From the very first moment—no, even before stepping foot in Hogwarts, back on the train—Malfoy had been like a persistent flea, constantly buzzing around Harry. Even someone as peaceable as Harry Potter had reached his limit.
This time, even if it meant mutual destruction, he was going to strike back. Hard.
With one last frosty glare thrown in Malfoy's direction, Harry dragged Ron back to the dormitory, already plotting his retaliation.
Meanwhile, Tom wasn't simply out wandering the corridors. Daphne had gone off with her roommates for afternoon tea, so he returned to the dorm with his own roommates in tow.
The moment they entered, Nott, Rosier, and Zabini sprang into action.
Nott arranged the chairs. Rosier wiped down the table and even took out a generous stash of his personal snacks, neatly placing them on Tom's desk.
Zabini tossed his school bag aside and rushed out to fetch tea.
They moved like clockwork—clearly, this wasn't their first rodeo.
According to Tom, this was the hallmark of a loving dormitory, one where everyone helped each other.
His roommates prepared the snacks and drinks… and in return, Tom ensured none of them were strung up by their ankles and thrashed.
Who would do the thrashing, you ask?
Better not to ask.
All they knew was that, under Tom's watch, they had been very safe lately.
"Riddle, here's your tea. Careful, it's hot," Zabini said with a sycophantic smile, carefully setting the cup down.
Tom didn't even look up from his book. He gave a nonchalant hum and nodded slightly.
A few moments passed, and the tea had cooled just enough. Tom reached for the cup—
And his heart jolted violently.
A silent magical alarm had just been triggered.
His eyes sharpened at once, cold glint flashing through them.
Poisoned?
He'd assumed these three had finally learned their lesson. But no, they still had the gall to try something.
"Petrificus Totalus."
The spell struck Zabini, who had been pretending to read a leisure book but had clearly been watching Tom out of the corner of his eye.
Nott and Rosier turned pale at once.
They were so dead.
"You were all in on this, huh?"
Tom cast an icy glance at the two, then picked up the cup of tea and marched toward Zabini's frozen figure, whose eyes now brimmed with terror.
He forced the drink down his throat. One second, two, three—
Zabini collapsed, completely unconscious.
"…This effect…" Tom's brow arched. "Draught of Living Death?"
Thud!
Nott dropped to the floor, scrambling to confess: "Y-Yes! It's the Draught of Living Death, not anything lethal! Riddle, it was Zabini's idea! He wanted to drug you and hang you up—to make you feel what he went through!"
"The potion was his own, made by him! Rosier and I only helped get the ingredients and cover for him!"
As Tom's expression grew calmer, Nott's heart pounded harder.
"Riddle, I swear I've told you everything. Please let me off the hook this time!"
After Zabini had taken the fall last time, Nott had vowed he'd act faster next time—
He even considered warning Tom before the plan was carried out.
But then he worried—
Wouldn't that be less like surrendering… and more like defecting?
And besides, if the plan did work, wouldn't that be sweet, sweet revenge?
Unfortunately for them, Tom was once again a step ahead.
And now… they were in the punishment phase.
But Tom wasn't interested in retribution—yet.
Instead, his curiosity was piqued.
"You said Zabini brewed the Draught himself?" he asked, voice level.
Nott pointed to Rosier, who was trembling. "Rosier watched him make it. He told me."
Tom turned to Rosier. The boy nodded slowly, his face a mask of dread.
But Tom wasn't thinking about the betrayal anymore. No, he was focused on the potion.
The Draught of Living Death was covered in the sixth-year curriculum.
And Zabini—just a first-year—had managed to brew it correctly?
Interesting.
Then Tom remembered—
By sixth year, Professor Slughorn would be teaching Potions. Slughorn was known for his favoritism, his tendency to groom famous or promising students.
And Zabini… hadn't he been invited into Slughorn's little club already?
Likely for his brewing skills.
So—was the crisis averted?
Nott and Rosier certainly thought so. Tom stood still, deep in thought. Maybe… just maybe… they'd survived the day.
Wrong.
Within seconds, both of them were hoisted upside down in midair—soon joined by the unconscious Zabini.
Tom calmly added another Petrificus Totalus to each of them, then returned to his chair and picked up his book.
"When he wakes up," Tom said, eyes not leaving the page, "we'll settle the score."
Nott and Rosier had gone completely numb.
Who knew how long it would take Zabini to wake up?
A whole night? Hanging there?
…
As it turned out, the Draught of Living Death fully lived up to its reputation.
Tom had dinner with Daphne, took a walk by the Black Lake, and returned to find Zabini still snoring like a dead hog—completely unfazed by the grotesque angle of his suspended body.
Tom sighed. He wasn't going to wait all night.
He pointed his wand. "Enervate."
A steady green glow pulsed over Zabini's form.
Though the potion was potent—one of the most powerful known sleep-inducing draughts—it wasn't dark magic. Physical attempts to wake someone were useless, but magic could break its effect.
After a few seconds, Zabini groaned and blinked open his eyes.
Nott and Rosier simultaneously widened theirs.
Merlin's leopard-print tights, he's finally awake!
"You're awake?"
Tom smiled down at him—
And Zabini instantly grasped the situation, sheer panic flashing across his face.
"I—"
"Shh. No talking yet."
Tom cut him off gently. His wand had somehow transformed into a whip.
"First, you enjoy. Then you apologize."
"This isn't your first time. This is your third. By now, you should know the rules."
Moments later, the dorm echoed with familiar screams.
Luckily, Tom had cast a soundproofing charm ahead of time—otherwise, who knew how many people would've come running?
Fifteen minutes later—
Thud!
Zabini, Rosier, and Nott fell to their knees in perfect unison, bowing deeply as they presented a new cup of tea.
"Boss, we give up. Completely, totally give up."
Tom accepted the tea from Zabini and took a refined sip before asking softly:
"Zabini, tell me truthfully… Did you brew the Draught of Living Death?"
"If so, was it your first time? Or have you practiced before, at home?"