Harry Potter: I, Tom Riddle, am not the Dark Lord

"Grandmother!"

The anxious cry jolted Fleur from her lingering state of fear. At last regaining her senses, she shouted into the sky in response.

Dozens more Veela had arrived, diving from the sky. The one in the lead landed directly in front of the silver-haired girl, while the rest bared their fangs and wings, encircling Tom with open hostility.

Tom frowned slightly.

The Veela who had been communicating with him rushed to explain, relaying everything in their shrill, melodic language. Only then did the tension begin to fade—though wariness still lingered in the air.

"Thank you for saving my granddaughter," said a breathtaking Veela as the others parted to let her through. She had the same waterfall-like silver hair as Fleur, with porcelain skin that glowed faintly like moonlight. An otherworldly grace radiated from her, muddling the senses of anyone who looked too long.

Tom activated his Occlumency. Not the faintest flicker of attraction passed through him.

"I am Polana, matriarch of the Veela tribe," she introduced herself with a slight bow. "Had you not arrived, they may not have held on long enough for our reinforcements to arrive."

"Pleasure to meet you, Lady Polana. You may call me Michael," Tom replied gently. "I believe you already know what I came for."

"No problem," Polana agreed without hesitation. She affectionately patted Fleur's head. "You saved my treasure. In return, I shall mobilize every Veela and all our allies to help you locate the dragon."

Whew.

Tom let out a breath of relief.

With the aid of locals, things would go a lot smoother from here.

"Until then, Michael," Polana offered, "please stay in our village. My people tend to shun human settlements—too many treacherous eyes and greedy hearts."

"Then I'll trouble you for the hospitality." Tom readily agreed. He was quite curious about how the Veela lived.

With the danger gone, the Veela's monstrous forms melted away, revealing their natural beauty. Each of them shimmered with silvery waves of hair, long graceful legs, and elegant curves. Even without wind, their hair fluttered like silk in a breeze.

Now that's more like it, Tom thought, watching as dozens of stunning women surrounded him like an escort. He almost felt like he was in a dream—no, even the most luxurious clubs couldn't offer this level of quality.

The Veela smiled at him with eyes like spring blossoms. Even a dog would fall in love under such stares.

But Tom, having seen their monstrous forms in battle, remained unfazed.

"Mr. Michael," came a soft, delicate voice.

Tom turned. Without him noticing, Fleur had appeared by his side.

"My name is Fleur Delacour. Thank you… for saving me."

A half-Veela, French, and the right age—there was only one who matched. That was part of why Tom had chosen to intervene.

"Miss Delacour," Tom suddenly put on a serious expression, "that's not how one gives thanks. It lacks sincerity."

Fleur blinked in confusion. "Then… what would be sincere?"

"Like this," Tom cleared his throat and recited with exaggerated seriousness:

"If your savior is handsome, you should say—'I have nothing to repay you with but myself.'

But if your savior is ugly, you should say—'If I could be reborn, I'd become a cow or a horse just to repay this life-saving grace.'"

He leaned closer. "Now… which one will it be?"

Fleur seemed to see the light. She tilted her head and said tentatively, "Then… I'll be your cow or horse in the next life?"

Tom: "…"

Pffft—!

The Veela who understood human language burst into laughter, doubling over as they tried to catch their breath. Those who didn't understand looked around in confusion.

Even Polana chuckled gently, her smile growing more indulgent by the second.

And when someone finally translated the exchange for the rest, the forest erupted in silvery bell-like laughter—except for Tom and Fleur, who stood there red-faced.

Tom was especially frustrated. The persona he had taken with the Polyjuice Potion was downright hideous…

And suddenly—one of the Veela gasped.

All eyes turned to Tom.

The Polyjuice Potion had worn off.

Before everyone's stunned gaze, Tom shed his disguise and returned to his true form. The magically altered clothing shrank back into proper size with him.

"You… used Polyjuice Potion?" Fleur stared at him with wide eyes, quickly putting the pieces together.

Tom sighed. "When you're out on your own, it's best to give yourself a mature identity. Otherwise, everything becomes unnecessarily complicated."

Even Polana looked surprised. "Mr. Michael… is this your real appearance?"

"Call me Riddle. Tom Riddle," he replied calmly, no longer bothering to hide anything.

The Veela, though guarded, weren't concerned with laws or secrecy. And even if word got out—well, this was France. The British Ministry had no say here.

"Riddle… how old are you?" Fleur asked the question that had been gnawing at her since she saw his height.

"Eleven and a half."

Fleur's worldview shattered.

Eleven—that was the age of starting school.

But this boy, at that age, had casually wiped out several fully grown wizards… killed them outright with a single curse… annihilated an entire squad in under a minute…

And he was gorgeous to boot?!

Tom looked at her with a sly smile. "Delacour, I'll give you one more chance. Do you choose to be a cow… or would you rather offer yourself in gratitude?"

Fleur stared at his face, utterly entranced. Slowly, a blush crept up her cheeks.

Could she… pick again?

…

An hour later, Tom arrived at the Veela village.

It was nestled in a hidden valley, its layout not unlike a human settlement. Neat little houses clung to the cliffs, forming rows that stretched down the mountainside.

Polana arranged a private cottage for him to rest, while she took the wounded for healing.

Tom explored the house briefly, picked out a bedroom, and had just settled in when he heard a knock at the door.

He opened it—to find Fleur standing there prettily… along with a miniature version of herself.

"Didn't we just part ways? Why are you back already?" Tom asked casually, though his gaze had locked onto the smaller girl.

She stared back with wide, clear eyes, fearless and curious.

Tom raised an eyebrow. A younger version of Fleur…?

This was going to be interesting.

…

"What do you mean by that?"

Fleur was visibly upset. She had come over full of curiosity, eager to get to know this mysterious boy who had just saved her life. But instead of a warm welcome, she was greeted with what sounded suspiciously like... disdain?

Hadn't he just asked her to devote her life to him a moment ago? Now he was acting like he didn't even recognize her.

Jerk!

What really grated on Fleur, though, was that Tom seemed way more interested in Gabrielle than in her. Other than a single glance when speaking, the boy hadn't looked at her again—his attention was entirely on her younger sister!

Back at Beauxbatons, Fleur was used to being the center of attention. Wherever she went, all eyes followed. But here? This boy treated her like just another bystander!

"Big brother, I'm Gabrielle," the little Fleur look-alike said sweetly.

Tom couldn't help but smile. He crouched down to meet her at eye level. "Hello, Gabrielle. I'm Tom Riddle. And how old are you this year?"

"I'm six!" Gabrielle announced with great pride.

"Wow, amazing!" Tom gave her a big thumbs-up. "Six already? That's incredible!"

Children never cared why they were being praised. Praise was praise, and it made them happy. Gabrielle beamed, eyes turning into little crescent moons as she giggled—and promptly revealed the reason for their visit.

"Big sister said you saved her, so I came to thank you!"

"I see..." Tom pretended to be enlightened. "Then do you know the proper way to than—"

"Riddle!"

Before he could finish, Fleur cut him off in a panic. Was he seriously trying to pull that same 'devote your life' trick again?

That might've worked on her—once—but not on her six-year-old sister!

She could take the hit, sure. But her sister? Absolutely not!

Changing the subject, Fleur huffed, "So, are you really planning to keep us standing at the door?"

Tom simply shrugged, utterly unfazed. He stood and, quite naturally, held out his hand. Gabrielle, just as naturally, placed her tiny hand into his, letting him lead her into the house.

Fleur ground her teeth as she watched them—why did it look so natural for that brat to be holding her sister's hand?!

Once inside, the three of them settled in the living room. Gabrielle sat close to Tom, unusually well-behaved for a six-year-old, not fidgeting or running about—just quietly watching.

"My grandmother's busy tending to the wounded," Fleur said. "She asked me to check if you need anything—so I can help get it for you."

Tom shook his head. "I always carry my essentials. Don't need anything. Though, food might be a problem. What do Veela usually eat?"

Fleur gave an awkward yet polite smile. "Veela prefer magical berries and enchanted flowers. There's a garden at the end of the valley, but... I doubt that sort of thing is very edible for humans."

Drinking dew and eating flowers? Honestly, they sounded more and more like real-life fairies. If only they didn't have that horrifying transformation ability, they'd be indistinguishable from the elves of legend.

"What about you and Gabrielle?" Tom asked. "What do you eat?"

"I do the cooking. We just eat something simple."

"Didn't peg you as the cooking type. Make me something too, then. As long as it doesn't kill me, I'll be fine."

Tom said it with total nonchalance, like it was only natural for Fleur to cook for him. She rolled her eyes. "Don't underestimate me. Gabrielle says my cooking is delicious!"

Behind her, the little girl quietly pursed her lips.

Of course she'd say it was good. Who dared say otherwise when Big Sister was watching?

Though Fleur was annoyed that Tom didn't seem to think much of her, she still didn't refuse his request. Brushing a strand of silver hair behind her ear, she asked casually, "Riddle, you're eleven, right? That means you should've started school already. So how come I've never seen you at Beauxbatons?"

"I'm from good ol' London—Union Jack and all. Not French. I go to Hogwarts."

"No way—you're British?" Fleur was surprised. "But your French is so fluent! And you don't even have an accent!"

"Well, you know what they say—learning more languages opens more doors. I just studied it for fun when I was bored."

Fleur once again found herself re-evaluating this prodigy of a boy.

"So you came to the Vosges Mountains just to find a dragon?" she asked.

Tom replied as if it were the most obvious thing in the world: "Of course. What else would I be doing here?"

"Big brother, why are you looking for a dragon?" Gabrielle asked, her big eyes blinking with innocent curiosity.

Tom suddenly put on a very serious expression. "It's a trial set by Hogwarts. To be promoted to second year, every student has to slay a dragon and prove their strength."

What kind of insane school would do that?!

Fleur was torn between laughing and screaming. If that were the standard, Hogwarts would've gone extinct centuries ago. But what really floored her was—Gabrielle believed him.

The poor little girl looked horrified, scrambling into her sister's arms.

"Sister! Hogwarts sounds terrifying! I don't want to go there!"

Fleur shot Tom a glare of pure exasperation as she hugged her sister close, gently soothing her. "Don't worry, Gabrielle. You'll go to Beauxbatons like me. It's the best wizarding school in the world—we wouldn't send you to Hogwarts."

She added another mental note to Tom's growing list of flaws:

-> Likes cute little girls.

-> Spews nonsense without blinking.

-> Says one thing and does another.

-> Grade-A scoundrel.

To Tom's surprise, though, he didn't argue with Fleur's claim about Beauxbatons being the best. It wasn't that he agreed, exactly. He just didn't feel like debating.

Hogwarts, as it stood now, had indeed fallen behind. Until the revolving-door curse on the Defense Against the Dark Arts post was resolved, the school didn't deserve the title of "best."

Gabrielle, reassured by her sister, slowly peeked out from Fleur's arms and turned to Tom. "Big brother, Hogwarts is too scary. You should come to Beauxbatons instead! Then we can see each other every day!"

"You live at Beauxbatons?" Tom asked, surprised.

"She's in pre-school," Fleur explained. "Beauxbatons offers early education. Starting at seven, young witches and wizards who qualify can attend to learn reading, writing, and basic magical theory."

Tom was genuinely impressed. "That's actually really smart. Way better than Hogwarts. There, even pure-bloods have to teach themselves everything before they enroll. No wonder the standards are all over the place."

"That's thanks to Madame Maxime," Fleur said proudly. "Oh—right, you probably don't know her. She's the headmistress of Beauxbatons."

Her eyes lit up with admiration at the mention of her headmistress.

The three chatted a little longer until Gabrielle began to nod off. Her eyelids drooped, and her head lolled slightly to one side. It was clearly time for a nap.

Fleur stood up and gently scooped her sister into her arms. "We'll be going now."

Tom nodded and headed upstairs himself to rest for a while.

By the time night fell and the valley was bathed in moonlight, Fleur returned once again—this time, to call him for dinner.