Harry Potter: I, Tom Riddle, am not the Dark Lord Chapter 121 121: The Twists of the House Cup

"Uh… about that…"

Harry scratched the back of his head awkwardly. "Tom, I… owe you an apology."

"An apology?" Tom raised a brow at him, looking more puzzled than offended. "What could you possibly have done to wrong ?"

It wasn't that Tom doubted Harry's character — he simply doubted his ability.

Hearing that, Harry looked even more uncomfortable. "Last ti, you and Hermione told to be careful of Quirrell, but I kept thinking Snape was the bad guy. Then Dumbledore told Snape had been protecting all along, and it was Quirrell who wanted to kill . If I'd listened to you earlier, none of this might've happened."

"That's it?" Tom blinked in mild surprise. "Honestly, even if you had known, it wouldn't have made much difference. Without proof, you couldn't exactly stalk Quirrell all day waiting for him to slip up. The result would've been the sa."

"So no need to apologize to . If you really must, go and tell Snape instead."

Tom walked off, leaving Harry frozen in place, staring after him. A mont later, Harry curled his lips in distaste.

Apologize to Snape?

He'd sooner keep suspecting the man. That was fine — he didn't mind being a petty little villain.

…

Tom entered the Great Hall. The decorations had already been changed — the usual green and silver strears for Slytherin now hung proudly, and behind the staff table lood a massive banner with the serpent emblem.

Most students outside Slytherin, however, were sick of the sight. From the day they'd started at Hogwarts, every single end-of-year feast had looked exactly like this. Seventh-years were beyond despair — it seed they'd graduate without ever seeing a different House win.

Monts later, Dumbledore arrived, and the noisy hall gradually quieted.

"Another year gone," Dumbledore said cheerfully. "Before we all tuck into this magnificent feast, I must ask you to endure an old man's rambling. What a year it's been! I'm sure you've all learned much. Now, ahead of you lies the sumr holiday, but do rember — after the holiday, school will start again. So read a few books over the break, and don't let your clever little heads go empty."

The young witches and wizards laughed good-naturedly.

When the chuckles faded, Dumbledore continued, "Now, we must proceed with the awarding of the House Cup. The scores are as follows:

Gryffindor — 300 points.

Hufflepuff — 352 points.

Ravenclaw — 426 points.

Slytherin — 500 points."

The Slytherin table erupted in cheers, and even Snape was smiling. To everyone else, though, the sight was downright nauseating.

"Yes, well done, Slytherin," Dumbledore went on. "However, recent events must also be taken into account."

Snape's smile froze, and the Slytherin table fell silent, a bad feeling settling over them.

"First, Mr. Neville Longbottom. He graced us with the most beautiful music of the year. For that, I award Gryffindor fifty points."

Gryffindor students whooped with joy. Slytherins, however, remained calm — the gap was still wide. Neville's face flushed bright red; he'd never earned so many points in one go.

"Second, Mr. Ronald Weasley. He played the finest ga of chess Hogwarts has seen in years, and in protecting school property, sacrificed his own wand. For that, I award Gryffindor sixty points."

The Weasley twins were already dancing on the table, and Percy loudly told anyone within earshot that Ron was his brother — the sa Ron who'd conquered Professor McGonagall's giant chessboard.

Still, there was a ninety-point gap. The Slytherins comforted themselves with that.

"Third, Mr. Tom Riddle."

At this, Dumbledore looked straight at Tom, and Slytherin students perked up in excitent.

"Mr. Riddle appeared in a mont of great danger, crossing House lines to aid Mr. Potter. As a reward, I have already presented him with my most precious treasure. Therefore, no additional points will be awarded."

Tom wasn't surprised — Dumbledore had told him as much in the headmaster's office. The rest of the hall, however, was clearly disappointed.

"Tom, what treasure?" Daphne tugged at his sleeve, whispering.

"You'll see when we get back. It's a surprise for you."

Her curiosity only grew, itching at her like an unscratchable spot.

"And finally — Mr. Harry Potter."

The hall went utterly silent.

"For showing remarkable courage and bravery, I award Gryffindor one hundred points!"

The roar of cheers was deafening. Quick-minded students were already doing the math — and when they arrived at the result, their faces lit with joy.

"We've done it — we're ahead!"

"We're the champions!"

Dumbledore raised his hand, using magic to amplify his voice until it cut through the uproar — even Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw were celebrating Gryffindor's win, which said plenty about how disliked Slytherin was.

"It seems we must make a few changes to the decorations," Dumbledore declared.

He clapped his hands, and in an instant, the green-and-silver vanished, replaced by scarlet and gold. The serpent banner morphed into a lion. Snape, ever the gentleman, shook Professor McGonagall's hand graciously — but also shot Dumbledore a discreet glare.

Could the old man's favoritism be any more blatant?

Still, this ti Riddle had outplayed them.

McGonagall and the rest of the staff were baffled. From what they knew of Snape, he should have been livid right now… so why did he look even more pleased than before?

"Wait a mont!"

Just when everyone thought this dramatic back-and-forth over the House Cup had finally ended, Tom rose to his feet. His magically enhanced voice rang sharp and loud, making the entire hall's ears ring until they fell silent.

This ti, it was Dumbledore's turn to feel a flicker of unease.

Tom smiled faintly at the headmaster, then turned his gaze to Professor Snape.

"Professor," he asked, "has my paper been published yet?"