— — — — — —
Growing golden apple trees isn't complicated. Soil, temperature, humidity… none of that really matters. What matters is magic. Energy. Any kind, really. As long as it's energy, these trees aren't picky.
They even come with their own purification system. Feed them whatever, they'll process it. Honestly, they're ridiculously easy to keep alive.
The only catch is the… amount.
They need to absorb a massive amount of energy before they'll flower or bear fruit. Plant one out in the open, like the Whomping Willow on Hogwarts grounds, and let it nibble on loose ambient magic? Then forget about harvesting anything for decades.
Tom's first idea was to extract energy from magical creatures, refine it into nutrient solution, and water the trees with that. Expensive, sure, but he wasn't exactly short on money.
Still, the whole thing felt like he'd be playing the sucker.
So he started thinking about high-intensity energy sources. The first thing that came to mind was the Philosopher's Stone. And then, naturally, Voldemort's little cave lake. It wasn't as concentrated as the Stone, but the volume was enormous.
Two thousand Inferi had been marinating in that water for decades. Add in the runic formations reinforcing it, and that place had to be one of the densest pools of dark energy in the world.
And the best part? Free. Absolutely free.
We're both Tom Riddles, right? You used the lake for decades. My turn.
When Tom explained the golden apple tree's properties and his idea, everyone just stared at him.
He was basically grabbing Voldemort by the ankles and shaking out every last speck of wool.
But they had to admit… it was a good plan.
"You're planning to dig out the whole cave inside your pocket world?" Ravenclaw asked. When Tom nodded, she continued, "Not bad, but you need to handle dark-energy leakage. In the real cave, Voldemort set restrictions that funnel everything into the Black Lake. Your pocket world doesn't have that."
She was right. Tom frowned, thought for a moment, then said, "What if I move the cliff along with it?"
"Your Shrinking Charm is that strong?" Grindelwald's eyes went wide.
Shrinking an entire mountain to fit in a trunk was something he'd never even thought about.
"Uh… I could dismantle it first, then rebuild the mountain," Tom said. "It's just construction. Annoying, but doable."
"I'd suggest you build a proper orchard," Ravenclaw said. "The Black Lake's energy will eventually run out. You need to draw from it and maintain it at the same time. Don't drain it dry."
"Fine. We'll do it your way. Might as well fix everything in one go."
It was already turning into a huge project, so he might as well do it right and avoid headaches later.
And when it came to constructing habitats and ecosystems, Newt was the undisputed master. Tom would need his guidance.
Tom left the study space, adjusted his face and hair in the mirror, and restored his normal appearance.
Showing up after just a few hours looking drastically different? Even an idiot would know something was up. He needed to let the changes appear gradually so the shock wouldn't be too dramatic.
He wasn't worried about secrets leaking. What he feared was young witches throwing themselves at him and disrupting his life.
But he still underestimated things. He could hide his looks. What he couldn't hide was the aura the golden apple had given him.
After he replied to the girls' messages, most of them relaxed. Daphne, however, dragged Astoria over in person.
She'd meant to ask where Tom had gone earlier, but the moment she saw him, she froze. Her nose twitched, and she blurted, "Tom, you smell amazing!"
Then she lunged at him and inhaled like her life depended on it.
"Hey! Sis!" Astoria looked mortified, but once she got close enough, she also took a deep breath and nodded.
He did smell… really good.
Tom was torn between laughing and crying. Were the Greengrass sisters treating him like a cat?
But when they pressed him for answers, he didn't tell the truth. He fed them a harmless excuse instead.
The golden apples weren't even grown yet. And he had no idea whether the girls would undergo similar changes. The higher the expectations, the harder the disappointment would hit.
...
The next morning, Tom brought the well-rested sisters back to the castle. Hermione and the others immediately noticed something different about him. At this point he might as well have turned into some kind of holy delicacy. Every young witch who looked his way had that same strange expression.
---
After History of Magic, Tom headed up to the rooftop. Usaki swooped down from the clouds and rubbed affectionately against his cheek.
He played with her for a bit before giving her a task: deliver the bloodline-fusion potions he'd prepared to Grindelwald.
He'd originally planned to hand them to Rosier yesterday, but Dumbledore had kept pulling him aside to chat. He couldn't just leave Rosier waiting the whole time, so today became a dedicated delivery run.
"Fly slower," Tom said as he tied the dragon-hide pouch onto Usaki's body. "It took forever to perfect these. If you spill a drop, I won't play with you for a month."
Usaki bobbed her huge head quickly, promising compliance. "Wuu wuu wuu~"
Tom had prepared three types of magical-creature bloodlines: fire dragon, basilisk, and kelpie. These weren't for Grindelwald himself but for his subordinates as rewards.
He'd once considered using bloodlines as a kind of currency to motivate the followers of the Acolytes while also boosting their strength.
And like any currency, there needed to be different tiers.
These diluted potions were nowhere near the full version in effect. Worse, if the user didn't take them consistently over a long period, the bloodline would fade. In other words… limited-time trial cards.
If they wanted true growth, if they wanted the bloodline to permanently fuse, they'd have to keep earning, keep drinking, until the concentration reached the threshold where it solidified and no longer needed potion support.
Tom had burned through a lot of brain cells to create these "castrated" versions.
But there were two full-version basilisk fusion potions in the batch, reserved for Vinda Rosier and Gunnar Grimmson. They were Grindelwald's left and right hands. Once they took the potion, their lifespans would extend dramatically and their bodies would recover enough to take more pressure off Grindelwald.
After sending off Usaki, Tom walked down to the first floor and arrived just in time to witness Harry and Draco arguing again.
"Potter, with your skills you dare sign up for the competition? Do us all a favor and stay home. Everyone knows the third-year champion will be me."
"Oh really? Is Daddy going to donate to the school again? Or are you planning to cry for Mommy if they don't let you through?"
"At least I have a mother to cry for. What about you? The only one you can scream for is your godfather. And he's technically my uncle."
The two of them were shoving insults straight into each other's lungs. Their faces were red, necks stiff with fury, but neither dared throw a punch. McGonagall had warned them that if she caught them fighting again, they'd spend the entire term in detention, every single night.
Tom's arrival cut their exchange short. Draco shot Harry a triumphant look, trotted toward Tom like a boot-licking puppy, and put on his best flattering smile.
"Tom, could you tutor me for a bit? I know I won't win the overall championship, but I should at least have a shot at taking the year title, right?"
Harry snorted. "Malfoy, did you forget Hermione signed up too?"
Draco's smile died on the spot.
He really had forgotten about Granger. In his head, Potter was the only rival.
But one of Tom's notebooks had already pushed Harry, Draco, and Zabini ahead of their classmates. Hermione, on the other hand, had Tom's direct instruction. Real, hands-on teaching. How was that a fair comparison?
Draco suddenly felt he didn't stand a chance at all.
For a moment, the shine on his platinum hair seemed to dim. His whole body radiated despair.
"Alright, keep arguing if you want. Just don't drag me into it."
Tom had Ravenclaw breathing down his neck for work. He didn't have time for these two at retail price. He waved them aside and squeezed between them.
...
Late at night, seventh floor of the castle.
Tom arrived at the Room of Requirement. He hadn't come here in a while. Lately he'd gotten used to going straight to Ravenclaw's chambers, but this time he used the normal method, pacing past the wall three times.
"I need a place to hide things."
The smooth door appeared once again. Tom pushed it open, and a glowing orb floated up to light the space.
Mountains of junk filled the room, stacked all the way to the ceiling, easily over thirty meters high. Only a narrow path ran through the middle. If he brushed against a pile, the whole place might collapse like dominos.
Not all of this was deliberately hidden by students. Some were items lost accidentally, which the castle eventually teleported here after a long stretch of being unclaimed. Calling this place a dumping ground wasn't wrong.
Tom didn't go deeper. He stood at the edge of this junk metropolis and flicked his fingers. The piles responded, shifting. Some moved forward, some backward, gliding past his line of sight one by one.
"Good thing you have a control charm," Ravenclaw said helplessly. "If you had to search manually, who knows how long it would take."
The Room had originally been designed with a sorting function, but Helena's incident happened too soon. Ravenclaw herself was dying afterward and never had the chance to finish the upgrade.
Swish
Tom's hand stopped. A smaller stack halted in front of him.
Leaning against a busted old cabinet was an ugly statue of Slytherin. Resting on the statue's head was a faded, tarnished diadem.
"Found it." Tom stepped forward and picked up the rusted crown.
Ravenclaw took one look at it, and her temper flared instantly.
Beside the motto she had engraved "Wit beyond measure is man's greatest treasure", a new line had been added—"Lord Voldemort."
.
.
.