— — — — — —
Once everyone in the meeting had learned what the Guardian Necklace could do—and heard about the other gear issued to British Aurors—one thought spread through the room like wildfire: "So the British Ministry's been eating this well?"
Especially those Aurors who had barely survived the chaos earlier. They couldn't help thinking how different things might've been if they had equipment like that—gear that didn't just keep them alive but let them fight freely instead of hanging back in fear of Grindelwald's name.
The way they looked at Crouch was practically feverish. One of the foreign Aurors couldn't hold back and asked, "Mr. Crouch, are you saying we can actually buy this gear from the British Ministry?"
"No, not the Ministry," Crouch said, shaking his head. "The inventor of The Codex, Mr. Tom Riddle, runs a shop in Diagon Alley called… ah, Elaina's Magical Workshop. He sells many of his own magical tools there. Most are available for purchase—but not the Guardian Necklace. That kind of alchemical item can't really be measured in gold."
He said this partly to look generous, sharing information with foreign officials to build goodwill for future dealings. There was no reason to hold anything back—so he laid out everything he knew without hesitation.
Everyone in the room made a mental note to remember that name. Several were already planning to request funds to place orders once they returned home.
The wealthier among them had their eyes set on that Necklace. For the first time, these high-ranking wizards—so used to power and luxury—had felt how fragile life really was.
And compared to their lives, Galleons suddenly seemed meaningless. No matter the price, they'd pay it.
When the meeting finally ended, the delegates left the Woolworth Building one by one to return to their countries.
...
Babajide let out a long sigh.
He and Dumbledore shared the same belief: Grindelwald's greatest weapon wasn't his magic—it was his mind and his charisma.
Even now, Babajide couldn't be sure how many of the people who'd sat at that table with him were secretly sympathizers… or worse, followers.
The chaos from today couldn't possibly be contained. Once the news spread, how many would rally again to Grindelwald's call?
That would be when the real storm began.
But what could he do? Grindelwald was too slippery—like a ghost, here one moment, gone the next. No one could predict where he'd strike next. Maybe… when he finally established a base of his own, that would be the time to strike back.
---
The next morning
Before the Ministry even opened, Cornelius Fudge arrived at Hogwarts, asking specifically to see Tom.
The night before, Crouch had used a Portkey to return to Britain and report everything in person. After confirming that Crouch wasn't exaggerating or losing his mind, Fudge began to panic.
Grindelwald—this wasn't just some old fugitive. The man was terrifying.
Then, one after another, letters and Codex messages began flooding in from other Ministries, all asking about defensive gear and that new communication tool.
That was when Fudge realized just how serious things had gotten.
He'd pulled Bones and Scrimgeour into a late-night meeting, and by dawn they were on their way to Hogwarts—to coordinate a response with Dumbledore… and, of course, to buy out Tom's entire stock.
He wanted everything. As much as he could get.
"Minister, you're certainly diligent," Tom said with a polite smile, shaking his hand when he entered the headmaster's office.
He'd already been warned by Bones last night that Fudge was coming, but he hadn't expected him to show up this early. The boy's smile brightened noticeably.
And why wouldn't it? The man standing before him was practically a walking vault of gold.
Fudge, oblivious to the shift in Tom's expression, gave a weary smile of his own. "Mr. Riddle, things may seem calm here at Hogwarts, but in truth…"
He sighed. "The wizarding world—the entire world—is on the verge of chaos. Gellert Grindelwald has escaped. You know who he is, I assume."
His tone hardened, anger edging into his voice. "Not only did he escape, he didn't even bother to hide. Yesterday, he attacked the International Confederation of Wizards outright. Killed the Minister of Poland and a senior North American official. It's absolute lawlessness!"
Of course, Fudge's outrage didn't come from any noble sense of justice or international camaraderie. What truly infuriated him was Grindelwald's utter contempt for authority. Nothing bothered Cornelius Fudge more than powerful people who refused to respect those in charge.
And when that thought crossed his mind, he couldn't help sneaking a glance at Dumbledore, who sat quietly listening to their exchange.
If Grindelwald could kill the Polish Minister today, what was to stop him from targeting the British Minister tomorrow?
This wasn't some common criminal. This was a menace—and it demanded a heavy hand.
Tom, ever the performer, widened his eyes at just the right moment. "Gellert Grindelwald—the dark wizard Professor Dumbledore defeated years ago—he escaped?"
He turned to Dumbledore, face painted with just the right amount of shock. The old man's expression didn't change; he nodded, playing along.
"Yes," Dumbledore said mildly. "The same Grindelwald. He broke out, kidnapped Gregorovitch to forge him a new wand, and then committed the atrocities the Minister just described."
Dumbledore didn't believe for a second that Tom had no idea about the escape. Even if Newt and Tina hadn't mentioned it, Nicolas Flamel certainly would have.
When Dumbledore had last met Flamel, the old alchemist couldn't stop grumbling about how Tom had "no shame," making a six-hundred-year-old man work like a pack mule. That kind of grumbling only came from genuine fondness—Flamel clearly treated the boy like his son.
So there was no way Tom hadn't been warned to stay cautious. This whole performance was purely for Fudge's benefit.
"So what exactly do you want from me, Minister?" Tom asked with a puzzled look.
"Twenty-six Ministries have already reached out," Fudge said briskly. "They all want to buy protective gear and those Codex notebooks from you. Of course, the British Ministry will also be placing an order—and I'd like ours prioritized."
"No problem," Tom said easily, smiling. "Let's discuss it this weekend. I'll visit the Ministry then and we can go over the details."
"Mr. Riddle, you could just send what you already have in stock," Fudge pressed. "We can sort out the price later."
It was only Tuesday. Fudge wasn't in a hurry—Britain still had reserves, and with Dumbledore around, it wasn't likely to be the main battlefield. He was mostly helping other Ministries harmonize their panic buying.
"I'll see what I can do," Tom replied politely, giving him just enough to sound cooperative without making any promises.
The room went quiet for a moment, until Scrimgeour suddenly spoke up. "Mr. Riddle, have you ever considered hiring staff? If you're short on funds or manpower, the Ministry could invest—offer resources and support."
Dumbledore immediately looked toward Fudge. Fudge blinked back, clearly confused, and shook his head as if to say, Don't look at me, I didn't tell him to say that.
Amelia Bones frowned. "Rufus, are you trying to pry into Mr. Riddle's trade secrets?"
"Of course not," Scrimgeour said defensively. "I just think expanding production would benefit everyone—help the Ministry, help Mr. Riddle. It's a win-win."
"A win-win?" Tom's smile turned sharp. "I'd love that, actually."
He leaned forward, eyes glinting. "Tell me, Mr. Scrimgeour—you're head of the Auror Office, aren't you? You know alchemy?"
Scrimgeour hesitated, then shook his head. "Only the basics. I wouldn't say I know it."
"Yeah, I figured," Tom said cheerfully. "Only an ignorant idiot could say something that stupid."
Scrimgeour's face darkened. With his wild hair and bristling mustache, he looked like an angry lion—or maybe a very wrinkled sunflower. "Riddle, are you insulting me?"
"If calling the truth an insult, then sure. I'm insulting you."
Tom gestured toward Fudge and Bones. "Your Minister and your Director are smart enough not to talk nonsense about things they don't understand."
Then he turned to Dumbledore. "Professor, if you tried, could you replicate Codex?"
Dumbledore shook his head without hesitation. "Tom, my alchemy is decent, but our fields of study are completely different. Replicating your work? I haven't even begun to understand half the principles behind it."
Tom spread his hands. "You hear that, Mr. Idiot? Find me a few alchemists stronger than Dumbledore—anywhere in Britain, hell, anywhere in the world—and I'll sell to the Ministry at cost and even hand over fifty percent of my shop's shares. Think you can manage that?"
Scrimgeour's face went pale, then red, then somewhere in between. He opened his mouth but couldn't form a single word.
Fudge's own expression was a little odd. He'd loved hearing Tom call him "smart," and watching Scrimgeour get verbally flattened had been immensely satisfying. Still, laughing now would look terrible. He had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from grinning and awkwardly offered a diplomatic save.
"Well… Rufus was just a bit overzealous. He only wants to make sure our Aurors are well protected."
Then he stood. "We have other matters to attend to at the Ministry, so we'll take our leave."
He nodded politely to both Tom and Dumbledore before heading out with the others.
Tom also started to rise—he hadn't even eaten breakfast yet—but Dumbledore stopped him.
"Tom," the headmaster said gravely, "Grindelwald's escape is a grave threat to the wizarding world. It could escalate into a catastrophe."
"I believe you, Professor," Tom said sincerely. "You defeated him once. You can do it again. So… whatever you plan to do, just go ahead. No need to tell me."
Dumbledore's next words caught in his throat. He managed an awkward smile. "Actually, I don't have a plan yet. I only wanted to warn you—don't leave Hogwarts over the Christmas holidays. I'm afraid Grindelwald might target you."
"Auntie Tina already warned me," Tom said lightly. "She told me to be careful of Grindelwald… and of you."
Dumbledore fell silent.
He sighed inwardly. Tom wasn't just hard to fool anymore— no, he was impossible to fool from the start.
The boy had been alarmingly sharp from the day he set foot in Hogwarts, and after whatever Tina had told him, Dumbledore's carefully polished image was probably in tatters.
"…All right," Dumbledore said finally, exhaling. "You're right as usual. But I really do need your help."
.
.
.