— — — — — —
Ten minutes later
Snape stormed into the Slytherin common room, clearly furious.
It was rare for professors to set foot in the common rooms, let alone heads of house
Those spaces were meant to be a sanctuary for students, a place to relax without adults breathing down their necks. But today, things had spiraled out of control. Everyone was saying Riddle had lost his mind.
So, naturally, they decided to drag Snape into it—and let him experience firsthand what it was like to be blindsided by someone trying to steal your throne.
"RIDDLE," Snape snapped the moment he entered, ignoring everyone else. "I hear you want to be Head of Slytherin?"
He didn't spare the actual victim—Malfoy—more than a passing glance.
Snape was in a foul mood. That afternoon, he and Riddle had actually worked together quite well—earning Slytherin a bunch of points. And now, just a few hours later, this little brat was causing trouble?
Was Riddle secretly planted here by Dumbledore to make his life miserable? Or was this his punishment for picking on Harry too much?
"You must be joking, Professor," Tom replied innocently, flashing a smile that made him look like he wouldn't hurt a fly. "I'm just a first-year. How could I possibly be the Head of House?"
"I just thought those pure-bloods were getting on my nerves, so I came up with a fun little idea."
"Oh, your 'fun little idea' just happens to involve taking my job?" Snape sneered. "'Shadow Head of House'—what a grand title. You're only in your first year and you already want to be my equal. What's next? Planning to be Headmaster by third year?"
Pfft~
Several students couldn't help snorting with laughter. All eyes were now on Tom, eager to see how he'd clap back.
But Tom didn't get flustered or angry. He just waved it off like it was nothing. "Come on, I'm not that ambitious. I just want to study in peace and avoid unnecessary drama. Shadow Head is more than enough."
He paused, then added playfully, "Though if that sounds too much... how about 'The Uncrowned King of Slytherin' instead?"
Snape's face twisted like he'd just swallowed a dungbomb.
'Seriously? You might as well have stuck with the first title. This one sounds even more outrageous.'
"Save your fancy talk," Snape growled, flicking his cloak with a snap. "I'm not here to argue with you. As ridiculous as 'Shadow thing' sounds, the idea of Shadow prefects... now that has some merit."
"If you can beat Avery in a proper duel, you'll be the Shadow Prefect for the first-years."
"Same goes for the other years—anyone who can win a fair duel is free to claim that title."
Snape might've hated Voldemort because of love, but deep down, he was still a Slytherin—someone who respected power. After all, he had once joined the Death Eaters.
So he didn't really object to Tom's proposal. In fact, he was willing to run with it—and expand it to every year.
Besides, this was a great excuse to test just what Tom Riddle was capable of. The kid was way too composed, way too fearless.
People like that were either clueless... or hiding something big.
Tom was smart—nothing like that arrogant fool Potter—so it was pretty clear which one it was.
Hearing Snape's announcement, most of the older prefects looked pretty pissed. But the rest of the students? They were buzzing. Slytherin was practically made for ambitious schemers. This was right up their alley.
Before Tom even responded, Snape whipped out his wand and started casting spells. In moments, the chairs, tables, and couches floated into the air and stacked themselves neatly against the walls, creating a wide-open space in the middle of the room.
"I'll be refereeing this match," Snape announced coldly. "No Unforgivable Curses. No uncontrollable dark magic. Standard dark spells and curses are allowed—I'm confident I can fix whatever damage you two manage to cause."
He gave Tom a crooked smile. Deep down, he was hoping to see this cocky kid get knocked down a peg—so he'd deliberately loosened the rules.
"I'm fine with that," said Tom.
"Same here," Avery replied.
They both took two steps back, raised their wands, and bowed to each other—a formal show of respect.
Snape's voice sliced through the air: "Begin!"
No sooner had the words left his mouth than Avery moved. Fast. He muttered under his breath while darting sideways.
"Protego Totalum!"
"Expelliarmus!"
A transparent shield shimmered around him, and a bolt of red light shot out toward Tom.
Clearly, Avery wasn't just some figurehead. As a sixth-year prefect, he had solid dueling experience and cast his spells with practiced ease.
That was one of the advantages pure-bloods had over Muggle-borns and half-bloods. Their families passed down magical knowledge and combat training from generation to generation. If you had the right connections and a willingness to learn, you'd always be a few steps ahead.
Knowledge was power—and also a barrier.
Tom flicked his wand casually, deflecting the Disarming Charm with ease. Then, with a smooth motion, he aimed the wand tip downward.
The floor beneath Avery's feet rippled like waves, turning soft and unstable. Just as he was preparing his next spell, Avery stumbled and nearly fell. He quickly muttered a Stabilizing Charm to regain his footing.
But Tom was already on the offensive.
A seemingly simple Jinx slammed into Avery's shield—and shattered it like glass.
"Bombarda!"
Avery backed up and fired a Bombardment spell.
A smart move. When your balance is off, it's harder to aim precise spells. Area attacks work better.
And so the fireplace exploded, flinging a dozen flaming coals through the air toward Tom.
"Ventus Maxima!"
A powerful wind howled into existence, catching the coals mid-air and blowing them right back toward Avery.
He yelped, dodging in panic—but still got hit by two of the red-hot coals. He staggered, hissing in pain.
Tom looked almost disappointed.
"This is it? This is the sixth-year prefect?"
Two spells. That's all it took to break him.
"Expelliarmus."
Tom's Disarming Charm hit its mark, sending Avery's wand spinning through the air before landing in Tom's hand.
Without a wand, a wizard was basically helpless.
"Match over," Snape said flatly, sweeping his cold gaze across the room. "Tom Riddle is the winner. From this moment on, he is the Shadow Prefect of the First Years."
.
.
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