On the surface, Hogwarts was calm and peaceful, but underneath, everyone was scheming in their own little ways.
Professor Snape stalked down the corridor, and students scattered the moment they spotted him. Some—mostly Gryffindors—even took long detours to avoid walking past him.
Snape couldn't care less about those idiots. In fact, he almost wished one or two would start something so he could dock house points.
No particular reason… except he was just plain irritated.
He needed to blow off some steam.
And for Snape, the best way to do that was to catch some foolish Gryffindor in the act and slam them with a hefty deduction.
As for why he was so irritable…
Well, it wasn't exactly common knowledge.
There was a mysterious figure in a black cloak running around again.
Ten years ago, that person had committed atrocities on a massive scale… and died.
But now he was back.
Real name: Tom Marvolo Riddle.
Not the charming Ravenclaw kid everyone liked—no, this was the former Slytherin prefect, the most terrifying dark wizard of all time: Voldemort.
Snape was worried that noseless, brainless lunatic would sneak into the castle and… take out Tom.
So he wanted to teach the kid a few defensive spells.
Like Sectumsempra —the Severing Charm.
Absolutely not because he'd taken a liking to Tom or admired the talented young wizard.
Purely because Hogwarts couldn't afford to lose such a prodigy. If that genius got himself killed, it'd be a tragedy for the school.
The problem was… Snape didn't really want to bring it up himself. (Pride's a tricky thing.)
That arrogant little brat was always scheming—why hadn't he come to me yet?
Self-important fool.
"Good afternoon, Professor Snape. Lovely sunshine today, isn't it?"
Snape glanced up. Hermione stood in front of him, beaming brightly.
"Perhaps," he drawled, "but the moment I saw you, the weather stopped feeling quite so pleasant."
Ouch. Cold shoulder achieved.
Hermione shrugged it off. "All right, then. I won't keep you. It's getting chilly—stay warm." She gave a solemn little bow and walked past.
"Tom!"
She froze, then turned around.
"You stupid little—" Snape snarled. "Don't show your face around me!"
In the past, whenever he acted like this, Tom always knew he was upset and would come find him that night.
Fine. I'll figure out another way to teach him Sectumsempra later.
But Hermione didn't speak Tom-Snape-ese. She just figured the professor was in an extra foul mood today.
Better leave fast.
She hurried off.
A little while later, curiosity struck her again.
What were Tom and Professor McGonagall up to?
…
6:45 p.m.
Tom was always punctual—fifteen minutes early for anyone, thirty or even an hour if it was Snape.
"G-Granger, y-you're here." Professor Quirrell's stutter hadn't improved one bit.
His ratty turban looked even thicker than usual.
"V-very g-glad to s-see you." Quirrell smiled, trying hard to speak faster. "B-before we s-start on Occlumency, p-perhaps you should l-learn a b-bit about the m-magic itself."
Quirrell was surprisingly patient. He explained Occlumency and Legilimency in such simple terms that even a troll could've followed.
Hidden in the bag, Professor McGonagall (in cat Animagus form) nodded approvingly. She couldn't spot anything suspicious.
He genuinely seemed to want to teach the boy Occlumency.
Maybe the kid was just being overly paranoid…
But Tom knew better. As an advanced Occlumens himself, he recognized the goldmine of tips Quirrell was dropping—stuff he'd only learned after being called "idiot" and "troll" by Snape a dozen times.
Half an hour later, Quirrell closed the book. "D-did I e-explain it c-clearly?"
"P-perhaps the p-process is a b-bit c-complicated, b-but we c-can t-try it out."
Tom and McGonagall both perked up.
Following McGonagall's instructions, Tom only used beginner-level Occlumency—about Level 1. Even McGonagall could break through that easily, so Quirrell definitely could.
But…
For the first time, Tom had miscalculated.
Quirrell really did seem to just want to teach him.
"Y-yes, j-just like th-that…" Quirrell waved his hands excitedly. "Granger, y-you're a v-very t-talented young w-wizard."
"L-let's k-keep going."
…
"Your m-mind is t-too cluttered—y-your thoughts aren't p-pure enough."
…
"E-excellent. W-we'll c-continue n-next time."
Over two hours passed. Winter nights in England came early, and the grounds were nearly deserted by the time they finished.
Well… almost deserted.
A few young couples were still wandering around, cuddling on benches and being disgustingly cute.
Someone muttered under their breath, "Why don't they go sit under the Whomping Willow instead?"
It was past nine when Quirrell finally let Tom go and told him to get some rest.
Tom said goodbye and left the room. Once outside, McGonagall hopped out of the bag.
"You're too suspicious, child. That sort of thing isn't going to happen."
"Maybe… sorry for wasting your whole day, Professor."
The white cat smiled faintly. "It's no trouble at all. I'm glad you're so vigilant. Good night, dear."
"Good night, Professor McGonagall."
Tom waved as she padded away.
…
A few calm days passed.
Then someone finally cracked.
It was the afternoon. Tom was enjoying a glorious nap when an owl rudely interrupted.
"Lavender, your owl's disturbing our beauty sleep again! Go see what your dear mum sent you!"
From the other side of the dorm, a girl with even curlier blonde hair than Hermione's sat up, rubbing her eyes. "Her—mi—o—ne—"
"Damn it, this is your Mirolla—your bestie Tom Riddle sent you a letter. Want me to read it aloud for you?"
"No thanks. You're the best friend ever, Lavender." Tom rolled out of bed, gave her a quick hug, and snatched the letter from Mirolla's leg.
Let's see what little Hermione has to say.
[You absolute idiot:
I! AM! LOSING! IT!
Has Snape gone completely insane? He's picking on me every single day, and—get this—he actually docked Ravenclaw points because of me yesterday. I even got detention and spent an hour polishing vases in his office!
What did you DO to him? Save me. I can't keep this up—I'm going to lose my mind!
As soon as you get this, come to the first-floor girls' bathroom outside Gryffindor Tower. I'm begging you—hurry!
Your sincerely insane friend,
Tom "Little Madman" Riddle]
Snape docked my points?
That's… oddly specific. What did Hermione do this time?
But why the girls' bathroom?
I'm gonna look like a total creep.
Tom threw on some clothes and bolted out the door.
"Off to your date with Tom?" Lavender yawned. "Bring me back a lemon tea when you come—no lemon, please."
"Sure. Delivery fee: one Galleon." Tom rubbed his fingers together.
"Oh my gosh, Hermione, how can you charge me? How about I kiss you instead?"
Tom dodged dramatically. "You pervert!"
…
When Tom finally found her, "Tom Riddle" (really big-for-her-age Hermione) was crouched on the floor, arms wrapped around her knees.
She looked seconds away from bursting into tears.
There were already tear tracks on her cheeks—she'd clearly cried earlier.
Tom couldn't help it; he laughed softly, walked over, and wrapped an arm around her shoulders, trying to warm the poor kid up.
"You're doing it too…" Hermione sniffled. "A bunch of people came by earlier and hugged me just like this."
"Wait—what?" Tom went on alert. "Who?"
"No idea. All girls. A couple even gave me chocolate and invited me to hang out and relax. I told them I was waiting for you, so I didn't go." She started tearing up harder, feeling extra pitiful.
Tom bit his lip to keep from laughing. "Okay, first—tell me everything. Professor Snape is way too gentle to do this for no reason."
Thirty minutes later…
Hermione had spilled every detail of the past few days.
From morning Potions to evening practice sessions…
She held out her hands pitifully. "Look—calluses."
From polishing vases in detention.
Tom had never seen Hermione this broken. The stubborn little know-it-all had finally been defeated by Snape.
"Maybe…" Tom thought for a second, tapping his chin. "Here's an idea. Starting tomorrow, call in sick. Say you've got a really bad cold."
"Wouldn't I have to go to the hospital wing?"
Tom paused. "Nope. Just don't go. Snape wants you to guess what he's thinking—turn it around and make him guess what you're thinking."
Hermione blinked, confused, but nodded obediently.
"Tom… I'm starting to think you're a real jerk. How on earth do you get along with Professor Snape so well?"
After comforting her a bit more, they parted ways.
That night, back in the dormitory…
Hermione actually did get sick. No acting required.