"Then let's just buy Fawkes," Daphne said decisively. "That way we can take him out to play anytime."
"Chirp!"
Fawkes cried out indignantly. He was a phoenix. How could his value be measured in mundane gold?
Hermione looked equally unconvinced. "Daphne, Professor Dumbledore may not have as much money as your family, but to someone like him, money doesn't mean anything. He would never sell Fawkes."
"How would we know if we don't try?"
Daphne could not understand phoenix language, but she guessed that the bird had just insulted her. She did not take offense.
Her mother had once told her that there was no such thing as money that could not be spent. If it failed, it simply meant you had used the wrong method.
When she had wanted to give Tom money before, she could not do it directly. So she disguised it as hiring a private tutor.
The same logic could work here.
Fawkes finished eating contentedly. Daphne quietly memorized the types of herbs Tom had fed him.
"Let's go."
Once the phoenix departed, the three hurried to their next examination room.
...
Two days passed in a blur.
The placement exams ended.
Aside from a handful of top students, no one was happy.
The tests were over, but classes resumed the very next day. There was no celebratory week off like after final exams. And after two and a half months of summer freedom, even those who knew exams awaited at the start of term had rarely revised seriously.
The results were predictable.
Fortunately, these grades would not be mailed home. Otherwise, parents would have flooded WhatsApp with furious messages.
Tom exited Snape's office with three potion formulas in hand.
One was a Brightening Draught, capable of giving skin a luminous glow.
One was a Blemish Removal Elixir, effective against acne scars and spots.
The third was a Fragrant Enhancing Shampoo.
Tom strongly suspected Snape had designed that last one specifically to challenge the Potter family's Sleekeazy's Hair Potion. It had not even been among Tom's original requests.
Though Fleamont Potter had long ago sold the formula rights, Snape's motivations remained unclear.
None of the potions were particularly complex, nor were their effects extraordinary.
That was deliberate.
Snape, as a Potions Master, could easily brew something ten times stronger. But he understood nothing of business.
If they released an unbeatable product immediately, how would they introduce upgrades later? If one bottle lasted forever, how would they sustain profit?
Snape had rejected the concept outright at first. Creating mediocre potions felt like an insult to his craft.
But Tom had withheld a refinement in the charms he had taught him. And the spell in question was not simple. Snape still required Tom's guidance.
So he relented, on one condition.
His name was not to be attached to these products.
He would not endure the embarrassment.
Tom regretted losing the marketing advantage of Snape's reputation, but it was manageable.
He could advertise them as ancient formulas recovered from perilous ruins by powerful wizards. Due to missing materials, their effects had been slightly weakened. Later, "newly discovered substitutes" could justify upgraded versions.
There remained one problem.
He had formulas.
He lacked a trustworthy brewer.
The Followers surely had capable potion makers, but Tom did not want too many people linking him directly to Grindelwald's remnants.
He needed a new workhorse.
Back in the Slytherin common room, Tom spotted Blaise Zabini engrossed in a simulated Quidditch match with Rosier.
Tom's eyes lit up.
The workhorse was right here.
"Blaise."
His tone was unusually gentle.
"Do you have a moment? I would like to discuss something."
"Of course, Tom."
Blaise handed his controller to another student and followed Tom to their dormitory.
"Take a look at these formulas," Tom said. "They are not beyond your level."
Blaise studied them carefully.
Soon he nodded confidently. "With practice, I can guarantee near perfect success rates. You want me to brew these?"
"Yes. Not a few bottles. Mass production."
Tom gestured for him to sit. They faced each other across their beds.
"I plan to launch these under Helder Magic Workshop. But my time is limited. I need someone reliable."
"If you agree, we can negotiate compensation."
Blaise hesitated.
He enjoyed Potions.
He did not enjoy repetitive labor.
And he certainly did not need money. Between eight stepfathers and one biological father, he was financially secure.
Yet refusing Tom felt… unwise.
Suddenly, inspiration struck him.
His eyes gleamed.
"Tom. I don't want money. Malfoy said you gave him a notebook. If you give me one, I'll brew for you all semester. If you give me something stronger, enough to crush Malfoy completely, I'll brew for you all year."