Lusa had thought she could placate the sulking Draco with the “Harry punching bag” tactic and kickstart her gold-farming plan, but it still ended up backfiring.
Because Draco was utterly disgusted by the question: “Do you like Harry Potter?” He nearly vomited on the spot. Anger made the young master’s temper even worse—he didn’t even say “thank you.” Instead, he howled: “Merlin’s smelly socks! Lusa Riddle, your brain must have been kicked by a troll!”
For a while after that, this tsundere little lord almost always wore a dark scowl whenever he saw Lusa, as if she owed him millions of Galleons.
But that wasn’t what bothered Lusa. She never cared about children throwing tantrums. What she regretted was: in Slytherin House, aside from investing a bottle of high-end Amortentia in Draco, she had tried—intentionally or unintentionally—to make contact with others like Blaise, Goyle, Crabbe, and even Pansy and Lilith, but their reactions were ordinary. Not even a single copper Knut popped out!
More importantly, she couldn’t figure out the trigger pattern of the Golden Finger. Sometimes it worked, sometimes it didn’t. She remembered patting Draco in the common room last time, but there was no gain. So why had it worked before?
Unable to make sense of it, Lusa could only pour more energy into her studies, almost reporting to the library every day. Occasionally, she could even greet Hermione Granger.
After all, they were both genuine academic achievers, sharing a certain mutual admiration.
A few times, she also spotted Harry and his little friend Ron in the corridors. Lusa would smile and greet them. Harry would struggle to smile back, though it looked forced. Ron, on the other hand, would eye her warily a few times before forcibly dragging Harry away, wearing an expression that said: “Even if you’re cute, you’re still a little snake! Evil Slytherins must be avoided at all costs!”
Because they had heard many rumors about Lusa Riddle and Draco Malfoy becoming friends. Some even swore they had seen them secretly meeting on the eighth floor of the castle (that trip to the Room of Requirement), looking sneaky (they weren’t) and behaving intimately (only a blind person would think so).
Of course, this was pure nonsense, and it was unclear which House spread it (90% likely the gossipy Hufflepuff badgers). But Lusa herself knew nothing about it at the time.
It wasn’t until she ran into the Indian beauty Parvati again. Parvati glanced around to make sure there were no little snakes or lions nearby, then pulled Lusa into a very remote, dilapidated empty classroom. Her face instantly fell, and her tone turned strangely serious: “Lusa, do you still consider me a friend?”
“Of course,” Lusa replied without hesitation. “You were the first friend I made at Hogwarts, along with Padma from Ravenclaw. I cherish your friendship dearly.” Though sorted into different Houses and standing on different sides, Lusa still treasured this bond.
Parvati’s tense brows relaxed slightly, then grew serious again. “Lucius, I also cherish our friendship… but that Malfoy guy, he… he’s not a good person. He’s a real jerk. In flying class, you didn’t see it—he deliberately bullied Neville Longbottom and stole his Remembrall. And that Parkinson beside him is like a mad dog, biting anyone she can… Do you understand what I mean?”
Understand what?
Of course she knew Malfoy was a little jerk—the malicious antagonist in Harry Potter. Although he redeemed himself later, he was genuinely annoying in the early stages, embodying the essence of a petty villain to the fullest.
And Pansy had a sharp tongue—truly unpleasant. Moreover, most Slytherins weren’t easy to get along with. They revered pure-blood status, arrogant and prejudiced. Lucius understood this better than anyone, after all, she was right in the snake pit.
But Lucius had long grown accustomed to these people around her. She wouldn’t provoke others unless provoked herself. As long as they weren’t committing murder or arson, or doing things that violated human nature and principles, there was still hope for them.
Besides, although Slytherin had produced many evil Death Eaters, Gryffindor and the other houses weren’t necessarily all good people either. What about that cowardly, cunning traitor Peter, the rat named Scabbers? Wasn’t he from Gryffindor?
Lucius looked at Parvati in confusion, not understanding why she had gone to such lengths to bring her here and say all this.
Although they were friends, did she have the right to interfere with whom Lucius befriended? After all, Lucius was a Slytherin.
“Oh, you still don’t get it?” Parvati pursed her lips, utterly perplexed. How could the famously brilliant student Riddle be so “slow”? It didn’t make sense.
“As a friend’s sincere advice, Lucius, you can make friends, but why does it have to be a Malfoy? That’s a Malfoy who worships pure-blood status and has done all sorts of wicked things! Dear, I’m really worried you’ll get hurt. He doesn’t deserve your friendship.”
Parvati sighed deeply, her gaze full of pity.
What? Lucius’s mind finally caught up, realizing what Parvati was worried about. She couldn’t help but burst into laughter, laughing so hard she could barely straighten her back. Thinking back to Harry and Ron’s hesitant, meaningful looks earlier, she still found it quite amusing.
“Parvati, can you tell me who started this rumor?” Lucius promised she wouldn’t kill them.
“Everyone’s saying it. Isn’t it true? Aren’t you getting very close to Malfoy?”
Parvati stared at her suspiciously, as if trying to bore a hole through her face.
Lucius was speechless, shaking her head vigorously, torn between laughter and tears. “Of course not! We’re just ordinary friends, that’s all. You’re overthinking it.”
Parvati breathed a sigh of relief, then slightly shifted the topic again. “Really? Lucius, you’re so pretty. I don’t believe Malfoy has no interest in you!”
Although India was conservative, the Patil sisters, living in England, were quite open-minded about relationships.
Lucius thought to herself: That’s because you’re all too mature for your age. Of course, it’s also due to different national customs.
In her previous life, Lucius had only one romantic experience—the kind where they just held hands—and it ended badly. Not only was she called into the homeroom teacher’s and various subject teachers’ offices for talks, but the boy’s mother even stormed into the school, warning her—an orphanage girl—not to dare corrupt her son.
Lucius felt like cursing at that moment, just wanting to break it off.
Transported to an orphanage in England, surrounded by a bunch of brats, everyone fought over who got an extra bite at each meal. Who would care whether you were good-looking or cute?
With bellies not even full, who would think about romance or anything poetic?
Still, the rumor about her and Draco’s pointless gossip struck Lucius as utterly absurd and incredibly dull.
It was nothing more than a baseless rumor everyone mindlessly repeated.