— — — — — —
By the end of August, Diagon Alley had practically turned into a playground for Hogwarts students. Every shop looked like it had been taken over by young witches and wizards.
Tom's shop was no exception. Oh, right—his shop had a name now: Elaina's Magic Workshop.
When Daphne, Hermione, and others first saw the new name, they spent half a day trying to look it up. But there was no record of any witch named "Elaina"—not a Hogwarts graduate, not a historical figure, nothing.
Curiosity got the better of them, and they finally cornered Tom for an explanation.
He hadn't expected his offhand choice to cause such a fuss and laughed as he explained, "Elaina's the name of a powerful witch I came across in an old tome. People called her 'Ashen Witch.'"
He shrugged. "It's just a story. The name popped into my head when I needed one, that's all. No hidden meaning."
That cleared things up, and the girls dropped the matter.
By now, the number of people inside Elaina's Magic Workshop had thinned out. Most who wanted to buy had already done so, and those still hesitating either hadn't made up their minds or just didn't care.
Young people love new things, but twenty Galleons was still a hefty price tag.
Hogwarts was broke, Dumbledore was pretending to be dead, so Tom had no choice but to go after the Ministry of Magic. He pitched the idea to Fudge, suggesting the Ministry subsidize each student's purchase by five Galleons.
Naturally, Fudge refused at first—but politicians are politicians.
Once Tom promised Rita Skeeter would publish two glowing feature stories about him, Fudge graciously agreed to open the Ministry's wallet.
Less than a thousand students meant a total cost of around five thousand Galleons—a bargain price for a shiny boost to his public image.
Tom, of course, played along, offering Hogwarts students a 20% discount and a "buy ten, get one free" deal on the magic paper.
With those promotions, the final two days before term began saw students flooding in. Parents tagged along to help pick cover designs, while the first thing every kid did after buying was add friends—turning the skies of Britain into chaos as owls flew everywhere carrying magical codes.
The boys mostly just added friends. The girls, though? They went wild—group chats for everything.
Even if a dorm only had five girls, somehow they'd end up in ten different groups. Conversations ran nonstop, and magic paper was running out fast. When Tom checked the sales numbers, he couldn't help nodding approvingly.
No wonder people say women's money is the easiest to earn—then pets—then men, dead last.
Inspired, Tom began designing a range of potions tailored for women, then—naturally—forwarded the order list to Snape.
Snape nearly kicked over two cauldrons when he got the letter. "What am I, his servant?"
But then he turned to the second page and paused.
There, Tom had written down the payment: a Frost Arrow spell—cast silently, wandlessly. Not earth-shattering in power, but elegant and efficient, like Sectumsempra. Exactly Snape's style.
He couldn't resist. Grumbling under his breath, he accepted the job.
Tom always got away with bossing Snape around because of the Dumbledore factor. The old man had been stringing Snape along with empty promises for years, while Tom—well, Tom actually delivered on his promises.
Compared to that, working with Tom didn't seem so bad. At least he got something out of it.
...
On the last day before school, Tom went to Diagon Alley with Hermione and the Greengrass sisters to finish some shopping.
Well, technically, their shopping was done—they were just tagging along with him.
Hermione, refusing Tom's suggestion to get a Puffskein, decided on a normal pet instead—something with just a touch of magical blood, nothing exotic.
So their first stop was the Magical Menagerie.
By now, Tom's appearance in public caused an instant stir. As one of the most talked-about figures in wizarding Britain, he couldn't walk five steps without being noticed. Fortunately, people still had enough manners not to mob him.
A few Hogwarts students waved and called out his name, and when Tom waved back, they puffed up proudly, glancing around to make sure everyone saw that they personally knew Riddle.
Crossing the street from the ice cream parlor, they stepped into the pet shop.
It was cramped inside, cages stacked high along every wall, and the air was thick with a mix of smells worse than a dungbomb. Every kind of screech, chirp, and hiss blended into pure torture for the ears.
The clerks who worked here deserved medals just for lasting through a single shift.
At the counter, a witch was instructing a wizard on how to feed his two-tailed salamander. When the man finally left with a bag of dead toad eggs, Hermione stepped forward to explain what she was looking for.
Maybe it was fate, but after browsing through all the cages, she stopped at a large ginger cat. The two of them locked eyes immediately. Hermione crouched down, smiling wider and wider, and reached out her hand. The cat bunched its legs and leapt toward her—
"MEOW!"
Tom snatched it out of midair by the scruff of its neck. The two of them—boy and cat—glared at each other. The cat bristled, ready to claw his face off, until Tom shot it a single cold look.
A ripple of dragon and thunderbird pressure rolled off him. The cat's fur instantly flattened, and it switched tactics, letting out a soft, pitiful purr.
"Mewow~"
"Don't move," Tom said calmly. "Let me check something."
He examined the cat for a moment, then nodded, satisfied.
Perfect. A female.
"Tom, what are you doing?" Hermione asked, confused.
He kept a straight face. "Just checking. I thought it might have some wildcat blood—wanted to be sure it was tame enough not to bite you. Looks fine now."
"Meow~" the cat purred sweetly, big eyes gleaming, and Hermione melted on the spot. She practically snatched it from Tom's hands.
"This one. Definitely this one."
Decision made, she strode up to the counter. The clerk asked what she wanted to name the cat, and Hermione decided on Crookshanks.
...
The group had barely stepped outside when they ran into the Weasleys, freshly returned from Egypt.
(Today is the Grand Egyptian Museum's opening. Coincidence? I think not!)
"Tom! Astoria!" Ginny spotted them first and came running over, beaming.
Tom instinctively took a step back in distaste, while Astoria blinked in surprise. "Ginny? Is that you?"
"What happened? You're so brown!"
Last term, Ginny had been white... right? But now her skin was a deep bronze.
"Seriously," Tom said, eyeing her critically. "You've turned into a little sand goblin."
The video feed, like the pages of the Daily Prophet, only showed black, white, and gray. No wonder he hadn't noticed until now how much Ginny's appearance had changed.
"What's that supposed to mean?" Ginny didn't follow half of what he said, but she caught the tone and pouted. "It's not my fault! The Egyptian sun is brutal! Just give it a few months, it'll fade!"
"Then come talk to me when it does."
"Ugh! You're impossible! I'll fight you!" Ginny lunged at him, claws out, but bounced off an invisible wall of air.
"Ginny! Don't make a scene!"
The rest of the Weasley family was catching up, all of them several shades darker than when they'd left. Mrs. Weasley pulled Ginny back and greeted Tom with a big, warm smile.
"Tom, dear, it's wonderful to see you again."
"The pleasure's mine, ma'am. How was Egypt?"
"Oh, absolutely marvelous! You must visit someday—it's incredible."
Molly launched into an enthusiastic retelling of their trip, even pulling out a stack of photos. But before long, the conversation shifted, and her tone softened into gratitude.
The first time she'd thanked Tom was for saving Ginny—he'd noticed her strange behavior and confiscated the cursed diary, preventing Voldemort from using her.
This time, though, it was because of Peter Pettigrew.
Ron had been too embarrassed to tell his family that his pet rat, Scabbers, was actually a man—a Death Eater, no less—so they hadn't known the truth until the public trial.
When The Daily Prophet published every detail, the Weasleys had been horrified. The real traitor who betrayed the Potters had been hiding in their home for over a decade.
Percy ran straight to the bathroom to vomit. Ron had only owned the rat for two years, but before that, Pettigrew had been Percy's pet.
Everyone else went pale at the thought. The idea that a murderer who'd blown up a street and killed thirteen Muggles had been living under their roof made their skin crawl.
The twins were punished harder than they had been in years—second only to that one time they convinced Ron to jump off the third-floor balcony when he was six.
They'd had the Marauder's Map for nearly two years, yet somehow never noticed anything strange about Ron's constant companion. Tom, meanwhile, had uncovered Pettigrew's secret within weeks.
Knowing they were in the wrong, Fred and George had been treating Ron unusually well all summer—sharing pocket money, bringing him souvenirs, trying to make up for it.
Mrs. Weasley chatted with Tom for a long while before Mr. Weasley reminded her they still had errands to run.
"Tom, dear," Molly said warmly, "do you have time this evening? We're staying at the Leaky Cauldron tonight before heading to King's Cross in the morning. Why don't we all have dinner together?"
Tom glanced at the girls beside him. None of them objected, so he nodded. "Sure, sounds nice."
"Wonderful! Five o'clock, Leaky Cauldron. And don't fill up on snacks before then!"
As the family headed off, the twins lingered behind, exchanging a look before turning to Tom with matching grins.
"Quite the stir you've caused," George said with exaggerated sweetness. "Inventing something that's got the whole wizarding world buzzing. Tom, my friend, you're on your way to being a legend."
Fred eyed Elaina's Magic Workshop across the street, his voice tinged with envy. "So tell us—what's it like owning a shop in Diagon Alley before even graduating?"
Tom pretended to think. "Hmm… feels pretty normal, actually. It's not just here—I've got branches in France and Germany too. So, really, nothing special."
Fred snorted, laughing. "You're impossible. Respect."
Tom raised an eyebrow. "You two didn't stay behind just to flatter me, did you?"
"Truly perceptive, Lord Riddle," George said with mock reverence. "We mostly wanted to thank you—for saving Ron from that creepy little man."
Tom didn't blink. "And?"
"And…" Fred clasped his hands together dramatically. "Magnificent, wealthy Lord Riddle, would you please lower the price of your magic paper? Eleven Sickles a pack—even after the discount! It's daylight robbery!"
So that was it—they wanted a deal.
Tom grinned. "No problem. Let's say… one Galleon for fifty sheets."
George's eyes lit up, then narrowed in confusion. "Wait, that's the original price! You just raised it back up!"
Fred gawked at him. "We're your Gryffindor brothers! And you're ripping us off?"
"Exactly," Tom said, smiling pleasantly. "Since we're such good brothers, you wouldn't dream of taking advantage of me, right?"
The twins froze. For once, the famed Weasley wit failed them completely.
As they slunk away, defeated, the girls couldn't hold back their laughter.
Trying to get a bargain out of Tom Riddle?
That kind of fool hadn't been born yet.
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