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Tom tossed his wand from one hand to the other, testing the weight in his left, then his right. He resolutely pointed his wand at one of the quills on the library table and cast Wingardium Leviosa on it.
And missed, levitating a book just enough to make it fall off the table with a thump.
He cursed to himself and tried again. And missed again. His left hand came up to pull at his hair.
“Tom, you know you’re not right-handed, right?” Tom most definitely did not let out a small eep as his best friend snuck up behind him. Harry was smiling good-naturedly at him, his hands loosely behind his back.
“No, I’m not right-handed, Harry. I’m ambidextrous ,” Tom’s voice was solid and confident. Because he was. He could cast just fine with both hands, thank you very much… He just couldn't aim as well with his right hand. Harry snorted at him and flopped down in one of the chairs at his table. Tom went back to practicing his aim on his quills as Harry rummaged through his bag. The sound of parchment being rustled and little noises of annoyance from Harry while he looked for something were messing with his concentration.
How in Merlin’s name was he supposed to aim while Harry was making so much noise?
Finally Harry made a noise of triumph and brushed Tom’s practice quills aside and pushed an ink well and some parchment his way. Tom gave him an annoyed look, but Harry just gave him a silly grin.
“Go on,” Harry gave a pointed look to the parchment, “Write something with your right hand, oh ambidextrous one.”
Tom’s face scrunched up, but he took up one of the quills Harry had so rudely brushed aside. With his right hand, which was not lightly shaking, he dipped the quill in the ink.
“What do you want me to write, oh annoying one ?” Tom scowled. Harry hummed a bit and closed his eyes in thought.
“Just ‘I’m ambidextrous’ will do.”
Resolutely, Tom started to write. He got as far as ‘I’m ambi’ before his hand cramped and he dropped the quill. The letters written were wobbly and spaced oddly, none of Tom’s normally pristine handwriting evident in the chicken scratch. It looked worse than Harry’s handwriting.
Harry chuckled at his expense and put a hand on his shoulder.
“Come on, Tom, if we head down to the kitchens now, you can show me how well you eat with your right hand, too.” Tom rolled his eyes, but packed up his things and they both headed down to the kitchens.
Harry had stashed away the paper in his robes and told Tom that he could get it back if he ever actually learned how to use his right hand. It was that moment that Tom swore he’d learn.
But it would be years later, two to be exact, before he proved it in an impromptu duel. When Tom would sever the weak link in his rise to the top.