"Professor, hang on a sec—we'll wake Tom right up!"
"No need. Let him rest. I'll wait here. He'll wake up soon enough."
In that hazy space between sleep and awake, Tom caught snippets of familiar voices—one of them definitely sounded like Professor Dumbledore.
At first, he thought he was dreaming, but the dorm was way too quiet. He rubbed his eyes and dragged himself out of bed.
Tom felt like a monkey in a zoo exhibit.
Terry, Li Su, and Dumbledore were all staring straight at him.
His hair was a post-nap disaster, so Tom swept the long strands back with one hand. "Good morning, Professor."
"Good morning, Tom. I'm glad to see you finally looking like a proper student. I half-expected to find you already camped out in Professor Snape's office by now."
Tom scratched his head sheepishly. "Normally, yeah, that's where I'd be..."
But yesterday had wiped him out. A full day of intense practice had left him gasping, so he'd slept straight through until eight o'clock sharp—a rare luxury for him.
Dumbledore pulled a letter from his pocket. "Sly little fox—this is what you've earned."
Professor McGonagall approved it?
A rush of excitement hit Tom. "Thank you, Professor Dumbledore! If I ever get the chance, I'll take great care of Fawkes for you!"
"No need to be so formal..." Dumbledore hadn't expected Tom to still be eyeing his phoenix. He cleared his throat with a chuckle. "This morning, Minerva was absolutely floored. She's never seen so many professors gang up to fight for special privileges for a first-year. Congratulations—you're cleared to attend the Christmas ball."
Tom reached out solemnly with both hands to take the envelope.
But just as his fingers brushed it, Dumbledore whisked it back.
Tom: "?"
"Tom, would you ever hold a grudge against a sneaky old man?"
Man, he's petty!
"Go ahead, Professor. I'm listening."
"I thought about it last night," Dumbledore said calmly, pinching the letter between his fingers. "Perhaps a small punishment is in order, my boy. I don't do things without reason. If you're willing to take a trip to Hogsmeade Village with Hermione, this letter is yours. Don't worry—Rubeus will chaperone and explain what you two need to do there.
This is your punishment—for what you pulled on me yesterday."
Hogsmeade Village?!
Tom kept his reaction cool, but the other two in the dorm gaped like fish.
Who at Hogwarts hadn't heard of it?
Hogsmeade—the only all-wizard village in Britain! Third-years and up got weekend visits, strolling off with their dates while first-years like them could only watch enviously.
Punishment? This was straight-up VIP treatment!
Terry and Li Su shot Tom another round of jealous glares. What other first-year got perks like this?
"I can't exactly say no, Professor."
"Precisely. So once you're back, I'll hand over the letter personally. Hermione and Rubeus are waiting for you now. Oh—and bring your Firebolt. That broom's been gathering dust since you won it."
With that, Dumbledore vanished on the spot, leaving only a faint whiff of his signature cologne.
"TOM!" Li Su and Terry pounced, leaping onto his bed and pinning his arms down—one on each side. "Take me with you, please!"
"I wanna go to Hogsmeade too! How do you keep scoring these exclusive deals? It's not fair!"
"Tom, I'd totally rock a dress better than Hermione. Sneak me as your plus-one—no one would notice! I'd even take detention if it meant going to the ball!"
Tom squirmed under their grip, their eager faces inches from his. He coughed twice. "Hold up, guys. Give it time—I can help you out later."
For real?
Both froze, blurting in unison: "Hogsmeade or the Christmas ball?"
"Hogsmeade," Tom said flatly. "In two years, I can sign for you as your guardian. Then you can go on your little trips. I'll be happily waiting in the dorm for your return."
Two years?
Nobody could wait that long!
Li Su was sharp—he caught on quick. Hogsmeade visits needed two things: being third-year and a guardian's signature slip.
"Terry, tickle him! Tom's trying to play daddy!"
"Tom's not ticklish! Quick—grab the magical camera! Snap him like this, draw a little turtle on his forehead, and send the photo to Hermione!"
Seeing them actually gearing up, Tom unleashed a tiny bit of his strength, flipping the tables and pinning them to the bed. If they hadn't begged for mercy fast enough, he'd have tied them up with ropes.
"You're a monster, Tom," Li Su groaned, rolling his stiff shoulders. "Never seen anyone with your level of magic and brute strength. You got giant blood or something?"
"Just thinking ahead—it might come in handy someday. Plus, working out's good for you guys too. You've got nothing but free time anyway."
Tom fixed his hair, changed clothes, grabbed his Firebolt, and headed out—under two very envious stares.
At the school gates, he spotted them: Hagrid and Hermione.
Hermione was puffing her cheeks, arms crossed, looking seriously grumpy.
"Good morning, Mr. Hagrid."
"Mornin', little Tom!"
"Good morning, Hermione."
"Hmph!"
She turned her face away, refusing to look at him.
Hagrid clocked the tension right away and got a little worried.
"Tom, Hermione—gotta lay down the rules for this Hogsmeade trip," Hagrid said, turning serious. "First off, you stick with me the whole time. You know the deal: normally needs third-year status and a signed permission slip. You two don't have that.
So this ain't a fun outing—you're coming along on official business with me. No wandering off, or I'll catch hell for it. Got it?"
"We understand, sir," Tom and Hermione said in perfect unison.
"Good, good. Let's head out, then."
Hagrid didn't have a broom—his ride was a flying motorcycle.
It had room for passengers, but he hopped on solo. "Tom, keep up behind me. I'll go slow so you can stay close. Make sure Hermione doesn't fall off your broom."
Hermione: "?"
There's still an empty seat on the bike!
"Mr. Hagrid, shouldn't I—I mean, ride with you?" Hermione asked anxiously.
"Me?" Hagrid laughed, patting the spot beside him. "This old thing can't handle two—seat's busted, even if it don't look it. Besides, you'd rather hang with Tom than an old oaf like me, right? I won't cramp your style."
"Who'd want to hang out with him?!" Hermione huffed, her face turning pink.
But Hagrid was already airborne, hovering up ahead and waiting.
"Get on the broom, Hermione." Tom stepped aside, offering the front spot.
He even gestured politely, like a perfect gentleman.
"Me?" Hermione pointed at herself. "You want me to steer? Tom, I've barely had any flying lessons—and this is a Firebolt! We'll crash!"
"Then we'll go down together."
"Don't say stuff like that—it's bad luck!" She shoved him forward. "You fly. I'll sit in the back. Hope you showered last night."
She seemed less mad now. Once they were both on, she grabbed a fistful of his robe hem, keeping a careful gap between them.
"Hey, friend—you might wanna hold on tighter. Not leave so much space." Tom pointed at the sun blazing in the sky. "See that?"
"What about it?"
"We're flying straight into the sunrise on a grand adventure. Gotta savor moments like this."
Hermione snorted. "Like I'd be adventuring with you."
But even as she said it, her grip tightened—just not quite the way Tom expected.
"You sure you're secure? This is a Firebolt—it's gonna outpace Hagrid's bike by a mile."
"It's fine! Just go!" she muttered.
When Tom started to turn his head, she slapped her free hand on it to stop him.
Hermione had no idea why her heart was pounding so hard.
Probably just from staying up late last night.
Yeah... and the weather was weirdly warm for December. That's why her ears and cheeks felt so hot...
"3... 2... 1... You really ready?"
"Quit stalling!"
Tom kicked off hard. The Firebolt shot forward like lightning, blowing past Hagrid in a blink.
"Oh—my—GOD—" Hermione's shriek whipped past his ear. "Slow down! We're not even supposed to fly here—Professor Dumbledore pulled strings for this! You'll get us in trouble!!!"
The wind roared too loud; her words were mostly lost.
Tom just caught muffled screaming.
"What? Not fast enough?" He tightened his grip on the broom. "Hold on tight, then."
The Firebolt surged again. On instinct, Hermione threw both arms around his waist and clung for dear life.