"Mr. Riddle."
Seeing the boy appear, Isabella's smile blossomed as she stepped forward to greet him.
Tom didn't waste words. He took out the basilisk flesh, still sealed in ice.
Five hundred pounds sounded like a lot, but if you lopped off the head and tail of the whole basilisk, then subtracted the weight of viscera and bone, the usable meat came to over fifteen tons. This batch wasn't even three percent of that.
Besides… even the "five hundred" wasn't exactly honest. Watering the goods was an art he excelled at; the real weight was closer to four hundred, and you couldn't tell at a glance.
Isabella and Alessio, however, didn't show the slightest intention of inspecting it. Once Isabella confirmed it truly was basilisk meat, she packed it away, beaming, and immediately handed Tom a stack of notebooks.
"Mr. Riddle, these contain everything on Druidic Transformation and its associated potions. The materials you requested will need time to be shipped from Castelobruxo, but I promise you'll receive them before we depart."
"If you run into any problems in your studies, you may consult me at any time."
She even offered a thoughtful warning: "I suggest you begin with the simplest, mundane forms. Cattle and sheep are the best for practice. Transforming into magical creatures carries high risk, do be cautious."
"Thank you for the reminder. I will," Tom said with a nod, not spurning her goodwill.
The trade concluded smoothly. Tom left the tower and, on his way, ducked into the Room of Requirement to flip through the notes.
A full read-through later, he had a general grasp of the principles behind Druidic Transformation.
Using the target creature's flesh as the core, you brew a potion and drink it, rousing your own bloodline into a boil; under the protection of the Emerald Vine, the body completes the transformation.
The biggest difference from Animagus magic was the ability to take on magical forms, though the duration depended on the quality and quantity of the flesh-essence, the potion's refinement, and the caster's mastery. At most it rarely exceeded fifteen minutes, and you could not transform repeatedly in quick succession, or irreversible consequences would follow, ending in a… beast, in every sense.
Tom copied a set into the study space and tossed it to Grindelwald for a look.
This system had quite a few parallels with Slytherin's bloodline-fusion experiments, which gave Tom fresh insights.
All roads in magic meet at the same summit: different methods, different tools, but the aim is always the same, approach the Root, become the Root.
He spent the entire weekend studying Castelobruxo's magical philosophy, and in the breaks he coached Ginny. He suspected the girl had a knack for hexes and the darker edge of magic; in two days she had mastered Sectumsempra, a spell that had taken him two hours.
Armed now with a potent, subtle cutter, Ginny burned to go find Cassandra and make trouble. Tom stopped her; there was no need to hound someone who'd already been knocked senseless.
Cassandra had indeed been rattled. According to Hermione, she had practically moved into the library and even secured a pass to the Restricted Section, an unrestricted pass, no less, free to browse anything. Hermione was both envious and fuming.
On Monday, a not-small, not-large piece of news snagged the students' attention.
That morning's Daily Prophet plastered its front page with several ghastly photos: wizards writhing in pain, mouths opened in silent screams, fangs pushing through their gums. The headline was worse, "A New 'Werewolf'? Wizards, Be Alert!"
Tom frowned and read on.
Something was stirring in the wizarding world. More and more wizards were being attacked by vampires. That alone wouldn't have raised eyebrows, but this time the vampires were… different. Those attacked began showing mutations: an overwhelming craving for blood; when self-control snapped, they manifested vampiric traits and flew into a frenzy, attacking wizards nearby. Like an infectious disease, those bitten by these "mutant wizards" developed similar symptoms, milder, but unmistakable.
By press time, more than fifteen victims had been sent to St. Mungo's. The Ministry issued a warning: if you encounter such an incident, flee at once and report to the Ministry immediately.
Some lower-year, Muggle-born students weren't quite getting it.
"Aren't vampires supposed to be like that? What's the big deal?"
"Don't let Muggle films rot your brain," an older student said. "In our world, the bite that 'turns' you belongs to werewolves. Claws or a bite from a werewolf, and you become one. Vampires do not have that ability."
"They're just a shady lot of dark creatures, can do a few tricks, sure, but they've no right to wands. Put them with goblins and centaurs, adjacent."
"Ohhh." The baffled ones nodded, enlightened.
"Severus."
Dumbledore entered the Hall and called Snape out, his face grave. "You saw the paper? St. Mungo's is asking for your help. We need a counteragent as soon as possible."
"I understand," Snape said, jaw set. He strode out of the castle.
Tom found the whole thing odd. He didn't remember the original plot featuring anything like this.
But this was the real world; anything might happen. He filed it away without dwelling. If one of the mutated vampires fell into his hands, he wouldn't mind a little research.