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Tom Riddle was many things—brilliant, ambitious, devastatingly clever—but, right now, above all, he was bored.

Hogwarts, for all its ancient majesty and supposed prestige, was disappointingly limited in what it allowed students to learn. Professors droned on about safe magic, acceptable magic, responsible magic. And Tom was fairly certain that none of those words were particularly useful when it came to achieving real power.

So, naturally, he had taken matters into his own hands.

It started small.

A charm here, a hex there — nothing too dramatic. He found that a well-timed Murmuris Subtilis whispered in someone's ear could make them forget an insult and suddenly remember that they had always liked Tom. That one was useful.

Then there was the Discrepantia, which caused minor confusion and misplaced objects. Also very useful, particularly when people started losing their homework just before it was due, allowing Tom to step in as the ever-so-helpful problem solver.

His personal favorite, however, was Affectus Inflectere — a subtle spell that nudged people's emotions in the direction he preferred. Not a love potion, exactly—just a little… persuasion. A whisper of influence. Just enough to make people a touch more agreeable.

What he hadn't anticipated was how dangerously easy it was.

One day, as a casual test of his abilities, Tom decided to see if he could make a classmate — Theodore Mulpepper —develop a slight fondness for silverware.

A small thing.

A harmless little compulsion.

What he had not expected was that, by the end of the week, Theodore would be single-handedly leading what could only be described as an underground spoon-worshiping society.

By the time Tom realised what had happened, the entire thing had spiralled out of control. People were meeting in secret, exchanging spoons like contraband, whispering about "the true power of the utensil" and "the great revelations yet to come."

Someone had even started carving tiny runes into their cutlery.

By the time Dippet caught wind of it, the school was in crisis mode. Several house-elves had quit in terror. The headmaster called an emergency assembly, during which he gave a long, impassioned speech about the importance of using all utensils equally and how Hogwarts would not tolerate spoon-based cult activity.

Tom, of course, acted completely baffled by the whole ordeal.

("A spoon cult? How bizarre!")

As much as the spoon incident had been mildly entertaining, it also taught Tom something important: magic, even in small doses, could shape people in ways they didn't even notice.

It wasn't about throwing curses or brute-force hexes. No — real power was in subtlety.

A whispered suggestion here. A well-timed spell there. The right phrase, the right nudge. People could be guided like chess pieces, moving exactly where he wanted them to go. And the best part? They would believe it had all been their idea.

That was power.

Not waving a wand like some reckless Gryffindor. Not flashy duels or obvious attacks. But control.

And, oh, how easy it was.

...

Encouraged by his success, Tom expanded his studies.

He discovered that a casual Obliviate in just the right moment could make someone forget an inconvenient promise. That a mild Compellere could make people agree to things they normally wouldn't.

He practiced late at night, testing his limits, finding new ways to bend people without them realizing they were being bent at all.

It was intoxicating.

By the end of the month, Tom could make an entire classroom agree that Professor Slughorn had in fact assigned less homework than he actually had. He could ensure that people forgot their suspicions when things didn't quite add up.

And, most importantly, he could make people trust him.

One evening, as he sat in the common room, watching his classmates chat, study, and — unfortunately — exist, Tom had a thought.

It wasn't enough just to manipulate people in small ways. No, if he was going to truly master this, he needed to see how far he could push someone.

What was the limit?

He tapped his fingers against the table, eyes narrowing.

There was only one way to find out.

Tom Riddle had long believed in efficiency. Why waste time on brute force when a well-placed whisper could accomplish so much more? Why hex an enemy when you could orchestrate their downfall without ever lifting a wand?

And why, in Merlin's name, should he suffer the annoyance of Valeria Byrne when he could instead weaponise her?

...

Tom Riddle was having a day.

It had started off well enough. He had successfully hexed a first-year's quill to write nothing but insults about its owner (purely for research purposes, of course), and he had found a promising new section in the library filled with ancient magical texts that conveniently hadn't been checked out in decades.

But then — then — Arlo Greeves had happened.

Arlo Greeves, the human embodiment of misplaced confidence, had sauntered past Tom in the corridor after Defense Against the Dark Arts and, with a look so infuriatingly casual it should have been illegal, smirked at him. It wasn't just any smirk. It was that specific kind of smug expression that suggested he thought he was better than Tom.

Now, Tom had spent a great deal of time cultivating an air of untouchable brilliance. He was superior to everyone else; this was not a matter of opinion but objective fact. And yet, for some unfathomable reason, Arlo seemed to believe he was on equal footing with Tom. Which was simply wrong.

So, naturally, Arlo had to be punished.

The problem was that hexing Arlo outright would be too obvious. No, no. Tom needed something elegant, something that would make Arlo miserable without a trace of Tom's involvement.

Luckily, he had just the right tool for the job.

Valeria Byrne had been hounding Tom for months, mistaking his polite disinterest for some sort of deeply buried affection. She was dramatic, obsessive, and utterly relentless.

She was also, crucially, in need of guidance.

And so, Tom had decided — why not train her? Why not mold her into a lethal force of romantic inevitability?

Why not make Arlo Greeves fall for her… and let Valeria destroy him?

Convincing Valeria was laughably easy.

The moment Tom suggested that perhaps Arlo had unspoken feelings for her, she practically vibrated with excitement.

"He does?" she gasped, clasping her hands together.

Tom smiled indulgently, as though he were bestowing upon her the secrets of the universe.

"He's prideful," Tom explained, shaking his head as if it pained him. "He would never admit it. He needs… a push."

Valeria nodded furiously. "Tell me everything."

And so, he did.

...

The next day, everything began. Everything was unfolding surprisingly quicker than Tom had anticipated.

Now, as he sat in the Slytherin common room, plotting his next moves, his thoughts were interrupted by a very excited presence.

"Tommy!"

Tom closed his eyes. That nickname would never stop irking him.

Valeria flopped into the chair across from him, her usual whirlwind of energy and misplaced enthusiasm on full display.

"I've been thinking," she announced.

"A dangerous pastime," Tom murmured, not looking up from his book.

She either didn't hear him or chose to ignore him. "You know how you told me about Arlo?"

Tom was not particularly in the mood for conversation at that time, but he also made a habit of tuning out ninety percent of what Valeria said, so that wasn't surprising.

"Arlo Greeves," she sighed dreamily, as if his name alone had the power to bring entire ballads into existence.

Tom's book snapped shut.

"So you are interested?"

"Interested?" Valeria gasped, clutching her chest dramatically. "I think he is smitten with me. He just doesn't know it yet."

Tom stared at her, the gears in his mind turning. This… this was perfect.

"Valeria," he said slowly, carefully schooling his expression into one of reluctant amusement. "You know, I could help you get his attention."

Her eyes practically glowed. "You could? You would?"

Tom sighed as though this was a massive inconvenience, which, honestly, it was. But it was also a golden opportunity. "I suppose. But it has to be subtle. You can't just go throwing yourself at him."

"Oh, of course," she nodded earnestly, despite the fact that throwing herself at people seemed to be her entire personality. "What do I do?"

Tom leaned forward, a slow smile creeping onto his face. "First," he said, "you have to make him notice you. That means mystery. Aloofness. He needs to think you are the prize, not the other way around."

Valeria nodded so aggressively he worried her head might detach.

"Second," he continued, "you need to make sure he sees you everywhere, but just out of reach. He needs to wonder about you. To want to know more."

"Ooooh," she whispered, as if he had just unlocked the secrets of the universe.

"And finally," Tom said, lowering his voice to a conspiratorial whisper, "we add a little… extra persuasion."

Valeria blinked. "Persuasion?"

"A charm," he said smoothly. "A small, harmless one. Just enough to ensure he sees you in the best possible light."

Her face split into a delighted grin. "You're a genius, Tommy!"

Tom barely suppressed a smirk. Yes. He was.

Valeria had many flaws, but chief among them was her complete lack of tact. Her idea of flirting resembled an overenthusiastic hippogriff attack, all rapid-fire questions and disturbing levels of eye contact.

That would not do.

So naturally, Tom spent weeks refining her approach.

"No, no, subtlety, Valeria," he sighed one evening as they sat in the common room. "You're not declaring war, you're building intrigue."

Valeria frowned. "So… less talking?"

"Drastically less."

She looked skeptical. "But if I don't talk, how will I know that he loves listening to me?"

Tom pinched the bridge of his nose. "Because men are arrogant, Valeria. If you let him think he's the most interesting thing in the room, he'll be eating out of your hand."

Valeria considered this, then nodded. "Alright. Less talking. More intrigue."

Tom exhaled. Progress.

Once Valeria was sufficiently polished, it was time to implement the plan.

It was a thing of beauty, meticulously crafted to erode Arlo's defenses and trap him before he even realized what was happening.

First came the incidental encounters.

Tom carefully orchestrated their schedules so that Valeria would just happen to cross Arlo's path at all the right moments. Not too often—just enough to make him notice.

Second was the art of distance.

Under Tom's instruction, Valeria became maddeningly elusive. No more chasing—she let Arlo be the one to seek her out. A glance here, a smirk there, a brief, lingering touch on his arm before disappearing into a crowd.

By the time Arlo started actively looking for her, Tom knew they had him.

And then, the final strike.

Tom had planned for everything. The moment when Arlo would be confused enough to start seeking out Valeria's attention. The exact phrasing Valeria would use when she politely declined his initial advances. The way she would turn away at the last second — just enough to make him desperate.

By the time Arlo realised what was happening, he was already too deep.

It was beautiful.

Arlo, who had once smirked in Tom's direction as if they were equals, was now a wreck.

He lingered around Valeria in the common room, hovering, trying to engage her in conversations she strategically cut short.

He sat near her at meals, glancing in her direction, pretending not to care that she was laughing with other people.

And then, the moment Tom had been waiting for — Arlo finally snapped.

"What am I missing?" he demanded one evening, pulling Valeria aside. "One day you're everywhere, and now — now you're avoiding me?!"

Valeria gasped dramatically. "Avoiding you?"

"Yes!" Arlo ran a hand through his hair, looking genuinely distressed. "It's driving me mad."

Tom, observing from a safe distance, felt a rare sense of true satisfaction.

Valeria turned her head slightly, considering him with a dangerous smirk. "Maybe," she said slowly, "you should try harder."

And with that, she walked away, leaving Arlo standing there, looking utterly undone.

Tom had never been prouder.

...

The weeks that followed were delightful.

Arlo was now in full pursuit, doing everything short of publicly declaring his undying devotion.

Valeria was radiant with triumph, proud of herself for making Tom proud.

And Tom?

Tom had utterly destroyed Arlo's ego… without ever casting a single spell.

As he watched Arlo pathetically attempt to impress Valeria with some story about Quidditch (which she was only pretending to be interested in), Tom leaned back in his chair and smiled.

Perhaps power wasn't just about magic.

Perhaps it was about knowing exactly how to pull the right strings.

And as he took another sip of tea, watching Arlo unknowingly dance to the exact tune Tom had composed, he thought:

Yes.

This was true power indeed.

A/N: Thanks so much for reading! If you're enjoying the ride, please consider leaving a review, hitting that favorite button, or following the story—it really helps and totally makes my day! See you in the next chapter!