The moment Tom stepped out of Dumbledore's office, his expression cooled like frost on glass.
He stepped onto one of the castle's moving staircases, gave it two firm stomps, and the staircase obediently lurched downward, carrying him in a swift descent toward the ground floor.
Dumbledore's parting words still lingered in his mind , earnest, almost fatherly.
But Tom Riddle was not the sort of student who mistook mentorship for equality.
What Dumbledore called seeking the roots of magic, Tom already understood in his own way.
At a certain point, every great wizard stopped learning spells , and began learning truth.
For Tom, that truth was found not only in magic's essence, but in the blood that carried it.
He already stood at that threshold , the point between power and purpose.
Both Grindelwald and Andros had spoken of this "root of magic" before, but neither of them were bloodline mages.
Dumbledore, though… Tom's eyes had gleamed when the idea struck him.
He suspected that the old man , and perhaps his entire family , possessed traces of phoenix blood.
It would explain everything.
The aura of renewal that clung to him, the way he seemed to rise again from every fall, even the fire-bright eyes that never dulled.
Dumbledore had awakened it fully. Ariana had not. Aberforth never would.
Still, the knowledge of bloodline fusion that Tom hunted wasn't meant for himself.
He had two reasons , and both were pragmatic.
First, Astoria Greengrass.
If he could use the blood of a magical creature to temper her frail lineage curse, perhaps she could escape her family's cruel fate.
Second, his circle , Hermione, Daphne, and a few others.
Tom had no interest in being their eternal bodyguard. The stronger they became, the stronger his foundation would be.
And bloodline fusion , properly controlled , could raise their limits beyond what Hogwarts could even measure.
As a bonus, it would make an excellent reward for loyalty.
Nothing motivated people quite like the promise of power.
He smiled faintly at the thought and stroked the phoenix in his arms.
"Come on, Fawkes," he murmured. "Let's go see Max and the others. They'll like you."
The bird chirped proudly, spreading golden wings that shimmered in the morning light as Tom stepped out of the castle.
Students along the corridor stopped to stare , their faces caught between awe and envy.
Tom Riddle, casually cradling Dumbledore's phoenix like a pet, was a sight Hogwarts would whisper about for days.
The next morning, the world was still gray when Tom arrived at Hagrid's hut and knocked three sharp times.
"Who's there?!"
The half-giant's voice thundered through the door, gruff and half-asleep.
"Me," came the cool reply. "Tom Riddle."
Thud!
Something heavy hit the floor.
Then came a symphony of crashes, clatters, and what might have been a chair dying.
A moment later, the door burst open to reveal a disheveled, flustered Hagrid, still fastening his coat.
"Tom! Merlin's beard, I, I didn't know it was you, Professor Dumbledore told me you'd, but I didn't expect, "
Tom cut him off, voice calm as still water. "I came early to avoid distractions. Are we going or not?"
"R-right, right! Of course."
The chill wind bit through the morning fog as they headed toward the forest edge.
Hagrid, now wide awake, pulled his coat tighter around his massive frame, sneaking wary glances at Tom.
That voice , smooth and cold , always made him think of another Tom.
They soon reached the edge of the Forbidden Forest, where Hagrid had already cleared a broad, flat area.
Tom drew out a small, silver card case, opened it , and stepped inside.
Hagrid blinked in shock.
Moments later, Tom emerged again, dragging behind him five enormous Whomping Willows, their violent branches bound tightly by shimmering ropes.
"Merlin's, Tom, you, you brought trees in your pocket!"
"Five holes," Tom said curtly. "A hundred meters apart. Deep enough for the roots."
Hagrid, grateful for simple orders, got to work immediately.
With a combination of his brute strength and Tom's precise magic, the task was finished in barely ten minutes.
The new willows stood tall and silent , bound for now, but already radiating the faint menace of living weapons.
Hagrid wiped his brow and finally dared to ask, "Tom, why're you planting all these Whomping Willows? Ain't one of 'em enough?"
Tom smiled faintly. "They're part of a project I'm developing. My next product line will require a steady supply of Whomping Willow bark and leaves. Dumbledore approved it."
Hagrid's eyes widened. "Wait , that thing the Daily Prophet was talkin' about? The one that's gonna 'change the wizarding world'?"
Tom arched a brow, mildly impressed. "You read the paper?"
"Well, uh… sometimes Fang sits on it."
Tom sighed. "Then yes, Hagrid. That one."
He left it at that. Any more, and the secret would be halfway across Hogwarts by dinner.
Hagrid's mouth was about as tight as a broken cauldron.
But Hagrid's curiosity quickly shifted to something else.
"Er, that box o' yours," he said awkwardly, rubbing his hands. "It's a stretch-space charm, innit? You fit five willows in there… the inside must be huge."
Tom eyed him knowingly. "You want one."
"W-well, if it's not too much trouble… I could give ya any materials you like!"
Tom considered it. "I don't have time now. But later, maybe. The space won't be as large as mine , about twice the size of Hogwarts' vegetable garden."
Hagrid's jaw dropped.
That garden covered nearly twenty acres. Twice that, and he could do practically anything , legal or otherwise.
"Tha's more than enough!" he said, beaming.
Tom smirked. Of course it is.
He had no illusions about what Hagrid might grow in there , explosive creatures came to mind , but that suited him just fine.
Once Hagrid owed him a favor, the half-giant would be a very convenient ally for future errands.
"I'll let you know when it's ready," Tom said smoothly. "For now, I've got breakfast waiting."
"R-right, right. You just tell me when."
As Tom walked away, Hagrid stood watching his shrinking silhouette, pumping a fist in silent triumph before trudging back to his hut.
By the time the castle awoke, rumors were already flying.
Students arriving for morning classes stopped dead in their tracks, jaws dropping.
Overnight, five new Whomping Willows had appeared on the grounds, forming a living barricade near the Forbidden Forest.
Their thick, knotted branches swayed in the wind, creaking ominously , as if daring anyone to get too close.
It didn't take long for speculation to spiral.
"Are they… guarding something?"
"Maybe Dumbledore's trying to stop students sneaking into the Forest again!"
"Five of them? He's trying to kill us, not stop us!"
By noon, the story had spread like wildfire:
The school had planted an army of Whomping Willows , to beat students to death if they dared enter the Forbidden Forest.
And somewhere in the castle, Tom Riddle hid a quiet smirk behind his teacup.
If only they knew.
The trees weren't guarding the forest.
They were guarding his future.