Hogwarts: Chill, I’m Not That Tom Riddle

— — — — — —

The next day, Tom's efforts at "discipline" were already paying off.

His roommates still woke up earlier than him—but this time, they stayed completely silent, careful not to disturb him in the slightest.

After breakfast, the Slytherins headed to Charms class with the Ravenclaws.

Professor Flitwick was part-goblin and stood barely three feet tall, but he was a brilliant spellcaster. Rumor had it he'd even won a dueling championship in his youth.

Tom had a theory: it wasn't just talent—it was that Flitwick's small size made him incredibly nimble. Most spells probably missed him altogether, which gave him a huge edge in duels.

Still, the man knew how to teach.

He didn't throw them into spellcasting right away. Instead, their first class was a showcase—he explained all the different ways magic could be used in everyday life and demonstrated spell after spell.

The room was full of wide eyes and eager whispers. Once he had everyone's attention, Professor Flitwick went back to basics: how to properly grip a wand, what each descriptive term meant when casting, and little tips on channeling magical energy more effectively.

By the end of class, Tom had earned 20 credits.

Then came the afternoon.

Defense Against the Dark Arts. Every first-year was excited for it—except Tom.

Because he already knew the truth: Quirrell wasn't going to impress anyone. If anything, he'd end up making a fool of himself.

A complete waste of time. But not everyone thought that way.

Quirrell himself was looking forward to the lesson. Or more accurately, his master was.

Voldemort wanted to get a closer look at Harry Potter—the boy who somehow survived his Killing Curse and nearly destroyed him... and also, the boy who shared his name. 

As Quirrell stepped into the classroom, the pungent stench of garlic quickly filled the air. He claimed it was to ward off vampires.

The students bought it.

Tom didn't.

For the first time, Tom raised his hand.

"Y-yes, Mr. R-R-Riddle?" Quirrell stammered, clearly nervous.

And with good reason—Voldemort was screaming in his mind. Just hearing that surname had set him off, reminding him of his own "despicable origins." He regretted not placing magical restrictions on his real name as well as "Voldemort."

Tom stood up slowly. "Professor, I've read that garlic is used to repel vampires, but… this is Hogwarts. Dumbledore is the greatest wizard of the century. I find it hard to believe any vampire would be reckless enough to attack you here."

The class burst into laughter. Heads nodded. That actually made a lot of sense.

Even the Muggle-borns who were new to the wizarding world were starting to understand what Dumbledore's name represented: an unshakable mountain of power.

"I—I'm a-afraid of curses," Quirrell replied with a weak smile, clearly prepped for this. "Never underestimate dark creatures, Riddle. We must always stay vigilant."

He added quickly, "Good question. Five points to Slytherin."

Tom sat back down, satisfied.

Just as he expected—Quirrell was a coward and a people-pleaser. If anyone caused trouble, he'd toss House Points around like candy to calm the waters.

The rest of the class was painfully dull. Quirrell didn't teach them anything useful—he just rephrased textbook passages in his own words. The students were clearly disappointed.

After class, Tom noticed Draco Malfoy getting into it with Harry again. It seemed Draco had made Harry his new obsession. He was constantly picking fights and dragging his lackeys along for backup, completely ignoring Tom, the actual "weirdo" of Slytherin.

In the days that followed, Tom's routine settled into a rhythm.

When he wasn't in class, he was being tugged in two directions—Hermione always wanted to go to the library or practice spells in some quiet corner, while Daphne preferred long walks and exploring Hogwarts' secrets.

Aside from those two, Tom didn't really have any other friends.

The Slytherins didn't like his background, and the other Houses didn't like Slytherins. Honestly, it was impressive how Slytherin had managed to alienate everyone.

Of course, Tom figured it wasn't entirely their fault—Snape definitely played a role in that.

Within just a few days, Slytherin was miles ahead of the other Houses in points. Not because they were earning more, but because Snape was relentless in docking everyone else's.

"This is outrageous!"

Hermione was fuming after seeing Snape deduct two points from a pair of Ravenclaw girls for walking slightly too fast down the corridor.

"He's practically using a magnifying glass to find reasons to punish the other Houses!"

"Oh, then thank Merlin he's only using a magnifying glass, and not just making things up," Daphne chimed in dryly.

Tom had to admit—Daphne was a true Slytherin.

Results mattered. The methods? Not so much.

To be fair, Snape did have a reason every time. It was just that the "violations" he punished could easily have been ignored by a less petty teacher. You could call him strict, not unjust.

Still, Tom suspected those two Ravenclaws had just been collateral damage. Snape had shot him a glare moments before, and they just happened to walk between them at the wrong time.

"Will you two stop arguing? I'm starving over here."

The girls had started sniping at each other again, and Tom sighed. This happened all the time. They were natural-born rivals—any little thing could set them off.

"Come on, Tom. We've got Astronomy tonight—you need to eat more," Daphne said, tugging him away toward the Slytherin table.

Hermione bit her lip and walked off toward Gryffindor's.

That night, after memorizing the names of a dozen stars through the telescope, the students finally left the Astronomy Tower, exhausted and ready for bed.

Once his roommates had drifted off, Tom quietly cast a quick Stunning Spell to make sure they stayed asleep, slipped on a Disillusionment Charm, and stepped out into the corridors of Hogwarts—

—for his very first nighttime adventure.

.

.

.