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[Hogwarts] Ch 170: Never Be Good
🕑 Added 2025-08-18 18:22:42 +0000 UTC— — — — — —
Tom figured that the person Draco Malfoy hated most had to be Ron Weasley. Ron was the rock blocking his way to Harry, "his lover".
Once that rock was kicked aside, Draco's eyes would be locked only on Harry Potter.
Of course, at this point Draco had convinced himself that Ron was the stronger one. In his mind, beating Ron meant he'd be free to torture the weak Potter as much as he pleased.
To reach that goal, he'd even begged some money off his family—just to buy Tom's favor.
Tom weighed the bag in his hand. Two, maybe three hundred Galleons. Not nearly enough to make his heart stir anymore. Still, Draco had behaved reasonably around him lately—whether genuine or just for show—and even tried to cozy up to him.
"Draco, have you learned the Shield Charm yet?" Tom asked.
He might as well help.
Draco blinked. "From Professor Wilkinson? Not really. Sometimes it works, sometimes it fizzles."
Tom nodded. "That's fine. It means you've got the basics. At that level, you can start practicing a proper Shield Charm. Once you've mastered it, Ron and Harry will have a hard time breaking through your defenses. You'll be practically untouchable, and even if your offensive spells are shaky, you'll have enough margin for error."
Draco bobbed his head eagerly.
That made perfect sense. Like Megatron, standing there while a mob of kids threw everything they had at him, not even scratching the armor.
Though now that he thought about it, Megatron had only been forced into "final boss mode" once the professor stepped in.
So if he could just stand there and let Ron pound away without making a dent… didn't that make him Megatron?
But then, returning to reality, the triumphant glow on his face dimmed.
"Tom, there's only a week until the Dueling Club. I'll never master a Shield Charm in that time."
"Well…" Tom tapped his chin. "There is a shortcut. It'll pretty much guarantee you'll be fluent in it by then, but the process is… painful. Want to give it a try?"
"What kind of shortcut?"
Without realizing it, more than half the Slytherins in the common room had drifted over to listen.
Malfoy's sworn enemy was Potter, but none of them were fond of Gryffindors either. If Malfoy lost, they'd all be ridiculed. So when Tom mentioned a quick path to a strong Shield Charm, the younger students perked right up.
"Get beaten up," Tom said calmly.
"...Get beaten up?"
A sea of blank stares.
"Two people duel. One attacks nonstop. The other can't dodge, can't run—only blocks with the Shield Charm, over and over. The charm's essence is the will to stop anything that threatens you. Practicing under fire is ten times faster than waving your wand in the air."
"As long as you're not brain-dead, you'll have it down in a week."
"A week of being hexed?" Draco shuddered.
"You'll need a potioneer too," Tom added. "Someone who can brew a standard Calming Draught to counter the aftereffects. Just don't use spells with real concussive force—those are a nightmare to heal."
"Oh? Calming Draught?"
Zabini puffed out his chest and shot Draco a sly look.
"Malfoy, that's child's play for me. Want my help?"
"You? Out of the kindness of your heart?" Draco asked suspiciously. The two never got along.
"I'm doing it for Slytherin. Better me than letting you lose to Weasley and humiliate us all."
Zabini gave a disdainful snort, then grinned. "But I'll only help if I get to be your sparring partner."
That bastard just wanted an excuse to hit me.
Draco cursed silently. But he couldn't say no—Tom had vouched for Zabini's skills, and even Snape praised his potions work. A solid choice, really.
So… be bullied by Zabini, or lose to Potter?
That wasn't a choice. That was an obligation.
"Zabini, if you pull anything dirty, I'll tell my father. Now come on." Draco spun toward the exit.
Around them, other students were pairing off, searching for sparring partners for their own weeklong slugfests.
To make things easier, Tom quietly expanded the common room fourfold. Part was kept for lounging, but the rest turned into a training arena. He'd reset the spell every day to keep it stable.
The founders' enchantments were strong, though—permanently enlarging the space wasn't yet in his reach.
...
Later, back in his dorm, Tom replied to Fleur on his magical notebook.
Gabrielle had apparently painted something today and earned the teacher's praise. She'd been dying to show off, but sadly, WhatsApp could only handle text messages for now. No images or photos.
Tom was already working on fixing that. But first, he wanted to solve the cost issue.
He was experimenting with lowering the quality and storage of each WhatsApp notebook—so that once a notebook filled up with conversations, you'd need to buy another to "expand" it.
Not only was that another round of sales, but it worked like a hidden subscription fee.
Credits and achievement points were nice, but he wanted money too. Money and monopoly. If one WhatsApp notebook could last a wizard a lifetime, how was he supposed to keep them hooked? He needed updates, versions, expansions—the works.
『Fleur Delacour』: Any plans for Christmas?
Tom blinked, pulled from his scheming, and smiled down at her words.
『Tom Riddle』: We just started term, and you're already planning for holidays?
『Fleur Delacour』: Of course. You have to plan ahead. France in winter is freezing. Want to go to Austria?
『Tom Riddle』: Why Austria?
『Fleur Delacour』: Skiing there is good. I'm amazing at skiing btw.
Austria, huh?
Tom's eyes narrowed in thought. Maybe it was time to pay old Grindelwald a little visit.
『Tom Riddle』: I can't say for sure yet. It's too early. If I promise now and then can't go because something comes up, I'd just be breaking my word.
Fleur clearly hated that answer, but she knew Tom meant it.
『Fleur Delacour』: Fine… but once you decide, you have to tell me your plans.
『Tom Riddle』: I promise you'll be the second to know.
『Fleur Delacour』: Second?! Who's first?!
『Tom Riddle』: Gabrielle.
『Fleur Delacour』: Goodbye!
At Beauxbatons, in a lavishly decorated room with a distinctly feminine flair, Fleur slammed her notebook shut with a sharp thud. Her two roommates jumped.
"D-Delacour? You alright?"
"I'm fine." Fleur snapped the book closed, swept past them, and left the room without so much as a glance.
That bastard. His name should be Tom Diddle or Tom Fiddle.
"..."
Her roommates exchanged a glance of relief once she was gone. When it came to boys, Fleur was easily the most sought-after girl in school. But with other girls? She was more a target of jealousy and resentment.
The old Fleur never cared. She'd ignore the gossip, the snide remarks, the isolation. But lately… she'd changed. Maybe someone had rubbed off on her.
If you didn't bother her, she treated you like air. But if she noticed hostility? She never wasted words. She struck.
And these two girls had been "fixed" by her once already, which explained their current meekness.
---
Meanwhile, after teasing Fleur through the notebook, Tom's time-management instinct nudged him: it was Ariana's turn.
He'd had Madam Greengrass buy him a stack of Muggle psychology books recently. After a quick study, he'd diagnosed Ariana's condition.
In simple terms, it was textbook PTSD from childhood trauma. Fixing it meant attacking the problem from several angles.
First was what he'd been doing all along—building trust. Ariana needed to feel safe with him, so his words and actions carried weight.
Second came cognitive correction: desensitization, reframing, breaking the associations she had with magic. That part was risky. Push too hard and it would only backfire.
Finally—the most important piece—self-acceptance.
Ariana had to not only accept being a witch but also acknowledge the Obscurial inside her.
Tom, who carried his own Obscurus, had been experimenting. He found it wasn't entirely uncontrollable. Even when it had its own will, he could try to suppress it, even erase it.
Of course, here in his personal study space, he could rewrite reality itself, so it wasn't a fair comparison.
But he hadn't acted yet. Until Ariana built up trust and acceptance, simply ripping the Obscurus out of her would do more harm than good.
---
"Tom!"
At the villa, Ariana spotted him while watching Tom & Jerry. Her face lit up and she waved happily.
Tom nodded and sat down beside her on the sofa. "I thought you'd already seen this episode?"
"Mm. Most of them I've seen twice now." Ariana ducked her head, embarrassed.
Unlike Grindelwald or Andros, who buried themselves in training and meditation, Ariana's days weren't exactly full. Apart from the two hours Tom allowed her outside, her time in the space was spent on books and the TV he conjured from memory.
Her favorite was always Tom & Jerry. The carefree, silly antics soothed her.
"I've never managed to watch them all either," Tom admitted. "When the holidays come, we can finish the rest together."
"Oh, right. I still haven't even lived a day in my new house. No idea if the place looks decent."
That jogged his memory. He'd bought a house before his trip to America, then France, then back for school. He'd never once stayed there.
"Where's your house, Tom?" Ariana asked curiously.
"In London. In a purely Muggle neighborhood. No wizards around."
Her face paled immediately, a shadow of fear crossing her delicate features.
"Ariana," Tom said softly, lowering his voice, gentling it. "Not all Muggles are bad."
Her lips pressed tight. "But… what if we run into bad ones?"
"Then we're worse."
Tom's mouth curved into a cold smile. "If someone tries to hurt me, I make them regret ever being born. That's why I study magic every day. So no one can touch me."
"But… Albus and Mama always said we can't hurt people."
"They were wrong." Tom's tone was iron, unyielding. "Never be the good one. Good people get crushed. They take your kindness for granted and keep pushing. Always."
"Look at Grindelwald. He's happy, isn't he?"
The name made Ariana shrink, discomfort clear on her face. If Tom hadn't already built up so much trust with her—nearly seventy percent, by his reckoning—she might've bolted.
"Ariana, let me tell you what happened to Grindelwald after you died," Tom said gently. "He can't hurt you anymore. You don't have to be afraid of him."
"After you hear it, you can decide for yourself: who lived the happier life, Dumbledore… or Grindelwald?"
.
.
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