"Professor Snape, I believe you have misunderstood something... Please don't look at me like I'm trash."
Snape: "That is exactly how I have always looked at you."
"Professor, normally you look at me like I'm a foolish troll, but today's look actually hurt my feelings..."
A man cannot, or at least should not...
Tom swore on his life that he had absolutely zero romantic interest in men!
Snape withdrew his gaze, glaring coldly at Chris. "I believe you are Mr. Chris, a third-year Gryffindor. I expect you to perform exceptionally well in our next Potions class.
Now... why are you still standing in my office? Do you plan to invite a first-year student to your foolish Christmas Ball right in front of me?!"
Chris shrank back and scrambled out the door as fast as his legs could carry him.
He didn't dare offend Snape here—the ultimate fate of those who crossed Professor Snape was always undeniably tragic.
He remembered an older student who had been given a week of detention. Ever since then, the poor guy had never once dared to lift his head in Snape's presence.
It was utterly terrifying.
"Tom, you seem to have a great interest in the Yule Ball?" Snape clasped his hands behind his back.
With the outsider gone, his address shifted smoothly from "Riddle" back to "Tom."
"Of course I'm interested, Professor." Tom didn't hide it, admitting it openly. "I am interested in everything I haven't experienced before. Whether it's magic, classes, or these exciting balls. Professor, may I attend?"
Obviously, from Professor Snape's entirely unmoved gaze, Tom already had his answer.
"I am very curious about exactly what you have been doing for the past two hours. Now! Raise your wand, Tom!" Snape cut in before Tom could speak. "And put away those foolish thoughts. Did you honestly think you could negotiate terms with me?"
Tom had indeed been about to say: Professor, if I perform well, could you bend the rules and let me attend this ball?
It never felt good to be read like an open book. Tom coughed awkwardly and raised his wand.
"Now, use the magic you learned from that book on me. Let me see exactly how much you have grasped!"
"Sectumsempra!" Tom pointed his wand.
For the first time ever, he felt the spell click!
[You successfully cast a spell. Rating: Troll! Sectumsempra +0.5.]
"Too slow. Too weak. Are you playing house with children?!" Snape swatted Tom's Sectumsempra away like an annoying fly. "What have I told you? You must always remember my words!
Magic is exactly like brewing potions! Why do you fail to understand this?! Stop using this magic with those clear, innocent eyes! You know perfectly well what kind of spell Sectumsempra is. Answer me!"
"It's Dark magic, Professor," Tom answered honestly.
"Excellent. And what is the purpose of Dark magic?"
Tom faltered for a second, then hesitantly asked, "Attacking?"
"Incorrect! It is for killing! It is for slaughter! It is a fight to the death! You should have been sorted into the foolish Gryffindor House instead of the intelligent Ravenclaw! Use your thick skull and think about why every piece of Dark magic is so deeply hated and feared!
Hold the absolute desire to kill me in your heart, and cast Sectumsempra on me. Now!"
In that moment, Snape had morphed into an absolute chatterbox. "If you cannot control your emotions, then use Occlumency! Your Occlumency is not merely for show!
Magic is fluid! Defensive magic is not only used to protect yourself; it can also be used to attack!
What are you waiting for?!"
"Sectumsempra!" Tom cast again.
[You successfully cast a spell. Rating: Average! Sectumsempra +3.]
"Again! Your killing intent is not pure enough! Even if you have never taken a life, have you never witnessed someone being killed? Think about your parents! Where did they die in battle?!
Think about how you would have felt watching your parents die right in front of you at the hands of those foreign soldiers! Now, imagine me as them!"
Occlumency...
Tom took a deep breath. His eyes instantly locked down all of his emotions.
A faint, chilling killing intent began to radiate from him.
"Sectumsempra." Gone was the explosive energy from before. Now, Tom simply looked like a sniper locking onto a target.
[You successfully cast a spell. Rating: Precise! Sectumsempra +30.]
The spell launched forward. This time, Snape's pupils shrank slightly. It took significantly more effort to deflect Tom's curse than before.
"Again."
...
Three hours.
Tom repeated the exact same motion over and over again.
Swing the wand. Cast the spell. Swing again. Cast again!
Even as his arm grew stiff and his lips turned pale, Tom didn't stop for a single second, relentlessly attacking Snape.
"That is enough for today." Snape gave a cold snort. "First-years attending the Yule Ball is entirely unheard of. By the rules, younger students may attend if invited by an upperclassman, but such a foolish thing has never actually occurred in this school.
If you can secure the approval of the other three Heads of House and Albus's consent, you may go waste four precious hours of your life at the ball. Now, go to the Potions lab, drink a Magic-Restoration Potion, and get out."
Did he... just agree?
"Professor, you are practically my second father! I just have one more request..."
"Tom, do you not think you are pushing your luck?"
"Hermione also wants to attend the ball. Plus, I need a date."
Snape's face twisted into an expression of pure fury. "Get out of my office! Go waste your time with that foolish Gryffindor!"
SLAM!
After throwing Tom out, Snape sat down by the window, watching the students bustling about on the grounds below.
Hermione Granger. Very good. Very good indeed! I look forward to your performance in our next Potions class!
Outside the door, Tom was in an excellent mood—despite being mentally exhausted and physically drained.
It didn't stop the triumphant smile from spreading across his face.
Thrilled, he immediately set off to find Hermione.
...
"Why do you look so... Good heavens, what on earth did you go through?" Hermione quickly ushered Tom to a seat and poured him a glass of milk.
To Hermione, Tom was undoubtedly a jerk, but there were levels to being a jerk.
Tom belonged to the specific category of jerks that were infuriating but impossible to actually hate.
"Someone came looking for me earlier. A guy named Chris. Third-year, Gryffindor."
Unfazed, Hermione took a sip of her lemon tea. "Is that so... And why are you telling me this? You know I don't know him. I don't have many friends."
She shrugged, putting on a perfect mask of indifference.
"He invited me to the Yule Ball. And from the look in his eyes, I could tell that this third-year guy absolutely wanted to put me in a dress."
"That sounds absolutely perfect for you, Tom!" Hermione tried her hardest to suppress her rising smile—completely unaware that her eyebrows were practically dancing. "Tom, you bought all those clothes before term started. I'm sure one of those outfits would look amazing on you. Pfft... Sorry, I just thought of something really funny. Tom, you..."
Hermione couldn't even finish her sentence. She covered her face with both hands, taking deep breaths, but just imagining the scene made it impossible to hold back her laughter.
"I knew it was you." Tom sighed. "I knew you wanted to go to the ball. You were probably just desperate to dance with me on the ballroom floor."
"I never said that!" Hermione shot back. "I'd be totally embarrassed to go to the ball with you! Of course, if you actually wore a dress, I might just hire a little photographer to capture every hilarious second, so I can show the pictures to your future wife."
Tom ignored her taunts and simply let out another long sigh. "Alas, and here I thought you really wanted to go. I completely threw away my pride begging Professor Snape to let us attend together.
I really wonder what kind of moves you've got for the dance floor. How many days until Christmas? Oh right, a little over two weeks. I look forward to your performance, Miss Granger. You have two weeks to learn how to dance."
Hermione's smile vanished instantly. She shot to her feet. "No! You can't do this! I do not agree! I am not going!"
"Well, then I suppose I'll just have to tell Professor Snape that Hermione Granger looks down on me because I'm from an orphanage, and she harshly rejected me because being seen with a kid like me would make her lose face."
"Tom!" Hermione raised her small fists, ready to punch him in the face.
But seeing his deathly pale skin and blue-tinged lips, she instead opted to lightly thump his shoulder twice.
"Hiss..."
"Ah? Did that hurt? I'm sorry, I didn't mean to, I was just joking around... Why do you have to be so... so infuriating?!" Hermione quickly rubbed his shoulder. "What exactly did you go through in Professor Snape's office? You've never looked this weak before."
Her small face filled with genuine concern—the kind of heartache you feel when a friend goes through something terrible.
"Nah, I was just bored and felt like making a noise. It doesn't hurt."
Hermione: "..."
Seeing her utterly speechless expression, Tom couldn't help but laugh. "Before we can attend the ball, we need to get approval from the other professors.
Professor Flitwick is old, but he's a kind, gentle man. I doubt he'll refuse me.
Professor McGonagall is going to be tough. You'll need to figure out a way to handle her.
As for Professor Dumbledore... I have some dirt on him, so he shouldn't be a problem."
Without thinking, Hermione asked, "What about Professor Sprout?"
But the moment the words left her mouth, she realized her mistake. Seeing the smug smirk on Tom's face, Hermione knew she had just walked right into another trap to let him show off.
Professor Sprout practically treated Tom like her own son. There was absolutely zero chance she would refuse him.
"You said you have dirt on Professor Dumbledore? What did he do?"
"Oh, I owe him a massive amount of money. If he doesn't let me go, I'm simply not paying him back." Tom said, his voice dripping with playful malice. "When I was buying my school supplies before term started, Professor Dumbledore fronted all the Galleons."
Hermione: "...You are a complete and utter bastard."
Tom just smiled and didn't reply.
He was joking, of course. But honestly, how could Professor Dumbledore possibly refuse him?