The next day, Tom's lesson began to show results.
The other three boys still woke up before him, but this time, they were completely silent, terrified of making even the slightest noise that might wake Tom.
After breakfast, the Slytherin and Ravenclaw first-years headed together to their Charms class.
Professor Flitwick, who had goblin ancestry, was a tiny man, but he was an exceptionally skilled spellcaster—rumor had it he had once been a champion duelist in his youth.
Tom strongly suspected that Flitwick's petite stature gave him a significant advantage. He was more agile than most could hit, making him a hard target and a clever fighter.
But there was no doubting Flitwick's teaching prowess.
He didn't begin the lesson by diving into spellcasting. Instead, he captivated the class with a lively demonstration of how charms could be applied in daily life.
From floating candles to self-filling teacups and dancing quills, the sheer variety of magic left the students dazzled and inspired. Once he had them fully engaged, he moved on to the basics—how to properly hold a wand, the precise meaning of descriptive instructions in spellwork, and subtle techniques to channel power effectively.
By the end of the lesson, Tom had earned twenty House Points—though regrettably, all from answering questions, not from achievements that could earn bonus points for Slytherin.
In the afternoon came the class every first-year had been eagerly awaiting—Defense Against the Dark Arts. Everyone was excited—except Tom. He already knew that Quirrell wouldn't be pulling off any impressive stunts. In fact, he'd likely fumble so badly it'd be laughable.
The class was going to be a complete waste of time.
But not everyone thought so.
Quirrell himself was quite looking forward to the lesson—or rather, his master was. Lord Voldemort was eager to observe Harry Potter up close—the boy who had somehow survived and nearly destroyed him—and also that cursed student who shared his very name.
As Quirrell entered the classroom, the room was quickly overwhelmed by the pungent stench of garlic. He claimed it was to ward off vampires. The ridiculous turban he wore, he explained, was a gift from a prince in Blackmoor who was grateful to him for banishing a ghoul.
The students, wide-eyed and naive, actually believed it. But Tom didn't.
Tom raised his hand high for the first time.
"Mr. R-R-Riddle…" Quirrell stammered over the surname, visibly shaken. "Y-you have a q-question?"
Merlin knew how hard this moment was for Quirrell. In his mind, Voldemort was roaring with rage. That name—Riddle—stirred up all the bitter filth of his origins. He should've put a curse on that name too, not just "Voldemort". He should've buried Tom Riddle forever.
Now Tom stood, calm and poised, and asked, "Professor, I've read in books that garlic repels vampires. But this is Hogwarts—home to the greatest wizard of our century, Albus Dumbledore."
"I simply can't imagine what kind of vampire would dare follow you here to do you harm."
Laughter erupted across the classroom. Students nodded enthusiastically.
He had a point. A very good one.
Even the Muggle-borns who knew little about the wizarding world were already starting to grasp what the name Dumbledore truly meant—a towering, untouchable force.
"I-I'm worried they might curse me," Quirrell muttered, already having prepared an excuse. "Riddle, n-never underestimate the d-danger of dark creatures. We must always remain vigilant."
"That was an insightful question. Five points to Slytherin."
"I understand. Thank you, Professor." Tom sat back down with a pleasant smile.
Just as he suspected—Quirrell used House Points to calm the waters. A woolly sheep, full of fleece, ready to be sheared.
The rest of the class was pure disappointment. Quirrell said nothing meaningful—just rephrased the textbook in his own words, line by line. The students quickly lost their enthusiasm.
After class, Tom noticed Draco Malfoy getting into yet another argument with Harry Potter.
These days, Draco only had eyes for Harry—constantly pestering him with his little gang, as if Tom no longer existed. Even the "Slytherin outlier" had become invisible to Malfoy now.
In the following days, Tom's life returned to a quiet rhythm.
If he wasn't in class, he was being pulled in opposite directions by two little witches.
Hermione always dragged him to the library or sought out secluded corners to practice magic. Daphne, on the other hand, preferred leisurely walks around the castle, exploring its hidden corners.
Other than the two girls, Tom had no real friends.
Slytherins disdained his bloodline. The other Houses disdained Slytherin as a whole. To be disliked by three Houses at once—now that was a Slytherin achievement in its own right.
Tom figured it wasn't entirely his fault—Snape definitely deserved half the blame.
In just a few short days, Slytherin had soared far ahead in the House Cup race.
Not because they earned more points—because Snape mercilessly deducted more from the other Houses.
"How can he do that!" Hermione fumed one day, after witnessing Snape deduct two points from a pair of Ravenclaw girls for merely walking too fast in the corridor. "He's practically using a magnifying glass to hunt for faults!"
"Oh, how fortunate that he uses a magnifying glass, and doesn't make things up," Daphne quipped dryly.
Tom had to admit, from that perspective, Daphne was a true Slytherin.
Victory justified the means.
Snape always had reasons for the points he deducted. They were minor offenses, sure, but nothing he couldn't argue for. You could call him harsh—but not unfair.
Still, Tom suspected those two Ravenclaw girls had been collateral damage. Just moments earlier, Snape had glared at him, and the girls had the misfortune of walking between them.
"If you two don't stop bickering, I swear I'm going to starve," Tom sighed.
The two witches had started sniping at each other again. This happened dozens of times a day. They were born rivals—capable of turning even the tiniest disagreement into a half-hour debate.
"Come on, Tom, we've got Astronomy tonight. You need to eat more."
Daphne grabbed his arm and tugged him away.
Hermione bit her lip and stormed off to the Gryffindor table.
That night, after memorizing a dozen star names through the telescope, the students finally descended from the Astronomy Tower, weary and half-asleep, returning to their dorms.
The castle was deep in slumber now. Tom's roommates were already snoring.
With a quiet swish of his wand, Tom cast a well-practiced Stunning Spell and slipped an Invisibility Charm over himself.
It was time for his first midnight adventure through the halls of Hogwarts.