"Professor Dumbledore, I asked Hagrid to come with me. I was hoping you could take a look and see... well, if I have any flaws when it comes to magic."
"Oh?" Dumbledore's gaze swept over Tom. "What kinds of magic do you know so far?"
"All the spells from the first-year Charms textbook."
Dumbledore raised an eyebrow. "All of them?"
"Yes, Professor. All of them."
"Can you just perform them, or are you proficient?"
Tom hesitated. "I think I can just perform them for now."
After all, they were only at Level 2. In Tom's eyes—or really, in the eyes of any first-year student—that counted as proficient. But Dumbledore wasn't some random first-year. He was the greatest white wizard of the age.
"Let's see, then," Dumbledore said. "Start with the simplest one: the Levitation Charm."
Tom bowed slightly, raised his wand, and spoke clearly: "Wingardium Leviosa!"
As his wand swished down, a book on Dumbledore's desk rose smoothly into the air.
Hagrid's eyes widened from the back of the room.
Was Tom's casting speed a little... fast?
Hagrid had no idea it was because of Tom—thanks to his title boosting his casting speed by 20%.
Even second-years didn't cast the Levitation Charm as quickly as Tom.
The real difference, though, was obvious to them both.
His control over magic was polished. The effort Tom had put in wasn't just a hundred or two practices—it was hundreds, maybe even thousands of repetitions!
Hagrid suddenly remembered Tom's schedule.
Eighteen hours of practice a day...
Dumbledore showed no change in expression. "Next, the Fire-Making Charm."
"Incendio!"
A burst of flames shot from the tip of Tom's wand. Dumbledore simply waved his hand, dispersing them effortlessly.
"Now the Softening Charm."
...
Fifteen minutes later, Tom had gone through all seven first-year spells.
As he finished with the final one—the Reparo Charm—Dumbledore nodded, clasping his hands behind his back. "Tom, Hogwarts is lucky to have such a hardworking student. It makes me very happy."
Hagrid chimed in from behind. "Tom, you're doing great. I've never seen a first-year—no, even a second-year—do as well as you. But your casting speed is a bit quick. I think you should slow it down."
"Hagrid, you're mistaken," Dumbledore said with a smile. "Young Tom, your greatest strength is your casting speed. That's a real talent. In wizard duels, speed and power are everything.
"You've done this seven times now, so you probably noticed where you're weaker than others. Honestly, I can't help you with that. You'll have to grow on your own—or... don't forget you have a roommate who's brilliant at Potions, right?"
"Thank you, Professor Dumbledore." Tom bowed respectfully, understanding exactly what he meant, then left the office and headed straight back to the library.
Hagrid just stood there, totally confused.
He hadn't spotted any problems. Just the casting speed—but Dumbledore had called that Tom's talent.
"Albus, what's wrong with little Tom, exactly?"
"Seven spells," Dumbledore said, nodding toward Hagrid's wand at his belt. "Why don't you try them yourself? You'll see the difference pretty quick."
Hagrid gave it a go, still clueless.
"He's just an eleven-year-old kid, Albus. Aren't you being a bit too hard on him... eleven years old!"
Then it hit him. "I get it now. He's too young. He hasn't been around magic long enough. No matter how talented or hardworking he is, he can't sustain casting for long periods like we can!"
Tom's magical stamina was low—his body just couldn't handle prolonged spellcasting yet.
Dumbledore finally smiled. "You see it now? That's why I told him there are only two ways forward: keep learning and wait to grow up, or..."
"Get Snape to brew him some magical stamina potions? No way. Snape would never do that."
Dumbledore gazed out the window at the boy hurrying toward the library. "Who knows? Tom's gotten this far. He must spend at least ten hours a day practicing—maybe more."
"I've seen his schedule. If he hasn't wasted any time, it's eighteen hours."
Dumbledore's smile froze.
Eighteen hours?
There are only twenty-four hours in a day. That meant besides eating and sleeping, Tom was practicing the whole time?
An owl suddenly flew in through the window and landed on Dumbledore's desk.
Sender: Hermione Granger.
Dumbledore opened the letter right in front of Hagrid. Halfway through, he chuckled.
"Our young Tom might cause quite a stir in first year. A student's already asking if they can start school early."
"Another one?" Hagrid said, shocked.
What was up with kids these days? Back when he was at school, everyone couldn't wait for holidays, trips, Quidditch matches... Now they all wanted to start learning early?
"Hmm... interesting." Dumbledore read on. Hermione mentioned something that had happened between her and Tom—nothing detailed, just that it tied them together somehow. She wanted his help.
After a long pause, Dumbledore picked up his quill and wrote a serious reply to Hermione.
...
A few days later.
Hermione got her response. She wasn't in a great mood.
Her request to move into Hogwarts early had been denied.
As for the body-swap thing, Professor Dumbledore said fate works in mysterious ways. Sometimes special reasons bring people together, and he hoped she'd cherish her connection with Tom.
He also said he'd found no trace of dark magic on Tom, so she should relax.
But Hermione was still on edge.
Today was the seventh day.
In London that night, an exhausted owl perched on a branch outside her window, staring at the human inside who was pulling an all-nighter just like it.
Hermione didn't dare sleep. She kept her eyes wide open, even if she couldn't focus on her book anymore. She wasn't giving up.
She just had to make it through tonight!
Tomorrow she had plans—she'd spotted a little competition in Diagon Alley while wandering around. It was only for kids under thirteen, and sign-ups were tomorrow.
Hermione really wanted the champion's prize: a signed copy of Gilderoy Lockhart's Break with a Banshee.
You couldn't even buy his signed books with Galleons!
She adored Lockhart. Lately, she'd been practicing first-year spells nonstop just to win that prize.
Fighting off sleep, Hermione stared hard.
Thud! She collapsed onto the bed.
...
Hermione's eyes snapped open!
Magpies were chattering noisily outside the window. She sat up in bed.
The room smelled dry and bitter from potion ingredients. Hermione waved a hand in front of her nose.
Reaching down, she felt the familiar-yet-strange thing between her legs. Her face flushed red.
She'd swapped with Tom again!
She wondered if Tom had done what she asked.
Hermione didn't have to look far. There was a diary right by the bed.
After reading it, she got the gist.
Tom had gotten into Hogwarts and was rooming with Professor Snape.
"I've got a bit of a cold lately—constant coughing. I need to extend workout time: two hours every morning. Workout plan as follows... Then head to the library to practice spells and finish that book Twenty Simple Spells I didn't complete last time. At noon, go to Hagrid's hut to groom Fluffy for two hours. Afternoon..."
You're going too far, Tom!
There's only twenty-four hours in a day, and you're scheduling every single one!
"Cough, cough..." Hermione started coughing. Her throat felt scratchy—this was from Tom's cold.
"Tom, what are you yelling about?" A cold voice snapped her back to reality.
She saw the Professor Snape mentioned in the diary. He looked just like Tom described—a chubby big bat.
"Sorry, Professor Snape. I... I had a nightmare."
"Hmph." Snape snorted. "Next time you scream in my rooms, you can go sleep with the Whomping Willow. I don't take in stupid little brats who like to make weird noises!"
"Yes, sir..."
"So why are you still spacing out?" Snape glared icily. "You told me yourself last night that you'd help with potions today. Get up and get dressed—now!"
Tom didn't mention this in the diary!
After getting up, Snape didn't wait at all. He strode ahead quickly, like he wanted as much distance from Tom as possible.
Hermione had to jog down the corridors just to keep up.
In the Potions lab, Snape pulled out some ingredients.
"Tell me, what is this?"
Hermione recognized the purple-leaved plant. "It's aconite."
"Monkshood or wolfsbane?"
Hermione froze. The book didn't specify.
"Monkshood and wolfsbane are the same plant—collectively called aconite. Understand? If you can't identify it properly, it'll poison you right here in the lab!"
Hermione bowed her head quickly. "I understand, Professor."
"Then why aren't you writing it down? Waiting for me to take notes for you? And I've told you many times—call me Professor Snape!"
Hermione swallowed hard. She felt the pressure from Snape and hurriedly scribbled it down, not daring to argue.
"What's this?"
"Professor Snape, that's bezoar. A stone from a goat's stomach. It neutralizes poisons."
Without waiting, Hermione noted it down—even though she already knew.
"What do you need to brew a cough potion?" Snape shook his head. "You do it. I hope you've been studying seriously. If you haven't wasted all that time in the library, you should know how. Page 62 in 100 Basic Potion Recipes has the instructions."
Good thing Hermione had bought that book in Diagon Alley. She remembered the recipe.
Two drops of Lethe River water into the cauldron, heat it...
"You heated it for a full twenty-one seconds. Why haven't you started stirring?"
"Counterclockwise? Did the book say counterclockwise? Clockwise! Tom, your stupidity just wasted a whole cauldron!"
"Why only one portion of valerian? Don't you know it needs two? This batch is ruined—start over!"
Hermione was buckling under the pressure. She bit her lip hard, her jade-green eyes turning red.
"Tom, I'm warning you—one last warning. If even one tear falls from those eyes, I'll expel you from this school without a second thought!
"You can go back to your orphanage and live with your little friends!
"Now, dump that ruined potion and start again!!!"
"Yes, Professor Snape." Hermione bit her lip tighter, not arguing back. She took a deep breath and poured out the failed brew.
The second cauldron turned out fine. Snape didn't say a word the whole time.
"Now," Snape said, eyeing her. "Drink the potion you just made. Right now—immediately!"