"This is outrageous!"
Snape slammed his hand down on the desk with a thunderous noise. "Fighting another student on the first day—what does he think he’s doing?!"
"Professor, that Riddle kid is totally out of control!"
Rosier jumped in quickly, fanning the flames. "He thinks the wizarding world works like a Muggle school or something. Doesn’t care about rules at all. He clearly doesn’t respect you."
Snape’s cold eyes swept over him, and Rosier immediately shut up, like someone had pressed a mute button.
"Whether or not he respects me," Snape said icily, "is for me to decide. Not you."
"I’ve heard enough. I’ll handle it. You’re dismissed."
The three of them left, practically skipping with glee, already picturing Snape punishing Tom Riddle—or maybe even expelling him.
But once they were gone, Snape’s expression didn’t soften.
He’d dealt with arrogant students before. But this early? This blatant? That was a first.
Even back when Voldemort was just Tom Riddle, he hadn’t been this bold. He didn’t beat up three roommates and whip them on his very first night.
He had brushed off Dumbledore’s warning yesterday. Clearly, that had been a mistake.
This wasn’t just some "problem child." This one needed a serious lesson.
Snape’s eyes narrowed in thought. Better if he handled it himself—he didn’t want that old fool Dumbledore swooping in to play the nice guy again.
Today, he’d make sure Tom Riddle knew exactly who ruled Slytherin.
Hogwarts had over 140 staircases, and most of them had minds of their own. One might lead from the second floor to the third now, and end up on the top floor a few minutes later.
The good news? They weren’t totally random. Some changed on a timer, others shifted depending on how hard you stepped, or if you stomped three times.
Sometimes, if you were lucky, one could take you straight from the first floor to wherever you wanted to go. Convenient, if you knew how to use them.
The bad news? Tom and Daphne had no clue how any of that worked.
They were new. And clueless.
Determined not to be late for their first class, they set out early.
Unfortunately, Tom kicked a step without thinking, and a staircase from the third to fourth floor rocketed them up to the top of the castle. They had to walk all the way back down—slowly, carefully, terrified they’d trigger another detour.
By the time they finally reached the classroom, they were nearly late.
With that comforting thought, he and Daphne stepped into the classroom.
A tabby cat sat on the teacher’s desk. Its fur was patterned with dark rings around the eyes, making it stand out. The cat was quietly watching the students chat amongst themselves.
Tom gave it a brief glance, recognizing what it was immediately, but didn’t bother greeting or revealing her identity. He just walked deeper into the room.
Hermione waved enthusiastically, pointing to the empty seat beside her.
Tom walked over without hesitation. Daphne pouted and followed reluctantly.
As soon as they sat down, Hermione turned to him eagerly. "So, what do you think of Slytherin so far?"
"It’s alright. Everyone’s been pretty welcoming."
"Really? But... I thought Slytherins didn’t like Muggle-borns or half-bloods?"
"They don’t? I haven’t noticed. My roommates seem friendly enough."
"Oh. Okay." Hermione let it go, then gave a proud pat on her textbook. "I already finished reading this three times last night. How about you?"
Daphne couldn’t help but scoff. "If magic were something you could just read your way into, there wouldn’t still be so many Muggles in the world, would there?"
Hermione caught the attitude and raised an eyebrow. "If I’ve got magical talent, then reading will absolutely help me learn. Or do pure-bloods think they can just sleep their way into knowing spells?"
"At least we’re not desperate like you. We’ve grown up with magic—it’s second nature to us. Unlike some bumpkins," Daphne muttered under her breath, just quiet enough that Tom wouldn’t hear.
To Tom’s surprise, Daphne actually held her own in the argument—sharp and snappy, nothing like the sheltered heiress she looked like.
Both girls were throwing barbs with zero defense, all offense.
Tom sat silently between them, expression flat. It felt like both of his ears were taking direct hits.
"It’s 8:55," he suddenly announced.
Hermione blinked. Realizing class was about to start, and that the professor could arrive any second, she gave a little huff and turned away from Daphne.
Daphne also looked away.
A few minutes later, the bell rang.
Still no Professor McGonagall.
But two sweaty, panting boys came running into the room.
"Yes! Made it!" Harry gasped, bent over, grinning as he and Ron rushed to find empty seats.
"Those stairs are cursed," Ron huffed, wiping his face.
He looked around and, not seeing McGonagall anywhere, relaxed even more. "Ha! We’re not late. She is! Shouldn’t have bothered sprinting all the way here—I’m about to pass out. Will McGonagall always be late?"
He said it loud enough that even those sitting near the front could hear it clearly.
Tom turned to look at him with... sympathy.
Sure, he’d beaten up his roommates on night one—but Ron had just done something far braver: insulting Professor McGonagall on his very first day.
"Good morning, ladies and gentlemen."
The cat suddenly leapt off the desk—and transformed mid-air into Professor McGonagall, who landed gracefully, standing tall and stern.
Everyone jumped in surprise.
Ron’s jaw dropped open, his face turning ghost-white.
Professor McGonagall gave him a pointed glance before addressing the class: "I’m pleased to see no one was late for our first lesson. I hope you’ll keep this up."
"I, for one, will never be late."
Ron let out a faint, mosquito-level whimper. "We’re doomed... She heard us..."
Harry, on the other hand, silently shuffled his seat a bit farther away from his new best mate.
Us? I didn’t say anything.