Why Won't You Do It?

Professor Sprout, who taught Herbology, was a kind, middle-aged witch. She was a little plump, always wore a smile, and had a very gentle temper.

She had the young wizards line up and warned them not to touch the plants carelessly. Once everyone had arrived, she led them into Greenhouse One.

First-years weren't allowed near dangerous plants. Greenhouse One mostly contained docile fungi and ordinary herbs.

Their task for the year was to memorize the plants' characteristics and uses, and learn how to grow and care for them.

Drawing on his knowledge, Tom answered several of Professor Sprout's questions in a row and earned Slytherin another five points.

He muttered to himself: The heads of the houses at Hogwarts are all pretty decent. They've put aside house prejudice and treat everyone equally.

Then there's Snape, who's a real old... Ahem. At least he's the head of my house. I should cut him some slack.

When class ended, Tom and Daphne parted ways in the dungeon corridor.

Before they left, Daphne tugged at his sleeve and cautioned him, "Tom, don't talk back to Professor Snape! I asked some older students, and they said that as long as you sincerely apologize, he's very forgiving toward students in his own house."

"I know, Daphne. Thanks." Tom smiled as he agreed, though he knew full well he'd never meekly put up with mistreatment. Still, he wouldn't disregard the little witch's kindness.

Knock, knock, knock—after three knocks, Snape's icy voice came from inside. "Come in!"

Tom pushed open the door and was hit by the smell inside.

The room was dimly lit, with only the flames in the fireplace and green candlelight illuminating the space. The scents of herbs and potions mingled, making the air acrid.

Cabinets filled the office, crammed with bottles and jars. Animal organs and strangely shaped plants floated in glass containers, some of them quite unnerving.

Snape sat behind his desk, flipping through a magazine without even glancing at Tom.

Tom glanced at the floor, waved his wand, and transfigured an empty bottle into an armchair. He set it opposite Snape's desk, sat down comfortably, and closed his eyes to rest, looking for all the world like he'd just dropped by for a visit.

Snape's hand abruptly stopped turning the page. A vein throbbed at his temple.

With a snap, he shut the magazine and glared coldly at Tom. "Riddle, did I tell you to sit down?"

Tom slowly opened his eyes and tilted his head, looking innocent. "Professor, is it against the law to sit while talking to you?"

"Such a sharp tongue!" Snape sneered. "This is my office. You used magic without my permission, eager to show off your talent?"

Snape was grim by nature, and his scowl made him even more intimidating. Any other young wizard would have been frightened, but Tom wasn't.

In terms of strength, he couldn't beat Snape just yet. But he knew Dumbledore was at Hogwarts, and nobody dared break the rules he laid down. Snape could only use those rules to get at him.

Tom gave a mocking laugh. "That's an interesting thing to say, Professor. I know this is your office. Seeing how absorbed you were in your reading, I thought our Slytherin Head of House, who values blood and manners so highly, surely wouldn't have forgotten how to treat a guest. I was protecting the house's reputation for you. You should appreciate that."

Snape clenched his hands inside his sleeves until his knuckles cracked, his face darkening completely.

In all his years as Head of House, no student had ever dared to talk back to him like this. Worse, he couldn't refute Tom. He'd meant to put the boy in his place, only to have Tom turn the tables and catch him out.

Snape silently vowed to get even, then took a deep breath to suppress his anger.

"You know why I called you here," he said coldly, without wasting another word.

Tom shrugged. "I don't, Professor. Just tell me."

"You beat Zabini, Rosier, and Nott yesterday." Snape leaned forward, his gaze sharp. "Riddle, you beat up your roommates on your very first day at school. Do you have any respect for me as your Head of House?"

Tom sighed and put on a wounded expression as he recounted what had happened. "Professor, I was forced into it. Those pure-bloods couldn't stand that I'm a Muggle-born orphan. They tried to make me wait on them hand and foot, and this morning I even heard them muttering 'Mudblood.'"

He paused, looking puzzled. "I didn't understand what the word meant at first, so I asked Greengrass. That's how I found out." He looked up at Snape, his expression sincere. "Professor, put yourself in my shoes. If someone called you a Mudblood, it'd be perfectly understandable if you hated them for the rest of your life, wouldn't it?"

Snape's eyes widened. The blood rushed to his head, and his face turned crimson. He nearly spat up a mouthful of blood, but forced it back down.

He pointed shakily at Tom, unable to speak for a long moment. "You... You..."

His most secret wound had been ripped open in front of him. His chest tightened with pain, and he nearly fainted.

Tom acted as if he hadn't noticed. His eyes lit up as he pressed on. "See? I'm right, aren't I? You know exactly how it feels, don't you?"

"Anyone who calls someone else a Mudblood deserves to be cut to pieces! They don't deserve friends or a lover—they deserve to die alone!" Tom spoke with righteous conviction, then put on a magnanimous air. "I only beat them up. I was already going easy on them, considering they're my roommates."

"Riddle!" Snape's eyes were bloodshot as he roared over him. "Shut your mouth!"

Tom immediately raised a hand and mimed zipping his lips. He obediently fell silent, looking so infuriating that Snape nearly fainted.

Snape's chest heaved. It took him a long while to calm down, and when he looked at Tom again, his eyes were full of hostility.

"I don't know where you came up with so much twisted reasoning," he ground out, "but hitting someone is against school rules. I'm going to deduct..." He broke off mid-sentence.

Damn it! The brat was in Slytherin! Taking house points away would make him, the Head of House, look bad! He was counting on earning plenty of points for the House Cup this year. He couldn't sabotage his own house.

Snape cursed the three boys—Zabini, Rosier, and Nott—in his head eight hundred times. If they hadn't provoked Tom, Snape wouldn't have been so thoroughly needled.

Slytherin had won the House Cup six years running. One more win this year would make it seven in a row.

And with Harry Potter in Gryffindor, Snape was determined to win the House Cup this year. He absolutely couldn't lose to James Potter's son, even if that boy was also Lily Evans's son.

He'd never deducted points from students in his own house before, and he certainly wouldn't start this year. With nowhere to vent his anger, Snape had to come up with another punishment.

"Since you can't stand your roommates, I'll find you somewhere quiet." Snape spoke in a sinister tone. "Starting tonight, you'll serve detention in the abandoned classroom next door for a week."

"No."

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

"That's right." Tom looked completely matter-of-fact. "I didn't do anything wrong. Why should I be locked up? If anyone should be in detention, it should be Rosier and the others. They started it."

"I'm not asking you!" Snape bellowed furiously. "Detention is a professor's prerogative. You have no right to refuse!"

"Either way, I'm not going." Tom blinked, sounding infuriatingly cheeky. "If you want to punish me, deduct points, give me a reprimand, or expel me. I can't fight you on that, but forget detention. My legs are my own, and if I say I'm not going, I'm not going."