Granger residence.
5:30 a.m.
The alarm clock on the nightstand exploded with noise.
A small hand wriggled out from under the heavy duvet and slapped the top of the clock exactly where memory said it should.
Except the clock dodged in a flash, shot straight up into the air, and kept blaring while it floated there. Tom had hit it with just a touch of magic.
Hermione flung the covers off, snatched the clock out of mid-air, and silenced it.
One second. Two. Three…
"Ah!" She stared at her own hands.
"I'm back. I'm finally back! My Snoopy!"
She scrambled out of bed, rummaged on the nightstand, found the plush Snoopy, and crushed it to her chest.
She had missed this day so much.
Hermione slid off the mattress and immediately hissed in pain.
Her legs ached, soft and wobbly. Shoulders, back, arms—every inch of her body screamed.
Gritting her teeth, she limped to the mirror. The pajamas clinging to her were pure white silk, loose and flowing.
Way more comfortable than her old tight ones.
That bastard!
He actually showered in my body!
Hermione's teeth ground together so hard they itched.
The room that used to be a chaotic mess was now spotless. She hunted for ages before finally locating her magic textbooks in the nightstand drawer.
Thank goodness. Thank goodness they were still here.
…
Downstairs, Mrs. Granger had breakfast ready.
By this time Hermione should already have been up and out for her run, but today the house stayed quiet.
Mrs. Granger felt a stab of regret.
Maybe she and her husband never should have left their daughter home alone for that trip a week ago.
Ever since they got back, Hermione had been… different.
The girl who hated exercise now woke at dawn to work out. The one who used to wear whatever was clean suddenly dressed like a little model—cool, put-together, always neat.
And the biggest shock? Hermione had actual friends now. Friends!
Two days earlier she'd handed her parents two amusement-park tickets, saying a friend gave them and that Mum and Dad should go have fun instead of staying cooped up at home.
Mrs. Granger still couldn't believe those words had come from her daughter's mouth.
"Ah—!!!"
A scream ripped down from upstairs.
"Hermione, what's wrong?" Mrs. Granger called up.
"Nothing! Nothing at all!" Hermione's voice cracked back.
Bastard!
Bastard!!
Absolute bastard!!!
She was staring at her textbooks—every single page covered in tiny, meticulous notes from cover to cover.
Not just a few pages. Every. Single. Page.
Levitation Charm casting notes…
Incendio precautions…
Softening Charm, Severing Charm, Alohomora…
No matter where she flipped, Tom's handwriting stared back at her.
Hermione yanked open the closet to change and froze.
When the hell did my wardrobe get this full?
Where are all my old clothes?
Tom, you absolute bastard!
She grabbed the first two outfits that looked decent and threw them on. Then she spotted the slip of paper tucked under the Spellbook on the nightstand.
July 16: 100 squats, 100 push-ups, 10 pull-ups (√)
July 17: 90-minute jog, 120 squats, 120 push-ups, 12 pull-ups (√)
July 18…
The list ran all the way to July 22.
Today was July 23—the day the bodies had swapped back.
Just reading the list left Hermione breathless. But the results were undeniable; her body felt lighter, stronger, more alive than ever.
…
St. Redelia Orphanage.
Tom was grinning like an idiot. Little Tom had returned, and there were more than two hundred pounds tucked under the pillow.
Hermione was incredible—earning that much cash in a single week.
As he stepped out of the storage room, an owl spiraled down from the sky, spotted him, and landed neatly at his feet.
A white envelope sealed with red wax rested in its beak.
The seal showed a big capital "H" with a crest above it: snake, badger, lion, and eagle.
The Hogwarts acceptance letter!
Tom's heart slammed against his ribs. He ripped it open.
Dear Mr. Riddle,
We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment.
Term begins on 1 September. I will visit you in person tomorrow and look forward to your reply.
Yours sincerely,
Albus Dumbledore
Professor Dumbledore?
Tom remembered the letters were supposed to come from McGonagall—the cat lady who turned into an actual cat.
Why was the headmaster coming himself?
Did he already know about the body swap?
"Misha." Tom spotted the familiar little figure as the orphanage kids filed into the dining hall.
But something felt off. Normally they'd all swarm him the second they saw him. Today they just… didn't.
Lawrence was gone too—probably already adopted and whisked away.
"Tom…? Tom?" Misha saw him and gave a tiny, hesitant answer, but she didn't sit beside him like usual.
Tom raised an eyebrow.
What the heck did Hermione do to them?
He picked up his plate and slid onto the bench next to her.
"Tom, you're… not busy today?" Misha sounded glum, lower lip poking out. "I wanted to play with you these past few days, but you were always working. Even at night you went to tutor Miss Sean. It's been four days, eleven hours, and twelve minutes since we last talked."
"Because I wanted to take you out for dessert," Tom answered smoothly.
"I don't want dessert."
"What about those egg tarts from Shebil's? They do chocolate cake now too. I remember you love their cake."
Misha paused, then kept eating, but her eyes lit up.
"Remember last week when we were selling flowers… that girl our age eating doughnuts?"
Misha stayed quiet.
"If you keep ignoring me, I'll just go by myself." Tom sighed dramatically. "Guess even Misha doesn't want to hang out with me anymore. So sad. And in a few days I'll be leaving anyway."
Misha's spoon stopped mid-air. "Tom, you're leaving? Where? The Middle family?"
Tom shook his head and pulled out the Hogwarts envelope. "To school. Hogwarts. After today I'll only be back during holidays."
Misha's mouth fell open. She took the envelope, turned it over and over in her small hands, staring at the writing.
"Oh my god! Tom… congratulations!"
Tom grinned and took it back. "So who's coming for food?"
"Me! Me!"
The rest of the day passed in a happy blur. Tom skipped tutoring Sean and spent every minute showing Misha around the city.
Next morning, just before dawn.
Tom's internal clock dragged him awake.
Someone had been waiting for him.
Professor Dumbledore stood in the orphanage courtyard—an old gentleman with snow-white hair and beard, back ramrod straight.
Before coming, Dumbledore had done a lot of quiet thinking before finally sending the owl.
"Mr. Riddle, good morning."
"Professor Dumbledore, good morning." Tom gave a respectful nod. "I've made my decision."
Dumbledore didn't need to ask. The boy's eyes already said everything.
"Young man, you are going to be an outstanding wizard one day.
I once knew a boy your age with a very similar name…
He made quite a name for himself at Hogwarts. I hope someday you reach the same heights."
Tom smiled. "Professor, I have one request."
"Hm?"
"Could I start at Hogwarts early? You know I can't practice magic here at the orphanage—it would draw too much attention.
I don't want the little ones seeing me fail at spells. If it's allowed… could I report to the school ahead of everyone else?"
The first-year textbooks were already too easy.
Sixteen-hour study days had let him absorb them completely. He needed advanced material now.
Early entry was the perfect fix.
"Hmm… child, that isn't standard procedure," Dumbledore stroked his beard, looking thoughtful. "Everyone must go through the Sorting Ceremony before houses and dorms are assigned.
But… you make a fair point. Let me think."
He mentally ran through the staff.
Female professors were out.
Left with himself, Snape, Flitwick, Filch, and Hagrid.
Flitwick was on holiday in Argentina.
Filch and his cat would never agree.
Hagrid, though…
Hagrid might be perfect for this boy.
Dumbledore opened his mouth, but Tom spoke first. "Professor, I'm really interested in Potions. If I have questions, could I ask the professors? Would that disturb their holidays?"
"Oh, of course not, young man. Since you like Potions… I'll give the professor a heads-up. But first, we should get you properly equipped. You've never been to Diagon Alley, have you, child?"
A wand!
Tom's pulse jumped.
His own wand—at last.
Hermione had somehow earned him over two hundred pounds. At the one-to-five exchange rate, that was forty Galleons.
It wasn't quite enough—the standard shopping list came to about a hundred and six—but Dumbledore hadn't mentioned money, so Tom kept quiet. He'd track what he owed and pay it back later.
"Tom, you are very special," Dumbledore said suddenly. "I've seen many eleven-year-olds. Most look at me like I'm a hallucination. Even Muggle-born children can hardly believe their eyes.
But you… you look like you've been waiting for magic your whole life."
Tom grinned. "Of course, Professor Dumbledore."
"You are going to do great things." Dumbledore rested a hand on Tom's shoulder. "Shall we go? Do you want to say goodbye to your friends? They're still asleep."
Tom shook his head. "No need. They'll cry if they see me leave. I'll visit during the holidays."
They left St. Redelia Orphanage together.
Tom and Professor Dumbledore went straight to buy the wand.
Even shopping as cheaply as possible, the total came to exactly 106 Galleons.
Tom's wand was special. He spent more than half an hour testing before he found the perfect match.
Acacia wood, thunderbird tail-feather core.
The wandmaker's eyebrows shot up when Tom chose it. He'd never expected anyone to pick that particular wand.
Acacia was brutally picky—only the most gifted could master it. Thunderbird feather was even stricter, packed with raw power but incredibly difficult to control.
"Tom, shall we head straight back to Hogwarts now?" Dumbledore asked once everything was purchased.
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