The Biggest Victim of Examination Reform

"After this encounter, what do you think of the child?"

In the headmaster's office, Dumbledore had prepared a chair for Snape, along with a cup of freshly brewed honey water.

Among all the professors, the one with the greatest objections to Tom was likely Snape.

For the sake of healthy teacher-student relationships on campus, as headmaster, he had a duty to mediate such ties.

"That child is quite impressive, just a bit too sharp-tongued," Snape said truthfully.

Then, he roughly described what had happened in class.

As he spoke, he picked up the honey water beside him, but after just a sip, his face stiffened for a moment before he slowly set the cup down.

Most bats didn't care for sweets, especially ones this cloying.

Listening quietly as Snape finished his account, Dumbledore suddenly made a connection.

"Tell me, could Tom be the child from the prophecy?"

According to Sybill Trelawney's prophecy, the one who would truly defeat Voldemort in the future had several traits, the most important being four: born in late July 1980, marked by Voldemort, possessing a power Voldemort knew not, and hailing from a family that had opposed Voldemort three times.

Tom's birthday was very close to Harry's, just a few days earlier, which basically matched the first trait.

Tom's name was identical to Voldemort's; once Voldemort revived, he would inevitably target him, so the second trait was also a match.

As for the third trait... the power within Tom was something even Dumbledore hadn't fully grasped, let alone Voldemort—immense strength, a magical genius, a potions prodigy. Whether he had other hidden talents yet to be revealed remained unknown, but if Tom continued to develop along his current trajectory, he would surely become a talent surpassing Dumbledore, and defeating Voldemort would be a foregone conclusion.

As for the fourth trait... Dumbledore had once visited the place where Tom was born—an orphanage. According to the headmistress there, the woman who gave birth to Tom had arrived alone as a refugee, carrying no identification, and her name remained unknown even after her death.

Looking at the timeline, that period coincided with the height of the wizarding war. Though Voldemort hadn't personally killed many, the Death Eaters under his command had claimed plenty of wizards. The Ministry of Magic still had a backlog of missing wizard cases piling up, unresolved.

Tom might well have come from some unknown wizard family that had repeatedly opposed the Death Eaters.

"Are you listening to me?" Dumbledore looked up.

He had already finished detailing his conjectures, yet Snape seemed frozen in place, as if lost in a daze.

"Oh—right! I think you're correct," Snape replied belatedly, hastily responding.

Voldemort had learned of the prophecy's contents because Snape had overheard it and passed it along in secret. In a way, he bore some responsibility for the deaths of Harry's parents.

Now, with old matters brought up again, he couldn't help but feel dazed.

"In any case, it can't hurt to keep a closer eye on Tom. If he has any needs in the future, try to accommodate them as much as possible."

"I understand."

At 3:15 in the afternoon.

The time for the second afternoon class had arrived.

This lesson was Flying Class.

The classroom was outside Hogwarts Castle, on a wide stretch of lawn near the edge of the Forbidden Forest.

All the students who needed to attend were heading over early, Tom among the crowd.

But around Tom, a number of students had gathered.

"Nice one, Tom! You actually made that sour old bat eat crow!"

"I think you shouldn't go to Slytherin—you should come to Gryffindor."

"I reckon the Sorting Hat's gone senile; you're a brave lion at heart!"

"Right, right..."

Though Tom was a snake, he was now surrounded by lions.

A group of little lions encircled him, cheering for the courage he'd shown in class.

According to the older students, in any of Snape's classes, every house except Slytherin was bound to lose points.

But after Tom's stunt today, Snape seemed rattled, and he hadn't deducted a single point all class.

"Tom, could you teach us some academics? We want to shut that old bat up in class too!"

"Tom, are you free after school today?"

Amid the chatter, a Gryffindor girl squeezed up to Tom.

But before Tom could respond...

"Move aside, move aside, the teacher's coming."

Daphne pushed her way in from outside the crowd, shoving people aside.

One Granger was bad enough, and now another girl?

She felt an inexplicable sense of her favorite toy being fought over by strangers.

"That's right, everyone, stop crowding around Tom. And if you all go after Snape in class and push him too far, what then? No one will get off easy!"

Hermione stepped forward as well, doing her best to disperse the crowd.

But as soon as she said that, a flicker of displeasure inadvertently crossed the faces of some Gryffindor students.

Too unsociable.

It was fine for a Slytherin to speak up for their own, but what did it mean for a Gryffindor to have their elbow pointing outward?

"So I really am hated after all," Tom murmured inwardly.

Hermione's personality had always been quite strong, and coupled with her excellent grades, she had hardly any friends in the original story. Now that Harry and Ron had been lured by him to Slytherin.

She was alone in Gryffindor; it felt like she would have a pretty tough time.

If he wanted to help her, Hermione would probably refuse on the spot out of pride.

Guess it depends on whether she has a solution herself.

As he spoke.

A witch with eagle-like eyes and short gray hair walked over from not far away.

Rolanda Hooch, always the most energetic professor at Hogwarts, but today she looked exhausted, with four big words written all over her face.

[Don't want to work]

Her job used to be very simple—just teaching young witches and wizards how to fly once every Thursday, two houses at a time, so she only had to teach two classes a week, easy as pie.

But since the academy reform, her schedule had been packed, and her weekly workload had directly multiplied by seven times, a full fourteen classes.

Just looking at the dense text on the timetable made her feel utterly drained.

Not only that, but she also had to guide the Quidditch teams on a daily basis; whenever the teams ran into problems they couldn't solve, they came to her.

Day after day, her workload was maxed out.

It could be said that she was the biggest victim of this exam reform.

If it weren't for the fact that her salary had also gone up by a few dozen Galleons, she would have handed in her resignation on the spot.

"Since everyone's here, then all of you go to the training ground's storage room and grab a broomstick each. Remember not to break them—they're expensive."

Madam Hooch's voice was weak and listless, even though she had only taught one class today.

A few minutes later, a simple broomstick appeared by everyone's right foot.

"Alright, quick now. Place your right hand over the broom and say 'Up.'"

"Up!" Tom raised his right hand, and with a single command, the broom on the ground immediately soared into the air and landed in his grasp.

Holding the broom, he carefully felt it.

Tom's first impression wasn't anything else—it was fragility.

A wand was fine; you held it in your hand and could keep an eye on it at all times. But a broom had to be clamped between your legs. If he got too focused on flying and accidentally snapped it in half, what then?

Could he swap this thing for a steel one?

And if it were steel, could he sharpen one end of the broom? Then he could use it as a weapon while flying.

Since it would be a weapon, wouldn't it be better to replace the broom with a heavy greatsword as tall as himself?