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In Europe and America, whether in the Muggle world or the wizarding one, political donations are nothing unusual. In fact, a huge chunk of the Ministry's budget comes from these "contributions."
Another big player is Gringotts. The goblins run the bank fat with profits, yet every year they still hand over a hefty "protection fee".
And donations aren't always just piles of gold. Connections, political leverage, or even special favors—all of those count as a form of "support."
Of course, the wizarding world wasn't nearly as shady about it as the Muggles. It was like how everyone knew politicians steal money and take bribes but could never quite prove it. Doakes meme was popular for a reason.
On the other hand, Wizards were much more straightforward. Take Lucius Malfoy, for example: his "donations" were about as subtle as dropping a sack of gold onto the Minister's desk. Either the money went straight into Fudge's pockets and the Ministry, or it was handed over to St. Mungo's. So direct.
So, Tom's "gifts" this time weren't just about money. What he was offering could actually raise Amelia Bones' influence inside the Ministry.
On paper, the Auror Office was just a main division under the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. But because it was the armed muscle of the Ministry, Scrimgeour and Bones were practically equals in authority. By selling two types of enchanted gear at dirt-cheap prices to the Ministry, Tom would be winning over the Aurors themselves. Everyone loves those who actually care about their safety.
Then there was the last item—the guardian necklace. That was aimed straight at the top of the food chain. The higher you climbed, the more terrified you were of dying. Against all but the rarest of extremely powerful wizards, that necklace was basically a second life.
Amelia Bones could keep one for herself, and the other four would buy her influence beyond imagination. The benefit far outweighed the other two alchemical items.
When Tom finished, he simply smiled at Amelia, waiting for her decision.
Amelia glanced at Lady Greengrass, who immediately shook her head.
"You know our tradition, Amelia. We don't pick sides. I'm just here as Tom's guide today. Everything he says, every choice he makes, is entirely his own."
"But he's only—" Amelia began, then was cut off.
"Twelve years old? And? Some people are simply born with a brilliance others can't imagine. Dumbledore in fifth year was already chatting and joking with wizards a hundred years older. Nobody thought that strange."
"…Fair enough." Amelia's eyes fell back on the items laid out on the table. Even without words, Tom had already proven he couldn't be judged by common sense.
"Mr. Riddle, I won't lie—your offer is tempting," Amelia said at last. She drew a deep breath. "From middle management to the highest levels, these three products would let me meet everyone's needs.
"But the more generous the offer, the trickier the strings attached. Until I know your true intentions, I can't accept such help."
"My intentions?" Tom tilted his head, thinking about how best to phrase it.
"Tell me, Madam Bones—what kind of man do you think Cornelius Fudge is?"
The question caught her off guard, but after a pause she answered, "A conservative, traditional Minister. His attention is wholly devoted to his profession."
Lady Greengrass snorted. "Translation: he's incompetent, a patchwork of all his predecessors' worst flaws. Obsessed with power, suspicious of anyone who might threaten his position. And works a lot but with no result."
Amelia didn't argue. Everyone at the Ministry who had half a brain knew exactly what Fudge was. His biggest flaw wasn't really the point—his one "virtue" was that he was easy to manipulate. That was why, after so many years in office, the Ministry had remained stagnant. Every department kept doing things their own way, feeding him what he wanted to hear, and nothing blew up badly enough to change.
"Auntie, that was spot on," Tom said with a grin, giving her a thumbs-up. Then he sighed. "Plus, I'd rather have a Minister I can actually get along with. That would save everyone a lot of trouble."
"As for privileges—I'll fight for those with my own power. The reason I'm backing you, Madam Bones, is because after looking over the Ministry records Auntie shared with me, I found only you and Barty Crouch are actually qualified for the job."
"If Scrimgeour becomes Minister instead… well, Auntie told me he hates my {Records of Wizarding History}. Thinks I'm trying to subvert public knowledge. He even suspects Dumbledore is behind me. If that man takes office, do you really think he and I won't end up clashing?"
"So yes, I'm supporting you mostly for my own peace of mind."
Amelia fell silent, weighing his words. How much of that was truth? How much was carefully hidden? She didn't know Tom well enough; all her information was surface-level, and useless for deeper judgment.
"Very well," she said at last. "If your request is truly no more than this, I'll accept your help with gratitude. But let me make it clear—should I become Minister, I will never break the law or my principles to repay you. Within the rules, however, I can offer convenience."
"I look forward to the day you succeed," Tom said warmly, standing to shake her hand. The deal was sealed.
From now on, Tom Riddle was Amelia Bones' benefactor.
"It's getting late. I'll head back with Auntie. If the Ministry needs anything—or more necklaces—you can contact me."
As soon as he spoke, both he and Lady Greengrass vanished in a swirl of emerald fire.
---
The next day
Tom flew toward France. Beside him, Usaki, the Rayquaza, darted ahead only to spiral back, as if the entire sky were her playground.
Tom could've Apparated, of course, but he wanted Usaki to enjoy a proper flight.
Also, her speed easily outstripped Tom's, and the dragon's restless vigor had nowhere else to go but into endless acrobatics.
But by the time he realized, he'd already wasted a good chunk of time before finally reaching Nicolas Flamel's estate.
...
In the Flamel's estate
The first person to greet Tom wasn't Nicolas or Perenelle—it was Newt Scamander.
"Grandpa Newt," Tom greeted with a smile. "You really ought to thank me this time. If I hadn't stirred things up, Granny Tina would never have let you leave America so easily."
Newt chuckled. "First time I've ever heard someone brag about causing trouble. If Tina hadn't explained, I wouldn't have known your article made such a mess."
When Newt was with people he trusted, all that social anxiety of his seemed to melt away. Around him, you just felt… comfortable.
And since it was rare to run into him, Tom cooperated by opening his study space, letting Grindelwald spill out another elegant stream of German commentary.
"I could've handled it myself," Tom shrugged, ignoring the grumbling old wizard. He walked down the corridor alongside Newt. Sunlight filtered through ornate mirrors, scattering golden light across the hall.
Tom leaned closer, dropping his voice. "You really didn't bring your case? That would mean you're not here to protect me—I'd have to protect you."
Newt ducked his head, a little embarrassed. "I brought a few creatures. If something happens, I can still manage."
"And how exactly did you slip past the French Ministry's checks?"
"Their inspection process hasn't changed in decades. I just had an owl deliver a case straight to Nicolas. No risk at all."
"tsk. I'd bet good money there are Aurors shadowing you already."
"No need to bet. They were on my tail the moment I arrived."
Chatting and laughing, they stepped into a lounge. Nicolas sat rocking in his chair, eyes fixed on a film projected on a giant screen.
Tom flopped onto a seat beside him as though it were his own home and glanced at the movie.
"Bram Stoker's Dracula? A Muggle vampire story doesn't feel a little… off to you?"
Nicolas shook his head. "Fiction, yes, but there's truth in it too. On the eve of Constantinople's fall to the Turks, the Church really did convert some of its clergy into vampires to boost their magical power."
"Unfortunately, the Turkish wizards were stronger. Most of those vampires were destroyed, but a few survived. The screenwriter of this film was one of them."
That was the upside of talking to an old relic like Nicolas—you'd casually hear secrets no one else had ever heard.
Fanatic priests turned into vampires? The Church really was ruthless.
Tom didn't comment further. He just stayed with Nicolas until the credits rolled. When the music swelled and the lights came on, the old man shifted his chair upright.
"After Christmas, some old friends will be visiting. I'm hosting a three-day gathering. We'll use the opportunity to promote your magical notebook."
"Did you find the Whomping Willows?"
"Ten of them. They're in the back garden now, though compared to the one at Hogwarts their quality is lower. Only about a thousand years old."
"That's nothing. I'll raise them for a while—it'll be fine."
"What progress have you made?" Nicolas asked next.
Tom explained his latest results. The basic version of the notebook, without factoring in Runespoors or Whomping Willows, now cost about fifty-five Galleons to make. That was just around a month's wages for an adult wizard—cheap enough for mass adoption.
Plenty of people would buy a real-time communication tool at that price. And the more people used it, the more everyone else would be pulled in—willingly or not.
Because how could you stick to owls when your peers were chatting instantly? Anyone with even the slightest need to socialize would have to keep up with the times or risk drifting out of touch.
Nicolas was pleased. He also caught the hidden note in Tom's words: "basic version." That meant there was already an upgraded one in the works. Tom didn't elaborate, and Nicolas didn't pry. He'd find out sooner or later.
Newt, though, perked up with interest at how Tom had solved the Runespoor breeding problem. Tom immediately sold Snape out.
When Newt heard that Snape had cracked the issue in under a month, even he couldn't help but sigh. "Truly a master of potions."
"Oh, right, Professor." Tom smiled awkwardly, rubbing his palms together. "Mind if I bring two friends here?"
Nicolas understood instantly who he meant. "Of course. I've told you not to treat this place like you're a guest. Perenelle's been eager to meet your little girlfriend."
The old man smirked, waggling his brows at Tom. "You rascal. A half-Veela, huh? Still, half-blood is half-blood. A true Veela is something else entirely…"
He chuckled, eyes gleaming with mischief. "Want to know what it's like? I won't ruin the surprise. Try it yourself and you'll see. Though, at the rate you're going, you might need Snape's Potion No. 69. Hahaha! So many girls you have got."
Tom could only laugh helplessly.
Newt, meanwhile, turned bright red.
Because really—what expression was a hundred-year-old supposed to make when a six-hundred-year-old and a twelve-year-old started talking about things like that?
.
.
.