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Egypt - Cairo
In June, London was only just slipping into summer. Daytime highs hovered around twenty-four or twenty-five degrees, making it one of the most comfortable stretches of the year.
Egypt was a different story. June here meant full-blown summer. Ground temperatures above forty degrees were nothing unusual. The sun beat down on the golden land, and the faintest breeze kicked up dust until the air itself seemed to shimmer and warp from the heat.
Tom and Hermione strolled down a Cairo street hand in hand, both wearing wide-brimmed straw hats. Even the drifting dust seemed to know better than to cling to them, parting around their steps.
And their hats weren't normal. They kept their body temperature steady and blocked UV rays—side products of Tom's research into making space survival practical for wizards, conveniently repurposed for vacation.
Compared to London's dense mix of modernity and leftover Elizabethan architecture, Cairo looked underdeveloped. Even so, the Islamic aesthetics that dominated the city had their own striking artistic beauty—especially here in the old quarter, where Cairo's charm was laid bare.
This was Khan el-Khalili, the most iconic bazaar in the Middle East, sprawling through dozens of narrow alleys with over fourteen centuries of history behind it.
After winding through the lively market, Tom stopped in front of a shop whose sign was on the verge of falling off.
"Think this is it. Come on."
He led Hermione across the street, pulled open the door, and stepped forward. It felt like passing through a waterfall. Instead of entering the shop, they emerged onto an even older street.
"Whoa…"
Hermione's eyes went wide as the amazement slipped out of her.
Everything was brilliantly strange. The buildings were made entirely of white stone, the ground was white stone too, spotless and gleaming. Shops lined both sides, stacked with everything from clothes to strange trinkets. Small vendors led camels down the road, each sitting cross-legged on a carpet in front of piles of bizarre goods Hermione couldn't even name.
"This is the Heka Corridor," Tom said with a grin. "Biggest wizard gathering spot in North Africa. Egypt's bigger than Britain, and its wizard population's bigger too. But because the country's not evenly developed, most wizards end up living around Cairo. Add in wizards from a bunch of neighboring countries, and it gets way busier than Diagon Alley. We could lose a few days here easily."
Hermione's face lit up. "I already want to start shopping. As long as we register with the Ministry first, we're free to explore, right?"
They'd traveled to Egypt the Muggle way, but most places they planned to visit were magical territory. Registering kept them from being counted as illegal entrants.
"Not the Ministry," Tom corrected her. "Gringotts."
He pointed ahead. In the center of the Corridor stood a massive building. It dwarfed everything else around it, in both height and size.
"That's Gringotts…?" Hermione stared. "Why would foreign wizard registration go through them?"
Tom was already walking. "Because this is Egypt. It used to be the headquarters of Gringotts. Goblins have way more authority here than in Britain. Working for Gringotts is every Egyptian wizard's dream future. From birth to death, nobody escapes its influence."
"So eventually the Ministry just gave up and handed over most of its power. They keep a shell of respectability and that's it."
Hermione quietly followed, feeling like her worldview had just been smashed to pieces.
The Ministry… controlled by goblins?
It sounded ridiculous, but it was reality. Egypt hadn't produced a powerful wizard in years, and goblin influence grew stronger every day. And with money calling the shots and generations of slow cultural drift, Egyptian wizards no longer saw anything unusual about it.
If the pay was steady—and better every year—who cared who the boss was?
...
They walked toward Gringotts while merchants shouted and haggled. Hermione mentally bookmarked several shops to return to after they registered.
They even passed the local enforcers. Each wore a flowing white robe embroidered with gold at the sleeves and a golden Galleon symbol: unmistakably Gringotts personnel. None carried wands—classic Uagadou spellcasting, all hand gestures.
After about fifteen minutes, they reached the doors.
Gringotts' entrance was shaped like an enormous balance scale. The left tray served as the entrance, the right as the exit. Everyone had to stand still for a moment—only after the guard nodded could they proceed.
Tom and Hermione stepped onto the entrance tray. The base lit up with a sharp red glow.
"Foreigners, huh?" The goblin at the desk didn't even glance up. "Right side after you enter, second floor, queue for registration."
Hermione took a step, but Tom's hand closed around her wrist, stopping her.
His voice was cool and flat as it cut through the noise to the goblin's ears, "I'm Tom Riddle."
That's it.
A few minutes later, Tom and Hermione were respectfully escorted by two goblins into a luxurious lounge, where a house-elf immediately served tea and pastries.
In the wizarding world, Tom was absolutely a celebrity—exactly the sort that would make even Lockhart jealous.
And his fame wasn't just local; it stretched across the globe, especially in Europe and North America. Among the living, he was basically top-tier, second only to Dumbledore.
Not that anyone could help it—Dumbledore had spent decades developing his reputation. His name was printed in countless textbooks; surpassing that wasn't exactly easy.
Still, Tom's rise was far more explosive than Dumbledore's had been back in his day.
And among goblins, Tom's reputation actually outstripped Dumbledore's. Every Gringotts goblin knew that this not-yet-adult wizard was despicable, cunning, greedier than a goblin, and drained wallets harder than a vampire.
He possessed more wealth than countless pure-blood families and had even seized control of the British branch of Gringotts, loudly proclaiming he might start his own bank.
And even so, the goblins both loved and hated him—because he could make them money, and because he made wizards actually spend their money in Gringotts.
So right now, Tom was the goblins' most hated yet most distinguished guest.
...
Tom and Hermione didn't wait long before an elderly goblin in a suit brought in registration documents. With the two cards in hand, they could travel through all of Africa without any obstacles—not just for this trip, but forever, without ever needing to register again.
"Mr. Riddle, would you like us to arrange lodgings for you?" the old goblin asked warmly.
"No need."
Tom shook his head, put away the cards, and led Hermione toward the door. Halfway there, he abruptly paused, turned around, and looked at the goblin.
"Ahem... I'm planning to bring a few souvenirs back. You've dug up enough pyramids that your stockpile shouldn't be small, right?"
Egypt might be poor, but its riches were truly rich—countless heirloom treasures. Tom didn't need magical artifacts or anything powerful. As long as it looked good and was pretty, he'd take it.
The old goblin was pleased; looked like a big transaction had just walked in. He called several goblins in from outside and sent them to fetch suitable items, while he stayed behind to entertain his guests.
Originally he'd planned to escort Tom straight to the vaults, but quickly thought better of it.
Riddle was terrifyingly strong. Goblin-forged anti-magic armor might as well be made of paper in front of him. The goblin guards who'd died in the British Gringotts were all the evidence needed.
What if he saw the mountains of treasure piled up inside and got ideas? The five dragons they kept in the vaults wouldn't stop him. Better to bring the stuff out here where it was safer.
Tom had no idea his reputation among goblins had sunk this low.
Was he the type to snatch things by force?
If he saw something he liked, they could just sell it to him—problem solved!
While Tom enjoyed his vacation, the world kept moving—it didn't pause for anyone.
---
Britain - Ministry of Magic
"What? This is the plan you came up with?"
Fudge stared at Crouch and Ludo Bagman standing before him. "Pack the entire hosting rights for the World Cup and hand it over completely to Astra Abyssum?"
Even though Fudge's authority had been massively weakened after his clash with Tom, he was still the Minister. Bones and the others weren't going to tear things apart openly. As long as disagreements didn't get too serious, the Ministry still more or less ran according to Fudge's will—maintaining a respectable façade.
"Minister, this is the most economical option," Crouch reported. "Our current funding situation is not ideal. If our own people handle everything—venue preparation, Muggle-repelling charms, campsite organization—all of it together… our staff are already exhausted."
"The budget is gone. We still need at least another three hundred thousand Galleons to finish the job."
Five hundred Ministry employees had already been working nonstop for a year, and when the time came, at least ten thousand witches and wizards would be pouring in from around the world. Everything so far was vastly insufficient.
Technically, all this was Bagman's responsibility since he was Head of the Department of Magical Games and Sports—but anyone with eyes knew Bagman's level. Fudge never listened to him anyway.
"No, wait!"
Fudge suddenly realized something. "If we hand everything to Astra Abyssum, how do we split the profits afterward? We can't just let all the money we've spent go down the drain, can we?"
"Ticket revenue still goes to the Ministry," Crouch replied. "What Mr. Riddle wants are the other related profits: broadcast rights, merchant stalls, management fees, and so on."
Fudge's pig-like brain started overheating.
Was it better to outsource everything, or keep pouring Ministry money into it?
He couldn't figure it out.
Ludo Bagman stepped forward to persuade him. "Minister, the Astra Abyssum Guild already works with major Quidditch clubs, and they really do have the advantage here. I don't think there's anything to hesitate over. Half the Ministry staff are sick of overtime by now."
'Especially since there wasn't any overtime pay.'
"Oh, right," Crouch said, feigning a casual reminder. "I ran into Lady Greengrass earlier. She said Mr. Riddle wants to use the World Cup to promote the Lume-Lens. He's been hoping to speak with you personally, but since he's currently traveling… by the time he returns, there may not be enough time left."
The moment Fudge heard Tom's name, his eyes suddenly cleared.
He sobered instantly.
"Then do it your way," Fudge said, flourishing his quill and signing his name on the parchment. "I have only one requirement: the Ministry must not lose money. Even if we don't make a profit, the initial investment has to be recovered."
"I'll put that into the contract," Crouch nodded seriously, then left with the documents, satisfied.
...
Tom's goal was simple: expand his influence. Both the Astra Abyssum Guild and Elaina Workshop needed a showcase like the World Cup. And if he had new products ready by then, the Cup would double as his product launch event. His mission progress would shoot up.
And, of course… he could make a nice chunk of money on the side.
Tickets could only earn so much. Broadcast rights and merchandise were where the real profits were.
.
.
.