"What the hell is that idiot Hagrid doing?!"
Snape ground his teeth, a dark fire of fury igniting in his chest.
He should have stuck to Tom and Hermione like glue. If it had been Snape, he wouldn't have let them out of his sight for a single second!
But why did the half-giant wander off alone? And without telling a single soul? It was a blatant violation of school rules!
"I know," Snape muttered to himself, taking a deep breath. He slammed up his Occlumency shields, forcing the boiling rage down until only ice remained.
Letting anger cloud his judgment simply wasn't his style. Stay calm, Severus...
"Professor Snape, sir? Do you need me to show you the way?"
Snape shot the student a cold, impassive glare. "Follow me. You are going to stand in front of Albus and recount exactly what happened, word for word."
---
Meanwhile, in Hogsmeade Village.
"T-Tom... aren't we sticking out a bit too much like this?"
"Sticking out? Not a chance." Tom threw his hands up. "Even Madam Rosmerta didn't recognize us. She even told us to come back next time. See? A flawless batch of Polyjuice Potion. Well, mostly flawless. Skipping that many brewing steps comes with a tiny side effect."
Hermione tensed instantly. "What kind of side effect?"
"Explosive diarrhea. It'll probably hit around this time tomorrow, but that's a problem for future us." Tom kept walking, leading the way.
Right now, he wasn't "Tom Riddle." He was disguised as "Misha."
And Hermione was no longer "Hermione Granger." She was disguised as "Cho Chang."
"I have two questions," Hermione whispered, hurrying to keep up. "First, why didn't we just stay at the Three Broomsticks? I felt so much safer in there. Madam Rosmerta would have protected us."
Tom paused. "Let me ask you this. Who exactly do you think is coming after us?"
"You-Know-Who."
"And who exactly do you expect to fight off You-Know-Who?" Tom asked dryly.
Did she seriously expect Madam Rosmerta to take down Voldemort? What a terrible, dark joke.
Besides, Tom knew it was highly likely Professor Quirrell would show up instead of Voldemort himself. If Quirrell walked in, acting on his authority as a Hogwarts professor, and demanded to take them away right under Rosmerta's nose... what were they supposed to do?
It was evening now, and Hogsmeade still had a decent crowd. But once night fell? The dead of night? They might have been able to crash at the pub, but Voldemort knew that too. It didn't take a genius to figure out what would happen to them in the dark.
Hermione quickly realized how naive she sounded. She coughed awkwardly to cover her embarrassment.
Whenever she was around Tom, her usually sharp brain just seemed to shut down, instinctively letting him do all the heavy lifting.
"Second question," Hermione pressed. "Why do you just happen to carry Cho and Misha's hair on you?"
A faint smirk played on Tom's lips. "As a certified Potions Master, it is my professional duty to carry rare, irreplaceable ingredients that you can't just buy off the street. If you ever need it, I've got a stash of Professor Dumbledore's hair too. Hell, if you want his beard trimmings, I can hook you up."
"No! Thank! You!" Hermione huffed indignantly, marching past him to take the lead. "So where are we going now? Straight back to the school?"
"No unnecessary risks. We're heading to the Shrieking Shack."
"The Shrieking Shack?!" Hermione slapped both hands over her mouth, her eyes wide with horror. "Are you completely insane?!"
Everyone knew about the Shrieking Shack. It was an abandoned, rotting house on the outskirts of Hogsmeade, and the source of every wizarding child's worst nightmares.
Whenever kids refused to go to sleep, their parents would whisper, "If you don't close your eyes, the monsters in the Shrieking Shack will come and drag you away..."
Legend had it the place was severely haunted. Piercing, blood-curdling screams echoed from it every night, striking terror into the hearts of anyone who heard them.
Hermione had read all about the Shack's grim reputation. Naturally, she was terrified.
"We can find somewhere better, Tom! You know how dangerous the Shrieking Shack is. There are—"
"Ghosts. Yeah, I know," Tom interrupted, nodding. "But there aren't any right now. Once we walk in, there'll just be two poor souls hiding in the dark."
Hermione puffed out her cheeks. "I am being serious, Tom!"
Wearing Cho Chang's face and pouting angrily only made her look incredibly cute, but it completely failed to sway him.
"Relax, relax. Take a deep breath." Tom patted her on the head, his voice softer and gentler than she had ever heard it. "If you do run into any creepy ghouls, I'll teach you a foolproof spell. Just clasp your hands together, look up, and scream, 'Oh, Prince Charming, please save me!' I guarantee someone will come rushing to your rescue."
"Tch." Hermione swatted his hand away, refusing to entertain the obnoxious jerk.
She wasn't a little kid anymore. She knew damn well Prince Charming didn't exist. Tom was just talking nonsense to help her relax.
She knew what he was doing, but she was still annoyed.
"Seriously though, why the Shrieking Shack?"
"Because it's haunted," Tom answered smoothly. "Think about it. No matter how powerful You-Know-Who is, do you really think he wants to mess around in a cursed house full of terrifying spirits?"
Obviously, that wasn't the real reason. Tom knew the "screams" from the Shack were just a werewolf going through painful transformations. The rumors of ghosts and ghouls were a convenient cover story.
The real reason Tom picked the Shrieking Shack was simple: it was the absolute last place anyone would look.
Voldemort would never guess they were hiding there. Who in their right mind would expect two first-year students to willingly lock themselves inside the most dangerous, terrifying building in Britain?
"Just stick close to me. We have to survive this night. Whatever it takes. We must."
Professor Snape will definitely find us, Tom added silently in his mind.
---
The exterior of the Shrieking Shack was straight out of a horror movie. It looked like the decaying manor of an ancient vampire.
A dead, leafless tree loomed by the entrance, with three jet-black crows perched on its skeletal branches.
Spotting the two of them approaching, the crows took flight, leaving behind a string of bone-chilling caws.
The sandy soil bore no footprints, and the weeds had grown half a meter high. Clearly, no one had set foot here in a very long time.
But the small stone path leading to the front door looked strangely... undisturbed.
Hermione noticed these unsettling details. She shivered, goosebumps erupting all over her arms.
"If you're scared, you can hold my arm. Five Galleons a grab. Pay up front."
"Piss off!"
For a split second, the first half of Tom's sentence had actually made Hermione feel warm and fuzzy. She thought he was finally showing some genuine care. But the second half proved that the boy's conscience was completely nonexistent.
Her mild irritation successfully burned away her fear. Mustering her courage, Hermione followed Tom into the rotting structure.
Tom cheerfully knocked on the doorframe. "Hello, Mr. Monsters! We're coming in! We'll be crashing here for the night. If you don't mind, please feel free to haunt this lovely young lady, but leave me out of it. Thanks in advance!"
"Shut up!"
The interior of the house was a disaster—somehow even more pathetic and miserable than the cramped cupboard Harry used to live in.
But to Tom, as long as he had a place to close his eyes, it was enough.
"You get some rest. I'm going to look for something," Tom said, stepping out of Hermione's line of sight.
"What?!" There was no way Hermione was staying in this room alone.
It was because she was worried about Tom! Yes, entirely out of concern for his safety!
Didn't this happen in literally every horror movie? The guy says he's going to look for something, and then poof—he mysteriously vanishes.
"I-I'm only following you because I want to, not because I'm scared," Hermione stammered, trailing closely behind him.
Tom didn't bother exposing her lie.
He clearly remembered that there was a secret passage connecting Hogwarts to the Shrieking Shack. That meant there had to be a hidden entrance somewhere inside this rotting house!
But the Shrieking Shack was massive.
Tom spent half an hour scouring the place, but came up completely empty-handed.
Gradually, the sun dipped below the mountains, casting its final, dying rays over Hermione.
She was utterly exhausted. From the moment she realized Voldemort was hunting her, her nerves had been stretched to the absolute breaking point.
Now that they had finally stopped moving, the adrenaline crashed. Hermione slumped against a dusty wall and immediately fell fast asleep.
---
Maybe I should get a fire going?
Tom scratched his head and decided to try the classic Muggle method. He found some dry wood and started rapidly spinning a stick.
Ten minutes of vigorous rubbing later, he sighed heavily.
"Incendio!"
He had genuinely wanted to try the non-magical way, but since the universe refused to cooperate, he was forced to use magic.
He pulled out the leftover bread slices from the Three Broomsticks and toasted them over the open flames.
By the time night completely swallowed the sky, the rich, toasty aroma of the bread finally woke Hermione.
Her nose twitched, and her eyes fluttered open.
"That smells amazing! Tom, you know how to cook?!"
"Obviously. There is literally nothing I can't do." Tom flashed his usual, unwavering smile—the one that always made her feel perfectly safe.
Those vivid green eyes held an undeniable magic. No matter how dire the situation, he always looked like he had the entire world sitting comfortably in the palm of his hand.
"Shame we don't have any butter or dressing," Tom sighed. "I'll make sure to pack condiments for our next run-in with a Dark Lord."
"This... this is more than enough. I'm perfectly happy. This is the best dinner I've ever had."
After they finished eating, Hermione hesitated before finally asking the question that had been on her mind.
"Tom, about the Yule Ball... how are your preparations going? I mean... I mean..." Her voice trailed off into a shy whisper.
But she quickly realized Tom wasn't looking at her. His eyes were locked on the darkness outside.
Suddenly, Tom lunged forward, grabbing Hermione and shoving her hard into a dark, concealed corner.
"Shh! Not a sound!" he breathed directly into her ear.
Ten agonizing minutes passed.
Then, the floorboards creaked, and voices drifted through the rotting walls. Clear as day.
"Master... we have scoured every inch of Hogsmeade. There is no sign of the brats. Perhaps they have already slipped out of the village..."
A second voice hissed in response—low, raspy, and bone-chilling enough to make Hermione's blood run cold.
"Tear this place apart. Dig up the very earth if you have to! Find them! They have not returned to the castle! By any means necessary—" Voldemort took a sharp, ragged breath. "You must eliminate them tonight! Especially the one named Hermione! We absolutely cannot allow anyone to continue using her body!"
Feeling the violent tremors shaking Hermione's small frame, Tom gently placed a hand on her head. Don't be afraid, he mouthed silently.
"But Master..."
"SILENCE!" Voldemort savagely cut Quirrell off. "Are you truly so blind? We have guests. It appears two little children have beaten us inside."