— — — — — —
"Where do you even learn to say this weird stuff?" Tom had Ginny tied to a chair and was staring at her like she'd grown a second head.
"Daphne lent me a book," Ginny admitted.
"Stop reading her books." Tom sighed, but his hands were anything but idle.
He kneaded Ginny's chubby cheeks like he was working dough.
"Mm—stop it." Ginny shook her head, which only made him pinch harder.
"You were acting pretty cocky this afternoon, weren't you?"
"I was wrong."
"I hear Mrs. Weasley's great at knitting. So for Christmas, you'll make me a sweater. If it's not up to scratch, I'll hit you with a day-long Farting Spell. Ever heard of the Maximum Turbo Farts Potion? Yeah—worse than that. Then you'll really know what it's like to have a thunderstorm in your stomach."
Ginny nodded miserably. She knew Tom had a hundred ways to mess with people. If he really cursed her like that, she would never show her face again in public.
"I said I'll do it—now untie me already?" Ginny squirmed in embarrassment.
With a flick of his wand, the ropes flew back into his hand and disappeared. Another gesture, and the table filled with hot, steaming food, all set out in advance.
"Eat, then go to bed."
Ginny's cheeks still had that babyish softness, but her figure was nothing to brag about. She definitely needed better nutrition if his ropework was ever going to be properly appreciated.
Ignoring him, Ginny grabbed a rib and bit in, mumbling through her food. "I snuck all the way down from the tower, dodging Filch and Mrs. Norris, and all I get is dinner? You're kicking me out already?"
Tom slouched lazily in his chair. "It's the middle of the night. What else do you expect me to do with you?"
"I haven't learned a new spell in ages. Teach me a couple more? I tried yours in Dueling Class last week and I still couldn't beat Fred."
That made Tom pause.
Ginny's drive to improve really was unusual in the wizarding world.
Hermione studied magic because she loved learning itself, not because she wanted strength. The result was that she spread herself too thin—brilliant, yes, but unfocused.
Daphne was the opposite; as long as she could get by, she didn't care about magic at all.
But Ginny? She simply loved magic. Loved dueling. Loved getting stronger. That was rare.
"Fine," Tom said at last. "Since you came all this way, I'll teach you one."
Ginny brightened immediately, scarfing down the rest of her food so fast she nearly choked, then begging him to show her something powerful—preferably a flashy attack spell.
"This one will do."
Tom raised his wand. A streak of blinding blue light cut through the air.
"Reducto!"
— — —
A train whistle echoed above Hogsmeade.
The next day, students boarded the Hogwarts Express for the holidays. Before heading to the station, Tom made a quick stop at the Hog's Head to let Ariana visit Aberforth again.
The old man was grumpy at being woken up so early, but this time he didn't scold Tom. Instead, he asked if Tom had any more of those Anti-Disarm Bracelets. Tom gave him a few, grabbed a free breakfast while he was at it, and finally made it to the train.
...
By six o'clock, the train rolled into King's Cross.
As Tom stepped off, he immediately felt the stares—curious, appraising, and mostly hostile.
The ones who recognized him were almost all pure-blood Slytherin parents. Their kids might have been cowed by Tom at school, but parents had no reason to hide their hostility.
Tom's published articles had already pushed his mission progress to 8%.
That number represented the opinion of the entire magical world. His writing had sparked a wave that was spreading fast.
For the old pure-blood faction, this was terrible news. They'd tried to shut him down, but as long as Dumbledore remained headmaster, any "unconventional" plans fizzled the moment they received one of his magically charged letters.
Some had considered fighting back in the papers, but every article they sent out sank without a trace. The big international journals didn't just refuse to print them—they didn't even bother replying.
And there were reasons for that.
First, the pure-blood pieces were ridiculous, praising themselves and their allies to the skies, as if the wizarding world would collapse without them. Printing nonsense like that was begging for ridicule.
Second, Tom had seen this coming. That was why he'd bought shares in those newspapers before ever publishing a word. In academic battles, it wasn't about who was right. It was about making sure your opponent had no platform to speak at all.
He didn't own the world's press, but he had influence now. Serious influence.
And third, he had plenty of quiet allies.
The pure-bloods might have loud voices, but they were few in number and fractured besides. Plenty of people resented them already. Now that there was an excuse, of course they'd secretly lend Tom a hand.
All in all, Tom had time, opportunity, and allies on his side. Finishing this mission was only a matter of when, not if.
"Tom, long time no see."
Lady Greengrass stepped forward, and the hostile eyes around them quickly backed down. Tom quietly noted the ones who glared the hardest—he'd be looking up their family trees later.
"Good afternoon, Auntie." Tom greeted her with polite warmth.
She returned the nod with a smile, then turned to her two daughters still standing firmly at Tom's side. "Don't you two ever miss me? You spend every day with Tom, and even now you're still glued to him."
"Mum, of course I missed you." Daphne giggled, rushing forward to cling to her mother's arm. "But I'm starving—let's go home and eat."
Lady Greengrass tapped her daughter's forehead with indulgent fondness, then looked back at Tom.
"Sorry, Auntie." Tom shook his head. "I already promised Hermione I'd spend the evening with her. I'll come to the manor later."
Lady Greengrass gave a small nod. "I'll be waiting. There are things we need to discuss."
After parting ways, Tom left the platform with Hermione and quickly found the Grangers.
Looking at the Grangers. Tom understood their situation well—the mix of pride and helplessness that came with sending Hermione to Hogwarts. They wanted her to flourish, but they couldn't help feeling powerless. Their status, wealth, even their life experience meant nothing in the magical world. They didn't even understand most of what their daughter did every day, and that fear and worry never really went away.
That was also why Mr. Granger had poured so much effort into helping Tom renovate his new house: he hoped Tom would look after Hermione at school in return.
Sure enough, when the couple saw Tom and Hermione holding hands as they walked out, their faces lit up with genuine joy. They took the pair to a high-end restaurant they'd booked in advance.
After dinner, Tom accompanied Hermione home for a while before politely refusing Mr. Granger's invitation to stay longer. Then he headed for the Greengrass estate.
---
In the familiar study, Lady Greengrass poured Tom a cup of tea.
"Let's start with the good news. Amelia Bones asked me to pass on a question: aside from those Anti-Disarm bracelets, do you have any other alchemical items that could improve Auror safety? The Ministry wants to purchase a batch."
Tom thought for a moment. "Doesn't the Ministry already have stable suppliers for basic alchemy gear? Something like that shouldn't be beyond them. Why are they suddenly looking to me?"
"Cost," Lady Greengrass answered bluntly. "Amelia's main priority is keeping expenses down—without sacrificing quality, of course."
"What kind of price range are we talking?" Tom asked.
"She didn't say. But my guess is twenty Galleons or less. With Fudge running the Ministry… well, you know."
"I'll think about it." Tom didn't commit. He had no interest in low-margin business, but since Lady Greengrass brought it up, he knew she wanted him to agree.
"Amelia Bones has a promising future," Lady Greengrass explained. "She's already holding enormous authority at a young age. When Fudge eventually steps down, she's a strong candidate for Minister. Compared to Scrimgeour, she's much better liked in the Ministry. You could consider it an investment. Still, if it troubles you, forget it—or I could cover the difference privately."
"That won't be necessary, Auntie," Tom said firmly. "For something this small, I'd never refuse you. The question isn't profit or loss, just whether I earn a little more or a little less."
"That's good to hear." Lady Greengrass smiled, then sat back down across from him. "Now for the bad news."
She listed a few names. "Parkinson, Macmillan, Travers, and several other pure-blood families came to me. They weren't exactly polite."
"Hmm... No need to worry about them."
Tom set his teacup down calmly. "Give me a list. When the time's right, I'll visit them one by one."
"Tom, apart from the Macmillans, the others all have ties to dark wizards. Some even crawl in the same sewers as those rats. Don't underestimate them."
Her reminder was sincere: no matter how strong a wizard, he was still human. Dark wizards had twisted, insidious ways of killing unseen.
"I'm not worried about them," Tom replied evenly. "The only one I worry about is Dumbledore."
He lifted his gaze toward the distant Scottish Highlands. "Before I left school, the headmaster asked me to show restraint, and I promised him I would. I won't move against those families first. That's my way of respecting Dumbledore."
"That old man really is troublesome." Lady Greengrass followed his gaze. "But in a way, it's the best scenario."
"There's a banquet in a few days," she added. "Do you want to attend? Rosier and Nott are fairly open-minded right now—they could be worth drawing in."
"I'd rather spend the time on things I enjoy." Tom shook his head. "My new house is finished and I haven't even stayed there once. Before I head to France, I'd like to make a few more changes."
She didn't press him, but she did insist on one thing: when the time came to visit Bones' home, Tom had to go in person. Some matters couldn't be explained secondhand—they needed to be said face to face.
This time, Tom didn't refuse.
---
The next day, Tom brought Daphne and Astoria with him to Hermione's house. From there, the group set off together to see his new home.
.
.
.