It was as if the feast on the table was playing a prank on Tom. He rushed to sit next to Daphne, not caring that what remained was already cold and picked over—all he wanted was to eat his fill.

But the moment his rear hit the bench, all the food on the table vanished. The golden plates shimmered clean and empty, gleaming brightly under the candlelight.

"Pfft—!"

Someone snorted first, and then more laughter rippled through the Slytherin table.

Normally, no one would dare to laugh at Tom, but this moment seemed to be the exception. The scene was simply too funny to resist.

Especially the way Tom's expression shifted—from blank to shocked to speechless—it was pure comedy.

Even Professor Dumbledore, seated at the head table, couldn't help but let out a small, amused chuckle.

"All right, children," Dumbledore said with his usual warm smile, "our grand feast has come to an end. Return to your dormitories now and enjoy the warmth of your common room fires. And please—don't forget to attend classes tomorrow."

Then his gaze turned to Tom. "Mr. Riddle, would you stay a moment? There are some matters I'd like to discuss with you."

As the students and staff began to file out, Tom followed Dumbledore's subtle signal and walked up to the staff dais. Together, they disappeared into a small room behind the Great Hall. Snape, as the Slytherin Head of House, followed suit.

Silently, Tom activated his study space and summoned Grindelwald.

Now there were three.

Dumbledore looked at Tom.

Tom looked at Dumbledore.

Grindelwald looked at Dumbledore.

Inside the study space, Grindelwald's face twisted with mixed emotions. Despite himself, the corners of his mouth curled upward—though he couldn't say what he was feeling. Too many emotions at once.

And in the end, all that turmoil condensed into a single sigh:

"Albus... you've gotten old."

Andros blinked at the emotional scene unfolding. He was utterly lost.

Weren't these two supposed to be mortal enemies? Why did it feel like he was watching the climax of a soap opera? Like one of those scenes where the male and female leads meet at the wrong time in life, only to cross paths decades later in an unexpected reunion.

"Mr. Riddle," Dumbledore said, his voice gentle, a faint smile on his lips. "I heard from Hagrid that you weren't in the carriage procession. That would mean... you didn't take the Hogwarts Express?"

"Would you mind telling me what happened? Perhaps I can be of help."

Tom gave a helpless shrug. "Professor, today has been a complete disaster. The train to London was delayed, and by the time I got to the platform, it was already past noon."

"Then how did you arrive at school?" Snape asked, narrowing his eyes.

"I read about the Knight Bus in a book and tried summoning it. It actually worked. Though the fare was kind of steep—Stan Shunpike charged me two Galleons."

"Ah, I see." Dumbledore nodded, then smiled. "Next time, if you find yourself in a similar predicament, you can call on Fawkes for help. You do have one of his tail feathers, don't you? If you burn one, she'll sense your call."

What?!

Snape's gaze instantly snapped toward Tom, sharp and filled with disbelief.

A phoenix tail feather?

You've got to be kidding me. He had pleaded with this old coot—and that dead bird—for years, and not even a single phoenix feather had come his way. And now this boy—this new transfer—barely in Hogwarts for a semester, and he already had a tail feather?

Where's the justice?!

Tom, of course, paid no mind to Snape, whose eyes were practically bloodshot. He smiled at Dumbledore and nodded. "Then I'll call on Fawkes next time."

"Incorrect," Dumbledore corrected gently. "Next time, do your best not to be late. The Hogwarts Express remains the safest and most comfortable means of travel."

"Yes, Professor. I'll be more careful next time."

Dumbledore gave a satisfied nod. This Tom Riddle, he thought, was far more agreeable than the last. But if he knew what Tom had been up to over the holidays, he might not be so pleased.

Forget the dragon. Just counting the dark wizards and poachers alone, Tom had killed no fewer than thirty over the break.

Even Voldemort in his first year—or frankly, his entire school career—hadn't racked up a body count like that in one term.

"Well then, Mr. Riddle, after such a bumpy journey, I'm sure you're tired. Go get some rest."

"Wait—no, let's talk more!"

Grindelwald was frantically signaling from the study space, but Tom ignored him entirely. With a quick farewell, he left the office.

…

"What's with the phoenix feather?"

The moment Tom left, Snape pounced like a woman scorned, voice sharp and quivering with repressed jealousy.

Dumbledore merely shrugged. "That's a matter between Fawkes and Mr. Riddle. I had no hand in it."

He smiled gently. "Fawkes delivered a Christmas gift for Mr. Riddle—a tail feather and a drop of phoenix tears. I believe it was her personal gesture."

A drop of tears too?!

Snape was now visibly hyperventilating.

"Severus," Dumbledore suddenly grew serious, "surely you've noticed the change in Mr. Riddle?"

Snape, still fuming, regained his composure and nodded gravely.

"Sharp-edged. Commanding presence. He must've done something extraordinary over the holidays. No other explanation for such a leap."

Dumbledore smiled again, this time with warmth. "It's good when a student strives for improvement. I just want to ensure that this transformation doesn't come at a personal cost."

"I'll look into it myself," Snape said, determination flashing in his eyes. He was already planning a rematch. Their last duel had ended badly for him—and if Riddle had closed the gap that much, maybe he'd taken some unsavory shortcuts.

Snape didn't mind Dark magic per se—but rushing the process was a fatal flaw. Quick progress often hid deep cracks. He knew this better than anyone.

After all, wasn't he the perfect example?

Even now, hailed as one of the greatest dueling minds in the wizarding world—just under Dumbledore and the Dark Lord himself—Snape still knew the gap between them was like a chasm.

"I'll handle it, Headmaster."

Dumbledore gave a satisfied nod and turned to leave the office.

It wasn't until Dumbledore's robes had vanished entirely from view that Snape finally realized:

That old bastard had tricked him again.

They were talking about the phoenix!

How did the conversation end up on Tom Riddle?!

When Tom returned to the common room, he was immediately pulled into a corner by Daphne.

The young witch lowered her voice and asked, "Tom, what exactly happened today?"

Tom let out a long sigh, sank into the sofa, and silently cast a Muffliato charm to ensure no one could eavesdrop.

"What happened? Just... pure bad luck."

He then began recounting his chaotic day to Daphne.

At six in the morning, Tom quietly left the Veela enclave without disturbing Fleur or Gabrielle—he only said a quick goodbye to Polana. From there, he started Apparating his way back toward London. Everything went smoothly—until he hit the border between France and Britain.

That's when he slammed straight into an Anti-Apparition Ward.

Apparently, the movement of wizards between the British Isles and the European continent was heavily regulated. Anyone wanting to cross had to formally register.

The ward wasn't particularly strong, more of a tripwire than a wall—meant to trigger alarms rather than block passage.

And sure enough, the moment he triggered it, four uniformed Hit Wizards Apparated in, fully armed.

Thankfully, Tom was quick—he conjured a black hooded cloak to mask his identity and physique just in time.

Explaining himself? Out of the question. If they figured out who he was, he'd be spending the night in Azkaban.

So naturally, he bolted.

The four Hit Wizards hesitated for only a moment before taking off after him, tracking the magical disturbance through the air.

Their orders were to log cross-border travelers, and anyone who ran at the sight of them obviously had something to hide.

What followed was a high-speed game of cat-and-mouse across half of Britain. Tom managed to shake them off at first—but then they called for backup, bringing four more Hit Wizards into the chase and forming a net.

Eventually, Tom ran out of patience. He set a trap, launched a sneak attack, and took down all eight of them before they could even send out distress signals.

Only then was he finally free of that headache.

But by then, it was already 2 p.m., and the Hogwarts Express had long since left the station.

With no other options, Tom summoned the Knight Bus and took it straight to Hogwarts.

Daphne listened with wide eyes, her mouth slightly agape. She was completely stunned by the wild sequence of events.

She nearly had to plan prison visits to Azkaban! She wasn't even sure if her mother could get Tom out...

"Well, at least you didn't get caught," she said as she held his hand, trying to comfort him. "But please—try to use safer methods next time you travel abroad."

Then she huffed, suddenly annoyed. "It's all that half-blood Veela's fault! If she hadn't insisted on keeping you an extra day, none of this would've happened."

Tom hadn't cut off communication with Daphne during his time in the Veela village, so she was well aware of his recent whereabouts—and of Fleur's existence.

The two-way mirror only showed one person at a time, so Daphne hadn't seen Fleur's face yet. But the words half-blood Veela were already more than enough to rouse her hostility.

In the Western magical world, Veela had a reputation not unlike that of "fox spirits" in Eastern folklore—gorgeous, bewitching, and dangerously alluring.

Tom chuckled helplessly. "This was bound to happen sooner or later. Even if I'd left a day earlier, I still would've Apparated back and hit the same ward."

He really hadn't expected the British magical world to mirror the Muggle world's infamous isolationist policies. Europe was embracing unity, while Britain still had its walls up.

After chatting with Daphne for a while longer, Tom slipped out of the common room and snuck off to the kitchens for dinner. He was starving.

What he didn't know, however, was that his chaotic border-crossing had already thrown the entire Ministry of Magic into a frenzy.

Though none of the eight Hit Wizards had suffered life-threatening injuries—just minor ones—the implications of the incident were far more serious.

A powerful, unidentified wizard had broken into Britain. No one knew who he was. No one had seen his face. And no one could say for certain if he was acting alone.

The Ministry was flying blind.

All Aurors and Hit Wizards were ordered to work overtime through the night. Every known magical hideout was combed through. Knockturn Alley, in particular, became the focus of a sweeping crackdown—what began as a manhunt suddenly turned into a full-scale anti-crime operation.

It wasn't until the next day, when Tom finally got his hands on the Daily Prophet, that he realized just how much of a mess he'd stirred up.

"BEWARE OF STRANGE WIZARDS: DANGER LURKS AMONG US"

That was the headline on the front page. The Prophet called it a "premeditated invasion." The number of culprits: unknown. Their appearances: unknown. The only certainty was that the intruder was incredibly powerful.

The paper urged all witches and wizards to immediately report any suspicious individuals to the Ministry.

After reading it, Daphne was left completely speechless. She glanced at Tom in disbelief—then suddenly burst out laughing.

Tom couldn't help but laugh too. The people around them gave them confused looks but didn't dare ask questions, returning to their own discussions about the sudden appearance of this so-called "Mysterious Intruder."

Before Transfiguration class, Daphne quietly filled Hermione in on everything.

When Hermione heard the full story, she didn't know whether to laugh or facepalm.

"You mean the entire Ministry got turned upside down... because of Tom?" she whispered, horrified and amused.

"Not Tom," Daphne whispered back with emphasis. "The Mysterious Intruder. This has nothing to do with Tom."

Hermione nodded vigorously, fully agreeing with Daphne. No one else could know about this. If word got out, it could cause major trouble for Tom.

Then, after a moment of hesitation, she glanced at him sheepishly. "Tom… that Disillusionment Charm trick of yours… do you think you could use it on my wand too?"

Not being able to use magic all holiday had driven Hermione mad. When she heard Tom had a way to mask spellcasting, she couldn't sit still.

Tom smirked. "Well, well, if it isn't the most law-abiding Miss Granger herself. So, let me get this straight—you follow school rules to the letter, but when it comes to Ministry law, suddenly you're flexible?"

"Oh, come on." Hermione blushed bright red, while Daphne giggled beside her, clearly enjoying the scene.

Hermione playfully pinched Tom's arm—not hard, just enough to show her mock annoyance. "Stop bringing up my blackmail-worthy moments!"

She had gradually changed her outlook. Rules, she'd realized, were often arbitrary—some even unfair. So why blindly obey them?

Take the "no wandering after curfew" rule—it was way too strict. As long as she wasn't late to class the next day, what harm was there in taking a walk? It was even good for mental health!

Looking back, Hermione now felt her old self had been way too uptight—basically, she'd studied herself silly.

Tom decided not to tease her further. If he really annoyed her, he'd be the one stuck coaxing her afterward—not worth it. He agreed easily and promised to fix the Trace issue after class.

Just then, Professor McGonagall walked into the room, carrying two cages—each holding a rather disgruntled-looking owl.

The room instantly fell silent.

Hermione quickly slid back into her seat beside Lavender Brown.

McGonagall strode up to the front of the classroom, scanning the students with her usual stern expression.

"All of you," she said coldly, "place your holiday homework on your desks now. And don't even think about telling me you forgot it at home—I have owls right here who can retrieve it for you."