Hermione had been searching forever for that complete set of Lockhart's books—she really did love Mr. Lockhart.
But she couldn't find them anywhere.
Even though Tom had won the competition, they weren't in her own house, and they weren't in Professor Snape's dorm where Tom was staying.
Hermione doodled little circles on her calendar.
According to their once-every-seven-days body swap, they'd each be in their own bodies for the Sorting Ceremony on the first day of Hogwarts— the switch wouldn't happen until the third day.
"Tap tap tap—" An owl pecked at the window. Hermione opened it and let the bird inside.
It was the letter she'd sent to Hogwarts—addressed to Tom.
When she'd gone to Diagon Alley to rent an owl for the letter, she'd felt like a lion in a zoo.
Everyone kept staring at her. Hermione Granger, champion of Mr. Lockhart's competition.
She was sick of those looks. Right now, all she wanted was to give Tom a good punching.
She'd already sacrificed so much—why did he have to take her signed Lockhart books too? They were her only joy!
Opening the envelope, the first thing Hermione saw was the name of the person who'd replied.
Huh? Why was it Professor Dumbledore writing back… Had Tom already left Hogwarts and gone to St. Lydia's Orphanage?
Today was the day she'd finally beat the crap out of Tom!
At the very least, before school started, she needed to give him one solid thrashing.
But just as she was about to head out, a thought stopped her cold—could she even win?
Could she really take Tom in a fight?
This was the same Tom who'd won Lockhart's competition. Plus, that body of his was all hard muscle. Probably… no way.
Maybe… she should just find a chance to ask where he'd hidden the books. What if she'd just missed them? Tom didn't even like Lockhart—he had no use for them…
"Hermione! Your friends are here!" her mom called from downstairs.
Hermione grabbed her stuff and hurried down. "Got it."
It was those two annoying pests again.
"Granger, you're looking cool today as always! Wanna hang out?"
Hermione held up a hand. "Sorry, I'm busy. School starts soon—don't you guys have homework? Why are you always so free?"
Her face wasn't friendly; she glared at them with open hostility.
The two boys glanced at each other. Yep, grumpy Hermione again today.
They'd noticed she seemed to have two personalities: sometimes explosive and short-tempered, sometimes gentler.
One of them liked the fiery version; the other preferred the softer one…
"We already finished our homework, Granger."
"Then start reviewing next year's material!" Hermione slung her bag over her shoulder and headed toward Diagon Alley.
On the bus, she reached the Leaky Cauldron.
The place was always buzzing, packed with people no matter the time.
In the crowd, Hermione spotted a pair of red-haired brothers. They looked like they wanted to say hi when they saw her, but she was used to that by now—everyone recognized the champion.
From the Leaky Cauldron into Diagon Alley, Hermione needed to buy an owl. Lately she'd realized how important it was to have one—if she owned her own, she could contact Tom anytime.
Tom was such a cheapskate. He had Galleons—why wouldn't he just buy one? Maybe he was mad because she'd hidden the ones she'd earned…
Okay, fine, but that was fair. It was money she'd worked for!
Eeylops Owl Emporium—a shop on the north side of Diagon Alley where you could get owls and all the food and supplies they needed.
Hermione picked out a beautiful white snowy owl.
It was about two feet tall, and when it spread its wings, they were bigger than her head.
She named her new pet Mirora.
She'd almost called it Tom—treating that jerk like her pet—but then realized she'd be living with Mirora for years. If she named it Tom, she might end up taking out all her anger on the poor owl.
Carrying the cage, Hermione noticed a blond boy not far away.
His hair was slicked back, and the look he gave her was full of disdain.
"Draco, what are you still staring at? We need to go," his father called.
Draco nodded. "Yes, Father."
Hermione Granger—a Muggle-born girl who'd only been in the wizarding world for less than two months, tops.
And in those two months, she'd won the competition.
Cheating! She must have cheated!
How could young Master Malfoy be so sure? Because he'd cheated too.
Even with cheating, he still hadn't matched "Hermione Granger" in casting speed or skill.
"You were staring at that girl," Lucius Malfoy said without looking over, eyes fixed ahead.
"She's Hermione Granger."
Hermione…
Lucius recognized the name; he'd seen it a lot lately.
Where was it again…
He spotted the newspaper outside Flourish and Blotts, with a huge photo of Hermione and her name plastered across it.
Right, that was it.
"Don't bother me with trivial matters like this!" Lucius said sternly. "You know what you need to focus on right now—and you know what I'm doing."
"Yes, Father. But… do you think Hermione might interfere with our plans at Hogwarts?"
Lucius frowned.
It wasn't until they got home that he spoke again.
"Dobby."
A small creature came tumbling and scrambling into the room, stopping in front of the father and son.
It wasn't tall—maybe four feet—and even shorter than eleven-year-old Draco. Its huge green eyes, the size of tennis balls, didn't dare meet theirs. Its bat-like ears drooped.
Dobby wore nothing but ragged, patched rags that barely covered him. In winter, he'd probably freeze outside.
This was a house-elf—slaves to wizards, and they believed it themselves.
"Master, Dobby is here."
Lucius looked down at the kneeling elf and calmly gave him some instructions.
…
London.
Hermione was feeding Mirora little bits of food by hand.
She was glad she hadn't named the owl Tom—Mirora was way better behaved. She listened, didn't run off, and never lied.
After Mirora finished eating and gave a couple of soft hoots, Hermione stopped feeding her.
She sat at the desk and started writing a letter to Tom.
Hermione tapped her forehead, thinking hard, rewriting words over and over.
"No!" She grabbed fistfuls of her hair and messed it up.
What am I doing?
Why am I using all these polite words for a liar—for someone who stole my body?
She crumpled the paper into a ball, tossed it in the trash, and started over.
But… what if that jerk Tom wasn't there and Misha read the letter instead?
Sweet little Misha would be heartbroken…
This isn't for Tom—it's for Misha. Yeah, that's it!
Hermione rewrote the letter, her face twisted in a scowl. She didn't notice the tiny house-elf that had sneaked invisibly into her room. Of course, even if she hadn't been writing, she wouldn't have seen him.
…
A full day had passed since Hermione sent the letter.
No reply had come.
Even if Misha had seen it, she would've sent something back. But this time—nothing.
And Mirora hadn't returned either.
Had Tom already gone back to Hogwarts?
The thought popped into her head, and she quickly shook it away.
No way. He'd only just left—there's no chance he'd be back already.
Maybe he's just busy… but no matter how busy, he always finds time to write back.
Tom could be annoying, but he'd never ignored her letters like this.
What if something had happened to Tom?
Hermione was a doer. She grabbed her things and headed out immediately.
Worried she might not make it back in time, she packed everything she'd need for school.
On the bus, she gave the address, found a window seat, and clutched her suitcase tightly.
As the bus picked up speed and buildings blurred past, Hermione felt nervous. In a daze, she spotted someone on the sidewalk stuttering through a purchase with a vendor, their head wrapped in layer after layer of thick cloth.
Not looking at them anymore, she thought about her trip.
In a way, this would be the first time she and Tom actually met face-to-face.
She'd known Tom for a while now, but they'd never truly met in person.
On the ride, Hermione held a book, planning to read during the downtime, but for some reason her head felt heavy and sleepy.
Her eyes closed, she yawned, leaned against the window, and drifted off.
Two days later.
Mrs. Granger had never seen such a striking boy before.
Pretty might not be the right word for a boy, but those emerald-green eyes caught her attention in an instant.
"Is Hermione home?" he asked, tilting his head. "She hasn't been feeling well lately. She's had a fever for three days and has been holed up in her room…"
A fever? Hermione?
"Ma'am, is Hermione really that sick?"
"Maybe. I keep hearing her cough. Listen, young man…"
Tom cocked his ear, but the house was completely silent.
He suddenly sensed faint traces of magic lingering in the Grangers' home. After living at Hogwarts for so long, surrounded by spells every day, he could tell.
"Ma'am, could I go up and check on her?"
"Huh?" Mrs. Granger's expression shifted—she didn't think that was appropriate.
"I'm Hermione's friend—from the same school." Tom smiled, pulled his wand from his pocket, and waved it in front of her. "Don't worry, we're really close. Here are some letters we've exchanged."
Seeing the letters, Mrs. Granger's relaxed face tightened instantly.
Good-looking, male, Hogwarts…
She covered her mouth with her hand. "May I ask your name…?"
"Tom. Tom Riddle. Nice to meet you."
"Oh, hello! Come in, come in. I'll get you some tea."
Tom smiled. "No need to go to any trouble. I'm mainly here to pick Hermione up so we can head to school together."
The train left tomorrow, but the two letters he'd sent had vanished without a trace. That worried him.
He'd realized something might be wrong and hurried over.
Upstairs, Tom stood outside the bedroom door.
The place felt both familiar and strange.
Familiar because he'd lived here for quite a while—he even knew exactly where Mrs. Granger hid her little safe.
Strange because… this was the first time he'd stood here as "Tom."
He knocked. From inside came a low coughing sound.
Tom's brow furrowed. He flicked his wand.
"Alohomora!"
He pushed the door open and stepped inside.
The room was empty—Hermione had taken everything she could, even the Snoopy doll from her nightstand.
In the middle of the floor stood a small house-elf.
The moment the elf saw Tom, he vanished.
Dobby?
Why would Dobby the house-elf be after Hermione? She wasn't Harry.
Did that mean the ones targeting Hermione were… the Malfoys, father and son?