Harry Potter: I, Tom Riddle, am not the Dark Lord Chapter 142: From Yorkshire to New York

"Sun Wukong immobilized seven young witches in the peach grove and fed them a love potion. But instead of taking responsibility, he turned into a complete scoundrel and ran back to Flower-Fruit Mountain to see his lady monkey."

"The Jade Emperor flew into a rage and dispatched the greatest Animagus in history — Erlang Shen — to capture Sun Wukong. The two clashed in a spectacular shapeshifting battle in the wild, their transformations so fierce that the very Dao cracked apart. In the end, Sun Wukong was defeated."

"Still defiant after capture, Sun Wukong was handed over to the greatest Potions Master in history — the Grand Supre Elder Lord — who tossed him into a cauldron, intending to brew him into a mighty elixir."

"And did he succeed? Well, to find out what happened next, tune in next ti~."

Ti passed quickly. Three days later, Bones brought good news: the Ministry of Magic had agreed to purchase the anti-disarming bracelets at a hundred Galleons apiece. But Tom had to deliver 200 units before September. One hundred wouldn't be enough for Aurors, Hit Wizards, and key Ministry officials.

Tom agreed without hesitation. By now, he had mastered the runic engraving for the bracelets, and with materials ready, he could craft twenty to thirty in an afternoon. If he carved out just a bit of extra ti each day, he could et the quota easily.

Tonight was his last night at the Greengrass estate — tomorrow, he would set off for New York.

After hearing the bedti story, neither of the sisters felt sleepy. Daphne clung to Tom's arm, her face full of reluctance, while Astoria looked equally downcast.

Tom had no brilliant words of comfort, so he simply forced himself to fall asleep quickly — which left them no choice but to drift off as well.

The next morning, he had hoped to slip away before they woke. But despite his careful, quiet steps, the two still stirred.

And so he stayed for half the day. After lunch, the whole family escorted him out of the manor — the castle's protective enchantnts ant they could only see him off this far.

Through their tearful gazes, Tom hugged Daphne and ruffled Astoria's hair before activating the Portkey.

This ti, Lady Greengrass had prepared a top hat as the Portkey. Tom grasped the brim — and felt as though a hook had snagged his belly button and yanked him forward hard. Thankfully, his umbilical cord had been cut at birth, or it might have been dragged out entirely.

He was suddenly soaring, racing like the wind — faster and faster. At first, his sharp eyesight could still make out the scenery whirling past, but soon the speed beca so great that everything was swallowed in a blinding white light.

The Portkey clung to his hand, so he didn't need to keep a death grip on it. Magic shielded him from wind resistance and noise, so aside from the queasy sensation of high-speed travel, he could feel nothing else.

He had no idea how long he'd been flying — long enough to even doze off mid-journey.

Suddenly, weightlessness seized him, then his feet slamd into solid ground. Tom staggered but caught himself just in ti. A voice spoke from nearby.

"Ten-oh-six A.M., cross-country Portkey from Yorkshire, England… let's see… number 9288… wait, what? A minor wizard?"

The voice was thick with surprise. Tom looked around — he had landed atop a hill, surrounded by endless mountains. Beside him sat a small tent, from which erged an enormously fat wizard who was staring at him in disbelief.

"No need to check further — no one got thrown off. I was the only one using this Portkey. Here are my papers."

Tom handed over the docunts Lady Greengrass had given him.

The wizard examined them carefully before finally nodding. As he returned them, he muttered, "Sending a kid abroad alone… British parents really are bold."

"Oh, they just trust my abilities," Tom replied lightly, not bothering to explain further. "By the way, where am I?"

"Quebec."

Quebec, huh?

Tom ntally calculated the Portkey's speed. Local ti was 10:06 A.M. With the ti difference, it was 3:06 P.M. back in England. He had departed a little after 1 P.M. The distance between the two was over five thousand kiloters — aning an average speed of more than 2,500 km/h, more than twice that of an airplane.

The fat wizard finished his log and handed Tom his next Portkey — a food tray like those from a convenience store.

"Off you go, kid. Your final stop is New York."

"Thanks."

Tom accepted the tray and had the wizard activate it for him — minors weren't allowed to cast spells outside school, after all.

Fifteen minutes later, Tom appeared at the designated New York Portkey arrival point, where staff escorted him to MACUSA for immigration processing.

It might have looked like a re fifteen-minute detour, but in truth, the trip from Britain to the U.S. could have been done in a single Portkey. Still, as the country with the largest wizarding population, Arica had grown increasingly arrogant — legal entry was only possible via Portkeys they themselves made. Thus, Tom had been forced to make his "transfer" in Canada.

Upon departure, the registration officer repeatedly warned him not to use magic. Ilvermorny students had to surrender their wands during the holidays, but they had no authority to confiscate a foreigner's.

Leaving the Woolworth Building, Tom hailed a taxi to the address Newt had given him.

When he presented the invitation letter that had co with Newt's owl, a house that had been invisible monts earlier slid into view between two neat suburban villas.

Tom rang the bell and waited.

He didn't wait long — within two minutes, a white-haired old man stood before him.

Though he didn't look exactly like his film portrayal, Tom instantly knew: this was Scamander.

His face bore the sa shy smile it had worn for decades, his deanor calm and gentle — perhaps an odd word to use for a man, but one that suited Newt perfectly.

The years had etched deep lines into his face, but he was still sprightly. In his eyes, anyone could see honesty and kindness — though when eting Tom's gaze, they would shy away ever so slightly, his head turning aside.

Whether in his obscure youth or his fad old age, Newt Scamander never looked people directly in the eye.

Pfft!

Tom couldn't help but laugh.

Newt looked even more flustered, as if unsure what to do with the limbs that had accompanied him for ninety-five years.

"My apologies, Mr. Scamander."

Realizing his rudeness, Tom quickly explained, "It's just… when I saw your eyes, I couldn't help but think of the Occamy — so clear and sincere."

At the ntion of magical creatures, much of Newt's awkwardness lted away. "An Occamy? Yes, their eyes are beautiful… but this is the first ti anyone's compared mine to one. Mr. Riddle, thank you for the complint."

"Please, just call Tom," he replied with genuine courtesy. "It's an honor to be invited to New York by you, Mr. Scamander."

Newt's character was one Tom truly respected — perhaps the one person most worthy of that respect.