— — — — — —
"What I promised…?"
Tom immediately remembered.
Back in the Chamber, to calm Harry down—and as a sort of apology for dragging him there—he'd promised Harry a favor.
"And it took you half a month to finally bring it up?" Tom grinned. "Honestly, I thought you'd either forgotten or hadn't taken me seriously. Go on then, what do you want?"
"Fair warning though: if it's impossible, or if it's going to waste a ton of my energy, I'm not agreeing."
Harry ducked his head, embarrassed. "After the basilisk thing, there've been too many eyes on us. Hard to find a chance to talk. Truth is, I've wanted to ask you for a while."
He took a breath and looked up. "Tom, I want you to help me get stronger. I know I don't have your talent, but I don't want to keep being dead weight. First year, Quirrell. Second year, Voldemort. Every time it's you saving my life."
He winced. "Well… okay, this time it was you throwing me into the fire in the first place, but still."
Even now, the memory of Tom "kidnapping him" from the infirmary made the corner of Harry's mouth twitch.
"Harry, spend more time in the library. Learn more spells. That's the fastest way to get stronger," Hermione said quickly, offering the most Hermione-y solution possible.
"Uh… Hermione," Harry said awkwardly, "not everyone's like you. You love books, and your memory's great. Me? Not so much. I'm more of a… practical type."
"Oh, I get it," Daphne said with a nod. "You're just too lazy to read. I told Tom the same thing about myself."
"Don't just say it out loud like that, sis…" Astoria sighed. Her older sister's blunt honesty was hopeless. Harry's head had practically sunk into the floorboards.
"So that's all?"
Tom wasn't bothered. Dry, tedious reading wasn't for everyone. Even he struggled to focus on books in the outside world. Only in the study-space or meditation chamber did his efficiency skyrocket.
"Getting stronger, huh? Plenty of ways I can help you there."
Hope flared in Harry's eyes. He leaned forward eagerly, waiting.
"Option one," Tom said, raising a finger. "I could be your teacher. Regular lessons, personal training, the works."
"I'll take it! That one!" Harry blurted out before he'd even finished.
Hermione and Daphne exchanged knowing looks. If Tom trained him personally, Harry would become one of the strongest in their year, no question.
"Don't celebrate too soon." Tom waved him off. "That one's not happening. I don't have the time or energy, so pass."
His schedule was already overloaded: jotting down notes, writing History of Wiarding World, pushing his own magical limits, spending time with Daphne, Astoria, and Hermione, regular chat with Gabrielle and Fleur, plus research into bloodline fusion. Adding Harry to the mix? Impossible.
If Harry wanted a private tutor, he should just go ask Snape. The old bat would be happy to bully Harry physically.
Harry's face reddened from the neck up. He was screaming inside—then why the hell even mention it!—but didn't dare say it aloud.
Hermione and the Greengrass sisters stifled laughter. Tom was in his usual mood, enjoying himself at Harry's expense.
"Fine," Harry ground out through clenched teeth. "What's option two?"
"Second option," Tom said smoothly, "I give you a copy of my notes. You study them yourself, train by yourself. If you hit a wall, think first, then maybe ask me. If I'm free, I'll help. If I'm not, go to a professor. Strongly recommend professor Snape, by the way— he is actually a hidden dueling master, one of the best."
Harry nodded quickly. "That works." He mentally erased the last part. Sure, Snape might actually help him, but more likely he'd be used as a guinea pig.
"Third option," Tom went on, "find yourself a partner."
His eyes flicked toward Ron, who was waiting nearby, bored.
"Magic isn't learned alone. You need friends and teachers. Training needs a sparring partner, studying needs encouragement. Right now, all you've got is someone who drags you into wasting time."
"You might be serious today about getting stronger. But how long will that last with no one beside you to keep you on track?"
"My advice? Your partner should be either Ron… or Draco."
"Malfoy?!" Harry blurted.
Tom nodded. "Draco Malfoy's actually better. Lose to Ron, you'll just shrug it off. Lose to Draco, and it'll eat you alive until you fix it."
"…Yeah. True."
Harry couldn't deny it. Back when Malfoy had mastered the Shield Charm, he'd spent sleepless nights fuming over it. Only after perfecting the Disarming Charm and finally breaking through Malfoy's defense had that frustration faded.
"Doesn't matter which one you pick. Set a fixed time every weekend. Book a classroom for practice. Even without a professor, repetition will push you forward."
"I've given you the options. The choice is yours."
Tom fell silent, waiting for Harry's decision.
"Please give me a copy of your notes, Tom." Harry's voice was earnest. "I want to grow stronger. At least that way, when I face Voldemort, I won't be completely powerless."
"Fine. Give me a few days to sort them out. I'll hand them over once they're ready."
...
"What were you talking about with Tom just now?" Ron asked on the way back to the castle. "I swear I heard my name and Malfoy's."
"I was asking him about magic," Harry said simply. "He used you and Malfoy as examples."
"Oh. Right." Ron's interest vanished the moment he realized it was about studying.
That night, Harry lay in bed, Tom's words circling in his head.
Tom had read him too well. On one hand, he wanted to just enjoy the peaceful days at Hogwarts. On the other, he couldn't shake the constant dread—Voldemort had already found him twice in two years.
He was stuck between working hard to get stronger and just lazing around. Even when he managed a few days of serious study, Quidditch and other distractions would pull him away.
"Ron," Harry suddenly called out.
Neville was already asleep, and their other two roommates were still in the common room. Only Ron, flipping through a Cannons magazine, was awake.
Ron jumped at Harry's voice. "What's up?"
"Starting next week, let's tutor ourselves."
Harry explained Tom's plan, even his idea of asking Professor McGonagall for a classroom on Monday. By then, he'd also have Tom's notes. They could follow those to practice.
But Ron's face started falling halfway through. When Harry finally finished, Ron let out a long groan.
"Harry, you're letting Tom get to you. He's a freak. No matter how hard we work, we'll never be like him. Classes are enough—professors teach us everything we really need. Look at Fred and George. They barely study and they still know tons of spells. After graduation you only ever use the basics anyway. Why break your back over this?"
For the first time, Harry realized there was a gap between him and Ron.
He didn't think of himself as the Boy Who Lived, or Voldemort's destined enemy. But he couldn't deny it either—he was different. Nobody else had this much tangled up with Voldemort.
Well, except Tom.
That alone made it impossible for him to coast like Ron wanted. He had to at least try.
"Ron, weekends are boring anyway. Let's give it a shot…"
Harry pressed him, refusing to drop it. In the end, friendship won out—Ron grudgingly agreed.
But Harry doubted how long Ron's patience would last.
Did he really have to ask Malfoy instead?
---
The next morning, after breakfast, Tom headed down to Hagrid's hut.
Even though Hagrid had gotten a bit drunk the night before, he hadn't forgotten his promise. He didn't look the least bit surprised to see Tom at his door.
"Give me a moment," Hagrid said, disappearing inside the wooden hut. He came back carrying a heavy sack.
"You left your wild boar hide yesterday. I've also gathered some other things. Not sure if they'll be useful, but they're all from magical creatures."
The bag gaped open. Tom caught a glimpse of various materials—some valuable, some common.
But like Hagrid said, he didn't seem to know or care about their worth. Tom didn't hold it against him. He simply thanked him and tucked the sack away.
Hagrid stared, wide-eyed, as the bulky sack vanished into the tiny pouch at Tom's waist. "Blimey. An Undetectable Extension Charm. That's a handy bit of magic."
"You could make one yourself, you know. As long as the Ministry doesn't find out."
Hagrid gave an awkward laugh. "I was expelled before we learned that spell."
"By the way, Tom, what magical creature are you after this time? I know every inch of the forest and where the beasts like to roam."
"Oh, you'd definitely know better than me," Tom said casually. "I'm looking for Aragog. The Acromantula."
The smile froze on Hagrid's face.
.
.
.