In Europe and America, neither the Muggle nor the wizarding world was unfamiliar with the concept of political donations. In fact, a sizable portion of the Ministry of Magic's operating budget came from them.
The other major source? Gringotts. The goblins ran the bank fat with gold, but every year they too had to hand over hefty "protection fees" to the Ministry.
And political donations didn't always mean piles of gold. Influence, connections, favors, or certain "conveniences" all counted as contributions. Of course, the wizarding world's game was cruder than the Muggles'. Lucius Malfoy's political donations, for instance, were as unsubtle as bricks of gold: he either gave them directly to Cornelius Fudge or funneled them through St. Mungo's.
Tom's offering to Amelia Bones wasn't merely about money. It was influence, it was leverage, it was a chance to make her stronger within the Ministry.
Officially, the Auror Office was only one branch under the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. But in practice, as the Ministry's armed division, Scrimgeour and Bones stood nearly as equals. Cheap, high-quality gear for Aurors would win their loyalty, their gratitude—and by extension, their loyalty to her. Every subordinate admires a commander who cares about their survival.
And then there was the Guardian's Pendant. That was for the upper echelons. The higher you climbed, the more afraid of death you became. Outside of a handful of legendary figures, a pendant was as good as an extra life. Five pendants. Amelia would keep one for herself. The other four? Each one could cement an alliance, buy loyalty, purchase favors beyond imagination.
Tom said his piece, then fell silent, smiling faintly as he watched her weigh her decision.
Amelia Bones sat in thought for a long moment before glancing toward Lady Greengrass. Their eyes met—Lady Greengrass shook her head instantly.
"Amelia, you know our tradition. The Greengrasses never take sides. Tonight, I am merely Tom's guide. Every decision, every word spoken, is his alone."
"But he's only—" Amelia began, her brows furrowed.
"Only twelve?" Lady Greengrass cut her off, her tone sharp. "And? Some are born with gifts others can never fathom. Dumbledore, in his fifth year, was already conversing with wizards a century older on equal terms. Did anyone call that unnatural?"
"…Fair point." Amelia let out a breath, then nodded reluctantly. The evidence lay before her. These creations weren't the work of an ordinary child.
"Mr. Riddle, your offer is… tempting." She admitted it openly, though her voice was steady. "These three products—between middle-tier and upper-tier officials—they cover everyone I'd ever need to safeguard."
"But the very fact that your offer comes with no conditions makes it the most dangerous kind of condition. Without knowing your true intent, it is difficult to accept such help."
"My intent?" Tom tilted his head, as if in genuine thought.
"Tell me, Madam Bones—what do you think of Cornelius Fudge?"
The sudden shift of topic surprised her. But after a pause, she answered carefully: "A conservative, traditional Minister. Diligent in his duties."
Lady Greengrass let out a cold laugh, translating bluntly: "An incompetent man who embodies the flaws of every Minister before him, obsessed with power, and terrified of anyone who might threaten it."
Amelia said nothing. She lowered her head. She did not deny it.
Fudge's weaknesses were no secret. Everyone of sense in the Ministry knew. His flaws weren't even the worst part. His one virtue—that he was easily swayed—was what kept the system running. Departments deceived him, coddled him, and carried on as they pleased. So long as no catastrophe erupted, his rule endured.
"Auntie, perfectly put," Tom praised with a grin, raising his thumb toward Lady Greengrass before sighing. "But you know the saying—there's nothing worse than a fool who works hard. In the distant East, a diligent emperor worked himself straight into the grave, hanging from a crooked tree."
He leaned forward slightly, voice steady, eyes cold.
"That is how I see Cornelius Fudge. So… I want a Minister I can work with. Someone whose presence won't make every conversation a farce."
"Privileges, I'll earn with my own power. But in politics, I'll stand behind someone I can trust not to be a hindrance. After reviewing the Ministry files Auntie gave me, only two names stood out: you, Madam Bones… and Barty Crouch."
His lips curled faintly.
"If the next Minister is Scrimgeour—well, Auntie has told me how he despises my Annals of the Wizarding World, calling it subversive, even accusing me of writing under Dumbledore's orders. Do you think when he takes office, he and I will avoid conflict? Hardly.
"So yes—put pitifully—I support you simply for self-preservation. For peace."
Amelia's gaze deepened. She weighed every word, trying to discern how much was truth, how much concealment. But she had too little to go on. Tom Riddle was still a mystery, his surface too polished, his depths unreadable.
At last, she said: "If this is truly all you want, then I will accept your help—and be grateful for it. But hear me now: should I one day succeed, I will not repay you by breaking the law or betraying principle. Any favor I grant will remain within the rules."
"Fair enough." Tom rose, extending his hand. "I look forward to the day of your success."
She stood, shook his hand firmly. The deal was struck.
From this day forth, Tom Riddle was Amelia Bones's benefactor—her shadow patron.
"It grows late. I'll return with Auntie for now. If the Ministry has further needs, or requires more Guardian's Pendants, you know how to reach me."
With a whisper of emerald flame, Tom and Lady Greengrass vanished into the Floo.