Hogwarts: Chill, I’m Not That Tom Riddle

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The sudden change of topic threw Lady Greengrass off for a moment. She stared at Tom for several seconds before catching up.

"Buying a Merlin Medal with a donation? And you're aiming for First Class?"

Tom felt a twinge of embarrassment but still nodded. "For… certain reasons, this medal is very important to me."

This was the disadvantage of never having been pure-blood noble—he still had a sense of shame. Unlike those with no qualms about it, he couldn't quite treat buying honors and titles as "perfectly normal."

Lady Greengrass, though, didn't seem scandalized in the slightest—just puzzled at why Tom had suddenly set his sights on a Merlin Medal.

She thought back to what she knew of pure-blood society and said, "First Class can indeed be bought. The last person who did it was Arcturus Black—the cousin of Phineas, the former Headmaster of Hogwarts before Dumbledore's predecessor."

"Officially, it was for his 'great contributions' to the Ministry. In reality? He dumped a mountain of gold into their coffers."

"But your situation is a little different."

She studied his handsome young face, half-amused. "Arcturus came from the Black family—one of the most powerful pure-blood lines there is. He had deep connections both among the pure-bloods and within the Ministry, so no one dared complain when he got a First Class medal."

"You, on the other hand, are far too young. You've got no real footing in the wizarding world. Even if you offered double or triple the gold, the Ministry wouldn't dare give you a First Class medal. If they did, the day they handed it to you would be the day Fudge and Dumbledore were both forced out."

The First Class Merlin Medal had to be approved by both the Minister for Magic and the full Wizengamot. The Wizengamot was basically the wizarding version of the Muggle House of Lords, with Dumbledore as Chief Warlock—effectively its Speaker.

"So, in your opinion, what's the fastest way for me to get one?" Tom asked.

"Must it be First Class?" Lady Greengrass probed. "If it were Third Class, even Second… with those protective bracelets of yours making Aurors so much safer, plus some careful maneuvering, it could be done. But First Class is a whole different league. Unless it's for themselves, the Ministry guards those medals like dragons hoarding treasure."

By the end, her tone had turned mocking.

Tradition dictated that Ministers for Magic awarded themselves a First Class medal just before retiring—'in recognition of their tireless service.' The last several had all done so. Only one in recent memory had been modest enough to give themselves a Second Class.

Fudge, in the future, would be no exception. He'd given himself a First Class too—though Tom suspected once Voldemort returned, that medal would be stripped away.

"No," Tom said firmly. "It has to be First Class. Second or Third are useless to me."

Lady Greengrass could see how serious he was, and sighed. "Tom, you can't rush a First Class medal. You'll need to make some massive, undeniable contribution—paired with my maneuvering and even Dumbledore's backing—before you'll even have a chance."

"So don't get impatient. Forget about the money. Just go back to school, keep studying, and try to produce research that makes a real impact. Oh—and work on getting closer to Dumbledore. I'll handle the rest."

"Thank you, Auntie," Tom said sincerely. He knew she was right. Half a year wasn't long. It wouldn't stop him from taking on his next task, so he could afford to wait.

Seeing how readily he listened, Lady Greengrass smiled. "You rushed back from France—haven't even had lunch, have you? I'll have Pala prepare something."

"Not just lunch," Tom said wryly. "I skipped dinner yesterday too." The thought of Nicolas Flamel's feverish enthusiasm made his scalp prickle.

"You're still growing," she chided gently. "You need to eat on time."

"Yes, Auntie."

Lady Greengrass truly did see him as a son now.

After all, a son-in-law is half a son. And if both her sons-in-law happened to be the same person… well, didn't that make him a whole son?

Ever since she'd overheard Astoria murmuring Tom's name in her sleep, she'd known she wouldn't be able to keep either of her daughters from falling for him. At the very least, though, she had to persuade Tom to let one child carry the Greengrass name—so the family line could continue.

— — —

Twilight settled as the Hogwarts Express slowed to a stop.

Hagrid straightened up, ready to greet the first-years. But before the train had even come to a halt, someone stepped into view.

"R-Riddle? What're yeh doin' here?" Hagrid stammered.

Officially, Tom and Hagrid were 'friends.' But ever since Hagrid had seen him fighting that mysterious hooded figure in the Forbidden Forest, he'd been more wary than ever.

It didn't matter that Tom had been protecting the school—that they'd never clashed directly. Just hearing his name was enough to make Hagrid uneasy.

Tom glanced at him casually. "Missed the train for… reasons. Normal, isn't it?"

"R-Right. Perfectly normal," Hagrid mumbled, at a loss for what to say.

Just then, the train doors opened and students began spilling out.

Grateful for the distraction, Hagrid bellowed, "First-years! This way!"

His booming voice startled the students nearest him—though many quickly noticed the boy standing beside him.

"Tom, long time no see!"

"Riddle—how was your holiday?"

"Tom, did you like the sweets I gave you? I've got more this time."

By the time Hermione, Daphne, and Astoria arrived, they found Tom surrounded by Slytherin students greeting him with cautious enthusiasm. They kept a polite distance, and only relaxed after he returned their greetings, hurrying off soon after.

It was the first time Astoria had seen him like this. The other students' behavior puzzled her—it almost felt like… fear?

Why would anyone be afraid of Tom? He was so gentle, so courteous.

But the truth was, the less close someone was to him, the more they could sense the change.

Dragon bloodline, soul upgrade, skin like armor, Thunderbird bloodline—stacked together, it was like Tom had become a wand charged with an enormous spell, power radiating off him in sharp, invisible waves.

Those close to him—Daphne, Astoria, Hermione—saw him through the lens of familiarity and affection, and felt no pressure at all.

The rest of the students, though? They thought he'd gotten a whole lot scarier over the summer.

"Whoa, Tom—why is your skin better than mine? That's not fair!"

Daphne's brainless outburst cut straight through the curiosity brewing in the girls' minds. She skipped over to him, wide-eyed. The double-faced mirror hadn't given her a clear look before, but now, standing right here, she could see it—skin so fair it made her jealous.

It was almost glowing in the twilight. Seriously, she was the girl here—so why was Tom suddenly looking prettier than her?

"Haven't been in the sun lately. Couple of days outside and it'll be back to normal," Tom said, ruffling her hair. He definitely wasn't about to tell her the real reason—last thing he needed was for this girl to decide she should get struck by lightning a few times, too.

Daphne's eyes sparkled. "Then I'm not leaving the castle all month."

"Alright, alright, whatever you say. Now come on."

.....

Tom led them toward the carriage, chuckling at Hermione's muttered complaints.

He had promised to spend a few days with her after coming back from France. Instead, he'd only returned right before term started. And yeah, he knew he was in the wrong—he hadn't kept his word.

Not that Hermione was truly mad. She just wanted to see if he'd come coax her, and once he did, she let it go quickly enough.

Some girls, once they have the upper hand, keep pushing and pushing, making the guy back down endlessly.

But the smart ones know when to stop—they use a little well-timed sulking to keep their standing, not to start a war.

Whether a girl's "being difficult" or not all comes down to that balance. Luckily, Hermione's logical mind kept her grounded. She knew what a rare chance it was to study under Nicolas Flamel, and she wasn't about to resent Tom over it.

Once the four of them climbed into the thestral-drawn carriage, Daphne immediately started gossiping about what they'd just seen on the train.

"We all saw it—Potter and Weasley flying through the air in a car! A real car, on the way to Hogwarts! I swear a bunch of Muggles must've seen them."

Tom blinked. He'd had such a full summer, he'd nearly forgotten the whole "original plot."

Gotta give Ron some credit, though—driving from London all the way to Hogwarts? In the wizarding world, that's basically being an F1 champion.

Of course, that was a joke. Formula One was the highest class of worldwide racing for open-wheel single-seater formula racing cars. So Ron wasn't even qualified to watch the race.

"Dammit!"

Hermione, on the other hand, looked like the world was ending. "I can already see Gryffindor starting the year with negative points."

"That's not necessarily true," Tom said, leaning back against the plush seat. "Technically, school hasn't started yet. No opening feast, no start of term—so it's still the holidays. No points to deduct."

"You can argue it like that?" Hermione perked up. "I hope this finally knocks some sense into them. Your Slytherin end will be seventh year in a row."

"Eighth, Hermione."

"No way. This year, Gryffindor's taking it."

"You dreaming? If it's a contest for lowest points, sure, you'd win."

The bickering started up again, but Tom was used to it. He leaned over to Astoria instead, keeping his voice low. "Any flare-ups from the blood curse lately?"

"No," she murmured, silver hair catching the dim light. "I took another bottle of your potion. I feel great."

"Good. Keep up the exercise every day—it'll help you stay healthy through winter. Hogwarts winters can be rough, especially in the Slytherin dorms. I'll teach you a dehumidifying charm; it'll keep the moisture at a normal level."

"Alright."

So easy to deal with.

Tom ruffled Astoria's hair, making her blush. But instead of pulling away, she tilted her head forward, shy but willing.

Suddenly, Hermione and Daphne, still mid-argument, both whipped their heads around in unison.

"Why is Astoria in the carriage too?!" x2

Tom and Astoria froze.

Fifteen minutes later, the carriage rolled to a stop.

Looking up at the castle after two and a half months away, Tom felt a little wave of nostalgia. Hogwarts had a magic to it—a way of quietly turning itself into home for every young witch and wizard.

Daphne dragged Astoria off toward Professor McGonagall in a hurry, hoping there wouldn't be trouble over not entering the school via the Four Founders route.

Tom figured it wasn't a big deal. After all, that fifth-year transfer had arrived in a far more dramatic way, and nothing had happened to him.

On his way up the stairs, he spotted Malfoy glancing around. Malfoy saw him too and jogged over, cheeks flushed.

"Tom, have you seen Potter?"

"No."

Tom shook his head. "But Daphne told me she saw Potter and Weasley flying a magic car through the sky. Guess they decided to make a flashy entrance—they'll probably turn up soon."

"Flying in the sky?"

Malfoy looked like he might actually burst from joy. With a stunt that outrageous, surely Potter was about to be expelled.

"Thanks, Tom! My mum sent loads of sweets—make sure you try some later!"

And with that, he dashed off to spread the news.

"He's really loving this," Hermione muttered, frowning—but not without a hint of resignation.

Not that she could really blame Malfoy. This was on Harry and Ron; they'd handed their rivals the perfect weapon.

"Alright, stop worrying about everyone else's business. It'll just age you. At this rate you'll have wrinkles by thirty," Tom teased, steering her through the entrance hall and into the Great Hall.

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