In the end, Blaise, Rosier, and Nott reached an agreement.
Complaining was the cheapest, fastest, and safest way to strike back.
Why risk a duel, sneak attack, or cursed trinket when they could simply run to the professor, tell their sob story, and beg him to keep it quiet from parents and classmates? No humiliation, no danger—just quick justice.
The three shook hands (figuratively, because Slytherins would never lower themselves to actual handshakes over something so pitiful) and made their plan: file the complaint as soon as possible.
What they didn't realize was that a pair of sharp ears had already overheard everything.
Daphne Greengrass, seated not far away, covered her mouth as her blue eyes flickered with worry.
---
Morning in the Dungeon
By the time eight o'clock neared, Tom finally stirred. Well-rested, refreshed, and in far better shape than his bruised roommates, he washed up, straightened his uniform, and stepped into the Slytherin common room.
Last night, it had been too dark to appreciate the infamous underwater view of the dormitory. This morning, Tom made a point to stop at the floor-to-ceiling glass wall.
The depths of the Black Lake glowed faintly. Early sunlight filtered down weakly, greenish and murky, yet enough to reveal schools of fish darting carefree among the waving weeds.
Then—suddenly—the light vanished as a colossal shadow glided past. The fish scattered in panic, vanishing into the weeds.
And then, there it was: a mass of enormous tentacles writhing past the glass.
The legendary giant squid.
Tom smirked faintly.
"Being carefree isn't always a blessing. When death is looming, ignorance is just stupidity."
---
Daphne Appears
A voice broke into his thoughts.
"Shocking, isn't it?"
Daphne Greengrass had appeared at his side without a sound, gazing up at the glass with wide eyes.
"I'd heard stories about Slytherin's underwater view. But seeing it myself—it's so much more breathtaking than the books ever described."
Tom chuckled.
"It's like living in a hotel with a sea view."
He didn't add the second thought buzzing in his head: this view was basically the only redeeming feature of the Slytherin dorms.
Everything else? A nightmare.
The place was dark, damp, and miserable. No sunlight reached here. The endless green-and-black décor made it feel more like a crypt than a common room. The atmosphere seeped into you, twisting moods until even cheerful people grew bitter.
"No wonder Slytherin churns out Dark Wizards," Tom thought. "Seven years in this dungeon would warp anyone's personality—except maybe me, because I'm a sunny boy."
The worst part? The damp.
When he woke up this morning, his quilt felt like it had absorbed half the lake. If he twisted it, Tom was sure water would drip out.
"Bloody Scotland," he muttered. The UK was damp enough, but the Scottish Highlands made London seem arid by comparison. Add in a giant lake pressing against the walls? Frankly, the place should have been condemned.
"Were they trying to drive students insane?" he wondered. "Who in their right mind builds a dorm in a cellar under a lake?"
---
Daphne's Warning
On the way to the Great Hall, Daphne leaned closer to whisper the secret she had overheard.
Rosier. Nott. Zabini. Complaints to Snape.
Tom barely reacted. He just smiled and thanked her.
"Aren't you worried, Tom?" Daphne asked softly. Her gaze flicked nervously toward the staff table, where Professor Snape sat already, tall and severe as ever.
"He's very strict. You beat those boys yesterday…"
Tom's tone was calm, almost bored.
"Strict, yes. But also reasonable. Zabini provoked me. I defended myself. Snape should know who to punish once he hears the truth."
Daphne bit her lip. "Is that really the case?"
Something felt off to her, but Tom radiated such confidence that she set her worries aside—for now.
---
The Schedule Surprise
When Tom sat down at the Slytherin table, a pleasant surprise awaited him: a neatly folded parchment—their semester schedules.
He scanned it, and then burst out laughing.
"This… this is too easy!"
The first year's timetable was laughable. Two or three classes a day, no electives, just basics. Fewer hours than his old Muggle elementary school.
For today, for example:
9:00 AM: Transfiguration with Gryffindor.
1:00 PM: Herbology with Ravenclaw.
That was it. 100 minutes of work, and the rest of the day free.
"This is perfect," Tom thought, eyes sparkling. "All that spare time—ideal for my own projects."
He leaned toward Daphne.
"After breakfast, let's explore the castle. I've heard the corridors move around. If we don't get familiar, we'll be lost in no time."
Daphne nodded eagerly. They wolfed down their food. Tom even stuffed two buttered rolls into his pocket, insurance against hunger.
Across the hall at the Gryffindor table, Hermione Granger watched them go with envy, but Lavender Brown's endless chatter trapped her in place.
---
The Complaint
As soon as Tom left, the three bruised purebloods exchanged glances.
"Now."
They rose, stalked after Snape, and intercepted him just outside the Great Hall.
Snape's brows knitted. His black eyes bored into them.
"Rosier. What do you want?"
Of course, he remembered Rosier's name. Rosier's parents had been Death Eaters—his "colleagues."
Rosier opened his mouth, but Zabini leapt ahead.
"Professor, please, you must make a decision for us!"
And then—horror of horrors—he flung open his robes and pointed at the red welts striping his skinny chest.
The timing couldn't have been worse. A young witch passing by shrieked.
"Ahh!"
Dozens of heads turned. Students stared in shock. Teachers glanced over. For one terrifying second, the scene looked less like "student seeks help" and more like a scandal involving a teacher.
"Merlin's beard, the priest!" someone whispered. "Not the professor?!"
Snape's face darkened several shades.
"Idiots. Follow me. Now!"
He swept away toward the dungeons at a pace bordering on escape. The trio scampered after him, desperate to get away from the sea of curious eyes. If they stayed another minute, rumors would sprout overnight.
---
In the Office
The heavy door slammed shut behind them.
Snape whirled, his eyes like daggers. His voice was ice.
"Explain. Immediately. Or I'll have you scrubbing cauldrons until your hands rot."
Zabini jabbed a finger at his chest, voice trembling with outrage.
"Professor, look at these whip marks! They were caused by Riddle!"
His face crumpled. "Even my mother never beat me! Not even my six stepfathers laid hands on me like this!"
Nott and Rosier quickly added fuel, recounting every detail of last night and this morning—the duel, the whipping, the humiliating kick out of the dormitory.
As their voices overlapped, Snape's expression grew stormier. His hands curled into fists, his lips pressed thin.
This… this was absurd. Utterly ridiculous.
Even for him, Professor Severus Snape, master of patience, this was testing the limits.
"Riddle. Again. Always Riddle…" he muttered under his breath.
The room hung heavy with tension, the three boys staring at him, waiting for justice.
And Snape, seething silently, thought the same thing all of Hogwarts would soon think:
"This is ridiculous!"
-