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[Hogwarts] Ch 184: Quidrough Game
🕑 Added 2025-08-27 17:59:24 +0000 UTC— — — — — —
As soon as the words fell, Tom's presence began to shift. His sharp, youthful gaze clouded for a moment, then aged into something heavy with time and experience.
Vinda Rosier blinked, unsettled by the sudden change.
And then Tom spoke.
"Vinda."
"It's been a long time."
"Do you remember when you first followed me? Fresh out of Beauxbatons, furious because an Auror had taken your uncle away for abusing Memory Charms on Muggles. You wanted to kill him."
"L–Lord Grindelwald?!" Vinda's voice cracked in disbelief.
"It's me. This is Tom's gift."
Grindelwald's voice continued through Tom: "It's through his gift that our bond exists. I pass on my knowledge of the Dark Arts to him."
"Lord Grindelwald!" Vinda's eyes shone red, her voice trembling. "I can't believe I'm seeing you again!"
"There'll be time for a true meeting in the future," Grindelwald said, lifting a hand to calm her down. "But Tom's gift doesn't last long, so I must be brief."
"Vinda, the Transfiguration I taught you wasn't meant to be used like this. You're not young anymore, and Dark magic erodes the body. Don't use it unless it's absolutely necessary."
"I understand." Vinda bowed her head quickly.
Her elegant, middle-aged appearance was no accident. In truth, she was far older, but she didn't want Tom to see a frail old woman nearly in the grave. So she forced herself into this younger shell to prove the Acolytes were still powerful to Tom—and through him, to Grindelwald.
But Grindelwald's Transfiguration was built on the foundation of Dark magic, twisting flesh and bone to mimic a human Animagus. Maintaining it was taxing, and for Vinda, nearly unbearable.
Once she gave her word, Grindelwald nodded, satisfied.
"Tom is my student, but more importantly, my ally. Treat his words as my own, and carry them out without hesitation."
He conjured parchment with a flick of magic, scrawled a complex recipe upon it, then handed it to her.
"This is a potion. Find a master brewer and have it made in batches. It will improve your condition. Brew extra—I'll need some myself in the future."
Vinda's hands shook as she took it. "Yes, I'll see to it immediately."
From his words, she heard the promise buried underneath: one day, Grindelwald would leave his prison. Whether or not he still fought for the wizarding cause didn't matter to her. So long as he was free, that was enough.
"One more thing…" Grindelwald hesitated, his voice softening. "If there are any among the Acolytes whose loyalty wavers, but who pose no danger to the rest, let them be. Let them live quietly."
"In the end, it was my own failing—I never remade the world. And you've all suffered for it. There's no need for more blood."
Vinda fell silent at that, her throat tightening. But at last, she nodded slowly.
With his final instructions given, Grindelwald stepped back. Tom hated the sensation of being used as a vessel, and Grindelwald wasn't one to overstay his welcome. He simply told Vinda to take care of herself, then withdrew.
"Well then," Tom said lightly, "how do you like this little gift, Madam Rosier?"
Vinda lowered her head respectfully. "I'm honored, Mr. Riddle. Meeting you is my lord's blessing—and mine as well."
"No need for such formality," Tom replied with a faint smile. "We're allies now."
He glanced around at the fog-chilled air. "Not much of a place to chat, though. And I've yet to have breakfast. Come with me."
Ten minutes later, Tom and Vinda sat in a private room at one of his favorite restaurants.
Over dim sum and steaming tea, Vinda outlined her thoughts.
The Acolytes, under Grindelwald, had always worked through the upper echelons of society, guiding common wizards via the influence of the elite. But since Grindelwald's fall, their influence had waned. Too many Ministries were now wary of them. Whatever they did had to be hidden, subtle, whispered in shadows.
"Operating underground isn't so bad," Tom remarked, finishing a shrimp dumpling. "The times have changed. Without overwhelming power to back you, high-profile moves are suicide."
He poured himself more tea, continuing casually. "It's also a good way to sift through loyalties. Those who stay, or even join us now, will be the reliable ones. Like Mr. Wilkinson—I think he fits the new Acolytes perfectly."
Vinda's heart tightened at the casual drop of that name. She straightened, answering carefully. "After what happened in the past… surely you understand our caution?"
Tom set down his chopsticks and looked her squarely in the eye.
"I hold no prejudice against Muggles or wizards. People are people. All deserve the right to live. And no wizard has the right to enslave them."
"Yes, ability should grant influence," he went on, his voice steady. "But it doesn't give license to abuse it. If the Acolytes still cling to the idea of a wizard-ruled world, then we'll end up enemies."
"Please rest assured, Master Riddle," Vinda said quickly, "the Acolytes were never meant to enslave Muggles. Lord Grindelwald's original dream was only to abolish the Statute of Secrecy, so wizards could walk freely in the light. But to gather strength, he had to… add other promises."
Tom waved a hand, letting the teapot float up to refill her cup.
"Either way, that dream isn't realistic now. Don't waste time on ideals that won't hold. Focus on building strength. The world will find the right path for wizards."
"Yes." Vinda nodded, already making a note to watch her people carefully. The Acolytes would not run counter to Tom's will.
"By the way," she said after a pause, "your paper—what field is it in?"
"Bloodlines, in a sense. With some history mixed in."
Tom's expression sharpened with purpose. "I want it published in international journals—the Wizarding World News, The Daily Prophet Global Edition. The kind that reach professionals everywhere."
Those journals didn't have the same wide readership as each country's local papers, but among professionals they carried real weight. Articles published there were often reprinted or adapted into national papers, spreading far and wide.
Vinda carefully noted down Tom's request. After that, Tom asked her a few questions about her family's hidden history and scribbled down some of her answers.
By the time Tom returned to school, Vinda had gone back to her own family estate in Britain.
— — —
Meanwhile, over at Hogwarts, the Quidditch match was utter chaos.
"Merlin's beard! Potter must've stepped in a pile of dragon dung this morning—this Bludger's head over heels for him! It hasn't even looked at anyone else!" Lee Jordan's voice boomed over the stadium, half drowned by the pouring rain.
Gasps erupted from the stands as the rogue Bludger whizzed past Harry's head—again.
It had been like this the whole match. The bewitched Bludger seemed obsessed, slamming at Harry more than a dozen times already. He hadn't been hurt badly yet, but he was battered, exhausted, and so busy dodging..... catching the Snitch looked impossible.
To make matters worse, the score was 130 to 20. Slytherin had a commanding lead.
As a couple of Muggle-born students muttered, Gryffindor couldn't even see the dust off Slytherin's brooms. The whole team looked like they were flying through a nightmare, grimaces plastered on their rain-soaked faces.
The storm only made things worse. Visibility was awful, which gave Slytherin's dirty tricks free rein. Madam Hooch couldn't catch half their fouls in the downpour. Whenever Gryffindor protested, Flint would smile sweetly, promise to play fair, then drive an elbow into Alicia Spinnet's ribs the next moment—gender equality at its finest.
The rain thickened until players became little more than shadows in the mist. Everyone assumed the match would drag on for hours—until Harry found his chance.
The Snitch hovered directly above Malfoy's head.
Draco Malfoy, who had been tailing Harry nonstop, suddenly kept his distance; the Bludger had spooked him too much to get close. All he dared to do was shout insults from afar.
"Potter, what the hell are you—"
Before he could finish, Harry dove toward him. Draco panicked, yanking his broom around to get out of the way. But Harry wasn't after him—he reached out with his good arm, ignoring the pain from the Bludger's latest hit, and snatched the Snitch clean off the air above Draco's head.
The stands exploded. Tom, arriving just in time, watched Harry spiral down with the Snitch in hand—straight into the mud, broom and all. Gasps rippled across the stadium.
The scoreboard flickered: << 170 to 170. >>
A tie.
Daphne blinked, stunned. She turned to Tom. "What happens with a tie?"
"A tie's just a tie." Tom lazily raised a shield charm overhead, letting the rain splash harmlessly against it. "This is a league-style tournament. It's the total points that matter, not each individual match."
He leaned close to Astoria and murmured something in her ear. She nodded quickly, slipping away toward the castle before the crowds started to leave.
Despite the miserable weather, Gryffindor treated the tie like a victory. Considering how the game had gone, even escaping without a loss felt like a miracle.
The team rushed to Harry's side, swarming their half-dazed Seeker. He was barely conscious, pale and gasping—he'd hit the ground hard enough to almost vomit up his breakfast.
"It's alright. Just a broken arm." Laos shouldered through the crowd, touching his wand to Harry's injury. A soft green glow spread across the boy's arm, easing the pain at once.
Harry managed a grateful nod. "Thank you, Professor Wilkinson."
Now this was what a DADA professor ought to be like, he thought. Capable, resourceful, able to handle emergencies. Exactly the kind of teacher he'd always dreamed of.
"No trouble at all." Laos gave him a thumbs-up. "You flew brilliantly today. Keep that up and you could go pro one day. The American League pays its Quidditch players well enough to make anyone jealous."
Wood's eyes lit up. He immediately dumped Harry onto Spinnet and Katie Bell, then sidled up hopefully. "Professor, what about me? Think I've got a shot at pro Quidditch?"
Laos stroked his chin. "Hm… are we talking about the same performance where you let in seventeen goals today?"
Wood's face collapsed.
Harry, despite the pain, couldn't help grinning.
He tried to sit up, but Laos pushed him gently back. "Easy. Your arm's fixed, but that last crash was rough. Let Madam Pomfrey check you over properly. I'm not a Healer."
"We'll handle it." Fred and George had just wrestled the crazed Bludger back into its box. They lifted Harry carefully, carrying him off the pitch to cheers and chants from the Gryffindor crowd.
Ginny was among them, hanging back near the edge.
Suddenly, someone tugged her sleeve.
"Ginny—Luna just got dragged off by a bunch of Ravenclaw girls. Same lot who stole her earrings the other day." Astoria's face was tight with urgency.
"What? Where?" Ginny's heart leapt. She knew all too well how Luna was treated in Ravenclaw.
"Come with me." Astoria spun on her heel, Ginny hurrying after her without hesitation.
...
At the same time, in the Room of Requirement.
Tom tilted Luna Lovegood's chin up with the tip of his wand. "Well, well, well."
"Miss Lovegood," he said softly, "you don't want your friend to get hurt, do you?"
.
.
.
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