Chapter 250: The Best Wingman
(A/N: Before we start, a quick note about Cassandra’s character—otherwise people will think I wrote her out of character. I replayed Magic Awakened recently, and Cassandra’s main trait is clear: she makes sure everyone knows they’re beneath her. She’s proud of her bloodline, her family na, and her own talent. So if a muggle-born orphan dares to "evaluate" what she’s most proud of? Of course she’d be furious. Her word choice in the last Chapter—"mudblood"—wasn’t about random insults; it ca from genuine arrogance. Harsh, maybe, but true to who she is. And yes, this setup’s for later plot developnt.)
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Tom was smiling—beautifully, even.
But everyone around felt a chill sweep through the corridor. Cassandra, eting his eyes directly, felt every hair on her body stand on end. Panic rushed through her chest before she even understood why.
Just as she tried to speak, she saw his eyes flash gold for an instant—slitted like a serpent’s.
Then her entire body went rigid. Her thoughts kept spinning, but her mouth wouldn’t open, her limbs wouldn’t move.
"You see?" Tom’s voice was soft, almost kind. "That’s what I an by qualification. When I speak, you listen. You want to argue?"
He tilted his head slightly. "Then start by seeing if you can even open your mouth."
"Cassandra?!"
"Let her go!"
The Ilvermorny student who’d been walking out panicked when he saw Cassandra frozen like a statue. He whipped out his wand, but before he could aim, Tom flicked his sleeve dismissively—as if shooing away a fly.
The boy went tumbling down the stairs, rolling like a kicked football.
"How’s that feel, Miss Vole?" Tom asked lightly.
Humiliation crashed over Cassandra like cold water.
Who was she?
The eldest daughter of the Vole family—a na that had risen fast in the past century but could trace its roots back a thousand years. A true old-blood house. At school, her classmates treated her with deference, professors spoke to her gently, and even the Head of the Auror Office would think twice before crossing her family.
And now she was frozen in place—by Tom Riddle’s gaze.
What kind of dark magic was this?!
How dare he lay a hand on her?
But under the effect of the spell, she couldn’t move a finger. Her mind was clear, her eyes wide and unblinking. Her expression—halfway between outrage and fear—was frozen solid, almost comically so.
The crowd had gone completely silent. More and more students gathered, but whenever soone tried to speak up, another clamped a hand over their mouth. Nobody dared interrupt Riddle.
This wasn’t what they’d expected, though.
Was he... holding back?
Maybe because she was a visiting student? Or because she was—well—pretty?
Tom ignored the whispers. With a casual wave, he conjured a mirror in front of Cassandra, its surface gleaming crystal clear.
"Co now, Miss Vole," he said pleasantly. "Take a good look at yourself. That expression—so complex, so rich. Only a pureblood could manage sothing like that. I’m honestly at a loss for words."
A familiar voice cut in from the side. "Hahaha! Tom, you’re such an idiot."
Only Daphne would dare mock him in a mont like this. She sauntered forward, her expression even haughtier than Cassandra’s had been minutes ago.
"What a clueless, ugly little brat," she said, giving Cassandra a look like she was inspecting an insect. "You think your family na ans anything? A bunch of half-baked nobles who fled to North Arica. Even the weakest Slytherin here knows more about pureblood tradition than you."
Then she turned sharply. "Malfoy."
Draco, who’d been gleefully watching the drama, froze mid-snack.
"Yesterday, you said Vole was your relative, didn’t you?" Daphne said sweetly.
Goyle and Crabbe imdiately stepped back, as if Draco Malfoy had just beco contagious.
"..."
Draco’s face went pale. He waved his hands so fast they blurred. "No! No, I didn’t! You heard wrong!"
"She’s a Vole, I’m a Malfoy! How could we be related?"
"Oh, right," Daphne said coldly. "You only used to be the sa family, a thousand years ago."
"Daphne, that’s not how that works!" Draco was nearly shouting now. "Your great-grandfather was a Malfoy by marriage, rember? If we go by that logic, you’re one of us too—so you’d be her cousin!"
Daphne froze.
Damn it, that actually made sense. The Greengrasses had intermarried with the Malfoys and the Lestranges for generations. Their family ties were closer than any thousand-year lineage.
"You little snake—did you just out-logic ?"
Daphne’s eyes narrowed dangeLaosly. Her wand elongated, shifting into the form of a whip. She was fully ready to "release tension" the old-fashioned way—by taking it out on Cassandra.
"Wait, Daphne." Tom caught her wrist, his voice mild. "She’s a guest of the school. Let’s give Dumbledore a little face, shall we?"
He smiled. "Hang her up for a day. That’s enough."
He waved his hand again. Cassandra’s stiff body slid backward as the wall behind her rippled like water—and swallowed her whole.
Only her head remained visible, hanging upside down from the stone.
Instantly, the tension in the corridor evaporated.
Now that felt right.
He might not have smacked her, but at least she was hanging there. Justice served. Similar to the treatnt Malfoy got before.
"What’s going on here? Step aside, all of you!"
Finally, a professor arrived. Laos pushed through the crowd, looking annoyed. Behind him trailed Frank and Solen, who’d sat through Laos’s class earlier that day.
Frank had spent the entire lesson nitpicking him, and Laos was still fuming—until he saw who stood in the middle of it all.
"Mr. Riddle," he said, instantly deflating. "What’s the matter here?"
He hadn’t even noticed the new decoration on the wall.
But Frank had. His eyes widened in shock.
"Cassandra?! What the hell are you doing in the wall?!"
He spun on Laos, furious. "Who did this?!"
Tom lifted his eyes lazily. "I did. Problem?"
Frank’s face twisted between shock and outrage. "You dared use magic on a visiting Ilvermorny student? Is this how Hogwarts treats its guests?"
He pointed sharply at Laos. "You’re coming with . We’re going straight to Dumbledore. I want to hear from his own mouth what kind of blood-crazed nonsense he’s been teaching!"
Tom frowned. "Annoying." He exhaled softly. "Fine. You can go in too."
Their eyes t for half a second—then Frank froze mid-step. His body stiffened, snapped to attention, and with an invisible pull he was yanked into the wall right across from Cassandra.
Solen didn’t even have ti to process what happened before her fiancé disappeared into the stone. Instinctively, she pulled out her wand.
"Another one?" Tom muttered, eyes narrowing again.
Before he could act, Laos stepped quickly in front of her. "Wait! Calm down, Tom. Solen doesn’t an any harm—she’s just trying to understand what happened!"
As he spoke, he was practically winking his eyes out of his skull.
Tom stared at him. "...Seriously?"
Bro. I’m fuming right now and you’re trying to use
as your wingman?
But seeing how desperately Laos was signaling—and rembering how many headaches the man had quietly saved him in the past—Tom sighed.
Fine. Ti to play along.
"Professor Wilkinson," he said smoothly, "you really want to protect her? Isn’t she your enemy’s fiancée?"
He smiled faintly. "I could just put her in the wall too—call it helping you blow off so steam."
If there were ever an Olympic event for being the ultimate wingman, Tom Riddle would’ve taken ho the gold. Laos’s eyes lit up instantly. Inside, he was screaming, "Boss, I’d die for you!"
Outwardly, though, he put on a grave expression. "Tom, I’m not the type to let personal grudges cloud my judgnt. Even if Solen is engaged to Frank, that’s between
and Graves—it has nothing to do with her."
He straightened. "Besides, Solen has helped
more than once. If you want to touch her, you’ll have to get through
first."
Solen stared at him, stunned—and more than a little moved.
So this was what a real man looked like. Not like Frank at all.
"Fine," Tom said finally, sounding reluctant. "I’ll give you that much."
He glanced around the gathered students. "But let’s be clear—today wasn’t
picking a fight with Ilvermorny’s guests. Ask anyone here what happened. They can vouch for ."
Then he turned his eyes back to Cassandra, still hanging upside down.
"Miss Vole," he said quietly, "do you understand now? The ’qualifications’ you talked about—do I have them or not?"
He smiled faintly. "Honestly, most purebloods should consider it an honor to be analyzed by . Families like yours don’t usually even make it into my articles."
"You’re a spoiled little girl who’s never seen the real world. At least now you know—your precious Vole na doesn’t qualify."
He turned and headed down the stairs with Hermione and Daphne trailing after him.
Solen frowned. "That’s it? He’s just going to walk away like that? He didn’t even explain himself properly."
She paused, then blinked. "Wait—this student is the Tom Riddle? That Riddle?"
Laos sighed. "That’s him. And believe , Solen—Tom isn’t simple. He’s got more tricks than you can imagine. If we really pissed him off, both of us would be decorating the wall by now."
He looked around the silent crowd. "All right. Who can tell
what actually happened?"
"I can," said Nott, stepping forward. He’d been standing behind Tom the whole ti, so he’d seen everything. He gave a straightforward account from beginning to end—no exaggeration needed.
As Solen looked around, not a single student contradicted him. The truth was plain enough. She sighed helplessly.
"Cassandra’s... a bit spoiled," she admitted. "Her family raised her on pureblood superiority. She’s been taught that way since she could walk."
Laos snorted coldly. "The Voles, huh? Figures. Sa kind of people as the Graves family—throwing money around and sticking their hands where they don’t belong."
Solen didn’t respond. Laos could say things like that; she couldn’t.
She lifted her wand to release Cassandra and Frank, but Laos stopped her.
"Wait," he said quickly. Seeing her puzzled look, he explained, "Tom’s magic is sooo strong. If you try to force the counterspell, you might hurt them."
That gave Solen pause. "Then what do we do?"
"Go to Dumbledore," Laos said smoothly. He discreetly took her hand. "He’s the only one in this castle who can overrule Tom Riddle. Let him handle it."
Solen nodded, not thinking anything of it, and let him lead her upstairs.
Halfway up, Laos turned back toward the gawking students. "Don’t touch anything! Leave them as they are!" He pointed suddenly. "You—Gryffindor kid. Colin Creevey, right?"
Colin blinked. "Uh... yeah?"
"I rember you’re always carrying that cara. Start taking pictures—docunt everything. And send
a copy later."
"Oh! Right!" Colin smacked his forehead. "How did I forget that? Professor Wilkinson, you really think ahead!"
He hurried to take photo after photo of Cassandra and Frank hanging helplessly in the wall, flashes popping like fireworks.
Solen looked at Laos with newfound admiration. "You’re so thorough. I really respect that."
Laos smiled modestly. "Even if Frank’s my rival, I still believe in fairness and justice."
Solen’s eyes softened. "You’re... amazing. No words needed."
They walked off chatting warmly.
anwhile, Frank—stuck upside down and half-buried in stone—wanted nothing more than to die.
"That bastard isn’t gathering evidence," he thought miserably. "He’s collecting blackmail material!"
"Wait—where the hell is he putting his hand?! Solen is my fiancée, damn it!"
"Uhhh... you damn bastard."
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