"Riddle also said Snape apologized to my mum. That's complete rubbish!" Harry grew angrier as he spoke, not noticing Hagrid's sudden shudder at the name "Riddle." The pie in Hagrid's hand nearly slipped to the ground.
"Hagrid, Snape seems to hate me. Why?"
"Don't be ridiculous." Hagrid fiddled with the pie distractedly, his tone vague. "Why would he hate you? And if anyone had to apologize, it wouldn't be him."
Hagrid knew that if anyone owed an apology, it was Harry's father, James.
Back at school, James and his group of Marauders had been outrageously arrogant. Snape was the only one stubborn enough to stand up to them, and he'd been bullied pretty badly for it.
If James hadn't matured after graduating, Hagrid never would've become friends with him.
"Huh?" Harry sensed something was off and pressed him. "Then who should apologize? Tell me."
Hagrid waved his hand impatiently and quickly changed the subject, handing Harry a piece of nougat. "Nobody needs to apologize. Snape isn't picking on you, so don't go imagining things. Have some candy."
Harry could tell Hagrid didn't want to talk, so he accepted the candy and listened as Ron excitedly told him about his older brother raising dragons in Romania.
By chance, Harry noticed the Daily Prophet at the corner of the table. Its headline read, "Latest Report on the Gringotts Break-In."
He skimmed the article and realized that Gringotts had been broken into on his birthday—the same day he and Hagrid had gone to Diagon Alley.
The report said Dumbledore had already taken the item away, and Hagrid hadn't mentioned any related errand. Harry didn't think much of it and casually put down the paper.
Elsewhere, Tom finished reading the paper and leaned back on a bench by the Black Lake, lost in thought, his expression lazy and detached.
In his previous life, people had said that everything Harry did at Hogwarts had been under Dumbledore's control—that Dumbledore had deliberately arranged adventures to help him grow and face Voldemort.
But Tom didn't see it that way. Dumbledore was certainly powerful and had a strong grip on things, but he wasn't omniscient.
If he'd known about the Chamber of Secrets incident in second year, Sirius Black's escape in third year, or Moody being imprisoned, he would never have let them happen.
Still, first-year Harry had indeed been pushed along. Those challenges had been so childish they were practically a game, clearly not designed for Quirrell. They seemed more like an obstacle course for young wizards.
Tom had no interest in the Philosopher's Stone. Immortality that couldn't stop aging was no better than scrap paper to him.
What truly interested him was Quirrell—the secrets and identity he was hiding.
If the Philosopher's Stone were used as bait, Quirrell would probably agree to be his dog. And even if Quirrell wasn't willing, the "Tom Riddle" on the back of his head would lend him a hand.
Tom rubbed his chin and chuckled to himself, thinking mischievously, He wasn't the Dark Lord, so there was no need to make Quirrell his dog. He just wanted a few points. That wasn't too much to ask, was it?
"Tom, what are you spacing out for? You look totally blank." Daphne poked him in the arm.
Tom came back to himself, shrugged, and put on a puzzled expression.
He spoke thoughtfully. "Nothing. I just can't figure out how Quirrell can teach at Hogwarts when he can barely get a sentence out. Dumbledore must be blind."
Daphne immediately agreed, looking disgusted. "Exactly! He can't even say a complete sentence, and he teaches Defense Against the Dark Arts. I'm practically falling asleep in his lessons. I'd be better off reading by myself."
"I really don't understand Dumbledore. He's over a hundred years old, yet instead of hiring capable wizards, he picks Quirrell."
Tom chuckled to himself. Slytherins were naturally at odds with Dumbledore. Even Daphne, who didn't care much about blood status, had plenty of complaints about him.
Knowing Daphne didn't know the truth, he played along. "I heard the Defense Against the Dark Arts post is cursed. No teacher can last a full year."
"Dumbledore probably chose Quirrell because nobody else wanted to be the sucker. No one wants to pack up and leave after just one year."
Daphne's eyes lit up, and she grabbed his arm, chattering away. "You've heard that rumor too? I looked into it. The previous professors were all unbelievable!"
The previous female professor had been swindled out of her money and seduced by a wizard. Furious, she castrated him and fled abroad. She was still wanted.
The professor before her had been an old wizard and a friend of Dumbledore's. He suddenly fell gravely ill over Easter and never came out after being admitted to St. Mungo's.
Even further back, there had been a smuggler, someone injured during an experiment, someone who'd been expelled... As Daphne went on, her voice grew quieter and quieter. She tilted her head, leaned against Tom's arm, and fell asleep with a smile on her lips.
Tom was both amused and exasperated. He gently ruffled her hair but didn't wake her, quietly slipping his consciousness into the Study Space.
The sun sank, and the evening breeze grew chilly. Daphne only woke from her deep sleep as dusk fell.
The moment she opened her eyes, she remembered what had happened. When she saw the damp patch on Tom's robes, her face turned bright red, and she wished she could bury her head in her chest.
Tom had just exited the Study Space. He deliberately pretended he'd only just woken up and stretched.
He spoke lazily. "Oh, I slept for ages. Daphne, why didn't you wake me? I wasted the whole afternoon."
"Huh? I just woke up too. I was sleeping so deeply I didn't notice." Daphne explained in a tiny voice, wishing she could use her wand to erase the damp patch.
As if he hadn't noticed it, Tom brushed the dust off his robes. "We should get back. It's getting colder, and we don't want to catch a chill. Then I won't have anyone to take walks with and complain to."
"Mm-hmm." Daphne nodded and followed him. As they walked, she couldn't help smiling silently.
She knew Tom hadn't been asleep at all. If he really had been, he wouldn't have woken up without feeling groggy. He was obviously pretending so she wouldn't feel embarrassed, giving her a way out.
Compared to other kids their age, Tom was remarkably mature. He wasn't putting on an act; he really knew how to be considerate and look after people.
That made Daphne, who had only recently left her mother, feel safe in unfamiliar Hogwarts and helped her adjust quickly.
Watching Tom's back, Daphne wanted to do something for him, but the more she thought about it, the more frustrated she became. Tom picked up everything instantly—even Hermione envied him. He didn't need her help.
As for everyday things, she'd been spoiled since childhood and couldn't help there either. Suddenly, Daphne's eyes lit up—money!
She remembered Tom had "borrowed" thirty Galleons from his roommates. He was Muggle-born too, so he must be short on money.
She could help him quietly, without hurting his pride, and show him how she felt.
Daphne smiled, hurried to catch up with Tom, and walked beside him into the castle.
Back in the Slytherin Common Room, she immediately found a corner and wrote to her mother, making an excuse to sweet-talk her into sending five hundred Galleons. She murmured, "Five hundred Galleons should last Tom a while."
Meanwhile, Tom had no idea his actions had made Daphne like him even more, let alone that he was about to enjoy his first meal on someone else's dime.
When he returned to the dormitory, his three normally rowdy roommates instantly fell silent and sat bolt upright, as if Petrificus Totalus had been cast on them.
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