During lunch, nearly everyone in the Great Hall witnessed it—the Gryffindor hourglass was practically empty, and Slytherin's point total had been slashed in half.
Professor McGonagall explained the reasons for the deductions in front of the entire school. Though she clarified that the punishment was for breaking curfew and did not mention the word "duel" at all, there was no way to control how the students would interpret it.
At the very least, one thing had become certain in everyone's minds: Malfoy had chickened out.
Not only had he embarrassed his family name, but he'd also dragged Slytherin down with him, costing them a huge number of points and destroying their comfortable lead in the House Cup standings.
Now, many of the younger Slytherins were casting Malfoy dirty looks.
As for Gryffindor… while they were heartbroken over the point loss, the fact that Harry and Ron had managed to drag Slytherin down with them filled the house with a certain grim satisfaction.
As long as Slytherin suffered, Gryffindor could handle losing a few points of their own.
Besides, if it hadn't been now, it would've been later. Deductions were inevitable sooner or later.
And what's more, Harry had warned everyone to keep it secret that night. In a way, they were all at fault.
Tom, for his part, was in excellent spirits. Ravenclaw had now taken the top spot, and Slytherin had fallen behind.
Maybe now Professor Snape would start to appreciate just how valuable he was?
And sure enough, come Friday's Potions class, Snape—uncharacteristically—remembered his star point-earner. The first half of the class turned into something of a trivia contest between the two.
Snape fired off questions nonstop.
Tom answered each one without missing a beat.
And for every correct answer, of course, Slytherin earned a point.
To avoid appearing too biased, Snape occasionally tossed questions to other students—Neville Longbottom, Seamus Finnigan, that sort. But when their answers were subpar or outright wrong, well, that was hardly Snape's fault. No points for Gryffindor today.
After class, Snape and Tom exchanged a look—and both smiled.
It was the first truly harmonious moment between them.
But Snape quickly collected himself, face returning to its usual stony blankness, and swept out of the classroom with his textbooks tucked under his arm.
Still, he couldn't deny it… having a student like Tom was genuinely satisfying.
Wide-ranging knowledge, quick comprehension, and always choosing to trust his explanations over the textbook?
Incredible.
But why—why—did it have to be Tom Riddle?
That was the part that made Snape miserable.
He wasn't the only one.
Hermione Granger was fuming.
She was currently venting to Tom about the blatant unfairness. He'd answered twenty questions in that class. She got in two—one of which she got wrong. One point earned, one lost. Net zero. All for nothing.
"You should go confront Professor Snape," Tom suggested with a smile. He was in a fantastic mood—yet another professor had recognized his brilliance, and it was only going to continue. Once Snape got used to handing out points for good answers, it would become a habit.
A habit in Tom's favor.
Of course, to make things more "challenging" for Slytherin, Tom would need to stir the pot a little.
Not sabotage—it wouldn't be fair to call it that.
He was just balancing out the deductions Snape unfairly imposed on others. That was real fairness.
Hermione puffed her cheeks like a hamster—adorably frustrated.
Confront Snape?
What, was Tom under the impression she had nerves of steel and a thirst for emotional trauma? Or did he think Gryffindor had too many points and needed to throw some away?
Daphne had been smiling the whole time, clearly enjoying Hermione's sulking. Hermione shot her a glare.
Daphne glared right back, just as defiant.
But with both girls still carrying a hint of baby fat, their glares had all the menace of a stuffed animal.
They looked more like bickering friends than bitter rivals.
Even Tom didn't intervene.
This rivalry wasn't anything new. The two of them had been like this from day one—always verbal sparring, never anything physical.
At least Zabini and his gang had attempted some actual retaliation campaigns. These two? Just petty squabbles.
"I say we go have afternoon tea together," Tom said casually.
"Yes!" both girls responded in unison.
"Perfect. Let's go out to the courtyard. Not many days left where the weather's nice enough to eat outside."
Both girls nodded eagerly. The days were getting colder. Once October hit, even stepping out the castle doors would feel like a punishment.
The three of them headed up the stairs, chatting and laughing—so cheerfully that none of them noticed the pair of eyes burning into their backs.
Malfoy was watching.
And in his eyes, pure venom.
This had been the worst week of Malfoy's life.
He was the subject of ridicule across the entire school—not just from other houses, but from his own. Even Slytherins now saw him as the one who had humiliated their house.
He was being ostracized, slowly but surely.
Besides his usual two goons, the only person who still talked to him was Pansy Parkinson.
To make matters worse, someone—some gossiping idiot—had leaked the news back to his father.
Lucius Malfoy had sent a letter so full of insults it might as well have been a howler. Malfoy had never seen his father use so many vulgarities. It was brutal.
Already in a foul mood, seeing Tom shine in class and be surrounded by friends pushed him over the edge.
Why was he the one being ridiculed and shunned, while Tom, a mudblood with no background and filthy Muggle origins, was living the high life at Hogwarts?
Even Tom's three roommates had turned into loyal followers—smarter and more obedient than Crabbe and Goyle could ever hope to be.
The prettiest first-year girl in Slytherin was practically glued to Tom.
And Malfoy?
He, the heir of the prestigious Malfoy family, was stuck with Pansy Parkinson—a girl so ugly she could kill his appetite.
The comparison stung.
Malfoy realized his enemies weren't just Harry Potter and that blood-traitor Weasley.
Right here in the same house was someone stealing his spotlight.
A nobody.
A mudblood who only knew how to bury his head in books.
If he could just drag Tom down, humiliate him in front of everyone—he'd win back his status.
Malfoy's eyes gleamed with a new idea.
"Goyle," he whispered, "here's what you're going to do..."