"America? Planning a trip?" Dumbledore asked with curiosity.

"No, Professor Scamander has invited me to visit, and I've already agreed."

Tom thought it over carefully. How could he possibly refuse when Grandpa Newt extended such a heartfelt invitation? So he decided that once he got back, he'd write Newt a letter to arrange the time for his trip to America.

And it was absolutely not because—

Tom glanced a little guiltily toward the fourth palace in the sea of his consciousness.

[Fourth Trial – Thunderbird]: Without the aid of any external tools (except a wand), defeat a Thunderbird in a 100-kilometer aerial race.

Reward: Thunderbird bloodline – greatly increases the host's power in wind- and lightning-based magic, as well as dramatically boosts flying speed.

…

By the time Tom left the Headmaster's office, it was already two in the morning.

When he returned to his dormitory, his roommates were all fast asleep. He was exhausted too—not so much from fighting Voldemort, but from dealing with Fluffy.

Every punch he'd thrown at that three-headed giant had been with full force. At the time, he hadn't felt much thanks to the adrenaline, but now that he was relaxed, the fatigue hit him like a tidal wave. Before long, Tom had drifted off.

These days, though, Tom only needed three hours of sleep to feel completely refreshed for an entire day. Which meant he was the last to go to bed, but always the first to wake.

At dawn, he left the castle and strolled into the Forbidden Forest, the morning sun at his back, until he found three unicorns and played with them for a while.

He even fed them a little bit of his Patronus as their breakfast.

Ever since becoming their personal food supplier, his treatment from the unicorns had changed completely. Before, he had to work hard to get close to them. Now, he was the prized guest—they were the ones fawning over him. Max, Leo, and Milo crowded around, nudging him and acting cute, all in the hopes of getting an extra mouthful.

He had even discussed the phenomenon with Andros and Grindelwald: why unicorns loved eating the Patronus charm.

Their conclusion—Purification.

Unicorns absorbed the pure positive energy of the Patronus to refine their own magic, effectively purifying their bloodline. Naturally, this also allowed them to grow stronger, even displaying ancestral traits.

Nowadays, Max and Leo's coats were whiter than snow, gleaming faintly under sunlight, while Milo's coat had a delicate pinkish hue, its mane shimmering with pale gold.

"Would you like to come with me during the holidays?" Tom asked suddenly, stroking the face of the smallest unicorn.

"I could make a temporary home for you, though it wouldn't be nearly as big as the Forbidden Forest. Just enough space for your daily life."

Through telepathy, all three unicorns understood perfectly—and immediately pressed up against him, making their answer obvious.

Oh, sure. All for food. Who needs a home, right?

Tom chuckled, flicked his wand, and swept all the dirt off his clothes.

Looks like he had work to do—time to prepare a temporary nest for his three little freeloaders.

His mastery of the Undetectable Extension Charm was now solid enough that creating a stable space the size of a Quidditch pitch wouldn't be a problem. The real challenge lay in the materials—whatever he used would have to withstand long-term magical erosion without needing frequent replacement.

On his way back to the castle, he had already made up his mind. The Hungarian Horntail materials were still in his possession—if he used the dragonhide and dragonbone to make a suitcase, the quality would be top-notch.

He was planning to eat breakfast before getting started, but the moment he stepped into the Great Hall, someone spotted him.

"Tom's here!" Zabini shouted.

In an instant, not just the Slytherins—every single one of the 237 young witches and wizards in the Hall turned to look his way.

Ron, who'd only suffered minor injuries, had completely recovered after a night's rest. His big mouth rivaled even Hagrid's—he'd told everything he knew, adding just enough embellishment to make it thrilling: twenty-foot-high chess pieces, Devil's Snare blanketing the floor, and a monstrous, merciless troll.

All of it had been spun into tales of his and Harry's heroics.

Then Neville, ever the honest one, had added what he knew—including Tom's part in the adventure—and how he'd overheard Dumbledore himself admit that Quirrell had been the one after the Stone.

The story evolved into Riddle and Potter joining forces to defeat the wicked Professor Quirrell and save the school's treasure.

One of the "heroes" was still lying in the hospital wing. The other had just walked in—and instantly became the center of attention.

Daphne pulled Tom down to sit beside her, saying nothing, just staring at him expectantly. All around, other young witches and wizards fixed him with curious eyes, silently demanding to know his side of the story.

With so many gossip-hungry faces staring him down, Tom knew he couldn't get away without saying something.

"Well… it's not far off from the truth. But in the end, it was Harry who defeated Quirrell. I just helped a little."

In reality, he'd dealt with Voldemort and Quirrell entirely with one Shield Charm and a single Sectumsempra—the damage had all been Harry's doing.

The Great Hall went silent. Even the furthest Gryffindors could hear him clearly.

Then came the thunderous cheers.

Only Ron lowered his head uncomfortably.

He'd seen Tom's true power in the Forbidden Forest. As Harry's best friend, even he couldn't, in good conscience, claim Harry had done more than Tom.

The only reason Tom would say something like that… was humility.

Thinking that, Ron suddenly felt ashamed.

He'd always disliked Tom and Hermione because of their earlier disagreements, but the truth was—it was Ron himself who had been looking for trouble. Compared side by side, he now felt like a complete clown.

"Tom, you're being far too modest."

The voice came from the Slytherin table—and to everyone's surprise, it was Draco Malfoy speaking up for Tom.

"I know exactly what Potter's capable of. He barely knows a handful of spells. If he ran into an enemy, I imagine he'd just… claw at them."

Malfoy punctuated his remark by waving his hands like he was scratching wildly at something. His imitation was spot-on, sending the Slytherin table into an uproar of laughter, rivaling the Gryffindors' earlier cheer.

Tom looked at him strangely.

Indeed… the person who knew Harry Potter best was Malfoy. He'd even guessed that.

Because honestly, Harry had ended up tackling Quirrell in a full-on brawl.