— — — — — —
After months of trial and error, Tom had finally pieced together the pattern behind the system's rewards.
When his academic work made an impact on the wider world—or when he managed to improve his own learning environment—rewards followed.
On his own, stirring things up could be a hassle. But through Laos, things became much simpler. Tom didn't particularly care how Laos went about it. As long as the result caused the desired ripple effect, it was good enough.
Of course he hadn't forgotten the big names— the Dumbledores, Grindelwald, the Gaunts—plus plenty of other names just waiting for him to mess with.
Closing his magical notebook, Tom slipped into his "private world" to check on the Runespoors.
Their place had changed a lot. The giant boulders he'd set down were now riddled with burrows, and the air here was noticeably warmer than in the rest of the case world.
One of the Runespoors had already molted, leaving behind a surprisingly high-quality skin. Tom had carefully collected every piece; once he finished upgrading his notebook system, those would come in handy.
Still, one problem nagged at him.
The snakes had food, warmth, sunlight—an ideal environment. Yet none of them seemed remotely inclined to breed.
Only two females were pregnant. The rest? Nothing.
Tom scowled. "Of all failings, failing to reproduce is the worst."
He'd asked old Newt Scamander for advice. Newt's answer was typically blunt:
"Runespoors are lazy by nature. For them to feel the… drive, all three heads must be in agreement. If even one head's in the mood for philosophy while the others want romance, nothing happens."
"At that point, you usually need… outside help to encourage them."
Newt hadn't elaborated, but Tom caught the implication.
Unfortunately, Newt hadn't studied the subject much further—Runespoors weren't endangered enough to justify… intervention.
So Tom decided it was time to consult a true potion master.
"Riddle. Would you care to repeat that?"
Snape fixed him with a look that could strip paint. He was convinced the boy had finally gone mad.
He wanted him—Severus Snape—to brew… that kind of potion?
"Professor, don't be so dirty-minded. It's just a lovely potion." Tom put on his most earnest expression. "This is for a greater purpose. My own knowledge base isn't enough for this sort of work. But you, a master of potions… well, isn't it natural for a student to ask a teacher for help?"
"It's natural to help you?" Snape actually laughed, sharp and cold. "Natural, my ass!"
"Don't waste my time with this nonsense. Out."
He was a potion master, not some Apothecary's Snake Viagra.
He didn't even use his Potion No. 69.
"Damn Riddle."
Any other student would already be writhing under a dozen different hexes for daring to make such a request.
But this was Tom Riddle. And so Snape, jaw tight, forced himself to keep his temper.
"Professor, don't be so hasty." Tom produced his bargaining chip.
A vial of Strengthening Potion.
Thanks to Lady Greengrass's tireless efforts, Tom had no shortage of rare ingredients these days. He'd been brewing plenty of this potion in his spare time.
"What's this?" Snape frowned at the crimson liquid in the glass vial.
Tom leaned back, casual. "This potion is one of the reasons I've gotten this far."
"Talent and effort, yes—but this brew has been a major help."
Snape's mouth twitched, but he stayed silent, waiting.
When he heard the potion's full effects explained, though, his expression shifted.
"Riddle… you're claiming this potion can enhance the very essence of life itself? That it can strengthen magic?"
Snape knew of several formulas that could boost magic, but all of them came at a price: draining the future to fuel the present. There were always side effects.
That was why he never touched such concoctions himself. A little more or less magical power rarely mattered in battle. Wizards lost because of poor spellwork, not because they ran out of fuel.
But Tom's potion… no side effects, only benefits. Snape knew exactly how monumental that was.
"No tricks here," Tom said breezily. "If I'm lying, may I drop dead on the spot. I promise it works like a charm. Daphne, Hermione, even Astoria have taken it—no problems at all."
He leaned in. "Professor, I know you'd like to push yourself further. You'll never beat me, of course. But as head of my House, shouldn't you at least be stronger than the other Heads?"
Snape stared. "Riddle, I admire your ability to say things no sane human would dare, and to do it with a straight face."
"I just acknowledge my strengths and weaknesses honestly. That's something you struggle with, Professor. Aside from potions, you don't have much else to brag about."
Snape inhaled sharply. Even the Dark Lord himself hadn't been this infuriating.
"Fine. You want an Arousal Draught for your Runespoors, don't you?"
"Exactly."
"Three bottles of Strengthening Potion, and five sheets of Runespoors skin. I'll do it."
"Professor, you've been drinking too much Fantasy Draught." Tom shot him a flat look. "One vial, three skins. That's my final offer. This potion comes from an ancient ruin. If you're not interested, plenty of others would be. I hear one of your predecessors—Slughorn—was also quite the potion master."
Tom smiled innocently. "And rumor has it he loves to collect promising, well-connected students."
"And potential? I've never been short of that. Influence? I can play the game. I'm sure he'd love to help me out."
Snape's face darkened.
He had assumed Tom had no one else to turn to, which was why he'd set the price so high. But the boy knew about Slughorn—and worse, he was right.
Grinding his teeth, Snape finally accepted Tom's terms. He took the potion, along with Tom's written notes, and stalked off looking thoroughly put-upon.
---
As the holidays drew near, Hogwarts slipped into a rare stretch of calm.
Dumbledore was busy reminiscing with a former student and hardly showed his face in public.
Snape buried himself in researching Tom's custom potion, to the point he couldn't even be bothered to harass Harry.
Laos, meanwhile, was busy drafting letter after letter to America, clearly plotting something big after Tom's earlier "inspiration."
Out of all of them, only Tom kept stirring the pot.
First came the third article of "The Records of Wizarding History."
This time, he introduced the Santos family—
{The Santos, a wizarding family that had risen in Spain before rooting itself across South America. Hidden deep within the Amazon rainforest in northern Brazil, the family had built the wizarding school Castelobruxo.}
{During Grindelwald's time, Vicência Santos had even served as the Minister for Magic of the Brazilian Ministry of Magic and then became the Supreme Mugwump of the International Confederation of Wizards, making her the most prominent member of the family in recent decades.}
Tom categorized the Santos line as a "great house," and nobody found reason to argue. Some of his avid readers even wrote him letters saying he'd ranked them too low.
But facts were facts: the Santos had produced no truly top-tier wizards. Their strength lay in sheer numbers, not in any single figure of overwhelming influence.
...
On the last day before the holidays, students were already restless. Snow was falling outside, and soon the castle grounds turned into a giant battlefield of snowball fights.
Tom released Megatron—after a few "minor modifications." Ten snowball cannons now protruded from its back.
Within minutes, it had turned into a full-on Transformers vs. Wizards scene.
"Here." Hermione ran up to him, cheeks flushed, holding out a pair of white wool gloves.
Tom took them, putting them on. "Perfect fit. You knit them yourself?"
Hermione turned her head shyly. "I… used magic. If I tried by hand, the result would've been a disaster."
"Magic counts as handwork too. These are great." Tom smiled encouragingly.
"Tom, for you." Daphne wasn't about to lose out. She stood on tiptoe and looped a pink scarf around his neck.
The thing was dripping with girlish allure. Tom felt half-defeated already—but seeing the hopeful look on her face, he bent down and let her wrap it properly.
Astoria quietly stepped forward and draped a black snow-cloak across his shoulders.
The overall look was… questionable. But these were heartfelt gifts from three young witches. What was Tom supposed to do?
Refuse? Haha—anyone who'd even think of that is doomed to be a pathetic lonely single old man forever.
Next, Tom casually flicked his wand. Megatron's cannons doubled their firing speed, pelting snowballs directly into the faces and collars of the nearest students. Shrieks rose as snow slipped down necklines.
"Hmph. What a bully."
Ginny wrinkled her nose at him, muttering, "He can't even play in the snow without being spoiled."
"Ginny, shh," Luna whispered.
"Why should I?" Ginny put her hands on her hips. Ever since Tom had assured her Dumbledore would keep all his secrets under wraps, her confidence had shot up.
"What's there to be afraid of? If people gossip, he doesn't care—so why should I?"
"I care," Luna sighed softly.
"Care about what?" Ginny frowned.
"I care that you'll end up crying." Luna tilted her head toward Tom. "Didn't I tell you? He's got excellent hearing."
Ginny instinctively glanced over. Sure enough, Tom was watching her with that faint, mocking smile. Then he drew a finger across his throat.
"Merlin's beard, Luna! Why didn't you tell me sooner?!"
Ginny looked ready to cry.
...
That night, long after her roommates were asleep, she crept out of the dorm with a miserable face, heading for the Room of Requirement to face her punishment.
"Ow!"
Halfway through the common room, she collided with something invisible and landed hard on a chair.
"Ginny?" An invisibility cloak slipped back, revealing Ron and Harry crammed together beneath it. Ron gaped at her. "What are you doing out so late?"
"Ron, you don't watch where you're going, do you?" Ginny snapped, brushing herself off. She wasn't even surprised—they'd bragged before about Harry's cloak.
"We've got important business," Ron said, puffing his chest. "You go straight back to bed. The castle's dangerous right now—what if you ran into an attack?"
Ginny rolled her eyes so hard she nearly saw the ceiling.
Harry added gently, "Ron's right, Ginny. Once we find out who the Heir really is, everything will be safe again. He's only looking out for you."
"T-Thanks, Harry," Ginny said with a shy smile at Harry. "But I'm just sneaking to the kitchens for a midnight snack. Nothing dangerous about that. Take care, both of you."
Before they could argue, she slipped out of the portrait hole with practiced ease.
Once, she'd go stiff and tongue-tied around Harry. Now? Please. That had just been a schoolgirl's silly admiration for the Boy Who Lived. Sure, she still felt a little shy around him, but the crush was long gone.
As for Tom—what she felt wasn't a crush either. There was respect, yes, but mostly fear.
Shaking her head, Ginny shoved the thought aside and made her way to the Room of Requirement. The moment she entered, a pair of strong hands grabbed her head.
"Well, well. Bold enough to talk about me behind my back, are you?"
Ginny immediately crumpled into submission. "I was wrong! Just… don't string me up. I'll do whatever you say…"
.
.
.