— — — — — —
Magic really was a strange thing... it ran entirely on the power of belief.
And these little wizards? Their thoughts were absolute chaos.
Tom heard plenty of juicy gossip just standing there, eavesdropping while they mumbled through the effects of the potion.
Hermione and Daphne, already seasoned with the Fantasy Draught, barely felt a thing. They stayed close to Tom, happily spectating — "just here for the drama," as Daphne put it.
Professor McGonagall, however, looked like she'd seen enough to age her ten years. She'd tested the potion on a few students before, but using it on an entire class at once? Total disaster.
She had to personally help students stabilize their thoughts one by one, enlisting Tom, Hermione, and Daphne to assist her.
Finally, after what felt like a battlefield clean-up, order was restored. The students forced themselves to focus, suppressing their wandering minds enough to follow McGonagall's instructions and start practicing magic.
And immediately, progress was obvious.
Teacups-turned-mice scurried all over the classroom.
Nearly half the class successfully completed the transfiguration exercise, and even Neville managed to give his Teacup a mouse's head and tail, a result so shocking that McGonagall nearly cried tears of joy.
For once, it felt like this year's students might not go down as the most hopeless batch in Hogwarts history.
At least they were no longer "bottom of the barrel."
Neville's transfiguration skills had been worse than most first-years... until now.
'The invention of the Fantasy Draught deserves an Order of Merlin without a doubt… but…'
McGonagall cast a helpless glance at Tom, who had nodded off during the lesson.
Why, oh why, was this child completely uninterested in such honors?
At last, the class ended. McGonagall left faster than anyone, muttering about finding Sprout and Snape to ramp up the potion production — and then tracking down Dumbledore to wring the budget out of him.
...
By the time afternoon, all lessons ended.
Tom spotted Hagrid out by the edge of the Forbidden Forest, swinging a giant hoe as he cleared the grass.
A little later, Harry and Ron came to find Hagrid and instantly forgot why when they saw him working this hard.
"Hagrid," Harry asked curiously, "is the school planning to expand the grounds or something?"
"No idea."
The half-giant shook his head. "Dumbledore just told me about it this morning. Took me all day to convince the creatures in the forest that we're only clearing a fifty-meter strip and won't mess up their homes."
"As for what Dumbledore's planning, I couldn't tell you."
Harry and Ron exchanged curious looks.
Still, they hadn't come here just to watch Hagrid play gardener.
"Hagrid," Harry said, "I found out something interesting over Christmas."
"What's that?" Hagrid didn't even look up, still swinging his hoe.
"There was another Tom Riddle at Hogwarts fifty years ago. He even got some kind of Special Award for Services to the School."
Hagrid froze. His massive shoulders stiffened, and the hoe flew right out of his hands.
He didn't even notice.
Instead, he whirled around and stared at Harry, wide-eyed. "Where did you hear about that Tom Riddle?"
Hagrid's violent reaction left Harry stunned, but he still answered honestly:
"Snape caught me running in the hallway. He punished me and Ron by making us clean the Trophy Room, and we saw his name on one of the plaques."
"Hagrid… you know him?" Harry pressed.
He'd been curious before — after all, Hagrid had been at Hogwarts for more than fifty years. Of course he should have heard of another Tom Riddle.
But this reaction? This was something else.
Harry suddenly remembered that every single time he'd mentioned Tom's name in front of Hagrid, the man had acted strangely uncomfortable.
"I… I-I don't know.... I don't know that T-Tom Riddle."
Hagrid stammered for so long that Harry almost rolled his eyes.
"Hagrid, you're lying." Ron said bluntly, not even bothering to soften the words. "You always stutter when you lie. Even Fang could tell."
"You do know him. And he got that award the same year the Chamber of Secrets was last opened. Was he the one who caught the culprit? Who was the one who opened the Chamber back then?"
It felt like an invisible hand was squeezing Hagrid's neck, making his face turn pale.
"I wasn't the one who opened the Chamber," he muttered at last, voice low and pained. "I was framed."
With a voice that loud, "muttering" was the equivalent of shouting directly into Harry and Ron's ears.
Both of them went wide-eyed."You opened the Chamber?!" they blurted at the same time.
"No! I said I didn't!" Hagrid almost shouted. "Aragog was innocent too!"
"Who's Aragog?!"
A new name, a new mystery — Harry and Ron were completely lost now.
"Alright, fine. I'll tell you. But you two can't breathe a word of this to anyone."
Determined to clear his name, Hagrid lowered his voice as much as he could and reluctantly told them about a past he'd rather never remember.
"Yes, I knew the other Tom Riddle. Fifty years ago, we were classmates. He was the Head Boy back then. Every professor's favorite. Oh, he was like Cedric Diggory… except better."
"So anyone named Tom Riddle just comes with extra bonus points?" Ron muttered.
"And then?" Harry asked quickly, sensing that there was more.
If that Riddle had been such a perfect student, why was Hagrid this uncomfortable even saying his name?
There had to be a twist.
"And then… he graduated."
Hagrid swallowed hard, fighting the dread building in his chest. His voice was almost choked.
"And after graduation… he became… You-Know-Who."
"Tom Riddle is VOLDEMORT?!" Harry screamed.
"Hshhh! Keep your voice down!"
The half-giant was so startled by the name that he fell backward onto the grass.
Ron grabbed Harry desperately. "Mate, do me a favor — don't ever say that name in front of me again."
"Alright, alright—my bad." Harry tried to steady his racing heart. "But then… what did he get the Special Award for? And who's this Aragog you just mentioned?"
"Aragog's a spider. Well… my spider," Hagrid admitted, lowering his voice even more. "Back then, You-Know-Who— He thought Aragog was the monster that came out of the Chamber of Secrets. He went straight to Headmaster Armando Dippet and reported me. I got expelled on the spot. If it hadn't been for Dumbledore vouching for me, I'd have been sent away for good. He let me stay on as gamekeeper."
"Merlin's beard…" Hagrid rubbed his face with one massive hand. "You don't know what it's like. Last year, when Tom found Norbert, it was like being dragged back to that night all over again. Good thing he's nothing like You-Know-Who. He even helped me hatch the poor dragon."
"But still, just looking at Tom makes me nervous sometimes."
Harry and Ron left with their heads spinning. They had come looking for answers, and now they had a secret the size of a mountain.
...
After that day, every time they saw Tom, they couldn't help but think of Voldemort. Ron started dragging Harry to sit farther away during meals, whispering that maybe—just maybe—Tom really was Slytherin's heir.
But of course, it wasn't like they could tell a professor about their suspicions. What would they say?
If they said something like: "Oh look, Tom's got the same name as Voldemort — must be him behind the attacks!"
Could they say that? Hell Nah~ They wouldn't even make it to the door before everyone burst out laughing.
...
Tom, meanwhile, had no idea he was the subject of their paranoia.
He was too busy racking his brain over the diet potion he'd promised Daphne. She wanted it fast-acting, effective, and with zero exercise required. Which, to be honest, was asking a lot. But he'd already promised, so he had to deliver—no excuses.
---
Friday after Potions Class, Tom waited until everyone else had left.
"Well, if it isn't my favorite professor in the whole world — Professor Snape! Hope you're doing well."
Before the man could sneer at him, Tom dumped a pile of ingredients on the desk. "Look what I brought back for you. You'll definitely love these."
Snape's eyes narrowed, but the moment he saw what was laid out on the desk — phoenix feather, unicorn tail hair, and other rare ingredients — the sharp retort on his lips withered away.
With a silent flick of his wand, the treasures vanished from the desk and reappeared in his private stores. "Riddle," he said curtly, "state your question."
Tom smiled. That was as good as a full lecture.
Of course, this gift wasn't really for the lesson — it was his way of compensating Snape for that theft in first year… and maybe an attempt to clear his own conscience after years of bullying the bat man.
...
"That's it?"
For all his cold, cutting demeanor, Snape was still a master potion-maker—and Tom took full advantage of that. He explained what he needed, and Snape, though clearly unimpressed by the triviality of a slimming potion, still gave him several material combinations to try.
Tom left with more ideas than he'd expected.
"Riddle," Snape said suddenly, just as Tom was about to leave. His expression tightened. "…That potion you gave me last time—"
Tom spread his hands innocently. "Professor, I'd love to give you another, but I can't. The supply problem still isn't fixed—Runespoors just aren't laying eggs right now. No raw ingredients, no potion."
Snape's eyes narrowed dangerously, his lip curling. "At least come up with a better lie. There wasn't a single drop of Runespoor in that formula. You might as well have told me it needed dragon blood and Phoenix tears."
Tom blurted before he could stop himself, "Bloody hell, you can smell that? You're better than a dog!"
"RIDDLE."
"Get. Out. Now."
Thrown out of the office, Tom went straight to the Room of Requirement to brew his first experimental batch.
A clear, shimmering potion bubbled in the cauldron after less than an hour.
As for the effect… Well, he couldn't guarantee anything. At least it probably wouldn't kill anyone.
Now he just needed test subjects. And at Hogwarts, with British eating habits? There was no shortage of volunteers—whether they knew it or not. Especially Hufflepuffs, who had the bad luck of living right next to the kitchens.
Tom split the potion into bottles, stomach growling. Just thinking about food made him hungrier, so he headed to the Great Hall for dinner—only to be yanked into a corner by Ginny the moment he stepped into the entrance hall.
"You told me you had a task for me," she said, glaring up at him. "It's been a whole week since term started, and you haven't said a word about it. What gives?"
"Oh—right." Tom smacked his forehead. "Almost forgot."
"I need you to get me a map," he said. "From Fred and George. The Marauder's Map."
.
.
.