— — — — — —
"Mr. Riddle, once again, thank you for your courage. The students of Hogwarts are the future of the wizarding world. If there really had been mass casualties, the consequences would've been unthinkable."
The photographer snapped picture after picture, well over a dozen, until both Tom and Dumbledore were visibly impatient. Fudge, however, finally looked satisfied. Putting on another little performance, he clasped Tom's hand and poured out a string of pompous words.
Tom wanted to make use of Fudge, but that didn't mean he enjoyed being tortured by the man. He quickly shot a look at Amelia Bones.
Lady Greengrass had already smoothed things out with Bones last night, or else Amelia wouldn't have shown up today in the first place.
Sure enough, picking up on her benefactor's silent cue, Bones stepped in with a straight face and a carefully restrained smile.
"Minister Fudge, I don't think words of thanks are enough. If the media interprets this as the Ministry not caring about student safety, that would be a disaster."
Fudge, as usual, didn't bother thinking for himself. His expression changed immediately and he leaned toward her. "You're absolutely right, Bones. Very true. So… how do we fix this?"
"By showing that the Ministry takes this matter seriously. In particular, by formally recognizing Mr. Riddle's contribution." Her tone was firm. "I suggest the Ministry nominate him for the Order of Merlin, First Class."
"The First Class?" Umbridge nearly shrieked, but this time Fudge reacted even faster.
"T-that's not going a bit too far, is it? Of course, Mr. Riddle, I'm not denying your contribution," he added quickly, trying to soothe Tom before leaning toward Bones again, lowering his voice. "First Class—for a child? Amelia, have you lost your mind, or are my ears playing tricks on me?"
The truth was, Fudge wasn't just shocked. He was jealous.
He'd worked his whole career as Minister, and he still hadn't gotten the First Class for himself.
Bones, however, remained calm, her tone official and unyielding. "The award has never been based on age. It's based on merit."
"Norvel Twonk saved a Muggle child and received the First Class. Tilly Toke rescued a Muggle village and received the First Class. Peter Pettigrew delayed Black long enough to save a whole street, and he received the First Class."
At Pettigrew's name, Tom's eyebrow twitched. He suddenly remembered Ginny had sworn up and down she'd sort out that Marauder's Map issue for him. It had been ages, and he'd heard nothing.
Dragging her feet, was she?
He'd make sure she regretted that.
Dumbledore, meanwhile, looked downcast. Who knew—maybe in the future, when he learned the truth, he'd cringe at his own reaction today.
"Well… when you put it that way, it does make sense," Fudge said nervously. "But the First Class is no small matter. I can't decide that alone."
"Which is why I said 'nominate,'" Bones replied evenly. "All the Ministry has to do is show its stance. Whether or not it's approved is for the committee to decide."
Fudge relaxed slightly at that.
Bones stole a glance at Tom. Seeing he wasn't displeased, she quietly let out the breath she'd been holding.
Tom, for his part, had already expected Bones would only go so far.
She, Fudge, Barty Crouch—they were all the same at heart: politicians. Deals and trades came naturally to them.
But Amelia Bones was different in one way: her bottom line was high. She might maneuver within the rules, but she'd never sell out her principles just for power or profit.
Such people weren't the best friends—you wanted friends to stand by you, right or wrong—but as allies? As partners who understood the value of fair exchange? Bones was solid.
"Very well," Fudge said at last, sounding convinced. "I'll submit the nomination to the committee. Personally, of course, I do hope you receive the honor, Mr. Riddle, but I can't make promises."
Tom responded with polite thanks, but when Fudge turned to leave, he stopped him.
"Minister, I have a suggestion."
"Oh? Go on." Fudge forced a smile, though he was already annoyed.
Tom's eyes flicked to Umbridge. "You represent the Ministry, and your secretary represents you. By extension, she represents the entire Ministry."
"I'd suggest choosing a secretary with stronger ability and a more… presentable image."
His gaze lingered on the now-red-faced Umbridge. "Especially when meeting foreign officials. You wouldn't want them thinking Britain's magical society is full of such… unsightly specimens."
"Who said I'm a secretary?!" Umbridge shrieked, her girlish falsetto breaking in her fury. "I am the Senior Undersecretary to the Minister for Magic! A high-ranking official of the Ministry!"
Tom tilted his head, all mock puzzlement, and turned to Bones. "Tell me, Madam Bones, does that position actually exist?"
When it came to laws and titles, Bones was precise. "According to regulations, 'Senior Undersecretary' is not a formal Ministry rank. Officially, Madam Umbridge is the director of Minister's Office and his personal assistant."
"Oh, so she's a director," Tom said, feigning realization.
One of the Aurors who'd been taking photos added quietly, "Well, she's the only one in that office. So, not much of a director, is it?"
Pfft—!
That did it. Several Aurors burst into laughter.
Umbridge's eyes rolled back and she nearly fainted.
"..."
Tom gave the Auror an odd look.
John Dawlish.
Fudge's ever-loyal right-hand man—and, in Tom's eyes, the perfect definition of dead weight.
Having someone like him as a top aide was a nightmare. In the original timeline, Dawlish never accomplished a single thing. He even got taken out by Augusta Longbottom and landed in St. Mungo's, yet somehow managed to stumble his way to the very end. His talent was luck.
Fudge: "..."
He glanced at Umbridge—squat, toadlike, grotesque—and for once, found himself nodding along with Tom's words.
Did she disgust him? Of course.
But she was so good at groveling, so good at flattering him, it was addictive. He hated it, but he couldn't give it up.
Still, Tom's words, plus her performance just now, made that disgust bubble back to the surface.
And Tom had a point… If his secretary were a stunning blonde with busty curves, even if she did nothing, his mood would lift. And parading her at international meetings? That'd make him look good.
Naturally, Fudge wasn't about to admit in front of everyone that he found Umbridge disgusting. He forced a strained laugh instead. "The Ministry selects its personnel based on ability. Appearance doesn't matter. Not at all. Absolutely irrelevant."
"But Mr. Riddle's suggestion is duly noted. Perhaps next time we'll discuss it further. Albus, let's be on our way. We'll have tea another day."
He nodded at Dumbledore, then swept out of the office with his entourage.
Tom glanced at the clock on the wall. Morning classes were almost over anyway. He decided to stay here with Dumbledore a little longer.
"Headmaster," Tom said, biting into one of the little cakes on the table and fixing the old man with an earnest look, "you'll be voting in favor at the Order of Merlin committee, won't you?"
With Dumbledore's influence, he practically had a seat in every organization that mattered—and his vote could sway plenty of others.
"Didn't Minerva already file an application for you last time?" Dumbledore asked in surprise. "And you rejected it. Why the sudden change of heart?"
"That was different." Tom spread his hands. "Back then, it was only for a Second or Third Class medal—same level as Lockhart. This time it's First Class. That puts me on par with you."
"I told you before, Headmaster. Anything less than First Class doesn't interest me."
Dumbledore fell silent.
He had a hunch.
The reason the basilisk had caused such a spectacle… it was entirely possible Tom had done it deliberately, all for the sake of earning a First Class Order of Merlin. Otherwise, why not end things quietly in the Chamber? Why drag the monster out in front of a crowd?
But it was only a suspicion, without proof.
And even if he did have proof… the fact remained that Tom had killed the basilisk, discovered Slytherin's legacy, even shared it with him, and forced Voldemort into retreat once again. None of that could be denied, and he couldn't find a solid reason to oppose the nomination.
"Well then, I'm flattered," Dumbledore said lightly. "So you're only interested because I hold a First Class myself?"
"Of course!" Tom grinned, throwing his arms wide. "Heroes of the world— Albus Dumbledore and Tom Riddle!"
"Thank you for that generous comparison," Dumbledore said, his smile deepening. "I certainly won't vote against my own student. But even with my support, your age will remain the greatest obstacle."
Tom's grin was dazzling. "No worries. I've got other connections."
---
In the Potions office, Snape stared at Tom like he'd gone mad.
"Riddle, I've never received the Order of Merlin myself, and you expect me to lobby for you?"
Tom waved a hand. "That's only because you never cared for Second or Third Class medals, just like me. Don't tell me that after all these years as Head of Slytherin and one of the most famous Potions Masters in the country, you don't have connections of your own."
"Professor, this was part of the deal you agreed to. Don't tell me you're backing out now?"
Snape leaned forward, teeth clenched, eyes boring into him. "This is that 'small favor' you mentioned?"
"Isn't it small?" Tom tilted his head in feigned confusion.
"Do you have any idea how many favors I'd burn through lobbying on your behalf?" Snape snapped. "Yes, I know a few old relics, but they're all sharp as foxes. Without proper payment, none of them will budge."
"I'll pay you well, Professor," Tom promised.
"With what? A few ingredients?"
"No," Tom said smoothly, pointing to himself with a smile. "With my future help. A favor from the strongest wizard this world will ever see. Tell me that isn't worth more than gold."
Snape's gaze deepened, silence stretching before he finally rasped, "Arrogant brat. Fine. I'll call it an investment."
Tom left with that answer, perfectly satisfied, and made straight for Professor McGonagall's office.
He hadn't even reached the fourth floor when he spotted a red-haired girl stepping out of the office, trying her best to look cheerful.
"Ah!"
Ginny let out a startled cry as she was suddenly lifted off the ground and whisked into an empty classroom. Only when she was set down did she realize it was Tom.
Her first reaction was to lunge at him with a snap of her teeth, but Tom easily dodged her attempt.
"You bastard, you nearly scared me to death!" she shouted.
Tom smirked and used his reach to keep her at arm's length by the forehead. "The famous Miss Weasley, scared of a little prank? Hard to believe, considering you were Voldemort's personal student."
"Rubbish. He hardly taught me any spells at all," Ginny shot back, refusing to accept the title. "All he ever did was spout silver-tongued nonsense. All Riddles are the same."
"And it looks like you've learned enough of it yourself."
Tom flicked her on the forehead, hard enough to make her yelp.
"Hey! What was that for?"
"The Map, Ginny. Why haven't you gotten it yet?"
Her bluff crumbled instantly, and she gave him an awkward smile.
"Just give me a little more time. No need to be so impatient…"
She'd guessed from the start that this was why Tom was in such a foul mood today. She'd tried joking her way out of it, but that had clearly failed.
.
.
.