Hogwarts: Chill, I’m Not That Tom Riddle

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There's an old saying at Hogwarts: Your school life isn't complete until you've gone on a nighttime adventure.

Officially, the school has plenty of rules to keep students in line. But any upper-year student will tell you—Not breaking the rules, that's not the problem. It's getting caught.

Tom wasn't sneaking out tonight because he was rebelling or anything like that. He just wanted to rack up some achievement points.

So far, the system had only given him one real task—help Slytherin win the House Cup—and just today, the list of achievements had finally unlocked.

After some studying, Tom realized that racking up achievement points wasn't nearly as hard as he'd expected. At least, not in the early stages.

He'd just been going to class, answering questions, earning a few house points, and occasionally wandering the castle with Daphne. That alone had netted him 150 achievement points.

One category in the list was "Castle Night Exploration". Basically, the more he explored Hogwarts at night, the more points he earned.

So tonight, he wanted to get a points supply.

Andros was great at a lot of things—but Dark Magic wasn't one of them. In fact, he had zero talent or interest in it.

Tom's goal was to hit 1000 points as fast as possible so he could summon another King of the Century as a mentor. Hopefully one with deep knowledge of the Dark Arts.

...

Tom walked at a steady, unhurried pace as he left the Slytherin common room.

The flickering candle sconces along the stone walls cast moving shadows, creating a shifting pattern of light and dark.

Perfect for practicing his Disillusionment Charm.

Now, this charm wasn't true invisibility. It worked more like a chameleon, blending the caster's body into the surroundings by refracting light.

In a calm, stable environment, the spell held up well. But in a place where light kept shifting—like a dim corridor at night—it really tested the caster's control.

The corridors were deathly silent. Every now and then, a distorted shadow would stretch across a wall, only to vanish in the next flicker—like ghosts gliding through the halls.

Gradually, the shadows became fewer and far between.

Tom was getting better. He could now control the tiny fluctuations in light and color that gave him away during shifts.

There wasn't an official grading system for spell mastery, but Tom had figured out a general framework.

Stage One: You can cast the spell… sometimes. It's hit or miss. That's basic entry-level.

Stage Two: With enough practice and a feel for how the magic works, you move into proficient use—the spell becomes easy to cast, and your success rate shoots up.

At this stage, skill matters. Take the Levitation Charm, for example. Some people can only make things float straight up and down. Others can choreograph floating objects into an elegant dance.

That's the difference skill makes.

The next level is silent casting. You don't say the incantation out loud, making your magic faster and harder to detect.

But even experienced wizards often still say the spell aloud. Speaking helps them focus, channel magic more clearly, and often makes the spell stronger.

The final stage? Wandless magic.

On this subject, Andros had the most authority—he was widely regarded as the greatest wandless spellcaster in history.

According to him, wandless casting had little to do with technical skill. It was more about understanding magic on a deep, conceptual level… and, frankly, raw talent.

Some wizards could duel Avada Kedavra head-on—clearly at peak proficiency—but the moment you took their wand away, they were useless.

That's a lack of talent.

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Two hours later, Tom had finally made it to the second floor.

He'd been slowly unlocking doors one by one, stepping inside and waiting for the system to ping an achievement before moving on. That's why it took so long. But it was worth it—he'd earned 20 points tonight.

Satisfied, and now a little hungry, Tom decided to head for the kitchens.

Even though both the Slytherin common room and the kitchen were in the dungeons, they were located on opposite ends of the castle. Slytherin was tucked away on the south side; the kitchen sat directly beneath the Great Hall.

He descended the spiral staircase into a wide underground space lined with barrels. A few paintings adorned the stone walls.

Opposite a fruit-themed painting stood a barrel larger than all the others—laid on its side. That was the entrance to the Hufflepuff common room. To open it, you had to knock on the barrel in a specific rhythm.

But unless you were a Hufflepuff, don't even try it. The door wouldn't open—and as a bonus punishment, it would spray you with nose-burning vinegar.

Seriously, Hufflepuff might have the best setup in the entire school.

Only students who actually lived on campus could appreciate how nice it was to have your dorm right next to the dining hall.

Actually, scratch that—this wasn't a dining hall. This was the kitchen itself.

It was open 24/7, staffed by house-elves who would bend over backward to fulfill any request you had. A fully customizable personal chef service. Anytime.

And that wasn't all—Hufflepuff's dorm was located in a prime spot. Just a short walk upstairs brought you to the Great Hall and most classrooms.

Meanwhile, the other houses? Gryffindor and Ravenclaw were way up in the towers. Slytherin was shoved off in some shadowy corner.

If Hogwarts used a pedometer app, those three houses would be racking up thousands more steps a day than Hufflepuff.

Still envious of their prime real estate, Tom stopped in front of the fruit painting and scratched at the green pear.

The pear squirmed like it was being tickled, letting out a giggly hiss as it wiggled into the shape of a doorknob.

Tom: ...

Okay, he had to admit—that was pretty cute. Helga Hufflepuff must've had a real playful side to design something like this.

Muttering to himself, Tom turned the handle and stepped inside.

It was a huge room—easily as big as the Great Hall, with a high ceiling and shelves lined with gleaming copper pots and pans.

The moment he walked in, there was a sharp pop, and a house-elf appeared in front of him, bowing deeply.

"Sir! I is Hobbie! What can I be getting for you?"

"I'm Tom Riddle," he introduced himself, then added, "I'm just a bit hungry. Came looking for something to eat."

"Hobbie will prepare it right away!" the little elf squeaked and dashed off toward the stove.

As Tom waited, the kitchen doors creaked open again.

Two identical red heads poked in—just in time to lock eyes with Tom.

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