Midnight.
The Slytherin common room was quiet, with only a handful of students lingering by the dim firelight, chatting lazily. Tom waited patiently until Daphne appeared.
"Well? Are your roommates 'asleep'?" Tom asked.
Daphne's eyes curved like crescent moons as she giggled. "Hehe, they're sleeping very soundly. Though it was my first time casting, so I might've overdone it a bit. Who knows when they'll wake up tomorrow."
"No problem. Just cast a Reviving Charm on them in the morning. I've done this before."
The students near the fireplace spotted the two of them. One girl grinned and teased, "Tom, Daphne, off for a midnight stroll through the castle? That's romantic."
After the Lockhart incident, Slytherin's attitude toward Tom had shifted again. Where once it had been ruled by fear of his power, now it was tempered with respect—even warmth.
After all, under Tom's leadership they had defied Dumbledore himself. Generations of Slytherins, long suppressed, finally felt vindicated and proud.
Unity wasn't Gryffindor's sole virtue. In Slytherin too, cohesion grew through trials and victories. Why, even under the previous Tom Riddle, hadn't the house been united? Until his authority cracked, most Slytherins had been loyal.
"Exactly. It's Friday night. What else is there to do but take a walk?" Tom answered smoothly.
Daphne placed her hands on her hips. "Cynthia, if you're jealous, go wake up Shafiq yourself."
"Forget it." Cynthia laughed, shaking her head. "He sleeps like a dead ox. Waking him would be harder than mastering Transfiguration."
The comparison made everyone chuckle. Daphne pointed at her friend smugly. "Then stay here and sulk like an abandoned wife. Tom and I are going out to have fun."
With that, she clung to Tom's arm and practically skipped out of the common room.
…
Their first stop was the kitchens. Parra had already laid out their midnight feast: for Daphne, shrimp-stuffed bread and a bowl of Provençal fish stew; for Tom, far more—roast beef, sizzling sausages, honey-glazed chicken wings, and macaroni baked with a double layer of cheese.
The truth was, Tom expended more energy at night than during an entire week of classes. Learning magic under Grindelwald drained both mind and body. The old Dark Lord believed in nothing less than a force-fed education. As long as the duck could bear it, he kept shoving knowledge down its throat.
And Tom—well, Tom was a duck with extraordinary endurance.
Daphne often envied how much he could eat without gaining weight. She hadn't been so lucky—after a week of late-night snacks from Parra or the sweet shops outside, her cheeks had visibly plumped. Terrified, she'd begged Tom for a Strengthening Potion, using its vitality-boosting effects as an extravagant weight-loss trick.
A rare, life-enhancing potion—used as a slimming aid. Typical Daphne.
After supper, cloaked in Disillusionment Charms, the two made their way to the Room of Requirement on the eighth floor and slipped into their private little world.
The moment Daphne entered, she lit up. Here, it was truly just the two of them—a world of their own. It reminded her of summer, when Tom had stayed at her family home. She was radiant with happiness.
Not that the joy kept her awake long. Once she curled up in bed and listened to Tom's voice, she clutched him tightly like a pillow and drifted off to sleep.
Sometimes, Tom swore Daphne's sleeping habits were an odyssey across the heavens—roaming far and wide. She might start in his arms, but by morning she'd be curled into a ball at the far corner of the bed.
Thankfully, the Greengrass family's enormous three-meter beds had space to spare.
Settling into a comfortable position, Tom slipped his consciousness into the learning space.
…
He appeared first at Ariana's little villa, where he shared the good news: tomorrow, they would be meeting Aberforth. The girl was visibly more delighted than when he'd said they might see Albus. Her approval rating leapt to forty-seven points—nearly enough to draw a second innate gift.
But it wasn't just Aberforth that made her so happy. Ariana was sensitive—scarred by her past. At first, she had thought Tom's promise to take her to Hogsmeade was just a gentle lie, a way to soothe her. She hadn't dared to hope.
Now that he'd made it real, she felt his sincerity—and her trust in him deepened.
Tom even conjured a few issues of the Daily Prophet and other magazines for her to enjoy in her spare time, before heading to his usual training ground.
"Andros?"
Seeing the giant wizard waiting for him, Tom blinked. Normally, this was Grindelwald's time.
"Let the old man rest for a day," Andros said with his booming laugh. "You've been soaking up foreign magic with him nonstop. It's time for something different. A change of pace."
Tom smiled. "Good. Honestly, I was craving a break. It's strange—emptying my mind while relearning things I already know. Feels… unnatural."
"What do you plan to teach me today?"
Andros's grin turned secretive. "Tom, do you know what ancient magic truly is?"
Tom rolled his eyes. "Andros, with the spells you know, aren't they all ancient? Or beyond ancient?"
The old wizard shook his head. "No. You've misunderstood. What you call 'ancient magic' had another name in my era."
Tom tilted his head, curious. "And that was?"
"Astral Magic."
"Astral magic?" The term was entirely new to Tom. Interest flickered in his eyes. "Tell me more, Andros."
"That," Andros said, scratching his head in mild frustration, "touches on the very origins of magic itself. And I've never been much good at lecturing on theory. I'm a warrior, not a scholar—unlike Grindelwald."