— — — — — —
After the last massive boost, Tom felt like everything in life just went smoother. Especially now that his personal problem had finally been addressed in a meaningful way.
The Bennu Phoenix bloodline was terrific in almost every regard. Not only did it let him kill without karmic backlash or soul residue, it significantly enhanced his physique and boosted both magical and mental recovery.
But there was one tiny downside: it was way too hot.
Right now, his old favorite ice spells didn't perform anywhere near full power unless he strengthened them through arcane circuits, and even his other spells picked up a faint scorch from the Phoenix attribute.
According to Ravenclaw, that was perfectly normal.
But Tom felt his bloodline was controlling him, not the other way around.
So recently, he barely cast anything at all, worried he'd lose control and accidentally roast someone.
Not until today did Tom finally grasp that elusive feeling, able to suppress the Phoenix power at will.
The ideal solution would be integration: merging all his bloodlines and innate talents into a unified whole. But he wasn't there yet. Mastering your own body is always the hardest part. Unless he was ready to experiment on himself and really put himself through the wringer, progress would stay slow.
And he hated pain, so self-mutilating training regimens were firmly off the table.
...
After a few days...
On Saturday before the matches, Tom received a package from the East. He had requested it months ago from places like China and Japan, and it had finally arrived.
There was a lot of stuff inside, filling an entire crate carried in by four owls working together as they flew into the Great Hall.
...
After lunch, instead of heading to the Quidditch pitch with everyone else, Tom found an empty room and checked out the goods.
He opened the crate and was greeted by a fat stack of talisman slips, plus a manual and a booklet explaining every type.
Cleaning talismans, Lumos talismans, Disarming talismans, Purification talismans, Shield talismans...
From daily life to battle use, there were probably several hundred. Activation was simple too: poke them with a magic-infused wand.
Tom found that amusing and gave them all a try. The general level was decent, similar to the trinkets he made before.
So the crafting method of the talismans wasn't difficult for him. With his magic-sight, the structure of the runic lines was clear as day. If he studied them for a bit he could reproduce them.
If he sold them… upgraded them and called them Magic Cards?
Tom shook his head. He didn't need money anymore. Then his eyes landed on the last box. "This should be the expensive mystery box. I hope it's not a scam."
At the bottom of the crate was a rosewood box. It looked fancy, so Tom opened it carefully. The moment he saw what was inside, he froze.
"A… zurna?" (Oboe)
Thankfully, there was a manual tucked beneath it. Tom read through it and finally understood. Turns out it was a magic artifact.
...
Finally...
The seventh-year matches began.
Everyone agreed this group had the highest level. These were students on the verge of graduation, the strongest each school had to offer.
The reality matched the hype. The seventh-year battles were far more intense than anything before, tinged with a real sense of lethal intent.
Nonverbal spells filled the air. Everyone had their signature moves. Their footwork and combat experience were solid too.
The professors nodded frequently, relieved that their students weren't embarrassing the school.
...
And today... the Slytherin stands were a constant roar, especially from Tom's roommate, Nott, who was shouting so hard his voice was breaking.
Because the Hogwarts representative was his cousin, Marcel Nott.
Tom and Marcel got along well too. Back in first year when Tom beat down every prefect and forced Snape to acknowledge the Shadow Prefect rule, Marcel had shown up the next day to make friendly overtures.
After that, whenever something came up, the guy never hesitated. And with Tom's malicious-sense, it was easy to tell who was sincere and who was fake.
Before the match, Tom even handed Marcel two improved dark spells as a reward.
A boss couldn't rely only on sticks; you needed candy too if you wanted your people motivated.
Boom. Bang. Whish...
Marcel's opponent, Ilvermorny's representative, saw him chanting under his breath and immediately ramped his vigilance to the max. He tried to interrupt the spell with fast casts, but Marcel was ready for that. A reinforced Shield Charm burst out from him, magic vibrating in the air.
The opponent panicked and tossed several spells in a row, then suddenly clutched his chest as if an invisible fist had squeezed his heart. He yelped and collapsed, twitching and writhing in agony.
"..."
The abrupt reversal left the crowd stunned. Ilvermorny's students were still shouting encouragement, not realizing their upperclassman was already down.
A few judges rushed over, and the Ilvermorny professor hurried onto the field.
Grindelwald went over, tapped the kid's chest with his wand, and soon enough the convulsions faded. The student still looked miserable though, curled up and struggling to breathe.
"It's just a black magic spell that messes with the heart. Nothing to panic over. He'll be fine after a good sleep."
Coming from Grindelwald, the head of black magic, that was reassuring enough. The Ilvermorny professor exhaled in relief, though he shot a wary glance at Marcel, who hadn't reacted at all.
Black magic that targeted the heart was nasty stuff. A little more power and it would have burst the organ, which would be murder. But the rules allowed black magic, and there were no severe injuries, so even if he was angry, he had no place to vent it.
Instead, Dumbledore chose to reprimand Marcel gently. "Mr. Nott, this is a tournament. I trust your control, and I trust you won't cross the line. But black magic of this intensity should not be used again for the remainder."
Marcel nodded politely and agreed immediately.
Grindelwald flicked a glance up at the stands, toward the boy warming Astoria's hands.
No one else would come up with black magic in that style except Tom. And that kid was currently researching a new spell. Grindelwald suspected it was even more vicious than the heart curse.
...
After a brief pause to handle the wounded student, Ilvermorny was forced to forfeit two more matches due to medical reasons. Their professor was grinding his teeth and swore to reclaim their dignity next year.
The final match became Marcel versus Castelobruxo's representative: Duola Tiago.
Castelobruxo had been unimpressive all tournament. Not the weakest, not the strongest. Their students were steady, picked up a win here and there, but never enough to advance.
Everyone expected Marcel to wrap things up quickly.
Then something unexpected happened.
The moment the match started, Tiago roared like a beast and transformed into a massive, muscle-packed brown bear. He slammed a paw down and the ground trembled.
The sight rattled Marcel. He didn't react until the bear was within five meters, then he frantically threw up silent barrier charms to block the charge.
It barely helped. Magic resistance wasn't the same for humans and bears. A barrier that could trip a wizard might as well be glass to a charging bear. Each wall he conjured shattered on impact.
Realizing he couldn't stop it, Marcel bolted. One wrong step and he'd be face-planted by a paw the size of a pot lid.
It looked ridiculous. Not like a wizard duel at all, more like someone had fallen into a zoo enclosure by mistake. Only then did many spectators remember Castelobruxo's unique specialty: Druid Beastform.
"Wait, that's not right!"
A student suddenly recalled something. "Professor Isabella told us Druid Beastform needs potion support. Isn't that against the rules?"
Hermione answered quickly, "According to the competition rules, any potion brewed by the competitor themselves is allowed. So Tiago didn't break anything."
Far from disappointed, the Gryffindors actually looked pleased.
Marcel was a Slytherin. If he won, Slytherin would get insufferable. Losing was almost preferable.
Despite the brown bear's bulky build, it wasn't slow at all. Combined with a human brain, it made for a seriously hard opponent.
In the end, Marcel couldn't do much to the bear at all. He got pinned with a paw and lay there like a helpless kid, which drew plenty of laughter from the stands.
After Dumbledore announced the result, Tiago finally shifted back to human form. He was only slightly winded, and he even offered Marcel a hand up.
Professor Isabella, leading Castelobruxo's team, finally smiled. Who cared if the earlier years performed poorly? As long as the seventh-year champion was theirs, she was satisfied.
Druid Beastform required high-level Transfiguration and Potions skill, which meant younger students couldn't learn it yet. It only became a real trump card in the upper years or after graduation.
Daphne blinked her big eyes, looking envious.
"Tom, turning into animals actually looks really fun. Do you think I could learn Animagus? If I learn it, what animal would I turn into? Can you help me?"
Astoria quietly rolled her eyes.
Tom, however, suddenly remembered that he'd made a deal with Isabella once. He not only had the formula, he even had the ingredients. He'd just been swamped with other things and forgotten about it.
"Sure. It's just transformation. Wait for good news."
.
.
.