In the end, Newt Scamander agreed to Tom's request.
He had lived through the Grindelwald war, he knew a basic rule of life:
Never let a powerful person go do something dangerous unsupervised.
The world can't afford the consequences.
And Tom was exactly that kind of person, powerful, unpredictable, and the type who might make poor life choices simply because he's curious to try.
Even if Newt refused, Tom would still go looking for Nifflers.
If something went wrong, it would be more than a small scandal, scores of wizards could end up paying for it.
Thus, there was only one safe way:
Help him. Properly. Legally.
Newt quickly came up with a solution:
Go through official channels.
File a research request.
Have Tom "temporarily care for Nifflers for study purposes."
As long as Tom sent occasional observation reports, the Ministry would approve it without suspicion.
Tom's praise came instantly.
"Brilliant, Newt. Truly brilliant."
Tom knew even if he came up with the idea, he wouldn't have the connections to execute it. In the magical creatures community, he had zero face. Newt had enough clout to move the entire department.
[Tom: Please hurry, Grandpa Newt. Time is precious. My destiny awaits.]
[Newt: …You're requesting a favor. Try sounding like it.]
[Tom: Would that make you happy? Be honest.]
Newt chuckled despite himself.
This boy.
Tom was not humble, not gentle, not harmless. But Newt had admired him since the first day they met, Tom showed his talent openly, trusted him with his truth, and never pretended to be a saint.
You show me trust, I give you loyalty.
That was Hufflepuff's way.
With the hardest step delegated to Newt, Tom exhaled in relief.
Now he only had one problem left:
How to eat like an unholy bottomless pit.
Nifflers ate 10–20% of their body weight in a day.
With wild adults averaging 80kg, Tom would need to gulp down 20–35 pounds of food to beat them in their specialty.
Even with his dragon bloodline, he was still human. There were limits.
But magic existed to break limits.
He considered solutions:
Plan 1: Shrink the food.
Smaller food = easier to eat.
Problem?
Gamp's Law: magic cannot reduce actual mass.
Shrunk food still weighs the same; shrinking just hides the bulk temporarily.
A trial would definitely detect the trick.
Rejected.
Plan 2: Make himself bigger:
Bigger body → bigger stomach.
But transforming a human body was not child's play.
The human body is the most complex magical structure, even Animagus transformation was rare for a reason.
If he wanted to be Hagrid-sized, that would require research, risk, and likely organ failure.
Also…
He did not want to spend the rest of his life shaped like a refrigerator.
Rejected. Hard.
Plan 3: Boost digestion and metabolism:
Eat faster. Digest faster. Burn energy faster. Eat again.
Endless cycle.
This one was feasible…
But required knowledge of blood and flesh magic.
"So it comes back to Slytherin's legacy again…"
Tom had already been drowning himself in Slytherin's blood rites, learning metabolic and mutation-driven magic. It was steeped in potioncraft, so much that he had been practically living in Snape's office every day.
Snape refused no question, no matter how irritated he acted. It benefitted them both, Snape gained access to unprecedented lore, and Tom gained knowledge worth entire fortunes.
"Slytherin was an alchemical genius," Snape muttered one evening, unwillingly impressed.
From him, such praise was monumental, Snape never called anyone a genius in potioncraft, not even Slughorn. Old Sluggy only got labeled as "acceptable but unimaginative."
Then Snape turned and glared at Tom.
"Why didn't you mention Slytherin's potion accomplishments in Magic History Chronicles?"
"Because it's about the family, not his biography." Tom didn't even look up.
"Then write a biography. You are a Slytherin. Stop letting the world misunderstand our greatness."
The Historian Slytherin picked up his notes and sighed.
As if he didn't already have thirty things to do.
Meanwhile, his article series had fueled a massive debate about blood purity. Supporters of redefining "pureblood" were now waving Tom's text like a holy scripture.
The public discourse exploded.
So did Tom's mission progress bar.
Nearly 40%, just from writing articles.
"Do I look like someone with spare time?" Tom sighed, leaving the office.
"Relax, Professor. I'll make Slytherin greater than ever. Eventually."
Snape hissed at his back like a resentful bat, then went right back to studying.
He was in panic mode, if he slacked even a little, his student might exceed him.
The same intellectual crisis that had eaten the pride of the centaurs was now eating Snape alive.
…
Walking the halls, Tom encountered Filch scolding some terrified students over muddy footprints again. Hard to say if it was the fifth or fiftieth time this week.
Easter break was coming in a week.
And after the break, two magical schools would be visiting Hogwarts.
It would be the first official exchange visit in decades.
Even the professors trembled with stress.
The castle had never been scrubbed this hard in its entire existence.
And Tom Riddle, who planned to eat like a mythical beast, was going to be one of the faces representing Hogwarts.
The irony was delicious. More delicious than 30 pounds of food… hopefully.