Tom Riddle found the post office and learned something that made his stomach drop: in this world, St. Lydia's Orphanage still existed.
Which meant Hermione might right now be stuck in his body, throwing a fit back at the orphanage.
Thinking about Hermione's personality… Tom rubbed his temples.
He had a feeling she could make the kids cry without even trying.
Especially Misha.
Ever since her parents abandoned her, Misha had clung to him like glue. He was pretty much her big brother. If Hermione snapped at her even a little… yeah, Misha would bawl her eyes out.
He really hoped that letter would get there fast.
And then there was the bigger worry—would there be another "crossover"? Would he and Hermione suddenly swap back?
Tom wrote down the address and recipient, paid extra for express delivery, then headed home.
Once he was back, he flicked his wand and kept practicing magic.
If this really was the Hogwarts world, then a whole lot of dangerous stuff existed out there.
Voldemort. Death Eaters. Werewolves. Magical creatures!
Sure, the movies made it look easy—first year, Harry casually beats Quirrell; second year, he pulls out Gryffindor's sword and slays the basilisk; third year…
But come on!
Quirrell was literally a double agent with Voldemort stuck to the back of his head.
That basilisk could kill you with a single glance—no eye contact allowed.
(Okay, fine, the "no-eye-contact snake.")
And the big boss, Voldemort? Back in his old life, Tom used to laugh at all those dark jokes about him—"Voldemort killed hundreds today… so what's he doing tomorrow?"
Jokes were easy when you weren't the one facing him.
But if Tom actually ran into the guy…?
He wanted to live, thank you very much!
Sure, Hogwarts had the strongest good wizard of the age as headmaster—Albus Dumbledore.
He'd do anything to protect his students, to protect people. But Tom knew how the story ended: even Dumbledore dies in the end. He can't save everyone.
The only person who could keep you safe was yourself. The only way to survive was to get strong.
And speaking of names…
Tom Riddle… wasn't that Voldemort's real name too?
What if that lunatic decided to tie up loose ends and off him just for sharing it?
That thought lit a fire under him.
Time to grind.
He'd worked himself to death—literally—in his last life. No way was he keeling over from overwork now that he was a wizard.
He already knew the limits of a normal human body.
But a wizard's limits? He had no clue.
Come on, show me how far this can go!
[You have cast a spell. Rating: Average. Wingardium Leviosa +10.]
[You have cast a spell. Rating: Average. Wingardium Leviosa +10.]
[You have cast a spell. Rating: Average. Transfiguration +10.]
[You have cast a spell. Rating: Average. Transfiguration +10.]
…
By evening, Tom was wiped out.
Practicing magic for hours on end had drained him completely. Toward the end, every rating dropped to "Below Average," and the experience gains slowed to a crawl.
He ate the flower cakes he'd packed from the restaurant, then settled in the living room with a copy of Magical Draughts and Potions. He adjusted the chandelier light until it was easy on the eyes.
This was a book on potion-making.
At Hogwarts, one professor's position was rock-solid: Severus Snape. Hands down the most hated teacher among students.
Snape taught first-year Potions, but he'd only ever tell you to chop the herbs and stir the cauldron.
He wouldn't say how finely to chop them, whether to stir clockwise or counterclockwise, or how many times.
You only found out the right way when you screwed up—then he'd tear into you, dock points, and maybe, maybe tell you the correct method.
Tom figured he'd study ahead so he wouldn't get publicly roasted in class.
[You have studied. Rating: Average. Potions +10.]
Late into the night, veins were throbbing in Tom's forehead—his mind had hit its limit.
This body was still way too fragile.
Before showering, he did a quick workout.
Squats, push-ups, sit-ups, and he even tried pull-ups on the doorframe.
Of course, he couldn't do a single pull-up.
After an hour of exercise, he took a hot shower to wash off the sweat, then collapsed into bed and fell asleep, exhausted.
…
London.
Hermione turned down Mr. Michelson's invitation.
After seeing Sean today, she'd confirmed one huge thing.
This world had Hogwarts!
She'd crossed over, but she hadn't gone to a completely different universe.
If she could just contact one of the Hogwarts professors and explain what had happened, maybe she could get back to her own body!
But right now she had no way to reach them. All she could do was use the few pounds she'd earned today to write a letter to "herself."
She suspected the other person was controlling her body too.
After finishing everything, Hermione returned to St. Lydia's Orphanage and fell asleep.
The next morning.
London mornings always came with thick fog rolling through the streets.
Hermione got up early.
The orphanage kids were thrilled—they'd all heard she'd landed the tutoring job with Sean. They crowded around her, happier than if it had happened to them.
Well, almost all of them.
Lawrence was not happy.
He felt like Hermione was stealing his foster dad.
By turning down the adoption offer, she was just playing hard to get—trying to drive up her own value!
Starting today, Hermione didn't have to go out selling flowers anymore.
With the little money she had left, she and Misha bought some flower seeds and replanted them.
Hermione seriously explained to Misha how often to water them, what to do on foggy days, how to fertilize…
All stuff she'd read in books. She had the theory down, but actually getting her hands dirty was messy—the soil got all over the body she was in.
"Tom—!!!"
One of the kids came running back into the orphanage, waving an envelope. "Tom, you got a letter! Man, I didn't even know you sent anything out!"
The kids were curious.
Someone actually sent them mail!
None of them had friends outside or anyone to write to. They all crowded around. "Tom, open it quick!"
"The sender is… how do you even say this name? Her-mi-one Gran-ger? Weird name, but sounds like a girl."
"That's Hermione Granger! Could you guys read a little more?" Hermione hated when people butchered her name.
But then she remembered there weren't exactly libraries full of books here, so she added, "I mean, you should read more if you ever get the chance to leave this place."
"Forget that—Tom, what does it say?"
Misha pushed the others back. "Stop looking. This is a letter from a girl to Tom. We… I mean, we shouldn't peek. It's Tom's secret."
Misha figured Tom was grown up now, and grown-ups have secrets. This was his, and they shouldn't pry.
Hermione glanced around, saw no one was watching, and opened the envelope.
Just as she'd thought—the other person had crossed over too!
Her cheeks burned at the idea that he'd been living in her body for a whole day.
Yesterday she'd avoided the bathroom as much as possible, only going when she absolutely couldn't hold it.
Showering? Nope, hadn't done that either.
Mostly because of this body.
Even when she did go, she kept her head tilted way up, refusing to look down. Showering felt way too soon—way too exposed—for something like that.
She took a couple deep breaths to calm down, then found a quiet corner and read the letter.
[Dear Tom Riddle,
Hello, this is Hermione.
If you're the one reading this letter, then the same thing has happened to both of us.]
Tom hadn't written much in case Hermione hadn't crossed over—if that was the case, his body would be unconscious, and someone else might open the letter.
Hermione nodded. This Tom guy was at least a little clever. She kept reading.
[I heard about the orphanage from you, and I feel really sorry for everyone there.
Misha is a little angel. Her background is worse than most—I hope you'll be kind to her and not lose your temper… though someone as gentle as Tom probably wouldn't anyway.
I also heard about Lawrence—how he once put a rat under your pillow, you beat him up, and the adults punished you. I know you were furious, but please just ignore him. Treat him like a circus clown with a red nose.
Things are good here at home. Mom and Dad are away traveling. The books the school sent are great—I've gone through them once and even practiced some of the stuff inside. Surprisingly, it went pretty well.
But the clothes in your closet are awful! You've got such smooth skin and those big eyes—dressing so plainly is a total waste!
I hope you're doing okay over there. If we get the chance someday, I'd like to meet you in person.
Sincerely,
Hermione Granger
P.S. I bet you haven't showered yet. The second you read this, go take a bath. I don't want Tom's body smelling like a wild boar!!!]
The last line hit her like a Bludger. Hermione looked away, cheeks and ears burning.
She patted her flushed face for a while before calming down.
She folded the letter neatly three times and hid it under a loose floorboard in the storage room.
Only then did she notice how tidy Tom's little space was.
Even with firewood stacked around, everything was spotless. Compared to her own bed back home, buried under piles of books…
Hermione shook her head, pushing the thought away.
She remembered the people Tom had mentioned.
Misha.
That little girl who kept trailing after her like a shadow.
Sitting on the bed with her knees pulled to her chest, Hermione thought about her real home, her parents, the brand-new first-year textbooks…
Wait a second!
She pulled the letter out again and zeroed in on one line in the middle.
[The books the school sent are great—I've gone through them once and even practiced some of the stuff inside. Surprisingly, it went pretty well.]
Hold on—Tom had practiced magic using her body?
Back at the Michelson house, Hermione had accidentally done magic herself. She'd assumed it was because she was still Hermione Granger, that the magic stuck with her even after the swap.
But if Tom could do it too…
Was Tom not a Muggle either? Was he a wizard?
No!
Hermione shook her head, sorting through the jumble of thoughts.
None of that mattered right now.
The important thing was the letter Professor McGonagall had sent her. Had Tom told McGonagall what happened?
Professor McGonagall was brilliant at Transfiguration, had worked at the Ministry, and was now Deputy Headmistress at Hogwarts. If anyone could fix this, it was her!
Hermione paced the tiny room until Misha knocked and reminded "Tom" it was time to head to the Michelson house for lessons. Only then did she stuff the letter away and hurry out.
On the walk, Misha kept dropping hints, trying to fish out what was going on between "Tom" and "Hermione."
Hermione just said they were friends.
The day flew by. That night, Hermione finally worked up the courage for a quick cold shower—she was just a poor orphanage kid now; she couldn't waste precious winter firewood on hot water. (And anyway, it was still summer.)
The shower left her face bright red.
She crawled into bed and fell into a deep sleep.
…
[Wingardium Leviosa LV.1: 20/300]
[Transfiguration LV.1: 10/300]
[Potions (Beginner): 10/100]
[Close-Combat LV.1: 224/300]
[Language Mastery LV.1: 200/300]
[Animal Affinity LV.1: 110/300]
[Title: Basic Spellcasting]
Two days in, and he'd already pushed the progress this far. Not bad.
Tom glanced at the panel and nodded.
The letter he sent to Hermione should have arrived by now—he'd tipped pretty generously.
Lying in bed, his energy completely spent, Tom's breathing grew slow and heavy as he drifted off.