— — — — — —
The Forbidden Forest stretched far, but there were only a few practical entry points from the school. One was this northern approach; the other meant climbing the castle walls and crossing the ridge on the far side.
In the past, students who wanted to sneak into the forest only had to avoid Hagrid's hut and Aragog. Now things had changed.
Five newly planted Whomping Willows weren't as massive as the castle's original tree, but they were livelier. Their yellowed branches swayed in the wind, forming a nearly hundred-meter strip of natural barrier. The official path by Hagrid's hut had, oddly enough, become the safest route. Better to be caught by Hagrid than to be thrashed to death by a willow.
Some students were already trembling just thinking about it. Only the Weasley twins looked thrilled. They could barely wait for nightfall so they could test the trees' reach.
...
At dinner Dumbledore told the school the willows belonged to Tom Riddle.
"You'll have noticed the new additions on the grounds," he said. "I must emphasize: these transplanted Whomping Willows are not Hogwarts property. They belong to Tom Riddle personally. Do not, out of curiosity or impulse, damage Mr. Riddle's trees. And do not underestimate how dangerous they are."
His gaze lingered a moment on Harry and Ron; both of them lowered their heads, awkward.
Professor Sprout, on the other hand, was delighted. More rare plants had appeared on school grounds. They weren't hers, but since Tom had entrusted her with their care, the chance to raise Whomping Willows from saplings was priceless experience. The materials she might get weren't even the point.
...
Back in the common room Tom called the prefects of all years together.
"Twenty pieces of anonymous homework, that's the reward for helping me keep an eye on those trees," he told them. "If students from other houses come over to cause trouble, drag them away. If they resist, handle it by force. If anything goes wrong, I'll take the blame."
He added a warning in his cool tone. "But don't pick fights or try to exploit me. If I find out anyone is using me, they can go live somewhere in the castle and forget about ever getting into Slytherin again, or I'll make your life hell."
Draco Malfoy, who'd been hoping for an excuse to make trouble for Potter, went very quiet. Plenty of others had the same thought, and they all looked guilty under Tom's icy stare.
...
Pure-blood families thought alike—cunning, proud, and utterly convinced Gryffindor would cause trouble sooner or later.
Sure enough, on the third day after planting, some Slytherin students spotted a group of Gryffindors hovering just outside the willows' reach, taunting them. The little snake-house set quickly fetched reinforcements. Bolstered by Tom's backing, the Slytherins weren't afraid. They ordered the Gryffindors to leave.
"This is the school, not your turf!" one frustrated student snapped. "We didn't touch Riddle's trees. Is standing here a crime?"
"Do you know how delicate and valuable these plants are?" Rosier sniffed, looking down his nose. "If a Whomping Willow gets damaged, it'll cost more than your family's fortune to replace. Get lost."
That arrogance lit a fuse.
"I'm not leaving," a Gryffindor boy shouted. "It's just a tree—what's the big deal?" He scooped up a stone and threw it at the trees.
Whoosh—!
A flash of light struck the rock mid-air, shattering it into dust. Another beam shot straight into the boy, blasting him right into the willows' danger zone. Ten or more branches whipped out like whips, lashing him until he screamed.
"Didn't you want to play? Fine—I'll let you play all you like."
Tom's voice came from the back of the crowd. The Slytherins immediately opened a path for him.
Only after the boy's robe had been shredded and he lay sobbing on the ground did Tom pull him free. Tears and bruises streaked his face, but the saplings were still young enough that they hurt like hell, but they weren't lethal.
"Petrificus Totalus."
Tom flicked his wand, freezing the furious Gryffindors who were about to rush in and help.
"Remember this: the school belongs to Dumbledore right now, and one day it'll belong to the next headmaster. Who are you to object? At best, you're tenants here. If the landlord agrees to something, it's none of your business."
He gave a final wave. "Today I'll give Professor McGonagall some face. Rosier, take them to her office."
"Yes, sir." Rosier complied at once, gathering a few students and, with a stiff, shuffling motion, carrying the petrified Gryffindors away.
Word of the incident spread as they walked, and the Slytherins made sure nobody missed the spectacle. Some Gryffindors wished to free their classmates, but none dared risk getting themselves hurt. They trailed behind Rosier in silence.
Professor McGonagall nearly jumped out of her skin when Rosier and his party shoved open her door. After she learned what had happened her lips pressed tight for a long moment before she said firmly, "Tell Mr. Riddle I will deal with them. But since he took it upon himself to use force, Slytherin will lose fifty points. Further punishment will be decided between Professor Snape and myself."
Rosier waved it off. The other Slytherins acted as if they hadn't heard. Points meant nothing when Tom had the power to restore them.
From that day on, most of Gryffindor hated Tom even more.
It was already annoying enough that their rival house had produced a genius. Now that genius was brazenly roughing up their classmates. If they weren't hopelessly outmatched, someone probably would've taken a swing at him by now instead of just glaring daggers at him in the corridors, hoping their icy stares might freeze him on the spot.
Because of all this, even Hermione ended up isolated by her housemates. Luckily the little witch had long since seen through humans' true nature and couldn't care less about their childish cold shoulders. She stuck to Tom and Daphne's side every day without hesitation.
Since they couldn't touch Hermione, the only thing the lions could pin their hopes on was next week's Quidditch match. If they could beat Hufflepuff, their team would suddenly be in the running for the Cup.
Overnight, Oliver Wood and his players became the pride and joy of the house. Which only made Wood more high-strung.
...
Come Saturday morning, before the sun was even up, he dragged his entire team out of bed and onto the pitch for training.
By the time Tom left the castle with Astoria, they could still see flashes of scarlet and gold streaking around the Quidditch field.
Astoria, listening to the faint roar of Wood's voice carried by the wind, couldn't help but murmur, "They really do work hard."
"Probably the only day they'll get the pitch all to themselves," Tom replied. He flicked his hand, casting a warming shield around the two of them against the biting wind. "I just saw Flint talking with Hufflepuff's captain. Hufflepuff isn't about to hand Gryffindor the win."
If Slytherin was the least popular house, Gryffindor had to be second from the bottom.
Who actually enjoyed classmates who were loud, reckless, always chasing the spotlight and stirring up trouble? The other houses only tolerated them when it came to standing against Slytherin. The rest of the time, they didn't have much patience for Gryffindor's antics.
If Hufflepuff found out how desperately Gryffindor was training to beat them, they'd probably start hogging the pitch out of sheer spite, even if they didn't feel like practicing themselves.
Under the curious glances of a few passing students, Tom swung open the iron gates of the school and strolled right out.
A man of his word, he hadn't forgotten the promise he made to Astoria. Somehow she'd managed to smooth things over with Daphne—no, more like distract her completely from Fleur's possible visit. Tom had asked her how, but Astoria only smiled sweetly and said nothing.
This time Tom had even gotten an official permission slip from Dumbledore, signed with Mrs. Greengrass's seal. The excuse was a routine medical checkup for Astoria. The headmaster obviously knew it was fake, but with parental consent and the responsibility handed fully to Tom, he had no reason to interfere.
Once they were past the gates, Tom didn't want Astoria tiring herself out walking, so he apparated them straight to Hogsmeade.
Their first stop was the ever-popular Honeydukes. Since it wasn't a Hogsmeade weekend, the shop was practically empty except for two clerks. They barely blinked at the sight of students—plenty of kids slipped out of the castle to buy sweets.
Astoria's eyes lit up the moment they stepped inside. She dashed to the shelves, staring in awe at rows upon rows of candies and sweets, many of which she'd never even heard of before.
Pepper Imps – tiny black peppermint sweets that let the eater breathe fire and puff smoke from their ears and nose.
Exploding Bonbons – made from rich cocoa and a dash of Coconut Dynamite, they turn your mouth into a miniature firework show.
Fizzing Whizzbees – oversized sherbet balls that make anyone who sucks on them float a few inches off the ground.
Acid Pops – lollipops that seem to burn holes right through your tongue—thankfully, only illusionary ones.
Tom still remembered seeing Dumbledore calmly sucking on one of those pops, half his tongue gone so he could barely speak. For weeks afterward, the password to his office had been "Acid Pops."
Astoria couldn't decide, so she decided not to decide at all. "I'll take one of everything," she told the stunned clerks. "Every candy, every sweet—one of each, please."
The two clerks nearly dropped their jaws. "Miss, you must be joking. We stock over a hundred different items!"
Tom didn't bother arguing. He just upended a pouch and poured a heap of galleons onto the counter.
"Keep the change. Any problem now?"
The clerks shook their heads blankly. "N-no problem… it'll just take some time to pack it all."
Money really did talk. Two students casually throwing down what amounted to several months of their salaries, just for candy.
Since the order would take ages to box up, Tom suggested, "Let's grab breakfast at the Three Broomsticks. We'll pick everything up after."
Astoria happily agreed. As they walked through the village she insisted on ducking into every shop along the way.
At Gladrags Wizardwear, Tom stopped at a display and picked out an ice-blue robe embroidered with silver thread. He held it up against her.
"What do you think? Looks good on you?"
Astoria glanced at the mirror and nodded shyly. "It's beautiful. I love the color."
"Then try it on." With the shopkeeper's permission, Tom draped the robe over her shoulders.
They were standing close—so close that Astoria's breath quickened.
One thought shot through her mind before she could stop it. 'Oh no… sorry, sis, but Tom is just way too good.'
.
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