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[Hogwarts] Ch 219: Planting the Whomping Willow
🕑 Added 2025-09-21 15:44:45 +0000 UTC— — — — — —
Laos Wilkinson's reason for visiting Dumbledore was simple: he wanted permission to take students into the Forbidden Forest for real combat training.
Not just the usual stroll around the edges, but a true venture deep into the woods—into the domains where magical creatures actually lived.
It was, of course, dangerous. One professor looking after dozens of students left too much room for mistakes, and mistakes in the Forbidden Forest usually meant injuries.
Still, after a moment of consideration, Dumbledore agreed. But he set two conditions: only third-years and above could go, and Hagrid had to accompany them each time.
Laos had no objection to extra help—in fact, he welcomed it. He agreed and left the office with a spring in his step.
Dumbledore smiled faintly as he watched him go. It had been so many years since Hogwarts had a reliable DADA professor that he had nearly forgotten what it felt like. Wilkinson's arrival had been a great relief.
Once the door closed, Dumbledore turned his gaze toward Tom, his smile lingering. "Tom, I assume you're here to bring me good news as well, aren't you?"
"More or less?" Tom answered with some hesitation. "I've come to report my conversations with Voldemort. Whether that counts as good news, I'll let you decide."
A roll of parchment slid smoothly out from Tom's sleeve and landed on the desk.
Dumbledore's expression grew more solemn. Adjusting his half-moon glasses, he bent forward to read carefully.
Fawkes fluttered over, and Tom, with a casual flick of his wand, transfigured it into a strange-looking comb. He began brushing the phoenix's feathers.
Fawkes seemed pleased with the attention—even when Tom tugged a little too hard and pulled out more than a few feathers, the bird made no complaint.
For a while, the office was quiet save for the phoenix's occasional cry. Dumbledore read intently, though the further he went, the harder it became for him to keep his expression composed.
The contents of this "chat log" were… rather bold.
It read less like a young wizard talking to a dark lord and more like two aspiring dark lords exchanging notes—except Voldemort sounded like the rookie.
Even so, Dumbledore gleaned insights he hadn't expected. Voldemort was not quite the boy he'd imagined. The arrogance, the hunger for power—those were already ingrained, the sort of traits that shaped themselves early and rarely changed.
But near the end… Dumbledore's eyes grew complicated.
Grindelwald?
"Tom, I didn't expect you to know anything about Grindelwald," Dumbledore said slowly. "Your knowledge of him seems to go deeper than most."
Tom nodded, still running the comb through Fawkes' plumage. "You know how it is. Back in Arizona, when I was with Grandpa Newt, we ran into some of the Acolytes. After that little 'incident,' I started digging into Grindelwald out of curiosity."
"His records are almost impossible to find—practically erased. In the library, he only appears in references to the war. What he did before, what kind of impact he had—I had to dig through old pure-blood journals to even get scraps.
"Later, Grandpa Newt and Professor Nicolas filled in a lot more of the picture. That's how I pieced together the basics."
When Tom finished, silence settled over the office.
Dumbledore's eyes grew distant, as though pulled back into the past. He stayed that way for nearly two minutes before finally returning to himself. With a quiet sigh, he gave Tom an apologetic smile. "Forgive me. The older one grows, the easier it is to get lost in old memories.
"You're right, though. There's very little written about Grindelwald, and that's by design. His terror never came from sheer magical power—it came from his influence, his ability to inspire. That was what the Ministries feared most. They erased him from the record so younger generations wouldn't be drawn in."
Dumbledore's eyes softened, though his tone carried weight. "My advice: don't dwell on him too much. Some relics of the past are best left buried."
Tom smiled and nodded. "I've already learned what I needed to. That's enough."
"Then let's come back to you," Dumbledore said, his gaze sharp again. "Tom, I don't covet the knowledge you've managed to extract from Voldemort. But for safety's sake, I'd like to look through it myself."
"No problem," Tom replied without hesitation. "Plus, Voldy is still wavering. I'll give him another push when I get back."
Dumbledore chuckled. "It's only a matter of time. You've found the right pressure point."
"And Harry," Tom added lightly. "He said if I killed Harry Potter, he'd be my loyal dog."
Dumbledore quickly looked away, clearly embarrassed. He had read that part of the parchment himself. To see Voldemort reduced to offering himself up like a dog—it was… awkward.
Once the report was finished, Tom naturally asked for his payment. "Professor, when can I plant my Whomping Willow?"
Dumbledore didn't hesitate. "Hagrid's nearly done preparing the site. I'll send him a note explaining the rest."
"Then I'll go find him tomorrow morning," Tom said, rising to his feet. Fawkes hopped onto his shoulder, and Tom seemed ready to take the phoenix out for a walk.
"Tom," Dumbledore called after him.
Tom paused. "Yes?"
Dumbledore's expression turned grave. "Bloodline fusion can improve a wizard's strength and potential, that much is true. But you're different. There's already great power inside you. Don't rush to fuse more bloodlines—seek the root instead. That will bring you greater rewards than you can imagine. If you're ever uncertain, my door is open."
Tom inclined his head. "Thank you, Professor. I understand."
Leaving the office, he stepped onto one of the moving staircases. With two sharp stomps, it sped downwards toward the ground floor.
Dumbledore's words echoed in his mind. They hadn't been empty caution, but heartfelt advice.
Every wizard eventually reached a point where studying magic meant pursuing its essence—its root. For those with magical bloodlines like Tom, there was another task as well: uncovering the hidden powers within.
Grindelwald and Andros had told him as much, though neither of them carried a magical bloodline.
Dumbledore, however…
Tom suspected he carried phoenix blood—or maybe the whole Dumbledore family did.
It was just that Dumbledore had managed to awaken that power, while Ariana and Aberforth hadn't.
Still, Tom's constant probing about bloodline fusion wasn't for himself.
Part of it was for Astoria, to use magical creature blood to weaken the curse gnawing at her.
Another part was for Hermione, Daphne, and others—to raise their limits. He couldn't spend his whole life acting as everyone's bodyguard. Their own strength mattered most.
And if bloodline gifts doubled as rewards for loyal followers, all the better.
"Come on, Fawkes," Tom murmured, patting the bird in his arms. "Let's go find the girls."
With the phoenix perched comfortably, Tom left the castle. More than a few students watched with thinly veiled envy.
---
At dawn the next day, Tom knocked sharply on the door of Hagrid's hut.
"Who's there?!" came a groggy roar from inside.
"It's me," Tom's calm, almost detached voice answered. "Your favourite Tom Riddle."
Clang!
Something heavy hit the floor inside, followed by a clatter and frantic scrambling. The door flew open. Hagrid, still half-asleep and utterly flustered, stumbled over himself apologizing.
"T-Tom, sorry! I didn't know it was you. Dumbledore told me, but I didn't think you'd come this early, I—"
"I didn't want students around to bother us," Tom cut in coolly. "Can we go now?"
"O-of course."
The half-giant hurried outside, shivering as the cold wind cut through his half-buttoned coat. He fumbled the buttons closed as they set off.
Just the sound of Tom's even, cold tone had snapped him fully awake. He couldn't help it—no matter how different this Tom was, something about that voice dredged up memories of the other one.
Next, they reached the edge of the Forbidden Forest, where Hagrid had already cleared a wide patch of ground.
Tom produced a small card case, and to Hagrid's astonishment, he stepped right inside. A moment later, he came back out carrying a Whomping Willow. He went back in, and out again. Five times he repeated the process, until five bound-up willows stood before them, their thrashing branches tied with thick ropes.
"Hagrid, dig me five holes—about a hundred meters apart."
"Right, right!" Hagrid scrambled to obey, and with Tom's spells helping, they had all five trees transplanted within fifteen minutes.
"Tom," Hagrid finally asked, curiosity written all over his face, "what do you need so many Whomping Willows for?"
"I'm working on a product that requires a steady supply of their branches and leaves," Tom replied matter-of-factly. "I cleared it with the Headmaster. He agreed to let me use school grounds for planting."
"You mean that thing they mentioned in the Daily Prophet? The one they said could change the world?"
Tom shot him a surprised look. He hadn't expected Hagrid to connect the dots. Still, he gave a small nod. That was as much as he'd say. With Hagrid's mouth, the less he revealed, the better. Tell him today, and by tomorrow Harry and Ron would know—and then the entire castle.
But Hagrid's interest quickly shifted elsewhere.
"Er… Tom," the half-giant said awkwardly, rubbing his massive hands together, "that little box of yours—it's got the Undetectable Extension Charm, hasn't it? To fit five Whomping Willows inside, it must be huge! Could you… maybe make me one? I'd trade you any material you want."
Tom considered. "I'm busy these days. Don't have the time. But when things settle, I can make you one. It won't be as big as mine, though. About twice the size of the Hogwarts vegetable garden, no more."
Of course, when the time came, he'd need Hagrid's help with Aragog. And Tom was fairly sure Hagrid wouldn't use it for anything remotely legal—raising Blast-Ended Skrewts, for example.
But giving him something also meant leverage. Once Hagrid owed him, Tom could squeeze plenty out of him later.
"Twice the size of the garden? That's more than enough!" Hagrid's eyes went wide with delight. Hogwarts' gardens stretched across twenty acres. Twice that? He could do wonders with it.
"Then it's settled," Tom said. "I'll let you know what materials I need when I decide. For now, I'm heading back for breakfast."
"Right! I'll be ready anytime!" Hagrid called after him, brimming with excitement.
As Tom walked away, Hagrid clenched a fist in triumph, then turned back toward his hut, grinning from ear to ear.
It didn't take long for Hogwarts to notice. By mid-morning, word had spread—five new Whomping Willows had appeared overnight, standing guard at the forest's edge.
The students who liked sneaking into the Forbidden Forest could only gape.
Five giant trees, thrashing and swiping at anything nearby, lined up like guards at the entrance.
Was the school trying to kill every last kid who tried sneaking in?
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