Tom said it with perfect confidence, completely forgetting that the Aurors' upgraded gear had been his handiwork in the first place.
Snape, unaware of that delightful detail, found himself momentarily speechless.
It wasn't as if he hadn't fought back. He had. But those Aurors, armed to the teeth with enchanted equipment, had gone full offense without a hint of caution. The moment Tom stepped in, they were utterly overwhelmed.
The only flaw in expensive things is that they're expensive.
No, being expensive wasn't Tom's flaw.
It was Snape's.
"Where," Snape asked at last, voice edged with unmistakable bitterness, "did you learn such powerful frost magic?"
Tom smiled warmly. "Want to learn? I can teach you. Fifty thousand Galleons. I guarantee next time you face twenty or thirty Aurors, you'll freeze them into decorative lawn ornaments."
He wasn't entirely joking. While Snape couldn't replicate Tom's internal magic circuits, the refined frost spells Tom had adapted were still terrifyingly potent. With Snape's talent, mastering them wouldn't be difficult.
It wasn't a scam.
"You've fallen into a vault at Gringotts, haven't you?" Snape snapped. "Since when are you this obsessed with money?"
Tom sighed dramatically. "Life's expensive. How else am I supposed to support girlfriends? Forget it. You wouldn't understand."
A silent blade slid neatly into Snape's heart.
He turned sharply, cloak billowing.
"Go squeeze someone else dry."
But despite his irritation, a dangerous curiosity had already taken root.
Tom had to have uncovered the legacy of some ancient, powerful wizard, there was no other explanation for the spells and potions he kept pulling from nowhere.
Galleons, in truth, meant little to Snape.
Perhaps… it wouldn't hurt to earn a bit more this summer.
Just to purchase a few "items."
Tom watched him leave, smiling faintly.
Then he opened the system interface.
Five Million Galleon Trial Progress: 80,000 / 5,000,000
Thirty thousand from Snape.
Fifty thousand from Lucius Malfoy.
Lucius had actually paid one hundred thousand, but the system only recognized half. Pure extortion didn't count. Only value exchange did.
Helping Lucius extract and preserve certain memories.
Leaving his family a contingency plan.
That qualified.
Tom exhaled.
Still far too slow.
The most profitable things in the world were always the same: technology and finance.
He would have a hand in both.
…
Back on the island, the ice encasing the Aurors began melting rapidly.
Fifteen minutes after Tom and Snape's departure, the ten Aurors staggered free, shivering violently but alive. Noses ran uncontrollably in the frigid air.
Then they saw Pettigrew's corpse.
"…Merlin help us."
Whether it was Dawlish, Kingsley Shacklebolt, or the others, it made no difference. Every scalp tingled.
"Why would Death Eaters kill Pettigrew?" one asked blankly.
Shacklebolt's jaw tightened. "Because Pettigrew gave up the Potters. The Dark Lord fell because of that. Those two were avenging him."
Yet doubts gnawed at him.
The attackers' power had been immense. Far beyond what he associated with the scattered remnants who'd avoided imprisonment.
"Report to the Minister," Dawlish muttered, teeth chattering. "Now."
They Apparated back to London one by one, abandoning even the Thestrals in their haste.
…
When Minister Cornelius Fudge heard the report, his world collapsed.
Death Eaters.
Still active.
His first instinct was immediate: suppress the news.
If word spread, panic would follow. And in that panic, he would be the first casualty.
He ordered absolute secrecy.
Then, trembling slightly, he made the only correct decision available.
Find Albus Dumbledore.
…
At 12 Grimmauld Place, Dumbledore had been helping Sirius sort through ancestral clutter when the message arrived.
He froze.
"Peter is dead," he said quietly. "Two Death Eaters intercepted the convoy to Azkaban. The Aurors survived. Pettigrew did not."
Sirius stared.
Then he laughed.
Laughed and laughed, until tears streamed down his face.
"Good," he choked. "Good."
Dumbledore understood.
And yet… those two mysterious Death Eaters troubled him far more than Pettigrew's death.
To kill under ten Aurors' guard?
That was no small matter.
"Sirius, continue sorting. I must visit the site."
"Can I come?" Sirius asked quickly. "I just want to see the body. I won't interfere."
"I'm afraid not," Dumbledore replied gently. "Fudge requires discretion."
Sirius exhaled sharply. "Then make sure it's really him."
"I will."
…
The island still lay gripped by unnatural cold.
Hours had passed, yet the temperature hovered near freezing.
Dumbledore stepped onto the frost-bitten earth and felt the residue in the air.
Powerful.
Violent.
Layered.
He could almost see it in his mind.
Golden motes flowed from the tip of the Elder Wand, spreading like shimmering silk across the battlefield.
"Appare Vestigium."
The golden dust shifted.
Scenes began to replay before him.
Ice.
Wind.
Explosion.
Green light.
Dumbledore's blue eyes darkened slightly as the past unfolded.