Hogwarts: Chill, I’m Not That Tom Riddle

— — — — — —

Tom gave a faint smile. "I just think you've aged a lot over the holiday, House Head."

Snape snorted, casting Dumbledore a sidelong, almost casual glance.

Of course he'd aged. Dumbledore had sent him all over the continent chasing Voldemort's trail. He hadn't even spent five full days at home all break.

"..."

Dumbledore kept his gaze straight ahead, as if he hadn't noticed Snape's silent glare of accusation.

High above, Usaki was already showing the majesty of a Legendary Pokémon. Vast air currents gathered into the eye of a storm, and a massive tornado reached from earth to sky, trapping the phoenix in its raging center.

The twister only grew wilder. Just as Dumbledore was about to step in and put an end to this fight, the storm stopped spreading. The tornado's rotation slowed… slower… until, seconds later, it vanished completely.

"Who won?!" A young wizard who'd been knocked to the back row hopped up and down, desperate for a look at the outcome.

"Usaki won! The phoenix can't get up!" someone shouted excitedly.

Fawkes lay on the ground, feathers a complete mess. Usaki dived from the sky, whipped the phoenix with his tail several more times for good measure, then landed proudly on Tom's shoulder like he was planting a flag.

"SKRYYAAH!"

"Alright, alright, we all know you're amazing," Tom chuckled, giving the little guy a fond pat. Then he walked over to Fawkes, picking him up and smoothing his rumpled feathers.

Truth be told, if Fawkes had taken it seriously from the start, Usaki didn't stand a chance. But the phoenix had been in a teasing mood, while Usaki had spent over ten minutes powering up his "Dragon Dance." By the end, the baby dragon was fighting at equal strength—and even edging ahead.

"Oow…"

Fawkes' call was weak—not from exhaustion, but from the humiliation of losing.

Nobody else realized it, but he did. Usaki was barely two years old.

He'd lost to a baby.

Just like Voldy.

Tom seized the moment to lecture them. "Alright, so now you two have fought and gotten to know each other. Playing's fine, but no serious fighting, got it?"

Usaki was the first to obey, chirping an "understood." Fawkes gave a sulky nuzzle against Tom's arm in reluctant agreement.

"Good," Tom said with a satisfied nod. "That's how it should be. No more squabbling—you're both my wings."

Dumbledore's mouth twitched.

…Wasn't that his bird?

But Fawkes clearly hadn't even noticed his actual owner standing right there, and Dumbledore didn't feel like making it more awkward. Instead, he waved the students on. "Children, you've seen the show. Back inside now—our opening feast isn't even over yet."

Only then did the crowd reluctantly drift back to the castle.

"Let's head in too," Dumbledore said to Snape and the others. "We shouldn't delay the students' term."

When they returned to the Great Hall, they found that half the students had abandoned their meals to watch the fight. Dumbledore could only sigh and give them a little extra time to finish eating.

Still, most barely picked at their food, their eyes constantly drifting toward the Slytherin table—more precisely, toward Usaki, now draped around Tom's neck like a living scarf.

A pet that cool, that handsome, and that good in a fight? The looks on their faces said it all—they'd just swallowed an entire jug of fresh-squeezed lemon juice.

Lockhart's eyes were practically glowing green. This pet was perfect for his image. If he could get one, he'd be on the Daily Prophet's front page every single day.

...

When the feast was finally winding down, the leftovers on the plates vanished. Dumbledore rose to give his usual welcome speech and to announce a few new rules—most of them on Filch's request.

The students listened half-heartedly, and the ceremony ended in a lackluster school song.

Only when Tom stood did the Slytherins dare rise as well, lining up neatly to follow him out.

The professors exchanged glances, each with a different expression.

Slytherin… was that disciplined now?

Professor McGonagall found herself a little envious. Gryffindors were far too unruly—headstrong and individualistic, with no one willing to back down. Even her most dependable prefect, Percy Weasley, couldn't control them all.

Why didn't her House have someone like Riddle, who could command the room like that?

"Severus," she said suddenly, her tone unusually friendly, "you'll have to share your methods with me sometime. How exactly do you train Riddle to keep even the upper years so… well-behaved?"

Snape: "???"

Train him?

This kid had been a born troublemaker—by the end of his first month, he'd taken down every single prefect and was already eyeing Snape's own position.

"Don't be petty, Severus," McGonagall chided. "Wouldn't it make your life easier if Gryffindor students were more obedient?"

"Ah… right," Snape said, deadpan. "But I'm not sure Riddle's… methods… would work for Gryffindor. First, you'd need to find a student as talented as he is."

McGonagall fell silent. So did the other two Heads who had been listening in.

Their hearts all gave a faint, painful thump.

If they had a student like that, they wouldn't be here asking Snape for advice.

They'd always thought Riddle was just an unusually outstanding student—until today's massive protective spell made them realize he'd been holding back all along.

A shield that could cover a thousand people? In the entire school, aside from the Heads and Dumbledore, no one else could even attempt it.

Seeing their pained expressions, Snape couldn't help the smug curl of his lips.

Ok, this felt good.

Finally, a day when Riddle wasn't making his life miserable, but could be used to make everyone else's a little worse.

He was going to have a drink tonight. No—two drinks.

— — —

Meanwhile, in the Slytherin common room—

The new first-years, exhausted from the long day, thought they could finally rest. But after being shown their dorms, they were kept back by the seventh-year prefect.

"What I just told you were the school rules," he said. "Now let's talk about Slytherin rules."

"Remember this—Slytherin rules always outrank school rules. If anyone doubts that, feel free to test it and see what happens."

Tom was sitting in his usual spot, absently stroking the sleek neck of Usaki. In front of him, the newly sorted first-years stood in two uneasy lines, shivering under his gaze.

He'd actually wanted Astoria to head back and rest, but the little witch had obediently lined up with her classmates, so he let it slide.

Then his hand froze mid-stroke. Usaki tilted its head, puzzled why its master had suddenly stopped.

It wasn't that anything was wrong—it was just… the whole scene felt off.

The longer Tom looked, the more it reminded him of Voldemort holding a Death Eater meeting.

No, actually—Voldemort at least let his followers sit down. Here, they were all lined up like grunts awaiting inspection.

Shaking off that unwelcome thought, Tom went back to explaining Slytherin's special system—the "shadow prefects," and the privileges that came with the role.

It wasn't about the perks; it was about the status. And status made more than a few first-years' eyes light up. To them, the position sounded tailor-made.

This year, Tom was even adding a new benefit—"salaries," so to speak.

"Each Shadow Prefect gets three 'anonymous' homework passes every month," he announced. "Any subject."

"And yes, you can trade them. How you use them is entirely up to you."

Even the older students perked up at that.

Three homework-free passes… Just one could make their week, but three? That was a whole weekend of freedom.

As for where these 'anonymous' assignments came from—well, let's just say it was thanks to the generous support of other students who appreciated the shadow prefects' work.

With a wave, Tom sent the upper-years to escort the new students out. Chairs and tables neatly floated to the walls, and with another flick of his wand, he cast an Extension Charm, doubling the size of the room.

Hogwarts was steeped in ancient magic—it was probably the most powerful magical artifact in Britain—and reshaping its space was no simple feat. Last year, Tom couldn't even attempt it. This year, he could manage a small change, though the charm would only hold for a day before reverting.

"First-years, just watch for now," Tom said. "Second-years—former shadow prefects—step forward for challenges."

Zabini and Daphne moved up. Tom rarely handled these matters himself; Zabini usually ran things in his name, so he was the one challengers had to beat to get near Tom.

"I'll challenge!"

Malfoy strutted forward like he owned the place. Chin high, he smirked. "Blaise, all you do is hug your cauldron all day. Let me help Tom out for once."

He'd clearly thought it through—get closer to the power, become part of the power. If people showed Zabini respect, why shouldn't it be him instead?

Zabini's eyes narrowed. Of all people, Malfoy? His least favorite? Oh, he wasn't letting this slide.

No small talk—they went straight to wands.

"St—"

"Stupefy!"

Bang!

A flash of red light, and Malfoy hit the ground, out cold. Didn't even wake when his head smacked the floor and raised a bump. Youthful sleeping skills at their finest.

"Anyone else?!"

Zabini stood tall, triumphant. His version of the Stunner—taught by Tom—was faster to cast and hit harder than the standard, making it practically an unfair fight among their peers.

Silence.

When no one else stepped up, Tom had him stand down and moved on to the third-years.

Most Slytherins came from pure-blood families, with summers spent practicing magic under the guidance of older relatives. Anyone with ambitions for the shadow prefect role would've trained hard over break. Their parents, seeing that drive, would teach them everything they could.

So after one summer, the skill level had shifted noticeably—enough that a sixth-year male prefect was actually taken down by Rosier, whose grin afterward seemed oddly… ingratiating. Tom couldn't figure out what the deal was with the Rosier cousins, but something about them was strange.

Overall, he was satisfied with the house's strength. Forget grades—if it came to a real fight, the other three houses wouldn't stand a chance against them.

And honestly, if trouble ever broke out, it wasn't your O.W.L. scores that mattered. You weren't going to slap someone across the face with your report card.

Finally, it was the first-years' turn. Few could manage a full spell, so most matches devolved into clumsy physical scuffles—much to the amusement of the older years.

They'd all been there once, of course, but now that they were past it, laughing felt only natural.

The new kids flushed bright red, silently vowing to master spells as soon as possible.

Astoria didn't run for prefect—one of her roommates had already claimed the girls' spot, and with a few quiet words from Daphne, Tom knew she'd be fine.

It was late by the time things wrapped up. Tom dismissed the group with a wave and headed for his dorm.

...

After washing up, he lay back on his bed and slipped into his study space.

The summer had been swallowed by trials and alchemy, leaving his regular spellwork lagging. With term starting, it was time to shift focus back to fundamentals.

"Tom," Grindelwald's voice echoed in his mind, "you don't need to rush into learning new spells right now. What you should be doing is studying magic itself— breaking down different incantations for the same spell, and seeing what lies at their core."

"Ask yourself... what is magic?"

.

.

.