— — — — — —
"Ah... I think I finally understand you, Mr. Riddle."
A smile returned to the old man's face, and even his tone grew lighter.
Dumbledore had considered many possible reasons why Tom might want the Philosopher's Stone, but this one had caught him off guard—and pleasantly so.
"Using the Stone's life-giving properties to deal with the Greengrass family curse? That's quite the creative idea. Whether it'll actually work though… well, I'm not sure."
"You still haven't answered my question. What type of curse is it?" Tom pressed.
Dumbledore let out a sigh. "It's a tricky curse. Really. All I can say is… it's one of the nastiest kinds of blood maledictions. Absolutely vicious."
"Blood malediction?" Tom frowned, trying to recall the details. "Aren't blood maledictions the kind that turn people into animals or monsters?"
The most well-known victim of a blood malediction (blood curses) would be Nagini, a Maledictus cursed to transform into a snake.
Dumbledore looked genuinely surprised. "I didn't expect you to know so much about blood maledictions."
"That's just one type," he added patiently. "Blood maledictions come in many forms. Some target the soul. Others the body. Being transformed into a beast is only one possible result."
"In general, any curse passed down through a bloodline can be considered a blood malediction."
"The Greengrass curse… you must know something about it, or you wouldn't have thought to try using the Elixir of Life to treat it."
Tom nodded. "I've made a potion that works for Astoria. But it's not meant to restore life energy, and its effects wear off over time."
"That's already a remarkable feat," Dumbledore praised. "Back in the day, Daphne Greengrass's grandmother asked me to try and break her sister's curse. I failed. You've gone far beyond anything I managed, Mr. Riddle."
But Tom disagreed silently. The credit didn't belong to him—it was thanks to the Physical Strengthening potion recipe that had come from Andros.
"The Greengrass blood malediction is… unusual. For starters, that family has always been made up entirely of women."
"No exceptions?" Tom raised an eyebrow.
Dumbledore paused. "Well, if changing one's surname counts, then sure—plenty of exceptions. But let me put it this way: anyone who keeps the Greengrass name and identifies as part of the family will only have daughters."
"It's a bit like the jinx on the Defense Against the Dark Arts position. Some think that changing the course name will lift the curse, but as long as the content stays the same, it won't matter. Otherwise, I wouldn't have such a hard time finding a new professor every year."
"It's clear whoever cast the curse wanted to wipe out this old pure-blood family entirely."
The magical world, in many ways, still clung to old traditions. Daughters, once married, were expected to leave their birth families behind and serve their husband's household.
Narcissa Malfoy was a perfect example. After marrying into the Malfoy family, she saw herself only as a Malfoy from then on.
"But the cruelest part of the curse," Dumbledore said softly, "is that in every generation, at least one girl will inherit it."
Tom's expression shifted.
One tortured in every generation?
Suddenly, many things clicked into place for him.
Seeing Tom's thoughtful face, Dumbledore knew he didn't need to explain further. He sighed. "Yes. That's why the Greengrasses are always born as sisters. If there were only one girl, she'd be guaranteed to bear the curse. But with two, there's at least a chance one will be spared."
"It's a painful, drawn-out fate. Every Greengrass who lives a full life does so at the cost of a sister who didn't."
The room fell silent.
Then, a voice piped up from behind Tom.
"Tch. That family name is just fated to die out."
Tom turned. The speaker was Phineas Nigellus Black.
Dumbledore raised an eyebrow, amused. "Oh? Professor Phineas, care to elaborate?"
Phineas stroked his little mustache and snorted. "I told them long ago—just drop the Greengrass name, stop clinging to that identity, and mix their bloodline with other pure-bloods. Then none of this would happen! But they insisted on staying loyal to the name. If they want to suffer, that's on them."
As soon as he said that, another portrait immediately began yelling at him.
"Oh, not everyone's shameless like you, Phineas!"
"Yeah! What if you had to give up the Black name and take mine—would you do it? Still, don't cling to it. I don't want some shameless descendant like you."
"The Black family doesn't have a blood curse! And who'd even look at your family? Even your portraits are ugly—I can't imagine what you must look like in real life," Phineas shot back indignantly.
"Hey! Let's just beat him again!"
A chubby witch portrait shouted, and suddenly a whole swarm of former headmasters and headmistresses poured into Phineas's portrait frame, launching into a full-on no-holds-barred brawl. He was badly outnumbered, but his mouth never stopped running—even if he was losing the fight, he refused to lose the argument.
"..."
Dumbledore gave Tom a sheepish smile. "Portraits aren't quite the same as the people they once were. They get… livelier when they're hung up."
Tom blinked. "And you? What'll you be like as a portrait?"
"You'll see one day," Dumbledore chuckled, eyes twinkling. "I rather look forward to retirement, actually."
The brief chaos passed, and the topic returned to the Greengrass curse.
"So," Tom asked seriously, "do you think my plan has a chance?"
"It's worth trying," Dumbledore said firmly. "The Elixir of Life does replenish vitality. And its effects don't fade over time—otherwise, Nicolas and Perenelle wouldn't still be alive."
"The only concern is the magic left in the Stone itself."
He looked down at the Philosopher's Stone.
"When Nicolas gave it to me, he warned me that its magic was nearly spent."
Tom seized the chance. "Then… may I visit Mr. Flamel?"
It wasn't just about the Greengrass curse. Nicolas Flamel himself was a priceless treasure trove of wisdom. Power-wise, he wasn't a match for Dumbledore, but in terms of knowledge and experience? Dumbledore would be the first to admit he didn't measure up.
"I'll pass your request along," Dumbledore said, then added playfully, "Oh, and I'll even try to get you a recipe for the Elixir of Life while I'm at it. You could brew it and give some to Miss Greengrass."
Just the fact that Tom was willing to ask him for the Philosopher's Stone for someone else's sake—that alone convinced Dumbledore this boy would never become another Voldemort.
With that kind of heart, even if this Philosopher's Stone had been completely drained of its magic—or if it were a fresh, new one—he wouldn't take it back.
"I'll be waiting for your good news in America, then." Tom smiled and slipped the stone into his pocket.
"America?" Dumbledore asked curiously. "Going on a trip?"
"Kinda! Mr. Scamander invited me over. I already agreed."
Tom had thought it over carefully. Newt had been so genuine with his invitation, there was no way he could turn it down. He was planning to write to him as soon as he got back, to set a time for the visit.
...Though, if he was being totally honest, Tom couldn't help but glance a little guiltily toward the starry sign in his mental sea.
It definitely had nothing to do with this: [Fourth Trial – Thunder]
[Details: Win a 100km aerial race against a Thunderbird, using no external tools (wands excluded).]
[Reward: Thunderbird Bloodline – Greatly enhances host's wind and lightning-based magic, as well as flight speed.]
---
When Tom left the Headmaster's office, it was already two in the morning.
Back at the dormitory, his roommates were all asleep. Tom was also exhausted—not from dealing with Voldemort, but from dealing with Fluffy.
He'd thrown every punch with full force during that fight. The adrenaline had kept him going at the time, but now that things had calmed down, fatigue hit him like a crashing wave. He was out cold almost immediately.
But lately, Tom only needed about three hours of sleep to stay sharp all day. So, even though he went to bed last, he was the first to wake.
Tom quietly left the castle at dawn, heading into the Forbidden Forest where he found his three unicorn friends and played with them for a while.
He also fed them a bit of Patronus magic as breakfast.
Ever since he'd become their magical snack provider, his relationship with them had changed completely. Before, he had to coax and charm his way close to them. Now? He was a hot commodity.
Blaze, Storm, and Nova all fawned over him, acting cute and clingy just to get more magic treats.
He'd even discussed it with Andros and Grindelwald and figured out why unicorns seemed to love Patronus charms so much—it was pure energy.
Unicorns absorbed the refined positive magic to enhance and purify their own magic, essentially purifying their bloodline. The stronger the purity, the stronger the unicorn.
These days, Blaze and Storm's furs were a pure white that shimmered faintly in sunlight. Nova, the youngest, was a soft pastel pink, with a delicate golden glow to her hair.
"You three want to come with me over the holidays?" Tom asked as he gently stroked Nova's cheek.
"I can set up a temporary place for you to stay, but it won't be as big as the Forbidden Forest. It'll just be enough for your daily needs."
Through their mental link, the unicorns understood immediately—and all three eagerly leaned closer to show their agreement.
"Oh, I get it," Tom chuckled. "You're willing to leave home just for food, huh?"
Amused, he stood up and gave his wand a quick flick, brushing the dirt from his robes.
Looked like he had some work to do. He needed to build a temporary home for his three little freeloaders.
His Extension Charm was coming along nicely. Creating a stable space the size of a Quidditch pitch wasn't a problem anymore. The only tricky part was picking the right materials—ones that could withstand long-term magical corrosion without needing constant relocation.
On his way back to the castle, Tom made a decision.
He still had material left from the Hungarian Horntail—dragon skin and bones. That would be perfect for crafting a magically reinforced trunk.
...
Tom planned to eat a quick breakfast and then get straight to work. But as soon as he stepped into the Great Hall, someone spotted him.
"Tom's here!" Zabini shouted.
Immediately, every student in the hall turned to look—Slytherin, Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw—everyone.
Ron, who had only suffered some surface wounds, had recovered overnight. Unfortunately, his big mouth was just as lively as ever. He'd told everyone what happened, with a few… artistic additions. Giant chess pieces twenty feet tall, Devil's Snare thick enough to block out the sky, and a monstrous troll straight out of a horror story.
Naturally, he framed it as a daring adventure he and Harry had bravely tackled together.
Later, good boy Neville came clean and added what he knew—including Tom's involvement—and mentioned that Dumbledore himself had confirmed Professor Quirrell was behind the plot to steal the Philosopher's Stone.
The story evolved into a heroic tale: Riddle and Potter teaming up to defeat the evil Professor Quirrell and protect the school's treasure.
One of the heroes was still resting in the infirmary. The other had just walked into the spotlight.
Daphne yanked Tom down to sit beside her and said nothing, just stared at him with wide, eager eyes. The rest of the hall stared too, all waiting for him to speak.
Tom sighed. With this many eyes on him, there was no getting away without saying something.
"Hmm… the story's mostly true," he said casually. "But Harry's the one who actually beat Quirrell. I just helped a little."
The hall went completely quiet. Even the students at the far end of Gryffindor table heard him—and then the cheers erupted like thunder.
The only one who didn't join in was Ron, who looked down at the floor awkwardly.
He'd seen what Tom could really do back in the Forbidden Forest. Even as Harry's best friend, he couldn't lie to himself. Harry might've landed the final blow (as a weapon), but without Tom, they wouldn't have even made it that far.
There was only one reason Tom said what he did— humility.
That realization made Ron feel ashamed. He'd always been annoyed by Tom and Hermione, especially after their earlier clash—but now, comparing himself to Tom, he couldn't help feeling like the real clown in the room.
"Tom, you're too humble," someone said from the Slytherin table.
To everyone's surprise, it was Malfoy who spoke up in Tom's defense.
"I know Potter's skill level inside and out. He barely knows any spells. If he ran into an enemy, what's he gonna do—scratch them?"
Malfoy even mimed a wild clawing motion, and his exaggerated performance had all the Slytherins laughing as hard as the Gryffindors had moments earlier.
Tom gave Malfoy a strange look.
Was it just him, or was it a little scary how well Draco understood Harry?
Harry really did jump on Quirrell and went straight into hand-to-hand combat— just before Tom even entered the room.
Draco and Harry... their relationship was seriously sus.
.
.
.