— — — — — —

Snape once again felt like he'd been hit by a truck.

Honestly, he only had himself to blame—why did he even bother provoking Riddle, that infuriatingly unpredictable student?

Now he was so rattled he couldn't even keep his usual cold, composed front.

Not that he'd ever admit he was wrong. He was the teacher, Tom was the student—sooner or later, he would catch the boy slipping.

Screw that, he MUST make Tom suffer.

With a cold flick of his wand, the blackboard filled up with rows of cramped writing.

"These are the ingredients and steps required for the Boil Cure potion. Everyone, go fetch your materials. You'll work in pairs. And if I catch anyone wasting my ingredients—enjoy a week of cleaning the classroom."

At his command, the class instantly sprang into action.

Tom naturally partnered up with Daphne. Even if he wanted to pair with Hermione, it wouldn't have been allowed.

It had only been a week since school started, but the inter-house rivalry was already in full swing. Gryffindors stuck with Gryffindors, Slytherins with Slytherins—unless the numbers were odd, and this year, they weren't.

Before long, the temperature in the Potions classroom began to rise. Thin trails of steam curled lazily into the air.

Simple potions brewing honestly wasn't that different from cooking, just with way more precise ingredient prep and measurements.

Snape moved through the room like a silent bat, gliding from station to station without a sound. When you couldn't see him, it always felt like he was right behind you, breathing down your neck with those emotionless, soul-piercing eyes.

But soon, it became obvious—Snape had locked onto his favorite target.

"Potter! If you didn't understand what 'steps' meant, you could've asked me! Instead, you've reduced the porcupine quills to mush. One point from Gryffindor."

"Potter, I really think Hogwarts should hire a language tutor just for you—so we don't have to suffer through the Chosen One misreading class notes. Another point from Gryffindor."

"Potter, I told you to steam the flobberworms. Did you even do that?"

"Potter!"

"POTTER!!!"

...

Any lingering hope Harry had that Tom was being sincere earlier was thoroughly destroyed.

That crap about Snape expressing regret? The supposed secret message in the flowers?

Shit. Absolute nonsense.

Snape was just out for blood.

And this version of Snape? Way nastier than the one in the books.

By the halfway mark of the lesson, Gryffindor had already lost ten points. Hermione looked like she was two seconds away from snapping and taking over Harry's cauldron herself.

Thankfully, once Snape had vented enough of his pent-up rage, he finally backed off. He gave Neville Longbottom a few biting remarks for good measure—reducing the poor boy to a teary mess—and then turned his attention to Tom.

Snape wouldn't dock points from Riddle. But his mouth? Oh, that was still very much in play. If he could find even one thing to criticize, he'd unload a verbal assault worthy of a Potions master.

But after watching for a while, Snape's face just got darker and darker.

Where were the mistakes?

Why couldn't he find anything wrong?

Tom's technique was almost absurdly flawless. Sure, Snape did spot a few flaws, but they weren't the student's fault—they were due to minor variations in ingredient quality.

Each potion had to be slightly adjusted based on the unique properties of that batch of ingredients, especially if one was striving for perfection. But that level of nuance was way beyond what first-years were expected to know.

And yet, Tom followed the blackboard steps to the letter—down to the gram, to the second.

Watching it was super annoying for Snape. It felt like trying to bite into a hedgehog—no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't get a grip.

Even Andros had been quietly impressed. Magic talent aside, Tom had an insane gift for learning. No matter what it was, he could pick it up frighteningly fast.

"Riddle," Snape finally snapped, "I paired students up so they could work together—not so one of them could sit around watching the other do all the work! Don't let a little talent go to your head!"

Then his eyes lit up as he caught sight of Daphne staring blankly at the cauldron. He scolded them both and didn't even give Tom a chance to respond before sweeping away like the dungeon bat he was.

After getting roasted twice in a row by Tom, Snape had figured it out: the key was to not let him talk. As long as Tom Riddle stayed quiet, he couldn't drive verbal daggers through his lungs.

Tom couldn't help but shake his head with a smirk. "Really, Professor? You're digging that deep for a reason to get mad?"

Not that he took it to heart.

Daphne, on the other hand, felt awful. She lowered her head and murmured, "Sorry, Tom. If I hadn't slacked off, the professor wouldn't have yelled at you."

"It's fine," Tom replied with a small shrug. "Maybe Professor Snape was just worried I'd overwork myself. This was his way of showing concern."

He smiled and gently pushed the dried nettle toward her. "Just grind this into powder and toss it in. Go ahead—finish the potion."

"O-Okay." Daphne nodded, suddenly very focused as she got to work.

The rest of the class passed without Snape even glancing in Tom's direction. But just before leaving, he assigned a sixteen-inch essay.

The moment he said the number, everyone's faces fell—even Tom's.

First-year classes were supposed to be light on homework. Most professors only asked for six-inch essays—maybe 1,500 words max.

Snape? He just tripled it. Four to five thousand words. It hurt just hearing about it.

And then Snape walked off like he didn't even notice all the miserable little faces behind him.

"…Let's go," Tom sighed, turning to Daphne. In his head, he was already thinking about getting one of those Quick-Quotes Quills, like the one Rita Skeeter used.

Writing thousands of words about something as simple as a Boil Cure potion? What a complete waste of time. He'd rather spend the afternoon strolling with Daphne.

At least she was nice to look at.

Sweet smile, cute dimples—just seeing her could lift your mood.

But what really annoyed Tom? Snape hadn't given him a single point all class.

Hello? I'm a Slytherin! Aren't you supposed to play favorites?

Sure, Slytherin had a massive lead right now—big enough that Tom's points wouldn't even matter much. But still.

"Unacceptable."

He'd definitely have to find a way to crank up the pressure on Snape.

Time to remind him who the real backbone of Slytherin House was.

.

.

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A/N: Sorry for the slow updates—I'm currently finishing my graduation project, which takes up most of my time. Also, all chapters after Chapter 60 are over 2,000 words each, so they take a lot of time.