Harry Potter: I, Tom Riddle, am not the Dark Lord Chapter 58 58: Hermione’s Request

"Hermione? What are you doing here?"

Tom had just stepped out of Snape's office, mulling over the professor's sudden change in attitude, when he caught a glimpse of bushy dark brown hair peeking from around the corner of the corridor. One look at the height, and he imdiately knew who it was.

He walked over to confirm—and sure enough, it was Hermione.

The little witch looked conflicted, her fingers tangled together as if wrestling with so world-ending dilemma.

Tom's curiosity was piqued. There wasn't even a Potions class today—what was Hermione doing in the dungeons?

"Tom?!"

Hermione, startled by his voice, jumped nearly a foot in the air. If Tom hadn't reflexively dodged, her fluffy head might've smashed straight into his chin.

"Sothing's off…" Tom stepped back, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. "Why do you look like you've been caught sneaking around?"

Hermione shot him an exaggerated eye-roll. "You're the one sneaking around."

Despite the ss of her hair, first-year Hermione was still the very picture of cuteness. That scowl only added to her charm.

Adorable, Tom thought to himself.

Not dark-skinned, not tan—just pale and soft like a porcelain doll.

As for how she slled… he hadn't exactly tested that out yet. Couldn't draw conclusions without data.

Shaking the thought from his head, Tom refocused. "Don't dodge the question. What are you hiding here for?"

Hermione fidgeted for a long mont, then finally admitted, "I… I heard soone say that Professor Snape called you in again. I was waiting to talk to you."

Tom nodded slowly. "So you're here because you need sothing."

Hermione seed to gather all her courage, then closed her eyes tight and blurted out in one breath, "I heard from Greengrass that she's learning magic from you. I want you to teach too! I don't have anything to offer, but if there's anything I can give, just say it—I'll do whatever I can."

Once upon a ti, Hermione and Tom had been rivals, neck-and-neck competitors throughout the last few years of primary school.

But that all changed the mont they entered the magical world. From the very beginning, Tom had shown an almost frightening talent, pulling farther and farther ahead. Hermione had tried to chase him through sheer will and hard work…

But after that night they'd snuck out of bed, she'd realized the gap was insurmountable.

Those brilliant, explosive spells he wielded—they weren't sothing she could reach just by studying hard.

They might've been the sa incantations on paper, but the results were leagues apart.

So by coming here to ask him for help, Hermione was essentially admitting defeat. Between pride and power, she had chosen the one that mattered most.

After finishing her request, she kept her eyes shut, anxiously awaiting Tom's reply.

If he agreed, it would be a favor. If he didn't, it was still his right. Either way, it wouldn't hurt their friendship.

Tom, however, looked thoroughly unimpressed. "That's it? I thought you had so earth-shattering news."

Hermione blinked, thrown off by his reaction. "So… does that an you're saying yes or no?"

"Obviously yes," Tom replied, like it was the most natural thing in the world. "I just said it's no big deal, didn't I?"

"But Daphne said… she gave you twelve hundred Galleons for tutoring," Hermione said, stunned.

Tom sighed. "I'm not so shady rchant, and I'm certainly not a capitalist dangling from a lamppost. You don't need that kind of money to learn from . Honestly, any Hogwarts professor is way more qualified than I am—and they don't earn much more than that per year. What makes you think I'm worth it?"

"It's just that Daphne insisted I take the money. She probably thought I needed it."

Hermione looked even more shocked. "And you just took it?"

"She looked like she was about to cry. What was I supposed to do—refuse?"

Tom shrugged. "Anyway, I'm treating it like a loan. I'll pay her back. So you don't need to feel like you're burdening or anything."

If his system worked like a pay-to-win ga, Tom would've marched straight to the Granger dental clinic and said, "Sir, you wouldn't want your precious daughter—whom you've raised for eleven years—to end up in my hands this early, would you?"

Then he'd guilt-trip the man into coughing up a few kilos of gold bricks.

And you better believe it—dentists in the UK were rich like that. Hermione's dad didn't just work at the clinic—he owned it.

After that, Tom would've brought Daphne to the Greengrass estate.

"Madam Greengrass, surely you wouldn't want your daughter knocked up before graduation, would you?"

By the end of that little money-grab tour, he could probably surpass Snape—even if the ga system was rigged against him.

Unfortunately, that was just a dream.

His real system demanded blood, sweat, and late-night grinding. A "no pain, no gain" kind of deal.

…

After listening, Hermione finally realized—Daphne had just scared her for no reason.

No, wait—Daphne probably genuinely believed she was paying for tutoring.

Hermione's heart instantly lightened. If Tom had actually demanded a thousand Galleons, she wouldn't have been able to afford it even if she gave him her entire seven years' worth of living expenses.

"But…" Tom's voice suddenly changed tone, making Hermione tense up again.

"What Daphne gave , even if I plan to return it, did help out a lot. So tell , Miss Granger—what are you planning to offer?"

"What do you… want?" Hermione asked, cheeks pink.

"I want… you…" Tom drew out the words dramatically.

Hermione's face instantly turned bright red—like a freshly plucked apple, pink with just the faintest shimr.

Her brain short-circuited.

?

Isn't this a little too soon?

Sure, Tom was smart, patient, always one step ahead, and most importantly—very good-looking. She often sneaked glances at him while pretending to ask questions.

But still—wasn't it too fast?

Aren't people supposed to start dating around third or fourth year?

Wait—if she waited that long, Greengrass would have already snatched him up.

Maybe she should just agree? Who knows who'd benefit more?

"I want you… to help with my howork," Tom finally said with a devilish grin.

All the spark in Hermione's eyes vanished. She stared blankly at Tom's smirking face.

"Tom Riddle… I'm going to kill you!"

The little witch snapped, launching herself at him and pounding her tiny fists against his chest. Not that it hurt—they were soft and fluffy like a kitten play-fighting.

Good thing no other students were around—otherwise they'd assu these two were hopelessly flirting.

After venting her frustration, Hermione pushed Tom away, panting. "No! Everyone should do their own howork. I'm not writing yours for you."

"What's the point of doing howork?" Tom countered smoothly.

"To review what we learned in class, obviously," Hermione answered without hesitation, like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Tom raised his hands in an innocent gesture. "But I don't need a review. I'm already way ahead of the class. Doing howork is just a waste of my ti—especially Snape's and Binns' assignnts. They're always long, tedious, and completely soul-sucking."

"So really, howork isn't helping —it's slowing down."

Hermione paused. His argunt gave her pause. She was starting to falter, and Tom, sensing victory, leaned in with a sly smile.

"You're different, Hermione. Writing howork twice helps you see things from two perspectives. It's perfect for reinforcing your understanding. Who knows, maybe you won't even need to study for finals."

"That's ridiculous!" Hermione shot back instinctively. "You have to revise before exams!"

"And besides…" She hesitated, clearly torn. "Your handwriting is totally different from mine. The professors will catch on imdiately."

"That won't be a problem," Tom said confidently. "In a few days, I'll show you sothing. I guarantee no professor will suspect a thing—just don't hand in the exact sa essay."

Still a little doubtful, Hermione agreed with a reluctant nod. Deep down, she sighed at her own moral slip.

Her roommates weren't even allowed to peek at her howork, and now here she was, stepping into the realm of ghostwriting.

But if everyone was like Tom—brilliant, far ahead of the syllabus—she probably wouldn't mind helping them either.

With a convenient little excuse tucked into her conscience, the young witch felt her guilt begin to fade.

…

Back in the Slytherin common room, Daphne was deep in a ga of wizard's chess with Millicent Bulstrode. Tom didn't disturb them, waiting patiently until the match ended—Bulstrode's queen taken down by a well-placed knight.

Then he pulled Daphne aside to a quiet corner and told her everything that had just happened.

Daphne's face visibly dropped. Her lips pursed in annoyance.

She was clearly regretting her earlier smugness—bragging to Hermione had backfired horribly.

Tom understood how it looked from Daphne's perspective. After all, she had paid him fair and square.

So, he sweetened the deal by telling her what Hermione had agreed to offer in exchange—and gave Daphne a choice.

"If you want to keep writing my howork," he said, "I'll turn down Hermione's offer."

Daphne imdiately waved her hands in panic. "No, no, let Granger do it! Let her do it until we graduate!"

She barely had the will to write her own essays, let alone handle Tom's assignnts and keep up with his grueling training.

Just like that, all her frustration lted away. Galleons didn't matter much to a pampered heiress—but Tom's attitude? That mattered a lot.

He was actually willing to say no to Granger—for her. That ant sothing.

Realizing this, Daphne lit up again, her good mood returning.

Once his top investor was reassured, Tom told her to go back to her ga. He himself returned to the dormitory to brew potions.

The other three boys were in the room too, and while they initially seed interested in helping, their enthusiasm faded the mont they saw the complex list of potion materials.

Rosier and Nott chickened out right away. The last thing they wanted was to damage any of Tom's rare ingredients and incur his wrath. They wisely made themselves scarce, leaving Tom to his quiet workspace.

Only Zabini stayed behind. He had always been genuinely interested in Potions and wasn't bad at it either.

After a few early mistakes, he found his rhythm and began helping Tom prep ingredients with ease.

As paynt for his help, Tom would occasionally drop useful tips and snippets of knowledge. Whether Zabini retained them or not—that was up to him.

"When cutting moonstone," Tom instructed, "always keep your tools dry. Even a little moisture will ss with the potency."

"For sopophorous beans, you drop them in when the liquid turns a muddy gray—not a second later. I delayed by two seconds just now, and look—the color already faded. First ti making this one, I hesitated."

"Now, the ashwinder egg stabilizes the magical energy. The number can't be fixed—you have to use your wand to feel out the right amount... There."

He added the final ingredient, flicked his wand, and waited.

A few minutes later, a golden, translucent potion shimred in the cauldron.

Tom leaned in, giving it a sniff.

Color, sll—both matched the textbook description of a stamina draught.

It wasn't a masterpiece, but it was solid. Usable. Tom was content.

Zabini, anwhile, was impressed beyond words.

Last ti, Tom had only talked theory. This ti, he had demonstrated his brewing skills, and they were clearly on par with—if not beyond—what upper years could manage.

Wasn't the stamina draught a sixth-year potion? Or maybe fifth-year?

He rembered overhearing so older students chatting about it. Either way, it was a challenging brew. Unlike the Draught of Living Death, which only used two ingredients, this one needed eight, and even involved magic-enhanced infusions—hallmarks of an advanced potion.

Tom continued brewing for hours—batch after batch of stamina and endurance draughts. His proficiency grew rapidly, and Zabini soaked up the knowledge like a sponge.

Before they knew it, two days had passed.

On Wednesday, just before Charms class, Tom presented the promised solution to Hermione.

Daphne tagged along too, both girls watching curiously.

"A quill?"

It looked utterly ordinary—not crafted from any exotic or rare feather.

"This quill can perfectly mimic my handwriting," Tom explained.

He demonstrated by writing "Tom Riddle," "Daphne Greengrass," and "Hermione Granger" on a fresh piece of parchnt.

Then he had Hermione copy the nas with her own quill—and then again using his.

Her version with her own quill looked neat and elegant, completely different from Tom's.

But the mont she used his quill, the letters twisted ever so slightly as she wrote—transforming into a flawless replica of Tom's handwriting.

"How did you do that?" Hermione gaped.

"A mimicry charm," Tom said matter-of-factly, "and a bit of basic alchemical enhancent."

He didn't think it was impressive. Just a few evenings with an alchemy prir had done the trick.

Satisfied, Hermione agreed to write Tom's assignnts—on one condition: if he scored lower than her in the finals, he'd have to go back to writing his own.

Tom agreed without hesitation.

"Hehe, Granger—I an, Hermione…" Daphne suddenly leaned toward her with a grin. "Since you're already helping Tom, want to help too? I've got loads of allowance. You could buy so many books."

"No thanks," Hermione said curtly, ignoring Daphne's hopeful look. "Tom can teach real magic. Galleons can't. I don't need your money."

"Hmph! Fine, be that way." Daphne pouted. "Tom, I want a quill like that too—with my handwriting."

If she couldn't have Granger, she still had other girlfriends.

Millicent and the other girls in their dorm could each write two subjects for her. She didn't need to beg Hermione.

Tom ruffled her hair with an exasperated look. "You wish. If I gave you one, I doubt you'd even pass your finals."

Daphne was a typical twelve-year-old witch. Too many things interested her more than magic. If she stopped doing howork altogether, she'd be hopeless in six months.

Seeing Tom's refusal was absolute, Daphne sulked but didn't argue.

Just then, Professor Flitwick trotted cheerfully into the classroom, climbing up his stack of books to reach the lectern.

"Today, class, we'll be learning a new charm—the nding Charm..."