The potion was dry and carried a thick, bitter taste.
Hermione knew she couldn't sip something this nasty little by little, so she knocked the whole bottle back in one go, her face scrunching up in disgust.
Snape watched her and gave a cold snort. "You may leave."
"Professor Snape?"
"I said leave. Now. Immediately. I'm busy and don't have time to stand here chatting with you. Or do you want to interrupt my experiment?"
Hermione had no choice but to leave the lab.
Still, she noticed her throat felt a lot clearer afterward. The potion tasted awful, but it definitely worked.
As noon approached, Hermione headed to Hagrid's hut to trim the fur of some magical creatures.
Her movements were clumsy, like a kid clipping hair for the first time. Hagrid thought it was a little odd, but he didn't dwell on it—just figured a kid might forget things now and then, which was normal.
When Hagrid handed over her pay—one gold Galleon—Hermione clutched it tightly and thanked him sincerely.
She swore to herself that this time she'd hide the Galleon properly. This was money she'd earned herself!
One whole Galleon.
She counted on her fingers: if she came every day, that'd be seven Galleons a week!
Fifteen in a month!
But where would be a good place to stash it?
Maybe she could quietly bury it somewhere on the school grounds.
For now, Hermione tucked the Galleon into her pocket and decided she'd bury it after seven days.
…
Uh…
Tom, looking at the "diary," thought Hermione's daily life was awfully monotonous.
Eat, read the paper, study… rinse and repeat.
Couldn't she go out and talk to people once in a while? Living alone like this for so long would drive anyone nuts.
No wonder Hermione's social skills were so bad.
Sure, he spent most of his own time practicing magic too, but Tom felt like he'd never let his relationships slip. There was Hagrid, Dumbledore, the occasional nighttime run-in with Filch and his Mrs. Norris, and even Snape, his dorm mate.
Tom quietly added Hermione to the "poor kid" category in his mind.
Still, Hermione had written a note in the diary reminding him to head to Diagon Alley and sign up for the "Junior Wizarding Exchange Competition (sponsored by Lockhart)."
Tom knew all about Lockhart.
In their second year, that con-man wizard would end up as their Defense Against the Dark Arts professor.
Diagon Alley wasn't unfamiliar to Tom anymore—he had an excellent memory and could remember a route after walking it just once.
Flourish and Blotts.
Tom saw a crowd of young wizards gathered there, along with a Daily Prophet photographer in the back aiming his camera at the person standing on the stage up front.
Gilderoy Lockhart.
Lockhart was wearing his flashy gold robes and talking a mile a minute. "This magical exchange competition is proudly sponsored by me, Gilderoy Lockhart!" He spread his arms wide, soaking up the adoring looks and cheers from the young wizards below.
Lockhart knew how popular he was and launched into full bragging mode.
He talked about the werewolf he'd supposedly fought a few years back, about facing an evil basilisk in school…
It wasn't until the very end that he finally mentioned the actual competition.
The grand prize for the winner was a complete set of his personally signed books, plus a solo photo of himself.
A few little fangirls off to the side had stars in their eyes.
"I want a full set of Mr. Lockhart's autographed books too!"
"Oh no, he said it's only open to kids under thirteen—we're already too old!"
A red-haired family nearby was buzzing with excitement.
The mother excitedly patted one of her sons on the shoulder. "George, you need the practice—go enter the competition!"
"Mom, I'm Fred," the boy said, throwing his hands up.
"All right, Fred… you and George both go. I'll make you a big dinner when you get home."
"No…" George paused. "Maybe you should let Ron and Ginny enter. They're still under thirteen."
Molly planted her hands on her hips and gave George a sly look. "Sweetie, you know Ron's still a month away from starting Hogwarts, and Ginny won't start until next year. How could they— I mean, their magic skills definitely aren't as good as yours yet.
But…" Molly turned to Ron. "Ron, you could use the practice too. It's rare to get a chance to perform magic in front of so many people. It'll put you ahead in Charms class once you start Hogwarts."
The Weasleys stood out in the crowd—not just because the mother had so many kids with her, but thanks to that bright red hair.
Compared to the blacks and blondes of most wizards, the Weasley red looked like a little sun. And when they were all together, it was more like a big sun.
"Oh my gosh, hurry—sign-ups are starting! George, get going!" Mrs. Weasley pushed three of her kids forward. "You've got to bring home that championship!"
Fred and George were identical twins—practically impossible to tell apart.
The twins shrugged in unison.
"Mom's lost it. There's no way we'll win with this many people."
"Yeah, exactly." George sighed. "Fine, we'll enter—for the promise of good food this week. Ron, the championship's all on you."
Little Ron, the shortest of the three, gaped at them. "Me? You guys are nuts! I haven't even started school yet! I haven't learned a single spell from the books!"
"We'll give you crash lessons this week, ha ha ha!" The twins burst out laughing together. The thought of legitimately tormenting their little brother instantly lifted their spirits.
Tom waited at the back of the line. He didn't step forward to sign up until everyone else had gone.
While signing, Tom spotted a few familiar names on the list.
The Weasleys were in, along with Cho Chang and Draco Malfoy.
Malfoy?
Why on earth was that prat getting involved in this mess?
Tom found it baffling.
The competition was set for this Wednesday—three days away. Tom yawned and left under everyone's stares.
He really didn't feel like sticking around to listen to Lockhart brag, especially since the guy would inevitably start hawking his books.
"Hey there, little angel!" Lockhart suddenly raised his voice from the stage. "Little angel, are you in a hurry to leave?"
Tom stopped and looked back at Lockhart in surprise.
Me?
"Yes, you, little angel. Come on up here."
Surrounded by the crowd's stares, Tom reluctantly walked back.
"Little angel, may I have your name…?"
"Hermione Granger," Tom said, feeling everyone's eyes on him.
"I know you must be nervous in front of all these people, but don't worry—after all, you've got me, the legendary Lockhart, right beside you!"
Lockhart puffed out his chest. "I saw you signed up for the competition. You're the youngest contestant I've seen. First year?"
"Uh… almost first year, sir. I just turned eleven and haven't started school yet."
"My goodness! You're a brave young soul. In the future, you'll surely be as successful as I am."
As successful as you? Hard pass—Tom thought to himself.
"Hermione, brave little champion, I didn't plan well enough. I didn't expect someone so young to enter. It's clear you really admire me." Lockhart leaned closer to Hermione and waved at the photographer in the distance. "Please take a photo of me with this brave young champion. Smile, Hermione!"
Heh heh—
As the picture was taken, a sudden idea popped into Tom's head. "Mr. Lockhart, could I possibly have a solo photo of you? I'd like to—um—put it in my room. I really admire you; it would give me strength."
"Of course!"
Lockhart enthusiastically handed over a photo. "I hadn't thought of that earlier. For this competition—to accommodate young champions like Hermione—I've decided to make all the challenges first-year level magic. You're okay with that, right, Hermione?"
"Of course," Tom agreed.
After the photo, Tom didn't leave right away. Since he'd already gotten something out of the guy, he figured he'd stay politely until Lockhart's boring solo show was over.
Lockhart's performance dragged on for an hour and a half. Tom honestly wondered what was in that man's head—how could anyone keep showing off for that long? Impressive stamina.
During those ninety minutes, Tom caught a lot of jealous glares. People were looking at him like they wanted to hex him.
…
Half an hour later.
The Leaky Cauldron.
A young witch in a full black robe walked into the pub. No one could see her face—she kept it hidden under the brim of her hood. Only her small frame hinted that she was young.
"Ron, first-year magic, huh? You'd better study hard. There's still a week left—bring home that championship."
"We'll help you, Ron."
"George, you two are entering too!" Ron's face turned red as he sipped his lemon tea. "I'm so young—can you please not pin all your hopes on me?"
One gulp of lemon tea later, Ron started coughing violently while the twins laughed their heads off.
"George, what did you put in my drink?!"
"I've gotta hit the bathroom." George clutched his stomach and walked off.
Fred got up too, both of them grinning like mad.
The unnoticed black-robed little witch shifted and followed them.
"Hello, you two Weasley boys."
Fred and George jumped, yanking up their trousers in a panic.
"Miss, this is the men's room! The men's room! Please leave!"
"I know." Tom lifted his chin and pulled a photo from his robe. "Private photo of Mr. Lockhart. Interested?"
Fred rolled his eyes. "What would we want with that? Maybe take it to our mom—she's a Lockhart…"
Before he could finish, George clapped a hand over his mouth. "Hold on, miss! Are you willing to sell that photo?"
Tom held it out a little farther. "How much are you offering?"
Magical photos were different from Muggle ones. The Lockhart in the picture puffed out his cheeks, looked around, realized he was in a bathroom, and immediately started glancing left and right.
"Twenty Galleons, miss." George held up one finger. "You know, it's just a photo. Even if a lot of people like Lockhart, it's still only a photo."
"Two hundred Galleons."
"Thirty-five Galleons, miss. That's the best we can do."
"One hundred fifty Galleons." Tom didn't blink. "I know you'll make a profit. Come back to the Leaky Cauldron in six days—I'll bring you a full set of Lockhart's autographed books and more photos. I like doing business with you. You've got connections; I've got the goods."
The twins looked at each other, stunned. "One hundred Galleons, miss. That's all we've got—if that doesn't work, you'll have to find someone else."
Tom pushed the photo forward and held out his other hand from under the robe.
"Thank you for your patronage."
"Here's to a long partnership, miss."
Tom nodded. "To a long partnership."
"Though, miss, I've got a suggestion." George scratched his head. "I really do need to go. Could you please leave the bathroom? Next time, maybe pick a slightly more… appropriate meeting spot."
Money in hand, Tom left the pub and melted into the crowd.
A moment later, Fred smacked George on the head. "When you covered my mouth earlier, did you wash your hands first?!"
George just shrugged and didn't answer.