Harry Potter: I, Tom Riddle, am not the Dark Lord Chapter 97 97 – Eternal Glory of the Greengrass Family

Grindelwald had long since confird it with his own eyes—Andros could cast spells without a wand, summoning a Patronus the size of a giant. Grindelwald had exclaid that such magic didn't even feel like magic anymore.

He used to consider himself a master in wandless magic—his proudest feat being the effortless subduing of the Scamander couple with just a few flicks of his hand. But compared to Andros? He was utterly outclassed.

At long last, Andros had a chance to bask in glory. He had always suffered from being born in the wrong era. Many modern magical theories he was only now catching up on, learning alongside Tom under Grindelwald's tutelage. But now, Grindelwald was learning from him.

Though the two got along well, they were both "Kings of the Century"—neither willing to admit inferiority. Their rivalry simred beneath the surface.

To accelerate his mastery, Tom even activated his Transcendent State a few tis. He had the academic credits to spare, but progress on his Achievent Points had slowed dramatically compared to last term.

There was no helping it. Many early achievents were easy to collect, but the farther he went, the more demanding the requirents beca.

Grindelwald's Recognition ter was climbing—but painfully slowly. It hadn't even reached fifty percent.

That was the downside of Dark wizards. They were infamously difficult to fully trust anyone. Even with the system ensuring Grindelwald wouldn't harm him, and even though he was willingly sharing all his knowledge, it didn't an he recognized Tom as his equal.

Which was why Tom wanted to seek out another master to speed up his system's upgrade.

He'd asked the system if soone marked as "a genius of his generation" with 100 Achievent Points would qualify.

The answer was no.

Such figures were rely considered "assistant teachers" by the system. Only "Kings of the Century"—true legends—could qualify as real ntors. Their recognition was what mattered.

So Tom gave up the idea.

Another week of classes passed.

After Potions class, Tom quietly followed Snape into his office.

Snape acted like he didn't notice, tending to his business—stacking student essays neatly, lighting the extinguished fireplace—before finally asking, "All right, what's the problem this ti?"

"I'd like to submit a thesis," Tom said plainly. "But I want your feedback first—to check if anything needs improving."

"A thesis?" Snape looked at him skeptically, unsure what had gotten into the boy.

Still, he didn't question Tom's ability. Doubting Tom would an doubting his own teaching. With a brilliant student and a masterful teacher, Tom had already surpassed most others in the field of Potions.

Snape was just baffled. This kid had always been obsessed with raw power. What was he doing writing academic papers?

"Let see it."

His curiosity piqued, Snape accepted the small booklet Tom handed over—about ten pages thick.

"On the Feasibility of Extracting Vital Active Properties from Potion Ingredients"

Snape frowned at the title.

Had he ever taught Tom anything like this?

For the next half hour, Tom leaned back with his eyes closed while the only sound in the room was the flipping of pages—and the increasingly complicated expressions on Snape's face as he read. He was clearly dissecting every word and paragraph with care.

Tom's thesis proposed a thod to extract life-active properties from ingredients. The extracted essence could be absorbed more easily, and the process significantly reduced impurities and toxins, drastically improving potion quality.

It sounded simple. But it flipped traditional potion-making on its head.

Grind, slice, juice—those were the standard thods of ingredient prep. But if you only needed the life-active essence, wouldn't that change the entire formula?

Could it still be called the sa potion?

Snape ticulously examined Tom's experintal data.

Lately, Tom had brewed quite a few Fortifying Potions. The trickiest part was always processing the dragon heart—it required an incredibly delicate hand to remove every impurity and preserve only the core vitality. Any misstep could sabotage the entire brew.

Then inspiration struck—what if he used modern dical extraction techniques? Target only the elents he needed. After two failed attempts (and losing 40% of his dragon heart stock), he finally succeeded. The resulting potion was even stronger and absorbed better.

Originally, he hadn't planned to publish any paper. But with his academic credits stuck in a rut, he figured—why not try to score so with a bit of scholarship?

The data was solid. The improvents were real. Snape couldn't fault any of it.

But... sothing still felt off.

Dragon hearts. Sphinx eyes...

Wait a minute—why did those ingredients sound so familiar?

"…Riddle."

Tom slowly opened his eyes. Snape was watching him carefully.

"These materials—where exactly did you get them? And why does your potion's effects section omit information on its... secondary magical interactions?"

Of course, Tom had been ready for that question.

"I ca across the recipe by chance. As for the ingredients…"

He gave a sheepish grin.

"They were provided by Daphne—or more accurately, sponsored by the Greengrass family."

Greengrass?

Snape raised an eyebrow. But then he thought of how that girl practically glued herself to Tom's side. The suspicion drained from his face.

If the Greengrasses were behind it, then everything made sense.

Still... Riddle, you little bastard.

Already living off a wealthy pureblood family at your age? What happened to ambition and hard work?

Seeing Snape's reaction, Tom beca even more intrigued by the Greengrasses.

He decided to just ask directly.

"Professor, Daphne's kind of clueless—she doesn't really know much about her own family. But I've been wondering... just how rich are the Greengrasses? I an, they don't marry into other families, yet they're insanely powerful. How did they even get this far?"

Snape gave him a long, aningful look.

"Riddle, you've read Cantankerus Nott's Pureblood Registry, haven't you? Do you rember how he described the Greengrass family?"

Tom thought for a mont, pulling up the mory.

"'The pureblood ideal. A family that never declines.'"