The very next morning, Tom noticed the difference.
His roommates—Zabini, Rosier, and Nott—rose earlier than him, but they moved like shadows, not daring to breathe too loudly. No taunts, no laughter, not even the creak of a trunk. All three were terrified of waking him again.
For the first time, Tom enjoyed true silence in the dormitory.
---
Charms with Professor Flitwick
After breakfast, Slytherin and Ravenclaw first-years marched together toward the Charms classroom.
Professor Filius Flitwick was already waiting for them. Barely tall enough to see over his desk, with pointed features hinting at his goblin heritage, he looked more like a cheerful toy than a professor.
But Tom knew better. Flitwick had once been a Dueling Champion of Europe. That tiny stature wasn't a weakness—it was an advantage.
"Smaller target, faster reflexes. Probably impossible to hit with a hex," Tom thought with grudging respect.
Flitwick began not with rote memorization, but with a dazzling show. He levitated quills, sent chalk dancing across the board, even turned a pile of textbooks into a miniature orchestra.
The children were spellbound. Laughter bubbled across the classroom. Only when their excitement peaked did Flitwick settle into the foundations:
Proper wand grip.
Standard movements for specific spell types.
The balance between force and finesse.
By the end of class, Tom's system chimed—twenty credits earned. All from knowledge absorption, unfortunately, not from House points. Still, progress was progress.
---
Defense Against the Dark Arts
That afternoon came the class every first-year had been buzzing about: Defense Against the Dark Arts.
Every face gleamed with anticipation. Every face except Tom's.
He knew better. Professor Quirrell was useless. At best, he'd repeat the textbook. At worst, he'd reek of garlic and spout nonsense.
But for Quirrell himself, this lesson meant everything.
Or rather—for the thing inside him.
Voldemort simmered in the back of Quirrell's skull. He didn't care for teaching either. He cared only about watching Harry Potter—the boy who had survived him, the boy who had reduced him to this wraithlike half-life. The boy cursed with the same name Tom.
---
Garlic and Nonsense
Quirrell shuffled in, his turban crooked, the classroom immediately overwhelmed by the stench of garlic.
"G-garlic keeps vampires away," he stammered, twitching. "And this turban? A gift from a Black State prince—for saving him from ghouls."
The class gasped in admiration. Wide-eyed Muggle-borns scribbled notes.
Tom rolled his eyes. "A prince of the Black State? More like a prince of his imagination."
And then, for the first time in this class, Tom raised his hand.
Quirrell froze. Inside his head, Voldemort roared.
The name Riddle! How dare this child remind him of his own wretched origins? Voldemort cursed himself for not having obliterated not just "Tom Riddle" from the world, but his very birth name too.
Quirrell swallowed. "R-Riddle? Y-yes, what is it?"
---
Tom's Question
Tom stood slowly, voice clear.
"Professor, I've read that garlic repels vampires. But this is Hogwarts, and Professor Dumbledore is the greatest wizard of the century. I can't imagine any vampire daring to enter here and persecute you."
Laughter erupted instantly. Even the most clueless Muggle-borns understood the logic.
Dumbledore was a mountain, immovable and unchallengeable.
Quirrell flushed crimson. Voldemort's fury rattled in his skull.
"I-I… am afraid of curses," Quirrell stammered. "R-Riddle, n-never underestimate dark creatures. Vigilance is vital."
Then, desperate to pacify the situation: "Five points to Slytherin. Excellent question."
Tom inclined his head politely. "Thank you, Professor."
Inside, he smirked. "A sheep with endless wool. Points are his bribe money."
---
Utter Disappointment
The rest of the class spiraled into boredom. Quirrell parroted the book, rephrasing paragraphs as if reading aloud. No demonstrations, no insight, just endless droning.
The students slumped, muttering in disappointment. This was not the thrilling defense they had imagined.
---
Harry vs. Malfoy
After class, Tom lingered at the door and spotted Malfoy and Harry at it again—another shouting match, each with loyal followers.
What surprised Tom was that Malfoy no longer even looked at him.
"So that's it. Harry's his obsession now. Perfect. Let them waste energy biting each other."
For Tom, life was calmer this way.
---
Two Witches, One Boy
In the days that followed, Tom's routine solidified:
Hermione dragged him to the library, forcing him into extra study or practice.
Daphne tugged him on long walks, exploring the castle's secrets.
Apart from these two, he had no friends.
Other Slytherins despised his background. Other Houses despised Slytherins. Tom was unique: a boy hated by three Houses at once.
"Half my thanks should go to Snape," he thought grimly.
---
Snape's Magnifying Glass
Within just days, Slytherin's House points surged far ahead of the others.
It wasn't Tom's doing. It was Snape's.
He deducted points from the other Houses with merciless zeal.
Hermione exploded one afternoon after witnessing him dock two points from Ravenclaw girls for walking too quickly.
"He's using a magnifying glass to find faults!" she complained hotly.
Daphne folded her arms, smirking. "Better a magnifying glass than inventing rules out of thin air."
Tom couldn't help but chuckle. Daphne was indeed a true Slytherin—victory mattered more than fairness.
Still, Tom suspected those two Ravenclaws had been caught in Snape's crossfire, because he'd felt the man's glare burning holes into him moments earlier.
---
Natural Enemies
Hermione and Daphne, meanwhile, bickered constantly. Over trivia, over books, over Tom himself. Their voices clashed so often that Tom finally groaned:
"If you two keep quarreling, I'll starve to death before we reach the table."
The witches ignored him, as usual.
Some things, he realized, even magic couldn't solve.
---
Night Tour
That evening, Astronomy class dragged late into the night. By the time the students memorized the positions of a dozen stars through telescopes, everyone was exhausted.
Back in the dormitory, Tom waited until his roommates' snores rattled the stone ceiling. Then he moved.
One by one, he whispered Stunning Spells over their beds.
Then he layered a Disillusionment Charm on himself, blending into the shadows.
For the first time, Tom stepped out on a night tour of Hogwarts.
The castle loomed around him—silent, secretive, alive.
And in Tom's eyes, the adventure was only beginning.
---