Snape summoning him to his office didn’t faze Tom in the slightest. He finished lunch, went back to his dorm for a power nap, and only then made his way to the greenhouses for Herbology.
Professor Sprout, who taught the class, was a plump and cheerful-looking witch, always smiling and clearly very kind. She called for the students to line up neatly and warned them not to touch anything until everyone had arrived. Then, she led them all into Greenhouse One.
First-years didn’t get access to the more dangerous or magically volatile plants yet. Most of what was in Greenhouse One were gentle fungi and common herbs.
Their task for the year was simple in theory: memorize the properties and uses of each plant, and learn how to properly cultivate and care for them.
Tom earned Slytherin another five points after answering a few questions correctly.
Truth be told, the heads of the three other houses were all decent people. They’d long grown beyond inter-house rivalries and genuinely wanted the best for all their students, even those outside their own House. They were fair, professional, and kind.
...Then there was Snape.
The guy was like a—well, never mind. Tom still had to show some basic respect. After all, Snape was his Head of House.
After class, Tom and Daphne parted ways in the dungeons.
"Tom, whatever you do, don’t talk back to Professor Snape," Daphne warned him seriously. "I asked a few upper years—if you just admit fault sincerely, he’ll usually go easy on Slytherin students."
"I hear you. Thanks, Daphne," Tom replied.
Of course, he had no intention of groveling, but he wasn’t tactless either. He wasn’t going to say anything to spoil her kind intentions.
Tom pushed open the door to Snape’s office.
The lighting was dim. The only illumination came from a green-tinged fire in the hearth and a few low-burning candles. The room stank of herbs and sharp, bitter potions.
Glass cabinets lined the walls, not with books, but jars and vials filled with floating organs, strange roots, and other unpleasant oddities.
Snape sat at his desk, reading a magazine, as though he hadn’t just summoned a student.
Tom glanced around the room, then casually turned an empty bottle on the floor into a plush single-seat sofa. He placed it right across from Snape, sank into it comfortably, and closed his eyes, resting his head back as if preparing for a nap.
Snape’s hand froze mid-page. A vein throbbed visibly on his forehead.
He snapped the magazine shut and glared at Tom.
"Riddle. Did I say you could sit down?"
Tom opened his eyes, looking genuinely puzzled. "Professor, is it against the rules to sit while talking to you?"
"Cheeky little—" Snape hissed. "This is MY office. You used magic without permission. What, can’t wait to show off that pathetic little bit of talent you’ve got?"
Snape wasn’t exactly a handsome man to begin with. With that expression, he was downright terrifying. Any other first-year would’ve been shaking in their robes.
But Tom? Not a chance.
Sure, he couldn’t beat Snape in a duel—not yet—but this was Hogwarts. Dumbledore was still alive and in charge. No matter how upset Snape got, he couldn’t actually do anything beyond what the rules allowed.
"Professor, you’re hilarious," Tom chuckled softly. "Of course I know this is your office. But I also saw you were reading something quite... riveting. And since Slytherin’s head would never be so rude as to ignore a guest without good reason, I figured you must’ve been reading something really important."
He smiled faintly. "For the sake of our House’s reputation, I took the initiative. I trust you understand?"
Snape’s fingers clenched around the fabric of his sleeve.
He’d been Head of House for years, and no student had ever dared speak to him —passive-aggressive, full of insinuations, and yet worded so neatly that it was impossible to call out directly.
All he’d wanted was to scare Tom a little. Instead, the kid flipped the script on him.
Snape took a long breath and forced himself to calm down.
"You know why I called you here."
"Not really," Tom replied calmly. "But I’m sure you’ll tell me."
"You attacked Zabini, Rosier, and Nott yesterday." Snape leaned forward slightly, voice low and dangerous. "Riddle, it’s your first day, and you’re already fighting your dormmates. Do you even see me as your Head of House?"
"Professor, I didn’t have a choice."
Tom sighed and explained the situation.
"They didn’t like that I was a Muggle-born orphan. Thought they could treat me like a servant. And this morning, I overheard them whispering the word ’Mudblood.’"
"At first I didn’t know what it meant. I had to ask Greengrass. Then I understood."
Tom lifted his head, locking eyes with Snape. His expression was serious, almost sincere.
"Professor, try putting yourself in someone else’s shoes. If you called someone a Mudblood and they didn’t punch you in the face—or at least hate you forever—that would be unusual, wouldn’t it?"
Snape’s eyes widened. His entire face went red, blood rushing to his head. For a second, it looked like he might actually faint from the emotional whiplash.
His hand trembled as he pointed at Tom.
With no warning, Tom had stabbed right into the most painful, private scar of Snape’s past. The one memory he never talked about. The one that still haunted him.
Tom blinked, then lit up like he’d just had a great idea. "So you do understand! I knew it."
"Calling someone a Mudblood should be unforgivable. People like that don’t deserve friends or love. They should die alone and miserable. Honestly, I held back. Just beating them up a bit was merciful."
"They are my roommates, after all. I didn’t want to make things awkward."
"RIDDLE!" Snape roared, blood vessels practically bursting in his eyes. "SHUT. UP. NOW!"
Tom held up his hands innocently and made a zipping motion across his lips, finally going quiet.
Snape’s chest heaved as he tried to regulate his breathing. It took him several long moments to calm down. When he finally did, his eyes were still sharp enough to cut.
"I don’t know what kind of twisted logic you’ve picked up," he growled, "but fighting is against school rules. I’m deducting—"
This little demon is in MY House.
If he took points away from Tom, he’d be lowering Slytherin’s score.
So was he punishing Tom... or punishing himself?
This kid is unplayable.
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