(1K PS bonus)
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"Ooh? An honor to meet me, you say... But you don't exactly look thrilled about it."
Grindelwald's tone was teasing, and Tom felt his face flush with a hint of awkwardness.
The former Dark Lord, surprisingly perceptive, smiled kindly. "You don't need to worry about me exposing your secrets. Your talent is remarkable, and I have no reason to betray you. Not even Veritaserum, Legilimency, or the Imperius Curse could pull your secrets from me."
"You have my word."
Tom's expression softened, his smile more genuine now. "I know… I was just shocked earlier. I thought my ability could only summon the dead like Andros."
No matter how surprised he'd been, the system had ultimately given him exactly what he needed—a master of the Dark Arts as a teacher.
And the more he thought about it, the more he realized the upside: modern wizards had their advantages. Unlike Andros, who was clearly from a bygone era, Grindelwald was still in tune with modern magic—and could probably teach Andros a thing or two as well.
If the second teacher had been another ancient wizard, Tom might've actually thrown up blood.
Grindelwald himself looked equally pleased. After spending half his life rotting away in a cell, half-dead, it was refreshing and miraculous to find himself part of something so strange and extraordinary.
A space where powerful witches and wizards from across time could be summoned as teachers, their talents and knowledge pooled together into one person...
What kind of monster could such a student become?
Grindelwald was genuinely curious.
"Mr. Grindelwald," Tom began, wasting no time, "you've arrived at the perfect moment. I need to learn Dark Magic strong enough to kill a fire dragon."
Grindelwald raised an eyebrow. "A fire dragon? That's just a beast. No need to make it complicated. I can teach you how to brew a potion—just toss it from a distance with a charm. If it touches the dragon, its scales will rot and the flesh beneath will decay. Not even dragon hide can survive more than an hour with it."
Tom shook his head. "I can't use that. I have to kill it head-on. No external tools—no potions, no magical plants, not even a broomstick. Just me, my wand, and spells."
He added, "Andros said white magic alone isn't enough. I'll need to master a few powerful dark spells if I'm going to stand a chance."
Andros nodded, chiming in, "Only if you can stop it from flying off first."
Grindelwald frowned. So many conditions?
Wait—something didn't add up.
When he'd accepted the summon into the space, he'd received a brief overview of Tom's background…
"Hold on. First year at Hogwarts?" Grindelwald blinked in disbelief. "A first-year student wants to kill a fire dragon using Dark Magic?"
He turned to Andros, utterly confused.
Andros just laughed. "You clearly don't know Tom yet, Mr. Grindelwald. How about this—you two have a quick duel. That should clear things up."
Tom nodded in agreement.
"Good point," Grindelwald chuckled. "Can't be a proper teacher without knowing what level my student's at."
A wand materialized in his hand—not the Elder Wand, but his original wand. At the same time, his appearance began to shift.
The old, withered face grew younger by the second. The ragged white hair shortened into a messy but sharp cut. The only thing that remained unchanged was the piercing mismatched eyes—still glowing with dangerous energy.
This—this was the real Gellert Grindelwald, the one who once terrified the entire wizarding world.
Gone was the exhausted prisoner; in his place stood the original Dark Lord.
He twirled his wand with practiced ease. "Come, Tom Riddle. Show me what you've got."
Tom didn't waste time. As soon as Andros stepped back to give them space, he launched into the duel, no holding back.
Grindelwald deflected the opening spells with ease, his brow lifting in surprise. "Not bad."
For most of the fight, he remained on the defensive, calmly measuring Tom's spellwork. Every now and then, he'd launch a sudden counterattack to test the boy's reflexes.
Three minutes later, Grindelwald called it off.
"That's enough. You're already at the level I was when I graduated. No wonder Andros thinks you've got a shot at taking down a dragon."
He smiled, approving. "I've got a few spells that'll be perfect for you—especially against large magical beasts."
Tom could barely contain his excitement. He wanted to start learning immediately.
But it was Christmas Eve, and Grindelwald had just arrived. It didn't feel right to push too hard on day one—especially since he needed to build up that favorability rating.
So instead, Tom exited the study space and gave both teachers access to observe the outside world through his senses.
Even with two instructors now, the system graciously kept the cost steady: six credits per hour.
...
Time had flown inside the space, and when Tom returned to his body, the dinner he'd worked so hard on was already cold. With a resigned sigh, he reheated everything while chatting with Grindelwald.
"It's Christmas Eve today," Tom said, stirring a pot. "Do they give you anything special in Nurmengard?"
Grindelwald snorted. "Not even close. There's just a Squib who drops off my food. Same bland meals for decades. I've long stopped tasting them."
"Brutal. I heard Azkaban at least gives out holiday meals."
Tom clicked his tongue. Grindelwald really had been living miserably.
At least in Azkaban, you could argue with your cellmates, drop soap, maybe even send a letter or get a visitor. Nurmengard was just… solitary confinement.
Don't ask how Tom knew so much about Azkaban. Slytherin students came from very colorful families. He was convinced half the house had relatives serving time there. It might as well have been the Slytherin alumni club.
A few minutes later, the food was finally warm. As Tom ate, he casually changed the subject.
"Mr. Grindelwald, the books barely say anything about your duel with the Headmaster. Just that it was 'legendary.' Could you tell me more about it?"
He expected Grindelwald to oblige. It was such a small ask.
But to his surprise, Grindelwald refused.
"Tom… knowing too much too soon won't help you."
Andros agreed. "He's right. Every great wizard has their own unique style and path. You're not ready to process it. If you learn too much now, you'll start imitating us without understanding why—and that's dangerous."
With both teachers united on the matter, Tom wisely let it go.
He turned on the television, watching the Christmas programming while eating his meal. The two teachers bickered in his mind, even offering running commentary on the shows. For once, the silence of Christmas Eve didn't feel lonely.
After dinner, Tom checked his system and saw that Grindelwald's favorability had increased by ten points. Just ten more, and he'd unlock another talent.
The more talents he had, the stronger he'd become—and the sooner he could take down that dragon.
So, Tom decided to make a little effort.
He plopped down on the sofa and sighed dramatically. "If I'd known ahead of time that my second teacher would be you, Mr. Grindelwald, I wouldn't have gone home this holiday. I would've stayed at school—then maybe you could've run into Professor Dumbledore. Your old rival."
Grindelwald blinked in surprise… then gave Tom a look of genuine warmth.
Tom didn't know the full story between him and Dumbledore, but the fact that the boy had even considered letting them meet again? That earned serious points in Grindelwald's book.
A chime rang in Tom's head.
[Grindelwald's Favorability has reached 20%. Talent Gacha Unlocked.]
[Pulling talent... Congratulations! You've acquired: Speech Charisma!]
[Speech Charisma: Enhances your ability to inspire through speeches. Your words carry charm.]
"WTF..." Tom blinked in disbelief. "System, what the hell is this useless talent?!"
[The host has one unclaimed Super Gacha Talent. You may use it to swap for a high‑tier talent from Grindelwald.]
Tom paused, then sighed.
Well, even if it's called Super Gacha, it only spits out garbage—probably 60% chance for trash, 39% for average, and barely 1% for anything great. But this time... a guaranteed high‑grade talent?
[… Congratulations! You've acquired: Heart of Dark Magic.]
[Heart of Dark Magic: Greatly improves your efficiency when learning Dark Arts. Increases spell power and lowers the difficulty of creating original dark spells.]
Tom lit up, grinning from ear to ear.
Perfect. This was exactly what he needed. With Grindelwald's teaching and this new talent, he'd be dragon-slaying ready in no time.
Now he just needed to find a dragon flying solo. But there was no rush—he still had a whole year left.
He stayed downstairs until midnight, then wished both of his teachers a warm Merry Christmas before heading upstairs to bed.
The next morning, he woke to find the floor piled high with gifts—his Christmas haul.
There had to be nearly a hundred packages of all shapes and sizes.
But Tom didn't dive in right away. First, he carefully sorted the packages and pulled out a small notebook. Inside were the names of every student in Slytherin.
One by one, he checked off names based on the postcards and gift tags.
'Sending a gift doesn't mean someone's your friend… but if they don't even bother with a present? That says they don't even want to pretend to care.' And that was worth keeping an eye on.
Once he finished logging everything, Tom began opening gifts.
Most of them were pretty standard—candy, magazines, cheap little toys or models. Symbolic more than valuable. But that didn't matter. He didn't care what people gave him. As long as they gave something, they were officially 'good kids' in his book.
His own gifts were about the same—low-cost, widely distributable.
Still, a few people went above and beyond.
Zabini sent a gem-studded brooch that had a warming charm on it. Tom estimated it would last a few months before the enchantment faded, it probably cost several dozen Galleons. The gem was set in a sturdy, expensive bone-like material—definitely not cheap.
Nott's gift was a wand cleaning kit, the kind Tom had seen in Ollivander's shop—priced even higher than most wands. Honestly, Tom suspected old Ollivander made more money off accessories than actual wands.
Then there was Rosier—probably the biggest airhead in their dorm, but his gift was the most straightforward and most appreciated: 50 Galleons in cash.
Outside of Slytherin, other houses had sent him gifts as well.
Susan Bones sent a book on wizarding law. Hannah gave him a bag of beef jerky—tasty, though Tom found it a bit under-salted for his taste.
Even Harry sent a present: a golden scarf embroidered with the Gryffindor lion.
"Really, Potter? Giving a Gryffindor scarf to a Slytherin?"
Tom sighed. From anyone else, he'd take that as a clear provocation. But Harry… the boy didn't have the brain for scheming. If he disliked someone, he simply wouldn't send a gift.
The twins sent him ten Dungbombs. Classic.
Neville gifted him a Remembrall along with a thank-you note.
Apparently, his grandmother had finally agreed to let him get a new wand, and the improvement was noticeable—even if he still had a long way to go to meet her standards.
That was about as far as Tom planned to help him. He sympathized with Neville's situation.
The gifts kept coming.
Snape had sent a letter.
It contained a single sentence: Another duel. After term starts.
"...Seriously?"
"That had to be a threat. Right? It sounded like a threat."
Tom was a little hurt. He'd given Snape a gift out of genuine goodwill, and this was the thanks he got?
What did he send, you ask?
A book—How to Win the Heart of the Girl You Love. The man was in his thirties, no wife, no kids, and definitely no game. Someone had to step in.
Apparently, that someone was Tom.
And the man didn't even appreciate it.
"Sigh... that's what happens when I try helping others."
With a dramatic pout, Tom tossed the letter aside and turned his attention to the last two gifts—one from Hermione, one from Daphne.
Hermione's was a magical lamp that glowed with a soft, warm light. In her note, she'd reminded him to protect his eyesight—she didn't want him ending up nearsighted like Harry.
It wasn't expensive, but it was thoughtful—pure Hermione.
Daphne's gift was… a mirror.
On the attached note were simple instructions: Say my name to the mirror.
Tom blinked. Then, amused, did as instructed.
"Daphne Greengrass."
A second later, the mirror shimmered—and then lit up. Inside, Daphne's face appeared, smiling warmly.
"Finally awake, Tom? It's almost ten!"
"I was opening presents," Tom said with a laugh. "I saved yours and Hermione's for last. This mirror—is it a two-way one?"
He was right. It worked like a magical version of a Muggle video call. But unlike normal mirrors, this came as a matched set—only someone holding the second mirror could connect with it.
From what Tom could see behind Daphne, she was in her bedroom. A very large bedroom—more like a royal suite, easily over a hundred square meters. Decorated in a soft, princess-like style.
The girl herself was wearing a cute sleep shirt, sitting cross-legged on a fluffy unicorn-shaped rug.
Tom silently updated his mental notes: "Yep. The Greengrasses are loaded."
"Now that we've got these, we can chat anytime we want," Daphne said happily—then narrowed her eyes. "So? What did Hermione get you?"
"A reading lamp. Said I should protect my eyesight so I don't end up like Harry."
Tom held up the lamp for her to see. "Did you get what I sent you?"
"Yup. Right here."
Daphne lifted a slightly awkward-looking sweater and a glass bottle filled with a red liquid. She eyed it nervously.
"This stuff's drinkable, right? It's not gonna turn me into a vampire, is it?"
.
.
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A/N: This Gacha feature has been disabled from now on and will return in a revamped form later.