In the blink of an eye, Ariana's approval rating had soared past ninety—leaping clean over Grindelwald's.
But Tom wasn't focused on the system's numbers. His attention was fixed on the goods Aberforth had brought him.
A dozen Runespoor serpents, every last one of them fully grown. Seven female, five male.
Tom was delighted—more than delighted. He had only expected Aberforth to scrape together a few, maybe even immature ones he'd have to raise himself. Lately, he'd managed to pry a number of secret formulas from Newt that could accelerate the growth of magical beasts…
But this? A dozen adult serpents, neatly delivered. Beyond his wildest hopes.
As for the uneven ratio of males to females—Tom dismissed it with a shrug. A wife too weak to keep her place would simply have to share her husband.
"These must've cost you a fair bit," Tom remarked, eyes glittering. "How much am I short? I'll make it up."
"Two thousand more, and we're square," Aberforth said without hesitation. He hadn't had an easy time acquiring them, calling in favors from old contacts. Truthfully, he'd only succeeded because of the respect owed to Nicolas Flamel and Newt Scamander.
Of course… he'd also added on a handsome fee for himself. The money Tom had given before was more than enough. These extra two thousand Galleons? Pure profit.
Tom didn't care whether he was being gouged. If two thousand Galleons could net him a dozen Runespoors, it was a bargain.
He set two heavy bags on the table, each with a thousand Galleons already counted and sorted.
That was the downside of the wizarding world: large transactions meant endless coins, clinking and clattering, making one feel both wealthy and absurdly encumbered.
Aberforth pocketed the "hardship fee" without shame, his mood brightening at once as he watched Tom excitedly tuck the serpents into his enchanted case.
"You'd best not let Newt hear of this," Aberforth chuckled. "What do you think he'd say? Probably demand you release every last serpent back into the wild."
"Newt's not that rigid," Tom said smoothly, standing with casual arrogance. "Besides, I'm no poacher."
"Oh?" Aberforth sneered. "And how exactly are your actions any different from poaching?"
"There's a vast difference," Tom replied, giving him a look of almost pitying condescension. "First, I didn't catch these serpents. You did all the legwork. I'm merely an innocent buyer."
He held up a finger. "Second, the Runespoors chose to come here. They must've felt the call of freedom, guiding them into your hands, and thence to me. It was destiny. Fate itself brought us together."
He spread his arms, voice mockingly tender. "A meeting so fated and romantic… why sully it with crude words like 'poaching'?"
Aberforth stared, floored.
So… this brat was innocent. Aberforth was the one who'd done all the dirty work. Which meant—he was the poacher?
The absurdity made him bark a laugh, though his eyes burned with exasperation. He jabbed a finger at Tom, shaking it furiously. "Merlin's beard… you really are a snake-tongued Slytherin. More conniving than half my classmates back in the day."
Tom beamed. "High praise indeed."
For him, it was as good as a compliment. With one more problem solved, his spirits lifted further. He rubbed his hands together and dropped into a chair.
"This must be Newt's famous silver cod stew."
"Hmph." Aberforth snorted. "If it weren't for tonight being a holiday, I wouldn't have bothered. Eat, and don't you dare leave a single drop."
Tom conjured a clean spoon—he wouldn't dare touch the greasy knives and forks of this place—and dipped into the sauce-drenched fish.
"Tell me about your sister, Aberforth. Headmaster Dumbledore never speaks of her."
Aberforth didn't leave. Instead, he sat opposite Tom, pulled a bottle from his bedside, and began to eat and drink.
"Ariana…" His eyes lingered on the velvet-draped portrait. For a moment, he was lost in thought. Then the memories spilled out.
He didn't share the darkest secrets, but spoke of Ariana's childhood quirks, small stories that painted her in a softer light.
Tom listened intently, delighted. Ariana, inside the Learning Space, was mortified. So many embarrassing tales she had never revealed—enough to make her want to unleash her Obscurial form out of sheer shame.
By the end, Tom had eaten his fill, heard his gossip, and was ready to return.
Before leaving, he placed a bracelet on the table.
Aberforth frowned. "What's this?"
"A gift of thanks. You'll figure it out after a couple of tries."
Tom didn't explain further. The bracelet was inscribed with a permanent Shield Charm against disarming spells. Nothing world-changing, but a token of appreciation.
Without giving Aberforth the chance to refuse or question him, Tom pulled up his hood and slipped out the door.
Aberforth stared at the bracelet for a long while before chuckling, shaking his head.
"Other than Albus… it's been years since anyone gave me a gift."
—
While Tom soared back toward Hogwarts under his cloak of secrecy, the Halloween Feast was drawing to a close.
Then, a shrill scream split the night.
In the torchlit corridors, Argus Filch stood frozen, cradling the stiff, petrified body of Mrs. Norris. His bloodshot eyes locked onto Harry Potter.
"You!" he roared, voice breaking with grief. "You killed my cat! You—and that student!"
"No—no, it wasn't me!" Harry stammered, face pale, stumbling backward.