Another school year had begun.
The Hogwarts Express, which had sat dormant for two and a half months, gave its familiar whistle and rumbled away from King's Cross Station once again.
And Tom, once again, was not on it.
He had, in fact, set aside an entire day to buy his school supplies in Diagon Alley. Before leaving, he had even given Nicolas Flamel two copies of his "WhatsApp" notebook.
That was a mistake.
Flamel had been utterly fascinated by the invention. The ancient alchemist had not only dragged Tom into a long discussion but insisted that the boy make another notebook in front of him, step by step.
For Flamel, the true marvel wasn't the spellwork itself—it was Tom's thinking.
In this age where even the Muggle world had yet to see the internet truly take shape, the concept of instant online messaging was almost inconceivably advanced.
And then Tom began outlining his future plans for "WhatsApp": group chats, online shopping, video uploads, and streaming.
If all of this could be realized, it would mean the fulfillment of Flamel's ultimate dream—bringing alchemy into every wizarding home, embedding it into daily life as something indispensable.
The old man's passion ignited like wildfire. For two full days, he worked beside Tom without rest, helping him solve countless problems. Most were technical refinements—streamlining processes, reducing costs—measures to ensure mass adoption across the wizarding world.
By the time they finally emerged from the laboratory, it was already noon on September 1st. The train had long since departed.
Tom rubbed at his sore eyes with a wry smile.
"Professor, there was no need to rush like this. Even if everything goes well, it'll take years before we can fully launch this. Don't worry—when the time comes, I'll bring the very first production model to your grave."
Flamel's sharp eyes glared at him.
"Are you cursing your teacher to die early?"
"What? No…" Tom blinked in confusion. "But—the Philosopher's Stone is gone. You…"
"Didn't Dumbledore tell you?" Flamel cut him off impatiently. "Before I destroyed the Stone, I brewed enough Elixir of Life to handle my affairs. I'll last another fifty years easily."
Tom: "..."
Fifty years… just to 'handle affairs'?
That was a very long list of affairs.
A sudden thought struck him. Narrowing his eyes suspiciously, Tom asked, "But as far as I remember, the Elixir of Life only lasts three years before spoiling…"
Flamel snorted, waving a hand.
"Don't tell me you can't imagine a way to extend its shelf life."
Then, dismissively, he added, "Enough. Once you're back at school, don't neglect your alchemy research. From now on, Puck will assist you—anything you need, have him contact me. Now, off you go."
"Alright, then I'll take my leave."
Before leaving, Tom paid a visit to Madame Perenelle Flamel, promising he would return at Christmas. Only then did he depart.
This time, armed with the travel permit Lady Greengrass had arranged, Tom Apparated back into Britain without setting off any wards or alarms.
And since he had already missed the train, he decided to take it easy.
He first explained the situation to Daphne Greengrass through the Two-Way Mirror, then checked whether Lady Greengrass was at the manor. Confirming she was home, he didn't rush straight over—instead, he stopped by Diagon Alley to buy his supplies before finally Apparating to the castle.
"You didn't board the train?" Lady Greengrass was startled when Tom appeared suddenly in her home.
"Ah—Professor Flamel dragged me into some research," Tom admitted sheepishly. "Time just… slipped away."
"Do you want me to send someone to take you to Hogwarts?" she offered kindly. She knew Tom was apprenticing under Nicolas Flamel, and she also knew of the two proposed solutions Flamel had once offered him. Unfortunately, neither of them was feasible now. All they could do was wait.
"No need." Tom shook his head. "I'll Apparate to Hogsmeade myself later. It won't take long."
Lady Greengrass nodded. She reached into a drawer and withdrew an envelope.
"This came from France. No sender's name, but it's addressed to you."
"Thank you."
Tom accepted it calmly, broke the seal, and read. His expression did not change.
The letter was from Vinda Rosier. She began with polite greetings, then clearly laid out her stance and intentions. If Tom disapproved, she would immediately send the wand back through an intermediary. Her wording was exceedingly respectful.
Tom almost smiled. Refuse her? Why would he refuse?
Only a fool would turn away such a perfect tool.
So long as he held Grindelwald himself in check, there was no danger of Vinda Rosier competing for power. If she had wanted to seize control of the Saints, she could have done so decades ago.
"Auntie," Tom said smoothly, "from now on, if you receive letters like this, could you slip them into a Greengrass envelope before forwarding them to me at Hogwarts?"
A flicker of fire flared in his hand, reducing Rosier's letter to ash.
Lady Greengrass asked no questions. She simply nodded.
The safest place to hide something was often the most obvious. Dumbledore would never bother rifling through Tom's personal mail. The only reason for rerouting the letters was to avoid anyone noticing his frequent correspondence with foreign contacts.
"This," Tom continued, producing a bundle from his bag, "is for the Ministry. Could you deliver it to Madam Bones for me?"
Inside were two hundred anti-disarming bracelets—his summer project. And in addition, one special edition.
The special bracelet was just as elegant in design, but inlaid with six gemstones. Each stone could unleash a Protego shield equal to Tom's own casting strength. After activation, the gem would shatter, but it could be replaced with a fresh one.
A piece of equipment like this was priceless. Lady Greengrass slipped it onto her wrist at once.
"I didn't expect you to really finish two hundred over the summer. Just a few days ago, Madam Bones told me we could extend the delivery deadline if you needed more time."
"Tomorrow I'll send them to the Ministry. The payment will be transferred to your vault as soon as it clears."
"No need to rush the money," Tom said lightly. Then, after a pause, he asked the most important question of his visit:
"Auntie… if I wanted to buy a First-Class Order of Merlin, how many Galleons would it take?"
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