Hogwarts: Chill, I’m Not That Tom Riddle

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"Different incantations for the same spell?"

He'd never thought about it that way before.

Of course, incantations weren't universal. Britain hadn't conquered the world, and while English was widely spoken, plenty of other languages still existed.

That meant the same spell could have different incantations in different countries. Sometimes even within the same country, wizards would use different languages to cast.

The spells Andros had taught him were mostly in Mycenaean, and Tom had spent a long time studying that ancient Greek language just to understand them.

Grindelwald, on the other hand, used English incantations when teaching him—mostly because modern communication had made languages less of a barrier. That meant Tom had no trouble picking them up.

"Can you go into that a bit more?" Tom asked earnestly.

"Have you read Plato's Republic?" Grindelwald replied with a question of his own. "The Allegory of the Cave."

Tom nodded. "A group of prisoners live in a cave, chained so they can't turn around. They face a wall, with a fire behind them. The fire casts shadows on the wall, and they believe those shadows are the whole world. Until one day, a prisoner escapes and sees the real world outside… but then he suddenly asks himself—'How do you know this is reality?'"

Grindelwald smiled in approval. "Good. You're not like most of the idiots in the magical world who'd make me waste my breath explaining."

"Wizards are basically prisoners searching for the real world. But we're all at different stages. Spells are shadows—they reflect the truth, but aren't the truth itself. And every witch or wizard sees their own version of that 'shadow.' Yet all these different shadows point to the same thing."

"That real object?" Tom asked. He already understood what Grindelwald was getting at.

"Yes. Because of regional differences, wizards have countless ways of channeling magic. But ultimately, the paths all lead to the same place."

"The only way out of the cave is to see more, to look at the same magic from different angles and deepen your understanding."

"And that," Grindelwald concluded, "is the road every King of a Century must walk."

Tom nodded, thinking of Voldemort.

After failing to get a teaching job, Voldemort had traveled abroad. No one knew exactly what he'd gone through, but when he came back, he was already a King of the Century, his power was near Dumbledore.

Grindelwald too had roamed the globe, committing crimes in countless countries and earning himself a place on wanted lists everywhere.

Only Dumbledore was… relatively normal.

In Dumbledore's biography, it said he'd visited most of the world's magic schools in his youth, humbly learning from others. That was the foundation of his vast network of friends.

But—

Tom glanced at Andros with a puzzled look.

"Me?" Andros pointed at himself.

"Yeah. You only ever went as far as Egypt and Persia, right? How did you become a King of the Century?"

Andros grinned. "How do you think I got the title 'Undefeated'? Why do you think I fought so many battles?"

"The victor takes everything from the defeated. Back then, magic wasn't as structured as it is now. Every accomplished wizard had their own unique insights. Just by absorbing their knowledge and signature techniques, I had enough to reach the top."

Grindelwald's expression softened with nostalgia. "A truly free era…"

For a wizard of his level, a world ruled by raw strength was actually more liberating.

"So… I should go study spells from France, Germany, or maybe the US?" Tom asked.

"Not just study," Grindelwald shook his head. "You have to treat yourself like a beginner. Start clumsy, from scratch. Don't rely on your current magical instincts—anything you learn that way won't be worth much."

"Andros isn't the right teacher for that. I'll handle it myself for now."

Tom didn't refuse. Grindelwald's approval of him was already at 85%, and when he taught, he was thorough.

Grindelwald drew his wand. "We'll start with simple spells. Follow my instructions exactly—no shortcuts."

"I'm best at the Levitation Charm. Can we start with—"

"No," Grindelwald interrupted. "Your Levitation Charm is instinctive now. There's no point learning other versions."

"We'll begin with the Stunning Spell."

That's it—Grindelwald had made the choice.

It felt like Tom had gone back in time—not to the start of term, but to the very first day he'd trained with Andros. From wand grip, to precise pronunciation, to the rhythm of pauses, Tom had to follow Grindelwald's directions to the letter. And it was driving him nuts.

These days, he barely thought about such details—he relied on sheer willpower and emotion to drive his magic. But now, he was failing spells again for the first time in ages.

Grindelwald, however, was pleased. Tom was actually listening—forcing himself to strip away his foundation and think like a student again.

Two hours passed quickly, and Tom stepped out of the study space.

Without relying on his instincts, it was slower going, but his talent had grown since the old days. He still picked it up fast—he'd already mastered Durmstrang's version of the Stunning Spell and noticed key differences from Hogwarts' version.

Durmstrang's version was more focused on the knockout effect—faster to cast, more explosive. It was harder to control the trajectory or cast silently. As Tom practiced, he also realized it could cause permanent brain damage.

That made it essentially dark magic.

Wait—was Grindelwald teaching him a dark Stunning Spell?

Whatever. If it worked, he'd learn it. Effects could be tweaked later—he was the one in control of the magic, after all.

---

The next morning at breakfast, half of Tom's mind was already back in the study space, where he and Grindelwald were moving on to the Disarming Charm.

Splitting his focus like that wasn't hard for him anymore. Still, he needed to activate Turbo Mode.

And Tom wasn't the only one running on less-than-ideal energy. Quite a few students looked exhausted, faces pale and eyes half-lidded — the telltale signs of a night spent cramming.

Summer homework was useless for most of them: the diligent ones would study on their own without it, and the lazy ones would only suffer sore wrists and scrambled brains trying to fake it.

Tom strongly suspected most professors barely skimmed the summer assignments, if they bothered grading them at all. At least he knew for sure Snape didn't. Over Christmas break, the man had only bothered with Harry's work and ignored everyone else's.

Daphne seemed to be doing better than most; she'd downed two bottles of energy potion and, noticing Tom was lost in thought, didn't bother him, sipping her orange juice in small, polite sips.

Then a Howler came—

"...You stole the car, RON. It's your father's Flying Ford Anglia that he treasured. If they kicked you out, I wouldn't be surprised in the slightest! And when you got back home, I would've made sure you regretted it!"

"Did it even cross your mind what it felt like for me and your father to realize the car was gone?"

"And last night he was this close to dying of shame!"

Her voice boomed through the hall.

"With that rusted brain of yours, did you even think? You could've gotten yourself and Harry killed! Your father may even lose his job!"

The roar filled the Great Hall, rattling the rafters and shaking dust from the enchanted ceiling. Tom startled and momentarily withdrew from his study space.

At the Gryffindor table, everyone looked stricken. Ron had his face buried in his cereal, and his brothers wore identical expressions of deep regret at having such a sibling. By the time Mrs. Weasley got around to Ginny, the poor girl was on the verge of fainting, her face as red as her hair.

When the Howler finally dissolved, the silence that followed was so thick it lasted a good ten seconds.

Then—

"Pfft—ha! Hahahaha!"

A lone voice shattered the quiet.

Draco Malfoy.

He was doubled over, clutching his stomach, laughing so hard his words came out in gasps. "Weasley—did I... hear that right? Your dad's job is under review?"

"If he really gets sacked, maybe he can talk to that giant and split the grounds with him. Then you could all live in a little hut on the lawn!"

The Slytherin table erupted into laughter nearly as loud as the Howler had been. Tom glanced over.

Say what you would about Malfoy, the boy had a mouth like a weapon. The Weasleys looked ready to hex him into oblivion. Normally, Harry would have leapt up to defend Ron, but since he'd also been mentioned in the Howler, he sat frozen, brain completely blank, too guilty to speak.

Tom thought it was exactly what they deserved.

Harry was a hopeless case when it came to wizarding common sense, but Ron Weasley? Twelve years in the magical world and he couldn't figure out another way to get to Hogwarts? Either he was truly useless, or he just thought joyriding in a flying car was "cool" and used the blocked platform as an excuse.

Public humiliation was a fitting reward.

Finishing off his Icelandic fried cod in two quick bites, Tom left the hall with Daphne in tow, heading for Charms.

Professor Flitwick, as usual, was the most forgiving of the bunch. He didn't collect their homework on the first day, giving them until Friday instead. Half the class visibly relaxed.

This lesson didn't cover anything new — just a review of last term's spells. Some students hadn't touched a wand all summer and couldn't have learned anything new even if they tried.

Tom, bored, absently practiced a Twisting Hex when a familiar chime rang in his head.

[Detected: host applying learned knowledge. The Anti-Disarm Bracelet, alchemical invention purchased by the British Ministry of Magic.]

[Reward: 1000 study credits, 20 achievement points.]

His eyes lit up.

So his theory had been right — using his skills to create inventions also counted as academic achievement and earned him system rewards.

No repeat income, though. Probably because the anti-Disarm bracelet wasn't as groundbreaking as the active material extraction method, so it had been a one-time sale.

Still, this was just the start. He had plenty more ideas in the works, and his credits would only grow from here. "WhatsApp," once perfected, would be worth a fortune in credits and achievements — enough, maybe, to keep him in a permanent Turbo Mode.

"Mr. Riddle, has something happened?"

Tom blinked. At some point, Flitwick had toddled over and caught him grinning to himself.

"Oh, nothing, Professor," Tom said quickly. "I just… accidentally hit myself with a Tickling Charm."

He flicked his wand again and zapped the back of Zabini's head. The boy immediately started giggling like an idiot.

Seeing him laugh set off Nott, and soon the whole class was giggling. Even Flitwick gave up trying to look stern and joined in.

The lesson ended in laughter, and the students of both houses headed straight to the greenhouses for Herbology.

Professor Sprout's usual warmth was gone; her face was tight and unhappy.

"Professor, what happened?" Tom asked.

She forced a smile. "Oh, nothing. It's just… before my last lesson, Professor Lockhart questioned my qualifications in Herbology."

Tom understood immediately. If Lockhart was involved, it explained everything.

"Mr. Riddle, was there something you needed?"

"Yes," Tom said. "Yesterday, I noticed the Whomping Willow dropped quite a few branches and leaves. Could I have some?"

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