— — — — — —
Hogwarts
Even though Tom rushed back, he still arrived a step too late.
By the time he reached the Great Hall, students were already drifting out in small groups. Flitwick and Lupin were dismantling the dueling platform.
"Tom!"
Daphne was, as always, the first to spot him. She dragged Astoria along as she practically bounced across the hall.
"Where were you today? I looked for you everywhere!"
"Hiding in the pocket world studying. Tried a few new spells."
Tom ruffled her hair, smoothing out the little heiress's indignation. "So? How'd the matches go? Did Hermione make it through?"
He didn't bother asking about Ginny. That one had been obvious.
"Yeah, but she almost lost to Potter." Astoria still looked rattled. "He used the Disarming Charm like it was an explosion spell. Blew half the stage apart and scared Hermione so badly she lost her rhythm. She only won because she accidentally used Transfiguration to turn a crack on the platform into a big mouth that swallowed Potter whole. Total fluke."
"But she was much calmer in the finals against Malfoy and won. It's just… Malfoy didn't seem to fight at full strength. He looked deeply upset about Potter's loss."
Just from Astoria's description, Tom could picture the whole chaotic mess.
"So where's Hermione now?" Tom asked.
"Gryffindors dragged her and Ginny back for a celebration. Both their year's finalists were Gryffindors, after all."
Tom nodded. He had no intention of interrupting. "Alright. I'm heading back to work. I'll spend time with you two tomorrow."
He patted both girls on the head as reassurance, then hurried off, mind already drifting back to the spark of insight he'd felt in the battle earlier.
Watching his retreating figure, Daphne puffed up her cheeks. "He's busy again…"
Ever since he mastered mind avatar, Tom suddenly had a lot more free time, which he was spending with them. Now that he'd gone back to disappearing for days, Daphne couldn't help feeling a bit lost.
Astoria, acting like the older sister as always, patted her arm. "Tom's probably doing something really important. Let's not bother him."
"I know." Daphne huffed softly. "Just complaining a little. Come on, let's go visit the giant squid."
She tugged Astoria toward the Black Lake.
---
In the study world, the projection of the battle replayed again and again across the sky. Tom lay on the grass, staring up at it, eyes unfocused.
From the outside, it looked like he'd won easily. One spell, one decisive strike. The danger wasn't visible.
Maybe there would've been real danger without Kel'Thuzad's strange magic. There was no way he could've overwhelmed that many Aurors before Dumbledore arrived. One spell had flipped the entire battle, so there wasn't much left to analyze.
What he was thinking about instead was the pressure he'd felt when hundreds of wizards attacked him at once. It had been like his magic was being squeezed inside a net, every spell cast like pulling his feet free from deep mud.
That kind of pressure was nothing like ordinary spellcasting. It wasn't even comparable to fighting Andros.
Wizards shaped the world with will as the core and magic as the medium. For a moment, hundreds of wills had aligned, turning that entire stretch of land into a single hostile entity, one that recognized him as its enemy.
"Andros," Tom called quietly, his gaze fixed on the meditation room.
A moment later, Andros appeared. "What's wrong, Tom? I'm super close to the SSS tier and taking down Ravenclaw."
"You said that a month ago... Just do me a favor. Break my Shield."
Tom sprang to his feet and layered protective spells around himself. Andros didn't know what he was planning, but he cooperated, firing a powerful spell.
But the Shield didn't break.
Tom didn't say a word, but the look on his face said plenty: 'Really? That's the best you've got? No wonder you can't become an SSS Wizard.'
Andros flushed, embarrassed. Then a towering Patronus rose behind him and swatted down with a massive punch.
This time Tom shut up. The shield shattered like an eggshell.
Andros, having perfectly controlled the force to stop right after breaking the barrier, watched Tom closely. His eyebrows lifted, and a pleased smile tugged at his lips.
The shattered shield was struggling to rebuild itself, slowly and painfully. After half a minute, Tom opened his eyes and sighed.
"Failed."
"No. That's success," Andros corrected him. "You're already on the right path."
Most witches and wizards followed the same rigid sequence when casting: gather magic inside the body, stir emotion into it, then release it outward.
But what Tom had just attempted was something else entirely—he'd tried to control magic after it had already left his body, completing the whole process externally. That was the power of will.
"Again, Tom. A few more times. Hold onto that feeling."
Seeing the spark in Tom's expression, Andros pressed the advantage, drilling with him relentlessly. If Tom could grab this opportunity, he could save himself years of grinding practice.
Still... Andros couldn't help feeling a twinge of envy. Just one chaotic battle had already pushed Tom half a foot over the threshold toward becoming a King of the Century?
Back in his own day, he'd practically offended every wizard in Greece before he'd reached that level.
No. This wouldn't do. He couldn't be the only one suffering. When Grindelwald returned, he was definitely dragging him into this misery too.
---
Durmstrang
At that moment, Grindelwald had no idea Andros was plotting to share the pain with him.
Capturing Durmstrang had gone absurdly smoothly. There wasn't even a proper fight. Once the professors were subdued, the students lost all will to resist. After their wands were confiscated, a few of Grindelwald's followers were enough to keep the whole school contained.
When Grindelwald arrived, he didn't call a meeting or entertain any formalities. He simply gathered everyone—staff and students—into the Great Hall and had the professors released to stand among their pupils.
Tension, fear, hatred, resentment—countless emotions fixed on Grindelwald. Almost everyone instinctively ignored the still-bound headmaster, Igor Karkaroff.
Karkaroff's heart had already shattered.
He'd fled England years ago precisely to escape retribution, and somehow he'd still ended up in the hands of the Acolytes. Why did he have to be this unlucky?
"Silence."
Grindelwald spoke only two words, and the hall instantly fell quiet enough to hear a pin drop. The air turned suffocating.
He didn't care. Standing at the front of the stage, he closed his eyes, letting old memories of his school days rise and settle. Only after several minutes did he open his mouth again.
"One hundred years… a full century."
"A century ago, I entered this great school. The vitality then, the fierce hunger for knowledge—it's still vivid in my mind. From the day Nerida Vulchanova founded Durmstrang, it enjoyed a glory few schools could compare to. But now… it has fallen to this."
"I fail to understand—when did the standards for choosing a headmaster become so low?"
With a flick of his wand, Karkaroff floated helplessly into the air.
"Do you know what kind of man he is?" Grindelwald asked, sweeping his gaze over the assembled crowd.
No one dared to answer. Grindelwald didn't mind. With another small motion, he restored Karkaroff's ability to speak. A spell glowed on Karkaroff's chest.
"Since you're all so quiet, let him introduce himself."
"Igor Karkaroff," Grindelwald said lazily, "tell them where you come from. Tell them the life you've lived… and what you've done."
Facing the threat of death, pride meant nothing. Panic stripped Karkaroff bare, and he obeyed.
"I—I'm from England. I was… a Death Eater. I served the Dark Lord. I'm sorry."
"Wrong answer."
The spell flung Karkaroff across the hall. Screams echoed as he crashed into the crowd, his body jerking violently. In seconds, he was foaming at the mouth, collapsing unconscious.
"Dark Lord? No. Voldemort is just a moderately capable dark wizard."
Grindelwald's voice rang out, slow and clear. "Not every clown gets to call himself a Lord. And a true Lord does not rule through fear alone."
"And yet you let this dog of his sit as your headmaster—strutting around Durmstrang as if he owned it. I am… disappointed."
At that, many students lowered their heads in shame.
Among all magical schools, Durmstrang placed the greatest pride on lineage and status. Most here carried themselves with arrogance. After Grindelwald's words, realization dawned—
They had respected a man who was essentially someone else's lapdog.
A murmur rippled through the previously silent hall. Grindelwald didn't rush them. He waited calmly for emotions to settle before speaking again.
"I know many of you hate me. Some of your elders died in the last war... But that is the nature of this world. There is no absolute right or wrong—only strength. War is nothing more than kill or be killed."
"Before coming here, another four hundred Aurors fell by my hand. Perhaps some were your parents."
Durmstrang students turned pale. Those with family in the Auror forces were trembling on the edge of fainting.
"Until you possess the strength to oppose me, there is only one thing you can do—and that is obey. Do you understand?"
Grindelwald's gaze swept across the room, calm yet carrying a pressure that crushed the breath from their lungs.
Whatever spirit the staff and students of Durmstrang once had… dissolved completely.
.
.
.