Processing a dragon's corpse wasn't just delicate—it was a massive operation.

With a body stretching over ten meters long, even the basics like scale removal, skinning, muscle separation, and bone extraction took up an absurd amount of time.

And that was just the beginning. Afterward, all the harvested materials had to be sorted, categorized, and preserved properly.

Fleur had originally wanted to help, but the moment she laid eyes on the blood-soaked corpse, her legs went weak. Instead of being helpful, she became a liability. Tom quickly ushered her out before she got in the way.

The part-Veela girl, feeling slighted and underestimated, huffed indignantly and switched tactics—logistics support.

She began preparing delicious meals for Tom every day, trying new recipes, and even rounded up a squad of Veela to give him full-body massages after his long workdays.

Tom was exhausted—but blissfully so. Each day he was practically drowning in tenderness and warmth.

But his nights weren't for resting. The two "Kings of the Century" took turns grinding him down through intense magical training. His progress had accelerated once again.

Tom had originally planned to keep a low profile when school started, maybe hide from Snape until the man forgot about that whole Christmas gift situation.

Now?

Hide from Snape?

Bring it on. Face to face. Head-on.

…

Three days later, the dragon's body was finally fully processed. In his spare time, Tom also managed to brew another batch of the physical enhancement potion.

Thanks to his previous experience, everything went smoothly—no accidents this time.

He'd only used one-fifth of the dragon's heart. The bottleneck, it turned out, was the sphinx eyeballs—they were completely used up. The final yield? Twenty bottles.

He downed one to test the results. Just as expected, there was an improvement—but the effect was far less significant than before.

He'd already fully integrated the dragon bloodline, after all. Naturally, this kind of potion would have diminishing returns on him.

Still, any improvement was an improvement. Even a mosquito's leg was still meat.

But there was no way he could use up all twenty bottles himself, so he thought of Fleur.

He offered to sell her a bottle for 1,100 Galleons, with a try-now-pay-later deal for the first one.

Give it to her for free? Not a chance.

As of now, there was only one person in the world worthy of receiving the potion as a gift from Tom—and that was Daphne.

That girl had stood by him without hesitation from the very beginning, and in Tom's heart, she held significant weight.

His relationship with Fleur was budding, sure—but it hadn't reached that level yet. No way he'd hand it over for free.

In fact, selling it to her at all was already a subtle gesture of closeness.

If Malfoy had asked? Even if he offered ten thousand Galleons—well... alright, if he was actually willing to pay ten thousand, only a fool wouldn't sell it.

Fleur, being here visiting her grandmother, naturally didn't have that kind of cash on her.

Worse, she had no idea what was so special about this potion that it was worth over a thousand Galleons. Even Felix Felicis only cost a few hundred for a tiny vial.

Madame Polana didn't know what it was either—but without hesitation, she paid the bill for Fleur.

At this point, even if Tom handed her a bunch of weeds and told her they were worth a thousand Galleons, she'd pay without blinking.

Once Fleur took the potion and paired it with the movements Tom had taught her, she immediately realized—she'd hit the jackpot.

In the magical world, few things could directly improve a witch or wizard's strength. Most tools were external—enchanted objects, artifacts, alchemical gear.

But this potion? After just one dose, Fleur could feel the difference in her body.

Her stamina surged. Her thoughts were crystal clear. Her magical power felt denser—more abundant.

"Do you have more?" Fleur's eyes burned with hunger as she stared at Tom like she wanted to devour him. "I'll take all of it. However much you've got."

Tom thought for a moment.

"At most, I can give you four more bottles."

He needed to set some aside for Daphne, and also Hermione. Though he hadn't yet decided what Hermione would need to trade in return.

As for himself, the potion would probably stop working after a few more doses anyway.

"Five bottles isn't enough, Tom. Come on, give me a few more."

Fleur leaned in with a pitiful expression and launched a full-on charm offensive.

A lovely, delicate girl wrapped around your arm, swaying gently with tearful eyes and a soft voice—it was the kind of thing most men wouldn't survive.

But Tom wasn't most men. After spending days being trained in the Veela tribe, his mind and heart were steel-forged. He stood his ground.

With no other option, Fleur played her trump card.

"What about Gabrielle? You're not going to prepare any for Gabrielle?"

Recently, Gabrielle had practically glued herself to Tom. Whenever he was around, her sister stopped nagging her. Plus, Tom was endlessly patient with her.

The little one hadn't even gone home for several days, choosing instead to sleep at Tom's place like a human plushie.

Even Polana had started wondering if she'd picked the wrong candidate. Maybe it was Gabrielle she should've sent next year...

As expected, Tom hesitated.

But after a pause, he still shook his head.

"It's not that I don't want to give Gabrielle some, but she's still too young. There's no rush. Once she starts school, then it'll be the right time."

"I don't have a lot of stock left, and I'm short on a key ingredient. If you can get your hands on more sphinx eyeballs, send them to Hogwarts. I'll brew a fresh batch then."

Seeing how sincere Tom was, Fleur had no choice but to give up—but she gnawed her lip in frustration.

This bastard!

I try everything—pleading, pouting—and he stays cold.

Mention Gabrielle? Boom. Instant soft spot. Even gives me an explanation!

Tom, blissfully unaware that Fleur was actually jealous of her own little sister, handed over four potions and gently reminded her:

"Don't rush to use them all at once. To fully absorb the potion's effects, you should space it out—one bottle per month is ideal. And don't skip the complementary movements I taught you. They'll help your body adapt faster."

Everyone had a different constitution. For Tom, a bottle a week was fine. But Fleur's foundation was weaker, so taking it slower wouldn't hurt.

But Fleur heard something else entirely—beneath the words, a sadness.

"You're leaving… aren't you?"

Yes. She was a student at Beauxbatons. He was at Hogwarts. This had just been a holiday—one that was now coming to an end.

Tom nodded.

"This journey's come to a perfect close. Term starts the day after tomorrow. I'll head back tomorrow."

"Can't you stay one more day?"

Fleur suddenly grabbed his hand, eyes glistening. "My parents are coming tomorrow. They want to thank you in person."

"That's really not necessary…" Tom looked hesitant.

"Please?" Fleur begged gently. "You can Apparate, can't you? Even if you leave the morning of, you'll still make it in time. Just stay. One more day. Spend time with me… and Gabrielle."

In the end, Tom relented.

He'd already erased the Trace on his wand using the Confundus Charm, which meant he could now cast spells freely outside school. If he left early in the morning, he'd make it to King's Cross Station in London well before 11 a.m.

…

The next day, Tom gave himself a real day off. He didn't even touch his free one-hour study space.

He got up early and spent the morning building a magical brick castle with Gabrielle. Once it was finished, he used a Sticking Charm to solidify the entire thing so it wouldn't collapse, even if moved.

At noon, Fleur's parents arrived.

"Mr. Riddle, thank you for saving my daughter. If something had happened to Fleur, I… I don't know what I'd have done."

The moment he stepped through the door, Mr. Delacour was already gripping Tom's hand, emotion trembling in his voice.

He was in his forties, balding, a little overweight, and just under 1.8 meters tall—honestly, the kind of guy you could mistake for a random background character on the street.

He quickly explained why it had taken them so long to visit.

He was the Director of Emergency Affairs at the French Ministry of Magic, and during the Christmas holiday, his schedule had been completely swamped. Hundreds of magical disputes had broken out—mostly caused by wandering wizards from the north.

He'd only managed to request leave today—and even then, he had to go back to the office by nightfall to continue working.

Tom suddenly completely understood why the man was balding.

And also felt deeply relieved—thankfully, neither Fleur nor Gabrielle had inherited their father's looks.

They had inherited all their mother's strengths instead.

Madame Delacour was Fleur, but upgraded—more refined, more elegant, and with a maturity that only enhanced her beauty. Though she was forty, she looked barely over thirty.

Fleur Pro, Fleur, and Mini Fleur—three women standing together, and no one in the world would ever doubt that they were family.

Madame Delacour expressed her gratitude, but her attention was clearly more on Tom himself. Her eyes swept up and down over him, again and again, growing more pleased with each pass.

Polana had already written about her intentions in the letter. So right now, the only person still left in the dark was Monsieur Delacour. As for Madame Delacour—her eyes held the clear gaze of a mother-in-law evaluating a future son-in-law.

The entire afternoon passed in a haze of polite conversation. Tom sat and chatted with the Delacour couple, who each had their own focus. Monsieur Delacour spoke at length about international affairs and recent cases he'd encountered in his role. Meanwhile, Madame Delacour focused entirely on Tom's personal background.

And when she learned that Tom was an orphan from the Muggle world, a hush fell over the room.

Monsieur Delacour grew solemn.

And the three women?

It was like someone had stabbed them in the chest.

Fleur's wide, glimmering eyes filled with tears almost instantly.

During all this time, Tom had never once mentioned his family. Combined with his strength, she'd simply assumed he came from a powerful, ancient wizarding family...

But who could have guessed it was this kind of background?

To rise from the Muggle world, step into the magical one, and achieve everything he had in just over half a year... how much suffering had he gone through?

That thought alone sent Fleur's tears falling like broken pearls. She wanted to rush over and embrace him—

—but someone beat her to it.

Gabrielle had already thrown herself into Tom's arms, sobbing quietly.

"Big brother," she sniffled, "from now on, I'm your family."

Tom didn't know whether to laugh or cry. Why did it feel like they'd already written a tragic backstory drama in their heads?

Honestly, he felt fine. He liked being on his own.

…

The Christmas holidays came to an end.

With a loud whistle, the Hogwarts Express departed from Platform Nine and Three-Quarters, cutting through the cold air as it headed for the Scottish Highlands, once again packed with young witches and wizards.

The compartment door slid open.

Hermione poked her head in, glanced around, and upon seeing only Daphne inside, hurried in without hesitation.

"Daphne, have you seen Tom?" she asked breathlessly.

"No," Daphne huffed, cheeks puffed with frustration. "He promised yesterday he'd catch the train today! I searched every compartment—didn't even see his shadow."

"You've got the two-way mirror, don't you? Try calling him!" Hermione, realizing the situation might be serious, grew visibly anxious.

Daphne rolled her eyes. "Do you think I haven't? I tried a dozen times. He's not picking up."

"You don't think something happened, do you...?" Hermione's voice trembled with growing concern.

Oddly enough, Daphne was the calmer of the two now.

"Don't overthink it. Tom's stronger than both of us. If you didn't get into trouble, then there's no way he did. And even if he did, he's got his wand—he'll be fine."

Hermione could only nod, not entirely reassured.

The rest of the journey passed in near silence. Occasionally they spoke, but conversation quickly fizzled.

Daphne kept trying the mirror—but the other side remained dark and silent.

Until just before they arrived.

As the train began to slow, she gave it one last try—

And this time, the mirror connected.

The girl leapt to her feet in an instant.

"Tom! Where are you?" she demanded. Hermione rushed over too.

"I'm on the Knight Bus," Tom's face appeared in the mirror. "Ran into a bit of trouble, but it's all sorted now. I'll be a little late getting to school—we'll talk more later."

"Mm-hmm!" Daphne nodded rapidly, then hung up the connection herself, sharing a smile of relief with Hermione.

As long as Tom was safe, that was all that mattered. Whatever had happened in between could wait until they reached the castle.

Their steps lightened as they hopped off the train and joined the stream of students headed to the carriages.

Snow drifted down in thick, soft flakes, blanketing the world in white. The thestral-drawn carriages moved slowly along the winding path, leaving deep tracks in the snow until they finally came to a halt at the castle steps.

Eager to escape the cold, the students jumped down, clutching their hands to keep warm as they rushed into the castle—there were no warming charms on the carriages, and the biting cold had left everyone shivering.

Thankfully, roaring fires welcomed them inside. The moment they crossed the threshold, a wave of warmth swept over them.

There was no elaborate opening ceremony this time. Instead, the Great Hall was already filled with a banquet worthy of kings. Students scrambled to find their seats and dug in hungrily.

But at the Slytherin table, something was clearly amiss.

Where was Tom?

Birds and the others turned to Daphne, who usually knew Tom's every move. But she merely waved them off.

"I don't know either. But he told me he'd be here soon."

At the staff table, Dumbledore wore his usual warm smile as he watched the students devour their feast. This was always one of his favorite moments of the year—watching young witches and wizards enjoying themselves was more satisfying than any magic.

But then, suddenly, his expression shifted.

He frowned ever so slightly, sharp eyes sweeping across the hall.

Had it been anyone else, he might not have noticed.

But Tom… and Harry… these were special cases. He always noticed.

He glanced toward Snape.

Snape was doing the same—his sharp eyes scanning the hall for a certain someone.

When he caught Dumbledore looking his way, the Potions Master gave the faintest shake of his head.

He had no idea where Riddle had gone.

Could it be… that his little Christmas gift had scared him off?

As the feast wore on and the dishes were gradually emptied, just as dessert was about to be served—

Creak.

The heavy oak doors of the Great Hall opened with a low groan.

Heads turned.

Snow clung to his cloak. Wind swept in behind him.

And there stood Tom Riddle, stepping into the hall, walking through the snow and firelight like a shadow returned.