— — — — — —
Aside from those out on missions or assigned to security at the Dream Arena, quite a few Aurors remained in their department at the Ministry of Magic, including, of course, Nymphadora Tonks.
The show had been lively and exciting, from the dragon challenges to Riddle announcing the wizard ranking system on the Lume-Lens… but everything changed the moment a special "thanks to Tonks" reached the office.
"...."
Tonks herself broke down. Completely lost it.
Everyone else wore awkward, strange expressions. They wanted to laugh, but didn't dare. Faces flushed red, shoulders tensed, as they struggled to hold it in.
At the same time, it finally clicked.
Now they understood why the department had been working them to the bone lately.
Just like Tom had said, setting a standard wasn't something you could decide on a whim. It required a huge amount of data, careful analysis, and from that, determining the baseline for an Auror.
And that baseline wasn't based on a single factor. It took everything into account—professional skills, dueling ability, spell power, and even the number of spells a person had mastered.
Which explained their recent misery.
Every day, they were sent out on all kinds of missions. And when they finally made it back to the Ministry, they still weren't allowed to rest. Instead, they were dragged into one baffling test after another.
Before, no one had any idea what was going on.
Now they did.
No wonder Tonks had barely left the Ministry these past few weeks. She'd been constantly pulled into testing. Back then, she'd even been smug about it, claiming Scrimgeour was giving her special personalized training.
Looking at it now…
"Pfft—!"
Dawlish was the first to crack. Thinking back to Tonks's proud expression at the time, he couldn't hold it in anymore. The moment he laughed, it set everyone else off.
In an instant, the room was filled with barely suppressed laughter.
Everyone except one person.
Tonks couldn't laugh at all.
Her chest rose and fell sharply as she clenched her fists. Her bubblegum-pink hair shifted violently into a deep purple, the strands practically bristling with anger.
"Ahhh! Riddle! Riddle!" she shouted like an enraged groundhog. "Why me?! Why did you have to use me as the standard?! Fine, whatever, use me. BUT why did you have to say my name out loud?!"
She stomped in place, fuming.
"Is it just because I called you a Scumbag that one time, so you—"
She froze mid-sentence.
And the laughter in the room died instantly.
Every Auror stared at her in horror, like she'd just turned into something monstrous.
The air went completely still.
Kingsley Shacklebolt wiped a bead of sweat from his temple, his voice trembling slightly.
"Tonks… what did you just say? You… called Riddle a Scumbag?"
Tonks had been on the Auror Office's radar since her school days because of her Metamorphmagus abilities. After graduating, she'd joined the Ministry directly under Kingsley's guidance.
Strictly speaking, she could've called him her teacher.
But right now…
He suddenly didn't feel like acknowledging this student of his anymore.
Riddle's reputation for being petty had already spread from Hogwarts across all of Britain. Now it was going global.
And this girl had dared to mock him to his face?
Are you trying to get yourself killed? Just don't drag me down with you… That's Tom Petty Riddle.
The other Aurors were just as tense, their scalps prickling as they stared at Tonks.
Under Kingsley's intense gaze, Tonks shrank back, her eyes darting around. Her voice grew smaller and smaller as she reluctantly explained what had happened.
The web of relationships among British pure-blood families was notoriously complicated.
Tonks's mother, Andromeda Black, was Sirius Black's cousin—making Sirius Tonks's cousin-uncle.
And not only had Andromeda been a classmate of Lady Greengrass, they had even shared a dorm back in school. The two were extremely close.
Back when Andromeda left the Black family to marry a Muggle, Lady Greengrass had secretly helped her out—and even held onto a contract Andromeda had signed.
So the past summer, Lady Greengrass hosted a gathering at her home and invited Tonks. It was meant as a favor to an old friend, helping introduce her daughter to useful connections so she'd have some support in the Ministry later on.
Tom had been there too.
And he'd brought Hermione, Penelope, and Ginny along.
Tonks had muttered a quiet comment under her breath—something along the lines of calling him a playboy.
And Tom had heard it.
He'd simply glanced at her, a faint, unreadable smile on his lips.
"..."
After hearing the full story, Kingsley felt his vision go dark. It was like the sky was collapsing. He had to brace himself against the table just to stay upright.
"He's really that petty?" Tonks asked, still looking genuinely confused, completely unaware of how serious this was.
"No, no. Mr. Riddle is broad-minded and magnanimous!" Kingsley replied instantly, then glanced around cautiously.
"Ahem! Don't overthink it, Tonks." Kingsley patted her shoulder, a trace of pity flashing in his eyes. "Maybe Riddle just happened to pick you at random. Look at it another way—being chosen isn't necessarily a bad thing."
"At the very least… it means he acknowledges you as a standard Auror, right?"
After that bit of "comfort," Tonks's eyes lit up. The logic somehow made sense to her. Her mood cleared instantly, and her hair slowly shifted back to its usual soft pink as she focused on the broadcast again.
On screen, Tom had already finished explaining the basics and was getting to the main point.
"At first, I considered naming the standard level 'one Tonks' as a measurement unit. But with the current methods, it's impossible to gauge the real numbers… so I thought about calling it 'Auror,' ranked in tiers," he said, pacing casually across the stage as if chatting with old friends over tea. "But I realized that wouldn't be appropriate either."
"If the individual were a Dark wizard, could you still call them an Auror? And if someone holds the title due to their job despite not meeting the standard, that would undermine the rigor of the system."
"So… I've chosen to call this level: Elite Wizard."
"There's no doubt that anyone who reaches the level of Miss Tonks can be considered an Elite Wizard anywhere in the magical world."
Tonks's mouth twitched.
She didn't mind the title "Elite Wizard" at all. In fact, it sounded pretty good.
But… if she was the benchmark, didn't that mean she was the bottom of Elite Wizards?
Damn it… that Riddle brat!
Tom seemed to sense the wave of resentment coming from London. He turned toward the Lume-Lens with a faintly amused smile, his teeth catching the light.
"And today's public evaluation isn't even aimed at Elite Wizards," he continued. "But at a higher tier altogether."
He clapped lightly.
The tightly sealed stone coffins suddenly shifted. With a heavy thud, their lids slammed onto the ground.
A moment later, several stiff figures stepped out.
Their skin was pale, their movements rigid, but their cloudy eyes gradually cleared. A faint magical aura surrounded them.
"These are puppets I created based on Miss Tonks," Tom explained. "Their durability, spell power, and spell repertoire all replicate her peak condition."
"Every professor participating in today's evaluation will face the same test. Defeat three of these puppets within two minutes, and you pass."
"Those who succeed will have surpassed the level of ordinary wizards. They will have developed their own style and understanding of magic."
"And so… this tier is called: Arcane Wizard."
Arcane Wizard.
The term rolled through the minds of both the live audience and those watching remotely. Many nodded in agreement.
It fit.
Magic itself was born from mystery. The stronger a wizard became, the more that sense of the unknown should cling to them.
The test itself also felt reasonable.
Wizard duels rarely dragged on. When both sides were prepared, a few exchanges were usually enough to decide the outcome.
If you couldn't settle it in two minutes, then your level simply wasn't high enough.
"Now, I'll leave the stage to the professors."
Tom gave a perfect gentleman's bow. His body lifted lightly into the air before drifting back toward the audience seating.
This evaluation didn't need judges.
Every spectator was a judge.
Anyone caught trying to cheat would lose far more face than simply failing. And it wouldn't just be personal embarrassment—their entire school would be nailed to the pillar of shame.
If anything, Tom almost hoped someone would try something foolish. It would make the event even more entertaining.
The professors stepped onto the grass one after another.
Each school had sent two participants, so Tom had prepared a total of forty-two puppets.
That number alone made the various Ministers of Magic uneasy.
Forty-two puppets… all at Tonks's level.
Didn't that mean Riddle had already mastered the ability to mass-produce Auror-level fighters?
If conflict ever broke out, he might be able to form an army by himself and crush entire countries.
The thought sent a chill down their spines, deepening their sense of caution—and respect.
Powerful on his own.
Brilliant enough to develop new techniques.
Capable of turning that knowledge into both wealth and armies.
Someone like that, you don't make him your enemy.
You make friends with him. Or, if necessary, you flatter him.
And just like that, without anyone quite noticing, Tom had put on another flawless display of power.
.
.
.