Tom looked at him. Well, case closed.
Sure enough, Slytherin had struck first. Marcus had broken Wood's nose, and the Weasley twins had retaliated by slipping Pucey a laxative.
That was more in line with his impression of Slytherin.
"What about this time?" Tom asked. "Who's protecting Potter?"
Pucey's expression shifted. "Potter's side is even more outrageous. He's constantly surrounded by three big fifth-year boys. You can't even see his skinny little body."
Tom thought about Harry's build. Skinny—he certainly was skinny. Surrounded by three fifth-year boys, the only thing visible was probably his glasses.
Tom watched the crowds moving through the corridor. The Quidditch match had not even begun, yet the war had already started.
Drugging people, breaking noses, bodyguards, retaliation—this was not sports. This was war.
"Pucey."
"Yeah?"
"How are you planning to deal with Potter?"
Pucey glanced at him. "Why are you asking?"
"Curious."
Pucey fell silent for a moment. "Don't know. But we definitely won't let him have an easy time."
Tom stood where he was, watching Pucey's retreating back as he thought.
"What could happen during the Quidditch match? I'm actually looking forward to it!"
The Great Hall was filled with the smell of grilled sausages. Outside, the sky was clear and bright, though the cold cut to the bone.
But that did nothing to dampen the young wizards' enthusiasm for Quidditch. Every one of them was itching for action, eagerly awaiting a thrilling match.
Thuringian sausage with sauerkraut, black pepper sausage with mashed potatoes, and juicy pork sausages that burst with flavor when bitten into.
Three kinds were piled on Tom's plate, with a small piece of each neatly cut and arranged in a row.
Daphne watched him cut the sausages beside her and silently memorized the order: Thuringian first, black pepper second, pork