Only after he finally mastered breaking Draco's Shield Charm did that itch of humiliation fade from Harry's chest.
"So no matter who you choose, the two of you should meet every weekend," Tom continued. "Request a classroom from a professor. Use it for training, spell practice, dueling. Even without guidance, repetition creates growth."
"The options are there. What happens next depends on whether you actually act on them."
Harry swallowed, thinking deeply. Then with a seriousness rarely seen on his face, he nodded.
"Please give me the notebook, Tom. I want to get stronger. I don't want to face Voldemort again as a useless burden."
"Give me a few days to organize it. I'll hand it to you once it's ready."
...
On the way back to the castle, Ron squinted at Harry. He'd heard something about him and Malfoy.
"What were you two talking about? I swear I heard you say Malfoy's name."
"I asked Tom about magic," Harry replied vaguely. "He used you and Malfoy as examples."
"Oh. Magic."
Ron lost interest instantly.
That night, Harry lay in his bed, staring at the ceiling, replaying Tom's words over and over.
Tom had dissected him too clearly.
Part of him wanted to enjoy the peace of Hogwarts, laugh, play Quidditch, sleep in on weekends. The other part of him felt an icy dread every time he remembered Quirrell, Voldemort, and how many times Tom had pulled him out of death's jaws.
He was constantly swinging between trying his hardest… and slacking off because someone else would save him anyway.
His effort came in waves, three days of determination, then it dried up like spilled potion on a sunny windowsill.
"Ron," Harry suddenly said.
Neville was already asleep. Their other two roommates were still downstairs playing cards. Only Ron was awake, engrossed in Quidditch highlight photos.
Ron jumped at Harry's sudden voice. "What?"
"Let's start training ourselves next week." Harry laid out Tom's plan, explaining how he'd ask McGonagall for a classroom on Monday. By then, he should have Tom's notebook. They'd follow it step by step.
Ron listened… and listened… and listened… his expression collapsing more and more.
Finally, with a heavy sigh, he said:
"Harry, did Tom scramble your brain or something?"
"He's a freak. No matter how hard we try, we can't be like him. That's not normal. We go to lessons, learn what we need, and that's enough. Look at Fred and George! They mess around all day and they still learn loads of spells. Who needs all that extra effort? Everyone uses the same basic magic after graduation anyway."
Harry stared at him, stunned.
It was the first time he realized he and Ron were standing at different intersections in life.
Harry never believed he was the Chosen One, never felt like a legendary "Boy Who Lived." But he couldn't escape the reality: Voldemort had his name carved into fate. And no one else had that kind of shadow following them around.
Except… maybe Tom.
So no, he couldn't drift through school the way Ron could. Not anymore.
"Ron… weekends are boring anyway. Let's just try it," Harry insisted softly.
Ron resisted, huffed, argued, complained, then finally, defeated by friendship, he gave in.
But Harry wasn't sure how long Ron could last.
Was he really going to end up training with Malfoy?
...
The next morning, after breakfast, Tom returned to Hagrid's hut.
Hagrid, still smelling faintly of vodka and tears, hadn't forgotten a thing. He had been waiting.
"Tom! Just a moment, hiyaaa!"
He rushed inside and came back with a bulging sack.
"You forgot the warthog hide last night. And I gathered some other things too. Don't know if they're useful, but they came off magical creatures, so I kept them."
The bag was full of assorted materials, some rare, some common, but Hagrid had no sense of price or magical value. Tom took it without judgment.
As Tom stuffed the large bag into a tiny pouch, Hagrid's eyes lit up with envy.
"Undetectable Extension Charm… tha's a masterpiece."
"You could enchant one yourself. Just don't let the Ministry find out."
Hagrid scratched his beard awkwardly. "When I got expelled… I hadn't learned that spell yet."
"Anyway, Tom, what creature did you want from the forest? I know every spot they roam."
Tom answered casually: "I need the Acromantula. Aragog, specifically."
Hagrid froze. His smile died instantly.
The massive half-giant went pale.
And the hut seemed suddenly very, very quiet.