"Where do you even learn these bizarre ideas?" Tom asked flatly, staring at Ginny, who was tied to a chair yet again.
"Daphne lent me one of her books," Ginny admitted sheepishly.
"Read fewer of her books," Tom sighed, shaking his head. His hands, however, did not stop.
He pinched Ginny's soft, baby-fat cheeks as if kneading dough.
"Mmm—stop it!" Ginny tried to jerk away, but only succeeded in making him squeeze harder.
"Weren't you awfully arrogant this afternoon?" Tom asked.
"I was wrong," Ginny said at once.
"I've heard Mrs. Weasley is quite skilled at knitting. So your Christmas gift for me will be a sweater. If I'm not satisfied…" Tom's lips curved into a faintly wicked smile, "I'll put a Flatulence Hex on you for a whole day. Then you'll truly understand what it means for your little tummy to rumble like thunder."
Ginny's eyes went wide with horror, and she nodded miserably.
Tom's methods of torment were too many. If she really had to endure a full day of nonstop… well, her backside might as well be forfeit.
"I agreed, didn't I? So can you let me down now?" Ginny squirmed against the ropes, cheeks flushed with embarrassment. Every time she came to the Room of Requirement, somehow she ended up bound in some strange fashion.
With a flick of his hand, the ropes flew to Tom and vanished into his wand. With another gesture, steaming plates of food appeared on the nearby table.
"Eat, then back to bed."
Ginny's face might still be round with baby fat, but her figure was slight, far too plain for his liking. She needed more nutrition—only then would his "rope techniques" have a proper canvas to display themselves on.
She dug into the ribs without hesitation, mumbling between bites, "I risked so much sneaking here from the tower. I was terrified of running into Filch and Mrs. Norris. And you're just sending me back after dinner?"
Tom lounged in his chair lazily. "It's the middle of the night. What else exactly did you think we'd be doing?"
Ginny swallowed, thought for a moment, then said earnestly, "I haven't learned any new spells in ages. Teach me something? Last week in the Dueling Club, I still couldn't beat Fred."
That caught Tom's attention. He studied her for a moment, surprised.
Ginny's determination and hunger to grow stronger were rare traits in the wizarding world.
Hermione loved knowledge for its own sake—magic was another subject to master, another puzzle to solve. But such breadth meant her focus was often scattered; she wanted everything, and risked mastering nothing.
Daphne, on the other hand, only learned what she needed. Her real interests… lay elsewhere.
But Ginny—Ginny wanted power. She wanted to duel, to grow stronger, purely for the love of magic itself.
A rare and valuable temperament.
"Very well," Tom nodded. "Since you're here, I'll teach you one spell."
Ginny beamed, shoveling down her food in a rush so she could finish quickly. Wiping her mouth, she leaned forward eagerly. "Teach me one with real power—something strong, an attack spell!"
Tom considered, then raised his wand. A searing red light split the air.
"Reducto!—the Blasting Curse."
The blast echoed like a whistle across Hogsmeade.
The next day, students boarded the Hogwarts Express for the holidays.
Before heading to the station, Tom stopped by the Hog's Head, bringing Ariana to see Aberforth once more. The old man had been woken far too early, grumbling furiously—until he spotted Tom. This time, he didn't even scold him. Instead, he demanded more of those enchanted anti-baldness bracelets. Tom handed over several, then stayed for breakfast before heading on.
At six o'clock sharp, the train pulled into King's Cross Station.
As Tom stepped off, he immediately felt the weight of many stares. Some were curious, others scrutinizing, but most carried one emotion—hostility.
The ones glaring hardest were Slytherin pure-blood parents. Their children might have been cowed by Tom at school, but the parents had no such restraints. Their loathing was written openly on their faces.
Tom had expected as much. His series of articles had already pushed his mission progress to 80 percent. It was no longer just Hogwarts—it was a global phenomenon. His writings had created a tide of opinion.
For the conservative pure-blood faction, this was a dire threat.
It wasn't that they hadn't tried to stop him. But Dumbledore's presence at Hogwarts made any "unconventional measures" impossible. The moment threatening letters carrying strong magical signatures reached the school, they fizzled uselessly.
Some tried to fight back in print, submitting articles to counter Tom's. But those pieces vanished into the void. The great international newspapers not only refused to publish them—they didn't even send a reply.
The reasons were simple.
First: pure-blood rhetoric was laughable. Their articles gushed so extravagantly about their own families it was practically satire—if published, they'd only become objects of ridicule.
Second: Tom had anticipated this from the beginning. That was why he bought shares in the newspapers that published his essays. Academic battles weren't about who was right—but about who had the louder voice. And he had ensured his opponents would have none.
And third: allies. Though pure-bloods made noise, their numbers were few, and their unity even weaker. Many who resented them were only too glad to back Tom quietly, fanning the flames.
In short, Tom had time, place, and people on his side. His success was only a matter of time.
"Tom, it's been too long!"
Lady Greengrass herself swept up to greet him, and immediately the hostile stares around him softened and drew back.
Tom's eyes flickered. He had already marked those who glared most viciously at him. Soon, he would dig into their bloodlines and histories.
For now, he inclined his head politely.
"Good afternoon, Aunt."