Why Don't You Do It?

Professor Sprout, who was in charge of Herbology, was a kind-hearted, middle-aged witch. She was slightly plump, always wore a smile on her face, and possessed a very gentle temperament.

She beckoned the young wizards to line up, cautioned them against touching the herbs indiscriminately, and once everyone had arrived, led them into Greenhouse One.

First-years were not exposed to dangerous herbs; Greenhouse One was filled mostly with docile fungi and common herbaceous plants.

Their task for the year was to memorize the temperaments and uses of these herbs, and to learn how to cultivate and maintain them.

Relying on his prior knowledge, Tom answered several of Professor Sprout's questions in a row, earning another five points for Slytherin.

The heads of the houses at Hogwarts are all quite decent, he mused to himself. They've moved past house prejudices and truly treat everyone equally.

It's just that Snape had to show up—that old... ahem, well, he is the head of my own house, so I suppose I should give him some face.

When the bell rang for the end of class, Tom and Daphne parted ways in the dungeons.

Before leaving, Daphne tugged on his sleeve and urged, "Tom, whatever you do, don't talk back to Professor Snape! I've asked the older students; as long as you sincerely admit your mistakes, he is very lenient toward students in his own house."

"I know, Daphne, thank you." Tom smiled and agreed, though he knew clearly that while it was impossible for him to swallow his pride, he wouldn't let the young witch's good intentions go to waste.

Knock, knock, knock—after three knocks, Snape's icy voice came from within: "Enter!"

Tom pushed the door open and was immediately choked by the smell inside.

The room was dimly lit, with only the flames from the fireplace and green candlelight illuminating the surroundings. The scent of herbs mixed with the smell of potions was quite pungent.

The office was filled with cabinets containing bottles and jars, and animal organs and strange-looking herbs were pickled in glass containers, which looked rather frightening.

Snape sat behind his desk, head lowered as he flipped through a magazine, not even sparing Tom a glance.

Tom scanned the floor, flicked his wand to transfigure an empty bottle into an armchair, placed it opposite Snape, and sat down comfortably. He closed his eyes to rest, looking for all the world like he was just dropping by for a visit.

Snape's hand, which was turning the magazine page, stopped abruptly, and the veins on his forehead began to throb.

With a sharp snap, the magazine was closed, and he glared coldly at Tom: "Riddle, did I tell you to sit down?"

Tom opened his eyes slowly and tilted his head with an innocent expression: "Professor, is it against the law to sit while talking to you?"

"Sharp-tongued!" Snape sneered. "This is my office. You use magic without my permission—can't wait to show off your talent?"

Snape was already gloomy by nature, and his stern face made him look even more intimidating. Any other young wizard would have been terrified, but Tom was not afraid.

In terms of strength, he couldn't beat Snape right now, but he knew that with Albus Dumbledore at Hogwarts, no one dared to violate the rules he had set. Snape could only try to manipulate him within the confines of those rules.

Tom chuckled, his tone laced with irony: "That's an interesting point, Professor. I know this is your office, but seeing how engrossed you were, I thought that as the head of Slytherin, you would value bloodline etiquette above all else and surely wouldn't be ignorant of the rules of hospitality. I was merely upholding the reputation of our house for you; you should understand."

Snape's hand, hidden inside his sleeve, clenched until it creaked, and his face turned pitch black.

In all his years as head of house, no student had ever dared to talk back to him like this. Yet, he couldn't refute it; he had intended to give Tom a show of force, but instead, he had handed him the leverage.

Snape held a grudge in silence, taking a deep breath to suppress his rage.

"You should know why I called you here," he said, his tone icy and devoid of small talk.

Tom spread his hands: "I don't. Please tell me, Professor."

"You beat up Zabini, Rosier, and Nott yesterday." Snape leaned forward, his eyes sharp. "Riddle, beating your roommates on the very first day of school—do you still have any respect for me as your head of house?"

Tom sighed, feigning a look of grievance as he recounted the events: "Professor, I was forced into it. Those pure-bloods couldn't stand me, an orphan of Muggle origin, and forced me to wait on them hand and foot. This morning, I even heard them muttering the word 'Mudblood'."

He paused, looking puzzled: "I didn't understand what the word meant at first, and only found out after asking Greengrass." As he spoke, he looked up and gazed at Snape sincerely: "Professor, if you put yourself in my shoes, if someone called you a Mudblood, it would be normal to hate them for the rest of your life, wouldn't it?"

Snape's eyes widened, blood rushing to his head. His face turned a deep shade of red, and a mouthful of hot blood nearly surged up, only to be swallowed back down by force.

He pointed a trembling finger at Tom, unable to speak for a long time: "You... you..."

His most secret scar had been torn open in public, the pain tightening his chest so much he nearly fainted.

Tom, however, acted as if he hadn't noticed, his eyes brightening as he pressed on: "You see, am I right? You can empathize, can't you?"

"People who call others Mudbloods deserve to be torn to pieces! They don't deserve friends, they don't deserve to have a lover, and they should die in loneliness!" Tom spoke with righteous indignation, then feigned magnanimity: "I only gave them a beating; I was already showing mercy, after all, they are my roommates."

"Riddle!" Snape's eyes were bloodshot as he roared, interrupting him: "Shut your mouth!"

Tom immediately raised his hand and made a zipping motion across his lips, closing his mouth with an innocent expression. His infuriating demeanor nearly caused Snape to faint from rage.

Snape's chest heaved, and it took him a long time to calm down. The look he gave Tom was filled with hostility.

"I don't know where you get all these twisted theories," he gritted out, "but hitting people violates school rules. I am going to deduct—" He stopped mid-sentence.

Damn it! This thorn is a Slytherin! If I deduct house points, I'm the one losing face as head of house! I'm counting on earning more points for the House Cup this year; I can't sabotage my own efforts.

Snape cursed Zabini and the other two a thousand times in his heart. If they hadn't provoked Tom, he wouldn't have been stabbed in the heart like this.

Before this school year, Slytherin had already won six consecutive championships; winning one more would make it seven.

Especially with Harry Potter in Gryffindor, Snape was determined to win the House Cup this year. He absolutely could not lose to James Potter's son, even if he was also Lily Evans's son.

He hadn't deducted points from his own house students in the past, and he certainly wouldn't do it this year. With nowhere to vent his anger, Snape had to change his method of punishment.

"Since you find your roommates noisy, I'll find you a quiet place," Snape said sinisterly. "Starting tonight, you will serve detention in the abandoned classroom next door for one week."

"No," Tom replied flatly.

"What? You said no?" Snape's eyes widened in disbelief. No student had ever dared to directly refuse his detention.

"That's right." Tom looked as if it were a matter of course. "I didn't do anything wrong, so why should I be punished? If anyone should be punished, it's Rosier and the others; they were the ones who started it."

"I am not discussing this with you!" Snape roared in frustration. "Detention is a professor's right; you have no authority to refuse!"

"I'm not going, anyway." Tom blinked, his tone infuriating. "If you want to punish me, go ahead and deduct points, give me a demerit, or expel me—I can't stop you—but detention is out of the question. My legs are on my own body; if I say I'm not going, I'm not going."