— — — — — —
Snape was a man with no sense of boundaries and even less sense of social grace.
Not only did he not bother with the basics of asking for favors — like maybe offering a gift or inviting someone to sit — he literally blocked the doorway and dragged Tom inside like a debt collector. If he weren't powerful and an expert at potions, someone would have beaten him to death long ago.
Tom honestly felt the urge to throw hands. A part of him was ready to flip the seniority table and teach Snape how normal people interact with each other.
"Umm..." Snape sensed danger and took two tiny steps back. He clearly realized he'd said something outrageous. With a stiff cough, he added, a bit awkwardly, "I'm not asking for them for free. You're short on supplies, aren't you? I'll pay in Galleons."
To be honest, Snape also knew he was acting cowardly, but looking weak in front of Tom wasn't exactly shameful. One Graves was enough.
"Sorry, Professor," Tom said with a bright, cheerful smile. "I'm not short on money anymore. Galleons? They're basically dirt. I'm not interested."
He could say that with confidence now. Once he completed the orders Grindelwald sent him, he'd hit that five-million-Galleon target easily.
Snape clenched his fist and glared, silently expressing pure disdain.
Tom caught the look, and his smile faded. He turned like he was about to leave. Snape panicked and darted in front of the door.
"Fine, fine. What do you want then? Potions, recipes, something else?"
"Before we talk trade," Tom said, giving his Head of House a slow once-over, "why don't you tell me what you want the Inferi for."
"I found a poison in an old text," Snape said bluntly. He didn't bother hiding anything. "It's colorless, tasteless, blends into any liquid. Once it activates, the victim's whole body rots, maggots that devour magic grow out of the flesh, and they die in endless agony."
Tom held out his hand. "Recipe."
This was clearly vicious magic. He had to examine it thoroughly… to criticize it, of course.
Snape's face darkened. Reluctantly, he fished out a piece of parchment and a quill and copied the formula.
While he wrote, Tom read. The brewing method aside, the ingredients alone were horrifying — every line was nastier than the last.
"Can I have them now?" Snape asked impatiently when Tom folded the recipe away.
"Have what?"
Tom blinked innocently. "We haven't discussed terms yet."
"I just—"
Halfway through the sentence, Snape realized he'd been conned again. By this little menace. Merlin, God, someone please come and sent this boy to hell.
"What do you want?" Snape inhaled deeply and hid the part of himself that wanted to knock Tom unconscious. He forced his voice to stay even.
In any trade, the worst thing is an imbalance in leverage. And somehow Snape was always the one in need when it came to Tom. And on the rare occasions Tom came to him first, the boy always held some card Snape couldn't refuse.
"Professor… you only just found this recipe, right?"
Tom smiled. "You must have gone treasure-hunting again. And I'd guess you didn't come back empty-handed. Good things ought to be shared. No need to hide."
He'd noticed because there was still killing intent lingering around Snape — not aimed at him, but present.
Snape's expression shifted. He hadn't expected Tom to pick up on that. He tugged at his robes, clearly debating how much to admit.
"You're familiar with The Magick Moste Evile?"
"Of course. There's a copy in the Restricted Section," Tom answered casually.
He'd not only read nearly every book in the Restricted Section, but recreated them in his study-space library. The Magick Moste Evile was among the darkest volumes there, full of ancient curses — even Horcrux lore — though much of it was outdated or impractical. Still, he and Ravenclaw had referenced several spells from it while developing the blood-curse.
Snape shook his head. "The one in the Restricted Section isn't the original. It's been copied and edited by Merlin-knows how many people. The version I acquired isn't necessarily the medieval original, but it's much closer."
"For example, that recipe I just gave you. Do you see it in that library copy?"
"That's true," Tom agreed, smiling brightly. "Then Professor, would you mind copying your version for me? I'll trade fifty Inferi."
"One hundred."
"No. I need them for my own work. Fifty is already generous."
"Seventy-five," Snape countered immediately, still haggling.
Tom brought out the big guns. "If you're not satisfied, you can negotiate with my teacher, Nicolas Flamel. Just don't blame me for not warning you. His temper hasn't been great lately."
He didn't explain why. But ninety percent of the trouble was his own fault.
"..."
Even Snape wasn't reckless enough to provoke a six-hundred-year-old alchemist. With obvious reluctance, he accepted the deal, though internally he was ranting nonstop.
More than a thousand Inferi and it still isn't enough. Alchemists really are lunatics. Compared to them, he was practically a white wizard.
"You want the purified ones or the raw ones?" Snape muttered.
"Raw, obviously. If they're purified, what poison is left?"
Tom was just about to ask where Snape had gotten his copy of The Magick Moste Evile when loud shouting erupted outside the door.
The conversation had to end there.
He pushed the door open. The entrance hall was packed, and at the center of the crowd were the usual stars of Hogwarts brawls — Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy.
The two of them were like opposite ends of a magnet. Even if one lived on a rooftop and the other in a cellar, they'd still find a way to collide and spark chaos the moment school started.
Like now.
Harry and Draco were locked in a messy fistfight, completely ignoring their audience. At least they'd kept things fair. No wands. Harry's wand was with Ron, and Draco's was in Goyle's hand.
Pure physical combat.
Also called... man's romance, right?
The moment Snape realized Potter was involved, he perked up. Using his greasy hair and sallow face as a natural battering ram, he forced his way through the crowd.
He waited for Draco to land a knee to Harry's lower half, then instantly cast a spell to tear them apart. Harry made a strangled, borderline indecent sound as he crumpled forward, too much in pain to talk.
Snickers rippled through the students around them.
"Impressive," Snape drawled, dragging out the syllables. "Classes haven't even started and you've already given the entire school a charming performance. Is this your idea of welcoming everyone back? Very dedicated."
His sarcasm was sharp as always. The two culprits turned crimson, and several students burst into barely suppressed laughter.
"Malfoy, you tell me," Snape said, lifting a brow. "What exactly did you do this time to offend the famous Mr. Potter?"
What a devious man.
Tom gave him a sidelong look.
Starting by framing the situation and calling on Draco Malfoy first ensured that anything Harry said afterward could be brushed off as excuses.
And of course Harry wasn't sharp enough to catch on, and Ron definitely wasn't going to help.
"Professor," Draco put on a perfectly innocent face. "I only asked Potter how things were going with his new father, and he punched me."
"Liar!" Harry snapped. "You insulted Sirius. You called him a disgrace to pure-bloods!"
"Did I say anything untrue?" Draco shot back. "Ask any pure-blood family and they'll tell you the same. I stated a fact. What, someone disagrees with you so you get to punch them now?"
He snorted. "What are you, the new Dark Lord, Potter?"
The Slytherins around them nodded in agreement. A couple even praised Draco out loud. The Gryffindors, loyal as always, immediately defended Sirius, and the argument was seconds away from exploding again when McGonagall arrived.
"What is all this! It's the first day back. Do you want me to start taking points already?"
Her presence had more weight than Snape's. The heated back-and-forth died instantly.
"Mr. Riddle." McGonagall surveyed the hall until every student looked at the floor. Only then did she soften a fraction and turn to Tom. "What happened?"
Tom didn't take sides. He relayed both boys' stories calmly.
After hearing both accounts, McGonagall's expression darkened even further.
"Save your energy for something useful. Exams are the day after tomorrow. Unless you're all confident in earning full marks?"
She turned to Harry and Draco. "You're lucky today isn't technically the first official school day, so I won't deduct points. But tomorrow, after exams, both of you will report to Mr. Filch and help him clean the storage rooms."
Both boys mumbled their agreement. McGonagall waved everyone off, and the crowd dispersed into the Great Hall.
But Snape wasn't satisfied. He'd hoped to punish Harry, but once McGonagall made the call, he couldn't overturn it. He could only whisper to Tom about the time and place for their exchange.
...
As they walked into the hall, Snape suddenly felt a heavy stare aimed at him and Tom.
He looked up and nearly jumped.
One summer break had passed… and Dumbledore looked like death had sent him a personal invitation.
.
.
.