New York time, one in the afternoon. The plane touched down precisely on schedule.
The reason Tom had opted for a Muggle flight rather than magical travel was simple enough - Newt had booked the ticket for him in advance, and letting it go to waste felt wrong.
He would be staying at Newt's house for this visit as well.
The old couple had accumulated decades' worth of belongings, and parting with most of it had been difficult. By now, the house had been largely cleared out, though Newt knew perfectly well that Tom carried his pocket world everywhere he went and hardly needed anyone to furnish him with daily necessities.
Still, the situation did bring something to Tom's attention - he was, in the Muggle world, embarrassingly underfunded.
He couldn't even manage one property in each country he frequented.
The money sitting in the investment firm had multiplied several times over by now, but the original sum had been so small that a decent apartment in a city where even the pavement cost a fortune like New York would clean it out entirely.
He could hardly spend every visit to New York, or any other city for that matter, borrowing someone's spare room or checking into hotels.
More Muggle currency was clearly necessary. The dot-com bubble a few years down the road would be the perfect opportunity.
"Riddle!"
Tom was deep in the mental catalogue of key moments he remembered from past-life news reports when a bright, clear voice rang out from behind him. He turned on instinct, and across the churning sea of hurrying strangers, his gaze locked immediately onto that brilliant gold hair and those unmistakable features.
The feeling was oddly poetic - like turning around and finding exactly the person you'd been looking for standing right there at the lost and found.
Cassandra strode toward him with her characteristic wide-gait confidence, a look of genuine puzzlement on her face. She came to a stop in front of him and asked, crisp and direct, "You've already passed the exit. Why are you still walking forward?"
Tom looked equally puzzled. "What are you doing here?"
The girl gave him a look that said the answer was obvious. "Picking you up, of course."
"But I never told you when I was landing."
"You get things done fast - there's no way you'd leave at noon. That would waste half a day. So all I needed to know was what time the first flight arrived."
Tom stared at her.
Cassandra, you are a witch. Not a detective novel. You have perfectly good magic sitting right there - why are you out here developing deductive reasoning?
Internally, though, a small, undeniable warmth spread through him. Getting someone like Cassandra, with all her magnificent pride, to go out of her way to this extent - that wasn't nothing.
Tom let out a sigh. Just as Cassandra was about to ask what was wrong, he spoke.
"If I'd known you were this thoughtful, I wouldn't have stuck you to the wall back then."
Cassandra's vision went dark for a moment. She nearly keeled over entirely.
"Can you please stop bringing that up!"
"I'm just moved, that's all."
"You're not moved, you're tormenting me!" She looked ready to lunge at him and take a solid bite out of his arm, but there were far too many people around, and a lady of her standing had a reputation to maintain.
Tom maintained his expression of absolute righteous sincerity. "I was speaking from the heart. There was no tormenting involved."
"Say it one more time and I'll fight you right here." Cassandra ground out through her teeth in a hissed whisper, then turned sharply away - her long golden hair sweeping a beautiful arc through the air - and marched toward the exit without looking back.
"Stop wasting time. I already booked us a restaurant."
Tom laughed and quickened his stride, falling into step beside her. It had only been one semester apart, but Cassandra had grown visibly - her features even more striking, her height noticeably increased, her silhouette altogether more willowy.
Except...
He sighed internally. Why did every single one of them look like they weren't getting enough nutrition?
Cassandra, unaware of his silent critique, glanced over and asked, "What were you thinking about just now? You looked completely absorbed."
Tom answered honestly. "I was thinking about how to make money."
"Money, money, money - is that all you think about?" Cassandra gave him an exasperated look. "Isn't Galleon income fine as long as it covers what you need? You're already earning at a ridiculous rate."
"That's not what I mean." Tom shook his head. "I'm thinking about the green kind. Dollars. Muggle currency."
Cassandra blinked. "Can't you just exchange Galleons?"
"That's called throwing money into the ocean." Tom made a face. "Actually no - with the Galleons I have, you wouldn't even hear a splash."
"Forget it, never mind all that." Tom stepped into a waiting taxi. "Where's this restaurant?"
Cassandra gave an address. The car pulled away from the airport and drove for just over an hour before pulling up in front of what turned out to be a very lavishly decorated... burger joint.
Tom's expression curdled. "You welcome me to America, and you bring me here for burgers?"
"What's wrong with that?" Cassandra looked genuinely baffled. "It's a North American tradition. Pizza when you leave, burger when you land."
Tom nodded slowly, his face a mask of numb resignation. He'd gone from one culinary wasteland to another. What had he really expected? Fish and chips had simply become pizza and burgers. The latitude changed; the suffering remained.
Though to be fair, Cassandra had clearly put thought into it. This was no fast food chain - the bun was pillowy and soft, and the patty was made from quality beef. It was, genuinely, quite good.
"I heard you hit Mr. Graves," Cassandra said, watching him over her burger. Bad news travels fast. It had barely been any time at all, and the story had already made its way back to North America.
Tom took a bite and nodded. "Come to think of it, that makes it the second Graves I've hit."
"Are you constitutionally incompatible with American wizards or something?"
Cassandra thought back to the state Frank had been left in - beaten down by Tom, then robbed of his fiancée. However high and proud he had once carried himself, he'd become exactly that hollow since. He'd been requesting leave from classes every other day this semester, and word was the school had already quietly begun the process of letting him go.