Chapter 245: The Riddle Family
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What a petty little thing.
Lady Greengrass couldn’t help grumbling inwardly, though she still obediently gave up the nas of the people most opposed to Tom.
Parkinson. Travers. Bathilda Bagshot.
After sending Lady Greengrass away, Tom sat quietly, murmuring the nas under his breath.
"So they want to play the ’too young’ card, huh? Fine. Then I’ll make sure your families are left with nothing but old folks. Every last one of you will die without heirs."
That punishnt was far crueler than death. In the wizarding world, a family’s lineage ant everything.
For her children, Narcissa dared to betray Voldemort.
For his son, the rule-bound Barty Crouch Sr. broke the law he’d spent his life upholding.
For the sake of legacy, the Greengrass family had endured a thousand years of tornt.
So... Turn those families into barren lines, and the remaining elders would wish for death every day—condemned to live out their long lives in endless despair.
And maybe, Tom thought with a smirk, he’d even throw in so Elixirs of Life—so those old fossils could really enjoy the "gift" of longevity.
"Oi, old man!"
Storming into his study space, Tom yanked Grindelwald in with sheer fury radiating off him.
"What, did you eat a Blasting Curse for breakfast?" Grindelwald blinked in confusion, staring at Tom’s dark scowl.
"I rember Bathilda Bagshot’s your great-aunt, right?" Tom asked, narrowing his eyes.
Grindelwald nodded. "Yeah, the old lady is my aunt. She’s what, a hundred and twenty by now? Lost her marbles ages ago. Why? She piss you off?"
Tom explained what happened, and Grindelwald burst out laughing halfway through.
Just then, Ariana appeared, drawn by the noise. Grindelwald turned to her, speaking with a rare seriousness.
"You see, Ariana—this is what I’ve been saying. The wizarding world is rotten to the core. My aunt and her ilk—these stubborn old relics—still hold all the power. They’re the reason our world stays stagnant, refusing to change."
He sighed softly. "Change is frightening, yes, but without it, magic itself will decay. That’s what your brother and I once sought—to bring rebirth to our kind. Sadly, we beca enemies before we ever got there."
Ariana fell silent. She’d t Bathilda before—back in Godric’s Hollow. The old woman always wore a kindly smile, but every visit turned into a long, moralizing lecture.
Then her thoughts drifted to her father—thrown into Azkaban and dead within a few years.
What did he do wrong? Was avenging his daughter really a cri?
Maybe Grindelwald was right... the world was rotten. Utterly disappointing.
As her emotions churned, the dark, mist-like substance inside Ariana began to stir—but Tom didn’t interfere. He simply watched. After a long two minutes of silence, she forced it back down again.
Then Ariana smiled, bright and sweet. "Then let’s just kill them all."
Grindelwald chuckled softly, his eyes filled with the kind of pride a father feels when his child finally grows up.
"That was my first idea too..." Tom admitted, before sharing his far crueler plan. Ariana listened, eyes gleaming, nodding along.
"That’s even better! You’re so clever, Tom."
Grindelwald, however, couldn’t help laughing and shaking his head. "That might work on others, but my aunt? Too bad—she’s already barren."
Tom blinked. "You an she can’t...?"
But an idea quickly struck him. "Wait. You’re her descendant, aren’t you, old man?"
Grindelwald’s expression froze. "..."
"Co on, besides a handful of people, who even knows you’re related? You think she’d care?" Grindelwald asked flatly, exasperation in his tone. ’This kid’s not just ruthless—he’s crazy.’
’No wonder he got sorted into Slytherin. Actually... he’s dragging the House’s moral baseline even lower!’
"Then we’ll have to go after her academically," Tom decided, his grin turning wicked. "Her life’s work is A History of Magic. If I can turn that book into a laughingstock, she’ll wish she were dead."
Grindelwald sighed and walked straight into the ditation Room. He couldn’t listen anymore. Bathilda was still his aunt, after all—and Tom was casually plotting her emotional destruction right in front of him.
Tom didn’t act on it right away, though. That revenge could wait until after he received the Order of rlin.
For now, he had other priorities. Between pestering old Newt for updates on the Panda project, he spent most of his ti studying flesh magic, brewing potions, and crafting protective gear for Madam Bones.
Her latest order was for the best of the best—top-tier protection amulets. They took ages to make, but at least Daphne, hopped up on Diet potions, was constantly dragging her sister and Hermione around London for food binges, leaving Tom in peace.
...
At last, on the very day before the pickup, Tom finished everything—just barely in ti.
"You’ve worked hard, Tom," Bones said apologetically, seeing how exhausted he looked.
"It’s fine," Tom replied, rubbing his eyes. "Didn’t sleep much last night."
The truth was he stayed up late telling bedti stories to little Gabrielle over the mirror until nearly three in the morning. Then, just as he was about to sleep, Grindelwald had a new breakthrough. Tom rushed to Nurngard to assist in an experint—helping one of Grindelwald’s human subjects fuse dragon blood into his body.
The result was promising: no rejection, high compatibility, and significant boosts to magic and physique.
Still, it paled compared to Tom’s own.
His blood had been blessed by the Twelve Trials, far purer than that of any slain dragon—just as his Thunderbird bloodline had surpassed most real Thunderbirds.
The experint’s results were rated a five out of ten; there was still another five’s worth of potential. Perfect fusion would an overwhelming power, especially for acolytes.
Nexy, Grindelwald asked for basilisk flesh and blood.
He didn’t care for its Deadly Gaze or lethal venom. Who needed such gimmicks? He had plenty of spells that could level cities. "And if you doubt ," he’d said dryly, "go ask Paris."
What he did want was the basilisk’s longevity—both for himself and for his old comrades.
"Huh?"
Alia Bones’ sharp eyes caught sothing unusual. "Wait a minute... this mark on the necklaces—is that a crest?"
Tom stifled a yawn and smiled. "Yeah. Professor Nicolas helped
design it. Think of it as my brand—so no one cos knocking later with counterfeit junk claiming it’s mine."
Bones nodded approvingly. "Smart. You’ll need a mark sooner or later. With how many things you’re creating, that crest’s going to beco a symbol of quality."
A family crest was no small thing. It stood for heritage and honor, and Tom—just a kid, and an orphan at that—technically had no right to use one.
Usually, only old families that had prospered for generations carried a crest. Even among the Sacred Twenty-Eight, barely half of them still kept theirs.
But with Nicolas Flal’s approval—and Tom’s sheer genius—he had every right to create one for himself.
It was the mark of a new beginning. A new bloodline.
From now on, when people spoke of the Riddle family, Tom would be the ancestor.
After a few more words of small talk, Bones took her leave. Tom went upstairs for a nap and didn’t wake until the afternoon sun was glowing through the curtains.
"Should we head back?" Hermione asked nervously as she stepped into his room with a tray of afternoon tea. "You think the Headmaster will punish us for skipping school?"
Tom stretched, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. "He won’t. Dumbledore’s reasonable enough."
He downed his milk, grabbed two squares of tiramisu, and finally hopped out of bed. "Go tell Daphne to start packing. Once we’re ready, we’ll head back."
Hermione nodded and hurried out.
Half an hour later, the girls had their luggage packed and stacked neatly by the door.
"Usaki, Fawkes! Ti to go!" Tom called toward the garden.
Within monts, a dragon and a phoenix swooped down gracefully. Usaki dove straight into Tom’s pocket, while Fawkes perched proudly on his shoulder.
"Just drop us off outside the Headmaster’s office, please," Tom said, smiling at the bird.
He reached out his hands—Hermione on the left, Daphne on the right—and they each held on to Astoria. The four of them ford a circle.
Even for a phoenix, long-distance Apparition with four passengers was no small feat. That’s why Tom had spent the past few days pampering Fawkes with rare herbs and lavish als. The results were... visible. The bird looked a little rounder.
He’d just wanted to save ti. His own Apparition was restricted by anti-teleportation wards—he could only land in the Forbidden Forest or Hogsade, then sneak back to the castle on foot. A huge waste of ti.
Unfortunately, that shortcut ca back to bite him.
...
A dizzying flash later, they landed—right outside the Headmaster’s office.
The girls were still reeling, trying to steady themselves, while the stone gargoyle guarding the door jumped aside.
Tom raised an eyebrow, thinking it was opening for him. "Oh, I’m not here to see Dumbledore," he quickly explained.
The gargoyle blinked. "Hmm... and what if Dumbledore cos to see you?"
"What—?"
Before it could finish, Tom saw the familiar sight of Dumbledore stooping under the doorway.
Tom: "..."
Dumbledore: "..."
They stared at each other in perfect silence.
Tom felt the urge to curse. ’Seriously? Of all the tis?’
He sneaks off for a short holiday, and the very first thing he sees when he’s back is the Headmaster himself. ’Now what? How do I talk my way out of this one?’
Dumbledore’s gaze drifted to Fawkes, still perched lazily on Tom’s shoulder. His expression was complicated. The mont school had gone on break, the bird had disappeared. For the past few days, he’d had to Apparate everywhere on his own. It was... inconvenient.
Tom finally broke the silence with an awkward grin. "Headmaster! You’re looking great—much more energetic than before. Your beard’s looking especially magnificent today."
Dumbledore smiled mildly. "Thank you, Tom. And you’re looking quite refreshed yourself. I take it you enjoyed your break?"
"Not bad," Tom said casually. "I just perfected a new potion I’ve been working on, so I guess I’ve been in a good mood."
"Well then, congratulations," Dumbledore said warmly. "Go get so rest, and please be in the Great Hall later. I’ve an announcent to make."
Tom nodded quickly. "Of course, Professor."
He grabbed the girls—who were now pale and speechless—and started for the stairs.
"Ahem. Fawkes," Dumbledore called suddenly, unable to hold it in any longer, "aren’t you forgetting sothing?"
The phoenix looked back at Tom with a reluctant squawk, then fluttered off his shoulder and returned to his master.
...
Two flights down, Hermione finally lost her composure. Her knees gave out and she collapsed into Tom’s arms, whispering in horror, "rlin... we got caught the minute we got back. We’re dood, Tom. Dood."
"Relax," Daphne said confidently, puffing her chest out. "My mother’s on the Board of Governors. Dumbledore wouldn’t dare expel us. Worst case, we lose a few house points. Well, for Gryffindors—"
Tom quickly covered her mouth.
Hermione’s eyes were already welling up—another word and she’d be crying for sure. Then he’d have to calm her down, and that was definitely not on his to-do list.
"Hermione," Tom said gently, "he’s not going to take points. You saw him—he knows we ca from outside, but he didn’t say a word. That ans he’s letting it go. It’s over. Don’t stress yourself out."
Hermione thought about it, recalling Dumbledore’s calm expression, and finally nodded. Her shoulders relaxed a little.
"Alright," she murmured. "Maybe you’re right."
.
.
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