week of classes.
Professors McGonagall and Laos Wilkinson wouldn't allow the giant chessboard or Megatron to distract students during the week, so those activities were reserved for weekends.
And Laos had already earned himself a lot of respect from the students after last week. Whatever else, he had the skills to teach them properly.
And then there was the topic he'd introduced in Defense Against the Dark Arts—Muggle firearms. That sparked quite the debate in the castle.
The first to blow up about it was Professor Charity Burbage from Muggle Studies.
"Don't listen to Professor Wilkinson's fearmongering! His so-called 'introduction to firearms' was completely inaccurate. I've seen Muggle guns myself—every shot requires reloading, and you have to light the fuse each time. It's nothing more than crude alchemy mixed with potion-like explosions. Awkward and inefficient!"
"Class, when studying Muggle society, you only need to pay attention to their quirky little inventions. Like this flashlight, for example—"
Laos heard about Burbage's rant soon after. He didn't argue, didn't bother correcting her. He just sneered and left the castle that evening.
The next day, during the fourth-year class, he marched the students out to the training grounds.
Then, without a word, he pulled out an AKM, a modernized version of the AK-47.
In front of every wide-eyed student, he raised it toward a black straw dummy and emptied the entire magazine.
In just three seconds the dummy was shredded into a smoking, flaming mess.
"How many of you could have reacted in time?" Laos asked coldly. "Actually, don't bother answering. None of you could. Not unless you'd already cast a specialized Protego ahead of time."
"Facts speak louder than words. I don't know Professor Burbage all that well, but I've heard from colleagues she's a kind person."
"Being nice doesn't mean she's qualified."
He let out a derisive laugh. "So… your Muggle Studies class is still stuck studying flashlights?"
"My great-grandfather had one of those. Wizarding families were using them decades ago. Sure, they're more convenient than a simple Lumos, but outdated knowledge won't do you any good. If anything, it'll give you a completely warped view of what Muggles are actually capable of."
He shook his head, brushing the topic aside. "Forget it. I'm not your Muggle Studies professor anyway. No point saying more."
Since they were already outdoors, he decided to turn it into a field lesson instead. He led the students into the Forbidden Forest, collecting real-life encounters with magical creatures as their "textbooks."
...
When Tom heard about all this, his opinion of Laos shifted.
Yes, Laos admired Grindelwald, and yes, he approved of Grindelwald's efforts to raise the status of wizards. But he didn't hate Muggles. Quite the opposite—he actually respected Muggle technology, and had a good grasp of their inventions and trends.
This wasn't unusual. Especially in America, plenty of wizards thought the same way. The influence of the non-magical world was growing, seeping into every corner of wizarding life.
Tom hadn't yet thought seriously about tearing down the Statute of Secrecy or making wizards live openly under the sun. But if that day ever came, the best outcome would be peaceful coexistence—magic and technology side by side.
Still, that was a very long way off.
As for Professor Burbage, she heard soon enough what had happened during Laos's class. No one knew exactly how she felt about it, but the very next day she requested extended leave and checked herself into St. Mungo's.
The staff were left with mixed feelings.
Honestly, DADA professors were never easy to deal with. If they weren't outright shady, then they were eccentrics who stirred up endless trouble.
Bringing a gun into school just to humiliate a colleague? How were they supposed to look each other in the eye after that?
But Dumbledore, oddly enough, didn't see it as a big deal. He stayed cheerful, even relieved—at least the students weren't filing constant complaints anymore, and they finally had a competent professor.
He even invited Laos to his office for afternoon tea. The two of them talked at length about Muggle society, and in the end Dumbledore remarked that if Laos ever got tired of DADA, he'd make a perfectly capable Muggle Studies professor.
---
"Riddle! I just read your paper with Mr. Newt Scamander!"
By late September, Tom was halfway through breakfast when Professor Kettleburn, limping as always, hobbled toward the Slytherin table waving a magazine in his hand.
"You mean the one on evolution?" Tom set down his spoon and eyed the cover—The Niffler's Treasure. Despite the cutesy title, it was a serious scholarly journal focused entirely on magical creatures.
A few days earlier, Newt had told him the paper had been submitted. This morning, Tom's system had even awarded him 500 credits and 50 achievement points for it. Not much, but still something.
"That's the one," Kettleburn said, beaming. "I once had similar theories myself, even tried to test them. Cost me a leg, and I still failed."
He flipped to a marked page. "Here—you mention unicorns, thunderbirds, and the Nundu. But tell me, Riddle, what's your take on the evolutionary potential of the Ashwinder?"
He plopped himself down right there at the Slytherin table, staring at Tom with eager expectation.
Most of Kettleburn's scars and injuries traced back to his dealings with magical beasts. The missing leg? Lost when he tried to use an Engorgement Charm to boost an Ashwinder's flames. The snake turned to ash—and so did his leg.
Tom thought for a moment before answering. "Professor, I'd say you should start with the eggs. Like with dragons. Improve the quality and heat of the flames from the very beginning, and the Ashwinders that hatch will be stronger and healthier."
Kettleburn's eyes lit up, thrilled. "Of course! Why didn't I think of that? I was always focused on mature specimens…"
He gave Tom a wistful look. "I'll be retiring next year. Shame, really. If I had more time as your teacher, I might've found even more inspiration."
Tom smiled. "At your age, retirement's well-earned. But if you ever have ideas, we can always correspond by letter."
"Good lad." Kettleburn clapped him on the shoulder. "No wonder Newt's so fond of you."
He and Newt had been classmates once, two years apart, and had stayed on good terms ever since.
Before leaving, Kettleburn invited Tom to visit his office that afternoon, leaving the magazine behind.
The moment he hobbled off, the other students swarmed the journal. They passed it around eagerly, even if most couldn't understand half the content. That didn't matter—Slytherin pride burned bright.
'Our house has Tom Riddle, publishing scholarly papers left and right. What do your houses have? A bunch of nobodies.'
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