Tom only shook his head at the girl's congratulations, smiling faintly.
"A small paper, nothing worth mentioning. But… thank you all the same."
Since their last meeting in the library, Tom and Cho had crossed paths more often. They greeted one another in the halls, sometimes even arranged to read together. Friends—not too close, but not distant either.
Cho rolled her eyes at his answer.
"Do all geniuses talk like that? That's a professional journal. Last year, a seventh-year senior managed to be listed as a second author in Today's Transfiguration, and he bragged about it for half a year. But you? You brush it off like it's nothing."
"People have different pursuits." Tom chuckled. "I happen to like studying. There will be more papers in the future, so this one really isn't such a big deal."
"Then I'll just wait for your next masterpiece."
Cho's eyes curved in a smile. She said a few more words before turning to leave, her high ponytail swaying playfully behind her.
Watching from a short distance, Daphne Greengrass narrowed her eyes.
And who exactly is this girl suddenly laughing and chatting with Tom?
Hannah Abbott had always been Tom's friend, but Daphne had never worried about her. Cho, however, was different. That kind of quiet elegance—exotic charm—was bound to draw attention at Hogwarts.
Quietly, Daphne slipped closer and wrapped herself around Tom's arm. Tom blinked in confusion. Still, with a soft, fragrant girl pressed against him… well, he wasn't about to complain.
Meanwhile, Cho was intercepted by her ever-nosy friend, Marietta.
"I just saw you with Riddle. Since when are the two of you… well, you know?"
"What do you mean you know?" Cho huffed, swatting her friend's arm. "I just went to congratulate him on publishing another paper."
"Beautiful, don't dodge the real question." Marietta smirked slyly. "I'm asking how you met in the first place."
Flustered, Cho tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. "It was an accident, really. Ran into him once in the library, then again… and after that, it just happened."
Marietta raised her brows, pretending to accept the answer but smirking all the same. "Fine, I'll believe you. But it's a pity—you're a little late. If this were last year, you might've stood a chance. But now? Everyone knows the Greengrass sisters, and even that Gryffindor know-it-all, practically keep him surrounded. No way through for you, Cho."
"Stop spouting nonsense." Cho pursed her lips. "You should read fewer romance novels. I—"
Her protest was cut off by a loud commotion ahead. Someone had gone tumbling down the staircase.
"Malfoy!"
"Ugh—ow!"
Another body followed right after—the first was Draco Malfoy, the second Ron Weasley.
"What are you doing!"
Professor McGonagall, just arriving at the Great Hall doors, rushed forward at once. On the ground, Ron and Malfoy had already rolled into a scuffle, fists flying.
"Enough!" she barked.
But the boys were far too gone to listen. Ron had both hands locked around Malfoy's throat, while Malfoy had jammed two fingers straight up Ron's nostrils.
It was only when McGonagall herself used magic to wrench them apart that the fight ended.
"Who will explain this to me?" she demanded, her sharp eyes sweeping the gathered students.
Not a single one stepped forward—they were there for the show, not the blame.
"Professor!" Malfoy blurted, blood trickling from his nose. "Potter punched me! You saw my face—he started it!"
"Liar!" Ron bellowed. "You shoved me down the stairs first!"
"You're framing me, Weasley. I merely turned around and accidentally bumped you. You fell because you can't stand on your own two feet. Don't pin your clumsiness on me."
Malfoy sniffed disdainfully, wiping at his nose with exaggerated dignity.
"Professor, I saw it." Harry pushed through the crowd, his glare fixed firmly on Malfoy. "He's lying. Malfoy mocked Ron, saying he only solved your chess puzzle last year out of sheer luck. We argued with him, and then he elbowed Ron down the stairs."
"I did not! Stop making things up." Draco waved dismissively. "It was just an accidental bump. As for mocking Weasley—well, how does stating the truth suddenly count as mocking?"
He sneered. "Yesterday, Weasley lost three games in a row. His face went as red as his hair. And he thinks he could beat Professor McGonagall?"
Draco jabbed a finger toward Ron's flushed face. "Yes, yes—exactly that color! Who else saw it? Don't deny it!"
The crowd erupted into laughter—even some Gryffindors couldn't help themselves. Malfoy's description was too spot-on.
Only Tom, lurking amidst the spectators, looked puzzled.
What on earth does this have to do with me?
He had spent the entire previous day in the library with Cho, then escorting Astoria to see the unicorns. He hadn't the faintest clue Ron had been embarrassing himself at the giant chessboard, losing again and again until no one would follow his lead.
Really, chess? Ron might be good, but he wasn't brilliant. His ceiling was obvious. To compare his mind to Tom's? Impossible.
Better to have Ron compete with Voldemort to see who could throw a bigger tantrum.
"Enough!" McGonagall snapped, her voice cutting through the laughter. "Mr. Weasley won his chess match last year fairly. Mr. Malfoy, you will not belittle your classmates."
Her frown deepened. "Regardless of who started it, what I did see with my own eyes was the two of you brawling in the middle of the staircase."
Draco quieted at that, nursing his bruised eye while casting Harry a venomous glance. One Gryffindor for two Slytherins—it wasn't a victory, but neither was it a loss.
McGonagall's expression darkened as she prepared to announce punishment—
When suddenly, Professor Rouse stepped forward from the crowd, smiling lightly.
"Professor McGonagall, surely this isn't worth detentions and point deductions," he said smoothly. "It's nothing but a minor quarrel. At Ilvermorny, this kind of scuffle happens all the time. They're young—conflicts are only natural."