Professor McGonagall continued to walk the aisles, praising Tom one more time before reminding him not to slack off. Her words were calm, but inside she felt a faint unease.
Reason told her that this "Tom Riddle" was just a boy with the same name. Emotion told her otherwise. Every time he excelled, he brought back memories of the other Tom—the one whose shadow still haunted the school.
"Strange," she thought uneasily. "Could the name 'Tom' be under Merlin's special favor?"
---
Rivalries Spark
As soon as McGonagall moved farther down the row, Hermione leaned across the desk. Her eyes burned with both curiosity and jealousy.
"How did you do it?"
Her own toothpick hadn't so much as twitched.
Hermione wasn't used to this. Back in the Muggle world, her duels with Tom had always been close, both of them scoring near-perfect marks in school. She thought magic would reset the race, putting them both at the same starting line.
But now it felt as if she were stuck at the starting point, while Tom had already sprinted ahead to the next stop.
Tom, ever unbothered, offered advice as though giving out sweets.
"The more pressure you put on yourself, the harder it gets. Don't treat magic like an assembly line. Each spell is an expression of your talent. Keep calm."
He tapped his toothpick meaningfully.
"Think of it this way: you are its owner. The toothpick exists to obey you. If you command it to become a needle, it will. Nothing else matters."
Daphne, listening nearby, drew two deep breaths. She raised her wand gracefully, and with surprising steadiness cast the spell.
A silver flash darted over her toothpick. It didn't quite become a proper needle, but it was slimmer, shinier, and metallic enough to resemble a silver toothpick.
Daphne's face lit up. "I did it, Tom! You're amazing!"
Slytherin gained another point for her effort.
Tom's system, however, stayed silent—no bonus credits for him this time. He shrugged.
Hermione, meanwhile, ground her teeth. Her pride wouldn't let her back down. She returned to practicing furiously, wand whipping through the air. Finally—just before class ended—her toothpick transformed into a silver-colored needle.
Wooden, yes. Decorative, yes. But metal? Absolutely not.
Still, McGonagall's eyes warmed with approval. She awarded Gryffindor one point, and Hermione sat taller despite herself.
---
The Explosive Duo
Just as McGonagall prepared to close the lesson, a deafening bang! rocked the room. Smoke curled through the air, and two students sat coughing amidst black soot.
Seamus Finnigan and Neville Longbottom.
Their toothpicks were now nothing more than piles of charcoal. Both boys sported wild afros from the blast.
The classroom erupted in laughter. McGonagall's lips pressed into a thin line.
"One point from Gryffindor."
She sighed. "This is Transfiguration, not Defense Against the Dark Arts. If you must explode something, do it in the right class."
The bell rang, and she dismissed them.
Tom smirked to himself. Hogwarts really was full of odd talents. Not only did it produce "jinchūriki" like him, but also demolition experts. Terrifying, in its own way.
---
Tensions Among Slytherins
As students filed out, Daphne tried to follow Tom—but two shadows blocked her path.
Pansy Parkinson and Millicent Bulstrode.
"Greengrass," Pansy sneered, "why are you clinging to a mudblood?"
Millicent crossed her arms, echoing: "Exactly. Pretty face or not, his bloodline is filth. Just wait—Nott and the others will put him in his place."
Daphne's eyes flashed. Tom wasn't here, which meant she didn't need to restrain herself.
"My friendships are none of your business. Worry about yourselves."
She didn't stop there. Her gaze darted to Pansy's mouth.
"And Parkinson? Next time, clean the spinach out of your teeth before speaking to me. It's disgusting."
Pansy gasped, face reddening.
Then Daphne turned on Millicent.
"Bulstrode, your toothpick didn't change at all today, yet you dare mock Tom's bloodline? You embarrass the very idea of pureblood pride."
Her words sliced deeper than any hex. Both girls flushed crimson, mouths opening and closing like fish.
Daphne swept past them with her head high, deciding she'd rather write to her family than waste time with them.
---
The Library—"Dragon Field"
Meanwhile, Tom found himself in one of Hogwarts' true treasures: the library, his so-called "Dragon Field."
Generations of wizards had gained their edge here. Textbooks got you through exams. The library gave you power.
Tom remembered how his original self—Voldemort—had plundered these shelves for knowledge. He intended to do the same.
But first, he had to get past the hawk-eyed librarian.
Madam Pince looked like she could detect dust with her nose. She prowled between aisles, ever ready to strike down any offender.
Hermione eagerly grabbed Elementary Transfiguration and began reading like it was the Holy Grail.
Tom, by contrast, marched straight to the shelves and began pulling books by the handful. Three at a time, flipping through them, memorizing contents, then returning them. Again and again.
When he reached his thirteenth book, Madam Pince snapped.
She marched over with her feather duster like a soldier with a sword. "What are you looking for, boy?"
Tom blinked innocently. "That's why I read every book—because I don't know what I'm looking for. Problem?"
Madam Pince inhaled sharply, nostrils flaring.
"…No. But keep quiet. Do not disturb others."
Tom smiled politely and went right back to flipping pages.
Inside, he thought: "So that's how it is. Most likely a Squib—like Filch. Seven years in Hogwarts and not a single mention of her using magic. Dumbledore really put a Squib in charge of the greatest treasure vault of knowledge? Bold."
---
A Useful Trick
By noon, Tom had skimmed a dozen books, imprinting their contents into his study space. Hermione trailed behind him as they left the library.
"What exactly were you doing?" she asked, genuinely curious.
Tom adjusted his bag casually. "Just scanning the field. By browsing them all, I know where everything is now. Easier to find what I need later."
Hermione's eyes widened. She filed that strategy away immediately.
"That's… actually brilliant."
---
The Summons
At lunch in the Great Hall, Tom barely touched his food before a tall, stern prefect approached.
"Riddle. Professor Snape requests your presence after your afternoon classes. His office—basement, beside the Potions classroom."
Tom nodded, voice even. "I see."
But his eyes flicked to the far end of the Slytherin table, where Zabini, Nott, and Rosier were smirking. Rosier dragged a finger across his throat in a mocking gesture.
Tom's lips curved upward.
"Excellent. Another chance to stretch my muscles tonight."
---