— — — — — —
Tom was in a great mood today.
Hermione had taken first place in the third-year division without any serious mishaps.
Just as he'd predicted, the only one who truly gave her trouble was the Durmstrang student, and it wasn't minor trouble either.
The boy had a solid grasp of several practical Dark spells, but more importantly, he was ruthless. Ruthless toward his opponent, and just as ruthless toward himself.
He was hit again and again by Hermione's spells, yet forced himself through their effects with sheer willpower, or broke them on himself outright. In the end, he even tanked an entire Multi-Shot Jinx head-on just to launch a proper counterattack. It was enough to shake Hermione's composure.
She only secured victory by relying on superior Transfiguration, conjuring a full set of chains that locked him down completely and wrenching his wand from his hand. Only when all three judges declared her the winner did Hermione finally let out a long breath.
Even Tom was a little surprised. He had no idea how much poison Grindelwald had poured into that kid's head. The boy was willing to risk crippling injuries just to win, and once he lost, it was like all the color drained out of him. He just stood there, unmoving.
...
"Please, have a seat, Mr. Crouch."
Tom came back to himself, smiled, and gestured to the chair across from him.
The moment Crouch sat down, the teapot floated over on its own, and a silver tray of desserts appeared beside it. Tom picked up a piece of plum cake, took a bite, and said casually, "We have a lot to talk about tonight. Have some tea. Helps keep your head clear, Mr. Crouch. Make yourself at home."
Crouch didn't bother with false politeness. He nodded and lifted his teacup.
He was already on the pirate ship. There was no point pretending otherwise.
As they ate their late-night snack, the two chatted idly.
Crouch sighed. "When Mr. Grindelwald told me you were the mastermind behind everything, I honestly thought I'd misheard him. It wasn't until he signed an Unbreakable Vow with me that I finally understood. The one pulling the strings of the entire wizarding world is you. A third-year Hogwarts student."
"Pulling the strings is a bit much," Tom said, shaking his head. Desserts weren't cutting it, so he had a house-elf bring out a massive platter of ribs. He dug in enthusiastically.
"I just happen to have a few secrets, a few opportunities, and some ambitions."
"Mr. Crouch, you've worked in the Department of International Magical Co-operation for many years. Don't you think that before Grindelwald appeared, the wizarding world was basically stagnant?"
"No progress. Only decay. Vitality bleeding away. If things continued like that, it wouldn't have been surprising if it all just… quietly died one day."
Crouch nodded deeply.
The boy was right. Across the world, aside from North America being somewhat active, most magical societies hadn't changed in decades. Everyone was just drifting along, Dumbledore included.
It was as if the purpose of a wizard's life was simply to survive year after year, have children, and continue existing in this half-dead state while hiding from Muggle society.
"So everything you're doing is to change the world?" Crouch asked, watching him closely. "Grindelwald's return certainly woke up many countries. It gave them a sense of urgency."
Tom shook his head. "Changing the world is just a side effect. My real goal is to become stronger and live freely without restraints. Any upheaval along the way isn't the outcome. It's just the process."
Crouch understood.
In just this short exchange, he'd already formed a clear impression of Tom. A maturity far beyond his age. Ambition and arrogance worn openly. Absolute confidence.
The wizarding world had been thrown into chaos again and again because of this boy, yet Tom himself couldn't have cared less. His eyes were fixed solely on his own interests.
Very Slytherin.
But that was fine. They were on the same side now. From what Grindelwald had implied, Tom could be irritating at times, but he treated his own people well.
After patiently waiting for Tom to finish eating, Crouch finally steered the conversation where it needed to go.
"Mr. Riddle, you called me here tonight. Is there something you need me to do?"
Tom nodded. "I want you to become the overall Guildmaster of Astra Abyssum."
Crouch frowned, but only briefly. He relaxed almost immediately and nodded. "Then I'll resign from the Ministry tomorrow. I'll need some time to wrap things up, but once that's done, I can take over."
Decisiveness was a core trait of any successful politician. Fudge, who'd lucked into his position, didn't count. Crouch did.
Having chosen to board Tom and Grindelwald's ship, he wouldn't waver, nor would he cling to his position as a senior Ministry official.
Besides, he could clearly see the Guild's future. It already had more than a dozen branches. Expanding across the globe wasn't a fantasy. When that happened, his influence as the one at the helm would dwarf anything the head of the Co-operation Department could dream of.
"Ah, no need to resign."
Just as Crouch had made up his mind, Tom waved a hand. "For now, you'll take the title of special advisor. Keep your post as Head of International Magical Cooperation. That position is going to be very important. Don't move it until we find the right replacement."
Like Dumbledore, Crouch was fluent in over a hundred languages.
On top of that, his years of experience gave him deep insight into many countries and an extensive personal network. He was perfect for helping the Astra Abyssum Guild expand internationally.
Tom would provide the resources. Grindelwald would provide the force. Everything else could be left alone for the time being.
As Tom laid out his plans in detail, Crouch quickly grasped his intentions and nodded again and again.
They talked until two thirty in the morning. Only then did Crouch slip quietly out of the villa.
...
Tom remained seated, spinning the pen between his fingers as his attention sank into the depths of the study space.
Ever since completing the Trial of the Phoenix, the tenth trial had shown no reaction at all. A few days ago, after finally running out of patience, Tom tested it with his mental power and discovered the truth.
The palace gate was manual.
If he wanted access to the tenth trial, he had to blast the doors open himself using sheer mental force. Consider it a pretrial.
So whenever he had time, Tom came in just to smash the gate. It was about thirty percent open now, and the deeper he pushed, the harder it became.
If not for the fact that it tempered his mental strength and improved his recovery speed, he would have taken a break and come back later when he was stronger.
---
Back at Hogwarts, Grindelwald spent an entire day thinking before finally figuring out how to shake Dumbledore's surveillance.
He first had one of his followers rush in from Berlin, pretending there was an urgent matter. Then, right in front of Dumbledore, he borrowed the headmaster's fireplace and "temporarily" left Britain. After arriving in Paris, he quietly flew back to London and went straight to Tom's house.
After spending the whole night hammering away at a metaphysical door, Tom looked a little worn out. He downed two more potions before finally feeling somewhat restored.
"Why here instead of your Dorset estate?" Grindelwald said with mild regret, "I could have paid an old friend a visit while I was at it."
Tom rolled his eyes and tossed the empty potion bottle aside. "Old G, can you give Newt a break already? Yeah, he ruined plenty of your plans back then, but wasn't that mostly Dumbledore's influence?"
"If you want to pick a fight, go bother old Dumbles. And Grandpa Newt is helping me plant trees right now. Don't disturb him."
Grindelwald nodded. "Understood. I'll go once he's done planting."
Tom stared at him in silence.
There was no helping this grudge-holding old bastard. Couldn't he learn to be a little more magnanimous?
"Come on."
The two of them went down into the underground chamber. For once, Tom took out his wand and began drawing a temporary fireproof array along the walls.
"You mentioned purification before," Grindelwald said. "What exactly are you talking about? What do I need to purify?"
"How many people have you killed?" Tom asked, turning back.
Grindelwald thought hard for a moment, then gave up and shook his head. "Too many to count. I don't remember. But at least a hundred wizards, probably more."
"Then you should understand what killing does to the soul."
"I don't think it's a bad thing," Grindelwald replied calmly. "If anything, it's made my Dark magic much stronger."
The walls of the chamber glowed red-hot. Brilliant colors flowed through the engraved lines, shimmering like a rainbow after rain, dazzling and unreal.
Only after finishing the final stroke of the array did Tom turn around. "Old G, you've gone down the wrong path."
"The wrong path?"
Tom tapped his own temple. "A long time ago, Andros told me that magic determines your lower limit, but will determines your upper limit. Your will has been tainted by the curses of the dead. Borrowing external power might benefit you now, but your true ceiling has already been locked in place."
"Don't you want to see what lies beyond?"
That single sentence hit Grindelwald right where it hurt.
To outsiders, wizards of his level seemed glorious, crowned as kings of the century, the strongest of their age. But who would be satisfied with shining for only a century?
Especially after witnessing Ravenclaw's power firsthand, Grindelwald understood all too well how vast the gap really was.
"Then do it," he said at last, making up his mind.
After purification, many of his signature spells would lose power. His strength would drop instead of rise. But if it meant a brighter future, he would endure it.
Whoosh—
A mass of pure white flame appeared in Tom's hand. The temperature in the room spiked instantly. Bathed in firelight, the protective arrays on the walls flared even brighter, the flowing light inside them accelerating.
"Wait, no. This is purification, right?" Grindelwald asked, stunned. "Why are you using fire?"
Tom looked at him like the answer was obvious. "What do you think? I'm going to burn you."
Pfft. Hahahaha.
It wasn't just Grindelwald who nearly lost it. Even Andros, watching the spectacle from the study space, couldn't keep a straight face and started laughing.
Meanwhile, Jeanne, standing beside Ariana, looked distinctly uncomfortable, memories of her final moments surfacing uninvited.
"..."
Grindelwald stared at Tom, speechless. "Are you purifying the curses, or are you trying to purify me out of existence?"
That flame looked even more terrifying than his own Protego Diabolica. If it hit him directly, surviving two seconds would already be impressive.
"Relax. This is a reward I got not long ago," Tom said confidently. "Right now I'm more phoenix than Fawkes himself. If we're talking bloodlines, I'm basically his ancestor. There's absolutely no risk."
Grindelwald knew about Tom's recent gains, which eased his mind somewhat. Still, the sight made his skin crawl, so he shut his eyes.
"Go on."
Then another thought hit him. He quickly opened his eyes. "Tom, have you tested this on anyone else before?"
Unfortunately, he asked too late.
Tom had already hurled the pure white sacred fire at him. The moment it touched his body, searing agony tore through him.
Only then did he hear Tom's awkward, sheepish laugh. "Well… you're the first test subject. Heh hee~"
"Aaaaaagh— Tooom!"
"You rotten... ugh! Son of a bitch! You bastard!"
Perhaps it was the first time Grindelwald had ever cursed someone like that. The elegant man's image was gone.
Even Andros, watching in the study space, felt bad for his friend—well, it would have been more emotional if he didn't have a camera in his hand.
.
.
.