— — — — — —
Hermione had never seen magic this bizarre before. Who was that blue Tom?
"Ready?"
When Tom asked if she was ready, Hermione nodded on instinct.
But she regretted it immediately.
The hazy blue Tom stretched out both hands, and a fireball shot toward her at terrifying speed. It wasn't until the scorching heat washed over her face that Hermione snapped back to her senses. She screamed and hurriedly flicked it away with her wand.
"Tom, you jerk! That was a sneak attack!"
"You said you were ready," Tom replied calmly. He dragged a chair over and sat down at ease, while the glowing figure didn't slow down at all. One fireball after another took shape, endlessly, without pause.
Hermione tried to defend with a Shield Charm, but under Tom's precise control, every Blasting Curse struck with just enough force to cancel it out. Her casting speed couldn't keep up with the fireballs forming, so she had to rely on other methods.
Either knock them aside with her wand, or dodge with quick footwork.
The fireballs grew faster and faster. Hermione's responses became increasingly strained, until one of them singed her bushy curls. She let out another shriek.
"Tom!"
Tom was still smiling. To him, the girl looked like an enraged little lion, adorable in her fury. "I've already prepared hair-restoring potion and conditioner for you. Clothes too, as many as you want. That soft, cushy, textbook-style training doesn't work anymore. If you don't get hurt, you'll never get past that mental block."
That smile looked like something straight out of a nightmare to Hermione. A handsome nightmare, sure, but still a nightmare.
Yet in Tom's eyes, she saw only resolve. That was when Hermione understood that there was no escaping today.
Truth be told, her psychological issues really were serious. Tom couldn't think of a better way to deal with them, so he resorted to the most primitive method there was.
Break through the line you fear the most, and everything after that becomes easier. Once you're used to the consequences of getting hurt, fear loses its grip.
It wasn't just for this upcoming competition. If Hermione ever wanted to stand on her own, she needed a steady, unshakable mindset.
The blue figure, which had paused briefly, gathered another fireball and hurled it straight at her.
---
At the same time, inside the Ministry of Magic
Fudge, returning in a foul mood, convened a meeting the moment he got back. Big matters were handled in small rooms, and in his view, the situation was serious enough that only the Ministry's absolute top brass could attend.
Bones. Scrimgeour. Crouch.
By rank, Lady Greengrass also qualified to be there, but this time, she absolutely could not attend.
As for Barty Crouch, while he wasn't fully trusted, Fudge still acknowledged his competence and loyalty to the Ministry.
And lastly, there was one person with little real status but a great deal of Fudge's trust, who remained in the office as well.
Dolores Umbridge.
The room was heavy with silence. Fudge's expression was ugly. Just thinking about how a teenage boy had brushed aside every one of his demands without hesitation made him feel like his title as Minister was a complete joke. His usual genial smile had curdled into gloom.
"You're all aware of the Astra Abyssum Guild, yes?"
Everyone present nodded. How could they not be? Even setting aside the papers shouting about it nonstop, a massive new building had appeared in Diagon Alley. You'd have to be blind to miss it.
Well, Fudge might actually miss it. Between endless banquets with old families, sleeping off his hangovers in the office all day, and heading straight back out again at night, it was entirely possible.
"I hate change, ladies and gentlemen," Fudge said, taking a deep breath.
"Our world has always been well protected by the Ministry. Everyone has their role, and people live calm, stable lives. But now I see very troubling signs."
"Tom Riddle. A child with a bit of talent who's taken on far too much that isn't his place. I admit he's made contributions to the magical world, but some things cannot be mixed together. The Astra Abyssum Guild is one of them."
"Using money and power to lure wizards into working for him? That's a direct challenge to the simple order our society is built on!"
Fudge's face flushed red as he panted heavily.
All his life, he'd walked on thin ice, living in the shadows. During Voldemort's reign of terror, he'd been nothing more than a minor deputy director, too small to feel the storm directly.
Then Millicent Bagnold's term ended. Barty Crouch collapsed after his wife's death and his son's trial as a Death Eater. And just like that, fortune fell into Fudge's lap. He became Minister for Magic, and everything changed.
So he was the chosen one after all. Only he could save Britain.
Just as he was ready to spread his wings and imprint his will across the country, he realized something horrifying.
A vast web had already been woven over the magical world, one that had existed for decades. It was spun by an old man with a silver-white beard and piercing blue eyes.
Fudge himself was caught in that web. If he wanted to weave his own, he first had to draw closer to the old man, earn his trust and support, and only then would he have the right to do so.
Fortunately, that old man seemed genuinely uninterested in power. Over the years, he'd made no excessive moves and had even worked well with Fudge. The two had repeatedly displayed a strong friendship and cooperative relationship in public.
Even so, Fudge remained wary. What he wanted wasn't coexistence. He wanted to be the only one with the right to weave the web.
And now, before the old problem was solved, a new one had appeared.
A newcomer wasn't as deeply rooted or as prestigious as the old one, but he was powerful nonetheless, and far more aggressive. His naked ambition was already on full display as he began encroaching on Fudge's territory.
The timing was infuriatingly delicate. If this had happened ten years later, or even six or seven, when Fudge's term was nearing its end, he wouldn't have been so threatened. He might even have traded favors using the authority he had left, after all, expired power meant nothing.
But not now.
Right now, the British magical world could only have one voice.
His voice.
As Fudge launched into a relentless verbal assault on Tom and the Astra Abyssum, as if they'd committed some unforgivable crime. However, each person in the room had their own thoughts.
Bones's expression shifted. Fudge had developed a deep grudge against Tom. That was bad news.
You could mock Fudge's intelligence all you wanted, but you could never underestimate the power the Minister for Magic actually held.
Crouch, on the other hand, remained unmoved. His mind wasn't on this at all. He barely even registered Fudge's main point. He was hesitating.
He'd heard rumors that Grindelwald would be leading a delegation to Hogwarts. Shouldn't he take this chance to meet him?
Since his escape from prison, Grindelwald had displayed a charisma and strength that surpassed Voldemort, convincing Barty Crouch that he might be able to change his son.
Scrimgeour and Umbridge, meanwhile, looked openly approving.
Umbridge didn't even need explaining. If Fudge claimed a pile of shit tasted like chocolate, she'd loudly agree, and if necessary, she'd even volunteer to try it herself.
As for Scrimgeour, at his core he was the same type of man as Fudge. He valued power above all else. In the original timeline, the first thing he did after taking office was try to pull Harry to his side and away from Dumbledore.
The only real difference was that Scrimgeour still had a trace of integrity. He could endure torture without giving up information, and die a resolute, defiant death.
"Minister, I fully agree with you," Scrimgeour spoke up first. "I've been studying the Astra Abyssum Guild these past few days, and I've found that its transaction model is likely to breed more evil and gray areas. The Ministry should have the right to supervise it."
Fudge nodded in satisfaction. He'd never found Scrimgeour so agreeable before.
"And what do you think, Barty?" he asked, turning his gaze to Crouch.
"Hm? Oh, sorry, I was reviewing the relevant laws," Barty Crouch replied vaguely. "I'm in charge of international affairs now. On matters like this, we should probably hear Director Bones's opinion."
Fudge frowned slightly, but nodded.
In the end, the pressure landed squarely on Bones. Everyone present knew her relationship with the Greengrass family and with Tom was anything but ordinary.
Under that weight, Bones still spoke up for Tom. "Minister Fudge, I understand your concerns. But at present, Astra Abyssum hasn't violated a single law. As for the gray areas you mentioned, I think Knockturn Alley is a far more obvious example."
"Bones, this isn't the time to consider personal relationships," Fudge said sharply.
"I admit I'm personally close to Mr. Riddle," Bones took a deep breath. "But have you considered the consequences? You know Mr. Riddle's temperament. And beyond that, the Astra Abyssum Guild also serves as a buffer for communication with Grindelwald's side."
"If we act rashly now, it could trigger serious international repercussions. Are you certain you can bear that cost?"
Fudge was shaken.
And so the meeting ended without a resolution, but that didn't mean he'd given up.
---
After the meeting, Bones let out a quiet sigh. When she got home, she sent Tom a message as a warning.
She knew the Astra Abyssum Guild's emergence had both pros and cons, but at least for now, the benefits outweighed the drawbacks. That was why she supported it.
But what could she do? Their Minister was overly sensitive, and deeply greedy.
The message went unanswered for a long time. Bones glanced at the sky and guessed Tom had already gone to bed, so she didn't push it further.
In fact, he hadn't.
Inside the study space, Tom smiled warmly at the girl with braided hair.
"Jeanne, are you getting ready to pray today?"
The girl nodded obediently.
The boy coaxed her gently, his tone like a big bad wolf tempting a little white bunny. "I don't think you're being devout enough. Come, pray in my arms. That way, you'll be closer to the Lord…"
.
.
.