Voldemort was about ready to be driven mad. Every time he spoke with the diary, it maintained its usual chilly silence—until Tom's name came up. Then the page exploded in elegant strings of F-words, curses woven with furious eloquence.
The Dark Lord's understanding of Horcruxes had deepened in recent weeks, but progress toward true mastery was agonizingly slow. When term resumed, he would need Tom's help again, whether he liked it or not.
At that very moment, Albus Dumbledore flipped open his own enchanted notebook.
…
At the Flamel estate.
Tom stepped quietly out of Fleur's room, returning to his own chamber to check the system panel.
He'd nearly forgotten—last night, in the middle of his speech, a system mission had popped up. He hadn't even bothered to read it, closing it instantly while carried away by the thrill of the crowd. Now, he finally remembered.
[Mission: Creator of a New World]
Description: Through your knowledge and vision, you have opened a new path for the wizarding world. Your invention is vital. The future will be built on its foundation.
Objective: Continue evolving and spreading your creation. Rewards will be issued in phases. Final reward: one evolution of your Learning Space.
Progress: 0.
Tom tapped his chin. Progress at zero… fair enough. WhatsApp isn't even in beta. It's just a few prototypes and some flashy demonstrations for investors.
But the reward puzzled him. Learning Space evolution? Did that mean an expansion, like when he summoned new teachers? Somehow it felt different—more demanding. The system wanted him to keep pushing, to add functions, to improve endlessly. Just popularizing what he had now wouldn't be enough.
"If only it meant unlocking Transcendence Mode again," he muttered.
Every breakthrough—alchemy, potions, even raw magic itself—had been supercharged by Transcendence Mode. Bottlenecks that could have stalled a man for decades vanished with the roll of those celestial dice.
There was nothing in the world that couldn't be solved by "opening the cheat menu." If there was, it just meant he hadn't opened it often enough—or hard enough.
As he pondered how to trigger another major task, a message blinked into WhatsApp.
[Dumbledore: Mr. Riddle, you've caused me quite a headache.]
[Tom: ???]
He frowned. He hadn't dressed the Headmaster in golden robes or anything—was this some kind of cryptic complaint?
[Tom: Headmaster, I don't understand.]
[Dumbledore: You haven't seen today's Daily Prophet?]
Tom blinked. No, he hadn't. Last night had been lost to a pillow fight with the quarter-Veela sisters. He'd slept late, then spent the morning buried in system tasks. Who had time for newspapers?
"Fizzy! Bring me today's Prophet!"
A house-elf appeared with a bow and a stack of fresh papers, setting them down before vanishing again.
Tom only needed one glance at the front page to see what Dumbledore meant. He chuckled out loud.
[Tom: Headmaster, you can't blame me for this. Blame the British wizarding imagination. All the foreign papers were perfectly normal.]
[Dumbledore: Be that as it may, I've just deflected a curse on your behalf, Mr. Riddle.]
[Tom: That sounds like there's a catch. Let's be clear: don't drag me into more messes. I've already got enough problems without adding yours.]
Dumbledore, selling misery? That set off alarms in Tom's mind.
[Dumbledore: I do have something to ask of you. But not yet. We'll discuss it once term resumes.]
[Tom: Fine. In that case, I'll keep enjoying my holiday.]
[Dumbledore: Do enjoy yourself. Oh, and give my regards to Nicolas and Newt—and add me as their contact, would you?]
[Tom: Of course, Headmaster.]
Closing the notebook, Tom stretched on the bed for a while before Fleur and Gabrielle came knocking to drag him down for brunch.
By chance, Newt was just returning from tending to the Whomping Willows. Tom caught him in the hall.
"Newt, Dumbledore asked me to pass you his ID—he wants to add you as a friend."
The old man accepted the slip of parchment with a nod. "I'll do it as soon as I'm home. Are you going out today?"
Tom grinned. "I am. The buttercream bicorne cake I ordered in the Hidden Alley should be ready. Never tasted bicorne cream before—today's the day. No need to tag along. Nothing's happened in days, right?"
For nearly a week, Newt had been shadowing Tom like a personal bodyguard—Tina's orders. In truth, the real protection was the Aurors assigned to keep eyes on him. With so many professionals watching from the shadows, even if some pure-blood fanatics tried to strike, they'd be caught instantly.
Newt thought the same. "All right. But stay vigilant."
"I will," Tom promised, though inwardly he thought it unnecessary.
But the moment he and the Delacour sisters stepped into the bustling Hidden Alley, he felt the sting of unseen eyes. Several pairs of them. Watching.
He kept his expression perfectly casual. Could be the Ministry's Aurors. Could be someone else.
Either way, he wouldn't give them the satisfaction of knowing he'd noticed.
"Come on," he said cheerfully to the girls, leading them deeper into the shops. "Let's take a walk."
And all the while, the predators in the shadows followed.
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