Hermione, in Tom's body, finished breakfast at the orphanage.
She'd finally pieced it together.
Just like in those magical fairy tales, she'd crossed over—body-swapped into someone else.
The original owner of this body was Tom Riddle, the same age as her: eleven years old.
There were seven kids total in the orphanage. Besides herself and Misha, there were five others, all around her age… or maybe a little older.
Most of the kids were a bit scared of her—except for one: Parkin Laurence, who always acted like he was better than everyone else.
Misha had told Hermione that Laurence had recently caught the eye of a nice family. He'd be leaving the orphanage soon, which was why he'd been extra cocky lately.
After breakfast, Misha picked up the basket. The hibiscus flowers inside had wilted overnight—some leaves were turning yellow and crispy, the petals drooping sadly around the stems.
"Tom, I found a good spot last night. Lots of couples go there. We should be able to sell way more flowers today." Misha pulled a few plants out of the basket and set them aside, forcing a smile.
"These won't sell," Hermione shot down the idea. "Nobody's going to pay a whole pound for wilted junk like this. They're not worth it.
"And the way you guys grow them is all wrong, too.
"Looking at the leaves, it's obvious you haven't been watering them properly. The stems even have footprints on them—you haven't been taking care of these flowers at all!"
Hermione didn't hold back at all.
The other kids froze. Some of the younger ones had tears in their eyes now, glaring at her with tight lips.
"You should—"
"Enough, Riddle!" one of the kids snapped, full of hate. "You shouldn't talk like that—at least not to Misha!"
Parkin Laurence snorted coldly. "Riddle's right, though. Trying to save up money by selling this trash before winter hits is about as likely as wishing Santa Claus shows up at Christmas with a fat stack of pounds.
"If you ask me, you'd be better off buying some books and studying. Learn enough modern British history by September to tutor at the Middletons'. That way you might actually afford a couple of wool coats come winter."
"Laurence, didn't you read that modern history book? Why don't you go do it then?"
A flicker of embarrassment crossed Laurence's face, but he hid it fast.
He had tried applying to tutor at the Middletons'—only what they wanted wasn't exactly a normal tutor. Mr. Sheen had been downright creepy, like he was possessed or something.
Laurence had answered a couple of questions, then bolted out of there, totally humiliated.
Now he just doubled down, keeping up the tough act. "Me? I'm about to leave this dump. Soon I'll be eating bacon for breakfast, steak for dinner, and having proper afternoon tea. Why would I bother with that kind of work?
"Too bad for you, Riddle—that family didn't pick you. What a shame. Though with your temper, I guess no one would want a violent nutcase like you anyway." Laurence shrugged, smirking, nose tilted up like he owned the place.
Hermione was getting mad. Her eyebrows shot up, and her fists clenched at her sides.
Laurence saw it and stepped closer instead of backing off. "What, Riddle—you gonna hit me?"
There'd been a time before when Riddle had gone after him. The old ladies who ran the orphanage had been furious, warning Tom that if he laid a hand on another kid again, they'd kick him out.
Laurence would love to see that happen.
He'd always been jealous of Tom. Tom had a nice, straight nose and a good build. Even though he didn't eat much more than the rest of them, maybe because he exercised, his shoulders were broad—he didn't look scrawny like the other kids.
Tom always seemed calm and in control, like a grown-up. Those bright jade-green eyes were sharp and lively, and whenever Tom smiled, people liked him right away.
Laurence figured everyone was jealous of Tom—except Misha.
That stupid little mudblood treated Tom like a big brother.
Laurence thought they were all idiots.
He stared at Hermione provocatively, practically hoping she'd swing.
"Tom… just let it go," Misha said softly. "I mean, no point arguing with a guy like him. You know he'll be gone in a couple days—we won't have to see him ever again."
Hermione took a couple deep breaths and ignored the annoying boy.
"That place he mentioned—the Middletons'. Where is it?" she asked.
"The Middletons…? Tom, you want to try tutoring? But you're not exactly great at modern history…"
Hermione repeated the words in her head. Modern history?
Please.
She knew Hogwarts: A History inside and out—at least the first-year stuff.
"No! More! Talking!" Hermione bit out each word. "Take me there!"
…
"Wingardium Leviosa!"
[You have cast a spell. Rating: Poor. Wingardium Leviosa +1.]
[You have cast a spell. Rating: Poor. Wingardium Leviosa +1.]
[You have cast a spell. Rating: Poor. Wingardium Leviosa +1.]
[Wingardium Leviosa (Beginner): 99/100.]
Tom lay on the bed, his loose curls falling down on both sides.
His pale cheeks showed clear signs of exhaustion now.
Ninety-nine times. A full ninety-nine casts!
Every single one rated "poor."
Tom knew why—he hadn't grasped the trick yet. He could get the feather to float, but that was it. Just float.
The book said a perfect Levitation Charm could lift much heavier things—like a several-inch rock, or a delicious pan-fried steak.
He still had a long way to go.
He let out a deep breath, took a sip of salt water to shake off the fatigue.
"Wingardium Leviosa!"
[You have cast a spell. Rating: Poor. Wingardium Leviosa +1.]
[Wingardium Leviosa Lv.1: 0/300]
[Obtained title: Spellcasting Initiate.]
[Wearing this title makes spellcasting smoother. Casting speed increased by 20%.]
He'd finally broken through.
Tom let out a relieved breath. After all that work, his stomach was starting to growl.
Just as he thought that, the phone downstairs rang.
"Hello, Granger residence—Mom?"
Less than two minutes later, Tom hung up.
The Grangers had just landed. The couple had gone on a beach vacation—Tom had been invited too, but he'd turned it down.
They called to say plans changed and they wouldn't be home tonight. There was money in the drawer; Tom should go buy himself something to eat.
Before heading out, Tom fixed his messy hair, opened the wardrobe, and picked out Hermione's most…
Why were all the clothes in this kid's closet so frumpy?
Tom rubbed his forehead.
Might as well buy some decent outfits while he was out. Since he'd taken over this body, he was going to live properly.
At the very least, he wasn't going to keep looking like a country bumpkin.
There was plenty of money in the drawer. The Grangers were both dentists—pretty well-off. In the Muggle world, they were solidly middle-class.
Muggles were ordinary people who couldn't do magic.
He called the Grangers to let them know he was going shopping for clothes. They sounded thrilled and told him to go wild—spend whatever he wanted. They even told him where their little safe was in their bedroom.
Two hours later…
Tom was wearing a whole new stylish outfit.
Hermione's hair was long and curly—not really suited for the soft, gentle girl look. Something cooler and edgier fit her better.
No—fit him better.
A black-and-brown plaid long shirt on top, paired with culottes and a skirt combo, some accessories in her hair—a purple hair clip that added a nice touch—and brown boots on her feet. She looked like a little grown-up.
Super cool!
For dinner, Tom went with bacon-wrapped meat and a well-done steak.
"Miss Granger?"
"It is Miss Granger, right? Oh my gosh, I can't believe my eyes!"
"Granger, when did you ditch the mudblood style? When'd you get these clothes… Little mudblood, which middle school are you going to? Wait, I don't think I saw your name on the list. Are you really gonna go straight into your parents' dental practice at your age?"
Tom was enjoying dinner alone when three kids suddenly popped up in front of him. He needed a second to process.
Hermione's old classmates, probably.
"Granger, how come you're not saying anything? Your big mudblood mom and dad not here with you?"
The one talking was a chubby kid with a square face, throwing "mudblood" around like it was nothing.
The other two had started to chime in, but now their eyes were glued to Tom.
Granger looked awesome!
They'd never noticed at school. She always dressed so dowdy and acted all bossy—it rubbed people the wrong way.
"Want to sit down and eat something? I'll have the waiter add a few dishes."
"???"
The two who hadn't insulted him exchanged a look.
This felt way off. Wasn't Granger supposed to rip into Tonks and start a huge fight?
"What do you guys want to drink? No alcohol—you're not old enough. Sparkling water or milk is fine." Tom asked calmly, like it was no big deal.
"…Tonks, you really shouldn't talk to Granger like that."
"Yeah, I've told you a bunch of times—it's not nice to say stuff like that about people…"
"You two!" The chubby kid looked embarrassed. His two sidekicks had switched sides in a heartbeat, and he was fuming.
Tom treated all three the same, giving them a little smile. "What about you two? Tonks, you eating? I ordered extra egg custard and flower cakes."
"No way!" Tonks huffed. "Granger's just trying to make you guys pay. You idiots! Hanging out with a mudblood never ends well—you'll turn out just as gross as her!"
Tom raised his hand. Tonks flinched, thinking he was about to hit him, and ducked away.
"Sir, could I get two milks and two pan-fried steaks, please? Here's a tip for you."
The two sitting nearby lit up instantly.
"Tonks, you should probably head home. Didn't your parents say they were waiting for you to eat?"
"Yeah, yeah—we'll eat here with Granger tonight. We won't make it to your place…"
Tonks exploded. "It's my birthday today! You guys promised you'd come!"
"Hmm… Granger, you going?"
Tom: "I've got stuff to do. No time."
Tonks got the message, stormed out in a rage, and slammed the door hard enough to make the wind chimes jingle sharply.
"Granger, you should've dressed like this ages ago… I mean, if you'd done it sooner, nobody in class would've made fun of you. They'd respect you—yeah, totally respect you!"
"You look so much classier now. Like an actual adult."
Old Hermione would've blown up and fired back at Tonks right away, but today… they couldn't believe how gentle she was being.
And she was even treating them to dinner!
Tom just smiled without answering. His big brown eyes crinkled up at the corners, leaving the two kids staring in a daze.
"Sir, the check." Tom paid after finishing and left the restaurant.
He still had studying to do when he got home.
As he reached the front door, Tom suddenly stopped.
An owl… was perched on the mailbox, waiting for him.