— — — — — —
Durmstrang had never seen anyone this arrogant.
A transfer student, no more than a fifth-year by the look of her. She hadn't even officially enrolled yet, and she was already pointing at the entire faculty and student body, declaring them trash.
And yet…
When they saw Grindelwald standing there with a blank expression, openly backing the blonde girl, all the curses and complaints that had reached their throats were swallowed back down.
Well. Judging by that, her background must be extraordinary. Maybe someone that impressive had the right to act that way.
Grindelwald had been entrenched at the school for quite some time now. With his charisma and methods, he had already established overwhelming authority among the students. Some of them even idolized him fanatically.
That included students whose families had once been his enemies.
Most of Durmstrang's students were pure-bloods, their grandfathers having crossed paths with Grindelwald long ago. Take Krum, for example—his grandfather had been killed by the dark wizard himself.
And yet, even with blood feuds hanging between them, those young witches and wizards had begun to waver after spending time around him.
Maybe their grandfathers and great-grandfathers had been the ones in the wrong. How could Lord Grindelwald possibly be mistaken?
If anyone was at fault, it had to be them. They couldn't see the bigger picture, couldn't understand that Lord Grindelwald only wanted the wizarding world to flourish. It was all for the greater good.
"Ahem..."
"Although Ariana put it a bit bluntly… it's still the truth."
Under the students' intense gazes, Grindelwald curled his hand into a fist and gave a perfunctory cough into it. "Judging by your faces, you've probably lost your appetites. Head to the Quidditch pitch. Anyone is free to challenge her."
His voice turned abruptly cold. "But you get one chance. If you lose and still harbor other thoughts… be prepared to face the consequences."
---
At Beauxbatons, Madame Maxime was also introducing Tom to the entire school.
"It is my great honor to invite Mr. Tom Riddle to Beauxbatons as our distinguished guest…"
Most of the people present already knew him, but formalities were formalities.
Renowned historian. Member of the Hogwarts Board of Governors. Youngest recipient of the First Class Order of Merlin in history. Inventor of the Wizarding Communication Codex. Master alchemist. Founder of the Astra Abyssum Guild. Member of Beauxbatons Board of Governors…
As she went down the list, even Maxime herself was a little stunned.
He was only in his fourth year and his string of titles was already this long. By the time he graduated, what would it look like?
The students of Beauxbatons gazed at the boy standing on the third floor balcony, waving down at them, their eyes filled with awe. Quite a few of them had personally witnessed, alongside Madame Maxime, his one-against-a-hundred battle.
News spread like wildfire among students. They knew better than most just how terrifyingly powerful Tom was.
"Wait," a Beauxbatons student suddenly said. "What did Madame Maxime just say? Riddle is on the school's Board of Governors?"
"Yeah! How is he a governor? He's a Hogwarts student!"
The murmurs grew louder, rippling from the first floor to the second, then all the way up to the top where Maxime stood.
"Silence!"
Her voice cut through the noise, instantly suppressing the chatter.
"Mr. Riddle is the last disciple of Mr. Nicolas Flamel. Before his passing, Mr. Flamel bequeathed the majority of his estate to Mr. Riddle, which naturally includes his shares in Beauxbatons."
The hall exploded.
Nicolas Flamel was practically a founding titan at Beauxbatons. His influence was unquestionable. Neither the students nor most of the faculty had known that Tom had such a deep connection to the school.
The way they looked at him changed immediately. There was warmth in their gazes now, a sense of closeness.
Tom, however, merely curled his lip slightly.
The majority of his estate? Please. Nicolas had only handed over the assets that were visible on the surface. This old fox had plenty of gold stashed away. But it would all come to him eventually.
Still, it was amusing when he thought about it... He was a governor at Hogwarts. A governor at Beauxbatons. And he had significant influence at Durmstrang as well.
The three great magical schools of Europe were practically his territory.
...
Once the welcoming ceremony concluded, everyone took their seats. In front of each of them, pristine white porcelain plates filled instantly with beautifully prepared dishes.
Beauxbatons followed a plated dining system, adhering strictly to the order of French cuisine: appetizer, main course, cheese, dessert, and after-dinner drinks.
After finishing a dish, you simply tapped lightly on the table to summon the next course. Tap twice, and the same dish would be served again.
Both presentation and flavor far surpassed what Hogwarts offered. It made Tom seriously wonder if Dumbledore had been skimming a little off the board donations or Ministry funding.
Beauxbatons had more students than Hogwarts, and they ate better too. How was that remotely fair?
"Madame Maxime."
"Hm?" Olympe Maxime looked up from delicately slicing her lamb chop.
Tom spoke with complete seriousness. "I believe exchanges shouldn't be limited to students and professors. House-elves should communicate as well. Food is the foundation of a people's strength."
Several professors couldn't help laughing. The slight stiffness from earlier vanished, and the atmosphere warmed immediately.
Maxime smiled and agreed on the spot. Not only would she bring Beauxbatons' house-elves to Hogwarts for an exchange, she would also leave one behind as Tom's personal chef. A perfectly reasonable privilege for a member of the Board of Governors.
Naturally, the conversation shifted to the upcoming Inter-School Tournament. Maxime tried to steer things around, hoping to pry some inside information out of Tom. Even she didn't know the exact events yet. Hogwarts was handling the preparations.
But the problem was, Tom didn't know either.
He was the ultimate hands-off boss. He hadn't bothered with the details at all.
"Umm... Madame Maxime, have you given any thought to the Wizarding Rank Assessment?" Tom smoothly changed the subject. At the last meeting, she hadn't given a firm answer, only said she would consider it.
"This…" The half-giant witch looked conflicted. Honestly, she didn't want to agree. It was a thankless job.
If students performed well, the credit might go elsewhere. If they performed poorly, the criticism would land squarely on her.
Just as she was wondering how to decline without offending him, Tom casually added, "If you agree, I can donate part of Nicolas's private collection on his behalf. All rare alchemy texts."
"Mr. Riddle, Beauxbatons fully supports your proposal."
Maxime's expression turned solemn and decisive. "Professor Ferreira and Professor Moebius were telling me just today that they intend to register as well."
The two Defense Against the Dark Arts professors who had just been named looked utterly stunned.
Register?
Since when?!
But under Maxime's sharp glare, they could only nod, swallowing their tears along with the blame.
"Yes, Mr. Riddle. We'll be registering."
They understood perfectly why her attitude had flipped so quickly. Alchemy had always been Beauxbatons' strong suit. Other schools only offered it as an elective in sixth or seventh year. At Beauxbatons, students could start as early as third year.
With Nicolas Flamel's private collection, the school's reputation in alchemy would rise even higher.
If the two of them had to lose a little face for that, so be it. For the school, it was worth it.
...
After dinner, Tom made his way down to the first floor, intending to visit Gabrielle. With Hogwarts calling him tomorrow, he figured he might as well spend a bit more time with the little girl before leaving.
Suddenly, he stopped.
A tiny figure had blocked his path. The little radish-head wrapped both arms around his leg.
"Do you need something?" Tom asked. He disliked brats, but he still had a shred of patience.
The child looked up at him with wide, innocent eyes. "Big brother, can you let Dad out?"
One of the accompanying professors' faces changed instantly. He moved to pull the child away, but Tom raised a hand to stop him. He looked down at the kid.
"Did your father go to watch the World Cup?"
The child nodded brightly. "Mm. Mommy said you locked Dad up. He won't be released for three months."
"Then just wait three months," Tom replied indifferently. "If you make a mistake, you accept the punishment. Your teachers have told you that, haven't they?"
The child's lips trembled. "But… but I miss Dad."
Tom didn't budge. "It's fine. He'll be out by Christmas. Your mother misses him too, and she didn't come asking me to release him, did she?"
The little one shook their head earnestly. "Mommy has an uncle to comfort her. She doesn't miss Dad. But I don't."
…What? Her uncle's name wasn't Laos, right? Riiight?
Tom's expression changed.
He crouched down, suddenly very serious.
"Come on. Tell me everything about your mom and this 'uncle.'"
.
.
.