Offer Myself or Be Your Ox

The fire dragon is not to be trifled with, and neither is the human wizard in front of them. If they don't agree, they may not be able to leave this place.

Just then, there was a new commotion in the forest, as another flock of bird-shaped Veela flew over from a distance.

They landed on the open ground, led by a tall witch who looked to be in her thirties. Her face was so exquisitely beautiful that it seemed unreal, and her silver hair was braided and hung down in front of her chest.

She transformed back into human form after landing, her long robes fluttering in the wind.

"Chief Polana!" the Veela only understood French exclaimed in delight.

"Grandmother!"

A frantic shout brought Phoebe, who was being protected in the middle, back to her senses, and she shouted back at her.

Polana ignored her and walked straight to Tom. Her gaze swept over the poacher's remains on the ground, then over the Fiendfyre that Tom had put away in the sky, and finally landed on Tom's face.

The Veela had spoken to him earlier quickly chattered on and on, explaining the situation. The hostility within the group gradually subsided, but they remained vigilant.

"I am Polana, chieftain of the Veela Tribe." Her voice was beautiful, like the sound of silver bells in the wind. "Thank you for saving our people."

Like Phoebe, her skin was as white as moonlight, and she exuded a strange charm that would leave ordinary people stunned at first glance.

Tom's Occlumency was completely unaffected.

She bowed slightly, "If it weren't for your timely intervention, they probably wouldn't have held out until reinforcements arrived."

"Ms. Polana, you can call me Michael," Tom said calmly. "You should already know my conditions. I wonder if you'd be willing to help me with this."

"Of course I would," Polana answered readily, affectionately patting Phoebe's head.

"You saved my most precious treasure. I will mobilize all my people and our allies to help you find that fire dragon."

Tom breathed a sigh of relief.

With the help of the local bigwigs, I finally don't have to wander around like a headless fly anymore.

Polana paused for a moment, then smiled. "You alone?"

One person is enough.

Polana stared at him for a few seconds, as if reassessing the seemingly young wizard before her.

Then she turned around and said something to the Veela behind her. The Veela finally relaxed, their bird-like forms gradually faded, and they returned to human form.

A silver-haired girl emerged from the back of the crowd. Her face was exquisitely beautiful, her long silver hair cascading down to her waist, and her blue eyes were like two clear springs.

She looked to be thirteen or fourteen years old, and already showed signs of captivating all who beheld her.

"Phoebe Delacour," Polana introduced, "Our tribe's most precious jewel."

"Mr. Michael." A soft voice drifted over, Phoebe walked to his side. "Thank you for saving me."

Half-Veela, of France descent, and the right age—besides the future Beauxbatons school beauty, there's no one else like her. That's one of the reasons Tom made his move earlier.

Tom suddenly became serious. "Miss Delacour, your way of thanking me doesn't seem very sincere."

Phoebe blinked blankly. "Then how can I show sincerity?"

"That's how it should be." Tom cleared his throat and instructed her earnestly, "If your savior is good-looking, you should say: 'I have no way to repay you except by offering myself to you.'"

"If your benefactor is ugly, you should say: 'My benefactor has shown me such great kindness and virtue; I will repay him in my next life, even if I have to be his ox or horse.'"

He winked at Phoebe: "Now, you know what to say, right?"

Phoebe blushed even more, and tentatively asked, "Then... I'll be your slave in my next life?"

Tom: "..."

Puff--!

The Veela understood English next to them laughed so hard she bent over, while those who didn't understand looked around curiously.

Even Chief Polana's lips curled into a smile, which grew increasingly gentle.

Soon, Veela translated their conversation for everyone, and everyone except Phoebe and Tom burst into laughter, their melodious laughter echoing through the forest.

Tom was incredibly frustrated; the Michael image he had transformed into was truly hideous.

Polana looked at Tom, a hint of something in her eyes. "Mr. Michael, your Polyjuice Potion is about to lose its effectiveness."

Tom looked down at his hands; his fingers were Transfiguration, changing from the thick, adult man's fingers to the thin, boyish ones.

He frowned, took a small bottle out of his pocket, and wanted to take another sip, but it was too late.

Under the watchful eyes of the Veela, his appearance began to change; the wrinkles of the middle-aged wizard disappeared, and his skin became fair and smooth.

His features transformed from ordinary to refined; they had never seen a boy like him before.

Eleven-year-old Tom Riddle stood in the middle of the forest, his black robes stained with ashes, wand in hand, his expression serene.

Phoebe's mouth opened slightly, Polana raised her eyebrows, and several young Veela covered their mouths.

Tom sighed, "When you're out in the world, you have to define your own identity. If you don't mature a bit, everything will be troublesome."

Polana was also quite surprised. "Mr. Michael, is this your true colors?"

"Just call me Tom Riddle." His disguise exposed, Tom didn't bother using a pseudonym anymore.

The Veela have always maintained a relatively friendly relationship with humans and don't care much about International Statute of Secrecy. This is France, and the Britain Ministry of Magic can't possibly reach here.

Polana's pupils contracted slightly. Riddle —she had heard that name before, in some information that shouldn't have been leaked, but she didn't press the matter.

"Riddle, how old are you this year?" This was what Phoebe was most concerned about; Tom looked a little shorter than her.

"Eleven."

"Eleven years old?" Phoebe's worldview collapsed on the spot. Eleven years old, the age of just starting school! Just now, a single curse wiped out more than a dozen adult wizards, and now she's still so good-looking!

"Does that rule you mentioned earlier still stand?" Phoebe's voice was very soft.

Tom looked at her with amusement. "What rules?"

"The ugly ones will be treated like slaves, the pretty ones..." Phoebe couldn't continue, a blush creeping up her cheeks.

Tom laughed. "Didn't you already choose? To be your slave."

Phoebe's face turned even redder, while the other Veela beside her laughed so hard they were doubled over.

Tom followed the Veela to their tribe, which was built in a clearing deep in the Vosges Mountains, surrounded by towering fir trees with glowing moss hanging from their trunks.

The house was made of wood, with a thick thatched roof and smoke rising from the chimney. Several young Veela were chasing and playing in the open space, and they all stopped curiously when they saw Tom.

Polana led him to an empty wooden hut. "You'll stay here. We'll send people to search for the fire dragon."

"Thanks."

Tom pushed open the door and went inside. The cabin wasn't big, but it was very clean.

A bed, a table, a chair, and a fire already lit in the fireplace.