Hogwarts: Chill, I’m Not That Tom Riddle

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Before coming to Hogwarts, Gilderoy Lockhart had it all planned out. All he had to do was spin his dazzling tales, get the little wizards hooked on the image of his fantasized greatness, and the rest would follow. His books would fly off the shelves, and he'd even get enough material to write another one. The title of Hogwarts professor would only boost his fame.

But lately, things hadn't been going so well. The students were starting to lose patience.

Sure, there were still plenty of foolish witches swooning over him, but others actually wanted to learn and improve.

Especially the fifth- and seventh-years, who were staring down their big exams—they were desperate for real skills.

When they came to him for guidance, he brushed them off with vague answers and empty smiles.

Then came the weekend incident—Tom Riddle humiliating him in front of a crowd. That one public embarrassment had done more damage to his reputation than all the quiet grumbling combined.

Even some of his diehard supporters were wavering.

Lockhart wasn't new to this kind of trouble. His books had been questioned before, and he knew the trick: drown the bad press with an even bigger, flashier story. People's attention would shift.

This time, he set his sights on the Rayquaza dragon. If he could get his hands on Usaki, his lack of skill could be conveniently covered up—and with such a powerful pet, he might actually attempt some real adventures.

He had also done some digging into Tom's background. A Muggle-born orphan with a bit of talent. Ended up in Slytherin, surrounded by rich pure-blood heirs—life couldn't be easy for him. Flash a bit of gold and he'd probably be impressed. Of course, with Dumbledore keeping watch, Lockhart couldn't push things too far.

So he named what he thought was a "reasonable" price.

And now...

He was flying backward—upside down.

The noisy hallway went dead silent. The students froze mid-motion, like someone had hit pause. All eyes locked on Tom… and the dangling Lockhart.

One student rubbed his eyes hard, but no—the world really had gone mad.

Tom Riddle had just attacked a professor.

Yeah, Lockhart was a lousy teacher. But still a real professor.

"Tom Riddle! What do you think you're doing? Put me down right now!"

Lockhart's shock wore off, replaced by fury. He flailed wildly, trying to break the spell.

Tom's face was stone. He flicked his wand, and the wall bulged outward, swallowing Lockhart's entire body except for his head.

Draco Malfoy's eyes lit up.

Yes! That's exactly how Riddle had done it to him once—left him stuck in a wall all night.

"I used to think you were just an annoying fly. A clown, good for a laugh or two."

"But today, I see you're a rat. One stupid enough to provoke a snake that could swallow you whole."

"You think you can go after Usaki? You fraud. Where do you get the nerve? What—just because you've got a half-decent Memory Charm?"

Lockhart's eyes went wide. His mouth was muffled by the wall, so he could only make panicked, muffled noises.

And inside, he was terrified. Tom had called him a fraud—and singled out his Memory Charm. Just how much did this boy know?

Tom's words weren't enough. His hands itched for action.

"Rosier. Your wand."

Rosier blinked, then—whether out of instinct or awe—quickly handed it over. By the time Tom took it, it had transformed into a long whip lined with barbs.

Nott and Zabini suck in a sharp breath. They were jealous of Rosier but also pouting—why hadn't Tom taken their wands?

"I wouldn't dirty my own wand on you. But if I don't give you some pain today, I'm not a Riddle."

CRACK—

Lockhart's scream was ear-splitting. Even a troll wouldn't last long under a barbed whip.

Tom's strikes came faster and faster until the whip blurred. Ravenclaws shrank back in fear, but the Slytherins… their eyes burned with excitement.

Now this was real Slytherin swagger—if you ticked them off, even a professor could get put in his place.

"Tom, let me have a go!" Daphne's voice was sharp with anger. This ridiculous man thought he could take her dragon?

Five thousand Galleons? She had more than that in pocket money this term alone. If Tom wanted, her mother would gladly pay that much for a single bottle of Strengthening Potion. This wasn't an offer—it was an insult.

"Here."

She took Rosier's wand and lashed just as hard as Tom. In no time, Lockhart's body was a patchwork of bleeding wounds. Blood ran down, soaking him until he looked like something out of a horror story.

Even some Slytherins began to look uneasy. Were these two actually going to beat Lockhart to death?

"That should be enough!"

Tom's voice made everyone breathe easier. Lockhart's life was safe… for now.

...

Fifteen minutes later, in the Headmaster's office.

"Outrageous! Absolutely outrageous!"

"You are lucky I'm not the Headmaster now."

"A Hogwarts student, attacking a professor—this never would have happened in my day. Riddle, you think a bit of talent lets you do whatever you want? You're finished. Not even Dumbledore can save you. You will be expelled!"

Sadly, Professor Flitwick had freed Lockhart and sent two students to take him to the hospital wing. Then he marched Tom straight to the headmaster's office.

They didn't speak on the way, though Flitwick sighed heavily more than once.

As the stone gargoyle slid aside, he leaned in and whispered, "Riddle, make sure you apologize. Dumbledore won't punish you too harshly."

The one making the noise now? That was Phineas Black.

After hearing the story from the students, Flitwick had already left. Dumbledore had asked him to send Snape in.

The living occupants of the office stayed quiet. Snape stood by the door, arms crossed, face dark, as if here only to enjoy the show.

Aside from Phineas, the other former headmasters were equally displeased.

A student attacking a professor? Completely unacceptable.

If he dared strike a professor today, would he take a swing at the headmaster tomorrow?

Still, unlike the loudmouthed Phineas, the rest of them knew their place. Dead headmasters were there to advise the current one, not make decisions for them.

"A dead man still barking orders," Tom said flatly. "Phineas Black, why don't you climb out of that frame and take the headmaster's chair yourself?"

"You—did you just mock me?" Phineas' eyes went wide, his mustache bristling.

"I didn't just mock you. I shut you up."

"Levicorpus."

With a flick of Tom's wand, everything inside the frame flipped upside down.

"Hey! What have you done to my home? Put it—"

The curtain fell across the frame, cutting off Phineas' voice entirely. Snape and the others stared at the portrait, thoughtful.

So that's another way to use that charm? Snape made a mental note to have a word with Riddle later. He'd invented that spell himself, yet the boy wielded it more creatively than he ever had.

Snape wasn't the least bit worried that Dumbledore would actually expel Tom, as Phineas had threatened.

Expel a brilliant young wizard over a fool like Lockhart? That was the sort of stupidity only Phineas could imagine.

"Ah…"

Dumbledore let out a long sigh. "Mr. Riddle, you were far too impulsive and reckless this time."

"Professor," Tom said with a small smile, "I think you should be thanking me."

"Thanking you?" Dumbledore blinked.

Usaki poked its head out of Tom's pocket. The boy stroked its head and said quietly, "Lockhart tried to humiliate Usaki with gold. If I hadn't stepped in, he'd already be dead."

"What's worse—having a professor beaten up, or having one killed?"

Dumbledore gave a wry smile. He couldn't dismiss Tom's argument as mere sophistry—because the possibility was real.

Phoenixes were proud creatures by nature. If Fawkes ever heard someone trying to buy him, he'd likely burn them to ash on the spot. And no one in the wizarding world dared try it, thanks to Dumbledore's own reputation.

And Usaki was like Fawkes, only with far greater potential—and just as arrogant.

Tom's real fault was being too young, making people think he was easy to push around.

"I can't deny that," Snape drawled. "Albus, you really should thank Riddle. Otherwise, being known as the headmaster whose professor was killed by a student's pet… well, your name would be nailed to the wall of shame."

"But he's still a professor…" Dumbledore's smile twisted. Calling Snape in had been a mistake—his habit of fiercely defending his own hadn't changed a bit. "Severus, we—"

"Headmaster!" Tom cut him off. Even Snape looked startled.

Riddle, do you seriously think this man is just some kindly old grandfather, that you can talk to him like that?

"I want to ask you something," Tom said, meeting the old man's sharp gaze. "What is a professor's duty?"

Dumbledore thought for a moment, then answered softly, "To help students become better people, and better wizards."

"I completely agree."

Tom nodded. "Like Professor McGonagall. She's head of Gryffindor, yet she genuinely cares for every student. Her academic skill is unmatched—aside from you, there isn't a single wizard in Britain who can match her mastery of Transfiguration."

The old man couldn't help but smile, pleased to see Tom appreciate McGonagall so sincerely. It showed he truly understood her dedication.

"And at the very least," Tom went on, "a professor should be like Professor Snape—"

You little—!

Snape froze, fists tightening. He'd come here to back Tom up, had just been speaking on his behalf, and now he was being used as the "bare minimum" example?

What's next, measuring wizard power in Snapes?

If it weren't for Dumbledore, Snape might have cast the Killing Curse right then and there—and he'd make sure it was the most perfect one he'd ever cast.

"Ahem..."

Tom ignored Snape's glare. "Professor Snape may not be pleasant to his students, but he does teach the basics. And he does it well enough."

"But Lockhart?" Tom's smile turned cold. "Even I can see he's nothing but a broomstick-chasing braggart with not a single honest word in his mouth. Those books of his? Who knows whose stories he stole."

"I don't believe the greatest wizard of the century can't see his true face."

"Tom," Dumbledore said, his tone growing serious, "sometimes what you learn from a professor isn't just magic. It's what you take away from their example—lessons, warnings—not all of them positive."

"So…" Tom leaned forward, hands on the desk, and spoke slowly. "Headmaster, you're willing to waste an entire school year just to teach us the value of honesty—and to help you unmask a fraud?"

"Even if you are the headmaster, have you considered what the students think?"

Dumbledore pressed his lips together and fell silent.

Snape stared, wide-eyed, at Tom in full attack mode. At some point his wand had slipped into his hand without him noticing.

One thought filled his mind.

Brave.

Insanely, unbelievably brave.

Good. Roast him, Riddle.

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