Time flew by. By now, Tom had managed to make a lasting impression on every professor except for Madam Hooch.
In an effort to salvage the crumbs of his reputation, Tom actually tried to behave during the afternoon Transfiguration class—or at least, he thought he was behaving.
Yet, to his confusion, the rumors didn't die down after class; they exploded.
All he did was a standard transformation, right?
'At most, I just followed my instincts instead of Professor McGonagall's strict instructions. Why is everyone making a big deal out of it?'
Honestly, he didn't get why changing an object's shape—without even changing its essence—was considered "magic" at all.
[Isn't transfiguration just... instinct?]
Tom asked, holding a matchstick that he'd casually turned into a needle. He looked up to meet Hannah's gaze, which was practically sparkling with curiosity.
Although Professor McGonagall had some critiques about his needle retaining its wood grain, the entire room went dead silent when Tom casually twisted that wooden needle into a fully functional wand capable of casting spells.
McGonagall adjusted her glasses, stayed silent for a long time, and finally, at the end of class, exempted Tom from all Transfiguration homework. Unconditionally.
Tom couldn't fathom why McGonagall's calm reaction would hurt his reputation. In reality, getting the notoriously strict McGonagall to bend the rules was a miracle in itself to the young wizards.
And nobody knew that if McGonagall hadn't already known Tom was "special," she probably wouldn't have been able to keep her cool upon seeing a matchstick turn into a working wand.
But that was a secret kept between them.
---
The following days were deceptively normal. Classes, meals, sleep—everything was mundane, as if the dark cloud Quirrell brought had dissipated.
But everyone knew better. The only reason things felt calm was the heavy course load and the fact that they were waiting for Halloween—the deadline Quirrell had mentioned. The investigation with Hagrid was naturally pushed back.
However, the temptation of the Sorcerer's Stone and the threat Quirrell posed still weighed heavily on their minds, especially Harry's.
Late that night, in the Gryffindor dormitory—
Harry lay in bed. In the darkness, the word "Resurrection" warred with his friends' warnings in his mind.
He desperately wanted to see his parents, but the warning that those who try to bring back the dead meet terrible ends echoed in his ears.
"Harry," Ron whispered from the next bed. "Do you think... if we actually stop Quirrell, maybe we could borrow the Stone from Flamel? Just for a little bit?"
He paused, his voice filled with longing.
"If I could borrow it, I'd be the richest wizard ever! I could pay you back all those Galleons, and I could pay Tom to do my homework for the next seven years! And..."
Listening to Ron ramble, Harry felt a stir in his heart. Yeah, if we stop Quirrell's plot, if we can just borrow the Stone... Mom and Dad...
"We can," Harry whispered back, convincing himself as much as Ron. "We definitely can."
In the dark, the two boys drifted into sleep, holding onto their own hopes.
Harry knew that with friends like Ron, Hermione, and Tom, he wouldn't lose his way.
What he didn't know was that besides his friends, Dumbledore and Snape were also standing behind him, ready to guide him back to the right path.
As for why Snape would help him? Well, today was Friday. That meant the Gryffindor and Slytherin Potions class was coming up!
---
"Tom, are you sure... drinking this is going to change Professor Snape's attitude toward us? This isn't dangerous, is it?"
Harry held the vial of thick, pink liquid Tom had handed him, his gut telling him to run. A strange instinct warned him that if he drank this, he was going to lose something very important.
[Relax, don't you trust me? Drink this, and you'll be safe even if you're staring down You-Know-Who himself.]
Tom waved his paw, wearing a look that said, Trust me, I'm a professional chaos agent. After the Transfiguration fiasco, he had decided to just embrace the chaos.
Since he was going to be labeled a troublemaker no matter what, he might as well have fun with it.
He was a cute cat, after all. People would forgive him for his mistakes because of his cuteness, right?
Well, except Voldemort. But he wasn't human anyway; the guy looked like a walking power outlet.
As for the safety issue, Tom wasn't lying. Sure, Harry might lose a tiny bit of dignity, but he'd gain a Potions Master as a bodyguard. If Harry turned into "Harriet," Snape would probably throw hands with the Dark Lord himself to protect her!
"Alright, if you say so..."
Recalling Tom's impressive feats in class recently, Harry hesitated for a moment, exchanged a glance with Ron, pinched his nose, and downed the weird potion.
It didn't taste bitter as he expected. In fact, it was surprisingly sweet. But before Harry could speak, a burning sensation exploded in his stomach and swept through his entire body.
He felt as if every inch of his skin, every strand of hair, was burning and reshaping.
Instantly, the two young wizards curled up on the floor in pain. Thankfully, they were in the dormitory and not the Great Hall, or Madam Pomfrey would have been charging in by now.
"Harry! Ron! Are they okay?" Hermione looked at Tom in panic as the boys collapsed.
[Chill, chill~]
Tom waved a paw dismissively.
[Look, they aren't potion prodigies. Changing Snape's mind isn't easy. Since we can't change their inner nature, we have to work on the exterior.]
He rubbed his paws together in anticipation, watching the two boys rolling on the floor.
That potion was his special brew—a gender-bender potion laced with his own understanding of Transfiguration magic! Drinking this wouldn't just swap their genders; he wasn't just looking for a female version of Harry and Ron.
"Wait, Merlin's beard... what is happening?!"
Hermione's eyes went wide as she watched the transformation unfolding before her.
The boys' facial features softened, becoming delicate and pretty—even more so than typical children.
Harry's messy black hair began to grow rapidly, shifting color until it became a waterfall of silky, deep red hair. Meanwhile, Ron's trademark Weasley-red hair turned jet black and grew longer as well.
Most importantly—and maybe it was just her imagination—Hermione felt like she could see traces of the old Harry on Ron's new face.