— — — — — —
The Dementor recruitment drive went astonishingly well. To compete for just two hundred spots, the usually unified Dementors nearly came to blows.
But really, it couldn't be helped. Food was everything. One or two thousand fresh prisoners were nothing like the dried-up leftovers at Azkaban. Even if it only lasted three months, it was more than enough for them to fatten up nicely before winter.
And then Tom mentioned the idea of having them work as guards afterward.
That was when something like genuine longing appeared among them.
Especially the Dementors who had once gone to Hogwarts and somehow survived. They had seen the roaring crowds at the Quidditch pitch, that tidal wave of excitement. Once you'd tasted that, you never forgot it.
In just a few sentences, Tom went from being the devil who slaughtered their kind to their savior. One by one, they did their best to restrain their instincts and curry favor with the boy in front of them.
After selecting two hundred Dementors, Tom hastily opened his pocket world, stuffed them all inside, and transported them to a swamp on the outskirts of Dorset.
The location wasn't far from the Quidditch World Cup stadium, only a few hundred miles away. Astra Abyssum planned to build a prison there.
It wouldn't be just a facility for Britain alone, but a holding ground for every prisoner the Guild laid its hands on. Anyone they captured would be brought here.
To speed up the construction of this international prison, two hundred Dementors were stationed on site to serve as wardens and overseers, while the prisoners themselves were driven into forced labor. With magic working in tandem with alchemical constructs, three months proved more than enough to finish the sprawling complex—and even establish a guild branch alongside it.
...
Once everything was settled, Tom finally went home and told Fleur that he'd be accompanying her back to Beauxbatons Academy of Magic.
That night, they made the most of London—wandering cobblestone streets, browsing bustling shops, and marveling at the city's sights together.
The glow of lanterns reflected in the Thames, street performers drew crowds, and the chatter of Muggles filled the air. Seeing it all, Tom couldn't help but reflect on the wizarding world's shortcomings. The comforts and entertainment that Muggles took for granted seemed so simple, yet so lacking in the magical world. Luxury, leisure, and innovation—all had room to grow.
---
The next morning, Abraxan winged horses descended from the sky, pulling an ornate carriage. Fleur led Tom aboard with practiced ease.
Since Beauxbatons students came from several countries, everyone traveled to school by carriage. It was slower, sure, but it added a certain romance.
Southern France. The Pyrenees Mountains—
The world-famous Beauxbatons lay hidden within a secluded valley. Even though it was already remote and safe, it was still protected by powerful concealment magic.
If Hogwarts was a blend of Gothic and Romanesque fortress architecture, then Beauxbatons was a classic French palace. Countless spires and domes rose into the sky, elegant and lavish.
In front of the palace stood a magnificent fountain. Vast magical gardens surrounded the grounds, fragrant and refreshing. And occasionally, you could spot tiny fairies darting through the flowers, hard at work.
That fountain had been a gift from Nicolas Flamel to his alma mater. The water was drinkable straight from the source, naturally sweet, and imbued with a constant-temperature enchantment that covered the entire campus. It kept the school comfortable year-round and had become Beauxbatons' most iconic landmark.
Setting everything else aside, Beauxbatons was unquestionably the most pleasant magical school to live in.
No wonder Fleur had struggled to adapt after transferring to Hogwarts. She complained about it every single day. And honestly, Tom was starting to see her point. Hogwarts really did have issues, especially that dungeon they lived in.
Without saying a word, Tom opened the shared viewing mode of his study space and simply let Ravenclaw watch.
She was far too sharp not to understand what he was implying. For once, she completely lost her composure.
"It's just a magic fountain and a temperature charm! You think that's difficult for me?"
"I could redesign Hogwarts to be a thousand, ten thousand times better than Beauxbatons if I wanted to. I just don't bother. Do you get it? Students come to school to study, not to be pampered. What do they need such a cushy environment for? This isn't a holiday resort!"
Ravenclaw went on and on, listing reasons and justifications. No matter what she said, Tom's replies were all the same.
Yeah, yeah, totally right. Whatever makes you happy.
That only made her snap harder.
Tom had figured it out by now. Ravenclaw's competitive streak was no weaker than Salazar Slytherin or Godric Gryffindor.
You could say she wasn't much of a fighter. She'd admit that herself. But you absolutely could not say she read less, thought slower, or had bad taste.
Say that, and she would explode.
Across thousands of years, only two people had ever dared provoke Rowena Ravenclaw like this. Helga Hufflepuff did it as a close friend, joking around.
Tom Riddle did it purely to mess with her.
In the end, after listening to Tom enthusiastically praise Beauxbatons' gardens to Madame Maxime and Fleur, Ravenclaw finally cut the connection and stormed off to draw blueprints.
If she didn't redesign Hogwarts to surpass Beauxbatons, she wasn't coming back out.
The other one who lost her cool was Jalter (Jeanne Alter). She sulked in Jeanne d'Arc's consciousness, grinding her teeth. Just because Tom had been spending so much time with Fleur lately, he'd entered the study space less and less.
Jeanne herself didn't have much to say about it. Still, being back in France again made her feel… strange.
Like she really wanted to burn something.
...
After a brief tour of the main areas, Madame Maxime brought Tom and Fleur back into the Palace of Beauxbatons.
All afternoon, winged horses descended into the plaza before the fountain, one carriage after another, as students steadily arrived.
Both boys and girls wore flowing blue silk robes that shimmered in the light. And whenever students encountered a professor, they stopped at once to offer a respectful greeting, only resuming their walk after the professor had passed.
"Doesn't all this get tiring?" Tom asked from the window, pulling his gaze away and turning to Fleur.
"What's tiring about it?" Fleur shook her head, her waterfall of silvery-blonde hair swaying softly. "Madame Maxime values etiquette above all else. No student would dare question her rules. And it's for their own good—everyone prefers people with good manners."
Tom chuckled. "Then how come I don't see you being quite that respectful with Madame Maxime?"
Fleur wrapped her arms around him from behind, pressing her cheek playfully against his back. "That's because of you. Before I met you, she admired me, sure—but rules were rules. After meeting you, though, she stopped treating me like an ordinary student."
"Talented people get special treatment wherever they go," Tom said lightly. "And background counts as a kind of talent too, doesn't it?"
He turned around until their noses almost touched. "So it's all thanks to me. How are you planning to reward me?"
Fleur didn't answer. She simply closed her eyes.
They fooled around for a while, until past five, when the sky began to darken. Fleur led Tom to the great hall.
Beauxbatons had even more students than Hogwarts—over two thousand in total. A hall built on Hogwarts' scale simply couldn't hold everyone.
Instead, meals were held in a grand, three-story banquet hall open through the center. There were no long tables, only round ones seating ten students each. Younger students and pre-school-age witches and wizards sat on the first floor, older students on the second, while the third floor was reserved exclusively for professors.
During Christmas, a massive tree would be set up in the open central space, magical snow drifting down from the ceiling. Reflected through crystals of every color, the whole hall would glow with breathtaking beauty.
Fleur couldn't help feeling a little regret that Tom hadn't come during the holidays. She was sure he would've loved it even more then.
...
Somewhere in a space far away, a Ravenclaw quietly made a mental note.
Tsk. The French really knew what they were doing—especially when it came to luxury and indulgence.
...
At the same time, over at Durmstrang—
In the solemn great hall, all chatter vanished the instant Grindelwald appeared. The students fell silent, holding their breath as their eyes followed that wild mane of white hair.
Even more attention, though, went to the hooded figure beside him—wrapped tightly from head to toe. Shock rippled through the crowd.
Who was this brave soul, daring to walk beside Grindelwald? Did they really have no one left in their family they cared about?
Reaching the front platform, Grindelwald stopped, surveyed the hall, and spoke. "Allow me to introduce a new student—"
"Not a student."
The hooded figure cut him off, flipping back the hood to reveal a pretty face and beautiful blonde hair. It was Ariana Dumbledore.
Ariana looked out at the stunned students and declared loudly, "From today on, I'm the Shadow Prefect of Durmstrang. Everyone here will follow my orders."
"Who agrees?" she asked. "And who objects?"
The hall was dead silent.
Grindelwald tried his best to hold it in, but the corner of his mouth still twitched.
Damn it… Tom taught her this, didn't he?
Taking bullying the weak and fearing the strong to its absolute extreme—that was exactly that boy's style.
"..."
In an inconspicuous corner, Laos Wilkinson watched the girl on the platform. Following Tom's instructions, he took out his codex and sent a message.
{Boss, Grindelwald brought back an extremely arrogant young witch. She started by openly challenging all the Durmstrang students.}
Not long after, a reply came back.
{Thanks for the update, Laos. It's just a kid—no need to fuss over it. You could mention it to Dumbledore, though; he might find it interesting.}
---
At Hogwarts—
Dumbledore didn't take the matter seriously at all. In his view, Grindelwald was simply making preparations for the upcoming inter-school competition.
What difference could a single young witch really make?
Wilkinson was a fine man, but he worried too much.
Shaking his head, the old man went back to savoring a dessert sweet enough to make one's teeth ache.
.
.
.