Hogwarts: Chill, I’m Not That Tom Riddle

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Tom didn't agree right away. "I'm willing to help—but only if they're worth helping."

It was a blunt statement, but Grindelwald didn't get upset. Instead, he nodded approvingly.

Tom was practical—and frankly, that's how people should be. Always giving in to others just leads to getting used, your interests slowly stripped away until you lose yourself completely, becoming nothing more than someone else's tool.

If you want power, the first thing you have to prioritize is your own interests—because yours are always the most important.

His meaning was crystal clear: if the Acolytes could bring him value, then he'd lend a hand.

Grindelwald chuckled lightly. "Tom, you really don't have much faith in me, do you? A lion is still a lion, even when it's wounded."

A smirk curled on the older man's face. "Back when I lost to Albus, it wasn't because I couldn't escape. I knew the tide had turned. Fighting back would've only gotten more of my people killed. So I let myself be taken in exchange for their temporary safety."

"Sure, they've been oppressed over the years, but our numbers and foundation aren't something a few decades can erase."

"What they lack... is a leader."

Grindelwald looked directly at Tom. "You're my only student. That alone gives you the right to lead them. I'm not asking you to carry on my ideals—that's my path, not yours."

"All I ask is that you protect them well, make good use of their power, reward them fairly, and help them regain their strength."

"And if, in the end, they really have nothing to offer you..." Grindelwald sighed. "Then forget it. Once you've fully risen to power, just do me one favor: let their bloodlines continue."

This, Tom didn't refuse. He nodded in agreement.

Honestly, the Acolytes' ideology wasn't as extreme as the Death Eaters', so it was still within his tolerance.

Death Eaters clung to the idea of pure-blood supremacy, labeling even half-bloods and Muggle-borns as enemies. Voldemort once declared that Hogwarts only needed one house—Slytherin.

But the Acolytes? Their belief was that wizards should rule the world. As long as you were magical, you were one of them. Their goal was to abolish the International Statute of Secrecy, so that wizards could freely use magic anywhere—no more hiding from Muggles, no more fear of being exposed.

If Tom had been a Muggle, he probably would've seen Grindelwald as a terrorist. But as a wizard, he had to admit—the man's ideals had value.

A lot of people who opposed Grindelwald didn't do it because he was evil, but because they feared his vision would bring ruin to the wizarding world. Life was tough, sure, but still manageable—why risk everything?

If it had been someone like Bellatrix or little Barty Crouch, even if they were useful, Tom would've still found them repulsive.

"No problem, Mr. Grindelwald!"

Seeing Tom's agreement, Grindelwald finally let out a smile, the weight in his chest finally lifting.

"Hey, Grindelwald, tell us—how'd that kid Newt catch you back then?" Andros piped up now that the serious conversation was over, clearly itching for some juicy gossip. "Did he set a magical creature on you or something?"

Grindelwald's smile vanished instantly.

Seriously, what had he done in a past life to end up with a colleague and roommate like this?

"I got caught by a couple. That's not something you'd understand, you single loser." Grindelwald shot Andros a look and drifted back into Nurmengard.

Now it was Andros who couldn't laugh, and the grin had migrated to Tom's face instead.

— — —

The next day, Newt wandered into the nearby town again, seeing if he could sniff out any loose ends and hopefully wrap things up in one go.

Meanwhile, Tom was busy with the main event: the race.

He'd already ruled out the three-year-old group of Thunderbirds—their temperament was way too wild. They'd get distracted mid-flight by the tiniest thing. Flying with them wasn't a race, it was just playtime.

The five-year-olds were more promising. That age group could cruise through 100 kilometers no problem. The only issue was whether the trial would recognize it as a worthy challenge.

Tom gave it a shot—and just as he suspected, the trial didn't react at all.

Alright then… ten-year-olds it is!

...Any older and he'd be racing birds older than him. That's not fair, right?

Thankfully, the ten-year-old Thunderbirds did the trick. The fourth sign lit up, signaling the activation of the fourth trial.

But then a new problem arose: Tom himself.

His top flying speed was around 320 km/h, while the ten-year-old Thunderbirds were clocking in at 350 to 380 km/h.

In Thunderbird terms, these were young adults. By fifteen, they'd be fully grown. Not only were they fast, but they could also trigger weather anomalies mid-flight.

Tom was already slower than them, and to make matters worse, he had to stay on guard against the constant risk of lightning strikes. By the time the race ended, he was a solid ten kilometers behind.

With no better options, Tom went back to researching spell fusion.

Every day he'd drag the younger Thunderbird out for a few laps, hoping to win by luck or something.

...

And just like that, the last day of July arrived.

At the edge of a steep cliff, Tom stood with the Thunderbird at the peak.

"Chirp chirp—!"

"Don't even start. I've lost plenty of times before. But today—I'm the one getting into the club."

"Ch-chirp chirp—!"

"Oh, mocking me now? Try flying without zapping me for once!"

"CHOOO—!"

"You said it, not me." Tom unleashed his magic.

Twin wings flared open behind his back. A violent gust kicked up dust and debris around the cliff, but an invisible barrier wrapped around him, keeping the whirlwind at bay.

Every time Newt felt that surge of magic, he couldn't help but be amazed.

"Alright, Mr. Newt," Tom nodded at him. "Let's flash."

"Uh... ok, Tom."

"Ready... steady GO!"

Newt dropped the flag, and both man and bird shot off the cliff like bullets.

He'd gotten good at being the race judge after all these days. To give Tom a little edge, he always varied the starting rhythm—Tom was way quicker to react to cues than the Thunderbird.

As soon as the flag dropped, Newt leapt onto his broom and chased after them. He couldn't match their raw speed, but with a simple eye spell activated, he could at least keep them in sight over the 100 km stretch.

What surprised Newt was… Tom wasn't falling behind this time.

Not because he had gotten faster—But because the Thunderbird had gotten slower.

In between racing and spellwork, Tom had been busy with something else:

Feeding the young Thunderbird until it was round enough to roll — he was turning it into a Piggybird.

He hadn't just studied magic — he also understood relativity.

If your opponent slows down, doesn't that mean you're effectively faster?

So, with this brilliant logic in mind, Tom had been feeding the little Thunderbird top-quality beef every chance he got. And sure enough, in just a few days, the thing had gotten noticeably chubbier — easily put on two rounds of fat.

"Thanks, Einstein-sensei."

Seeing that his plan was actually working, Tom was thrilled — and promptly thanked the German physicist. Then, without missing a beat, he kicked things into overdrive and entered Turbo Mode, pushing his speed even higher.

In this state, his control over magic had leveled up again. His adjustment frequency became sharper and faster — not only could he fly quicker, but he even started flying ahead of the Thunderbird to mess with its airflow and disrupt its flight.

With his speed increasing and the Thunderbird's decreasing, the gap between them steadily widened. But once they hit the one-kilometer mark, that advantage began to fade.

Still, as long as he stayed ahead — even by just a centimeter — he could count that as a win.

"CHIRP—!"

Noticing it was falling behind, the little Thunderbird started to panic. Its mood shift triggered storm clouds gathering above. In no time, thunder was rumbling, lightning flashing — the whole dramatic sky-show began.

CRACK!

A bolt of lightning scraped past Tom. It didn't slow him down, but the next few bolts came closer, forcing him to dodge. Even in Turbo Mode — which let him react perfectly — his speed began to take a hit.

The distance between them started closing fast. They'd already flown 80 kilometers, with just 20 left to go.

Newt, watching from behind, was practically holding his breath. He knew how hard Tom had worked these past few days.

Come on… if he lost again, was he really gonna fatten that Thunderbird into a real pig?

Tom wasn't about to let all his effort go to waste. He fired a powerful spell into the sky, blasting apart half of the thunderclouds and dramatically reducing the interference.

But the Thunderbird was desperate too, and the storm clouds started gathering again. So Tom just kept flying — all while blasting high-powered spells at the sky. His magic was draining fast.

Finally, the finish line — the 100-kilometer mark — came into view for both Tom and the Thunderbird. After all these days of racing, even the Thunderbird knew what that line meant. It let out a high-pitched screech and suddenly surged forward, trying to push its limits.

Tom pushed back. He unleashed a new magic-burst technique he'd been developing, one that boosted his short-term magic output.

He hadn't yet finished merging the two flight spells he'd been studying, but this burst technique was paying off.

They were neck and neck, neither giving an inch — until Tom suddenly dove downward just before the finish, canceling Andros's Flight Charm. He used gravity and airflow to slingshot himself forward, and just like that, he shot past the Thunderbird by a body's length.

"...Fuck."

Tom was the first to cross the line. But he had no time to enjoy the victory.

He'd been going so fast he couldn't stop. He crashed to the ground and rolled for dozens of meters, tumbling over and over until all his momentum finally wore off.

He was dizzy and seeing stars like a cartoon character, but thanks to his strong physique, he wasn't seriously hurt. Just a little shaken.

Before he could even fully recover, the reward for clearing the fourth trial began.

[Fourth Trial – Thunder]

[Details: Win a 100km aerial race against a Thunderbird, using no external tools (wands excluded).]

[Reward: Thunderbird Bloodline – Greatly enhances host's wind and lightning-based magic, as well as flight speed.]

A massive thundercloud started forming overhead — easily hundreds of times larger than the one before. It was like a sea of lightning had appeared in the sky, silver serpents coiling through every inch of the black clouds.

Tom's body was lifted into the air by an invisible force, just as Newt arrived.

ZAAAP!

Before Newt could figure out what was going on, he was stunned to see a massive lightning bolt come crashing down on Tom.

Then came a second bolt. Then a third.

It was like Tom had pissed off Zeus, Thor, and every other lightning god out there.

The Lightning bolts didn't look like a reward — more like divine punishment.

The whole area became dangerously unstable. Newt didn't dare get any closer, but from what he could see through the lightning flashes, Tom was fine. His limbs twitched now and then — not from electrocution (it was a system reward, after all), but from conscious movement.

Newt decided to wait and see. And he wasn't wrong — Tom was actually doing just fine.

The lightning wasn't hurting him. In fact, this felt way better than when he'd bathed in dragon blood before. His body tingled all over, but there was no pain — not even from the usual transformation strain.

Strangely enough, he now felt connected to the sky — no longer seeing it as an opponent to challenge and conquer...

But as a domain he owned.

And right then, in his final moments of Turbo Mode, Tom had a sudden realization: the reason he couldn't fully merge the two flight spells… was because Andros's spell repelled all external forces that refused to let him fly.

But why repel them? Why not control them?

Just like he learned to shift the airflow in his favor, he could do the same here — take those "hostile" forces and bend them to his will.

The wings from Grindelwald's spell slowly began to reappear.

This time, they weren't just black.

Half of the feathers were white.

Tom moved. So fast that he left a faint afterimage behind.

In a blink, he appeared on a distant mountaintop.

Lightning followed him, striking from above.

But he didn't resist. He wanted more — more of this system reward. So without hesitation, he dove straight into the sea of lightning, embracing the transformation.

In the distance, the cries of Thunderbirds echoed.

Not just the one who'd raced with Tom — but at least twenty more, all adults or near-adults, came soaring through the clouds. Their eyes blazed with excitement as they followed their instincts and dove into the storm with him.

Newt, meanwhile, was itching with curiosity. He desperately wanted to study this phenomenon — what made this lightning so different from natural storms?

But with his scrawny limbs and zero resistance, he'd probably get roasted alive before he even made it halfway in.

So he stayed back and took furious notes instead.

...

Ten minutes passed.

The thunder quieted. And the clouds began to fade.

Tom slowly descended to the ground.

Newt rushed over… and immediately noticed the biggest change in him.

Was Tom… glowing? Where the hell was that light coming from?

.

.

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