Under Tom's relentless questioning, Ginny finally confessed the truth.
It wasn't that she had been slacking off or forgotten her master's orders.
The problem was simply that George and Fred were unbelievably difficult to handle.
The occasional bit of leverage she had on them wasn't enough to threaten the twins at all.
Once, when she tried acting deliberately suspicious, the sharp-minded pair immediately noticed. It took a tremendous amount of effort just to divert their attention elsewhere.
After that, Ginny became much more cautious.
But recently, with all the Quidditch training, she hadn't had much chance to interact with them at all.
"You're useless," Tom grumbled, mussing up her hair without mercy. "And here I was putting high hopes on you. Is this really all it takes to defeat you?"
Ginny shook off his "devilish claws" in irritation. "And what are you going to do, huh? You planning to just steal it?"
Tom pinched his chin and looked her up and down.
"Say… if I turned into some dark wizard and kidnapped you, then used you to negotiate with George and Fred for an exchange… do you think they'd agree?"
Ginny stared at him.
What a dog, Tom.
Compared to him, even Voldemort seemed like a pure, harmless schoolboy.
If she were really kidnapped by Tom first, she'd never be able to fool the twins afterward.
"Hey! I'm YOURS, remember? You really have the nerve to trick me like that?"
"If they tell Mum about this, I'll definitely get scolded!"
"Why don't you just kidnap them instead?" Ginny snapped.
"That won't do." Tom shook his head. "Those two are among the very few people at school I can actually call friends. Every other Gryffindor either hates me or fears me, but Fred and George still invite me to sneak into the kitchens with them."
"How could I possibly kidnap my friends?"
Ginny's eyes widened.
"But you're perfectly fine kidnapping me!?"
"You're not my friend," Tom said with an eye-roll. "You're my little maid. Completing your master's task is what you're supposed to do."
Ginny angrily whipped out her wand. "I'll fight you!"
"Relax your strength," Tom murmured, tapping a finger in her direction,
and Ginny collapsed into his arms like softened dough.
"Still think you can take me on? You're getting bold."
He squished her cheeks like kneading bread, then tilted her chin up.
"I'll give you half a month more. If you still can't get the map… I really will kidnap you."
"Uuugh! Bully!"
…
"Professor, only you can help me."
In Professor McGonagall's office, Tom spoke with a bright, polite smile,
the face of a Slytherin student who looked as if he had never caused a single problem in his life.
The British wizarding world's elite all came from a very small circle, but even that circle split into smaller social groups.
Albus Dumbledore's friends were not necessarily Professor McGonagall's friends,
and Tom was certain that McGonagall's popularity far surpassed the Headmaster's.
Dumbledore inspired genuine love from some, but he also invoked fear and dislike from many others.
He was simply too far above ordinary wizards, too unreal, too powerful,
yet always so gentle.
That contradiction gave many people the courage to resent him.
But Professor McGonagall was different.
Her reputation was as solid as Newt Scamander's, though Newt was a hermit with social anxiety, while McGonagall had spent decades teaching generation after generation of students.
The students she taught, the parents she knew…
To Tom, she was far more reliable than Dumbledore.
And after hearing Tom's request, McGonagall not only did not view him as inconsistent,
(considering that last time, she refused to nominate him for the Order of Merlin, and now he had come seeking her help),
she actually felt a kind of relief.
This is what a Slytherin should be, she thought.
The Sorting Hat hadn't been mistaken.
Tom differed from the average Slytherin in that his ambition was enormous, so large that he dismissed second- or third-class Merlin Medals entirely, keeping his eyes only on First Class.
Was that a problem?
Of course not.
Both Slytherin and Gryffindor valued glory, and McGonagall even admired how straightforward Tom was about it.
Far better than the type who desperately want honours yet pretend they don't care at all.
"Mr. Riddle," she said warmly, "rest assured. Without your arrangements, the basilisk would never have been dealt with so smoothly. A First-Class Order of Merlin is entirely deserved."
Tom was moved.
Professor McGonagall was truly an honest, wonderful person,
he hadn't even mentioned any terms yet, and she had already agreed wholeheartedly.