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Reparo was one of the most commonly used spells in a wizard's daily life—but ironically, it was also one of the most damaging to society.
Why?
Because nearly every wizard could use it, things lasted way longer than they should. Plates, chairs, wands—passed down through three generations, patched up who knows how many times. People just kept fixing things instead of replacing them.
And if nobody's buying new stuff… how's anyone supposed to make money?
It was a serious problem for the wizarding economy.
Today, Professor Flitwick was teaching the simplest version of the Mending Charm—the kind that could only fix basic, single-material objects. Anything complex or made of multiple materials? Forget it.
And magical artifacts? Definitely out of the question.
Each student got a plain white porcelain plate. Their task? Smash it. Then, by the end of class, hand it back fully repaired.
The sound of breaking plates filled the room.
"..."
Harry stared at Ron in disbelief. "Mate, why'd you smash yours that hard?"
Harry's plate had broken into five or six neat pieces. Ron's?
It was dust.
Ron grinned, completely unbothered. "Hey, when else do you get a legitimate excuse to break stuff? Gotta make it count."
"Ooh man," Ron looked a bit regretful. "Should've jumped and slammed it down harder."
Harry looked at him like he'd grown an extra head. "But the more broken it is, the harder it is to fix! We've gotta give these back to Professor Flitwick by the end of class!"
Ron's smile froze. That realization hit hard—and, unfortunately, Draco Malfoy had been watching from the next row.
Honestly, compared to dealing with Riddle, picking on these two idiots was way more satisfying.
Draco had been laying low lately, not daring to provoke Tom. Instead, he'd been mulling over Lucius's advice: "Pick on the ones who'll fight back but won't kill you. Stick with the strongest side. And always benefit from him."
That last part? Yeah, not exactly something Draco could pull off yet. But the first two? Easy.
He smirked at Ron. "You know, Weasley, if you can't fix that plate, you'll have to pay for it. You sure you can afford it? Or will you have to sell a sibling or two?"
Ron turned bright red. Harry, ever the loyal friend, stepped up and started arguing with Malfoy again, both of them trading insults like it was a sport.
Now this was a fair match—equal strength, equal stubbornness.
...
Meanwhile, Tom had already repaired his plate perfectly.
No extra House points this time, though.
Tom wasn't too bothered. He was thinking about something else entirely: the limits of the Mending Charm.
Take wands, for example. They were arguably the most common magical items in the wizarding world, and with use, they absorbed magic from their users.
According to conventional wisdom, wands couldn't be fixed with magic. Once broken, they were done for. Even if you patched them up with Spellotape or a Mending Charm, the magic core would still be damaged, making the wand unstable.
But Harry had once fixed his wand using the Elder Wand. So what made that possible?
Was it the Mending Charm pushing past its limits… or was it because of the Elder Wand's power?
Tom posed the question to Andros—and got a very unhelpful answer.
"There wasn't a Mending Charm in my time. You asking me? I'd like to know who I'm supposed to ask."
Tom pivoted. "Do you know anything about the Elder Wand? Or the legend of the Deathly Hallows? Were the Peverell brothers even real?"
This time, Andros actually had something useful to say.
Inside the study space, Andros fell into thought, digging into memories from long ago.
"The Peverell brothers? Oh, sure. They lived about a thousand years before my time—not that long ago, relatively speaking. So there were plenty of stories about them."
"All three were powerful wizards. As for whether they were sons of Death? No idea. But they were brothers."
"The eldest was a warrior—loved duels. The second was obsessed with magical artifacts. And the youngest… well, he had the gift of prophecy."
"Then one day, something happened. They had a falling out—big one. After that, all mention of them fades away. Over time, their story twisted into legend, then into a fairytale."
"In my era, they were still treated as historical figures."
"As for the Elder Wand… I did hear the eldest had a ridiculously powerful wand made from elder wood. But you can't exactly call that 'Deathstick' or 'Wand of Destiny'"
"Wands grow with their owners. They get stronger as you do. I even fought a descendant of the youngest brother once. Weak as a wet flobberworm."
Tom listened more intently to this gossip than he did to most of his lessons.
The legend of the three brothers wasn't that different from Andros's own story.
Among Muggles, Andros became known as Hercules.
Among wizards, he was acknowledged to have existed, but most of the facts had long been distorted or lost in whispers.
Well… except for the absurd part about the ten-meter-tall Patronus. That was real.
"Legends," Andros mused, "are the least trustworthy and the most accurate sources you'll ever get."
After his trip down memory lane, Andros said seriously, "Wizards are gods. That line holds true even in your time. Gods may fall, but once in a generation, someone rises above it all."
"And one day, Tom, you'll be part of that myth."
...
That night, Tom showed Hermione the Room of Requirement—and gave her the same no-nonsense training plan he'd used for Daphne.
Everyone starts with the basics. You don't begin learning football or basketball by jumping into complicated tactics and fancy moves. First, you build a feel for the game.
And that's where the difference showed.
Daphne could manage eighty Stunners. Hermione? Only sixty.
That was the difference in their magical power—and, arguably, the difference in their bloodlines.
Many strong wizards came from mixed heritage: Snape, Voldemort, Dumbledore… all half-bloods.
But first-generation Muggle-borns?
There wasn't a single case in history of one becoming a top-tier powerhouse right out of the gate. Maybe there were a few hidden gems, but if so, they were very rare.
Still, when it came to learning speed, Hermione had the edge. She'd never even tried the Stunning Spell (Stupefy) before today, and Tom had her casting it reliably in just half an hour.
Where Hermione really outshone Daphne, though, was willpower.
As long as Tom laid out a plan, Hermione would push herself to the limit. No whining, no drama. Daphne, on the other hand… well, she needed a bit of coaxing. Or bribery. Or emotional handling. Princess treatment, basically.
...
On Saturday, Tom had an idea.
He brought both girls to the Room of Requirement for a joint training session.
Sure enough, given how badly they clashed, Tom didn't even have to say a word—Daphne was immediately competing with Hermione, pushing herself harder than ever. She hit her targets way faster than usual.
It wasn't until the next day that Daphne realized she'd been played—and when she did, she pouted and whined, her tone somewhere between sulky and flirty.
"Tom, I really don't want to study with Granger every day. That girl's a complete maniac," she huffed, finally cutting to the chase. "Can't we just have separate lessons or something?"
"I don't have the time for that."
Tom shook his head. "At most, I can split things up during the week."
"But weekends? That's a full afternoon, and I've got other stuff I need to handle."
Daphne thought about it. He did spend a lot of time brewing potions for her…
"…Fine," she muttered reluctantly.
And so it was settled—Tuesday nights would be for Daphne, Wednesday nights for Hermione, and weekends… all three of them would train together.
With his clingy little princess sorted out, Tom could finally turn his attention back to his own plans.
At eleven that night, he made his way to the kitchens. He ordered a late-night snack, as usual, and took his time eating while he waited for his real targets to appear.
...
Fifteen minutes later, the Weasley twins strolled in.
It was their usual time—Tom had run into them here often enough that no one found it odd anymore.
"I was actually waiting for you two," Tom said, wiping his mouth and getting straight to the point.
Fred and George exchanged grins.
"You were looking for us? That can only mean something interesting's about to happen."
Tom waved it off. "Relax, it's nothing wild. I just want some info—a secret passage out of the castle. That's hardly exciting."
Once it got late, Hogwarts locked up its main entrances. Trying to leave through the front doors was risky. Tom preferred a more discreet route.
"Why?" Fred and George asked in unison.
Tom didn't hide it. "I want to check out the Forbidden Forest. Everyone keeps saying it's off-limits for students, which just makes me more curious."
Curious, sure—but more importantly, Tom was planning to stock up.
Diagon Alley's potion supplies hadn't impressed him much. The Forbidden Forest, on the other hand, was basically a goldmine of rare ingredients. It was foolish to let that kind of resource go to waste.
He had briefly considered befriending Hagrid—the guy seemed decent enough, and if they got along, Tom could probably ask him for ingredients now and then.
But in the end, Tom gave up on that idea.
His identity was too risky.
A Slytherin. Named Tom Riddle. Yeah, even if Hagrid didn't immediately tell Dumbledore, showing up at the gamekeeper's cabin might raise too many red flags.
Fortunately, Fred and George were much easier to work with.
After hearing his plan, they looked at him with newfound respect—kindred spirits, clearly.
"A secret passage?" Fred grinned. "No one knows them better than us."
"Safe, reliable, efficient—gives you that smooth, express-service feel," George added.
"But…"
They both leaned in, grinning like devils. "You'll have to answer a question first. Then we'll tell you where it is and how to open it."
Tom raised an eyebrow. "A question? What kind of question?"
The twins glanced around, then lowered their voices.
"We've noticed something…"
"You've been very popular in Slytherin lately."
"And even got called into Dumbledore's office."
"So—what's the story?"
Tom thought for a second, then replied casually, "Last weekend, Malfoy must've had a rough time with Harry or something, because he tried to boost his reputation by bullying me. Bad idea. I beat him up and left him hanging on the wall overnight."
"Since then… everyone's been acting a lot nicer."
He wasn't lying. He just wasn't telling everything.
"Whoa." x2
The twins said it together, eyes wide. Tom had basically lived out every Gryffindor's fantasy. They had the brains and the means—but not the guts to actually hang a Slytherin on the wall like that.
Especially with Snape still breathing.
Fred and George had managed to stay out of serious trouble all these years because they knew where the line was—and how not to cross it. The only reason something like that worked was because it was Slytherin-on-Slytherin. Snape couldn't play favorites there.
The thought crossed their minds: "What if we transferred to Slytherin…?"
Yeah, no. Even if Snape would take them (he wouldn't), McGonagall would murder them first and send the pieces home to Molly.
"You're something else, Riddle," George said, nodding solemnly. Fred nodded like a bobblehead.
"So," Tom said, unfazed by the praise (or was it teasing?), "can I get that info now?"
He really just wanted to get in, grab what he needed, and get to bed. Growing kids need their sleep—eight hours a night, minimum.
"If it's the Forbidden Forest you're headed for, the hunchbacked witch statue in the West Wing corridor is your best bet," Fred said. "That passage leads straight out to the old barn."
"To open it," George added, "just rotate her hand and point it at her chest."
Tom nodded, committing it to memory. Just as he turned to leave, Fred grabbed his sleeve.
"Don't rush off so fast, Riddle. The Forest isn't as simple as you think. It's not just a bunch of trees—there's a lot going on in there, and it can get dangerous quick."
"Yeah," George agreed. "Last time we wandered in too far, we bumped into something we couldn't even see. Kicked us around like a couple of footballs...."
"If we hadn't made it out of that area, it could've gone really bad."
Tom sat back down and listened attentively as the twins shared their experience.
He paid close attention to where certain magical creatures tended to hang out. That info was gold—because where there were magical creatures, there were likely magical plants. Find the beast, find the herbs. Sometimes, the creature was the ingredient.
Aside from Hagrid, the twins were probably the only students who knew that forest inside and out.
...
Half an hour later, their storytelling finally slowed down.
Tom thanked them, then slipped out of the kitchen. He cast a Disillusionment Charm on himself and made his way to the second floor, stopping in front of the statue of the hunchbacked witch.
Just like they said—he rotated her hand and pointed it at her chest.
Click.
The base of the statue shifted with a mechanical whir, turning to reveal a wide, dark hole in the floor. Lit by flickering torchlight from the wall, Tom descended the staircase.
"Lumos."
His wand lit up, casting a warm white glow ahead.
After ten minutes of walking, he came to a long flight of stairs. At the bottom was a doorway—and beyond that, the barn.
The barn sat right on the edge of the Forbidden Forest. Hagrid's hut was nearby, but the lights were out. He was probably asleep.
Tom rubbed a bit of scentless, colorless mosquito repellent on his arms…
And then dove straight into the darkness of the Forbidden Forest.
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