Soon enough, even this unexpectedly entertaining History of Magic lesson reached its inevitable conclusion. The class period couldn't last forever, no matter how much students might have wished otherwise.
But then something happened that caught everyone completely off-guard—something so unprecedented that students froze mid-motion, half-risen from their seats, staring in collective disbelief.
Professor Binns, who for decades had maintained the absolute consistency of vanishing through the blackboard the instant class ended whose post-lesson disappearance was as reliable as sunrise had stopped moving.
He simply hovered there at the front of the classroom, translucent form motionless, facing the students. The young witches and wizards exchanged bewildered glances with confusion across every face.
They couldn't comprehend why this ghost professor, who typically treated the end of class like an escape route and departed with mechanical precision, had chosen today of all days to linger.
As the classroom noise gradually died into uncertain silence, Professor Binns finally spoke. His voice retained that same flat, emotionless tone it always carried with no inflection, no emphasis, the auditory equivalent of reading ingredient labels.
But the content of his words struck like a lightning bolt, freezing every student in absolute shock.
His gaze traveled across the first-years and settled directly on Tom.
"A quite excellent classroom dramatization," Binns said in his trademark drone. "Five points to Hufflepuff. Additionally, I shall be submitting a formal request to the Headmaster to appoint you as my teaching assistant."
Then, before anyone could process this bombshell, before a single student could give a response or even properly close their open mouth, Binns executed his usual departure. He drifted backward through the stone wall with the same slow pace he always used, vanishing completely from view.
He left behind a classroom full of utterly stupefied students. The silence that followed was the kind of silence that occurred when reality had just violated laws of nature and everyone's brain needed a moment to reboot.
What scenes hadn't these students witnessed in their time at Hogwarts?
Well, actually, this particular scene was entirely new territory. They'd genuinely never experienced anything remotely comparable to what had just occurred.
If Professor Snape awarding Tom House points could be rationalized—after all, Snape frequently gave points to talented Slytherin students, so the mechanism of point-giving at least existed within his behavioral repertoire; then Professor Binns voluntarily awarding points represented a complete breakdown of understood reality.
This was Binns. Professor Cuthbert Binns, the ghost who cared about exactly two things: reciting magical history in the driest possible manner, and inadvertently putting students to sleep. Everything else in existence failed to register on his consciousness.
Students could set off fireworks, duel in the aisles, perform entire musical numbers—Binns wouldn't notice or care. Yet he'd just given House points. Acknowledged a student's creative contribution. Expressed something that almost resembled approval.
Merlin, was the sun rising in the west now? Had the laws of the universe shifted? Were they all actually asleep and experiencing some kind of collective fever dream induced by excessive monotone exposure?
And what was that about submitting a request for Tom to become a teaching assistant? Merlin's beard, Did Hogwarts even have teaching assistants as an official position?
Nobody could remember any precedent whatsoever for student assistants in the castle's thousand-year history.
Minutes passed after Binns' departure, and students remained frozen in their seats, staring at each other with expressions of complete bewilderment. Their brains struggled to process the information, trying to fit this unprecedented event into their understanding of how Hogwarts worked.
Even Tom sat motionless, eyes fixed on the wall where Binns had vanished, his expression was cycling through confusion, disbelief, and growing alarm.
He'd just wanted to combat the suffocatingly boring classroom atmosphere. To keep himself and his friends from dying of tedium-induced brain death. How had that simple goal escalated into a teaching assistant position?
'Though now that I think about it... do teaching assistants get paid? (￣ω￣)'
'Wait, no, that's not the important question right now! The critical issue is...'
Tom's train of thought derailed as awareness suddenly crashed over him like cold water. His gaze swept across the classroom, noting how students were gradually emerging from their shocked stupor.
Their expressions were changing from confusion to growing excitement, eyes were beginning to shine with that gleam that hinted at imminent mob behavior.
The atmosphere cahnged.
Students started leaning forward, turning toward Tom, mouths opening to speak, Tom reacted with decisive speed born of pure survival instinct. He grabbed Hannah's sleeve with one paw, snagged Ariana's translucent wrist with the other, and wrapped his tail around Hermione's waist in one smooth motion.
Then he launched himself toward the door, dragging all three girls behind him in an undignified but effective three-person tow.
"Wait, Tom, what are you doing?!"
The girls—particularly Hermione, who found herself being transported via tail-grip like a sack of potatoes wore expressions of complete bafflement.
They had no idea why Tom had suddenly transformed into a fleeing cat dragging captives. Tom didn't pause to explain. He just kept moving, ears flat against his head, focused entirely on escape.
His paws hit the corridor stones at top speed, the girls were stumbling along in his trail. They cleared the classroom threshold by perhaps two seconds.
Behind them, the dam broke.
The previously silent classroom exploded into chaos voices were covering each other's, chairs were scraping, the thunder of students surging toward the door resounded:
"Where's Tom?! Where did he go? He's absolutely legendary—I need his autograph!"
"First Professor Snape, now Professor Binns! Headmaster Dumbledore allowing him to enroll is the best decision of the century. No contest at all!"
"I remember some magazine running an article saying Tom's enrollment proved the Headmaster was going senile. Damn those despicable, dishonest journalists!"
"Mate, that's normal though. The magazine was The Quibbler. In the wizarding world, everyone treats it as a joke. Who actually takes that rag seriously? I thought maybe their unhinged editor had finally decided to write real news for once, but apparently not. Same old nonsense as always."
"Um... I remember the editor of The Quibbler is surnamed Lovegood. And Tom's surname is also Lovegood. You don't think they're connected, do you?"
"...I was talking complete rubbish just now. The Quibbler is actually the finest magazine in the entire wizarding world. Absolutely top-tier journalism. No other magazine compares!"
Even after Tom's group had put considerable distance between themselves and the classroom, they could still hear the noise echoing down the corridor filled with excited voices, arguments, and the general sound of first-year chaos.
The three girls exchanged glances, then turned to look at Tom with expressions mixing understanding and amusement.
"So that's why you ran," Ariana said. "You were avoiding them. But... why? Isn't it nice being popular? Having everyone admire you?"
She tilted her head slightly, there was genuine confusion in her pale eyes.
Having spent so many years isolated and invisible, the concept of voluntarily avoiding positive attention seemed bizarre. Tom's face as much as a cat's face could express such things showed distinct suffering.
He shook his head: [You're still young. You don't understand how exhausting that kind of attention becomes. Being treated like some rare exotic creature on display, constantly surrounded by gawkers wanting pieces of you—I want absolutely none of it!]
If he'd known this would happen, he would have... well, actually, if given the chance to redo the evening, he'd probably make the same choice.
Being mobbed by enthusiastic fans was uncomfortable, certainly, but not nearly as unbearable as sitting through that soul-crushing atmosphere of deadened boredom that had filled the classroom before his intervention.
Some torments were simply worse than others. He'd chosen the lesser evil.
[Anyway, Ariana—] Tom suddenly remembered something important. He released Hermione and Hannah from his grip, Hermione immediately began smoothing her robes with an indignant expression while Tom turned his full attention to the ghost girl.
[I need to talk to you privately about something. Can we step aside for a moment?]
"?" Ariana blinked in confusion, her eyebrows were drawing together slightly. But after a moment's hesitation, she nodded agreement.
She trusted Tom completely, after all.
The two of them quickly disappeared around the corridor's corner, leaving Hannah and Hermione standing together in the hallway.
Hermione watched them go, her sharp mind was already working on the puzzle. She lowered her voice, leaning slightly toward Hannah.
"Hannah... have you noticed that Ariana seems somewhat... unusual? I can't quite put my finger on it, but I get this persistent feeling that she and Tom share some kind of secret they haven't told us."
Hannah adopted an expression of intense concentration—eyebrows scrunched, lips pursed, one finger tapping against her chin in her gesture of Deep Thinking.
After several seconds of this performance, she nodded with sudden conviction,
"Oh! You're absolutely right! Now that you mention it, there were definitely odd things. Remember during Herbology class? Professor Sprout specifically kept those two back after the lesson and had some kind of private conversation we couldn't hear.
And then later, when the Professor had us all examine dittany up close. I'm pretty sure Ariana never actually touched the plant. She just kind of... hovered her hand near it and pretended."
Having taken a personal interest in this poor friendless girl (as Hannah perceived Ariana), she'd been paying closer attention than most to her behavior which meant she'd noticed inconsistencies that others might have missed.
"Exactly!" Hermione's voice carried conviction now that her hypothesis was being confirmed.
"And this morning, when I asked what she wanted for breakfast, she claimed she'd already eaten and wasn't hungry. But she'd literally just woken up! We were all getting ready together—when could she possibly have eaten?"
The two girls continued comparing observations, finding more and more details that didn't quite add up. But even as the evidence accumulated, even as the mystery deepened, they exchanged a meaningful look and silently agreed not to push further.
In their understanding, if Ariana had chosen to keep secrets, she must have good reasons. Personal reasons, probably difficult ones. And as friends, their job wasn't to interrogate or demand explanations. Whatever Ariana was dealing with, she'd tell them when she was ready.
Until then, they'd simply be there for her.
Meanwhile, around the corner in a quieter section of corridor, Tom had guided Ariana to a more private location. The nearest portrait depicting an elderly wizard in purple robes was snoring peacefully in his armchair, completely oblivious to their presence.
Moonlight streamed through a high window, casting geometric patterns of light and shadow across the stone floor.
"Tom, what did you need to discuss?" Ariana asked softly.
[Have you forgotten already? Back in Herbology, I promised I'd help you solve the biggest problem you're currently facing.]
As he wrote, Tom produced a measuring tape from his storage.
[To properly address these issues, I need to take some measurements of your physical dimensions.]
He noticed Ariana's face beginning to flush, her eyes were going slightly wide.
He hastily added clarification: [Just your hands! I only need hand measurements, I promise.]
Ariana visibly relaxed, releasing a breath. She obediently extended both arms, holding her hands out flat before Tom with palms facing up. Tom grasped the measuring tape carefully and began taking meticulous measurements of her palm, committed to ensuring whatever he created would fit her perfectly.
"Are you certain this will work?" Ariana's voice carried hints of anxiety.
"Tomorrow morning's first lesson is Professor McGonagall's Transfiguration class. She knows about my... situation, obviously, but she can't stop the other students from observing and noticing.
What if—I'm just saying, what if—something goes wrong? Should I prepare some kind of backup plan? Some explanation or excuse in case things don't work as intended?"
[Trust me. Have faith.] Tom released her hands and raised one paw, extending his thumb in an encouraging gesture. [Everything will be fine. I've got this completely under control.]
"But what about Hermione and Hannah?" Ariana's voice dropped even lower, taking on a tone of guilty confession. She looked down at her translucent hands, twisting her fingers together in unconscious nervousness.
"They're already suspicious. I can tell they've noticed some things. And I... I don't want to lie to them. They're among the very few real friends I've ever had. But my brother said to keep this secret for now, and I don't want to go against his wishes when he's only trying to protect me..."
She trailed off, clearly torn between.
Tom's paws paused mid-motion. He tilted his head to look at her properly, moonlight was reflecting in his yellow eyes.
[That's a decision only you can make, I can help you solve practical problems. But I can't make personal choices for you. Those have to come from your own heart and judgment.]
Ariana stared at the words on his whiteboard for a moment. Her eyes, which had been clouded with doubt, cleared and sharpened with growing determination.
"I want to ask my brother first," she said finally. "Ask him if I can tell them the truth."