Grindelwald had long since confirmed it with his own eyes—Andros could cast spells without a wand, summoning a Patronus the size of a giant. Grindelwald had exclaimed that such magic didn't even feel like magic anymore.

He used to consider himself a master in wandless magic—his proudest feat being the effortless subduing of the Scamander couple with just a few flicks of his hand. But compared to Andros? He was utterly outclassed.

At long last, Andros had a chance to bask in glory. He had always suffered from being born in the wrong era. Many modern magical theories he was only now catching up on, learning alongside Tom under Grindelwald's tutelage. But now, Grindelwald was learning from him.

Though the two got along well, they were both "Kings of the Century"—neither willing to admit inferiority. Their rivalry simmered beneath the surface.

To accelerate his mastery, Tom even activated his Transcendent State a few times. He had the academic credits to spare, but progress on his Achievement Points had slowed dramatically compared to last term.

There was no helping it. Many early achievements were easy to collect, but the farther he went, the more demanding the requirements became.

Grindelwald's Recognition Meter was climbing—but painfully slowly. It hadn't even reached fifty percent.

That was the downside of Dark wizards. They were infamously difficult to fully trust anyone. Even with the system ensuring Grindelwald wouldn't harm him, and even though he was willingly sharing all his knowledge, it didn't mean he recognized Tom as his equal.

Which was why Tom wanted to seek out another master to speed up his system's upgrade.

He'd asked the system if someone marked as "a genius of his generation" with 100 Achievement Points would qualify.

The answer was no.

Such figures were merely considered "assistant teachers" by the system. Only "Kings of the Century"—true legends—could qualify as real mentors. Their recognition was what mattered.

So Tom gave up the idea.

Another week of classes passed.

After Potions class, Tom quietly followed Snape into his office.

Snape acted like he didn't notice, tending to his business—stacking student essays neatly, lighting the extinguished fireplace—before finally asking, "All right, what's the problem this time?"

"I'd like to submit a thesis," Tom said plainly. "But I want your feedback first—to check if anything needs improving."

"A thesis?" Snape looked at him skeptically, unsure what had gotten into the boy.

Still, he didn't question Tom's ability. Doubting Tom would mean doubting his own teaching. With a brilliant student and a masterful teacher, Tom had already surpassed most others in the field of Potions.

Snape was just baffled. This kid had always been obsessed with raw power. What was he doing writing academic papers?

"Let me see it."

His curiosity piqued, Snape accepted the small booklet Tom handed over—about ten pages thick.

"On the Feasibility of Extracting Vital Active Properties from Potion Ingredients"

Snape frowned at the title.

Had he ever taught Tom anything like this?

For the next half hour, Tom leaned back with his eyes closed while the only sound in the room was the flipping of pages—and the increasingly complicated expressions on Snape's face as he read. He was clearly dissecting every word and paragraph with care.

Tom's thesis proposed a method to extract life-active properties from ingredients. The extracted essence could be absorbed more easily, and the process significantly reduced impurities and toxins, drastically improving potion quality.

It sounded simple. But it flipped traditional potion-making on its head.

Grind, slice, juice—those were the standard methods of ingredient prep. But if you only needed the life-active essence, wouldn't that change the entire formula?

Could it still be called the same potion?

Snape meticulously examined Tom's experimental data.

Lately, Tom had brewed quite a few Fortifying Potions. The trickiest part was always processing the dragon heart—it required an incredibly delicate hand to remove every impurity and preserve only the core vitality. Any misstep could sabotage the entire brew.

Then inspiration struck—what if he used modern medical extraction techniques? Target only the elements he needed. After two failed attempts (and losing 40% of his dragon heart stock), he finally succeeded. The resulting potion was even stronger and absorbed better.

Originally, he hadn't planned to publish any paper. But with his academic credits stuck in a rut, he figured—why not try to score some with a bit of scholarship?

The data was solid. The improvements were real. Snape couldn't fault any of it.

But... something still felt off.

Dragon hearts. Sphinx eyes...

Wait a minute—why did those ingredients sound so familiar?

"…Riddle."

Tom slowly opened his eyes. Snape was watching him carefully.

"These materials—where exactly did you get them? And why does your potion's effects section omit information on its... secondary magical interactions?"

Of course, Tom had been ready for that question.

"I came across the recipe by chance. As for the ingredients…"

He gave a sheepish grin.

"They were provided by Daphne—or more accurately, sponsored by the Greengrass family."

Greengrass?

Snape raised an eyebrow. But then he thought of how that girl practically glued herself to Tom's side. The suspicion drained from his face.

If the Greengrasses were behind it, then everything made sense.

Still... Riddle, you little bastard.

Already living off a wealthy pureblood family at your age? What happened to ambition and hard work?

Seeing Snape's reaction, Tom became even more intrigued by the Greengrasses.

He decided to just ask directly.

"Professor, Daphne's kind of clueless—she doesn't really know much about her own family. But I've been wondering... just how rich are the Greengrasses? I mean, they don't marry into other families, yet they're insanely powerful. How did they even get this far?"

Snape gave him a long, meaningful look.

"Riddle, you've read Cantankerus Nott's Pureblood Registry, haven't you? Do you remember how he described the Greengrass family?"

Tom thought for a moment, pulling up the memory.

"'The pureblood ideal. A family that never declines.'"