In a place where absolute safety was guaranteed, and where her trust in Tom ran deep, Ariana had finally begun learning magic under Andros's guidance.
The girl had set herself two goals: first, to at least catch up with Tom; second—though more ambitious—to one day defeat Grindelwald himself.
Tom had already conveyed Grindelwald's words to her: that he would fight her with the same strength he had at her age. That alone was enough to ignite Ariana's determination.
With those two purposes in her heart, Ariana trained with startling intensity. Aside from her unshakable three hours of Tom and Jerry each day, every other moment—twenty-one hours straight—was poured into magic. She didn't need food. She didn't need sleep. When Andros was busy, she studied alone; when he was free, she pestered him with endless questions.
Under such conditions, Ariana's progress skyrocketed. Once, she even asked Andros how she compared to Tom when he first began. The ever-blunt Andros didn't soften the truth.
"Compared to Tom? Ariana, don't torture yourself. His progress is… incomprehensible. Maybe at the very beginning, you were faster, since he paid some unknown price to enter here. But after that, his growth only accelerated. You'd better pick someone else to measure yourself against. I can guarantee you'll surpass Grindelwald before long—at least, you'll reach his level at fourteen."
That brutally honest answer had left Ariana sulking for quite some time. Tom had spent extra hours in her dorm just to coax her out of it, reminding her what "normal" wizards were actually like.
And really, look at the people Ariana had seen so far: two Kings of the Century; a brother, Aberforth, who could trade blows with them; not exactly the best sampling of average wizarding society.
As for Harry's sudden display of Parseltongue, Tom had only spared him a passing glance as the boy bolted from the hall. He didn't linger. His attention was on Ariana, seated with him inside the Learning Space, watching a duel between two sixth-year Gryffindors.
Calling it a "duel" was generous—it looked more like a clumsy card game. Each spell was preceded by endless hesitation, and the moment one raised his wand, the other ran so frantically he tripped over his own feet. The final curse missed entirely.
Nearby, a Hufflepuff match wasn't much better. One student's wand suddenly belched fire, terrifying himself more than his opponent. He yelped and flung his wand across the floor before anything had even happened.
Ariana stared, wide-eyed, almost speechless. Forget combat skill—the failure rate of their spells alone was painful to watch.
"Tom…" she pouted. "You're awful, comparing me to them!"
"I wasn't comparing," Tom said patiently. "I just want you to understand the world's real structure. This world is uneven by design. Out of ten thousand people, you might not find a single wizard. Out of ten thousand wizards, maybe one is a Dumbledore, or a Grindelwald.
"Your talent is no less than theirs, but you shouldn't measure yourself against them—or me. The only real goal is to keep surpassing yourself."
With Daphne and Astoria, Tom felt like an older brother: one a mischievous sprite, the other a sweet little lady. But with Ariana? He felt like a father—rebuilding her worldview, reshaping her understanding, molding her very character.
Wasn't that exactly what a father was supposed to do? Tom thought smugly. One day, he ought to make old Dumbledore bow to him in thanks.
"But I'm so slow," Ariana muttered miserably. "How could I ever become your teacher?"
Tom softened his voice. "You've only just begun. Don't think so far ahead. Once you've built a foundation, you'll discover your own strengths. I've got classes every day, alchemy projects, potions to research, friends to accompany. But you? You can devote all your time to magic. Sooner or later, you'll find areas where you surpass me."
Those words finally eased Ariana's mood. She stopped fretting over the clumsy students outside and began reflecting on what branch of magic might allow her to truly help Tom.
The answer was already clear to him: he wanted Ariana to awaken her ability to wield magic silently. But it wasn't time to tell her yet. Not until she realized herself that no ordinary method would let her keep up with him—then, and only then, would the idea sink in with full conviction.
Once Ariana was soothed, Tom turned back to his favorite pastime: spectating.
Harry's Parseltongue revelation had stirred some whispers, but it didn't dampen the students' zeal. Especially at the main stage—it had already become the prime arena for settling grudges.
"Davies! If you've got any manhood at all, get up here!"
The sixth-year Hufflepuff prefect was bellowing at Roger Davies, a fifth-year Ravenclaw. Their quarrel was simple: the prefect's girlfriend had secretly "transferred allegiance," and he'd only found out recently.
They'd already exchanged blows once, fists flying, but other students had pulled them apart too soon. Tonight, under the eyes of the entire school, he wanted round two.
If Davies backed down now, he'd never raise his head again in Hogwarts. So, grim-faced, he climbed onto the stage.
Both were high-level students, skilled and proud. Their clash was leagues more exciting than Malfoy's one-sided bullying earlier. And better yet, they fought while trading insults, flinging scandalous revelations mid-duel. The audience ate it up—even Professor Rouse was grinning ear to ear, thoroughly entertained.
He had thought British students were stiff and boring. Clearly, he had underestimated their flair for drama.
Tom was equally engrossed, happily munching on the metaphorical popcorn, when someone called from behind.
"Riddle!"
"Hm?"
He turned to see a brown-skinned girl waving him over. Curious, Tom walked toward her.
"Marietta, what's the matter?"