Monday morning dawned with a heavy fog blanketing the castle grounds.
It seemed there'd been rain during the night as well—inside the Great Hall, alongside the aroma of breakfast, hung the distinct earthy scent of damp soil. For many sleepy young witches and wizards, it became difficult to tell whether they were eating mashed potatoes or just plain mud.
Slytherin students, true to form, kept their mouths shut. The rest of the school remained oblivious to the events of the weekend, though a strange tension in the air had not gone unnoticed.
Usually scattered in small groups, the Slytherin students were now moving in tight clusters, always surrounding a few central figures.
It was odd—yes—but not something most would waste time thinking about.
Harry and Ron, however, were completely baffled.
After all, it was Tom's idea last week that had helped them pull off that perfect prank on Malfoy. Naturally, that meant they were now keeping a closer eye on Tom Riddle.
Until now, Tom had always kept to himself, his only companion being Daphne Greengrass. The rest of the student body gave him a wide berth.
But today…
Harry genuinely wondered if Tom had spent the weekend rewriting the genealogy records of half the Slytherins, because now they were treating him like he was their revered ancestor.
Some poured tea for him, others cut his sausages, and one was even seen buttering his toast.
It was more absurd than how Aunt Petunia spoiled Dudley.
Harry was confused. Ron, on the other hand, was practically green with envy—his eyes glowing as red as his hair.
That's the dream!
Why does Riddle get to live it first?!
"What the hell is going on?" Ron hissed, staring across the table at Hermione. "You two were close, right? How did Riddle become Hogwarts royalty in just one weekend?"
"How should I know?" Hermione snapped, clearly in a foul mood. She stabbed her eggs repeatedly, turning them into a mushy pulp.
That mood had everything to do with the fact that Tom had avoided her all weekend—not a single glance, not a word, not even a run-in in the hallways.
Ron shrank back at her tone, wisely choosing not to prod her further. He just grumbled internally.
A little further down the table, Fred and George exchanged a look filled with mischief and curiosity.
Something had gone down in Slytherin, that much was clear. Whatever it was, Riddle seemed to have come out on top.
"Next time we see him in the kitchens, we're getting the full story," Fred muttered.
George nodded. "Definitely."
At that moment, a flurry of owls soared in through the open doors, swooping over the tables and dropping parcels and letters with pinpoint accuracy.
Tom caught his own package mid-air, saving it from a tragic dive into his milk.
Daphne leaned in, curious as he unwrapped the parcel. Inside were neatly packed pouches of potion ingredients—some common, others quite exotic.
"Tom, why did you order so many potion materials?" she asked.
"Some are for my own use. Others are for you," he replied casually.
"For me?" she blinked.
"Yes, they'll help you recover energy and regain your strength more quickly."
Tom checked each item carefully, ensuring the quality met his standards before repacking the materials to take them back to the dormitory.
Daphne, meanwhile, looked at him with eyes full of stars.
He was so thoughtful, so thorough in his planning—and he'd even paid for everything himself!
For a moment, she actually felt guilty about how little tuition she was paying.
—
After dropping the materials off, Tom and Daphne headed to Transfiguration class.
At the same time, Lucius Malfoy arrived at Hogwarts.
He didn't go to Dumbledore right away. Instead, he sought out Severus Snape.
Lucius might strut around like he owned the world, but when it came to Dumbledore, he harbored a deep sense of fear. Marching into the Headmaster's office without a solid case just wasn't an option.
He needed reinforcements—and reassurance.
Snape was in the middle of teaching when Lucius appeared. He barely blinked.
With a simple order for the class to stay quiet and keep brewing, he stepped outside.
"Severus," Lucius began without preamble, "Don't you owe me an explanation?"
Snape raised an eyebrow. "Are you sure you even understand what happened, Lucius?"
"I've spoken to several students. It's quite clear that Draco provoked Riddle. There was no bad blood before, no history. Draco tried to climb the social ladder by dragging Riddle down. Unfortunately, it backfired."
"So tell me—what would you have me do?"
Lucius scowled. "That boy's a filthy nobody! You've known Draco since he was born, Severus. He was left hanging in the common room all night like some criminal!"
"Our family name is in the mud! Aren't we friends?"
Friends? Don't make me laugh.
"Of course," Snape said smoothly. "But as you know, there's a line between friendship and professionalism. They are both my students. I won't take sides. Surely you haven't forgotten the laws of survival in Slytherin?"
Lucius fell silent.
Slytherin hadn't changed. Back when he was in school, he'd relied on family influence and carefully chosen 'friends' to stay at the top, often at the expense of others.
But now?
Now, the tables had turned. His own son had been humiliated—not by another old bloodline, but by a Muggle-born brat. Worse yet, no one had come to Draco's defense. The other pureblood families merely looked on, indifferent.
Lucius's eyes darkened. "Are you certain there's nothing off about Riddle?"
"He's a boy with no magical background, yet he's defeated a seventh-year student. What are we supposed to believe—that he's a lone genius and the rest of us are fools?"
"Or is he using some kind of powerful dark magic? Who taught him?"
Snape let out a cold huff. He understood Lucius's paranoia all too well. But he had no interest in debating it.
"Dumbledore himself vouched for Riddle," he said coolly. "No dark magic. No tricks. He's just gifted. If you still have doubts, you're welcome to take it up with him."
Lucius wasn't satisfied. He badgered and pestered until Snape finally gave in and agreed to escort him to the Headmaster's office.
—
In the Headmaster's study…
Now that Lucius had heard what he needed from Snape, he felt emboldened.
He marched in and immediately demanded that Dumbledore expel Tom Riddle.
Dumbledore tilted his head, bemused. "Lucius, if I recall correctly, Board members don't have the authority to interfere in internal school matters. And even if they did… such decisions would require a full vote."
"I'm not speaking as a Board member," Lucius growled. "I'm speaking as a father!"
His anger surged. Dumbledore's calm demeanor felt like mockery. That serene expression and those twinkling eyes—it was like being looked at by someone who thought you were a complete idiot.
But Dumbledore only smiled gently, his serenity a perfect contrast to Lucius's boiling rage.
"I only just learned of this incident," the Headmaster said. "Naturally, I'll need to hear the full story before taking action."
He scribbled something quickly onto a piece of parchment, then folded it into a delicate origami crane and sent it fluttering out the window.
"Please be patient. I've just asked Mr. Filch to bring the two students involved. We'll let them tell us how it all unfolded."
Lucius grunted and sank into a chair, refusing to meet Dumbledore's eyes.
Snape, meanwhile, turned to leave. "I'll return to my class. Whatever decision you make, I'll accept it."
"Thank you, Severus," Dumbledore said kindly.
…
In Transfiguration class, Professor McGonagall was having the students practice turning goblets into pencil boxes. As expected, Tom was the first to succeed, earning Slytherin two points.
He hadn't gotten it perfect on the first try—it started as a crude prototype. But under Professor McGonagall's guidance, he attempted it twice more and finally achieved a flawless transformation.
This approach allowed him to showcase his talent as a reasonably outstanding student—not too miraculous to raise suspicion, yet clearly ahead of his peers. At the same time, he offered McGonagall the joy of witnessing a student's growth under her tutelage.
Two birds, one stone.
He wasn't pretending to be weaker than he was, nor playing some cunning game. He just wanted to earn more house points. Simple as that.
"Focus your mental energy a little more. And stop staring at me. You're supposed to transfigure the goblet, not my face," McGonagall chided.
"Oh," Daphne quickly averted her gaze from Tom and raised her wand—just as the classroom doors slammed open with force, drawing everyone's attention.
Professor McGonagall frowned. "Filch? What is it?"
"Professor McGonagall," Filch replied with an ugly grin. "Headmaster Dumbledore requests Mr. Malfoy and Mr. Riddle to see him immediately."
McGonagall glanced at the two students. Malfoy looked overjoyed. Tom rose calmly from his seat.
With her permission, the two of them followed Filch out of the classroom.
Most of the Slytherin students had already guessed the reason behind the summons. They whispered among themselves, wondering if Dumbledore would punish Tom.
Expulsion?
No one was foolish enough to think that. Dumbledore had been headmaster for years and had never expelled a student. It was just a fight—far worse offenses had happened with barely any consequence.
Even Daphne didn't look worried. She kept practicing her transfiguration, determined to succeed at least once before class ended.
"You know why, don't you?" Hermione couldn't contain her curiosity anymore. She slid into Tom's now-empty seat beside Daphne. "Greengrass, did Tom and Malfoy have a fight?"
Daphne shot her a sideways glance. "Granger, why should I tell you?"
"Suit yourself," Hermione huffed. "You're clearly not worried, so it must not be a big deal. I'll just ask him myself next time we're in the library. He always answers when I ask him one-on-one."
Daphne's wand twitched, and her spell fizzled again. She didn't like the silent atmosphere of the library; it was usually just Tom and Hermione having their little private world there.
But suddenly, she remembered something that made her smile again.
"You didn't hear? Tom's agreed to tutor me. We spent the whole weekend practicing together. I doubt we'll have time for the library anymore. Maybe you should find a Gryffindor study buddy."
This time, Hermione's lips pressed into a thin line. So that's why Tom had been missing the entire weekend—he was giving Daphne private lessons.
But she was smarter than Daphne. And more hardworking.
It was only because Tom often gave Daphne hints and tips that they appeared to be making equal progress.
Maybe… I should ask Tom to tutor me too?
But nothing in life comes for free—especially for someone raised in a world that values merit and exchange. If she wanted his help, she'd have to offer something in return.
What could she give Tom?
The thought troubled her, and for once, she had no energy to bicker with Daphne.
——
Meanwhile, Tom and Malfoy followed Filch all the way to the eighth-floor corridor.
Malfoy was strutting with his nose in the air the entire time, though he kept his mouth shut—he was too scared of getting punched again.
Filch, a useless Squib, couldn't protect him if things got rough.
Malfoy figured Tom would soon face serious punishment. That would be the time to gloat. If Tom dared lay a hand on him again, it would be proof of repeat offenses—maybe even enough to get him expelled.
That thought made Malfoy grin to himself. Filch glanced back and shuddered. That laugh was unhinged.
They stopped in front of the gargoyle guarding the entrance.
The statue stirred to life and growled, "Password?"
"Jelly Slug."
The gargoyle sprang aside, revealing the passage beyond.
"Off you go. The Headmaster's inside," Filch said, already turning to leave.
Malfoy eagerly dashed in. As Tom stepped forward, however, the gargoyle stuck out a claw to block him.
"What was that look you just gave me, kid?"
Tom blinked. "You can read human expressions?"
The gargoyle's gaping mouth stretched into a grin. "I've been around longer than your entire family tree. That was definitely a look of disdain, wasn't it?"
"Well," Tom admitted with no shame, "yeah. You're just incredibly ugly."
The gargoyle's rocky fur bristled. "Ugly?! Blame the wizard who sculpted me! Bloody Salazar—!"
"Ohh," Tom exclaimed, realization dawning. "You're one of the Founders' creations. No wonder you seem smarter than the average statue."
"You conniving little Slytherin! You tricked me into spilling that!" the gargoyle roared, then shoved him inside. "Get in there already!"
The stone slammed shut behind Tom with a rumble.
He rolled his eyes. You're the one who blabbed, not me.
The moving staircase carried him upward, finally depositing him before a grand door carved with the shape of a griffin.
The door stood ajar.
Inside, three figures awaited: Albus Dumbledore… and two Malfoys, identical in their platinum blond hair.
[Ding! Host has entered the Headmaster's Office. 10 achievement points earned. Additional 50 points awarded for a successful nighttime sneak-in. Keep up the good work!]
"Good afternoon, Professor," Tom greeted, bowing slightly. He paid the two Malfoys no attention at all.
"Good afternoon, Mr. Riddle," Dumbledore responded warmly. He waved his wand, and a soft chair appeared behind Tom.
"Please, make yourself comfortable. I only wanted to understand the situation better. I hear there was a… conflict with Mr. Malfoy?"
Tom settled into the plush seat, leaning back against the cushions and nodded. "It seems Malfoy thought an orphan would be easy to bully—an opportunity to make himself feel important."
"Unfortunately for him, he chose the wrong target. Orphans are often quite adept at self-preservation."
"He's lying!" Malfoy burst out. Backed by his father, he was bolder now. "I merely asked Goyle to give him a friendly reminder to stay humble. He lashed out first!"
"You. Reminded me?" Tom raised an eyebrow. "Malfoy, are you suggesting I should live like you—tail between my legs, afraid of everything? You couldn't even show up for the duel you challenged me to."
Both Malfoys turned beet red.
Tom locked eyes with Lucius Malfoy. The elder wizard's silver hair made him look aristocratic and smug, but his gaze brimmed with hostility. It was clear all of this was aimed squarely at Tom.
Spoiled children who always ran crying to adults… how annoying.
Tom knew Dumbledore would defend him, so he wasn't worried about Lucius. But even flies could be maddening.
Maybe it's time to play the villain… just for once. Let Malfoy experience what it's like to live like an orphan.
Malfoy was far luckier—he had a family name to inherit, vast wealth waiting for him. There was no such thing as an inheritance tax in the wizarding world. Hell, there weren't any taxes at all.
This place was paradise for capitalists and pure-blood aristocrats.
While Lucius was trying to figure out the best way to verbally strike Tom down, a chill ran through him. Every hair on his body stood on end as he met Tom's gaze—icy, calculating.
He'd seen eyes like that before. In the Dark Lord.
A shiver ran down his spine. Lucius slammed a hand onto the table with a loud bang, making the tea set tremble.
"This is outrageous!"
"Exactly!" Draco jumped in eagerly.
Lucius turned, barking, "Draco! So it was you who picked a fight with Mr. Riddle? Apologize to him. Now!"
"Exactly—wait, what?!"