Hogwarts: Chill, I’m Not That Tom Riddle

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"Hermione? What are you doing here?"

Tom had just walked out of Snape's office, still puzzling over the professor's sudden shift in attitude, when he spotted a puff of frizzy brown hair peeking around the corner of the hallway.

Add the petite height, and he knew instantly who it was.

Sure enough, it was Hermione.

The little witch looked conflicted, fingers twisting nervously together like she was wrestling with some massive internal dilemma.

Now Tom was really curious. There weren't even any Potions classes today—what was she doing down here in the dungeons?

"Tom?!"

Hermione jumped about a foot in the air at the sound of his voice. 

"Suspicious," he said, taking a step back and rubbing his chin thoughtfully. "Why do you look like you're up to no good?"

Hermione rolled her eyes hard. "I'm not up to anything!"

Even flustered, with her hair a mess, first-year Hermione was downright adorable. That pouty glare only made her cuter.

"Too bad she's just a loli and too bad I'm just a little boy," Tom thought. "Guess that's the rough part of getting isekai'd."

She wasn't tanned or dark like those weird versions of Hermione he sometimes read about—just a soft, pale little loli. 

Shaking off the distraction, he got back to the point. "Okay, seriously. What are you doing here?"

Hermione fidgeted for a while before finally blurting out, "I—I heard someone say Professor Snape asked to see you again, so I waited here for you."

Tom nodded slowly. "So if you waited, that means there's something you want to talk about."

She sucked in a deep breath, clenched her fists, and rushed it out all at once: "I heard from Greengrass that she's been training with you, and I want to learn from you too. I don't have money or anything to offer, but if you have conditions—whatever it is—if I can do it, I'll agree."

Back in their Muggle school days, she and Tom had been academic rivals. Their competition had stretched across multiple years.

But that all changed once they got to the magical world.

From the very start, Tom's talent left her in the dust. At first, Hermione tried to make up the gap with effort—more reading, more studying, more practice.

But every time she'd seen him using magic freely, she'd realized something: There was no catching up. Not alone.

The sheer power behind his spells—the precision, the intensity—it was on another level. How could the same spell feel so different?

So this—coming here to ask for help—was Hermione surrendering. She was setting pride aside in favor of something more valuable: magic.

After she finished, she kept her eyes shut, waiting for his response like someone bracing for a slap. If he agreed, she'd be grateful. If not, she wouldn't blame him.

Either way, their friendship wouldn't change.

Tom, on the other hand, looked incredibly underwhelmed.

"That's it? That's the big, dramatic thing you were stressing about?" he asked, disappointed.

Hermione blinked, confused. "So… are you agreeing or not?"

Tom gave her a look. "Of course I'm agreeing. I just said it's no big deal."

"But—Greengrass told me she paid you 1,200 Galleons! I don't have anything close to that!" Hermione said, clearly flustered.

Tom sighed. "You think I'm some shady businessman? Or a greedy landlord? You don't need to pay me that kind of money just to learn magic from me. Hogwarts professors earn about that much a year, and they're far more qualified than I am. What do I look like, some capitalist troll hanging from a streetlamp?"

He shrugged. "Daphne just assumed I was broke and insisted on paying. Honestly, if I hadn't accepted, she probably would've burst into tears on the spot. What could I do?"

"I'm treating it like a loan," he added. "I'll pay her back eventually. So don't feel pressured. There's no price tag on your learning."

If his system was the kind where you could pay to get stronger, he'd already have focused on money.

Hermione's friendship? Haha, he would be showing up at her parents' dental clinic like:

"Mr. Granger, you wouldn't want your precious little daughter—only eleven years old—to fall into a dark wizard's hands, would you?"

Then, boom—instant ransom in the form of gold bricks.

And that wasn't even the end of it. Next stop: the Greengrass estate.

"Madam Greengrass… surely you wouldn't want your daughter graduating from Hogwarts pregnant, now would you~?"

"Oh? Madam Greengrass, there are two of them? Kekeke…"

With that kind of setup, even the most pay-to-win system couldn't hold him back. He'd be richer than Snape in a week.

Too bad.

His system was the hard mode kind. No shortcuts. All grind, all effort. Just one long journey of blood, sweat, and study.

Hermione exhaled in relief. So it had all been Daphne being… Daphne.

Or more accurately—Daphne really did think she was just paying tuition.

Hermione's mood brightened instantly. If it had really cost 1,000 Galleons or more, even if she gave Tom her entire seven years' worth of school funds, it wouldn't be enough.

"…But," Tom continued, and just like that, Hermione tensed up again.

She stared at him, worried. "But what?"

"Well," he said, "Daphne did help me out a lot, so even though I plan to pay her back, she's still earned some credit. So, Miss Granger… what do you bring to the table?"

Her face turned red. "W-What do you mean…?"

Tom leaned in, dragging out the words: "I want… you—"

Hermione flushed like a tomato. Her brain stopped working.

He wants me?!

Isn't that kind of… fast? Sure, Tom was smart, patient, and always ahead of the curve—not to mention very good-looking. She often found herself stealing glances when he was focused.

But still, wasn't it way too soon?

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

Then again… if she waited until then, Daphne would probably beat her to it. Maybe she should just say yes now and lock it in. It's not like she'd be the only one benefitting.

"I want you… to help me with my homework," Tom finished with a sly smile.

All the sparkle vanished from Hermione's eyes.

Her face went blank as she stared at his smug expression.

"Tom Riddle… I'm going to kill you."

She lunged forward, flailing tiny fists that landed with soft little thumps on his chest—more like a pouty tantrum than an actual attack.

Good thing no one was around. Anyone walking by would've definitely thought they were flirting.

Once she finished venting, she backed away, panting. "No way. Do your own homework. I'm not writing it for you."

"What's the point of homework?" Tom asked calmly.

"Reinforcing what you learned in class, obviously," she answered, arms crossed.

Tom raised his hands in mock surrender. "But I don't need to reinforce anything. I'm already way ahead of the class. Doing homework just wastes my time. Especially with Snape and Binns—they always assign long, boring essays that teach me nothing."

"In fact," he added, "homework's slowing me down."

Hermione blinked, caught off guard by that logic.

"And you're different," Tom continued smoothly. "Doing the same assignment twice gives you a chance to approach it from a new angle. Reinforces your knowledge. Who knows? Maybe you won't even need to study for finals."

Hermione frowned. "Of course I'll study for finals!"

She hesitated again. "But… our handwriting is completely different. Wouldn't the professors notice?"

Tom grinned. "That's not a problem. I'll show you something in a few days that'll fix that. Just don't hand in the exact same essay."

Still unsure, Hermione reluctantly agreed—then sighed in resignation.

She'd officially crossed a line.

She used to snap at her dorm mates just for asking to copy her work. Now here she was, basically doing someone else's homework.

But if everyone who asked was like Tom—always top of the class, learning faster than the teachers could teach—then maybe… just maybe… she could justify it.

He was already ahead of the curriculum—way ahead. Smarter than the professors, half the time. If anyone deserved a little help, it was him.

With that logic, the guilt weighing on her chest started to fade.

...

Back in the Slytherin common room

Daphne was in the middle of a wizard's chess match with Millicent Bulstrode. Tom waited patiently off to the side, not interrupting until the game finished—Millicent's queen had just been brutally taken out by a knight.

Once they were done, Tom gestured Daphne over to a quiet corner and quickly filled her in on what had just happened with Hermione.

The moment he finished, Daphne's expression dropped. Her face sank dramatically—except for her lips, which were pouted sky-high.

She was clearly regretting her life choices. Especially that moment earlier when she had smugly bragged to Hermione about Tom tutoring her.

And now look where that got her.

Tom understood it probably felt unfair to Daphne. From her point of view, she was the one who had paid real money.

So, to make it right, he told her what Hermione would be doing in return… and gave her a choice.

"If you want to write my homework instead," he said, "I'll turn Hermione down."

Daphne immediately started waving her hands in panic. "Forget it! Let Granger do it. Let her write all your homework until we graduate, for all I care."

She didn't even want to do her own homework, let alone an extra set. Between schoolwork and the training Tom gave her, she was already overwhelmed. One more thing and she'd collapse.

In an instant, all her frustration disappeared. Galleons? Pocket change. For a little heiress like her, money wasn't the issue—it was Tom's attitude that mattered.

And he'd just said he was willing to reject Hermione—for her.

That meant she still had the top spot in his heart.

With that comforting thought, Daphne's pout melted into a bright, satisfied smile.

With his number one sponsor appeased, Tom left Daphne to her chess match and headed back to his dorm to brew potions.

All three of his roommates were inside. Two of them—Rosier and Nott—offered to help, but the second they realized how much precision was involved in prepping ingredients, they chickened out. They didn't want to risk ruining Tom's expensive materials, so they wisely made themselves scarce.

That left just one volunteer: Zabini.

Unlike the others, Blaise Zabini was actually interested in Potions. He had a real knack for it, too.

After a few mistakes, he started getting the hang of things and followed Tom's instructions with increasing ease.

As a reward, Tom shared a few tips and tricks.

Whether Zabini could retain them? That was up to him.

"Keep the tools completely dry when cutting moonstone—moisture ruins the potency."

"Add the Sopophorous Bean when the liquid turns gray-brown. I waited two seconds before, and it started fading… but it was my first time making this, so I hesitated."

"Ashwinder eggs stabilize magical flow. But don't rely on exact measurements—you need to feel it with your wand. There… that's good."

He dropped the final ingredient into the cauldron, drew his wand, and gave it a gentle stir.

A few minutes later, a blue, crystal-clear potion shimmered inside.

Tom leaned in and sniffed.

The scent, the color—everything matched the book's description of an Energy Potion perfectly.

Not top-tier quality, but definitely well above average. More than good enough to use.

He was satisfied. Zabini looked even more impressed.

Their last conversation had proven Tom knew the theory.

This? This proved his practical skills were just as strong.

Wasn't the Energy Potion, Invigoration Draught, part of the fifth or sixth-year curriculum?

Zabini remembered overhearing some upperclassmen talk about it. Definitely a high-level potion. Unlike something basic like Wiggenweld, this one required eight ingredients, plus magical infusion using a wand—one of the key markers of advanced potion-making.

Tom brewed several more batches of both Energy and Stamina potions that evening. Each one pushed his skill higher. Zabini, watching closely, learned a lot just by being there.

...

Two days passed.

Before Wednesday's Charms class, Tom presented Hermione with what he had prepared.

Daphne hovered nearby, curious.

"…A quill?" she asked, raising an eyebrow.

It looked ordinary. No rare feathers, no fancy trimming—just a plain old quill.

"This one can perfectly replicate my handwriting," Tom explained.

He took out a fresh piece of parchment and scribbled three names on it: Tom Riddle, Daphne Greengrass, Hermione Granger.

Then he handed the parchment and the quill to Hermione.

First, she wrote the names using her own quill. As expected, her script was neat, delicate, and nothing like Tom's bold strokes.

Then she used Tom's quill.

This time, the letters curled and looped exactly like his. Even the slant and pressure matched perfectly.

"…How is that possible?" Hermione's eyes widened.

"A mimicry charm," Tom said casually, "plus a bit of basic alchemy."

He didn't think it was that impressive. He'd figured it out after reading through just a few introductory alchemy books.

Hermione finally relaxed. If the professors couldn't tell the handwriting apart, then she'd go through with it.

She agreed to write his homework—on one condition.

"If your exam scores are lower than mine at the end of the year, you write your own homework after that."

Tom, naturally, accepted.

"Hey hey, Granger—no, wait—Hermione…" Daphne grinned, sidling up next to her. "Since you're already doing Tom's homework, how about mine too? I've got loads of pocket money! You could buy so many books!"

"No thanks." Hermione didn't even look at her. "Tom's teaching me magic. Galleons can't do that. I don't need your money."

"Hmph! Fine, be like that," Daphne huffed, then turned to Tom. "I want one of those quills too—with my handwriting."

She didn't need Hermione. She had three other roommates. If each of them wrote two subjects' worth of homework, she wouldn't even need to write anything herself.

Tom flicked her forehead and ruffled her hair. "Nice try. But if I gave you one, you'd probably fail your end-of-year exams."

Daphne was the definition of a normal girl her age—easily distracted by just about everything more exciting than studying. If she didn't at least do some work, she'd fall apart in no time.

Seeing he wasn't budging, Daphne grumbled but accepted it.

Just then, Professor Flitwick bounced cheerfully into the classroom, stepping up onto his booster platform.

"All right, class! Today we'll be learning a new charm—Reparo, the mending spell!"

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