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[Hogwarts] Ch 57: Lucius's Visit for Justice
🕑 Added 2025-06-21 18:43:52 +0000 UTC— — — — — —
Monday morning arrived, and the castle was blanketed in a thick fog.
It must have rained overnight—along with the scent of breakfast, the Great Hall carried a strong earthy smell, enough to confuse the half-awake young witches and wizards about whether they were eating mashed potatoes or actual dirt.
The Slytherin students were tight-lipped about the Shadow system thing. For now, no one from the other Houses had any idea what had gone down over the weekend, but they could sense something was... off.
Usually, the little Slytherin snakes moved in small groups, twos and threes. But today, they kept appearing in larger clusters—and always seemed to revolve around a few central figures.
It was strange, sure. But most students didn't think much of it.
Harry and Ron, though? They noticed right away.
Thanks to Tom's advice the other day, they had successfully messed with Malfoy, and now both of them couldn't help but pay closer attention to the boy who gave them the idea.
Tom used to keep to himself, always alone except for Daphne. The other students avoided him like the plague.
But today?
Harry was starting to wonder if Tom had rewritten everyone's family trees overnight—because they were treating him like royalty.
Some brought him tea, others sliced his sausages, and someone was even helping him butter his toast.
It was worse than how his Aunt Petunia spoiled Dudley.
Harry was confused.
Ron was straight-up jealous—so jealous his eyes were nearly as red as his hair.
"This should be me," Ron muttered under his breath. "How the hell did Riddle get there first?"
"What the heck's going on?" he asked, glaring at Hermione, who sat diagonally across from them. "Weren't you two getting along? How'd he suddenly become Mr. Popular over the weekend?"
"How should I know?" Hermione snapped, clearly irritated. She stabbed her eggs with a fork until they looked like scrambled regret.
She was frustrated for a reason—Tom hadn't spoken to her all weekend. Not even a casual run-in.
"..."
Ron shrank back at her outburst, not daring to provoke her further. He just sulked in silence.
Not far away, Fred and George exchanged a look, curiosity practically radiating from their matching grins.
They were sure something big had happened in Slytherin these past few days. Riddle was clearly at the center of it.
"We've got to ask him next time we catch him in the kitchen," Fred muttered. George nodded in agreement.
Right then, a wave of owls swooped through the open doors, dropping letters and packages all over the tables.
Tom reacted fast, catching his parcel before it could splash into a bowl of milk and meet a soggy end.
Daphne peeked over, curious, as he opened the outer wrapping. Inside were individually packaged ingredients—herbs, powdered roots, and all sorts of odd magical materials.
"Why'd you buy so many potion ingredients?" she asked.
"Some are for me," Tom replied casually, "but a few are for you."
"For me?" Her eyes widened.
"Yeah. To help you recover faster—replenish your energy and stamina."
He scanned the contents one more time to make sure everything was in good condition, then started repacking the box to bring it back to the dorm later.
Daphne just stared at him, eyes sparkling.
Tom really was thoughtful. He considered everything. And he even bought all this using his own money...
She suddenly felt like she wasn't paying enough in tuition.
...
Meanwhile, far away from the classroom hustle, Lucius Malfoy had arrived at Hogwarts.
But instead of going straight to Dumbledore, he first made a stop—at Snape's office.
The truth was, Lucius still held a deep-seated fear of the Headmaster. He wasn't about to barge in and start throwing accusations unless he was absolutely sure he had the upper hand.
So instead, he came to Snape to bolster his confidence—and to demand an explanation.
Why hadn't Snape protected Draco?
When Lucius showed up, Snape was still in the middle of teaching. But he didn't look surprised. After quietly instructing the class to keep working on their potions, he stepped out to meet his guest.
"Severus," Lucius said coldly, skipping any kind of greeting. "Don't you think you owe me an explanation?"
Snape raised an eyebrow. "Are you sure you know the full story, Lucius?"
"I've asked plenty of students. It's clear Draco provoked Riddle. They had no prior conflict."
"Seems obvious to me—Draco tried to boost his status among the first-years by stepping on Tom. Unfortunately, he failed."
"In a case like that, what exactly are you expecting me to say?"
Lucius didn't appreciate the response. His tone grew sharper. "We're talking about a filthy mudblood, Severus. You've known Draco since he was a child—and yet you let that boy hang him up in the common room overnight!"
"Our Malfoy family name has been dragged through the mud! Aren't we friends?"
"Friends?" Snape thought coldly. "Your family's pride is worth less than dragon dung."
But aloud, he said smoothly, "Of course, we're friends."
"Still," he added, "there's a line between friendship and professionalism. Both boys are my students. I won't play favorites. Surely you haven't forgotten Slytherin's core rule—survival of the fittest."
Lucius fell silent.
Slytherin hadn't changed. Back when he was in school, he relied on his pureblood status and well-placed 'friends' to bully his way through.
Now the tables had turned.
His son had run into someone completely different—a Muggle-born kid who didn't flinch at their bloodline, while other pureblood families watched in silence.
Lucius's expression darkened.
"Severus... are you sure there's nothing strange about that Riddle boy?"
"A kid who'd never touched a wand before manages to beat a seventh-year perfect just like that?"
He gave a cold chuckle. "What, is he the only genius in the world? The rest of us are just idiots?"
"Or maybe... he's using some sort of dark magic? Someone must've taught him."
Snape gave a quiet snort, already well aware of what Lucius was hinting at. He had no interest in dragging the conversation out, so he simply passed the buck. "Lucius, Dumbledore personally vouched for Riddle. He's clean. No dark magic, no tricks."
"This world's never been fair to begin with. If you've still got a problem, feel free to take it up with the Headmaster yourself."
Lucius wasn't ready to let it go, though. He nagged and pestered until Snape reluctantly agreed to take him to Dumbledore's office.
— — —
Headmaster's Office
Lucius finally felt confident now that he had the answers he wanted from Snape. The moment he stepped into Dumbledore's office, he went straight for the jugular.
"I want that boy expelled."
Dumbledore tilted his head slightly, a touch of amusement in his expression. "Lucius, as far as I recall, the school board doesn't have the authority to interfere in daily administrative decisions. And even if it did... such decisions require a majority vote."
"I'm speaking as a father!" Lucius snapped, voice rising with anger. Was Dumbledore mocking him? That smug look in his eye—like he was talking down to an idiot!
Dumbledore, ever unbothered, smiled warmly—his serene demeanor a stark contrast to Lucius's boiling rage. "I only just learned about this myself. Naturally, I can't make a judgment until I hear the full story."
With that, he scribbled something onto a parchment, folded it into a paper crane, and sent it flying out the window.
"Give it a moment. I've asked Mr. Filch to bring the two boys here. We'll hear their sides first."
Lucius let out an angry snort and slumped into a sofa, arms crossed and still avoiding Dumbledore's gaze.
Snape, unfazed, said, "I need to return to my class. Whatever punishment you hand out, I won't object."
"Thank you, Severus," Dumbledore said with a nod.
— — —
Back in Transfiguration Class
Professor McGonagall had just tasked the students with turning goblets into pencil cases. As usual, Tom Riddle was the first to finish, earning Slytherin another two points.
But it hadn't been an instant success.
Tom had first transfigured a rough version, then—after a few corrections from McGonagall—refined it into a perfect transformation.
By doing this, he not only showcased his natural talent in a way that didn't seem too suspiciously perfect, but also gave McGonagall the satisfaction of seeing a student improve under her guidance.
Two birds with one stone.
It wasn't about playing dumb or hiding his skills—he just wanted to rake in some extra points.
"Focus your mind a little more. Stop staring at me—I'm not the one you're supposed to transfigure."
"Oh..." Daphne blinked, tearing her gaze away from Tom's face. She raised her wand again to try the spell, but before she could finish, the classroom door was flung open with a loud bang.
All eyes turned toward the noise.
McGonagall frowned. "Mr. Filch? What's the matter?"
"Professor," Filch said with a slimy grin. "Headmaster Dumbledore would like Mr. Malfoy and Mr. Riddle to come to his office. Immediately."
McGonagall glanced at the two boys. Malfoy looked positively gleeful. Tom, on the other hand, stood up calmly, not a flicker of surprise on his face.
With the professor's permission, the two followed Filch out of the classroom.
The Slytherin students, of course, had already guessed why they were being summoned. A low murmur rippled through the group, speculating on whether Dumbledore was actually going to punish Tom.
As for expulsion?
No one was that stupid.
Dumbledore had been Headmaster for decades and had never expelled a student. It was just a fight—there had been way worse incidents over the years.
Even Daphne didn't seem remotely concerned. She stayed focused on her transformation practice, determined to pull it off before the class ended.
"You know why, don't you?" Hermione couldn't hold back her curiosity anymore. She slid into the seat Tom had left and turned to Daphne. "Greengrass, did Tom and Malfoy get into a fight?"
Daphne gave her a sidelong glance. "Granger, and why exactly should I tell you anything?"
"Ugh, fine, whatever," Hermione huffed. "You don't look the least bit worried, so it clearly isn't a big deal."
"I'll just ask Tom myself next time we're in the library. He always tells me."
.
.
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