Hogwarts: Chill, I'm Not That Riddle-Chapter 495: The Laws & Rules

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Inside the headmaster’s office, Albus Dumbledore was staring into space, mentally drowning in question marks.

’Wasn’t I the one who called you here for a talk? How did it turn into the two of you trying to kill each other the moment you met?’

But clearly, he had underestimated both Tom’s petty streak and his talent for arrogance.

A student challenging a professor to a duel right outside the headmaster’s office?

In all his decades as headmaster, and even counting every one of his predecessors, no one had ever dealt with a student like this.

"Armando," Dumbledore said, looking up at one of the portraits on the wall, "if Tom were your student, what would you think?"

Armando Dippet let out a helpless laugh. "Merlin, spare me. One Riddle was more than enough trouble in my time. You want me to deal with two?"

Still, he followed Dumbledore’s line of thought.

"If I were that little menace’s headmaster..." Dippet frowned. "Honestly, in the beginning he wasn’t that bad. Fighting with classmates? That’s minor. I’d scold him, maybe give him detention. Expulsion wouldn’t even cross my mind."

"But later on..." He sighed. "He kept escalating. It went beyond what a headmaster could reasonably control. Most likely... I’d end up expelling him."

His expression grew complicated. "But then what? Probably another Voldemort. Their styles are different, but I have a feeling this younger Tom might be even more dangerous."

"Albus, you’re the right headmaster for him. You’re strong enough. And tolerant enough."

From another frame, Phineas Black snorted. "Tolerant? He’s just soft!"

"Sure, I get along fine with the little brat now. But if he were my student, I swear on the Black family name he wouldn’t last a single term at Hogwarts."

"You’ve got some nerve talking!" A bearded headmaster’s portrait lunged into Phineas’s frame with what looked suspiciously like a flying kick. "Remember what you pulled back in your day?"

The two portraits started brawling inside their frames. The other headmasters didn’t even blink. They were long used to it.

Privately, most of them agreed with Dippet. Thank Merlin they weren’t Riddle’s headmaster. And thank Merlin Dumbledore was.

Becoming headmaster of Hogwarts was already a legendary achievement. Every one of them had been exceptional in their time. But compared to Dumbledore, there was still a gap.

Calling him the greatest headmaster in Hogwarts history wasn’t exaggeration. The four founders had never served as headmaster, and none of the others had ever reached the level of a century king.

Listening to the portraits, Dumbledore’s mood lightened.

He stepped to the window and looked down. Tom and Moody were crossing the lawn, heading toward the Forbidden Forest.

"Let them fight," he murmured. 𝒇𝒓𝒆𝒆𝙬𝒆𝒃𝓷𝒐𝓿𝙚𝙡.𝒄𝓸𝒎

"It’ll sober Alastor up. And let Tom vent a little. An open clash is better than petty sabotage in the shadows."

That was something Dumbledore genuinely admired about Tom. When he had a grievance, he settled it directly. That kind of blunt, unapologetic clarity was... enviable.

Especially for someone like him.

Tom was living in a way Dumbledore sometimes wished he could.

---

The Forbidden Forest

The two wizards didn’t venture too deep. After finding a fairly open clearing, they stopped.

"Let’s start. I still need to talk to Dumble—"

Tom didn’t get to finish.

The moment he said "start," Moody attacked.

His wand was concealed inside his thick wooden staff. He slammed it against the ground. A nearly invisible spell shot forward, carrying a shockwave straight at Tom.

"You one-eyed madman, trying to play dirty with me?"

Tom sliced his hand through the air. A blade of compressed wind split the shockwave clean in two. The surrounding trees bent violently in the gust.

Moody didn’t respond. His spells poured out like a silver torrent.

He might not approve of Tom’s behavior, but he wasn’t stupid enough to underestimate him. A man who had survived countless battles understood exactly what it meant to face someone who had once stood against a thousand opponents alone.

If he gave Riddle time to prepare, Moody was certain he’d die miserably.

His only chance was relentless pressure.

Gravel on the ground shot up with sharp whistling sounds, transfigured mid-flight into jagged projectiles aimed at Tom. It was easy to see why many considered Moody the greatest Auror of his era. His attacks were vicious but disciplined. Every spell differed subtly in speed and trajectory.

Streaks of magic curved through the air in elegant arcs, coming at Tom from impossible angles.

Tom raised one hand.

His pale palm glowed faintly, like some mythical wall of lamentation. The light swallowed everything. The stones clattered harmlessly to the ground. The spells dissolved like snow in sunlight.

By the time Moody realized a rapid assault wouldn’t work and prepared to shift into a drawn-out battle of attrition, it was too late.

His spells seemed to stick to Tom’s hand.

There was a vortex there, massive and unseen, devouring his magic.

Moody tried to cut the flow, to pull back.

But he couldn’t. His body refused to obey him, and his own magic had slipped completely out of his control.

Tom tilted his head slightly. "The strongest Auror? That’s it?"

He gave a faint push with his palm, barely an inch forward.

But just that single inch. Moody was blasted off his feet as if struck by a giant’s hammer. He flew back dozens of meters before slamming into the ground.

Tom moved like a shadow clinging to him. The instant Moody hit the dirt, Tom was already standing over him. He pressed his hand down again, and Moody was driven straight into the earth, embedded so tightly it was as if the ground had swallowed him whole.

"Remember this. Next time you see me, lower your voice." Tom stared down at him, enunciating each word. "Not everyone has Dumbledore’s patience. There are plenty of people you can bully. But there are also people you can’t afford to provoke. Got it?"

"I still won’t accept it," Moody growled. "Judging criminals is the responsibility of the Ministry and the Wizengamot. What right do you have to bypass the law and sentence people yourself?"

"The law?" Tom raised a brow, as though he’d just heard the funniest joke in the world. Then he laughed. The sheer mockery in that sound made Moody’s ears burn.

"Moody, you’ve worked at the Ministry your entire life, and you still don’t understand what the law really is."

"What are you trying to say? Like hell I don’t know what the law is." Moody’s magical eye paused mid-spin for a fraction of a second.

Tom crouched down and spoke softly. "It’s alright to admit it. Your belief in laws and rules has made you blind to the darker truth."

"Law and rules were never meant to restrain those at the top, Moody. They exist to bind the masses. To keep them obedient, productive within a fixed framework, creating value while the social hierarchy stays exactly as it is."

"And I..." He smiled faintly. "I’m already one of the people who use those rules, not someone bound by them. Tell me, do you really think you can use rules to restrain me?"

The amusement in his expression deepened.

"Believe it or not, if I felt like it, within three days I could rewrite a few laws. Dark magic would be perfectly legal in Britain. Every piece of contraband could be sold openly. I could even..." He let the words hang for a moment. "Release the prisoners from Azkaban."

"You wouldn’t dare!" Moody’s face twisted.

"Oh, I would." Tom ignored his fury. "It’s only a question of whether I want to. You’re angry. You’re afraid. Because you know I can."

"Old blind man, don’t come looking for trouble with me."

Tom eached out calmly and plucked Moody’s magical eye from its socket.

"If you want to protect order. If you want to protect the weak. Then you should be flattering me. Keeping me happy. Make sure I stay in a good mood at all times. That’s how you save more people. Understand?"

"I’ll borrow this eye for a couple days. See you."

Tom stood and strolled out of the Forbidden Forest as if he hadn’t just overturned someone’s worldview. Moody lay in the crater, staring up at the sky, turning over those brutally blunt words in his mind.

Did they sting? Absolutely.

Were they real? Just as much.

The world was "fair" in its own way. Those with ability enjoyed better lives, greater privilege. That was the fairness people talked about.

Not equal power for all. Not equal status. That kind of equality would be the greatest injustice to the strong.

He just hadn’t expected Tom—so young—to see through it so clearly, and to wield that truth so ruthlessly.

"...Damn it."

The old Auror let out a long, heavy sigh.

"Albus, you were right."

Moody tried to get up.

But he realized he couldn’t.

He was practically fused with the ground. So tightly embedded he couldn’t even pry himself loose. The brief clarity he’d reached shattered instantly.

"Riddle, you little bastard!"

— — —

Inside the headmaster’s office, Tom was all smiles.

"Headmaster, a sudden situation delayed me a bit. You don’t mind, do you?"

"Of course not." Dumbledore shook his head, then asked with concern, "Is Alastor all right?"

"Couldn’t be better." Tom took out the magical eye. "We had a very pleasant exchange. He even lent me his eye for a few days."

Dumbledore’s mouth twitched.

"Well... do remember to return it on time."

That eye was practically Alastor Moody’s lifeline. He’d sooner replace his wand than part with it willingly. The idea that he’d lent it out was laughable.

"By the way, what did you need me for?" Tom asked.

"Yes. About that."

Dumbledore set aside any further concern about Moody. As long as the man was alive, it was manageable.

"It’s about the Tears of Isis. I’ve found some leads."

"Oh?" Tom straightened immediately, eyes bright with anticipation, hoping for good news.

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