My partner at Hogwarts is Tom

Chapter 95 is met with real-life trolls like Tom.

"Meow—!"

Looking at the question mark, Tom let out a high-pitched, threatening screech.

Its fur stood on end like a fluffy gray ball, and its tail stood straight up like a stick, the tip of which twitched rapidly.

Then it suddenly rolled up the sleeves of its two front paws, revealing its muscular forearms, and then grabbed a quill pen and began to write.

"Swish! Swish! Swish!"

This time, Tom's "handwriting" in the diary was wilder and more forceful.

At this moment, it pressed almost its entire weight onto the pen, the quill tip scraping fiercely against the pages of the diary, making a teeth-grinding "scratching" sound, the ink not flowing, but splashing and splattering!

You stinking scoundrel who stole my name!

I am Tom! The most powerful Tom at Hogwarts!

[You! Get out of my castle! Now! Immediately!]

In the end, Tom seemed to feel that words and pictures were no longer enough to express his anger.

It stopped writing, bared its sharp white teeth at the still-wet ink of its "masterpiece," and then spat!

A small, glistening clump of saliva, mixed with cat drool and a tiny bit of dust that had accidentally gotten on it earlier, landed precisely next to the dark green question mark on the diary, leaving a small, wet, circular mark.

After doing all this, Tom threw the quill aside, took two steps back, and put his hands on his hips again. His bright green eyes were fixed on the diary, and he was snorting heavily, looking fierce with a "let's see how you get back at me now" expression.

The air in the office seemed to freeze. Professor McGonagall was completely stunned, her eyes wide behind her glasses, seemingly unable to comprehend the extremely unseemly yet inexplicably serious "naming rights battle" between the cat and a dark magic artifact.

Dumbledore's beard trembled violently as he tried his best to suppress a laugh, but a sharp glint flashed deep in his azure eyes as he stared intently at the diary's reaction.

Viktor rubbed his temples, feeling the veins in his forehead throbbing gently.

The diary once again "absorbed" Tom's comments full of "cat-like insults" and the traces left by physical attacks.

Ink stains, paw prints, graffiti, and even a speck of saliva slowly seeped into the paper and disappeared, as if erased by an invisible eraser.

This time, the silence lasted even longer.

Then, on that blank page again, new writing appeared.

No longer a single "?", but a complete sentence, carrying a clear, cold, and arrogant confusion, and even a hint of offended annoyance:

[—A cat?]

Seeing that line in the diary, which exuded cold arrogance: "————A cat?"

Tom snapped his ears back, his mustache stood on end, and a raging fire instantly ignited in his emerald eyes, mixed with a contemptuous disdain born of a severe offense.

"Meow—woof!"

It let out a low, drawn-out roar from deep in its throat, its tail lashing the air like a whip.

It picked up the phoenix tail feather pen again, and this time, its "calligraphy" was even more unrestrained. It almost used the strength of its whole body to "smash" out each word, with ink splashing everywhere and the characters flying wildly, full of the unique, unpredictable anger of felines.

【You're the one who's a nuisance! You stinky, sticky diary, you rotten thing!】

[You're not even as good as a cat! At least a cat catches mice! What can you do? You can only fool little girls! Shame on you!]

It's as if they've been influenced and led astray by Tom.

The writing in the diary quickly disappeared, replaced by a more urgent and scathing response:

[Ignorant fool! I am the heir of the great Salazar Slytherin! You will pay the price for your vile offense!]

Tom got even more excited when he saw this, and his paws moved incredibly fast:

[An heir? What a joke! The old snake-faced man of Slytherin would want a crybaby like you hiding in his diary as his heir? Even a slug has more backbone than you!]

[How dare you! You neutered pet, only good for pleasing two-legged creatures!]

[You're the one who's been castrated! Your whole family has been castrated! You bald, ugly monster with no nose, no hair, and no friends—your diary!]

[You lowly beast! What magic do you know? You don't even have a wand!]

[I have claws! Is scratching you enough? My master has a wand! Is that enough to teach you a lesson? You pathetic wretch who doesn't even have a physical form!]

The verbal sparring quickly escalated, from a dispute over names to attacks on species, and then to personal attacks, with the language becoming increasingly explicit and direct.

Tom became more and more excited as he wrote, his cat face full of the exhilaration of battle, feeling that he had gained an absolute advantage in this "battle of words".

Finally, after being ridiculed by Tom once again as "a mouse hiding in a book, afraid to see the light," the writing in the diary suddenly stopped.

Immediately, a long passage of text filled with malice and a certain twisted pleasure burst forth:

[Your sharp tongue won't change your pathetic nature! You're a stray cat, thrown out by your former owner, scavenging for food in the garbage! A worthless, abandoned creature! The so-called "home" you've obtained by begging for mercy is nothing more than another dream that could end at any moment! You pathetic wretch!]

The moment those words appeared, Tom's waving paws froze in mid-air.

The excitement and smugness of battle on its face quickly faded, replaced by an expression of being caught off guard and deeply stung.

The fire in its big, bright green eyes went out, replaced by an obvious look of hurt and confusion. Its ears drooped listlessly, and even its once-erect tail quietly curled up behind it.

It opened its mouth, but no sound came out. It just stared blankly at the sharp words in the diary, as if the ink had turned into cold needles, piercing the softest, most untouched corner of its heart.

The somewhat eerie yet amusing atmosphere in the office instantly froze and became heavy.

Professor McGonagall frowned, her gaze toward the diary filled with disgust.

Dumbledore's smile vanished, and his eyes grew serious.

Viktor, who had been standing by the sidelines, found the scene bizarre but was mostly just curious and watching, felt a sudden pang in his heart.

He immediately stepped forward, reached out without hesitation, and placed his warm palm firmly on Tom's fluffy head, rubbing it gently and soothingly, his fingertips lightly caressing the base of its ears.

His voice wasn't loud, but it was exceptionally clear and firm, carrying an undeniable gentleness and protectiveness: "Nonsense."

"Why is it that nobody wants our Tom?"

Victor crouched down, looking directly into Tom's slightly darting eyes, his tone resolute.

"It's those short-sighted, unlucky folks who are blind and missed out on the world's smartest, bravest..."

The most reliable cat.

"You've never been a loser, Tom. You're my partner, my most important friend."

"Without you, I don't know how many clues I would have missed, how much trouble I would have encountered. You can catch mice, tie up dark wizards, and even help us find something so important."

He pointed to the diary on the table, which looked particularly gloomy at the moment, and then gently patted Tom on the back.

"You are the one I personally chose, and you are the best. We are together, and always will be."

Victor's words were like a warm current, dispelling the gloom and hurt in Tom's eyes.

It looked up at Viktor, its bright green eyes shining again, even brighter than before, filled with the warmth and pride of being recognized and cherished.

It sniffed hard, making a soft, contented purr in its throat, and nudged Victor's palm with its head.

Then, it suddenly turned around, puffed out its chest, and held its tail high again, even more proudly than before.

It grabbed the quill pen and, with a triumphant, almost boastful air, wrote heavily in the diary:

My owner loves me very much! I'm his best partner! We're amazing together!

[You stinky thing, nobody loves you! You don't even have a real body! You can only hide in a tattered notebook to fool kids! Hehehe!]

After finishing writing, it even drew a big, funny face with its tongue sticking out.

Lies don't hurt, truth is the knife.

Tom's triumphant and happy declaration, especially the final line that cuts to the heart, "Nobody loves you," is like a poisoned arrow that precisely hits the most vulnerable and least acknowledged scar of the remnant soul in the diary.

The diary remained silent for a full three seconds.

Then, the entire page was suddenly engulfed by a torrent of dark green text!

The handwriting was no longer the deliberately maintained elegance or cold arrogance of before, but had become messy, sharp, and cluttered, filled with hysterical anger and incoherent words after a breakdown:

Love? Ridiculous! Naïve! Foolish emotion! Power is everything! Immortality is the only pursuit! What do you ants, bound by base emotions, know?!

[A cat! A stupid, meowing beast! He's just using you! He'll throw you away like trash once you're no longer useful! Just like you've experienced before!]

[Partner? Pshaw! You're nothing but a pet! A toy! Something that can be replaced at any time!]

I, Tom Riddle, am destined to transcend death and become eternal! You wretches—

The handwriting became denser and faster, the sentences began to repeat themselves and become incoherent, filled with all sorts of vicious curses and belittling remarks. It was a perfect scene of a cyberbully breaking down, who was angry and stubborn when he couldn't win an argument.

Viktor stared at the page filled with illogical and nonsensical insults, his lips twitching involuntarily, a strong sense of déjà vu rising within him.

This is clearly impotent rage behind a screen; aside from personal attacks and repetitive statements, there's no way to refute it.

Tom stared at the dense, malicious handwriting in the diary, his emerald eyes narrowing. The last trace of mockery vanished, replaced by a genuine, icy rage.

When they can't win an argument, they start to act unreasonably, resorting to personal attacks, cursing my master, and repeating the same few phrases over and over again.

good very good.

Tom tossed the quill aside with a soft "snap".

It stretched out its claws and pressed them directly onto the blank next page of the diary, the sharp claw tips gleaming with a cold light as they were dipped in ink.

A few simple lines outline a crooked and very crude door.

A small, single door with a simple handle was drawn in the very center of the diary page.

The ink had not yet been swallowed up by the diary's strange "absorption" ability.

Just as the ink was still wet and the simple little door had just taken shape, Tom's paw moved.

Its paws, with their soft pads, pressed directly onto the ink-drawn doorknob, and then gently pulled it to the side—

"Squeak."

A soft sound, like an old wooden door being opened, or like some kind of barrier being breached.

The two-dimensional door drawn with ink was actually opened a crack under Tom's claws, just like a real door!

Behind the crevice, instead of paper fibers, lay a darkness filled with an ominous, gray-green mist.

The air in the office seemed to freeze instantly.

Dumbledore and Professor McGonagall stared wide-eyed, their expressions completely replaced by shock.

Professor McGonagall even instinctively took a half step back and covered her chest with her hand.

Dumbledore's silvery-white eyebrows were raised high, and his blue eyes behind his crescent-shaped spectacles shone with an incomparably sharp light as he stared intently at Tom's movements.

Victor was also taken aback, but he was clearly more accepting of Tom's various "unconventional" actions, and he just held his breath slightly.

Without hesitation, Tom stretched his entire forearm through the gap in the ink-filled door!

Its arm seemed to reach into another dimension, disappearing into the thin pages of the diary.

Tom squinted, his beard trembling, as if groping and sensing something in the dark.

Suddenly, its eyes lit up, a sharp glint of finding its target and a hint of—evil excitement—sneered in its emerald pupils.

Its mouth parted into a wide grin, revealing a standard, feline predator's smile, tinged with cunning and cruelty.

"Hey—whoosh!"

Tom gave a low shout, his hind leg on the diary suddenly exerted force, his waist twisted, and his forearm, which was inside the "door," pulled outward with force!

"Pop—!"

A strange sound, like the sound of a wine cork being pulled out, or like some kind of viscous substance being forcibly separated.

Under the wide, incredulous gazes of Dumbledore and Professor McGonagall, Tom withdrew his paw from the ink-stained doorway.

In its claws, it was clearly holding a miniature Voldemort, about the size of a human head, semi-transparent, and surrounded by gray-green mist!

This miniature version of Tom Riddle has the handsome but pale features of his youth, with black hair. The ferocious expression from when he was frantically swearing in his diary still lingers on his face, but more than that, he exudes extreme bewilderment and confusion.

He seemed completely bewildered as to what had happened, how he had been "pulled" out of his diary.

Tom didn't care whether he was confused or not.

He casually tossed the now dull and lifeless diary, which looked like an ordinary notebook, to the corner of the table with a "snap".

Then, it grabbed the mini Voldemort by the neck with its two claws, lifted him to eye level, and looked him up and down.

Tom's smile grew increasingly "bright" and "evil," and he let out a low, mocking, and satisfied "hehehe" laugh, like a cat that had caught a mouse but wasn't in a hurry to eat it, wanting to play with it to its heart's content first.

Mini Voldemort finally reacted, his translucent face showing a mixture of shock and anger. He tried to struggle, opening his mouth as if to roar or chant a spell.

But Tom was faster!

Just as skillfully as it had bound Lockhart before, it produced another rope from somewhere and, with dazzling speed, bound the mini Voldemort tightly from head to toe. The rope cut into his translucent soul, actually restricting his movements.

Finally, Tom even tied a crooked but very eye-catching bow on the top of Mini Voldemort's head with the remaining rope.

Having done all this, Tom, satisfied, picked up the miniature trophy that kept wriggling but made no sound and had a bow on its head, and turned around triumphantly to look at the three wizards in the office.

Dumbledore: "————"

Professor McGonagall:

The two experienced wizarding giants completely lost their composure at this moment.

Professor McGonagall stared wide-eyed at Tom, then at the miniature Dark Lord in her hand, bound like a dumpling and wearing a bow on his head, her eyes glazed over, as if her worldview had been subjected to an unprecedented shock.

Dumbledore took a slow, deep breath and then slowly exhaled.

He raised his hand and stroked his long, silvery-white beard, the movement somewhat slow.

The azure eyes glanced at the smug Tom, then at the ordinary diary in the corner, and then thought of the remnant soul that Tom had recently "pulled" out of the crown and disposed of—

In his mind, all those plans he had devised to deal with the Horcruxes and to eliminate Voldemort—such as the savior training plan, the successor plan, and the old lover plan—now faded away silently, one by one, like pencil sketches gently erased by an eraser.

Ultimately, all the plans and schemes converged, collapsed, and reshaped in his deep eyes—becoming the shape of the cat before him with gray-blue and emerald-green eyes, showing off the miniature Black Demon King.

Dumbledore's fingers, which were stroking his beard, paused slightly, and the corners of his mouth curved upwards in a tiny, strange arc, almost imperceptibly.

In that arc, there was relief, amazement, absurdity, and also a kind of open-mindedness—"Okay, this works too."

Viktor, looking at this surreal scene before him, especially Tom's real-life "I'll drag you out of the internet" demeanor, tried to hold back, but finally couldn't help but sigh silently in his heart.

What is this? Cross-dimensional clawing? Physical capture through magical connections?

Just as I suspected—Dad was right.

We must use magic to defeat magic.

We need to use Tom to defeat Tom.

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