Crack—!
Crack—!
Draco turned his neck with stiff movements, staring at his father in disbelief, a glimmer of hope flickering in his eyes.
Did he just mishear? Or did his father really say something wrong?
That fantasy shattered the very next second as Lucius smacked Draco hard on the head.
"It's all your fault! You wrote such a vague letter that I completely misunderstood Mr. Riddle. I thought he was the one bullying the weak."
"But turns out you were the one who provoked him first—and lost! Then you came crying to me, expecting me to avenge you? You've utterly disgraced the Malfoy name! Just wait till we get home!"
"I—"
Draco opened his mouth, ready to argue, but the steely glare from Lucius made him swallow all his frustration and confusion.
Seeing his son finally behave, Lucius let out a sigh and turned toward Tom with a kind smile.
"Mr. Riddle, it seems there's been a huge misunderstanding. The fault lies entirely with Draco. You did nothing wrong."
"I'll make sure he doesn't bother you again."
Tom raised an eyebrow. Something was off about Lucius Malfoy—had the man swallowed the wrong potion?
Or... was he some kind of prophecy prodigy, already foreseeing that a dark wizard would soon come knocking on his door?
Still, Lucius's overly deferential attitude made most of Tom's killing intent melt away.
"A proper head of a household. I must say, Mr. Malfoy, you truly understand how things work."
"You're too kind. Now that the misunderstanding is cleared up, shall we put the matter to rest?" Lucius probed carefully.
"I have no problem with that. However…" Tom glanced at Draco Malfoy.
Under his father's oppressive presence, Draco wisely gave in. "I was wrong earlier. I'll never do it again."
"What a touching moment…"
Dumbledore, who had been watching the drama with great amusement, took off his glasses and wiped away imaginary tears. "Let's hope this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship."
"But... regardless of the circumstances, Mr. Riddle, you did injure a fellow student, so I'll have to deduct fifty points from Slytherin."
"Professor, I understand."
Tom nodded obediently, though inside, he was beaming.
If there's no deduction, how can there be a reward later?
…
The conflict had been resolved perfectly. The only casualty was Draco Malfoy's pride—and perhaps his head—but no one else seemed to care about that.
Staying in Dumbledore's office made Lucius uncomfortable. Once he was sure that ominous presence had truly vanished, he couldn't wait to leave, dragging his son with him.
Tom was also about to take his leave when Dumbledore called out to him.
"Mr. Riddle, Transfiguration class has ended, and there's still some time before lunch. Would you care to chat with a lonely, old man for a bit?"
Well, since the headmaster had spoken, Tom had no choice but to lower himself back into the chair.
Outside the office, Draco glared at Lucius in disbelief.
"Dad, were you under the Imperius Curse just now?!"
"Not only did you not back me up, you actually made me apologize to Riddle! I'm telling Mum you're siding with outsiders to bully me!"
Lucius ignored his son's tantrum and pulled him into a secluded hallway far from the headmaster's office.
"Draco, let me ask you a question."
"What do you think the Malfoy family relied on to survive from the days of William the Conqueror until now?"
Draco blinked, confused by the sudden change of topic. But seeing his father's serious expression, he gave a proper answer:
"Noble blood, powerful connections, immense wealth, and... strong magical prowess?"
Lucius nodded in approval. "Good. That's all utter nonsense."
"???"
Draco stared at his father in shock. Wasn't that exactly what you taught me?
Now you're mocking me for it?
Lucius clapped a heavy hand on Draco's shoulder. "Listen closely, son."
"The Malfoy family didn't survive and thrive through the ages by relying on vague ideals like bloodline or strength."
"We survived by being adaptable, by bending with the wind, by betraying superiors, slandering allies, stabbing backs, and most importantly—by running faster than everyone else when things go south. That's how we avoided total annihilation and continued to prosper."
Draco's brain froze. "Dad… are you serious?"
"I have never been more serious," Lucius said gravely. His face held a weariness Draco had never seen before.
"All that pure-blood propaganda I filled your head with—that's just a mask. It's a narrative we uphold to gain favor with other pure-blood families and squeeze out greater benefits."
"But in truth, bloodline means nothing. What matters is power."
"A half-blood rose to become the Dark Lord. Would you dare defy him?"
Draco numbly shook his head. "No…"
Everyone knew how terrifying the Dark Lord was—even his allies feared him. Why else would they avoid even speaking his name, calling him He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named?
"But what does this have to do with you siding with Riddle just now?" Draco still didn't get it.
Lucius sighed. "I've dared to challenge Dumbledore. I've publicly mocked him dozens of times, called him a senile lunatic—because he's a righteous man."
"He has a moral code. He plays by the rules. He won't lash out just because I insulted him."
"But Riddle…"
Lucius hesitated, then said quietly, "Just now, he wanted to kill me. No, not just me—our entire family."
"What?!" Draco screamed. "That's impossible! How dare he!"
"No—he dares. The question is, does he have the power? If he's already harboring such thoughts, then he must have the confidence and ability to follow through."
Lucius's voice dropped to a near whisper. "Riddle may be far weaker than Dumbledore, not even worthy of comparison—but he's an orphan, a loner, unstable, with no weaknesses. That kind of man... is far more dangerous than Dumbledore ever will be."
"So Draco, stay away from him. Even if you curse him, do it behind his back. People like him either rise to power or die in ruin. What good will it do you to be his enemy?"
Draco's face turned ghostly pale.
He didn't doubt Lucius's words for a second—his father's authority was absolute.
So he believed it.
Riddle… really had wanted to kill them all.
"I… I understand, Father," Draco said with a shiver.
Lucius nodded, pleased. If nothing else, his son knew when to listen—that alone was a valuable trait.
"Don't feel humiliated. The Malfoy family never forgets a grudge. When the time comes—when he falls—we'll be the first to kick him while he's down. The methods don't matter. The only thing that counts… is the result. Understood?"
Inside the Headmaster's office, Tom had no idea that Lucius Malfoy was currently using his name to indoctrinate Draco in the so-called Malfoy survival doctrine.
Right now, Tom was savoring one of Dumbledore's lemon ice drops while taking in the layout of the room.
The office sat at the top of one of the castle's towers and had such a high ceiling that it was split into two levels. The upper level, Tom assumed, must be where Dumbledore lived.
The lower level, meant for receiving guests, featured portraits of former headmasters and a handful of precious magical ornaments along one wall. The rest of the space was dominated by enormous bookshelves that flanked both sides of a grand desk. The shelves stretched from floor to ceiling and were packed with books.
With his keen eyes, Tom spotted a few titles—books he had never seen before, neither in the library nor in Diagon Alley.
Maybe they were from the Restricted Section?
Though up to this point, Tom hadn't yet ventured into the Restricted Section.
Suddenly, his gaze fell upon an empty shelf. It was made of phoenix wood, and there were faint traces of ashes still clinging to it.
"Professor," Tom asked, "I heard you have a phoenix. Why isn't it here?"
"Fawkes?" Dumbledore smiled. "I never try to restrict his movements. He's probably off looking for food somewhere."
Tom was a bit disappointed he didn't get to see the legendary bird. He wondered if it really looked like the one in the movies.
He just thought that ordinary pets were pointless. If he was going to raise one, it had to be something special—like Dumbledore's phoenix.
"Tom, if you don't mind, I'll just keep calling you that," Dumbledore said with a warm smile as he noticed the boy staring at the empty shelf. "You seem to enjoy books quite a lot."
Tom turned his head, taking another bite of the lemon ice. "There really aren't many entertainment options in the wizarding world. Other than reading, I honestly don't know how else to pass the time."
"I feel exactly the same," Dumbledore said, nodding in agreement. "In the Muggle world, opera, radio, and television offer a wide variety of entertainment. The sheer size of their population fuels endless creativity."
"It's a pity…" he sighed. "This castle outright rejects those things. I once tried setting up a television in this very office. Couldn't get it to power on, and after a few days, it just broke completely…"
"Was that caused by magic, Professor?" Tom asked curiously. "Because the magical density in Diagon Alley isn't exactly low, yet the television at the Leaky Cauldron works just fine."
"No, it's not just about magical interference," Dumbledore explained. "That typically only happens during magical surges, and the ambient leakage from young wizards wouldn't cause that. The real culprit here is the castle itself. Hogwarts is, in and of itself, a supreme magical artifact. There are many mysteries within it—even I, as Headmaster, don't know them all."
"I see," Tom nodded, understanding—or at least pretending to—then lapsed into silence.
He wasn't sure what Dumbledore's real reason was for keeping him back, but he was fairly certain it wasn't malicious.
Might as well go with the flow and see what card the old man plays.
To his surprise, Dumbledore didn't seem to have any ulterior motives at all. He simply chatted about this and that—asking about Tom's studies, his daily life, and his thoughts on various classes.
Tom found it puzzling but answered every question dutifully.
"I heard from Severus that you came up with the concept of a invisible prefect system?"
Ah, here comes the real agenda.
Tom perked up, sitting a bit straighter. "It was more of a random idea. In the Muggle world, a school house is like a homeroom class. You can't expect only upper years to have class monitors while the younger ones go unsupervised. There's always a gap between age groups, and having someone from the same year manage things just makes more sense."
"A rather clever idea," Dumbledore chuckled. "And what about this invisible Head of House business?"
"Professor, I just really want to improve," Tom said earnestly. "Professor Snape is extremely busy—over twenty classes a week, plus grading—he barely has time to manage the students. I just want to help lighten his load."
Even with Dumbledore's legendary calm, he was momentarily at a loss for words.
A first-year saying this... seriously?
But Tom's approach was classic trial-and-error. Throw out an idea and see if it sticks. If Dumbledore by some miracle agreed, he'd rack up loads of merit points. It was a win-win.
And if he didn't agree... well, nothing lost.
Eventually, he'd say yes.
As expected, Dumbledore declined—gently. "Tom, your most important job as a student is to learn and enjoy your school years. Leave the grown-up worries to the grown-ups."
"Severus is a highly capable Head of House. You should trust in his abilities."
Double agent, Potions Master, Head of House, keeping an eye on Quirrell, protecting Harry…
Snape was practically born to carry the world on his shoulders. No wonder Dumbledore wasn't the least bit concerned.
"Alright," Tom shrugged with indifference, then pivoted the conversation again. "Then what do you think about spreading the invisible prefect system schoolwide? Good ideas should be shared."
Dumbledore fell silent for a moment.
"Perhaps not," he finally said. "Not every House is like Slytherin. Some may prefer a bit more... freedom."
He glanced at the wall clock. "Time's just about up. I believe Miss Greengrass is waiting to have lunch with you. I won't keep you any longer."
Honestly, the conversation had run dry. Dumbledore had asked Tom to stay, but now he couldn't wait for him to leave.
But now it was Tom who wasn't in a hurry. The boy blinked innocently. "Professor, you have a lot of books here. Could I borrow a couple?"
Dumbledore was taken aback for a second, but readily agreed. "Of course. I can never say no to a student's thirst for knowledge."
"Thank you."
Tom stood up without hesitation, walked over to the massive bookshelf, and climbed the ladder leaning against it to begin picking out titles.
He wasn't sure if there were any magical protections on the shelves, so he figured he'd stick to the old-fashioned way.
It didn't take long for him to select his two books:
Advanced Magical Developments of the Sixteenth Century
From Ignorance to Equivalent Exchange: The Secrets of Alchemy
"These two, Professor."
Dumbledore glanced briefly at the first one and paid it no further mind. But the second...
He chuckled.
"You're interested in alchemy too? That one was written by an old friend of mine. It was never released to the public—circulated only in very limited circles."
"For you to pick it out from all these books… looks like the two of you are destined to meet."
"Is that so?" Tom also smiled. "Perhaps someday, if I run into a tough question, I could ask your friend directly."
On the bottom of the cover, aside from the gold-stamped title, was a discreet line of small text indicating the book's author—
Nicolas Flamel.