Hermione looked up at the newcomers, but the moment she registered who they were, the smile that had been brightening her face dimmed considerably like a candle flame dampened by a sudden wind.
"Oh, if it isn't our favorite rule-breaking Savior who loves to roam the nights," she said, her tone carrying unmistakable displeasure, each word was edged with frost. "I was beginning to think you two had decided never to speak to me again."
Her irritation about last night's midnight excursion, the one where Harry and Ron had dragged her along to break school rules still burned hot and resentful in her chest.
Didn't they care that their reckless behavior could cost Gryffindor all its House points? Points that she'd worked so hard to earn through perfect essays and classroom participation?
Hearing the pointed accusation in her voice, Harry and Ron exchanged a quick glance, reading mutual helplessness in each other's expressions.
If they'd had any choice, literally any alternative, they wouldn't be here asking the "Gryffindor's Ravenclaw," as some students had taken to calling her behind her back.
But unfortunately, among all their acquaintances, only Hermione had actually bothered to complete Professor Sprout's Herbology assignment.
Ron's neck had gone stiff, his jaw was set in that stubborn expression that meant he'd rather eat Flobberworms than admit he needed help. His pride was clearly wrestling with his desperation, and pride was barely winning.
Seeing that Ron was about to let his ego doom them both, Harry bit the bullet and spoke up,
"That Herbology essay Professor Sprout assigned, the one she said was due this class period—you finished it, right?"
"The essay?" Hermione's eyebrows rose in that particular way that always made her look like a miniature Professor McGonagall catching someone without their homework.
She seemed to mentally flip through her completed assignments. "Oh, you mean the eight-inch analysis on the medicinal properties of dittany? That one?"
She paused, genuine confusion crossing her face.
"But that only takes maybe half an hour after class to write. You can't possibly mean you haven't even started it yet?"
At this, both Harry and Ron's heads dropped simultaneously, gazes fixed on the floor with the intensity of people discovering fascinating new patterns in stone flagging.
The gesture showed. Even someone with Hermione's occasionally limited social awareness could read that particular body language.
"You two..." she began, exasperation and disappointment mixing in her voice.
"We're working on it!" Harry interrupted hastily, cutting off what would surely develop into a lengthy lecture.
They had precious little time as it was—if she started one of her patented "you should take academics more seriously" speeches, they'd never finish before class. "We just ran into a small problem with the assignment and were hoping to consult your notes. For reference, just for reference."
"Ugh. Fine. I understand."
Looking at the two boys standing before her—one desperately pleading, one stubbornly avoiding eye contact, Hermione released a long-suffering sigh that seemed to come from her very soul.
They were, after all, among her very few friends at Hogwarts. And if they really couldn't turn in their assignments, the resulting point deductions would hurt Gryffindor, not just them personally.
She reached into her bag and extracted a rolled parchment, thrusting it toward them "Here. Take it. But this is a one-time thing, understand? One time."
"Thanks! You're brilliant!" Harry accepted the parchment like it was the Philosopher's Stone itself.
"If you really want to thank me," Hermione said sharply, turning her face away with a dismissive gesture, "then maybe try not losing points for our House every other day!"
Her ears had gone slightly pink—a detail that Tom and Ariana, observing the interaction with interest, recognized as evidence that she didn't quite mean the harsh words as harshly as she delivered them. Her stiff posture and rigid tone were defensive mechanisms, not genuine anger.
But the other first-years particularly Ron, whose emotional sensitivity was roughly on par with a particularly thick troll, only heard the condescending lecture, the superior tone. The implicit criticism that they weren't as dedicated or capable as she was.
If they hadn't still needed her homework to placate Professor Sprout, an argument would have erupted right there at the Gryffindor table.
Harry felt Ron tensing beside him and quickly grabbed his arm. He mumbled hasty thanks to Hermione, then began steering Ron away from potential conflict.
Time wasn't going to wait for them to have a proper row, after all. They needed to copy—er, reference—that essay immediately if they had any hope of making it to Herbology with completed assignments.
But just as the two boys turned to leave, Tom who'd been quietly observing this entire exchange with growing amusement suddenly seemed to remember something.
[Wait a moment!]
The whiteboard's appearance made both boys pause and turn back with confusion across their faces. They blinked at Tom as though only now registering his presence, a cat in wizard robes sitting calmly at the Gryffindor table.
"Hang on, I think I've heard about you!" Ron's expression shifted from confused to excited. He leaned forward, squinting at Tom.
"You're the Hufflepuff student who actually got Snape to award House points in Potions class! Everyone's talking about it. They're calling you a 'wizard-cat' or... wait, no, a 'cat-wizard'? I thought it was just exaggeration, but you're actually real!"
Tom hadn't expected his morning's accomplishment to spread quite this rapidly through the school's gossip network. Class had only ended an hour ago, and already the story had propagated to Gryffindor?
Then again, considering how universally despised Snape was among non-Slytherins, perhaps it made sense that news of someone actually earning his approval would travel at near-lightning speed. It seemed Snape was truly a 'well-known' professor.
Tom nodded, accepting the recognition casually. After all, Snape, his wealthy benefactor only needed to provide funding. His reputation? Well, what reputation did a dungeon-dwelling Potions Master needed beyond "terrifying"?
"Oh, that's brilliant!" Ron exclaimed, his earlier sullenness about Hermione was completely forgotten in his enthusiasm.
He moved closer, eyes shining with genuine interest. "How did you manage it? Fred and George told me it was literally impossible—one of those things that just doesn't happen at Hogwarts, like Snape smiling or Filch being nice!"
Even Harry, who'd been focused on their homework crisis, couldn't help leaning in with curiosity. After all, Snape had targeted him specifically during their first Potions lesson, making sharp comments about fame and asking impossible questions designed to humiliate.
The idea of somehow earning the man's approval seemed like fantasy.
[Well, I suppose it's... talent?] Tom's whiteboard displayed the words with perfect innocence.
He knew the real reasons, of course. But those certainly weren't things he could admit aloud.
"There's got to be more to it than that," Ron insisted, shaking his head. "George told me there've been students with talent before, really brilliant ones and Snape never gave points to anyone outside Slytherin. Not once in years of teaching.
If you ask me, the man's just biased toward Slytherin. The Headmaster should sack professors who play favorites like that. It's not fair to the rest of us!"
Hermione opened her mouth as though to say something, probably to defend the principle that professors deserved respect even if imperfect but then seemed to remember Snape's behavior during their own Potions lesson.
The memory of his behavior toward every non-Slytherin student made her close her mouth again.
'Favoritism, hmm?'
Tom's gaze drifted to Harry, and a delightfully wicked idea began forming in his mind. His tail swished once with mischief.
[Would you two like to experience what it's like to be "favored" by Professor Snape?]
"(‧_‧?) " × 4
All four—Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Ariana froze simultaneously with identical expressions of confused bewilderment on their faces.
[Come find me before your next Potions class,] Tom continued, his whiskers were twitching with amusement. [I guarantee I'll show you a completely different side of Professor Snape.]
The grin spreading across Tom's face could only be described as "mischievous" at best and "downright diabolical" at worst. His tail swished with the particular rhythm of someone plotting something magnificent and terrible.
He was clearly planning to recreate one of those classic fanfiction scenarios.
Of course, Tom had no intention of letting Harry suffer alone. They were comrade-in-arms now, weren't they? Friends who shared hardships? And what kind of friend would Tom be if he didn't ensure Ron got to share this "special honor" as well?
'Misery loves company, after all.'
[Anyway, we can discuss that later. For now...]
Tom glanced at the two increasingly anxious boys, then made a show of checking the time visible through the Great Hall's high windows. The angle of sunlight had shifted noticeably since they'd arrived.
His expression shifted to one of faux-concern as he turned back to them:
[Do you actually have enough time left to copy—sorry, I mean "reference"—that homework before class?]
"!"
Both boys' eyes went wide. Harry reflexively checked the clock on the far wall, and the color drained from his face like water from a broken cauldron.
They'd wasted too much time. Between walking to Gryffindor table, the awkward conversation with Hermione, and now this discussion with the mysterious cat-wizard, time had slipped away.
Even copying Hermione's essay at top speed, they'd never finish before Herbology started.
[I could help you with that, you know~]
In Harry and Ron's increasingly desperate vision, Tom's form seemed to shift.
A dark reddish aura appeared around him like hellfire. Tiny horns sprouted from his head. Bat wings unfurled from his back. He looked, for all the world, like a demon from medieval manuscripts, the kind that tempted desperate souls into bargains they'd regret.
Both boys actually took half a step back in fright.
"Whoa, Tom!" Hannah exclaimed, her voice was mixing fascination with confusion. "You can change your shape like that? Beyond just stretching your arms? You look just like the demons from my storybooks!
But, um... why exactly are you transforming into a demon right now?"
[Can't you see I'm trying to conduct extortion here?!]
Hannah's interruption shattered the carefully cultivated atmosphere of temptation.
Tom's demonic appearance vanished like smoke, returning him to normal blue-furred cat form. He reached over and rubbed Hannah's head with one paw in annoyance.
The interruption had broken the spell of fear. Harry and Ron's panic receded somewhat, replaced with cautious curiosity about what, exactly, Tom was proposing.
Seeing his dramatic moment ruined, Tom shook his head and simply raised his whiteboard with straightforward business terms:
[Homework writing service: One Silver Sickle per assignment. Guaranteed delivery before class starts. If I fail to complete it on time, full refund.]
This was his real objective. Since the Translation House business wasn't operational yet, why not run a side hustle to earn some pocket money? A little entrepreneurial spirit never hurt anyone.
Besides, he'd already extorted Snape's funding for "resurrection materials." Might as well diversify his income streams.
Harry and Ron exchanged glances, silently communicating. They mentally calculated the consequences of showing up to Professor Sprout's class without completed homework versus spending one of their precious Sickles.
Professor Sprout was kind, yes. But she still deducted points and assigned detention for incomplete work. And given their track record lately, Gryffindor really couldn't afford more point losses.
The decision was made then.
"Deal!" they shouted in unison.
Then Harry hesitated, adding somewhat sheepishly: "Actually... could you do two more?"
They hadn't come seeking Hermione's help just for themselves, after all. Their roommates Neville and Seamus were in the same desperate situation.
[Easy enough~]
Tom nodded agreeably and accepted the small pile of silver Sickles Harry counted out.
Then with a flourish, Tom produced four quill pens and four blank sheets of parchment from absolutely nowhere. The items simply appeared in the air before dropping into his paws.
The gathered students blinked. Even Hermione, who'd been trying to maintain her annoyed facade, looked intrigued despite herself.
Tom arranged the four parchments in a row across the table. Then, he grasped the quills in four different parts:
Left front paw: one quill. Right front paw: one quill. Left back paw: one quill, gripped delicately between toe pads. Tail: one quill, wrapped and secured near the tip.
Then he simply... began writing.
All four quills moved simultaneously but independently, each scratching across its respective parchment in fluid, confident strokes.
The surrounding students stared in absolute silence, mouths slightly hung open.
Each quill wrote in a distinctly different handwriting style.
[There we go~]
Less than thirty minutes later, he set down all four quills simultaneously with a satisfied flourish. He rolled each parchment carefully and passed the small bundle to Harry with one paw.
[We still have half an hour before Herbology starts. Plenty of time to get to the greenhouses~]
Harry accepted the rolled parchments with something like awe, carefully unrolling them one by one to examine the contents. His eyes widened as he scanned each essay.
Different handwriting and different content too.
Most impressive of all, the essays were clean. No crossed-out errors, no ink blots, no spelling mistakes or grammatical problems. Each one read like a carefully edited final draft, despite having been written in mere minutes.
Harry looked up from the parchments to Tom, then back to the parchments, then to Ron, his expression cycling through disbelief, awe, and a sense of existential inadequacy.
The difference between people could sometimes be greater than the difference between people and animals.
Then he remembered: Tom wasn't technically a person. Tom was a cat.
Well then. That made it fine, didn't it? No point comparing yourself to a magical cat-wizard who could write four essays simultaneously in different handwriting styles while using his tail as a pen-holder.
That was just common sense.