— — — — — —
Just past midnight, Tom showed up at the hospital wing and led Cassandra out of the castle.
She had changed out of her hospital gown and back into her Ilvermorny robes. Every step she took jingled and clinked with metal charms and enchanted jewelry. In the empty corridor, the noise echoed so loudly that Tom had to cast a Silencing Charm just to keep Filch and Mrs. Norris from noticing.
Once they were outside, Tom couldn't help complaining. "Are you here to duel or to show off your net worth? You're practically a walking Gringotts vault."
Cassandra wasn't wearing those accessories for fashion. Every silver clasp, gold bracelet, and gem-studded trinket on her body was a magical tool—powerful, expensive, and very much functional. Tom had only glanced her over once, but he'd already counted more than ten enchantments.
"The Vole family doesn't lack money," she said breezily. "And if I don't come prepared to fight you, I might as well not bother at all. Even if I lose, I plan to make it difficult for you—and learn something in the process."
Tom chuckled under his breath. "Such innocent optimism. Don't cry when all those toys of yours end up in pieces."
Cassandra lifted her chin with a huff. "We'll see about that."
They made their way to the Quidditch pitch. The Room of Requirement would've been more convenient, but Tom wasn't planning to show her that place.
"Skip the warmup," he said, drawing his wand. "Go ahead and attack first."
Cassandra froze for half a heartbeat, then reacted fast—her wand flicked, unleashing a silent curse straight at him.
Tom sidestepped neatly. "A sneak attack? You really are improving."
He lowered his wand casually, and the grass at his feet surged upward, twisting into a dozen green snakes that hissed and slithered toward her.
Cassandra answered with fire. A wave of blazing heat erupted around her, scattering the snakes in a storm of sparks. She activated several artifacts in quick succession—rings, brooches, bracelets—lighting up like a walking fireworks display. The result was loud, bright, and honestly a little dazzling.
Tom stayed calm, raising his left hand. A veil of mist unfurled from his fingertips—soft and weightless, yet as impenetrable as a wall. Every blast and spark dissolved harmlessly against it.
The air on the Quidditch field churned violently, wind and light clashing in a chaotic storm. From a distance, it looked spectacular.
To Tom, though, it just looked expensive.
Combat-grade alchemical gear never came cheap. Even the simplest of her trinkets would fetch a few hundred Galleons at Borgin and Burkes, and Cassandra was using them like she was sprinkling glitter.
Tom had no idea what was going through her head. He stayed on the defensive until her barrage began to weaken—then, with a flick of power, he pushed back.
Crack!
Her first shield charm shattered. The shockwave sent Cassandra stumbling backward, though she stubbornly kept her wand raised.
Thunder echoed in the sky, and the ground beneath Tom's feet split open, forming two enormous hands of soil that tried to grab him.
Tom moved forward, brushing aside curses one after another until he had her cornered against the stadium wall. Their eyes met again—only this time, Cassandra didn't freeze. The necklace at her throat lifted into the air, glowing faintly gold.
"You really have one of everything," Tom said dryly. The pendant shuddered, then splintered, gemstones cracking into dust.
"You're not human," she panted, half in awe, half in frustration.
She slumped back against the wall, gasping for air. That last round had drained everything she had. Her head throbbed, her magic sputtered, and all she wanted was to lie down.
"Take a break," Tom said.
Two chairs floated down from the stands. Cassandra collapsed into one, and after a few minutes of deep breathing, finally managed to open her eyes again. "Riddle," she said quietly, "am I useless?"
Tom tilted his head back on the other chair, gazing up at the stars. "If you're useless, then most people in this world don't deserve to exist."
Hogwarts was far from any city, so the sky above was bright with starlight. It was one of Tom's favorite things about this place. Sometimes he'd even summon Ariana to stargaze with him when he couldn't sleep.
After a long pause, he asked lazily, "Why do you want to be great, Vole?"
Cassandra hesitated. "Why…?"
Tom didn't rush her. He just let the cool night breeze wash over them, eyes tracing constellations he'd long since memorized.
Eventually, her voice came soft and distant. "Maybe… it has to do with my father."
"Let me guess," Tom drawled. "Not exactly a warm and fuzzy parent."
"Don't talk about him like that," Cassandra said sharply, shooting him a glare. "He just… expects a lot. He says I've had every advantage—talent, family, resources—so it's only natural I should be better than everyone else."
She smiled faintly, bitterly. "And for a long time, I was. Top of every class, perfect in every subject. Until I met you and Ginny Weasley. That's when I realized how much of a joke I really was."
"You've got the wrong idea," Tom said, sitting up a little. "Getting stronger isn't about anyone else. It's not about proving something or chasing someone. It's about what you want."
Cassandra frowned. "Isn't wanting to surpass others a kind of desire too?"
"Sure, but it's a narrow one," Tom said, gesturing toward the castle. "That kind of drive only takes you as far as your competition. I want to surpass Dumbledore someday, but he isn't what motivates me. What pushes me forward is the search for truth in magic itself. I'll never stop walking just because someone's ahead of me."
He looked back at her, eyes calm but sharp. "That's what your country's missing. America's got power, sure, but no true great wizards. You've never seen what the top of the mountain even looks like. You know I'm right."
Cassandra hesitated, then nodded. He was right. None of the legendary wizards in recent history had come from North America.
"Stop trying to be the best at everything," Tom said. "Even your father couldn't live up to that. If you can just be stronger, wiser, better than you were yesterday—that's enough."
The night wind lifted Cassandra's golden hair. She looked over at Tom, who had leaned back again with his eyes closed, and murmured a quiet "Mm."
That night marked a change.
Cassandra didn't give up her drive, but she no longer pushed herself past exhaustion. She started asking Tom questions regularly, not caring about the stares from other students.
Because now, she understood what he meant. If she could become just a little better than yesterday, nothing else mattered.
...
As exam season drew closer, their conversations became more frequent—but Tom's real focus had shifted elsewhere.
Daphne's birthday was coming up, and that meant preparations.
Even the vampire situation had been pushed aside. The reason was simple: that infected vampire had escaped. Spain was dealing with it now.
...
The Saturday before exams—Daphne's birthday—Tom was up early.
He started by having the house-elves prepare a feast and a cake. Then he headed into the Forbidden Forest, setting up in the unicorns' glade. A few puffskeins were caught, charmed, and turned into floating, color-shifting decorations.
By noon, the party was ready. Tom had gathered all the guests: Astoria, Hermione, Ginny, Luna, Penelope, Hannah, Susan—and, to Daphne's complete shock, Cassandra.
Daphne's cheerful expression froze the moment she saw who was following behind Tom.
"Happy birthday, Greengrass," Cassandra said evenly. She didn't seem bothered by Daphne's reaction and handed over a beautifully wrapped box—a set of elegant hair clips.
Daphne couldn't exactly reject a gift like that, especially one clearly chosen with care. So she smiled politely, thanked her, and waited until Cassandra was distracted by the unicorns before tugging Tom aside, pouting.
"Why'd you bring her?"
Tom chuckled, gently pinching her cheek. "Birthday girls aren't allowed to frown." He smoothed out her furrowed brow and added, "She overheard me mention your birthday and went out of her way to get you a gift. What was I supposed to do, say no?"
"I just—ugh, every time I see her I think of how arrogant she used to be," Daphne muttered.
"That's mostly her family's fault," Tom said. "She's not actually a bad person—just a bit of an idiot, easily influenced. She's gotten better lately, hasn't she? And hey, more guests make it livelier."
He knew more about Cassandra now. Most of her issues came from her overbearing father, and from the sound of it, the rest of the Vole family weren't much better—snobs with too much gold and not enough sense.
In that, they weren't so different from the Malfoys. Same old story: nouveau riche families acting like they were royalty, flaunting their power until their tails touched the sky.
"Enough about them," Tom said, resting his hands on Daphne's shoulders. "You should be thinking about what I'm giving you later."
That worked like a charm—Daphne's mood instantly lifted. She tried to wheedle the answer out of him right away, but Tom only grinned and refused, saying she'd have to wait until after dinner.
So Daphne went off to round everyone up—Hermione, Luna, and the others were busy playing with unicorns and the floating puffskeins—and called them back for the meal.
Hannah had helped cook and brought out her signature roast lamb, which got unanimous praise. In fact, when it came to cooking, Hannah was a prodigy. Tom often found excuses to drop by her table during meals.
After the feast, Daphne blew out her candles, made her wish, and immediately turned to Tom, eyes sparkling. "Gift. Now."
Everyone leaned in, eager to see what Tom Riddle could possibly have come up with.
Tom looked around with a teasing grin, then whistled. Up above, Uskai spun into the air, and the sky darkened just enough to give the scene a little drama.
"Much better atmosphere," he said, clearly enjoying himself.
Then he finally brought out the gift. The lid of the ornate box lifted on its own, releasing a burst of shimmering light that filled the clearing. When it dimmed, the girls gasped.
It was a crystalline lotus, breathtakingly beautiful—twenty-four petals in total, each one reflecting a shifting array of colors. The light danced across them like living magic.
"It's gorgeous," Daphne whispered, cradling it carefully in both hands, her smile growing brighter by the second.
Hermione leaned in. "It's too detailed to be just decoration. What does it do?"
Tom smirked. "You know me well. Each petal holds a spell—some for combat and defense, others for daily use."
He began listing them casually. "Temperature control, dehumidifying, cleaning, charging, summoning… pretty much every useful charm you could think of. Wear it, and you'll be able to cast them all—no wand, no effort."
The girls' jaws dropped.
Crafting it hadn't been overly complicated, but balancing that many spell matrices together had taken time. Carving the magical circuitwork had been delicate, precision work—and the material itself was nearly priceless: pure magic crystal, a gift from Nicolas Flamel. The stuff was so rare the world barely produced a hundred pieces a year.
By the time Tom finished explaining, Daphne's entire face was glowing with delight. The other girls looked like they were seconds away from turning green with envy.
"Tom," Astoria said softly, half laughing, half exasperated, "you're basically turning my sister into a complete freeloader."
Daphne gasped in mock outrage. "Astoria! How can you say that about your dear sister? You're just jealous. Tom's the best."
"I am not," Astoria muttered—but her tone didn't sound convincing at all.
Tom chuckled, ruffling her hair. Astoria caught his look, smiled knowingly, and thought, 'Don't worry, big sister. I'll get mine soon enough.'
Hermione, too—Tom made sure she caught a subtle hint that she'd have her turn, too. By the end, most sparks of envy had melted into laughter.
---
"Damn it, I need to get out of here—now."
While laughter filled the glade outside, back in the castle, Laos was frantically shoving books and belongings into his bag.
He had to run. And fast.
.
.
.
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