The tension between Gryffindor and Slytherin had reached its peak.
Having your rival house produce a prodigy was irritating enough , but having that prodigy casually humiliate your classmates in public? Unforgivable.
If not for the very simple problem that none of them could actually beat Tom Riddle, the Gryffindors would've already formed a mob.
Instead, they could only glare daggers at him in the corridors, as if sheer hatred might somehow make him drop dead.
It didn't help that Hermione Granger, once their golden girl, was now spending all her time with Tom and Daphne.
Her "betrayal" stung worse than any duel. Gryffindor's house pride couldn't stomach the sight of one of their own sitting at the Slytherin table, smiling over tea with the enemy.
But Hermione had long stopped caring.
She'd seen through the hypocrisy of her house , how loyalty crumbled when pride was wounded, how courage became cruelty when challenged.
Let them whisper. Let them sneer.
She had real friends now. And better company.
Still, the simmering hostility in Gryffindor found its outlet soon enough , the next Quidditch match.
If they could beat Hufflepuff, they'd be back in the running for the Cup. For once, their hopes rested not on bravery, but on Oliver Wood's iron will.
Which was why, at dawn on Saturday, the entire Gryffindor team was already up, flying circles around the pitch while their captain barked orders like a drill sergeant.
As Tom and Astoria strolled past the Quidditch stands, the sun barely a smear on the horizon, they could still hear Wood's voice echoing across the field.
"FASTER! TURN TIGHTER! POTTER, KEEP YOUR EYES ON THE SNITCH!"
Astoria giggled, the sound as light as the morning frost. "They really do try hard, don't they?"
Tom smirked. "Probably because this is the only day they'll have the pitch to themselves."
He raised a hand, conjuring a soft, shimmering shield around them to ward off the biting wind. "I just saw Flint talking to Hufflepuff's captain. Trust me , Hufflepuff won't hand them victory so easily."
Astoria tilted her head. "So… who's the most unpopular house in Hogwarts?"
Tom chuckled. "That's easy. Slytherin, of course. But second place? Definitely Gryffindor."
He said it without malice, simply as fact.
"People like to think they love bravery," he went on, "but nobody enjoys arrogance. And Gryffindors , well, they confuse recklessness with courage. Always shouting, always charging into things just to prove a point."
Astoria laughed softly. "So you're saying no one really likes them unless they're fighting Slytherins."
"Exactly." Tom's eyes glinted. "When they're not fighting us, the other houses can't stand them either."
He could already imagine it , if Hufflepuff found out just how hard Gryffindor was training, they'd probably train twice as long just to spite them.
By now, a few early-rising students had spotted the pair walking toward the gates. Their whispers followed in Tom's wake.
He ignored them, as always, pushing open the heavy iron doors of the castle.
He was a man of his word , and today was Astoria's day.
He had promised her an outing, and Tom Riddle never broke a promise.
Whatever mysterious charm the younger Greengrass sister had used, it had worked wonders.
Daphne's anger had cooled almost overnight , or perhaps, more accurately, Astoria had distracted her.
When Tom asked what she'd done, Astoria only smiled , a secretive, knowing smile that didn't quite reach her eyes.
Now, holding the permission slip signed by Lady Greengrass and approved by Dumbledore, Tom led her past the school gates.
The note's official reason was "medical evaluation at St. Mungo's."
Dumbledore, of course, knew that was complete nonsense.
But with parental consent and Riddle's name attached, he chose not to interfere.
Once they were beyond the wards, Tom took Astoria's hand.
"Hold on," he said quietly.
A crack of air , and the world folded in on itself.
They reappeared moments later on the cobbled street of Hogsmeade, the morning mist curling around them like silk.
Their first destination was obvious: Honeydukes.
It wasn't a public visiting day, so the shop was nearly empty save for two clerks dusting shelves. They didn't even blink when the door chimed , students sneaking in early for sweets was practically tradition.
But Astoria's eyes went wide the moment she stepped inside.
Rows upon rows of dazzling colors stretched before her , jars of shimmering jelly beans, rainbow-wrapped caramels, glowing lollipops that buzzed faintly with enchantment.
She darted from shelf to shelf, every new discovery drawing a gasp of delight.
There were Pepper Imps that made you breathe fire for a few seconds.
Exploding Bonbons that detonated like fireworks when bitten.
Zipper Candies that locked your mouth shut for two minutes after eating them , a prankster's dream.
And the infamous Mega Sour Lollies that left a temporary hole in your tongue (purely illusionary, of course).
Tom smirked, remembering the day Dumbledore had tried one.
The Headmaster's tongue had vanished halfway through a staff meeting, rendering him unable to speak for hours.
For two weeks afterward, the password to his office had been "Mega Sour Lollipop."
After several minutes of indecision, Astoria turned to Tom, cheeks flushed with excitement.
"I want… everything," she declared. "One of each!"
The two clerks nearly dropped their wands.
"Miss, there are hundreds of varieties here!" one stammered. "You can't mean, "
Tom stepped forward, wordless, and produced a jingling handful of Galleons, letting them spill onto the counter in a golden cascade.
"Round it up," he said mildly. "Keep the change."
The clerks stared at the pile, jaws slack. "Y-yes, sir… it'll take a while to pack it all up, "
"We'll be back," Tom said smoothly, already turning toward the door. "Don't rush."
…
Outside, the cold air smelled faintly of cinnamon and snow.
"Breakfast?" he suggested.
"The Three Broomsticks?" Astoria guessed instantly.
Tom smiled. "You read my mind."
They strolled leisurely through Hogsmeade, stopping every few shops as Astoria's curiosity got the better of her.
When they passed Madam Malkin's Fine Robes, Tom's gaze caught on a display by the window , a long, ice-blue cloak embroidered with fine silver thread that shimmered like frost.
He stepped inside and lifted it from the rack, holding it up against her shoulders.
"What do you think?" he asked, studying her reflection in the mirror.
Astoria blushed under his gaze. "It's… beautiful," she admitted softly. "I love the color."
"Try it on," he said.
With the shopkeeper's permission, Tom carefully draped the cloak over her shoulders. Their hands brushed.
For a heartbeat, time stilled.
Astoria felt the warmth of his breath, the faint scent of parchment and cedar clinging to his robes. Her heart skipped wildly, and before she could stop herself, one treacherous thought slipped through her mind.
"He smells so good…"
Her face turned bright pink.
Tom caught her flustered expression in the mirror, his lips curving slightly , that unreadable, dangerous smile of his.
If he noticed her embarrassment, he said nothing.
"Perfect," he murmured instead. "It suits you."
Outside, the morning sun broke through the clouds, painting the street in gold.
And for the first time in a long while, Astoria Greengrass forgot about bloodlines, curses, and sickness , and simply felt like a girl on a perfect day.