Harry Potter: I, Tom Riddle, am not the Dark Lord Chapter 40 40: The Most Hated Class

History of Magic—without question, Tom's most detested class.

Other classes, at least, offered House points or valuable knowledge. Even Professor Quirrell, who was an absolute joke in class and barely taught anything, still managed to help Tom earn a few points when he played along with his nervous act and cornered him after class with carefully staged questions.

But Binns—the ghostly relic of a professor—was sothing else entirely. His lectures were nothing but dull recitations from the textbook, devoid of depth or insight. Worse still, the system didn't even recognize his class as beneficial—no experience points, no progress, nothing. The man (ghost?) didn't even allow students to ask questions, eliminating any chance of earning extra credit.

In short, the class was a complete waste of ti.

So like many others, Tom dropped his head onto his desk and zoned out, slipping into his study space where Andros was already waiting to teach him new spells.

When the bell rang, Binns—expressionless as always—assigned howork and promptly phased through the wall back to his office.

The students, unfortunately, couldn't phase through anything and had to walk to the Great Hall on their own tired legs.

Just as Tom reached the entrance hall, he was intercepted by Hermione, who had clearly been waiting for him.

"This isn't a good place to talk. Let's go to the courtyard garden," she said in a hushed voice, glancing at the busy flow of students around them.

Tom didn't object. Daphne, however, tried to follow—only to be stopped by Hermione.

The young witch's temper began to flare, but Tom intervened before things escalated. "Daphne, I don't mind if you co along, but we'll be discussing so personal matters that involve other people's privacy. Why don't you go ahead to the Hall and save a spot?"

Reluctantly, Daphne nodded, shooting Hermione a not-so-subtle glare before heading inside.

When Tom and Hermione arrived at the courtyard, Harry and Ron were already there, sitting at a stone table with a modest pile of snacks between them.

Once everyone was seated, Harry got straight to the point.

"Riddle, we really owe you for last night. I didn't know how else to thank you… so I brought snacks."

"You've got good manners," Tom replied with a small nod. "But really, I was just trying to save my own skin. I wasn't about to let that thing chew on ."

He reached out and grabbed a Chocolate Frog, biting off its head while the poor enchanted treat twitched weakly in his hand.

Harry gave an awkward laugh. "Still, if you hadn't been there, we'd be toast."

"No need to keep thanking . It's over now." Tom waved a hand nonchalantly. Harry accepted that and didn't press it further.

Ron, however, was eager. "So what were you doing out at night anyway?"

"Reading," Tom said smoothly. "I needed to check sothing in a book, but the one I had didn't have what I needed. So I went to the library. Problem?"

Harry and Ron exchanged glances. As academic slackers, the idea of risking Filch's wrath just to look sothing up in a book was... beyond them.

Heh. Gullible.

In truth, Tom had gone out that night specifically to shadow them. He knew that if he could 'accidentally' follow Harry into that forbidden fourth-floor corridor, he'd have a perfect excuse for being there. And considering Dumbledore had likely set enchantnts on the door, it was far safer to enter with a group of clueless Gryffindors than alone.

The results? More than satisfying. Not only did he get a chance to test so combat spells on a real, live target, but the system had also rewarded him with 20 achievent points.

"What about you lot?" Tom asked innocently. "What were you doing out that late?"

Harry and Ron hesitated, unsure if they should reveal the botched duel with Malfoy. Hermione, however, had no such qualms and laid the entire story out.

Tom's only response was a low whistle. "What a slimy bastard."

One sentence. That was all it took to close the gap between them. Harry and Ron looked at him with expressions of mutual disdain for their shared enemy.

"You should've seen Malfoy's face this morning when he realized we were totally fine," Ron said, smirking. "I swear he could've fit two and a half eggs in that open mouth of his."

"I'll punch him next ti I see him."

"That would be a violation of school rules," Tom reminded him.

Ron frowned. "You just love siding with Slytherin, don't you?"

Before Tom could respond, Hermione snapped, "If Tom were siding with Malfoy, he would've left us to get eaten last night."

Ron had no coback for that. He turned away in silence, and the mood around the table turned slightly awkward.

Tom broke the tension by opening a bag of Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans. He chewed thoughtfully. "Of course I side with my House—just like you lot protect Gryffindor. But I can't stand underhanded tricks. Malfoy pulled a dirty move, plain and simple."

"If you're planning to get back at him, I support that," he added with a grin. "I could even help you co up with ideas."

"But physical violence? That's the dumbest option. It'd be Snape's dream co true—finally an excuse to co down hard on you, Potter."

Harry imdiately tensed.

These days, Aunt Petunia's family had dropped to third place on his most-hated list. Snape was currently at the top, followed closely by Malfoy.

"What do you think I should do?" Harry asked cautiously. Despite himself, he was curious—though still a bit wary. After all, Tom was a Slytherin.

Tom shrugged as if it were obvious. "Simple. Spread the word."

Ron's jaw dropped. "Are you crazy?! If word gets out, we're dead! Professor McGonagall'll turn into a cat and claw us to ribbons!"

"Don't be ridiculous," Hermione snapped. "Professor McGonagall would never do that."

Harry eyed Tom suspiciously. "You're not just trying to get us in trouble so we lose points, are you?"

Tom clutched his chest dramatically. "How could you say that? I'm wounded! I just hate Malfoy as much as you do. I'm just a poor Muggle-born orphan, stuck in Slytherin, surrounded by arrogant pure-bloods… sigh."

Harry and Ron exchanged guilty glances. It was true—Tom was a Muggle-born, and an orphan. Being sorted into Slytherin with that background couldn't have been easy. For a mont, their distrust softened.

Still, they weren't entirely convinced his plan wouldn't backfire.

But Tom wasn't done. He turned to Ron and gently nudged the conversation.

"Let's do a little roleplay, Weasley. Imagine this: You, as a proud mber of the Weasley family, challenge another pure-blood to a duel. But when it's ti to fight, you don't show up. You chicken out."

He leaned in, voice low.

"If your parents found out… what do you think they'd say?"