— — — — — —
Dumbledore's request, in the end, wasn't much different from Fudge's— he wanted to buy the Codex notebooks and gear, most likely for members of the Order of the Phoenix.
The Order of the Phoenix wasn't exactly made up of elite wizards. It was a mixed bag of people from all walks of life, because Dumbledore needed all kinds of talents to gather information for him.
Tom still remembered a guy named Mundungus Fletcher — a small-time crook and thief scraping by at the bottom of the magical world. His moral standards were… well, nonexistent. If he'd been one of Tom's men, Tom would've sent him off with a nice, clean flash of green light.
But Dumbledore seemed perfectly happy with him. Or maybe that was the point — he liked using flawed people.
"..."
Tom was in high spirits. After Dumbledore had accidentally tricked him twice over the summer, this was finally his chance to get back at the old man. He quoted him the same prices the Ministry paid — not a single Knut less.
Dumbledore didn't even blink. He just agreed, no bargaining, no hesitation.
At first, Tom was puzzled. But then it clicked.
The Order had a sponsor.
Sirius wasn't a wanted man in this timeline — he could openly access the Black family fortune. With how few people were in the Order, the money they spent was probably pocket change to him.
Stil.... Walking out of the headmaster's office, Tom was in such a good mood that he even traded a few sarcastic remarks with the gargoyle guarding the door before heading downstairs.
The market had opened up. Dumbledore's order was small potatoes, but Fudge's offer? "No limit — however much you can supply, I'll pay." That was the kind of deal that could make Tom filthy rich.
That was also why Grindelwald chose to make his move now. Old G knew it would help Tom sell more items and complete his trial.
From today, Tom wasn't just running a communication network — he was also a payment provider, and, apparently, an arms dealer.
During peacetime, other Ministries of Magic wouldn't have cared what kind of products he had — no one felt threatened.
But now? Grindelwald had struck once, and suddenly everyone was on high alert.
And with that, Tom's "Codex" became more important than ever — the cheapest, fastest way for magical governments to communicate across borders.
"This time I really should thank Barty Crouch for the free publicity," Tom mused.
Bones had already explained what had happened, and Tom now understood why the news had spread to foreign ministries even before he'd officially launched the service.
As for paying Crouch back… nah. The man wasn't helping out of goodwill — he clearly had his own motives. Tom wasn't going to fuss over being used; call it even.
What bothered him now was production.
The Guardian Necklaces were high-end products — he was the only one who could make them, and they were his most profitable line.
The anti-curse cloaks and "Eyes of Warning," though, didn't need his personal touch. Those could be outsourced. And since the Weasley twins' prank products had hit a sales slump thanks to Professor McGonagall's strict oversight, they were desperate for something new to work on anyway.
Their "experiments" had nearly landed Ron in the hospital wing last week. Giving them a real project might be good for everyone.
The twins were naturally gifted at alchemy, and Tom wasn't worried they'd mess up such low-tier items — or turn down a paying gig.
Those two were obsessed with opening their own shop. As long as there was money involved, Tom suspected they'd agree to just about anything.
...
Before he realized it, Tom had wandered into the Great Hall.
Most students had finished breakfast and gone off to class, leaving the huge space feeling a bit empty. Tom grabbed a piece of bread, chewed thoughtfully, and finally made up his mind.
"Ravenclaw," he said quietly, "I need to learn memory magic."
Inside the Meditation Room, Rowena Ravenclaw was lazily overseeing Ariana's homework when she heard Tom's voice. She smiled faintly and stretched, her tone light.
"Don't worry, Tom. You're starting from a higher level than I ever did. You'll see results soon enough. I already know what you want to do — and it's not exactly difficult."
Tom's lips twitched. He hadn't even said why he wanted to learn memory magic, and she'd already guessed.
Dealing with someone like her was exhausting. You either had to be so smart you could hide every little thought from her—or so pure-minded you didn't care if she read you like a book.
— — —
In the Wizarding World, the volcano erupted.
Every Ministry of Magic in the world had tried to suppress the news of Grindelwald's escape, but they couldn't keep it quiet after he killed the Polish Minister of Magic and Sam Picquery.
Within two days, the story had spread everywhere.
Some people were shocked. Some terrified. Some stunned. And some… thrilled.
Fifty years was a long time—two generations had come and gone. But it was also short, because so many who'd lived through those dark years were still alive to remember.
They had passed on their memories and their fears.
So even though Grindelwald had vanished for half a century, the moment his name appeared in public again, that buried past was violently unearthed.
Across the globe, his followers—the Acolytes—rejoiced. In dozens of countries, the symbol of the Deathly Hallows reappeared in the sky. That glowing triangle struck terror into anyone who saw it.
"Now that's a statement..."
Thursday morning, Tom clicked his tongue as he stared at the Daily Prophet.
The front page bore the Hallows symbol and a simple, powerful headline: "He Who Returns."
Forget strength—just by influence alone, Grindelwald left Voldemort in the dust. The Deathly Hallows symbol could terrify half the world, while the Dark Mark only scared people in Britain.
But not everyone causing trouble was a true acolyte, though. Some were just fanatics who believed in Grindelwald's ideology.
At least Rosier's morning report confirmed that none of the Acolytes who actually knew Tom's existence had made any moves. They'd all stayed silent.
That was good. The bigger the organization, the harder it was to enforce discipline. You had to prioritize—keep your core circle loyal and obedient, and don't waste time micromanaging the fringe.
At the staff table, the professors were silent. Down at the four House tables, however, the students were buzzing, all talking about Grindelwald.
Most of them hadn't known much before. The paper had published a surprisingly detailed piece this time.
Even Hermione, with all her encyclopedic knowledge, had only known the basics: Grindelwald was the dark wizard Dumbledore defeated in what was hailed as the greatest duel of the century. Nothing more.
That was deliberate. The wizarding world had buried his legacy on purpose, terrified his ideas might take root in a new generation.
And they'd almost succeeded—until this prison break ruined everything.
"'To let wizards live in the sunlight...'" A Slytherin student read the quote from the paper, trembling with excitement. "He's right! Wizards should live openly! Why do we have to hide from Muggles?"
Someone else immediately chimed in, "Exactly! Wizards are the rightful rulers of this world!"
Another voice joined, "Who says he was a dark wizard? If Grindelwald had won, the world would be better off!"
Professor McGonagall let out a deep sigh.
The damage was already showing.
For the rest of the day, no class followed its normal schedule. Every professor spent their lessons explaining why Grindelwald's philosophy was dangerous and flawed.
"Wizards and Muggles are equals," Professor Flitwick said in Charms class. "We all live in the same world, though in separate spheres. The Statute of Secrecy exists to prevent another wave of hunts. Fear of the unknown breeds hatred, on both sides."
"If we ever fought Muggles like Grindelwald wanted, win or lose, the cost would be catastrophic. There aren't enough wizards in the world to fill a single Muggle city. Do you really want your family dying in a war like that?"
Every professor echoed the same warning. Dumbledore had prepared them well—he knew better than anyone how to counter Grindelwald's charm.
By the end of the day, the feverish excitement had cooled. The students sobered up, reminded that words like sacrifice and death weren't just abstract ideas.
Which suited Tom perfectly.
He'd spent most of his day tuned out, his consciousness in the study-space, learning memory magic under Rowena Ravenclaw's tutelage.
They were still in the theoretical stage. Her understanding of memory was… unique, even for her. It would take him time to digest it all.
...
That night, Nott, Rosier, and Zabini were still arguing about Grindelwald, their voices grating on his nerves. With a flick of subtle magic, Tom sent all three into peaceful slumber.
Then he got up, still in his pajamas, and left the Slytherin common room.
Penelope had mentioned that Helena Ravenclaw came to the library at least once a week. He hadn't seen her the past few nights, but maybe tonight he'd get lucky.
Yawning, Tom wandered into the Restricted Section and pulled out A Hundred Uses for a Wizard's Skull to pass the time. The grotesque illustrations were at least stimulating enough to keep him awake.
Time crawled by. Before he knew it, it was nearly two in the morning.
He sighed and closed the book. Another night without finding her.
Just as he slid the volume back onto the shelf, a figure drifted down through the air — a young woman in a flowing white gown, with long brown hair and cold, dark eyes. A ghost.
She was beautiful, with an elegant, aloof grace that bordered on arrogance. Her gaze brushed over Tom, expression indifferent, and she didn't even slow down as she floated toward one of the shadowy corners of the library.
"Wait!" Tom called after her. If Filch had been nearby, he definitely would've heard—but Tom didn't care.
The ghost turned, frowning slightly, as if expecting an explanation for why this living boy had dared stop her.
"Hello, Grey Lady," Tom said with a charming smile. "Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Tom Riddle."
At once, the Grey Lady's face twisted into a look of pure disgust.
.
.
.