"Dragon heart—this one's the core ingredient. We can't leave it behind. Take it all."
"Bloodgrass... decent quality. Half should do."
"Manticore claws and eyeballs—take them both. They're nearly impossible to find."
"No need for the lacewing flies—we've got fresh ones from the Forbidden Forest."
"...This one? Hm. Probably not useful?"
Tom paused in front of two horns preserved in jars. They were bicorn horns. Not as rare as unicorn horns, but still incredibly valuable.
"Not useful this time doesn't mean useless forever," Andros said. "There are several anti-Dark Arts potions that require it. Some very effective ones, too."
Hearing that, Tom didn't hesitate—he packed the jars in wholesale.
Since he was already in looting mode, he grabbed the African Tree Snake skin too. Who knows? Maybe he'd need to brew Polyjuice Potion someday.
That potion was way more reliable than Transfiguration. Even Dumbledore had been fooled by it. Barty Crouch Jr. used it to impersonate Moody for a whole year—and only got exposed because he revealed himself.
After a full round of raiding, Snape's office looked like it had been hit by a hurricane.
Tom, being a bit of a neat freak, didn't just stop there. Once he'd taken everything he wanted, he thoughtfully tidied up the place.
He nodded in satisfaction at his work.
Now this looked like a proper office—spacious and organized. Unlike before, when it was stuffed to the brim with materials and cauldrons, with only a narrow path leading to Snape's desk. It had felt more like a storage room than an office.
Honestly, this was a good deed in disguise.
…
To be fair, Snape's attitude toward Tom had changed drastically lately. He'd become more patient, even gentler, and when Tom came with questions, Snape would answer them thoroughly—almost as if he was pouring out everything he knew.
The change was so dramatic, Tom had briefly wondered if someone had taken Polyjuice Potion to impersonate Snape.
But the potion knowledge was clearly legit.
So... it had to be the real deal.
Tom had hesitated for a moment about whether he should go through with this heist.
Snape had been teaching him valuable knowledge—stealing from the man's private stash felt incredibly ungrateful.
But after thinking for precisely 2.5 seconds, Tom made up his mind.
He was a pragmatist. Strength came first. And a professor rewarding a top student? That was only fair.
Worst case... he'd find a way to make it up to Snape later.
He didn't know how yet, but there would be opportunities.
With that mental weight gone, Tom cheerfully cleaned the place out.
As a bonus, he unlocked the achievement: "Night Raid on a Professor's Office" and earned 20 achievement points.
Since he wasn't sure when Snape would return, Tom didn't linger. Once the job was done, he quickly left and made his way back to the Slytherin common room.
The entrance was located on the uppermost level of the dungeons, and the common room itself was down a long spiral staircase. No one had seen the door open, so no one would suspect him.
Mission accomplished.
Tom was in high spirits as he found Daphne and invited her to a game of wizard chess.
…
Meanwhile...
On the second floor of the castle, inside a bathroom that had become a warzone...
Professor McGonagall, a still-dusty Quirrell, and Snape were all gathered around the wreckage.
The once-functional bathroom now looked like a battlefield. A knocked-out mountain troll was bound by heavy chains, while four enchanted golems gripped the chains tightly, keeping it restrained.
Surrounded by the professors stood Harry, Ron, and a bespectacled ghost.
"What in Merlin's name were you three thinking!?"
Professor McGonagall's lips were pinched tight, and her eyes blazed with fury behind her glasses.
"I told you to return to your dorms! What are you doing here?!"
Ron was pale as a sheet. Harry didn't look much better—drenched in dirty water and looking utterly pathetic.
"Sorry, Professor. Ron and I hadn't made it to the feast yet when we ran into... this thing."
Hearing that the boys hadn't been at the Great Hall, McGonagall's anger lessened slightly. Now that she thought about it, she hadn't seen Potter at the feast. As for Weasley...
Well, there were so many Weasleys she wouldn't have noticed if one or two were missing.
Just as Harry was starting to believe he might escape without too much trouble, Snape's voice slithered in, ice-cold and dripping with suspicion.
"Oh? Our dear Mr. Potter missed the Halloween feast? Something more important than pumpkin pasties, perhaps? Let me guess... planning some elaborate prank?"
"Of course not!"
Harry blurted it out instantly, but after defending himself, he realized he had no idea what to say next.
What could he do? Admit he had been trying to find Ron, who was emotionally shattered after Daphne verbally eviscerated him? That he'd spent so long trying to comfort him that they missed the feast?
That would be social suicide for Ron.
Harry wasn't the brightest, but even he could see that much.
"I... I just wasn't hungry. I thought I'd take a walk. Ron came along. We were just heading to the Great Hall, honest," Harry muttered, cobbling together an excuse.
Snape clearly didn't buy it and opened his mouth to dig deeper, but McGonagall beat him to it.
"Whatever the reason, you two nearly caused a disaster. To make sure this sinks in—Gryffindor will lose twenty points."
With McGonagall already issuing punishment, Snape had to bite back whatever he was going to say. He merely gave a bitter huff.
"Now, tell us exactly what happened. Are you expecting us to believe that you two took down a troll?"
As insulting as that sounded, both Harry and Ron thought he had a point.
They had, in fact, not taken down the troll.
So Harry recounted the whole incident truthfully.
It was actually quite simple. While Harry was trying to cheer up a Ron who had just been mentally obliterated by Daphne, the troll had shown up.
The two of them never even considered fighting it—they just wanted to run.
The troll had smashed through the wall separating the boys' and girls' bathrooms, which alerted Moaning Myrtle.
Then the troll, for some reason, became obsessed with trying to smash Myrtle.
Unfortunately for the beast, it's pretty hard to hit a ghost.
Enraged and flailing madly, the troll lost balance while swinging its club and knocked itself unconscious against a corner of the wall.
"Looks like luck was on your side this time," McGonagall said, giving them both a scolding glare before turning to Myrtle.
"Thank you, Myrtle. You saved their lives."
Moaning Myrtle ducked her head in embarrassment.
"Well... it was nothing, really. I'll consider it payment if one of them marries me."
She sneaked a bashful glance at Harry.
Harry: "..."
Lady... I'm still a child.
The troll incident was resolved without serious injury. Professor McGonagall shooed Harry and Ron away, instructing them to return to their dormitory immediately.
She stayed behind to deal with the mess. Quirrell was left to handle the troll, while Snape went to report everything to Dumbledore.
…
Eighth Floor.
Snape limped into the Headmaster's office, clearly in pain. Dumbledore was already seated behind his desk, as though he'd anticipated the visit.
His eyes dropped to Snape's injured leg, eyebrows raising in surprise.
"Severus, what happened to you?"
"That damned dog," Snape growled as he sat down. "I merely stepped inside to check the room. Didn't even close the door—and it lunged at me before I could react."
"I couldn't go all-out, obviously. Just one bite was enough."
Dumbledore looked like he was suppressing a laugh.
Snape wasn't just the Potions Master—he was a prodigy. Back in his student days, he'd invented a number of original spells, most of them hexes or borderline Dark Arts.
If he'd been serious, there was no way a three-headed dog could've landed a hit.
So this wasn't just carelessness—it was desperation. Snape had likely panicked, thinking Quirrell might've already gotten past the creature, and rushed in without any magical protections.
But... maybe there was another reason.
Dumbledore recalled Snape's pitiful state the last time he inspected Fluffy. Had he been traumatized into a stress response?
"Severus, actually..." Dumbledore began, sharing his own theory.
Snape's face morphed from blank 0_0 to cold -_-.
That brat, Tom, had tricked him again?!
Enraged, Snape slammed his palms down on the desk. BANG! BANG!
"That student doesn't sleep like a normal child! Wandering the halls at night—how is this acceptable?"
"Dumbledore, I strongly suggest you put him in detention! Severely!"
Dumbledore didn't respond. Instead, he smoothly changed the subject.
"Did you run into Quirrell while you were there?"
As expected, Snape was successfully redirected. He frowned.
"No. I ran into him on the stairs while I was heading down. We met in the hallway and went together to the girls' bathroom to rendezvous with McGonagall. He couldn't have arrived at the fourth floor before me."
Dumbledore nodded thoughtfully.
"Seems like it was just a test run on Quirrell's part. Now that he knows the security is tight, he'll likely try another route."
Snape agreed.
Unfortunately, while their conclusion was correct, the reasoning was completely wrong.
Was Quirrell testing the waters?
Nope.
He'd been flattened and left numb on the floor. It took him ages to even get back up. By the time he limped toward the second floor, Snape was already heading downstairs—there was no way he could proceed without being caught.
…
After reporting in, Snape dragged his injured leg back to his office.
Fluffy's fangs were venomous. Regular healing spells wouldn't cut it—he needed to brew a proper antidote first, then apply healing magic.
Thankfully, his office was well-stocked. He could prepare the antidote tonight. Delaying it until tomorrow would've caused complications.
He took out his key, unlocked the door, and pushed it open.
With a casual flick of his hand, the fireplace roared to life, and the candles on the racks lit up one by one, illuminating the entire room in warm, golden light.
And then—
Snape froze.
He blinked.
Then rubbed his eyes.
Was this... still his office?
Why did it look so empty?
The shelves, normally brimming with jars, bottles, and containers of every color and shape, were missing two entire racks. What remained was half-full at best.
Snape's face shifted from confused... to stunned... then to furious...
And finally, to his ultimate form—rage incarnate.
There was no mistaking it now—his office had been robbed.
Adrenaline coursed through him, completely numbing the pain in his leg. He moved with shocking speed, darting around the room, taking inventory of what had been taken.
Snape had always been meticulous about his collections, so he quickly tallied the losses.
His head spun, and he slumped into his chair.
The good news?
All the ingredients needed to brew the antidote were still intact. No delays on detoxing himself.
The bad news?
Aside from those few ingredients—and some common ones—everything else was gone.
The most precious materials? Wiped out completely.
The moderately rare ones? Some reduced to half, others a mere third.
"That bastard."
Snape practically growled through clenched teeth. His knuckles whitened as he gripped the armrests, veins bulging on the backs of his hands.
"Quirrell... if I find even one of your filthy little chicken-feet anywhere near this, I swear I'll make you pay with interest..."
He didn't even consider other suspects. In his mind, the guilt squarely—and obviously—belonged to Quirrell.
Who else in this school was as suspicious as that man?
Even if it was a student, they would've only dared to steal a few ingredients for class. No one would've gone this far, as if they were stocking a bloody store.
Plus, he'd run into Quirrell on the stairs—Quirrell had looked rattled, clearly avoiding Snape's scrutiny.
It all lined up perfectly.
Now, the only question was—would Dumbledore reimburse these losses?
Snape had bled for this school. Sacrificed personal resources, time, and now—a fortune in potion stock!
…
Half an hour passed before he recovered from the blow. Then, gritting his teeth, he began brewing the antidote.
…
Elsewhere, Tom was also brewing potions.
Deep in the Forbidden Forest, near the Mooncalves' territory, he'd set up a cauldron under the light of an oil lamp, his hands moving with utmost care as he processed each ingredient.
Every step was exact, deliberate—he couldn't afford a single mistake.
He'd even opened his fourth-dimensional space to let Andros watch the entire process.
These ingredients were not easy to come by. If he ruined a batch, his heart would ache for days.
Initially, Tom had wanted to practice a few simpler potions first—to hone his technique before attempting this particular brew.
But Andros was running out of patience.
The stronger Tom's body became, the more magic it could handle. And that meant Andros could finally begin teaching him more advanced spells.
Driven mad by constant pestering, Tom had no choice but to haul his cauldron out into the woods in the dead of night.
As for why he didn't brew in the Room of Requirement?
This particular potion—the Body-Strengthening Elixir—had unique requirements. It needed to absorb both moonlight and sunlight during its brew cycle.
Many high-level potions had these kinds of bizarre prerequisites.
Take Animagus transformation, for example: the practitioner had to keep a Mandrake leaf in their mouth for half a month—and even then, their first transformation had to happen during a thunderstorm. With bad luck, you could end up waiting a whole month.
After two hours of careful work, Tom finally finished preparing the materials.
He wiped the sweat from his brow and stood up to stretch.
A new problem arose.
This potion needed to simmer for three full days and nights.
Leaving it alone—even with trap spells—was too risky. It had to be watched constantly.
Andros scratched his head. He'd forgotten Tom still had classes tomorrow.
Tom thought for a long while before a solution came to mind.
He called softly, "Kaka."
Pop!
With a small explosion, a house-elf appeared in front of Tom and gave a deep bow.
"Master Riddle."