— — — — — —
Sirius had basically become one of Tom's most reliable customers. He'd been buying potions for physical recovery and mental stabilization nonstop, and the total had climbed past ten thousand Galleons by now.
But a decade in Azkaban wasn't something you bounced back from easily. Sirius had lived with guilt and regret for so long that his mind had been bleeding itself dry. A wizard's mental and spiritual wounds were far harder to heal than anything physical.
So even though he was better, he still felt that fragile edge under his skin. If he were living alone, he'd shrug it off. But Harry needed him now. And someday Harry's kids would too. Sirius didn't want to risk having some old trauma snap and make him hurt the people he loved.
Tom thought for a moment. Mental trauma, right. Smoothing memory creases and straightening tangled thoughts."There's a way," he said finally. "Not quite ready yet. Give me some time."
"It's fine, I'm in no rush." Sirius was genuinely grateful. "Whatever it costs, say the number. And if you need ingredients, I'll get them."
"Twenty thousand Galleons. And no, you don't need to prep anything."
Tom named a price that would've staggered most wizards, but Sirius agreed without even blinking. He even tried to pay upfront. Tom waved that off.
His trial quest had pretty fair rules: the trade didn't count as completed unless both sides fulfilled the deal. Grindelwald's one hundred and fifty thousand Galleons already sat in Tom's account, but since Tom hadn't delivered his part, the quest progress hadn't moved at all.
When Tom opened the library door, Sirius didn't step in. He stayed at the threshold. "Take your time. Read whatever you want. Coming back for dinner?"
"No. Please don't poison me by accident." Tom waved him off and stepped inside.
Sirius laughed awkwardly, then closed the door for him.
The Black family library was huge, maybe a third the size of Hogwarts'. For a single household, that was impressive. No wonder they were one of the oldest pure-blood lines.
Though plenty of the books matched volumes Tom already owned, so he would need to sort them first.
---
Meanwhile, across the ocean, Robert returned to North America.
The Graves family had been waiting for good news. Instead, when they heard the hearing had accomplished nothing and that Riddle had walked away clean, people snapped.
{Robert! You're the disgrace of the family!}
{Uncle, why would you provoke that monster? Now all of us are laughingstocks!}
{This is your fault! You killed my father!}
{Uncle, what were you thinking? The family elevated you and this is how you repay us? If you can't get that creature out of the estate, I'll ask Great-Grandfather to expel you!}
The family group chat exploded. One furious message after another etched itself across the Codex, all of them aimed at Robert.
To them, this was completely unfair. Why should they suffer for something he'd stirred up with Riddle?
The sharp words cut like blades. Robert stared at the accusations, breathing harder and harder as a faint flash of red glimmered in his eyes.
Blame me?
Did I go after Riddle's assets for personal fun? Wasn't it to strengthen the family?
Did I climb the ladder and not use my influence to help them?
Back when everything was going smoothly, every one of them had been respectful, flattering, calling him "Big Bro," "Uncle." But the moment trouble came, they shoved every ounce of responsibility onto him?
Robert didn't even notice how badly he was losing control. His emotions were skewing hard, feeding his anger down the most extreme path. It felt like a dark flame burning through the back of his mind, threatening to erupt at any moment.
And now their accusations became the final straw.
Snap!
Robert slammed the codex shut and threw it into the fireplace. Then using floo powder, he stepped straight into the flames and traveled to the nearest public Floo to the Graves estate before apparating the rest of the way.
...
The Graves estate
Far above the clouds, Usaki, the Rayquaza, cracked open one massive eye, watching Robert slip through the hole into the manor grounds. Seeing no danger, the dragon closed its eyes and drifted back to sleep.
"Uncle?!"
A Graves family members, one of those trapped inside the estate, had been wandering around out of boredom. Robert's sudden appearance startled him so badly he nearly tripped. He'd been one of the people screaming at Robert earlier and thought Robert had come to settle the score.
But then something clicked, and joy burst across his face. "How did you get in? Has that monster finally left?"
"I came through the pig hole," Robert said flatly.
The calm answer shattered the man's hopeful fantasy. He stared in disbelief.
"Uncle, how could you bow to Riddle?!"
"Wasn't that for you? For you useless deadweights who dragged me into provoking him in the first place?"
Without another word, Robert quietly drew his wand. "Since you think I've made a mistake, then you won't be a Graves any longer."
"Uncle, what do you mea—"
A flash of green swallowed his vision. His body hit the floor with a dull thud, eyes still wide with disbelief.
His own uncle… had killed him?
Robert stared into those lifeless, unblinking eyes for a few seconds, then stepped over the corpse without a shred of hesitation and headed deeper into the manor in search of his next target.
A massacre began.
No one in the Graves family ever imagined that the man who returned wasn't Robert, but a reaper wearing his face. Caught completely off guard, most never even raised their wands before a single spell ended them. It wasn't until someone finally noticed the slaughter and screamed that a few others rallied together and forced Robert back.
Robert was no powerhouse. He was only a little stronger than an average Auror, and several full-grown wizards working together pushed him to the limit. After blowing apart a few rooms in frustration, he Disapparated and fled the ancestral grounds.
Soon after, wails and sobs filled the estate. Eight Graves family members lay dead by Robert's hand. For an ordinary pure-blood family, that was the population of three generations. Even for the once-prosperous Graves, it was a devastating blow.
Worse than what Riddle and his pet had done. And most of the victims were young. The Graves line was effectively severed, their decline now inevitable.
In the middle of that grief, an old man moved slowly among the bodies, collecting them one by one. It was Percival Graves.
Sadness shone in his eyes, but so did something else, something hard to name. Everyone else was too lost in their grief to notice his quiet muttering.
"Dead is fine… saves me the trouble of doing it myself. I could never bring myself to act anyway… Robert's change… is this Riddle's work?"
Carrying the eight corpses, the old man walked toward the back hill where the family graves lay.
---
By the next morning, news of the massacre had swept across the North American wizarding world, sending shockwaves through the entire community.
Had Robert gone insane?
At first, many thought it was just a rumor, but one Graves survivor after another stepped forward to confirm it. The family was practically finished; who cared about saving face anymore? Once they'd gathered the bodies, every survivor crawled out through the hole. Usaki hadn't moved to stop them at all.
Everyone assumed Robert had snapped under the weight of blame and guilt, driven into madness. The International Confederation of Wizards struck his name from their rolls, and MACUSA issued a hefty bounty on his head.
Aside from Percival, no one even thought to suspect Tom. Magic didn't have to obey mundane logic, but still—just yesterday Robert had returned to North America, acting completely normal the entire way. Not a hint of the Imperius.
"So many dead?"
With the task done, Usaki had naturally returned to Tom and brought news that hadn't yet spread to the rest of the world.
Tom raised his brows. In his mind, Robert would probably kill a couple of people before being noticed and subdued. Instead he'd taken out almost ten and even managed to escape.
So that old man hadn't intervened?
Did he truly not care? Or was there something else going on?
Tom considered it for a moment, found no clear answer, and let the matter go. The result was good enough. This hadn't been about revenge. He'd simply wanted to test his new magic on Robert, nudging emotions into chaos, quietly unraveling reason.
Far more subtle than regular spells, and much harder to defend against. The downside was that controlling the intensity and direction of the emotional push was tricky.
He organized his notes and sent a copy to Ravenclaw. She could handle the follow-up research.
Seeing his achievement points break a thousand again, Tom felt a familiar itch.
Should he do a summon?
Summoned mentors weren't just his teachers anymore. They were his think tank, his future research team.
But after thinking it over, Tom set the impulse aside.
He needed at least a thousand points reserved for resurrecting Ariana and Andros. That part couldn't be touched. Once he saved up another thousand on top of that, he could summon someone new without worry.
Projecting the final Black family dark-arts notebook into the study space, Tom left the library.
...
Kreacher was polishing the stair railings under Parker's supervision.
When Tom appeared, the old elf shivered. Reluctant as he was, he still bowed respectfully. "Good day, Master Riddle."
"Kreacher, Regulus Black entrusted something to you. A locket. Correct?"
Kreacher looked confused at first, then terrified as he stared at Tom.
"Don't lie to me. Sirius gave you orders."
The old elf couldn't disobey a master's command. His face twisted with struggle. "Yes… master… master gave Kreacher a locket."
"Give it to me."
.
.
.