— — — — — —
"…T...Tom."
Cassandra had expected tension, maybe a shouting match, maybe even a duel. She was mentally prepared to scrape her father out of a wall.
But she never imagined Tom would crank the pressure up instantly, before a single accusation was exchanged, leaving her father twitching like a rabbit caught in a spotlight.
She had never seen Andrew deny something with such desperate speed.
"Don't interrupt." Tom turned his head sharply, but the moment his eyes met Cassandra's, he winked.
"So what you mean, Mr. Vole… is that your daughter lied to me?"
"N… no…" Andrew forced out, still trying to hold himself together. "This has nothing to do with Cassandra. She only told me what happened at Hogwarts. Riddle, you pinned my daughter to a wall. As her father, why shouldn't I be angry? Why shouldn't I demand an explanation?"
Tom nodded inwardly.
On his way across the room he had quietly cast a mild mental pressure spell. Cassandra was outside the field, but Andrew was caught squarely in it. Even so, he still took all the blame onto himself.
Overbearing as he was, and despite raising Cassandra to be a little crooked, his love wasn't fake.
If he were truly cold and heartless, he'd have shoved every bit of blame back onto her already.
A pity, really. If Andrew had thrown his daughter under the bus, Tom could've justified beating this old man senseless. Now it was harder to make a move.
Cassandra felt her father's protectiveness too. Her eyes stung.
She'd always believed her father treated her like a project, sculpting her into something perfect. She hadn't realized… that wasn't all he was.
While she was still sorting through her thoughts, Tom lowered his gaze. "Mr. Vole, I think your seat suits me better. What do you think?"
...
One minute later, Tom was the one seated at the head of the room, leisurely sipping black tea.
Striking first was always effective, especially on someone like Andrew who thought far too highly of himself. Tom wasn't about to pull his punches just because the man was Cassandra's father. They weren't even romantically involved.
So the moment he entered, he hadn't waited for Andrew to pounce. He hit first. If the mental pressure didn't work, he had physical methods ready. One way or another, Andrew needed to be pinned down before any real discussion could happen.
"...."
The atmosphere was a bit awkward now, but at least no fists had flown. That counted as saving Andrew a slice of dignity.
Tom set down his teacup and got to the point. "Mr. Vole, I can't give you the exclusive rights."
"Why?"Andrew's head snapped up. "We haven't even talked terms yet. Riddle, aren't you being a little too decisive?"
He wasn't losing his cool—this was just too big a prize.
The Vole family's business stretched across the entire Americas. He understood the market. Cassandra's little student operation hadn't even covered a tenth of North America's potential, never mind the far larger wizard populations in South America.
If he could secure the agency, the Vole family would enjoy immense, steady returns for the next hundred years.
Tom shook his head. "No matter what terms you offer, I won't change my mind. In North America, my products will be handled by Cassandra, and only Cassandra."
Andrew stared. "How is that any different?"
"It's very different," Tom said. "She represents herself. You represent the Vole family. How could those be the same?"
"But Cassandra is my only daughter. She's the future of the family."
Tom almost rolled his eyes. "That's for the future. For now, my decision stands."
Cassandra looked touched.
Andrew, on the other hand, frowned deeply. "Riddle, Cassandra is still a student. She has her studies. She can't handle everything alone. And she can't exactly meet business partners inside the school. What are they supposed to do, show up at Hogwarts?"
Tom smiled like a fox, and Andrew's stomach dropped. "That's where you come in as her father, isn't it? I'm giving Cassandra all authority. How she arranges things, whether she wants sub-distributors or assistants—that's her choice. I won't interfere. And she won't let me lose money… right?"
"Don't worry, Tom."
Feeling how much he trusted her, Cassandra completely forgot that Andrew had literally stood up for her minutes ago. She patted her chest proudly. "I promise you won't make any less than before."
Andrew's eyelid twitched. His fists tightened.
'I'm your father! Why are you taking his side?!'
Tom spread his hands. "See? Perfectly resolved."
Andrew felt like swallowing blood, but at least today wasn't a total loss. In his mind, the money Cassandra earned was still the Vole family's money.
It was this exact thought that—decades later—would still make Andrew beat his chest in regret. Because the Vole family fortune had basically ended up becoming Riddle's.
---
Once business was settled, Cassandra invited Tom to stay for dinner, but he shook his head. "Next time. I've got something important to take care of."
"And Cassandra... we won't see each other again until next summer. I hope you'll surprise me."
Cassandra didn't want him to go, but she nodded obediently. "I'll make sure you're shocked."
"I'll be waiting."
He waved, and with a burst of green fire vanished from the fireplace. Cassandra stared at the empty hearth for a long time before a thought suddenly struck her.
"Why next summer? Doesn't the Underage Wizard Dueling Tournament happen before that?"
---
Arizona — Thunderbird Sanctuary
Tom didn't head back to New York. Instead, he made his way to the Thunderbird reserve.
This time he wasn't just visiting—he planned to take a few young Thunderbirds back with him. There was a remote canyon near Newt's new place, perfect for raising them.
He intended to build himself a house there too. Something to keep him company during the holidays. And once he managed to lure Nicolas over, the place would be even livelier.
When he mentioned taking some of the chicks, the adult Thunderbirds had zero objections. They even seemed delighted—if possible, they would've happily sent him off with the entire flock.
Unfortunately, Tom couldn't push it that far. If he emptied the sanctuary, MACUSA would explode. Thunderbirds were practically a symbol of North America; mention them anywhere and people immediately thought of this region.
...
Late that night, Tom lay on the back of a Thunderbird, staring at the stars, and pulled out his Codex.
『Tom Riddle』: Do you have the Graves family address?
A reply came quickly.
『Laos Wilkinson』: Boss, you're going after the Graves?
Tom explained the conflict from earlier.
『Laos Wilkinson』: They're asking for it… picking a fight with you...I have Robert's address, got it before from his wife.
『Laos Wilkinson』: Oh, and the Graves family is huge. Lots of branches, spread out everywhere. Robert is the current head—he lives at the ancestral estate. No idea how many people are there though.
『Tom Riddle』: Doesn't matter. Just send it.
A moment later, the address arrived.
"Nebraska…?" Tom closed the Codex and murmured, "Not on either coast? Why choose a place like that?"
The country had fifty states, but because of geography, ninety percent of the population lived along the two coasts. Wizards were the same. Exceptions like the Thunderbird Sanctuary existed, but generally there were no wizarding communities in the central regions.
So why had the immigrant Graves family planted their ancestral home in the middle of nowhere?
Tom filed the question away for tomorrow.
A man might wait ten years to take revenge, but Riddle couldn't tolerate waiting ten days. Just the thought made his skin itch.
He'd been too low-key before—every stray cat and dog thought they could tug a tiger's whiskers. This time, he wouldn't use Grindelwald or the Acolytes for payback. He would do it himself.
Whatever storm came afterward, he'd deal with it.
Worst case, he'd transfer to Durmstrang as a third-year. Grindelwald was already plotting something with that school anyway.
---
The next day, after packing up two young Thunderbirds, Tom set out for Nebraska... for the Graves ancestral home.
Around noon he reached the address Laos had given him—only to find a barren stretch of mountains. Not a single person in sight. No buildings. Nothing.
Carrying his luggage, Tom opened his magical sight. Soon he spotted the rhythmic flow of magic in the area and let out a breath.
"Good. Not the Fidelius Charm."
If the Graves estate were under Fidelius, he wouldn't be able to break in at all.
That spell was a nightmare. But luckily for him, old pure-blood families usually avoided it—they relied too much on social networks to bury themselves that deeply.
Just like the dozen families he'd wiped out before.
After watching a while, Tom didn't attack right away. Instead, he planted a sign outside the boundary, the letters painted in blood-red:
{Graves and Pigs Aren't Welcome Here.}
Once the sign was firmly in place, blue light flickered in Tom's eyes. A faint diamond-shaped mark glowed on his forehead. Snow began to fall from a clear sky.
The snowfall thickened quickly. Within minutes, the entire region was blanketed in white as the temperature plunged.
A shimmering blue dome appeared—an automatic defensive ward—pushing back the cold. It lasted only a few seconds before cracking under the pressure.
Tom stepped forward, exhaled lightly, and the shield shattered into glittering fragments that dissolved into the air.
Beyond it, a vast manor revealed itself.
.
.
.