Hogwarts: Chill, I’m Not That Tom Riddle

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Tom didn't turn down Malfoy's attempt at friendliness. He casually took the broom, weighed it in his hands.

"Then thank Mr. Malfoy for me. He's welcome to stop by the school for tea sometime."

"I—I'll pass that along," Draco Malfoy said with a dry chuckle.

He couldn't shake the sense that his father had a certain wariness—almost fear—of Riddle. Lucius clearly wanted to keep relations polite and friendly… but at arm's length.

"I'll go ask Professor Snape right now and reserve the Quidditch pitch for this weekend," Marcus Flint announced, wasting no time. He rounded up a few teammates and left the common room.

The crowd gradually thinned until only Tom remained. He handed the broom to Nott to put away.

Ever since he'd mastered flight magic, broomsticks had lost all practical value to him. This one would be nothing more than a collectible—nice enough in design to display on a shelf like a figurine.

That reminded him: the Nimbus 2000 Newt had loaned him was still tucked away in his little pocket world. He'd forgotten to return it, and Newt had forgotten to ask. Might as well just give it to Rolf.

"Tom."

A soft, lilting voice pulled him from his thoughts.

"Astoria. How's your first day at school?" Tom turned with a smile. The silver-haired girl stood there, looking perfectly well-behaved.

"Mm-hm." Her face lit up with a smile. "Everything's so new and exciting! I nearly ended up late for class today thou—one of the staircases suddenly changed direction. Luckily, an older student showed us another way."

"Those staircases can be a real headache until you know them," Tom said, glancing around—then noticing something. "Where's Daphne? Why isn't she with you?"

"Well…" Astoria laughed awkwardly, lowering her voice. "She and Hermione went to the library to catch up on homework."

Tom sighed. Just how much homework had Daphne skipped… or rather, how little had she done in the first place? Even after working all last night, she still wasn't finished.

Still, convincing Hermione to help her was no small feat.

Ruffling Astoria's hair, Tom grinned. "Forget her, then. Come on, I'll give you a tour."

"Okay." Astoria followed him as they began wandering the castle.

Hogwarts had one hundred and forty-two staircases—counting only the public areas, not the ones inside the four house common rooms.

Legend said Rowena Ravenclaw herself enchanted them, partly to keep students from running and causing accidents, and partly as a defense mechanism.

A thousand years ago, tensions between wizards and Muggles ran high. Hogwarts wasn't just a place to learn—it was a sanctuary, preserving the spark of wizardkind.

That was something Tom had always found puzzling.

Andros and Grindelwald had both told him they weren't sure whether the four Founders were truly SSS-tier legends—but the four of them were certainly far stronger than either of them.

With the technology Muggles had back then, Gryffindor and Slytherin alone could've swept the entire world aside with ease, if they'd worked together.

So why had they been forced into such a desperate position?

Salazar Slytherin had opposed admitting Muggle-born students, fearing they'd reveal the school's existence to their parents and, by extension, to the outside world.

But what exactly was he so afraid of?

Not even Grindelwald could answer that one.

Tom kept the question to himself and focused on his role as Astoria's tour guide, flipping to a fresh page in her "WhatsApp" notebook.

Every staircase they passed, Tom noted its movement pattern.

And after about two hours, they'd charted all the common routes—leaving out the obscure or elective-only areas.

With a tap of his wand, the notes writhed and shifted. To Astoria's amazement, they formed a three-dimensional map. Some staircases stood still; others glided into motion.

"That's amazing!" she gasped.

"Still missing a few," Tom said with a shake of his head. "Some change direction because of outside interference, and I can't log those. But with the time we had, this will do."

The map lifted off the green notebook, projecting into midair. It rotated with his hand gestures, each staircase marked with its movement schedule.

"Should be enough. If you get lost, just check this."

Astoria took the notebook back, and the projection faded. The summoning gesture was simple—after two tries she had it down. Delighted, she said, "So 'WhatsApp' even has navigation! Did you plan that from the start?"

"Mmm." Tom didn't deny it. "I've got ideas for a lot of features. But getting them all to work will take time."

"No matter how long, you'll make it happen," Astoria said earnestly, tilting her head up to meet his eyes.

Tom could feel her sincerity. "When I do, you'll be the first to try them."

Astoria opened her mouth to agree, then hesitated, frowning in rare dismay. "Maybe not. My sister would probably snatch it away first."

Picturing Daphne's over-the-top antics, Tom and Astoria caught each other's gaze and burst out laughing.

...

"Where have you two been? Off having fun without me?"

The moment they stepped back into the common room, Daphne pounced, looking thoroughly put out.

She'd just finished her mountain of homework, only to hear from other students that Tom had taken Astoria out without her.

It was the end of the world. The more she thought about it, the more unfair it felt.

Leaving Hermione behind was one thing—but me too?

"Look who's talking." Tom pinched her cheek. "You're her big sister. If you won't show Astoria around, who's supposed to?"

"Exactly," Astoria chimed in. "You were so busy with homework, you completely forgot about me."

"I… forgot, okay?" Daphne admitted, her irritation fizzling out. She stuck out her tongue sheepishly.

Astoria rolled her eyes. Back home, her sister had been fairly dependable. But here at Hogwarts, it was like she'd started aging backwards.

Probably Tom's fault for spoiling her.

Trying to salvage the situation, Daphne quickly shared a piece of gossip.

"That Gilderoy Lockhart was a disaster today. You have no idea—during Gryffindor's class, he couldn't even handle a few pixies. It was Hermione who had to step in and get things under control. A bunch of students got scratched up."

Daphne didn't bother lowering her voice. A few nearby students overheard.

Lockhart had plenty of fans in Slytherin, and one girl jumped in to defend him. "Maybe he was just giving the students some hands-on experience. Haven't you read his books? He's done loads of amazing things."

"That doesn't explain why the pixies managed to snatch his wand," Daphne shot back. "And it was a student who was nice enough to give it back to him. Even Quirrell wasn't that pathetic."

"Maybe he's just a fraud who only knows how to write books," a boy chimed in, backing Daphne.

What started as a bit of casual gossip somehow turned into an all-out debate, with two clear sides forming.

Almost all the Lockhart supporters were girls; his critics were all boys.

Tom, bored out of his mind, told Astoria to head back and rest, then made his way to the dorms himself.

---

News traveled fast at Hogwarts. By the next morning, everyone had heard about yesterday's fiasco in the DADA class. But when they saw Lockhart still strutting around, flashing his trademark smile, most people just assumed it had been a one-off accident.

Instead, it was another bit of news that shook the other three houses—especially Gryffindor's Quidditch team.

Draco Malfoy had donated a full set of Nimbus 2001s to the Slytherin team.

At breakfast, Gryffindor captain Oliver Wood didn't look at his plate. He even poured pepper into his milk without noticing, eyes locked on Marcus Flint.

Flint caught the look, grinned, and made a throat-slitting gesture.

Wood snorted, then shoved the cloudy, pepper-filled milk to Lee Jordan.

Lee took one sip and choked. "What the hell, Oliver—what did you put in this?"

...

After breakfast, Tom followed his classmates to Defense Against the Dark Arts class. Today was their turn to be bored to death by Lockhart.

Maybe yesterday's disaster had made Lockhart realize he wasn't actually the all-powerful wizard in his books, because he seemed a bit more restrained.

He still kicked things off with the usual self-congratulatory monologue about his achievements, then handed out a quiz—entirely made up of questions about himself.

Tom didn't answer a single one. He just copied off the nearest classmate.

Next, Lockhart spent the rest of the lesson grading the quizzes on the spot. Whenever he saw an answer he liked, he'd read it aloud, using it as an excuse to once again brag about his brilliance and courage.

And that was it. Class over.

The homework? Pick any scene from his books and write a reflection on it.

...

"I can say for sure now—he's all show," Daphne said loudly enough for half the room to hear. This time, no one argued back.

Even Lockhart's biggest fans thought this was ridiculous. Any Muggle could've taught the lesson the same way—and probably done better. Even Quirrell, for all his faults, at least gave his own thoughts.

Tom glanced at the Slytherins around him. "Didn't someone once say Quirrell was the worst professor Hogwarts has ever had? Still think that's true?"

Somewhere in the crowd, Selwyn turned bright red. He remembered it well—he'd said exactly that last Halloween.

"Fuck you, Dumbledore…" Selwyn cursed silently. "Is this how you hire teachers? Just pick whoever's worse?"

...

After classes, Tom headed to the library for a while, flipping through books on Herbology.

When the time felt right, he left for the Forbidden Forest to await the centaurs' decision.

His interest in Herbology came from Flamel's advice.

In the WhatsApp notebook, the most important part was the paper itself—it carried and preserved everything.

It looked like paper, but each sheet was infused with rare materials like mithril, Dragon heartstring, and powdered Runespoor skin. That's what made it so expensive to produce.

Nicolas Flamel's solution was to replace those rare components with renewable ones—plants. Even the rarest magical plants, like the Whomping Willow (of which there was only one in all of Britain), could be harvested for bark or sap without harming the tree, making them far cheaper and easier to obtain than mithril or Runespoor skin.

So Tom wasn't just studying standard Herbology—he also had plans for the centaurs.

To Tom, anyone who blocked his path was an enemy—and anyone who could be useful, even an enemy, could become a friend.

That was pure Slytherin thinking.

"Looks like you've made the right choice," Tom said, stepping into the clearing where they'd agreed to meet.

Two centaurs were already there—Firenze, and the tribe's leader, Magorian.

Magorian snorted. "Riddle, do you really think we had a choice? From the start, there was only one road we could take."

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