Slytherin Dorm.
Harry was jolted awake from a light sleep.
"Ugh... Bones..."
Rubbing his eyes, he pushed himself up in bed.
"Bones, my arse!"
Malfoy, his roommate, stood there with veins throbbing on his forehead. "Scarhead! We're going to be late again!"
Harry blinked, suddenly alert. "Malfoy, what classes do we have this morning?"
"We have a double Potions session with Ravenclaw,"
Malfoy said, already pulling on his Slytherin robes.
"Right."
The image of a certain greasy-haired professor flickered in Harry's mind.
A shiver ran down his spine for no apparent reason. He hurriedly dressed and bolted out of the dormitory with Malfoy.
...
It was a crisp, sunny morning, but Harry and the others felt like it should have been a bleak, rainy day.
This was Potions class. The windows were sealed shut, trapping the cloying scent of potion ingredients – not entirely unpleasant, but far from refreshing.
The dimly lit classroom was lined with ancient cabinets filled with bottles and jars.
Since the class was a joint session with Ravenclaw, Hermione sat beside Tom Riddle.
And what was Tom Riddle doing?
He was perusing the potions ingredients, helping himself to a "free sample".
After all, most of these ingredients had been procured by Severus Snape, and many were rare items rarely found on the market. Pilfering from Snape was far easier than searching for a vendor.
Bang!
The door crashed open, and the greasy-haired bat-man made his dramatic entrance!
Snape swept into the room with the speed of a bat, heading straight for the podium.
He spotted Tom Riddle discreetly pocketing a potion. Snape raised an eyebrow but remained silent.
"Put away your wands. This lesson requires no foolish wand-waving."
Snape stood tall, gazing down at the students. "Perhaps you do not believe this is magic. I do not expect you to appreciate the subtle beauty of a slowly simmering cauldron, the delicate fragrance as vapors escape. Nor will you grasp the power of liquids that flow through human veins, bewitching the mind, ensnaring the senses… I can teach you how to brew fame, how to bottle glory, and even how to… stopper death. If you are not, as I so often find, a pack of dunderheads."
Snape's gaze, like a venomous snake finding its prey, locked onto Harry Potter, who was trying to be inconspicuous.
Despite expecting it, Harry felt a knot tightening in his stomach.
Even Malfoy, sitting next to him, looked bewildered. What was Professor Snape playing at?
After a pregnant pause, Snape drawled, "The Savior? The thief? Mr. Potter certainly has a knack for acquiring things, does he not?"
It sounded like a jest but felt like a barb. Snape was nearly as good as Malfoy at provoking ire with a few words.
Harry frowned. What was this about? Was he picking a fight?
"However," Snape's tone shifted. "Potter! What would one obtain if powdered root of asphodel were added to an infusion of wormwood?"
"I do not know, Professor,"
Though he knew the greasy-haired professor was targeting him, Harry answered calmly.
Cassandra Vole and Hermione Granger, seated in the front, waved their hands eagerly, indicating they knew the answer.
But Snape seemed blind to everyone but Harry. "If I asked you to find me a bezoar, where would you look?"
"I do not know."
Harry remained composed. Snape was the Head of Slytherin; he doubted Snape would actually deduct house points for this.
But even without panicking, Harry was annoyed at being singled out.
"What is the difference between monkshood and wolfsbane?"
Snape was relentless, pressing the question.
"I do not know!"
Equally enraged, Harry slammed his fist on the desk and shot to his feet. "Are you blind?! Cassandra and Hermione have their hands raised, and you don't even see them?!"
Malfoy gaped at him. "What in the world, Scarface, what's wrong with you?! Sit down!"
Had his best buddy suddenly grown a spine?
"..."
Looking at Harry, Snape was reminded of the man he loathed the most.
Snape's face darkened, and he was about to retort.
But just then...
"I seem to recall reading in a Muggle book,"
Tom Riddle casually leaned against the cabinet, holding the small bottle of potion he'd been admiring. "Asphodel means 'my regrets follow you to the grave,' while wormwood symbolizes… bitterness."
Snape's eyes widened involuntarily, but he quickly recovered his composure.
"What… what does that mean?" Harry blurted out, puzzled.
The young wizards around them leaned in, intrigued by Tom Riddle's words, beginning to speculate on the meaning.
Malfoy, however, "deduced" it instantly.
Because I have experience with this!
"Scarface, Professor Snape likes you, but since you're both blokes, he's buggered, hence the bitterness."
Snape and Harry both scowled at Malfoy's words.
"Shut up! Just shut up!"
"Asking you is pointless!"
Cassandra and Hermione were horrified.
Tom Riddle casually returned the small bottle to the cabinet, a smile playing on his lips as he looked at Snape. "I cannot escape my regret for you until death… is that your intent?"
"..."
I'm impressed. This Dark Lord knows a thing or two about Muggles?
Snape never imagined his casual selection of ingredients would nearly ruin his reputation.
If he said another word, he'd be labeled a perverted ghoul pining after someone else's dead mother.
He knew Harry and Malfoy were more than capable of spreading that rumor.
Not tomorrow – it would be all over the school by tonight.
No, he couldn't say a thing. Playing it cool was the only way!
But Harry was not prepared to let him off the hook.
"First… Tom Riddle, what did you say Professor Snape was saying?"
"He was saying, 'I'm sorry.'"
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