After a thorough check, Tom was now certain—this guy was a real Potions prodigy.
It was Zabini's first time brewing Draught of Living Death, one of the most advanced potions taught at Hogwarts, and he'd succeeded. Not only that—the potion's effect was impressively potent. Just two drops in that cup of tea earlier had been enough to knock someone out cold.
Ironically, the inspiration to use Draught of Living Death as a means of sabotage… had come from Tom himself.
Back in their very first Potions class, Snape had posed a question about the potion. That moment had planted the seed in Zabini's mind. After digging into the relevant texts and gathering the necessary ingredients, he'd gotten to work. It had taken him two full days of sneaking around, hiding in the boys' lavatory to complete the brewing process. And as fate would have it, he ended up being the one who drank his own "masterpiece."
"You've genuinely impressed me, Blaise," Tom said, setting the tea cup down with a calm smile. "With your talent in Potions, your bloodline or family background hardly matter anymore. Sooner or later, you'll earn respect all on your own."
Coming from anyone else, those words might have made Zabini smug. But coming from Tom, the same Tom who'd literally whipped him into submission three or four times, it was like having a bucket of cool water dumped on him during the hottest summer day—shockingly refreshing.
Recognition from an adversary is the highest form of praise. The saying had never rung truer.
Correction: Tom Riddle wasn't an enemy. Not anymore. He was the big brother now.
With his head lowered humbly, Zabini said, "Riddle, I was foolish before. From now on, I won't even think about revenge. I was completely out of line that first day—it was my fault."
"Good attitude," Tom nodded approvingly. Then he turned to Nott and Rosier. "And what about you two?"
They both shook their heads so hard it looked like their necks might snap. "We don't dare. Never again!"
"Perfect. Then hand over your pocket money."
"…"
Another thirty Galleons neatly pocketed. Tom tucked the coins away and was about to return to his book.
To his surprise, Zabini suddenly struck up a conversation with him, and the other two even gathered around to join in.
This was a first.
Usually, things were one-sided—Tom gave the orders, and they followed. They never had anything remotely resembling friendly banter. But now, they were the ones initiating it.
Well, since they were offering goodwill, Tom saw no reason to reject it—true or fake, it didn't matter. He picked up the conversation like it was the most natural thing in the world.
Zabini eagerly shared the hurdles he'd faced while brewing the Draught of Living Death. Tom, in turn, offered solutions. And as he spoke, he caught a rare glint of something in Zabini's eyes.
Admiration.
Rosier and Nott noticed it too. And frankly, they looked a little jealous.
The discussion had veered into advanced magical territory—stuff they couldn't even begin to understand. Just yesterday, the three had been on equal footing, collectively punished. But now, a subtle hierarchy had begun to form.
Thanks to Tom's favor, Zabini's status in the dormitory had quietly risen above the other two.
That's how hierarchy works—quietly, insidiously. The person at the top holds the power. Whomever he favors, rises above the rest.
—
The next morning, Zabini was practically glued to Tom's side, like a loyal little henchman. Not to be outdone, Rosier and Nott followed close behind. The sight made more than a few young Slytherins glance sideways in surprise.
They didn't stop until Daphne gave them a deadly glare that sent the trio scrambling off.
After helping Daphne finish her homework, Tom headed to the library, ready to continue uploading books into his private study space.
To his mild amusement, Hermione was already there—and waving him over.
As soon as Tom sat down, the bushy-haired girl leaned in and whispered, "I forgot to ask yesterday… that night you suddenly appeared in front of me—like you were invisible—was that magic? How did you do that?"
"Invisibility Charm," Tom whispered back, glancing around for Madam Pince. "It's a spell that bends light. Pretty effective."
"Where did you learn it?"
"Back shelf—Practical Advanced Charms. Also listed in the fifth-year curriculum."
Hermione didn't even wait another second. She jumped up and scurried off to retrieve the book, burying her nose in its pages the moment she returned.
A few minutes later, Tom nudged her with his elbow.
Hermione frowned and looked over.
"So," he asked quietly, "any word on the plan I suggested yesterday? Did Harry and Ron go through with it?"
Her eyes narrowed with suspicion. "Tom, I still haven't figured you out. There's definitely something fishy going on here."
"Come now, how could you accuse me like that?" Tom said, putting on a wounded expression. "I only helped Harry and Ron because of you. We're friends, aren't we? Different Houses shouldn't get in the way of that."
Tom had intended to say, "You have my House's word," but thought better of it.
Slytherin's reputation wasn't exactly… pristine. Saying that would only have deepened Hermione's doubts.
So instead, he played the sentiment card.
A few well-placed compliments later, Hermione's cheeks flushed pink. She gave him a mock glare and tapped him twice with her small fists.
"I don't trust you one bit, you sneaky snake."
"Words like that can hurt," Tom said, gently catching her soft hand and letting it fall back onto her lap. "I was just curious, that's all."
Hermione sighed in defeat. "When I was heading out, I saw Harry and Ron talking to the twins. Ron was positively beaming—I'm guessing they followed your advice."
—
Gryffindor Common Room.
A group of young lions had gathered around Harry and Ron, eyes wide with curiosity.
To make sure everyone could see him, Ron had climbed up onto the armrest of a sofa and was now speaking loudly, practically spitting with enthusiasm.
"That slimy git Malfoy challenged Harry to a duel because Harry showed him up during flying class! That's the whole reason this happened!"
"He flew like a natural—bloody brilliant! If you want details, ask Wood. Anyway, Malfoy couldn't take the humiliation, so he challenged Harry to a duel. Plenty of people saw him do it. Right?"
A few boys nodded vigorously. "Yeah, I remember. It was Thursday. He showed up with those two bulky goons, said a few words, and left."
"Exactly! Now we've got witnesses," Ron said, even more excited. "But guess what? That night, he didn't even show up! Harry and I waited for half an hour! The only ones who showed were Filch and his cat!"
Ron kicked Harry's shin as a cue to speak.
Harry pulled on a sorrowful expression and jumped onto the couch beside him.
"Ron told me that a wizard's duel is a sacred tradition. Especially for someone like Malfoy, a pure-blood from the Sacred Twenty-Eight. They take honor very seriously."
"If it were anything else, I never would've gone sneaking around at night."
"But this was different. This was a duel requested by one of the most ancient wizarding families. And yet… he didn't even show?"
"This is… this is…"
Harry trailed off, words escaping him.
Thankfully, the twins were ready and waiting in the wings.
"Shocking!" said one.
"Disgraceful!" added the other.
"Truly, the world is going to hell in a handbasket!" they chimed in unison.
And just like that, the Gryffindors roared with laughter and outrage—exactly the kind of attention Harry and Ron had wanted.