Only in the wizarding world, Tom mused, could thought itself become a weapon.
The mind ruled here , not logic, not reason, but sheer, unfiltered imagination.
And after drinking the Imaginative Potion, the minds of young wizards and witches had become a chaotic, glorious mess.
Tom leaned lazily against the wall, half-listening, half-amused, as the classroom descended into a carnival of madness. He'd overheard all kinds of gossip , crushes, secret rivalries, embarrassing dreams. The Great Hall had never given him this much entertainment.
Hermione and Daphne, who were both quite experienced with the potion, showed no signs of delirium. Instead, they stood beside him, equally entertained, whispering commentary like two judges at a particularly scandalous performance.
Professor McGonagall, however, looked as though she were seconds away from resignation.
She'd tested the potion on a few students before, but this was the first time she'd unleashed it on an entire classroom. The results were… educational, to say the least.
She was forced to move from student to student, guiding their focus, snapping them out of absurd fantasies, and occasionally smacking one on the head with her wand when words failed.
At one point, she even enlisted Tom, Hermione, and Daphne to help her stabilize the situation.
Finally, after what felt like a small-scale war, the chaos subsided.
The students, glassy-eyed but conscious, began their assignments , performing transfigurations under McGonagall's supervision.
And then the miracle happened.
A chubby boy's mouse turned perfectly into a goblet. Another's teapot sprouted wings and danced. Even Neville Longbottom, of all people, managed to transfigure a teapot into something with the head and tail of a rat.
McGonagall almost cried.
It wasn't perfect, but for once, it wasn't a disaster.
"Not the best class Hogwarts has ever seen," she muttered, voice trembling with a mix of pride and exhaustion, "but certainly not the worst."
For Neville, that alone was a triumph.
"The inventor of the Imaginative Potion," she said softly, glancing at Tom, "truly deserves a Merlin Medal. If only…"
Her eyes lingered on the boy , asleep at his desk, head resting on his arm.
"…if only he cared enough to accept it."
"Riddle," she sighed, "sleeping in my class. Slytherin loses five points."
,
By the time Tom left Transfiguration class, he wore that five-point deduction like a medal of honor.
McGonagall rushed past him, muttering to herself about budgets, expansion, and the "urgent necessity" of mass-producing the potion. She was clearly heading to find Professor Sprout and Snape , and likely corner Dumbledore for more funding.
As the afternoon sun dipped lower, Tom wandered out toward the grounds.
That was when he saw Hagrid , sleeves rolled up, swinging a massive hoe at the edge of the Forbidden Forest.
The half-giant was humming a tune, his beard dusted with soil.
A few minutes later, Harry and Ron appeared, curiosity etched across their faces.
"Hey, Hagrid," Harry called. "Is the school… expanding the lawns or something?"
Hagrid paused mid-swing, wiped his brow, and shrugged.
"Dunno, Harry. Professor Dumbledore just told me this morning. I've been workin' all day, clearin' the edge o' the Forest. Took me ages to convince the creatures in there we're only cuttin' fifty meters deep. They get real antsy if ye move their borders."
"So… what's it for?" Ron asked, squinting at the freshly turned earth.
Hagrid's shovel hit the ground with a thud. "No idea."
The boys exchanged a look. It didn't feel like ordinary landscaping.
But that wasn't why they'd come.
Harry cleared his throat. "Actually, Hagrid, I wanted to ask you something. Over Christmas… I found something odd."
Hagrid grunted, still digging. "What sort o' something?"
"A name," Harry said. "Fifty years ago, there was another student named Tom Riddle. His name's on one of the trophies , for 'Special Services to the School.'"
The hoe slipped from Hagrid's hands. It flew several feet before disappearing into the forest with a whoosh.
But Hagrid didn't even glance at it. He turned, face pale.
"Where'd ye hear that name?"
The question came out half-growl, half-whisper.
"Snape caught me running in the corridor," Harry said quickly, startled by the reaction. "He made me and Ron polish the trophy room. We saw Riddle's name on one of the plaques."
Harry hesitated, studying the giant man's uneasy face.
"Hagrid… you knew him, didn't you?"
The reaction was immediate. Hagrid froze like a statue. For a long moment, he didn't speak at all.
Harry's heart sank , because now he realized something he hadn't before.
Every single time he'd mentioned Tom's name, Hagrid's expression had changed.
It wasn't just discomfort. It was fear.
"I… I didn't know 'im," Hagrid stammered, his voice cracking. "I-I mean, I knew of him, sure, but, "
"Come on, Hagrid," Ron interrupted bluntly. "Even I can tell when you're lying. You stutter every time, and even Fang rolls his eyes when you do."
"Yeah," Harry pressed. "You knew him, didn't you? The trophy said he got the award around the same time the Chamber of Secrets was opened. Was it him? Did he catch the person who opened it?"
It was like someone had reached into Hagrid's chest and squeezed his heart. His eyes went wide, his massive frame trembling.
Then, in a voice so small it barely fit him, he muttered ,
"It wasn't me… I was framed."
Even whispered, the words came out like thunder.
Harry and Ron gaped at him, speechless.
"What, what do you mean, framed?" Harry stammered.
"I didn't open the Chamber! It wasn't me!" Hagrid's voice rose in panic. "It was Aragog! I swear, Aragog was innocent!"
"Aragog?" Ron echoed blankly. "Who in Merlin's name is Aragog?"
A new mystery , another name, another shadow.
Harry's curiosity flared even brighter.
Hagrid groaned and dragged a hand down his face. "Alright. Alright, I'll tell ye. But you keep this between us, you hear? Not a word to anyone."
The boys nodded in unison.
Hagrid lowered his voice, the tremor in it betraying how much this memory hurt.
"I did know Tom Riddle," he admitted at last. "Fifty years ago, he and I were students here together. He was the perfect one , Prefect, Head Boy, every professor's favorite. A real golden boy. Like Cedric Diggory, only smarter. Sharper. Colder."
Ron blinked. "What, does every genius at Hogwarts have to be named Tom Riddle?"
But Harry wasn't laughing.
Because the unease in Hagrid's eyes told him this story wasn't heading somewhere good.
"What happened next?" Harry asked quietly.
Hagrid swallowed hard. "He graduated."
"And then…" , his voice broke, the words barely a whisper , "he became the one you can't name."
For a moment, no one moved. The wind through the Forbidden Forest fell silent, as if the trees themselves held their breath.
Harry's stomach dropped.
The pieces clicked together.
Tom Riddle.
The boy who'd won awards for heroism.
The one who'd been everyone's favorite.
The same name.
The same person.
And for the first time, Harry understood what shadow truly haunted Hogwarts.