What Bad Intentions Could a Little Witch Have?

Harry had no particular reaction to the name Lily. He simply sat quietly in his seat.

Because his childhood trauma had been largely healed by Tom, he didn't care much about his own origins. What concerned him more was the present and the future. As for why his parents had died young—even if he found out, so what? With his current strength, he couldn't take revenge anyway.

At this moment, it wasn't just Harry who was quiet. The entire classroom was silent.

Silence—

The vast Potions classroom felt as if a Muffliato charm had been cast over it. Not a single sound could be heard.

Clap! Clap!

Harry was an excellent straight man. Even though he hadn't fully understood, he still applauded.

Following his lead, Ron, Daphne, Hermione, Neville... one after another, they joined in.

Clap! Clap! Clap—!!

The classroom erupted in applause even more enthusiastic than before.

To appear more sociable, Draco had no choice but to clap along reluctantly.

No one had expected that two simple questions could be interpreted to reveal so much.

Some of the more imaginative young witches and wizards already had a complete epic of love, hate, and tragedy forming in their minds.

Snape, however, stood frozen in place. Tom's words had yanked his memory back to a certain night in 1981.

He had rushed to the second floor of the villa, holding Lily's lifeless body in his arms, with two other cries ringing in his ears—one from a terrified baby Harry, the other from Sirius, who was downstairs clutching James's corpse and sobbing.

He snapped back to reality abruptly.

"Ahem! Everyone, silence!!" Seeming to realize his own lapse, Snape hurriedly restored order. "Mr. Riddle, if you had lived in the 16th or 17th century, your talent would have allowed you to compete with Shakespeare on the same stage—perhaps even replace him as Britain's greatest writer of comedy and tragedy."

Tom gave a slight bow. "Professor flatters me. But if that were the case, young witches and wizards of the new era might have to learn a few thousand more words."

"Was that not a compliment?"

"I could tell."

Tom was curious—did all teachers around the world enjoy being this sarcastic?

"..."

The next moment.

["Language Interpretation Master" +50 progress]

["Language Interpretation Master" +20...+3...+1...]

["Intelligence" +50 progress, Impression Level reached Lv.10, Achievement Points +1]

["Intelligence" +20...+3...+1...]

This was what Tom wanted.

Hogwarts was a place of learning, so personas related to culture and academics should be easier to improve.

That was why he had suddenly come up with the idea of interpreting Snape's inner thoughts—poking at his sore spots was just a bonus.

"Then sit down—NOW!!" Snape roared at Tom.

He felt like he was going mad.

Originally, he had only wanted to embarrass Tom and make him look foolish. Who would have thought the boy would give him a reading comprehension exercise, dissecting his little schemes in public until nothing was left hidden?

Worse still, Tom had actually analyzed the core metaphor—his hatred for the Dark Lord.

Never mind that he was now a Hogwarts professor; privately, he was still a Death Eater, occasionally even maintaining contact with some of them.

Of course, he kept those connections not out of genuine loyalty to the Death Eater group, but to keep tabs on Voldemort's movements, hoping to know the moment the Dark Lord resurrected.

And now, his little scheme had been exposed.

Thankfully, he was in a school, facing a group of greenhorn children. If it had been their parents instead, he would have been finished in Death Eater circles.

"Huff—huff—" Snape turned his back, taking a few deep breaths to calm himself as much as possible.

He couldn't let today's events in class spread. To that end, he had to act as indifferent as possible, as if it were all a trivial matter, so the students would gradually forget.

No matter how furious he was at this moment.

"Thank you, Professor." Tom put on an innocent, guileless face and sat back down.

If an adult had poked at Snape's sore spots, they would have been beaten on the spot.

But what ill intentions could an eleven-year-old child have? He had only spoken his findings plainly. His age was his natural shield.

Ron and Daphne, sitting beside Tom, were utterly stunned.

Wasn't Snape supposed to be the strictest professor in all of Hogwarts? Now he was so angry his face had turned black, yet he hadn't given Tom any punishment at all? He was even forcing himself to calm down.

"Are you all staring at them? Does Tom have words written on his face? Hurry up and copy the answers into your notes!"

The young witches and wizards flinched and quickly grabbed their quills to write.

"Truly the brains of a troll." Snape snorted coldly, as if he had returned to normal.

Suddenly, he noticed something else and strode over to Harry.

"Harry, what are you writing? I told you to record the potion recipe, not interpret the content! Hogwarts has no culture class!"

Snape slapped a hand to his face. The first lesson of the new term was already half-ruined.

Just as he was about to scold Harry further, Harry suddenly looked up, a pair of emerald-green eyes staring blankly at him.

The memories from a decade ago had yet to fade from his mind, and now seeing those identical eyes again, Snape swallowed back the venomous words that had been on the tip of his tongue.

No choice. The pent-up anger had nowhere to go, so he could only silently digest it himself.

Soon.

After everyone had finished copying the potion recipe, Snape walked back to the podium and took out the classroom's cauldron.

"Next, I will demonstrate how to brew the Draught of Living Death. The ingredients are precious, so there will only be one chance to observe. All of you, watch carefully. If anyone wastes it, I'll turn them into a slug."

With a cold flick of his wand, ingredients flew out from under the podium one by one, landing in the cauldron in sequence.

Watching those ingredients, Tom narrowed his eyes.

Aside from observing the potion brewing, he was also pondering the source of the potion materials.

Even though he had the [Potions Prodigy] persona, improving his potion-making skills couldn't rely solely on books; it required plenty of hands-on practice.

But potion ingredients were far from cheap, and Tom was flat broke.

He could have Harry fund it, but then Dumbledore would catch on, and it would become even harder to maintain his positive image.

If he wanted to freeload materials, one of the best ways was naturally... Snape's private potion storage.

After all, in the original story, Snape's storage had been robbed more than once. Why not pay it a visit himself?

But with his current abilities, stealing was obviously impossible.

He had to find an opportunity and devise an extremely meticulous plan. And once the dust settled, he'd need a scapegoat.

Though the plan wasn't ready yet, he already knew who would take the fall.

Meanwhile, in the Defense Against the Dark Arts Classroom.

"Achoo!"

Professor Quirrell, who was teaching the upperclassmen, felt a chill run down his back.

"I have a feeling someone's talking about me. Could it be Snape?"