"But I don't feel like you're actually very happy right now."
Grindelwald teased lightly, causing a flicker of awkwardness to flash across Tom's face.
This First Dark Lord was surprisingly understanding. "You needn't worry I'll reveal your secrets. Your talent is… extraordinary. I wouldn't betray that, not to anyone. Even with Veritaserum, Legilincy, or the Imperius Curse, no one will ever learn anything from ."
"I get it. I was just… too shocked." Tom's smile turned more genuine now. "I assud my talent could only summon soul forms like Andros."
Well, the system had at least delivered on one of his long-standing wishes—summoning a dark arts expert to be his teacher.
Modern wizards had modern strengths, and unlike Andros, Grindelwald wasn't 'outdated.' Not only could he teach him, he could even teach Andros! If another ancient relic had shown up instead, Tom might've coughed up blood on the spot.
Grindelwald, for his part, seed just as pleased.
After being imprisoned for half a lifeti, half his body already in the grave, he had been thrust into this miraculous new reality. A place where a boy could summon the greatest wizards across ti as teachers, to gather their strengths and legacies in one vessel…
What kind of monster would this boy beco?
Grindelwald was very curious to find out.
"Professor Grindelwald," Tom jumped straight to business, "you've arrived just in ti. I need to learn dark magic—specifically to kill a dragon."
"A dragon?"
Grindelwald's eyes flashed with disdain. "Just a beast. You don't need to go through all that trouble. I could teach you a potion. Use magic to launch it from a distance—just a splash, and its scales will rot, then its flesh. Even an iron stomach won't last an hour."
Tom quickly clarified, "No, I have to face it head-on. I can't use any external help—not even potions, magical plants, or a broomstick."
"Andros said that with only white magic, my current strength isn't enough. But if I could learn so high-powered dark spells..."
Andros nodded in agreent, adding, "Assuming you can stop the dragon from flying away."
Grindelwald frowned. There were so many conditions.
Wait a second...
He'd received the spatial transfer info earlier. Now that he recalled—
Eleven years old.
Second-year student.
Hogwarts.
"You're telling a second-year student is planning to kill a dragon using dark magic?"
He looked incredulously at Andros.
Andros burst out laughing. "Ah, Professor Grindelwald, you clearly don't know Tom yet. How about this—you two duel. You'll understand everything."
Tom nodded in agreent.
"Fair enough," Grindelwald chuckled. "How can a teacher teach without first knowing his student's strength?"
A wand appeared in his hand—not the Elder Wand, but likely his original wand. And as it materialized, his appearance began to shift.
The aged, weary face reversed its decay, smoothing into one of youthful arrogance. The wild white hair shrank into ssy short strands. Only his piercing heterochromatic eyes remained unchanged—mystical, compelling.
This… this was the Gellert Grindelwald. The First Dark Lord who once made the entire magical world tremble.
All traces of decay vanished. He twirled his wand, and spoke with fire in his tone:
"Co, Tom. Show your strength."
Tom didn't waste a second. As soon as Andros retreated to a safe distance, he launched a full-powered attack—no holding back.
Grindelwald casually deflected the initial spell and raised his brows.
"Impressive."
From then on, he stayed mostly on the defensive, evaluating Tom's technique and power. Occasionally, he'd strike suddenly, testing Tom's reaction speed and adaptability.
Three minutes later, Grindelwald raised a hand and ended the duel.
"Enough. That's plenty."
He looked at Tom with genuine admiration.
"You're already at the level I was after I graduated. No wonder Andros believes you can face a dragon."
"I know a few dark spells particularly effective against large magical creatures."
Tom's heart leapt with joy. This was exactly what he needed.
But then he rembered—it was Christmas Eve. And Grindelwald had just arrived. Might be a bit much to start squeezing every last drop of knowledge out of the man.
Besides, he still needed to increase his approval rating.
So, Tom exited the study space and granted both his teachers a "window"—allowing them to view the outside world through his senses.
Even better? The system hadn't upped the price. Still just six credits an hour, despite two users.
Ti had flown while he was in the learning space. By the ti Tom returned to his body, the elaborate dinner he'd prepared was stone cold. With a sigh, he reheated it all.
While the food ward, he made casual conversation with Grindelwald.
"Professor, it's Christmas Eve. Do they at least give you a special al in Nurngard?"
"Not a chance," Grindelwald replied, shaking his head. "Nurngard only has one Squib watching over . My als have been the sa for decades. I got sick of them a long ti ago."
"Seriously? Even Azkaban offers holiday perks."
Tom clicked his tongue. Grindelwald had it rough. At least in Azkaban, you had fellow inmates to yell at, drop soap with, maybe even get a visitor or write a letter.
But Nurngard? It was just Grindelwald and four stone walls.
Don't ask how Tom knew so much about Azkaban. Let's just say…
Slytherin students never lacked relatives serving extended stays there. At this point, Tom was starting to think Azkaban was just another branch of his House.
After the food was reheated, Tom brought the conversation back around—this ti to Grindelwald's past.
"Professor, the books don't say much about your duel with the Headmaster. Just that it was a 'legendary battle.' Could you tell what really happened?"
He thought this would be an easy yes. But Grindelwald actually shook his head.
"Tom… knowing too much right now won't help you."
Andros agreed, "He's right. Every powerful wizard develops their own style. Right now, you're not ready. If you learn too much too fast, you'll unconsciously start imitating—and that could take you off track."
With both his teachers cautioning him, Tom wisely dropped the topic.
Instead, he flipped on the TV, watching so late-night Christmas specials while munching on his reheated dinner. In the background, his two elderly ntors bickered, critiqued the TV programs, and made offhand comnts—bringing a strange kind of warmth to the evening.
By the ti dinner was done, Tom checked the system.
Grindelwald's approval rating had risen by ten points.
Once it reached twenty, he'd be able to draw another talent.
And the more talents he had, the stronger he'd beco. Which ant—
Killing the dragon just got a little bit closer.
Tom sat down on the sofa, suddenly letting out a quiet sigh.
"If I'd known my second teacher would be you, Professor Grindelwald," he muttered, "I wouldn't have gone ho this holiday. If I'd stayed at school, maybe I could've arranged for you to et your old rival, Professor Dumbledore."
Grindelwald froze for a mont—then his fondness for Tom surged.
Though the boy didn't yet know the full story between him and Albus, the thought alone—wanting to reunite them—was enough to move him.
This was a good kid.
Then ca a chanical ding from the system.
[Grindelwald's approval rating has reached 20%. You've earned one Talent Draw. Drawing… Congratulations, host, you have acquired the talent: "Heart of Dark Magic."]
[Heart of Dark Magic: Enhances efficiency in learning dark magic, increases power of dark spells, and reduces the difficulty of inventing original dark magic.]
Tom was overjoyed.
Just like a pillow delivered to a sleepy head—this talent ca at exactly the right ti.
Now, with Grindelwald's guidance and this powerful gift, he'd soon have the strength to slay a dragon head-on.
The only issue left was where to find a lone fire-dragon to kill. But that couldn't be rushed.
He still had an entire year—plenty of ti.
...
Tom stayed downstairs until midnight, chatting with the two ntors.
At the stroke of twelve, he wished them both a cheerful rry Christmas before heading upstairs to sleep.
When he woke the next morning, the floor of his room was piled high with packages—his Christmas presents.
There had to be nearly a hundred in total.
Instead of diving straight into unwrapping like a greedy kid on Christmas morning, Tom first organized the packages by sender.
He pulled out a little notebook—on it were the nas of every Slytherin student.
Then, ticulously, he checked off nas one by one against the postcards and gift tags.
His logic was simple: Just because soone gives you a gift doesn't an they're your friend... but if they don't even bother with a gift, not even a perfunctory one, then they're not worth your attention.
With his list completed, then Tom began opening gifts.
Most of them were candies, magazines, or basic magical trinkets and models.
They weren't expensive, but that wasn't the point. It was the gesture that counted.
Tom himself had sent out similar modest gifts—after all, nobody liked soone who tried too hard.
Still, so gifts stood out in value.
Zabini sent a gemstone-studded brooch that had been enchanted with a warming charm. Though Tom could tell it would only last a few months before the magic faded, it was still worth dozens of Galleons based on materials alone.
Nott gave a wand-cleaning kit—a rare set Tom had seen at Ollivanders, priced even higher than so wands. He was almost certain old Ollivander made most of his profits from overpriced accessories.
Rosier, the dorm's undisputed athead, took the simplest and most direct approach: 50 Galleons in cash.
Tom loved that. Clean, useful, no nonsense.
Even students from other Houses had sent gifts.
Susan Bones gave a book on wizarding law.
Hannah Abbott sent a pouch of beef jerky. Tom tasted it—pretty good, though a bit bland for his heavily seasoned palate.
Harry sent a knitted golden scarf, embroidered with a Gryffindor lion.
Seriously?
Giving sothing like that to a Slytherin? Tom almost laughed.
From anyone else, he'd consider it provocation.
But Harry? He didn't have a devious bone in his body. If he disliked soone, there was no way he'd be sending them presents.
The Weasley twins sent—naturally—ten Dungbombs.
Then there was Neville.
He gifted Tom a Rembrall and included a thank-you note.
Apparently, his grandmother had finally agreed to let him get a new wand, and it had made spellcasting so much easier.
Though she still wasn't satisfied, the improvent was undeniable.
Tom smiled faintly. That was all he'd intended to do—help a classmate with a toxic helicopter grandma. It reminded him too much of those tiger parents from his past life.
Tom kept opening presents.
One was a letter from Snape.
It only said:
"After break, another duel."
Tom stared at the note, expressionless.
That was a threat, wasn't it? It definitely felt like a threat.
And here he'd gone and sent Snape a Christmas gift!
What gift, you ask?
A book titled "How to Win the Witch of Your Dreams".
The man was over thirty and still single—not even a cat, let alone a child. Soone had to intervene.
But nope.
Instead of appreciation, Tom got a challenge.
He huffed and tossed the letter aside.
Next up were the gifts from Hermione and Daphne.
Hermione had sent a magical desk lamp that glowed softly and ca with a note:
"Take care of your eyes. Don't end up nearsighted like Harry."
It wasn't expensive, but Tom could feel the care behind it.
Daphne's gift was... a mirror.
There was a note stuck to it:
"Look into the mirror and say my na."
Tom did as instructed.
"Daphne. Daphne."
The mirror shimred.
A second later, Daphne's smiling face appeared, frad in the glass.
"Tom! You're finally up. It's almost ten!"
Tom grinned. "I was busy unwrapping gifts. Yours and Hermione's I saved for last. This mirror—it's a two-way, right?"
A two-way mirror, akin to a magical video call, but only functional between paired mirrors.
One-on-one only. And both parties needed a matching mirror.
Judging by the background behind Daphne, she was in her bedroom.
It was huge—definitely over 100 square ters—with soft, pastel furnishings that practically scread "princess."
The girl was wearing a cute sleepdress and was lounging on a plush carpet that—was that... unicorn hair?
Tom blinked.
Once again, he was reminded just how absurdly wealthy the Greengrasses were.
"Mhm! Now that we've got these, we can talk anyti," Daphne said cheerfully. Then her smile turned suspicious. "So... what did Hermione give you?"
"A lamp," Tom answered, holding it up. "Said it's for eye protection, so I don't turn into a bespectacled Potter."
He smirked. "Did you get my gift?"
"I did," Daphne said, holding up two items.
One was a not-so-attractive knitted vest. The other—a glass bottle filled with red liquid.
She looked a little hesitant.
"This stuff... it's safe to drink, right? I won't turn into a vampire or anything?"
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