Hogwarts: Chill, I'm Not That Riddle-Chapter 491: The First House in History to Go Negative

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Faced with Tom’s quiet question, Draco Malfoy didn’t dare play clever. He obediently recounted the entire sequence of events, including his little jab at Ron on the train.

This time he kept his voice low. Ron already had his wand out, and Draco had no interest in testing whether Weasley was unhinged enough to take them both down in a blaze of mutual destruction.

By the time he finished, Tom’s expression had completely changed.

Oh no. How did I forget?

The Yule Ball.

All tournament champions were required to attend, and they must have a dance partner, as tradition required them to open the dance

And in the upcoming official tournament, Daphne and Fleur would undoubtedly be champions. Grindelwald had even said he had taught Ariana new spells to secure first place. That made three champions.

So what was he supposed to do? Wait, Ginny hadn’t sneaked off to register, had she?

The thought nearly made Tom snap—until he remembered he had lowered the tournament age to fourteen. Ginny was still months short.

’Damn it. Why was Crouch this efficient? Couldn’t he have simply claimed the rules were impossible to bend?’

"..."

Draco, meanwhile, saw Tom’s shifting expression and felt his heart drop. He assumed he’d gone too far teasing Ron and had annoyed Tom. For the first time, he regretted that little performance.

"Malfoy."

Severus Snape fixed him with a cold stare. "Are you truly so idle that another student’s clothing choices concern you? Rag or robe, what is it to you?"

"Professor, I—"

"Silence. I have no interest in your excuses." Snape’s voice rose, cutting him off. "It is the first day of term and you are already causing trouble. I will be speaking to your parents about your behavior."

Professor Minerva McGonagall stared at Snape in visible astonishment. For a split second, she wondered whether a Gryffindor had taken Polyjuice Potion and was impersonating him. But she remembered his earlier sneer at Ron.

No, that was definitely Severus.

Had the sun risen in the west? Snape reprimanding his own student?

"As for you, Weasley," Snape continued, ignoring McGonagall’s look and swiveling his glare toward Ron. "Even if Malfoy provoked you, resorting to violence is still your fault. I have decided—"

"Slytherin and Gryffindor will each lose two hundred points."

The hall went dead silent.

Snape delivered the verdict with icy calm, then glanced at McGonagall. "Your thoughts, Minerva?"

"I..." McGonagall faltered. "Isn’t two hundred a bit excessive? And technically... term hasn’t even begun. All Houses are at zero."

"Have you forgotten?" Snape’s lips curved faintly. "The school rules were amended over the summer. Negative points are now permitted. And from the moment students step onto the grounds, we are authorized to award or deduct points."

McGonagall did remember. The rule change had indeed passed over the summer.

She shot Ron a look of pure exasperation.

Could these children not, just once, spare her the headache?

"Two hundred still seems extreme," she tried. "Ordinarily, a fight costs fifty."

"But Weasley and Malfoy are repeat offenders," Snape said smoothly. "If the penalty isn’t severe, they will only grow bolder. And do not forget, in two months..."

He didn’t finish. He didn’t need to.

McGonagall’s face shifted. In two months, delegations from other magical schools would arrive at Hogwarts. If they witnessed students behaving like this, it would be mortifying.

"Very well. Two hundred points each."

Her stern gaze swept over Draco and Ron, who both looked like scolded children. "You will also serve detention starting tomorrow. Seven o’clock in my office. Now move along, all of you. Inside."

She turned sharply and marched into the Great Hall.

Her mood was abysmal. The revised rules allowed negative scores, and on the very first day she had approved a two-hundred-point deduction. Was Gryffindor about to become the first House in Hogwarts history to finish the year below zero?

The thought nearly made her faint.

Draco slipped into the Great Hall unharmed. Tom remained where he was, deep in thought. Snape, for his part, was confused.

Moments earlier, he’d reached the same conclusion as Draco. He’d assumed Tom’s displeasure stemmed from Ginny’s connection to the situation and that Draco had crossed a line. Out of consideration for Narcissa, Snape had redirected the blame before things escalated.

Of course, a large part of it was sheer pettiness. Snape still remembered the broken door of his house—and Tom’s remark about it. The only retaliation left to him was deducting points.

As for the lost points?

With Tom around, Slytherin would earn them back in no time. Gryffindor, however, might never climb out of this crater. Even if they crawled back into positive territory, the House Cup would be a distant dream.

Eliminating a rival right at the starting line. Snape practically glided as he walked.

Term hadn’t even properly begun, the feast not yet served, and Snape had already pulled off a double strike against two Houses. The younger students were whispering that they’d witnessed history.

Snape deducting points from Slytherin. That was about as likely as McGonagall blatantly favoring her own students.

The Gryffindors, meanwhile, looked like the sky had fallen. The rules had just changed, and they were already in the red. How were they supposed to survive the year like this?

Still, a few "brilliant minds" already started thinking outside the box.

If you couldn’t be first in points... you could always aim for first in negative points. Make history from the bottom up.

It was still first place in a way.

--- 𝒻𝑟ℯℯ𝑤𝑒𝑏𝑛𝘰𝓋𝑒𝓁.𝒸𝑜𝘮

Up at the staff table, Professors Pomona Sprout and Filius Flitwick had just heard the news. Both were trying very hard not to smile too widely.

Joy had practically fallen from the sky.

Whether Gryffindor sank or swam didn’t concern them much. Even if nothing happened now, there was a whole year left for Gryffindor to lose points. Sooner or later, it would happen.

But Slytherin tumbling into a pit on day one? That was glorious. They’d been suppressed by Slytherin for nine straight years. This year had been shaping up to make it a historic tenth consecutive championship. And now Snape himself had handed them a blow.

They couldn’t exactly burst out laughing in front of their colleagues, so they celebrated quietly instead. The two professors raised their champagne glasses at the same time and clinked them together lightly.

"Pomona, it’s wonderful to see you again."

"Likewise, Filius."

At the center of the table, Albus Dumbledore watched them with twitching lips. The term hadn’t even started, and they were already popping champagne?

Points could be deducted, yes. But they could also be earned. Even he wouldn’t dare fiddle behind the scenes and stack the deck for Harry. They’d better not get their hopes up too high.

At the Slytherin table, Tom sat distracted, his brows drawn tight as he sank deeper into thought. For a fleeting moment, he even considered cancelling the entire tournament.

...

Before long, McGonagall returned, leading a long line of nervous first-years to the front of the Great Hall. The Sorting Ceremony began.

The Sorting Hat launched into its annual song. This was its big day of the year, so it put its heart into it. The lyrics changed every time, though the theme stayed roughly the same: praise the founders, then praise itself.

Names were called one by one. Students shuffled forward, sat on the stool, and within ten or fifteen seconds, most were sorted. This year went unusually smoothly. No hatstalls. No drawn-out debates. In less than half an hour, it was over.

By then, the older students were starving, staring mournfully at their empty plates.

Dumbledore rose to his feet, smiling warmly at the hall. This was his favorite day of the year. He opened his arms, his rich voice echoing through the chamber.

"Let the feast begin."

Food appeared instantly, steaming and fragrant. Students piled their plates high. The ghosts hovered nearby, watching with wistful expressions, trying to remember what flavors had once tasted like.

The Grey Lady drifted briefly through the hall. She paused only long enough to gaze at Tom for a moment before gliding out through the high windows.

Not far away, the Bloody Baron stared at the boy suspiciously. His voice scraped like a dull saw against wood.

"Riddle. What exactly is your relationship with the Grey Lady?"

"None of your business," Tom replied flatly, irritation already bleeding into his voice. Couldn’t that damned Baron see he was in a foul mood? The last thing he needed was an interrogation—from a ghost, of all things.

Besides, the Bloody Baron wasn’t exactly sterling company. They had no connection, and certainly no friendship.

"You... You..."

The Baron’s already gaunt face seemed to pale further. Around them, the Slytherins went rigid, afraid that any clash between these two heavyweights might spill over onto innocent bystanders.

"Why don’t you float off somewhere else?" Daphne lifted her chin, eyes full of disdain. "A ghost trying to talk about romance? Have you seen yourself?"

She tilted her head, as if struck by sudden realization. "Oh. Right. You can’t see yourself anymore, can you? Hard to check a mirror when you don’t show up in one."

Daphne’s mouth had always been sharp. In first year, she’d reduced Ron to storming off in tears. Hermione had been verbally cornered more than once. And compared to them, the Baron was hardly special. If anything, he was easier to wound.

Furious, the Bloody Baron swept out of the hall. The students he passed through shivered, limbs turning ice-cold.

The next moment, a deafening crack of thunder exploded outside. The Great Hall doors were flung open with a bang.

Silhouetted in the doorway stood Alastor Moody, wrapped in a black cloak. Lightning flashed behind him, illuminating his scarred face and the wild, swiveling magical eye in his socket. Several students gasped.

Moody ignored the stares. He limped toward the staff table. Only then did people notice the wooden prosthetic leg. Each step struck the floor with a heavy thunk that echoed through the hall.

"Apologies, Albus!" Moody growled once he reached the front. "Peace didn’t last long. Had to escort a few stowaway wizards to the Ministry."

"Your dedication is appreciated, Alastor," Dumbledore said with a gentle smile, shaking his hand.

Moody snorted and made his way to his seat.

"Hardly dedication. The trouble’s just beginning. They’ve lost family. No telling what desperate things they’ll try."

More than a few people glanced toward Tom, who was quietly eating.

They understood the implication.

Tom lifted his head, looked at Moody long enough to confirm it wasn’t someone in disguise, then calmly lowered his gaze and continued his meal.

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