— — — — — —
From the weathered look in Uncle Newt's eyes, Tom could read a whole story. He gave the old man a glance filled with sympathy.
Yeah… there's history here.
Honestly, this was a painfully accurate snapshot of many middle-aged wizards' lives. The wizarding population seemed cursed. No matter how much the Muggle population grew, the total number of wizards never really changed.
A lot of pure-blood families had figured that out long ago. That was why so many wizards rushed to get married the moment they graduated. If you didn't hurry up and start having kids, what if your "slot" got taken?
And even after the first child, you couldn't slack off. The more children, the better.
A few days ago, Lucius Malfoy had come to visit Tom. His eyes were sunken, dark circles heavy under them. One look was enough to tell… the man was completely exhausted. The suffering of middle-aged men, honestly.
Tom guessed that after Leo was born, Tina had probably wanted to go for another round, leaving Newt with memories he would never forget.
Tom suddenly felt a bit regretful. Back when he was doing that "richest man" trial, why hadn't he thought of exploiting this angle?
If he had just developed a few wizarding versions of "Viagra," he probably could've finished the task months earlier.
Tom gave Uncle Newt's shoulder a solid pat. He didn't say a word, but everything that needed to be said was already there.
The old man was full of question marks. He had clearly been the one sharing life experience with Tom, so how did this turn into Tom feeling sorry for him?
What kind of look is that?
"Don't worry, Grandpa Newt," Tom said, thumping his chest confidently. "Give it some time. I guarantee Rolf will have a little uncle."
Newt: "..."
Tom wasn't joking. He was completely serious.
The first batch of golden apples was almost ripe, and the first people he thought of were the Scamander and Flamel families.
Those two elders had helped him immensely in the past, and in the future they could… well. Who could say no to outstanding workers who could stay productive for over a hundred years?
Not that Tom thought of them as employees, exactly. But you get the idea.
Once Tina and Newt were young again, giving Rolf a little uncle would be no challenge at all.
After chatting for a while, Tom took Hermione and the others and left, not wanting to disturb the Scamanders' rare family reunion.
He first had Fleur take Gabrielle and Cassandra back. Then he brought the rest of the girls to the Hogwarts professors' Box Nine to say hello.
When he walked in, Professor McGonagall was chatting with Professor Sinistra from Astronomy. Flitwick and Sprout were fiddling with a miniature Quidditch stadium model, while Sybill Trelawney was dragging Professor Vector from Arithmancy into a drinking contest.
Even though Tom had sent an invitation, Snape still wasn't there.
James Potter had been a star on the Quidditch pitch back in the day, while Snape hadn't even made the house team. He had always disliked the sport. After discovering that Harry was freakishly talented at it, that dislike had only turned into outright loathing.
When McGonagall saw Tom come in with the others, her face lit up. "Tom! We were just talking about you."
Since they weren't at school, her tone was much more casual. At Hogwarts, it was almost always "Mr. Riddle."
"Talking about me?" Tom asked, curious.
Professor Flitwick picked up the thread. "Thank you for the tickets. We could never have gotten seats this good on our own."
"It's nothing," Tom waved it off. "Just exempt me from holiday homework and we'll call it even."
Flitwick blinked, then leaned in conspiratorially. "I'll tell you a secret. I've never really read your homework. I always give you full marks."
Tom gave him a thumbs-up. McGonagall shot her old colleague a glare, putting on a show of disapproval.
Truth be told, she did the same thing. But you couldn't just say that out loud.
There were other students around, after all.
Just then, Trelawney suddenly drifted over. She stared at Tom intensely, muttering under her breath.
"Sybill?" McGonagall frowned.
But Trelawney didn't react at all. Her expression turned grave as she fixed her gaze on Tom. "Child… my Inner Eye tells me that you will face a great calamity."
"Sybill!"
McGonagall was genuinely angry now. Tom, however, kept his smile. He dipped his head politely. "Thank you for the warning, Professor. When we get back to school, I'll bring you a good bottle of wine."
Trelawney immediately snapped out of her mystical trance. She beamed, nodded happily, and went back to her seat.
Tom didn't recommend Hermione take Trelawney's class because Hermione lacked the talent. That didn't mean Trelawney herself had nothing to offer.
This professor was honestly a bit uncanny. Whether it was her scare-you-half-to-death rambling when she was playing the fraud, or her serious, fate-laden prophecies when she truly entered the zone, everything she had predicted in the original story eventually came true.
The way Trelawney had looked just now felt… off. No telling whether it was an act or the real thing, but Tom made a mental note to stay alert for a while.
---
Back in his Box, it was now other people's turn to come visit Tom.
Guests arrived in waves. Business partners from the Elaina Workshop, scholars looking to exchange ideas, and representatives from several pure-blood families bearing gifts.
Most of all, though, were his classmates. The box hardly had a moment of peace.
Calling Tom's current standing in the wizarding world "a done deal" was no exaggeration. As Astra Abyssum continued to expand, setting up multiple branches in the Continent, his influence had already broken out of Europe and reached much farther.
This World Cup alone showed just how much power Astra Abyssum could mobilize.
In the past, only one organization operated on this kind of international scale: the International Confederation of Wizards. Now there were two more, the Acolytes Alliance and the Astra Abyssum Guild.
But compared to the Confederation's bloated bureaucracy and its fear of the Acolytes Alliance, Tom Riddle's Astra Abyssum was simply easier to deal with, and more profitable too. Plenty of people were eager to get closer to him.
Meanwhile, the central Box One was just as lively. Ministers of Magic from over ten countries had gathered there. Fudge was glowing, surrounded by them as they laughed and chatted. It felt like the peak moment of his life.
Over on the other side, the Bulgarian Minister of Magic had far fewer people around him. Being one of Grindelwald's allies had its downsides. Only countries from the same camp stood with him.
That clash between the two major factions was a big reason this final had more buzz than any before it.
Crouch had been firmly grabbed by Fudge and forced to act as a translator. He finally found an excuse to escape when Ludo Bagman showed up.
As kickoff drew closer, the atmosphere grew even more electric.
When Ludo Bagman announced the start of the match, the crowd erupted. Thunderous cheers, roaring applause, thousands of flags waving, and a chaotic mix of songs filled the air.
Eighteen massive floating screens around the stadium rolled through different advertisements. Just from the ad revenue alone, Tom had already made a killing.
"Enough talk," Bagman boomed. "Please allow me to introduce Bulgaria's mascots!"
One hundred Veela glided onto the pitch. Their beauty left countless men dazed, emotions rising and falling with every movement of their dance. A stadium of three hundred thousand people fell eerily silent.
Naturally, Tom wasn't affected. But he recognized plenty of familiar faces among them. "Fleur, why are there Veela from your tribe here?"
"Because Bulgaria didn't have enough Veela," Fleur said with a blink and a smile. "A single performance pays very well. Of course Grandmother wouldn't say no."
Tom's mouth twitched. Using magical beings from another country as your mascot? That was… a move.
When the dance ended, the stadium exploded with angry shouts. The crowd didn't want the Veela to leave. Many fans even looked ready to rush the field. Tom watched as plenty of people immediately swapped the shamrock badges on their chests for red Bulgarian emblems. The loyalty was impressively fake.
But the moment Ireland's leprechauns appeared and tossed out their own "gifts," the crowd switched sides again. After all, those gifts were gold coins.
A rain of gold fell from the sky. Ginny almost bolted out of the box to grab some, but Tom quickly pulled her back.
"They're leprechaun gold," he said. "It'll vanish after a while."
Only then did the girl sit back down, looking disappointed.
Ludo Bagman loudly announced the players as they entered. One by one, they shot into the air at incredible speed. They were moving so fast that Bagman often hadn't finished saying one name before the next player appeared. Irish supporters cheered themselves hoarse.
Then came the Bulgarian team. They were far less famous, until Viktor Krum appeared.
The stadium went insane.
This entire tournament had basically been Krum carrying his team on his back. In every match, he did almost all the work himself. He was a legendary player—every team wanted someone like him.
The Irish fans also knew he was the biggest threat to their championship. They unleashed the loudest boos they could muster, hoping to throw Krum off his game.
"Krum, even my grandma could score more than you! Just wanted to say that."
"You suck! You fucking suck, Trump—uh, I mean Krum!"
"If I were you, I'd just give up the game right now."
"..."
Naturally, the Bulgarian fans didn't stay quiet for long. They volleyed insults right back at the Irish players while lavishing Krum with a touch of exaggerated praise—though, in truth, it wasn't exaggeration at all. Krum really was one of the best players in the world.
...
"Huh? Isn't that the old guy from earlier?"
Ginny blinked in surprise at the referee who had just stepped onto the pitch. From Bagman's introduction, she learned who he was: Hassan Mostafa, Chairwizard of the International Quidditch Association, hailing from Egypt.
Wait… that guy was the president of the International Quidditch Association?
She could barely watch how obsequious he'd been toward Tom earlier. She'd assumed he was just some small-time merchant. Turns out he was a pretty big deal.
"That's normal," Tom said absentmindedly. "He's counting on me to help him make money. Being polite is the least he can do, right?"
Right now, only Britain had a professional Quidditch league with broadcast coverage. Even so, the surge in revenue was no secret. As International Quidditch President, Mostafa knew perfectly well that once Quidditch went global, his organization would finally stand tall. At that point, he'd practically be sleeping on piles of Galleons.
Tom, however, stayed lukewarm. He held a monopoly. Whatever he chose to promote, everyone else would have to watch anyway. There was no need to go all-in on sports alone.
But what he really wanted was diversity. Let the wizarding world explore new paths on its own instead of relying on him to push everything forward. Doing everything himself, producing and selling it all, was honestly kind of boring.
That was why he was selling Lume-Lenses—and at such a low price, too. Tom wanted wizarding entertainment to grow and develop as quickly as possible.
---
Soon, a sharp whistle blew.
The match began.
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(A/N: The action kicks off in the next chapter. Stay tuned!)