— — — — — —
After the family dinner, Tom followed Newt out into the courtyard to clear weeds. He conjured a glowing white orb that floated above them, lighting the ground as brightly as daylight.
"Dumbledore asked me to help track Grindelwald, but Tina refused."
Newt explained why they had rushed back to Britain. "To be honest, I think Grindelwald is harder to deal with now than ever before. He's completely on his own. No army of followers, no fixed base, no predictable patterns."
"No one can guess what he wants to do next. You can't plan a defense or set a trap when you have nothing to work with."
Tom put on an innocent expression. "Maybe he's just old and curious what today's world looks like?"
Newt let out a self-deprecating laugh. "And taking revenge on old enemies while he's at it. But does he really hate the Picquery family that much? To choose such a cruel method? I feel like there's more going on that we aren't seeing."
Tom's heart gave a tiny jolt.
Your greatest enemy often understands you better than anyone. Grindelwald and Newt weren't equal in strength, but they were definitely the type of rivals who understood each other to the bone.
Newt had picked up on the problem already.
"Grandpa Newt, you're retired. Stop overthinking."
Tom flicked his wrist; an entire patch of weeds ripped itself out of the ground. He teased, "You wanted Grandma Tina to retire first, but when it's your turn, suddenly you can't let go?"
"Dumbledore is still alive. Worrying about Grindelwald is just draining you."
"You're not wrong."
Newt sat down on a stone bench. "Alright, enough wild theories. Tom, your runic and warding work is better than mine and Tina's. Help me check the estate's protection spells."
Tom hesitated. "Why don't we just use the Fidelius Charm? Quick and easy. I can serve as Secret-Keeper."
"You know that spell?" Newt's eyes widened.
The Fidelius Charm was one of the highest tiers of contractual magic. It buried a secret inside the Secret Keeper's very soul, strong enough that even Voldemort needed the Keeper to speak willingly to break it.
Tom shrugged. "Piece of cake. The spell itself isn't hard. The real issue is choosing someone trustworthy."
Newt couldn't help laughing. Of course Tom was referring to Peter Pettigrew.
"Grandapa Newt, how about choosing Dumbledore?"
"Uh… I think I'll pass. You'll do just fine."
They exchanged a look and burst out laughing.
Inside the house, Tina heard the laughter and glanced out the window, but didn't think much of it and went back to chatting.
---
The next morning
Tom finally took Daphne and headed back to Hogwarts.
Before they left, Tina asked him to come again in two weeks. Jacob and Queenie would be joining them by then.
Those two weren't as free as Newt and Tina. Jacob's bakery was still running, and he needed to handle all his affairs before moving.
Tom and Daphne returned straight to the Great Hall for breakfast. Dumbledore, who had disappeared the whole weekend, was already back. Students had no idea he'd been to North America and returned with nothing to show for it.
Once the hall was nearly full, Dumbledore stood up. A sharp buzzing sound cut through the chatter, drawing frowns and attention from every table.
"Forgive me for interrupting your meal," Dumbledore said. "There are a few matters I must address right now."
"During Saturday's Quidditch match, the Dementors, who have lacked proper feeding for quite some time, broke their agreement with me and entered the pitch. Minister Fudge has asked me to convey his sincere apologies."
No one reacted. A verbal apology meant nothing.
But the next sentence set the hall roaring.
"Starting today, the Dementors will be withdrawn from Hogwarts and Hogsmeade. And to make up for the incident, there will be an extra Hogsmeade weekend for everyone."
After delivering the news, Dumbledore sat down again and gave Tom a little wink.
Tom smirked. Was the old man trying to show off his influence?
...
"Riddle, stay a moment."
Just as Tom finished eating and was about to go to Transfiguration with Hermione and Daphne, Snape pulled him aside into a shadowy corner of the Entrance Hall.
"I need a Strengthening Potion," Snape muttered. "How soon can you get it to me?"
Tom blinked at him, saying nothing.
The message was obvious.
You really think you can get free potions out of me just by asking nicely?
Snape's face darkened. "Just tell me what you want. How am I supposed to guess what ridiculous price you have in mind?"
"Professor, who's the potion actually for?"
Tom instantly knew it wasn't for Snape himself. If Snape needed it, he would've tried to talk circles around him, maybe dug a hole for Tom to step into before bringing up his request. Coming straight to the point like this meant he was in a rush… and not for his own sake.
Tom's expression shifted into something strange.
Snape bristled under his stare. "Riddle, do you charge less for knowing why the buyer wants it?"
"Of course not. I'm just curious." Tom grinned and started rummaging through one of his bottomless-extension pockets. He quickly pulled a Strengthening Potion, and Snape's fingers twitched like he wanted to snatch it.
Anyone who managed to rob this kid would instantly become one of the richest wizards alive, probably with a stash of priceless magical junk on top.
"What's your price?" Snape forced himself to look away, guarded again. He had told Tom to name it, but if the price was outrageous, he wasn't going to play sucker.
Tom shrugged. "Hmm… eight thousand Galleons. I'll even give you a friend discount. Want a few more bottles while you're at it? Buy ten, get one free."
"Card." Snape pulled out his Gringotts bank card with a deadpan expression. Ten bottles? That would be eighty thousand Galleons. He wasn't one of those filthy-rich pure-blood aristocrats. Where was he supposed to steal eighty thousand Galleons?
Tom happily whipped out a card reader and processed the sale with professional speed.
"Anytime you need more, Professor, just come find me."
Snape took the potions with a distracted nod. Tom turned to leave, then casually tossed out, "So. Is Harry ok?"
"He is—" Snape froze halfway through the sentence. Realization slammed into him. His sallow face flushed bright red.
"Ten points from Slytherin!"
Tom had unlocked an achievement no one in history had managed: making Snape deduct points from his own House. That alone showed just how thoroughly he'd gotten under Snape's skin.
Even so, Tom couldn't figure out why Snape suddenly cared this much about Harry's abilities. Was it because of what happened a couple days ago?
But the Dementors were already back in Azkaban. What was Snape worried about now?
He dropped the thought a moment later. He had too many things to worry about on a daily basis. Whatever mess existed between Snape and Harry was microscopic by comparison.
...
After Arithmancy that afternoon, Tom and Hermione headed to the library.
Even though Tom had copied every book into his study space, reading physical books in the real world was relaxing. And of course, there were points to farm.
"Tom. Turn this book to page one hundred sixty-eight."
A cool, sharp voice broke the silence. Madam Pince shot a glare over, but when she saw who had spoken, her expression twisted into something complicated.
The one talking wasn't a student. It was a ghost — the Grey Lady, Helena Ravenclaw.
A lot of students sneaked glances. Ravenclaws looked stunned. Why was the Grey Lady appearing in front of everyone all of a sudden? And why was she talking to a Slytherin?
Didn't she hate Slytherins?
Students from other Houses mostly didn't even recognize her. She almost never showed up in public.
"With pleasure." Tom pulled down the book she pointed at: {A Complete Compendium of Medieval Tanzanian Ritual Ceremonies}. He opened it to the requested page.
Every so often, she asked him to flip to the next. Tom did it patiently. Hermione watched them with a strange expression.
The Grey Lady drifted so close while reading that her ghostly form overlapped with Tom's body.
Thankfully, it didn't last long. After reading what she wanted, the Grey Lady rose back into the air and inclined her head.
"Thank you, Tom. I'd like to award Slytherin one hundred points."
With that, she glided away.
One hundred points?
Plenty of students heard her declaration. They all smiled wryly, shook their heads, and went back to what they were doing. No one took it seriously.
Hogwarts ghosts all had… issues.
Nearly Headless Nick kept trying to detach his head and loved showing students his spinning-head trick. The Bloody Baron looked like he'd bite your hand off if you said hello. Even Peeves was scared of him. Moaning Myrtle cried so much she'd turned the second-floor girls' bathroom into a quarantine zone.
The one who seemed most normal, the Fat Friar, was actually the least normal. Wizards and the Catholic Church had hated each other for centuries. Even now, textbooks still mocked and criticized the Church. Yet the Friar had somehow infiltrated the clergy, become a cardinal, and died because he was poisoned while fighting other cardinals for the papacy.
Some theorized he was a wizard spy trying to soften Church hostility from the inside… but no. He had been a sincere, devoted Catholic. Even as a ghost, he still remembered to attend weekly mass.
Even the portrait of Sir Cadogan on the seventh floor was a lunatic who insulted passing dogs as cowards.
So the students in the library shrugged off the Grey Lady's announcement, assuming she was just another problem ghost. Probably some sheltered, haughty noblewoman in life.
Only the Ravenclaws hesitated. Their House remembered the Grey Lady as brilliant and perceptive, not some scattered idiot.
Their doubts were confirmed that evening when they walked past the Entrance Hall on their way to dinner — and saw the Slytherin hourglass jump upward by a massive chunk.
Wait. We thought you were bluffing. You can actually award points?!
Word spread across the Great Hall within minutes, and the place exploded.
.
.
.