Harry didn't react much to the name Lily. He simply sat quietly in his seat.
Thanks to Tom having healed much of his childhood trauma, Harry didn't care much about his background. He was more concerned with the present and the future. What difference would knowing why his parents had died young make? With his current strength, he couldn't avenge them anyway.
At that moment, Harry wasn't the only one sitting quietly. The entire classroom had fallen silent.
Silence—
The enormous Potions Classroom seemed to have been hit with a Muffliato Charm. It was so quiet you couldn't hear a thing.
Clap, clap!
Harry was an excellent audience member. Though he hadn't understood much, he still applauded.
At his lead, Ron, Daphne, Hermione, Neville, and the others began clapping one after another.
Clap, clap, clap—
The classroom erupted in even more enthusiastic applause than before.
Draco had to join in too, just to seem like part of the group.
Nobody had expected two simple questions to yield so much to interpret.
Some of the more imaginative young wizards could already picture an epic tale of love and hatred unfolding in their minds.
Snape stood motionless. Tom's words had transported him back to a certain night in 1981.
He had arrived on the second floor of the house, where he'd held the lifeless Lily in his arms. In his ears were two other cries: one from little Harry, frightened out of his wits, and the other from Sirius, downstairs and weeping over James's body.
Snape abruptly came back to himself.
"Ahem! Everyone, quiet!" Seemingly realizing he'd lost his composure, Snape hurriedly restored order.
"Mr. Riddle, had you lived in the sixteenth or seventeenth century, your talent would surely have let you compete with Shakespeare—and perhaps even replace him as Great Britain's greatest writer of comedies and tragedies."
Tom gave a slight bow. "You flatter me, Professor. Though in that case, young wizards of the new era might have had a few thousand more words to learn."
"I wasn't complimenting you."
"I know."
Tom wondered: Did teachers all over the world enjoy making cutting remarks like that?
"..."
The next moment.
["Language Interpretation Master" +50 progress] ["Language Interpretation Master" +20...+3...+1... ["Wisdom" +50 progress, Impression Level reached Lv. 10, Achievement Points +1] ["Wisdom" +20...+3...+1...
This was exactly what Tom wanted.
Hogwarts was a place of learning, so a persona related to culture and learning should be easier to improve.
That was why he'd suddenly decided to interpret Snape's inner thoughts. Getting under his skin was just a side benefit.
"Then sit down already!" Snape shouted at Tom.
He felt as though he was about to lose his mind.
He'd only meant to put Tom on the spot and embarrass him. Who could've guessed the boy would analyze his words, dissecting his private thoughts for everyone to see?
Worse still, Tom had figured out the central metaphor: Snape's hatred of Voldemort.
Snape might be a Hogwarts professor now, but in private, he was a Death Eater. He even occasionally kept in touch with some of the others.
Of course, he didn't keep those connections because he was sincere in his fondness for the Death Eaters. He wanted to keep an eye on Voldemort's movements and learn of them as soon as Voldemort returned.
And now, Tom had exposed his little scheme.
Thank goodness they were at school, and he was facing a bunch of inexperienced children. If he'd been dealing with their parents instead, he might never have been able to show his face among the Death Eaters again.
"Whew—whew—" Snape turned away and took several deep breaths, doing his best to calm himself.
He couldn't let the events of today's class get out. He needed to act as though he didn't care, as if it were all a trivial matter. That was the only way to make the students forget about it.
No matter how furious he was.
"Thank you, Professor." Tom put on an innocent expression and sat back down.
If an adult had gotten under Snape's skin like that, he would've been beaten on the spot.
But what bad intentions could an eleven-year-old child have? He'd merely stated his observations plainly. His age was the perfect shield.
Ron and Daphne, sitting beside Tom, were both dumbfounded.
Wasn't Snape supposed to be the strictest professor in all of Hogwarts? He was so angry that his face had gone black, yet he wasn't punishing Tom at all. He was even forcing himself to calm down.
"What are you all staring at? Is there writing on Tom's face? Hurry up and write down the answers from earlier!"
The young wizards shuddered and quickly picked up their quills.
"What a Troll-sized brain," Snape sneered, seeming to return to normal.
Suddenly, he noticed something else and strode over to Harry.
"Harry, what are you writing? I told you to write down the Potions recipe, not your interpretation! Hogwarts doesn't teach culture!"
Snape slapped a hand against his face. Half of the first lesson of the new school year was already ruined.
He was about to criticize Harry further when Harry suddenly looked up at him, staring blankly with a pair of emerald-green eyes.
The memories from ten years ago had yet to fade from Snape's mind. Now, seeing those same eyes again made the cruel words that had nearly left his mouth catch in his throat.
There was nothing for it. With nowhere to vent the anger in his heart, he could only swallow it on his own.
Before long—
Once everyone had finished writing down the Potions recipe, Snape returned to the front of the classroom and took out the cauldron reserved for lessons.
"Next, I'll demonstrate how to brew the Draught of Living Death. The ingredients are precious, so you'll only get one demonstration. Watch carefully. Anyone who wastes anything will be turned into a slug."
With a cold flick of his wand, the ingredients flew out from beneath the lectern one after another and into the cauldron.
Tom narrowed his eyes as he watched.
Besides observing the brewing process, he was also thinking about where to get Potions ingredients.
Although he'd gained the [Potions Prodigy] persona, he couldn't improve his brewing skills with books alone. He needed plenty of hands-on practice.
But Potions ingredients weren't cheap, and Tom was broke.
He could ask Harry to pay for them, but then Dumbledore would notice, and it would be even harder for him to establish a positive persona in the future.
If he wanted to get the ingredients for free, one of the best options was, naturally... Snape's private Potions storeroom.
In the original story, Snape's storeroom had been robbed before. What was wrong with paying it a visit himself?
But with his current abilities, simply trying to steal from it was clearly impossible.
He'd have to wait for an opportunity and come up with an extremely meticulous plan. Once the theft came to light, he'd also need someone to take the blame.
He hadn't worked out the plan yet, but he already knew who would take the fall.
Meanwhile, in the Defense Against the Dark Arts Classroom.
"Ah-choo!"
Professor Quirrell, who was teaching the older students, suddenly felt a chill run down his back.
"I have this strange feeling that someone's talking about me. Could it be Snape?"
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