— — — — — —
In the following days, neither Dumbledore nor Grindelwald was seen at the school.
...
Finally, the attack on the Hog's Head hit front pages of every major paper.
Thanks to Tom's intervention, the incident was spun as a private feud between Grindelwald and the innkeeper, which went a long way toward calming public panic.
Private feud is fine. Private feud is good. Private feud is great.
As long as no one thinks Grindelwald wants to tear up the peace treaty, the magical world could tolerate him surprisingly well. People were enjoying peace and had no appetite for war.
The only true victim in all of this was Aberforth.
Overnight, the Hog's Head became a tourist attraction. Foreign wizards came by just to gawk—after all, anyone who has a personal vendetta with the Dark Lord and is still alive must be someone impressive.
Aberforth, annoyed out of his mind, simply shut the place down until the fuss blew over. Maybe he'd reopen later. Maybe he'd sell it off entirely.
After this mess, a lot of unsavory eyes would be on him. The good old days of brokering information or doing under-the-table trades were gone.
Though not everyone was banned from entering.
Tom arrived carrying a fruit basket scrounged up from the kitchen, supposedly to "cheer Aberforth up."
"Aberforth, heard Grindelwald roughed you up again? My god, why does he always go for the face? Absolute scumbag."
Tom opened with pure sympathy and small talk. Penelope, who came with him, thought nothing of it. But the ones watching from Tom's study space—Andros and the others—fell into stunned silence.
Even Ariana couldn't fathom how someone could have a psyche and a face thick enough to say that with a straight expression.
The one who sicced Grindelwald on him… wasn't that you?
Completely unaware, Aberforth was a bit touched. The frost on his face melted and he even went into the back to make dinner for Tom and Penelope.
After a few drinks, the old man got red and rowdy and started cursing Grindelwald again.
"Grindelwald's a damn pansy. Total coward!"
"I can't beat him but I sure as hell won't bow to him. He only dares humiliate me because he doesn't dare kill me! What, you say I'm hiding behind my brother? Damn right that's my brother. Even if I don't acknowledge him, that doesn't change the blood. Who the hell is Grindelwald? A permanent outsider!"
"Push me hard enough and I'll move into Hogwarts as gamekeeper. Let's see how long it takes before he never sees Albus again in his whole damn life!"
Tom immediately pulled Grindelwald into the study space just to let him hear Aberforth's live commentary. Grindelwald tried to leave, but Tom didn't let him. Everyone else was speechless.
Not only did he poke the bear, he poured gasoline on the fire.
Truly despicable…
'Aberforth, once I'm back from the dead I will absolutely protect you from Tom.'
Ariana watched her second brother dancing around, practically cursing Grindelwald's entire family tree, and decided she really needed to work harder or Aberforth was going to get himself killed by Tom someday.
Still, Aberforth's suffering wasn't for nothing. It confirmed the remains truly belonged to Percival.
...
After a bottle of tequila, Aberforth turned on Tom.
"You brat. That damn guild of yours almost ruined me. Do you have any idea how much business I lost the past two months?"
Tom clinked glasses with him, then clinked Penelope's orange juice too, and downed his drink.
"That's called the tide of history. And compared to Knockturn Alley, you got off easy. Those guys probably curse my name every day."
Aberforth grunted but didn't argue. He knew he was collateral damage. Complaining was one thing. If he really wanted to make an issue of it, he'd have blown up at the kid long ago… followed by getting beaten half to death.
Tom hadn't come only to poke fun though. With the Hog's Head finished as a semi-legal black market and likely unable to operate going forward, he had a new job lined up for Aberforth.
Tom planned to open a branch of the Astra Guild here. One guild for all of Britain wasn't enough, and shifting sensitive contracts away from London meant they wouldn't be traded right under the Ministry's nose. It also counted as giving Madam Bones some face.
Aberforth accepted without hesitation. He and Sirius were cut from the same cloth, otherwise he wouldn't have opened a bar that doubled as a black market.
Once they reached a verbal agreement, Tom passed him Sirius's contact information. The two of them could handle the details. Tom would only provide Catherine when the time came.
---
The weekend arrived fast. It was the day of the finals for the Underage Wizard Dueling Tournament.
The castle was livelier than ever. Many major figures in the magical world had come to witness the crowning of the first champion. There was Headmaster Matthäus Selado of Castelobruxo, Vice Headmaster Blair Hawthorne of Ilvermorny, and of course Minister Fudge, who would never miss such a public appearance, backed by two squads of Aurors.
"Mr. Riddle, long time no see. I read your recent papers several times over. I must say the breadth of your knowledge is astonishing."
Upon arriving, Fudge didn't go straight to Dumbledore. He made a beeline for Tom, shaking hands and exchanging warm greetings. He spoke to Tom like they were old friends, soft-spoken and almost deferential, completely at odds with the fact that not long ago he had practically ordered Aurors to haul Tom to Azkaban.
But that was what politicians excelled at. Even when their hearts dripped venom, they could smile like brothers.
So until he found a way to undermine Tom or knock him down a peg, Fudge would stay obedient and civil to protect his position as Minister.
Tom understood perfectly well what Fudge was doing but didn't care. He also wasn't about to start a fight for no reason. He played along for a few lines, then found an excuse to slip away.
As they walked off in opposite directions, their smiles disappeared simultaneously.
...
Tom entered the Quidditch pitch and took in the setup. His gaze eventually landed on a mustached man chatting with Dumbledore behind the elongated judges' table.
Vice Headmaster Blair Hawthorne of Ilvermorny.
Robert Graves had already disclosed all the information he had. The two most mysterious wizards in North America were Ilvermorny's current and previous headmasters. Blair Hawthorne was current Headmaster Agilbert Fontaine's right hand. They had been classmates, then Aurors together in the American Magical Congress for five years, and finally professors at Ilvermorny. Their relationship was famously close.
Fontaine staying away was a problem. For an event prestigious enough that every school's headmaster showed up, he sent only his deputy. Aside from Dumbledore and Rosier, the other headmasters looked distinctly unhappy.
Grindelwald? The man had fled, leaving Vinda Rosier in his place, and everyone had accepted that. No one wanted to sit next to the Dark Lord anyway. But Fontaine acting grand and sending a deputy? That rubbed people wrong.
Was he unable to leave North America? Or unwilling?
Dumbledore had the same thought. Grindelwald had been haranguing him for ages to investigate what North America was hiding, so he was already alert to Fontaine's odd behavior.
...
Near ten o'clock, Fudge took his seat. And after a few meaningless opening remarks, his voice was overtaken by the stadium-wide amplification of today's announcer, Ludo Bagman.
"Ladies and gentlemen, the Five Schools Dueling Tournament has finally reached its climax. I am honored to introduce today's competitors. The strongest second-year: Ginny Weasley. The strongest third-year: Hermione Granger. The strongest fifth-year: Cedric Diggory. All from Hogwarts!"
"The strongest fourth-year: Cassandra Vole, Ilvermorny."
"The strongest sixth-year: Fleur Delacour, Beauxbatons."
"The strongest seventh-year: Duola Tiago, Castelobruxo."
Applause started early and didn't stop. Whether they came from one's own school or not, these fighters were the best of their year, proven in battle. No one had the right to question them.
Only Rosier's smile looked awkward, and the Durmstrang students sitting in a distant corner kept their heads down, trying to shrink out of existence.
Five schools entered, and every school except Durmstrang had someone in the finals. Many Durmstrang students thought Grindelwald had left early because they had embarrassed him, and more than a few were seriously considering transferring. They feared returning home and being hit by a stray Killing Curse.
They had dared make the Dark Lord lose face. The Dark Lord could just as easily make them lose their lives.
...
Bagman explained the rules for the benefit of those watching through the broadcast. After the Quidditch exhibition match, Tom had invested in several dozen more Lume-Lens. Now over thirty thousand people were watching, making this one of the biggest events in magical history.
Each competitor could challenge any opponent without limit, but could only lose twice. Lose twice and you were out of the running. The last one standing on the dueling platform would be the champion.
It looked chaotic on paper but was the most straightforward way to prove absolute superiority. None of the competitors objected.
No drawing lots for order either. They would go by year, from youngest to oldest.
Which meant Ginny went first.
The moment she reached the center, she pointed her wand straight at Cassandra.
"Miss Vole, let's see what progress you've made this year. Try not to disappoint me."
Cassandra snorted and walked forward with light, elegant steps, chin raised like a proud white swan. She said nothing. The downward angle of her wand already declared her intent to win.
.
.
.