//SYSTEM NOTIFICATION//
> Discovered 'The Room of Requirement'.
> +50 Achievement Points.
The reward was significant, far more than any normal classroom. Tom's achievement point total soared past three hundred.
The room had provided him with a vast training hall filled with dummies of wood, stone, and steel. He began with basic spells, but the power he unleashed was anything but. A simple Blasting Curse didn't just shatter a wooden dummy; it atomized it. This was the effect of [Hero's Vigor] and [Absolute Justice]—his raw power was already far beyond that of a normal first-year.
After he destroyed all the dummies, they magically reassembled and began moving on tracks. The training had adapted. When he cleared the moving targets, they reappeared moving twice as fast, each with a number. He now had to destroy them in sequence, requiring not just power and accuracy, but strategy. The difficulty had spiked from 'easy' to 'hell.'
"Andros," Tom said, "your turn."
He activated 'Physical Practice.'
"Hahaha! The feel of flesh and bone! It's been too long!" a new, booming voice said from Tom's mouth. Andros was in control.
For the next seven minutes, Tom's body became a vessel for a master. Andros moved with a fluid grace Tom had never known, his wand a blur. Spells flew, not in straight lines, but in impossible, beautiful arcs, curving around obstacles to strike their intended targets. It was a masterclass in combat magic. Tom, his own consciousness a passenger, activated his 'Supernatural State' to absorb every detail, every nuance of Andros's movements.
When the seven minutes were up, Tom collapsed, his magical core utterly depleted, his body screaming in protest. But his mind was ablaze with new knowledge.
He spent the rest of the weekend in the Room of Requirement, pushing his exhausted body and refilling magical core to their limits. He added attacking knight-dummys to the simulation, forcing him to learn dodging and casting on the move.
"Your body is too weak, Tom," Andros noted after another session. "Your magical growth is outpacing your physical development. We must acquire those potion ingredients soon."
"Patience, Andros," Tom replied, panting on the floor. "A great undertaking requires careful planning. Rushing now will only lead to mistakes."
While Tom forged himself in the crucible of the Room of Requirement, a letter and a heavy pouch of gold arrived for Daphne. Her mother had sent the five hundred Galleons. A second, even heavier pouch arrived from her younger sister, Astoria, who had sent her entire savings of one thousand Galleons, with a note telling Daphne not to worry about money. The gesture of love from her frail, sickly sister brought tears to Daphne's eyes.
Daphne spent the first days of the new week agonizing over how to give Tom the money without it feeling like charity. Tom, oblivious, continued his campaign of excellence, strategically earning House Points in every class, solidifying his reputation as a prodigy among the professors and a target of resentment among his peers.
On Thursday, the first flying lesson arrived. The entire first year was buzzing with excitement. The lesson, however, quickly devolved into chaos. Neville, in a panic, shot into the air and promptly fell, breaking his wrist. Madam Hooch rushed him to the infirmary, leaving the class unsupervised.
Tom watched with a critical eye. Madam Hooch had done nothing, not even a simple Levitation Charm, to save Neville. It was a shocking display of incompetence.
In the professor's absence, Malfoy snatched Neville's Remembrall. Harry, furious, jumped on his broom. What followed was a spectacular aerial chase. Harry, who had never flown before, moved with an instinctual grace, weaving and diving like a seasoned professional. He caught the Remembrall just inches from the ground.
His triumph was short-lived. Professor McGonagall appeared, her face like a thundercloud, and dragged him away.
The lesson was over. That evening in the Great Hall, Hermione fretted that Harry would be expelled.
"He won't be," Tom said, helping himself to a third serving of steak, which Daphne had already cut for him. "Breaking the rules isn't the problem, Hermione. Losing is the problem. And Harry won."
He was right. A beaming Harry returned moments later, announcing that he hadn't been punished. He had been made the new Gryffindor Seeker, the youngest in a century.
Malfoy, enraged by Harry's luck, confronted him. "You want a real challenge, Potter? A wizard's duel. Midnight. In the Trophy Room."
"He accepts!" Ron shouted, before Harry could even respond.
Later that night, Harry and Ron crept out of the Gryffindor common room, only to be stopped by Hermione.
"I'm going with you," she declared. "Tom was right. Winning is what matters. And you two, with your plan to use your fists, are going to lose."
As they argued, a tearful Neville appeared. He had forgotten the password and was locked out. With no other choice, the group of two became a group of four.
They reached the Trophy Room, but Malfoy wasn't there. It was a trap. Filch and his cat, Mrs. Norris, were closing in. They fled, knocking over a suit of armor and alerting Peeves the Poltergeist, who began shrieking their location.
In the mad dash through the corridors, Hermione, exhausted, tripped and fell. As she braced for impact, a strong arm caught her.
She looked up, her eyes wide with shock. "Tom? What are you doing here?"