Harry wasn't the only one who'd already written the winner's name in his head. Most of the school had reached the same conclusion. Nobody thought of Tom as a student anymore, not the professors and not the other students, and the tournament rules contained nothing that would keep him out of the bracket.
Unless the Greengrasses or Granger resorted to some kind of honeytrap, Harry genuinely could not construct a scenario in which Tom lost.
If students could see this clearly, the headmasters and professors of the other schools certainly could too. And if they saw it, they would have planned around it. Coming to Hogwarts just to compete for second place wasn't exactly an inspiring premise.
So they hadn't tried to work around Tom within the rules.
They'd simply banned him.
"Is there no justice left in this world?!"
Snape's desk took the full force of a pair of palms slamming down onto it. Anyone else, any other head of house, and Snape would have already said something cutting enough to end the conversation. But this was Tom in a genuine temper, so he sat very still and absorbed it, directing the full force of his internal monologue at Dumbledore.
You absolute coward. You knew exactly how he'd react, and you handed this to me anyway. You're his headmaster. You could have come yourself.
"Riddle." Snape waited until Tom had finished with the desk and the office had settled back into quiet. "What does a competition like this actually mean to you? Winning against people who aren't in your league, what do you gain from it?"
"Professor," Tom said, entirely without shame, "it's called honor. I am a Slytherin. Ambition and honor, those are foundational."
The vein at Snape's temple made itself visible. "Even Slytherins don't chase every scrap of honor available."
Tom leaned forward slightly. "Professor, you're missing the point. If I don't want to participate, that's my choice. But they don't want to give me the chance. That requires an explanation."
Snape exhaled. "The other schools have made their position clear. You are not operating on the same level as the other competitors. Your presence would make the entire event meaningless and drain the other students of any motivation to participate."
He paused, then continued. "Riddle, this isn't anyone forcing you out. The situation is that if you enter, the tournament doesn't happen. One or the other. And for what it's worth, those headmasters have been effusive about your ability to an almost embarrassing degree. They've said you'll surpass Dumbledore, that choosing not to compete is purely a personal decision, that their hands are tied. What exactly do you want to hold against them?"
Tom went quiet. He was not, by nature, someone who responded well to force, but soft handling was harder to push back against. He couldn't very well grab someone by the collar and demand they let him into a tournament that would simply cease to exist the moment he showed up. That would just make him look petty.
He turned it over for a while, and eventually arrived at a solution that recovered some of the loss.
"One hundred books each from the restricted sections of their school libraries. No duplicates. I'll agree to withdraw."
Seven wizarding schools all had centuries of accumulated material. Ilvermorny was perhaps the weakest of the lot, but even they would have things worth reading. Nobody's best-kept secrets would make the cut, but that wasn't really the point. Different traditions had different foundations, and there was always something to be learned from a different angle.
Snape's shoulders dropped about two inches when Tom said it. He had spent the entire conversation quietly terrified that Tom would dig in, blow up the tournament entirely, and that Dumbledore would find a way to make it Snape's fault.
He understood why Dumbledore had sent him instead of coming himself. The old man had no desire to antagonize Tom, even less desire to push him far enough to create another Voldemort. On matters that weren't fundamental, the school would bend to accommodate him.
Tom's condition wasn't unreasonable. Snape agreed without consulting Dumbledore or informing the other schools. He'd deal with the logistics later.
Tom's expression eased slightly. He said his goodbye and walked out, running a quiet internal monologue that was mostly reassurance directed at himself.
Fine. It was one intermediate draw ticket, nothing more. This was actually useful, a reminder that the world did not in fact reorganize itself around his preferences at all times. He'd underestimated the situation. He needed to remember not to get careless.
He still felt bad about it, though. This was his first failed mission.
Then the system intervened.
[Host has experienced their first mission failure. Achievement unlocked: "Failure Is the Mother of Success." Rewards: 100 Achievement Points, 500 Academic Credits, one Intermediate Draw. May the host grow from this and proceed to academic greatness without further stumbling.]
[New Mission Issued: Get Back Up Where You Fell. Host is required to enter a major competitive event. Final reward will be determined based on the scale and reach of the competition.]
???
Tom stopped dead on the staircase, one foot on the first step, and the expression on his face was the warmest it had been all day.