— — — — — —
"Hagrid's finally going to have his own wand!"
As soon as Harry left, Hermione beamed. She'd always gotten along well with Hagrid and, aside from his booming voice, couldn't really see any flaws in him.
"A wand? He's always had one."
Tom lowered his voice. "Think carefully. Haven't you noticed anything odd about him?"
Hermione frowned, sifting through her memories of Hagrid. Then, suddenly, it clicked.
"The um… brella—"
She caught herself mid-word and clamped her mouth shut.
Tom gave a knowing nod. "Exactly. His broken wand is hidden inside that pink umbrella."
"A broken wand still works?" Hermione's eyes widened.
"Barely. The risk of magical backfire goes way up. But more importantly… it's a symbol."
Tom's lips curled into a faint smile. "Only with a wand can someone truly be called a wizard. Even a broken one still counts. Without it? You're not just powerless—you're cast out of the magical world."
Hermione fell quiet, chewing on his words.
She understood what he meant.
Before Tom had revealed a few secrets to her—like how he could use Confundus Charms to cover traces and let her use magic freely—just going home for the holidays had felt unbearable.
Like she was being shoved out of the wizarding world and forced back into the Muggle one. The only thing that kept her sane was wandering Diagon Alley, staring at magical goods, reminding herself she was still a witch.
"..."
Her eyes lingered on Tom. A blush crept into her cheeks. Hermione wanted to whisper, 'I'm glad I met you…' But she was too shy for that.
At that moment, Laos strutted into the Great Hall, riding high on the attention of a few younger students. The second he spotted Tom and Hermione together, his expression twisted, and he bolted toward the high table almost at a run.
Hermione tilted her head, puzzled. "Is Professor Wilkinson… avoiding you?"
"How could that be?" Tom chuckled lightly. "He's probably just hungry."
'Yeah, right.'
Hermione rolled her eyes and retreated to the Gryffindor table.
Laos really was avoiding Tom.
Why? Well, wasn't he the genius one who arranged that event—the one that would put him in a brawl with Fleur, Daphne, and Hermione?
Sure, it wasn't very noble to take out his frustration on someone else—but damn, it felt good.
Lately, Tom had been using "training" as an excuse to beat the poor guy half to death, all to let Laos —forever single—taste the misery of a love triangle. At this point, Laos practically flinched at the sight of him.
The funny thing was, Laos couldn't figure out what he'd done to deserve it. Lately, Tom had given him a rare strengthening potion, even taught him Grindelwald's own body-transfiguration spell. That had nearly moved Laos to tears.
And yet here he was—both grateful and terrified. The mix was impossible to describe.
---
The next day, Tom left Hogwarts for Nurmengard.
Time again for his "biweekly visit to the lonely old man." That was why he and Harry had scheduled their meeting for later in the afternoon.
By now, Tom had memorized every detail of entering the prison. Step one: disarm the magical traps. Step two: knock out the squib guard with a neat little hex so the poor man could catch up on his nap.
But when Tom finally laid eyes on Grindelwald, he stopped short in surprise.
The once withered old man now looked middle-aged, almost exactly as he appeared in the study space.
"This isn't transfiguration," Old G said with a wicked grin. "Slytherin's fleshcrafting rituals gave me some inspiration. Call it… modest success. This is what I really look like now. My health, though—still terrible."
"You're insane."
Tom shook his head, but as usual, unpacked fine wine and food, settling opposite Grindelwald. "Using yourself as a test subject right from the start—aren't you afraid something will go wrong?"
"It's only shallow restructuring," Grindelwald replied with a shrug. "Even if it failed, I could handle the consequences. But once you start infusing raw magic into flesh and bone… that requires caution."
Then he leaned forward. "Tom, I need your help."
Tom knew exactly what he meant. He nodded. "I'll reach out to Rosier. No—better idea, I'll leave you her contact ID. Add her yourself, explain directly."
"Better if you do it." Grindelwald had already poured two glasses of wine and took a leisurely sip. "This is your time to establish authority and control. If I begin appearing and giving orders, it undermines you. Don't tell her it's for me—say it's something you want."
"…Fine."
Tom agreed, though inwardly, he was amused.
Clearly, Voldemort's shadow was eating away at the old man's pride. Grindelwald couldn't stand the thought of anyone being stronger than him in dark arts.
After sharing a meal, Tom left. There wasn't much to talk about anyway; they met constantly in the study-space. Grindelwald just insisted on these visits so he could see a living, breathing human.
---
Back at Hogwarts, Tom relayed Grindelwald's request to Vinda Rosier. Just as old G instructed, he said it was his own idea to ask for the experimental materials.
Vinda agreed without hesitation and set a date for Tom to pick them up in two weeks.
That afternoon, with nothing else to do, Tom decided to bring the Greengrass sisters and Hermione along for a visit to Hagrid's hut.
From the small window, Hagrid spotted them approaching and hurried out to greet them warmly.
He looked surprisingly tidy today—his beard trimmed, his hair less of a wild mess. Most striking of all, though, was what he held in his hand. The pink umbrella was gone. In its place was a wand—if you could even call it that—far longer than any normal wand.
'No,' Tom thought, 'wand wasn't the right word. This was a staff. Easily twice the length of a standard sixteen-inch wand.'
Everyone's eyes were drawn to the massive thing.
"Hagrid, is that really a wand?" Daphne asked curiously. "And is it made from stone?"
"It's a bit… unusual," Hagrid admitted, scratching his head. "Because of the giant blood in me, Ollivander had to make something special. Oak wood, with giant nerve fibers for the core. It wasn't this color at first, but over time…" He trailed off awkwardly. "Didn't change how it works, though."
No doubt the giant materials were to blame, giving the wood that petrified, stone-like appearance.
Hermione perked up immediately. "I've read about this! Giants slowly petrify and dry out the environment around them. The process is usually very slow. That's why the clubs they use start as plain wood, but after years, they harden into magic-infused stone weapons."
Tom nodded in understanding.
"Something like that," Hagrid said with a laugh. "Anyway, don't just stand there—come in and eat."
Inside, the table was covered in food. For Hagrid, it was clearly a feast prepared with real care.
There was his signature rock-crust meat pie, kidney pudding, honey-roast chicken, stuffed grape leaves, and a chaotic seafood stew crammed with clams, cod, and crab. Two enormous pitchers sat at the end of the table—one filled with hot cocoa, the other with lemon tea.
"Help yourselves," Hagrid urged, beaming. "Harry and Ron will be here any minute."
Daphne eyed the spread with caution. The only thing that actually looked edible to her was the seafood stew, and she took a small bowl. Astoria and Hermione weren't much braver.
Only Tom tried everything. Surprisingly, the kidney pie wasn't as revolting as he expected—it even carried a faintly pleasant aroma.
"Hagrid, this is good quality food," Tom remarked. "Where'd you get it? Especially the meat?"
"Well… funny story. Not long ago, a wounded tusked warthog wandered out of the Forbidden Forest. Poor thing couldn't be saved, so I had to…" Hagrid trailed off, giving Tom an exaggerated wink.
Tom understood immediately. The tusked warthog was a XXXX magical beast, protected in several countries. No wonder Hagrid wasn't saying it aloud.
"You still have the hide?" Tom asked. "Save me some."
"Course I do. I made myself a quiver, but there's plenty left. Take the rest if you want."
Tom grinned. What a luxury. Warthog hide was famously tough yet light, ideal for protective armor. And Hagrid had used it for a quiver. Then again, with his size, one boar's hide probably wasn't enough to cover much.
Before long, Harry and Ron arrived. The little hut was suddenly crowded, but Hagrid cheerfully enlarged the table and conjured two more chairs.
"At last, I can use magic openly," he declared proudly.
His mood was so high he brought out two bottles of vodka. The students stuck to cocoa or tea, but Hagrid poured himself drink after drink. Soon his face flushed red, his emotions spilling out.
To the sisters' horror, he began sobbing, blubbering about the injustices he'd endured over the decades. Between tears, he kept thanking Tom for proving his innocence and swore that from now on, whatever Tom wanted—so long as it was in the Forbidden Forest—he'd make sure to fetch it.
Tom didn't bother pretending modesty. "As it happens, I really do need you to come with me into the forest. Even if you hadn't offered, I would've asked."
"No problem! Hic—tomorrow! Tomorrow you just come find me," Hagrid promised, pounding his chest like a drum.
Rules about students not entering the Forbidden Forest didn't apply to Tom. Even if another professor found out, at most they'd just tell him to keep a low profile.
After all, students were kept out for their own safety. With Tom, the concern was flipped—it was the magical creatures who needed protection from him.
Halfway through the second bottle, Hagrid finally keeled over, face down on the table. With a flick of Tom's wand, he floated gently to his bed, covered with a tattered blanket.
The group quietly slipped out of the hut.
Tom was just about to head toward the Whomping Willow when Harry, hesitating and stammering, called after him.
"Tom… do you remember what you promised me in the Chamber that day?"
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