— — — — — —
America.
Before this land ever became a nation, before 1776, its coasts were carved up among several colonial powers, mostly British colonies.
Apart from the native peoples at that time, most Europeans who ended up here were convicts sent into exile — and that included wizards.
Some were criminals, others had offended the wrong people and fled here to escape retribution. In short, it was a chaotic mix of all kinds.
Then, as immigration grew, British settlers clustered together and spread Protestantism. The Puritan movement expanded rapidly — and with it came religious hatred toward witches and wizards. The worst of it was the Salem Trials of 1693: when a preacher's daughter fell mysteriously ill, people claimed she'd been cursed, triggering a massive witch hunt that ended with nineteen people hanged and one crushed to death by stones.
But it wasn't just ignorance and hysteria — someone was pulling strings behind the scenes.
They called themselves Purgers — a concept unique to North America, found nowhere else in the wizarding world.
Back then, many notorious magical mercenaries from Europe had been driven to this continent. Some hid their names and lived quietly, but others treated this "New World" as a paradise — a place to indulge themselves completely. They'd do anything for profit, even sell out fellow wizards.
To make money, Purgers would sometimes disguise ordinary Muggles as wizards and hand them over to the church for execution. The Salem incident had their fingerprints all over it.
When the Magical Congress was eventually founded, it took nearly a century of conflict before the Purgers were finally crushed. But a few escaped — and from then on, they became something else entirely: radical, fanatical enemies of magic. They called themselves Purgers still, but now with burning hatred for all wizards.
Their descendants, whether magical or not, were raised to believe that wizards must be eradicated. Their "power" as Purgers wasn't magic — they claimed it was divine judgment granted by God Himself, meant to destroy witchcraft.
Because of these people, North American wizarding society cut itself off completely from the Muggle world — only in recent years had that wall begun to thin.
Tina got caught up in this mess thanks to them.
Not long ago, the newly appointed Director of Magical Legislation, Sam Picquery, proposed a bill aimed at preventing Purger infiltration: every wizard's wand would have to be registered and monitored by the Magical Congress. Any illegal spell cast would immediately trigger detection.
It sounded a bit like the Trace used by the British Ministry, but far stricter — adults included.
Naturally, such an extreme proposal stirred huge controversy. Tina was one of the loudest opponents, and she didn't mince words when arguing with Sam Picquery. She wasn't alone either — she had a whole circle of former Aurors behind her. Thanks to their pushback, the bill stalled.
Of course, that brought retaliation. Using her age as an excuse, they began piling her desk with petty clerical work and meaningless assignments. With her temper, Tina wasn't about to put up with that. She quit outright.
After telling the story, Newt sighed. "Maybe it's for the best. She's not young anymore. Getting dragged into another dangerous political fight—if something went wrong, she might not make it out."
Newt might be awkward and soft-spoken, but that didn't mean he was naive. He just didn't bother with politics or manipulation — he saw through it all and chose not to play the game. The only reason Dumbledore ever convinced him to get involved back in the day was because Newt chose to. Just like Tom now, Newt knew the young boy's tricks.
"Picquery…" Tom repeated the name thoughtfully. "As in Seraphina Picquery?"
Seraphina Picquery — the President of MACUSA who had captured Grindelwald herself, earning immense fame and holding office for nearly twenty years before retiring.
Newt nodded slightly. "Sam's her nephew."
"The Picquery family, huh," Tom murmured.
"Tom... There's no right or wrong here," Newt said gently. "They just stand on different sides of the same issue. I'll take Tina out for a few days, get her to relax. She's finally retired — surely you're not thinking of dragging her back to work?"
Tom grinned. "Oh, I don't care about right or wrong either. If Grandma Tina wanted to quit, that's fine. But being forced out? That's a different story."
Tom had learned that lesson early, back when he was still in a regular school before Hogwarts.
You protect your own. It doesn't matter who's right. What matters is loyalty — and proving it when it counts. Tom did that for Seth, and Seth did the same, even when they were just kids. And now, it was the same...
Newt sighed again, realizing he wouldn't win this argument. "Anyway… forget that for now. I went through a lot of trouble to bring you the panda. Don't tell me you're not taking it?"
A clear attempt to change the subject — and Tom knew it. Still, he played along. "Of course not! I've been waiting forever."
Newt set down a small case, opened it, and out rolled two chubby black-and-white balls of fluff — one big, one small — tumbling adorably onto the floor.
"Two of them?" Tom said in mock surprise.
Newt squinted suspiciously. "Why do I feel like you're not actually surprised?"
He'd deliberately kept it a secret that he'd managed to bring two pandas back — wanted to see Tom's reaction. And sure, Tom looked delighted… but something about it felt a little performed.
"Who says I'm not thrilled?" Tom said quickly, pulling out a bundle of tender bamboo shoots he'd prepared in advance.
The two round furballs were still blinking in confusion when they caught sight of the bamboo — and immediately waddled over, bumping into each other as they went.
Tom smiled faintly. Ever since he'd tapped into the power of time, he'd realized how dull omniscience could be. He'd already seen this moment the night before — Newt returning with two pandas, his own excitement. But seeing the future once had dulled the feeling; now he could only fake enthusiasm.
No wonder beings who live forever or see all things lose their humanity. When nothing can surprise you, emotion fades away.
The pandas, meanwhile, seemed born to be pampered. Not even a hint of fear or caution in their new environment — they just plopped down and made themselves comfortable.
Newt explained that researchers had found them in the wild — the smaller one was two years old, the larger one nine, a mother and daughter pair.
Tom named them right away: Pearl for the mother, Daisy for the daughter.
...
It was interesting to note that the reason Newt had been gone nearly a month was that he'd stayed to learn from the researchers how to properly care for them.
Only after he passed their assessment did they agree to hand the pandas over — on the condition that Newt personally train Tom first.
It was a privilege only someone like Newt Scamander could earn.
And when Newt gave his word, he kept it. Besides, it served another purpose — to keep Tom's mind off Tina's resignation. Over the next few days, he spent hours each day teaching Tom everything about panda care.
These creatures were precious and delicate, and caring for them came with a hundred tiny rules. Tom took it seriously—he filled an entire notebook with Newt's advice and reviewed it every night before bed.
He was good that way. Even if he had moments of arrogance, he never pretended to understand what he didn't, and he never dismissed the experience of someone who knew better.
That humility was one of the reasons both Newt and Nicolas liked him so much. Most prodigies got arrogant, convinced their talent made them untouchable. They stopped listening. Stopped learning.
Tom wasn't like that.
Probably because every time he did get cocky, Andros's massive Susanoo smacked him back to reality. Hard to get too full of yourself when you've been literally slapped by reality.
Of course, Tom hadn't forgotten about his current trial either. Part of it involved testing Pearl's eating habits—and wow, was she a powerhouse. Her appetite was even bigger than expected. Just the bamboo shoots alone? She could eat seventy pounds a day. Add meat to the mix, and it went up even more. And that was with bamboo being tougher to chew than meat.
Honestly, Tom suspected her limit wasn't about fullness at all. She just… got sleepy. Halfway through a meal, she'd simply stop, set her food aside, and curl up for a nap.
Tom could only stare. "Guess eating's an all-day event for you, huh?"
— — —
Massachusetts — inside a lavish manor.
The first thing Andrew Vole, head of the Vole family, did after returning from a business trip was summon his daughter, Cassandra, to the sitting room.
At forty, Andrew was in his prime—sharp, commanding, the kind of man whose presence filled a room. Under his and his father's leadership, the Voles had climbed to the upper ranks of North America's pureblood families. Every move he made radiated power.
At home or in public, his image was always the same: strong, confident, untouchable.
Usually, Cassandra felt a stab of dread every time she faced her father's stern gaze. But today, looking at him glowering in the high-backed chair, she felt surprisingly calm.
Had she grown bolder—or had his aura faded?
"Cassie," he said coldly, "your behavior has been a disgrace. Even my business partners have heard about your humiliation at Hogwarts. Do you have any idea how much shame you've brought on this family?"
"Andrew," her mother, Chloe Vole, cut in, "this isn't all Cassie's fault."
Andrew's hawk-like eyes snapped toward her. "I don't care whose fault it was. What I care about is that Cassie was publicly humiliated by that Riddle boy. Our family's name dragged through the mud."
"It was my own fault," Cassandra replied evenly. "I wasn't strong enough. That's just the truth, and being angry about it won't change anything."
Then she tilted her head, meeting her father's glare. "And maybe if you hadn't given me wrong information—wasn't it you who said Riddle was just some overhyped puppet Dumbledore pushed into the spotlight?"
"Well, turns out I'm not good enough to beat a puppet."
"You dare talk back to me?" Andrew stared at her in disbelief. Never, not once in her life, had Cassandra spoken to him that way.
She inclined her head slightly. "If stating facts counts as talking back, then yeah."
Her composure made Andrew's temper flare. He slammed his hand on the armrest. "The fact is you lost! Stop making excuses!"
"Even Frank Graves wouldn't mess with Riddle," Cassandra said, eyes narrowing. "What do you expect me to do? If you think this is such an embarrassment, then go deal with him yourself."
Andrew snapped, "Fine! Bring him to America and we'll see if he's still so arrogant!"
Cassandra didn't bother replying. She just turned and walked out.
...
Back in her room, she threw herself onto her soft bed with a long sigh.
Meeting Tom had shattered a lot of illusions. Her father, who she'd once thought invincible, was just an ordinary wizard after all. True power had a quality she couldn't quite describe—but when you saw it, you knew.
Tom Riddle and Albus Dumbledore had that same aura. When they stood together, it was obvious—they were equals. The rest of the world? Just background noise.
"That bastard said he'd come to North America…" she muttered into her pillow. "It's already July. What's taking him so long?"
As if in answer, a soft whoosh came from the open window. An owl swooped in, a letter tied neatly to its leg.
Cassandra's eyes widened when she saw the gold-stamped signature on the envelope. Her whole face lit up. She tossed the owl a few crumbs of bread in thanks, then tore open the letter in a rush.
{Do you want to understand the meaning of life? Do you want to truly live?}
{Meet me tomorrow at 9 a.m.Costa Coffee, across from the Woolworth Building.}
{— Tom Riddle}
{P.S. Bring money.}
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