NOVEL NEXT Chapter 128: A Date with Hermione
Disguised as Michael, Tom arrived at the investment company.
The investment manager greeted him warmly. The £40,000 Tom had put in right after Christmas—leveraged, of course—had now grown into a capital base of £600,000.
A small portion of that came from profits in the U.S. stock market, but the bulk was earned in the currency exchange market. Ever since that one particular day, the Russian ruble had been in freefall, collapsing to a truly miserable level. Still, opportunities like that would only come once in a while.
After customising a new investment plan, Tom discreetly used magic to plant a mental suggestion in the investment manager's mind—ensuring he wouldn't pull any shady tricks or deviate from the agreed-upon strategy. With that settled, Tom left the company holding a £200,000 cheque.
If the wizarding world were ever fully exposed, and wizards and Muggles engaged in an all-out war to the death, the winner would be hard to predict. But in cases like this—where someone like Tom used small magical tricks to quietly line his own pockets—the Muggle side really had no effective way of countering it.
With that £200,000 in hand, Tom decided it was time to buy himself a house.
Right now, London property prices were actually quite low. In an ordinary neighbourhood, £200,000 could get you a rather nice detached home, or even a terraced house in a prime location.
In wealthy districts like Westminster, Chelsea, or Richmond, that amount would easily cover a down payment for an average home. Two or three decades from now, those prices would multiply six- or seven-fold.
Tom's plan was to use the money as a down payment for a place in the city centre—set up a home for himself first.
With his investment company account showing healthy cash flow, securing a loan would be no trouble at all.
However, it was already too late in the day to start house-hunting. He had a lunch date with Hermione at noon, followed by a visit to Mr. Granger's clinic.
At a quarter past eleven, Tom arrived at their meeting spot—the bookshop right next to the Leaky Cauldron.
Hermione was already there, browsing intently through a slim volume titled *The Great British Cookbook*. Today she wore a pink short-sleeved top, jeans, and trainers, topped with a round-brimmed straw hat.
If no one told you otherwise, you'd never guess that this bright, pretty young woman was actually a witch.
Tom stepped up behind her and called softly.
She turned, her face lighting up with a radiant smile. "Tom, I thought you'd arrive exactly on the dot."
He teased, "When someone's offering me a free meal, of course I'll show up early."
Hermione gave a little "hmph" and lifted her smooth chin. "In the wizarding world I might be dirt poor, but in our society… I can afford to treat you to lunch hundreds of times over."
Ah yes, the terrifying reality of being an only child to a pair of dentists.
Tom immediately clutched her fair, slender thigh in mock supplication. "Rich lady, me hungry, feed me!"
Ten minutes later, he was staring at the giant golden M in front of him with a look of pure betrayal, then slowly turned to Hermione. "This 'fancy meal' you mentioned… is McDonald's?"
Her cheeks flushed—not from the heat, but from embarrassment. "I… I couldn't find any special restaurants. Steak, ribs—we eat those all the time at school. But hamburgers… Hogwarts doesn't have hamburgers."
Tom facepalmed.
No wonder she'd been reading such a bizarre book when he arrived—she'd been looking for ideas.
Still, she wasn't wrong. Hogwarts really didn't serve burgers… but weren't chips already the most hated food on the young witches' and wizards' list?
After thinking it over, Tom took her soft hand. "Want to try something really new? Come with me—but you're still paying."
When it came to freeloading, he took the job seriously.
Hermione, of course, didn't refuse. Glancing down at their linked hands, she felt her heartbeat quicken. In a dreamy daze, she let Tom lead her to a traditional tearoom tucked away down a quiet London street.
Tom used to come here often for afternoon tea, but after starting at Hogwarts, he hadn't had the time. The moment he remembered it, he felt a wave of nostalgia.
London, after all, had no shortage of old-fashioned tea rooms, many of them family-run for generations. Any place that could survive here had to be the real deal.
Once inside, they headed upstairs. A server in crisp uniform came by, and Tom began ordering with the ease of someone who knew the menu by heart.
Hermione blinked at the list. "You sound as though you've been here a hundred times."
"Something like that," he admitted with a smirk.
Soon their tiered trays arrived. At first, Hermione looked wary of the tiny sandwiches and scones, but after Tom half-coaxed, half-strong-armed her into trying them, she was hooked. Annoyed at how much clotted cream stuck to her fingers, she abandoned any pretence of delicacy and dug in wholeheartedly. She ended up ordering two more scones with jam, plus a full plate of Battenberg cake.
Even on the way to the clinic, she was still savouring the flavours of the tea.
"Hogwarts really ought to improve its menu. The quality's fine, but it's the same dishes all year round—no matter how good they are, you get sick of them."
Tom wholeheartedly agreed, even urging her to write to Dumbledore about it. He promised to sign his name alongside hers.
"Welcome, Tom."
Mr. Granger's clinic was housed in a three-storey villa just one street away from their home. He greeted them warmly at the door and led them inside.
Hermione, familiar with the place, went off to fetch some water.
Mr. Granger took Tom into the observation room. That was when Tom presented the gift he'd brought for their first meeting.
"What kind of animal tooth is this?" Mr. Granger exclaimed in astonishment.
It was a tooth longer than Tom's arm and twice as thick—razor sharp at the end.
"It's a dragon's tooth, Uncle. I hope you like it."
"A dragon's tooth? Like it? I love it!"
Mr. Granger stroked the massive fang, utterly entranced. When Hermione came over, she found her father cradling the enormous tooth like a treasured relic, looking ridiculously happy.
"You're sure giving this to my dad won't cause any problems?" Hermione asked in a whisper, worried about the Ministry of Magic's restrictions.