Dumbledore braced himself for the rising tide of student discontent, but before he could intervene, Tom's voice cut through the air.
"Silence."
As expected, the fanatical Slytherins obeyed without question.
"The grades are acceptable," Tom stated coolly. Slytherin had boasted two champions the previous year, inflating their scores. A slight dip was only to be expected.
The Slytherins, ever agreeable, immediately seized upon his words.
"I knew it! Under Tom Riddle's leadership, how could there be any corruption at Hogwarts?"
Dumbledore's expression soured. Was he not still the Headmaster?
...
The System's voice echoed in Tom's mind the instant Slytherin's victory was announced.
"Tom."
Anticipating an explanation, Tom remained silent.
"If you intend to challenge a true god with nothing but a 'mortal body,' what I originally prepared is… inadequate." The System's tone was uncharacteristically grave. "But short of godhood or that, I have no other immediate means to fundamentally alter your strength. I will have to improvise."
A System notification chimed in his mind.
[Ding! Congratulations to the host for completing the stage mission!]
[Congratulations to the host for obtaining the mission reward: Cleansing Potion!]
"Hmm?"
A seemingly ordinary, transparent vial materialized within the System's space.
[Item: Cleansing Potion]
[Quality: None (Special Item)]
[Function: Can remove any acquired factors from an item]
[Description: Directly restores the item to "factory settings"! ]
"'Any acquired factors?' That sounds… open to interpretation…" Tom mused, his eyes widening as a realization struck him. "Wait, System… are you thinking…?"
"Indeed! It's exactly the 'are you thinking' that you are thinking of!"
"That… thing… can be considered an 'acquired factor'?"
"Hmph, I care not for such trifles! Anything not inherent is an 'acquired factor.' This System holds the final say!"
"You… truly are wicked! He'll be furious when they clash!"
"As if you are any less wicked, Tom… don't think I haven't noticed your thoughts! Understanding me implies you've entertained this idea all along!"
"Heh…"
Tom shook his head, a soft chuckle escaping his lips. His gaze drifted towards the Black Lake, lost in thought.
...
Meanwhile, thousands of miles away, India was experiencing some profoundly "charming" weather.
The Indian Ministry of Magic, nestled beneath the Agra Fort built in 1565, buzzed with panicked activity.
Within the Department of Magical Accidents and Disasters:
"Monsoon shift? Impossible! This is no natural occurrence! A storm… something's amiss, truly amiss!"
A flurry of Hindi filled the air as the Department of Magical Accidents and Disasters descended into chaos.
The anomalous "storm" was vast and alarmingly expanding. This caught the attention of the Indian Ministry of Magic, and their surveillance revealed unsettling magical signatures.
The sudden storm in northern India was clearly of magical origin!
Yet, this alone did not account for their heightened alarm.
The core of the "storm's" epicenter lay in a pivotal location in the northern reaches of the Indian Himalayas—the Hall of Heaven!
...
The Himalayas, the roof of the world, spanned five countries, including India.
There, on the northern slopes, a treacherous dark gray curtain hung ominously over the snow-capped peaks, where thunder ceaselessly roared. The average altitude soared beyond six thousand meters.
"Screech!"
Suspended in the turbulent air, a colossal avian creature with a fifteen-meter wingspan soared erratically beneath the storm clouds. Its tail feathers shimmered with a metallic sheen, its head resembled an eagle's, and six wings beat frantically as it emitted intermittent cries of terror.
A Thunderbird! A magical beast with the innate ability to control storms!
But now, it was gripped by abject fear—fear of the ominous storm looming above.
Thunderbirds were native to Arizona, USA; their presence in India was highly improbable.
Only one explanation existed: human intervention!
Not far from the terrified Thunderbird, a gaunt, dark figure stood starkly against the snow-dusted mountain peak, an alien presence in the frozen world.
The figure wore tattered black robes, echoing those favored by Tom Riddle, though his shoulders were hunched.
The wind whipped the worn fabric, revealing a frame of coarse, dark bones.
Though his gait was resolute, his gnarled, withered hands betrayed his inner turmoil.
"It's… it…"
A rugged, weather-beaten face peeked from beneath a tattered black hood. A bizarre silver scar marred his left cheek, descending to his neck.
His clouded, aged eyes, fixed on the golden Garuda Feather in his right hand, shimmered with obsessive yearning, its surface etched with enigmatic runes.
…
Back at the time the Indian Ministry of Magic discovered the unusual storm.
Nearly three hours had lapsed since the man's arrival on the northern slopes of the Indian Himalayas.
The storm had already blanketed a vast portion of India!
The last time magic had wrought such a widespread celestial event was when Tom Riddle ascended to the level of "God of Magic."
However, the current "storm" was undeniably less severe.
But unlike Tom's phenomenon, a purely magical creation achieved by influencing the environment, this "Storm" wielded weather manipulation, encompassing a far broader scope.
Given sufficient time, it might indeed rival, or even eclipse, Tom's feat.
The situation reeked of foul play, likely linked to the sacred sites of the Indian magical world.
They could not, and would not, stand idly by.
Furthermore, a faction within the Indian Ministry of Magic harbored another reason for intervention.
"Be it from Hallownest or elsewhere, this… belongs to the great Dark Lord!"
That very night, a Death Eater with an Indian accent hastily retreated to his chambers, penned a missive, and dispatched it to Hogwarts in England!
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