Ron obediently placed himself into the scenario Tom had painted for him.
In just two seconds, his expression changed drastically. With a trembling voice, he said,
"If I really did that... Mum would definitely send me a Howler. Then Percy would scold me like I'd betrayed the Ministry itself, and George and Fred—those two prats—would prank me for an entire term. They might even change my surname or something..."
The more Ron thought about it, the more terrified he looked.
Fallen pureblood or not, the Weasleys were still a pureblood family. And their pride wasn't just for show.
They might be strapped for Galleons, but when it came to honor, no one in the Weasley clan ever compromised.
Challenging someone to a duel and then chickening out? And if Mum ever found out? Yeah... it was entirely possible to be scrubbed right off the family tree—figuratively or otherwise.
Smack—!
Tom clapped his hands together with force.
"You see? That's exactly the point!"
"Sure, last night's duel was a setup—Malfoy's little ploy to get you caught by Filch and thrown into detention.
But here's the cold, hard truth: He issued the challenge to Potter. And he didn't show up. No matter what excuse he tries to cook up, it won't change that one irrefutable fact."
"If word gets out... you might lose some house points. But him? He'll lose the Malfoy family's dignity."
"And if Lucius Malfoy hears about it—well, let's just say our dear Draco might find himself on the receiving end of a very personal demonstration of 'bamboo shoot stir-fry.' Either way, you're not the ones who'll suffer. It's a win-win, isn't it?"
Harry and Ron nodded at the same time.
It made so much sense.
Ron could already picture it: Lucius Malfoy raising that silver-topped cane of his and giving Draco a proper aristocratic beating.
But Harry's face fell again.
"But... if this gets out and we do lose points, how will the others see us? Like..."
He trailed off, sneaking a glance at Hermione. His meaning couldn't have been clearer.
Hermione didn't respond. Something felt off. Wasn't Tom just using Harry and Ron to stir the pot?
But if the truth came out, Slytherin would take a hit too. Their lead in house points might vanish overnight.
So why would he sabotage his own house?
She couldn't figure it out. So she simply fell silent, deep in thought.
"Shallow, Potter. That's shallow thinking."
Tom shook his head dramatically, like some kind of ancient seer.
"You're getting blinded by the numbers—forgetting what really matters!"
"What does Gryffindor truly care about?"
"Glory! The House Cup!" Harry answered without hesitation.
"Wrong!" Tom slapped the table, startling them. His voice rose ever so slightly,
"What Gryffindor cares about the most—is face! Pride! Public image!"
"You can lose points... but only for the right reasons. Something bold, legendary, dramatic—that earns respect."
"But if you just get caught breaking the rules doing something dumb, yeah, people will look down on you."
"Now... imagine this: you lost points defending the Potter family's honor. That's not embarrassing. That's cool. People will envy you. They'll wish they had the guts to do something that daring."
"And with Malfoy chickening out? It's a statement: Slytherin fears Gryffindor!"
"Forget envy. They'll worship you two."
"You'll have defeated Slytherin!"
Huff, huff—
Ron's cheeks were red; he was practically hyperventilating.
An opportunity to be the center of attention like this never came to him—he was always just the sixth Weasley, the invisible one.
"Harry..." Ron turned to his best mate, eyes practically glowing.
Harry's heart was pounding too. He was almost completely swayed. Still, he clung to the last shred of his common sense.
"I'll think about it, seriously, Tom... And, er—just call me Harry from now on. No need for 'Potter.'"
"Same here—call me Ron," Ron chimed in quickly. "There are way too many Weasleys running around anyway."
In his eyes, Tom was no longer some shady Slytherin. He was more like a long-lost brother from another mother.
"Alright then—Harry, Ron. You can just call me Tom."
Tom smiled gently.
"This plan does come with risk. It's wise to think it through. But rest assured, what happened last night? Won't ever leave my lips."
Both boys gave him a grateful nod.
"But one last thing..." Tom added casually, like it had just occurred to him.
"Timing matters. If you wait too long, the impact fades. So if you're going to act—act fast."
"Now then, I'm off to lunch. See you."
He got up, waving goodbye.
Leaving behind two boys deep in thought, and a Hermione still silently suspicious.
The bait had been cast. Tom was confident the fish would bite on their own.
Looking at Harry's behavior in the original story, he was the textbook Gryffindor—brave, reckless, prone to charge in headfirst.
But he also had flashes of Slytherin cunning—maybe a side-effect of that famous "main character aura."
So there was a chance he'd resist the urge to retaliate.
But that's what Ron was for.
The most ordinary people often yearn most for greatness—for a chance to shine.
And now, that chance was dangling right in front of Ron's nose.
There was no way he'd let it pass.
So all Tom had to do... was wait for the moment of success.
…
In Potions class
Snape, unaware that his house might soon suffer a major hit to its reputation, was still gleefully tormenting Harry.
For his own entertainment, he'd even split up Harry and Ron, that inseparable Gryffindor duo—pairing Harry instead with Neville.
With this pair of chaotic disasters working together, Gryffindor's point total flowed away like water down a drain.
Sand through fingers. Nothing could stop it.
Snape didn't even have to say anything. Just standing silently behind them was enough.
Harry felt like he was being pricked by needles. Neville was shaking so much it looked like he'd explode.
Combine that with his awful memory, and the potion they brewed...
Well, even Snape—a Potions Master—couldn't tell what that mess in the cauldron was supposed to be.
Wasting school supplies. Ignoring instructions. Disrupting class.
Another ten points vanished from Gryffindor's hourglass.
Snape announced the end of class in high spirits.
And Tom?
Snape hadn't even looked at him all lesson.
Harry packed up his cauldron gloomily, only to hear Malfoy's voice—loud, smug, and dripping with scorn.
"Potter, you and Longbottom should be permanently paired. Potions class hasn't had this much comedic value in years."
Crabbe and Goyle chuckled stupidly on cue.
Harry didn't respond. He just looked at Ron—and saw that little spark in his best friend's eyes.
He nodded.
Let's do this.