— — — — — —
Fleur had a great time traveling with Tom, but when they returned to Paris, her energy seemed to skyrocket even more.
But as soon as they reached the Delacour house, Tom was immediately greeted by Gabrielle's dramatic pouting and heartfelt complaints.
Not only had he failed to take her on the trip, he'd also whisked away the sister who'd been looking after her all month. The result? One extremely bored little girl. Her days had been split between sitting alone at home—except when someone popped in at noon to cook—or tagging along to the Ministry, where she was alone.
Gabrielle often tried to video call Tom and Fleur, but during the day, they were always off somewhere. She only managed to catch them at night before bed, for a few short minutes.
And every time she heard them talking about the beautiful places they'd seen and the strange people they'd met, her jealousy reached tragic proportions. The poor thing looked ready to cry tears of pure envy.
A month's worth of bottled-up resentment was about to explode today.
Fortunately, Tom had been expecting it. He came prepared with gifts—plenty of them—and a few sweet words that quickly turned her scowl into a smile. By the end, he'd even promised to take her traveling next time.
A flawless combo move—apology, gifts, promise—and he was rewarded with several happy little kisses on the cheek.
Then came the final move— Tom released the pandas.
And just like that, Gabrielle was instantly captivated. She played with them for hours, giggling nonstop, until lunchtime rolled around and Tom finally put them back into his pocket world.
While she napped afterward, Tom quietly slipped out of the Delacour home and headed for the Rosier estate.
There were a few… less public matters he needed to settle before bringing the Greengrass sisters to the Flamel house.
"Lord Riddle."
Vinda Rosier led him into a hidden garden on the estate—one only accessible to her and a few of the Rosier family's most trusted inner circle. Every person present already knew Tom's true identity.
Aside from Vogel, there was also an older man sitting casually nearby.
Unlike everyone else, he didn't rise to greet Tom. Instead, he smiled with a kind of amused calm.
Tom studied him for a moment before speaking. "Gunnar Grimmson?"
The only person in the Acolytes' ranks bold enough to act so casually toward him.
Grimmson's grin widened. "So you are as sharp as they say. No wonder Grindelwald took you as his only disciple. Yes, I'm Gunnar Grimmson."
Tom smiled faintly. "Vinda told me—you were the one who cleaned up the black market mess."
"Hardly worth mentioning," Grimmson said lightly, as if swatting flies. "The pests die, new ones crawl up soon after."
"Then let's skip the pleasantries," Tom said, lifting his hand slightly. "We should fight."
Both Vinda and Vogel froze, staring in shock as Tom gestured toward Grimmson in open challenge.
Grimmson blinked, then burst into laughter. "Ha! I think I'm starting to like your attitude, boy."
He rose, pulling out his wand.
Grimmson wasn't like the other Acolytes. He didn't care about Grindelwald's ideals; he respected only strength. His loyalty was based entirely on power, not faith.
That kind of relationship didn't extend to Tom. To Grimmson, he was just the boss's student—not someone to fear.
He'd helped last time only because Vinda had convinced him that Tom was key to rescuing Grindelwald.
But Tom knew exactly how to deal with men like this. You didn't argue. You beat them—once, twice, however many times it took. And if that still didn't work, you killed them and found someone smarter to replace them.
This fight wasn't just about putting Grimmson in his place. It was also a demonstration for Vinda and Vogel—a reminder that Tom Riddle's worth didn't lie solely in his connection to Grindelwald.
"..."
Vinda and Vogel exchanged a quick glance, then silently stepped back to clear the field.
"No wand?" Grimmson's smile faded. Arrogance he could understand, but this was outright mockery. No one, not even Grindelwald in his prime, had dared face him barehanded.
"No need."
Tom's tone was calm. A second later, black energy exploded from his body like spilled ink, swirling and twisting into a monstrous, chaotic shape.
"An Obscurus?" Grimmson's brows shot up, but then he chuckled.
"What a coincidence. The last time I saw one of those was here in Paris. Riddle, if you think you can beat me with that, you're still too naive."
Tom didn't answer. The black mass surged forward like a living storm.
Grimmson moved smoothly, still wearing that smug smile, and traced a circle in the air. A shimmering, paper-thin barrier of light wrapped around him like glass.
The Obscurus hit a heartbeat later. Grimmson's smile vanished.
Something was wrong.
His magic was draining at a terrifying rate, spilling away faster than he could replenish it. The dark energy tearing at his shield wasn't wild—it was focused, intelligent, and corrosive, devouring everything it touched.
Grimmson might have been old, but his magical reserves were immense. Once upon a time, he could swat away Credence Barebone's Obscurus like it was nothing.
But this… this was different.
The barrier melted faster than he could repair it, and the tide of darkness pressed in closer, eating through every layer until it finally shattered.
The black vortex engulfed him completely.
When it faded, Tom was in the same place, calm as ever.
While Grimmson's immaculate suit was now a pile of tattered rags.
"Was that enough?" Tom asked quietly.
Grimmson turned stiffly, his wrinkled face twisting into a grimace that tried and failed to pass for a smile. "Of course… Lord Riddle. I overestimated myself."
Vinda and Vogel exchanged another look—this time full of shock and awe.
That had been a one-hit defeat.
When Grindelwald gets out, no one on earth will dare to stand against the Acolytes anymore.
But along with their admiration came unease.
The Obscurus was powerful—but it was also dangerous.
When everything finally calmed, Tom sat in the head seat, sipping his tea as if nothing had happened. Vinda couldn't help asking, "Lord Riddle… your body…?"
"The Obscurus doesn't affect me," Tom said simply. "It won't shorten my life."
"That's… a relief."
Vinda let out a slow breath, tension easing from her shoulders.
Tom set down his cup. "Before I left New York, I looked through Solen Caruso's memories. She didn't know much, but what she did know was interesting."
Vinda's eyes flashed with killing intent. "What are those criminals' descendants planning?"
Tom tilted his head slightly, his voice half amused, half thoughtful. "Wizards might refuse to admit it, but Muggles are influencing us more and more. America's basically the strongest superpower now—not just the Muggles are proud of that. Even wizards there think they deserve more authority and status."
He paused, his lips curling faintly. "The Magical Congress wants to replace the International Confederation, to become the world's new arbiter of order."
Grimmson stared at him like he'd just heard a fairy tale. "They think they can pull that off? Pure fantasy."
"That's why they're doing it in secret," Tom said with a smirk. "The Caruso family's hedging their bets as usual… though Solen definitely had a thing for Laos."
"But that little entanglement helped push things to where they are now."
He went on to summarize the intelligence he'd gathered.
North America was a web of factions, each with its own ambitions. The Carusos and the Graves family were nominally allies, but only on paper. In truth, they were both scheming behind each other's backs.
Right now, the Graves family held more influence, so the Carusos were trying to leverage the once-powerful but now-declining Wilkinsons—who still had enough strength to matter. That connection led them to the surviving remnants of the Acolytes.
Solen knew plenty about her own family's dealings, but not much about what the Magical Congress itself was planning.
Still, there was one crucial thing she did know.
The "Wand Regulation Act" proposed by Sam Picquery wasn't meant to counter the Purgers at all—because the Purgers were already working with the American Magical Congress.
"What?" Vogel looked stunned. "They're allied? Those two are mortal enemies!"
His disbelief was plain, but Vinda and Grimmson, though surprised, managed to stay composed.
Vinda said evenly, "Old grudges are cheap currency. If the hatred keeps festering generation after generation, sure, it burns hotter—but the Purgers and wizards haven't fought a real war in decades. Power's no longer balanced. The younger ones probably don't even remember why their ancestors hated each other."
"People will always put profit before pride. Cooperation makes perfect sense."
"Apparently, the Department of Mysteries in the American Congress found some kind of ancient ruin," Tom said quietly. "That discovery became the basis for their alliance. But what's actually inside the ruin… even the Carusos don't know. The headmaster of Ilvermorny might."
"Agilbert Fontaine?" Grimmson nodded. "A capable man. He once invited me to teach at Ilvermorny, you know. I declined, of course."
Tom leaned back in his chair. "North America's still in the preparation stage. Whatever trump card they're hiding, we'll find out soon enough."
He absently ran a thumb along the silver bracelet on his wrist. "And what about that vampire? Haven't heard anything lately."
Vinda smiled. "The French Ministry sent two vampire families to hunt it down. Its infection ability's been neutralized, so it's much weaker now. They haven't caught it yet, but it's only a matter of time."
Tom blinked in mild surprise.
Well, the French Ministry wasn't as stupid as he thought. Let monsters handle monsters—smart move.
"Try to get that vampire for me," he said lazily, stretching his arms until his joints cracked like snapping twigs. "I've taken an interest in it. Oh, and send me the list of the families who still have bounties on my head. It's been long enough—I think it's time we settled things."
"Yes, sir."
...
After spending the night at the Rosier estate, Tom caught a flight to Sicily, Italy.
He landed the next morning and surveyed the misty plains before him.
"This is it," he murmured. "No doubt about it."
Colors shimmered faintly in the air, threads of magic rippling through the landscape. To any ordinary eye, it was just a desolate marsh—but Tom knew he'd found the right place.
He first cast a wide-range anti-Apparition barrier to make sure no one could escape. Then the tip of his wand glowed gold as he slashed it through the air.
The very space before him tore open like fabric being ripped apart. A warning bell rang somewhere inside the illusion, and the truth revealed itself—two sprawling Gothic castles stood side by side in the distance.
A series of sharp cracks filled the air as wizards Apparated in rapid succession. When they spotted Tom, a few of them flinched, though they tried to hide it quickly.
"Don't bother pretending," Tom said with a knowing smile. "Lombardi family, right? You already know why I'm here."
"Riddle, you're far too arrogant!"
A middle-aged man stepped forward, snarling. "You filthy mudblood brat—you think you can threaten us? You're dead!"
Tom raised an eyebrow. "Good thing I understand Italian, or I might've missed that lovely insult."
Without another word, he pressed both palms to the ground.
"Shadow Crash."
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