"I mean, sure, but asking a cat to cast spells… isn't that a bit much?"
In Charms class, Tom stared up at Professor Flitwick—whose height barely reached the top of the desk—and felt his feline soul crumble.
"Professor Flitwick, sir, please just teach the lesson. Why do you keep staring at me?
And you, the Malfoy in the back—don't think I didn't see you sneaking glances!
What are the two of you plotting?!"
Truth be told, Tom had absolutely no one to blame but himself.
Flitwick's attention came from Tom's previous "outstanding" performance in other classes—especially History of Magic.
That alone would've been surprising enough for a Hufflepuff: getting points from Snape, and even receiving his special attention. (Professor Sprout was so shocked she exempted Tom from Herbology homework for an entire week.) But all of that was nothing compared to what happened that night:
Professor Binns—the ghost who had never, ever shown interest in anything outside his lessons—had gone to speak with Dumbledore personally.
And not only that…
He wanted Tom to be his teaching assistant.
By Merlin's saggy socks, Flitwick had been at Hogwarts for decades and had never once heard of such a position. Professors handled their own classes. Always. Even Binns—workaholic of workaholics—had never missed a single lesson in his entire undead existence.
These strange events piled up, one after another, until Flitwick couldn't help forming expectations:
If Tom was impressive in other classes, wouldn't he also shine in Charms?
And when he heard Binns enthusiastically describe how Tom reenacted an entire History of Magic lesson on his own… Flitwick's curiosity became downright fascination.
As for our dear Draco…
His thoughts were far simpler.
He was the Slytherin.
He had the family pedigree.
He had every reason to be Snape's favorite.
So why, in Salazar's name, was Snape giving points to a random cat—one not even qualified to be called a Muggle creature—yet ignoring Draco, pure-blood prince of Slytherin?
Burning with resentment, Draco had set his sights on Tom. Not quite Harry-level hatred yet, but definitely well on its way if handled poorly.
Unaware of all this, Tom only felt his paws go numb with stress.
Already frustrated by his inability to pronounce spells, he grew even more agitated under both Flitwick's and Draco's stares—especially the professor's. Completely forgetting how he'd previously cast magic by instinct, he just kept swishing his wand hopelessly.
Flitwick's eager expression slowly sagged into disappointment as Tom's motions became worse and worse.
Eventually, he had to admit the truth: rumors were just rumors.
A ghost's testimony wasn't exactly reliable.
And this cat—who couldn't even manage the Levitation Charm—couldn't possibly have reenacted an entire historical lesson on his own.
Still, Flitwick was a normal professor—unlike Snape—and treated Tom simply as an ordinary student who needed practice, nothing more.
Draco, on the other hand, was too far away to ridicule Tom immediately, so he stored his insults for later:
"Hmph! A creature that can't even use spells—less than a Muggle beast—getting Snape's attention? He must've cheated! Just wait. After class, I'll expose him!"
But before he could even finish that thought—
Tom pulled a stunt so wild Draco nearly dropped his wand.
Once Flitwick stopped watching him, Tom finally felt the pressure ease. After all, trauma from his previous life meant that being stared at by teachers made him tense up instantly.
With the professor distracted, Draco's gaze didn't bother him at all.
Of course, that didn't solve Tom's biggest problem:
he still couldn't cast magic properly.
His wand movement was good, perfect even—but without the incantation, the feather in front of him remained stubbornly still.
(Wingardium Leviosa!)
"Wingardium Leviosa!"
He tried again and again, meowing the spell, thinking it in his head—nothing.
"Come on! Just float already!! (╯‵□′)╯︵┴─┴"
In a moment of pure feline rage, Tom threw all technique out the window. Forget wand movements, forget incantations—he just swung the wand like a stick and whacked the feather as hard as he could.
"Mrrrow?"
And then he watched, stunned, as the feather he couldn't move at all suddenly drifted gently into the air—weightless as a soap bubble.
"Oh! Beautifully cast! And silent casting, too! Five points to Hufflepuff!"
Flitwick, who had not seen Tom's earlier… attempt, only saw the floating feather and the lack of any meowing. Naturally, he assumed Tom had successfully performed nonverbal magic—and cheered.
He'd even been planning to tutor Tom privately on silent casting techniques. Turns out the cat had mastered them on his own!
Clearly the rumors were true—this unusual young wizard had extraordinary talent.
Behind Tom, Draco and Hannah—who had seen everything—slowly formed identical expressions:
(?)
Something wasn't quite right with that spell.
The technique… felt a little too revolutionary.
If they remembered correctly, the Levitation Charm definitely did not involve smacking the object.
Hannah, having witnessed Tom's bizarre antics many times, only gave him a quick glance before returning to practice.
But Draco?
Draco absolutely did not have that level of restraint.
Not understanding Tom's unique… physical advantages, he assumed this was some new secret technique.
He hesitated—then raised his wand.
And, copying Tom exactly, brought it crashing down on his feather.
BOOM!
With a soft explosion, the feather burst into a cloud of fluff. Luckily, it was just a feather and not something dangerous, so aside from being covered in white fuzz, Draco was unharmed.
But his pride?
Utterly obliterated.