Coreal
patreon
[Hogwarts] Ch 66: A Clash in Charms Class
🕑 Added 2025-06-24 16:20:56 +0000 UTC— — — — — —
The day before Halloween, the Great Hall was filled with the warm, rich smell of roasted pumpkin from early morning. As Tom walked in, he caught sight of Hagrid dragging in one of his enormous home-grown pumpkins.
Hagrid paused when he noticed Tom watching him. He froze for a second, then gave a slightly awkward but friendly smile and nodded before quickly hurrying off.
Tom shook his head, a little amused.
"Voldemort really did a number on this name," he thought. "One man ruins it for everyone."
Here he was—a model student with perfect behavior—yet still treated with suspicion, just because he shared a name with a certain Dark Lord.
"What are you staring at, Tom?"
Daphne cocked her head curiously, noticing him suddenly zoning out, eyes still lingering in the direction Hagrid had gone.
"Wait, don't tell me… you're craving pumpkin? You'll have plenty of chances today, you know."
Tom shook his head with a smile. "Not really a fan. Too sweet. Well, pumpkin soup is okay, I guess."
"I was just looking at Hagrid. That moleskin overcoat of his—made from mole pelts. You know how many moles you'd have to skin for something that big?"
Daphne didn't really care about mole fur. But she did quietly note down the fact that Tom didn't like pumpkin.
She already had a mental list of his favorite foods—he seemed to love meat, especially beef and chicken. Whenever those were on the table, he'd help himself to extra servings.
The little witch had been secretly collecting all kinds of details about Tom's habits. Honestly, she might know him better than he knew himself.
"That way," she thought smugly, "I'll know exactly how to take care of him… until he can't live without me. Hehe."
After breakfast, the Gryffindor and Slytherin students headed to Charms class.
Charms had quickly become everyone's favorite subject.
Let's be real—Snape didn't count. Even the Slytherins were scared of him. Transfiguration was interesting but tough, and Professor McGonagall didn't go easy on anyone.
Herbology? You ended up covered in dirt. Less wizard, more farmer.
Charms, on the other hand, was actually fun. Professor Flitwick was witty, patient, and generous with hands-on practice. Plus, they always got to learn new spells.
And Defense Against the Dark Arts?
Please. Don't even bring it up. The professor might as well be a cardboard cutout.
Quirrell had officially become a disappointment. Most students treated the class like a free period, and the upper years were already placing bets on how he'd lose his job.
Most thought he'd either get fired for being completely useless or disappear under "mysterious circumstances."
No one—even remotely—suspected Quirrell of being a villain or doing anything illegal.
Which, honestly, meant his disguise was working pretty well.
...
Back to Charms class. Today was the exciting day.
Professor Flitwick had barely stepped onto his podium when he announced: "I think you're ready to try levitating objects."
The class lit up like Christmas morning.
He made Neville's toad, Trevor, float and spin through the air like it was nothing. Everyone was practically bouncing in their seats, eager to try.
Then, he started pairing students up.
Flitwick was probably the only professor who didn't divide students by House.
Oddly enough, Hermione was paired with Daphne, and Tom ended up with Neville Longbottom.
Maybe... he wanted Tom to help Neville along?
"H-Hey, Mr. Riddle," Neville mumbled nervously. He was clearly intimidated—he was the class underdog, and Tom was the top of the class.
But deep down, Neville admired Tom too. Not just for his grades, but because Tom somehow wasn't afraid of Snape. Meanwhile, Neville couldn't even look at Snape without his knees going weak.
Tom gave him a friendly nod and turned his attention to the lesson.
"Remember your wrist movement from last time!" Flitwick chirped. "It's all in the swish and flick. Too hard or too soft, and your spell won't work."
"Swish. Flick. Pause."
"Keep it rhythmic. Oh, and speak clearly! Don't be like the wizard Baruffio—he said 'F' instead of 'S' and ended up on the floor with a buffalo standing on his chest!"
He paused as a ripple of laughter went through the room... and then immediately realized his mistake.
He'd just handed the class a challenge.
Kids are like that. Tell them not to do something, and they'll do it immediately.
Flitwick quickly followed up with a vivid description of how poor Baruffio got half his ribs crushed, barely escaped death, and had to spend two weeks in St. Mungo's.
That got their attention. Everyone looked a little more serious.
After slowing down and demonstrating the spell two more times, Flitwick finally let them try it out.
"Wingardium Leviosa!"
Tom was lightning-fast. Before most students had even finished saying the spell, the feather in front of him was already floating gently into the air, dancing like it was performing a little tango.
"Excellent Levitation Charm! Slytherin, two points!" Flitwick beamed.
Hermione gave Tom a sharp glare and huffed, then immediately cast her own spell with near-perfect execution.
Flitwick wasn't even surprised anymore. Tom's success came too easily—it was obvious he'd already mastered the spell before class.
Still, that didn't stop him from handing out praise.
Students progressing faster than the class was a good thing, especially if they'd put in the effort. And Tom had definitely worked for it.
Though, lately, Flitwick had started reducing the points he gave him—from ten to five, now sometimes just one or two.
He didn't have a choice. If he kept rewarding Tom like before, Slytherin would win the House Cup by Christmas.
Funny enough, Hermione was the real threat to Tom's point collection. They competed every time—first come, first served.
Tom could probably talk her into easing up, but he never tried.
If he needed someone to go easy on him over something this small, he might as well give up.
His grades came from real knowledge, not some petty class competition.
After Tom's feather floated up, Hermione and Daphne followed close behind, both casting the spell flawlessly.
They'd clearly practiced before.
Meanwhile, the rest of the class was struggling. Some kids looked downright frustrated. They watched Flitwick's demo, they understood the instructions—so why wasn't it working?
Harry and Seamus tried swishing and flicking their wands exactly like they were told, but their feathers didn't budge.
Seamus, clearly annoyed, swung his wand a bit too hard—boom!
The feather exploded into flames, vanishing in a flash and leaving Seamus with a face full of soot.
Flitwick groaned and pinched the bridge of his nose.
"Why does every spell Seamus casts turn into an explosion?"
Since the start of the term, the boy had destroyed more classroom supplies than Flitwick could count. He'd even nearly set the professor's eyebrows on fire last week.
Not even Tom could figure it out.
He'd opened his study space several times during class, inviting Andros to analyze Seamus's wand movements.
Andros had been just as baffled.
"How do you mess up a basic charm so badly it explodes?" he'd muttered.
...
"It moved! It moved!" Ron shouted excitedly.
Flitwick glanced over—then quickly shut the window.
"Mr. Weasley, that was the wind," he said flatly. "Not your charm."
The whole class burst into laughter. Ron turned red as a tomato.
"Your turn, Neville," Tom said, noticing the boy hadn't made a move yet. "Give it a shot. If you mess up, I'll help you figure it out."
"O-Okay," Neville nodded, gripping his wand tightly.
His hands were shaking a bit.
But with Tom's steady gaze encouraging him… maybe this time, things would be different.
He nervously raised his wand and recited the spell—but nothing happened.
"..."
Tom shook his head with a sigh. "Your pronunciation was fine, but you missed the pause."
He demonstrated slowly: "wing-GAR.... dee-um leh-vee OH-sa!"
"The pause has to be noticeable," Tom explained, calm and precise. "Don't rush it. Also, the last word needs to rise in tone—build it up like a crescendo."
Neville nodded. He understood it in theory… but actually doing it was another story.
Tom switched tactics. "Try singing it like a line in a song."
That surprisingly worked better. The feather twitched—just a little—but didn't quite rise.
Still, Neville looked thrilled.
Tom, on the other hand, frowned. "Neville, where'd you get that wand?"
Neville hesitated, looking a little downcast. "It was my dad's. Granny wanted me to be like him, so she insisted I use his wand."
"Yeah… that explains a lot," Tom muttered.
He'd noticed earlier that Neville's wand trembled slightly in his grip, like it was resisting him. That could definitely mess with spellcasting.
"You really should get a new one," Tom said bluntly. "You already have a tough time remembering spells, and this wand clearly doesn't match you. Honestly, your granny's doing more harm than good."
"Becoming a great wizard doesn't come from using sentimental hand-me-downs. It comes from actual skill."
Tom didn't get it—Neville's family wasn't poor. Buying a new wand wouldn't even be a big deal. Putting all that pressure and hope into an old wand? It was nonsense.
"Did she really think using his dad's wand would magically make Neville become some top-tier Auror overnight? That's not how anything works."
Still, Tom didn't push too hard. It was Neville's choice in the end. He just said his piece—whether Neville listened or not was up to him.
Neville kept his head down, lost in thought.
Across the room, Hermione and Ron suddenly got into it.
Ron was waving his wand like he was trying to swat a fly or crank a windmill.
"Wingardium Leviosa!" "Wingardium Leviosa!" "Wingardium Leviosa!"
He repeated it several times, and the feather still refused to budge.
Hermione, sitting just one table away, couldn't take it anymore. "Your wand movement's all wrong," she snapped. "And your pronunciation? Completely flat. No emotion at all. Of course it's not going to work."
Then she demonstrated it perfectly, calm and focused.
"Oh, brilliant," Ron muttered bitterly, shooting her a glare before turning away and angrily trying again.
By the end of class, he was clearly frustrated and on the verge of giving up.
"No wonder nobody can stand her," Ron muttered—not loudly, but definitely loud enough to be heard. "I bet she doesn't have any friends."
Hermione's face went pale.
Before anyone could react, Daphne's brow furrowed, and she turned toward Ron with cold eyes.
"Weasley," she said icily, "is it common in your household to insult people behind their backs?"
"No—wait," she added after a pause, "you did it to her face. That's even worse."
"I can't believe someone like you came from a pure-blood family."
Hermione stared at Daphne, stunned. She hadn't expected her to stand up for her—at all.
"What's it to you?!" Ron snapped, face red and voice rising. "I don't need to be judged by some Slytherin!"
Daphne's expression only grew more dismissive, her tone full of disdain—the kind that reminded Harry exactly of how Malfoy usually looked at Ron.
But somehow, it hit harder coming from Daphne. Maybe because he wasn't used to seeing this side of her. Normally, she was sweet and docile whenever she was with Tom.
"What kind of person you are isn't my business," she said coolly. "But when you insult my friend, it becomes my business."
"What, can't handle the truth?"
"Tom was right about you…" she added with a smirk. "You're a hypocrite."
"Rude, petty, no talent to speak of… and compared to your brothers? Not even close."
Boom.
Ron looked like he'd been hit by a Bludger.
That really stung.
He hated being compared to his brothers—every time, it made him feel even more useless. Like he wasn't a real Weasley, just someone the family picked up on the side.
Bill, Head Boy.
Charlie, Quidditch Captain and Head Boy.
Percy, Prefect and a likely future Head Boy too.
Even the twins had a kind of chaotic popularity—people actually listened to them more than Percy.
And him? What was he?
Just a mess-up trying to play catch-up.
Right then, the bell rang. Ron grabbed his books and bolted out of the classroom without even looking back, ignoring Harry's attempts to stop him.
Outside the classroom, Hermione caught up with Daphne. After a pause, she quietly said, "Thank you."
"For what?"
Daphne didn't even look at her. She moved past the crowd, clearly heading off to find Tom. "I wasn't defending you, I just can't stand watching Weasley project his jealousy onto others. It's pathetic."
Hermione frowned. "Still, you stood up for me. That counts."
"It was convenient," Daphne said with a shrug. "Don't read too much into it."
"…So when you said I was your friend, you were just saying that to throw it in his face?"
Hermione looked up at her, a little nervous.
"Well…" Daphne hesitated, then muttered, "For Tom's sake… I guess you can barely count as my friend."
Hermione couldn't help it—her mood lifted instantly.
By the time the two of them caught up with Tom at the back exit, she was still smiling.
Tom raised an eyebrow. "What's with the sudden sisterly bonding?"
Usually when those two walked together, he had to be in the middle like a human buffer. Now? They were practically walking arm-in-arm.
"Tom, you won't believe—"
Before Hermione could finish, Daphne had already bounced up to Tom like an excited puppy, ready to report what happened.
Tom's brows furrowed slightly.
"Even with me in this timeline, Hermione and Ron still ended up arguing like in the original. Figures. That butterfly effect only goes so far..."
He glanced at Hermione.
Her cheeks were flushed, but she didn't look upset. No red eyes. No storming off to cry in the bathroom. In fact, she looked... fine.
All thanks to Daphne, apparently.
"Well done, Daphne," Tom said with a rare, approving smile as he ruffled her hair.
Daphne practically glowed with pride. Her eyes lit up like Christmas lights.
.
.
.
