— — — — — —
When Ginny started talking about how she got her hands on the Marauder's Map, her eyes lit up immediately—she was clearly proud of herself.
"Fred and George, tsk tsk, you probably don't know this, but they both have a crush on Angelina. No—scratch that—it's not even a secret crush anymore. They've already started writing love letters."
"So, you saw their letters and used them to blackmail them?" Tom guessed.
Ginny nodded, then shook her head. "Sort of. I did see the letters, but the point isn't that I caught them writing them, it's…"
The girl suddenly burst out laughing so hard she had to hold her stomach.
"It's that the letters were co-written! George wrote one line, then Fred wrote the next. I saw them in the library scratching their heads for hours just to come up with a single sentence."
She was practically wheezing as she continued, "So tell me, whose love letter is it supposed to be? If Angelina actually says yes, who exactly is she saying yes to?"
Tom blinked. "They… pieced it together?"
Fred and George, of course. It was so ridiculous it almost made sense—those two were so used to talking in turns that maybe they just couldn't write a full sentence without the other finishing it.
That wouldn't do, though. They'd have to grow out of it sooner or later.
"So, to save their reputations and be able to show their faces in school again, they handed me the Marauder's Map."
"How thoughtful of them," Tom said dryly, ruffling Ginny's hair. "The Weasley family's truly blessed to have such a clever little sister."
"Exactly!" Ginny didn't catch the teasing at all—she just looked even more smug. Luna, who was standing quietly nearby, twitched the corner of her mouth in silent despair for her friend's IQ.
"Tom, do you know how much I've suffered lately?"
Ginny's expression crumpled into a pout as she started her dramatic complaint. "Just to help you get that stupid map, I've been tailing Fred and George every chance I get! I haven't even had time to hang out with Luna. You can ask her if you don't believe me—she's totally mad at me."
"No," Luna said seriously, shaking her head. "I could never be mad at you, Ginny."
Ginny: "…"
That was touching, sure—but she was in the middle of playing the victim to get a reward!
"Even if Luna doesn't mind, I still feel guilty," Ginny quickly added, steering the conversation back to her goal.
Tom gave her a sideways glance. "You want a reward, don't you?"
"Umm.. ok if you insist!" Ginny nodded eagerly.
"Alright," Tom said.
Ginny blinked in surprise. She hadn't expected him to agree that easily.
"You're not kidding me?" she asked, leaning forward a little, eyes wide with disbelief.
"Why would I?" Tom gently flicked her forehead to make her lean back. "But I'm busy lately. I'll give you your reward in a few days."
He'd been so caught up in other things he'd nearly forgotten about the map entirely. The fact that Ginny hadn't forgotten deserved at least some credit.
"Promise you won't go back on it!" she said, delighted. Then, taking Luna's hand, she happily skipped off.
Tom watched them go, then turned back to the parchment in his hand, ready to get back to studying it.
...
Meanwhile...
Professor McGonagall had just finished grading the first batch of "exams", and she was in a decent mood for once. She decided to grab a bite in the Great Hall before continuing.
She had to admit, after overseeing so many tests and quizzes, she was starting to see the benefits. Frequent exams meant no topic got ignored, and since the students only learned so much each month, she could easily cover everything.
Midterms allowed her to focus on key areas, reinforcing core concepts. Every exam had its purpose. Just like Tom had said, increasing the frequency of exams really did help students solidify their knowledge and retain more by the end of term—so they wouldn't just forget everything afterward.
What a shame, she thought. If Tom were a bit older, he'd make an excellent teacher here at Hogwarts.
Just as that thought passed, a low grunt and a strangled scream echoed down the corridor. McGonagall froze, her expression tightening. She followed the noise and quickly identified the classroom it came from—the closer she got, the clearer the chaos became.
"POTTER! You weakling! You scar-headed idiot— that's not how you do it!"
"Ow! Not there, you git!"
"Wait, wait—don't touch my—noooo!"
"Malfoy, let go first! It hurts!"
McGonagall flung the door open, and her eyes immediately stung at the sight before her.
Malfoy and Potter were wrestling on the floor.
Draco had both hands clawing at Harry's scar, cackling like a maniac, while Harry, in retaliation, had apparently gone for a… much lower target—turning Draco's laughter into a strangled, high-pitched wail.
"What on earth are you two doing?!"
Her furious voice made both boys freeze. Seeing their furious professor glaring at them like a dragon about to breathe fire, they immediately scrambled to their feet, looking utterly disheveled.
Harry's scar was red and inflamed—as if Draco had tried to take a bite out of it—and Draco was hunched over, gasping in pain.
"Wonderful," McGonagall said, trembling with barely contained anger. "You think I stop caring about discipline just because it's the holidays? Fine—then you can spend your holiday in detention!"
"It's not what you think, Professor!" Harry said quickly. "You said I could use a classroom to practice spells, remember?"
McGonagall blinked. "You call that practicing magic?" she asked, disbelief and disappointment plain in her tone.
Harry Potter had always been a troublemaker, sure—but at least he hadn't been this shameless before.
"Professor McGonagall," Draco cut in through gritted teeth. For once, he and Harry were on the same side. "Potter's telling the truth. We were practicing... at first."
With both of them talking over each other, McGonagall finally pieced together what had happened.
It started as a proper spell practice session… until someone made a snide remark. The other fired back. Within minutes, wands were forgotten, and fists started flying.
McGonagall's eye twitched as she glanced at the two wands tossed carelessly aside. She honestly didn't know what to say.
These two were born to be each other's nemesis—it reminded her all too much of James Potter and Severus Snape.
Still, there was one difference—James had a few reliable friends at his side. Harry, on the other hand…
McGonagall frowned suddenly. "Potter, didn't you say you were borrowing this classroom to practice with a Weasley? How did it turn into Mr. Malfoy?"
Harry's eyes dimmed. He looked a little deflated as he replied, "Ron wasn't that interested. So I asked Malfoy instead. He agreed right away. We've been practicing here since last week."
Tom was right again, Harry thought. Ron wasn't exactly useless—just far too content to coast along without ambition.
"So… you've fought before?" McGonagall asked sharply, catching the crucial detail at once. Both boys flinched, shrinking their necks like guilty puppies.
Last time had been even worse than today.
"Forget it…" McGonagall sighed quietly. Her anger was ebbing away. "It's good that you both want to improve. But you need to learn how to do it properly."
She gave them both a pointed look. "You're wizards, not Muggle street thugs. The way you fight makes even me embarrassed to watch."
"Let me make this clear—no dark magic, and no dangerous spells with side effects. And whoever loses better not come crying to me or Professor Snape. No asking your friends to interfere either. You chose this yourselves. Understood?"
The boys nodded quickly. Only then did McGonagall leave the classroom.
She decided to let them handle it. Sometimes it was better not to intervene too much in student disputes. A duel between two evenly matched opponents was fair enough—and whoever lost could only blame himself.
As long as they didn't make a public spectacle of it.
After she left, Harry and Draco exchanged a cold glare.
"Same time tomorrow, Potter?"
"Of course."
Draco stalked back toward the Slytherin common room, muttering curses under his breath. That damned Potter—he was improving too fast. Last year in DADA class, Draco could still beat him easily, but now…
Now it was a struggle.
He'd only challenged Harry out of pride earlier, but the more he thought about it, the more he regretted it.
What if he lost tomorrow?
"Hey, Draco, you went another round with Potter?" drawled Zabini, noticing the mess of Draco's robes and the bruise blooming on his cheek. His smirk was pure mockery.
"Shut up and get me some Star Grass Salve," Draco snapped impatiently.
"I don't have any on me," Zabini said with a shrug. "I'll grab some in a bit. Judging from your face though, doesn't look like you did too well this time."
Everyone in Slytherin already knew that Draco Malfoy and Harry Potter had been "dueling" since last week. And today, Draco looked worse than ever.
"Don't even start," Draco groaned, slumping onto the couch. "Potter suddenly pulled out a bunch of new spells—used them like he'd been practicing for months. It was like he was just waiting to catch me off guard."
"And you think Potter is that smart?"
Nott shook his head. "Not a chance. He probably learned those spells recently. Tom gave him a notebook."
"Tom's notebook?" Draco straightened immediately. "What notebook?"
Zabini fiddled with a wizard chess piece. "I heard Potter helped Tom with something. After that, Tom gave him a notebook he'd been working on."
"That's completely unfair!" Draco burst out, indignant. "Potter's basically cheating with outside help!"
If Potter could get one, then so could he.
Determined, Draco hurried back to his dorm, counting his remaining pocket money and trying to figure out what kind of gift he could afford to bribe Tom with.
But when he went looking for Tom the next day, carrying his "generous" present, he couldn't find him anywhere.
Tom had already gone home. Not only that—he'd taken the Greengrass sisters and Hermione with him.
Technically, students weren't supposed to leave the castle for Easter break, but Tom had never been one to care much for rules. Staying at Hogwarts was a hassle; home was far more comfortable.
The Slytherins wouldn't dare report him anyway, and it wouldn't help even if they did. Fawkes had personally flown him out, which meant Dumbledore was part of the crime.
---
At Tom Riddle's home
"Chirp!"
A sharp, cheerful cry suddenly echoed in the room, and Tom looked up in surprise.
"Fawkes? You're still here?"
"Chirp!" Fawkes swooped down and pecked his head in irritation—as if to say, 'You thought you could ditch me that easily, you ungrateful brat?'
Rayquaza—currently in its smaller form—immediately shot across the room and headbutted Fawkes, and the two began squabbling midair.
Tom just sighed. "…Fantastic."
Well, at least this way, Dumbledore wouldn't know he'd slipped out of the castle. Hopefully the old man wouldn't need Fawkes for anything important over the holidays.
Sunlight poured through the half-open window, filling the room with a soft golden glow. April in London was the perfect season—mild and breezy, with just a hint of earthy scent in the air.
Tom spread the Marauder's Map across his desk and slipped on a pair of heavy, dark-lensed glasses, studying every inch carefully.
They were Nicolas Flamel's "X-ray spectacles," originally confiscated from the eccentric alchemist. Their true purpose was to analyze magical objects—identifying crafting methods, runic structures, and material enchantments.
Flamel had apparently used them to spy on women instead. Tom shook his head. 'Well… technically, that's still one way to use them.'
After a while, a faint smirk tugged at his lips.
Whatever one might say about the Marauders' personalities, the magic and ancient runework embedded in this map were extraordinary. Even with his current skill, the parts he could decipher already proved one thing—
Those pranksters' magical talent was far beyond ordinary students.
.
.
.