"Anyway," Dumbledore said lightly, adjusting his glasses, "the House Cup did still go to Slytherin."
"That," Tom retorted with a grin, "was because I won it back."
Dumbledore fell silent, smiling helplessly.
Tom Riddle was sharper than he'd imagined , far too sharp. But at least this year, there would be no secret schemes or manipulations on the Headmaster's part. Dumbledore made a mental note to ensure Harry didn't develop a personal vendetta against Tom. That… would end very badly.
Tom stretched lazily. "Well, since there's nothing else, I'll be going. Come on, little Voldy , I'm taking you home."
The diary immediately reacted with violent fury.
[NO! I'm not going anywhere with you!]
[Dumbledore! Take me back! Keep that lunatic away from me!]
[Dumbledore! You can't just, ]
Snap!
Tom shut the diary and sealed it with a flick of his wandless magic.
"Don't worry, Professor," he said smoothly. "I'll handle it. I'll record everything we talk about and deliver you a full report."
Dumbledore smiled, though a little warily. "Thank you for your assistance, Mr. Riddle."
"You're welcome," Tom said pleasantly , then added, with the faintest smirk, "Though I think we should discuss… compensation."
Dumbledore's smile froze mid-expression.
Ah. He'd celebrated too early.
"What sort of compensation did you have in mind?"
Tom didn't answer immediately. Instead, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a sleek little device , his enchanted "WhatsApp" notebook.
"Professor," he asked innocently, "what do you think of my invention?"
"It's marvelous," Dumbledore said truthfully, nodding. "I've even added a few old friends recently , communication through it is far smoother than owls. I've also heard rumors of a live-streaming version in development. When that's released, you must let me know."
Tom sighed dramatically. "Ah, yes, about that. I've run into some… material shortages."
Dumbledore's eyes twinkled knowingly. "I see. And I assume this is where I come in. Tell me what you need, and I'll reach out to the appropriate suppliers."
"Oh, no, Professor, you misunderstand," Tom said with mock modesty. "I already have the materials. What I need now is… space to cultivate them."
He pointed casually toward the window, where the moonlight illuminated the shadowy expanse of the Hogwarts grounds.
"You see, Nicolas Flamel gave me ten Whomping Willow seedlings. Newt's taking care of five. That leaves five more… without a home."
Dumbledore's eyes widened behind his half-moon spectacles. "You want to… plant five more Whomping Willows , at Hogwarts?"
"Precisely!" Tom beamed. "You summarized that perfectly."
The Headmaster rose, stepping to the window to gaze out over the moonlit lawns. The single, massive Whomping Willow swayed in the wind , a lone sentinel on the frosty field.
He sighed. "Very well, Mr. Riddle. I suppose there's no harm in that. But give me some time , I'll clear part of the Forbidden Forest for them. We can't have the entire Quidditch pitch turned into a minefield."
Tom smiled in satisfaction. "I'll be waiting for your good news, Professor."
And with that, diary in hand, he left the office , light-footed, humming softly to himself.
The moment the door closed, Phineas Nigellus Black groaned from his portrait.
"Utterly lawless! The boy's completely lawless!"
He jabbed a finger at Dumbledore. "Even Voldemort never dared cast an Unforgivable Curse in front of Headmaster Dippet! And this Riddle , this Riddle , tortures a soul fragment right before your eyes and walks out planting trees like it's a charity project!"
Before Dumbledore could respond, Armando Dippet himself , the former headmaster , cleared his throat.
"Phineas, don't be absurd. You forget how well Tom hid his nature in my time. You once praised him as the very model of a Slytherin gentleman, remember?"
"That was before I knew what he'd become!" Phineas snapped.
"Exactly," Dippet replied calmly. "And that's my point. The old Tom hid everything , his anger, his arrogance, his ambition. But this Riddle? He's transparent. He gets angry, he argues, he jokes. He shows emotion. That makes him safer , and far easier to trust."
Dumbledore nodded slowly. "Armando's right. I rather like Mr. Riddle's honesty. True, he causes me headaches , often , but he's refreshingly straightforward.
"And as you know," he added, twinkle returning to his eyes, "many people seem to share my appreciation for him. Especially certain members of the opposite sex."
Phineas scowled as the two headmasters chuckled softly. "Oh, brilliant, now you're both charmed by the boy. No wonder Hogwarts has no discipline left. Dumbledore, mark my words , you'd better put that boy in his place someday. Remind him who really runs this school!"
Dumbledore chuckled helplessly. "Phineas… remind me , who exactly does run this school anymore?"
The portrait sputtered. "Don't you dare, !"
But Dumbledore's laughter filled the office.
,
Back in the Slytherin dormitory, Tom set the diary on his desk.
He didn't open it. Not yet.
He'd had enough fun for one night. But truthfully, Dumbledore had unknowingly done him a favor , handing the diary back gave him access to something valuable.
The notes within Slytherin's legacy , the forbidden research on bloodline fusion , had reached an impasse. And there was only one other person who'd ever dared to tamper with such magic.
Lord Voldemort.
Whether he realized it or not, the Dark Lord might still have information Tom needed.
And if Voldemort tried to stay silent? Oh, Tom would make him talk. Eventually, everyone broke.
People called Voldemort merciless, a monster , but in truth, he was fragile.
The wizarding world exaggerated the terror of killing and torture, never understanding what true war looked like.
Across magical history , from Fantastic Beasts to Harry Potter, nearly a century of chaos and heroics , there was only one man Tom truly respected.
A Muggle.
Jacob Kowalski.
He'd seen more death in a single heartbeat than Voldemort had in a lifetime, yet emerged kind, humorous, and whole , even winning the heart of a Legilimens like Queenie Goldstein, who could see into his mind and find nothing but gentleness.
Now that was true strength.
Tom smiled faintly. "A god among men."
He leaned back, tapping his "WhatsApp" notebook open.
One message blinked unread , from Professor Rouse.
Finally.
Tom grinned. "Now, let's see what had the professors whispering like conspirators…"
And with that, the room filled with the soft glow of runes as the message unfolded before him.
Whatever it said , he knew it would change everything.
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