Coreal
patreon
[Hogwarts] Ch 204: A Greater Invention than the Philosopher’s Stone
🕑 Added 2025-09-10 17:38:15 +0000 UTC— — — — — —
Nicolas had called the gathering formal, so bringing a companion—like Fleur—wasn't out of place. Tom, however, had no intention of bringing Gabrielle along.
But you can't give the older sister new clothes and leave the younger one out. Once again, Tom stepped into his role as the great balancer of the household and simply ordered a set of dress robes for each of them. Hardly cost him anything anyway.
In certain social circles, wearing the same outfit twice in front of the same people is considered bad manners. If guests notice, it's taken as a sign of disrespect toward both host and company.
The wizarding world isn't any different. Which meant these robes were, in effect, one-time wear. But "disposable" didn't mean they could be made of ordinary fabric—quite the opposite. They had to be even more extravagant.
...
When Tom arrived at the most prestigious tailoring shop in the hidden wizarding district of Paris and gave Nicolas's reservation details, the staff immediately ushered them into separate fitting rooms to be measured.
Efficiency in this field was surprisingly high for the magical world. Once measurements were taken, robes would be ready within a day or two. In the Muggle world, without magical shortcuts, waiting half a year for haute couture wouldn't be unusual.
"What color do you think looks best?" Fleur asked once her measurements were done.
She had already fallen in love with a particular fabric, woven by sprites living in the north. It was cool and smooth to the touch, like liquid silk flowing through the fingers.
Tom studied Fleur's waterfall of silvery-blonde hair. "Blue.Or maybe green. Both would suit you."
"And what about me?" Gabrielle piped up, running over with wide eyes.
Tom chuckled and ruffled her hair. "You and your sister both have the same hair, don't you? Same rules apply—blue or green. Though purple wouldn't be bad either. Do you like purple, Gabrielle?"
"Nah~"
She tilted her head, thought it over, and finally decided on emerald green.
Fleur went with a soft, watery blue.
With the designs set, they were told to return in three days for the finished robes. Tom then took the sisters shopping along the Champs-Élysées.
All of Paris was out hunting bargains. But crowded streets didn't bother the girls at all—in fact, they loved the hustle and bustle. An empty shop was boring, but if they saw a line out the door, they had to check it out.
Tom, on the other hand, shamelessly used Confundus Charms here and there to skip long queues. In every store, he did the bare minimum: trailed Fleur around once, then promptly collapsed in the lounge with Gabrielle while the shopping storm raged.
Their combined beauty drew plenty of admiring stares along the way—people couldn't help sighing, 'Now that's what other people's daughters look like. Cute little one, gorgeous big one.'
By late afternoon, the three of them were laden with bags.
---
The next few days, Tom stayed holed up in his alchemy lab, tinkering with the latest version of his project.
But every day, without fail, Fleur dragged him out on schedule. She took Lady Perenelle's instructions very seriously.
And in these days, he always checked in on his Whomping Willow.
Hogwarts' tree took five or six people linking arms to circle the trunk. Nicolas's saplings, though, were so scrawny that two people could encircle them easily—looked practically malnourished.
Newt had already brewed up a nutrient solution tailored to their needs. For all that he was a magizoologist, his grasp of herbology rivaled Professor Sprout's. After just a few days, the leaves had already grown more lush and green.
Magic has no patience for scientific rules anyway. Normally willows only begin to green in early spring, but here they were thriving midwinter.
Tom even cut a few tough branches and fashioned a swing for Gabrielle. Naturally, she turned it into a spinning carnival ride, twirling in wild circles like a windmill.
...
Time slipped by, and before they knew it, the new year had arrived. The banquet was scheduled for the evening of January 3rd.
Very few people knew Nicolas Flamel was still alive, and fewer still had the privilege of being invited into his home. This time, the event wasn't at his usual estate but another property he owned, so once Tom and Fleur were dressed in their custom robes, they stepped into the Floo together.
"Gabrielle, you'll stay here and be good for Grandma, alright?"
"I know, I know!" the little girl chirped, also dressed in a princess-like gown. She wasn't going to the party, but if everyone else wore new clothes, she wasn't about to be left out.
Perenelle chuckled. "Go on, you two. Leave Gabrielle to me."
Tom nodded, took Fleur's hand, and stepped into the green fire. When their vision cleared, they were standing in front of the estate.
It was smaller than Nicolas's main home, but still more than grand enough for entertaining friends.
As host, Tom joined Nicolas at the front gate to welcome guests.
At six sharp, the first guest arrived—an elegant middle-aged wizard who landed gracefully before striding over.
"Mr. Flamel! It's been far too long. Seeing you looking just the same as ever puts my mind at ease."
"You only say that because you skipped my funeral last time, Dicter," Nicolas teased, making the man flush.
Turning to Tom, he introduced, "This is Dicter Warrington, Head of the French Alchemy Department. His family has been in the craft for generations. I even mentored one of his ancestors."
"And Dicter, this is Tom Riddle, my student."
"Mr. Riddle, a pleasure," Dicter said warmly, extending his hand. He might outrank most, but Nicolas's pupil was above him in prestige. Offering his hand was only proper.
Tom, of course, didn't act aloof. He shook firmly, exchanged a few pleasantries, then let an elf escort Dicter to the banquet hall.
Guests arrived one after another, each introduced in turn—wealthy suppliers of rare materials, scholars with centuries of research behind them, heads of old pure-blood families. Every invitee was someone of status, wealth, or alchemical achievement.
That was only natural. Alchemy was never a poor man's pursuit. Even in the days of the Philosopher's Stone, Nicolas had needed to create ties with kings, dukes, and nobles to secure the resources he required.
Then, a carriage rolled up to the gate. Fleur, who had been quietly standing at Tom's side like a living ornament, caught sight of the ornate design and its crest. Her eyes widened in shock.
A moment later, she saw who stepped out—first an elderly wizard, and then a woman so tall the word hardly did her justice. Fleur couldn't hold back her cry.
"Professor Leonel? Madam Maxime?"
"Fleur? What are you doing here?" boomed the towering woman, instantly spotting her student and walking over with surprise.
Her favorite pupil was connected to Nicolas Flamel?
"I came with Tom," Fleur admitted, a little embarrassed.
Nicolas chuckled. "This is Madame Maxime. No need for me to introduce her—she's your little girlfriend's headmistress. While Leonel is teaching alchemy at Beauxbatons these days."
Fleur's cheeks turned pink, though she didn't explain further. 'Little girlfriend? That's not… well, not yet anyway.'
"Good evening." Tom smiled politely, reaching up to shake Maxime's hand. Given their difference in height, his arm was nearly at a right angle.
Maxime looked at him with keen curiosity. "So you're a Hogwarts student. How on earth did you meet Fleur?"
"By chance," Tom replied smoothly. "I saved her once. After that, we got to know each other better."
"Well, fate does work in strange ways," Maxime said, her smile tinged with amusement. "One at Hogwarts, one at Beauxbatons. Perhaps you should just transfer, hmm? Then you two could see each other every day."
She didn't know Tom's background yet, but anyone Flamel favored couldn't possibly be ordinary. Poaching him would be a prize.
Fleur turned to Tom with hopeful eyes. She'd wanted to suggest that herself but never dared to say it aloud.
Nicolas stepped in to rescue him. "Maxime, I'd rather not have Dumbledore banging on my door. If this boy really did transfer to Beauxbatons, you'd better be ready for a very angry headmaster."
"Oh?"
Maxime hadn't expected Dumbledore to value Tom that highly (in truth, the man just didn't want Tom causing trouble elsewhere). Imagining Flamel's words coming true, she gave an almost imperceptible shiver, then offered Fleur an apologetic smile before leading her party inside.
Once the last guest arrived, Tom and the others followed into the glittering banquet hall.
...
Plates laden with rich dishes appeared, and as people ate, Nicolas formally introduced Tom in greater detail. When they learned he was the author of {The History of the Wizarding World}, more than a few guests looked stunned.
And seeing how highly Nicolas regarded him made them adjust their own views. Clearly, this was no ordinary student—this was Flamel's personal protégé.
Truthfully, the banquet was less Nicolas's gathering than it was Tom's debut. The purpose was obvious: to spread his disciple's reputation, to tell the world, 'Do me a favor and keep an eye on this one.'
Of course they would. Every one of them owed Flamel something, one way or another. But just how capable Tom really was—that they needed to see for themselves.
Which was why, little by little, the conversations over dinner turned toward alchemy.
Nicolas only smiled at Tom and said nothing. It was clear: this test was his to face.
Or perhaps the real test wasn't for Tom at all, but for the guests themselves. Talent and brilliance aren't measured in years, and aside from Nicolas, there wasn't an alchemist alive who could truly challenge Tom.
"...." xN
Sure enough, after just a handful of questions, people began to sweat.
The theories made sense to them individually, but when Tom strung them together, their minds just couldn't keep up. They could tell he was right—if he weren't, Flamel would have corrected him on the spot. But with no way to even follow the logic, let alone build on it, their only option was to change the topic… and be demolished again.
At last, an elderly witch dabbed the sweat from her forehead and turned to Nicolas.
"Mr Flamel, you wrote on the invitation that Mr. Riddle has made a remarkable invention. Don't keep it hidden any longer."
"Hah, couldn't keep up, could you?" Nicolas teased, offering them no mercy at all.
He leaned back with a mischievous smile. "This boy's talent is enough to make anyone envious—both in alchemy and in magic."
"And the work he'll be showing you tonight…" Nicolas paused for effect. "It wouldn't be exaggerating to say it surpasses even the Philosopher's Stone."
Gasps erupted around the table.
"You can't be serious?" Maxime said sharply. "No matter how brilliant Riddle is, the Philosopher's Stone was your life's masterpiece."
"I don't mean in terms of difficulty," Nicolas explained patiently. "I mean in terms of what it means for alchemy itself."
"The Stone was for my own use. But Tom's invention… his invention could change the wizarding world. It could finally fulfill my wish to make alchemy something accessible to all."
Curiosity burned in every eye now. What could possibly earn such praise from Nicolas Flamel himself?
With a wave of his hand, the half-finished dishes vanished and the long table gleamed clean once more.
Two house-elves entered carrying stacks of notebooks, handing one to each guest.
Tom rose from his seat. It was his moment.
.
.
.
