What a petty little thing, thought Lady Greengrass, though she kept it to herself. In the end, she still listed the strongest objectors one by one.
Parkinson. Travers. Bathilda Bagshot.
After seeing Lady Greengrass out, Tom repeated the three names under his breath.
So, weeds clinging to age as an excuse, are you? Then I will see to it your families are left with only the elderly, all heirs cut off by my hand.
Such a punishment would be far more terrifying than death. In the wizarding world, the weight of legacy holds much value. For a child, Narcissa dared betray Voldemort. For his son, the law-bound Barty Crouch broke the law itself. For the sake of succession, the Greengrass family endured a thousand years of torment.
If these lines were made barren, the old ones left behind would live worse than death, waking each day to despair. And after that, I will feed them a few draughts of longevity, so these old undyings can better savor the benefits of living too long.
"Old G."
Tom stormed into his study space and yanked Grindelwald in with a glare.
"Swallowed a Blasting Curse?" Grindelwald stared at the scowling boy, baffled.
"If I remember right, Bathilda Bagshot is your great aunt?" Tom looked at him from the corner of his eye.
Grindelwald nodded. "Yes, the old woman is my great aunt. By the numbers she must be a hundred and eighty by now. She has been muttering nonsense since... ages ago. Did she cross you?"
Tom laid out the matter. Grindelwald burst into hearty laughter.
Ariana, hearing the commotion, drifted over. Grindelwald turned to instruct her. "Do you see, Ariana, how rotten this world has become? Fossilized relics like my great aunt hold the right to speak, insisting the wizarding world remain a stagnant pool. Fear of change only breeds stagnation. Without upheaval, there is no rebirth. That is what I once hoped to do with your brother. Sadly, we ended up on opposite sides."
Ariana said nothing. She had met Bathilda Bagshot before. They both lived in Godric's Hollow, and Ariana remembered a kindly old face, but one that launched into lectures every time she appeared. She remembered too how her father had been sent to Azkaban, and a few years later died there.
What crime had he committed? Was avenging his daughter a crime?
Grindelwald was not wrong. The world had grown rotten, and disappointing.
The Obscurus stirred, taking advantage of Ariana's unsteadiness. Tom did not intervene. He only watched in silence. After two long minutes the black, tattered wisps were forced back down.
Ariana beamed at Tom. "Then we should just kill them all."
Grindelwald smiled as well, with the quiet pride of kin watching a girl grow strong.
"My thought was..." Tom explained his method of revenge. Ariana nodded again and again.
"This is better than mine. Tom is really clever."
Grindelwald, however, shook his head with a rueful smile. "Your trick would work on others, but my great aunt? She is already without issue."
Tom blinked. So she was as unselectable as he was, unable to be targeted that way.
A moment later, another idea flashed. "But you are her descendant, are you not, Gellert?"
Grindelwald:
"Tom, aside from a very few, who even knows we are related? And do you think she would care?" He was speechless. This boy truly did not treat him as human. In pursuit of revenge he would even scheme against his own allies. No wonder you entered Slytherin, and honestly you lower even Slytherin's standards.
"Then... academic warfare it is." Tom's eyes gleamed with mischief. "Her life's achievement is compiling A History of Magic. If I drag that book through the mud, I can make her life a misery."
Grindelwald could not listen any longer and slipped away to clear his head. Whatever else Bathilda Bagshot was, she was his great aunt. Plotting her ruin right in front of him, Tom might as well have pretended he was not there.
Tom did not strike back at once. It was not his focus now. The reckoning could wait until after the Order of Merlin was in hand.
Beyond pestering Grandpa Newt every day about the progress with the Niffler, he spent most of his time studying fleshcrafting magic, brewing when he could, and crafting the protective necklaces Bones had ordered. She wanted only the very best, which made the work troublesome. Fortunately, with slimming draughts in hand, Daphne spent her days roaming London with her sister and Hermione, feasting to their hearts' content, leaving Tom in peace to toil.
At last, on the final day, just before Bones arrived to collect, Tom finished the lot by the skin of his teeth.
"You worked hard, Tom." Seeing how tired he looked, Amelia Bones spoke with real apology.
"It is nothing." Tom shook his head. "I was up late for other reasons."
Last night, he had been on a video call telling Gabrielle bedtime stories until past three, when the little one finally slept. Just as he looked to snatch an hour himself, Grindelwald made a new breakthrough. Tom hurried to Nurmengard overnight to help with an experiment, assisting a subject to fuse a Fire-Dragon bloodline.
The result was decent. The subject showed no rejection, the fusion rate was high, and both magic and physique rose by a respectable margin.
But compared with Tom, it lagged behind.
Though he had bathed in dragon's blood, the blood truly fused in him was not from the slain fire dragon. It was the bloodline granted by the Twelve Trials, purer than any living, so pure it surpassed even a true-blood Fire-Dragon. The same way the Thunderbird bloodline, once fused in him, exceeded the king of Thunderbirds.
If this experiment's outcome is scored five points, there remains another five points of room to grow. Perfect fusion will surely be stronger. Grindelwald only needed Tom to refine a good heap of stubborn, refractory materials.