There were still several more First-Class Order of Merlin citations to be squeezed out of this situation, after all. An opportunity like this? Tom had absolutely no intention of letting it slip through his fingers.
The Ministry of Magic and Fudge were textbook examples of treating people according to their status. A complaint from a half-blood witch or a Muggle-born family would be quietly filed away and forgotten. But Slytherin was a different matter entirely. The house was a mixed bag, certainly. Some of its students came from families whose elders had taken up permanent residence in Azkaban. But others were the Malfoys of the world, patrons of the Ministry with influence that stretched into every corridor of power.
Tom dropped a few carefully chosen hints to the more sharp-witted of his housemates. They caught his meaning instantly, each of them thumping their chests and assuring him they'd have a word with their families at once.
Dementors attempting to attack students? How could that possibly be allowed to stand?
A few of them could see plainly enough that Tom intended to profit from the attack. But not a single one of them found anything objectionable about it. If anything, they were impressed. This was what Slytherin looked like in practice: shrewd, ambitious, incapable of letting a good opportunity go to waste.
Lone wolves and selfless idealists had never been particularly popular in Slytherin. People like that were useless to everyone around them.
...
After wrapping up his conversation with the older students, Tom had been planning to go find Malfoy and Rosier next. Those two couldn't be handled with subtle hints. They needed everything spelled out directly.
But a message from Newt arrived and scrambled his plans entirely.
"Daphne, come with me. I'm taking you somewhere."
Daphne, who had been deep in gossip with her friends, found herself being pulled away from the castle with a thoroughly bewildered expression on her face.
...
Dorset. Bournemouth.
One of England's most beloved seaside resorts, no more than two hours from London by car. The Scamander family's ancestral home sat somewhere near this charming little town, perched atop a clifftop that very few people ever had reason to visit.
Tom touched the air ahead of them lightly with his wand. Ripples spread outward in concentric rings. He didn't have to wait long. With a sharp crack, Newt Apparated into existence and greeted Tom with a nod and a quiet smile.
"You got here fast."
Tom snorted. "Not nearly as fast as you lot. Moved back without a word to anyone, didn't you. I was actually going to bring Rolf along as well, but the boy has the nerve of a first-year at the Sorting. Wouldn't budge from school no matter what I said. So it's just Daphne."
Daphne performed a polite little bow. "Good day, Uncle Newt."
That was the form of address Tom had coached her on. Whatever Tom taught her, the young witch dutifully absorbed, without pausing to consider whether the age gap and generational arithmetic made any sense at all.
Newt returned the greeting warmly and led them both through the iron gate that had appeared alongside him.
The truth was, he hadn't intended to disturb Tom today. But Tina had insisted Tom come in person, or more precisely, that Daphne come in person. Tom was essentially just the vehicle. Newt, who occupied a somewhat diminished position in domestic matters, had learned long ago to simply agree with whatever Tina decided.
The estate was considerably larger than their New York residence, though the years of standing empty had left it looking haggard and hollow, the kind of place that seemed to sigh when you walked into it.
"We only arrived this morning ourselves," Newt said as they walked. "As you can see, this place hasn't had anyone living in it for decades. We're in for quite a stretch of work."
"Where's your brother?" Tom asked.
"Theseus?" Newt let out a short, rueful laugh and shook his head. "He's gone wilder than I ever was in my youth. No idea which country he's wandering around in right now."
"How long are you planning to stay this time?"
"At least until Rolf graduates, I'd think. I grew rather tired of New York's skyline. I find I'm very fond of Bournemouth's coastline these days."
As they talked, Tina came into view, directing an assortment of cleaning tools in a sweeping, organised operation across the rooms. Newt, with the practised instincts of a well-adjusted husband, immediately went over and relieved her of her share of the work. Freed from the task, Tina ushered the two of them into a sitting room.
"Cyclone Cleanse!"
Tom gave his wand a flick. A tight, powerful little whirlwind rose in the centre of the room, tearing through the air, and yet every piece of furniture sat perfectly undisturbed. Only the dust was caught up in it, siphoned and drawn toward the windows until it poured out in a grey cloud and settled in a small mound outside.
Tina put her hands on her hips and shook her head with a long-suffering look. "Even your household spells are better than mine. Are you genuinely human?"
Tom gave a dry laugh. There was no safe answer to that.
Tina's talents were concentrated almost entirely in combat. The two of them had sparred on more than one occasion, and if Tom was being honest with himself, he thought Tina might actually have the edge on Snape.
Fortunately, Tina didn't press the question. She took Daphne by the arm and launched cheerfully into conversation.
After surviving the experience of meeting Nicolas Flamel and his wife, Daphne had developed something of a tolerance for situations that resembled meeting the family. She was nowhere near as tense as she'd been that first time. Within minutes she had Tina laughing so hard she could barely catch her breath.
Why, Newt found himself wondering, did every bright, charming child seem to belong to someone else's family? His own Rolf was every bit as quiet and contained as Newt himself had been at that age.
...
While the two of them chattered away, Tom was not idle. He slipped into his mental learning space and dragged Grindelwald out for a proper dressing-down.
"Old Gellert, you truly are a menace to society. Look at what you've done. You frightened Uncle Newt so badly he's packed up and fled back to England to get away from you."
"Fled?" Grindelwald's brow creased. "I was actually planning to go pay him one last visit before I moved on."
He slid Tom a long, contemptuous look. "And what's this about me being a menace? Tom, you were the one who let me out. You're responsible for at least eighty percent of the chaos currently sweeping the wizarding world."
"Slander!" Tom declared, with the conviction of a man who had never done anything wrong in his life. "All I did was restore your health. That was compensation for your services as a teacher. Breaking out of Azkaban was entirely your own choice. Did I cast so much as a single spell to help you escape?"
Grindelwald stared at him with an expression of pure, stupefied disbelief.
He was beginning to think that even the Killing Curse, fired at point-blank range, might not be enough to pierce Tom's absolutely impenetrable shamelessness.
This boy was truly without limits.