After breakfast, Tom brought Daphne and Hermione to the Room of Requirement.

Before getting down to business, he gave them a detailed recount of yesterday's events — starting from subduing Fluffy, all the way to facing Voldemort himself. The little witches gripped their hands so tightly their knuckles turned white, hardly daring to breathe.

"The Dark Lord was actually on Quirrell's body… so we've been living in the castle with him for an entire term?"

Daphne's voice was a mix of lingering fear and anger.

The girl didn't even dare speak Voldemort's real name, and Tom had no intention of correcting her. It was a habit she'd had for years, and there was no need to argue over a name.

Hermione, on the other hand, seemed much calmer now — just as Tom had told Dumbledore earlier, Muggle-born witches simply didn't grasp what Voldemort truly represented. Without that ingrained fear, most of what they felt came from the influence of those around them.

"When we get back, I'm having Mum send a complaint to the Ministry of Magic. What kind of headmaster is Dumbledore? To have such a dangerous man under his nose for an entire term without noticing — he's completely unfit for the job!"

Daphne clenched her little fists, mentally chalking up another strike against Dumbledore.

In truth, Daphne was a textbook Slytherin — pro–pure-blood and anti-Dumbledore. If not for Tom, she would have easily fallen in with Pansy Parkinson and her little clique of the Sacred Twenty-Eight.

But Daphne also happened to be a shameless sucker for a handsome face. In the presence of absolute looks, she'd long since tossed her pure-blood ideals aside. After spending so much time with Tom and Hermione, those old beliefs had faded completely.

Her dislike of Dumbledore, however, remained firmly intact.

Even Hermione, for once, didn't leap to Dumbledore's defense. She too found it absurd — wasn't Hogwarts supposed to be the safest place in the wizarding world? Then how could Voldemort show up there of all places? It was beyond ridiculous.

"Tom, in the future, leave dangerous things like this to Potter," Daphne said, eyes shimmering as she clasped his hand. "That's the Dark Lord we're talking about. Even at his weakest, he's dangerous. You're still young. Once we've grown up, he definitely won't be your match. Then you can go and take him down."

Tom smiled and ruffled her hair. "Actually, the hooded figure I met in the Forbidden Forest that night was Quirrell… and the Dark Lord. I only went after him because I knew I had the upper hand. You don't need to worry about me."

Hermione's eyes lit with sudden realization. "So that's why Quirrell resigned right after that day. I should have guessed!"

Then, with a hint of envy, she added, "Devil's Snare, the Golden Snitch, the chessboard, the potions… Those challenges were amazing! Tom, you should've brought me along. At least for the potion and chess parts, I'm certain I could've passed."

"That's easy," Tom said casually. "It's just a game of challenges. When we're back next term, I'll set it all up for you."

After chatting for a while longer, Tom sketched Voldemort's current appearance — earning identical grimaces from both girls. Once they learned he still had work to do, they left him to it.

Tom pulled out dragonhide and dragon bone, beginning the careful process of cutting and assembly.

Crafting a trunk with an Undetectable Extension Charm was both a technical and physical task. The space had to be expanded layer by layer, and each expansion needed a Stabilizing Charm to ensure the space remained intact for the long term.

In the days after final exams, Tom spent every afternoon in the Room of Requirement working on the trunk, while also researching the Thunderbird.

Native to North America, the Thunderbird was a rare and magical creature, and Hogwarts' library had only a few sparse records. Even so, the little information he found was enough to leave Tom in stunned silence.

The Thunderbird was one of the most skilled fliers among magical creatures, capable of reaching speeds over five hundred kilometers per hour — and its flight was accompanied by fierce winds and storms.

That meant that to beat a Thunderbird in a flying race, Tom would not only have to master flight magic, but also reach speeds beyond five hundred kilometers per hour — all while dealing with the hazards of the natural elements.

This trial, he felt, was easily the hardest of the four he'd faced so far.

And given that he hadn't even begun to grasp flight magic yet… could he really complete it over the summer?

Even Andros and Grindelwald found the challenge formidable. Upon hearing the requirements, they buried themselves in studying flight spells, slowly piecing together a plan.

The day before the end-of-year feast, the Quidditch final began. Harry was still unconscious, so Gryffindor had to hastily replace him with a student who was decent on a broom — but the team had no chemistry whatsoever, and Ravenclaw utterly demolished them.

When Tom saw the players come off the pitch, Oliver Wood's eyes were rimmed red.

That very evening, Harry finally woke up.

"Good afternoon, Harry." Dumbledore greeted him with a smile.

Harry blinked for a moment, then suddenly remembered. "Professor — the Philosopher's Stone! It was Quirrell, he— wait, where's Tom?"

"Calm yourself, my boy." Dumbledore's voice carried a gentle magic that settled Harry almost instantly. Only then did he continue, "The Stone is safe. You and Mr. Riddle protected it, and defeated Quirrell. That was most impressive."

Dumbledore answered a few more of Harry's questions. Gradually, Harry felt a strange clarity — as though Dumbledore were deliberately giving him permission, silently telling him he had the right to face Voldemort himself.

It was as if everything had been guided toward that moment.

But what about Tom?

With Madam Pomfrey's permission, Harry left the hospital wing before the feast and finally ran into Tom in the entrance hall.

Ignoring Ron and Neville, Harry intercepted Tom just as he was about to step inside. The two of them moved to a corner of the Great Hall, and Harry said earnestly:

"Tom, thank you."

"No need. By the time I got there, you'd already beaten Quirrell half to death," Tom replied lightly.

Then, curious, he asked, "But I am wondering — how did you get through the earlier challenges?"

With the trio, Ron and Harry were usually the ones with sudden flashes of inspiration, while Hermione was the steady, logical one providing technical solutions. This time, though… for the two boys to have made it through on their own, especially the Devil's Snare and potion trials, seemed almost unreal to Tom.

Harry, seeing Tom's interest, recounted their journey.

In the Devil's Snare room, they hadn't even recognized what it was — all their Herbology lessons with Professor Sprout had gone right out the window. But while they struggled, Ron's wand was yanked from his hand by the Snare and snapped in the process, causing an explosion. The burst of light and heat forced the plant to retreat, saving them from being strangled.

The chessboard challenge, of course, had been Ron's moment to shine.

And the potion riddle… Harry had guessed. Or rather, gambled. He'd examined every bottle, picked the one he thought had been tampered with and had the least potion left, and drank it — and, against all odds, his hunch had been right.

Listening to the whole ordeal, Tom could only shake his head in disbelief.

So it was all luck and recklessness, then. Truly the protagonist — Voldemort's fated nemesis. Anyone else would've been in serious danger, but Harry and Ron had stumbled through unscathed… and were already bouncing around like nothing had happened.