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[Hogwarts] Ch 91: The Proper Way To Thank Someone
🕑 Added 2025-07-13 20:04:34 +0000 UTC— — — — — —
"Grandmother!"
That urgent cry shook Fleur Delacour out of her stunned state. Finally snapping back to her senses, she shouted up into the sky.
A new group of Veela—dozens of them—came soaring down, their leader landing right in front of Fleur while the rest surrounded Tom, baring their teeth.
Tom frowned slightly.
The Veela who had been talking with him quickly stepped in, explaining the situation in their own language. The aggression slowly faded, but they remained visibly on guard.
"Thank you for saving my granddaughter."
The Veela parted to let someone through.
A breathtaking woman stepped forward, with the same cascading silver hair as Fleur and skin so pale and luminous it looked like moonlight itself. Her presence radiated a strange, natural allure that made the mind go fuzzy.
Tom, of course, had already activated Occlumency. He was completely unaffected.
"I'm Polana, chieftess of the Veela tribe," the woman said, bowing slightly. "If it weren't for you, they might not have lasted until we arrived."
"Nice to meet you, Madam Polana. You can call me Michael," Tom said softly. "I'm sure you already know what I want. So… would you be willing to help me out?"
"Of course," Polana replied without hesitation. She gently stroked Fleur's hair. "You saved my precious granddaughter. I'll call upon all the Veela and our allies to help you track down the fire dragon."
Tom let out a quiet sigh of relief.
Finally, some real local help. Things were going to get a whole lot easier now.
"If you'd like, Mr. Michael, you're welcome to stay in our tribe while we search," Polana offered. "My people tend to avoid human settlements. Too many with impure hearts."
"I'd be honored," Tom replied. Honestly, he was curious about what a Veela village looked like anyway.
With the danger passed, the Veela gradually calmed down and returned to their human forms.
And wow.
Dozens of stunning, silver-haired beauties—curves in all the right places, hair flowing elegantly even without wind—walked beside him.
The Veela smiled warmly at him, their sparkling eyes practically oozing affection. Even a dog would've blushed under those gazes.
But Tom wasn't fooled. He'd just seen their true forms a moment ago.
"Mr. Michael," came a gentle voice beside him.
It was Fleur, suddenly walking at his side.
"My name is Fleur Delacour. Thank you for saving me."
A French half-Veela, around the right age. No doubt about it now—this was the Fleur he'd been thinking of when he jumped in earlier.
But Tom gave her a serious look.
"Miss Delacour, that's not the proper way to thank someone. It's way too half-hearted."
Fleur blinked in confusion. "Then how should I thank you?"
Tom cleared his throat. "It's like this: if your savior is handsome, you should say, 'I have nothing to repay you with... so I offer myself to you.'"
"But if your savior is... ugly, you should say, 'Your great kindness is beyond repaying. I'll repay your debt in my next life.'"
Fleur blinked again. "…So… which one should I say?"
Tom smirked. "You tell me."
Fleur hesitated, then cautiously said, "Then… I'll repay your debt in my next life?"
Tom: "…"
"Pfffft!" xN
He was speechless. The Veela who understood human speech couldn't stop laughing. Those who didn't looked around, clearly confused.
Even Polana had to hide a laugh behind her hand, her eyes softening as if reminded of something fond.
Then, someone translated the exchange for the rest of the tribe.
That did it.
Now everyone—except Fleur and Tom—was laughing. The sweet sound of tinkling bells filled the forest.
Tom, utterly annoyed, wondered why this "Michael" persona he'd created had to be such a damn ugly man.
Suddenly, a gasp drew everyone's attention.
All eyes turned to Tom.
The Polyjuice Potion had worn off.
Right in front of the entire tribe, Tom's appearance shifted back to his real self. The magic-infused robes adjusted accordingly, shrinking down to fit.
"You—used Polyjuice?!" Fleur's eyes widened in shock, immediately putting the pieces together.
Tom sighed. "When you're traveling, you pick your own identity. If I didn't make myself look older, everything I did would've been a hassle."
Polana looked surprised. "Mr. Michael, so this… is your real face?"
"Call me Riddle. Tom Riddle," he said calmly, no longer interested in hiding behind an alias.
The Veela weren't the type to care about legal technicalities. They weren't going to rat him out, and even if they did—it was France. The British Ministry had no reach here.
"Tom… how old are you?" Fleur finally asked the question that had been bugging her the most. Tom looked even younger than her.
"Eleven and a half."
Fleur's worldview crumbled on the spot.
Eleven.
That was the age kids started school at Hogwarts.
And yet this kid had wiped out multiple wizards—adults—with one spell. He'd massacred a dozen grown men in under a minute.
And he was this good-looking?
Tom raised an eyebrow at her and said with a smirk, "So, Miss Delacour, let's revisit the question."
Fleur stared at his face, stunned. Her cheeks flushed crimson.
Wait—can I change my answer?
...
An hour later, Tom arrived at the Veela's hidden village.
It was nestled in a mountain valley and didn't look much different from a human settlement—rows of elegant houses built neatly along the cliffside.
Polana arranged a private home for Tom so he could rest. Meanwhile, she took the injured Veela for treatment.
Tom wandered around, inspected all the rooms, and picked out one for himself.
Just as he was settling in—
knock knock.
He opened the door to find Fleur standing there… with a mini version of herself.
"Didn't we just part ways?" Tom asked casually, though his eyes were fixed on the little girl beside her.
The tiny Fleur—Gabrielle Delacour, obviously—looked up at him with big, curious eyes, totally unafraid, her delicate face like a porcelain doll.
"What's that supposed to mean?" Fleur asked, her tone rising defensively.
She'd come back because she was curious—intrigued by Tom's mysterious nature. But instead of a warm welcome, she got a cold brush-off?
This guy had just teased her about offering herself to him. And now he was acting like he didn't even care?
Scumbag!
What really ticked her off, though, was that Tom was clearly more interested in Gabrielle than her! Other than a quick glance, he hadn't even looked at her properly since opening the door. His eyes had been locked on her baby sister the whole time!
In the Académie de Magie Beauxbâtons, Fleur was used to being the center of attention.
But with Tom? It was like she didn't even exist.
"Big brother, I'm Gabrielle," the little one said sweetly.
Tom couldn't help but smile. He crouched down to her level and spoke softly."Hi, Gabrielle. I'm Tom Riddle. And how old are you?"
"I'm six!" she answered proudly.
"Wow, six? That's amazing!" Tom gave her a big thumbs-up.
Like most kids, Gabrielle didn't need to understand why she was being praised to enjoy it. Compliment her, and she'd beam. Sure enough, she grinned so wide her eyes disappeared into crescents. And without being asked, she blurted out their reason for visiting.
"Sister said you saved her! So I came to thank you!"
"Oh, I see," Tom said, pretending to have just figured it out. "Then I suppose Gabrielle knows the proper way to thank someone…"
"Mr. Riddle!" Fleur cut in fast, eyes wide. 'No way he was about to use that same trick again on a child!'
Gabrielle was still a baby—if anyone was going to be tricked, it should be her, not her little sister! Fleur could take the hit!
Trying to change the subject, she said, "Are we just going to stand here talking in the doorway?"
Tom shrugged like it didn't matter. He stood up and naturally reached out a hand. Gabrielle, equally naturally, placed her tiny hand in his, letting him lead her into the house.
Fleur's teeth nearly ground together from frustration as she watched.
The three of them sat down in the living room. Gabrielle obediently sat next to Tom, surprisingly well-behaved for her age—none of that hyper energy most little kids had.
"Grandmother's busy treating the wounded," Fleur said. "She asked me to check if you needed anything so I can prepare it for you."
Tom shook his head. "I carry all my things with me. Don't need anything really—except maybe food. What do Veela usually eat?"
Fleur gave a polite but awkward smile. "We prefer magical berries and enchanted flowers. There's a plantation at the end of the valley. But they're not really suited to human stomachs..."
Drinking dew and nibbling flowers? It really did sound like something out of fairy tales. If they didn't shapeshift into bird-women, they'd pass for woodland spirits.
"So what do you and Gabrielle eat then?" Tom asked.
"I usually cook for both of us. We just eat simple meals."
"Didn't take you for the cooking type," Tom said. "Well, then make something for me too. As long as it doesn't kill me, I'll be fine."
Fleur rolled her eyes at how casually he ordered her around. "Don't look down on me. Gabrielle always says my food tastes good."
She didn't notice Gabrielle subtly scrunching up her nose.
Of course Gabrielle said it was good. With her big sister standing right there, what else could she say?
Still, even if Fleur was annoyed by Tom's attitude, she didn't turn down his request. She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and asked, casually:
"You're eleven, right? So you should've started school already. How come I've never seen you at Beauxbatons?"
"That's because I'm British," Tom said simply. "Not French. I go to Hogwarts."
"You're British?" Fleur looked surprised. "Then how's your French so perfect? You don't even have an accent."
"Languages open doors. I was bored, so I picked a few up."
Fleur gave him another long look. This boy was seriously something else.
"So you came to the Vosges Mountains just to hunt a fire dragon?"
"Of course. What else would I be doing here?"
"Why does big brother want to find a fire dragon?" Gabrielle asked, blinking up at him with innocent curiosity.
Tom suddenly put on a deadly serious expression. "It's a Hogwarts trial. If you want to move up to second year, you have to defeat a fire dragon to prove your strength."
…What kind of insane school even is that?!
Fleur burst out laughing in disbelief. If Hogwarts really did that, they wouldn't have any graduates left!
But what shocked her even more was—
Gabrielle believed him.
Terrified, she threw herself into Fleur's arms.
"Sister, Hogwarts sounds so scary! I don't wanna go to Hogwarts!"
Fleur shot Tom a glare and gently patted Gabrielle's back. "It's okay, Gabrielle. You'll be going to Beauxbatons with me. It's the best magic school in the world. No one's sending you to scary old Hogwarts."
At this point, Fleur had mentally added a few new labels to Tom's name: Loves to tease cute girls. Full of nonsense. And a first-rate scumbag.
Tom didn't argue when she called Beauxbatons the best magic school in the world.
Not because he agreed—but because arguing about it wasn't worth the effort. At the moment, Hogwarts had no right to claim that title. Not with how they were churning through Defense Against the Dark Arts professors like disposable tissues.
Gabrielle finally calmed down. Peeking over her sister's shoulder, she looked at Tom and said sweetly: "Big brother, Hogwarts is too scary. You should come to Beauxbatons instead! That way we can see each other every day next year!"
Tom looked surprised. "You live at Beauxbatons?"
"It's their pre-academy program," Fleur explained. "Witches and wizards over seven can start early education at the school. They learn reading, writing, and basic magical theory before formal enrollment."
Tom was impressed. "Now that's a great system. Hogwarts really should take notes. Even pure-bloods back home have to self-study until eleven."
"It's all thanks to Madame Maxime's vision." Fleur's eyes lit up as she mentioned the name. "She's our headmistress. I really admire her."
The three chatted a while longer, until Gabrielle started to nod off—clearly ready for her afternoon nap. Fleur stood and took her little sister home.
Tom went upstairs for a bit of rest himself.
When night fell, Fleur returned once more.
This time, she came to call him for dinner.
.
.
.
