At times, Tom Riddle wondered if the entire world harbored a personal grudge against him.
All he wanted was to redefine the meaning of pureblood , a little ideological revision, some overdue truth. Sure, it was the magical equivalent of digging up a few ancestral graves, but Merlin's beard, he hadn't even reached their ancestors yet.
And already, everyone wanted him dead.
Now someone was playing puppet master, layering deception upon deception , a web of intrigue so tangled even he was starting to feel like the one being manipulated.
[Tom: If you can find them, drag them out. If not, don't touch the families. Watch them closely. Leave the rest to me.]
He had no intention of giving Rosier a death order. The magical world was a labyrinth of strange powers and subtler traps.
Even Dumbledore and Grindelwald , for all their brilliance , couldn't possibly see through every spell, every scheme.
[Rosier: My lord, surely such trifles shouldn't trouble you personally.]
[Tom: I prefer to do it myself. Letting others kill them wouldn't be nearly as satisfying. Is that a good enough reason?]
It was.
There were precious few left in this world who could anger him , and certainly not this pack of rats scurrying in the shadows.
If he didn't handle them personally, the irritation would linger, gnawing at his mind, dulling his focus.
And anything that distracted him from progress… was an affront to the Root itself.
That kind of offense demanded retribution.
…
Thousands of miles away, in a candlelit manor on the outskirts of France, Vinda Rosier fell silent as she read his message.
Across the table, Anton Vogel had just walked in, his glass of wine halfway to his lips. He leaned over, reading the line , and then burst out laughing.
"Lord Riddle is absolutely right," Vogel said, his grin sharp as glass. "There's nothing like revenge by your own hand."
Vinda sighed, pressing her temple. "I understand the sentiment, but doesn't it bother you how incompetent we've become? We used to handle assassinations, sabotage, diplomacy , now we can't even stop someone from trying to kill our master."
Vogel's smile faded. His fingers tightened around the glass. "It's the way of things. A dragon that falls to the plains becomes a feast for ghouls."
The silence stretched.
Then his eyes hardened with something almost fanatical. "But when our lord returns to his true power, we'll rise again. And this time, we'll reshape this foolish, blind world."
…
"Ah… Ariana…"
In the meditative space of his mind, Tom sprawled across a chair outside the Meditation Chamber, surrounded by his odd circle of mentors , Grindelwald, Andros, and the gentle spirit of Ariana Dumbledore herself.
The boy was venting.
"Why is the world so damn complicated?" he groaned. "All I want is to study magic, publish some harmless academic work, and live in peace. But no , apparently that's too much to ask."
He slouched dramatically in his chair. "Pureblood families want me dead, someone's plotting behind the scenes, and I haven't even done anything yet! I don't even know what I did to deserve this!"
His words grew more pitiful by the second. Ariana's emotions stirred visibly , her golden hair rippling like sunlight in water, the faint aura of her suppressed power flickering in the air.
The shadow of a Mere Creature , that black, suffocating mist of her cursed soul , began to seep out.
Tom didn't suppress it this time. He watched carefully, intrigued.
He wanted to see how much control Ariana truly had over her darkness now.
"Enough," she whispered , and the shadows froze. The air trembled with her command, then folded in on itself, vanishing.
Ariana blinked, breathing a little faster, but smiling faintly.
Then she looked up at Tom with sudden thoughtfulness. "Tom… what if the person behind all this… is my brother?"
Pffft!
Grindelwald and Andros , both mid-drink , spat their wine in perfect unison.
They gawked at her like she'd just suggested that the sky was green.
Even Tom, who prided himself on composure, stared blankly.
"...Excuse me?"
Ariana fidgeted under their collective disbelief. "Well… you always say Albus isn't exactly a saint, right? He cares most about maintaining order in the magical world. So… what if all your research, your theories , what you're writing , makes him nervous?"
Her brow furrowed earnestly. "If he thinks your work could shake the foundation of wizard society… then maybe he's trying to stop you. Quietly."
Grindelwald leaned back in his chair, expression twisted.
Merlin's beard, the girl almost made sense.
Almost.
For a fleeting moment, even the great Gellert Grindelwald , the man who'd once dueled Dumbledore for the fate of Europe , looked genuinely uncertain.
Andros, bless his simple mind, turned toward Tom with wide eyes. "Wait, could it actually be Dumbledore? The old man's always smiling, acting all kind and patient , maybe that's the trick! Maybe he's plotting behind your back!"
He cracked his knuckles, enthusiasm burning. "Tom, if you want, I'll go take him out tonight. You and me , we'll take the Headmaster's office and his phoenix. Ten minutes tops."
"Ten minutes?" Tom echoed, half-laughing.
Andros frowned, thinking. "All right, maybe not ten. Call it twenty , if we start at midnight and count both days, it rounds up."
Tom pinched the bridge of his nose. "...Right."
Then he turned back to Ariana, expression suddenly serious.
"Ariana," he said softly, "if your brother truly was behind all of this , if Dumbledore were the mastermind , would you still stand by me?"
Her answer came instantly, without hesitation.
"Of course!" she said, eyes bright. "If Albus hurts you, then I hate him!"
Her voice wavered slightly at the end, guilt and love warring in her tone. "I just… wish I could do something to help."
"Who says you can't?"
Tom smiled and reached out, ruffling her hair. "You're helping just by being on my side. That's all the strength I need."
Ariana flushed, her spirit shimmering with golden light.
Grindelwald, watching the scene unfold, sighed and raised a glass. "Merlin help us all. For a moment, even I believed it. Ariana's theory almost turned me against Albus."
He shook his head with a weary smile. "She's right about one thing, though , he has the motive, the power, and the intelligence. But he lacks the one thing needed for a true conspirator."
"What's that?" Ariana asked, confused.
Grindelwald's smile faded into something oddly respectful.
"The cruelty," he said quietly. "Albus Dumbledore is capable of terrible choices for the greater good , but never petty malice."
Tom leaned back, eyes half-lidded. "Exactly. If Dumbledore wanted to stop me, he'd come to my door himself , not send shadows to do it for him."
Still, the thought lingered.
If even the idea of Dumbledore's betrayal could shake Grindelwald… then perhaps there were more layers to this game than any of them yet realized.