— — — — — —
Monday.
Tom was completely stunned when he opened the pouch and saw the 5,000 Galleons inside.
"Tom, it worked!"
Daphne practically bounced with joy in front of him. "Mom said Astoria's got color back in her face and actually finished a full plate of spaghetti for dinner! She used to only manage a third of that—I was always worried she was starving."
"As expected," Tom replied calmly, though he understood Daphne's excitement. He waited for her to settle down a bit, then shook the heavy pouch in his hand.
"So… what's all this money for?"
"The medicine, obviously," Daphne said like it was the most natural thing in the world.
"That potion is way too valuable to just give away. Mom's already helping you find more ingredients, and she said each bottle should be priced at 5,000 Galleons from now on. Don't say it's too much."
"Oh! And she also said that if you need any specific ingredients, just let her know—she'll gather them all for you."
"And it's not safe to carry so much money around, so she's planning to set up a vault for you. You can just deduct it directly from there."
She fired off everything in one breath, while Tom just… went quiet.
He had a serious question now.
Where the hell did the Greengrass family get their money? She made 5,000 Galleons sound like five Sickles.
It probably involved some deep family secrets—Tom wasn't going to ask. Not because he thought Daphne would refuse to answer, but because he doubted she even knew.
"Daphne," Tom said suddenly, his tone serious.
She blinked, startled. "What's wrong?"
"I told you that potion was a gift. I'm not taking your money."
Daphne opened her mouth, but Tom quickly cut her off.
"I know you're going to protest, but just listen for a second."
Reluctantly, she shut her mouth, looking a little hurt.
Tom continued, "I'm not short on cash right now. I haven't even spent all of what you gave me earlier. Plus, I still have the dragon materials—I can sell them for a good amount."
"If I asked to borrow money, would you lend it to me?" he asked suddenly.
"Of course!" Daphne answered without hesitation.
"Well, same goes for me," Tom shrugged. "Astoria's your sister, which makes her mine too."
"So, as long as your mom can get the ingredients, I'll keep brewing the potion for Astoria. But I'm not taking a single Knut."
"Just remember—those potions build resistance fast. After fifteen to twenty bottles, they stop working."
Daphne was so touched she couldn't even speak. So instead, she acted.
Mua—!
Soft lips landed on Tom's cheek. The second she realized what she'd done, Daphne bolted out of the forest, red-faced and flustered.
...
Meanwhile, when Lady Greengrass received her daughter's letter, she was moved beyond words.
Meeting Tom wasn't just Daphne's blessing—it was Astoria's salvation.
Tom might refuse the potion money, but she couldn't just not give him anything. This summer, she'd make sure Daphne invited him over—and when he came, the vault key would be his welcome gift.
After all, it wasn't payment for the potion anymore—he couldn't possibly turn that down, right?
But that still wasn't enough. Astoria's condition wasn't fully cured yet, and they might need Tom's help again. They had to show real sincerity.
With that in mind, Lady Greengrass pulled out a blank parchment from the cabinet. It wasn't ordinary paper—its edges bore the Greengrass family crest.
...
Three days later
Tom finally witnessed the true efficiency of a noble house.
Every single ingredient he'd requested arrived—plus extra.
Two fresh dragon hearts. Ten sphinx eyes. And the rest of the ingredients—each one delivered in five times the quantity he had originally listed.
Honestly, those two still-warm hearts alone made Tom's skin crawl.
He later found out from Daphne that while their family didn't run a dragon farm themselves, they did hold shares in several pureblood-run dragon ranches. Instead of dividends, they'd just swapped for hearts.
Bloody capitalists.
Tom nearly shed a tear. He'd worked his butt off all summer, and they got what he did with just a few words?
Unfair. He felt a wave of nausea just thinking about it.
"So that's life!"
Well, with this haul, he could brew over a hundred bottles—basically achieving potion independence. With stock to spare, Tom even threw in a full set for Hermione.
In return, Hermione gave him a… lifetime dental care plan?
He wasn't even sure if she meant his lifetime or her dad's, but hey—worth it either way.
Wizards have dental problems too, you know.
Even Dumbledore told him he'd visited Muggle dentists a few times. Said they worked better than some of those disgusting potions.
Tom didn't really have a sweet tooth, but constant mental stress and being squeezed dry by two demanding old men meant sugar was his only reliable energy source. Hermione's gift was actually pretty useful.
...
Time passed peacefully. The castle remained quiet with no major incidents.
Tom's routine was solid—classes, trips to the Forbidden Forest, checking his potions, and trying to bond with unicorns.
He'd found five in total: four adults and one baby, two males and three females.
He ignored the males and focused on befriending the two females—but his efforts were mostly a bust. Thanks to the dragon aura he gave off, they were terrified of him. Most ran the moment they sensed him.
Tom was so annoyed he skipped dinner one night.
Who the hell designed the Twelve Trials to be this unfair? Most magical creatures fear dragonkind, and yet his first reward had to be dragon bloodline?
The only one who didn't fear him was the baby unicorn. And as a true foodie, Tom's bonding strategy was food. Now, at least, the little one was willing to eat herbs and meat he brought over.
Still, it wouldn't let him come closer than three meters. Any closer and it'd bolt. Tom didn't dare chase it either—he didn't want to ruin what little trust he'd earned.
But three meters was enough.
He managed to cast a tracking charm with a built-in alert system on it. If the unicorn was ever attacked, he'd sense it even from inside the castle—no chance of getting ambushed.
Other than the unicorns, Tom was also making real progress in his magic training.
Andros had started teaching him how to cast without a wand.
Now that Tom had dragon blood running through his veins, he was technically half-magical creature. And magical creatures never used wands to cast spells. That lineage alone had enhanced his natural talent for wandless casting—but he was still a long way off from reaching Andros' level.
Grindelwald had once witnessed Andros cast a Patronus the size of a giant—without a wand—and openly admitted it looked more like divine power than magic.
He used to think he was a master of wandless magic. His proudest moment? Subduing the Scamander couple with nothing more than a few hand gestures (from Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them).
But compared to Andros, that was nothing short of child's play.
For once, Andros finally had the upper hand. Though he'd lagged behind in modern magical theory, most of which he was learning alongside Tom from Grindelwald, now he had something even Grindelwald was envious of.
Their relationship was friendly—but as two 'Kings of the Century,' neither wanted to admit the other was better. Quiet competition was always in the air.
To speed up his learning, Tom had activated his Turbo Mode several times. He had enough credits to spare, but Achievement Points were crawling compared to last term.
Not much he could do about that—early achievements are always easier. The further you go, the harder it gets.
His approval rating with Grindelwald was climbing… just painfully slow. It hadn't even hit 5% yet.
That's the downside of Dark Wizards—they rarely truly trust anyone. Sure, under the system's influence, Grindelwald wouldn't harm Tom and would teach him without holding back. But that didn't mean he accepted him, not really.
Which is why Tom had been thinking about finding a third mentor—to speed up his system upgrade.
He even asked the system whether a B- or A-tier teacher would qualify as a proper mentor. The system shot it down immediately. No talents would be granted for anyone below SS-tier.
Those kinds of figures were classified more like teaching assistants. Only a true "King of the Century" counted as a full-fledged mentor—their approval was what really mattered.
So… that idea was dead in the water. Not even an S-tier "once-in-a-generation" genius qualified.
And to recall:
→B-rank: Your average, competent adult wizard – 1 point.
→A-rank: Highly skilled – 10 points.
→S-rank: Once-in-a-generation talent – 100 points.
→SS-rank: Best in a century – 1,000 points.
→SSS-rank: Legendary beyond time – 5,000 points.
— — —
Another week of classes went by. After Potions ended, Tom quietly followed Snape into his office.
Snape, as usual, acted like he didn't even notice him. He went about his usual routine—stacking homework, relighting the fireplace—before finally asking. "Well? What is it this time?"
"I've written a paper," Tom said. "I'd like you to read through it, maybe give me some feedback if anything needs tweaking."
"A paper?" Snape gave him a strange look, as if wondering what kind of mood swing the boy was having.
Still, he didn't doubt Tom's ability. Questioning Tom's skill in Potions would've meant doubting his own teaching. And between a brilliant student and a master-level teacher, Tom had already surpassed most of the wizarding world in Potions.
He just found it odd. Wasn't this boy always obsessed with power? When did he become the academic type?
"Alright, let me see it."
Snape was curious now. Tom handed over a thick booklet—around ten pages long.
{On the Feasibility of Extracting Life-Active Potency from Magical Ingredients.}
Snape frowned at the title.
Did he ever write anything like this in his notes for Tom to study?
Over the next thirty minutes, Tom closed his eyes and rested. The only sound in the office was the flipping of pages… and Snape's expression shifting with each new paragraph, as he parsed every sentence, every claim.
The gist of the paper? Tom proposed a method for extracting the "life-active" elements of ingredients—essentially isolating the purest, most effective parts of a substance. The result: better absorption, less toxicity, and higher-quality potions overall.
Simple in theory, but in practice… it turned potion-making on its head.
Grind, chop, juice—these had always been the core prep methods. But if only the 'life-active' parts were needed, wouldn't that change the recipe entirely?
Would it even be the same potion anymore?
Snape studied the experiment data carefully.
Tom had brewed so many of those strength-enhancing potions lately that he got fed up with how annoying it was to clean dragon hearts. One wrong move and you'd ruin the whole batch.
That's what sparked the idea. Drawing inspiration from modern Muggle extraction techniques, he tried isolating the effective compounds. After two failed attempts and losing almost 40% of his dragon heart stock, he finally succeeded.
The resulting potion? More effective and easier to absorb.
Originally, Tom wasn't even planning to write a paper. But his credit count had stalled, and he figured—why not try earning some points through academic research?
The data and improved efficacy were both real. Snape couldn't find any fault with that.
But he did notice something odd.
Dragon hearts… Sphinx eyes… Why did these ingredients sound so damn familiar?
"Tom Riddle," he said at last.
Tom opened his eyes slowly as Snape narrowed his gaze. "Where did you get these materials? And why didn't you describe the effects of the potion?"
Tom had expected this.
"The potion recipe came to me by chance. As for the ingredients…" Tom smiled awkwardly. "They were sponsored by Daphne—well, the Greengrass family, to be exact."
Greengrass, huh?
Snape's suspicion faded almost immediately. Considering how Daphne was practically glued to Tom's side, it made perfect sense.
If it came from that family, then… not surprising.
Still—damn this kid. Already living off a rich girl at his age? Where's the ambition in that?
Watching Snape's reaction, Tom grew even more curious about the Greengrass family. He decided to just ask.
"Professor, Daphne's kind of clueless about her own family. But… I feel like the Greengrasses are too wealthy. They don't even bother with intermarriages like other pureblood families. How did they grow this powerful?"
Snape gave him a long look.
"Riddle, you've read Cantankerus Nott's Pure-Blood Directory, haven't you? Do you remember how he described the Greengrass family?"
Tom thought for a moment, then recalled the entry.
"'A pureblood ideal… a family that will never fade.'"
.
.
.