— — — — — —
"Merlin's beard… Filch has completely lost it."
The staff's sudden transformation was one thing. People could adapt to that. But Filch, running around like he'd been injected with liquid obsession, was something else entirely. The man was cleaning the castle every waking second.
Stained stone tiles were ripped out and replaced. The walls got a fresh coat of paint. Several grimy old portraits were furious about the sudden makeover, shrieking curses from inside their frames. Their wails echoed down the corridors, disrupting classes.
The suits of armor were polished to a blinding shine. Students had to squint as they passed, inching along cautiously because the floors were so slick they might as well have been ice.
Two unlucky students forgot to wipe their shoes before walking inside and left faint marks on the floor. Filch tore into them so viciously that they nearly worked themselves into hysterics and ended up in the hospital wing.
And as if that weren't enough, he even proposed new school rules, "No trash in the trash bins. No resting in the common rooms."
When Albus Dumbledore saw the draft, he smoothly deflected it.
If he'd actually approved those, howlers and complaint letters would have buried his office by the next morning.
What did Filch think this was? A house-elf training academy?
Once word got out, half the school cursed Filch under their breath.
...
"Professor McGonagall."
Outside the Great Hall, Hermione and Tom ran into McGonagall standing in front of the hourglasses, looking as though she'd just swallowed a lemon. Tom had planned to steer clear, but Hermione had already greeted her, so he had no choice but to follow.
"Miss Granger. Mr. Riddle."
Minerva McGonagall snapped back to herself and forced a smile when she saw the two of them walking hand in hand.
Tom could guess what was bothering her. All four Houses were still sitting at negative points. That wasn't so embarrassing when it was just their own internal mess. But with visiting schools arriving soon, if anyone found out what had happened, Hogwarts would become a laughingstock.
There wasn't any good excuse to award points. Meanwhile, Snape's deduction reports kept arriving daily like clockwork, without fail.
"Mr. Riddle," McGonagall said suddenly, inspiration flashing in her eyes, "have you considered publishing a paper on Transfiguration recently?"
Tom understood immediately and nodded.
"As it happens, I've had some new insights on multi-form folding spellwork. I was just preparing to submit something."
Her face lit up. She urged him to finish it as soon as possible before hurrying off.
After watching her leave, Tom turned to the girl beside him. "Have you ever thought about publishing a paper?"
"Me?" Hermione blinked.
"Yes, you. Who else, Daphne?"
"How would I even qualify to write one?" Hermione waved her hands quickly. In her mind, publishing a paper was practically sacred territory. She couldn't imagine herself being worthy of it.
"Don't sell yourself short."
They entered the Great Hall, and this time Tom simply sat down at the Gryffindor table. Two empty seats instantly appeared around them.
Once seated, he continued, "When you read my articles in Transfiguration Today, can you understand them?"
Hermione nodded, then hesitated. "Some of it, yes. But sometimes I recognize every word and still have no idea what you're talking about."
"That's enough. If you can understand part of it, your level is already there. No one says papers have to live in some lofty academic tower. If it helps most people, it's a good paper."
"Take the material you use when tutoring Astoria and Ginny. Organize it, build your own framework around it. You'll absolutely get published."
His words opened a door in her mind. The idea took root before she could stop it.
So… I'm actually qualified to publish something?
For the rest of dinner, Hermione was completely distracted, turning possible entry points and structures over in her head.
Tom left her to it. Giving her this idea was simply a way to keep her busy. When Fleur arrived, he didn't need sparks flying all over the place again.
---
The Vosges Mountains—
A young man emerged from the void. Vogel and the others, who had been waiting for what felt like ages, immediately snapped to attention.
"Mr. Riddle."
Tom gave a faint nod and turned his gaze to the reason for his visit.
Three Yuki Onna, bound together and unconscious.
Their skin was pale as frost. They wore ice-blue gauze garments that seemed woven from mist. Their faces were delicate, their figures mature and elegant. If one were to score them purely on appearance, they'd rank high. Compared to Veela, they lost nothing in beauty.
What they lacked was that intoxicating, all-consuming allure Veela possessed. Instead, they carried a cold, aloof purity, like untouched snow beneath moonlight.
A pity, though.
The wizarding world had half-Veela.
No one had ever heard of a half-Yuki Onna.
It wasn't that humans and Yuki Onna had never fallen in love.
It was just that… most men simply couldn't survive the experience.
Of course, Tom hadn't sent the Acolytes through hell and high water to some island just to "diversify" the Riddle family tree. At least not with these three.
What he wanted was their bloodline.
Not all of it, either. Just a portion of the power hidden within.
"You've done well."
Tom carefully checked the three unconscious Yuki-Onna again. Finding no issues, he turned to Vogel and the others.
Fatigue was written all over their faces. A faint, unpleasant smell clung to them; they had clearly gone days without washing.
Tom took out several vials of Invigoration Draught and gestured for them to drink. Only after Vogel's complexion improved did Tom hand over the reward for this mission: a newly developed Magic Guru Potion, derived from the Strengthening Potion.
If the Strengthening Potion refined one's very essence, this was its diluted cousin. It didn't change a wizard's life force. Instead, it excavated latent potential, allowing magic to grow by roughly the equivalent of two years of natural development per bottle.
There were drawbacks. It couldn't be taken back to back. Each dose required about three months to fully digest. And the more one's potential was tapped, the weaker the effect became over time.
Even so, to Vogel and the others, it was priceless.
They had intended to refuse out of formality, but once Tom explained the effects, temptation won. They accepted the vials with slightly embarrassed gratitude.
Tom chuckled. "No need to feel awkward. Good work deserves good rewards. I imagine Professor Grindelwald would do the same."
In front of others, Tom was always polite enough to call old Grindelwald "Professor."
"The professor will be arriving at Hogwarts today. For now, keep your movements restrained. Expand slowly to the north, and capture every vampire you encounter. Interrogate them one by one."
"Yes," Vogel replied at once.
The order to capture vampires had been issued long ago. Tom was not the forgiving type. Offending Nicolas meant offending him. There was no chance he would let that slide.
He refused to believe they couldn't catch the original progenitor. Ideally, they would flush out whoever was pulling the strings behind the scenes.
After a few more words of encouragement, Tom returned to school with the three Yuki-Onna.
...
It was Thursday.
No one had the heart to pay attention in class, especially after lunch. Students practically counted down the seconds.
With half an hour left in History of Magic, someone suddenly shouted, "It's time!" and the entire class flooded out of the room.
Professor Binns paused for two seconds, then continued in his slow, droning voice that could rival a powerful Sleeping Charm.
"…Montobillerson discovered in 1653 that his wife was in fact a Muggle masquerading as a witch…"
Teaching was Binns' obsession. The students leaving was understandable. It was not, however, a reason for him to dismiss class early. Even if the room were completely empty, he would finish the lecture.
The young witches and wizards dashed back to their dormitories, dumped their bags and books, then hurried down the stairs to gather in the Entrance Hall.
The professors were already waiting.
The four Heads of House, assisted by the other staff, organized the students into neat lines.
When other magical schools had visited in the past, Professor McGonagall had welcomed them alone. This time, the scale was clearly higher. Everyone saw Albus Dumbledore standing outside the Entrance Hall, speaking quietly with Moody.
"Weasley, straighten that hat!" Professor McGonagall snapped. "Miss Patil, remove that absurd thing from your hair. Don't you find it exhausting?"
Parvati removed a large butterfly hairpiece with visible reluctance, drawing exasperated looks from those nearby.
The butterfly itself wasn't the issue.
The fact that it was alive and pinned there like a decorative accessory definitely was.
Snape drew quite a bit of attention as well. His signature greasy hair was gone, replaced by loose, voluminous black locks. It didn't improve his looks much, but at least… it no longer made people feel queasy.
Being stared at like some sort of zoo exhibit did nothing for Snape's mood. His cold gaze swept across the students one by one. Heads immediately dropped.
"Please follow me."
Once she confirmed the formation was in order, McGonagall led the way.
The students filed out, descended the steps, passed along the side corridor, and gathered on the grounds.
The sky was darkening. A pale, translucent moon hung overhead, bright enough to wash out much of the starlight.
Low murmurs rippled through the lines as everyone speculated about how their guests would arrive.
"Hmm?" Daphne glanced curiously at the bulging pocket of Tom's robes and poked it with a finger. "Tom, what's that?"
"Popcorn."
He pulled out a tiny bucket, which began to magically expand in his hands.
"There's going to be plenty of drama to snack on tonight. Want some?"
"Mmm… buttery, please."
.
.
.