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Chapter Text

Not everyone can speak Parseltongue. Not everyone can conjure magic with a mere thought. Not everyone can master every form of magic known to wizardkind. And, not everyone can become an Animagus.

This was unacceptable.

Tom Riddle, the brightest student Hogwarts had ever seen, the heir of Slytherin, the wizard destined for greatness, should have been able to achieve this "simple" feat. To transform into another creature, to wield the intellect of a wizard within the form of a beast it was a power he deserved. No, it was a power he needed.

"Amato Animo Animato Animagus" Tom incanted, his voice dripping with confidence. He spoke the words as if he were commanding magic itself, bending it to his will without regard for rhyme or reason. He believed in his own greatness, and so he believed magic would follow.

He hadn’t given much thought to what form he might take. Why would he? Tom Riddle was destined for something magnificent a dragon, perhaps, or a Thestral. Even a serpent, a regal basilisk, would have been fitting for the heir of Slytherin.

But as the magic coursed through him, something felt… off. Instead of growing larger, more powerful, and more imposing, he felt himself shrinking. His body compacted, his limbs shortening, his vision narrowing.

'A small creature? ' He thought, momentarily puzzled. Perhaps a snake, after all. A young basilisk, sleek and deadly, would still be a worthy form.

But the transformation didn’t stop there. His body continued to shift, his limbs becoming stubby, his hands—no, his paws growing webbed. His vision adjusted, and he caught a glimpse of black fur.

His heart sank.

When the transformation was complete, Tom looked down at himself. Webbed feet. Black, glossy fur. A long, snout-like nose.

He was a Niffler.

If his furred face could have paled, it would have been as white as an Inferius. A Niffler. A small, ridiculous creature known for its obsession with shiny objects. This was not greatness. This was not power. This was… an insult!

Tom’s mind raced. How could this have happened? He had willed himself to be something magnificent, something worthy of his legacy. And yet, here he was, a creature more suited to pilfering galleons from unsuspecting wizards than ruling over them.

He tried to transform back, to undo the spell, but his magic felt… different. Unfamiliar. It was as if the Niffler form had its own instincts, its own desires. He could feel an almost irresistible pull toward anything shiny. The gilded frame of a nearby mirror caught his eye, and before he could stop himself, he was scurrying toward it, his little paws reaching out to grasp the gleaming edges.

No. This was unacceptable. Tom Riddle would not be controlled by the instincts of a common beast. He forced himself to focus, to push past the Niffler’s impulses and reclaim his magic.

It took every ounce of his willpower, but eventually, he managed to reverse the transformation. As he stood there, human once more, his chest heaving with exertion, he glared at the mirror, as if it were to blame for this indignity.

But even as he stewed in his frustration, a thought occurred to him. Perhaps this wasn’t a failure. Perhaps it was a test. After all, even in this ridiculous form, he had retained his intellect, his magic. If he could master this transformation, if he could bend even the instincts of a Niffler to his will, then what couldn’t he do?

A slow, calculating smile spread across his face. Tom Riddle didn’t fail. He adapted. He overcame. And if that meant learning to wield the power of a Niffler, then so be it.

After all, even a Niffler could be dangerous in the right hands. And Tom Riddle’s hands human or otherwise were always dangerous.

Chapter Text

Tom Riddle had always been a master of control. His emotions, his magic, his very destiny, all of it was meticulously planned and executed with precision. But this… this Niffler form was testing the limits of his patience.

He had resolved to keep this humiliating secret to himself. No one would ever know that the great Tom Riddle, the future Lord Voldemort, had an Animagus form of a Niffler, a creature synonymous with greed, thievery, and an insatiable lust for shiny objects. It was beneath him. Unthinkable. And yet, here he was, trapped in the body of this ridiculous beast, fighting against its instincts with every fiber of his being.

So why, why is he now clawing at Harry Potter and his stupidly round glasses?

Tom hadn’t intended to lose control. He had been practicing his transformation in a secluded corner of the castle, far from prying eyes. But something had gone wrong. Perhaps he had been distracted, or perhaps the Niffler’s instincts were stronger than he had anticipated. Whatever the reason, the moment he caught sight of Potter’s glasses, their gold trim glinting in the light, he had been overcome with an irresistible urge to claim them.

Potter, of course, had no idea what was happening. One moment, he was walking down the corridor, minding his own business, and the next, a small, black-furred creature was lunging at his face. He raised his arms defensively, his eyes wide with shock.

“What the?!” Potter exclaimed, stumbling backward as Tom’s webbed paws swiped at his glasses.

Tom managed to nick the glasses just in time, scurrying away with his prize clutched tightly in his paws. But as he looked up, something unexpected happened. Potter’s eyes, those bright, emerald eyes, locked onto his. They were framed by long lashes, wide with surprise and confusion. And in that moment, Tom felt something shift.

It wasn’t just the glasses anymore.

Those eyes were the shiniest thing he had ever laid eyes on.

Before he could stop himself, Tom sprinted back toward Potter, his tiny paws scrabbling against the stone floor. He lunged at the boy’s face, determined to claim those emerald treasures for himself. Just to touch and admire, not to take. After all, what use will his eyes do if they don't shine as bright.

“Harry!” a voice shouted from down the corridor.

Tom barely had time to register the arrival of Potter’s friends before their attention was upon him. Granger was the first to react, her bushy hair bouncing as she rushed to Potter’s side, her hand shuffling for her wand. Weasley was close behind, his arms outstretched as if he intended to capture Tom like some common animal.

The indignity of it all was too much. Tom Riddle, reduced to being chased by a pair of bumbling Gryffindors? Unthinkable. With a reluctant leap, he darted away from Potter.

But as he disappeared into the shadows, he cast one last glance over his shoulder. Potter was still sprawled there, his glasses forgotten on the cold stone floor, his emerald eyes wide with confusion.

Tom felt a sharp pang of something he couldn’t quite name, an emotion that lingered just out of reach yet tugged at him with an undeniable, almost magnetic force.

‘I’ll have those eyes,’ he thought, his resolve hardening. ‘One way or another.’

And with that, he vanished into the darkness, his mind already racing with plans. After all, Tom Riddle will always find ways to get what he wants, and if that meant finding a way to claim Harry Potter’s eyes, whether as a Niffler or as a wizard, then so be it.

The game was on.

Chapter Text

Tom’s plan was simple in theory but required meticulous execution. He would isolate Harry, create a situation where the boy would need saving, and then step in as the hero. It was a classic manipulation tactic, one Tom had used countless times before. But this time, it felt somewhat different. This time, it wasn’t just about gaining Harry’s trust. It was about being the one Harry looked at with those shimmering eyes.

The Forbidden Forest was the perfect setting. Harry’s propensity for unsolicited exploration made him an easy target, and the forest’s dark, unpredictable nature provided the perfect cover for Tom’s scheme. All Tom needed to do was raise the stakes, ensuring that the danger Harry faced was real enough to warrant intervention but controlled enough to keep the boy unharmed.

As Harry ventured into the Forbidden Forest, Tom watched from the shadows, his Niffler form blending seamlessly into the darkness. He had conjured a group of Inferi, their lifeless eyes glowing faintly in the moonlight. It was a risky move. Inferi were dangerous, even for a skilled wizard like Harry, but Tom was confident in his ability to control the situation.

Harry’s reaction was immediate. His wand was in his hand before the first Inferius had fully emerged from the shadows. Tom watched, fascinated, as Harry’s eyes narrowed with determination, their usual warmth replaced by a steely resolve. The boy moved with precision, his spells cutting through the air like lightning. Bombarda. Incendio. Stupefy. One by one, the Inferi fell, their reanimated bodies crumbling under the force of Harry’s magic.

He had known Harry was a capable wizard, but seeing him in action was something else entirely. There was a raw power in the way Harry fought, a confidence that bordered on recklessness. It was intoxicating.

Just as Tom was beginning to wonder if his intervention would even be necessary, an opportunistic Acromantula emerged from the trees, its massive form looming over Harry. The boy was too focused on the remaining Inferi to notice the danger creeping up behind him.

Tom acted without thinking. “Confringo!” The spell erupted from his wand, striking the Acromantula just as it raised its venomous fangs. The creature screeched, its massive body recoiling from the blast. Harry spun around, his eyes wide with surprise as they landed on Tom.

For a moment, their gazes locked. Harry’s eyes, usually so warm and inviting, were now sharp with focus, their green hue intensified by the adrenaline of battle. Tom felt something stir within him, a strange, unfamiliar sensation that he quickly pushed aside.

The momentary distraction gave the remaining Inferius an opening. It lunged at Harry, its decaying hands reaching for his throat. Tom reacted instantly. “Arresto Momentum!” The spell froze the Inferius mid-motion, giving Harry just enough time to cast a powerful Bombarda that sent it flying.

Together, they turned their attention to the Acromantula. Without a word, they cast Incendio in unison, the combined force of their spells creating a fiery blast that engulfed the creature. The forest lit up with the glow of the flames, casting long shadows across the trees.

As the flames died down, Tom found himself staring at Harry once more. The boy’s eyes were fixed on the burning corpse, their usual emerald hue now tinged with the golden light of the fire. They looked almost otherworldly, like twin suns burning in the darkness.

“Thank you,” Harry said, his voice breaking the silence.

Tom was momentarily caught off guard. He had expected gratitude, of course, but the sincerity in Harry’s voice was something he hadn’t anticipated. He tried to look away, to break the hold those eyes had on him, but he couldn’t. He thought, It’s all that Niffler’s fault. It was driving him toward the brightest, most captivating thing in the vicinity.

“No thanks needed,” Tom replied, his voice cool and measured, though his mind was anything but. “I couldn’t very well let the Quidditch rising star be taken out by a spider, could I? It would have been… inconvenient.”

Harry chuckled, the sound warm and genuine. “Inconvenient for who? You or me?”

Tom’s lips twitched, the ghost of a smile playing at the corners of his mouth. “For both of us, I suppose. Though I imagine your friends would have been far more devastated than I.”

Harry’s smile faltered slightly, his eyes narrowing as if he were trying to decipher Tom’s words. “You’re not as cold as you pretend to be, Riddle.”

The comment caught Tom off guard, though he didn’t let it show. He simply raised an eyebrow, his expression as unreadable as ever. “And you’re not as reckless as you seem, Potter. Though I would advise against wandering into the Forbidden Forest alone. Not everyone is as… accommodating as I am.”

Harry smirked, his eyes glinting with amusement. “Noted. But if I do, I’ll make sure to bring you along. You’re not half bad in a fight.”

Tom didn’t respond. He couldn’t. The way Harry looked at him with that glint of admiration, that spark of something Tom couldn’t quite name, left him momentarily speechless. It was a dangerous feeling.

Curse that Niffler, he thought.