The Forbidden Forest had always been vast , a sea of ancient trees stretching beyond sight , but there were only a few paths that actually led into it from Hogwarts.
One lay to the north, just past Hagrid's hut. The other required climbing over the castle walls and descending the rocky slope beyond the mountains.
In the old days, all a student needed to sneak into the forest was a little courage and a bit of stealth , stay out of sight of Hagrid, avoid Fang, and you were in.
But those days were over.
Five new Whomping Willows stood guard now, smaller than the original near the courtyard but far more… energetic.
Their long, yellowing branches swayed in the wind like serpents, intertwining to form a living, writhing wall of wood and fury that stretched almost a hundred meters across.
For the first time, the main entrance , right in front of Hagrid's hut , had become the safest way into the forest.
"Safer" being a relative term, of course.
Better to risk being caught by Hagrid than be bludgeoned to death by an overprotective tree.
Even the bravest Gryffindors eyed the new willows from a safe distance. The Slytherins, meanwhile, walked by smirking , and the twins, Fred and George, were practically vibrating with excitement.
They were already planning their "midnight experiment" to test just how hard the new trees could hit.
…
That evening, during dinner in the Great Hall, Dumbledore finally addressed the elephant , or rather, the forest , in the room.
He stood from his seat, his calm voice echoing through the hall.
"As many of you have noticed," he began, "our grounds have seen a bit of new growth."
A murmur rippled through the students.
"I must emphasize," Dumbledore continued, his gaze sweeping the tables, "that the newly planted Whomping Willows are not school property. They belong solely to Mr. Tom Riddle."
He smiled faintly. "I would advise you all not to let curiosity or recklessness damage another student's property , particularly this student's."
His eyes twinkled briefly before settling, quite pointedly, on Harry Potter and Ron Weasley.
The two immediately lowered their heads, pretending to be fascinated by their mashed potatoes.
Across the hall, Professor Sprout looked delighted.
Rare magical flora was her passion, and the chance to observe Whomping Willows from infancy was an academic dream.
They weren't hers , Tom had simply entrusted her with their care , but that didn't matter. The research experience alone was invaluable.
…
Later that night, Tom gathered the prefects of every Slytherin year in the common room. The emerald firelight flickered across his calm face.
"Twenty anonymous reports," he said, his tone even but firm. "I want eyes on those willows. If anyone from another house gets too close or tries anything stupid , remove them. If they resist, use force."
He paused, letting the weight of his words settle.
"If something happens," he added coolly, "I'll take responsibility."
A few murmurs rippled through the group , excitement, perhaps even awe.
But then Tom's gaze hardened, his voice taking on a quiet, dangerous edge.
"However," he continued, "if I find out anyone uses this as an excuse for revenge or petty bullying, they'll find themselves out of Slytherin faster than they can apologize."
The fire crackled.
Draco Malfoy, who had been toying with the idea of using the opportunity to "teach Potter a lesson," immediately straightened, paling slightly.
He wasn't alone , several others suddenly found the floor very interesting.
Pure-blood families bred similar habits. Most had already assumed that Gryffindor would provoke something first.
And, as fate would have it, Gryffindor did not disappoint.
…
Three days later, a group of Slytherins spotted several Gryffindor students standing just outside the reach of one of Tom's willows.
They weren't touching it, not quite , just hovering near the branches, tossing pebbles, and laughing when the tree twitched in irritation.
The Slytherins didn't hesitate. They ran back to fetch reinforcements.
By the time they returned, a small army of green and silver robes stood facing a line of red and gold.
"Leave," ordered Steven Rosier, stepping forward with a sneer.
A Gryffindor boy crossed his arms. "This is the school grounds, not your private dungeon. We're not breaking anything."
Rosier raised an eyebrow, his tone dripping with disdain. "Do you even realize how rare and fragile these trees are? If you damage one, your family couldn't afford to pay the compensation if you sold your house."
The condescension was deliberate.
And effective.
"You think we're scared of a tree?" one of the Gryffindors snapped, his cheeks red with anger. "Watch this!"
He picked up a rock and hurled it toward the nearest willow.
The air cracked.
A blinding flash of light struck the rock midair, vaporizing it to dust. Before the Gryffindor could react, a second beam hit him square in the chest, sending him flying straight into the willow's range.
The ground shuddered.
Ten branches whipped forward at once, snapping like whips, striking his robes again and again until he screamed.
And then,
"Enough."
The voice was calm. Cold.
Tom Riddle stepped through the crowd, and the Slytherins parted as though a tide obeying its master.
He raised his wand lazily, and the branches froze mid-swing. The boy collapsed to the ground, his robes shredded, his body shaking uncontrollably as tears streaked his dirt-smeared face.
Lucky for him, these were young willows. The pain would fade , eventually.
Tom's gaze flicked toward the rest of the Gryffindors, who were shouting in outrage.
"Petrificus Totalus."
In an instant, a dozen of them froze, bodies stiff as statues.
Tom's voice carried easily across the clearing , calm, but sharp as glass.
"Listen carefully," he said. "This school belongs to Dumbledore. Its future belongs to its next Headmaster. You, however , are just tenants."
He tilted his head slightly. "The Headmaster approved my work. Who exactly are you to object?"
He paused, then added coolly, "I'll let this go today , for Professor McGonagall's sake."
Turning slightly, he said, "Rosier. Deliver them to her office."
"Yes, sir." Rosier smirked, gesturing for his housemates to follow.
Together, they levitated the immobilized Gryffindors and began their slow, humiliating march through the castle corridors.
By the time they reached McGonagall's office, half the school had witnessed the spectacle.
Students whispered from behind corners, their eyes wide. Slytherins gloated; Gryffindors fumed but didn't dare interfere.
When McGonagall opened her door, she nearly dropped her quill.
After hearing the story, her lips thinned to a tight line. Her voice trembled slightly with contained fury.
"Tell Mr. Riddle," she said at last, "that I will handle the discipline for these students myself. But he had no right to attack them directly. Slytherin will lose fifty points for this incident. Further punishment will be discussed with Professor Snape."
Rosier nodded indifferently. "Understood, Professor."
The other Slytherins simply turned and walked away, their expressions unreadable.
Fifty points meant nothing. Tom could earn them back in a single day if he wanted.
And he probably would.
That evening, Gryffindor's common room was quieter than usual. For the first time, a few of its louder members began to question whether Tom Riddle was truly just another student.
Because every sign pointed to something far more dangerous.