Hogwarts: Chill, I’m Not That Tom Riddle

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Dumbledore liked his students. He liked seeing their smiles, their energy, the way they came alive.

Even when they broke school rules, he saw it as part of growing up—young people had so much energy bottled up, mistakes were only natural.

He had a knack for spotting the spark in each student.

Tom's skill in alchemy had genuinely amazed him. Even Dumbledore would struggle to craft such an advanced alchemical robot—it had been years since he'd delved deeply into the subject himself.

But what really surprised him was Tom's attitude toward the other students.

A small crowd from different Houses had gathered around him, clearly asking questions. Tom didn't look annoyed in the slightest; he answered them with patience, and every now and then a burst of laughter broke out from the group. Dumbledore found himself smiling along without even realizing it.

Unfortunately, the pleasant mood didn't last.

An uninvited guest appeared—right when the third group of students was about to try the automaton, Lockhart noticed the commotion.

"An alchemy golem? Riddle, is this your handiwork?"

"Not bad—reminds me of my own flair. I was quite the alchemy enthusiast once, made golems far stronger than this. Of course, nothing ever beats what I can do with my own hands, so I eventually lost interest."

"Do you need me to give you some pointers on how to improve it?"

Lockhart's voice drowned out the chuckles and cheers from the younger students. Tom felt his mood sour instantly.

"Professor Lockhart, if you want to give me guidance, why don't you try?"

With a flick of his wand, Tom changed the glow in Megatron's eyes from blue to red. A row of cannons rose from its back, humming with power, all aimed directly at Lockhart.

The smile froze on Lockhart's face. His voice went tight.

"Ah—no, no, that won't be necessary. I wouldn't want to risk losing control and destroying something you worked so hard to make. But if you'd like, you could visit my office, and I'd be happy to talk you through a few things… all afternoon, even."

A number of students were now looking at him with barely concealed disdain.

By now, everyone had sat through one of Lockhart's classes. They'd learned the book version of him was nothing like the real one—his lessons were just meaningless chatter about his own tastes and dramatic readings from his books.

And here was Tom, giving him a golden chance to show some real skill… only for Lockhart to laugh it off and back out, making everyone doubt him even more.

Tom glanced at him without a word, but the hint of mockery in his eyes made Lockhart feel like he'd fallen into an ice bath.

Under the disappointed gazes of the younger wizards, Megatron shifted into jet form and was tucked back into its box.

"Well, that's enough for today. I'll let you all know when I run the next test."

With that, Tom left the grassy field with the girls in his group, not sparing Lockhart another glance.

One by one, the others drifted away too—though not without grumbling. If it hadn't been for Lockhart showing up, they would've had their turn soon.

...

Later that afternoon, after tea with Hermione, the other girls, Hannah, and Susan, Tom knocked on Professor McGonagall's office door.

"Come in," came her brisk voice from inside.

Once she'd given permission, Tom stepped in. McGonagall's expression stiffened slightly when she saw him.

That morning, her Gryffindor team had been trounced by Slytherin—and now Tom was here.

Not that she would ever take her frustration out on a student. The Gryffindors had lost fair and square, and it had nothing to do with Tom. Still, she couldn't deny the boy had been fanning the flames from the sidelines.

"What is it, Mr. Riddle?" she asked, her tone cool.

Tom grinned. "Professor McGonagall, I'm here about this morning."

Her face darkened.

What was this—chasing her down for a second blow?

The team had already lost miserably, and now he wanted to rub it in?

"Don't get me wrong, Professor—I'm not here to brag."

Noticing the way her expression threatened to bristle, Tom quickly added, "I just thought we could talk. You don't need to be so discouraged. The gap between the two teams isn't as bad as it looked."

McGonagall let out a barely audible hum. "Mr. Riddle, I'm not so fragile that I need comfort from you. I know the real difference is in battle experience. But a loss is still a loss. In real danger, a Dark wizard won't spare you just because you're a student."

"But why is it," she went on, "that Slytherin students face a fight with such composure, while mine fall apart?"

Tom sighed—long and dramatic. He tried to recall some tale of being bullied and ostracized when he'd first entered Hogwarts, just to set the mood… but quickly realized he had nothing. He'd never been the victim—he was usually the one doing the bullying.

Still, he put on his best sorrowful face.

"Professor, you know Slytherin's… traditions. You can imagine what it was like for me when I first got there."

Her brows drew together, but she nodded. Everyone knew Slytherin's reputation—if you weren't pure-blood, even being half-blood meant enduring plenty of sneers.

"In my first days, no one in the House would speak to me—except Daphne. Later, Malfoy even—"

Tom told her a version of events that had McGonagall's eyes flashing. She slammed a hand down on her desk and stood up.

"Outrageous! Using family status to bully classmates—Tom, why didn't you tell me sooner?"

Tom gave a rueful smile. "Even if I had, you could've stopped it for a while, but not for all seven years. It's part of Slytherin's tradition."

McGonagall fell silent.

"I'll speak to Malfoy right now," she said at last, her tone firm. "If he dares target you again over your bloodline, I'll show him what real targeting looks like."

"No need, Professor. I've already taken care of it." Tom quickly stopped her before she could storm off. "That very night, I did this—"

As he spoke, McGonagall's expression grew increasingly… odd.

"See, Professor?" Tom finished with a smile. "That's the real difference—Slytherins grow up in an environment that breeds ambition and competitiveness. Give students a reason to fight, and they'll push themselves to learn and train without anyone forcing them."

"When the prefects feel their position being watched, they develop a sense of urgency. Ordinary students, driven by pride and the refusal to lose, work just as hard. That creates the perfect cycle.

"It's far more effective than a few extra training sessions from you."

A faint flush colored McGonagall's cheeks. She had, in fact, briefly considered giving Gryffindor some secret training so they wouldn't embarrass themselves next time.

She hadn't even had the chance to start before Tom had called her out on it.

But years of teaching had given her a deep understanding of her house. "Tom, I admit the 'shadow prefect' system works well for Slytherin," she said, "but that doesn't mean it would work for the other three houses."

"Oh, it would be perfect for Gryffindor," Tom replied without hesitation. "Those competitive little lions would never accept being second-best to anyone."

"Sure, we can't do much about the ones who've given up entirely, but the ambitious ones? They'll have more drive and clearer goals.

"All you'd need to do is… ease up a little on the restrictions against student rivalry."

McGonagall frowned. "That's not my call to make. Something like this would have to be discussed with Dumbledore."

"You're being modest," Tom said lightly. "Everyone knows how much weight your words carry in this school. When has Headmaster Dumbledore ever refused one of your proposals?"

At Hogwarts, it was common knowledge that Dumbledore might be the figurehead, but the thousand students of the four houses rested squarely on McGonagall's shoulders.

"No more nonsense," she said sharply, though there was a twitch at the corner of her lips as she shot Tom a look of mock annoyance.

Tom only smiled, letting the subject drop. "I'm saying this partly so you'll feel better, but also because it's important for the school's future."

The boy spoke with almost heroic conviction. In his eyes, he saw not just Hogwarts' future, but the state of the entire wizarding world. "The quality of Hogwarts students reflects the future strength of British wizardry. But in times of peace, students grow lazy. If everyone here slacks off, you hardly notice—until you compare them to students from other countries.

"What happens if, one day, there's an event involving multiple schools? Wouldn't it be humiliating to lose in front of the whole world?"

McGonagall's heart gave a little jolt.

Dumbledore had indeed been in frequent contact with several other schools lately, perhaps in an effort to revive some ancient competition.

The image Tom had painted—Gryffindor being thoroughly trounced by students from abroad—was not one she could easily shake.

"All right, Tom. I'll give your suggestion some thought. Thank you for caring about the school's improvement. Now, enjoy your weekend."

It was clearly a polite dismissal. Tom took the hint and excused himself.

He hadn't forgotten that changing school policy could earn him a hefty haul of credits and achievements. Today's incident had been carefully nudged toward becoming a duel for exactly that reason.

He needed McGonagall to feel the sting of defeat before he offered his solution—only then would she take it seriously.

From the look on her face, she was halfway convinced already.

Still, McGonagall was cautious. She'd likely spend time adapting the 'shadow prefect' concept to fit the other houses before discussing it with Dumbledore. Persuading the old man wouldn't be easy. It would be a while before Tom saw results.

---

When the new week began, the tension between Gryffindor and Slytherin only grew worse. The Quidditch team's crushing defeat couldn't be hidden. Even if Harry Potter and his friends kept quiet, Flint and Malfoy were more than happy to spread the news far and wide.

By the weekend, the entire school knew. In the Great Hall, Slytherins strutted past with smug grins and looks of open challenge, their noses practically tilted to the ceiling.

Gryffindors, though simmering with resentment, could only swallow their anger. Losing was losing—shouting about it only made you look like a sore loser.

So they resorted to their specialty: cold shoulder treatment.

Every member of the Quidditch team became invisible. People acted like they didn't exist. Conversation with them was rare and short.

The only way to change that would be to win a magical duel right now… or to take victory in the next Quidditch match against Slytherin.

Tom, of course, hoped the Slytherins would push things even further. The more McGonagall's temper frayed, the more likely she'd push for his reform and make the shadow prefect system a reality.

"Riddle! Riddle!"

It was Tuesday. Another dull DADA class had just ended when Tom's consciousness slipped out of his study space, still savoring the Durmstrang version of the Stunning Charm.

The voice calling his name made him frown.

He honestly couldn't figure out what kind of armor charm Lockhart had layered over his own ego. Tom had humiliated him twice already, yet the man still came fluttering over without a scrap of shame.

"What is it?" Tom asked flatly.

"Tom, let me—"

Daphne—wand in hand, curse on her lips—was seconds from doing it when Tom stopped her with a single glance.

"What is it this time, Professor?" Tom's impatience was plain on his face.

Lockhart leaned in, voice low.

"Riddle, I've been thinking. That Usaki creature is far too dangerous for a wizard your age. You can't handle it. Better let me raise it for you.

"Don't worry, I won't cheat you. I'll give you a generous payment—five thousand Galleons. And if that's not enough, we can negotiate."

Tom's eyes went cold.

A moment later, his voice rang through the corridor, icy and sharp.

"Levicorpus."

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