— — — — — —
Vogel stared at her, stunned. "You sure about this? He's not exactly on good terms with us. You think he'll even listen to you?"
Grimmson.
Who was he, really?
Even if you asked some of the old Acolytes from Vogel and Rosier's generation, half of them wouldn't even know how to answer.
But if you asked Newt, he'd jump up like he'd seen a dragon and immediately shield his suitcase as if his life depended on it.
Gunnar Grimmson — a dark wizard from Durmstrang. But that part didn't matter. What mattered was his history with Newt.
Grimmson hadn't started out as an acolyte. Back then, he was just a hunter — a magical creature hunter.
Newt believed magical creatures were an essential part of the wizarding world, that they should be understood and protected rather than exploited for profit.
Grimmson couldn't have disagreed more. To him, every uncontrollable creature was a threat — not just to wizards' lives, but to the secrecy of the wizarding world itself.
Their philosophies clashed so violently that the Ministry of Magic inevitably favored Grimmson's view, often hiring him for operations involving dangerous beasts.
And since he wasn't an acolyte at the time, it was no surprise he became a regular guest of Ministries across Europe.
But then came the turning point. The British Ministry, at the request of MACUSA, hired Grimmson to hunt Credence Barebone after the devastation in New York.
Grimmson arrived in Paris, crossed paths with Grindelwald, got hit with some "Talk no Jutsu"… and then promptly joined the Acolytes— switching sides from hunting Credence to protecting him.
Then how strong was Grimmson?
Strong enough that even a fully unleashed Obscurus couldn't do a thing to him. (Yes — he's the one who blocked Credence's Obscurus with a single shield charm.)
Grimmson might not rank in the top five in terms of status or political power among the Acolytes, but in raw power and how much trouble he could cause? He was easily top three.
After Credence's death, Aberforth eventually joined the anti-Grindelwald resistance — and guess who kept him busy? Grimmson. He even went out of his way to harass Newt whenever he got the chance.
Following Grindelwald's defeat, Grimmson was cleared of charges — too many secrets, too little proof.
He then retreated to Norway, choosing a life of quiet seclusion
Gunnar Grimmson was so strong that even Vinda could only "invite" him out of hiding — never order him.
"If this were just about us, he probably wouldn't care," Vinda Rosier said coolly. "But this involves Riddle."
"Grimmson only respects Lord Grindelwald. If the master's apprentice is in trouble and he doesn't come lend a hand, how's he supposed to face him when he gets out of Nurmengard?"
Vogel mulled that over and finally nodded. "You're right. I'll go tonight. The heavy questioning is your job."
"Don't worry." Vinda's smile carried not a trace of warmth. "I'll make sure they're… properly entertained."
---
Nicolas Flamel's Manor
When Tom got back, it was as if nothing had happened. He washed up, stretched out on the bed, and slipped into his study space to start today's training.
Lately, he'd been working on one of the most complicated spells he had ever attempted: Firestorm. The Path of Fire.
Magic was supposed to be the power of pure will — thought becomes reality, no need for logic. At least, that was the ideal.
Right now, Tom could summon objects, transform them, or cast simple spells almost effortlessly.
Firestorm was something else entirely. This wasn't just a charm — it was power incarnate. Tom had only seen it in the movies, but it felt like Dumbledore hadn't even unleashed the real spell back then. From his notes, the charm carried enough raw, burning majesty to earn the name 'The Path of Fire.'
Firestorm was a composite spell Dumbledore himself had developed — a mix of Transfiguration and high-level enchantments, with an extremely intricate structure and casting sequence.
If Tom wanted to master it, he had to go back to basics: study the theory, take it step by step, walk before he could run — and only then think about flying.
And this time, he had no teacher.
Andros didn't know it. Grindelwald didn't know it either.
Still, Grindelwald could at least be useful as a sparring partner.
"Protego Diabolica!"
Ice-blue flames surged from Grindelwald's wand.
Tom waved his own wand, sweeping it in a wide arc, gathering his magic for a long moment before finally unleashing blazing crimson fire.
"Firestorm!"
The red flames erupted into a raging inferno, transforming into two massive walls of fire that split the surging blue flames in half.
The red and blue flames clashed, rolled, and fought, tongues of fire snapping at each other in a chaotic storm.
Just from the look of the spell, one could tell the real Dumbledore wasn't half as gentle as he liked to act.
Gradually, the blue flames weakened. The red fire fed on them, growing wilder and stronger until it consumed the entire area.
"Disperse." Tom used his control over the study space to wipe away every trace of magic.
Clap! Clap! Clap!
Andros strolled over, grinning. "That's probably the most powerful fire magic I've ever seen. Even got my fingers itching."
Grindelwald's face darkened as he crossed his arms, a low, amused snort escaping him. "So… this is Albus's little invention, his answer to my Protego Diabolica? He actually thinks this can hold me back? Please — there are plenty of other spells I can call upon."
Andros raised a brow. "Wow. I think this is the first time I've seen you try to argue your way out of something, old man."
Tom chuckled, breaking out of his focus. "He didn't become the most feared dark wizard of his time just by waving his wand around — it was that silver tongue of his."
"But again," Tom said, taking a deep breath. "My casting speed's still too slow. Once the fire really starts spreading, I can't control it."
Grindelwald nodded.
There were some things he'd never said out loud to Tom — but he and Andros both shared the same thought.
Tom had poured all of his ambition into a single thing: power.
If they had been in his shoes at that age, with his talent and his ridiculous rate of progress, their drive to study would've cooled off eventually.
'You're going to reach the top sooner or later,' Grindelwald thought. 'Why rush it?'
But Tom was different. The faster he grew stronger, the more he wanted.
...
After several more rounds of dueling, Grindelwald finally had enough of the torture. He was starting to suspect Tom wasn't just practicing — he was doing this to annoy him on purpose. Grindelwald waved a hand toward Andros, clearly done.
Andros grinned wide, his Patronus bursting to life and smashing apart the fiery vortex Tom had been building in the air. Firestorm was snuffed out before it could even fully form.
Tom: "…"
'I feel like he's showing off his Patronus, but I can't prove it.'
---
The next morning
Tom said a brief goodbye to Newt and headed out.
He didn't plan to tell Newt about last night's attack. Knowing Newt, he'd just end up blaming himself even if Tom was completely fine.
Better to just fix the problem and deal with the people behind it. That way, it's like it never happened.
He had promised Dumbledore before leaving school that he wouldn't kill recklessly, but the ones responsible were Rosier's men, the Acolytes. What did that have to do with him, Tom Riddle?
...
Rosier Manor
After receiving the message, Vinda Rosier went to wait at the gate. About five minutes later, Tom appeared with a sharp crack of Apparition.
"Master Riddle," she greeted.
Tom nodded. "Let's go. Take me to the meteorite first."
Vinda gestured politely and led the way.
Along the path they passed several Rosier family members, all of whom stopped to bow respectfully. Clearly, they had been told exactly who Tom was.
If Vinda was willing to speak so openly, these were people she trusted completely.
After passing through a garden full of blooming flowers, Vinda drew her wand and tapped a banyan tree in a particular rhythm.
The tree split open, revealing a hidden passage leading underground.
As soon as they stepped inside, torches flared to life along the walls. Every few dozen meters there was a stone door, but Vinda ignored the first several.
When they reached the fifth door, she finally opened it.
"The first few vaults are nothing but galleons," she explained. "The real family treasures start from here. You may take whatever you need."
Tom only glanced inside before stepping back out. "I just want artwork and materials. All the rest is useless to me."
Vinda immediately understood and led him to the appropriate vaults.
France was the heart of Europe, and after the Renaissance, Paris had become its center of art. Combine that with generations of very skilled… acquisition, and the Rosiers had an impressive collection.
Tom wasn't here out of love for art — he just wanted a few pieces to decorate his home. He picked only what matched his taste, without caring about value.
Vinda, however, was a true expert. For every item Tom selected, she gave a quick explanation of its history and significance. Tom listened with genuine interest.
When they reached the materials vault, though, he stopped being polite. Anything he could use, and especially anything rare, went straight into his bag. Even if he didn't need it now, he wasn't going to waste time hunting it down later.
After several hours of selecting, they finally arrived at the vault that held the meteorites.
The moment she caught the scent of food, Usaki, who had been dozing in Tom's pocket, perked up. With a delighted growl, she shot into the meteorite pile and began devouring it with a vengeance.
Vinda stared, stunned.
She had always assumed Tom collected meteorites for alchemy — perhaps even for some mysterious ritual. And yet… they were just food for this strange creature?
Tom chuckled as he watched his little Rayquaza happily tearing into her meal. It had been a while since she'd eaten meteorites. Three tons wasn't much, but it would still help her grow stronger. Next time she caused trouble, she'd be tough enough to take on Fawkes without even needing Dragon Dance.
"Watching her eat is making me hungry," Tom said, rubbing his stomach. He'd left in a rush this morning and hadn't had breakfast.
"I'll have something prepared right away," Vinda replied, summoning a house-elf and giving instructions.
Leaving Usaki to her feast, Tom followed Vinda back above ground to a nearby dining room. In no time, the house-elf returned with steaming hot dishes.
Tom warmed himself with a bowl of mushroom soup before asking, "So, did you get anything out of those people from yesterday?"
Vinda nodded with a faint smile. "Everything worth asking has been asked — and they've been sent exactly where they needed to go."
.
.
.