— — — — — —
The Ministry of Magic
Tom stepped out of the Atrium's public Floo fireplace, and a moment later several more people tumbled out behind him.
Even though it was Saturday, the Ministry was still bustling. Witches and wizards hurried past in every direction, and plenty of them were dressed in odd, foreign styles—clearly not locals from Britain.
News of Grindelwald's massacre of the Picquery family had spread exactly as Tom expected: fast, loud, and frightening. It wasn't just intimidation; it stirred all kinds of thoughts in all kinds of people.
Since breaking out of prison this time, Grindelwald had been far more aggressive than before—basically grinding the American Magical Congress's face into the dirt. But no matter how furious MACUSA was, all they could do was yell in the papers and raise the bounty.
The bounty on Grindelwald had already shot up to five hundred thousand Galleons, dead or alive.
"Grindelwald D. Gellert... Truly amazing."
Grindelwald's show of force made certain people restless. The power balance was like a seesaw—now that one side had gone quiet, the other started lifting.
Behind the scenes, plenty of former Acolytes had begun reaching out to old hands like Rosier and Vogel.
But without orders from Tom or Grindelwald, none of them dared act. They stayed home pretending they didn't exist.
That silence was exactly what frustrated the French Ministry. If Rosier and the others made a move, at least they'd have an excuse to detain them. But with everything quiet, taking action would only push these people into open opposition.
Other countries were dealing with similar dilemmas—protests and riots they didn't dare crush, leaving them stuck in an uncomfortable stalemate.
After passing through wand inspection, Tom headed to Level Two's Department of Magical Law Enforcement, where he'd arranged to meet Bones.
This was probably the most powerful department in the entire Ministry. Everything from Arthur Weasley's Misuse of Muggle Artefacts Office all the way up to the Wizengamot Administration Services fell under its jurisdiction.
And if you counted the Aurors and Hit Wizards, nearly one-third of all Ministry employees worked here—almost half, really.
No wonder they'd split off the Auror Office and Hit Wizards. Otherwise the Head of Law Enforcement would have more authority than the Minister.
Led by a Ministry worker, Tom entered Bones' office. Inside,
Bones was hunched over paperwork, while his mother-in-law, Lady Greengrass, was leisurely sipping tea.
"Good afternoon, Auntie," Tom greeted her first before sitting down to join them with tea and snacks.
"You two…" Bones sighed helplessly and set down her quill. "Could you at least sympathize with someone who's been working nonstop since last night?"
"No one forced you," Lady Greengrass replied breezily. She pushed a plate of the pastries she liked most toward Tom. "What's the point of staring at that mess of documents? Even if you read every line and sign every sheet, do you really think those useless papers are going to catch Grindelwald?"
"In the end, everyone is still counting on Dumbledore."
Bones let out a tired laugh. "Whether the result matters or not isn't the point. What matters is the attitude you show in the process. I… oh, forget it. You understand all this—you just don't bother."
The two women were close friends, but their personalities couldn't have been more different. Bones was the classic powerhouse—she worked like she was competing with every man in the Ministry, sharp-witted and relentless. No one in Law Enforcement didn't respect her.
Lady Greengrass, on the other hand, was the perfect aristocratic matriarch. She understood that power was temporary; what mattered was harmony within the family and the continuation of the bloodline.
Because she never fought for anything, neither faction saw her as a threat, and everyone tried to stay on her good side.
There was no right or wrong—just different choices.
Seeing the two of them happily eating, Bones finally gave up on her workload, tossed professionalism aside, and joined the breakfast table. As she ate, she briefed Tom on what to expect during the upcoming meeting.
"Apart from Fudge, a few other Ministries sent representatives over. We're basically just providing the platform. The real purpose is to talk."
"These countries all have different situations. Meeting together only gives us a general direction."
"It's fine." Tom shook his head, unbothered. "In business, you don't try to squeeze out the very last Galleon. I understand that much."
Bones could only sigh. Tom was far too mature for someone his age. Plenty of adult wizards didn't understand that principle.
Maybe growing up as an orphan really did teach children independence early. She briefly wondered if she should propose that the Bones family raise their kids in an orphanage for ten years before bringing them home.
At nine o'clock, Bones took Tom to the meeting room. Lady Greengrass didn't bother joining them; she disliked taking on extra work and trusted Tom wouldn't let himself get cheated. She headed back to her office to continue "looking busy."
"Mr. Riddle—good to see you again!"
"Mr. Riddle! Long time no see."
"Mr. Riddle, you absolutely must consider including our country this time."
Tom glanced at Bones, who had clearly failed to mention that today's attendees weren't just Ministry officials. Several of his business partners were here too—people who had been pestering him for weeks about opening branches in their home countries.
Apparently, they'd decided to show up in person to hurry him along.
"Don't worry. I'll do my best," Tom replied smoothly.
"We want the anti-curse cloaks and the guardian necklaces too. As many as possible."
"...Okay."
After the greetings, everyone finally sat. Fudge, glowing with self-importance, presided over the session while reporters snapped photos.
There were no real benefits for him, but it made for a fantastic headline: {Under Minister Fudge's leadership, multiple Ministries unite to oppose Grindelwald.} His résumé would look even fancier.
Tom listened to the demands while a Quick-Quotes Quill scribbled everything down beside him. In his head, he was already calculating production capacity and profit.
The biggest demand was for the Codex Notebooks, followed by anti-curse cloaks and various gear designed for Aurors.
His stockpile wasn't bad. The Acromantula he'd raised were fat and healthy, producing better venom than before. He had plenty of Runespoor snakeskin, punching willow leaves, and other materials.
Thanks to the alchemical golems, paper production was practically automated now.
As for anti-curse cloaks and some other items, he planned to talk with the Weasley twins this weekend. If that didn't work out, he could always turn to the Acolytes.
...
After they all kept repeating their requests for his products, Tom finally raised his hands in surrender.
"Alright, everyone, listen. I don't have a big stockpile right now. I can't fill every order at once. I'll put everything I do have on the table, and you can sort out who gets what among yourselves. Deal?"
The representatives nodded.
"Alright, then let's discuss pricing. To support the fight against Grindelwald, I'm willing to make a concession. All items will be sold at... a... one percent discount."
Everyone in the room—including Bones—twitched at the mouth.
One percent. He might as well have offered nothing.
"Mr. Riddle," one official said, "we're placing a large-scale order. Using retail price as the baseline seems unreasonable. How about twenty percent off?"
"Mr. Fletcher, are you a vampire? Even at one percent off I'm taking a loss."
---
While Tom battled a roomful of Ministry officials, far away at Hogwarts students were getting up and heading to breakfast.
Outside, the storm rumbled louder and louder, thunder cracking every few minutes. Some students were already wondering if they should even bother going to the match. Rain wasn't the issue—getting struck by lightning was.
Cancel the match?
Not a chance. Even hail or a tornado wouldn't cancel Quidditch, let alone a bit of rain and thunder.
By around eleven, most people were heading toward the stadium. The two teams changed into their uniforms, cloaks ballooning wildly in the wind.
Under normal conditions, Harry's lighter build and agility were advantages for a Seeker. Today, though, most of his teammates worried the wind might just blow him away.
"Strengthen the grip charm on your broom," Fred said, patting Harry's shoulder before taking off with the others.
Harry barely heard the whistle before he shot forward. He left Hufflepuff's Seeker, Cedric, far behind almost instantly.
Five minutes in, commentator Lee Jordan finally noticed something odd about Harry.
Lee's shout blasted louder than the storm thanks to a Sonorus charm. "Merlin's beard! Am I seeing this right?!"
"Potter—Harry Potter is bolting! I mean, he's riding a Firebolt!"
"A real Firebolt! Ireland's national team model! It'll dominate the World Cup for sure!"
"Let me tell you why—
"Jordan! The match!" Professor McGonagall barked.
"Right, right, professor. Anyway, I just wanted to say the Firebolt has an automatic braking system that—"
"Jordan!"
Lee Jordan finally behaved and focused on the match.
...
The storm intensified until Oliver Wood had no choice but to call a timeout.
"What's the score?" Harry landed, wiping uselessly at his glasses. He had to shout just to be heard.
"We're fifty points up," Wood yelled back, "but it doesn't matter. We need to end this fast. Bloody weather."
"I can't see anything," Harry complained. "My glasses fog up three seconds after I wipe them."
"I've got it." Fred grabbed the glasses and cast a waterproof charm. Wood looked like he might kiss Fred on the spot.
Timeout over, the players took off again.
In the rain, they were just dark shapes darting through the air, moving even faster than before.
Students cheered over the storm when suddenly the temperature plunged. The cold was so sharp it froze raindrops into frost. A heavy weight pressed onto everyone's chest as awful memories surged up.
High above, Harry felt himself turning to ice. He'd just spotted the Snitch, but his gaze snapped downward—an enormous black cloud of Dementors hovered beneath him, all staring up at once. It felt like an icy blade sliced through his heart.
Screams—women screaming, pleading—mixed with demonic laughter in his mind.
The pain washed out everything. His vision went white.
The stands erupted in shrieks. Harry was plummeting from over a hundred meters up, and the Dementors were rising to meet him like it was a feast.
Professor McGonagall went pale. Thank Merlin her reflexes were still sharp; she already had her wand out.
But before she could cast a spell, a clear voice split the darkness, carrying a burst of light that cut straight through the storm.
"Expecto Patronum!"
.
.
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