Like My Mom

As the seven-minute mark hit, Andros retreated into the Study Space, and Tom regained control of his body.

A wave of exhaustion washed over him. He stumbled, bracing himself against the wall, and forced his weary arm to raise his wand; the Transcendental State was still active, and he couldn't afford to waste it.

Recalling the sensation of Andros's spellcasting, he flicked his wand, and a beam of white light struck the first dummy with precision. "Not bad, it really works."

Tom flashed a smug grin and fired off a series of spells. Though he couldn't match Andros, his progress was immense compared to before.

Three minutes later, the Transcendental State ended. Tom collapsed onto the floor, limbs splayed, gasping for air.

The gains were substantial. Even though his magic had bottomed out in the final stretch and the power of his spells had waned, his control had improved drastically. He had only grazed two dummies, hitting all others according to their numbers—a steady performance.

Physical Practice combined with the insights from the Transcendental State was a lethal combination. The progress he'd made in these ten minutes was something others might struggle a lifetime to achieve.

Inside the Study Space, Andros sighed softly. With Tom's "cheat-level" talent—essentially a system-granted boon—he was destined to become a top-tier wizard, unparalleled by anyone.

After resting for half an hour, Tom finally recovered. The dizziness and weakness faded, and his magic began to replenish.

Though still tired, he had no intention of stopping. Compared to physical comfort, his craving for power was carved into his very bones.

Having lived two lifetimes, he knew better than anyone that only by holding absolute power could one truly live well and enjoy life.

In his previous life, power meant money and status, things he had failed to grasp despite his best efforts. Now, power was magic—something that could tangibly protect him.

In that light, the Sorting Hat had been absolutely right to place him in Slytherin.

Tom always stubbornly claimed he practiced magic for self-preservation and comfort, but the ambition buried deep within him could not be hidden.

Ambition, talent, and the half-baked pure-blood connections he had muscled his way into—when it came to the "purity" of Slytherin, no one was more qualified than him.

Whoosh—a red bolt of light cut through the air, precisely bypassing an obstacle to strike the dummy.

Yet, Tom remained unsatisfied. The image of Andros casting spells was still fresh in his mind: for the same spell, the other moved faster and with greater power. If his own power was a 1, Andros's was three or four times that. The gap was stinging.

Tom didn't lose heart, though. He muttered pretentiously, "What's the rush? Life is short, but the path must be walked one step at a time. Spells must be practiced one by one. Trying to become a fat man in one bite is just lacking in style."

First, improve speed; then, stabilize accuracy. Achieving these two things would make him the ceiling among his peers.

Over the next two days, aside from sleeping and eating, Tom spent every waking moment in the Room of Requirement, turning into a training fanatic.

He even intentionally increased the difficulty of the room, replacing the dummies with Knight Puppets wielding unsharpened greatswords that would actively attack him.

As soon as Physical Practice came off cooldown, Tom would immediately activate it, pairing it with Supernatural Mode so as not to waste a second.

This time, he didn't rush Andros, letting him perform freely while he memorized the combat footwork and mobile casting techniques like a petty thief stealing secrets.

Once Physical Practice ended, Andros returned to the Study Space and said with dissatisfaction, "Tom, your physique is too weak, like a Muggle child. Hurry up and gather materials to brew potions to supplement yourself. Otherwise, no matter how fast your magic improves, your body won't be able to keep up and will only hold you back."

Tom lay sprawled on the floor, rolling his eyes. He replied in a lazy tone, "What's the hurry? The most taboo thing when doing big things is being impatient. If you mess up, you won't even know how you died."

He paused, leaving Andros speechless with a retort: "Besides, at my current level, am I even capable of brewing high-level potions?"

"Even if I had the materials, I'd just be staring at them, or worse, wasting them by failing the brew. Do you think I can pull off another 'zero-cost purchase' and steal materials from Diagon Alley?"

Andros choked for a long time, unable to argue. He had been so focused on gathering materials that he'd forgotten Tom had only attended one Potions class; even with his guidance, the odds of a disaster were high.

"Fine, have it your way," Andros said, annoyed. "Pay more attention in Potions next week. You can't learn this stuff just by reading; you have to practice and figure out the nuances yourself."

"Got it." Tom waved his hand and stood up, brushing the dust off his clothes. "I plan to go to the Forbidden Forest to find materials. If I can't find them, I'll buy them. It's better than sitting around waiting for death."

Andros had no objections; he knew Tom had a plan.

Meanwhile, in a luxurious pure-blood manor in Yorkshire, Elise Greengrass—Daphne's mother and the head of the Greengrass Family—was twitching at the corner of her mouth as she held a letter delivered by an owl.

After reading it, Elise was both angry and amused.

The letter started with Daphne acting coy and sweet, saying she missed her, which warmed her heart. But as it went on, it became increasingly outrageous, starting with a sob story about being broke and ending with a demand for five hundred Galleons.

Elise rubbed her temples and sighed: school had only been open for a week, and the pocket money she'd given her was already gone?

She knew the conditions at Hogwarts well, having graduated from there herself; it was impossible to spend that much money. Had this girl turned from a little princess into a gold-devouring beast?

At first, she had worried that Daphne was being bullied at school and needed the money urgently, but the irrepressible joy in the letter, even in the way the words were written, put her mind at ease.

But if she was doing well, why did she need so much money?

As she pondered, a soft voice called from outside the door: "Mother, has sister's letter arrived?"

Elise turned and beckoned. "It's Astoria. Come and see, your sister is crying poor to me, asking for five hundred Galleons right off the bat."

A young girl in a white dress walked in. Her features were exquisite, but her complexion was frighteningly pale.

Her natural blonde hair had turned a dull, silvery white due to her poor health, and the veins were clearly visible on her thin, frail arms, as if a gust of wind could blow her over.

A flicker of pity crossed Elise's eyes, which she quickly suppressed.

Astoria walked to the desk, read the letter, and asked curiously, "Mother, does going to Hogwarts really cost that much money?"

"Of course not." Elise stroked her hair. "Your sister is just spendthrift. She probably took a fancy to some jewelry or clothes again."

As she spoke, she picked up a quill to write a reply. She would give the money, but she had to make Daphne explain herself, or her pocket money for the next term would be in jeopardy.

Astoria blinked, told her mother she was going back to her bedroom, and took a small box from her cabinet containing the one thousand Galleons she had saved.

Her sister needed money, so she would give her her own little treasury; she had no use for it anyway.

On Monday morning of the new week, Daphne received the packages she had been longing for—not one, but two.

One was from her mother, containing five hundred Galleons and a letter urging her to be frugal. The other was from her sister, Astoria, containing one thousand Galleons and a crookedly written note.

It read, "Sister, don't be frugal. If it's not enough, I'll give you more." Daphne's eyes welled up with tears.

As expected, her sister was the cutest little angel in the world!

But at the thought of Astoria's frail, sickly body, Daphne couldn't stop the tears from falling, startling her roommates.