Hermione collapsed onto the bed, utterly spent.
Last day. Today was the final day!
She used to think her own schedule was packed—her mum always said she left herself zero breathing room.
Then she saw Tom's timetable and realised her old "busy" was basically a holiday.
She had never wanted her own body back more desperately. All she craved right now was to curl up with a signed Lockhart book and stare at his photos. That legendary smile would give her the strength to keep going.
…
4:30 a.m. The alarm exploded.
Hermione bolted upright, staring in disbelief as the magical clock zipped around the room, ringing nonstop.
That bastard Tom—
Last week it was 5:30. Now he's moved it an hour earlier?!
She lunged for it, but the clock did a cheeky loop and dodged her hand.
Hermione: "??"
Ding-ding-ding—
Shut up!
Ding-ding-ding-ding—
You absolute—
A note sat beside the bed:
"Please use the Levitation Charm on the alarm. If your Levitation isn't proficient enough, it won't stop."
Tom, you've gone too far!
Hermione snatched her wand, flicked it, and finally caught the clock. She silenced it with a growl.
She tore the room apart looking for the signed Lockhart books. Nothing. She flipped open the diary instead.
[Sorry, Hermione. Really, really sorry—I didn't win the Lockhart competition. I didn't even make the top three…
The age limit was under-13, so I was up against third-years. I'm still too weak. But I bought you two really pretty outfits and brought back some fresh flower pastries from Mrs Thomas's bakery. They taste like spring.]
"Tom!"
Hermione's breathing sped up. She grabbed the Snoopy plushie, pictured Tom's smug face, and punched it twice.
Bastard!
…
Hogwarts.
Tom stood by the window, gazing out at the misty dawn.
From now on he could finally say it:
"Have you ever seen Hogwarts at 4:30 a.m.?"
He sipped his coffee, brain slowly waking up.
Hermione really was a study machine. Tom still had no idea how she'd charmed Snape into giving her personal lessons, but the notes she'd left were flawless—better than half the library's Potions texts.
"Tom, what are you smiling about!" Snape stormed in, spotted the grin, and barked, "You're awake—get to the Potions lab!"
"Professor Snape, waking up to see your face first thing makes me very happy," Tom said sincerely.
"?" Snape's eyes narrowed. "Didn't I tell you to stop trying to butter me up? One single mistake in today's brewing and you're sleeping with the Whomping Willow!"
Moments later in the dungeon, Tom's hands flew—precise, confident, every pinch and stir exactly on target.
"Why are you gripping the ingredients so hard? They're delicate! You're wasting material!" Snape's icy voice lashed out.
…
"Tom! Three and a half stirs! Three and a half! How many times do I have to say it—do you not understand English?!"
…
"I want to crack open your skull and see what kind of creature's brain is in there. Temperature control must be precise. Why can't you grasp that? Yours is two full degrees hotter than the book says!"
…
> [You successfully brewed a potion. Rating: Precise. Potions +50]
"Tom, why are you smiling? Keep going!"
Snape's tone stayed harsh, but inside—deep, deep inside—he felt warm. At least toward this particular student.
Precise rating. Fifty whole experience points!
Before, when Tom practised alone, he'd been lucky to scrape a Normal.
Half an hour later a bottle of magic-power potion sat in front of Tom.
"Drink it."
Tom stared at the vial, stunned.
"I said drink. Do you not understand English?"
"Professor Snape, I'm just… really moved." Tom cradled the bottle. "This is the highest-quality potion I've ever made. I think—the student thinks the teacher should have the first sip."
He offered it with both hands. "Professor Snape, even though your magic is already top-tier, this should still help."
"Get out!!!" Snape seized Tom by the collar and lifted him clean off the floor. "Take your potion and get out! I don't want to see you again today!
"Tom, you have touched my limit!" He hurled Tom into the corridor and slammed the door.
A long moment later Snape's voice drifted out, grudging: "Mixing it with milk won't change the effect."
Tom dusted off his trousers. "Thank you, Professor Snape. You're my favourite professor."
Silence from inside. Tom pressed his ear to the door—nothing. Eventually he carried the vial to the Great Hall, stirred it into his milk, and drank.
Fatigue vanished. A warm glow spread through his belly. His jade-green eyes sparkled even brighter.
"Hey, little Tom, up early again." Hagrid appeared beside him and clapped a massive hand on his shoulder. "Got some good news for you."
Hagrid was about to make Tom guess, but those flawless, innocent green eyes stopped him. "Ah, never mind. Professor Sprout's back from holiday.
"You can ask her for a job helping in the greenhouses. She's a lovely lady—easy to talk to. She's in the greenhouse right now… though maybe I should come with you after breakfast so you don't feel awkward."
Tom slid an enormous chicken leg into Hagrid's bowl (which for Hagrid was basically an hors d'oeuvre).
"Thank you, Mr Hagrid. You're my best friend."
Hagrid beamed, teeth flashing. "Slow down, little Tom, no rush."
After breakfast the pair headed to the greenhouses behind the castle—future home of Herbology classes.
"Hi, Pomona! Long time no see. How was France?"
Professor Pomona Sprout was a kindly witch with flyaway grey curls, a patched hat, and dirt everywhere. She was crouched among her beloved plants.
"Rubeus, lovely to see you. France was wonderful—drank coffee by the Seine, saw the Mona Lisa. You really should go one day—oh my, child, term hasn't started yet!" She spotted Tom.
She walked over, studying him. "Child, I love your eyes. They remind me of a girl I once knew—very pretty."
"Thank you, Professor Sprout. Hello, I'm Tom."
Tom offered his small hand; she shook it warmly.
Hagrid explained the situation…
"Poor dear, but things will get better. Make yourself at home. Before we start work, perhaps I should explain… or maybe tell me how much you already know about these wonderful plants?"
Sprout stepped aside, revealing the weed-filled beds.
"Child, do you know what this is?"
"White dittany, Professor.
Used in potions and excellent for healing wounds. Mixed with silver powder it can treat werewolf bites." Tom had bought some before. "For Beautification Potion you add thirty drops of morning dew, heat for twenty seconds, stir clockwise two and a half times, then add the dittany, and after that…"
He rattled it off without hesitation.
"My goodness, little Tom!" Sprout clapped a hand over her mouth. "You've already read the Herbology textbook?"
"Yes, Professor. I memorised every plant."
Hagrid puffed out his chest proudly—even though none of Tom's hard work was his doing. "See, Pomona? Tom's a good lad, isn't he?"
"Absolutely. Little Tom, come with me. Starting today, you can begin at 2:00 p.m. after you wake up, work until 5:00 p.m. for dinner, then the rest of the evening is yours. Three Galleons a day."
So much?
Tom blinked. "Professor Sprout, that's too generous."
"Not at all, child. There's less than a month until term starts. Without help I'd be here alone from dawn till dusk. This is simply what hard work deserves."
"Thank you, Professor." Tom bowed deeply and got to work.
> [You successfully tended a herb. Rating: Normal. Herbology +10]
> [You successfully tended a herb. Rating: Normal. Herbology +10]
> …
> [Herbology LV.2]
> [Title Acquired: Little Herbologist]
> [Little Herbologist: 20% chance of double yield when harvesting herbs. 50% higher survival rate for planted herbs.]
Tom picked it up fast. By afternoon he'd earned his three Galleons.
The rest of the day he spent in the library, moving on to second-year spells and extra-curricular books.
Some of those books held real gems—scent charms, flower-spreading spells…
At 10:30 p.m. Snape prowled the corridors like an oversized bat and noticed the library lights still on.
That idiotic—dim-witted Tom, brain no better than a troll's!
Didn't he know you were supposed to rest after taking a magic-power potion?
Snape clicked his tongue and swept his cloak.
Bat mode: engaged.
"Tom! You know what time it is. I told you— what book are you reading?"
Snape's breath caught.
"Advanced Potion-Making, Professor Snape." Tom lifted the old yellow volume. The cover was worn, the text dense. Even he found some passages difficult.
It was second-hand, margins crammed with previous-owner notes.
On the inside back cover, in small neat handwriting:
[This book is the property of the Half-Blood Prince.]
Snape's already-pale face lost another shade of colour.
Half-Blood Prince.
A name he knew all too well.
---