Once the tea had cooled a little, Tom reached for it. Suddenly, he felt a jolt—his warning charm had been triggered.
Tom's gaze sharpened, and he sneered inwardly. Poison? Looks like these guys still haven't learned their lesson.
"Petrificus Totalus!" The spell struck Zabini, who was pretending to read while actually watching Tom. Zabini instantly stiffened, terror filling his eyes.
Nott and Rosier went deathly pale, trembling all over. We're done for! He found out!
"Looks like you were all in on it." Tom's voice was terrifyingly calm. He picked up the teacup, walked over to Zabini, grabbed his chin, and forcefully poured the tea down his throat.
Three seconds later, Zabini's eyes rolled back, and he passed out.
"That effect... was it Draught of Living Death?" Tom raised an eyebrow.
With a thud, Nott collapsed onto the floor and hurriedly begged for mercy. "Yes! It was Draught of Living Death! It was all Zabini's idea."
"He wanted to knock you out, hang you up, and whip you! He brewed the potion himself. Rosier and I only gave him some ingredients and covered for him. Please, spare me!"
After Zabini had beaten him to the punch last time, Nott had decided he would be the first to admit his mistake this time. Still, he'd held on to a sliver of hope that he wouldn't get caught.
Tom didn't respond. Instead, he asked, "You're saying Zabini brewed the Draught of Living Death himself?"
Nott immediately pointed at the trembling Rosier. "Yes! Rosier watched him brew it. He told me!"
Rosier managed a difficult nod, unable even to speak.
Tom wasn't focused on the poisoning. He was more surprised by Zabini's talent. Draught of Living Death was an advanced potion for sixth-years, yet a first-year had managed to brew it.
He suddenly remembered that Slughorn, the sixth-year Potions Professor, was a social climber. Perhaps Zabini had joined the Slug Club and gotten the recipe that way.
Nott and Rosier saw that Tom wasn't moving and secretly rejoiced. But before two seconds had passed, a spell hoisted them into the air. Even the unconscious Zabini was left dangling from the ceiling.
Tom added a Petrificus Totalus, then sat back down and resumed reading. "We'll settle this when he wakes up."
The two of them went numb with despair. Who knew how long Zabini would sleep? If he slept all night, they'd be left hanging there all night.
The Draught of Living Death was indeed powerful. Tom and Daphne finished dinner, took a walk by the Black Lake, and returned, but Zabini was still sleeping like a log, entirely unbothered by being suspended upside down.
Tom grew impatient and raised his wand. "Ennervate!" Green light washed over Zabini. Draught of Living Death wasn't Dark Magic, so an ordinary reviving spell worked just fine.
A few seconds later, Zabini slowly opened his eyes, dazed. Nott and Rosier, meanwhile, were overjoyed. Merlin, he's finally awake!
"You're awake?" Tom asked with a smile. To Zabini, that smile was more frightening than the devil himself. He came fully to his senses, saw himself hanging there, and nearly jumped out of his skin.
"I, I..." Zabini was just about to beg for mercy when Tom cut him off.
"Not a word yet." Tom flicked his wand, which turned into a whip. "First, you get to enjoy yourself. Then you apologize. This is the third time, so you should know the rules."
The next moment, screams rang through the dormitory. Fortunately, Tom had cast a silencing charm, so no one outside heard them.
A quarter of an hour later, the screams stopped.
The three were let down. Sore all over, they knelt in unison and bowed deeply as they presented Tom with tea. "Big Brother, we're convinced—completely convinced! We'll never dare do it again. Please, spare us!"
Tom took the tea Zabini handed him, sipped it lightly, and spoke with calm authority.
"Zabini, tell me honestly. Did you brew the Draught of Living Death yourself? Was it your first time? Had you ever tried brewing it at home?"
After confirming the details, Tom understood. Zabini really was a damn potion prodigy.
He'd succeeded on his first try at brewing an advanced potion like Draught of Living Death, and its effect was no joke. The boy had only added two drops to the tea, and it had been enough to knock Tom out.
Vane had suggested the idea of using Draught of Living Death to poison Tom.
During their first Potions Class, Snape had casually mentioned Draught of Living Death. Zabini had remembered it, then promptly started thinking up ways to use it.
He'd researched it, gathered ingredients, and spent two days tinkering away in the boys' bathroom before finally managing to brew it.
In the end, the potion—reeking of "bathroom"—had all gone down his own throat. He'd brought it entirely on himself.
Tom set down his teacup, smiling faintly. "Blaise, you really have impressed me.
"With your talent for Potions, bloodline and family background are just trivialities. Sooner or later, you'll earn respect on your own."
To Zabini, those words felt better than downing a bucket of ice water on the hottest day of summer.
When other people praised him, he might feel pleased for a moment. But hearing those words from Tom—the person who'd beaten him three or four times and kept him completely under his thumb—was something else entirely.
The recognition of an enemy was the highest praise of all. He finally understood that.
Wait, Tom was his big brother now!
Zabini immediately lowered his eyes and spoke respectfully. "Riddle, I was out of line before. I wasn't thinking straight. I'll never try to get back at you again. It was all my fault."
"At least you've learned your lesson." Tom stood and patted his shoulder, then glanced at Nott and Rosier. His voice was casual, but carried a threat. "What about you two? Still planning any tricks?"
The two shook their heads frantically. "No! We wouldn't dare! Not even if you killed us!"
"Good." Tom snapped his fingers and held out his open palm. "Hand over your pocket money. Consider it a lesson—and compensation for the mental distress you caused me."
Nott and Rosier's faces fell. Reluctantly, they took out their Galleons and watched as Tom pocketed more than thirty of them.
Tom had meant to keep reading, but Zabini unexpectedly came over to chat. Nott and Rosier hurried to join him, acting so obsequious that they seemed like entirely different people.
Before, Tom had only ever ordered them around. They'd never just sat and chatted.
Tom couldn't be bothered to figure out whether they were sincere or putting on an act, so he went along with the conversation.
Zabini rambled about the difficulties he'd faced brewing the Draught of Living Death. Tom casually offered a few pointers and saw genuine admiration in the boy's eyes, like Ron looking at Harry.
Nott and Rosier looked green with envy.
They couldn't follow the conversation about Potions, and until now, they'd all been fellow sufferers who got beaten together.
Now, just because Tom had paid Zabini a little more attention, Zabini had risen above them.
That was how class divisions emerged, almost without anyone noticing.
Those at the top held the power to decide who mattered. Whoever they chose to favor could step over the rest. Tom didn't care in the slightest. If people wanted to serve him, why not let them?
Early the next morning, Zabini followed Tom like a little sidekick, never leaving his side. Nott and Rosier trailed close behind, too.
The three of them walked in a row, drawing sidelong glances from quite a few Slytherin students. It wasn't until Daphne frowned and glared at them that they reluctantly scurried off.
After keeping Daphne company while she finished her homework, Tom headed straight for the library. He still had books to enter into the Study Space.
As soon as he walked in, he saw Hermione sitting in a corner, waving frantically at him.
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