"I didn't prepare any of that sentimental rubbish!"
"Really, Professor?" Tom didn't hold back as he called Snape's bluff. "What's that thing you're hiding behind your back? I can smell a hint of jasmine coming from your office, mixed with a faint whiff of herbs.
"You know I've got a sharp nose for scents."
Come on, Professor Snape, drop the tsundere act already!
Snape tossed the package at Tom like he was chucking out trash, then gave a cold huff before stalking off.
It was obvious he'd been waiting there specifically for Tom.
Somehow, Professor Snape had known he'd show up.
After saying goodbye to Snape, Tom moved on to his next stop.
Professor Dumbledore.
The old man was a night owl too—still wide awake this late. Tom handed over the gift and got one in return.
Professor Sprout was already asleep, but there was a stocking hanging in the greenhouse.
Looked like Sprout still had a bit of childlike wonder left. Even at her age, she believed Santa might drop by. So Tom played the part, stuffing the gift into the stocking.
With all the other presents delivered, Tom had one left.
Hermione Granger—that little crybaby deserved a cozy, envy-worthy Christmas too.
But… how exactly was he supposed to get into the girls' dormitory?
Tom cast a Disillusionment Charm and paced back and forth in the dark outside the Gryffindor girls' dorms.
Hmm… this was tricky.
Almost like perfect timing, the door cracked open just a sliver.
Hermione peeked out, sneaking around like a kid up to no good.
"All clear." She let out a relieved breath and hurried away from the "danger zone."
Spotting the gift box in her hands, Tom's lips curved into a small grin.
He cleared his throat and put on Snape's icy drawl. "Miss Granger, perhaps you'd care to explain why you're wandering the corridors instead of sleeping?"
"I'm sorry, Professor Snape!" Hermione spun around like a startled rabbit, apologizing on reflex.
But when she actually saw who it was, her cheeks puffed up bright red.
"Tom!"
"Hey, good evening." Tom raised a hand in greeting.
"It's not good!"
"Is that gift box for me? Thanks."
Hermione yanked her hands behind her back, keeping him at arm's length. "Conceited much? Who said it was for you? It's for someone else!"
"Who's the lucky someone?" Tom pressed, grinning.
"None of your business who I'm giving it to. It's definitely not you." Hermione huffed. "So where were you all day? Do you have any idea how long I looked for you? A whole day!
"I asked tons of people. Professors Snape and Dumbledore definitely know something, but they wouldn't tell me!"
Tom gave his usual breezy answer. "Saving the world."
"Oh? Our Tom must be pretty important—busy enough to save the world. So who exactly did you save?"
Tom didn't answer directly. Instead, he pulled out the gift he'd prepared. "Merry Christmas. Sweet dreams tonight. And when you head home tomorrow for the month-long break, try not to miss me too much."
"Conceited! Shameless! I won't!"
Tom placed the box in her hands, gave a casual wave, and walked off.
As he left, he counted down silently.
3… 2… 1.
"Tom."
Right on cue.
He turned back with a huge smile.
"Christmas is almost over, and the person I meant to give this to is probably asleep. So I guess I'll have to settle for you."
Tom accepted it with both hands, mock-reverent. "Thank you, Lady Hermione. I'll treasure it forever. I'll even bow to it twice before bed every night for good luck tomorrow."
"Smooth talker!"
Hermione headed back to the dorms, and Tom retraced his steps.
Lying in bed, Hermione thought back over the day.
A lot had happened, that's for sure.
…
Flash back to midnight on Christmas Eve.
Tom finally got his body back.
He was looking forward to a solid night's sleep before the ball tomorrow.
But a dark figure appeared beside his bed.
Severus Snape.
Snape glanced at him and gave a slight nod. "Come with me."
Outside the dorm, Snape handed Tom a letter.
"An owl delivered this to me. It was really meant for you—at least, she wants you to handle it.
"Albus and I will back you up, but if you can't sort it out, we'll step in. Albus will join us later; he's at the Ministry right now."
The Ministry?
Why was that place involved?
Tom was baffled. He opened the envelope Snape had given him.
The sender was a familiar name.
Misha.
Misha wrote to Professor Snape?
She'd finally learned to write…
Hang on.
An owl delivered it to Snape?
Where would Misha get an owl?
Tom scanned the letter quickly, his expression darkening with every line.
He pocketed it and asked, "How is she doing right now?"
"No one knows," Snape replied. "I checked on her earlier. It's not good. What's your plan?"
Tom sighed. "I'll know once I get there. Professor, can you get me over there?"
"The train's running. You'll have to take that—I can't Apparate you."
Snape wanted to, especially since the situation sounded dire.
But Dumbledore had forbidden it.
"Bottom line: if you can't handle this, we probably can't either. And you know what'll happen to Misha then."
"Azkaban."
Snape nodded.
Tom left the school. Surprisingly, the Hogwarts Express was still running—even at this hour.
It felt like the whole train had been kept going just for him.
After a long ride, Tom arrived at St. Lydia's Orphanage.
The entrance looked creepy in the dead of night—understandable.
The lights flickered with an unsettling glow.
London was its usual foggy self.
Tom stepped inside.
At this hour, the kids should all be asleep, but the storage room he'd once lived in still had a kerosene lamp burning.
"Creak—" Tom pushed the door open. The rusty chain on the decayed wooden door groaned.
Misha—and the dark shadow beside her—both snapped their heads up at the same time.
So this was the dark magic Snape had mentioned?
"Tom… Tom? How are you here? School hasn't broken up yet… No, don't look at her! She's just… just… my shadow."
The shadow gave Tom a cold glance.
"Tom Riddle. I've been waiting for you."
It puffed up its small, proud chest, eyes fierce enough to devour him whole.