Harry's Doubts

"Riddle also said Snape was apologizing to my mother—that's complete nonsense!" Harry grew more agitated as he spoke, failing to notice that at the mention of "Riddle," Hagrid's body gave a violent shudder, nearly causing the pie in his hand to drop to the ground.

"Hagrid, Snape seems to hate me specifically. Why on earth is that?"

"Don't talk rubbish." Hagrid fiddled with the pie distractedly, his tone vague. "Why would he hate you? If anyone owes an apology, it certainly isn't him."

Hagrid knew in his heart that if an apology were truly due, it should come from Harry's father, James.

Back in the day, James and his group of Marauders had been insufferably arrogant at school, and only Snape had been stubborn enough to stand up to them, only to end up being bullied mercilessly.

Had James not matured after graduation, he never would have become friends with him.

"Huh?" Harry caught the oddity in his tone and pressed, "Then who should apologize? Tell me about it."

Hagrid waved his hand impatiently, eager to change the subject, and shoved a piece of nougat into Harry's hand. "Nobody needs to apologize, and Snape isn't targeting you. Don't let your imagination run wild, just eat your candy."

Harry knew Hagrid didn't want to talk, so he took the candy and listened to Ron talk animatedly about his second-oldest brother raising dragons in Romania.

Inadvertently, he caught a glimpse of the Daily Prophet on the corner of the table, the headline reading: "Latest Report on the Gringotts Break-in."

He flipped through it and realized the day Gringotts was breached was his birthday—the very same day he and Hagrid had gone to Diagon Alley.

The report stated that Albus Dumbledore had already retrieved the item beforehand, and since Hagrid had never mentioned any related mission, Harry didn't think much of it and set the paper aside.

Elsewhere, Tom finished reading the paper and leaned back on a bench by the Black Lake to ponder, his expression lazy and detached.

In his past life, some said that everything Harry experienced at Hogwarts was under Albus Dumbledore's control, a series of adventures deliberately arranged to help him grow and face Voldemort head-on.

But Tom didn't think so. Albus Dumbledore was indeed formidable and possessed immense control, but he was not omniscient.

The Chamber of Secrets incident in the second year, Sirius Black's escape in the third, Moody being imprisoned—if he had known about those in advance, he never would have let them happen.

However, the first-year Harry was indeed being nudged along; those obstacles were as childish as a game, clearly not designed for Quirrell, but rather like a gauntlet designed for young wizards.

Tom had no interest in the Philosopher's Stone; immortality that couldn't prevent aging was no different from scrap paper.

What he was truly interested in was Quirrell—the secrets and identity hidden within him.

If he used the Philosopher's Stone as bait, he reckoned even if he made Quirrell his dog, the man would likely agree; and even if Quirrell were unwilling, that "Tom Riddle" on the back of his head would surely lend a hand.

Tom rubbed his chin and chuckled to himself, thinking with a bit of mischief: He wasn't the Dark Lord, so there was no need to make Quirrell a dog; he just wanted some academic credits—that wasn't an unreasonable request, was it?

"Tom, what are you staring at? You look dazed." Daphne reached out and poked his arm.

Tom snapped back to reality, shrugged, and put on a look of confusion.

His tone was thoughtful: "It's nothing, I just can't figure out how Quirrell can even be a professor at Hogwarts when he can't speak a coherent sentence. I'm starting to think Albus Dumbledore has lost his mind."

Daphne immediately agreed, looking disgusted: "Tell me about it! He can't even finish a sentence, yet he teaches Defense Against the Dark Arts. I almost fall asleep during his lectures; I'd be better off reading the book myself."

"I really don't understand Albus Dumbledore. He's over a hundred years old, yet he ignores all the capable wizards and chooses Quirrell instead."

Tom laughed inwardly; Slytherins were naturally at odds with Albus Dumbledore, and even Daphne, who didn't care much about blood status, had plenty of complaints about him.

Knowing Daphne wasn't privy to the deeper secrets, he went along with it: "I heard that the Defense Against the Dark Arts position is cursed; no teacher has ever managed to last a full year."

"I suspect Albus Dumbledore chose Quirrell because no one else was willing to be the fall guy. Nobody wants to pack their bags after just one year."

Daphne's eyes lit up, and she grabbed his arm, chattering away: "You've heard that legend too? I asked around, and the previous professors were all ridiculous!"

The last female professor had been swindled of her money and heart by a wizard, and in a fit of rage, she castrated him before fleeing abroad, where she remained a wanted woman;

The old wizard before her was a friend of Albus Dumbledore's, but he suddenly fell ill during Easter and never walked out of St. Mungo's;

Going back further, there were smugglers, those injured during experiments, and those who were fired... As she spoke, Daphne's voice grew softer and softer until her head tilted, and she fell asleep on Tom's arm, a smile lingering on her lips.

Tom felt both annoyed and amused. He gently stroked her hair without waking her, his consciousness quietly slipping into the Study Space.

As the sun set and the evening breeze grew chilly, Daphne finally woke from her deep sleep.

The moment she opened her eyes, she remembered what had happened. Seeing the damp patch on Tom's robe, her pretty face turned bright red, and she wanted nothing more than to bury her head in her chest.

Tom happened to exit the Study Space at that moment, deliberately feigning the appearance of someone just waking up as he stretched.

His tone was lazy: "Oh my, I actually slept for so long. Daphne, why didn't you wake me? What a waste of an afternoon."

"Huh? I just woke up too, I was sleeping so soundly I didn't notice," Daphne explained in a voice as thin as a mosquito's, wishing she could use her wand to erase that water stain.

Tom acted as if he hadn't seen the stain and brushed off some dust: "Let's head back. It's getting colder; we don't want to catch a cold, or there won't be anyone left to walk with me and listen to my complaints."

"Mm-hmm." Daphne nodded and followed him. As they walked, she couldn't help but smile silently.

She knew perfectly well that Tom hadn't been sleeping at all. If he had really been asleep, he wouldn't have woken up so alert; he was clearly just giving her a way to save face because he didn't want her to feel embarrassed.

Compared to their peers, Tom was exceptionally mature—not in a way that was just trying to look cool, but in a way that showed he truly understood boundaries and knew how to care for others.

This gave Daphne, who had just left her mother, a sense of security in the unfamiliar halls of Hogwarts and helped her adapt quickly.

Watching Tom's back, Daphne wanted to do something for him, but the more she thought, the more frustrated she became: Tom understood everything he studied instantly—even Hermione was envious—so he didn't need her help.

As for daily life, she had been pampered since childhood and couldn't help there either. Suddenly, Daphne's eyes lit up—money!

She remembered Tom "borrowing" thirty Galleons from his roommates, and since he was Muggle-born, he must be short on cash.

She could help him secretly; that way, she wouldn't hurt his pride while still expressing her feelings.

A smile appeared on Daphne's face as she hurried to catch up with Tom, walking side-by-side with him into the castle.

Back in the Slytherin common room, she immediately found a corner to write a letter to her mother, making up an excuse to act spoiled and ask for five hundred Galleons, whispering to herself: "Five hundred Galleons should be enough to keep Tom going for a while."

Elsewhere, Tom had no idea that his actions had greatly increased Daphne's favor, nor did he know he was about to receive his first "soft meal" of financial support.

He returned to the dormitory, and his three roommates, who were usually noisy, instantly went quiet and sat up straight, as if they had been hit by a Petrification Curse.