Hogwarts: Chill, I’m Not That Tom Riddle

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Professor McGonagall had no idea that Tom was already scheming to steal the House Cup right out from under her nose.

She only praised him, reminded him not to slack off, then went on to check on the rest of the students.

Still, something about the situation was bothering her.

Logically, she knew this Tom Riddle was just a kid who happened to share a name with that Tom. But the better he did, the harder it was for her to ignore the memories.

It was almost… uncanny. Was the name "Tom Riddle" secretly blessed by Merlin himself or something?

"How did you do it?" Hermione leaned in the moment McGonagall was far enough away, a hint of jealousy in her voice.

Back in the Muggle world, she and Tom had always been neck and neck, even if she did tend to come in second. The difference was small back then.

But now? It felt like he'd taken off at lightning speed while she hadn't even crossed the starting line.

Tom gave her a calm look. "The more pressure you put on yourself, the less likely you are to succeed."

He didn't mind giving her a few pointers. "Don't think of casting spells like assembling a machine. Every spell you cast is a reflection of your talent. Keep your mind calm."

"Think of it like this: that toothpick belongs to you. You tell it what to become, and it obeys. That's what it means to be its master."

Daphne, who'd been listening nearby, took a deep breath, flicked her wand with more ease than before—still following McGonagall's instructions, but less stiffly.

A flash of silver shimmered across her toothpick, and… voila! It turned into a silver toothpick. Not quite a needle, technically, but close enough. It even looked sharp.

She lit up with excitement. "I did it, Tom! You're amazing!"

Slytherin earned another point thanks to her.

Unfortunately, since Tom hadn't been the one to get it, his system didn't reward him with any credits.

But it still annoyed Hermione to no end. Competitive as ever, she stopped talking to him and dove back into practice with a determined scowl.

Right before the end of class, she finally managed to change her toothpick too. It turned into a shiny silver needle—but it was still made of wood.

Still, that was impressive enough to make Professor McGonagall smile and award a point to Gryffindor.

BOOM!

A sudden explosion startled everyone—and made McGonagall jump.

This was Transfiguration class, not Defense Against the Dark Arts! Why was something exploding?

She quickly found the culprits.

Seamus Finnigan and Neville Longbottom sat at their desk, both of them with wild, frizzy hair like they'd stuck their fingers in a socket. Their toothpicks? Now just blackened charcoal.

McGonagall's face darkened like thunderclouds. She docked a point from Gryffindor and announced the end of class.

Hogwarts really did have all kinds. Not only had it produced a powerhouse like Tom—now they had explosion jutsu users too. Absolutely terrifying.

After class, Daphne wanted to walk with Tom, but Millicent Bulstrode and Pansy Parkinson called her over. All she could do was watch helplessly as Hermione dragged Tom off to the library.

"Why are you hanging around with a Muggle-born like that?" Pansy said with a sour face.

"Yeah," Millicent chimed in. "Sure, he looks alright, but you can't hide his dirty blood. Just wait—Nott and the others will teach him his place soon enough."

Daphne rolled her eyes. "What's it got to do with either of you who I'm friends with? Mind your own business."

Then she gave Pansy a cold look of disgust. "Parkinson, you've got spinach stuck in your teeth. It's gross. Don't talk to me until you fix it."

"And you, Bulstrode—your toothpick didn't do anything the whole class. You've got no right to criticize Tom's bloodline. You're an embarrassment to pure-bloods."

With that, she turned and walked off, completely ignoring their furious, red-faced expressions.

Daphne came from the Greengrass family—one of the Sacred Twenty-Eight. That gave her the right to completely disregard the likes of Parkinson and Bulstrode. Even if they were technically equals on paper... she simply didn't care.

She wanted to go after Tom, but the idea of sitting next to Hermione annoyed her. So she just went back to her dorm to write a letter home instead.

Meanwhile, Tom had arrived at one of Hogwarts' real battlegrounds—the library.

Back in the day, the other Tom had mined this place for knowledge, learning key spells and building the foundation that let him become a force to be reckoned with after graduation.

And it wasn't just him. Plenty of students had benefited from the library's vast collection.

Classroom lessons were good enough to get you a diploma. But if you wanted powerful or rare magic, you had to dig it up yourself. That's how students with equal talent ended up with vastly different results.

Some people unlocked their full potential. Others wasted it. That's just how it was.

Madam Pince, the librarian, had eyes like a hawk. Anyone who made noise or treated books carelessly would immediately earn her death glare.

Hermione sat down and started reading a book called An Introduction to Advanced Transfiguration Breakdown. Tom sat across from her and grabbed three books at once—earning a suspicious glance from Madam Pince.

But Tom was more focused on filling his Study Space system's virtual library than on avoiding trouble. He flipped through a few pages in each book. Once the system logged it, he put the book back and picked up another.

When he reached the thirteenth book, Madam Pince finally snapped.

She walked over, feather duster in hand, and leaned in. "Child, what exactly are you looking for?"

Tom blinked innocently. "That's just it. I don't know. That's why I need to check every book. Is there a problem?"

Madam Pince took a deep, sharp breath.

"…No. Just don't disturb the other students."

"Got it. Thanks." Tom nodded politely… then immediately went back to flipping through books like he owned the place.

He wasn't being loud. He wasn't damaging anything. If that bothered the other students, maybe they'd be better off studying in a broom cupboard.

As for Madam Pince's disapproval? Tom didn't care.

From what he could tell, she was probably a Squib—just like Filch. There was no record of her ever using magic in all seven years of the original books. And when he glanced at her earlier, she didn't seem to have a wand on her either.

Leaving a Squib in charge of a magical library this important… Dumbledore really was something else.

At exactly noon, Tom and Hermione left the library.

"So, seriously," Hermione asked, still curious about his bizarre flipping spree, "what were you actually looking for?"

"Nothing in particular," Tom replied with a shrug. "Just wanted to get a feel for what kinds of books are here. It'll make things easier next time."

Hermione's eyes lit up. That actually sounded pretty smart. She made a mental note to try it herself later that afternoon.

In the Great Hall, she headed for the Gryffindor table. Tom had just sat down at the Slytherin table when a tall older student approached him.

He recognized him—Slytherin's sixth-year prefect.

"Riddle. Professor Snape wants to see you after classes. His office is in the dungeons, next to the Potions classroom."

"Got it."

Tom nodded, but his eyes drifted past the prefect to lock onto the three troublemakers: Zabini, Rosier, and Nott.

Rosier met his gaze and grinned wickedly, drawing a finger across his throat in a not-so-subtle threat.

Tom just smiled.

Perfect. Looked like he'd get some exercise tonight.

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