Professor McGonagall, for instance, singled out the Weasley twins during a fifth-year class and warned them plainly that if they caused so much as a ripple of trouble while the other schools were visiting, she'd summon their mother herself to serve as on-site discipline. Both boys went white as sheets.
In Potions, Snape prowled the room with a look of quiet menace, scrutinizing every workstation, and any smudge left uncleaned earned its owner a merciless dressing-down.
"If the rest of the magical world wants to think Hogwarts students are a pack of slobs, that's frankly none of my concern. But if it reflects poorly on my own reputation, I promise you, even after you graduate, I will find a way to call you back here to scrub cauldrons for the rest of your natural lives."
Neville, hearing this, was fairly certain Snape was talking directly at him, though oddly enough he didn't feel the usual dread. If anything, the idea didn't sound half bad.
Wouldn't that just mean a guaranteed job for life the moment he graduated?
Snape aside, he genuinely didn't mind life at Hogwarts all that much.
Snape, unaware his threat had landed with precisely the opposite effect intended, shot a smug look toward Harry and Ron before ignoring Tom right back and striding to the front of the room to begin the actual lesson.
But the most fanatical of them all was Filch. He wandered the castle from dawn to dusk with a magnifying glass, inspecting every statue and portrait frame for imperfections, and even a single stubborn smudge of grime on a wall would earn a full half-day assault with heavy-duty cleaning solution and a mop bucket.
Tom actually respected that particular brand of dedication. Say what you wanted about the man, but he clearly took genuine pride in his work. Most students couldn't stand Filch, but his entire purpose was maintaining this thousand-year-old castle, and he threw himself into it completely.
Every weekend, the selected tournament competitors underwent specialized training under the professors, McGonagall, Flitwick, Snape, and Lupin rotating through in turn, and it left the students thoroughly wrung out by the end of each session.
With that many professors cycling through lectures and live drills in a single day, the students emerged looking bruised all over and half-brained from exhaustion. Ginny even lost her temper with Tom over it, demanding to know why only Hermione got personal tutoring while she'd been handed off to the professors like everyone else. Snape, in particular, had reduced her to questioning her own life choices that day.
"I'm training Hermione myself because she's more dangerous than you are." Tom leaned close to Ginny's ear, his breath warm against her skin, leaving the young witch dizzy and her ears burning as red as her hair.
"You've got more raw talent than Hermione does. There's not a second-year alive who could touch you. That's exactly why I trust the professors to handle your training, understand?"
"I... I understand."
"Good girl. Go get some sleep, then. I'm swamped right now, but I'll deal with you properly once I have the time. Sound good?"
"Mm~"
Tom watched her bounce off, practically skipping, and let out a sigh once she was gone.
He really was something of a scoundrel. There wasn't a line he wouldn't cross with his words.
...
In the final week of February, Tom made his way to the headmaster's office to request leave.
"Professor, the Wizard's Guild is essentially finished with its preparations, but there are loose ends only I can tie off in person. I'll need a week away."
Dumbledore blinked, caught off guard by how quickly things had progressed.
He mulled it over briefly before agreeing to the request, though he set his own condition on it. The Guild still needed to sign a three-party treaty with Grindelwald and the two dozen or so participating Ministries of Magic, and when that happened, Dumbledore intended to be present in person.
He was, quite simply, terrified of losing his student to Grindelwald's orbit for good.
Tom couldn't help laughing once he heard the condition. "Professor, even if I didn't tell you, those Ministry officials would hunt you down themselves regardless. If you weren't there, do you really think they'd dare face Grindelwald alone?"
"Give it a few days at most before they come knocking on your door."
Dumbledore laughed as well, recognizing his own overprotectiveness for what it was, having briefly forgotten just how much sheer intimidation Grindelwald carried on his own.
Leave slip in hand, Tom made brazen use of the office Floo connection to head straight home, sinking into the soft cushions of his sofa to think things through.
The Wizard's Guild wouldn't need any major moves in its early stages, but the sheer volume of small tasks was another matter entirely. He could handle most of the foundational groundwork himself, but he still needed someone reliable to actually hold down the position.
Mrs. Greengrass had been helping him behind the scenes for a while now and would have made the obvious choice, but her position at the Department of Magical Transportation had been in her family for generations. He couldn't very well ask her to resign it just to come build something of his own.
So Tom went looking for another option entirely.
After some thought, he landed on a candidate who was, admittedly, an unlikely one. He pulled out his notebook and spent only a few minutes chatting with the man in question before springing upright, changing out of his school robes into a proper coat, and stepping out into another part of London entirely to knock on a familiar door.
The door swung open a moment later, revealing Sirius Black's handsome, unruly face.
He waved Tom in without hesitation, and the moment they'd settled, Sirius couldn't contain himself. "Tom, tell me everything. If I'm going to be Chairman of the Guild, what exactly do I need to do?"