Tom didn't reply. He simply pulled out his wand and extinguished the crackling logs in the fireplace. Hagrid instinctively stepped forward—he thought Tom was about to destroy the dragon egg.

But instead, he heard the boy mutter a few quiet incantations.

A white flame burst from the tip of Tom's wand and settled into the hearth.

The temperature in the room rose sharply. Hagrid stood frozen, staring in awe.

"What kind of fire is that?" he asked, eyes wide.

"Gubraithian Fire," Tom said casually. "An Everlasting Flame. Don't touch the fireplace until the dragon is ready to hatch. When the time comes, call me—I'll dispel the fire myself."

And just like that, Tom turned and left.

Hagrid, meanwhile, was over the moon. He had heard of Gubraithian Fire—famed in magical lore—but never seen it with his own eyes.

He laughed with joy. But the laughter slowly faded from his lips.

Wait a second... wasn't this flame supposed to be incredibly advanced magic? Something only the most elite wizards could conjure?

How on earth had Tom Riddle cast it?

Hagrid stood still for a long moment. Then, with a shudder, muttered to himself:

"Yep... anyone named Tom is a monster."

Truth be told, Gubraithian Fire hadn't been Tom's first choice. If Dumbledore had conveniently disappeared for a while, he might've risked trying to hatch the dragon using Cursed Protego Diabolica—just to see if it would produce an evil dragon.

Alas, the old recluse hadn't left the castle for weeks.

So, like Quirrell, Tom had no choice but to stay low and behave—for now.

With the holidays underway, Tom had more time to study. He spent almost every waking moment in the Room of Requirement. Mornings were shared with Hermione, guiding her training. Afternoons, he claimed for himself. When hungry, he simply had Parra deliver his meals.

Parra, now a permanent Hogwarts resident, was essentially the personal chef for both Tom and Daphne. Hermione benefited occasionally as well—catching the occasional gourmet meal when she dropped by.

Hermione had also started learning to cook from Hannah Abbott. But lacking the house-elf foundation and time, she hadn't dared showcase anything to Tom yet. The last thing she wanted was to disappoint him.

Meanwhile, on Draco Malfoy's side of the castle, things were taking an interesting turn.

Ever since he got dirt on Harry Potter, Draco had been strutting around like the king of the school. He made sure to repeatedly cross paths with Harry, each time throwing him a sinister smirk and drinking in the panicked look on his face.

He didn't even realize how bizarre it all looked to Crabbe and Goyle.

From their perspective… it looked like Draco was flirting.

But Draco was doing no such thing. He was tormenting Harry—gleefully dangling the threat of exposure over his head. He was going to keep Harry in a state of constant anxiety and dread… and then report everything.

That way, both that insufferable Potter and that oaf Hagrid would get what they deserved.

At least, that had been Draco's plan.

Until three days later.

…

Three days was all it took for Hagrid to gather everything Tom had asked for. They met back at the hut to make the exchange.

Tom examined the haul carefully, nodding in approval.

The ingredients were all high-quality—especially the Acromantula venom. It was a level above anything Tom had gotten before.

"No issues," he said, casting a Shrinking Charm on the hefty burlap sack and slipping it into his pocket.

"I'll keep this to myself. No one else will know—except Daphne and Hermione. Once the dragon hatches, I'll bring them to see it."

He paused. "As for Malfoy… I'll make sure he gets the message."

"Thank you, Tom!" Hagrid said warmly. "If you ever need more ingredients, just let me know!"

"I will," Tom replied.

And he meant it. He wasn't going to pretend politeness. This was the only value Hagrid had to offer him.

…

Back in the Slytherin common room, Tom looked around. No sign of Malfoy or his two shadows.

"Rosier," Tom called out to a student howling with laughter over a joke book, "do you know where Malfoy is?"

Rosier immediately stopped laughing and scrambled to remember. "I think I heard him tell Goyle something about... going to the West Tower to throw rocks at birds?"

"Bring him to me."

With a wave of his hand, Tom slouched into a nearby armchair.

Rosier practically tripped over himself nodding, and—fearing he wouldn't be able to find Malfoy alone—dragged a half-asleep Nott and Zabini from the dorms to help with the search.

Half an hour later, a very nervous Draco Malfoy was standing before Tom.

And soon after, Tom took him aside into one of the dormitory rooms. That made Draco even more nervous.

What was going on?

Was Tom finally going to settle old scores?

But that couldn't be it. Their last run-in was last year, and things had been quiet since then. Draco hadn't even dared to bother Daphne or Hermione afterward.

This didn't make sense.

Then Tom spoke.

"Malfoy. I know about the dragon."

In an instant, Draco's panic faded—relief flooding his features.

So that was it!

He lit up, nearly bouncing with excitement. "Riddle, are you planning to tell Professor Snape? I say you wait. Right now, it's just an egg. Once it hatches into a full-grown dragon, the punishment will be so much worse. In the meantime, I get to keep messing with Potter a little longer!"

Tom's expression didn't change.

"You're not telling anyone about the dragon."

The smile vanished from Draco's face.

"What?!" he snapped, forgetting his fear for a moment. "Why not?!"

Tom raised two fingers.

"First—Hagrid bought my silence. I'm being paid."

Draco turned red with rage.

Tom ignored it and continued. "Second… even if you do tell someone, it won't cause any real damage."

"That's not true! Professor Snape would dock loads of points from Gryffindor!"

"Maybe," Tom said smoothly, "but Dumbledore will protect them. He doesn't care about small infractions, but when it's something this serious—borderline illegal—you can bet he'll go all in for Hagrid and Potter."

Draco hesitated. He didn't know about Potter, but Hagrid… Hagrid was definitely Dumbledore's lapdog. If the Headmaster got involved, even serious crimes would probably be brushed under the rug.

It was infuriating.

When would Slytherin finally rise above this constant Gryffindor-Dumbledore oppression?

Tom saw the fury brewing in Draco's face and offered a slight consolation.

"I didn't say you couldn't use the information," he said gently. "Just don't tell the professors—or anyone else. But if you want to keep scaring Potter with it? Dropping dragon hints every few days? Be my guest. That should be enough to keep you entertained."

Draco thought about it.

Honestly… these last few days had been kind of fun.

If he kept it between them, he could keep torturing Potter for weeks.

"…I guess that works too," he muttered.

Not a total loss.

Not yet.