"Hahaha! Oh, Potter, you're a real genius, aren't you?"
Malfoy's laughter rang through the Great Hall, sharp and mocking, waking up several drowsy students who blinked in confusion.
"Potter," Draco sneered, his voice carrying across the tables, "you have absolutely no idea who Tom Riddle really is these days. For Merlin's sake, upgrade your pathetic magical awareness, will you?"
Looking smugly superior, Draco flicked his hair, basked in his own self-importance, and strutted off with Crabbe and Goyle.
Harry was left fuming , the kind of angry that makes you want to punch something but can't find where to land it. He turned to Ron helplessly.
"Why did he laugh like that? And what did he mean about me needing to 'upgrade my magical knowledge'? What's that supposed to mean?"
Ron would've answered , if he hadn't been choking on an oversized sausage at that exact moment.
It was Ginny who came to the rescue, setting down her fork with calm authority.
"Malfoy meant," she said evenly, "that he's not even qualified to be jealous of Riddle."
Harry blinked. "Not qualified?"
"Exactly." Ginny crossed her arms, completely at ease now , no longer blushing or stammering around him like before. "Tom's already beyond the level of a student. The people he interacts with are some of the most powerful figures in the wizarding world , major officials, scholars, even Dumbledore's old friends. In a sense, he's already part of that circle."
Her tone was almost proud , though not without a touch of irritation when she mentioned Dumbledore.
"Anyone who could envy him would have to be someone like Lucius Malfoy," she added coolly. "And we both know what he's worth."
Harry just stared, stunned.
Tom Riddle on the same level as Dumbledore?
That sounded… impossible.
Yet the conviction in Ginny's voice left him no room to doubt.
She didn't look like a girl talking about a schoolmate , she looked like someone talking about a legend.
And beneath that calm surface, Ginny's thoughts were burning.
Because she knew the truth.
It had been Lucius Malfoy who'd slipped the cursed diary into her cauldron. It was Lucius Malfoy who had almost cost her life.
Tom had told her everything.
And one day, she was going to return the favor. With a little charm she'd just learned , "Crucio Pulveris," the Shatter Curse.
When that day came, Lucius Malfoy would regret ever touching her life.
,
"Why are you staring at me like that?"
Tom turned his head sharply as soon as class started, catching Harry's gaze.
Ever since he'd entered the classroom, Harry had been watching him , not the lesson, not Malfoy, but him.
"N-Nothing," Harry stammered quickly. "I just think you're… incredible, that's all. You know so many important people. You've even taken pictures with them , and you're the one sitting in the center."
Tom blinked, slightly taken aback. "Harry," he said after a pause, "you do realize that many of those so-called 'important people' would faint at the sight of you, right?"
"Because of this?" Harry pointed to his lightning scar. "What about besides this?"
Tom froze.
…well, that was awkward.
"Uh," he began, scratching his neck.
Harry sighed. "Never mind," he muttered. "I get it."
Tom exhaled, a bit guilty. "Tell you what," he said finally, "once I finish writing the chapter on the Potter family for The Magical History Chronicle, you'll feel better about yourself."
Harry's eyes went wide. "My family's going to be in The Magical History Chronicle?"
Tom only smiled faintly.
Before he could answer, the classroom door swung open , and in walked Professor McGonagall, pushing a small cart filled with clinking glass bottles.
The entire class straightened in unison.
One could always tell how serious McGonagall was based on how hard her heels clicked. And this morning, they were clicking like gunfire.
"Each of you will come forward and take one vial," she instructed briskly. "Except for you, Mr. Riddle."
Dozens of shimmering golden bottles floated from the cart and arranged themselves neatly across the desk.
Tom smiled knowingly. He didn't need one , the Imaginative Potion was his own creation.
The potion had cost the school a small fortune to produce in bulk. Letting Tom drink it would've been like asking Monet to buy his own paintings.
And, honestly, he didn't even like it much. The effects made him feel… too inspired, bordering on manic.
The other students eagerly lined up to claim their vials. The moment they held the bottles, eyes went wide , the liquid shimmered like molten sunlight.
"It's beautiful," someone whispered.
When McGonagall explained that the potion enhanced magical imagination and improved learning retention, the whispers grew louder , and then one bold voice spoke up from the back:
"Wait , so it's like… cheating for schoolwork?"
The words hung in the air like a curse.
McGonagall's face darkened immediately.
"I must correct that misguided notion," she said, her voice turning to steel. "This is not cheating. Think of it as… a shortcut. But even shortcuts require effort. If you expect to gain without labor…"
Her sharp gaze swept across the room. "Then perhaps you belong outside these walls."
The room fell utterly silent.
She continued coldly, "The school has spent an extraordinary amount of money to provide this potion for your benefit , not to encourage laziness. And since you all have a new 'shortcut,' I have informed the board that the final exam difficulty will be increased accordingly."
"What?!"
A collective wail rose from the students.
"It was already impossible last term!"
"You can't increase it again!"
"Can I choose not to drink it, Professor?"
McGonagall's lips curved in a smile so sharp it could cut glass. "You can certainly choose not to drink it , and in that case, please prepare to enjoy summer remedial classes."
That shut them up.
"Now," she said, arms crossed. "Drink."
Dozens of students lifted their vials hesitantly. Golden liquid rippled down their throats.
The effect was instant.
Their eyes glazed over , then widened as if seeing worlds unfold before them.
Thoughts erupted like fireworks, overwhelming their senses. Reality blurred into imagination until they couldn't tell one from the other.
And within seconds, the classroom descended into pure chaos.
"Wait, what, is this the final exam already?!"
"Mum! You're here?! I swear I didn't steal your Galleons , Dad used them for magazines!"
"Great-grandma?! How are you alive again?!"
Tom buried his face in his hands.
"Every single time," he muttered. "They always forget the side effects."
Across the room, McGonagall pinched the bridge of her nose, silently questioning her life choices.
And somewhere in the chaos, one student sat completely still , eyes gleaming, quill scratching furiously, the golden potion amplifying his thoughts in ways no one could yet understand.
Because when Harry Potter dreamed, his imagination wasn't just strong.
It was dangerous.
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