Hogwarts: Chill, I’m Not That Tom Riddle

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"WHAT? You're learning alchemy from Nicolas Flamel and living in his house?!"

Fleur looked like she'd just been hit with a Stunning Spell. Her lips formed a perfect big "O" as she stared at Tom in total disbelief.

If anyone else had said it, she would've just rolled her eyes and assumed they were bragging. But it was Tom—which only made her question if she'd misheard.

"Uh… is it really that surprising?" Tom asked, clearly confused by how dramatic her reaction was.

"That's Nicolas Flamel you're talking about! He's the pride of French wizards!"

Fleur was practically vibrating with excitement as she rattled off a long list of Flamel's achievements. Then she leaned in, eyes shining. "Come on, tell me everything—did you seriously just come from his house?"

Tom gave her a quick summary of what had happened.

Honestly, he hadn't realized just how revered Flamel was in France. The man's status was even higher than Dumbledore's in Britain—not just because he was the greatest French wizard in centuries, but because of his massive contributions to Beauxbatons.

Before Flamel got involved, Beauxbatons was basically a glorified private school for pure-blood families. But then he donated a ton of gold to the school, helping it expand and accept a broader range of students.

That support transformed Beauxbatons into one of Europe's three major wizarding academies, drawing students from France, Belgium, the Netherlands, Luxembourg, and beyond.

So yeah—Flamel wasn't just famous. To French wizards, he was legendary. A living myth, like Godric Gryffindor or Salazar Slytherin.

...

By the time Tom finished describing life at the Flamel estate, Fleur's envy was written all over her face.

"I'm seriously jealous of you, Tom," she huffed. "To be chosen as Monsieur Flamel's student… you've basically hit the magical jackpot!"

"I guess I'm just too amazing for him," Tom said with a helpless look, as if wondering why being so talented was such a burden.

Fleur, without hesitation, reached over and pinched his side. Hard.

"Okay, okay! I surrender!" Tom laughed, holding his hands up in mock defeat—not because it hurt, but because it tickled.

After the playful scuffle, Fleur sobered up a little, though she still looked wistful. "This is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, Tom. You'd better make the most of it. And next time you come to France, we're going out again. Deal?"

Tom smiled, absentmindedly twirling a lock of her silvery hair between his fingers. "It's not as dramatic as you make it sound. I'm studying, not locked in Azkaban. I can come and go as I please. I won't be able to see you that often, but visiting now and then? Totally doable."

"Besides, if I study non-stop, my brain might actually explode. Gotta take breaks, right?"

Fleur chuckled, her mood lifting again. "Good point."

"Big brother! My carriage is done!" Gabrielle called out, clapping her little hands excitedly. "Come see!"

Tom walked over and sat beside the tiny blonde, nodding seriously as he inspected her creation. "Not bad. Though… maybe next time, try not to put the door on the ceiling?"

Gabrielle blinked. "Oh! Right…" She looked up at her upside-down carriage door, confused but amused.

Watching the two of them, Fleur couldn't help but smile. It was such a sweet, peaceful moment.

That evening, the Delacour parents returned home. They were thrilled to see Tom again—especially since his last visit had been so rushed that he'd barely had time to properly say goodbye.

Mr. Delacour immediately booked a reservation at an upscale restaurant to welcome Tom back to France.

Over dinner, they even brought up Polana, Fleur's grandmother. She apparently talked about Tom all the time and insisted that he must visit the Veela tribe when he had a chance. Tom politely promised he would, but it definitely wouldn't be happening this summer.

Dinner stretched on for hours, and it wasn't until after 9 PM that Tom finally made it back to Flamel's estate.

---

The next morning, he snapped into study mode.

He started fresh, working through the alchemy books that Flamel had personally recommended—relearning the subject from the ground up.

Even though the first few books were basic entry-level texts, Tom treated them with full seriousness. No skimming. No shortcuts.

To speed things up, he projected the books into his Study Space, then entered the Meditation Room to read—effectively doubling his learning speed.

After three days, Flamel decided to quiz him and was completely blown away by Tom's progress.

Worried that Tom might have skimmed the books or only half-understood them because they were so simple, Flamel gave him an intense, hour-long oral exam.

Only after seeing how thoroughly Tom had digested all ten books did the old man relax and gain a whole new level of appreciation for his new apprentice.

He's bright, obedient, and doesn't let his talent go to his head. What more could a teacher ask for?

As for Tom's personality or moral compass… Flamel honestly didn't care. At six hundred years old, he'd stopped worrying about things like that. It didn't matter what Tom would do with the knowledge—so long as he kept Flamel's legacy alive.

---

Half a month flew by.

With a proper foundation and Flamel's careful guidance, Tom quickly realized just how messy his previous alchemy path had been. He used to brute-force his way through problems—pouring in ten times the effort for half the result.

Talent and raw magic were one thing, but without skill and experience, it had been like swinging a sledgehammer at a lock.

Now, he had several improved methods for crafting magical bracelets—ones that used less material, had stronger effects, and created a tighter bond between the item and its user. He could even make the bracelet auto-return to its owner if it was forcibly removed. Yeah... auto.

Plus, he could now layer spells—like the Shield Charm and Cushioning Charm—into the bracelet to combine multiple effects into a single item.

But after crafting a few prototypes, Tom stopped.

Why give the Ministry such good gear right away?

If he burned through all his best ideas now, what would he use for future upgrades? And more importantly… how would he profit?

"Two bowls of chilled soup and two garlic breadsticks," Tom ordered casually.

He stretched and cracked his back after sitting hunched over his book for nearly an hour in his Study Space. A moment later, a small trolley glided into the library.

No house-elf in sight. Fully automated.

The dishes on the trolley even sprouted little legs and walked themselves to Tom's table, neatly arranging themselves in front of him.

Yep—Flamel was that eccentric.

Everything in the manor, even the tiniest objects, had been enchanted or alchemized in some way. It wasn't just a vacation home—it was a living magical fortress.

Tom wore a special ring Flamel had given him—a "central controller."

Through it, he could order meals, start a bath, cue up music in the opera hall, brew tea in the tearoom, wash clothes, prepare ingredients… basically anything, all with a single order.

After finishing his fancy brunch, Tom found Nicolas basking in the sunlight in the Sunroom.

The Sunroom was surrounded on all sides by magical glass. The scenery outside could change depending on the setting. Today, it looked like a golden sunset stretching over endless wheat fields—almost like a virtual projection, but far more vivid.

"Professor, this is my latest design. Could you take a look?"

Tom placed a sleek new bracelet—his latest Anti-Disarm model—on the side table. Nicolas Flamel picked it up and examined it carefully. He even put on his enchanted magnifying glasses to inspect the internal alchemical runes.

After five minutes of quiet observation, the old man nodded with satisfaction. He looked genuinely pleased with Tom's progress.

"This is a huge leap from what you showed me just a few days ago. Honestly, you're already at the level of an alchemy teacher."

Tom sighed and rubbed his forehead. "Don't mess with me, Professor. 'Alchemy Teacher'? That sounds like a title even a dog would turn down."

But Nicolas wasn't joking.

In truth, compared to the outside world, Tom's current level did qualify him as an alchemy teacher at Hogwarts. He was already near the top of the field.

But how far is the top of the pyramid from the sky?

In the world of alchemy, Nicolas was the sky.

"Stop using me as your benchmark," Nicolas said casually. "When I was your age, I was nowhere near your level. In fact, I was basically useless compared to you. And how long have you even been studying? Reaching my level is just a matter of time and how much energy you're willing to devote to it."

Tom was a prodigy—someone who could excel in everything. But that also meant he had to constantly choose where to invest his talents.

Dumbledore had faced the same dilemma back in the day. He ultimately chose to pour his genius into traditional magic, not potions or alchemy, a decision that Nicolas had quietly regretted for a long time.

But Tom's talent went even further than Dumbledore's. With just a bit of focus, he was already closing in on Nicolas's level in alchemy.

As for surpassing him?

Even Nicolas couldn't see what lay beyond his own limits, so imagining someone going past him was… difficult.

"You can set aside the bracelet project now," Nicolas advised. "There's not much more to dig out of it—it's just a simple artifact. Broaden your horizons a bit. If there's anything you need and we don't have it here, tell Parker. He'll get it for you."

"I've already got something in mind," Tom said with a grin. "Actually, I came to borrow something from you today. That magical address book."

"Hmm..." Nicolas furrowed his brow, trying to remember. After a few moments, he sighed. "Ah, that thing. I haven't used it in ages. More and more names have faded off over the years. These days, only Hicks and Albus are still reachable."

Eulalie Hicks was the former Charms Professor at Ilvermorny—the same woman who once fought alongside them against Grindelwald.

Nicolas told Tom where to find the address book. And so, Tom didn't linger to disturb the old man's rest and quietly left the Sunroom.

He returned to his bedroom first, changed into a sharp three-piece suit, tied a bowtie, and only then left the manor.

He wasn't dressed up for a date, of course.

He had an important meeting with the remaining members of... the Alliance, the acolytes.

Today was August 20th—the date he'd arranged with MacDuff. Tom had no doubt the man would show. With his obsession with Grindelwald, there was no way he'd skip it.

How many others would come? That, Tom wasn't sure of.

But honestly, the more the better. In the magical world, numbers were power. If more acolytes appeared, it meant they still posed a serious force—one that couldn't be ignored.

As Tom walked through the streets, he casually left behind coded markings on various buildings—symbols only the acolytes would recognize.

He did have a more direct method of summoning them, though.

Grindelwald had taught him a spell that created a dark curtain over buildings—completely invisible to Muggles but immediately recognizable to his followers. Much more obvious than the hidden signals Tom was using now.

But Paris was familiar with it— Grindelwald had used it here before.

Tom figured if he cast that spell, the ones who showed up might not be the acolytes…

…but every Auror in France.

Maybe even Dumbledore himself, racing in from Hogwarts the moment he caught wind of it.

Eventually, Tom picked out a well-decorated little café. He stepped inside and ordered a café leche and a piece of truffle chocolate.

As he sat and enjoyed his treats, the customers gradually filtered out. One by one, they left until the place was completely empty. Even the staff wandered out in a daze, looking like they weren't sure why.

In the end, Tom was the only one left.

He took his final sip of coffee just as the café door swung open again.

MacDuff stepped inside, looking tense and wary. Several wizards followed behind him—all acolytes who had been thoroughly humiliated by Tom and Newt last time.

They all looked tense, suspicious, fingers twitching toward their wands the moment they saw Tom.

"Well," Tom said, setting down his cup and turning slightly in his seat with a calm smile. "I see you all still remember the old code."

"Who are you, really?" MacDuff demanded, his expression darkening. "Why do you know how to use that signal?"

Most of the acolytes could read those signals.

But the only person allowed to use them… was Grindelwald.

"Me?" Tom adjusted his bowtie with an air of calm.

"Let me introduce myself—I'm Tom Riddle. The Only student of Gellert Grindelwald."

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