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[Hogwarts] Ch 193: Voldy, Go Outwit Dumbles If You Can
🕑 Added 2025-09-03 22:04:34 +0000 UTC— — — — — —
This past week, Tom's life had been going pretty smoothly. He'd been feeding the diary plenty of fresh blood, and the Voldy inside was definitely getting stronger.
But no matter how strong the dark lord got, Tom had a saying: 'a master of the dark arts can always get outplayed by someone even darker.'
And anyone armed with the Grindelwald cheat wasn't someone Voldemort could ever really beat.
And so... if Tom dared to offer Voldemort a taste of power, it meant he was already sure he could keep the diary under control.
Siphoning his life force? Trying to mess with his mind using all those manipulative hexes? Useless. Tom's soul was too pure, too fortified, and he kept his guard up at all times. Nothing got through.
And under pressure, little Voldy had spilled a lot of secrets.
Especially, Salazar Slytherin's research on biological experiments.
For Tom—who already had the Twelve Trials—that stuff was pretty much worthless. But if given to others… it was the kind of thing that could raise the ceiling for what a wizard could become. Terrifying work.
Tom had thought this comfortable arrangement might last a while longer. Clearly, that wasn't happening.
He picked up his quill and scribbled into the diary: "Come on, don't give up now. I'm just an ordinary second-year student. You've already regained so much strength—push a little harder, and maybe one day you'll take over my body, open the Chamber again, and set the basilisk loose."
The reply scrawled across the page came sharp and furious:
「Don't give me that crap! You're no second-year. You've got to be some old monster who used dark magic to look young.」
「And fine, I'll tell you this—Slytherin's legacy does contain greater knowledge, things beyond your imagination. But I can't recall them until I'm restored to full power.」
「So either help me recover, or destroy me. I don't care about your disgusting little tricks anymore. I don't believe you even have the ability to destroy this diary.」
Voldy had snapped. No more fake politeness, no more games—just raw desperation spilling out.
At first, he'd hoped to spar with Tom, matching trick for trick, seeing who came out on top. Now he knew there was no hope.
He couldn't play this game. Not with this boy.
Not only was Tom completely unyielding, he was dark and calculating in ways Voldemort couldn't predict.
Every time he tried to blur details or twist things, Tom saw through it instantly and shoved the disgust right back at him.
And the "legacy" Slytherin left in the Chamber wasn't a legacy at all. Just the core fragments—and still he was being squeezed dry.
So why not make one final gamble? Tom couldn't possibly destroy a Horcrux, and he'd never resist the temptation of Slytherin's knowledge. Surely he wouldn't really get rid of him.
And at the end of the day, Voldemort was selfish. He never liked sharing his most precious knowledge—Horcruxes, or his insights into the Dark Arts—with anyone.
Even as a memory in a diary, he thought the same way. Helping Tom grow stronger would just mean creating a terrifying rival for both his current self and his wandering soul.
Absolutely not!
Snap!
Tom closed the diary without a flicker of emotion.
Why was he even considering this nonsense?
Slytherin's knowledge? Please. If he wanted, he could drag the man himself out.
He already had over 1200 achievement points saved up. And to recall the prices:
→B-rank: Your average, competent adult wizard – 1 point.
→A-rank: Highly skilled – 10 points.
→S-rank: Once-in-a-generation talent – 100 points.
→SS-rank: King in a century – 1,000 points.
→SSS-rank: A True Legend beyond time – 5,000 points.
He'd been hesitating on how to spend them—summon a King of the Century now, or keep saving until he had five thousand and bring forth a Legend.
Either way, he wasn't about to be threatened by a diary.
Next, after sealing the diary layer by layer, Tom walked out of the dorm room calm as ever, not even slightly rattled by Voldemort's tantrum.
...
By the end of the day's classes, the school had handed out the usual forms for students staying over Christmas.
Since the Chamber had only been opened once, and Penelope had come out unharmed, the atmosphere at Hogwarts wasn't all that tense. Students were buzzing happily about their holiday plans.
At the Gryffindor table, Ginny kept sneaking looks at Tom. When she saw him shove the stay-over form aside, her heart sank.
The Weasley parents were going to Egypt this break, so all the Weasley kids would be staying at school. Knowing Tom would be leaving left her quietly sad. She wanted to learn more curses from him.
"Tom, are you going to France again for Christmas? To see that fox yokai?" Daphne pouted, her face scrunched in mock annoyance.
Ever since she'd heard some Japanese stories and Tom's explanation, she'd started using "fox yokai (or Kitsune)" as her personal nickname for Fleur.
"Don't talk nonsense," Tom said seriously. "I'm going for academic exchange. You know who invited me."
He didn't mention Nicolas Flamel's name aloud—too many ears nearby.
"But I'm not leaving right away. I'll be home for a few days first. If Lady Greengrass agrees, you and Astoria can stay at my place."
"Fine, I'll ask Mum later," Daphne said. She knew Tom was serious about his trip, but whining about it had become a habit. The moment she heard she might get to stay at his house, her mood flipped instantly.
At the staff table, Laos kept glancing over at Tom.
Being a spy was turning out to be… boring. He didn't have to do anything special—just teach some spells, hand out tips, and everyone was satisfied.
Dumbledore was pleased, Vinda was pleased, but Laos himself felt completely unsatisfied.
No thrill, no danger.
The only interesting thing here was watching Tom tear the pure-blood families, exposing their secrets like some kind of rogue agent. Laos's blood burned just observing—it was the kind of excitement he craved
With the holidays coming up, he needed something to spice things up.
The riskier, the better.
...
Back in the staff quarters, Laos pinged Tom on the magical notebook, looking for a job, but no reply came.
Because right then, Tom was already in the headmaster's office, diary in hand.
'I'm done playing. Voldy, go match wits with Dumbles instead.'
"Riddle, Dumbledore isn't here," the stone gargoyle said before opening the door.
"He'll be back tonight, right?" Tom asked, caught off guard at the timing.
The gargoyle looked uncertain. "I think so. Fawkes is still inside. With things the way they are, the Headmaster won't stay away long."
"Then I'll wait for him."
The gargoyle hesitated but stepped aside.
That kind of privilege was rare at Hogwarts. Aside from Professor McGonagall—who'd earned it through years of service—Tom was the only one allowed to walk straight in.
And while McGonagall's access came from merit, Tom's came from a different source entirely. He'd simply scared the gargoyle into giving up. After so many visits, it no longer even bothered trying to stop him.
...
Inside, the headmaster's office was quiet. Odd little silver contraptions hissed and puffed out wisps of white smoke that carried a faint fragrance, something soothing that cleared the mind.
On the shelf behind the massive desk sat the battered old Sorting Hat.
Tom had always wanted to have a proper chat with it, maybe even reminisce a little. But every time he came here there was business to take care of, and today was no different. His gaze drifted instead to the phoenix's perch—an old wutong-wood stand where a weary-looking bird was roosting.
He walked over, frowning slightly.
Fawkes leaned down and rubbed his head against Tom's fingers, chirping weakly. The sound carried no strength, but Tom understood well enough and couldn't help but laugh.
"I get it. Most of the time you're radiant, but I don't see why you're putting off your rebirth."
Compared to his shining glory not long ago, Fawkes now looked ancient and frail. A moment ago, Fawkes had already been trying to explain himself to his "little brother."
Phoenixes really were extraordinary creatures. As they neared the end of their lifespan, they aged almost overnight, only to burst into flames and be reborn. After a short while, they returned to their peak.
What Tom couldn't understand was why Fawkes was delaying. He could have gone up in flames any time, yet here he was, dragging it out.
"Chirp… chirp…"
Another thin cry, and Tom finally caught his meaning.
"You're waiting to build up a bigger fire, huh? Well, that's on you. When you're back to full strength, I'll take you out for some fun."
He gave the bird's head a gentle pat, then moved away. Just as he was about to sit down on the sofa, someone called his name.
"Riddle. Riddle. I'm here."
Tom turned. Phineas Nigellus Black was waving at him from his portrait.
"Phineas," Tom arched a brow. "You've finally come to your senses? Ready to relocate?"
"Get lost, don't joke about that," Phineas huffed, his mustache twitching furiously. "I'm not going anywhere. I'll stay right here in the headmaster's office."
Tom smirked. "Then we've got nothing to talk about."
"Don't be so impatient!" Phineas hurriedly stopped him. "I've got real business this time."
"What kind of business?"
The other headmasters' portraits stirred awake, eyes gleaming as they prepared to enjoy the show.
"You've made quite the stir lately," Phineas said. "That History of Wizards project? A huge undertaking—and bound to step on toes. But I like it. That's the Slytherin way: if we're going to do something, it should shake the world."
"And?" Tom crossed his arms, amused.
"Heh…"
Phineas rubbed his hands together sheepishly. "At some point you'll have to write about the Black family, right? We're one of the most noble houses in wizarding history. Without us, the record would be incomplete."
He cleared his throat and pressed on. "So, as your former headmaster and a fellow Slytherin, I'd like you to highlight the positive aspects. I'm not asking you to lie, of course. Just… skim past the unpleasant bits. Leave those for others to dig into. What do you say?"
"Oh, so that's what this is about." Tom nodded in mock understanding.
The other portraits glared in disgust. Typical Slytherin. Even dead, he wanted to pull strings.
Why even bother? He was just a portrait. His only job was to make life easier for the current headmaster.
"I mean, I could," Tom said at last. Phineas brightened immediately—until Tom added, "But what's in it for me?"
The old man froze. "In it for you?"
Tom's expression hardened. "What, you thought you'd get this for free? That's the Black family way? Cheap and stingy?"
Phineas bristled, his mustache trembling. "What did you say?! Let me tell you something, Riddle—outside of the Greengrasses, the Blacks never feared being outdone in wealth."
"Then why are you trying to freeload?" Tom shot back.
Phineas grunted. "I'm dead, boy. A portrait can't touch family gold, so I've got nothing to offer. But—I could put in a good word for you with Dumbledore. Convince him to teach you stronger spells."
Tom spread his hands. "You think he wouldn't do that anyway?"
Then, casually: "And really, Phineas, what are you even worrying about? The last of your family line is rotting in Azkaban. He might never get out. You know what Muggles call that? A dead end."
Phineas shook with fury, pointing at him but unable to speak.
And just then, the office door creaked open.
Dumbledore stepped in quietly, catching Tom's words about the Black family's "dead end."
He stood there in silence.
A faint, awkward thought about his family crossed his mind.
How embarrassing. He… is in the same situation.
.
.
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Comments
Abs 07
Hehe don't worry Dumbledore 😏
