Hogwarts: Chill, I'm Not That Riddle-Chapter 489: The Origin of Hatred!

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Good news, it wasn’t Laos. Tom had no idea why his mind had leapt to this guy first; there was no way Laos would come to France without telling him.

If Laos knew he’d been suspected like this, he’d probably look genuinely hurt. He wasn’t that kind of person; he would never do something like this... Unless, of course, the family name happened to be Graves.

After understanding the full story—and for the sake of the child’s family harmony—Tom bent his own rules and agreed to release the father ahead of schedule.

But he had one condition. After being released, the man wasn’t allowed to contact his family. He had to sneak home quietly and surprise his wife.

Surely a romantic Frenchman wouldn’t refuse something like that.

The professor nearby wore a strange expression. "Aiola, your parents will both be grateful to you."

The radish-head child, Aiola, blinked up at him with wide, innocent eyes. "Why?"

The professor patted his head. "Because you’re a good and thoughtful child. All right now, back to the group. Get some sleep."

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The next morning, after finishing breakfast, Tom dove straight into the library.

During the previous dueling tournament, in exchange for excluding him from the competition, several magical academies had agreed to his demands and sent over batches of distinctive books from their collections. But compared to the centuries of history behind those institutions, what they’d handed over was barely a drop in the ocean.

He intended to make full use of this time to scan and copy as much as possible, filling up the library inside his study space.

Even a quick skim through the volumes was enough to reveal the stark difference in educational philosophy between the schools.

Hogwarts emphasized practicality. Every spell was designed to achieve the most direct result in the simplest way possible.

Beauxbatons, on the other hand, seemed obsessed with elegance. Their predecessors had poured their energy into making magic more beautiful, more dazzling, more elegant.

Tom collected those spells as well. The wizarding world wasn’t only about combat. Fighting was just one part of life.

In his opinion, the current educational system had serious flaws. Nearly every school tried to mold students into all-rounders.

It wasted enormous resources and stifled potential.

Take Neville, for example. Potions and Transfiguration were pure torture for both him and his professors. If he had spent that time focusing solely on Herbology, he could achieve remarkable things in the future.

And once students graduated, improving in a specific field became difficult. There were no dedicated training institutions, no specialized instructors.

If the magical world was to truly prosper and undergo real reform, this had to change.

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England - London

The gray sky drizzled fine rain over the city. Thick fog blanketed everything, pressing down like a weight on the chest.

King’s Cross Station was as busy as ever. Hogwarts was starting a new term, and parents from all over the country were sending their children to Platform Nine and Three-Quarters.

Many people noticed the unusual number of men in black suits and bowler hats. They moved through the station as if simply passing by, yet never strayed beyond a certain area.

"I know him. That’s Claire. He’s an Auror. I’ve seen Dad talking to him," Ron muttered to Harry as he pushed his trunk. "Feels like the Ministry’s sent every Auror they’ve got."

"And the Astra Abyssum Guild too." Ginny glanced toward two women chatting in the distance, though their eyes kept sweeping the crowd. "Things aren’t exactly peaceful right now."

"Yeah..." Harry sighed. "Too many people died..."

After all the Quidditch World Cup visitors left Britain, Fudge immediately sealed the borders. For the time being, foreign wizards were strictly forbidden from entering.

Over a thousand wizards had died on British soil. That meant the Ministry—or rather, Tom—had just inherited roughly a thousand enemies from their families.

Even if only a tenth sought revenge, that still meant over a hundred wizards were out for blood. More than enough to put the Ministry on high alert.

The simplest solution was to keep trouble out entirely. No entry, no problems.

But wizards had countless ways to sneak across borders. It was impossible to seal every crack. In recent days, Aurors and Guild enforcers had already caught quite a few intruders. All of them were shipped off to help build the new prison in Dorset.

Beyond the barrier to Platform Nine and Three-Quarters, another team of Aurors and several Hit Wizards stood guard. Everyone was stopped and scanned with detection devices before being allowed onto the train.

For the first time in a century, the Hogwarts Express departure time had been pushed from eleven to noon.

"Since when has the security been this good?"

Penelope, Daphne, Astoria, and Hermione each carried a small case. They were visibly startled by the heavy security.

Still, they obediently joined the queue.

"Thanks for escorting us, Ikaros," Hermione said to the pink-haired girl walking beside them. "You can go back to your duties now."

Ikaros shook her head, expression blank. "My master’s order is to ensure your safe arrival on the train."

"But we’re already inside the station."

"You are not yet on the train."

"We’ll be on it in a minute."

"You are not yet on the train."

Hermione stared at her, momentarily speechless.

Daphne and Astoria were trying very hard not to laugh. Ikaros had stayed at the Greengrass estate for a while, so they knew her personality well.

Normally, without Tom’s orders, she was just a quiet, blank-faced girl, a little clueless and easy enough to get along with. But the moment Tom gave a command, she turned into the strictest mission machine imaginable. If the task wasn’t completed exactly as instructed, she would not budge.

Hermione could be stubborn too. Compared to Ikaros, though, she was completely outmatched.

The two sisters watched with poorly concealed amusement as Hermione tried to reason with Ikaros. Penelope was smiling as well, until she suddenly felt two distinctly unpleasant gazes fixed on them.

She scanned the platform and quickly found the source.

A third-year boy and a fifth-year girl. Both from Slytherin.

"What’s wrong?" Astoria noticed her expression change.

Penelope quietly shared what she’d spotted and reminded them not to turn their heads too obviously.

Hermione and the others stole glances from the corners of their eyes. Just as Penelope said, the pair were staring at them with undisguised hostility.

Astoria frowned. "Travers and Hector... I don’t remember us having any conflict with them."

Daphne looked equally puzzled, her big eyes blank.

Of course, her confusion was on a completely different wavelength.

There were still Slytherins who dared look at her with hostility?

Just then, Draco Malfoy stepped onto the platform and immediately made his way over, a flattering smile plastered on his face.

"Hello, everyone. Where’s Tom? Father prepared a gift and asked me to deliver it to him."

Hermione shot him a sideways glance. "Tom’s busy. He’ll go straight to Hogwarts tonight."

Daphne’s eyes lit up. Lowering her voice, she asked, "Malfoy, are you familiar with Travers and Hector?"

"I was just about to warn you. So you noticed too."

Draco perked up at once, dropping his voice conspiratorially. "Both their fathers died at the Quidditch World Cup. You’d better be careful. And when Tom gets back, make sure to remind him."

Draco knew all too well what his father had been up to that night. Lucius had returned home unscathed solely because of Tom’s mercy, and he hadn’t killed—or even attempted to kill—anyone.

Those who had fallen before Tom’s hand had let their anger and hatred dictate their actions. Even most of those under the Imperius Curse had survived, a testament to his controlled precision rather than wanton cruelty.

Otherwise, the best-case scenario—building a prison in Dorset and feeding Dementors on misery—would never have materialized.

Of course, there was another best-case scenario: returning home unscathed like Lucius Malfoy.

But that was only because the Malfoys were the purest example of political survivors. Cowardly when they needed to be, bold when it came to betraying others. When it was time to kneel, they knelt faster than anyone. When it was time to sell someone out, they were equally decisive.

Back in the day, Lucius had identified plenty of Death Eaters and sent them straight to Azkaban. Now Draco was doing the same without hesitation.

"..."

Understanding dawned on the girls’ faces.

Daphne turned openly to look at them, cold light flashing in her eyes. Her wand slipped into her hand.

Astoria hurriedly grabbed her arm. "Sis, what are you doing?"

"Tom trained me for this," Daphne said, her voice sharp as a blade. "If they’re going to be a threat, we might as well take care of them now. End it clean."

At her words, Ikaros silently raised her arm as well.

Astoria yelped and used her other hand to grab Ikaros too, stopping her before she could do anything drastic.

"Even if you’re going to act, this is not the place. Get on the train first. When Tom comes back, let him decide. Don’t make things worse."

Summoning a strength she didn’t know she had, Astoria dragged both of them toward the security checkpoint. Thankfully, Hermione and Penelope jumped in to help. Otherwise, there would have been no stopping Ikaros.

They finally boarded the train and found a compartment.

Only then did the three of them let out a long breath.

Hermione and Astoria exchanged a glance, both seeing the same shock mirrored in the other’s eyes.

What kind of hellish training had Tom put cheerful Daphne through to make her like this?

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