Harry Potter: I, Tom Riddle, am not the Dark Lord Chapter 118 118: Every Generation of the Greengrasses Are Si

"I think I understand your plan now, Mr. Riddle."

The old man's smile returned, and even his tone grew lighter.

He had speculated on many possible reasons why Tom might want the Philosopher's Stone, but this one—this he had overlooked. And it was the one that surprised and pleased him the most.

"Using the Stone's life-giving power to resolve the Greengrass family curse? That is indeed a very creative plan. Whether it will work, however… I cannot say."

"You still haven't answered my question," Tom pressed.

"Ah… it is a most troubleso problem, truly. All I can tell you is… it's an extrely vicious blood curse. Yes, vicious beyond words."

"Blood curse?" Tom frowned, recalling the records he had read. "Isn't a blood curse supposed to be the kind of malediction that turns a person entirely into so sort of beast?"

The most famous blood-curse victim, of course, was Nagini—who had dealings with not one, but two Dark Lords.

Dumbledore looked at the boy with mild surprise. "I didn't expect you to be so well-versed in blood curses."

"But that," he continued patiently, "is only one form of the blood curse. There are many varieties—so damage the soul, so tornt the body; lycanthropy is only one possible manifestation.

"In general, any curse passed down through the bloodline may be called a blood curse."

"The Greengrass family's blood curse… I suspect you've heard of it before. That's why you thought of using the Elixir of Life from the Stone to heal it."

Tom nodded. "I've created a potion that can help Astoria—it works to a degree—but its main effect isn't to replenish life force, and its efficacy gradually wanes."

"That's already remarkable," Dumbledore praised. "Years ago, Daphne Greengrass's grandmother asked to break her younger sister's blood curse. I tried… and failed. Mr. Riddle, in this, you have outdone ."

No, not , Tom corrected silently. The true credit belonged to the Strengthening Draught—its ancient recipe retrieved from a long-forgotten magical ruin.

He held his tongue, waiting for Dumbledore to share more about the curse.

"The Greengrass family's blood curse is peculiar," Dumbledore went on. "First of all, the family has only female mbers."

"No exceptions?" Tom arched a brow.

Dumbledore thought for a mont. "Hmm. If changing the surna counts, then yes—there are many exceptions. Let rephrase: so long as they keep the surna 'Greengrass' and acknowledge themselves as mbers of the Greengrass line, their descendants will inevitably be female.

"It's like the so-called 'curse' on the Defence Against the Dark Arts post. Many believe they can break it by changing the subject's na—but if the teaching content remains the sa, the curse still holds. Otherwise, I wouldn't have the headache of finding a new professor every year."

"It's clear the caster ant to wipe out this ancient pure-blood family entirely."

In truth, the wizarding world was still very traditional. Once a daughter married, she was considered part of her husband's household. Take Narcissa Malfoy, for instance—once she married into the Malfoy family, her loyalties were entirely theirs.

"And the most cruel thing of all," Dumbledore said softly, "is that in every generation, at least one family mber will inherit the blood curse."

Tom's expression darkened. One victim in every generation?

In an instant, many things clicked into place for him.

Seeing Tom's shifting expression, Dumbledore knew there was no need to elaborate further. He sighed. "Yes—that's why every generation of Greengrasses are sisters. If there's only one daughter, the curse is guaranteed to strike her. But if there are two, at least one will be spared."

"A painful and drawn-out fate," he added. "You could say that every Greengrass who dies of old age does so at the cost of her dearest sister's life."

The room sank into a heavy silence.

Then, from behind Tom, a voice drawled,

"Tch. Those won are just a bunch of stubborn fools."

Tom turned to see Phineas Nigellus Black speaking from his portrait.

"Oh? Phineas, you have a wiser solution?" Dumbledore asked, intrigued.

Phineas tugged at his little goatee and sniffed. "I told the Greengrasses long ago—just abandon the surna, stop claiming mbership in the family, marry into other pure-blood lines, and nothing will happen to their children. But would they listen? No! They insist on torturing themselves. How is that anyone else's fault?"

At that, a chorus of indignant voices rose from the other portraits.

"You think everyone's as shaless as you—dropping your na whenever it suits you?"

"Exactly! If I told you to stop calling yourself 'Black' and take my surna, Fosco, would you do it?"

"The Black family has no blood curse, so why should I change?" Phineas said with utter disdain.

"You shaless old goat—get him!" a plump witch in a headmaster's portrait bellowed.

A swarm of past headmasters poured into Phineas's fra, launching into an all-out brawl. Phineas was outnumbered ten to one and quickly overwheld—but his tongue remained as sharp as ever. If he couldn't win with fists, he would certainly try with insults.

Dumbledore gave Tom an embarrassed smile. "Portraits differ sowhat from the people they depict. All our predecessors were fine individuals, truly—only, once they're on the wall, they tend to beco… livelier."

"And you?" Tom's eyes glead with mischief. "What will you be like once you're hanging up there? I can't wait to find out."

"You'll see the day when it cos," Dumbledore said, surprisingly wistful—as though he too longed for the peace of a well-earned retirent.

The interruption over, they returned to the matter of the Greengrasses.

"So… do you think my plan could work?" Tom asked.

"It's worth trying," Dumbledore said gravely. "The Elixir of Life does replenish vitality, and its power does not fade—otherwise, Nicolas and Perenelle would not have lived so long. The only concern is the Stone's magical reserves."

He looked down at the Philosopher's Stone. "When Nicolas entrusted it to , he warned that most of its magic had already been spent."

Tom seized the mont. "May I visit Nicolas Flal?"

This wasn't solely about the Greengrass curse—Nicolas himself was a living treasure. In raw magical power, he might not match Dumbledore, but in knowledge and experience, he far surpassed him.

"I will convey your request to him," Dumbledore promised. "Oh, and—"

He winked like an old prankster. "I'll see if I can get you the recipe for the Elixir of Life. You could give Miss Greengrass a dose straight away."

The fact that Tom would ask for the Stone for soone else's sake convinced Dumbledore of one thing: this boy would never grow into a Voldemort.

With that conviction, Dumbledore decided that even if the Stone were whole and newly forged, he would not take it back.

"Then I'll be in Arica, awaiting your good news," Tom said with a smile, tucking the Stone away.