— — — — — —
Dumbledore had already guessed that Nicolas would side with his "kid," but… his reaction was way beyond anything he expected. The man was actually angry at him?
"Nicolas, you seem… upset?" Dumbledore asked honestly. "I wasn't blaming Tom. I'm not even fully sure what actually happened yet—I'm only asking."
"Uh… the story is pretty much what they told you," Tom said uncertainly. "The first half's accurate. After I left, Usaki decided to stay and play for a bit. She likes the air in North America. As for what she did afterward—yeah, I genuinely don't know."
Dumbledore could only give him a helpless look. "Tom… things are completely out of control. Usaki has already killed more than ten wizards—some Graves people, some from MACUSA."
"Whatever the case, can you get her to leave? Just for now?"
"Professor, I'm afraid not." Tom shook his head. "Unless Graves completely backs down, Usaki won't leave. Otherwise who's ever going to take my word seriously again?"
"And don't try to convince me either. This has nothing to do with you, and I'm not asking for your help. Just stay out of it."
"Tom, let me talk to Albus." Nicolas took the Codex right out of his hands. Tom didn't mind at all—if the old man wanted to take over, great. He stretched and walked into another room to chat with Madam Perenelle.
Right before he closed the door, he heard Nicolas's last line: "Dumbledore, whose side are you even on?"
—
Once the door shut, the soundproofing cut off the rest. Tom wasn't worried—Nicolas wasn't going to sell him out anyway.
Inside the room, Madam Perenelle was happily playing with Luban. When she saw Tom enter, she waved him over and started asking all kinds of questions about the little creature.
She was no ordinary housewife; she was actually older than Nicolas. What outsiders didn't know was that she was the one who first guided Nicolas into alchemy—and even funded his early projects. In a sense, Perenelle was both his teacher and his financial backer.
No wonder Nicolas always said he'd been pretty wild in his youth—Tom definitely couldn't compare.
Eventually Nicolas' alchemy talent surpassed hers, and she quietly shifted to being his assistant. But her understanding of alchemy still surpassed almost everyone else in the world.
All her questions were highly technical—with a unique feminine angle that Tom had never even considered.
"Tom," Perenelle asked while stroking Luban's head, "since you call her a lifeform… can she learn magic on her own?"
The difference between a living being and a construct was thought—learning.
Even the most lifelike gargoyles were still puppets following the programmer's rules; their "intelligence" only existed because the caster was skilled.
But Luban was different. She wasn't as smart as a gargoyle, maybe, but she could slack off, she could make mistakes, and she could sense people's emotions.
Emotionally, she met the criteria for a living creature.
But learning magic…
Tom shook his head. "Not yet. She's still missing a key ritual. Right now she can only use pre-inscribed spells."
Perenelle's eyes glimmered. "A magic surge?"
"You're brilliant," Tom said sincerely. "Exactly—her magic surge. Every wizard goes through it. Only the magic born from that surge counts as her own, giving an alchemical lifeform complete control over it."
Perenelle looked at him with a gentle smile—the same way she had once looked at Nicolas, back when he swore he'd create the Philosopher's Stone.
Nicolas had succeeded. And now she was sure Tom would too.
As dusk settled, two winged horses descended into the back garden with a carriage.
When Tom and Perenelle stepped out of the room, Nicolas was just closing the Codex, clearly having finished his call with Dumbledore.
"How'd it go?" Tom asked casually. "Is the Headmaster coming to arrest me? Whose side are you taking when that happens?"
"It's fine. Dumbledore came to his senses." Nicolas handed the Codex back. "This won't affect you."
Tom shrugged. "It was never going to affect me. I didn't use magic at any point. The Statute of Secrecy doesn't say underage wizards can't get into fights, right?"
"You really didn't use a single spell?"
Nicolas froze. Thinking back on what Dumbledore just told him, he'd assumed there was some exaggeration… but apparently not.
"That's why I said I won't be in trouble."
Tom smiled and waved. The carriage stairs unfolded on their own and settled neatly on the lawn. "Come on. Looks like everyone else is already here."
---
At Hogwarts, Dumbledore did something he rarely did: he poured himself a full glass of whiskey.
The moment his fingers touched the glass, frost spread across the rim, and in seconds it had cooled to the perfect drinking temperature.
From start to finish, Nicolas Flamel had scolded him. And the truth was… Dumbledore couldn't remember the last time anyone had lectured him like that. Honestly, he wasn't sure it had ever happened before in his entire life.
"Albus, the world doesn't run on right and wrong. It runs on what's worth it and what isn't," Nicolas had told him.
"You're really going to push Tom to the opposite side because of a bunch of schemers and opportunists? And that includes pushing me away too?"
Of course Dumbledore understood that principle. "For the greater good" wasn't so different from what Nicolas just said.
But he had missed two important points.
First: different positions mean different interests.
Second: Tom… was already a Dark Lord.
Although Voldemort had coined the title, it had spread across the world by the time Grindelwald resurfaced. It no longer carried an evil meaning; it had become more of a warning title, something that made others think twice before causing trouble.
Simply, a Dark Lord wasn't someone who had to do evil. It was someone whose personal will towered over the magical world's values—and who actually had the strength to enforce it.
Grindelwald had been one. Voldemort too. Even Dumbledore himself had shaped the world in quiet ways, nudging everything toward his own plans. So he was one too.
And now it was Tom's turn.
Grindelwald had ideals that resonated and charisma to sway crowds. Voldemort used ruthless dark magic and fear.
Tom wasn't like those two. If anything, he resembled Dumbledore more—building bonds through emotion and loyalty. Without anyone noticing, he gathered a surprising number of people around him… and he did it better than Dumbledore ever had.
Dumbledore had begged Nicolas for help back then, and Nicolas only stepped in once. After that, he left Dumbledore to his own devices.
Newt had only been half willing and still ended up running around battlefields for him.
But now? Tom hadn't even asked for anything. Nicolas stepped up for him immediately and without hesitation. Tina and Newt would probably react the same way.
If this whole thing had blown up, Dumbledore didn't even want to imagine what the magical world would look like afterward. Grindelwald would probably be laughing from Berlin.
You could doubt an alchemist's dueling skills, but you couldn't doubt his arsenal of bizarre alchemical creations. Six hundred years of tinkering… if Nicolas wanted to, he could create trouble worse than Grindelwald and Voldemort combined.
Dumbledore downed his drink and sighed silently.
He opened his Codex again and began contacting his own network. Once a decision was made, hesitation would only turn everyone into enemies. Staying vaguely neutral forever was a fantasy.
---
Meanwhile, the Riddle Manor was a whirlwind of activity.
A giant Christmas tree had been set up in the backyard, branches wrapped in silver tinsel, sparkling with little ornaments and topped with a shining lucky star.
Hearing the carriage arrive, Lady Greengrass, her daughters, and the Scamanders stepped out to greet them.
"Good evening, Mr. Flamel," Lady Greengrass said with deep respect.
"No need for such formality. We're all family."
Nicolas smiled and nodded politely before dropping the formalities. He and the Greengrass family had never been close before… but now he was basically the groom's side of the family. Calling them "family" wasn't wrong at all.
Inside the villa, the Little Lubans had decorated every room with holiday cheer. Cooking, though, wasn't part of their programming, so two house-elves were busy in the kitchen, and delicious smells filled the air.
Lady Greengrass was chatting with Perenelle.
The little automatons hovered around the kitchen watching the elves cook. Nicolas watched them with interest.
Meanwhile, Tom had rearranged the dining room, transforming the long table into a round one.
Round tables were rare in the West, maybe only used in political meetings. But for family dinners, a round table felt much livelier. The plating could be handled in the kitchen, and magic made it easy to deliver the food straight to each person's plate.
Newt wandered over to help since he had nothing else to do, and the two men chatted about recent events.
Newt had run into something rather annoying.
Britain had two native dragon species: the Welsh Green and the Hebridean Black. The Green was the gentler of the two—still vicious compared to most animals, but gentle for a dragon.
The Ministry kept more than twenty Welsh Greens for materials, which they sold to various manufacturers. It was a decent revenue stream.
But recently, the entire Green colony had come down with Dragon Pox. The disease wouldn't kill them, but it wrecked their already pitiful breeding rate.
Word got out that Newt had moved back to Britain, so the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures begged him to treat them.
Newt didn't want money as payment. He just asked for a few herbs that grew near dragon nesting grounds. The Ministry agreed.
But once the dragons were cured, those herbs were suddenly "gone."The Ministry had sold them all, and the next batch wouldn't mature until June next year.
Bang!
Tom slapped the newly moved tea table so hard it rattled. "That's ridiculous! They did that because you're too nice, and they think they can get away with stiffing you!"
"Grandpa Newt, you should change your profession and go collect debts. You'd be perfect. We can call you the Wolf."
.
.
.