"Finally going to Hogwarts? I've been waiting for this day for a long time."
The voice didn't belong to Tom.
It was Andros.
Over the past month, Andros had learned enough about the wizarding world's development and major historical events to qualify as a half-decent modern wizard. Not perfect, not polished, but at least no longer the guy who thought "lighting" meant "set something on fire."
Of everything he'd discovered, the people he admired most were the four founders who built Hogwarts.
He spoke their names often, with the kind of reverence you reserved for legends. More than once he sighed, regretful that he hadn't lived in the same era as them.
Tom had once asked him directly, bluntly, how strong he thought the four founders were.
Andros couldn't give a precise ranking. That kind of judgment required seeing someone cast, feeling the pressure of their magic up close, watching how they fought and thought. But even without that, he still said one thing with absolute confidence.
They were at least on his level.
At least.
Century King.
That was Andros's baseline assumption, stated as casually as someone saying the weather might be rainy.
Tom had also asked Andros another question. A question he cared about far more.
"How would you rate my talent?"
Andros had hesitated, then given an answer that was careful, almost evasive.
There was no doubt Tom's talent was good. He was beyond ordinary, beyond "promising." If you forced Andros to label it, Tom was solidly within the once-in-a-generation category.
But a once-in-a-generation genius and a Century King were not the same thing. The gap between those levels was enormous. And based on the simple spells they'd been practicing, Andros couldn't make a clean call.
Maybe Tom was the late-bloomer type.
Maybe his growth curve was steep but delayed.
That alone said plenty. Tom was impressive, but not yet clearly in Andros's territory.
Tom didn't let that discourage him.
Talent wasn't fixed. It wasn't fate carved in stone. He'd already gained Andros's Magical Power Talent once the approval rating hit 20 percent.
Later, he would gain more.
Better.
Stronger.
He didn't need to rush. He just needed to keep climbing.
Tom flicked open the system panel. Their relationship had grown steadily closer, and Andros's approval rating now sat at 46 percent.
Close to 50.
One more reward milestone.
Tom's mouth twitched, just slightly. The system was slowly turning into a ladder, and he intended to climb it until there was nothing above him.
What still shocked Tom the most, though, was something Andros had mentioned casually one day, as if it were a minor footnote.
Andros had another name.
Heracles.
At first Tom thought he'd misheard. He even asked Andros to repeat it.
He hadn't.
In the eyes of ancient people, powerful wizards were almost indistinguishable from gods. Their stories spread, then grew, then were reshaped by song, theatre, and politics. With enough time and enough imagination, history became myth.
It made a strange kind of sense.
Andros, for his part, had been extremely insistent after reading modern Greek mythology.
He did not have a father who turned into bulls or swans.
He did not have a divine parent with a hobby of seducing everything that moved.
His parents were ordinary wizards. Normal people. It was just that by the time the talent reached him, it had detonated into something absurd.
"Tom," Andros said now, placing a heavy hand on the boy's shoulder with the warmth of a mentor who couldn't wait to show off. "You can try learning the Patronus Charm."
His eyes shone.
He looked more excited than Tom did, like a master chef finally getting to serve his signature dish.
The Patronus Charm was undeniably advanced magic. It demanded strong magical power, yes, but even more than that, it demanded something harder.
Will.
Mindset.
The ability to hold onto light while the world tried to drown you in darkness.
Tom's mentality wasn't that of a normal child. That requirement was already satisfied.
And as for raw magical power, with Andros's talent now added to his own, that wasn't a concern either.
"I've been waiting for it too," Tom said honestly.
He'd been eyeing Andros's legendary Patronus for weeks. A giant Patronus, vast enough to be called a monster, a guardian, a walking declaration.
He wanted that.
Andros stepped back to create distance, lifted his wand high, and spoke the incantation with a clarity that felt like a blade slicing through fog.
"Expecto Patronum!"
Silver-white mist burst from the wand tip, threads and streams twisting, weaving. The air thickened with luminous haze. It gathered, condensed, then snapped into shape.
A Patronus formed.
Tom's eyes widened.
Not because it was difficult to cast. Not because it was delicate or subtle.
Because it was enormous.
It stood over ten meters tall, towering like a myth brought to life. The silver glow made the Learning Space feel like dawn had broken inside it.
But the real shock, the thing that hit Tom like a punch, was its form.
The Patronus was Andros.
Not an animal.
Not a stag or a swan or an otter.
A human.
A gigantic, radiant, heroic version of Andros himself.
Tom stared up at it, genuinely stunned.
"This is a Patronus?"
Andros threw his head back and laughed, delighted by Tom's reaction.
"Surprised, aren't you? Normally Patronuses take animal forms, reflecting the caster's nature and inner self."
He lifted his chin slightly, pride rolling off him without turning into arrogance.
"But I believe the only thing that can truly protect you is your own strength and your own conviction."
He looked up at his own Patronus as if seeing it for the first time, then spoke with calm certainty.
"Perhaps that is why mine is different. And as I continued developing it, it gained more uses. It has an exceptionally strong suppressive effect on dark forces."
Then Andros leaned closer, expression turning mischievous, like he was tempting Tom with something illegal and fun.
"Tom. If you train using the method I teach you, there's a very high chance you can obtain a Patronus in your own form as well. How about it? Tempted?"
Tom nodded so hard it was basically a bow.
Who wouldn't be tempted?
An otter was cute. A swan was elegant. A stag was noble.
But a human-shaped Patronus?
That was cool in a way animals couldn't compete with. It was style and intimidation and ego all in one.
And if Tom could make his Patronus as large as Andros's…
He wouldn't be casting a charm.
He'd be piloting a Gundam.
The thought alone made Tom's blood heat.
His training enthusiasm ignited instantly. He practiced with Andros until the very last moment, only leaving the Learning Space when it was nearly time to depart. He shoved down two slices of bread without tasting them, grabbed his suitcase, and headed for King's Cross Station.
The suitcase didn't look large.
That was because it had been expanded with the Undetectable Extension Charm.
It was a difficult spell. Tom had spent two full days just to barely grasp it. He'd managed to expand the suitcase's internal capacity to about three times the original volume. If he pushed it further, the structure became unstable.
And the extension wasn't permanent. He would need to recast it roughly once a month to maintain the effect.
For now, it was enough.
As for the fact that using the Undetectable Extension Charm without authorization violated Ministry regulations, Tom didn't care.
He was an innocent incoming first-year.
How could a new student possibly know such an advanced spell?
Obviously someone was trying to frame him by casting it on his suitcase.
Yes.
That explanation sounded flawless.
…
At ten o'clock, Tom arrived at King's Cross Station.
As one of London's most important transport hubs, it was packed. People flowed through the hall like a living current, dragging suitcases, shouting to family, glancing at clocks with anxiety.
Tom moved through the crowd calmly.
King's Cross was named to commemorate King George IV. From what Tom had read, the man's reputation wasn't exactly glowing. Not a benevolent ruler, not even a competent one. More like… catastrophically useless.
Even George IV's closest attendants had disliked him. One famous remark claimed that no dog was more vile, cowardly, or numb to suffering than that king. The world might not have many good monarchs, but he was said to be one of the worst.
Tom couldn't understand why anyone would want to immortalize that.
Yet the station carried his name, and so did countless statues across Britain.
History, Tom decided, was often less about merit and more about who survived long enough to commission marble.
He followed the flow of people until he reached the space between Platform Nine and Platform Ten.
There was nothing there.
Just a wall.
A perfectly ordinary barrier separating one side of the station from the other.
Tom adjusted his grip on the suitcase handle, took a steady breath, and walked forward as if he belonged.
He bumped into the wall.
And instead of pain, instead of impact, the world shifted.
A new space opened like a door that had been hidden inside reality itself.
A deep red steam engine waited at a platform crowded with travelers. The air smelled of smoke and iron and excitement. Students and parents filled the station, pushing trolleys stacked with trunks and cages.
A sign on the train read:
Hogwarts Express.
One wall apart.
Two different worlds.
Tom inhaled slowly, letting the sight settle into him. The moment didn't feel like fantasy. It felt like stepping into the part of his life that had been waiting with its arms folded, impatient, for him to finally arrive.
He climbed aboard.
The corridor was narrow, lined with compartments. Voices echoed. Laughter. Nervous chatter. The squeak of wheels.
Tom held his face calm, but inside, something tightened with anticipation.
Another Tom Riddle had once begun his journey here.
Now a new Tom Riddle was doing the same.
And as he walked deeper into the train, toward whatever seat and whatever fate awaited him, one thought rose cleanly in his mind, sharp enough to cut.
If he truly learned the Patronus Charm…
What would his Patronus become?