The next morning.
Tom slept in until just before class, his mind groggy and muddled.
He wasn't sure what time he had finally dozed off, but it felt like he had barely closed his eyes before being forced to get up.
He caught up on sleep during History of Magic, then continued napping through Defense Against the Dark Arts.
Sure, a bottle of energy potion could've fixed him up instantly, but potions only suppressed the symptoms. Sleep? Sleep felt good. So Tom chose the most primal, satisfying solution—because he just wanted to feel right.
Daphne sat next to him in History of Magic. She had no idea what he'd been up to last night, only that he looked absolutely exhausted. So the kind-hearted little witch slipped a pair of earplugs into his ears, letting him sleep more soundly.
But by the time Defense Against the Dark Arts rolled around, it was Hermione sitting next to him.
And Hermione's curiosity? Far more persistent than Daphne's.
Near the end of class, Tom finally stirred awake.
Hermione leaned over, her voice hushed but urgent, eyes gleaming with questions.
"Tom, what happened to you last night? I've never seen you look this out of it."
That was saying something. Hermione was a stickler for rules and rarely tolerated off-topic chatter in class.
But this was Defense Against the Dark Arts. The one subject where going off-topic actually made things more interesting.
Tom let out a long yawn, mouth dry as dust. He grabbed his water bottle, chugged a mouthful, and answered lazily,
"Went out for a late-night snack. Couldn't fall asleep no matter what I tried."
Hermione narrowed her eyes.
"You go for midnight snacks all the time. Why would last night be different?"
"Because last night, I was having that snack... in the Forbidden Forest," he sighed dreamily. "Hannah's cooking is divine. If I had a little chef like her at home, I'd never eat anywhere else."
…Huh?
The Forbidden Forest part didn't even register. That detail was irrelevant.
But—a little chef?
And Hannah?
Hermione froze.
Daphne, sitting in front and shamelessly eavesdropping, perked up instantly.
Hermione leaned in, whispering furiously, "You ate with Hannah Abbott?!"
"Ran into her by chance," Tom said breezily. "Susan was there too. And another second-year girl."
He smacked his lips, rubbing his chin.
He hadn't eaten breakfast this morning, and just thinking about it made his stomach growl again.
"…I see." Hermione mumbled, filing away critical intel:
Hannah Abbott cooks well. Her food suits Tom's tastes. Remember this.
Then she pivoted with calculated calm.
"Tom, you're going home for Christmas break too, right? Want to hang out while we're both in town?"
She added nonchalantly, "My parents and I are going skiing in the Pyrenees after New Year's. So I'm around until then."
"Mmm, not sure. I might be busy."
"That's okay! Surely you'll have one afternoon free?" Hermione pressed, smile bright. "We could meet in Diagon Alley. It's not like you live far. Unlike Daphne, poor thing—her place is practically on another continent."
Daphne nodded vigorously.
Now this is what a true friend sounds like.
…
Courtyard Garden.
Hannah stared blankly at the two slices of cake in front of her.
Her mind whirled.
She wracked her brain and came up with exactly zero interactions with Hermione Granger or Daphne Greengrass.
Hermione was famous for being strict, standoffish, and a model student—someone Hannah instinctively kept her distance from.
Daphne?
Don't even get started.
Yes, both were pure-bloods.
But Hufflepuff and Slytherin? Entirely different worlds.
And their families?
Hannah's was barely scraping by.
Daphne? The princess of the pure-blood elite.
So why, in Merlin's name, were both girls handing her the most expensive cakes from Madam Puddifoot's tearoom?!
Last time someone brought one of these back from Hogsmeade, an upperclassman spent a full week flaunting it.
Gulp.
Hannah swallowed nervously.
"Um… Greengrass? Granger? Did you maybe… give these to the wrong person?"
Hermione and Daphne exchanged a look—flashing identical dazzling smiles.
"Don't be so formal. Just call me Daphne."
"And I'm Hermione. No need for surnames between friends."
Hannah hesitated. Then gave in.
"O-Okay… Daphne, Hermione… You sure you didn't mix up your delivery?"
"Nope!" Daphne said sweetly. "This is my favorite—White Whale Caviar Mille-Feuille. Try it!"
Hermione chimed in, "Mine's pretty amazing too. Black Truffle Chocolate Lava Cake. I heard you've got a sweet tooth—especially for chocolate—so I asked around your dorm."
Now Hannah was just scared.
And hungry.
The cakes were calling to her.
...Well, what's the worst that could happen?
They wouldn't poison her, right?
Taking a deep breath, Hannah steeled herself.
She whispered a quick thanks—then dug in.
Both girls beamed.
Daphne handed over some lemon water she'd prepped ahead of time—just in case Hannah choked.
Hermione conjured a cozy flame with Bluebell Fire—gentle and warm, perfect for winter afternoons.
Moments later, the cakes were gone, and Hannah looked like a girl who'd just touched heaven.
"Daphne, Hermione… if you need anything—anything—just say the word! I'll help, no matter what it is! Even homework—I'll write the whole thing myself!" Hannah thumped her chest.
She'd figured it out during her feast.
This kind of unexpected warmth could only mean one thing: they wanted something.
And that was fine.
Hufflepuffs loved helping friends.
Anyone who gave her cake? Instant friend for life.
"Hannah, you're honestly the smartest and kindest Hufflepuff I've ever met!" Daphne said dramatically.
Then she added with a grin, "We do need your help—but don't worry, we're not cruel enough to make you do our homework."
Hannah visibly relaxed.
Not homework?
Well then, what else could possibly be too difficult?
Hermione took over.
"This morning in class, Tom said your stew and Four-Season Lamb were better than anything Hogwarts serves."
"I'd really love to learn to cook like that. Just for myself, you know?"
Daphne nodded.
"Same here."
"Oh, that's it?" Hannah blinked. All that stress and second-guessing had been for nothing. Without hesitation, she nodded.
"I'll let you know the next time I'm cooking. You know where the Hufflepuff common room is, right? Just come find me there—the kitchen's right next to the entrance."
"Although..." Hannah's tone dipped slightly, her confidence wavering. "I've never actually taught anyone to cook before. I might not be very good at explaining."
"That's totally fine," Hermione jumped in quickly. "If we mess it up, it's on us, not you."
"Yeah, you just need to talk through the steps as you go. We'll take notes and practice slowly."
"That makes it a lot easier." Hannah let out a breath of relief. "If we don't get it right the first time, we'll try again. And again. Cooking's all about practice. Once you understand the ingredients, seasoning, and heat control, it's not that hard."
"We can start after the Christmas holidays."
"I don't think we need to wait until after," Daphne chimed in suddenly.
Hannah's eyes widened, her twin pigtails bouncing. She hadn't expected Daphne to be this passionate about cooking.
"Well… I suppose that's doable, but that means you'd have to come to my house. You can use the Floo Network though—it's easy."
"Parra," Daphne said softly.
CRACK! A loud pop split the air, making Hermione and Hannah both jump in shock.
Hannah gasped. "A house-elf?!"
Hermione stared, wide-eyed, at the odd little creature that had suddenly materialized.
"Milady!"
The house-elf—small, with giant bat-like ears and tennis ball-sized eyes—bowed so deeply it nearly faceplanted.
Daphne introduced them, still as casual as ever. "Hannah, this is Parra—one of my family's house-elves. She's the one who'll be learning to cook from you, not me."
"I've never stepped foot in a kitchen. I'd just slow you down. Parra, on the other hand, is already trained in domestic magic and basic culinary arts. She'll pick it up quickly. We'll have her stay at your place over the holidays. She can help out with chores too."
Daphne was well aware of her strengths—and cooking wasn't one of them. She didn't even know which end of a knife to hold. But what she did have was wealth and a prestigious pure-blood lineage. And that was enough.
Let Parra learn. If Parra could win Tom's stomach, it would work just as well.
"R-Really? You're just going to let her stay with us? What about your family—won't you be short-staffed?"
Hannah's eyes sparkled, obviously intrigued.
A house-elf in her home... That was unheard of in the Abbott household. Everything had always been done by hand—her father and mother personally took care of all chores.
"No worries. We've still got two more at home." Daphne waved it off like it was no big deal. "Parra, while you're staying with the Abbotts, you'll do as Hannah and her parents ask. And learn her recipes carefully—I'll be checking your progress when you return."
"Yes, Mistress!"
Parra looked up, full of spirit, then turned to Hannah and bowed again. "Miss Hannah, please command me as you see fit!"
Seeing how seriously Daphne meant it, Hannah dropped her hesitations and nodded her acceptance.
Internally, though, she was reeling.
The Greengrasses really are loaded.
Most pure-blood families with even one house-elf would flaunt it like a royal emblem. And they had three?!
And all she had to do was teach a few recipes? That was the deal of the century.
…
After they parted ways with Hannah, Hermione turned to Daphne, still visibly curious.
"Daphne, what exactly is a house-elf? Are they a type of magical creature? I didn't see anything about them in Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them."
Daphne wasn't surprised. Hermione was brilliant, but she was still new to the wizarding world. So she explained patiently:
"House-elves aren't considered magical beasts. They're a magical species—like goblins or dwarves. Most old wizarding families have at least one. They're servants who help with housework and daily chores."
Hermione frowned.
The word servant didn't sit right with her. Raised in a modern, progressive Muggle family, the idea of magical indentured labor set off all kinds of internal alarms.
"But wait," Hermione said, her brow furrowed. "Hogwarts doesn't allow Apparition inside the grounds. So how did Parra just pop in like that?"
"Oh, that's something Tom told me," Daphne said offhandedly. "The Apparition ban only applies to wizards. House-elves aren't restricted by it. Same with the Headmaster's phoenix—Fawkes can come and go freely, too."
Daphne squinted at her, amused. "Why're you so interested in house-elves all of a sudden?"
"No reason," Hermione replied quickly. "I've just… never seen one before."
She didn't plan on saying anything more. Instead, she intended to do her own research later that evening.
Daphne didn't press the issue, humming to herself as she strolled back toward the castle. She had a plan—and she was off to find Tom.
…
At last, it was Friday—the final class before the holidays.
Tomorrow morning, students heading home would board the Hogwarts Express for a well-earned break.
Even those staying behind were already settling into the relaxing rhythm of eat-sleep-repeat. Spirits were high. Discipline… not so much.
That is, until they stepped into Snape's Potions class.
No matter how cheerful you felt, Potions with Professor Snape was the ultimate mood killer.
Malfoy took the opportunity to sneer at Harry again. "Poor Potter," he said loudly, "nobody wants him. Has to spend Christmas at school."
He wanted to toss in a jab at Tom too—another so-called orphan left behind for the holidays—but didn't dare.
Ever since that confrontation, Malfoy pretended Tom didn't exist. Their interactions were nonexistent. Malfoy wasn't dumb—he knew better than to provoke someone like that again.
Harry heard the taunt loud and clear, but his expression didn't flicker.
This is your idea of bullying? Please. That's practically flirting.
He loved staying at Hogwarts for the holidays. Anything was better than spending another miserable Christmas with the Dursleys.
If he had a choice, he'd spend summer break at Hogwarts too. Unfortunately, the school shut down completely over the summer.
After class, students broke into cheers the moment Snape stepped away from his cauldron. Surprisingly, he didn't scold them. He just turned and stalked out of the classroom, black robes billowing behind him.
Tom turned to Hermione. "Catch you later."
Then he and Daphne slipped out, weaving between the towering pine trees Hagrid had dragged in for the holiday decorations.
Just ahead, Snape was making his way down the corridor.
Behind them, Malfoy had shifted targets again. Now he was mocking Ron Weasley's family.
"Planning to work at Hogwarts when you graduate, Weasley? Hagrid's hut probably looks like a palace compared to your house."
Ron exploded.
Red-faced and furious, he charged straight at Malfoy.
Snape's lips curled in a malicious little grin. He'd just been waiting for an excuse to dock points.
But then—Tom stepped in front of him.
"Professor," Tom said smoothly, "let the kids fight it out. I've got something more important for you."
Snape's expression darkened instantly.
Behind them, Ron and Malfoy were already tangled in a scuffle, yelling and swearing. But Tom didn't budge.
"Make it quick," Snape said coldly.
Tom's eyes sparkled with mischief. He leaned in and said, "Nothing much. Just figured—since we're both free right now—how about a duel?"
Snape's eyes narrowed to dangerous slits. He stared at Tom, completely ignoring the chaos erupting on the staircase.
The real battle was only just beginning.