The day before Halloween, the Great Hall was filled with the warm, comforting aroma of roasted pumpkins from the early morning. When Tom arrived, he just happened to see Hagrid lugging in one of his massive, homegrown pumpkins.
Hagrid froze for a second when he noticed Tom watching him. But then he gave a slightly awkward yet kind smile, nodded in Tom's direction, and quickly continued on his way—noticeably picking up his pace.
Tom shook his head. Voldemort really left behind a mess, didn't he? One man's legacy had completely tarnished a name.
Here he was, a perfectly well-behaved and high-achieving student, yet everywhere he went, he was met with suspicion—all because someone else with the same name had come first.
"What are you staring at?" Daphne's curious voice snapped him from his thoughts.
She glanced at Tom, who had suddenly stopped and was still watching Hagrid disappear around the corner. A moment later, realization lit up her face. "Oh! You're craving pumpkin now, aren't you? There's definitely going to be tons of pumpkin dishes today!"
Tom shook his head. "I'm not a fan. The sweet flavor feels a bit odd—except maybe in pumpkin soup, that I can handle."
"I was just looking at Hagrid's coat," he added. "It's made from mole hide. Just imagine how many moles he'd have to kill to make that."
Daphne had zero interest in mole hides—but she did silently note that Tom didn't like pumpkin.
She vaguely remembered that Tom had a thing for meat—especially beef and chicken wings. Anytime those were on the menu, he'd go back for seconds without fail.
Over time, the little witch had been collecting all sorts of tidbits about Tom's preferences—probably knew him better than he knew himself by now.
Her plan was simple: take good care of Tom, little by little, until one day, he couldn't live without her. Hehe...
. . .
After breakfast, the students of Gryffindor and Slytherin made their way to the Charms classroom.
Charms had recently become one of the most popular subjects. No need to mention Snape—he terrified even the Slytherins. Transfiguration and Herbology were fun too, but one had a strict professor and high difficulty, and the other involved a lot of hands-on work that left you muddy and sore.
Instead of feeling like a wizard, you'd end up looking like a farmer.
Charms, on the other hand, was actually enjoyable. Professor Flitwick was witty, kind, and patient with young witches and wizards—and best of all, there were lots of practical exercises. Students regularly got to learn new spells.
What's that? Defense Against the Dark Arts?
Forget it. This wasn't a battle of subjects, it was a battle of professors—and that one was a total joke.
Quirrell had managed to disappoint just about everyone. Most students treated his class like a free period. The older students had already started betting on what ridiculous reason he'd be sacked for.
Most guesses revolved around his utter incompetence—or maybe some mysterious "unforeseen danger."
No one, absolutely no one, suspected he might be evil, or doing anything criminal.
From that angle... his disguise was working pretty well.
Back to Charms—today's lesson had everyone buzzing with excitement.
Professor Flitwick walked into class and announced cheerily that he believed the students were now ready to try making objects levitate.
Eyes sparkled across the room as they watched him enchant Neville's toad, Trevor, sending it bouncing and soaring through the air like a balloon in a storm. Everyone was dying to give it a try.
Then Flitwick began pairing students up. He might've been the only professor who didn't sort groups by House.
Oddly enough, Hermione got paired with Daphne, while Tom ended up with Neville.
Perhaps... Flitwick hoped Tom could help the poor boy along?
"H-hi, Riddle," Neville stammered nervously.
He was the type of student who felt instinctively intimidated by smart kids like Tom. But he also kind of admired him—not for the grades, but for how calmly Tom handled Snape.
Neville's knees practically turned to jelly whenever Snape so much as looked at him.
Tom gave Neville a friendly nod, then turned his attention to Professor Flitwick.
"Don't forget the wrist movement we practiced!" Flitwick reminded them. "Too much force or too little flick, and the spell will fail."
"It's a swish and a flick—remember, swish... flick! With a pause in between. Feel the rhythm! And pronunciation is vital—don't be like that wizard Baruffio, who said an 'F' instead of an 'S' and ended up flat on his back with a buffalo standing on his chest!"
As soon as he finished the sentence, Flitwick regretted it.
He could see the gleam of mischief in the students' eyes.
Kids are like that—if you tell them not to do something, it's as if you've lit a fire under their feet.
Quickly, Flitwick doubled down, describing in detail how Baruffio had most of his ribs shattered and nearly turned into magical roadkill. Only when the students began to look horrified did he breathe a sigh of relief.
He then slowed down his wand movements and demonstrated the spell two more times before finally letting the students practice.
"Wingardium Leviosa!"
Tom was the first to strike—his reflexes sharp and his form flawless. Before any of the other students had even finished saying the spell, the feather in front of him floated up gently, wobbling through the air as if it were dancing the tango.
"A marvelous Levitation Charm! Slytherin earns two points!" Flitwick clapped.
Hermione shot Tom a sharp look, cheeks puffed in frustration, and quickly began casting the spell herself.
Flitwick, by now, wasn't even surprised. Tom's immediate success clearly meant he had already mastered the spell prior to today.
But that didn't stop the professor from giving praise where it was due.
When students outpaced the curriculum, especially through talent and hard work, they deserved to be recognized.
That said... Flitwick had started dialing back the house points. What used to be ten or five points was now more like one or two.
They couldn't let Tom rack up so many points that the House Cup was over before it began.
Ironically, Hermione was actually Tom's biggest obstacle to earning points. The two were in constant competition—first to cast, first to score.
If Tom really wanted, he could just ask Hermione to ease off—but he didn't see the point.
If he needed people to go easy on him for such a small matter, then what was the point of all his "cheats"?
Most of Tom's academic success came from his own relentless study, not just a few scattered house points.
. . .
After Tom's success, both Hermione and Daphne also managed to cast the spell correctly—clearly they'd practiced it before as well.
Seeing three students succeed so quickly made the rest of the class anxious and frustrated.
They'd watched Flitwick's demonstrations carefully—he'd explained everything so clearly. Why was it so hard when they tried?
Harry and Seamus gave it a go—swish, flick—but their feathers didn't budge.
Frustrated, Seamus tried putting more power into his wand movement.
BOOM!
The feather caught fire—vanishing into ashes in a flash, leaving Seamus with a completely blackened face.
Professor Flitwick sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. Seamus was truly his nemesis. Since the beginning of term, he'd already destroyed half the classroom equipment, and just last week, he nearly singed off Flitwick's eyebrows.
Why did every single spell Seamus cast end in an explosion?
He couldn't understand it.
Nor could Tom.
In fact, on more than one occasion during Charms and Transfiguration, Tom had opened the term space specifically for Andros to observe Seamus, just to see if he had some peculiar trait. Andros watched—dazed and confused.
He simply couldn't fathom how someone could mess up a levitation charm and accidentally turn it into an explosive one.
"He moved! It moved!" Ron shouted excitedly.
Professor Flitwick turned just in time and waved his wand to close the window.
"Mr. Weasley, that wasn't your spell—it was the breeze," Flitwick corrected.
The entire class burst out laughing. Ron's face turned beet red.
"Longbottom, your turn," Tom urged when he noticed Neville hesitating. "If there's a problem, I can help you figure it out."
"O-oh, okay!"
Neville was visibly flustered, but also thrilled—Tom Riddle was offering to help him! He quickly lifted his wand and cast the charm in one go. Nothing happened. At all.
Tom shook his head. "Your pronunciation is spot on, but your pauses are all wrong."
"Win-gar~dium Levi-o-sa!"
"The pause has to be clear," Tom instructed patiently. "Don't be afraid of going too slow—what matters is that every syllable is distinct. And the last word needs to rise in tone, like a crescendo—layered, uplifting."
Tom explained in great detail. Neville understood him… but executing it was another story entirely.
So Tom tried a different approach—he told Neville to sing the spell as if it were a song lyric. That worked much better. The feather twitched slightly but didn't lift off.
Still, Neville looked thrilled.
Tom, on the other hand, frowned. "Longbottom, this wand… did you get it from Ollivanders?"
Neville flinched, and with a sad look, whispered, "It was my father's wand. My gran wants me to be as brilliant as he was, so she gave it to me."
"That explains the disconnect." Tom nodded in realization. He had noticed earlier—the wand kept quivering in Neville's hand, as if it didn't recognize its wielder. That resistance alone could ruin spellcasting.
"My advice: get a different wand," Tom said bluntly. "You already struggle with memorization and spellwork. Pair that with a wand that refuses to obey you… frankly, your gran is holding you back."
"If you want to become a great wizard, it's not about clinging to sentimental heirlooms. You need the right tools."
Tom couldn't understand what Neville's grandmother was thinking. It's not like the Longbottoms were poor—a new wand would be nothing to their family.
What, did she think using this relic would suddenly make Neville awaken hidden potential and rise to become an Auror like his father?
That kind of thinking was just delusional.
Tom knew he shouldn't speak too freely, but whether Neville took his advice or not was up to him. As long as Tom spoke his mind, that was enough.
Neville lowered his head, lost in thought.
Meanwhile, a conflict suddenly erupted between Hermione and Ron.
Ron was flailing his arms around like a windmill. "Wingardium Leviosa!"
He tried several times without success.
Hermione, who was seated just across the table, finally couldn't take it anymore and corrected him: "Your motion's all wrong, and your pronunciation has no emotion at all. No wonder it's not working."
Then she demonstrated the correct technique.
"Aren't you just brilliant!" Ron snapped at her and turned away angrily, resuming his windmill swinging with even more aggression.
By the end of the lesson, he was completely falling apart.
"No wonder nobody can stand her. Honestly, I bet she doesn't have a single friend."
He didn't shout, but he didn't bother lowering his voice either. Hermione's face turned pale instantly.
Daphne, who had remained silent until now, furrowed her brows and gave him a sharp look. "Weasley, is this the kind of upbringing your family teaches—talking behind people's backs?"
"No, wait—you said that to her face. That's even worse."
"I truly can't imagine a more disgraceful pure-blood."
Hermione looked at Daphne in stunned disbelief. She never expected someone like her to speak up on her behalf.
"What's it to you?" Ron turned crimson, caught red-handed. "It's not your business, Slytherin."
Daphne's expression turned even more disdainful. It reminded Harry of how Malfoy looked at Ron—disgusted and superior.
He never would've imagined that sweet, doll-like Daphne, who usually followed Tom like a silent shadow, had this side to her.
"You may not be my business, but you were insulting my friend," she said coldly. "So I have every right to insult you back."
"What? Can't handle the truth?" she sneered.
"As Tom says… you're the perfect example of double standards."
"Rude, vulgar, untalented… Compared to your brothers, you're pathetic."
Thud—!
That hit Ron right in the pride.
It was a direct hit, brutally honest, and devastating.
The one thing Ron hated most was being compared to his brothers. It only emphasized how mediocre he was, how little he stood out—like he wasn't even a real Weasley, just some kid they'd picked up off the street.
Bill was Head Boy. Charlie was Quidditch Captain and Head Boy. Percy was a prefect and very likely on track to become a Head Boy too.
Even the twins—though not prefects—were wildly popular. Their word held more sway in Gryffindor than Percy's ever could.
And Ron? What did he have?
Just as the bell rang—salvation—Ron grabbed his books and bolted for the door, ignoring Harry's attempt to stop him.
Hermione exited the classroom with Daphne, hesitating before saying softly, "Thank you."
"For what?"
Daphne didn't look at her. She weaved through the crowd, heading toward Tom. "I just can't stand watching Weasley be jealous of someone else because he's useless. It had nothing to do with you."
Hermione said earnestly, "Whatever the reason, you stood up for me. That means a lot."
"Well, don't read too much into it. That was just incidental."
Hermione looked down, but then asked nervously, "When you said I was your friend… was that just to shut Ron up?"
"Oh, that..." Daphne's gaze flicked away. "Let's say… you're my friend because of Tom."
Hermione's gloomy mood lifted instantly.
When the two girls finally found Tom at the back exit, Hermione was already smiling again.
Tom raised an eyebrow. "Why do I get the feeling you two suddenly became best friends?"
Normally, when these two walked together, Tom had to stand between them like a human buffer. Now, they were practically shoulder-to-shoulder—almost holding hands.
"You wouldn't believe what just happened…" Hermione started.
But before she could finish, Daphne had already bounded toward Tom, eyes bright, eager to tell him everything.
Tom frowned as he listened.
Even with his presence shifting events like a butterfly effect, the bond between Hermione, Ron, and Harry had already weakened. They didn't even call each other "Potter" or "Weasley" anymore. Still, the confrontation had happened.
He glanced at Hermione.
Her cheeks were pink, her eyes dry, lips curled into a smile—clearly unaffected by Ron's words. No crying in the girls' bathroom for her today.
Score one for Daphne.
"Well done, Daphne," Tom said, patting her lightly on the head.
She beamed, eyes practically turning into crescent moons.