Coreal
patreon
[Hogwarts] Ch 62: Voldemort Must Die
🕑 Added 2025-06-22 23:03:29 +0000 UTC— — — — — —
Five minutes later
Tom was standing in front of Snape.
This time, there was no cold shoulder. The usually grumpy Head of House had even pulled out a chair for him—how thoughtful.
"You cost us fifty points today," Snape said flatly.
"If I had a choice, I'd rather be the good guy," Tom replied with a shrug.
"Great. Then go tell Dumbledore and see if he'll give those points back."
Snape's expression darkened. "I don't care what you have to do—Slytherin will win the House Cup this year," he said, tone sharp and final. "And since you're now the 'uncrowned king' of the house, it's time you stepped up and took responsibility."
He leaned forward. "Tell me—can you guarantee Slytherin's victory?"
Tom's eyes gleamed. "Yes, Professor. I can."
"In fact, I have a few ideas to guarantee it."
He grinned so brightly it was almost unsettling. Snape blinked, caught off guard by how thrilled he suddenly looked.
"Did he seriously miss the sarcasm when I called him the uncrowned king?" Snape thought, confused.
But Tom wasn't reacting to Snape's words—he was excited for a very different reason.
Because at long last, his half-dead system had finally triggered another task.
[System Alert: Task generated in response to Head of House directive.]
[Task Objective: Lead Slytherin to win the House Cup.]
[Difficulty: Hard]
[Reward: 1,000 Study Credits, 100 Achievement Points, 1 Gacha Pull]
A thousand credits? That was enough to activate his Turbo state ten times!
And 100 achievement points— that was one-tenth of what he needed to summon the second [King of the Century] SS-tier teacher! And then there was the Gacha ticket—his first one ever.
Holy crap… Snape isn't a grumpy old bat—he's a walking gold mine!
"Professor, any more missions you'd like to give me?" Tom asked, eyes gleaming like he'd just struck oil.
Snape leaned back slightly, suddenly on edge at the intensity in Tom's gaze.
"…Just this one," he said cautiously. "If you pull it off, we'll talk about what comes next."
"Alright, fair enough."
Tom looked a little disappointed, but quickly brightened again. "But Professor, I can't win the House Cup alone. I mean, I'm not The Chosen One or anything."
Snape squinted. That sounded… pointed.
Before he could analyze it further, Tom continued, "There's still so much I don't know—especially in Potions. Professor, I've got some questions…"
Naturally, the conversation shifted into a back-and-forth Q&A.
Snape never turned away a student who was genuinely eager to learn. Not even Potter or Longbottom—though, of course, his tone toward them could get pretty brutal.
With Tom, though, Snape kept his tone neutral and calm. He wasn't sure if this kid held grudges, and he had no interest in being targeted for psychological warfare.
But as the questions kept coming, Snape's expression slowly began to change.
What started as mild interest turned into serious focus. Inside, he was practically reeling.
The topics Tom raised weren't just first-year level—they included advanced brewing techniques, potion theory, even properties of obscure ingredients that weren't mentioned in standard textbooks.
Some of it was graduate-level stuff. Questions even seventh-years would sweat over. Most of them would be stumped after two or three, especially the ones allowed into his N.E.W.T.-level Potions classes.
And yet here was a first-year, discussing it all like he'd been studying for years. And Snape could tell—this wasn't just someone parroting back notes. Tom clearly understood the material. He remembered theory from books, identified gaps in his practice, and asked targeted questions that showed real insight.
Was this normal?
No. Not even close.
Over the past few weeks, Tom had thrown nearly all his energy into Potions. He still kept up with his other subjects, of course, but brewing had become his main obsession. Especially since he was preparing to make that physical enhancement potion Andros had mentioned.
With ingredients that rare, he couldn't afford to screw it up.
"Riddle," Snape finally said, cutting him off mid-question. He opened a desk drawer and pulled out a small, beat-up black notebook.
The cover was scuffed and faded, clearly used.
Tom's heart skipped a beat. "Wait—is this that legendary cheat code? The Half-Blood Prince's notes?!"
Harry had gotten his hands on that in another timeline, and practically became a Potions prodigy overnight. He even nearly KO'd Malfoy with one of the spells from it.
Was Snape seriously about to pass this down?
"Riddle."
Snape pushed the notebook across the desk. "You're learning too much, too fast. No structure. That's why your questions are all over the place."
"This is a collection of notes I compiled five years ago. Study it. Understand it. Once you've absorbed what's in there, then you can come back to me with questions."
"Thank you, Professor."
Tom snatched the notebook like it was a holy relic.
Five years ago? That was way more valuable than the Half-Blood Prince's school notes. That version was just Snape as a student, jotting things down for himself.
This one? This was the work of a master.
Tom honestly hadn't expected Snape to hand over something so valuable so easily. But since it was in his hands now, no way was he giving it back.
After one final promise to bring the House Cup home for Slytherin—and a subtle glance at the ingredients list he needed—Tom made his exit.
Snape sat there silently for a long time, fingertips pressed together beneath his nose.
And then… a wild, dangerous idea sparked in his mind.
"What if… what if I raised one Tom Riddle to destroy another Tom Riddle?"
Tom's talent wasn't just rare—it was something Snape had never seen or even heard of before. And now that he was sure this boy had no connection to Voldemort, his old bias was gone.
The drama around the school didn't matter. Not compared to the possibility forming in his mind.
In the dim light of his office, Snape whispered like a man possessed:
"I don't care what happens to the wizarding world. I don't care if a new Dark Lord rises.
In fact… that might be exactly what we need.
A new king must rise from the ashes of the old.
"I just want one thing—"
"No matter what..."
"Voldemort… must die."
.
.
.
