Chapter 1
【TR】：
From the moment the potion was completed, the slightly thick bubbles popped with a soft gurgle, and the sweet scent of coconut, rainwater, pumpkin, and a subtle trace of blood mixed together, invading Tom Riddle’s nostrils and leaving a lasting sensory memory. It should have been stirred one more time clockwise. But his body suddenly broke free from the control of his mind, and the stirring rod hit the edge of the cauldron with a“crack,”like something was breaking out of its shell.
If anyone had intended to cast a dark curse and ambush him, this would undoubtedly have been the perfect opportunity. At least for the moment, the most accomplished student of Slytherin was too absorbed in the freshly made pink potion to care about anything else. It was so…seductive, glaring, tacky, shamelessly showcasing the debauchery of love. He paused, breathing in coldly, viewing it as a poisonous mist that corroded both the mind and soul. Then, his expression returned to normal, following the standard procedure:a light tap with his wand on the glass bottle, pouring in the potion—labeling it—handing in the assignment—and then leaving the classroom. As usual, shutting out all external influences. He whispered to himself.
He had heard enough of the professor’s praise, Slytherin earned five points. Before Tom left the classroom, his legs felt strangely immobilized, and his gaze was drawn oddly across many colorful heads, pinpointing the darkest, most shaggy one—
It was Harry Potter. A Gryffindor boy, smelling of coconut, rainwater, pumpkin, with a hint of strange blood.
He didn’t look up, instead huddling with his red-haired friend, seemingly struggling with a particular step in brewing the potion. If he had glanced at Tom, he would have received the most timely and effective help. Tom thought, but that was just a hypothetical.
But Harry Potter didn’t look up, didn’t glance over. He preferred to chatter with Weasley. Just because of this, Tom found himself inexplicably hating him a little.
【HP】：
Look down—but not too low, control your eyes, don’t get too close, just focus on the swirling potion in the cauldron—hold it, don’t lift your head. In the noisy classroom, Harry Potter carried his youthful thoughts like a little thief stealing treasure.
Staring at the vortex in the cauldron for too long, Harry’s mind filled with warm, bubbling thoughts. His cheeks flushed an abnormal pink, catching the attention of his partner, Ron.“Did the potion steam burn your face? Hermione—quick, look at Harry’s face! Is it a burn or an allergy?”
Hermione, sitting in the front row, was busy instructing Neville on the proper technique for cutting root stems and didn’t hear Ron’s call. Ron stretched his arm to tug at the girl’s robe, preparing to raise his voice. Harry nervously stopped his friend, whispering,“No, it’s fine, I’m fine…uh, I just suddenly feel—”
“Hot?”Ron leaned in close to Harry, nearly pressing his ear to his chin.“It’s definitely hot, the windows in this room are just for show. Do you smell something? Should we stop stirring?”
The color of the potion in the cauldron made Harry unsure,“Do you think this is the pink described in the book?”
Ron bent over to observe carefully,“Probably? I can’t tell how many types of pink there are—coral pink, light pink, dark pink, you know? Anyway, it all seems like pink. But I can smell—some kind of flower scent, oh, and maybe some fruit, honey, and the smell of ink that hasn’t dried on parchment. Honestly, it kind of smells like Hermione’s shampoo. Can you smell it?”
“There’s definitely the smell of ink, but I don’t smell any of the fruit, flower stuff you mentioned. That’s weird?”Harry moved his nose, trying to distinguish the scent from what Ron described, which was quite different. It was probably some kind of spice, with a bitter-sweet herbal scent, yes, the particular ink smell from the books, and maybe a hint of burnt ashes…? It was hard to describe, and who would use that kind of shampoo to wash their hair? As he rubbed his nose, he instinctively looked up and quickly glanced toward the other side of the classroom.
Oh—how unfortunate, Harry thought, the figure he hoped to see was already gone. His body finally returned to normal, his spine straightened naturally, and the breath that had been constricting his chest was finally exhaled. The redness in his cheeks gradually faded. At this moment, he didn’t feel the classroom was hot at all; in fact, it felt a little empty.
“We can smell different things, which means our classwork is a success! See, we can manage without Hermione’s help. And you know what the best part is?”Ron prepared to pour the potion into a bottle, nudging Harry in the stomach with his elbow.“Hey, don’t you realize? Buddy, do you know what the smell you’re getting means?”
He tiptoed, trying to get closer to Hermione’s shoulder, grinning as he shared his big discovery:“Our Harry is about to meet his—love!”
“Ron!”Harry’s exclamation was almost a plea.
【TR】：
The common room was empty except for Riddle, the Head of Slytherin. When no one was around, he still maintained a perfectly composed posture, his left hand resting on the arm of the sofa, the other holding a book titled Exquisite:A Study of Mental Suggestion Runes, making it float in midair, level with his eyes. It had been about twenty minutes, and Tom’s gaze had remained fixed on the thirty-first page. Given his intellect and reading speed, this was unusual. It wasn’t that the runes on page thirty-one were particularly complicated or hard to decipher. No, Tom’s mind was occupied with other thoughts—in other words:he had lost focus.
How shameful. Tom forced those jumbled shapes of runes into his mind, compelling himself to decipher them as he always did. Don’t desecrate knowledge. He mentally admonished himself. But the effect was minimal, and in fact, counterproductive; the more he stared at the pages, the clearer a head more chaotic than the runes themselves seemed to appear, as if it would burst out from the paper…that awful, unkempt hair. Why couldn’t he take care of himself? Why waste a pair of piercingly green eyes? Why stir others’sanity with that cute—not, no, detestable—smile?
I really hate him. He’s the one person I despise most in the whole school.
“…Harry Potter!”The name suddenly slipped from his mouth, making Tom’s pupils widen involuntarily, his fingertips slipping, attempting to hide his reaction by flipping the pages of the book.
Some Slytherin students had returned to the common room, and they were talking about Harry Potter. The Gryffindor boy had just made a splash on the Quidditch pitch, catching the Golden Snitch in just fifteen minutes, ending the game with the fastest time. Oh, the Golden Boy. A girl shyly said,“I wish Harry Potter would fall in love with me, I really want to see him fly up into the sky and pick a star for me—how romantic! I think I’d probably scream in excitement!”
Pick a star? Tom’s soul let out a cold laugh. Just imagining that scene is already foolish enough. Probably, before Potter even touched the star, he would suffocate from lack of oxygen at that height. Or in the girl’s shrill screams, Potter would lose his composure and fall, breaking his neck. If such a tragedy happened, Tom would bring flowers to visit him in the hospital wing.
The conversation about the seeker’s performance was abruptly interrupted by a slightly sarcastic male voice:“Tch, no matter how good he is, he’s still got to lie in the hospital wing!”Tom shifted his gaze from the intricate runes and split his attention to the speaker:a fourth-year Slytherin student, his face flushed purple with jealousy. Tom remembered him—he came from a family that dealt in Quidditch supplies, but his flying skills were dismal. He’d tried six times to join the Quidditch team and was rejected every time. So, he was a pitiful Potter-hater.
Then, he and the girls began a heated debate, still circling around Harry Potter, Quidditch, flying, and injuries. Harry, Harry, Harry—why is Harry everywhere? This seemingly ordinary name was everywhere, and it annoyed Tom. He couldn’t focus on the text anymore, so he quickly ended his reading session and stood up, leaving the common room, which was getting more crowded.
Slytherin students greeted the Head of House as they passed, offering looks of either admiration or awe. Among them, a pair of green eyes flashed briefly, causing Tom’s perfectly practiced smile to crack just slightly, a subtle shift revealing his impatience and indifference beneath. Green eyes, but not green enough, not bright enough, not captivating enough, not threatening enough like the Imperius Curse.
Exiting the dungeon, Tom encountered members of the Slytherin team, their robes all damp. Especially Draco Malfoy, who looked worse than the others, a bruise still visible on his left cheekbone, clearly a mark from a collision.
“—Damn, Potter actually dared to…”The voice of Malfoy lowered when he saw Tom approaching, quickly finishing his rant about the Gryffindor seeker.
Tom asked,“How did the match go?”
“We lost,”Draco announced grimly, unable to resist adding,“But they didn’t win happily either. When Potter grabbed the Snitch, he knocked me off my broom. I think he probably broke his arm.”The mockery on his face was like an image from a curse.
“Oh. I’m sorry to hear that,”Tom replied, controlling his facial muscles to show a mixed expression of concern and regret over the result of the match. Honestly, he didn’t care about that damned Quidditch victory or defeat at all.
Just as Tom had imagined:the smug Harry Potter had fallen off his broom. But when it actually became a fact, Tom didn’t experience the supposed vengeful satisfaction. As he discussed with the team about applying for training sessions with the Headmaster, part of his soul quietly slipped away, drifting absentmindedly, avoiding everyone.
【HP】：
What an exhilarating victory! Gryffindor defeated Slytherin in just fifteen minutes on the Quidditch pitch! The excitement and elation grew so intense that they dulled Harry’s other senses. It wasn’t until he was tossed into the air a second time that he noticed how strangely his left arm was bent. It was clearly broken from the impact when he fell off his broom.
The key player in their victory had to lie in the Hospital Wing, missing out on the victory celebration party. Harry felt a little down. After talking to all his visiting friends, the Hospital Wing was empty, and he began to feel lonely and bored. This was the emotion one had to overcome when alone. Harry tried to comfort himself:if he could fall asleep quickly, he could skip over this time.
But the more he emphasized it, the more his mind rebelled. He closed his eyes, adjusting his position repeatedly, trying to reduce the pressure on the left side of his body. No sign of sleep. Alright, relax the muscles slowly, count how many sheep:one, two, three, four, five, six…Soon he’d be in sixth year. Does Tom Riddle still hate me? What happened before the Sorting Ceremony was just an accident. Harry’s head felt like a glass jar, soon filling with memories—about their first meeting. Not exactly pleasant, in fact, disaster seemed like a better description.
It all started with a prank. The Weasley twins often teased their younger brother Ron. On the train, they gave Ron some candy, swearing it would have no strange taste. Believing them, Ron shared the candy with his new friend, Harry. While waiting for the Sorting Ceremony to begin, Harry decided to eat the Weasley twins’candy to ease his nerves. The moment he unwrapped it, a small explosion went off, and pink smoke poured out, quickly enveloping Harry—and coincidentally, Tom Riddle, who was standing nearby. When the smoke cleared, amidst the coughing, the two boys were stuck together, as if glued, like conjoined twins with dark hair.
It was awful! Almost all the first-year students were there, their eyes fixed on Harry and Tom’s joined arms. Harry instinctively put his hands to his face, forgetting that he wasn’t an independent individual at that moment. This action only made things worse—their hands overlapped and pressed against their faces. The surrounding gasps and laughter made Harry feel utterly ashamed, as if he had become some sort of little monster. Tom probably felt the same. This realization filled him with more guilt. He kept apologizing to Tom, and under the intense gaze of his black eyes, his voice began to warp, like a distorted bubble, suddenly disappearing into the air.
It wasn’t until the professor heard the commotion and came to check on them that they were rescued from this pink hell. After such an embarrassing event, Harry knew Tom must have hated him.
But—Harry’s mind was filled with that face, those black eyes. Where had the sheep he had been counting gone? He groaned softly, covering his face with his right hand, trying to cool his burning cheeks. Memories of Tom overwhelmed him, drowning the boy. His body and mind reached the limits of exhaustion, and in his half-dreaming state, Harry blurred the lines between reality and the dream world. He smelled a familiar scent, one that triggered an instinctual craving—like a snake, slithering through the openings of his senses, slyly entering Harry’s body, controlling his reason, dominating his thoughts, manipulating his desires, and finally, burning a string of names deep into his forehead.
Maybe it’s true. Harry’s nose itched from someone else’s touch, twitching like an animal.