After class, in the Headmaster's Office:
"Tom, you..."
Professor Flitwick had just finished recounting the complete sequence of events from Charms class. Now Dumbledore sat behind his desk, gazing at the blue cat who was currently engaged in the theft of every piece of candy within paw's reach, and found himself genuinely at a loss for words.
'If I'd known he would cause this much chaos, I should have thought much more carefully about whether to approve his enrollment when I visited the Lovegood residence,' Dumbledore thought with weary resignation.
How long had it been since Tom officially became a Hogwarts student? A day and a half at most, thirty-six hours, give or take. Four classes total.
And already four different professors had come to his office with Tom-related concerns.
Professor Snape's visit could be set aside for the moment. While Tom's utterly bizarre potion-brewing method had made Snape's eye twitch with professional horror, Severus possessed the psychological fortitude of a double-agent who'd survived decades of playing both sides in a war.
His worldview could withstand the assault of unconventional brewing techniques without suffering existential collapse.
Professor Binns' transformation was actually rather positive, all things considered. Though Tom had disrupted the ghost's rigid two-point existence from classroom to office, office to classroom, repeated for eternity, if it resulted in improved educational outcomes for History of Magic students, Dumbledore was prepared to count that as a victory.
After all, he'd personally endured Binns' sleep-inducing lectures as a student. He knew exactly how torturous those classes could be.
As for Professor Sprout? The good-natured Herbology instructor hadn't come to complain, exactly. Well—technically she had come to complain, but the content of her complaint was somewhat unusual.
She'd been genuinely confused, almost offended, that Tom had behaved himself perfectly in her class with no spectacular incidents, no reality-defying demonstrations, nothing beyond showing thorough comprehension of textbook material.
For a Hufflepuff student to be most well-behaved in his own House Head's class should have been natural. But given Tom's track record elsewhere, it felt almost like deliberate restraint or possibly favoritism toward other professors.
Dumbledore had only been able to offer a rather helpless smile in response to that particular grievance.
And now—now Tom had apparently pushed Professor Flitwick to the point of actual unconsciousness?
'Wait, no...'
Dumbledore's keen eye caught the gleam of excitement still flickering in Flitwick's gaze despite his professed distress. The tiny professor's body language radiated enthusiasm rather than complaint.
'He's not here to report misconduct at all. He's here to make a proposal.'
Indeed, Professor Flitwick's true purpose in this meeting was to formally request that Tom be transferred to Ravenclaw House.
His reasoning, delivered with the passionate conviction of someone who'd just witnessed the birth of a new magical paradigm: "A student with such extraordinary gifts, who has essentially pioneered an entirely novel spell-casting system, belongs by natural right in Ravenclaw!!"
(Somewhere in the castle, Professor Sprout: "Excuse me? I already had to defend my students from Snape's poaching attempts, and now I have to worry about YOU too, Filius?!")
The frustrating thing was that Dumbledore couldn't actually refute Flitwick's logic. The Sorting Hat had clearly stated that Tom would fit well in any House except Slytherin. Ravenclaw had been mentioned as a viable option.
The Hat itself, resting on its shelf, radiated smug vindication: 'Don't blame me, Headmaster! (´･_･`) I was completely accurate in my assessment!'
Tom, for his part, projected an aura of innocence. What had he done wrong, really? He'd simply wanted to cast some spells like a normal student! The situation escalating to this degree wasn't his fault! He was a victim of circumstance!
"Ahhh..."
Dumbledore released a long, weary sigh.
What choice did he have, really? Ariana's return was thanks to Tom's intervention. Her eventual resurrection depended on Tom's cooperation.
So, these trivial complications fell to him, the headmaster, to manage through negotiation and persuasion.
After considerable discussion involving appeals to House loyalty, reminders about the value of consistency in a student's educational experience, and perhaps a few gentle implications that attempting to poach students from other Houses was poor form among colleagues, Dumbledore finally convinced Flitwick to abandon his transfer proposal.
However, as a parting gesture and perhaps as consolation for not getting his way, he offered Tom the same special privilege that Snape and Sprout had already granted: complete exemption from all Charms homework.
"A student who has pioneered an entirely new approach to spell-casting," Flitwick said with passion, "should not be constrained by traditional curriculum! The established spells and incantations can serve as foundational nutrients for his revolutionary magical system!"
Only after the enthusiastic Charms professor finally left still muttering excitedly about unprecedented developments in magical theory did Dumbledore sink back into his chair and fix Tom with a long, contemplative stare.
The blue cat had abandoned pretense and was now openly demolishing the candy dish, sorting sweets by color before consuming them in some order known only to himself.
Hogwarts had enrolled students with unusual bloodlines before. Werewolves, part-giants, half-elves—rare, certainly, but not unheard of in the school's long history. Each had presented their own unique challenges and accommodations.
But somehow none of them had generated quite this level of continuous chaos. Why was this particular cat such a relentless source of incidents?
(I'm innocent! I genuinely don't know how things reached this point!) Seemingly sensing Dumbledore's thoughts, Tom quickly defended himself.
"Well," Dumbledore said aloud, his tone mixing resignation with reluctant acceptance, "I suppose this simply confirms that you possess genuinely unique talents. Remarkable ones, even if they manifest in... unconventional ways."
He removed his half-moon spectacles and rubbed the bridge of his nose.
"However, in future classes, I would appreciate if you could exercise some degree of restraint. Show some consideration for your fellow students. Not everyone is blessed with your particular advantages and abilities. Some find magic difficult enough without witnessing their understanding of reality being casually dismantled."
(I'll try...) Tom's tail swished with something between agreement and skepticism.
Some things were instinctive, reflexive, built into the operating system of his existence. You couldn't just consciously control them any more than you could consciously control your heartbeat.
And honestly, if Jerry the mouse were here as well, the combined effect would make current events look peaceful by comparison.
With both of them operating at full cartoon capacity, the castle would probably be reduced to rubble within a week. And that would actually represent them showing considerable restraint.
"Fine. If there's nothing else, you can go get lunch." Dumbledore waved a dismissive hand, then paused as another thought occurred to him.
"Oh, regarding Professor Binns' request to appoint you as his teaching assistant—think about that and let me know your decision. The position would come with appropriate compensation, naturally."
Tom nodded slowly; his expression was skeptical. 'Really? Teaching assistants get paid? I'm fairly certain Binns himself doesn't receive a salary anymore, being dead and all...'
But he was wise enough not to voice this observation. Instead, he simply turned and padded toward the office door, already mentally planning his lunch selections.
However, before he'd covered half the distance, the office door suddenly swung open.
Tom froze mid-step. 'Is the door broken? I'm pretty sure I wasn't close enough to trigger any opening charms yet...'
A familiar figure strode through the doorway:
"Headmaster, are you available? I have something that requires your help." Professor McGonagall's Scottish accent carried its usual crispness. "Also, do you know where Professor Flitwick might be? I went to his office but he wasn't there. This matter relates to Tom as well—I was planning to bring him along, but I heard Flitwick had already collected him."
Her sharp eyes swept the office and immediately located Tom, who stood near the center of the room wearing an expression that said: 'Who am I? Where am I? What have I allegedly done now?'
Professor McGonagall walked in, followed by an innocent-looking Ariana, looking completely bewildered.
"Oh, Minerva." Dumbledore's voice carried a note of profound weariness. "What's happened?"
He glanced at Tom's frozen posture with the resignation of someone watching a pattern repeat.
The other professors' visits had followed a logical pattern—they'd actually taught Tom in recent classes, observed his various impossible feats firsthand.
But Minerva? If Dumbledore's schedule tracking was accurate, Gryffindor and Ravenclaw had just finished Transfiguration class. Hufflepuff hadn't even had Transfiguration yet since the term started.
And why would a matter involving Tom require bringing Ariana along?
"Headmaster, I really think you need to see this... Oh? Tom's here too? Perfect, actually. Come here, both of you!"
Without waiting for response or permission, Professor McGonagall grasped Tom by the scruff (a indignity he suffered with resigned acceptance) and gestured for Ariana to follow, marching both of them directly to Dumbledore's desk like a bailiff delivering suspects to court.
[What's going on?] Tom's whiteboard appeared, his confusion was entirely genuine.
Counting the Sorting Ceremony two days ago, this was only his second direct interaction with Professor McGonagall. Why would she specifically seek him out?
"I have no idea either," Ariana whispered, her translucent form was shimmering with uncertainty.