— — — — — —
The students obediently pulled out their homework—yes, even Longbottom, whose luggage had been packed by his grandmother, eliminating any chance of forgetting things.
Only Tom...
He froze like he'd been struck by lightning, completely motionless. Professor McGonagall had made her way around the classroom collecting homework and eventually stopped at his desk, puzzled at the sight of its utter emptiness.
"Mr. Riddle, where is your homework?"
"Professor McGonagall," Tom managed a strained smile. "I... haven't quite snapped out of vacation mode yet. How about giving me a couple more days? I'll hand it in once I'm fully back in the swing of things."
Yeah... he'd totally forgotten.
He'd offered to handle the homework himself so Hermione wouldn't have to stress over it during the vacation.
But once he got to France, it was nothing but beautiful Veela girls every day—who in their right mind would still be thinking about homework?
It wasn't just Transfiguration either. He hadn't touched any of his assignments.
He brought this on himself, really.
It had been nearly a full term since he'd last done homework; he was out of the habit.
McGonagall gave him a polite smile. "Thank you, Mr. Riddle. I've now heard a brand new excuse I can add to my collection."
What happens when the top student in the entire year doesn't hand in homework?
Tom didn't know about the other classes, but in Transfiguration, McGonagall made sure everyone was equal.
Unsurprisingly, she docked five points from Slytherin and told him the homework had to be submitted by tomorrow—each extra day would cost another five points.
Honestly, she was still going easy on him. His 'model student' reputation softened the blow.
If it had been Ron or Malfoy? They wouldn't have gotten off with just point deductions and a late submission—they'd be looking at detention at least.
Tom accepted the punishment without fuss, which calmed McGonagall down enough for her to start the day's lesson.
The assignment was to transfigure a rock into a wooden pipe—decorated with elegant patterns, of course.
Transfiguration was one of the hardest classes in the school, and after an entire term, most of the younger students still hadn't mastered even the basics. The classroom filled with all sorts of bizarre results.
Dean Thomas turned his rock into what looked like an elephant's trunk, whipping around wildly, which made the whole room scream.
Neville... well, he turned his rock into... another rock. The shape was slightly different, but the material hadn't changed one bit.
McGonagall sighed and shook her head, turning her hopeful gaze to Tom and Hermione's desks—and only relaxed when she saw their results.
Otherwise, the poor woman—who'd been teaching diligently for decades—might've started questioning her entire career.
After class, Tom found a quiet spot to fix Hermione's wand issue, then hurried off to see Professor Flitwick and explain the situation.
Unlike McGonagall, Flitwick was much more chill. No points deducted, no lecture, and no need to redo the homework.
All he asked was for Tom to make a ribbon on his desk perform a short tap dance.
Easy.
Naturally, Tom breezed through it without breaking a sweat.
Next was Herbology. Professor Sprout was also understanding. She had Tom help fertilize a patch of pitcher plants and didn't bring up the homework again.
As for the rest of his classes? Not that important.
Professor Binns wouldn't notice anything. Tom just copied different sections of notes from a few classmates and was done.
And Quirrell? Pfft. Tom didn't think that guy even deserved his homework.
The real challenge... was going to be Snape.
— — —
4 PM – Snape's Office
Knock knock.
"Come in," came the deep, cold voice from inside.
Tom pushed open the door. Snape didn't even look up. He wasn't surprised—it was rare for any student to willingly approach his office. Besides the professors and Filch, the only student who ever dared was Tom.
"Professor, I didn't do the Potions homework."
"Detention," Snape said flatly, eyes still on his book.
"Nope, that's too much of a time sink. Give me another punishment."
Snape's hand didn't even pause turning a page. "Then clean the toad carcasses."
"Gross."
SLAM.
Snape closed the book and finally looked up, his gaze cold and sharp.
"You're picking and choosing now?"
He let out a low, sinister chuckle. "Fine. Don't want detention? Midnight. Quidditch pitch."
"Deal."
Tom agreed so fast it caught Snape off guard. Before the professor could say another word, Tom was already out the door.
That night, Tom spent a few hours finishing the Transfiguration homework.
Well, technically, Andros wrote it first inside the space, and Tom copied it—editing slightly to make it look like his own.
It wasn't that he didn't want to write it himself, but McGonagall's assignment was huge. If he tried to do it properly, it'd take him an entire day.
Tom wasn't about to waste that kind of time. So, tough luck for Andros.
The mighty King of the Century… helping a first-year cheat on homework.
Grindelwald was torn between laughing and keeping a straight face—worried that if Andros quit, Tom would come knocking on his door next.
Tom finished copying the last essay just in time, then rushed out of the common room and made his way toward the Quidditch pitch.
Snape was already there, standing alone on the grass. When he saw Tom arrive, he didn't say a word—just raised his wand.
But Tom wasn't in a hurry. He raised his hands like a peace offering. "Just to be clear, Professor—regardless of what happens here, my homework's officially settled, yeah?"
Snape gave him a mocking smirk. "Fine. But no weird tricks, Riddle. Nothing strange or over-the-top."
"Don't worry. I won't even use Transfiguration."
Snape's smirk froze. His face turned cold.
He hadn't forgotten what happened during their last duel—Tom's Transfiguration had caused him plenty of trouble. And now, after just a single break, this kid was already getting cocky again?
Snape could sense a shift in Tom's presence. Still, he didn't believe the boy could've changed that much in just a few weeks. He just figured Tom was getting ahead of himself.
Perfect.
Time to teach the kid a lesson—remind him there's always someone better out there.
Snape flicked his wand. A spell shot out to kick off the duel.
Tom casually stepped aside to dodge it, then fired back a blazing red blast. The spell rippled with explosive force.
Snape's Shield Charm blocked it, but the sheer impact pushed him back several steps. When he finally regained his footing, he stared at Tom in disbelief.
That was just a basic Knockback Jinx— So why the hell did it hit like a battering ram?
"Professor, it's only been one holiday and you've already gone rusty? Tsk tsk... disappointing."
Tom's voice carried a lazy sort of mockery that only made it sting more. He didn't give Snape a moment to breathe before firing off a rapid barrage of spells—Disarming Charms, Stunners, Obstacle Jinxes. Basic spells, sure, but each one carried a crushing weight, and the way he strung them together felt aggressive, even oppressive.
For the first time in a long while, Snape found himself on the back foot. He could barely keep up, scrambling to deflect the storm of spells. The last duel between them had been closer—but this? This was a one-sided beatdown.
"..."
At the top of the tallest tower, Dumbledore stood quietly at the window, watching the duel unfold on the Quidditch pitch.
With the aid of his Eagle-Eye Charm, he could see every movement, every spell, as if he were right there beside them.
"That aura… is that like a dragon?"
Dumbledore's eyes sharpened.
As one of the most knowledgeable wizards in the world, it only took a few seconds of watching to realize the truth he hadn't spotted the day before.
Tom had fully assimilated the bloodline of a fire dragon over the break. Unless someone directly engaged him in combat, it was nearly impossible to notice. But now that he was fighting, the sheer force of his magic gave it all away.
Still, Dumbledore wasn't certain whether Tom had fused with the dragon bloodline over the holidays… or if he had always had it dormant inside him and it had simply awakened. He was leaning toward the latter— bloodline fusion was exceedingly rare, and even if it happened, it would usually result in physical changes. Tom still looked entirely normal.
The Dumbledore family had Phoenix blood in their lineage, so he knew firsthand what early-stage integration looked like.
...
Back on the pitch, the battle raged on.
This time, Tom wasn't just holding his own—he was dominating. The tide had completely turned since their last duel. His attacks came one after another like a relentless storm, leaving Snape barely able to react, let alone counterattack.
Did Snape have ways to break this stalemate?
Absolutely. He had at least nine different strategies to turn the tide.
But none of them were usable here—not unless he wanted to risk his reputation by casting dark magic on a student. Even if he didn't care, there was no way the old man watching from the tower would let that slide.
So, as long as this stayed a "proper duel," Snape was boxed in—and there wasn't much he could do against Tom.
Not only had Tom's spells grown significantly more powerful, but his physical reflexes had also leveled up. He moved with sharp precision and unnatural speed, darting around like a slick eel. In contrast, Snape… well, he'd been sitting at his desk too long. His body just didn't move the way it used to. He was basically a stationary turret at this point.
...
Back in the Headmaster's office, Dumbledore remained calm, even after confirming Tom possessed the fire dragon bloodline.
But now… his brow furrowed deeply.
Every spell Tom cast, every movement, was confident, decisive, and unrelenting. He pressed the attack with precision and force, not letting up for a second.
This style...
Why did it feel so familiar?
Why did it remind him so much… of Grindelwald?
Something didn't sit right.
...
Another five minutes passed.
Snape, now visibly sweating, finally raised a hand and called an end to the duel.
Tom was tempted to pretend he hadn't heard—getting payback for their last fight sounded very appealing. But in the end, he chose to show mercy. If he wanted to ask Snape for help in the future, it was best not to completely humiliate him now.
So he backed off, though not without a hint of disappointment.
Snape stormed off, visibly fuming—but the anger wasn't aimed at Tom.It was at himself.
He couldn't believe it. He'd been overwhelmed by a student. His dignity as a professor was shattered. There was no way Tom would ever take him seriously again.
(Though, truthfully, Tom hadn't taken him that seriously before either…)
No. This wasn't acceptable. He had let himself slack off for too many years. Even if he couldn't reach Voldemort's level, he couldn't just give up.
At the very least, he'd delay the day Tom surpassed him. He had to.
Tom had no idea his little duel had just reignited Snape's motivation.If he did, he probably would've demanded tuition fees.
...
After Snape left, Tom didn't head back to the castle right away.Instead, he took a casual detour toward the Forbidden Forest.
Unicorns lived in the forest—but how many there were or where exactly they roamed, he didn't know. He wasn't ready to tackle the second trial just yet, but he figured scouting things out couldn't hurt.
He'd considered the idea of rescuing a unicorn from Quirrell's hands. If he could save one, that would definitely earn him its gratitude—unicorns were intelligent and empathetic creatures, after all.
But the system didn't want just recognition—it wanted loyalty.
Basically, it wanted the unicorn to treat him like a master.
Even Hagrid, who got along well with the creatures in the forest, didn't have that kind of relationship with them. They were friends, not subordinates.
So, step one: build trust.
Step two—getting the unicorn to willingly follow him—was going to be much harder.
Tom didn't find a unicorn that night, but he did find tracks. That alone made the trip worth it. He headed back to the dorm around 2 a.m. and finally got some sleep.
He slept like a baby.
But two other people? Not so much.
---
In Snape's office, the Potions Master sat bolt upright in bed.
"What the hell… how did Riddle get that strong?"
---
Meanwhile, in the Headmaster's office, Dumbledore let out a weary sigh and began pacing.
"Grindelwald's son…?"
No, no. That couldn't be.
---
With his homework crisis behind him, Tom was finally free to focus on more important things.
Over the next week, aside from attending class (and behaving reasonably well), he spent most of his time holed up in the library. He combed through every book he could find on unicorns, learning everything about their habits and behavior.
On the last day of the week, Hermione approached him with news.
Thanks to the Chocolate Frog cards, Harry had figured out who Nicolas Flamel was—and guessed that the Philosopher's Stone was hidden behind the trapdoor on the third-floor corridor.
Naturally, he and Ron were now panicking, worrying about whether Dumbledore had done enough to protect the Stone.
Tom just chuckled.
Let them worry. If something did go wrong, at least he'd know about it right away.
After all, who knew when Quirrell—or rather, Voldemort—would figure out all the traps and decide to make his move?
During that week's Defense Against the Dark Arts class, Tom noticed Quirrell looked even more pale than usual.
He wasn't sure if Voldemort was squeezing him dry or if Quirrell's own anxiety was eating him alive. Either way, the guy looked ready to snap.
Tom closed the book he was reading and put it back on the shelf with a sigh.
Most of the unicorn-related books only talked about their economic value or how to raise them. Not a single word about how to actually earn their trust.
Not surprising, really. Most wizards were after ingredients, not companionship.
No matter how pure they were, unicorns were still classified as XXXX-level magical creatures. Dangerous, in the eyes of the Ministry.
That night, during training inside the learning space, Grindelwald noticed Tom still frowning over the unicorn problem.
He offered a suggestion. "Why not ask Dumbledore? The old man knows more than most people on this planet—he might actually give you something useful."
Tom gave him a half-smile. Like he didn't know exactly what Grindelwald was up to?
Still, he agreed to the plan—but with a condition of his own.
Grindelwald had to develop a custom magic—tailored specifically for Tom's physique.
That's the payment for the old lovers to meet.
.
.
.