— — — — — —
By noon, the Daily Prophet released an emergency extra, laying out the details for everyone to see.
The front-page photo showed the scene outside the Astra Abyssum Guild. The killing aura practically spilled off the page. Bodies nailed to pillars served as a blunt reminder to anyone harboring bad ideas of what would happen if they attacked Tom Riddle or Astra Abyssum.
And it wasn't that the Ministry hadn't tried to remove the bodies. They had. But the magic Tom used was even more effective than a Permanent Sticking Charm. Short of blowing the corpses apart, no one could move them an inch.
Even Sirius sent a message to complain. Thanks to Tom's handiwork, the guild entrance was deserted today. No one dared come to post or take on missions.
As for the boy's ruthless methods, Sirius had only one gripe. Why hadn't Tom told him?
Sirius had a bit of a chivalrous streak now. He believed in swift justice. If someone deserved to die, he wouldn't hesitate—especially after Pettigrew's accident.
If enemies were already kicking down the door and you still played nice, Sirius would think you were being soft.
That, and he loved chaos a little too much.
---
Hogwarts
The Great Hall, usually buzzing with noise, was eerily quiet. The young witches and wizards barely dared to breathe. Hands holding newspapers trembled. Every so often, someone would glance at the empty seat next to Daphne and Astoria, eyes filled with fear.
Slytherins were doing a bit better. They'd gotten word ahead of time.
Once the panic settled, a strange thrill crept in. If the other houses were afraid of Tom, didn't that mean they were afraid of Slytherins too?
After this incident, they were well and truly tied to Tom. Slytherin's revival now rested squarely on his shoulders. They were linked.
Of course, all of that assumed Voldemort stayed dead. If he ever came back, some people might jump ship. For now, though, their interests aligned.
...
The professors at the high table wore complicated expressions of their own.
Grindelwald looked as if he'd just heard the news for the first time. He read the paper with obvious interest, line by line.
The article had clearly received plenty of "input" from various sources, and the author was Rita Skeeter. The slant was exactly what you'd expect. She savaged the Ministry for its inaction, asking why so many criminals could openly operate in Diagon Alley.
As for Astra Abyssum's response, she framed it as perfectly in line with the sacred principle of inviolable private property, with nothing illegal or inappropriate about it. With heavy sarcasm, she wrote:
{I suggest the Ministry consider outsourcing Auror duties to the Astra Abyssum Guild.}
{They catch more criminals in a single day than the Ministry does in years combined.}
{The Ministry can't bring any safety to us. Think of Gilderoy Lockhart. Think of Bellatrix Lestrange. Where are they now?}
The corner of Grindelwald's mouth lifted slightly. This reporter was good. Sharp-tongued. Ruthless. He'd heard she'd written more than a few pieces taking digs at Dumbledore too. A real talent.
He should borrow her from Tom sometime and commission a few articles.
But for now, there was something more important to do.
Mockery.
"Albus, is this really true?" Grindelwald asked, wearing an exaggerated look of surprise as he turned to the calm old man beside him. "Is life in Britain really this chaotic? That was Diagon Alley, your most prosperous commercial street. And over twenty people stormed a single shop?"
"In a place that important, does your Ministry not have Aurors stationed nearby on regular patrol?"
This wasn't just teasing Dumbledore anymore. Grindelwald was slapping the entire British wizarding world across the face.
What did it feel like to have a Dark Lord mock your public security?
None of the professors had ever imagined they'd experience that. Now that they had, the only word for it was bittersweet. Their expressions were a sight to behold. Only Snape seemed indifferent.
Snape was busy thinking about Tom's intentions, and about Dumbledore's unusual calm.
Of everyone in the school, he probably understood his student best. What Dumbledore saw was only what Tom wanted him to see. Snape knew that beneath the apparent arrogance, Tom was cautious to the extreme.
'Riddle never provoked anyone stronger than himself. That was why he behaved so obediently in front of Dumbledore. Did he really not realize that killing so many people would change how Dumbledore viewed him?'
'No, he knew.'
'Then why do it?'
Paired with Dumbledore's strange composure, Snape's curiosity only grew.
'Those two… They hadn't already fought, had they? And Tom won? Maybe Grindelwald intervened?'
"Mr. Grindelwald," Dumbledore said gently, shaking his head. "The Ministry's arrangements are not something a school headmaster is privy to."
He showed no reaction to the mockery at all. If anything, the polite "Mr. Grindelwald" made Grindelwald look faintly uncomfortable.
"If you want to know more," Dumbledore added, "you can always ask the Ministry yourself."
"Heh, no need for that," Grindelwald shot back. "I just think an environment like this is holding Riddle back. He'd be better off transferring to Durmstrang. The guild's headquarters would be in Berlin, and I guarantee no one would dare give him any trouble there."
"Oh! Actually, Paris isn't bad either."
To Dumbledore's annoyance, Madame Maxime decided to join in. To poach talent, she didn't even mind siding with Grindelwald as she pressed the issue. "Minister Cress often speaks very highly of Mr. Riddle. He asked me to pass along his regards this time as well."
The world now acknowledged two truly peerless wizards: Grindelwald and Dumbledore. And aside from them, the one most people believed had the best chance of reaching that level was the prodigy Tom Riddle.
France was desperate to produce a Super Mage of its own, to avoid the fate of folding at the first sign of pressure.
Madame Maxime didn't care how many nameless vagrants or petty thieves Tom had killed. What she wanted was for Beauxbatons to crush every other magical school and stand at the top of the world.
"Tom has his own choices," Dumbledore said with a faint smile, refusing to take the bait. "And at the moment, he doesn't seem interested in leaving Hogwarts. I'm afraid you'll both be disappointed."
After his conversation that morning, Dumbledore felt unusually light-hearted. He wasn't worried about anyone trying to steal Tom away.
---
Meanwhile...
Tom had already left the school. But instead of heading straight to Gringotts, he made a detour back to Nicolas Flamel's house.
Tina, Newt, and Nicolas had all gotten the news and urged him to come back immediately.
What could Tom say? He had to go.
"That's pretty much the whole thing. It really wasn't a big deal."
He extracted fragments of memory and used Nicolas's opera hall to replay the scene.
The entire room functioned like a massive Pensieve, letting viewers experience the memories as if they were there. Tom had watched operas here a few times before. The performers were legendary figures from centuries past, and the experience was always breathtaking.
Naturally, he didn't show them the part where Ginny trained herself. The memory cut off the moment he dragged Bask into the guild building.
"Sigh…"
Newt sighed. These people hadn't deserved to die. Some of them were even innocent in a way. Running a few illegal side hustles was just how they survived.
"Sigh…"
Tina sighed too. If you're going to kill, then kill, but why make it so bloody and brutal? No, she'd have to do some psychological counseling for her kids in the future. She couldn't let them turn into psychopaths like Tom.
"Sigh…"
Nicolas sighed as well, looking at the boy with reproach. "Such a waste. An absolute waste. Perfect materials delivered right to your doorstep, and what do you do? No spirituality left? No nutrients harvested? You had to do it so crudely. What did it accomplish besides causing trouble?"
Tom: "..."
He now felt that he was simply too kind-hearted, which created a generational gap between him and his teacher.
Nicolas then began to scold him for scaring people off and cutting off future material supplies, even calling him an idiot on top of that.
This old man was vicious.
"Fine, fine. If you want materials, don't come looking for me," Tom shot back. "I'm just a dumb, poor Riddle."
"And honestly, old man, if I don't make an example of them, I'll be buried in trouble later. If I spend all my time dealing with trash like that, am I supposed to stop our research altogether?"
Nicolas shot him a sideways glance. "Aren't you too busy juggling several little girlfriends? You can't even placate women properly. Hmph, don't go around telling people you're my apprentice."
"I never said it," Tom muttered. "You're dead as far as the world's concerned. If I told anyone I was your student, who'd believe me?"
That did it. The old man nearly exploded, glaring with his beard bristling.
Sensing danger, Tom slipped away at once, leaving Newt and Tina behind to coax Nicolas like a sulking child.
---
Diagon Alley
Tom walked step by step toward Gringotts. Today, Diagon Alley was unusually deserted. It wasn't just the Astra Abyssum Guild. The entire street felt empty and lifeless.
Along the way, no one recognized him, the very center of the storm. Everyone hurried through their business and fled the area as quickly as possible, eager to escape the bad luck hanging over the place.
The other shopkeepers were probably cursing under their breath.
Tom found it almost amusing. He hadn't expected British wizards to have such weak nerves. A few deaths, and they were scared stiff.
No wonder Voldemort's second rise hadn't even involved that much killing before people panicked and the Ministry surrendered.
Tsk. No backbone at all.
"Uhh..."
Pedestrians didn't recognize Tom, but the two goblins guarding Gringotts did the moment he drew close. Their expressions changed instantly, then twisted into ingratiating smiles as they hurried forward.
"Mr. Riddle, your arrival brings great honor to Gringotts. The Manager has been waiting for you since morning, hoping to personally explain this unfortunate misunderstanding."
"A misunderstanding?"
Tom rolled the word around in his head, eyes narrowing slightly.
The two goblins were blasted backward as if struck by lightning, slamming hard into the gilded doors behind them. Their eyes rolled back, and they collapsed unconscious.
"This is no misunderstanding," Tom said calmly. "I'm here today to cause you trouble."
.
.
.