"Professor Dumbledore, I asked Mr Hagrid to come with me. I wanted you to check… um… if I have any flaws in my magic."
"Oh?" Dumbledore's eyes swept over Tom. "What spells can you cast right now?"
"All of them from the first-year Charms textbook."
Dumbledore raised an eyebrow. "All?"
"Yes, Professor. Every single one."
"Can you cast them, or are you proficient?"
Tom hesitated. "I think I can only cast them."
After all, he was only at LV.2. To any first-year that felt like mastery, but Dumbledore wasn't a first-year—he was the greatest white wizard alive.
"Let's see, then. Start with the simplest—Levitation Charm."
Tom bowed, raised his wand, and spoke clearly. "Wingardium Leviosa!"
The book on the desk rose smoothly into the air.
Behind him Hagrid's eyes widened.
Was Tom's casting speed always that quick?
Hagrid had no idea it was the title boosting him by twenty percent. Even most second-years couldn't match that speed.
More importantly, both men could see the difference: the precise, effortless control that only came from hundreds—thousands—of repetitions.
Hagrid suddenly remembered the brutal schedule in Tom's notebook.
Eighteen hours a day…
Dumbledore's expression didn't change. "Next. Incendio."
"Incendio!"
Flames roared from the wand tip. Dumbledore flicked his hand and the fire vanished.
"Softening Charm next."
…
Fifteen full minutes later Tom had run through every first-year spell.
When the final Reparo faded, Dumbledore nodded, hands clasped behind his back. "Tom, I am very pleased Hogwarts has such a hardworking student."
Hagrid chimed in. "You've done brilliantly, Tom. Never seen any first-year—or even second-year—manage that. Your casting speed is a bit fast, though. Maybe slow it down a touch."
"You're mistaken, Hagrid," Dumbledore smiled. "Little Tom, your greatest strength is that casting speed—it is your talent. In a duel, speed and power decide everything.
"After seven spells you should already know where you fall short. Truthfully, I cannot help you further. You must grow on your own… or—don't forget you have a Potions roommate, correct?"
"Thank you, Professor Dumbledore." Tom bowed deeply and left at once, heading straight back to the library.
Hagrid stood there blinking. "Albus… what exactly is little Tom lacking? I didn't see anything wrong except the speed, and you said speed was his talent."
"Seven spells and you still didn't notice?" Dumbledore pointed at the wand on Hagrid's belt. "Try it yourself. You'll understand."
Hagrid copied the sequence, still confused.
"He's only eleven, Albus. Aren't you expecting too much from an eleven-year-old?" Then Hagrid's eyes widened. "Wait… I get it! He's too young. He hasn't had enough time with magic. No matter how talented or how hard he works, he can't sustain long casting like we can!"
Tom's magical reserves were simply too small. His eleven-year-old body couldn't handle prolonged magic.
Dumbledore finally smiled. "Exactly. So I told him there are only two paths forward: keep studying and wait to grow… or…"
"Have Snape brew him a magic-power potion? Snape would never."
Dumbledore watched the small figure racing toward the library. "Who knows? Tom has reached this level by spending no less than ten hours a day practising—probably more."
"I saw his schedule. If he didn't waste a single minute, it's eighteen hours."
Dumbledore's smile froze.
Eighteen hours.
Out of twenty-four.
An owl swooped through the window and landed on the desk.
Sender: Hermione Granger.
Dumbledore opened it in front of Hagrid. Halfway through he chuckled.
"Our little Tom may cause quite a stir in first year. Another student has already asked to enter school early."
"Another one?" Hagrid's bushy eyebrows shot up.
Kids these days… when he was young all he thought about was holidays, trips, Quidditch…
"Hmm… interesting." Dumbledore kept reading. Hermione mentioned something had linked her and Tom. She didn't give details, only asked for help.
After a long silence he picked up his quill and wrote a careful reply.
…
A few days later.
Hermione received the letter. Her mood sank.
Her application to enter Hogwarts early had been denied.
About the body-swap, Professor Dumbledore said fate worked in mysterious ways; special connections always had reasons. She should cherish the link with Tom.
He had found no trace of dark magic on Tom and told her to relax.
But Hermione couldn't relax.
Today was the seventh day.
London night. An owl perched on the branch outside, staring at the sleepless girl inside.
Hermione refused to close her eyes. She glared at the book in her lap even though the words had stopped making sense.
Just get through tonight.
Tomorrow was sign-up for the under-thirteen contest in Diagon Alley. First prize was a signed copy of Lockhart's Walking with Trolls—impossible to buy even with Galleons.
She adored Lockhart. She'd been practising first-year spells nonstop just to win.
Eyes burning, she fought the exhaustion.
Thud.
She face-planted onto the bed.
…
Hermione's eyes flew open.
Magpies chattered outside. She sat up, disoriented.
The room smelled dry and sharp—potion ingredients. She waved a hand in front of her nose.
Her hand drifted downward, touched something familiar yet utterly wrong. Her face burned crimson.
Swapped again.
She didn't have to hunt. A diary lay neatly on the bedside table.
After reading it she had the full picture.
Tom was at Hogwarts, living with Professor Snape.
"Bit of a cold lately, constant coughing. Extend morning training to two full hours—details below—then library, finish Twenty Simple Spells. Noon: help Hagrid trim Harolo the griffin's mane for two hours. Afternoon…"
You've gone completely overboard, Tom!
Twenty-four hours in a day and he was trying to use every single second.
"Cough, cough, cough…" Her throat felt raw—Tom's cold.
"Tom, what are you shouting about?" A cold voice cut through the haze.
She looked up and saw the man Tom had described perfectly: the big, chubby bat.
"Sorry, Professor Snape. I… had a nightmare."
"Hmph." Snape snorted. "Next time you scream in my room you can sleep with the Whomping Willow. This house does not tolerate noisy little idiots!"
"Yes…"
"So why are you still standing there gawking?" Snape's black eyes bored into her. "You told me yourself last night you would help with potions today. Get up and change. Now!"
There was that too?
Tom hadn't written it in the diary!
Once she was dressed, Snape didn't wait. He strode down the corridor so fast Hermione had to jog to keep up.
Inside the potions lab he set out several ingredients.
"Tell me what this is."
Hermione studied the purple leaves. "Aconite."
"Monkshood or wolfsbane?"
She froze—the textbook hadn't specified.
"They are the same plant, both called aconite. Understood? Misidentify it and it will poison you to death in this very room!"
Hermione dropped her gaze. "Understood, Professor."
"Then why didn't you write it down? Waiting for me to take notes for you? And I have told you repeatedly—call me Professor Snape!"
Hermione swallowed hard, felt the pressure, and scribbled furiously.
"What is this?"
"Professor Snape, this is a bezoar—stone from a goat's stomach, an antidote."
Before he could speak she was already noting it down—even though she knew the name.
"What ingredients does a cough remedy require?" Snape shook his head. "You do it. I hope you've actually been studying in that library. Page sixty-two of One Hundred Basic Potion Recipes."
Luckily she had bought the book in Diagon Alley and remembered the recipe.
Two drops of Lethe River water into the cauldron, heat…
"You heated for twenty-one seconds—why haven't you started stirring?"
"Counter-clockwise? Did the book say counter-clockwise? Clockwise! Tom, your stupidity just ruined an entire cauldron!"
"Why only one measure of valerian? Don't you know it needs two? This batch is worthless. Start over!"
Hermione was cracking. She bit her lip until it hurt, jade-green eyes glistening.
"Tom, this is your final warning. If those eyes shed even one tear I will expel you on the spot!
"You can crawl back to your orphanage and live with your little friends!
"Now dump that waste and begin again!!!"
"Yes, Professor Snape." Hermione clenched her jaw, refused to argue, took a deep breath, and started fresh.
The second cauldron came out perfect. Snape said nothing the entire time.
"Now drink the potion you made." Snape stared at her. "Immediately. Right now."
---