"Hah—!"
Early in the morning, Ron shot up in bed, gasping for air, his heart pounding against his ribs like a drum.
He didn't even bother wiping the sweat from his forehead before throwing off his covers to check: Good, no spiders in there.
Next, he frantically looked around. Scabbers was sleeping soundly on the pillow, and thankfully, hadn't turned into a middle-aged man. He looked at the next bed over—Harry was fine, sleeping peacefully, and hadn't turned into a red-headed woman or vanished into thin air.
"Oh, thank Merlin. It was just a dream..."
He wiped the cold sweat from his brow, his voice raspy and trembling.
"Ron?"
He must have made too much noise. From the next bed, Harry's groggy voice drifted over.
"It's not even six yet. Why are you up so early? Did something happen?"
"No, nothing."
Ron tried to make his voice sound steady.
"Just had a nightmare, that's all."
That's right, just a nightmare, he told himself internally.
"A nightmare?"
By the dim light filtering through the curtains, Harry saw Ron's pale face and tense shoulders. His sleepiness vanished instantly.
"What kind of dream?" Harry sat up, looking at Ron with genuine concern.
"Spiders. Just... loads of spiders."
Ron shook his head. He was too embarrassed to mention the part where Scabbers turned into an old guy, or the part where Harry turned into a girl and abandoned him along with Hermione.
If he told anyone about a dream like that, they'd probably think he was some kind of pervert.
"Is that it? Maybe it's because of what happened last night," Harry nodded understandingly, though his gaze lingered on Ron's face.
He knew Ron well. Ron was terrified of spiders, sure, but he usually wouldn't react this intensely after waking up if it were just garden-variety dream spiders.
Still, as a friend, he didn't pry.
"Don't worry about it. It's over now."
"I know," Ron mumbled, staring at the four bedposts and the deep red hangings. "But honestly? Last night, I really thought you guys were going to ditch me."
"How could we? We're best friends, aren't we?" Harry smiled. "I've got your back."
Ron was just about to reply when a loud snore from Neville cut through the moment. They looked at each other and laughed, then settled back down into their pillows.
You kidding? They weren't Hermione. Why get up this early? To study? Yeah right—fat chance of that happening!
---
8:00 AM, The Great Hall
The long tables were already filling up with students from every house—except Hufflepuff.
As usual, only a few early risers were sitting at the Hufflepuff table, including Tom and Hannah. Of course, if you counted visitors from other houses, Arianna and Hermione were there too.
When Ron and Harry walked in, Tom's ears twitched. He looked up at the two of them—specifically at Ron—and gave a cheerful, squinty-eyed smile.
Tom had actually had quite a bit of fun in Ron's dream last night. He hadn't forced Ron to draw maps or anything tedious; he just vented a little frustration. So, naturally, he wasn't planning on messing with him this morning.
But when Ron saw Tom, he instinctively took two steps back and practically dragged Harry over to the Gryffindor table to sit down.
Even though they had technically made a truce, Ron felt an inexplicable sense of dread whenever he saw Tom.
Throughout breakfast, Ron was distracted. He kept stealing glances at Tom, and whether by coincidence or bad luck, every time he looked over, he made direct eye contact. It scared him enough to make him bury his head in his plate immediately.
"Why do you keep staring at Tom?"
Hermione, noticing Ron's weird behavior, greeted the group and sat down next to them at the Gryffindor table.
"I wasn't..." Ron tried to deny it.
Harry cut in, "He had a nightmare. I think he's still shaken up from last night."
"A nightmare? Are you okay? Do you need to go to the hospital wing?" Hermione frowned with concern. "By the way, what was the dream about? Did it have to do with what happened last night? Or Tom? Or... did you dream about something you can't talk about?"
"Hermione! I'm fine, really. I just didn't sleep well," Ron said, feigning anger.
He didn't know why, but seeing Tom today made him feel like a mouse bumping into a cat. (And no, not Jerry the mouse.)
"Alright, alright, Hermione."
Seeing an argument brewing, Harry quickly stepped in. He gave Hermione a look that said 'drop it,' then patted Ron on the shoulder to calm him down.
"Oh, right!"
Arianna, who had returned at some point, spoke up softly to change the subject. "Do you guys think Tom can make Professor Quirrell act a little more normal in Defense Against the Dark Arts this morning?"
"I have no idea!" Ron answered, his tone much more cautious than usual. "I'm not betting on anything right now."
He'd learned his lesson last night. If Tom hadn't been merciful, Ron would currently owe Harry a Galleon and a Sickle.
"I'm not sure either," Harry added. "Everyone knows Tom is capable, but Professor Quirrell's situation is... unique. He can't even say a full incantation properly! But yeah, if possible, I really hope he can make the Professor a bit better."
It was one of the classes Harry looked forward to the most, and he didn't want to suffer through stuttering lectures that smelled like garlic.
---
Hearing this conversation from afar, Tom's face instantly darkened, his whiskers twitching in annoyance.
Are you kidding me? Besides History of Magic, when did he ever go out of his way to cause trouble in class?
In Charms, he just wanted to cast spells properly. Potions didn't even need explaining—he was just practicing alchemy.
As for History of Magic? That was purely because Professor Binns was so boring Tom felt like he was going to slip into a coma, so he had to spice things up! Didn't they see how well-behaved he was in Herbology? Why did everyone talk like he was a trouble magnet everywhere he went?
Just as Tom was debating whether to teach them a lesson, an interruption saved them. It was time for the morning mail.
Usually, Tom didn't care about the owl post since he didn't write letters. If he really wanted to see Luna, he could just teleport back, hang out, and come back. Much more convenient.
But today was different.
Tom was leisurely enjoying his breakfast when a brown package dropped with a thud right next to his plate, nearly splashing into his milk.
(Who does that? So rude!)
He looked up instinctively to see an owl lazily flying away.
Is this for me? But who would send it?
Curious, Tom tore open the packaging.
Inside the small parcel was a fancy little paper bag containing several golden-wrapped candies. At the bottom of the bag was a note. The handwriting was neat but looked a bit stiff:
> "New product from Honeydukes. Try them.
> —D.M."
No explanation, no statement of intent, not even a full signature. The package was simple.
But looking at the initials and remembering yesterday's events, Tom had a pretty good guess.
He looked up across the hall—sure enough, the moment he looked over, "Little Dragon" (Draco) whipped his head around, pretending to be intensely fascinated by the way the light reflected off his fork.
However, the faint blush on the tips of his ears betrayed how nervous he actually was.
The corners of Tom's mouth quirked up. He popped a candy into his mouth. The sweet taste of honey and citrus melted over his tongue. He had to admit, it was pretty good.
Nodding in satisfaction, Tom carefully tucked the package away.
"Who sent the package?" Hannah asked curiously.
Tom smiled.
[Just a friend. A slightly awkward one.]
As he spoke (via sign/magic), he shot a wink in Draco's direction.
Catching the wink, Draco stiffened. He immediately ducked his head and started aggressively cutting the sausage on his plate, acting like absolutely nothing had happened.
—If you could ignore his bright red ears, that is.