Hogwarts: Chill, I’m Not That Tom Riddle

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Nicolas had already learned about Tom's reason for pursuing the Philosopher's Stone from his earlier letters. But even now, hearing it again, the old man still frowned slightly—his expression heavy with concern.

"Tom… I've done some research on the blood curse. There aren't many records about it, and the effects can vary depending on the caster."

"As for that Greengrass girl you mentioned—I've heard of her. That family's always been known for their political savvy. Their contracts and the way they handle things are the main reasons their bloodline has endured for so long."

"In fact, over two hundred years ago, their family had already set their sights on the Philosopher's Stone. I was in hiding back then and didn't get involved."

He chuckled suddenly, "Funny how things come full circle. Two centuries later, and the Stone still ends up in their hands."

"So... is there a way to cure it?" Tom asked. Depending on the Stone to prolong Astoria's life felt like a temporary fix. What if their children inherited the curse too?

Wait... their children?

Tom suddenly realized something was off with his thoughts.

While he was caught in that brief moment of confusion, Nicolas spoke up again. "There are solutions—two, in fact."

Tom immediately perked up, ready to listen closely.

"The first method is basically fighting fire with fire. Use an even stronger curse to suppress the blood curse. Like, say, cursing them to live a long life."

"But that route's painful. The blood curse would still exist—it'd just be pinned down by another curse. The two battling inside the body? Not something most people could handle."

Tom quickly waved that idea off. "No, no. Forget that one. She is just a little girl. There's no way I'd let her suffer like that."

Nicolas smiled, reaching out to tap Tom on the forehead. "You've got a soft spot, I see."

He'd guessed Tom would respond this way. Not surprising at all.

"The second method… is a full blood replacement."

The old man's face grew much more serious. "It's called a blood curse for a reason—it's inherited through the bloodline. You'd need more than a transfusion. Even the heart might have to be replaced. The implications of that go way beyond what I can explain right now."

"I'd rather you discover the answer yourself—through study and hard work."

Truthfully, Nicolas had only agreed to meet Tom because of Dumbledore's request. But after this visit, he'd come to genuinely admire the boy's talent—and perhaps even saw him as a potential successor.

At this point in his life, Nicolas no longer feared death. But he did want to leave behind a lasting mark on the world.

So now, he was thinking like a mentor—truly trying to help Tom in every way he could.

Tom understood this well. He didn't press for more answers. Instead, he brought out something he'd been working on—a prototype Anti-Disarm Bracelet he had designed.

Nicolas inspected it, nodding in approval. "Your fundamentals are solid. But your work lacks structure."

"You're just brute-forcing it with knowledge. That makes your designs feel too… mechanical."

"Take this pattern here, it could be much more elegant."

Tom listened carefully to every critique, jotting things down in his notebook. Each piece of feedback made something click—like puzzle pieces falling into place.

Andros knew nothing about alchemy. Grindelwald never had time for it—he was always focused on improving his own power. So yeah… Tom really was in need of a teacher like this.

And honestly, even the Study Space wouldn't be able to offer a better alchemy teacher than Nicolas Flamel.

Sure, there might be a couple of "Century Kings" every hundred years, but in terms of alchemy? There was only one Nicolas Flamel in hundreds of years. That made him rarer than any "Century King."

After a while, Nicolas finally put the lesson on pause—reluctantly.

There was no point in rushing. Tom had to start from the basics and go through things systematically before they could dive deeper.

"Parker!"

Nicolas tapped the side of his lounge chair, and with a sharp pop, a house-elf appeared.

He instructed the elf to prepare a guest room and dinner for Tom. Nicolas didn't have much energy these days. Walking didn't tire him out, but watching beach girls all morning had definitely drained him.

So he turned in early.

Tom, meanwhile, wandered around the room, examining every alchemical tool.

In one afternoon, he managed to explore both the kitchen and the living room.

...

The next day, they traveled back to Paris in a luxurious carriage pulled by Thestrals.

The city was divided into twenty districts, and Nicolas lived in the 8th Arrondissement—home to the Champs-Élysées.

According to the old man, he liked the area's vibrant atmosphere. It reminded him of life's simple pleasures.

They ducked into a shabby little shop off the street. Nicolas rang a bell on the table, and the back wall began to shift and twist, forming a wide archway.

Stepping through, the view opened up: it was an estate only slightly smaller than the Greengrass manor—but instead of a castle, it was made up of a collection of grand palaces.

It looked like…

"Reminds you of Versailles, doesn't it?" Nicolas said with a grin. "Back in the 18th century, I got bored and worked as an art consultant for Louis XIV. I even threw in a few alchemy tricks to impress him."

"There are bits of my input in the real Palace of Versailles. After it was finished, I liked how it turned out, so I built my own version."

Tom gave him a big thumbs-up.

Longevity really was a cheat. The guy had met everyone, apparently. Louis XIV probably got swindled out of a bunch of treasures.

Then again, the Sun King didn't do too badly either—living into his seventies and keeping France under control? Flamel probably had a hand in that too.

---

To enter the palace, they walked down a 100-meter-long mirror hall, lined with hundreds of mirrors and dozens of arched windows.

There were a lot of rooms. The daily upkeep was handled by five house-elves. Flamel assigned Parker specifically to look after Tom, make sure all his needs were met.

In the tea room, Tom also met Perenelle Flamel. The old woman looked about the same as Nicolas—her energy came in short bursts.

And even though they didn't talk long, she seemed to like Tom, and invited him to have morning tea with her the next day. He agreed without hesitation.

After tea, Nicolas brought Tom to the most important place for him, the library.

The old man handed him a notebook. The first page listed dozens of book titles. The pages behind were crammed with more.

"This is your task. Read these in order. I'll check in daily to monitor your progress. If you run into questions, save them—I'll answer them all every three days."

Tom nodded seriously as he accepted the list. Then, a little embarrassed, he asked, "Um… Professor, can I start tomorrow? I have a friend in Paris I promised to visit."

"Friend? Boy or girl?" The old man's mischievous smirk was back, eyes twinkling with gossip.

"Uh... girl."

Tom gave a brief explanation about Fleur—how they met and got to know each other. As for the whole dragon-slaying incident? He left that part out.

Sure, even if he told Flamel and Dumbledore found out, it wouldn't be a big deal. But hey — no need to lay all your cards on the table. Life isn't about pretending to be weak, but that doesn't mean you should flaunt your trump card either.

"Good, good. You're even smoother than I was back in the day. She should be the third, right?" Flamel chuckled, patting Tom on the shoulder.

"No wonder you're a Muggle-born and still ended up in Slytherin. That's what we call ambition."

Seeing Tom was about to reply, the old man waved. "Alright, alright. Go on then, off to see your veela girlfriend."

After granting Tom permission to freely come and go from the estate, Flamel strolled off.

— — —

Ding-dong!

Ding-dong!

The sudden chime of the doorbell startled Fleur. She quickly told Gabrielle to go upstairs, pulled out her wand, and approached the door cautiously.

Anyone visiting their home would usually be one of their parents' friends, but they'd never show up during work hours…

When she peeked through the peephole and saw who it was, all her wariness vanished in an instant. The half-veela girl squealed with joy, yanked open the door, and threw herself into his arms.

"Tom!"

"Whoa! So enthusiastic?"

Tom hadn't expected such a warm welcome right off the bat. A soft, sweet fragrance hit him as Fleur hugged him tightly. Smiling, he patted her back. "See? I keep my promises."

"Hmph."

Suddenly remembering she was supposed to be mad, Fleur shoved him away with a pout. "I almost forgot. Summer break's already halfway over and you just now show up. You totally forgot about me, didn't you?"

"Forget about you? Maybe. But there's no way I'd forget about Gabrielle."

"You jerk!"

Fleur huffed and started pounding his chest with her fists. At that exact moment, Gabrielle—who had been eavesdropping from the top of the stairs—perked up. Her eyes lit up the second she heard Tom's voice. With quick little footsteps, she darted down the stairs, pushed her sister aside, and jumped on Tom like a baby koala.

"Tom! You finally came to see me!"

"Aww, my little cutie—your cheeks feel even rounder than last time."

Tom held her up with one hand and gently pinched her soft cheeks with the other. Since he didn't pinch hard, Gabrielle just giggled uncontrollably instead of getting upset.

And of course, she tattled right away.

"Fleur is mean! She made me go upstairs so she could hide you from me!"

"Gabrielle!" Fleur scowled at her sister. "How was I supposed to know it was him? I told you to go upstairs to keep you safe! Bad people love girls like you!"

As she said that, she shot a pointed glare at Tom.

But Gabrielle had her backup now, so she wasn't scared of Fleur anymore. She stuck out her tongue at her big sister and wiggled in Tom's arms, urging him to take her inside.

Fleur quickly found Tom a brand-new pair of slippers, and the three of them headed to the living room. The carpet was scattered with magical building blocks—it was obvious Fleur had just been keeping Gabrielle entertained there.

Of course, Gabrielle wasn't quite clever enough to win against Fleur in a battle of wits.

"Didn't you say Tom wanted to see what you built?" Fleur said sweetly.

Hook, line, and sinker.

Gabrielle lit up like a lamp and ran over to her blocks, ready to show off. That bought Fleur and Tom some alone time.

Tom didn't bother pretending—he sat right next to Fleur, so close they looked like they were leaning into each other from behind.

"Oh, and I brought you guys something from America."

Tom pulled out two Thunderbird models. They were usually made with fake feathers, but he'd swapped in real ones, which gave the models a glossy, vivid look that made them feel almost alive.

"And this too."

He handed over a set of souvenirs from the four Ilvermorny houses. Fleur curiously examined each one, and finally decided the Wampus House design suited her taste the best.

"Wait—did you meet Mr. Scamander while you were there?" she asked, eyes wide with excitement.

"Maybe... why asking?"

Fleur laughed awkwardly. "I was just curious. Our Care of Magical Creatures teacher always uses him as a warning—says if you don't control your pets properly, you'll end up banned from half the wizarding world like he was."

Tom: "..."

Seriously? That was decades ago. Are the French still bitter about that whole Paris almost-burning-down thing?

Shouldn't they be blaming Grindelwald instead? Poor Scamander was just collateral damage.

Tom went on to share some highlights of his trip to America, and Fleur listened with shining eyes.

Her summer had been painfully boring by comparison—just homework and babysitting.

She glanced at Gabrielle, still absorbed in her block tower, and felt both fondness and helplessness.

But now that Tom was here? They could finally go out and have some fun tomorrow! Surely two teens could handle one tiny gremlin.

Full of excitement, Fleur started telling Tom about all the magical and Muggle attractions around Paris, already planning out their itinerary for the next few days.

Tom hated to interrupt, but he had to.

"Fleur, actually... there's something I need to tell you—"

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