Snape hadn't expected Tom to know Slughorn's reputation so well—let alone understand him so precisely.
Losing the upper hand in the negotiation, Snape could only scowl darkly and agree to Tom's terms. Taking the potion and the parchment of brewing notes, he stalked away in frustration.
As the holidays drew near, Hogwarts slipped into a rare spell of calm.
Dumbledore busied himself with catching up on correspondence with his former students, seldom appearing in public. Snape buried himself in the research of Tom's custom potion, ignoring even Filch's endless complaints.
Rouse, meanwhile, had been inspired by Tom and wrote letter after letter across the Atlantic, plotting some grand move in America.
And as for Tom himself? He remained relentless—still stirring the pot.
His third article of The Annals of the Wizarding World was published, this time introducing the Santos family—a dynasty that had risen in Spain but spread across South America, so influential that they had built an entire hidden school of magic in the tropical rainforests: Castrobruja.
During the war against Grindelwald, Vicência Santos had served as President of the International Confederation of Wizards, one of the most outstanding figures of the past century for their house.
Tom ranked the Santos family as "noble," and few disagreed. In fact, some eager readers even wrote to him arguing that he had underestimated them. But Tom stood firm—after all, the Santos had never produced truly top-tier wizards. They survived by sheer numbers, by longevity and fertility, not by brilliance. Their influence was wide, but not deep.
On the last day before break, the students' minds were already far from their books. Snowflakes drifted from the gray sky, and soon the grounds outside the castle rang with laughter and shrieks as dozens rushed out for a massive snowball fight.
Tom released Megatron—and after a bit of tinkering, it now had ten snowball-launching turrets mounted on its back. Within minutes, the courtyard had turned into a scene from some bizarre wizarding play: snowball-firing Transformers battling schoolchildren.
"Here." Hermione came running up, her cheeks flushed pink from the cold, holding out a pair of pure white knitted gloves.
Tom accepted them, but before slipping them on, he pressed his warm palm against her cold face, making her blush even deeper. Only then did he pull the gloves over his hands.
"They fit well. You made these yourself?"
Hermione ducked her head shyly. "I… used a bit of magic. If I tried by hand, the stitching would have been awful."
"Magic is just another form of handiwork," Tom said encouragingly. "And you did a fine job."
"Tom, here!" Daphne Greengrass came running up next, tiptoeing to wrap a pastel pink scarf around his neck.
Tom glanced down at the ridiculous girlish accessory, suppressing a sigh. But when he saw the hopeful look in the young witch's eyes, he lowered his head and let her tie it.
Astoria, not to be left behind, silently produced a black snow-cloak and draped it over his shoulders.
The overall look was absurd—a clash of white gloves, pink scarf, and black cloak—but what could Tom do? Each gift was given in earnest, and he was not about to refuse them.
Instead, with a flick of his wand, Megatron doubled the rate of snowball fire, pelting the crowd mercilessly, especially targeting exposed necks and faces. Snow slipped down collars and sleeves, and shrieking students scattered in disarray.
"Hmph. He really knows how to enjoy himself."
From the sidelines, Ginny wrinkled her nose, muttering under her breath. "Even the nobles don't get treated with this much attention. Playing in the snow, and he's got half the girls fawning over him."
"Ginny…" Luna whispered cautiously at her side.
"Why shouldn't I say it?" Ginny tilted her head stubbornly. Ever since Tom had promised that Dumbledore would keep everything about her secret, she had carried herself with a new boldness. "If he's not afraid of gossip, why should I be?"
"I'm afraid," Luna sighed dreamily.
"Afraid of what?" Ginny asked, puzzled.
"That you'll burst into tears," Luna replied serenely, pointing toward Tom. "Didn't I tell you before? Tom has excellent hearing."
Ginny froze—and sure enough, when she glanced up, Tom was already looking at her, smiling faintly, and ran a finger slowly across his throat in a silent gesture.
"Ahhh! Luna, why didn't you remind me earlier!" Ginny squeaked, close to tears.
…
Later that night, when her dormmates were all asleep, Ginny slipped quietly out of bed and crept through the corridors, heading for the Room of Requirement with a guilty look plastered across her face.
"Oi!"
Halfway through the common room, something invisible knocked into her, sending her tumbling onto a chair.
"Ginny?" A whisper came, followed by the lifting of an Invisibility Cloak. Beneath it, Ron and Harry were huddled together. Ron blinked in shock at his sister. "Where are you sneaking off to at this hour?"
"Ron, watch where you're going, will you?" Ginny snapped automatically. She had already heard Ron brag about Harry's cloak, so she wasn't surprised.
"We're going to do something important," Ron said proudly, puffing out his chest. "So you'd better march straight back to bed. It's dangerous out here—what if you got attacked?"
Ginny rolled her eyes so hard they nearly stuck.
Attacked? If that fake-Tom stopped attacking people altogether, it would already be a blessing. And me, attacked? As if.
Harry added earnestly, "Ron's right, Ginny. Once we discover who the Heir truly is, Hogwarts will be safe again. But for now, you should be careful."
"Thanks, Harry," Ginny replied sweetly. "But I'm just heading to the kitchens for a snack. I'll be fine. You two be careful too."
Before they could stop her, she slipped through the portrait hole and vanished into the darkness.
Once, seeing Harry would have left her flustered and giddy. But now?
Now she felt… nothing.
No—why should she feel guilty? She and Harry had never truly had anything, only the girlish infatuation with a "Boy Who Lived."
But following the Dark Lord? That, she thought with a fierce little grin, seemed far more promising.
Shaking her head, she shoved aside the stray thoughts. Soon, she reached the Room of Requirement—and the moment she slipped inside, a hand seized her by the collar.
"So bold now, are you? Whispering about me behind my back?"
Ginny wilted instantly, surrendering with practiced speed.
"I was wrong! Just—just don't hang me upside down. You can do whatever else you like…"