Tom had a ritual: every morning after waking, he wrote out the day's tasks on a fresh sheet of paper.
Physical training was non-negotiable. Even at Hogwarts, he refused to skip it. It was his "wake-up call" for the brain.
Thirty-seven… thirty-eight… thirty-nine… forty!
No parks here, no pull-up bars. Tom had found the sturdiest tree he could and climbed it.
After the last rep he let go with one hand, flicked his wand, and floated gently to the ground with a Levitation Charm.
"Hey! What're you doing up there?"
A massive shadow swallowed him the second his feet touched grass.
Behind him loomed a small mountain of a man.
Rubeus Hagrid?
Hagrid folded his tree-trunk arms. "Little fella, term hasn't started yet. How'd you get inside the castle?"
Tom didn't hide anything. He told the whole story.
…
"Poor little bloke," Hagrid's craggy face softened with sympathy. "But at Hogwarts you'll never go hungry or cold again. And you get to learn real magic."
"Appreciate the kind words," Tom said. "Actually, the orphanage wasn't that bad. The blankets didn't cover my feet and dinner was never quite enough, but I had friends there."
The moment he said it, Hagrid looked even sorrier. "Little Tom, if you ever need anything, you come find me. I live just over there." He jerked a thumb toward a wooden hut on the edge of the Forbidden Forest. "Most days I'm around.
"Once term starts you'll make plenty of new friends. Hope Hogwarts gives you some happy memories. Now off you go—breakfast time."
"I already ate. Heading to the library next. By the way, Mr Hagrid, do you know any way to earn Galleons around here?"
"Galleons—oh!" Hagrid scratched his beard. "Well… I could actually use a little help. If you lend me a hand now and then, I can slip you a few coins.
"Of course, if you want more, you'd need to talk to Professor Sprout—she's Head of Hufflepuff and your Herbology teacher—but she's off on holiday. Might be a while before she's back."
Tom nodded. "Understood. What would you need me to do?"
Hagrid waved a massive hand and slung an arm around Tom's shoulders. "No rush, lad. First tell me—why do you need the money so badly?"
"Potions studies eat up Galleons. I need ingredients, and I've got friends back at the orphanage I want to send cash to. It'll make their lives a bit easier."
Hagrid studied him for a long moment, then gave him the details.
Every day from noon to half-past two, help him out. Pay: one Galleon per day—five pounds.
Way better than Tom had hoped. Perfect.
Thirty Galleons a month would cover a decent chunk of materials.
"Tom, why not wait till term starts? Professor Snape'll provide everything for first-years. You don't have to push yourself like—"
Hagrid's eyes bulged as Tom pulled out his notebook. Page after page of tightly scheduled tasks.
Sixteen hours? No—eighteen.
"Tom, you'll wear yourself out, lad. At least read a storybook before bed instead of those dry Potions texts."
Tom smiled. "The drier the book, the faster I fall asleep. I'll be at your hut at noon. Thanks, Hagrid."
He sprinted off toward the library, steps light and eager.
"Nice kid, eh?" A gentle old voice spoke behind Hagrid.
"Albus?" Hagrid turned. "Never seen a first-year so driven. Asked him why he's working so hard over the holidays and he said, 'Holidays are the best time for overtaking on the bend.' He's only eleven!"
Dumbledore's lined face creased into a warm smile. "Indeed. I thought long and hard before admitting him."
"Because of the name?"
Hagrid knew exactly what that name meant.
Once there had been another Tom Riddle—the boy who became the most feared Dark Lord in history.
Even now, the other name was taboo: Voldemort.
"Yes," Dumbledore sighed. "I don't know if it's a blessing or a curse. If the Dark Lord ever learns there's another Tom Riddle at Hogwarts… the boy will be in his sights.
"You-Know-Who despised his ordinary name. That's why he invented a new one."
"You worry too much, Albus. Where's the lad staying, anyway? Dormitories aren't open yet."
"With Professor Snape. I was actually on my way to speak with Severus when I saw you two chatting."
…
"Severus, you look dreadful today."
In the Potions dungeon, Snape was bent over a bubbling cauldron. He glanced up at Dumbledore and shook his head. "I always look like this."
"Your eye-bags are noticeably darker."
"Same as always, Albus. If you're so concerned, evict the boy from my rooms. I cannot stand sharing my space!"
Dumbledore considered. "Then perhaps Hagrid—"
"Rubeus Hagrid?" Snape's lip curled. "You want a first-year traumatised by the man's menagerie?
"I can already picture it: within a week that irritating Riddle will reek of hippogriff, burrowing worms, and probably a dozen fleas."
"Filch, then?"
"Filch and his Mrs Norris? The boy would be thrown out in five minutes. Filch doesn't share his cat with anyone."
"I have a spare bunk," Dumbledore offered.
"Splendid," Snape said coldly. "Just mind you don't step on our first-year when you get up at night."
Dumbledore wisely dropped the subject.
He had run through every male staff member. Snape had shot down each one.
"Very well. Your quarters really are the best option. Thank you for your patience, Severus."
Snape said nothing.
He was remembering last night—Tom dragging himself in, eyes heavy with exhaustion, yet still opening the Potions textbook and reading until he passed out.
Snape shook his head, trying to dislodge the image.
Pretentious little brat.
He hated that type.
Potions wasn't something you learned from books alone. It demanded endless practice.
Theory without experiment was worthless!
Last night Snape had finally had five free minutes, and the boy hadn't asked a single question—just kept reading. It infuriated him. Did the whelp honestly think he'd already mastered the material?
"Where is the boy now? Still snoring in my bed?"
"Library." Dumbledore pointed across the grounds. "Up at dawn for exercise, straight into the library after. You'll probably only see him at dinner."
"Hmph!" Snape swept his robes like an oversized bat and stalked out.
"Where are you going?"
"Diagon Alley. First-year supplies have arrived. I'm collecting them."
…
At noon Tom went to help Hagrid and, to his surprise, earned system points.
> [You successfully helped groom a griffin's long mane. Rating: Normal. Animal Affinity +10]
> [Title Acquired: Magical Creature Little Helper]
> [Magical Creature Little Helper: You naturally emanate friendliness toward magical beasts; they will not develop random hostility toward you.]
In the evening, while eating in the Great Hall, Tom received Hermione's letter.
Dear Tom Riddle,
I went to the orphanage to find you, but you'd already left. Misha told me you're at Hogwarts—even though it's still holiday. How did you manage that?
Also, you absolute bastard—why did you run off with my money?! And you filled every page of my textbooks with notes! How am I supposed to study now?! If we ever meet in person I'm punching you!
Finally, the body-swap lasted exactly one week last time. I don't know if it'll happen again next week. Please write down everything that happens to you each night before bed so I don't look like an idiot. I'm planning to tell Professor Dumbledore everything and hope he can fix this.
Hermione Granger
"Your friend Hermione… also a first-year?" Hagrid grinned when he saw the envelope. "Told you you'd make friends here." He didn't peek—that would be rude.
Friend? More like a very angry creditor right now.
Two hundred pounds… well, what's mine is yours, what's yours is mine, right?
Tom scratched his head and changed the subject. "Hagrid, is there any spell that can stop everyone in an area from using magic? Like, strip their wands of power?"
"Nope," Hagrid answered instantly. "If there were, we wouldn't have to worry about You-Know-Who."
"Oh—heard Snape won't be back till tomorrow. He's away. You all right sleeping alone tonight? Want to crash at mine?"
"No need. Snape's rooms are right by the library—easier for me."
Hagrid's hut was tiny; sharing would be cramped. Plus Tom had no idea if the half-giant snored. If he did… it would be terrifying.
Better to enjoy the quiet luxury of Snape's empty quarters.
"Fair enough. After dinner you off to the library again?"
"Yep. Still haven't finished today's tasks."
Tom planned to hit LV.5 on every first-year spell before term started.
"Child, you can't just grind in isolation. You ought to find a proper teacher—someone like Albus. First-years mess up fastest when they practise wrong. One bad habit and you're stuck on the wrong path forever.
"Albus is free most afternoons and evenings. He'd never turn down an eager student like you."
Tom's eyes lit up.
Of course!
Professor McGonagall's advice had already bumped his spell ratings from Poor to Normal.
Guidance from the greatest wizard alive? That could be the next level.
"I'll do that. Where do I find Professor Dumbledore?"
"Hmm—I'll take you after dinner. Got to speak with him myself anyway."
Hagrid attacked his roast beef with enthusiasm.
After the meal, the two of them walked through the golden evening light and found Dumbledore on a bench, eyes half-closed, enjoying a rare moment of peace.
When he saw them he opened his eyes, smiling like a kindly grandfather.
"Little Tom, Hagrid—what can I do for you?"
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