— — — — — —
Inside the study space, Rowena Ravenclaw was left speechless and more than a little offended. She had claimed this "daughter" was her own creation, yet here she was, being led around so easily?
"No. It's not my fault."
She said it to Tom with absolute conviction, as if she needed to defend not only her own scholarly skill but the reputation of the famed wise witch herself.
"Helena's only like this because I protected her too well. She's never truly experienced how cruel people can be, so she can't even imagine the depths people can sink to. Her intelligence is perfectly sound."
Tom listened with an easy smile, nodding along from time to time.
Since summoning Ravenclaw, Tom had figured out that her emotional stability hinged almost entirely on two things.
First, her age—every time Ariana slipped up and called her the wrong thing, homework hell descended for days.
Second, Helena—Ravenclaw genuinely adored her artificial daughter. Today's meeting had shot her "acceptance radar" straight from 17% to 24%. Just one more point and he'd unlock Ravenclaw's first talent.
Seeing that, many of Tom's darker suspicions had finally eased.
Thankfully… this Founders' spirit wasn't as extreme as he'd feared. Her humanity hadn't vanished.
"Tom Riddle. Your face when you're scheming is exactly like that monkey."
Reclining on the sofa, Ravenclaw glanced at Tom's smile and instantly felt her temper spike.
"Monkey?" Tom blinked, then quickly understood. "You mean Slytherin?"
Ravenclaw clicked her tongue. "Who else? Don't tell me he doesn't look like one."
Tom thought back to the statue in the Chamber of Secrets and nodded. "Fair enough. But compare me to him again and I'm locking you in a dark room with the time dilation turned to max."
Ravenclaw's teasing expression stiffened, the mischief draining a little. "You tricked Helena first. Why can't a mother avenge her daughter?"
Ravenclaw saw it clearly: Tom Riddle was a master at manipulating hearts.
Voldemort once had Helena wrapped around his finger, and today's Tom was even worse. In just one night he'd slipped right into the girl's defenses.
First he tore apart all her emotional armor with the harshest words, then slipped in close at her weakest moment. After that, he deliberately brought up the diadem to trigger guilt, magnanimously forgave her, and finally stood by her side condemning the Bloody Baron.
By the time they parted, Helena's gaze practically clung to his back like melted sugar.
"Don't make it sound like that. I'm a good Riddle."
Tom saw nothing wrong with his approach. He lifted a hand, summoned a chilled bottle of soda, and chugged more than half in one go.
"Ravenclaw, Helena is far too trusting. Better she gets tricked by me than by someone dangerous."
"As long as she trusts me, I'll be the only one who can fool her. Honestly, that's how most people are. They don't want freedom or trust—they want a leader to follow."
Ravenclaw fell silent, and Tom grinned at her. "You get that better than anyone. You just can't bring yourself to act on it."
"…Fine. I'm done arguing with you."
Ravenclaw cut off the topic. "Just don't go selling Helena off. We've wasted enough time as it is—let's continue today's lessons."
Tom nodded, returning to the lesson on how to construct real memories.
When it came to memory, Ravenclaw truly had unique insight.
She believed memories weren't simple linear bundles you could shove into someone's mind. Instead, you needed to build variance and authenticity into them—compress everything into a single seed and let it grow naturally.
That way, nothing would feel abrupt. The mind would fill in any inconsistencies on its own, and eventually the memories would develop the natural weight of time.
No wonder Ravenclaw often said she lived both in the past and in the present—she had literally lived through many different points in time.
But right now, Tom was stuck on the step of compressing and forming that memory seed. Everything he made felt fake and lifeless.
Fortunately, under Ravenclaw's guidance, he had begun to grasp the trick.
...
Friday
Because yesterday's schedule had swapped Care of Magical Creatures and Potions, all third-years taking Care of Magical Creatures bundled into thick cloaks after lunch and gathered outside Hagrid's cabin.
With November settling in, Hogwarts had grown even colder. The wind sliced at their faces like knives. Hagrid wasn't there yet, so the students paced around outside the hut, chatting to keep their limbs from freezing stiff.
The upcoming Quidditch match had pushed Grindelwald gossip out of students' minds—everyone cared far more about tomorrow's Hufflepuff vs Gryffindor game.
Originally it was supposed to be Gryffindor vs Slytherin, but Snape didn't want his students playing in such awful weather. He somehow managed to switch the order of the matches, and Wood had been cursing him for days.
Wood's secrecy was impeccable. So far, aside from his Quidditch team, no one knew that Harry had a Firebolt—not even Ron.
Harry understood perfectly that Ron knowing something was the same as announcing it to the whole school. If he didn't keep Ron in the dark, no amount of secrecy could save him.
Harry even went to Tom to ask him to help keep the secret. Tom agreed… after pocketing two hundred Galleons.
After all, for Tom, whether Slytherin won the Quidditch Cup or not barely mattered for the House Cup. It was only halfway through the term and they were already more than a hundred points ahead. They weren't Gryffindor—points didn't vanish overnight for no reason.
"Oy..."
At last, just as everyone's fingers and toes were going numb, Hagrid emerged from the edge of the Forbidden Forest with two massive wooden crates. The students rushed toward him, eager to see what magical creature he had brought this time.
"Wasn't easy to get these," Hagrid said mysteriously. "I've been in contact with… er, friends, since last month to prepare for today's lesson. So pay attention."
"What is it already? Hurry up," Draco Malfoy snapped, impatient as ever. He hated the idea of being strung along by a half-giant.
"Alright, alright. Everyone stand back a bit, don't want to scare them."
Once the students had backed up about five meters, Hagrid opened the crate and gave the lid what he considered a light tap.
A chorus of delighted squeals erupted.
"They're adorable!"
Several girls practically sparkled with excitement, and even the boys couldn't hide their surprise.
A handful of chubby little creatures, about thirty centimeters tall and shaped like plump squirrels, hopped out of the box. They were round and fluffy, with shiny black eyes and tiny little hands held close to their chests. Instead of a long tail, they had a cute little ball at the back. They didn't seem the least bit afraid of humans, staring wide-eyed at the class.
"Anyone know what these are?" Hagrid asked, clearly pleased with the reaction. He handed the creatures a few leaves before posing the question.
"Quokkas."
Tom beat Hermione to the answer again, earning himself another one of her wounded stares. "A magical species from Australia. Danger rating is just XX. They're the smallest type of kangaroo, sometimes called 'smile creatures' or 'happiest animals on earth.' They have a strange natural magnetic field that makes people feel happier just being around them."
The other students nodded as he spoke.
They'd assumed the quokkas' cuteness was what lifted their mood—turns out magic had a hand in it too.
"Perfect answer. Ten points to Slytherin."
Hagrid praised Tom loudly before turning to the eager students. "You heard him. These little fellas are nearly extinct. Took quite a bit o' effort to bring them here, so I expect everyone to take this seriously."
Tom's mouth twitched. He didn't think Hagrid was lying—Hagrid genuinely must've had a miserable time trying to acquire quokkas.
But the methods used were probably… less than legal. Australia had extremely strict regulations, and trading these creatures was absolutely forbidden.
Beyond their mood-lifting aura, their pouches also worked as natural storage spaces, more stable than an Undetectable Extension Charm. Plenty of old wizarding families used quokka-skin pouches as luxury wallets.
"Remember this." Hagrid's expression went stern. "No one is allowed to touch the quokkas. You might think it's affectionate, but to them it can be deadly. Human contact makes their scent muddled, and baby quokkas rely entirely on scent to find their mother. If the smell changes, the joey won't recognize her."
The students nodded seriously, even though it was a pity they couldn't cuddle such cute creatures.
Quokkas were undeniably adorable and friendly, but they also had one ridiculous behavioral trait.
After Hagrid explained it, the class finally understood why they were nearly extinct. When threatened by predators, mother quokkas had the habit of throwing their babies out of the pouch to buy themselves time. One baby, two babies—didn't matter. Three or four? Still fine.
With instincts like that, how could they not be endangered?
Just as Hagrid was about to send them off to collect the quokkas' favorite leaves, a burst of flame appeared out of thin air. Fawkes landed neatly on Tom's shoulder.
"The headmaster wants to see me?" Tom asked, surprised.
"Cheep!"
Tom looked to Hagrid, who waved him on hurriedly. "If Dumbledore's lookin' for yeh, best get goin'."
Tom nodded. Fawkes shot Daphne a quick wink before whisking Tom away to the headmaster's office.
---
"Tom, good, you came."
Dumbledore greeted him with a slight nod. His expression was unusually grim, and beneath it… was that anger?
"Professor, what happened?"
Tom asked as he opened his study space and pulled in a fragment of Grindelwald's consciousness.
"There's been a major incident in North America."
Dumbledore exhaled slowly. "Grindelwald's revenge continues. He located the ancestral home of the Picquery family and killed eight people. All of them were core family members in their prime. Only four elders over a hundred years old remain, along with a few children."
Inside the study space, Grindelwald shrugged, utterly unconcerned. "Was just about to tell you. Didn't think Albus would hear so fast."
Tom ignored this top G. "Then… why call me up here?"
"I have to go to North America." Dumbledore spoke quickly as he pulled his coat from the hanger. "Fawkes refuses to leave until he notifies you about the match he still owes you. And… after I leave, if anything comes up at Hogwarts, contact me directly."
"But we have Professor McGonagall, don't we?" Tom asked.
"Minerva…" Dumbledore paused, then sighed. "Minerva is responsible and capable, but sometimes her worries hold her back. There can be delays or oversights. And Tom, you see things differently from us old men. I'd rather be safe than sorry."
Tom nodded. "Alright, Professor. Go ahead."
Fawkes fluttered back to Dumbledore's shoulder. As the phoenix began to glow with red light, preparing for Apparition, Tom suddenly spoke.
"Professor, if you run into Grindelwald… are you planning to arrest him again? Nurmengard Tower is already gone."
A sharp glint flashed through Dumbledore's eyes.
"No. This time, I intend to end it."
With that, the man and the phoenix vanished from the office.
Tom wasted no time. He immediately stirred up trouble inside the study space.
"Hey, old G! You heard that, right?"
"Dumbledore's coming to finish you off for real this time!"
"You sure you don't want to start running now? Or... you also want to end it?"
.
.
.