Pureblood's Revenge, Double-Faced Spy

Slytherin Common Room.

In the hall, six first-years gathered, looking for all the world like a pureblood meeting.

Which, of course, it was.

"Don't you think that new guy is way too flashy?"

Draco was, naturally, referring to Tom.

As one of the only twenty-eight pureblood families in the entire wizarding world, and an only child at that, he had always been the brightest and most dazzling figure among the crowd before enrolling.

But ever since arriving at Hogwarts, it felt like he had fallen into a relentless hell—even sleeping required caution, for fear of waking three enemies and getting himself beaten up.

"What do you want to do?" asked Theodore Nott, also a pureblood.

"Beat him up good, of course. I want those half-bloods to understand that purebloods are on a whole different level from them," Draco said.

"Right." Crabbe and Goyle chimed in together.

The others looked at the three of them with barely suppressed smirks.

They lost three against one, and they still have the nerve to talk like this?

"Hmph, that's because I haven't learned any attack spells yet, and that guy fights dirty—what kind of wizard uses fists? Is he a thug?!" Draco scrambled to salvage his dignity.

"If you want to cause trouble, go ahead yourselves. I'm not getting involved." Daphne waved a hand. "The reason purebloods are purebloods is that we carry superior genes compared to ordinary wizards. If we have to gang up on a non-pureblood just to win, then we purebloods become exactly the weaklings we've always called others."

"We're defending the honor of purebloods!" Draco retorted.

"I think you're defending your fragile ego."

With that, Daphne waved again and left the pureblood meeting early.

"Do you have a plan to deal with Tom?" Theodore pressed on.

"Already thought of it." Draco cleared his throat. "First, our retaliation can't be too blatant, and we can't drag it out too long, so we don't catch the headmaster's attention..."

He remembered his father telling him that Headmaster Dumbledore cared a great deal about half-bloods and Mudbloods, and in conflicts between other bloodlines and purebloods, Dumbledore always sided with them.

If their revenge was discovered by Dumbledore, they'd definitely face Hogwarts' punishment—even if not expulsion, a school-wide announcement was certain.

Of course, there was another, more important point he didn't mention: they couldn't win.

Really couldn't win.

Especially after hearing the news about Tom dragging boulders to train, he wanted even less to face Tom head-on—at least until he learned more attack spells.

"So, we have to ambush him. And the best place for an ambush is the dormitory."

Conveniently, among everyone at this meeting, only Daphne was a girl; the rest were all boys. Now that she was gone, there were no venue restrictions.

"Tom is my roommate, so I can keep track of his daily movements. This ambush will be under my command. I'll find a moment when he's most vulnerable."

"Alright." Everyone agreed.

Afternoon.

Because the morning classes had all been skipped, the young wizards' first lesson, originally Transfiguration, had become Potions.

Down a staircase by the castle entrance hall, at the end of the corridor, was the Potions classroom—pretty close to the Slytherin common room.

"I heard the Potions professor is Professor Snape."

Ron was holding the first-year textbook Magical Drafts and Potions. Class was about to start, and he was previewing the material, sharing the gossip he'd picked up recently.

"Snape?"

Harry was also holding the book. Though the textbook was dreadfully dull, he forced himself to read on, not wanting to disappoint his big brother.

"That's right. They say he's the strictest grader among all the professors. If he catches you slacking off, he'll tear into you."

"Great." Harry's heart sank.

The more seriously he read the textbook, the more his head spun.

Take Bezoar, for example—why would you dig it out of a cow's stomach? Shouldn't it be from the rear end?

And Monkshood, Wolfsbane... a whole bunch of aconites. The first half of their names were different, but the illustrations in the book looked almost the same. Especially since the textbook was pure black-and-white, the pictures were too—a bunch of similar-looking black-and-white flowers, and he had to tell them apart, remember their names and uses...

He couldn't do it!

Tom: (￣ー￣)

He suddenly felt terribly sorry for the Potters.

It seemed he had turned their clever, sharp-tongued child into a thick-headed brute. Sure, Harry's childhood trauma had been healed by Tom, but was it really worth it?

Ah, whatever~

Harry was still young. There should be a chance to turn him around.

For Harry's sake, and for his own future image as a genius educator, he'd have to put in the effort.

Just then—

"Shh—Professor Snape's office is right next to the classroom. If he hears you gossiping about him behind his back, you're done for."

The newcomer was a radiant, adorable little girl.

"Miss Greengrass Nott, long time no see." Tom recognized her.

"No need to be so formal. Just call me Daphne." Daphne waved a hand and sat down beside Tom.

"Alright, Daphne." Tom replied.

He remembered that although Daphne was pure-blood, she didn't appear much in the original story. The only widely known fact about her was her younger sister, who eventually became Draco Malfoy's wife.

"I came to warn you. Draco and his lot are up to no good with you. No idea what they're planning."

Daphne actually had a decent impression of Tom. Even though they hadn't really encountered a troll during the Sorting, he had been willing to team up with her back then, which had put her at ease.

"Aren't you worried?"

Daphne noticed Tom was still reading his book, unmoved.

"I expected it." Tom said.

After all, he was a young master born into a pure-blood family, always proud and arrogant. There was no way he'd just swallow an insult and let it go.

But if he wanted revenge, it all came down to whether he had enough strength to back it up.

"Good that you're not worried. I'm a bit confused about the upcoming Potions lesson. Could you help me out?" Daphne asked.

"No problem."

The moment the words left his mouth—

Thump!

A dull sound.

Tom looked up to see Hermione had appeared at his desk at some point, her textbook having just fallen to the floor.

"Miss Granger, is there something you need?"

"I—I'm fine..." Hermione picked up the book, flustered.

She had heard the Potions professor was very strict, so she'd come early to find Tom, hoping to discuss things.

She didn't have many acquaintances at Hogwarts. The few she knew were Tom and his group. As for Neville, her fellow Gryffindor... better not.

But when she reached Tom, she found someone else already talking with him. Asking for his help now would probably be very rude.

"Sorry, I might have come at a bad time."

With that, she turned and left, leaving Tom a bit puzzled.

What did she mean?

And what was with that line that felt so familiar?

"Is she someone you knew before coming to the wizarding world?" Daphne asked.

"Hermione Granger, a Gryffindor first-year. As for familiarity, we're barely more than passing acquaintances."

"So she's just a dumb lion..." Daphne muttered to herself, watching Hermione's retreating back.

If they were only passing acquaintances, how did he remember her name so clearly? And he even knew exactly which house she was in.

Something wasn't right.