First Hogsmeade Weekend

In the Scottish Highlands of October, the air already carried a biting chill, and exquisite frost flowers began to appear on the castle windows. For students in their third year and above, this meant the arrival of the first Hogsmeade weekend. But for first-year newcomers like Tom and Ares, they could only remain within the castle, gazing out through the frosted glass at the snow-covered wizarding village, imagining the lively scenes there.

The Great Hall on Saturday was noticeably emptier. Tom sat at the Slytherin table, leisurely enjoying his breakfast, but the knuckles gripping his cutlery were slightly white, betraying his inner turmoil. He watched as several seventh-year Slytherins excitedly discussed going to The Three Broomsticks for Butterbeer or to Zonko's Joke Shop to purchase the latest prank items. A deep gloom, almost impossible to conceal, flickered in his dark eyes.

He detested this feeling of being bound by rules, of being excluded. Hogsmeade represented freedom, a connection to the wider wizarding society, yet he, Tom Riddle, was confined to the castle, simply because of a ridiculous age restriction.

Ares sat beside him, quietly sipping a glass of milk. He could feel the low-pressure system emanating from Tom, like the oppressive stillness before a blizzard. "We could go to the library," he suggested, "or explore the castle. There are always places even the older students might not have discovered."

Tom shot him a cold glance, offering no reply. While the library and the hidden corners of the castle held a certain allure, they couldn't quell his frustration over what he was "missing" at that moment. What he craved was recognition, integration, the same rights as others, not to be treated like a child under supervision.

After breakfast, Tom rose abruptly and left the Great Hall without waiting for Ares. Ares watched his retreating figure disappear behind the stone doors and let out a soft sigh. He knew Tom's pride was being chipped away by reality, and such erosion often bred more extreme tendencies.

He walked to the library alone, intending to continue his research into the forbidden chapters on soul magic within those ancient scrolls (he hoped to find a safe way to guide Tom). As he passed through the entrance hall, he saw Filch harshly scolding a Hufflepuff student who had carelessly tracked mud into the castle, while Mrs. Norris purred triumphantly nearby.

Just as he was about to step onto the marble staircase, a loud, familiar voice called out to him.

"Hey! You! Wait!"

Ares turned and saw the unusually tall half-giant boy—Rubeus Hagrid—standing somewhat awkwardly in a corner of the entrance hall. His ill-fitting moleskin coat was speckled with snow and grass, and gratitude, along with a hint of hesitation, flickered in his beetle-like black eyes.

"Is... something the matter?" Ares stopped, asking calmly.

Hagrid rubbed his enormous hands, which looked capable of crushing a pumpkin with ease, and clumsily retrieved a small package wrapped in rough oilcloth from behind him, handing it over. "For... for you. And... Riddell." His voice rumbled like distant thunder, but he tried to keep it low. "Rock Cakes... I made them myself. Thank you... thank you for the other day..."

Ares paused for a moment, taking the package that still held Hagrid's warmth. Inside the oilcloth were several cookies that looked as hard as stones and were somewhat irregularly shaped. "Thank you," he said sincerely.

Hagrid seemed to relax, a simple, happy smile spreading across his face. "I... I have to go help feed the Thestrals." He gestured towards the door. "You... if you ever want to see the edge of the Forbidden Forest... I can show you the way! There are lots of wonderful creatures there!" he added eagerly, clearly viewing Ares and Tom as rare friends.

Ares's heart stirred. The Forbidden Forest... it was indeed one of Hogwarts' most mysterious and least regulated places. He nodded. "Perhaps sometime. Thank you for the cakes, Hagrid."

Hagrid grinned broadly, waved his hands clumsily again, and then turned, his heavy footsteps carrying him out of the entrance hall.

Holding the bag of Rock Cakes, Ares didn't go to the library immediately. Instead, he turned towards the dungeons. He knew Tom must be sulking somewhere secluded right now.

As expected, at the end of a corridor leading to an abandoned classroom, he found Tom. Tom stood with his back to him, facing a tall, dust-covered arched window, gazing out at the snow-covered courtyard and the faint outline of Hogsmeade Village in the distance. His posture was rigid, like a cold stone statue.

Ares walked over and placed the oilcloth package on the windowsill. "Hagrid gave them to us. As thanks."

Tom didn't even lift his eyelids, merely letting out a barely audible snort from his nose, filled with disdain for the coarse food and its giver.

"He said he could show us the edge of the Forbidden Forest," Ares continued.

This time, Tom finally reacted. He slowly turned his head, a flicker of interest flashing in his dark eyes, but it was quickly replaced by a shadow. "The Forbidden Forest... it is indeed an interesting place. Full of danger, and full of... opportunity." His voice was low. "But we need a half-giant as a guide? How ironic."

"He knows the area well, and... he trusts us," Ares emphasized. "That trust, when exploring certain areas, might be more useful than strength."

Tom fell silent. He understood Ares's meaning. By leveraging Hagrid's trust and position, they could access the resources within the Forbidden Forest more safely and discreetly, whether it be dangerous magical creatures or rare magical ingredients. This was certainly more prudent than barging in on their own.

"You always think of these... circuitous methods," Tom's tone was ambiguous, neither praise nor sarcasm. He glanced at the Rock Cakes on the windowsill but ultimately didn't touch them. "We'll talk about it when the time is right. For now..." His gaze returned to Hogsmeade outside the window, ambition igniting in his eyes once more like a cold flame. "What I need is something more direct. Knowledge, power, connections. Not exploring based on a little giant's pity."

He turned away, no longer looking at the irritating snowy landscape. "I'm going to the abandoned classrooms. Some spells require a quiet environment to practice."

Ares watched his retreating back, knowing that Tom's inner anxiety had not subsided, merely suppressed and transformed into a more potent drive. He picked up the bag of Rock Cakes. Though hard and difficult to chew, he could feel the simple goodwill contained within them.

In the afternoon, as the students who had gone to Hogsmeade returned to the castle laden with bags and beaming with excitement, Tom had already returned from the Room of Requirement. He seemed much calmer, but Ares could sense that the magic swirling around him was more refined, carrying a subtle sharpness.

In the evening, in the Slytherin common room, Abraxas Malfoy and several other students who had visited Hogsmeade were sharing their experiences and acquisitions. Billius Black dramatically described the "wailing and howling" heard outside the Shrieking Shack, while another student displayed the latest Spyglass purchased from Devis-Banes shop.

Tom sat by the fireplace, listening quietly, a perfectly fitting smile on his face, as if he too were sharing in the joy. But Ares knew that in his heart, he was forging these tales, along with his regret at not being able to be there, into an even firmer resolve—he needed to become powerful faster, powerful enough to disregard these tedious rules, powerful enough to make the entire wizarding world open its doors to him, including Hogsmeade, and places far beyond.

The first Hogsmeade weekend passed with some rejoicing and some melancholy. For Tom Riddle, it was a stimulation and a tempering. The blueprint in his mind became clearer, and the path to his goals was destined to be more radical and unscrupulous. Ares watched Tom's face, half-lit and half-shadowed by the emerald green flames of the fireplace, knowing that the task of guardianship was becoming increasingly arduous. The symbiosis of light and dark, in this Hogwarts winter, was quietly undergoing another subtle imbalance and adjustment.