"Uh… she's a girl," Tom said simply, giving a brief rundown of Fleur's details and how they'd met. As for the whole dragon-slaying incident—he conveniently left that part out.
Nicolas Flamel was on very good terms with Dumbledore, but unlike Newt, he wasn't the overly earnest type. If Tom swore something would stay secret, Flamel would never pry. So Tom chose to keep a few cards hidden up his sleeve.
Sure, even if Dumbledore found out, he probably wouldn't give Tom any real trouble—but in life, there's no need to play the pig eating the tiger if you can just be the tiger quietly. No point in showing all your trump cards for free.
"Well, well, well—you're even smoother than I was at your age. Got sisters on both sides, eh?" Flamel nodded knowingly, giving Tom a teasing grin as he patted his shoulder.
Suddenly, Tom's body went taut.
Crack!
The old man's hand… snapped.
"You really hold grudges, don't you?" Flamel chuckled wryly. "No wonder you're Muggle-born and still got sorted into Slytherin."
"Come on now, I'm just a sturdy young man. Don't overthink it."
"Alright, alright—go find your Veela girl then."
After granting Tom free access to his estate, Flamel strolled away at a leisurely pace.
…
Ding-dong—!
Ding-dong—!
The doorbell's sudden chime broke the quiet. Fleur immediately told Gabrielle to go upstairs, then drew her wand and approached the door cautiously.
Any visitor who could find this house was usually a friend of her parents—and such people would never show up at a time when the adults were at work…
When she peeked through the peephole and saw who it was, caution melted instantly into delight. The quarter-Veela flung open the door and launched herself into his arms.
"Tom!"
"Well, hello there—what a warm welcome," Tom said, pleasantly surprised by the bonus he got the second the door opened. Her fragrance drifted into his nose, and he chuckled, giving her back a friendly pat. "See? I told you I'd keep my word, didn't I?"
"Hmph."
Remembering herself, Fleur pushed him away with feigned annoyance.
"Half the summer's already gone before you show up—you must have forgotten me."
"Hey, forgetting you's no big deal—but I'd never forget Gabrielle."
"You—you scoundrel!"
Fleur bristled, pounding her small fists against his chest. Up on the stairs, Gabrielle—who had been secretly listening—perked up at the sound of his voice. With a delighted squeal, she dashed down, wedged herself between them, and clung to Tom like a little koala.
"Tom! You finally came to see Gabrielle!"
"Aww, my little cutie—your face looks even rounder than last time," Tom teased, hoisting her higher with one arm while his other hand pinched her smooth, soft cheek. He didn't use much force, and far from being annoyed, the little girl burst into giggles.
She even tattled.
"Big Sister's so mean! She told me to go upstairs just so she could hide you!"
"Gabrielle!" Fleur scolded, cheeks coloring. "How was I supposed to know it was Tom? I told you to go upstairs to keep you safe—bad men love little girls like you!"
She shot Tom a pointed glare.
With someone to back her up, Gabrielle wasn't afraid of Fleur's scolding. She made a silly face and urged Tom to carry her inside.
Fleur quickly fetched a brand-new pair of slippers for him, and the three of them settled in the living room. On the carpet lay scattered magical building blocks—clearly Fleur had been babysitting here just moments ago.
Gabrielle didn't stand a chance in a verbal spar with her sister. The moment Fleur casually suggested, "Why don't you show Tom the thing you were building?" the little one scampered off happily, leaving the two of them some space.
Tom didn't hesitate to sit close—so close that from behind, they could've been mistaken for a couple leaning on each other.
"You could've told me you were coming—I'd have prepared something," Fleur said.
"I've been in America, remember? Too much trouble to write. Oh—here, I brought you something."
Tom pulled out two Thunderbird models. Normally these were made from ordinary feathers, but he had replaced them with real Thunderbird plumage. The sheen was richer, the colors more vivid—they seemed almost alive.
"And this," Tom said, producing souvenirs from Ilvermorny's four houses. Fleur examined each in turn before deciding that the Wampus cat emblem best suited her tastes.
"So… you met Mr. Scamander?" she asked, curious.
"Mm. You admire Newt?"
"Not exactly." Fleur laughed a little sheepishly. "Our Care of Magical Creatures professor uses him as a bad example—says if you can't control your pets, you'll end up banned from multiple countries, just like him."
Tom: "…"
Seriously? After all these years, the French were still salty about nearly getting Paris burned down?
If they had to blame someone, shouldn't it be Grindelwald? Why did poor Uncle Newt always take the fall?
Tom began recounting his American adventures, and Fleur's eyes lit up with a sparkle of wonder. Compared to his eventful summer, hers had been a dreary cycle of homework and caring for the little whirlwind now building blocks nearby.
Glancing at Gabrielle, Fleur's expression softened with both affection and exasperation. Still—now that Tom was here, they could actually go out tomorrow. Surely two of them could handle one small, excitable girl?
With renewed energy, Fleur began describing the sights of Paris—both wizarding and Muggle—and was soon planning out the next few days with enthusiasm.
But before she got too far, Tom gently interrupted her.
"Fleur… actually, here's the thing…"