— — — — — —
The true essence of outsourcing is not outsourcing once, but outsourcing twice, even three times.
Newt had once been the very picture of honesty, practically the magical world's mascot for reliability. Now he had become… well… surprisingly good at creative delegation.
"..."
Newt shifted awkwardly and avoided Nicolas's odd stare.
What could he say? Passing the trouble to someone else was unethical and weighed a bit on the conscience, but… god, did it feel good afterward.
Tom had tossed problems onto him and Nicolas more times than he could count. Each time it was only a small nuisance, but enough of those still added up. Tom saved himself a world of trouble. They were the ones who got run ragged.
Today, Newt just couldn't help himself. He needed to offload the mountain for once.
"Let's sleep on it first," Nicolas said with a mischievous grin. "Once we're rested, we'll go see Dumbledore together."
"Alright." Newt gave a sheepish smile. They exchanged a look as if sealing a silent pact.
---
That afternoon, while Tom was out shopping with Astoria, the two old troublemakers went to Hogwarts and dumped the inferi onto a thoroughly baffled Dumbledore.
Once he understood what they wanted, Dumbledore accepted the miserable job with helpless resignation.
Purifying inferi wasn't simple, especially since they needed to remain half-alive and conscious afterward. Very few in the world could manage that.
And there were two thousand of them. At this rate, he wouldn't get anything else done before the new term started. Luckily Grindelwald had been quiet lately; otherwise the delay would've been even more painful.
But Dumbledore had no real choice. After their adventure the night before, he'd fully grasped the experience of having god-tier teammates. Voldemort's tricks were completely neutralized. There was never any danger.
If he wanted Nicolas and Newt to keep helping in the future, he had to stay on good terms with them.
It was, in its own unspoken way, a mutually understood arrangement.
---
The following day, Dumbledore brought the purified Regulus back to Grimmauld Place.
He was still little more than skin and bone, but his complexion had returned to normal and the dark aura between his brows had faded.
"Thank you," Sirius said sincerely. Then he added, "I want to hold a funeral for Regulus. I want him to return home with honor."
"He deserves that," Dumbledore agreed.
But they quickly disagreed about how many people to invite. Sirius wanted to make it big, to let the world know what Regulus had done so his sacrifice would have meaning.
Dumbledore wanted it quiet, limited only to those who already knew. The fewer, the better.
"Horcruxes are not something the public should learn about. Regulus's betrayal also shouldn't be announced right now."
"Why not?!" Sirius paced irritably across the damp, cold sitting room. "He deserves recognition. He deserves to have his name cleared!"
Dumbledore's weary eyes drifted toward the real locket on the table. He hesitated, but Sirius's reaction finally pushed him to explain everything.
"Sirius, do you know what a Horcrux is?"
Sirius blinked, then shook his head. His mind had been full of Regulus these days. He knew Horcruxes mattered to Voldemort, but he had never investigated further.
"A Horcrux is an extremely dark magical object created by splitting one's soul and storing it in an item. As long as the Horcrux survives, the creator cannot truly die. And to split the soul, one must commit murder. That is why Voldemort survived his own Killing Curse."
Sirius shuddered. He stared at the Slytherin locket on the table and instinctively stepped back.
"No wonder… no wonder Regulus told Kreacher to destroy him."
"So now you understand," Dumbledore said gently. "If we publicize Regulus's achievement, then the existence of Horcruxes will also be exposed. And once people investigate what a Horcrux is, there will inevitably be those who attempt it, seeking immortality through murder."
"Even if we hide the Horcrux part, Voldemort will know something is wrong. He created more than one. If we alert him, finding the others will become much harder."
"But… I don't want Regulus to disappear quietly. I don't want the world to forget him, like he never existed at all." Sirius's voice trembled with frustration. "He deserves more respect."
"Sometimes, it's not about how many people know," a clear young voice said from the doorway. "It's about who knows."
Tom had come intending to read, but the conversation caught his attention.
"What does that mean?" Sirius asked, bewildered. Since when did respect have different grades?
Tom sat casually on the arm of a wooden sofa. "You want the funeral to feel grand, right?"
"Of course."
Tom pointed at Dumbledore. "Albus Dumbledore — the most powerful wizard in the magical world, right?"
Sirius nodded without hesitation. Everyone accepted that as fact.
Dumbledore looked a bit embarrassed but didn't object.
Tom counted on his fingers. "Nicolas Flamel, the greatest alchemist in history. Newt Scamander, the master of magical creatures and Grindelwald's least favorite person."
"And me…" The boy tapped his own chest. "The future strongest wizard in the history."
Sirius and Dumbledore both twitched at that.
Tom went on. "Just having us at Regulus's funeral is enough to earn a place in the history books. And if Dumbledore invites a few absolutely trustworthy people to round things out, what more could you want?"
"…That actually makes sense." Sirius nodded before he even realized it.
"Then we'll set it like this." Dumbledore seized the moment and fixed the date for the second-to-last day before the new term. A full week away — plenty of time for preparations and inviting reliable guests.
---
The following days were quiet...
Tom spent most of his time with Nicolas studying the purified corpses. They managed to extract spiritual material, though far less than what a living person possessed — pitiful, really. But with enough quantity, it still helped ease the shortage of raw resources.
Meanwhile, thanks to the Lubans' efforts, the joint order from several Ministries of Magic was finally settled.
When Fudge received the shipment, he was baffled. How had Tom filled such a massive order in such a short time? He even suspected the goods were defective.
But after random inspections showed everything met the standard, he could only sigh and pay the remaining balance.
It wasn't that he didn't want to oppose Tom — he simply couldn't anymore. Rosier's warning had silenced most of the wizarding world. No one wanted to end up having a "chat" with Grindelwald.
...
When the day of the funeral arrived, Sirius chose the Black family cemetery.
A light rain fell, almost as if the sky understood the mood. Tom wore a black wizard robe with a white flower pinned to his chest. Daphne, in a long black dress, walked beside him. A few guests had already arrived, the bright Weasley-red hair of Arthur standing out the most. Beside him was a young witch with long, wavy red hair talking to Sirius.
"Tom, glad you made it." Sirius noticed them and strode over. Today he had clearly made an effort — the usually wild black hair was neatly styled with the help of hair gel, and he'd shaved his beard down to a light shadow.
"Is this respectful enough?" Tom teased.
"More than enough." Sirius nodded firmly. "Regulus would be thrilled. The greatest Slytherin of our generation acknowledging him."
It felt like Sirius had grown up overnight. His bias against Slytherins had vanished. Problems were caused by people, after all — not a House. Slytherins wanting glory and pursuing ambition wasn't wrong. The ones who tainted it were the Death Eaters.
As the two talked, the red-haired witch from earlier wandered over, eyeing Tom with interest. She offered her hand. "Hi. I'm Nymphadora Tonks — but I hate that name. Just call me Tonks."
"I've heard your name so many times it's growing calluses in my ears, Riddle."
"Nice to meet you, Miss Tonks." Tom took her hand. The moment their palms touched, Tonks' fiery red hair turned bubble-gum pink and her nose stretched into an elephant trunk. Daphne gasped.
"You're not even surprised?" Tonks groaned when Tom didn't even blink.
She had prepared that little trick specifically to startle the rising star of the wizarding world.
"Sirius told me." Tom let go. "He mentioned he has a rather… energetic niece. A natural Metamorphmagus."
"That's such an amazing ability," Daphne said, almost dreamy.
"So you sold me out." Tonks shot Sirius a mock glare, then cycled through hair colors and facial features, making Daphne laugh until the two were chatting like old friends.
Tom eventually had to remind her to stop — it was still a funeral, not a circus.
Half an hour later, Dumbledore, Nicolas, and Newt arrived together, marking the start of the ceremony.
Regulus's casket rested among a bed of flowers, the Black family crest carved into the lid. He lay peacefully inside, wearing a deep green robe embroidered with silver thread.
Sirius drew in a long breath and began the eulogy.
The funeral commenced.
---
And far away in Albania, Grindelwald was busy arranging a funeral of his own — for Voldemort.
After searching for half a month, he had finally cornered his prey.
The old and new Dark Lords were about to face each other for the first time…
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