The students obediently pulled out their homework—yes, even Longbottom hadn't forgotten his. His luggage had been packed by his grandmother, after all—there was zero chance of anything missing.

Only Tom…

It was as if lightning had struck him. He sat frozen in place for several long seconds. Professor McGonagall was making her rounds, collecting parchment after parchment, until she finally stopped at his desk. Her eyes swept over the utterly empty tabletop and she asked, perplexed:

"Mr. Riddle, where is your homework?"

"Professor McGonagall," Tom forced out a very forced smile, "I haven't quite adjusted back from holiday mode yet. Maybe… give me two more days? Once I'm fully back to normal, I'll hand it in to you?"

He'd completely forgotten. To make Hermione's holiday a little less stressful, he had taken it upon himself to write both their assignments over the break.

But the moment they'd landed in France, every single day had been filled with Veela sisters and enchanting distractions. Homework? What homework?

Not just Transfiguration—he hadn't touched a single subject.

This was, frankly, karma.

It had been nearly a whole term since he'd last done any schoolwork. The habit was long gone.

McGonagall gave him a gracious smile. "Thank you, Mr. Riddle. I do believe that's a brand-new excuse I've never heard before."

…

What happens when the top student in the entire year doesn't hand in their homework?

Well, Tom wasn't sure about the other subjects, but in Transfiguration, everyone was treated the same.

Predictably, McGonagall gave him a punishment—five points from Slytherin, and an ultimatum: the homework must be on her desk by tomorrow. For every day it was late, another five points would be docked.

Honestly, she was going easy on him. His well-established image as a "good boy" probably saved him.

If it had been Ron, or Malfoy? Points deduction would've been just the start—detention would've been guaranteed.

Although... come to think of it, those two—plus Harry—were already serving detention for that brawl on the last day of the previous term.

Tom gave a sincere apology, which seemed to cool McGonagall's temper a little, and she launched into today's lesson.

The assignment was to transfigure a stone into a wooden smoking pipe—one that had to include elegant carvings, no less.

Transfiguration was one of the hardest subjects at Hogwarts. Even after a whole term, most students hadn't even scratched the surface. What they turned out was often bizarre and completely off the mark.

Dean Thomas, for instance, somehow managed to transform his stone into an elephant's trunk. It flailed about the classroom, sparking screams.

Neville… well, Neville turned his stone into… another stone?

Slightly altered in shape, perhaps, but the material remained entirely unchanged. McGonagall could only shake her head in quiet despair. She quickly turned to Tom and Hermione's desks to check their work—and only then did she feel a sliver of relief.

Otherwise, after decades of dedicated teaching, even a professor like her might've started doubting her own abilities.

After class, Tom slipped into a corner to help Hermione fix her wand problem, then immediately darted off to find Professor Flitwick and explain his situation.

Compared to McGonagall's stern standards, Flitwick was far more lenient. No point deduction, no homework resubmission—he merely asked Tom to make the ribbons on the table perform a short tap-dance.

Naturally, this little test didn't faze Tom one bit. He passed with flying colors.

Next up: Herbology.

Professor Sprout was just as understanding. She simply had him help fertilize a group of pitcher plants, and dropped the subject of homework entirely.

The rest of the classes? Not important.

Professor Binns didn't even grade notes. Tom just copied a segment each from a few classmates and stitched them together.

As for Quirrell… he wasn't even worth wasting parchment on.

But the most troublesome professor of all—

That had to be Snape.

At precisely 4 p.m., Tom knocked on the door of Snape's office.

"Enter."

The voice from within was low and cold.

Tom pushed open the door. When Snape saw who it was, he didn't look surprised. After all, aside from other professors and Filch, Tom was probably the only student who dared approach his office voluntarily.

"Professor, I didn't do the Potions homework."

"Detention."

Snape didn't even look up from his book.

"Nope. That's a waste of time. Give me something else."

"Then prepare the toad corpses."

"Disgusting."

Smack!

Snape slammed his book shut and looked up with icy eyes. "You're getting picky now?"

Then he let out a mirthless chuckle. "Fine. You don't want detention? Midnight. Quidditch pitch. And you're not allowed to use that disgusting doorboard of yours."

"No problem."

Tom agreed so quickly that it caught Snape off guard. Before the man could even process the reply, Tom had already vanished.

…

That night, Tom spent several hours completing the Transfiguration homework.

Well—technically, it was Andros who wrote it inside the pocket dimension. Tom just copied it word for word, made a few edits, and called it a day.

It wasn't that Tom didn't want to write it himself—McGonagall had assigned an obscene amount of work. Writing it properly would've taken a full day.

Tom wasn't about to waste that much time, so poor Andros had to bear the brunt of it.

The "King of the Century," now reduced to ghostwriting for a first-year student…

Grindelwald, watching from the side, wanted to laugh but didn't dare to. If Andros refused next time, Tom might come knocking on his door instead.

Tom finished copying the last essay just in time, then bolted from the common room and slipped through the castle toward the Quidditch pitch.

Snape stood alone on the grassy field. When he saw Tom, he didn't bother with words—he simply raised his wand.

But Tom wasn't rushing. He held up a hand. "Professor, we're clear on the rules—no matter what happens here, the matter of my holiday homework is considered resolved."

Snape gave him a mocking smirk. "Didn't ask, Riddle. But—you're not allowed to use any of your bizarre little trinkets."

"Relax. I won't even use Transfiguration."

The smile vanished from Snape's face. Frost returned to his expression.

The last time they dueled, Tom's transfiguration skills had caused no end of trouble. And now—after just one holiday—the boy thought he could do even more damage?

Snape could sense Tom's change in aura, but still didn't believe a mere couple of weeks could bring that much improvement.

No—this boy had simply grown cocky.

Perfect. This would cool Tom's arrogance and remind him: there's always someone stronger, always a sky higher than the one you see.

Snape raised his wand with a flick, launching the first spell to start the duel.

Tom strolled aside as if taking a walk in the park, easily dodging the curse. A sizzling red burst of magic erupted from his wand in reply—powerful and explosive. The Shield Charm managed to block it, but the sheer force behind the spell sent Snape skidding back several steps.

Once steady, Snape stared at Tom in disbelief.

It was just a basic Depulso. Why had it hit like a Blasting Curse?

"Professor, just one holiday and your skills have already rusted? That's disappointing."

Tom's voice carried across the field, smooth and teasing. But before Snape could respond, another wave of spells flew at him—Expelliarmus, Stupefy, Impedimenta—textbook charms, but each one packed with aggression, relentless and sharp-edged.

Snape found himself entirely on the defensive, struggling to keep up with the flurry. He could only just manage to deflect Tom's onslaught.

At this point, Tom really wanted to shout that timeless classic: "Three decades east of the river, three decades west." But… it had only been two weeks. Still a little early for that kind of drama.

From the top of the tallest tower, Albus Dumbledore stood at the window, his eyes trained on the Quidditch pitch.

With the aid of Hawk-Eye, he could see every detail of the duel between Snape and Tom.

"That pressure… Dragon's Might?"

Dumbledore's eyes narrowed. As perhaps the most learned wizard alive, he could spot magical anomalies others would miss. He hadn't noticed anything off about Tom the previous day—because Tom had already fully absorbed the fire dragon's bloodline. If he hadn't fought, even Dumbledore wouldn't have detected it.

But now, as soon as the spells clashed and Tom's power surged, the truth revealed itself.

The question remained: had Tom fused with dragon blood over the break, or had a dormant bloodline been awakened?

Dumbledore leaned toward the latter. Fusion was rare and dangerous—and usually came with changes in physical appearance. Tom, on the other hand, looked perfectly normal.

The Dumbledore family itself carried phoenix blood. He knew better than most what to expect from a first-generation hybrid.

The duel raged on. Tom was utterly dominating—erasing all trace of his previous loss. His offensive was fierce, his rhythm tight, his spellwork seamless. It left Snape no room to counterattack.

Did Snape have a way to break out of this?

Oh yes. He had nine different methods.

But he couldn't use any of them—not here, not now. Most of those methods involved… less-than-legal magic.

To cast dark curses on a student? That'd be a career-ending move. And even if Snape didn't care about that, the old man watching from the tower certainly would.

So, within the bounds of a formal, rule-abiding duel… there really wasn't much Snape could do.

To make matters worse, Tom's raw magical power had clearly grown. His reflexes were razor-sharp, his body fast and flexible, dodging like a greased Niffler.

Snape, meanwhile… well, too many years behind a desk had done their damage. He was basically a stationary turret.

Back in the Headmaster's Office, Dumbledore's face remained unreadable even after discovering Tom's dragon bloodline—but now, his brow furrowed.

Each of Tom's spells came with unwavering confidence, with force, speed, and precision that left no doubt. No hesitation, no wasted movement.

That combat style…

Dumbledore couldn't help but see shades of Grindelwald in it.

Which made no sense.

It had to be his imagination… right?

Another five minutes passed. Snape was sweating profusely. Finally, he raised a hand and called off the duel.

Tom pretended he didn't hear him. For a moment, he considered pressing on—avenging his humiliation from last time. But in the end, he decided to let it go.

It never hurt to leave Snape with some dignity. After all, it'd be easier to ask him for favors later.

Snape stormed off in fury.

But he wasn't angry at Tom—he was angry at himself.

He'd just been thoroughly beaten by a student.

The authority he held as a professor? Gone. And after this, Tom definitely wouldn't take him seriously anymore.

Not that he ever really did.

But no—Snape shook himself. He had grown complacent over the years. He might never reach Voldemort's level, but he wasn't about to give up.

At the very least… he had to delay Riddle's rise for as long as he could!

Tom, unaware that he had just lit a fire under Snape's ambition, would've probably demanded tuition fees for the motivation boost.

Once Snape left, Tom didn't return to the castle right away.

Instead, he detoured toward the Forbidden Forest.

Unicorns lived in there—but he had no idea how many, or where exactly they tended to roam. He didn't yet have a plan for the Second Trial, but scouting the area was a necessary first step.

He'd considered trying to rescue a unicorn from Quirrell. If he managed to do that, such a noble and intelligent creature would likely warm up to him naturally.

But the system required more than mere friendship. It required acknowledgment. Devotion. Allegiance.

In other words—it had to submit.

Hagrid had great relationships with the creatures of the Forest too, but those were based on mutual respect, not hierarchy.

Tom needed to cross that line—from "ally" to "master."

First, he had to build the bond. Then, somehow, he had to convert that bond into loyalty. That second step was the real challenge.

By 2 a.m., Tom still hadn't found a unicorn—but he had discovered some promising signs. Satisfied with the intel, he finally headed back to the dormitory to sleep.

He slept soundly.

But elsewhere, two men were tossing and turning.

In the dim sleeping quarters attached to the Potions office, Snape jolted upright in bed.

No. How—how was Riddle this strong already?

Meanwhile, in the Headmaster's Office, Dumbledore sighed as he paced in front of the window.

Grindelwald's dueling style?

No. That couldn't be. He had to be imagining things.

…

With the homework crisis behind him, Tom could finally breathe easy.

Over the next week, aside from attending classes, he spent nearly all his free time in the library.

He scoured every book on unicorns he could find, diving deep into their biology, habits, and habitats.

At the end of the first week, Hermione came to him with news: thanks to his Chocolate Frog card collection, Harry had identified Nicholas Flamel and had guessed that the Sorcerer's Stone was what was hidden on the third-floor corridor.

Naturally, Harry and Ron were now busy worrying about its safety—as if they were in charge of guarding it.

Tom chuckled and didn't interfere.

This was actually a good thing. If anything happened to the Stone, he'd find out through them immediately.

Who knew if Quirrell might figure out the traps earlier than expected and strike ahead of schedule?

In class, Tom had noticed something strange—Quirrell was looking paler by the day. It was hard to say if that was Voldemort squeezing him dry or just the weight of his own anxiety—but the man looked like he was about to snap.

With a sigh, Tom closed the book in his hands and returned it to the shelf.

Most of the materials he found only talked about the economic value of unicorns—how to harvest their hair, sell their horn shavings, breed them, etc.

Not a word on how to gain their trust.

But that was no surprise. Most wizards didn't want a unicorn as a companion. They wanted ingredients.

No matter how pure or majestic the creature might be, it was still classified as a 4X magical beast—dangerous under the right conditions.

That evening, during a training session inside the learning space, Grindelwald noticed Tom still brooding over the unicorn problem.

He offered a suggestion.

"Why not ask Dumbledore? The man's read everything. He might have something useful to say."

Tom gave him a slow, crooked smile.

He wasn't stupid. He knew exactly what Grindelwald was trying to pull.

Still, he agreed to the plan—on one condition.

Grindelwald had to brew a special kind of milk—ahem, he meant magic—specially tailored to Tom's unique constitution.