— — — — — —
Ten minutes later...
The seating in the courtroom had shifted again.
Robert, Babajide, and the rest had all quietly moved over to Tom's side, leaving the opposite row nearly empty except for Vinda Rosier and the few subordinates she'd brought with her.
...
In the front row sat Dumbledore, Babajide, and Tom, the person at the center of it all.
Tom himself was a bit confused. Why was Vinda here? Grindelwald had said he'd send someone to exert pressure. He hadn't said he'd send her.
Anyone with a brain could guess that Grindelwald must be relying on something. Otherwise he wouldn't send someone so important, practically his right hand, straight into enemy territory. Then again… there weren't many people with brains in the wizarding world.
If anyone was stupid enough to start a fight here, Tom had already decided he wasn't helping. If Grindelwald had miscalculated, it wasn't Tom's job to fix it.
Tom glanced at the ICW's president.
"..."
Babajide's eyes were shining. Everyone knew Vinda Rosier—the black rose of France, Grindelwald's most capable aide, the second most important Acolyte. And if she could be captured here…
But Vinda clearly understood what he was thinking. Her lips curved into a playful smile. "Akingbade, are you considering taking me in right here? I really wouldn't recommend it."
"You think I won't?"
Babajide Akingbade shot a sideways look at Dumbledore, and immediately felt much braver. He even regretted that Grindelwald hadn't come personally. If he had, Babajide would gladly pay a huge price to trap him in London.
After all, the ones who would suffer most would be the British wizarding world, and he didn't care much for them anyway.
"Lord Grindelwald is watching this very moment," Vinda said, crossing her legs elegantly. She looked perfectly relaxed, not the slightest bit tense despite standing in the middle of enemy territory. "If I don't return to Berlin tomorrow, he will launch indiscriminate attacks on both Muggles and wizards. The existence of magic will be fully exposed."
Faces around the room changed instantly.
"He wouldn't dare!" Babajide shouted, horrified and furious. "We will not yield to your threats!"
Vinda remained calm. "You're welcome to test that."
Babajide froze. He wanted to bark back, but unless he actually attacked her, his threats meant nothing. And if he did attack…
He was terrified she was telling the truth. Grindelwald had always been mad, and after escaping prison, he'd become even more unpredictable.
In the end, it was Dumbledore who stepped in and diverted the conversation, rescuing Babajide from the awkward standoff.
"Rosier," Dumbledore said lightly. "Why did Grindelwald send you to my student?"
Facing Dumbledore, Vinda's expression grew more solemn. This was the mountain they had never been able to cross. Even now, he blocked the path of Grindelwald and all his Acolytes.
"Mr. Riddle," Vinda said after composing herself. She bowed politely. "Lord Grindelwald sends his greetings and wishes you good health and prosperity."
No one sensed anything odd. Even Dumbledore, wily as he was, found her behavior unremarkable.
Her elegance was legendary. Everyone in the older generation knew her reputation: a deadly beauty. She could smile and hold an umbrella for you one second, then slip a silent Killing Curse between your teeth the next.
"Uh… I'm doing fine," Tom replied, playing along.
"Mr. Riddle, we aren't so sure about that."
The French black rose smiled faintly, her gaze lingering on Babajide and Robert. "It's hard to imagine someone as gifted as you being treated so unfairly, Mr. Riddle. The decay of the magical world is obvious to anyone. My lord left the Nurmengard Castle at the age of one hundred to prevent our entire race from sliding into decline."
"The Acolytes and I follow him because of that noble ideal."
Her eyes gleamed with genuine devotion, the kind a starstruck girl would have when looking at her idol.
"Mr. Riddle," she continued, "Lord Grindelwald believes your talent far surpasses his own. He sends you a formal invitation. If you come to Berlin, you will become his sole apprentice, the future leader of the Acolytes, and the rightful master of the wizarding world."
"Rosier. That's enough."
Dumbledore's expression finally hardened. Babajide felt the air thicken around him until breathing became difficult. The atmosphere seemed to solidify.
"Tom is one of the finest students Hogwarts has ever seen. Every professor is doing everything they can to nurture him, myself included. He does not need a teacher whose promises mean nothing."
"Tell Grindelwald this: the greatest regret of my life is that I spared him. And that I spared all of you."
"I'll be sure to pass that on, sir." Vinda didn't look offended in the slightest. She knew far more than the average Acolyte—especially about the two men standing on opposite sides of her. She knew the kind of truth no one wanted to say out loud.
"But before that," she continued, turning to Tom again, "what is your answer, Mr. Riddle?"
Everyone else looked at him as well, each with their own motives. Robert, for one, was secretly hoping Tom would say yes. That would give him the perfect excuse to unleash the full power of the ICW and MACUSA for payback—and maybe even push Dumbledore into helping.
He believed that the harder Dumbledore fought to protect Tom now, the more devastating the betrayal would feel later.
Dumbledore turned his head, then froze.
Tom... Tom was actually thinking about it.
"Don't let Grindelwald's flattery and promises sway you," the old wizard said urgently, leaning close and lowering his voice. "It's one of his oldest tricks. He's frighteningly good at stirring up people's desires. But I believe in you, Tom. Everything he claims he can give you—you can earn on your own."
"I understand, Professor." Tom nodded. "But if I joined Grindelwald's faction, wouldn't that make it easier to wipe out the Graves family?"
A sharp hiss of breath rippled across the chamber.
What was with this kid's vendetta obsession? The Graves had already been ruined—why wasn't that enough for him?
The magical world wasn't used to people who casually talked about wiping out entire families. Not even Voldemort, back in the day, had been that insane.
Several wizards cast uneasy looks at the twitchy, miserable Robert. Maybe… sacrificing the Graves family wasn't such a terrible idea. At least it'd prevent any more internal conflict.
Wizarding stares were never subtle; they were full of intent and emotion. Robert felt every one of them and wanted nothing more than to bolt out of the room.
"Think about Miss Greengrass, Miss Granger, Miss Clearwater, Miss Weasley, Miss Lovegood, Miss....—imagine how heartbroken they'd be if you left Hogwarts." Dumbledore, in desperation, resorted to a beauty-trap strategy, rattling off the names like he was reading from a grocery list.
By the end, Tom was staring at him with dead fish eyes.
"Professor… do you spend your free time spying on your students' private lives?"
Dumbledore looked away, embarrassed. Paying extra attention to a promising student was normal enough. It wasn't that he didn't want to focus on serious matters—it was just that whenever he looked, Tom was always doing something completely unserious. What was he supposed to do?
"I'll consider it carefully, Miss Rosier," Tom said, ignoring the gossiping old man and giving her a vague, noncommittal response. "But for now, I'm doing pretty well at Hogwarts. Not planning a job change yet."
He even shot Dumbledore a look that clearly said: "See? I've got this."
"That's a shame," Vinda replied with genuine regret. "My lord and I will always welcome you in Berlin."
She flicked her fingers, and a folded paper crane fluttered through the air, unfolding itself before Tom. Everyone in the front row saw the contents clearly—a list of products Tom had sold.
"Mr. Riddle," Vinda said pleasantly, "this is the German Ministry of Magic's procurement list. No delivery deadline, and payment has already been transferred to your Gringotts vault."
Fudge opened his mouth, but a single razor-edged glare from Vinda froze him solid. He shut it immediately.
"If anyone interferes with your business," Vinda added lightly, "my lord would be happy to stop by their Ministry for a friendly chat every few days."
She smiled. "If you need anything from us, or if you're unhappy with the prices, you can contact me anytime."
With that, she rose and headed for the doors, her entourage falling in behind her. Babajide looked torn, but in the end he didn't dare give the order to stop her. Scrimgeour looked eager, but Bones' stern glare pinned him to his seat.
The hearing ended in a hurry. No one had the energy to quibble over trivialities anymore. Babajide invited Dumbledore to stay and talk; Fudge followed along as well.
---
Tom walked up to Robert with a polite little smile. "Mr. Graves. Until we meet again."
Robert looked up at him with hatred—then faltered. For a brief heartbeat, a strange force brushed against his mind, a thin thread of magic linking their thoughts before snapping. It happened so quickly he didn't even process it. By the time he blinked, Tom was already walking away.
---
Little Whinging — Privet Drive
Ding-dong.
"Coming!"
A voice answered from inside. The door swung open, and Tom froze—then burst out laughing.
"Sirius… what on earth are you wearing?"
Sirius was beaming, wearing a grimy, oil-stained apron with a spatula still in hand. He looked nothing like the hardened fugitive from last year's wanted posters—more like a frantic stay-at-home dad.
"Well, I was trying to cook something for you and Harry."
He waved off Tom's teasing and stepped aside. "Come in. Two more dishes and we're done. Steak looks simple, but it's a nightmare to fry."
Tom stepped inside. The smell of burnt food hit him like a Bludger.
His expectations for lunch plummeted dramatically.
This… might actually be worse than Hagrid's cooking.
.
.
.