Chapter 1 "How did I end up crossing over again?"
July 1991, London.
Tom Riddle swore this was the grimmest place he'd ever seen.
The thick fog cut visibility down to almost nothing—past a hundred yards, you couldn't tell a person from a horse.
Groups of junkies huddled together smoking weed, and while Tom did his best to avoid the secondhand smoke, there was no escaping the fog itself.
"Sir, would you like to buy some flowers?"
The two kids who'd come out with him were holding bunches of wilting hibiscus flowers, standing timidly near a college-aged couple. There was a hint of pleading in their small voices.
These hibiscus blooms had been picked from the orphanage garden. Normally, hibiscus flowered from August onward, peaking in September, and they'd planned to sell them then when they were at their prettiest. But thanks to this cursed fog, if they waited any longer the flowers would die on the bushes.
Tom glanced at the basket. Only a few half-decent blooms were left.
He sighed.
Everybody else who crossed over ended up in some ancient fantasy world
But him? He got stuck in London.
Yep, he was a transmigrator.
In his previous life, Tom had grinded from middle school all the way to a top city high school, then a 985 university, and finally landed a job at a big tech company.
He started as a junior employee and just kept grinding.
And finally... he grinded himself straight into the grave.
When he woke up transmigrated to London in 1991, a system had awakened in his head. Only... the system completely baffled him.
[Name: Tom Riddle]
[Class: Wizard]
[Age: 11]
[Titles: None]
[Close-Combat Fighting Lv.1: 224/300]
[Language Mastery Lv.1: 200/300]
[Animal Affinity Lv.1: 110/300]
He had a panel, and every time he trained or studied, he'd get rated and earn experience points.
What he couldn't wrap his head around was this: he was supposed to be a wizard!
So where was the witchcraft? Where was the magic?
Every time he went out, Tom searched the area high and low, but he'd never spotted a single thing that felt even remotely supernatural.
After a full month of testing, he'd come to a conclusion—this was a completely mundane world.
"Tom!" Seven-year-old Misha tugged at his arm. "We haven't sold a single one."
Her face fell, eyes drooping. "It's such a shame."
She stared at the hibiscus in the basket, voice soft and sad.
There weren't many left, and they weren't exactly vibrant anymore, but every single flower had been picked by their own little hands.
"Shame about what?" Tom picked one up and tucked it behind Misha's ear. "If we can't sell them, we can't sell them. Let's head back and eat. This one's for you—you look like a little angel."
Misha was a girl whose drunk father had abandoned her and her mom. Not long after, her mom ditched her too, saying a "money-losing kid" was ruining her chances of finding a new man and starting over.
When Misha first arrived at the orphanage, she was pretty down. But after Tom talked to her a bit, she cheered up and became his number-one sidekick.
She touched the flower in her hair, and the smile came back to her face.
"Tom, do you know modern British history? You know—wars, economy, all that glory stuff."
Tom shook his head.
Modern British history? He knew zilch.
"Too bad. The little princess of the Middle family is looking for a tutor in modern British history. If you knew that stuff, we wouldn't have to sell flowers. We'd make way more money, and it'd be steady."
She scrunched her mouth. "Though if we actually knew that kind of thing, we probably wouldn't be stuck in an orphanage in the first place."
Tom laughed out loud, patted her shoulder, and told her he'd go fight in underground boxing matches to support them someday.
Evening.
By the time the kids who went out selling got back and ate dinner, it was past eight.
The little ones climbed into bed.
Tom headed to his own room.
Unlike the others who all slept together in one big dorm, Tom had claimed an entire small storage shed.
He trained and studied at night, so this way he wouldn't disturb anyone.
That's right—even after transmigrating, the grind-king instinct in his bones hadn't faded one bit.
Time to grind!
[You completed a training session. Rating: Average. Close-Combat Fighting +3.]
[You completed a training session. Rating: Average. Close-Combat Fighting +3.]
[You completed a training session. Rating: Average. Close-Combat Fighting +3.]
After a few rounds, Tom was drenched in sweat.
Late that night, he took a cold shower and came back. The old watchdog by the gate was already asleep. The whole orphanage was dark except for the faint light coming from his little shed.
He turned off the lamp, closed his eyes, and figured he'd deal with tomorrow when it came.
...
The next morning.
"Hermione—!"
A woman's anxious voice carried a touch of affection.
Tom rolled over, curled on his side, and pulled the blanket over his ears.
The bedding smelled faintly sweet, and the comforter was huge—big enough that he didn't even need to tuck his feet in.
But out of habit, he curled up anyway, back arched, forming a loose "G" shape.
Something sharp poked his back. Thinking it was the wall, he scooted forward.
Something fuzzy tickled his neck.
Tom opened his eyes.
The sweet scent was stronger now.
Where am I?
Sleepiness vanished in an instant. Tom stared around in shock.
Thick books were piled messily by the bed. The pink comforter had a cute cartoon otter embroidered on it.
The fragrance in the blankets reminded him of a young girl's milky scent.
Tom looked down. First thing he saw was a mess of long, curly hair hanging in front of his face.
Then his tiny, slender hands.
These are my hands?
Where are the biceps I worked so hard for?
He reached under his shirt to feel his stomach.
My abs—gone! Back to square one!
And little Tom—where'd he go?
Wait.
I'm a girl now?!
"Hermione, if you don't get up soon we'll miss the plane."
The door opened, and a woman appeared in his line of sight.
She had the same long curly hair, but hers was neatly brushed and tied into a big ponytail at the back of her head.
"Baby... you shouldn't keep books on the bed. Hermione, oh, I know you're excited about the Hogwarts letter—we're thrilled you're going to Hogwarts too.
But before that, you need to get up, wash up, and come with us. Your dad and I finally got time off, and we promised we'd go on this trip together."
As she spoke, she moved the heavy books from the side of the bed to the nightstand. That sharp thing poking his back earlier had been one of the books.
Hogwarts?
Hermione?!!
Did I cross over again?
So now I'm Hermione Granger? The future youngest Minister for Magic?
"Mom... I don't feel so good today." Tom curled up, clutching his stomach under the blanket. "Sorry, I don't think I can go with you guys. Maybe next time."
He'd spent plenty of time stuck in the orphanage—if there was ever a chance to go out and have fun, he'd take it.
But right now, he was terrified of giving himself away.
"Not feeling well?" The woman immediately looked worried. "Do you have a fever?" She pressed her hand to his forehead—no fever. She muttered to herself, wondering why he suddenly felt sick.
She asked several times if he needed them to stay and take him to the hospital, but Tom refused, saying he'd just stayed up too late reading new books.
He apologized again, promising to be more careful next time.
After a bunch of worried instructions, the Grangers hurried out the door to catch their flight.
The tickets were already bought, after all, and leaving Hermione home alone for a day was fine.
Their daughter had no friends and only ever buried herself in boring books—she definitely wouldn't step foot outside. They couldn't waste the tickets.
After washing up and eating, Tom stood in front of the mirror staring at his new self.
No doubt about it—the person in the mirror was Hermione Granger.
His new identity.
Bushy brown hair completely untamed, looking like a curly-haired puppy.
Big brown eyes, and front teeth that stuck out like a grown rabbit's—super noticeable whenever she smiled wide.
She wasn't exactly pretty right now, but if she actually fixed herself up... well, maybe not school-beauty level, but definitely a cute girl next door!
Tom rubbed his forehead and tied the massive mane of hair back.
Is this world the same as my old one?
Hogwarts, magic, wizards...
His eyes lit up.
He went back to the bed and started flipping through the messy pile of books one by one, setting them in front of him.
There was also a long, thin wand.
"Potions and Brews"
"Standard Spells, Beginner Level"
"Dark Magic: A Guide to Self-Defense"
"A Beginner's Guide to Transfiguration"
...
Every single first-year Hogwarts textbook was right here!
The pages were full of folded corners and handwritten notes in tons of places.
Hermione really was a hard worker—she'd already started grinding before school even began.
Well, I'm no slouch either!
Tom opened "Standard Spells, Beginner Level."
First page: the Levitation Charm—Wingardium Leviosa.
The trick was in two parts: the swish and flick of the wand, and clear pronunciation.
Tom silently practiced the incantation twice in his head, then excitedly picked up the wand and pointed it at a white feather tucked between the pages.
"Wingardium Leviosa—"
The feather lifted, wobbled in the air for a few seconds, then drifted back down.
[You performed a spell. Rating: Poor. Levitation Charm +1.]
[Levitation Charm (Unlearned): 1/100.]
...
St. Radia's Orphanage.
"Tom, you're up really late today."
Misha knocked on the door and called from outside.
Normally by this time Tom was already out in the yard training, but today he hadn't gotten up.
"Tom, I'm coming in, okay?"
She called again, turned the handle, and cautiously pushed open the storage shed door.
A dry, hay-like smell wafted out—Tom kept bundles of straw in there for winter firewood.
On the small bed, "Tom Riddle" was staring at his own hands, eyes filled with disbelief.
"Tom, you're awake? Then why didn't you answer me?"
Misha walked closer. Tom was muttering to himself in a low voice.
Words she couldn't understand at all.
"Who cast such an evil dark curse..."
"A guy... how did this happen..."
Misha patted his shoulder. "Tom, are you okay? Do you feel sick?"
"Tom?" Hermione's head snapped up.
Misha had never seen that look of utter shock on Tom's face.
In her mind, Tom was always calm and collected—no matter what happened.