"Good morning, I'll take 3 ounces of powdered narcissus root, 2 scoops of beetle eyes, 1 unicorn horn, and 2 bezoars…"
Tom read the list aloud, then hauled away a heavy sack of potion ingredients—completely emptying his savings in the process.
These things were robbery!
Just one unicorn horn cost a staggering 21 Galleons. Tom was half-convinced the apothecary was running a straight-up heist.
He'd been wrestling with the same problem for days: he needed to practise Potions, but he had no materials. Book knowledge alone wasn't enough. He needed hands-on work, real repetition.
Money had always been the bottleneck—until he saw Lockhart yesterday and the answer clicked. If the man was that famous, his signed merch had to be worth a fortune.
Sure enough, one private portrait had fetched 150 Galleons.
For the competition in three days, he'd have to bring his A-game.
This week… might as well lock myself in. Morning workout only, everything else goes to spell practice. I'm taking that trophy.
…
Three days flew by.
Tom was dressed and ready.
"Hermione, you look like a little model again today. Going out with friends?"
Instead of her usual ankle boots, Tom had chosen tall leather ones, paired with black tights and a stylish plaid trench coat in muted tones. A black-and-white scarf wrapped his neck, his long curls were twisted into a neat bun at the back, and a beret sat jauntily on top.
"Thank you, Mrs Sherrill. You look lovely as always."
"You always say the nicest things, Hermione."
Tom smiled and hurried toward Diagon Alley.
Yesterday he'd hit a major milestone—every first-year spell was now at LV.3.
He'd also unlocked a new title.
> [Title: Little Wizard]
> [Little Wizard: While equipped, spellcasting costs 10% less mana and casting speed increases by 30%.]
Even with the upgrade, Tom wasn't relaxing. He knew there were "geniuses" in the higher years.
He arrived early. Contestants were already buzzing around. Lockhart had outdone himself today—his robes were so flashy Tom half-expected gold thread on the shoes.
"Hermione—" Lockhart spotted him and flung his arms wide. "Little angel, you came! I hope you show everyone your true power on that stage today. I believe in you, little angel—you've got this!"
"Appreciate the vote of confidence."
Lockhart didn't linger; he was already off charming the other first-years.
"Mr Ronald, your hair is as splendidly red as yesterday. I'm delighted to see that smile."
Ron looked like he wanted to sink into the floor. The twins kept poking his shoulders. "Oi, Ron, chin up—everyone's watching."
"Ron, Mr Lockhart is dying for you to win. Ginny, look how red his face is—redder than his hair, ha ha ha!"
…
Back at Hogwarts.
Hermione was rushing everywhere.
She felt like she was losing her mind.
One day was manageable. Four days in and she finally understood what it meant to have zero time to slack. She couldn't even remember the last time she'd had a glass of warm milk before bed.
Mornings belonged to Snape. The man seemed to have a personal grudge; he snapped at her every few minutes.
Still, the endless ingredient prep had sharpened her Potions knowledge dramatically. Her "Snape Notebook" was now a full volume, complete with diagrams and illustrations. It was easily better than half the third-rate potion books in the library.
Lunchtimes were spent at Hagrid's, where she'd met every magical creature imaginable—including the yellow rat that had nipped her toe. Hagrid had nearly had a heart attack.
She counted the days on her fingers.
If Tom had actually signed up, today was the competition.
She really hoped…
"Tom! What are you daydreaming about?" Snape's voice yanked her back. "Do you honestly think you're competent enough to brew anything now?
"Let me tell you—you are the most idiotic student I have ever met, and the least self-aware one."
"Professor Snape, I was only—"
"Enough. I don't want to hear it!" Snape gave a cold snort. "Here's 200 Galleons. Go to Diagon Alley and buy everything on this list. If you get even one item wrong, you know the consequences."
His black eyes bored into her like ice picks.
Diagon Alley? Diagon Alley!
She might still have time to catch the end of Tom's competition.
And if he won, she could bring back Lockhart's full signed set and put it on her bed!
"Thank you, Professor Snape!"
"Hmph. Only a fool mistakes wasted time for relaxation. Out of my lab!"
Hermione bowed deeply, took the bag of Galleons, and practically sprinted out of Hogwarts.
Not long after she left, Dumbledore pushed open the door to the Potions dungeon.
"Albus, what do you want?"
Dumbledore stroked his beard, paced the room, then joined Snape at the window, watching the small figure dashing down the path. "Professor Snape, I believe I am still Headmaster of Hogwarts. I do have the right to inspect the dungeons."
"What are you implying?"
Dumbledore tilted his head, not meeting Snape's eyes. "Tom is a good boy, isn't he?"
"I think he's an idiot who would—" Snape cut himself off.
"Professor Snape, last night Mr Adalbert—the portrait hanging by your door—told me something rather interesting. He said that whenever Tom gets up to use the bathroom these past few nights, he seems half-asleep and keeps muttering about something called the Lockhart Youth Magic Competition. Any idea what that's about?"
"Lockhart?" Snape sneered. "Just another fraud. If I were Lockhart I wouldn't show my face in public."
"Oh? I never said Lockhart would be appearing, nor did I mention that today is the competition day. How curious that you knew both… Oh, and there are still plenty of ingredients in the lab. Did Tom really need to go shopping?"
Snape's face darkened. "Albus, have you suddenly found yourself with too much free time? You used to be a very busy man."
"Severus, Tom is a good student, isn't he?" Dumbledore repeated. "I've never seen you take this much interest in any pupil before."
"I! Have! Not!" Snape bit out each word, then swept out of the dungeon.
Idiots. Both of them—Albus and Tom.
…
By the time Hermione reached Diagon Alley it was already afternoon.
The street was packed. Even the Leaky Cauldron had no seats left.
"Shame Lockhart's so busy. I was hoping to snag a photo with him."
"Give it up—you saw the crowd around him. There'll be other chances."
"Still, I can't believe a first-year won. They said she hasn't even started Hogwarts yet."
"Her casting speed was faster than the Weasley twins in third year. Even Cedric and Cho couldn't keep up—and Cedric's a Hufflepuff champion, Cho's Ravenclaw."
A first-year?
Hermione's ears perked up at the keyword.
It couldn't be Tom… could it?
No, no, impossible. Tom had only been doing magic for a few weeks. It had to be some pure-blood kid who'd been training since birth.
She stepped into Flourish and Blotts.
Lockhart was already gone. The competition had ended at noon.
"Little sir, can I help you?"
"Do you have any photos from today's competition?"
"Of course, right over here—2 Sickles each."
"Thanks." Hermione paid and took the moving photograph.
It really was him!
Her mouth fell open.
"What a talented child, right?" the shop assistant smiled. "Every first-year spell looked effortless in her hands. And that casting speed—goodness, she could compete with fifth- and sixth-years."
Hermione stared at the photo in shock. It kept shifting.
Tom raised his wand and flicked it. "Incendio!"
Flames burst from the tip, instantly lighting the coal in front of him.
When he finished, the red-haired boy beside him was still halfway through the incantation.
It really was him!
Hermione clapped a hand over her mouth.
Which meant Tom now had the full signed Lockhart collection and all the photos?
Her green eyes sparkled. Suddenly every second of Snape's torture felt worth it.
She bought the ingredients in record time and practically skipped back to school.
…
Seventh day.
Tom, back in his own body, sat alone in the Leaky Cauldron wearing his black robes.
"Hey, miss, sorry to keep you waiting." The twins appeared together.
"I'm not a miss," Tom said in Hermione's voice, sounding mildly confused.
The twins exchanged a glance and grinned. "Right, miss. About that deal we discussed…"
Tom slid a small suitcase across the table.
George opened it, checked the contents, and nodded. "All genuine. Miss, where on earth did you get all this?"
Tom pressed a finger to his lips, the corner of his mouth curving up. "How many Galleons?"
"I think 400 is a fair price. What do you say?"
"500."
George snapped his fingers. "Done. But we don't have that much on us right now—might need a bit of time."
Tom shook his head and wrote down an address. "Sell first, then deposit the Galleons here. I've left instructions at Gringotts. George. Fred."
The twins didn't look surprised at being named. Anyone with half a brain could guess who the hooded figure was.
Who else could walk away with the grand prize the moment the competition ended?
"Thanks for trusting us," George grinned.
They were going to make at least 50 Galleons on this.
After Tom left, George jerked his chin in his direction. "Fred, what do you think Ginny would do if she found out her idol is like this in private?"
During the competition their little sister Ginny had been star-struck, chanting "Hermione Granger is so cool" nonstop.
The cool outfit, the different style, the way she cast spells, the way she stood beside Lockhart after winning—everything was cool!
Fred shrugged. "Dunno, but we're not telling her. That would shatter Ginny's fantasy."
The twins burst out laughing. "Right now she's our golden goose. Maybe we'll even see her at Hogwarts one day."
---