— — — — — —
As Tom stepped through Platform 9¾, it struck him that this was only the second time he'd actually taken the train to Hogwarts. Every other year, something had come up and he'd missed it.
The moment he appeared, people noticed. Heads turned, eyes followed him, and almost instantly Tom became the center of attention.
The photograph in the Daily Prophet had done its job — spectacularly.
Sure, Tom had done plenty of headline-worthy things before. He'd even published in multiple academic journals, but students didn't really care about that kind of thing.
This was different.
The picture made it crystal clear: Tom Riddle was operating on a level far beyond what they'd imagined.
Those wizards and witches their parents respected, the ones with names etched into history? They'd all sat with Tom, letting him take the head seat in the photo.
Whatever the reason behind it, the students couldn't even begin to imagine being in that position.
Tom smiled politely, returning greetings, never once letting pride or smugness show. His calm, approachable attitude only raised his reputation further in their eyes.
If every Slytherin acted like Tom, no one would call it the most hated house at Hogwarts.
What they didn't know was that the current, twisted version of Slytherin's values? That had been the legacy of another "polite" Tom decades ago.
But Tom wasn't putting on an act. He was just using the opportunity to watch how certain parents reacted when they saw him.
'Honestly, what could a well-behaved, hardworking student like me have possibly done to offend anyone?'
There were really only two types of people who would put a 50,000 Galleon bounty on his head.
The first were pure-blood fanatics, probably driven half-mad by his Wizarding History articles and desperate to snuff out the problem at the source.
The second possibility? Someone wanted his magical notebook, The Codex.
They hadn't put the bounty out earlier or later, but right after that particular banquet. That timing wasn't a coincidence.
Just because those guests had all been personally vouched for by Nicolas Flamel didn't mean they were saints. They weren't Newt Scamander, whose integrity was so absurd people trusted him more than themselves.
Given the lure of wealth and influence, it wasn't hard to imagine someone giving in to temptation.
Tom kept smiling until he boarded the train, then his expression cooled.
No clues.
Plenty of conservative pure-bloods clearly disliked him, but now they looked at him with something closer to wariness. None of them seemed surprised to see him here, so chances were they weren't the ones behind the bounty.
Still, he couldn't completely rule them out. There might be a few expert liars among them who had fooled even him.
Better to wait for Vinda's report.
...
Once the train started moving, peace continued to elude him.
One after another, students stopped by, using greetings as an excuse to pry. What did "change the world" actually mean? Was there really some secret organization pulling strings in the wizarding world? And what was his rank in this mysterious scheme?
Tom's head started to ache.
In the end, he dumped all the blame on Dumbledore — casually letting the Headmaster's name slip in a way that made everyone suddenly go quiet. Then he gave them a meaningful look.
They walked away, nodding like they'd just solved a riddle.
But whatever wild theories they came up with, Tom couldn't care less.
Finally, with the compartment quiet, he shut the door, sat down, and let out a long breath.
"Tom, are you sure it's okay to throw Professor Dumbledore under the bus like that?" Hermione asked, her voice full of worry. She could already picture the rumor mill spinning out of control. The Headmaster's reputation might come out of this looking very… strange.
And if Dumbledore ever traced those rumors back to Tom? No matter how good-natured the old wizard was, he'd be irritated.
Tom laughed at her anxious little face.
"You're laughing?" Hermione huffed, glaring.
"I'm just a naturally cheerful person." Tom gave a shameless shrug before explaining, "You don't really understand Dumbledore yet. He doesn't care what people say about him. Half of Slytherin calls him a senile old man."
Hermione's eyes went wide and she turned to Daphne for confirmation.
"He's right," Daphne said with a nod. "You think Dumbledore's great because you're a Gryffindor. But for us? Plenty of Slytherin families have suffered thanks to him. Of course they hate him."
"And he honestly doesn't care," Daphne added. "Even Lucius Malfoy has shouted at him before... and he got away with it, because Dumbledore doesn't bother reacting."
"So… like a lump of dough," Hermione muttered, her idol's image crumbling a little.
A strong wizard could be gentle, could even be humble, but... spineless?
"He's not spineless. He just thinks they're beneath his notice." Tom shook his head. "I don't agree with how he does things either, but don't think for a second he's harmless. He gave me a spell as a Christmas gift last year. You'll understand what kind of man he is when you see it."
Then Tom smirked. "Besides, this is just preemptive payback. Dumbledore's already planning to pull something on me."
"He's plotting against you?" Astoria asked curiously. "If you know, why not just avoid it?"
"Because I don't know what exactly he's planning." Tom shrugged. "I'll deal with it when the time comes."
"Snacks, anyone?"
The cheerful trolley witch arrived, cutting off their discussion. Tom bought a generous selection, more out of habit than hunger.
It wasn't that the train food was better than what house-elf Pala could make — not even close — but sometimes you just wanted the experience. Like eating instant noodles even though you know they're terrible for you.
Watching him eat so happily, Daphne grimaced and took out the lunchbox she'd packed ahead of time — an entire box of salad greens.
Tom glanced at it, his eyelid twitching.
"Daphne, you really don't have to torture yourself like this. Is that even food? I could say a random spell and it'd probably be more nourishing."
Holiday feasts had been too good — though honestly, the Greengrass family's meals were always good.
But with Pala's cooking skills getting better every year, Daphne had completely let herself go this break, eating to her heart's content until, less than a month later, she noticed in the mirror that she'd filled out a bit. Horrified, she'd started a crash diet.
Tom, for his part, didn't think Daphne looked fat at all. She'd just gone from skinny to… normal.
But girls had their own logic: 'I don't care what you think — I care what I think and what I think others are gonna think about me.'
And so, she was determined to get back to her "ideal" weight no matter what he said.
"Just one more month," she muttered, trying to cheer herself up — but her motivation died halfway through the pep talk.
With a pitiful whimper, she tossed the lunchbox aside, grabbed Tom's arm, and begged, "Tom, you're so smart. You can totally invent a weight-loss potion, right?"
Astoria didn't react; she never ate much thanks to her health and could never put on weight even if she tried. But Hermione's ears perked up immediately. Studying required brainpower, and she basically lived on sweets. The idea of getting fat haunted her too.
"Well… fine," Tom said after a moment's hesitation. "Give me some time to research it."
There were weight-loss potions in the wizarding world, but none of them worked very well. Some were outright scams that just used temporary Transfiguration to fool buyers.
Economically, sure, it might be profitable to make a proper one, but it had no real academic value. No credits, no achievements.
Still, this was Daphne. Since the day they'd met, Tom hadn't once turned her down.
"You're the best, Tom!" Daphne cheered, instantly packing away her greens and grabbing one of the beef-and-snail pies on the table, happily biting in.
In her mind, Tom was basically omnipotent — if he said yes, success was guaranteed.
If there was going to be a weight-loss potion soon, why suffer in the meantime?
Time to eat!
---
By six o'clock, the train had reached Hogsmeade Station. The thestral-drawn carriages carried the students to the castle steps, and when Tom hopped off, he casually plucked a few thestral tail hairs. His movements were so smooth even the creatures didn't notice.
Legend said the Elder Wand had been made from elder wood and thestral tail hair. But even Ollivander had been unable to reproduce a wand of that quality using those materials.
Tom wasn't trying to build a superweapon — he just felt like tinkering. Research was his way of relaxing.
Snow was falling over Hogwarts, and the temperature had dropped. The students shivered as they stepped down from the carriages.
They tiptoed up the slick stone steps, their breath puffing white in the air, before filing into the castle. Filch immediately caught a few students and barked at them to clean the mud off their boots before tracking it through the halls.
As soon as Tom stepped into the entrance hall, his attention was drawn to a commotion nearby.
Draco and Harry were standing at the base of the staircase, foreheads pressed together, faces red, arguing furiously.
"Ugh, gross," Daphne said, folding her arms as goosebumps rose on her skin.
Not wanting the little witch's eyes to suffer, Tom finally called out, "Alright, knock it off. Stop putting on a show, a professor's going to catch you any second now."
"What show?" x2
Draco immediately stepped back at Tom's voice. Harry looked confused. Both of them spoke at the same time.
"Never mind that," Tom waved a hand. "Why are you two fighting again?"
"He started it!" Draco accused, pointing at Harry. "Potter said the Heir of Slytherin got scared off by Dumbledore and that all Slytherins are a bunch of cowards!"
"I did not!" Harry snapped. "I said you were a coward — you only start fights when you've got your two cronies backing you up. As for the Heir, his truth will come out soon enough."
"Oh, so I was wrong about the Heir? You still don't believe me." Draco shot back. "Like I said:"
"His plan got wrecked by Tom, and now he's hiding somewhere shivering like a rat. It was Tom, not Dumbledore."
Ginny, who had just stepped out of the Great Hall, froze where she stood when she heard that.
Damn, it hurts cuz it's true
"..."
Tom just sighed. Then, with a flick of his hand, both Harry and Draco were shoved several feet apart by an invisible force.
"Don't make me hex you on the first night back," Tom said coldly. "Who the Heir is has nothing to do with you two."
"And Poter, from the way you sound, you almost want another attack to happen."
"No, no. I don't!" Harry said quickly, shaking his head.
"Then keep your mouth shut about things that aren't your business."
With that, Tom strode into the Great Hall.
Ginny heard a soft whisper in her ear — quiet as a mosquito, but clear as day.
"Nice outfit. It suits you."
Her face lit up, and she skipped back into the Hall, Malfoy's words forgotten.
As for Harry and Draco, the two of them locked eyes for a few seconds, snorted in unison, then stalked off to their separate house tables.
The hundreds of floating candles bathed the hall in warm light. Students chatted while waiting for the feast to start, but soon noticed Professor Flitwick at the staff table speaking animatedly about something.
Dumbledore kept nodding, and the other four Heads of House were listening intently. But aside from Snape, the professors all looked… just a little nervous.
.
.
.