The sudden shift in topic left Mrs. Greengrass stunned for several seconds before she finally caught on.
"Donate money… to get an Order of Merlin? And you want First Class?"
Tom felt a twinge of embarrassment, but he still nodded.
"For certain reasons, that medal is very important to me."
That was the disadvantage of not having been born into an old noble house—he still cared about appearances. Unlike those shameless pure-blood lords who thought buying medals and positions was nothing out of the ordinary, Tom found the idea awkward.
Mrs. Greengrass, however, didn't look the least bit scandalized. She only seemed puzzled as to why Tom had suddenly set his eyes on the Order of Merlin.
She thought back on what she knew of pure-blood families and said to him,
"First Class Orders of Merlin can indeed be bought. The last one I remember being purchased was by Arcturus Black, the cousin of Phineas Nigellus, the former Headmaster of Hogwarts."
"Officially, it was awarded for his 'outstanding contributions' to the Ministry. But in truth, it was simply because he donated a mountain of gold."
Her tone shifted slightly.
"But your situation is not the same as his."
Looking at Tom's handsome young face, Mrs. Greengrass couldn't help but give a wry smile.
"Arcturus was born into the Black family—one of the most powerful of the old pure-blood lines. He had an enormous network of connections, both within the pure-blood society and the Ministry itself. So when he bought the medal, no one dared criticize too much.
"But you… you're far too young. In the wizarding world, you don't yet have any roots. Even if you offered twice, or even three times the gold, the Ministry wouldn't dare award you a First Class Order of Merlin. If they did, the day it was awarded would be the same day Cornelius Fudge and Dumbledore would be forced to step down."
The awarding of a First Class Order of Merlin required both the Minister for Magic and the Wizengamot to approve. The Wizengamot was essentially the wizarding world's House of Lords, with Dumbledore himself serving as Chief Warlock—its presiding officer.
Tom asked respectfully, "Then what do you think is the quickest way for me to earn the medal?"
"Does it absolutely have to be First Class?" Mrs. Greengrass probed cautiously.
"If you were willing to settle for Third Class… or even Second Class… it wouldn't be impossible. With the way your protective bracelet has improved safety for the Aurors, plus some maneuvering on my part, the Ministry could be persuaded.
"But the gap between Second Class and First is enormous. The Ministry is extremely stingy when it comes to First Class medals—unless they're awarding one to themselves."
Her tone grew tinged with sarcasm as she went on.
"It's become almost a tradition for Ministers of Magic to award themselves a medal before retiring, praising their own so-called 'years of dedicated service.' Out of all the recent Ministers, only one had the decency to settle for a Second Class. Every other one, without exception, took First Class.
"Even Fudge will do the same in the future—he'll give himself a First Class medal. Though, once Voldemort reemerges, I expect that little trinket will be stripped from him."
"No, Auntie," Tom shook his head firmly. "I need a First Class medal. Second or Third Class are useless to me."
Seeing how serious he was, Mrs. Greengrass finally understood the weight this matter carried for him. She spoke gently, but firmly:
"Tom, you can't rush a First Class Order of Merlin. At the very least, you'll need to make a contribution of enormous influence, then I'll need to work my contacts, and you'll also need Dumbledore's support. Only then will there be any real chance."
"So don't worry yourself over it. As for the gold—leave that to me. You just go back to Hogwarts, focus on your studies, and try to produce more research that shakes the wizarding world. And, most importantly—maintain a good relationship with Dumbledore. I'll handle the rest."
"Thank you, Auntie." Tom accepted her advice calmly, realizing she was right. Half a year wasn't so long to wait, and it didn't interfere with his next task anyway. He could afford patience.
Seeing how receptive he was, Mrs. Greengrass smiled warmly.
"You must have rushed back from France in such a hurry that you haven't eaten lunch yet, have you? I'll go prepare something."
"Not just today—I forgot to eat yesterday too," Tom admitted, recalling Nicolas Flamel's wild enthusiasm with a shudder.
Mrs. Greengrass sighed helplessly.
"You're still growing. You need to eat regularly."
"Yes, Auntie."
She truly treated Tom like her own son. After all, as the saying went, a son-in-law is half a son—but if both of your daughters were hopelessly smitten with the same boy, didn't that make him a son in full?
Ever since she'd overheard Astoria murmuring Tom's name in her sleep, Mrs. Greengrass had realized both her daughters were lost causes. Still, at the very least, she had to persuade Tom to let one of the children carry the Greengrass name, to ensure the family's survival.
---
Dusk had fallen by the time the Hogwarts Express slowly pulled into the station.
Hagrid straightened up, bracing himself. As always, it was his duty to escort the new first-years. But before the train even came to a complete stop, he caught sight of someone that made him freeze.
"R-Riddle? What are yeh doin' here?" Hagrid stammered awkwardly.
On paper, Hagrid and Tom were "friends." But ever since the day he'd witnessed Tom's battle with that hooded stranger in the Forbidden Forest, Hagrid had developed a deep, gnawing fear of him.
Tom had fought to protect the school. He'd never once wronged Hagrid personally. And yet… the very sound of that name sent a chill through him.
The boy spared him a single glance and said casually,
"Ran into some delays, missed the train. Perfectly normal, isn't it?"
"R-Right. Normal." Hagrid forced a laugh, unsure how else to respond.
Luckily, at that moment the train doors finally opened, releasing a stream of students onto the platform.
Hagrid seized on the distraction like a lifeline, bellowing,
"First-years! Over here, this way!"
His booming voice startled the new arrivals, who jumped at the sudden shout. Many also noticed the dark-haired boy standing calmly at Hagrid's side.
"Tom!"
"Tom, long time no see!"
"Riddle—how was your holiday?"
By the time Hermione, Daphne, and Astoria arrived, they were met with a curious sight: scores of Slytherins warmly greeting Tom, yet each keeping a respectful distance. Only after he acknowledged them did they relax, quickly scurrying away.
Astoria was seeing this side of Tom for the first time. The behavior of the other students struck her as deeply strange—almost as if they were… afraid of him?
But Tom was so gentle and well-mannered. Why would anyone fear him?
The truth was that those who stood farther from him were the ones who could sense most clearly how much he had changed.
Dragon blood. A soul uplifted. Flesh like iron. Thunderbird bloodline.
Layer upon layer of transformation had turned Tom into something else entirely.
He now radiated the aura of a wand brimming with immense, dangerous magic—its edge razor-sharp, its power barely contained.
---