— — — — — —
"You came."
"Was I not supposed to?" Tom gave Helena a puzzled look.
"What do you think?"
Helena shot him a glare. A cold breeze swept across the tower top, though of course it couldn't affect a ghost.
Whether living or dead, women tended to have two faces. Helena was no exception.
To most Ravenclaw students, she was the distant, regal, highborn ghost with an icy presence. But in front of Tom, thanks to Ravenclaw's involvement, Helena treated him like her little brother.
She didn't bother putting up walls and was slowly revealing her true, unfiltered self. Which meant… she looked kind of clueless and dopey. No wonder things went the way they did back then.
Not really her fault, though. She was an artificial construct. If anyone was to blame, it was Ravenclaw for not perfecting her craft.
"Tom…" Helena's voice was gentle, but her eyes narrowed with a dangerous glint.
Whenever Tom met with Helena, he always brought Ravenclaw along and split off a thread of consciousness to stay with her. And somehow Helena acted like she'd unlocked mind reading, immediately picking up on what he'd been thinking.
Tom gave a sheepish smile and didn't respond, choosing instead to focus on the outside world.
"It's freezing. Don't waste time. What's this about?"
"Did you forget something?" Helena narrowed her eyes again.
Tom immediately understood. "The diadem? Of course I didn't forget. I've already found a lead."
"Really?" Helena pressed, "Where is it now?"
"I'll tell you once I retrieve it." He didn't mention that the diadem was sitting in the Room of Requirement. There were things he needed to prepare before claiming it. Once everything was dealt with, he could give her the full story.
"Then hurry." Helena urged him, "With the diadem, you'll improve much faster. Mother's magic is incredible. It keeps you focused without end. As long as you don't remove it, you won't feel tired at all."
Tom nodded. Ravenclaw had already explained the diadem's real effect to him.
Honestly? It was just the basic function of a study space, maybe even weaker. The moment you removed it, all the mental fatigue you'd been suppressing hit you like a tidal wave. Most people wouldn't be able to endure it. Use it too long and you risked fainting… or dropping dead.
Ravenclaw had originally used the diadem to keep her chaotic thoughts in check and focus her mind on the right things. But after being passed down, the rumors had gotten more and more ridiculous to the point that even Helena believed the nonsense.
Just look at Voldemort. The thing clearly did nothing for him.
If it were truly that miraculous, would he really have turned it into a Horcrux and tossed it into the Room of Requirement like trash? He wasn't an idiot. If it actually boosted power, he would've worn it to beat Dumbledore into the ground years ago.
"Don't worry," Tom said, "I'll definitely bring it back. I won't let a Dark Wizard stain my teacher's legacy."
Ravenclaw's phantom form twitched.
'You're the most dangerous Dark wizard alive, you little brat.'
Once Helena was placated, Tom hurried to his next appointment. Ginny had been waiting in the Forbidden Forest for a while and was pouting by the time he arrived.
Did Tom let her get away with that? Of course not.
After a brief but thorough "disciplining" that left her bottom warm and her attitude tamed, Ginny was both content and obedient.
Moving with practiced ease, she slipped into the maid outfit inside the tent, then picked up the gift Tom had brought her — a potion bottle filled with a clear liquid.
"What's this?" she asked curiously.
"Freckle remover," Tom said. "Rub a little on your freckles before bed. They'll fade in ten days or so."
Instead of cheering, Ginny frowned. "Do I need to? I think they're cute."
She even tossed her hair a little, proud of herself. As she got older, her looks had finally begun to bloom. When she'd first started school she'd been pretty average—mostly baby fat. Now she was the kind of girl who made boys stop and stare without meaning to.
Give her a few more years and she'd be a proper beauty, no question.
"Just try them," Tom stressed. Ginny looked reluctant, but she still opened the bottle like a good girl and applied the potion while staring into the mirror.
Lots of people in Britain thought freckles were adorable. To many, they were a sign of health and honesty. But Tom had zero interest in freckles. Pretty was pretty—beauty marks belonged on a beauty's face; put the same dot on someone unattractive and it was just a blemish. A pretty girl without freckles was still a pretty girl, only even easier on the eyes.
...
Once Ginny obediently finished applying the serum, Tom pulled her into his arms. The little witch was soft and warm—perfect human pillow material.
"Oh, right," Ginny suddenly remembered. "Are George and Fred working for you? They've been busy all holiday. I heard them mention something about a delivery."
Tom nodded. "They're pretty talented with alchemy. I've got them producing one of my products."
Now that he had alchemical creatures doing most of the work, the twins' contribution was basically negligible. But because he'd already agreed to work with them, he wasn't going to back out. Might as well let them keep earning.
And, to be fair, the twins had grit. After a few months, they'd already earned three hundred Galleons from him—more than Arthur Weasley's salary.
"They're getting paid that much? You're not losing money, are you?" As expected of an extroverted girl—Ginny's first concern was whether Tom was getting ripped off. If the twins heard her, they'd probably collapse on the spot.
"Relax. There are plenty of suckers lining up to pay for it."
Even the cheapest product was pure profit. What capitalists feared wasn't low prices—just having no customers.
Ginny nodded in sudden understanding. She shifted into a comfier position and fell asleep within minutes. She stayed groggy all the way until the next morning's exams.
After last term's experience, the young witches and wizards had all remembered that exams hit right after the holidays, so no one had relaxed too much over break.
And of course, McGonagall had been in a good mood these past two days. The diagnostic exams ensured the kids didn't come back with completely empty heads. But no matter how much theory they knew, everything still came down to the wand in their hand.
And this was where the Fantasy Draught's effects really showed.
Hogwarts students, boosted by the potion, had noticeably stronger focus and intent while casting. Their overall skill level was already a step above students of past years.
And after two days of exams, everyone looked like they'd shed a layer of skin. Friday was basically a school-wide slump.
Every professor understood—except Snape, who seized the chance to kick Gryffindor while they were down and deducted twenty points.
Half from Harry, half from Neville.
Harry stared at Snape's retreating back, wishing he could shoot a Stupefying Charm straight from his eyes and blast the greasy bat across the corridor.
He suddenly turned to Ron. "When do you think I'll be strong enough to beat Snape? After I graduate?"
Ron blinked. He had absolutely no idea.
Still, he tried. "I mean… probably? Snape keeps trying to get the Defense Against the Dark Arts job, right? Dumbledore hasn't given it to him. Must mean he's not that good."
"That… actually makes sense." Harry's eyes lit up. He'd never thought about it that way.
And with Sirius constantly calling Snape a pathetic weakling—how he'd been bullied by Harry's dad back in school—Harry was starting to believe it. Snape was just a coward hiding behind his Head-of-House badge.
Just a miserable little Potions bat.
Harry quietly set a new goal for himself.
Half a year left of third year… okay. Within the next two and a half years, he was going to punch Snape in the face at least once.
When they passed the entrance hall, Harry noticed a huge crowd gathered at the notice board again. No surprise—another announcement.
The Gryffindor instinct to shove into crowded spaces kicked in. Harry and Ron fought their way forward, pushing past student after student. By the time they reached the front, they'd already heard most of it.
On March 1st, the schools and competitors for the Underage Wizard Dueling Tournament would arrive at Hogwarts. The matches would start on the second weekend of March and last seven weeks, ending in May.
The competition was divided by year; first-years were excluded entirely since they barely knew any spells. So the categories were from second to seventh year, with no separate boys' or girls' brackets.
For the first six weeks, each Saturday would host one year group's tournament to determine that year's strongest duelist. The final week would be the grand finals—no year divisions, challenge anyone you want. But each contestant only got two losses. Lose twice and you're out.
And then came the reward: the overall champion would win one thousand Galleons.
"One thousand?!" Ron's voice cracked, eyes gleaming red with greed. "I'm signing up!"
Harry gave his money-struck best friend a look of deep pity. He didn't say anything discouraging, but he knew perfectly well—
With Tom around, that prize money might as well be given to him now.
.
.
.