— — — — — —
It was Friday night, and most students had already switched into weekend mode.
Laziness hung in the air like a warm blanket—homework and classes were all but forgotten as everyone enjoyed a well-earned break.
Tom was no exception. He believed in balance. So right now, he was playing Gobstones with Daphne.
His achievements these days?
Well, according to Andros, Tom had entered a new phase—not in terms of raw power, but in his understanding of magic.
He was beginning to grasp the very nature of magic. Sure, it was only the most basic layer of it, but even that was enough to double the efficiency of his learning.
Most wizards never reached this level of insight in their entire lives. To them, magic was just something they were born with—something to use by instinct. They learned whatever spells they were taught, casting them without ever truly understanding the why behind the magic.
Technically, that made them spellcasters. But in Andros's view? They weren't true wizards.
Tom had already surpassed that phase. Sure, he might not know as many spells as an adult wizard yet, but with his growing awareness, he was quickly closing the gap. He was in the middle of a growth spurt—power-wise, that is.
Andros's guidance accounted for a third of that progress. The Study Space added another third. Turbo mode and hands-on practice made up a further third. And the remaining bit? That was Tom's own natural talent.
Just goes to show how much difference a good teacher and a solid learning environment can make.
Harry Potter was a perfect counterexample. He'd inherited Lily Evans's gift for Potions but hadn't shown any of it—mainly because he and Snape were constantly butting heads.
But once Slughorn took over and Harry got his hands on Snape's old textbook, he blossomed overnight. He even earned a bottle of Felix Felicis as a reward.
...
"You lost again, Daphne."
Tom flicked one of Daphne's pink Gobstones straight into her goal hole with pinpoint accuracy. The stone immediately squirted foul-smelling liquid all over her. Even though she saw it coming, she still couldn't dodge in time.
Gobstones was kind of like marbles in the Muggle world—you tried to knock your opponent's stones into their hole. Every successful shot earned a spray of disgusting liquid for the unlucky loser.
They'd only been playing for half an hour, and Daphne had already gotten sprayed six or seven times.
"Ugh, seriously, Tom? Can't you let me win just once?"
Grumbling, she grabbed a deodorizing spray and spritzed herself. The awful stench vanished instantly, and she went back to smelling like a sweet little princess.
"Alright," Tom said, raising his left hand. "I'll play with my left hand this round."
He tucked his right hand behind his back.
Daphne pouted. "No way. You only get to move once for every two of mine."
"Sure, whatever you say."
The little witch instantly lit up—not just because Tom agreed, but because she liked being pampered like that.
Just as Daphne was lining up her next shot, a shadow fell over the board.
"Riddle, having fun, are we?" a voice said mockingly. "Didn't realize you were disturbing my studying."
Daphne looked up in disbelief. The one complaining… was Goyle.
Everyone knew that guy didn't study. He was practically Malfoy's pet—always trailing behind him, stuffing his face with snacks, and never once doing his own homework.
Completely useless at everything except eating.
After a moment of stunned silence, Daphne's face darkened.
"Goyle, if you've got nothing better to do, go back to your snacks and stop trying to get attention."
"Aww, look at you, Greengrass," Malfoy sneered as he strolled over and patted Goyle on the shoulder. "So protective of your little pretty boy."
"I actually agree with Goyle for once. Riddle's being way too loud—it's distracting."
"Maybe this is how Muggles behave? No sense of manners."
"But don't worry. I can teach you. From now on, whenever I'm around, you'll stay quiet and invisible. Got it?"
By now, quite a few students in the common room were watching the scene unfold, their expressions varying from curiosity to amusement.
Even an idiot could tell—Malfoy was clearly here to pick a fight. And his target? The ever-rising star: Tom Riddle.
Daphne finally realized what was happening. She didn't know why Malfoy was acting like this all of a sudden, but she didn't care.
Anyone who messed with Tom was her enemy.
The angry little witch was just about to erupt—when Tom gently caught her hand and motioned for her to sit down.
"Tom?"
"I got this," he said calmly. "I've dealt with guys like him before."
Across the room, Zabini and Nott were playing wizard chess. Both of them twitched at the same time and glanced over at Malfoy with sympathy.
They were curious, though. With this many older students around, would Tom really dare make a move?
He answered their question a second later.
A flash of light shot from Tom's wand, smacking Malfoy straight in the chest and throwing him against the wall beside the fireplace.
Then, with a casual flick of his wand, the stone bricks behind Malfoy began to shift and morph— four massive stone hands emerged and pinned Malfoy to the wall.
Gasps filled the room as Tom strolled over, completely unbothered.
"Well, well, Mr. Malfoy. I always knew you were too much of a coward to duel properly, but I didn't realize you were also a trashmouth."
"If your mouth's that filthy, fine. Just don't breathe in my direction."
Malfoy couldn't even respond—Tom didn't give him the chance. His mouth was full of thick, foamy soap bubbles. He kept gagging and spitting, but the awful soapy taste just wouldn't go away.
"..."
The room had gone dead silent. No one had expected Tom to just… attack like that.
Finally, someone broke the silence with a sharp shout: "Riddle! What do you think you're doing?!"
"Let Malfoy go this instant! Attacking another student in the common room—do you think prefects don't exist?!"
The one who spoke was Stephen Avery, a sixth-year and one of the prefects. He was glaring at Tom with righteous fury.
Tom turned around slowly and tilted his head, like he was genuinely confused.
"Prefect? Huh, so there was a prefect here just now?"
"Then how come you were just sitting there watching when Malfoy was running his mouth?"
Avery's face darkened, clearly seething.
What could he even say? That it was fine for pure-bloods to bully Muggle-borns, but not the other way around?
Sure, that's what he thought, but he couldn't say it. Not out loud.
Not in this school. Not with Dumbledore as headmaster.
Their little pure-blood power games were strictly off the record.
"Riddle," Avery said sternly. "As a prefect, I'm ordering you to let Malfoy down. If you do, we'll leave it at that."
Tom casually rubbed his ear. "A prefect? So what?"
"Rubbish is rubbish, no matter how you dress it up."
The common room went completely still.
You could've heard a pin drop.
.
.
.