— — — — — —
It didn't take Tom long to figure out how to improve the design. In fact, he came up with not just upgrades, but also ways to optimize it in reverse.
"Alright, let's try it a few more times."
He raised his wand again to test and see if there were any more flaws. Daphne was having a great time with it too—she didn't find it boring at all.
On the second test, she waited until the wand flew far away before summoning it back. For the third test, she let it completely land in Tom's hand to gauge how much force it could withstand.
Honestly, if it weren't for Tom's freak body, no regular wizard would've been able to hold on to it. His strength was way beyond that of an adult.
Finally, they tested the max summoning range—500 meters.
Anything beyond that and the wand just wouldn't respond. Even at the edge of that distance, the wand's returning speed noticeably weakened.
Tom jotted down a few more notes. Then he carefully removed the bracelet from Daphne's hand—though she clearly didn't want to give it up. Only after he promised to make her an even prettier more perfect one did she finally smile again.
Since there was still time, Tom got to work refining the design.
---
At six in the evening, Lady Greengrass returned from the Ministry, right on schedule.
That was the nice thing about the wizarding world—commuting took practically no time at all. If you were skilled, you just Apparated. If not, there was always Floo Powder.
Either way, you could get home in seconds.
...
After dinner, Tom brought the upgraded bracelet to Lady Greengrass in her study and walked her through its features and how to use it.
"This is a clever idea," she said as she examined the bracelet. "Perfect for patrol or strike teams. A 500-meter recall range is nothing to scoff at. You could respond to almost any emergency and get your wand back instantly. That kind of versatility makes it really valuable."
Beyond just the Disarming Charm, a lot of spells in the wizarding world packed serious force—enough to knock a wand out of someone's hand. So this invention of Tom's was both clever and practical.
"What's your plan for it? And what about the cost of duplication? If someone can easily copy the design, that could be a problem. You'd need to take steps to protect it."
Lady Greengrass didn't really know much about alchemy; it definitely wasn't her field. But she wasn't clueless.
If the tech was advanced enough to be hard to copy, promoting it would be a lot easier. If not… then they'd have to rely on laws and influence to keep copycats in check.
If it were easy to copy, then forget Britain—or even Europe—just the folks in China alone would crank out a cheaper version for the public, like always, and steal the idea.
So they had to rely on the law. Kind of like Portkeys. They weren't that hard to make, but the Ministry banned them because of how easily they could be abused—for smuggling, avoiding regulations, and so on.
Tom thought for a moment, rubbing his chin. "In terms of difficulty… it's moderate. I'd say there are maybe five people in the whole of Britain who could actually replicate it."
"With such a small pool of candidates, it'd be easy to trace any knockoffs. If someone copies it, we'll just show up at their door," she said calmly.
Tom had never taken alchemy that seriously before. He only studied it as a hobby, something like reading fanfics in your free time.
But over the past few days, he'd been going all out—between meditation sessions, enhanced training mode, and his own exceptionally powerful soul, he was learning faster than most people could dream of.
Hogwarts didn't even start teaching alchemy until sixth or seventh year, and barely anyone elected to take it. Most students graduated without even scratching the surface.
So when Tom estimated only five people could duplicate his work, he was even including those born into old pure-blood families with a strong tradition in the craft.
"Good," Lady Greengrass nodded, clearly relieved. "That'll make things much easier. I'll speak with Bones tomorrow—try to get you an official order from the Ministry."
"Bones… you mean the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement? Amelia Bones?" Tom asked.
Lady Greengrass nodded. "Mm-hm. She is the aunt of your friend, Susan Bones."
"...I see!"
Tom frowned a bit. "But shouldn't we go through the Auror Office then? I think Scrimgeour's the current Head?"
At that name, a look of barely disguised disdain flickered across Lady Greengrass's face.
"You're not wrong— Rufus Scrimgeour is technically the Auror Office's Head. But honestly? He's all bark, no bite. Sure, he comes across as tough and righteous, but beyond that? Completely useless. No real allies in the Ministry, either."
"If we approached him directly, he'd probably come up with all kinds of excuses to buy your things at a low price—claiming it's for the Ministry's budget or some nonsense like that. Realistically, he just wants to make himself look good."
"Bones is technically his superior, so having her make the decision will keep everything clean and aboveboard."
Tom didn't know much about the inner workings of the Ministry—just a few key names here and there. But since his future mother-in-law said so, he mentally crossed Scrimgeour off his list of potential collaborators.
Funny thing was, back in his past life, when he read the original books, he'd actually felt a bit of admiration for the guy—for being the kind of hardliner who refused to reveal Harry's location even under pressure.
Turns out that guy was just Toothless.
Having principles is great, but if you don't have the skills to back them up, it's a recipe for disaster. People like that often cause more harm than good—and worst of all, you can't even stay mad at them, because they meant well. But it still discourages everyone who works with or supports them.
Just look at Dumbledore—how many times did Hagrid mess things up under his watch? And Dumbledore still had to keep covering for him.
"Selling to the Ministry sounds good and all," Tom said, "but I still want to open a shop in Diagon Alley too—make it available to regular witches and wizards."
Academic bonus was tied to how much impact your work had. If product sales could also earn him credits, then it probably depended on things like name recognition and market share.
Lady Greengrass nodded. "That's easy enough. But can you manage the supply chain on your own?"
Tom chuckled. "Come on, how many wizards are even in Britain? And of those, how many can afford or even need one of these? If I put in a bit of work up front, I'll have more than enough stock."
He then handed her a parchment scroll. "Here's the list of materials I'll need. You might be able to help source them at better prices."
The two of them then discussed Tom's ideas for the shop layout and features before he finally left the study.
...
The next day, Tom began brewing an elixir of life for Astoria.
The ultimate principle of alchemy was equivalent exchange. The Philosopher's Stone was essentially a massive store of magical energy—it transformed magic into life force, which closely mirrored the idea of balance in alchemy. That's why so many considered it the pinnacle of the craft.
But it wasn't perfect.
For one thing, the Philosopher's Stone could only transmute specific materials—silver to gold, rocks to iron ore, things like that. It wasn't a universal solution.
And its so-called 'equivalent exchange' wasn't entirely true, either. For example, the Elixir of Life could grant Immortality—but not a true one. It could prolong your years, but not stop you from aging. The life force it created lacked vitality.
It was only through Nicolas Flamel's deep pharmacological knowledge and rare herb combinations that he managed to delay the aging process.
But even that couldn't hold up for six centuries. At this point, the Flamels were probably more fragile than a bag of crisps.
Astoria's condition, however, was different.
She didn't need centuries—she just needed more time. So they didn't need to be overly picky. Even if the quality wasn't perfect, it didn't really matter.
...
Tom's first attempts at brewing the potion weren't exactly good. According to Flamel, an average Elixir of Life should last about three months per dose. Tom's early brews? Barely one and a half, maybe two months at best.
But after a few batches, he started getting the hang of it. His potions eventually stabilized to the three-month standard.
After making ten doses, Tom stopped. There wasn't any urgent need to stockpile them—they didn't have an expiration date anyway. For now, he was just practicing.
The Elixir of Life was considered one of the most difficult potions in magical alchemy, but working on it gave Tom a much deeper understanding of potion-making as a whole. He even came up with a few new theories and jotted them down—maybe he'd write a paper on them later.
At this point, Tom was borderline obsessed with publishing his research. As long as he kept racking up 3,000 credits every month and unlocking one "Turbo Mode" per day for free, he could seriously fast-track his growth.
---
That evening, Tom finally met a guest at the Greengrass estate for the first time.
A stern-looking woman, dressed immaculately and with not a hair out of place, arrived alongside Lady Greengrass.
"Tom," Lady Greengrass said with a warm smile, "let me introduce you. This is Amelia Bones, Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. She came today to talk about your 'Anti-Disarm Bracelet'."
"Nice to meet you, Ms. Bones," Tom greeted politely.
Bones was striking—blonde like the Greengrasses, but with a no-nonsense aura that reminded him of a younger Professor McGonagall. Despite her stern expression, she returned Tom's greeting with a respectful nod.
"Mr. Riddle, I've heard quite a bit about you from my niece, Susan. She said you're the most outstanding first-year at Hogwarts. But after meeting you, I think she might've underestimated you."
"Well, technically, she couldn't be wrong about me," Tom said with a smile.
"Indeed, Mr. Riddle." Bones paused for a moment, then chuckled and nodded.
It had been a long time since anyone joked with her like that. Even her own family treated her like she was some terrifying authority figure.
"Alright, enough chatter. Let's eat first," said Lady Greengrass. "You can talk business after dinner."
At the table, the two women chatted about Ministry affairs while Tom was... being fed by the Greengrass sisters.
At first, it was just Daphne feeding him. But eventually, Astoria decided she wanted to help too. After all, she'd been taking Tom's potions every day, listening to his bedtime stories every night... and felt like she wasn't giving anything back. So, after a lot of thinking, she decided to follow her sister's example and become a "feeder" as well.
Thankfully, Tom ate fast and a lot—just enough to keep them both busy.
Amelia Bones couldn't help but stare at the odd scene, shooting a look at Lady Greengrass.
The latter gave a helpless smile and whispered, "I don't interfere with kids' business anymore. And right now, Tom is Astoria's only hope."
Amelia's eyes widened, then glanced at Tom—who sat there like a pampered prince.
She'd known the previous generation of Greengrass sisters back in school; she had been their upperclassman and was on good terms with both of them. And she also knew the truth about the blood curse. So she understood exactly what that "hope" meant.
Amelia gave a subtle nod. Quietly, she said, "As long as the product meets our requirements, I'll make sure the Ministry places an order."
"Thank you, senior," said Lady Greengrass.
The two middle-aged witches exchanged a knowing smile.
After dinner, Tom and Amelia Bones headed to the basement, where a private training room had been prepared for the demo.
"Point your wand at the bracelet and channel your magic to bind it," Tom instructed.
Bones followed his instructions without trouble, and Tom walked her through how to use it. For someone of her skill, it was a piece of cake.
After a few practice runs, they even engaged in a brief, live duel. Amelia was surprised at how stable the bracelet remained, even under real combat conditions. By the end, she was clearly impressed.
"Mr. Riddle," she said, "your Anti-Disarm Bracelet performs flawlessly. It meets all the core requirements of the enforcement division. Now, I just need to know—how many can you produce, and how are you pricing them?"
Tom had already prepared his answer. "Each bracelet is priced at 100 Galleons. I can deliver 200 units before the start of term."
"But I should mention—each bracelet has a finite charge. After about 100 uses of the recall function, the internal runes start to wear down, making it essentially unusable."
Amelia frowned slightly.
100 Galleons wasn't bad—but if it only lasted 100 uses, that made it a consumable. Basically, one Galleon per recall?
Still, losing your wand in the middle of a battle could be fatal. Each use could mean the difference between life and death. And compared to the cost of training an Auror or Hit Wizard, the expense was negligible.
Especially for Aurors. Hogwarts had been churning out weaker graduates with every passing year. They were already facing a major talent shortage. Losing a single Auror was a serious blow.
With that in mind, Amelia Bones didn't haggle. She simply said she'd give her official response in three days and took her leave from Greengrass Manor.
"Three days, huh?"
That worked out perfectly—Tom was heading to the U.S. on the 15th, so this wrapped things up just in time.
He filled Lady Greengrass in on the outcome of the meeting, then headed back to his room.
The sisters were already tucked in bed, staring at him expectantly.
Tom sighed, resigned. He took a quick shower and came back to resume his nightly duties—storytime for the girls.
At this rate, he felt like he could publish an entire book.
{One Thousand and One Nights, Greengrass Version.}
How's that for a title?
.
.
.