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As a well-behaved kid, Tom really shouldn't have known where Azkaban was.
But unfortunately, his head of house wasn't exactly what you'd call responsible.
Back when they'd intercepted Pettigrew, Snape had casually let Azkaban's location slip. Tom had never actually been there before, though, so he could only Apparate to the little island they'd used last time and then take his time flying the rest of the way.
Out of pure curiosity, he decided to try druidic shapeshifting along the way.
And this time, he picked… a phoenix.
Turning into a magical creature was notoriously difficult. Only true masters of druidic transformation could manage it. Back then, Isabella had even asked him for basilisk flesh and blood, an important ingredient for brewing certain potions.
Tom didn't need any of that. He didn't require phoenix blood or flesh as a catalyst, because he was essentially a humanoid phoenix to begin with. An ancient bloodline, at that. All he needed was a potion to protect his body from magical erosion and keep his mind stable.
The transformation went smoothly. Before long, a graceful golden-red bird appeared in the night sky above the North Sea.
Fawkes was roughly swan-sized, but the phoenix Tom had become was nearly twice that. Its wingspan stretched close to two meters, and the two looked very different besides.
Fawkes was crimson all over, with only hints of gold in his tail feathers and at the tips of his wings, shaped like flames. Tom's phoenix form was the reverse. Most of his plumage gleamed gold, while the edges flowed with fiery red.
Using the sea's surface as a mirror, Tom admired his own magnificent figure and let out a satisfied cry.
He looked way better than Fawkes. Cooler too.
Caught up in the fun, Tom completely forgot why he'd come out here in the first place. His flight path turned erratic, and every so often he'd burst into a flare of fire, only to reappear hundreds of nautical miles away.
He discovered that once he became a phoenix, he couldn't cast spells anymore. Phoenix abilities, however, were fair game. Setting things on fire, teleporting, even forming raw magical energy into magic cannons all worked just fine.
He had no idea whether other people experienced the same thing when turning into phoenixes, but then again, aside from him, no one in this world really had a chance to become one.
If a phoenix didn't want to give up its flesh or blood, no one could take it. They could swallow the Killing Curse and be reborn. Why would they fear anything else?
...
It wasn't until well past midnight that Tom finally had his fill of fooling around. By then, he'd unknowingly flown all the way to somewhere near the Arctic. With no choice, he reverted to human form and headed back.
Inside the study space, Ariana already knew Tom was going out tonight to dig up her father's grave. She'd been mentally prepared for a long time, but now that the moment was close, guilt still gnawed at her.
So the little girl went to find Jeanne, who was busy doing addition and subtraction problems.
Ariana voiced her request softly. "Jeanne, you're a saint, right? Could you say a prayer for me? I hope Dad can forgive my decision and let go of his resentment."
Jeanne was delighted. She thought Ariana had been moved by her example and was beginning to believe in the Lord. Without hesitation, she began praying to God on behalf of a witch.
When Tom entered the space, he was greeted by this absurd scene.
He'd originally planned to let Ariana watch while he relocated the grave, but seeing her praying so seriously alongside Jeanne, he quietly backed out instead.
Last semester, Tom had cleared out the Dementors with his Patronus, drastically reducing their numbers. After six months of recovery, they gradually started to creep back.
The way Dementors reproduced was pretty strange. As long as they absorbed enough emotions, they could split and form new Dementors. Each one, however, had a limited number of times it could divide in its lifetime.
Whether that was mitosis or something else, Tom had no idea. His grasp of biology, beyond how babies were made, was shaky at best. He wasn't interested in studying Dementors anyway.
He simply picked out two stragglers, scooped them up with the giant hand of his Patronus, and instantly dumped them into his pocket world. There, he bombarded them with overwhelming positive force, grinding down their forms until both Dementors finally lost consciousness. Only then did Tom relax.
The entire process was done with extreme caution. He didn't want to make any noise and draw the attention of the others.
To a Dementor, the scent of a Patronus was about as appealing as sewage. One careless move and they'd smell it instantly. Knocking them out right away was also a precaution, in case Dementors had some kind of distress signal he didn't know about.
Once that was finished, Tom headed for the most remote hill on the island. This was where prisoners were buried after death. Crooked markers were stuck into the ground, identifying who each set of remains had once been.
"Please tell me they didn't label this wrong…" The boy muttered to himself. If Percival's grave held someone else, that would be a nightmare.
Staring at the low hill in front of him, Tom felt a chill crawl up his spine.
Even if everyone buried here suddenly got up and started walking around, he could shove them all back underground with one hand. Still, the atmosphere was awful. He was the kind of guy who'd played Silent Hill once and then slept with the lights on for a week.
To steady his nerves, Tom even pulled out his wand, something he hadn't used in ages, and let his immense magic gather without releasing it.
After locating Percival's grave, he softly recited a spell. The ground trembled, and the rotten, crumbling coffin was forced up through the soil. Tom took out the new coffin he'd prepared in advance, put the old one inside it, and then, at top speed, practically fled Azkaban's island. Three consecutive Apparitions later, he was back at Hogwarts.
Over the next few days, the disappearance of the Dementors caused no stir at all.
In fact, some Dementors had gone to the Ministry to complain the very next day. The Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures didn't take it seriously. People went missing sometimes, so why not creatures? Maybe Azkaban hadn't been feeding them enough and they'd wandered off to hunt. Perfectly normal.
They figured there was no need to involve the Improper Use of Magic Office or Aurors unless wizards started filing reports or strange incidents cropped up in the Muggle world.
Since no one came investigating, Tom didn't bother worrying about it either. Orders started piling in, all from people who'd seen the potential of the Lume-Lens. Quidditch clubs in particular were eager, even sending representatives to the school to negotiate in person. He turned them all away.
Talk next week. This week belonged to my Fleur.
"I'm leaving soon. Shouldn't you be spending proper time with me?"
When the half-Veela clung to his arm, eyes red and voice on the verge of tears, Tom knew there was no way he could refuse.
So for the next few days after classes, Tom and Fleur were inseparable. Even nights were spent in the pocket world together. Once again, it proved how convenient Snape was as head of house. As long as you didn't lose points or embarrass Slytherin, he couldn't care less what you were doing.
And unexpectedly, Daphne didn't make a fuss. She knew Fleur would be leaving Hogwarts soon. So these days were just the lady's charity. After that, Tom would be all hers.
Whether she'd regret being so generous once she learned Fleur would be back next term, and for even longer, was another question entirely.
"If the Hogwarts students found out I've been helping you with special training, they'd curse me behind my back for sure."
That night, Fleur lay sprawled over Tom like an octopus. They'd just finished training, and she felt like her body was about to fall apart. This man had no concept of mercy. Every spell he threw pushed right up against her limits, forcing her to stay fully focused the entire time.
Half-asleep, Fleur finally drifted off.
Tom gently draped the blanket over her and closed his eyes, hugging her as his consciousness slipped into the library within the study space.
The library's collection was unmatched in the wizarding world. It held not only Hogwarts' archives and the private libraries of countless pure-blood families, but also Durmstrang's treasured texts sent by Grindelwald, along with six centuries of Nicolas Flamel's accumulated knowledge.
There were plenty of basic books with heavy overlap, but the number of truly valuable volumes had already surpassed five thousand. Even Tom couldn't possibly read and fully digest them all.
Thankfully, Ravenclaw had taken on the role of part-time librarian, carefully categorizing everything. Any book she'd read came with notes and a summary on the first page, making it easy for Tom to find what he needed.
"Hm… this one."
It didn't take long for him to locate the book he was looking for. A quick glance showed it came from the Malfoy family's collection, written by a Malfoy from the seventeenth century.
After skimming through it and committing the essentials to memory, Tom closed the book and summoned Grindelwald.
Old G, who was currently mooching tea in Dumbledore's office, frowned slightly but didn't respond right away. He chatted a bit more, made an excuse to leave, and only entered the space once he was on his way back to his own quarters.
"Why the sudden urgency?" he asked.
"I've got a job for you." Tom shut the book. "I need you to go beat up Aberforth."
Grindelwald's eyes lit up instantly.
"I'm on my way."
.
.
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