— — — — — —
Tom was starting to feel like the world had it out for him.
Sure, redefining pure-blood society was basically the same as digging up half the old families' graves—but he hadn't dug theirs yet, so why were they already so eager to make trouble for him?
And now this ridiculous nesting doll game: layer upon layer, someone acting more like a shadowy mastermind than even he did.
『Tom Riddle』: If you can find who's behind this, bring them to me.
『Tom Riddle』: If you can't, leave those families alone for now. Keep an eye on them — I'll handle it personally.
The wizarding world had too many bizarre tricks up its sleeve. Even Dumbledore and Grindelwald couldn't claim to see through every scheme or spell. That was why Tom didn't give Vinda Rosier an absolute order.
『Vinda Rosier』: A trivial matter like this doesn't need to trouble you.
『Tom Riddle』: The thing is, I want to do it myself. Letting you lot handle the killing just doesn't feel as satisfying. Is that a good enough reason?
There weren't many people left in the world who could make him swallow his pride, and they certainly didn't include sewer rats like these.
If he didn't take matters into his own hands, if he didn't kill a few of them personally, he'd feel restless. His mood would sour. And that, in turn, would hinder his growth. Well... at least he would feel better.
---
"..."
In France, Vinda fell silent. Vogel, who had just come by to discuss things with her, caught sight of Tom's words and burst out laughing.
"Riddle's right. Revenge only feels good when you do it with your own hands!"
"Vinda, you worry too much about his status," Vogel went on. "Rank and position aren't shackles. Back in the day, Lord Grindelwald himself personally dealt with plenty of stubborn old fools, didn't he?"
"I know, I know," Vinda sighed. "But don't you think it makes us look useless? Someone actually struck at Riddle, and we still haven't caught the real culprit. What's that saying again?"
"Ah, right… when the lion is down, even the dogs dare to bite. Is that how you want Lord Grindelwald to see us?"
Vogel's smile vanished. A heavy silence settled on his chest.
"The day our lord returns," he muttered, "we'll climb back to the peak again. We'll reshape this foolish, ignorant world."
"…Riddle told me last time that Lord Grindelwald has decided to come out, but he didn't say when..."
Remembering those words, Vinda and Vogel grinned.
— — —
"...Ariana, oh, Ariana."
Outside the Meditation Room in the study space (main hall), a table had been set up. Tom sat with two old men and a girl gathered around, venting his frustrations.
The two old men were just background noise. His real audience was Ariana.
"This world is just too complicated," Tom sighed. "All I want is to study magic properly, publish a few papers now and then. Why do they have to treat me like this?
"Not only do the pure-bloods want me dead, but now there's someone pulling strings in the shadows. I don't even know who I've supposedly offended."
The more pitiful Tom made his situation sound, the more Ariana's emotions stirred. Her golden hair lifted in the air, magic rolling off her in waves. A faint black mist leaked from her body.
But this time, Tom didn't use spatial suppression. He wanted to see just how well Ariana could control the Obscurus now.
"Quiet!" the girl snapped softly. The black mist hissed and shrank back into her body.
"Tom," she asked hesitantly, "do you think it could be… my brother?"
Pffft—!
Grindelwald and Andros both sprayed their drinks everywhere, coughing and spluttering as they stared at her in shock.
Even Tom froze.
'Sis, seriously? That's your leap of logic? How the hell did you end up pinning this on Dumbledore?'
Ariana shifted nervously under their stares. "Well… isn't it true that Albus isn't really a 'good guy' in the traditional sense? What he cares about most is keeping the wizarding world stable.
"Tom's research into The Codex and his History of the Wizarding World will cause unpredictable changes. Albus feels uneasy, so… isn't it normal for him to take action?"
Grindelwald leaned back in his chair, stunned. 'Oh no. Why does that sound almost convincing?'
For a split second, even the man who knew Dumbledore best felt a flicker of doubt. And if he was wavering, then poor single-brained Andros didn't stand a chance.
He squinted at Tom. "Wait… could it really be Dumbledore? The old man's always smiling, always so tolerant with you. Who knew he was plotting dirty tricks behind your back!"
"Tom, if it comes down to it, just let me out. We'll take him down together and seize the Headmaster's seat."
"Ten minutes enough?" Tom asked absently. He still hadn't fully recovered from Ariana's outrageous accusation.
"Er…" Andros scratched his head awkwardly. "Ten's pushing it. But if we pick our timing—say, midnight—stretch it over two days, that's twenty minutes. Odds go up a lot. Oh-oh! Gellert can break out of his prison and help us, too."
Grindelwald was stunned by how quickly things were unfolding
"Uh... Ariana."
Tom suddenly fixed his gaze on her. "If things really were as you guessed, if Dumbledore truly was the mastermind behind all this… would you stand with me?"
"Of course I would!" Ariana answered without hesitation. "If Albus bullies you, then I'll beat him."
But then her shoulders slumped. "It's just… right now I can't really do anything to help you."
"Who says you can't?" Tom reached out and ruffled her hair, smiling. "Your support is my greatest strength and motivation."
"But even though what you said just now sounded reasonable," he added, "Dumbledore isn't that kind of person. Even if he disapproves of some of my actions, he would never use methods like these."
"Exactly." Grindelwald gave a rueful smile. "I almost let you talk me into doubting him. But no—Albus may have the motive, the power, and the brains. What he doesn't have is that sort of character."
Seeing Ariana's puzzled look, he patiently explained, "Remember—he was the one who proposed 'the greater good.' But what does that mean in practice?"
"Right now, Tom has the same enemy as Albus: Voldemort."
"In his eyes, Voldemort is the real threat. Tom may be changing the wizarding world, but he hasn't crossed Albus's bottom line. And as long as you don't cross that line, Albus is actually very easy to deal with."
"That's a relief."
Hearing Grindelwald's reasoning, Ariana relaxed. After all, nobody wanted to believe their own brother was some shadowy, scheming villain.
The girl pumped her little fist. "If it's not Albus, then whoever the culprit is, Tom has to... umm... has to—"
She trailed off, lost for words, then looked pleadingly at Tom.
"—wipe them out," Tom supplied.
"Yes, exactly. Wipe them out," Ariana repeated, nodding firmly.
Tom smiled in satisfaction. If Ariana were alive today, she'd absolutely grow into a little dark lord of her own. Clearly, he was teaching her well.
He felt a proud tear might drop right now.
— — —
The new week came.
Tom stopped worrying about whoever had orchestrated the assassination attempt. Even if he tracked them down now, it would have to wait until summer to be settled.
He focused on his Whomping Willows, which were thriving. The loose magic spilling from the castle, combined with the magical ecosystem of the Forbidden Forest, created the perfect nourishment. Add in Professor Sprout's careful tending, and the tree's branches grew even thicker and stronger.
Voldy, too, had opened up more lately, revealing bits of Hogwarts' hidden legacies.
Most of it focused on how to use magic to transform the body. Not just Tom—even Andros and Grindelwald were left speechless.
Following Slytherin's methods, a fully transformed body could hardly be called human anymore. It became something else entirely, a creature shaped solely to mesh with magic—a monster.
Grindelwald now admitted Voldemort's black magic surpassed his own. This kind of transformation was indeed another way to elevate the essence of life itself.
Of course, young Voldemort wasn't sharing freely out of kindness. He was scheming.
He hoped Tom would start transforming himself now, merging bloodlines. If Tom failed, he'd be ruined. If he succeeded, Dumbledore would never tolerate him—he'd either be thrown into Azkaban or forced down the same path Voldemort himself had walked.
It was a naked, open conspiracy.
Yet when it came to the secret Tom cared about most—how to awaken the Basilisk—Voldemort clammed up.
It wasn't just about controlling a beast. To him, the Basilisk symbolized his identity and dignity. It was the cure to his deep-seated inferiority complex. If Tom inherited it, Voldemort would lose the one thing that made him unique.
So they dragged things out until... Saturday.
The Quidditch Cup flared back to life, and the atmosphere inside the castle was electric.
Hufflepuff and Gryffindor weren't known for dirty tricks off the pitch, but the entire morning in the Great Hall passed in silence. Not a word was exchanged between the two houses. Whenever their eyes met, they glared, waiting to see who looked away first. Whoever flinched was the coward.
Defeating Slytherin? They were all for it.
But stepping on Hufflepuff's corpse to do it? Absolutely not. Hufflepuff wouldn't allow it.
After breakfast, Oliver Wood led the team into the locker room to set up tactics.
"Today we're not just going to win," he said seriously, tapping his wand against the chalkboard, "we're going to win by a wide margin."
He looked each teammate in the eye. "I know it won't be easy. Hufflepuff may not have Slytherin's flashy gear, but their unity and teamwork are far beyond what any house can manage. They're a strong team."
He straightened, voice firm. "But I believe in you—and in myself. We're going to take this match, clean and perfect."
"Harry." Wood turned suddenly to where Harry seemed distracted. "Remember, until we're at least fifty points ahead, don't grab the Snitch. Just keep an eye on their Seeker. Got it?"
"Got it." Harry nodded earnestly.
The roar of the crowd outside was already seeping into the changing room. Wood hefted his broom, the players lining up behind him to march to the gate.
"Harry, you sure you're alright?" Fred asked quietly, glancing back.
Harry blinked, then realized what he meant. He shook his head quickly. "It hasn't hurt for a while now."
Harry's frequent headaches had become common knowledge. Fred was worried one might hit in the middle of the game.
Hearing Harry's reassurance, he finally relaxed a little.
Unfortunately, no one in the wizarding world had ever heard of Murphy's Law.
...
The match began with deafening cheers from both houses. Fifteen brooms shot into the sky.
Gryffindor instantly showed their aggressive style, landing three quick goals to thunderous applause.
But Hufflepuff's resilience was unmatched. They'd learned from Slytherin's last match, too, spotting the weakness in Gryffindor's three Chasers: poor resistance to interference.
Apart from Angelina Johnson, the other two crumbled under the smallest disruption, losing their usual rhythm.
The score climbed in a tense back-and-forth. As captain, Wood stepped up, pulling off a string of spectacular saves, stopping several certain goals and drawing cheers from the stands.
Once Gryffindor's lead passed fifty, Harry finally began hunting the Snitch. He rose higher and higher, Cedric Diggory trailing after him, but Harry's broom was faster.
Ten minutes later, a flash of gold appeared at the edge of their vision. Both Seekers dove in unison.
Harry bent low, ready to push his broom to the limit and sprint ahead—
—and then his mind exploded. A thunderous roar, like the dawn of chaos itself, split through his skull.
"Argh—bloody hell, not again!"
The cry tore from his throat, full of pain and fury. Then everything went black as Harry slumped forward, unconscious.
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