Astra Potter was no stranger to magical mishaps, but waking up in the 1940s was not on her list of adventures. She stood in the halls of a younger Hogwarts, her modern robes and rebellious air clashing with the prim and proper students bustling past. A few glances, whispers, and muttered insults later, Astra realized the time period and whose era she had stumbled into.
Tom Riddle.
“Oh, this is going to be fun,” Astra murmured to herself, a sly grin spreading across her face.
Tom noticed her almost immediately. She was unlike anyone he’d ever encountered, with her strange attire, disarming confidence, and cutting sarcasm. When she strolled into the Great Hall and sat at the Slytherin table uninvited, the room fell silent.
“You’re in my seat,” Tom said coolly, towering over her as she lounged in his chair.
Astra didn’t even look up, casually flicking through a book she’d swiped from the library. “Am I? I thought it said ‘public enemy number one’ engraved on it, so naturally, I assumed it was mine.”
His jaw tightened. “Who are you?”
She tilted her head, finally meeting his gaze with her sharp, green eyes. “Someone who knows exactly what you are, Tom Marvolo Riddle.” Her voice dropped, just loud enough for him to hear. “Or should I say… Lord Voldemort?”
The flicker of surprise in his usually unreadable face was priceless. Astra smirked, leaning closer. “Oh, don’t look so shocked. I know all your secrets. Your Horcruxes, your diary, your little obsession with snakes… it’s adorable, really.”
Tom’s composure snapped back into place, but she could see the tension in his shoulders. “You’re lying.”
“Try me.”
From that moment on, Astra made it her mission to turn Tom’s carefully constructed world upside down. She dropped cryptic comments about his future reign of terror, mocking his lack of creativity (“Lord Voldemort? Sounds like a villain in a third-rate novel”) and casually predicting events before they happened.
In class, she outperformed him just to watch the frustration flicker in his eyes. During meals, she’d steal glances his way, sending him cheeky winks that made his followers bristle. And in the corridors, she’d saunter past him with a whispered, “Better enjoy your youth, Tommy. It’s all downhill from here.”
One evening, as Tom cornered her in the library, his patience finally wore thin. “Who are you, really? And how do you know so much about me?”
Astra smirked, leaning on the desk between them. “Let’s just say I’m from your future. A future where I’ve seen all your tricks and lived to tell the tale.”
He narrowed his eyes. “You’re lying. No one knows me that well.”
“Not yet,” she teased, poking him in the chest. “But I do. And I know exactly how to stop you if you ever get on my nerves.”
For the first time in his life, Tom Riddle was at a loss for words and Astra Potter loved every second of it.
Tom didn’t like being bested, especially by someone who played the game better than he did. Astra’s every word, every action, was a calculated move designed to rile him up. And it was working.
He leaned closer, his voice a low hiss. “If you truly know me, you know that pushing me only ends one way.”
Astra didn’t flinch; instead, she tilted her head, her smirk deepening. “Oh, Tom, I know exactly how far I can push you. That’s the beauty of this, isn’t it? I’m always one step ahead.”
Tom’s jaw tightened, his dark eyes narrowing dangerously. “You think this is a game?”
“Oh, it absolutely is,” she replied, circling him slowly, her gaze never leaving his. “And I’m having the time of my life. What about you, Riddle? Enjoying yourself?”
Tom’s lips twitched, but whether it was a suppressed smile or a snarl, she couldn’t quite tell. “You underestimate me.”
“No,” Astra said, stopping in front of him. “If anything, I think you’re the only one here who might actually be worth my time. But I do wonder how does it feel to meet someone who isn’t afraid of you?”
His wand was in his hand before she’d finished speaking, the tip glowing faintly. “You’re dancing on a knife’s edge, Astra.”
“And yet, I haven’t fallen,” she countered, stepping closer. Her voice softened, dripping with mock sincerity. “Come on, Tom. If I were truly your enemy, you’d have dealt with me by now. But you haven’t. Why is that?”
Tom’s grip on his wand tightened, but he didn’t cast a spell. She could see the gears turning in his mind, his need for control warring with his curiosity.
“You’re playing a dangerous game,” he finally said, his voice like silk laced with venom.
Astra smiled, leaning in just enough to make her next words feel like a secret. “Oh, Tom. I don’t play games. I win them.”
For a moment, the tension between them was electric, the air thick with unspoken challenges. Then, as if to underline her point, Astra turned on her heel and walked away, her laugh echoing down the corridor.
Tom watched her go, his expression unreadable. But deep down, he knew one thing for certain: Astra Potter was unlike anyone he’d ever encountered. And for the first time in a long while, he found himself intrigued.
Astra sauntered through the halls of Hogwarts with the confidence of someone who already knew how the game would play out. The familiar tapestry-lined corridors were eerily quiet in this era, and yet, her mere presence seemed to rattle the very stones. She had Tom Riddle’s attention, but her plans extended far beyond him. After all, why stop with one dark wizard when another potential puppet master was just down the hall?
The door to Dumbledore’s office loomed ahead, and Astra pushed it open without knocking. The elderly professor though much younger than she was used to seeing glanced up from his desk, his eyes twinkling faintly beneath his half-moon spectacles.
“Ah, Miss Potter,” Dumbledore greeted, his voice calm and welcoming. “I must say, you’ve been causing quite a stir.”
Astra smirked, leaning casually against the doorframe. “Oh, I’m just getting started. Thought I’d drop by and see how you’re holding up. You’ve got quite the snake infestation brewing in your little school.”
Dumbledore’s expression didn’t waver, but she caught the brief flicker of curiosity in his eyes. “If you’re referring to Mr. Riddle, I assure you, he is quite the gifted student.”
Astra let out a sharp laugh. “Gifted? Sure, if by ‘gifted’ you mean currently plotting to split his soul into pieces.” She strolled further into the room, running her fingers over the trinkets cluttering his shelves. “You really should keep a closer eye on your golden boy. He’s not exactly the teacher’s pet you think he is.”
Dumbledore’s smile faltered for a fraction of a second, and Astra pounced on the crack in his armor. “You know, you could stop him now. Maybe prevent a world of trouble later. But you won’t, will you? You’ll just sit there, watching and waiting, pretending you’re ten steps ahead when really, you’re just rolling the dice and hoping for the best.”
“I do not take threats lightly, Miss Potter,” Dumbledore said, his tone shifting into something sterner. “Especially not from those who hide their true intentions.”
“Oh, please,” Astra scoffed, turning to face him fully. “I’m not the one hiding. You are. Always playing the long game, always holding your cards so close to your chest that by the time you finally act, it’s already too late. Tell me, Albus, how many lives have to be ruined before you stop waiting and start doing something?”
Dumbledore regarded her with a piercing gaze, his calm demeanor unshaken. “And what would you suggest, Miss Potter? That I interfere with every student’s choices? That I become the arbiter of their futures?”
“Maybe just the ones who are brewing Horcruxes in their spare time,” Astra shot back. “But hey, what do I know? I’m just a girl who’s seen what happens when you sit on your hands for too long.”
For a moment, the office was silent, the tension between them palpable. Astra held his gaze, unflinching, daring him to challenge her. Finally, Dumbledore leaned back in his chair, his fingers steepled.
“You speak with a conviction that belies your age,” he said quietly. “You carry a great burden, one that I sense is not entirely your own.”
“Spare me the psychoanalysis,” Astra said, rolling her eyes. “You’re not my therapist. You’re just another chess player trying to keep the pieces on the board.”
Dumbledore inclined his head slightly, his expression unreadable. “Then I suppose we’ll see how this game plays out, won’t we?”
“Oh, we will,” Astra said, her voice dropping to a near-whisper as she turned to leave. “But don’t worry, Dumbledore I’ll make sure it’s a game you won’t forget.”
As she disappeared through the door, Dumbledore sat in thoughtful silence, the faintest shadow of unease crossing his face. Astra Potter wasn’t just a thorn in his side she was a wild card, and one he couldn’t quite figure out.
As Astra left Dumbledore’s office, she felt the faintest flicker of satisfaction. It wasn’t just about rattling him it was about planting seeds of doubt, of paranoia. Let the great Albus Dumbledore stew for a while. He deserved it.
Her smirk widened as she descended the grand staircase. But there was still more chaos to sow, more fun to be had. She hadn’t even gotten to the best part yet: messing with Tom again.
As she turned a corner, the very boy in question appeared, flanked by his usual group of Slytherin sycophants. His sharp eyes zeroed in on her, narrowing as she approached with her usual swagger.
“Riddle,” Astra greeted sweetly, clasping her hands behind her back. “Fancy running into you. Were you lurking in a dark corner somewhere, scheming, or did you miss me?”
Tom’s lips curved into that carefully controlled smile he always wore, cold and unreadable. “Potter. You seem to make a habit of being where you’re not wanted.”
“Oh, don’t be like that,” Astra teased, circling him as though he were prey. “I’m just here to keep you on your toes. Someone has to, considering how utterly predictable you are.”
His smile wavered, just slightly, but enough for Astra to know she’d struck a nerve. His followers exchanged uneasy glances, clearly uncertain about how to react to this strange girl who wasn’t afraid to poke the bear.
“You seem to enjoy testing your luck,” Tom said, his voice as smooth as silk but with an edge of danger. “Perhaps you’ve forgotten who you’re dealing with.”
Astra stopped her circling, stepping closer to him, her emerald eyes glittering with mischief. “Oh, I know exactly who I’m dealing with. Tom Marvolo Riddle, heir of Slytherin, future megalomaniac and all-around pain in the ass. You might fool these idiots,” she gestured to his followers, “but I see right through you.”
His expression darkened, but before he could respond, Astra leaned in closer, lowering her voice so only he could hear. “Careful, Tom. You don’t want me sharing all your little secrets, do you? Like how you’ve been sneaking off to that chamber of yours or practicing magic that even the Slytherins would balk at?”
His jaw tightened, and for the first time, Astra saw a flicker of real unease in his usually impassive face.
“What do you want, Potter?” he asked, his voice low and controlled. “Why are you here?”
“Oh, that’s simple,” Astra said, pulling back with a grin. “To ruin your day, your plans, and your whole damn ego. Call it a hobby.” She turned to his followers, raising her voice. “You lot should really stop fawning over him. It’s embarrassing. He’s not half as clever as he thinks he is.”
The Slytherins bristled, but Tom raised a hand, silencing them. His gaze burned into her, a silent promise of retribution, but Astra merely laughed.
“See you around, Riddle,” she said cheerfully, strolling away without a care in the world. “Try not to brood too hard.”
She didn’t get far before hearing the echo of hurried footsteps behind her. Spinning on her heel, Astra wasn’t surprised to find Tom had followed, his followers nowhere in sight.
“You’re playing a dangerous game,” he said, his tone quiet but charged. “You think you can waltz into my world and threaten me? You’ll regret this.”
Astra raised an eyebrow, entirely unimpressed. “Threaten you? Oh, Tom, you’ve got it all wrong. I’m just helping you see the bigger picture. Let me guess: you’re already thinking of ways to kill me, right? Too bad I know all your moves before you even make them.”
For the first time, Tom seemed truly thrown, his mask cracking just enough for her to catch a glimpse of frustration and perhaps fear. Astra stepped closer, her smirk turning sharper.
“Face it, Riddle,” she whispered, her voice dripping with mockery. “You’ll never outplay me. I’ve already seen the end of this little story, and spoiler alert: it’s not a happy one for you.”
And with that, she left him standing in the corridor, seething but unable to deny the unsettling truth in her words.
Now, it was time to pay Dippet a visit. Why stop at two targets when she could terrorize the entire school hierarchy?
Astra strode confidently through the halls, her mind buzzing with possibilities. Dippet might not have been as manipulative as Dumbledore, nor as calculating as Tom, but he was a pushover a perfect target for a little chaos.
As she approached the headmaster’s office, she waved off the prefect who tried to stop her, murmuring something about “urgent business.” The poor boy didn’t question her, probably too intimidated by her sharp tongue and unwavering confidence.
The gargoyle guarding the entrance to Dippet’s office stared at her blankly. Astra sighed, realizing she didn’t have the password. “Let me guess… something painfully obvious? ‘Pumpkin Pasties’? ‘Pureblood Pride’? ‘Quill Polish’?”
To her surprise, the gargoyle shifted on her last guess, granting her access. Astra blinked, then laughed under her breath. “Of course. Merlin forbid they put any effort into security around here.”
She ascended the spiraling staircase, the door to the headmaster’s office swinging open on its own. Inside, Armando Dippet sat at his desk, a parchment in hand, his expression one of mild confusion at her unexpected entrance.
“Miss… Potter, isn’t it?” he said, setting the parchment down and adjusting his glasses.
“The one and only,” Astra replied, striding in like she owned the place. “We need to talk.”
Dippet frowned slightly. “If this is about a disciplinary issue..”
“Oh, no, no, not at all.” Astra leaned against his desk, completely ignoring the breach of decorum. “I’m here about a… larger concern. Something you might want to hear.”
He sat back in his chair, still looking baffled but intrigued. “What is it, Miss Potter?”
Astra fixed him with an intense look, her green eyes glinting. “I’ll keep it simple: you’re being played. Dumbledore is making moves behind your back, and you’re too blind to see it. And as for Riddle? He’s more dangerous than you realize.”
Dippet blinked, visibly taken aback. “What are you talking about? Professor Dumbledore is a trusted colleague, and as for young Riddle, he’s an exemplary student”
“Exemplary?” Astra laughed, a sharp sound that made Dippet flinch. “That boy is practicing magic so dark it would make Grindelwald blush. And Dumbledore? He’s already positioning himself to take your job. Trust me, I’ve seen how this plays out.”
Dippet’s mouth opened and closed like a fish out of water. “Miss Potter, those are serious accusations. If you have no evidence..”
“Evidence?” Astra interrupted, her tone turning icy. “Headmaster, I don’t need evidence to see the writing on the wall. Look at Dumbledore always conveniently in the right place at the right time, always with some grand moral speech. He’s building a reputation, one that overshadows yours. And Riddle? That charming smile of his is a mask for something far darker. But go ahead ignore me. See where that gets you.”
Dippet paled, her words clearly rattling him. “I..I’ll look into it,” he stammered.
“Oh, I’m sure you will,” Astra said, her smirk returning. “But don’t take too long. You wouldn’t want to lose control of your own school, would you?”
She straightened, turning to leave, but paused at the door. “One more thing. You might want to check the restricted section of the library. Riddle’s been spending a lot of time there. Just a friendly tip.”
Without waiting for a response, Astra swept out of the office, leaving a thoroughly flustered headmaster in her wake.
By the time she made it back to the Slytherin common room, the day’s events had her positively buzzing. Terrorizing Dumbledore, shaking Dippet’s confidence, and putting Tom Riddle on edge it was a triple win.
But she wasn’t done yet. The next step? Turning Riddle’s little army against him, one by one. After all, who said Astra Potter couldn’t rewrite history while having a little fun?
Astra lounged casually in the Slytherin common room, reclining on one of the plush green leather armchairs near the fire. The flickering flames cast shadows across her sharp, mischievous grin. Around her, a handful of Tom Riddle’s followers—those already starting to orbit his dark charisma—were scattered, either pretending to study or watching her warily.
“Potter, you’ve been unusually… present,” said Abraxas Malfoy, his drawling tone laced with suspicion as he sipped from a cup of tea. “Normally, we don’t see much of you in here.”
Astra raised an eyebrow, her lips curling in a smirk. “What can I say? Your common room has better lighting than the library.”
“Flattering us won’t make you fit in,” he shot back, his gray eyes narrowing.
“Oh, darling, I’m not trying to fit in,” Astra purred, tilting her head. “I’m just observing. Taking in the dynamics. Like how Riddle has all of you wrapped around his wand, convinced he’s the next Merlin.”
The room went silent. Several students glanced at each other nervously, their discomfort palpable.
“Careful, Potter,” Tom’s calm, velvet voice said from behind her.
Astra didn’t even flinch. She tilted her head back to look at him, her grin widening. “Tommy, there you are. I was starting to think you’d been avoiding me.”
Tom stepped forward, his posture as relaxed as ever, though his dark eyes glinted with warning. “And why would I do that? You’re far too entertaining.”
“Oh, I aim to please,” Astra replied, leaning forward in her chair. “Though, between us, I don’t think your friends appreciate my insights.”
Tom’s gaze swept the room, his followers sitting straighter under his scrutiny. “That’s because they lack your… irreverence.”
“Or your audacity,” Abraxas muttered, earning a sharp look from Tom.
Astra chuckled, her laughter light but with a dangerous edge. “Audacity is what gets things done, Malfoy. You should try it sometime.”
Tom’s expression didn’t change, but Astra saw the flicker of irritation behind his mask. “Tell me, Astra,” he said smoothly, taking the seat across from her, “what exactly are you trying to accomplish? Stirring up my friends, needling Dippet, planting doubts about Dumbledore. You’ve been busy.”
She shrugged, her smirk turning sharper. “What can I say? I’m a multitasker. And let’s not pretend you don’t find it fascinating.”
Tom leaned back in his chair, studying her with that calculating gaze she’d come to know so well. “Fascinating, yes. Dangerous, certainly. But I wonder… are you trying to outplay me? Or are you simply looking for attention?”
“Neither,” Astra said, leaning forward until they were nearly nose to nose. Her voice dropped to a near whisper, her tone honeyed with mock sweetness. “I’m just having fun watching you squirm, Riddle. You and your little empire of pawns. Because for all your cleverness, you still don’t know what to make of me.”
Tom’s smirk faltered for the briefest second, and Astra felt a thrill of satisfaction.
“Careful, Potter,” he murmured, his voice low and dangerous. “You’re playing with fire.”
“Oh, I know,” Astra said, leaning back with a laugh. “The question is… can you handle the heat?”
The tension in the room was electric, every eye on them as the unspoken battle of wills played out. For a moment, it was impossible to tell who had the upper hand.
Finally, Tom stood, his mask of calm firmly back in place. “You’re an intriguing one, Potter. But don’t mistake intrigue for trust.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Astra said breezily, waving him off.
As Tom walked away, his followers falling into step behind him, Astra’s grin widened. Let him think he had the upper hand. The game was far from over and she was just getting started.
Now, it was time to pay Dumbledore another visit. If she was going to shake the foundations of this timeline, she wasn’t going to do it halfway. Chaos was her calling card, and there was plenty more to unleash.
The next morning, Astra strolled into the Great Hall like a storm brewing on the horizon, her robes fluttering behind her. The students were abuzz with chatter, and even the professors looked particularly engrossed in their discussions. She barely glanced at them, instead making a beeline for her target: Albus Dumbledore.
The man himself was seated at the staff table, sipping tea and observing the hall with that infuriating twinkle in his eye. Astra’s smirk deepened. Time to wipe that smugness away.
She approached his seat with the air of someone who had every right to do so, ignoring the curious stares and whispers trailing her.
“Professor Dumbledore,” Astra began, her voice syrupy sweet, “I couldn’t help but notice you’ve been watching me lately. I thought I’d return the favor.”
Dumbledore raised an eyebrow, setting his teacup down. “Miss Potter, to what do I owe the pleasure?”
“Oh, nothing too serious,” Astra replied, her tone casual. “I just thought we could chat about some… interesting little tidbits I’ve come across.”
The twinkle in Dumbledore’s eye dimmed slightly, though his expression remained calm. “Tidbits?”
“Yes, like the fact that you’ve been keeping an eye on Tom Riddle for quite some time. A very close eye, in fact,” she said, leaning in just enough to make the conversation seem private, though her words were loud enough for nearby students to catch.
Dumbledore’s polite smile froze. “Mr. Riddle is one of our more promising students. Naturally, I take an interest in his progress.”
“Hmm,” Astra mused, tapping her chin theatrically. “That’s one way to put it. Another would be… waiting for him to do something interesting. Maybe even dangerous.”
There were gasps from nearby students, and Astra heard a few murmurs ripple through the hall.
“Miss Potter,” Dumbledore said, his tone still calm but edged with steel, “perhaps this is a discussion better suited for a private setting.”
“Why? Got something to hide?” Astra quipped, her grin widening. “Don’t worry, Professor, I’m not here to air all your dirty laundry. Just enough to make things… entertaining.”
Dumbledore’s expression didn’t falter, but Astra could see the tension in his jaw. “I trust you have a point to make?”
“Oh, I always have a point,” Astra said, her voice dripping with mock sincerity. “Like how you’re so quick to preach about the greater good, but you’re remarkably selective about whose good you’re protecting.”
The hall was now deathly silent, all eyes on the pair. Even Tom Riddle, seated at the Slytherin table, had stopped eating to watch the scene unfold.
“You’re quite bold, Miss Potter,” Dumbledore said, his voice quiet but firm. “But I suggest you tread carefully.”
“Careful is boring,” Astra replied, crossing her arms. “And besides, someone needs to keep you on your toes. Merlin knows you’ve gotten too comfortable pulling strings behind the scenes.”
Dumbledore’s gaze darkened, the twinkle in his eye completely extinguished. “This conversation is over, Miss Potter.”
“Is it?” Astra shot back, stepping closer. “Because I’m just getting started.”
With that, she turned on her heel and sauntered back toward the Gryffindor table, her smirk firmly in place as the hall erupted into whispers.
As she passed the Slytherin table, Tom Riddle’s eyes locked with hers. His expression was unreadable, but the faint curl of his lips told her he was amused.
Astra winked at him as she walked by. Let the games continue.