— — — — — —
Yuki-onna?
Grindelwald had never cared much for magical creatures. In that subject, he was the definition of an academic disaster. As for Yuki-onna, he knew they existed, and that was about it. Their habits, their strength, their temperament… total blank.
Tom had no choice but to give him a crash course.
Yuki-onna are classified XXXX. They only appear deep in the mountains of Japan, such as around Mount Fuji. Not particularly destructive, but don't underestimate them. They can blend seamlessly into snowy terrain, rendering themselves nearly invisible. They control the cold and can whip up devastating blizzards. Think of them as the Yeti of Everest, but far more aggressive.
Grindelwald listened, arms folded.
Tom continued. "I want them alive. At least three."
Grindelwald nodded, not bothering to ask what Tom intended to do with them. He simply promised that within a month, the Yuki-onna would be delivered.
With the mission secured, Tom was ready to slip away—but Grindelwald wasn't about to let him leave so easily.
"Hold it."
He gave Tom a long, unimpressed look. The boy's hit-it-and-quit-it routine was shameless. Unfortunately, he needed something from him. Swallowing his pride, Grindelwald forced a smile and pulled Tom into the Meditation Room.
Recently, Grindelwald had come to an uncomfortable realization. He lacked a true finishing move. A spell that decided the battle.
The Killing Curse? Well... yes, Avada Kedavra couldn't be blocked by ordinary defensive spells. Push enough power into it and Harry Potter would die. Dumbledore would die.
But at the level of true apex wizards, it wasn't that simple. Someone like him could easily erode the curse's killing intent, bleeding off its force before it reached its target.
What Grindelwald needed was something like Andros's Patronus. Like the astral magic. Something overwhelming. Something that couldn't just be shrugged off.
The problem was, he didn't have the aptitude for astral magic. That left only two paths: invent something new, or improve what already existed.
Which meant he needed Tom.
The boy's bag of tricks was ridiculous. If anyone could spark inspiration, it was him.
Tom understood at once and nodded.
"Good. Ambition is healthy, Old G. I'll help you level up."
Grindelwald's eye twitched. He'd known the brat would get cocky about it. But when you're the one asking for help, you endure.
"Tell me your ideas," Tom said, waving him off and turning serious.
He might tease, but he meant this. Grindelwald had helped him a great deal. Not just through the support of the Acolytes. His very existence was a deterrent. Like a walking broken-window effect, drawing fire, absorbing attention.
With Grindelwald looming in the background, Dumbledore had become far more tolerant toward Tom.
And because of the lingering terror the Acolytes once inspired, the Ministries of Magic across Europe were still pouring most of their energy into guarding against a potential resurgence. The contract only restricted Grindelwald personally. His followers could still move.
The Astra Abyssum Guild had quietly grown into a bridge between both sides, expanding in the shadows. Slip into the world quietly. No gunfire.
For once, Grindelwald was the one asking for help. No matter how troublesome, Tom would see it through.
Besides, this wasn't hard for him. He knew Grindelwald's fighting style inside out.
...
In the end, it didn't take long for them to sketch out a direction.
The key wasn't the rank of the spell. It was the quality of the magic itself.
If willpower and understanding of magic couldn't be improved quickly, then magic power was the obvious breakthrough.
Conveniently, Tom had recently been studying the Arcane Circuits. After acquiring the Wisdom of Solomon talent from the gacha, his progress had skyrocketed. He hadn't tested anything recklessly yet, but his theories were solid. He had even designed several simplified magic circuits to compress magical power.
And now the Study Space showed its absurd advantage.
Magical experiments were dangerous. Luna Lovegood's mother had died in one.
Using your own body as a test subject was suicidal.
But inside the Study Space? No risks at all.
"Go ahead and try it," Tom said, handing over a notebook filled with circuit diagrams. "If anything feels wrong, come to me."
Grindelwald stared at him.
"Tom… you're not using me as a lab rat again, are you?"
Tom just smiled. "Of course not. I'm the real lab rat. I've already engraved most of it myself. Without my 'sacrifice,' where do you think this simplified version came from?"
Grindelwald couldn't argue with that. He knew Tom was right, but he was just… checking. After all, Tom had already experimented on him using the phoenix fire's purification ability.
— — —
Runes remained a mysterious field in the modern wizarding world. They had been popular in the past and could be found on artifacts and ancient magical items, like the Pensieve, the Elder Wand, and many others.
Engraving magical runes was already far from simple—not to mention carving them onto your own body.
So naturally, without a gift for sensing magical flow, even getting started cost Grindelwald considerable effort. For the next half month, he practically vanished, burying himself in studying and carving magic circuits.
That said, he didn't ignore Tom's request. Grimmson and Vogel personally led nearly twenty Acolytes to Japan, moving in complete secrecy.
And before they left, Grindelwald made a point of warning Tom to keep Newt from meddling.
Tom waved it off. Newt barely had time to breathe these days. Tina dragged him shopping nonstop, and Perenelle wasn't letting him off the hook either. After all, Nicolas couldn't even carry shopping bags anymore. He'd tried once and nearly lost half his life in the process.
The old man was now calling in every favor he had, scouring the world for Inferi on Tom's behalf. If the next batch of Golden Apples ripened too slowly, Perenelle would nag him to death.
Nicolas might claim he was tired of living… but now that his wife had regained her youth and beauty, leaving her alone as a widow suddenly seemed unacceptable. He figured he could hang on for a few more centuries after all.
Another piece of good news kept Tom in a good mood for an entire week. Castelobruxo, Mahoutokoro, and Uagadou had all agreed to let their leading professors participate in the Wizarding Rank Assessment. They weren't thrilled about it, but they had no choice.
Other schools had already agreed. If they refused, they would look like sore losers. Worse, the magical press would twist it into proof they were afraid.
Which, admittedly, wasn't entirely wrong.
But still. No need to say it out loud.
...
While Tom was in high spirits, Severus Snape was not.
Every time he passed the Great Hall and saw the House Point hourglasses, his mood darkened. Gryffindor and Slytherin stood on either side, both still in the negatives. Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw had only just begun the term, yet they were already past one hundred.
Nine-time champions. The house with the most protective Head of House in existence. Shameless, proud Slytherin.
When had they ever suffered such humiliation?
What was Riddle doing? Why hadn't he earned those points back yet?
What Snape didn't know was that professors had largely stopped calling on Tom in class. Asking someone at doctoral-supervisor level to answer middle school questions was overkill. It dampened other students' enthusiasm.
Even when Tom answered correctly, it didn't meet the standard for awarding points in their eyes.
Aside from the fifty Moody had given him, Tom had barely earned any points lately. He couldn't even be bothered to scrounge for them. If something big happened later, he'd just step in and demand a massive bonus from Dumbledore.
After stewing for days, Snape finally made a decision.
"If I'm miserable, then everyone can be miserable."
That morning in Potions, Snape arrived unusually early. When students entered the dungeon, they found him standing at the door, face cold as stone.
Message received. The old bat was in a foul mood.
They hunched their shoulders and shuffled in.
Too late.
"Clarkson. Running in the corridor. Two points from Ravenclaw."
"Marietta Edgecombe. Have you forgotten how to greet a professor? And you, Lavender, Bruce, James, Heather—two points each."
"Caldwell. Fifth year and you can't even straighten your collar? Are you an infant? Two points from Hufflepuff."
He went on a rampage before class even began.
During class, he showed no mercy. Every mistake was dissected and publicly flayed.
By the end of a single Potions lesson, both houses were shell-shocked. No one understood what had triggered him.
Professor Flitwick and Professor Sprout initially didn't care when they saw their hourglasses drop sharply. They still had a sizable lead.
Two days later, they realized something was very wrong.
Their points were almost at zero.
After questioning their students and learning the full story, both were furious.
Oh, so that's how it is, Severus Snape.
They had tolerated him shamelessly awarding points to his own students before. At least he'd bothered to invent excuses. Out of professional courtesy, they'd let it slide.
But now he was openly targeting their houses?
Fine.
Mutual destruction it is. Let's see who cracks first.
The atmosphere at Hogwarts shifted overnight.
Flitwick and Sprout stopped smiling in class. They became stricter than ever. Minor mistakes earned deductions. Homework was graded with brutal precision. Any flaw became a reason to subtract points.
Snape saw that the gap still wasn't closing.
He doubled down.
Within a single week, barely into October, the top halves of the hourglasses might as well have been decorations. Every single house had fallen into the negatives.
The chaos finally reached Dumbledore's ears.
This time, the old Headmaster could no longer sit still.
He summoned all four Heads of House to his office.
.
.
.