— — — — — —
Cassandra showed up to the meeting a good thirty minutes early. Tom, of course, arrived exactly on time — typical.
"Did you bring the money?" Tom asked the moment he sat down, skipping all pleasantries.
Cassandra blinked at him. "You're that desperate for cash?"
"Desperate doesn't even begin to cover it." Tom nodded solemnly. "I suddenly realized how powerful money is. So my main goal this holiday is to make as much as possible. Wanna be my sugar mama?"
Sugar mama?
The girl's lips twitched upward despite herself. She actually liked the sound of that, but she forced herself to stay composed. "What about Greengrass? Her family is loaded."
"I don't want to take money. I want to make money." Tom waved her off. "Forget it. We'll talk somewhere quiet later. How've you been?"
"Thanks to you, I had a massive fight with my father yesterday."
Cassandra laughed bitterly. She didn't bother hiding her family drama—she just laid it all out for him.
After listening, Tom let out a low whistle. "Wow. Your dad's really fearless in that blissfully ignorant kind of way. Just like you used to be."
That alone was enough for Tom to confirm Cassandra was definitely her father's daughter. If Andrew were standing here right now, Tom would probably gift him the same "Cassandra special" — slammed into a wall and half-buried in plaster.
"Can you not bring that up every time?" she snapped, cheeks heating.
Sure, she could face Tom without shame now, but that didn't mean she'd forgotten her "black history." He had never treated her like a girl back then — just a target for abuse.
"Alright, alright, I'll drop it. So what's your plan? Want me to swing by your place and have a chat with him?"
Cassandra shook her head. "If you want to get thrown into prison by the Magical Congress, go ahead. Underage wizards aren't allowed to use magic in North America."
"Your dad's that shameless? He would actually report me?"
"That's not shamelessness — that's called knowing how to use the rules."
"Then trick him into leaving the country next time. I'll deal with him for you. Five thousand Galleons, family discount."
…Yeah. Cassandra was definitely convinced Tom was broke.
She sighed. "I've got about thirty thousand Galleons in Gringotts. If you really need money, I can lend you some. Just leave my father alone."
Tom's eyes lit up. "Well well, little rich lady, aren't you full of surprises."
Honestly, he'd expected maybe ten thousand tops. This was much better than expected. He suddenly wanted to drag Daphne over and make her take notes. Same kind of heiress, but Daphne's vault was practically empty.
"Come on," he said abruptly.
"What? Where are we going?"
"To show you my treasures."
In the middle of Central Park, Tom picked a secluded patch of woods and cast a Muggle-Repelling Charm. Once the area was clear, he started his grand "weapons showcase."
"This," he said, holding up a necklace, "is a Guardian Necklace. Blocks high-level spells and lets you Disapparate out of danger. Three thousand Galleons. Too expensive?"
"Not at all," Cassandra said honestly. She'd seen single-function pendants sell for that price. Tom's deal was practically generous.
"Next, Fire Ring. Channel your magic into it, and it releases flames and small explosions. I'll demo it—"A flash of fire roared across his hand."The runic circuit's got a limited lifespan, though. Each spell ten uses originally—this one's down to nine. Eight hundred Galleons."
Cassandra didn't even hesitate. She slipped the ring on her finger and admired it. "Not expensive. I'll take it."
"This one's a Cleanse Sigil. Keeps you spotless at all times, and gives off a pleasant scent. What scent do you like?"
"Lilac."
"Uh… no lilac in stock. Lavender okay?"
"That works."
Before long, Cassandra was nearly dizzy from the sheer number of trinkets he showed her — defensive charms, offensive tools, and weird little gadgets that made her eyes sparkle.
She wanted almost everything. Except that pervy pair of x-ray glasses — that one earned a firm ban. She also made him swear not to wear them anywhere near her.
By the time she realized it, Cassandra had spent fifteen thousand Galleons. And that wasn't even the finale.
Then came the real stuff — modified spells. A streamlined Stunner for a thousand. A reinforced Blasting Curse for three. An upgraded Shield Charm for another three.
Tom looked at her with mock sympathy. "Miss Vole, I believe you're broke."
Cassandra nodded faintly, still dazed. She was broke. For the first time in her life, she felt poor.
"You've got stronger spells, don't you?" she asked quietly.
"Of course."
Tom smiled like the devil himself, raised his wand, and pointed it skyward. A streak of blue light shot upward — faster than the eye could follow.
Within seconds, the clear Manhattan sky turned wild — winds howling, dark clouds swirling and colliding until thunder boomed overhead.
CRACK!
A bolt of lightning thicker than a man's arm slammed into a skyscraper's lightning rod. Then another. And another. Ten, maybe more.
"Dismiss," Tom murmured, twisting his wand, and the storm vanished as if it had never been.
Cassandra stood there, utterly speechless. Controlling the weather like that — was that even something a wizard could do?
"Want to learn it?"
She didn't even notice when he stepped up behind her, his breath warm against her cheek.
"This is a variant of the Weather-Modifying Charm. You won't reach my level, of course, but it'll be miles beyond those cute little clouds you summon."
With Thunderbird blood running in his veins, weather control was second nature to Tom — and as fate would have it, Cassandra's favorite magic was also the Weather Charm. Yeah. This deal was meant to be.
Her breathing quickened. She was naturally competitive, and there was no way she could turn down a challenge like this.
"How much?"
"You decide." Tom shrugged casually. "I trust you not to short me. Pay whatever you think it's worth."
That was the thing about proud people — they couldn't stand being thought cheap. The more relaxed he acted, the less likely she was to lowball him.
If it were Snape, he'd toss a single Galleon and say that was more than fair.
Check: Sure enough, Cassandra lifted her chin a little, lips curving. "Give me a bit. I'll have to gather the money."
"No rush. I'll be in North America till the end of the month."
They went together to Gringotts, where Cassandra — under the heartbroken gaze of several goblins — emptied her vault and handed Tom everything. It was payment for all the things she'd bought.
Then she Flooed straight back to Massachusetts to begin training.
Tom, meanwhile, took the elevator upstairs. It was the seventh day — time for his scheduled meeting with Famur.
The goblin was already waiting, ushering him into a meeting room.
Soon after, several other goblins arrived, and Famur began the introductions.
Gringotts had a strange hierarchy. Lower-level workers — door guards, vault keepers — were all roughly equal in status. Each country's branch only had a few true managers.
And at the very top sat the Gringotts Board, seven goblins with equal authority. When disagreements arose, decisions were made by vote.
This time, Famur had brought along three board members and two other regional heads — clearly his faction.
Tom was secretly thrilled. He half-hoped they'd underestimate him because of his age and try something shady. That way, he could "defend himself," walk away with a fat compensation — maybe a few hundred thousand — and the system wouldn't call it extortion.
Unfortunately, these goblins were annoyingly professional. None of them made a move. They just wanted a proper, civilized negotiation.
So Tom had no choice but to play the respectable businessman.
The talks went on from noon until evening. Tom demonstrated his machines and cards, running almost fifty consecutive transactions without a single issue. The goblins were forced to admit the product's stability.
As for the rollout, both sides agreed: even with a one-percent transaction fee, merchants would still jump at the chance.
Currency conversion had always been a nightmare for shopkeepers. The three wizarding currencies had exchange rates based on prime numbers—just making change could give you a migraine.
17 Sickles in a Galleon and 29 Knuts in a Sickle. Good luck using math here.
Tom still remembered his first train ride to Hogwarts. When Daphne tried to buy snacks, it took her five minutes to pick something and the trolley witch fifteen minutes to calculate change.
"Fifty percent!" Famur barked suddenly, face flushing red, his large nose twitching with fury. "That's our limit! Fifty-fifty, twenty-year contract. Mr. Riddle, don't push your luck!"
"Sorry," Tom said, voice calm but cutting, "pushing my luck is exactly what I'm doing."
He smiled thinly. "You've probably already tried to crack it, haven't you? Don't deny it. We both know your reputation. So if you're still sitting here negotiating with me, it means you failed."
He leaned back lazily. "You can't reproduce my tech. Five-year contract, twenty-year contract—it doesn't matter. In the end, you'll still be using my cards."
The goblins' expressions darkened.
Tom's words were too blunt, too arrogant—but completely true.
Over the past few days, Gringotts had gathered its best curse-breakers and top alchemists, poring over one of his cards day and night. They hadn't even managed to crack the outermost protective layer.
One master alchemist had admitted that even with a stockpile of sample cards to experiment on, it would take years of study and enormous expense just to begin reproducing the technology.
This negotiation had never been fair. The goblins didn't realize how desperate Tom was to make money—but he knew exactly how much they needed his monopoly.
"Sixty percent," rasped the oldest goblin in the room, weary but decisive. "That's our final offer. If you refuse, we'll pretend this invention never existed."
Tom thought for a moment, then nodded. "The cards and terminals will be sold at cost," he said. "You pay for the materials. Gringotts gets its own central processor—I'll set it up for you, free of charge."
The old goblin narrowed his eyes. "And what's your cost price?"
"Cards, five Sickles each. Terminals, ten Galleons apiece. The central processor's on me."
The goblins huddled together, whispering and grumbling for a long while before finally agreeing.
---
Meanwhile, Cassandra had arrived back home—only to find her father out. She hurried straight to the back garden, where her mother was reading.
"Mom," she said sweetly, clinging to her mother's arm, "can I borrow some money?"
In front of her mother, Cassandra always reverted to a little girl, all smiles and charm.
"How much?" Chloe asked absently, assuming her daughter just wanted some pocket money.
"Fifty thousand."
Thud!
The magazine slipped from Chloe's hands. She stared at Cassandra, stunned. "Sweetheart, did you just say fifty thousand?"
"Mm-hmm. You heard right."
Chloe blinked, speechless. "What on earth do you need that much money for?"
Cassandra froze for half a second—then Tom's annoyingly handsome face popped into her mind. The words tumbled out before she could stop them.
"To be a sugar mama!"
The garden fell silent. Utterly, painfully silent.
.
.
.