Snape's summons weighed on most Slytherins like a death sentence. But for Tom? It was nothing. He ate lunch peacefully, returned to the dormitory for a short nap, and only afterward strolled leisurely to the greenhouse for Herbology.
---
Professor Sprout's Lesson
Professor Sprout, the head of Hufflepuff House, was a cheerful, plump witch with soil-stained gloves and an infectious smile. Unlike Snape's perpetual scowl, her warmth put the students at ease immediately.
She lined them up outside Greenhouse No. 1 and warned kindly:
"Stay in line, and do not touch any herbs unless instructed. Many of them are fragile, and some can bite back."
The first-years were not allowed near the dangerous magical plants yet. Most of the greenhouse contained mushrooms, puffballs, and simple herbs—harmless and docile. Their task this year was simple: learn the names, properties, and how to cultivate them.
Tom answered question after question correctly. "Five points to Slytherin!" Sprout announced.
He smiled faintly. Compared to Snape's constant favoritism for his House, Sprout felt genuinely fair—willing to reward anyone who deserved it, regardless of House. In fact, all three other Heads of House were like this.
"Fair, just, encouraging… if only all professors were like this," Tom thought. "Then there's Snape… old cough cough."
Still, as Snape was his Head of House, Tom reminded himself to at least pretend some respect.
---
Daphne's Warning
After class, Daphne caught Tom in the corridor. Her face was anxious.
"Tom, please don't talk back to Professor Snape. I asked the upper years—he's harsh but tolerates students if they admit fault sincerely."
Tom gave her a reassuring smile. "I understand, Daphne. Thank you."
Of course, understanding and obeying were two different things. Tom wasn't about to waste her kindness with blunt words, but inside, he had no intention of groveling.
---
Entering the Snake's Den
Boom, boom, boom.
Tom knocked on the dungeon door.
"Come in!"
He pushed it open.
Snape's office was exactly what one might expect: dark, suffocating, and filled with the smell of potions. Green candlelight cast eerie shadows across shelves of bottled horrors—pickled lizards, floating animal organs, herbs suspended in murky liquids.
Snape sat behind his desk, reading a magazine, deliberately ignoring Tom.
Tom's lips twitched. He looked around, spotted an empty bottle on the floor, and casually transfigured it into a comfortable single sofa. Without asking permission, he placed it opposite Snape, sat down, and leaned back with eyes half-closed—as if this were his living room.
The sound of a page turning froze. A vein bulged on Snape's forehead.
Bang!
The magazine slammed shut. Snape's voice cracked like a whip.
"Riddle, did I ask you to sit down?"
Tom opened one eye, feigning innocence.
"Professor, is it illegal to sit while talking to you?"
---
The Verbal Duel
Snape's nostrils flared. "Sharp-tongued brat!"
His words came out in a hiss. "This is my office. You dare use magic here without permission? So eager to flaunt your pitiful talent?"
His face, already severe, twisted into something almost monstrous. Most first-years would have quaked.
But not Tom.
He knew the truth—Snape could snarl, threaten, and glare, but Hogwarts had rules. Dumbledore still lived, and the great White Wizard would never allow professors to truly harm students.
Tom smirked. "Professor, you're amusing. I knew you were busy reading something important. Otherwise, would the great Dean of Slytherin forget even basic etiquette—like offering a chair to his student?"
He spread his hands innocently.
"For the sake of our House's reputation, I had to take the initiative. Surely you can understand?"
Snape's fists clenched beneath his sleeves.
"This… child!"
In all his years as Head of House, no one had dared ridicule him to his face. He longed to slash Tom's smirk away—but he had no retort. The boy had caught him off guard, and worse, his reasoning wasn't entirely wrong.
Snape seethed silently, making a mental note: This one, I will not forget.
---
The Accusation
He leaned forward, voice low and venomous.
"You should know why you're here."
Tom tilted his head. "I don't, Professor. Please enlighten me."
"You beat Zabini, Rosier, and Nott yesterday," Snape said coldly. "On your first day, you assaulted your roommates. Do you have any respect for me as your Head of House?"
Tom sighed, wearing the look of a weary victim.
"Professor, I was forced. Those purebloods wanted me to be their servant. They mocked me as a Muggle-born orphan. And this morning…" He paused, letting the words hang. "I even heard them muttering about mudbloods."
Snape stiffened.
Tom leaned forward, eyes wide and sincere.
"I didn't even know what that word meant until Miss Greengrass explained it. But put yourself in my place, Professor—if someone called you a mudblood, wouldn't you not only beat them, but hate them for life?"
---
The Knife in the Heart
The words hit Snape like a curse. His breath caught, blood rushed to his head, and his face flushed crimson. For a terrifying moment, he nearly choked on his own anger.
He pointed at Tom with a trembling hand.
"You… you…"
The wound was too raw. His own life's greatest humiliation—his own unforgivable word—thrown in his face by an eleven-year-old.
Tom blinked in mock surprise. "Really? So you do feel the same?"
His tone was soft but merciless:
"Anyone who calls another 'mudblood' should be cut to pieces. Such people don't deserve friends or lovers. They should die alone. I was merciful. I only beat them."
He spread his hands. "After all, they're my roommates. I don't want things to be too awkward."
---
Snape Explodes
"Riddle!"
Snape roared, eyes bloodshot. His chest heaved as he fought for breath.
Tom, unbothered, raised his hands and mimed zipping his mouth shut.
Snape gasped, struggling to calm himself, his body trembling with barely contained rage. It took minutes before he could speak again, and when he did, his voice shook like a drawn blade.
"I don't know where you get these twisted theories. But assaulting classmates is against the rules. I should deduct House points…"
He stopped. His jaw clenched.
Because that was the cruel irony.
If he deducted points from Tom, he'd be punishing Slytherin itself. His own House. His own reputation.
Snape froze, realizing the trap.
"Damn it. This boy cannot be allowed to grow."
---