"Heh, surprised?"
Seeing the look of astonishment on Tom's feline face, Dumbledore chuckled softly. There was no trace of irritation over Madam Pomfrey's earlier defiance; if anything, his expression held quiet approval.
"That's simply how Madam Pomfrey is. In her mind, the health and safety of students come above all else."
He folded his hands behind his back and continued calmly.
"If a student's safety were truly at risk, even I—let alone the Minister of Magic—would receive the same treatment."
"Meow."
(So that's how it works.)
Tom nodded in understanding. With his curiosity satisfied, he suddenly remembered the real reason Dumbledore had come. Lifting his head, he fixed the Headmaster with a solemn, penetrating stare that would have unsettled anyone unfamiliar with cats—or Dark Lords.
(So what about my Sorting? Do I get assigned directly? No House at all? Or do I really have to re-enrol next year?)
It wasn't a matter of life and death, but Tom would still prefer to begin school as soon as possible. The earlier he gained access to structured magical education, the sooner he could resolve his biggest problem—his inability to pronounce incantations properly.
At the very least, mastering silent casting early would give him a significant advantage.
'Come to think of it… maybe I should ask Dumbledore for help with that,' Tom mused.
'As for payment…'
He patted the enormous sack strapped across his back.
'Returning his sister should more than cover it. (￣ω￣)'
Unaware of Tom's internal calculations, Dumbledore maintained his gentle smile. Remembering Madam Pomfrey's warning, however, he refrained from teasing the cat further. Instead, he explained that the enrolment issue wasn't a problem and briefly outlined the key matters of the term.
Seeing Tom's increasingly anxious expression, Dumbledore shook his head with a soft laugh.
"Don't worry. I told you already—I'll place you in the House that suits you best."
(Then tell me already! Why are you dragging this out?)
"Very well," Dumbledore said, clearly enjoying himself. "Since you're so eager."
He paused deliberately. Under Tom's increasingly murderous glare, he drawled out his next words with theatrical slowness.
"The Sorting is merely a process. There's no special ritual involved. We simply turn it into a ceremony so young witches and wizards can bond quickly with their Houses."
Tom's ears twitched.
"As for your future House," Dumbledore continued, "once you've fully recovered, I'll conduct your Sorting privately."
(We can do that?)
"Of course," Dumbledore replied, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. "Hogwarts rules are actually quite flexible. As long as you don't blatantly break a regulation right in front of a professor, you'll generally be fine."
There was a brief pause.
'Which is precisely why we keep Filch on staff,' Dumbledore added silently, then winked at Tom.
To the Headmaster, a cat bold enough to eat chocolate was almost certainly Gryffindor material. And given feline instincts in general, he decided it might be wise to clarify things a little further—for the kitten's proper moral development.
(So the rules are basically decorative?)
"Er… absolutely not!" Dumbledore coughed lightly. "If you're caught, you'll still be punished."
Before Tom could press the issue further, Dumbledore rose to his feet.
"Remember what I've told you, and keep the school guidelines in mind. Once you're better, come to the Headmaster's Office for your Sorting. I have other matters to attend to. Goodbye."
Without giving Tom time to respond, Dumbledore turned and strode out of the hospital wing.
'(´-﹏-`;) I still had questions… and I wanted to show him this,' Tom thought irritably.
'Why did he leave in such a hurry?'
With that thought, Tom reached behind him and pulled forward a cloth sack taller than himself. Untying the cord, he tipped it gently, releasing the translucent figure of a young witch.
Unlike ordinary souls, her form was vivid and radiant, her outline sharp and stable. At the moment, however, her cheeks were puffed out like an angry blowfish.
"Tom!" she complained. "Why didn't you let me say hello to Albus?"
"Meow~"
"What did you just say?"
Clearly, Ariana—who had once understood him perfectly—could no longer comprehend feline speech.
Tom stroked his chin thoughtfully.
'Is it because this space is special?' he wondered.
'Or because I was a spirit back then, too?'
Though curious, he decided to shelve the question for now. When faced with an irritated girl, even a cat knew better than to pursue academic inquiry.
Instead, he pulled out a small whiteboard and wrote carefully:
[It's not my fault you didn't meet Dumbledore. He didn't give me the chance! I couldn't exactly drag you out in the middle of the conversation.]
Originally, Tom had intended to introduce her after the serious discussion concluded. Unfortunately, Dumbledore had wrapped things up and left before Tom could say another word.
Ariana frowned, then hesitated.
"Hm… I suppose that's true?"
Stuffed inside the sack though she had been, Ariana had heard everything. She knew her brother had indeed left in a hurry.
Thus, Tom successfully diverted her anger.
"All right," she said brightly. "If it's Albus's fault, I won't blame you~"
She leaned closer, eyes shining with anticipation.
"Tom, hurry up and get better so you can take me to see him!"
[If you're that impatient, I can take you right now.]
Tom made the suggestion casually, though his heart stirred with excitement. Truthfully, he was eager himself—to learn which House awaited him and to finally meet the legendary Sorting Hat.
As for Dumbledore's instruction to wait until he'd recovered… well, this was Tom.
His greatest strength wasn't magic, but his nearly indestructible body and absurd regeneration.
Granted, his resistance to poison was atrocious—half a piece of chocolate had nearly ended him—but aside from that, he healed at a frightening pace.
By the time he'd woken up, he'd been completely fine.
"Really?" Ariana asked uncertainly. "But Albus said—"
She hesitated, torn between her longing to see her brother and her fear of causing harm to one of her few remaining friends.
[I'm fully recovered. No problem at all.]
"Then…" Her eyes lit up. "Shall we go now?"
[Let's go!]
Tom leapt off the bed, grabbed the sheet, twirled it dramatically, and draped it over himself.
[Disguise complete—mission start!]
"Yay!"
Thus, cat and ghost slipped quietly out of the infirmary beneath the cover of a bedsheet.
Tom had awakened late at night, and after their delay, it was nearly midnight. The vast castle lay silent, save for the occasional drifting ghost gliding through stone walls.
'Good thing I'm not that cartoon Tom,' he thought wryly.
'Six years here would finish me off—six seconds would be enough.'
Just as he was congratulating himself—
CRASH! CLATTER!
A thunderous noise erupted overhead.
"MEEEOOOW!!!"
Startled out of his wits, Tom's fur stood on end as he let out a shrill, panicked yowl.
The Cat's Nighttime Adventure had officially begun.
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