Hogwarts: Chill, I’m Not That Tom Riddle

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The Whomping Willow was famously sensitive to magic. Tom was wondering if he could use it as a substitute for a few of the ingredients in "WhatsApp" to cut down on costs.

Right now, each unit of the green notebook costs about a hundred Galleons— and that was after Nicolas Flamel had stepped in to help.

When Tom first started making them, the cost per unit had been over three hundred Galleons, not even counting the alchemist's hefty labor fees.

A hundred Galleons might be manageable for many wizarding households, but in the stubbornly traditional wizarding world, convincing people to drop that much to change their communication habits was a tough sell. An owl was far cheaper; you could feed one for a whole year for less than two Galleons.

Ideally, Tom wanted to bring costs down to fifty Galleons or less before thinking about mass adoption—twenty would be even better.

If the Whomping Willow could replace those other materials, the price could drop to just fifteen Galleons.

Professor Sprout frowned when she heard his request. "But… most of the materials you're talking about are with Professor Snape. The rest I've already set aside for other uses."

"They're with the Head of House? Perfect." Tom's expression actually brightened.

"Thanks, Professor. I'll just go ask him directly."

As far as Tom was concerned, asking favors from anyone else meant owing them one—but with Snape, he could demand things without the slightest guilt.

Sprout assumed the two must have a good relationship, so getting supplies from him wouldn't be a big deal. She smiled and waved Tom into the greenhouse.

If Snape had heard her, he would've exploded: "Who the hell is good friends with him?!"

"We'll be repotting mandrakes today," Sprout announced. "Who can tell me their properties?"

This class wasn't shared with Gryffindor, so Tom had no competition. He was the only one to raise his hand.

"The mandrake, or mandragora, is a powerful restorative used to brew revival potions, antidotes for curses, and de-transfiguration draughts."

"Excellent—ten points to Slytherin." Sprout awarded the points generously before moving on to explain the plant's dangers.

A mature mandrake's cry could kill—but those were fully grown specimens. The greenhouse held only babies. Their cries wouldn't kill you, but they could make your head pound and knock you out cold.

There were about a hundred green-and-purple seedlings arranged neatly in trays.

"Everyone, take a pair of earmuffs."

At her word, the students rushed forward to grab them. Daphne was the fastest, snagging the pink, fluffy earmuffs that everyone else had avoided.

"Hee hee!"

She grinned mischievously and popped them onto Tom's head. A few Ravenclaw girls saw and tried not to giggle.

Tom just sighed and left them on.

Once everyone had their earmuffs in place, Sprout began demonstrating how to repot a baby mandrake.

Under the wary gaze of the students, she gripped the leaves and gave a sharp tug. Instead of roots, what came out was an ugly, green-skinned baby, its wrinkled face twisted as it screamed silently—at least, silent to them.

When Sprout had finished repotting it, she gestured for them to remove their earmuffs.

"Follow the exact steps I just showed you, and keep your earmuffs on. I'm sure none of you want to spend the first day of term unconscious."

"Alright—get started."

The students worked in groups of four. Tom and Daphne were paired with Ravenclaws Padma Patil and Mandy Brocklehurst.

Padma was probably the prettiest girl in Ravenclaw's second year. She came from a high-caste family, with Aryan ancestry and a privileged upbringing. Her skin was fair for someone with her heritage, and she had a striking, exotic beauty.

She seemed very interested in Tom. Even with earmuffs on, she smiled and gestured at him as if chatting.

Daphne, however, acted as though she didn't exist. Padma wasn't a threat in her eyes.

"Ow!"

Mandy yelped, face twisted in pain—she'd been bitten by her mandrake baby. Despite being small, its jaws were strong.

"Stupefy!" Tom reacted instantly. A flash of red light hit the little monster, and it went limp, eyes rolling back.

Two neat rows of teeth marks were visible on Mandy's bleeding finger.

Daphne had a medical bandage on hand, but she wasn't sure if mandrakes were poisonous. She waited until Tom nodded before helping wrap the wound.

That earned them grateful looks from the Ravenclaws.

Compared to the rest of Slytherin, Tom and Daphne were practically model students—but even they couldn't change their House's reputation.

After that, Mandy was too nervous to handle the mandrakes directly, so she did the potting soil while Tom handled the transplanting.

The cooperative ones went straight into the pot. The troublemakers got a slap first. Green, Ugly, and noisy? Worse than Momonosuke.

By the end, the other three were still prepping pots while Tom had already transplanted twenty mandrakes. Professor Sprout was so pleased she gave both Slytherin and Ravenclaw ten points each.

"Mr. Riddle," she said, eyeing him, "you're remarkably skilled at this—almost as if you've worked with mandrakes before."

"Yes, Professor," Tom replied. "I worked with them over the summer at Mr. Scamander's place. Those were mature mandrakes, though. I thought they were ugly enough, but the babies… yikes."

Sprout ignored his jab. Her eyes lit up like a fangirl's. "You met Mr. Scamander?!"

Tom nodded. "I visited him in America over the summer—stayed for about two weeks."

"And how's his health?" No Hufflepuff could resist idolizing Newt Scamander—not even the Head of House.

Tom's face was oddly amused. "Very good. Moves like a man half his age— could barely keep up with him."

"Professor, I actually brought back a few of his signed books. I can bring you one next class."

"Oh, I couldn't possibly—well, thank you, Mr. Riddle."

Professor Sprout's face lit up like a blooming flower. She told Tom that if he ever needed any materials—or ran into trouble—he could come to her anytime. She even pulled a few branches from the Whomping Willow out of her carefully guarded supply and gave them to him.

"Autographed photos? You're handing out autographed photos, Potter? Hahahaha~"

As Tom passed the garden, Draco's sharp voice rang out. Harry stood there awkwardly, being pulled along by a wide-eyed first-year.

"Everyone, line up!" Malfoy called to the passing students. "Harry Potter is giving out signed pictures!"

"Shut it, Malfoy! I'm not!"

"You're just jealous, Malfoy!" Ron snapped, pointing straight at him. "Even if you wanted to sign something, who would ask you?"

"Oh, I'll make sure your name is right at the top of the petition to send you home the next time you screw something up." Malfoy pinched his throat in mockery.

A gaggle of Slytherins burst into laughter. Ron yanked out his wand, but before he could do anything, someone strode in.

"What's going on here?"

Lockhart appeared, smiling even wider when he spotted a camera. Malfoy realized trouble when he saw it, dragged his cronies away, and Lockhart pulled Harry in for a few posed shots with Colin Creevey.

"Riddle! Mr. Riddle!"

Tom had just been about to step into the castle when Lockhart called after him.

"Yes, Professor?" Tom frowned slightly.

He'd had no dealings with this fraud and had no idea why Lockhart was suddenly fixated on him.

"Mr. Riddle," Lockhart beamed, showing exactly eight dazzling teeth—no more, no less. "If you've read my Travels with Trolls, Holidays with Hags, and the rest, you'll know I'm something of an expert in the field of magical creatures. That beast of yours—Usaki, was it?—is a species I've never seen before. Tremendous research value."

He rubbed his hands together, lowering his voice. "Where did you find her? I'd like to try my luck."

Apparently, Lockhart thought a flashy pet would perfectly complement his heroic image. He wasn't just after Usaki—he was already on the lookout for a phoenix, too. With the right publicity, maybe people would start putting him on the same level as Dumbledore.

Tom saw right through him and couldn't help a mocking smile. "Professor, there's an old saying I doubt you've heard."

"Oh? And what's that?" Lockhart, oblivious to the sarcasm, leaned in.

"'Only the worthy may claim the prize.'"

Tom's tone was casual. "It means only those of high character can obtain treasures others can't even imagine. Usaki didn't come because I went looking—she chose to come to me."

"If you haven't met your 'magical beast,' it just means your character's lacking."

The boy clapped Lockhart on the shoulder like a kindly elder speaking to a misguided child. "So, Professor… if the magical creatures don't want you, maybe you should reflect on whether you're just too unpleasant for their taste."

And with that, Tom brushed past the pale, speechless Lockhart and walked into the castle.

Frauds like that weren't worth the breath. Sure, with Lockhart's gullibility, Tom could probably have played along and milked plenty of house points and credit from him—but it would've been humiliating.

Magic was supposed to give him the freedom to live exactly as he pleased, without bending to anyone. If he had to suck up to a conman for a few points, wouldn't that make him a slave to the system?

Tom Riddle intended to earn his points standing tall.

Well… and also because he'd found plenty of other ways to rack up points now. If it had been last year, when every day was a struggle to scrape by, he probably would've conned Lockhart into the ground without a second thought.

Lockhart watched his retreating back, gave a cold little snort, and stalked off.

...

Over lunch, Tom flipped through this term's schedule. Turned out Slytherin and Gryffindor barely had any classes together—only Transfiguration and Potions. The course load was heavier than last term's, but still comfortably manageable.

When he noticed Snape sitting in his usual spot, Tom flicked his fingers and sent a paper crane fluttering down in front of him.

The old bat paused with his knife halfway to a steak, looked up, and immediately knew whose work it was.

He unfolded the crane, read the note, and frowned.

...

Half an hour later, in a lounge on the far side of the Entrance Hall, Snape swept in, radiating cold disdain. "Riddle, one holiday and you've grown arrogant enough to demand a professor come to you?"

"Professor, no need to be so irritable."

Tom handed him a cup of tea, calm as ever. "I'm just saving time. You've got three classes this afternoon, and I have other things to do."

"What do you want?" Snape crossed his arms, studying him.

Truthfully, Snape had been planning to challenge Tom to another duel after the holidays, just to see if the boy had slacked off. But after watching Uskai and Fawkes's battle, he'd abandoned the idea. No telling if the little menace would fight fair instead of ganging up on him two-to-one.

"Professor, I want half of the Whomping Willow's branches and leaves."

"Goodbye." Snape turned immediately, unwilling to entertain anyone making a play for his precious tree.

"I'm not asking for free," Tom said, pulling out a small crystal vial.

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