— — — — — —
{"I think what Dumbledore did in New York should've landed him in Azkaban."}
{"Hogwarts isn't worth mentioning. Honestly, I don't see anyone in the world worthy of being my opponent."}
{"It's not that I'm arrogant, but I'm different from others… I'm stronger, I'm smarter. I'm just better."}
{...}
Jauncey collapsed onto the table, his body twitching slightly, while the others around him continued reading the newspaper.
By the time they finished, the Ilvermorny students around looked at Jauncey with sympathy… and a bit of curiosity.
They didn't know him that well, but after half a semester together, they were certain he wasn't this arrogant. Nothing like the person described in the article.
So the report had definitely been exaggerated.
The real question was… how much of it had been twisted? And what had he actually said?
But none of that mattered now.
They might believe Jauncey, but what about everyone else? Students from the other schools were practically shooting daggers at him. And as a champion, he still had several events to compete in at Hogwarts. There was no running away.
Brutal. Just brutal.
"Now that's the magic of journalism…"
At the Slytherin table, Tom was reading the same newspaper. Beside him, Daphne was laughing nonstop, practically clucking like a delighted little hen.
"Tom, that move was brilliant. If I were Jauncey, I'd want to die right now."
Tom: "..."
Daphne knew about his connection to Rita Skeeter, of course. But honestly, this time it really wasn't his doing.
He was a major figure in the wizarding world now. Why would he go out of his way to target a student?
For a moment, Tom found himself questioning his own reputation.
Was it really that bad?
That said, even if he hadn't ordered it, he wasn't completely uninvolved.
When you reached his level, people paid attention to everything you did. Jauncey and the Ilvermorny students had gotten a bit cocky after their strong showing in the first task. They'd made some dismissive remarks about Daphne just being there to make up the numbers.
That was enough for Malfoy and the other Slytherins to take notice. One thing led to another, and they ended up tipping off Rita Skeeter.
And once Rita heard it involved her boss and his… significant other, she went all out.
..
"Come on, come on. You're going to the library with me."
Just as Tom was mourning his damaged reputation, Fleur grabbed his wrist and pulled him up. She'd already finished breakfast in a hurry, notebook in hand.
The task was tomorrow. That meant she had just one day left to prepare.
After seeing the dragons last night, she'd tossed and turned for hours, unable to sleep. Her mind kept replaying possible scenarios, desperately searching for a way to stay alive.
"I honestly admire Greengrass," Fleur complained as they climbed the stairs. "Is she not worried at all?"
Tom shook his head. "For this task, she really doesn't need to be."
Fleur froze, then frowned. "You gave her special help again, didn't you?"
Even if there was favoritism, this was way too obvious.
"I didn't!" Tom protested. "It's just that when I helped her train over the summer, I used a lot of dragon-based materials. At this point, calling her a humanoid baby dragon wouldn't be an exaggeration."
"You're unbelievable." Fleur huffed and punched his arm, not too hard, but not exactly gentle either. "Fine. Then stay with me tonight. You've got that dragon scent all over you too. Let's see if those dragons dare touch me tomorrow."
Whether the dragons would dare, Tom wasn't sure.
But he definitely would.
And with that kind of offer, there was no way he'd refuse. A flicker of amusement passed through his eyes as he nodded in agreement.
---
In the headmaster's office, Grindelwald had arrived at Hogwarts that very day. Dumbledore had immediately summoned him for a confrontation.
"What happened with Robert Graves?" Dumbledore asked, gripping his wand, his tone stern. "Do you have anything to say for yourself?"
Grindelwald didn't look the least bit concerned. He pulled over a chair, sat down, and crossed his legs leisurely.
"What's there to explain?" he said calmly. "I'm the leader of the Acolytes. Since when do I need your approval to do anything?"
"There you go again, twisting things," Dumbledore said, narrowing his eyes. A trace of helplessness flickered in them. "What I want is your sincerity, Gellert. I truly don't want us to become enemies."
Grindelwald just shook his head. "Albus, you've changed a lot. But that need to control everything is still there. You just dress it up as goodwill when dealing with others. With me… you don't even bother pretending anymore."
"Fine, then I'll be honest too. Robert Graves pledged himself to me a long time ago. With his knowledge of the International Confederation of Wizards, I was able to secure influence over several surrounding countries."
"As for why he returned to America? Yes, I sent him back. But it was his own wish as well. He fell there, so he wants to rise again from the same place."
He leaned back slightly, his tone almost amused.
"If you want to stop me, then go back to New York. Kill Quahog and Graves, replace them with someone you approve of. Wouldn't that solve everything?"
Dumbledore fell silent for a long moment before sighing.
"You've done enough damage to the Graves family already. Can't you choose someone else?"
His old habit of compassion had surfaced again. Years ago, Robert's ancestor Percival Graves had suffered because of Grindelwald. Now it was happening all over again.
"Damage?" Grindelwald let out a faint laugh. "Everything is just fate playing its hand. People make their choices, and fate gives them a little push."
"Since when do you believe in fate?" Dumbledore frowned at him.
If Grindelwald believed in fate, he never would have risen up back then, gathering followers to resist the shrinking space for wizards under Muggle dominance.
To Dumbledore, rebellion had always defined him.
"Since when…" Grindelwald's gaze turned distant. "Since I left the tower, I suppose. Fate is real."
The "fate" he believed in wasn't some vague, intangible force.
It was the will of the strong.
A single word from someone powerful could shape countless lives. One fleeting thought from Tom—or anyone in that study space—could ripple outward, touching the world itself. Perhaps one day that will define reality—but even now, its effects are already beginning to show.
"But Gellert—"
"Enough of this philosophical nonsense, Albus," Grindelwald said suddenly, sounding a bit annoyed. He stood up and looked at Dumbledore. "I've had some new insights lately. Come spar with me."
A few casual pointers from Morgan le Fay had given him a whole new perspective on dark magic. His strength had quietly improved.
Dumbledore didn't refuse. Keeping track of Grindelwald's power was necessary.
...
..
At last, Sunday arrived.
Fifteen minutes before eight, the Great Hall was already packed. Students chatted excitedly, waving newspapers as they discussed the upcoming task.
Not just at Hogwarts, but all over the world, magical schools had set up massive Lume Lens, glowing faintly with a soft blue aura.
In two hours, the second task would be broadcast live across the globe.
"Why are the fireplaces green?"
Many students noticed the two enormous fireplaces behind the high table. Green flames burned within them, like an open Floo Network.
As the last of the breakfast dishes vanished, everyone instinctively looked up at the professors. The entire hall fell silent.
Dumbledore didn't keep them waiting. His clear, resonant voice carried to every corner.
"Champions, please follow Professor McGonagall and leave first. The rest of you, line up. We will be traveling via the fireplaces to another location to watch today's event."
Tom hugged Daphne, then pulled Fleur close and whispered a few words to her before watching them walk over to McGonagall.
Then he felt something soft press against his back.
Gasps rippled through the hall.
Hozumi Kamio wrapped her arms around his waist, resting her head lightly against his shoulder.
"Mr. Riddle, you'll lend me some of your luck, won't you?" she said softly, her voice sweet enough to make people's hearts itch.
Tom's eyelid twitched.
He turned around and firmly pushed her away.
"Of course. I'll make sure you leave the arena alive, Miss Kamio. Off you go."
He practically shoved her toward the others.
He was just starting to think about how he'd explain this to Astoria when another unexpected figure approached.
"Is hugging you part of the champion's routine? Then I can't skip that step."
Under Dumbledore's murderous gaze, Ariana stepped forward and gave him a gentle hug.
Tom: "..."
Seriously?
Not one of them was going to let him have an easy time, were they?
.
.
.