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[Hogwarts] Ch 199: Political Donations
🕑 Added 2025-09-07 15:57:59 +0000 UTC— — — — — —
"How's your holiday so far?"
Tom and Cho had already set up this lunch date before the holiday started, but he'd been so busy fixing up his new house that he hadn't checked in with her much. Other than confirming the time, he didn't know what she'd been up to lately.
Cho tilted her head, thinking for a moment before answering. "Much easier than school. The first few days were great—I hit almost all my favorite shops and restaurants. But now it's starting to feel boring again."
She let out a small laugh. "Actually, it's like this every holiday. The novelty wears off, and then I end up missing school. Having friends around, random fun things happening… oh, and Quidditch, of course."
"You really are obsessed with Quidditch."
To Tom, Cho looked every inch the bookish literary girl, yet she turned out to be a sports fanatic. "Any chance we'll see you on the pitch this year?"
Cho shook her head, a little downcast. "Not until next year. Delia's graduating, and she's the better Seeker right now. More skilled, more experienced."
"It's fine," Tom said lightly. "Another year just means you'll be sharper when you do play. Anyway, Ravenclaw's not taking the Cup this season—stepping onto the field now would just make you the scapegoat."
Cho had grown used to Tom's blunt honesty, but she still choked a little on that one.
"Tom, we may have lost our first match against Hufflepuff by more than two hundred points, but technically, we still have a chance to win the Cup."
"Oh, I've heard that line before."
Cho shot him a glare. "Just wait. Once term starts again, Ravenclaw will crush Slytherin."
"You know me—I don't care much for matches. But if you do win, I'll change my name."
With the right company, the topic hardly mattered. Talking to a pretty girl was enjoyable enough, even if Tom didn't care about Quidditch.
Well, if that 0.1% chance actually happened, Ravenclaw defeats Slytherin, he could just admit his rizz and call himself 'Tom Rizzle.'
"I've been a Tornados fan since I was six," Cho went on. "They were the first to use the Plumpton Pass, and that's when I knew I wanted to be a great Seeker."
"Seen a lot of matches then?" Tom asked, curious.
"Not really." She shook her head. "Mum and Dad are always busy, so I couldn't travel far on my own. Most of the time I just followed them through moving pictures in the papers."
Tom thought again how useful television would be here. If the wizarding world had live broadcasts, people would have so much more to do.
In truth, the magical world had figured out how to broadcast images long before Muggles did. But the limitations were huge—equipment was expensive, and the whole system required a wizard's constant supervision. Their eyes became the camera, and the audience could only see what the operator focused on.
Years had gone by with no real progress. Fewer and fewer people even knew how to make the broadcasting gear anymore. Everything was old relics, no innovation. No wonder Nicolas Flamel thought modern alchemists were hopelessly stagnant.
Next, Tom and Cho lingered in the dessert shop until sundown before heading out for dinner at a restaurant near Diagon Alley.
After dinner they headed to the Leaky Cauldron so Cho could take the Floo home.
Before parting, Tom handed her a copy of the magical notebook and reminded her not to bother with owls anymore—too inconvenient, and too risky.
Risky how?
Well, if Daphne ever found out, she'd never let Cho hear the end of it…
Time slipped by, and soon it was the night before Tom's departure for France. That evening, Lady Greengrass sent word that she wanted to take him to visit the Bones family.
With several prepared samples in hand, Tom Flooed first to the Greengrass estate, then traveled with Lady Greengrass to Amelia Bones's home.
The house sat in a quiet village in Manchester, hidden by protective enchantments. The local Muggles had no idea a witch lived there. Typical wizarding way—some mingled with Muggles, but most lived as if they were in completely different worlds.
"You're right on time," Amelia greeted them warmly as they stepped out of the fireplace. "Dinner's ready. My cooking's not up to a house-elf's standard, but it's edible."
"The Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement cooked this meal. Who would dare say it's not as good as an elf's?" Lady Greengrass teased.
It was Tom's first time seeing her joke with anyone, proof that the two women were on genuinely good terms.
Amelia only rolled her eyes and waved them to sit.
The house was small, just two stories, but perfectly fine for her needs. Lady Greengrass had already told Tom about her—Amelia lived alone, unmarried. The family line continued through her niece, Susan. Whether Amelia wasn't interested or simply hadn't met the right person, no one knew.
Dinner was simple: Salisbury steak. The beef was fresh, juicy, and flavorful with the sauce. The baked beans served on the side, though, Tom avoided almost entirely.
"Not a fan of beans?" Amelia caught on quickly, smiling. "Susan told me you're picky about food—that's why you get on so well with the Abbotts' kid. Looks like she was spot on."
Tom didn't bother with false politeness. "I prefer mashed potatoes or rice."
"I'll remember that next time. Since you don't like the beans, have more meat." Amelia waved her wand, and another plate of steaks floated in from the kitchen.
Tom thanked her and took it.
Once they were full, it was time to get down to business.
The three moved to the sitting room, where Tom set three alchemical items on the table: a large glass orb, a cloak, and a necklace.
"Three pieces?" Amelia leaned in, intrigued. "Do they all do the same thing?"
"Not quite. Two of them are similar. Let me explain."
He picked up the orb first. "This one's called the Eye of Warning. It works a bit like a Foe-Glass, except it doesn't spin up just because someone suspicious is nearby. You have to register your own magical signature first. Then, if anyone within about fifteen meters feels hostile toward you, the orb lights up and vibrates."
Tom had refined magical recognition to an art. Even Nicolas Flamel had praised his work. With that as a foundation, tools that once needed complicated methods became surprisingly simple for him to customize.
"Useful little thing," Amelia admitted, before turning her eyes to the cloak.
Tom gave it a dramatic flick. The cloak flew to the coat rack by the door, and he immediately hit it with a spell. The fabric shimmered smoothly, completely unharmed. He sent another spell, then another, and by the fifth the cloak finally collapsed into tattered scraps.
"Each cloak can withstand about five standard spells from an average wizard," Tom explained. "But take note—it's just average spells. If you're up against an elite opponent, or someone casting Killing Curses or other nasty dark magic, the protection drops fast."
Amelia rose from her chair, intrigued. "Got any spares? I'd like to try one myself."
Tom had anticipated that and handed her another. She tested it—five spells, then it shredded. Tom couldn't help but purse his lips.
For all her status, Amelia Bones's raw power wasn't much higher than a solid Auror.
"I'd suggest having Alastor Moody test it," Tom remarked. His tone was casual, but the implication stung.
Amelia's face tightened.
"Pfft—"
Lady Greengrass laughed outright, not even trying to hide her amusement.
Amelia shot her a glare, then smoothly shifted the subject. "And the necklace?"
Tom shrugged. "That one's expensive. Not made for Aurors. Inside is a crystal that stores magic. As long as it doesn't overload and crack, it naturally absorbs the spare magic you give off."
"When it's fully charged, its defense is about five times stronger than the cloak. Even if ten wizards attacked at once, it could hold for a while. More importantly, if the crystal does break, it triggers a one-use Apparition spell that teleports you somewhere up to two kilometers away."
By the time he finished, both Amelia and Lady Greengrass had stars in their eyes.
Defense and escape.
This was a lifesaver.
Sure, magical items with Apparition functions existed—but they were always family heirlooms locked away as treasures.
"Tom, how much? I want ten," Lady Greengrass said immediately.
Amelia looked tempted but didn't jump in.
"Come now, Auntie, no need to buy." Tom waved it off. "I've already set yours aside. If you want more, I'll need time—they're not easy to make."
Lady Greengrass nodded with a smile. Family didn't haggle. After all, both her daughters had been dragged off for more than a week, and she still hadn't given Tom grief about it.
"As for you, Madam Bones," Tom said, pointing at the orb, "the Eye of Warning is fifty galleons each."
"The protective cloak is two hundred galleons apiece."
"And the guardian necklace? Honestly, it's beyond price. But—if you agree, I can offer the first two items to the Ministry at half price, and I'll throw in five necklaces for you. Use them to build your network."
It sounded like free gold falling from the sky. Instead of being dazzled, though, Amelia Bones grew wary.
"Riddle, with concessions this big, what exactly do you want in return?"
Tom only smiled. "Nothing, for now. Think of it as… a political donation."
Her gaze sharpened.
A political donation?
.
.
.
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