"What? You're actually learning alchemy under Monsieur Nicolas Flamel himself… and living in his home?"
Fleur stared at Tom in shock, her rosy lips forming a perfect 'O' as though she'd just heard something beyond belief.
If anyone else had said it, Fleur would have scoffed and suspected they were boasting. But this was Tom. The only possible explanation was that her ears were playing tricks on her.
"Uh… is that really so shocking?" Tom asked, puzzled at her exaggerated reaction.
"That's Nicolas Flamel — the pride of the French wizarding world!" Fleur said excitedly. She rattled off a long list of Flamel's accomplishments before leaning forward urgently. "How did this happen? You came straight from Monsieur Flamel's house, didn't you?"
Tom had no choice but to give her a brief rundown of the events that led up to this.
He had underestimated Flamel's status in the hearts of French wizards — it was even higher than Dumbledore's in Britain.
It wasn't just because Flamel was the most accomplished wizard France had produced in centuries, but because of his remarkable contributions to Beauxbatons.
Before Flamel, Beauxbatons had been little more than a private finishing school for pure-blood aristocrats. After Nicolas Flamel, however, he poured vast sums of gold into the school, allowing it to greatly expand enrollment.
Students from France, Belgium, the Netherlands, Luxembourg, and beyond came to study. Only then did Beauxbatons grow into one of the three great wizarding schools of Europe.
Thus, in France, Nicolas Flamel was as revered by students as Godric Gryffindor or Salazar Slytherin were at Hogwarts — a living legend.
When Tom finished describing life in Flamel's household, Fleur's eyes were brimming with envy.
"I'm starting to hate you a little, Tom. Being able to have Monsieur Flamel as your teacher… you've hit the magical jackpot!"
"Then what should you call me? Ancestor?"
Fleur, without any instruction, reached over and pinched the soft skin at Tom's side. The boy immediately raised his hands in surrender.
It wasn't that he feared pain — he feared being tickled.
After their playful exchange, Fleur sighed in regret but said earnestly, "Tom, this is a rare opportunity. You must learn everything you can from Monsieur Flamel. Next time you come to France, we'll go out and have some fun."
"It's not as exaggerated as you make it sound." Tom toyed with a lock of Fleur's silky silver hair, smiling. "I'm there to study, not locked up in prison. I can come and go freely. I might not be able to see you every day, but dropping by every few days is still possible."
"Besides, if I study constantly, my brain will get tied into knots. I'll need to relax once in a while."
Fleur found that reasonable and her smile returned.
"Brother, my carriage is ready!" Gabrielle clapped her tiny hands, calling Tom over to admire her handiwork.
Tom walked over and sat beside the little girl, nodding seriously at the assembled carriage. "Not bad. Though it would be even better if the door wasn't on the ceiling."
"Oh— right!" Gabrielle nodded blankly. How had her carriage door ended up up there?
Watching the two of them get along so well, Fleur's lips curved into a knowing smile.
…
That evening, the Delacour couple returned home. They were equally delighted to see Tom.
The last time, Tom had been in a hurry and hadn't been able to thank them properly. This time, Monsieur Delacour immediately booked a restaurant to welcome Tom to France.
When they learned Tom was studying under Nicolas Flamel, their reactions were nearly identical to Fleur's. They too reminded him not to waste such an opportunity.
The dinner lasted well into the night, and it was after nine o'clock when Tom finally returned to Flamel's estate.
From the next day onward, Tom threw himself into learning, following the reading list Nicolas had given him to re-learn alchemy from the ground up.
Even though the first few books were the most basic introductory texts, Tom still read them with complete seriousness, without the slightest hint of contempt.
To be more efficient, Tom projected the books into his study space and then brought them into his meditation chamber for reading — nearly doubling his learning speed.
After just three days, when Flamel tested him, the old man was surprised at Tom's progress.
Worried that Tom might have skimmed over such "shallow" material without truly understanding it, Flamel's test was thorough and exhaustive — the questioning lasted a full hour.
Only then did the old alchemist conclude that Tom had read all ten books carefully. His perception of Tom's learning ability shifted yet again, and he grew even fonder of his last apprentice.
An obedient, intelligent student who didn't let talent breed arrogance — what teacher wouldn't like that?
As for morals and ideology, such things meant little to someone who had lived over six centuries. Flamel didn't care what Tom would do with the knowledge; all that mattered was that his legacy would endure.
Half a month passed in the blink of an eye.
Re-learning alchemy in a structured way under Flamel's careful guidance, Tom realized just how wild his previous methods had been. Tasks that should have taken three parts effort had taken him ten — even fifteen — before.
Without proper technique and experience, all he had relied on was raw talent and brute magical force.
Now, Tom had several ways to improve his enchanted bracelets — saving on materials while enhancing their effects, tightening the bond between artifact and owner, and making them automatically return to their wielder without even a conscious summons if knocked away.
He could even integrate multiple defensive spells, such as the Shield Charm and cushioning enchantments.
But Tom made only a few of these before stopping. Why give the Ministry such good gear? If he didn't hold back for future upgrades, how would he keep making money… or control an "arms market" to counter the Ministry?
"I'll have two chilled soups and two garlic breadsticks."
At the long table, Tom finally set aside his book after holding that posture for over an hour in the study space, stretching his stiff muscles.
He didn't have to wait long before a small trolley glided into the library. There was no house-elf pushing it — it moved entirely on its own.
The trolley stopped, and the plates and bowls on top sprouted legs, obediently walking over to arrange themselves neatly before him.
Yes — Nicolas Flamel really was this eccentric…
Not just in his vacation villa, but throughout his massive palace, most objects were alchemical creations.
Tom wore a ring on his hand — Flamel's "master control."
With it, he could summon meals from the kitchen, have the washroom prepare a bath, set the opera house to queue music, tell the tea room to steep strong tea, order laundry, prepare ingredients — all remotely with a thought.
After finishing his late brunch, Tom found Flamel in the Sunroom, basking in the light.
The Sunroom was a chamber walled entirely in enchanted glass, capable of showing different landscapes. Today it displayed a sunset over endless wheat fields, looking remarkably like a scene from magical virtual reality.
"Sir, this is my latest work. Please take a look."
Tom placed his newest anti-disarming bracelet on the side table. Flamel picked it up, examining it closely, then put on a pair of magnifying spectacles to study the magical engravings within.