A small, dim room on the first floor held only a battered wardrobe and a narrow iron bed—bare and bleak.
Sitting on a gray blanket in the shadowed corner by the bed, Tom stared intently at his right hand. Coiled around it was a small green snake.
"Hssss..."
Tom hissed softly. The snake seemed to understand, bobbing its head in response.
After a moment, the snake slid from Tom's hand, slipped through the narrow window, and vanished into the night.
"Wade... What's the secret to your strength? I'll find out soon... Whatever you can do, I can do too!"
Tom clenched his fist, staring at the spot where the snake had disappeared.
---
"Petrificus Totalus! (Full Body-Bind!)"
Thump!
A gray mouse tumbled stiffly off the windowsill.
Li Wade poked it with a green stick. It felt like stone.
He made a small gesture.
"Finite Incantatem! (Counter-spell!)"
Squeak!
The rigid mouse sprang back to life, scrambling frantically to escape. With few hiding spots in the sparse room, it dashed toward the half-meter-high windowsill again and again.
"Petrificus Totalus!"
Squeak!
"Finite Incantatem!"
Squeak!
...
After more than a dozen rounds, the mouse gave up. It lay on its back in the corner, playing dead.
Li Wade ignored it, returning to his spellbook. Practicing offensive curses was more effective with a live target.
Yet something puzzled him. Even with talent, mastering a moderately difficult spell wandlessly in just over a dozen attempts? That kind of speed was unnatural.
Moreover, when Tom had attacked him earlier, the magical force had felt like a faint breeze—not even strong enough to ruffle his hair.
The book explained this: such disparity came from a vast difference in magical strength, not skill. That shouldn't happen. Tom was the future Dark Lord; his talent was supposed to be immense. Even if Li Wade was stronger at the same age, it shouldn't be a total blowout.
He found the answer in the book's section on magical theory:
[...A wizard's magical strength grows with age, peaking theoretically in adulthood. Neglect or disuse can cause it to weaken or vanish... Research suggests magical potency is linked to soul strength...]
Li Wade remembered: he wasn't truly Tom's peer. His body had regressed, but his mind and soul were fully adult. His magical strength had likely already reached mature levels.
Conclusion: fighting an underage Tom, however gifted, was like an adult dueling a child. Crushing him was inevitable.
Can my magical strength still grow naturally? If not, how do I break past this limit?
As a former prodigy biologist, pushing human limits had been his life's work. Now, his subject had simply shifted—from Muggles to wizards.
---
Tom flipped through pages absently, his eyes vacant. The snake hadn't returned. Restlessness gnawed at him.
He knew Li Wade was practicing in secret behind closed doors. He'd sent the snake to spy, hoping to uncover the secret to his power.
But the snake was long overdue...
After another hour, Tom couldn't wait anymore. He took a deep breath and headed toward Li Wade's room.
Room 201. The door stood slightly ajar... as if waiting.
Pushing aside paranoid thoughts, Tom eased it open.
Li Wade was inside, poking a gray mouse on the floor with a green stick. Something about that stick looked familiar...
Li Wade turned, spotting Tom in the doorway. A gentle smile touched his lips.
Virtue Points incoming...
"Tom! Perfect timing. I just discovered something fascinating about our... special abilities."
As Li Wade stood, Tom realized why the stick had looked familiar.
It was his snake—petrified stiff as a twig.
His hanging heart finally died.
Ding! Host has altered the future Dark Lord's life trajectory! Reward: 100 Virtue Points!
Li Wade: ?
---
Hogwarts
The circular Headmaster's office glowed warmly from the crackling fireplace.
"Armando, I'll be in London anyway. I'll handle these two." Dumbledore waved two envelopes.
"Of course..." Dippet sat behind his broad desk, smoothing his disheveled white beard. His clouded eyes fixed on Dumbledore. "Is it confirmed? Is he truly in London?"
"Not confirmed, but the signs point there. And... you know I can't disregard any lead concerning him. Especially not one this credible." Dumbledore carefully slipped the letters into his coat pocket.
"Hmph... Scamander wrote to you, didn't he? He never did graduate properly from Hogwarts..." Dippet mused, almost offhandedly.
"Yes. But I assure you, Armando, Newt is utterly trustworthy. His competence is undeniable," Dumbledore replied firmly.
"Mr. Scamander has proven both his skill and loyalty. I don't doubt your judgment, Albus. So... he's likely in London. Are you prepared?"
Dumbledore drew a slow breath. "I've been prepared to face him for years. He's just grown... elusive."
"Good. I'm glad you've made your choice. If you need aid, ask. I may be old, but my wand arm hasn't failed me yet..."
"I will, Armando... And thank you. For your understanding. For everything."
"Enough sentiment. You'd manage without me. Go to London. End this... And don't forget those letters afterward. Both children are at that Muggle orphanage—they'll need a professor's explanation."