— — — — — —

All eyes were on Snape.

It was only now that Snape seemed to 'suddenly remember' something. He stood up, feigning realization. "Oh, right—Riddle. I nearly forgot if you hadn't brought it up."

He gave a slow sigh, then added with deliberate sarcasm, "Grading a certain someone's papers lately has dulled my brain quite a bit."

As he said this, his eyes lingered on Harry and Neville for just a second too long.

"What paper are you referring to, Severus?" Dumbledore asked. His gut already told him this wasn't going to be good, but he had to ask anyway.

Snape reached into his robe pocket and pulled out a piece of parchment he'd clearly prepared in advance. He handed it past Professor McGonagall and straight to Dumbledore.

"Mr. Riddle has made a significant breakthrough in Potions. He developed the 'Active Extraction'—a method that drastically enhances potion effects while reducing the required ingredients."

Snape gave a dramatic shake of his head, letting out a long sigh. "A remarkable innovation, truly. The Extraordinary Society of Potioneers has already reviewed and validated it. Just a few days ago, they published a feature article and announced they'll be nominating Riddle for a Silver Cauldron Medal. They've also extended him an invitation to join their association."

In Britain, there was only the Order of Merlin. Globally, elite potion-makers had their own honor system within the Society. The lowest tier was the Bronze Cauldron, followed by the Silver Cauldron, and finally, the Gold Cauldron at the top.

Tom's method wasn't quite enough to merit the Gold, but the Silver was more than justified—bringing him to the same rank as Snape.

That didn't mean his potion-making skills matched Snape's, of course. It simply meant his contribution to the field was just as impactful.

Once Snape was done, the room's attention shifted from him to Tom.

"Professor, I'm a little confused," Tom said with an innocent blink. "Even if you just remembered this now, the journal publication clearly happened during the school year, didn't it?"

Snape was barely holding back laughter. For the first time in his life, he felt genuinely patient answering such a 'naive' question. "Of course, Mr. Riddle. The evaluation standard isn't based on my memory. Wouldn't you agree, Dumbledore?"

Dumbledore had already finished reading the parchment. He sighed inwardly.

"This one's on both of us, Severus," he admitted quietly.

But it didn't take long for Dumbledore to recover his composure. He gave a small smile, warm and measured. "I'm proud that Hogwarts has a student like Mr. Riddle. His achievements deserve recognition. I'd like to award him the Special Award for Services —and for that, Slytherin will receive two hundred points."

Dumbledore accepted it.

It wasn't that Harry hadn't tried—Tom had simply been too impressive. And if this method couldn't help Harry grow stronger or braver, then maybe it was time to try something else.

Sometimes, you just have to admit when you've lost. No shame in that.

But this whole episode had taught him one thing: he'd underestimated just how unshakable Tom was.

Maybe it was time to stop with the behind-the-scenes manipulation. He didn't want to create a Savior and accidentally end up birthing a Dark Lord instead.

"Well then, excellent," Snape drawled, deliberately drawing out his words. "In that case, the Great Hall decorations—?"

"No need to trouble the Headmaster. I'll handle it," Tom said smoothly. He waved his wand, and the red and gold lions above the hall got replaced by a massive silver-green serpent.

Tom had made a simple switch, but to the Gryffindors watching, it looked like a giant green snake had opened its jaws and devoured the lion whole.

They could almost hear the sound of a heart breaking.

The House Cup... just slipped through their fingers again?

Meanwhile, Slytherin exploded with joy. The so-called pure-bloods had completely abandoned their usual aristocratic dignity—screaming, cheering, going nuts.

Malfoy even stood on a bench and started wiggling his butt at Harry in celebration.

He couldn't accept Gryffindor winning, and even more so, couldn't accept that Harry Potter might have been the reason Slytherin lost.

But Tom's last-minute miracle? That felt like salvation.

At the staff table, Snape turned to Professor McGonagall once again, hand extended and grinning even brighter than before.

Even with her usual patience, this emotional rollercoaster had clearly pushed her limits.

"Uh—!" Snape hissed in pain as three fresh scratch marks appeared on the back of his hand.

"Oops. Sorry, Severus," McGonagall said without a hint of remorse. "I've been meaning to trim my nails."

Then she stared hard at her empty plate as if it were hiding some rare delicacy.

"Eat up, everyone," Dumbledore said, clapping his hands.

Just like at the start-of-term feast, the once-empty plates filled with food.

Slytherins dug in with gusto. They pushed dishes toward Tom's seat like offerings to a king, and before long, he had a literal mountain of food in front of him. Laughter, clinking goblets, and the sound of celebration echoed nonstop.

Same feast. Different worlds.

While one house celebrated, the other three barely touched their food. Even Ron—who could normally scarf down five drumsticks—barely made it through three before giving up.

Tom could feel the glares coming from the Gryffindor table. Bitter, resentful.

But he didn't care.

People who blamed others for their own failures were never worth worrying about.

And he still had friends in Gryffindor—like the twins, who often joined him in the kitchens for midnight snacks. Even Neville.

But if something like this made them pull away? That was fine. Not everyone deserves to be his friend.

...

The feast ended under a cloud of mixed emotions—joy for some, disappointment for others.

Back in the Slytherin common room, the real party had only just begun.

A few older students had snuck out to Hogsmeade and returned with drinks, snacks, and all kinds of party treats. The room had turned into a full-blown celebration.

"Let's raise a glass," Bork called out, holding up his goblet. "To our hero—Riddle!"

"To Riddle!" xN

Everyone raised their cups and shouted in unison.

The way they looked at Tom had completely changed now.

Where they once respected him purely out of fear and power, now… they were in awe. He'd brought glory to them all.

And even if that glory didn't bring them any tangible rewards, that didn't matter. What mattered was the name—the title—proving that a house of pure-bloods was still superior to those filled with Muggle-borns and half-bloods.

What? You're saying Tom's Muggle-born?

Impossible.

Absolutely impossible.

Who ever heard of a Muggle-born being placed in Slytherin the moment the Sorting Hat touched their head? No way. He had to be from an ancient, noble bloodline—just one that had been hidden or forgotten until Tom's generation reawakened it.

That's what they told themselves. What they wanted to believe.

...

Tom, unsurprisingly, had become the center of the celebration. After making the rounds with everyone who came to toast him, he eventually slipped into a quieter corner to rest.

Next, Tom turned his attention inward, pulling up his system interface. After all, winning the House Cup had triggered two mission completions all at once.

One was a milestone quest: {Most Outstanding Student in Hogwarts History}—a series of rewards he'd been gradually unlocking.

The other was Snape's personal request.

That said, the system was still finalizing the end-of-year evaluation, so the mission rewards hadn't been fully processed yet.

Tom shrugged. Nothing he could do about that now. He shelved it and focused on something else—his rating with Grindelwald.

He'd known tonight would be a blow to Dumbledore, so during the feast, he'd deliberately activated his 'Study Space' function to give Grindelwald a front-row seat.

Their relationship was complicated—but one thing was clear: seeing Dumbledore's plan fall flat had made Grindelwald delightfully smug.

His favorability had jumped from the 40s to 58 in one evening. That boost had unlocked the 'Walk the Talk' feature and earned Tom a second of Grindelwald's natural abilities.

He had hoped it would be Grindelwald's prophecy talent—but nope. This time, he'd received a magic-based gift, like the one he had before.

At first, Tom thought he'd gotten a dud. But then he noticed his magical power was increasing rapidly… and still climbing.

So stacking identical talents actually causes them to fuse and amplify?

In that case, this reward was far from a loss.

— — —

The next morning, Hagrid led the students to the Hogsmeade Station, where they boarded the train home.

Everyone was grinning ear to ear. They were looking forward to two blissful months without homework, free to enjoy their summer. Diagon Alley had already become the go-to hangout spot for meetups and reunions.

To Tom's surprise, the twins didn't seem the least bit upset. They bounced up to him like always, all smiles.

"Hey, Tom! Want to hang out this summer?" George asked cheerfully.

Fred mimed swinging a bat. "You could come to our place and bash some gnomes. It's great stress relief. That's how we perfected our Beater skills."

The twins were simple. They had lost—sure—but they had also lost before. Tom hadn't cheated or played dirty to win the Cup. He'd earned it fair and square, even got published in a professional potioneering journal. That was more than enough to win their respect.

Unfortunately, most Gryffindors didn't share that mindset.

Right now, if you asked them who they hated most? It would be Tom Riddle.

"The Gernumblies?"

Tom considered the twins' offer but declined politely. "Well, we can definitely meet up in Diagon Alley. I could even show you some cool stuff from the Muggle world—try new food, hit up some shops. But coming to your house? Probably not. If I remember right, it's somewhere in Devon?"

"You can Floo over! Just use the fireplace," Fred said eagerly, pushing a little too hard.

Tom raised a brow. "Alright, what are you two really planning?"

He could smell the mischief from a mile away.

The twins exchanged a look, chuckled nervously, and shook their heads like innocent schoolboys.

In reality, they'd been plotting a few home-field pranks to finally get the upper hand on Tom for once. They were sick of always getting wrecked by him. But their enthusiasm had been a little too obvious—and now Tom was onto them.

Watching their guilty faces, Tom was more convinced than ever. He made a clean escape, dragging Daphne and Hermione onto the train and finding an empty compartment to settle into.

There, the three of them launched into a very serious discussion about how Tom would spend his summer.

"I don't know how long I'll be in Britain," Tom said, "but I definitely won't leave until I get a reply. Newt's letter should arrive by the end of the month."

"Then come to my place first!" Daphne said quickly, seizing the chance. "Astoria's been dying to thank you in person. Every time she writes me, she says she wants you to come visit."

"No way," Hermione cut in before Tom could respond. "If he goes to your place, you're never letting him leave. Next time I'd see him would probably be at the start of term!"

Daphne pouted, wanting to argue back—but deep down, she knew Hermione was exactly right.

Her whole plan had been to lure Tom over and stall him with emotional guilt. If she couldn't do it alone, she'd team up with Astoria. Her little sister's pleading puppy eyes? That could melt anyone.

Especially someone as kind and softhearted as Tom. She could keep him around—at least until it was time to go to America.

But damn that Granger! She figured it all out… even the parts Daphne had spent two weeks planning.

"No wonder she's my eternal rival," Daphne thought bitterly.

"Got nothing to say now, huh?" Hermione said smugly, watching Daphne freeze up. She turned to Tom. "Let's just stay in London for a month. We can write our homework together, go shopping, and spend time in the city. Just because we're wizards now doesn't mean we should ignore what's happening in the Muggle world."

"At the very least," she added, "when it comes to fashion—Muggle clothes beat wizard robes by a mile."

Tom, sitting between the two girls, suddenly got a strange feeling.

Were they... bidding for his summer vacation?

And the prize at auction...was him.

.

.

.