Hogwarts: Chill, I’m Not That Tom Riddle

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Gryffindor had plenty of virtues—courage, bravery, determination, a strong sense of honor.

Which, when you put it another way, basically meant reckless, stubborn, and obsessed with saving face.

Human nature is complicated. Sometimes, totally opposite traits can exist in the same person, so trying to sum someone up with a few words never really tells the whole story.

But the whole House system at Hogwarts kind of forced those traits to the surface. During those crucial early years when personalities were still being shaped, students were gradually molded to fit their House's values.

By now, the Gryffindor first-years were already pretty steeped in that mindset. So when word got around that Harry and Ron had gone sneaking around the castle just a week into school, most of them were impressed—some even admired it. "So bold," they said.

Only a few students, like Percy, frowned.

Percy wanted to lecture Ron and Harry, but even he had gotten a bit caught up in the story. For now, he kept quiet.

But then came the part about Malfoy chickening out—and the whole common room exploded.

The insults came fast and furious, each more brutal than the last.

And along with the jeering came an overwhelming sense of pride.

See? Slytherins don't even have the guts to show up for a duel against Gryffindors. No courage, no honor. Cowards.

As Harry watched the room boil over with laughter and cheers, a strange feeling crept over him—fear. But not toward Malfoy… toward Tom.

What Tom had said was happening exactly. A Slytherin who could manipulate the Gryffindors' emotions this perfectly… that was scary.

If Tom knew what Harry was thinking, he probably would've scoffed and said, "Please. Controlling meatheads and morons? That's child's play for anyone with half a brain."

Once things calmed down a bit, Harry stood up and called out loudly, "Look, I'm not telling you all this to brag or anything—I just want to give you a heads-up. If Malfoy or any other Slytherin challenges you to a duel, don't fall for it. Odds are, they won't even show."

The room erupted in laughter again. It was a solid line, and Harry had delivered it well—but the credit for the idea, the writer of the speech, went to the twins. Let's be honest: neither he nor Ron was clever enough to come up with that kind of move on their own.

Worried that drawing too much attention to it might backfire and turn the whole thing into a bigger mess? Not a chance.

This was Gryffindor. If you didn't take a golden opportunity to roast Slytherin and humiliate Malfoy, were you even a real Gryffindor?

Sure enough, as soon as Harry finished speaking, a few students jumped up and rushed out of the common room. Didn't take a genius to guess where they were going.

Harry and Ron exchanged grins.

It worked.

Over the weekend, news of Malfoy chickening out spread like wildfire through the castle.

Gryffindor students turned into walking megaphones, excitedly repeating Harry's story to any Hufflepuff or Ravenclaw who'd listen.

When they ran into Slytherins, the tone shifted—mocking comments that left the snakes confused and fuming, having no idea what was going on.

It's human nature to love gossip. The Hufflepuffs mostly just chuckled on the sidelines, but some of the Ravenclaws decided to get directly involved.

After all, there was no shortage of tension between Slytherin and Ravenclaw over the years.

How did you think Slytherin pulled off six straight House Cup wins?

Gryffindor? Not even a threat—they managed to lose points all on their own. Hufflepuff? They don't care.

The only real competition was Ravenclaw. If they had a Head of House as shamelessly biased as Snape, it might've been a very different story.

So when a perfect opportunity to tear down Slytherin fell into their lap, Ravenclaws didn't hesitate.

They hit where it hurt: history.

A disheveled Ravenclaw girl, glasses perched on her nose and a book clutched tightly in her hands, gathered a crowd. The light from her glasses gleamed with the thrill of discovery.

"Guys, listen to this—Malfoy's cowardice isn't just a fluke. It runs in the family!"

She flipped open the book dramatically. "One of his great-great-great-grandfathers once sabotaged a Muggle knight's horse with a mega-dose of laxatives before a duel. The next morning, the knight didn't even have a horse. That's how he won—by cheating."

The students around her gasped and snickered.

"And get this—his ancestor's brother once bribed his way through a wizard's duel and rigged all the surrounding bets. Made a fortune. That money basically built the modern Malfoy fortune."

The crowd grew—students from all Houses now, eyes wide with disbelief.

So it wasn't just a Draco Malfoy thing—it was the Malfoys' legacy.

The girl's excitement grew the deeper she dug. "Oh, and they love boasting about being pure-bloods, right? No Muggle blood in their line? Total BS."

"Their land—where their current manor sits—was originally granted by William the Conqueror. That means they owe their noble status to a Muggle king."

She paused for effect, then dropped the last bomb.

"In the 16th century, there was even a Lucius Malfoy the First who tried to court Queen Elizabeth I. Didn't work out, and rumor has it, he cursed her in revenge. That means their ancestors were getting real cozy with Muggles back in the day."

Some secrets, when left buried, are light as air. But once they're out in the open, they hit like a ton of bricks.

The Hogwarts gossip train hit full throttle. Malfoy's family history got completely exposed—every dark little secret dragged into the light.

And with all that ammo, students took it straight to Slytherin. Any unlucky snake caught alone was immediately swarmed by jeers and ridicule.

The Slytherins—usually masters of keeping a poker face—couldn't hide their fury. Their expressions were stormy all through Sunday.

By Monday morning, things had reached a boiling point.

The Slytherins sat at their table, trying to pretend nothing was wrong while being bombarded by smug, mocking glances from the other three Houses. Most of them looked like they wanted to crawl under the table.

Only Tom seemed completely unaffected, calmly buttering his toast like he hadn't just masterminded a public relations disaster.

Then Draco Malfoy walked into the Great Hall.

The place exploded in boos and laughter.

Draco's face turned ghost-white. He didn't even make it to the table—just grabbed two pieces of bread and bolted like the castle was on fire.

The ruckus, along with the weird atmosphere, didn't go unnoticed by the staff.

Dumbledore raised an eyebrow and looked toward Snape.

Snape scowled, got up without a word, and motioned for a Slytherin prefect to follow him out.

In the Entrance Hall, the prefect quietly explained what had happened.

Snape's face went completely blank.

His knees almost gave out.

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