— — — — — —
"Three hundred vampires?" Hermione exclaimed. "Did all the vampires in Europe show up or something?"
"There are way more vampires in Europe than that," Tom said with a laugh.
Ginny asked, puzzled, "Why would they attack Mr. Flamel? His Philosopher's Stone was already destroyed, wasn't it?"
"My teacher himself is an enormous treasure," Tom replied. "And on top of that, he has centuries of accumulated wealth and knowledge."
After passing his two lamb chops to the Greengrass sisters, Tom continued, "The only three people who knew the real details were all cursed. They might know something, but they can't say it out loud. As for the rest of the vampires… they were just cannon fodder."
Aside from Daphne and Astoria, who clearly weren't very interested, the other girls fell silent.
This was very different from the magical world they'd imagined. Vampires might not be human, but they were still humanoid beings. Just thinking about such a quiet yet terrifying force lurking in the shadows of the wizarding world was enough to send a chill down their spines.
"Don't overthink it," Tom said, noticing how shaken everyone looked. He casually hauled out Grindelwald as a convenient target.
"Right now, the most dangerous wizard in the world is Grindelwald. He's strong enough to go toe-to-toe with Dumbledore. That's why he can rally forces, pull his old followers back under his banner, and keep drawing in new blood."
"As for the person who tried to make a move on my teacher, they don't dare step into the open. That means they're still afraid of Dumbledore and of the order of wizarding society. In the end, they're just rats hiding in the gutter."
"Tom's right," Hermione nodded in agreement. "Hogwarts is the safest place there is, and Britain is far more peaceful than most other countries."
Everyone visibly relaxed after that.
Tom only smiled, saying nothing.
The greatest danger in the world wasn't Grindelwald at all. It was him.
Of course, he had no intention of bringing that danger to the people in front of him. He wouldn't go looking for trouble, either, unless someone stood in his way.
That was why Tom had never thought of himself as a Dark Lord. He was just a good student who wanted to be top of the class.
"Ugh…" Hermione, who had been helping calm everyone down, suddenly sighed and complained a little. "Come to think of it, I still haven't met Mr. Flamel. Daphne and Astoria both have."
Ginny and Penelope wore the same regretful expressions. They, too, felt nothing but respect and curiosity toward the legendary figure of alchemical history.
"And whose fault is that?" Tom said, eating his mashed potatoes without even looking up. "Every time I ask you to come back with me for the weekend, you're either revising or buried in some other book. And you always say you can't break school rules."
Hermione lowered her head, embarrassed, and muttered in protest, "I just thought I'd be able to meet Mr. Flamel during the summer. Who could have guessed something like this would happen…"
"Summer's fine. He'll be back after a while," Tom said. "I'll take you to meet him then. Uh, everyone can come." He quickly corrected himself when he saw Ginny and Penelope staring at him hopefully.
After dinner, Tom asked Hermione to stay behind.
"There's something I need your help with."
"What can I do?" Hermione brightened instantly when she heard he needed her.
All this time, Tom had been helping her in every possible way, while she'd never really been able to do anything for him. Even though their relationship was special, her strong-willed nature still left her feeling like she owed him.
"Don't rush. This is right in your wheelhouse," Tom said, gently ruffling her hair. "You heard it earlier. The mastermind's name started with something like 'Cr', 'C', or 'K'. It hardly even counts as a clue—he was in pain when he said the letters."
"Once exams are over, try digging into it. You might stumble onto something unexpected."
Even though exams weren't officially finished yet, Hermione had already started thinking about it on the way back to the dorm.
Chris? Cary? Kyle? Constantine?
Was it spelled with a C or a K?
It wasn't until late that night, when she remembered there was still an exam the next day, that she hurriedly grabbed a vial of Energy Potion from her desk and went back to revising.
---
When exam week finally ended, everyone else cheered and ran out of the castle to enjoy the most relaxed stretch before the holidays.
Hermione, on the other hand, dove straight into the library without a second thought. Her small frame was soon buried under towering stacks of heavy history books and famous biographies.
Tom wasn't exploiting child labor, nor was he squeezing Hermione dry and stealing her vacation.
Among the girls around him, Hermione was both the most mature and the most childish. She understood many things, had read countless books, yet still couldn't make sense of her own situation.
Tom never needed her to give anything back. All he needed was to feel that sincerity. Everything else could wait. Way later.
But Hermione's tendency to overthink meant she couldn't grasp that at all. Her insistence on fairness only made her more and more anxious.
It was precisely because Tom saw that anxiety that he gave her this task today.
If she found something, great. If not, at least she'd poured her heart into it, and she'd feel a lot better about herself.
Besides, even if he stopped her from reading history books, she'd just pick up some other random pile of texts anyway. It made no real difference.
---
Under the blazing late-spring sun, the final Quidditch match of Hogwarts was about to begin.
Slytherin was leading Gryffindor by two hundred and fifty points. Over the past few days, that number had practically lodged itself in the players' ears.
Harry and Draco's relationship had also plunged to freezing point after the last friendly match. Back then, they'd still have a proper duel once a week. Now, all they wanted was to make the other suffer by any means possible.
Draco didn't want to lose to Harry. Marcus Flint didn't want to lose to Oliver Wood.
The Slytherins even dragged Tom into the locker room. Not because he knew anything about Quidditch, but because his words were terrifying. If Tom said a few ruthless things, everyone's performance would instantly improve.
So Tom naturally stepped into the role of head coach.
"Ahem. Listen up. This match isn't just a fight between the fourteen of you. Madam Hooch matters too. Learn to work the referee. Be sweet with your words. If the other side fouls, act like it's serious. If you foul, walk up with your palms out and look wronged. Very wronged. If it comes to it, drop to your knees."
"And if you lose the championship, next term you'll be serving drinks in the common room. Tea, water, everything. Flint, don't laugh. You think graduating means I can't touch you? You know who runs things in Britain right now."
Flint shuddered. His face fell instantly, and the rest of the team didn't look much better.
Riddle never made empty threats.
If he said they'd be waiters, they'd be waiters. Snape couldn't save them. Dumbledore couldn't either.
Just imagining themselves next year, under their classmates' mocking stares and laughter, carrying tea trays around the common room made them break out in cold sweat.
With a do-or-die aura, the Slytherin team stormed out of the locker room. At the exit, they shot vicious glares at Harry and the twins, leaving them completely baffled.
Hey, we're the ones behind right now!
...
And as expected...
Slytherin played this match like their lives depended on it. Draco, riding Firebolt, looked like he wanted to merge with Harry midair. The two Beaters swung so hard their bats were practically smoking. The game exploded into chaos from the very first second.
And they faithfully followed Tom's advice, spreading their hands in protest at every possible moment.
With such a massive point deficit, Harry didn't dare go after the Snitch for a long time. To win, Gryffindor needed to catch it while leading by at least a hundred points. But the reality was brutal. Slytherin never gave up the lead.
Even Wood, playing out of his mind, couldn't stop the endless penalty shots. He seriously started to wonder if Madam Hooch had taken a bribe.
....
Half an hour later, Harry had no choice but to grab the Snitch and end the match.
Draco wasn't an idiot either. With both of them spotting the Snitch at the same time, if he deliberately held back, they'd lose even harder.
The final score was 220 to 80. Slytherin lost the match, but still secured the overall championship for the year.
Watching Wood completely break down in tears, and the rest of the Gryffindor team standing there full of guilt, Tom felt nothing in particular.
Failure ran through life from start to finish. Regret was the norm.
Tom wasn't normal. He was abnormal. He didn't want regrets, so naturally he handed them to others instead.
After the match, Slytherin and Gryffindor formed a sharp contrast. One side slung arms over shoulders and headed back to the castle to celebrate wildly.
Tom didn't join in. Instead, he entered his study space to watch Grindelwald's movements.
---
Durmstrang
In an empty room, Barty Crouch Jr. lay on the floor like a dead dog, his wand shattered beside him.
Grindelwald sat there calmly, sipping tea, giving him time to recover.
He was indeed skilled at manipulating hearts, but for his words to be heard and remembered, there was always one prerequisite: strength.
Only by displaying power that inspired despair and fear would people become listeners, carefully weighing and analyzing every word you said.
So after tormenting Barty Crouch Jr. for a while, Grindelwald granted him a measure of freedom and returned his wand, allowing him to vent his rage and hatred as much as he liked.
After a few rounds of abuse, Grindelwald decided it was enough.
"Barty," he asked softly, lowering his head slightly, "how does it feel? Did your former master ever guide your spells as patiently as I do?"
Barty struggled to lift his head, his eyes bloodshot as he snarled, "Grindelwald, you'll never compare to the true Dark Lord. Even if I die, I'll die loyal to him."
"Loyalty?"
Grindelwald smiled faintly, meaning unclear.
"Are you truly loyal to him? No… my child. What you felt from Voldemort was simply the feeling of being needed."
"You treated him as a father figure, didn't you?"
.
.
.