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"Riddle, let's call it even. You used my ingredients, and I took your dragon blood. Consider that fair compensation."
Before the first class of the day, Snape stopped Tom in the corridor.
There was no sarcasm, no hidden agenda, no conditions attached. He got straight to the point.
After dealing with Tom for so long, Snape had learned one important lesson: the more he talked, the more he stood to lose.
Sometimes the smartest move was to cut your losses, admit defeat, and move on.
"..."
Tom didn't answer immediately. Instead, he looked Snape up and down.
"Professor, have you paid Professor Sprout back yet?"
Snape tried to keep a blank expression, but the muscles in his face twitched anyway.
What do you mean? Since when do I owe Pomona any money?
This whole mess was your doing. You used my money to train a bunch of incompetent fools who can't even process ingredients properly!
"Installments," Snape forced out through gritted teeth. "I don't have that many Galleons on hand. Pomona gave me a year to pay it all back."
Tom nearly burst out laughing.
He had almost forgotten how many times he'd squeezed money out of Snape. A Potions Master certainly had ways to make money, but that didn't mean he spent all his time doing so. At this point, it was safe to say their Head of House had been thoroughly drained dry.
"Then you'd better work hard, Professor," Tom said with mock sincerity. "Being in debt isn't pleasant. If money gets tight, I could find you a few jobs through Astra Abyssum. Good pay, light workload, close to home."
Snape rejected the offer immediately. "That won't be necessary. Making money isn't that difficult for me."
Though he said it aloud, Tom's suggestion sparked an idea.
The Astra Abyssum Guild regularly received requests for rare, high-quality potions. Some of those specialized brews were so obscure that only a handful of people in Britain could make them.
And those who could make them usually had no interest in working for the Guild.
'Maybe I should take a look this weekend.'
The thought coincided with the realization that this weekend was another guild visit.
Snape made up his mind instantly.
"So we're settled, Riddle? Everything's wiped clean?"
"What are you talking about, Professor? Settled? We never had a problem," Tom replied calmly. "Anyway, now that you're back, my substitute teaching duties are over. Whatever happens after that has nothing to do with me."
He shook his head and headed upstairs toward the Transfiguration classroom.
Though Tom never said it outright, Snape understood exactly what he meant.
A weight lifted from his shoulders.
Finally⦠it was over.
He no longer had to worry about being caught off guard in his sleep by another vicious curse.
He then pulled a vial of dragon blood from his sleeve and studied it carefully.
This little bottle had cost him nearly everything he owned, plus a mountain of debt. If he couldn't make proper use of it and develop a potion worthy of the price he'd paid, then all that money would have been wasted.
...
Meanwhile, Snape's return was greeted with tears of joy from the students.
At long last, Potions had returned to normal. No more Riddle-style high-pressure teaching.
After experiencing the alternative, everyone suddenly found Snape remarkably pleasant to look at.
The change in professor had also produced a bizarre situation... All four Houses had absolutely disastrous point totals. Not a single one was in the positive.
The other Heads of House found it strange, but there was nothing they could really complain about. Tom deducted points with complete impartiality. He was just as ruthless with Slytherin as he was with everyone else.
No one could accuse him of favoritism or personal vendettas.
So the negative scores stayed.
And after nearly a full year of living with them, everyone had more or less gotten used to it anyway.
...
..
A week passed in the blink of an eye. And the wizarding world remained calm.
Dumbledore chose not to reveal the news of Herpo's resurrection.
Compared to Voldemort's return, Herpo coming back from the dead sounded even more unbelievable.
Even if Dumbledore announced it and people believed him, countless resources would be spent searching for a dark wizard more dangerous than Voldemort himself.
There was a good chance they would find nothing.
Or worse, people might get killed.
Against an enemy of that level, ordinary wizards could do little anyway. Better to let them continue living in peace.
Dumbledore's plan was simple: use his vast network of contacts to monitor unusual incidents around the world.
It wasn't an elegant solution. It was simply the only one available.
And he knew no matter how powerful a wizard was, they were still human. After taking a direct hit from Usaki and losing his physical body, Herpo would need time to recover.
At the very least, he wouldn't be causing trouble again this year.
...
Soon enough, the weekend arrived.
Despite having visited Hogsmeade countless times already, Tom still ended up being dragged there by Hermione.
She had been buried in exam preparation lately, and the pressure was starting to pile up. Getting off campus was one of the easiest ways for her to relax.
"You really don't need to stress so much about your grades."
As they strolled through Hogsmeade's busy streets, Tom did his best to offer some amateur counseling. "As long as you perform normally and don't lose points on things you shouldn't, you'll be fine. Some questions exist purely for the sake of exams. In real life, you might never encounter the absurd situations they describe."
Tom had always been a wizard who valued real-world application.
In his view, most people cast spells through instinct. The knowledge in textbooks helped, but only up to a point.
Unfortunately, Hermione treated test scores like a lifeline.
Hermione wasn't quite that extreme, but she wasn't far off either.
"Huh?"
Hermione stopped and pointed down the street.
"I'm not seeing things, am I? Is that Malfoy... shopping with Potter?"
Tom followed her gaze.
Sure enough, there they were.
Harry Potter, with his messy black hair, and Draco Malfoy, with his platinum-blond hair, walking side by side.
They were clearly arguing, throwing insults at each other nonstop. Yet somehow they kept walking together and even entered the same shop.
Tom blinked.
For a moment, he wondered if he had gotten out of bed the wrong way that morning.
Since when did cats and mice go shopping together?
"Come on," he said immediately. "Let's follow them and see what's going on."
.
.
.