— — — — — —
Snape was not in a good mood.
Avery's performance had been downright pathetic—so bad that it embarrassed him, the Head of Slytherin House. A sixth-year getting toyed with like a clown by a first-year… It wasn't just a loss, it was a total humiliation.
And the worst part? Avery hadn't even used his full abilities. He got completely steamrolled—outclassed in skill and smarts.
But what really shook Snape was just how much potential Tom had revealed in that brief duel.
You couldn't measure a wizard's strength solely by the power of their spells. No—what mattered just as much was casting precision, tactical control, and how well they could chain spells together.
And Tom had dominated the rhythm of that fight from the get-go—softening the floor to mess with Avery's footing, restricting his movement, throwing off his spell accuracy… then rebounding his attack with a wind charm.
If an adult wizard had pulled off that kind of spellwork, Snape would've called it impressive.
But Tom Riddle had only been at Hogwarts for less than a month.
At that point, it stopped being impressive. It was just unnatural.
What unsettled Snape the most, though, was Tom's very first move—slapping aside Avery's Disarming Charm like it was nothing.
To most of the students, it just looked like he blocked an attack. No big deal. Something like the Shield Charm would do the trick.
But Snape wasn't "most students." He could tell that Tom's trick required precise control over his magic—and a deep understanding of how the Disarming Charm worked. That kind of skill didn't come from raw power; it came from study, practice, and mastery.
"Professor."
Tom's voice snapped Snape out of his thoughts.
Tom smiled politely, hands neatly folded. "You said that if I beat Avery, I'd earn the title of Shadow Prefect. So technically, this should be the end of it."
"But... I already threw down the gauntlet."
"Honor matters to me," Tom continued calmly. "So, if it's alright, I'd like to finish what I started—and challenge the rest of the prefects."
Hiss~ he is very Slytherin.
That phrase flashed through every Slytherin's mind.
Tom already won. He'd made his point. But he wasn't done.
He wanted more. He wanted to take on the entire prefect lineup.
What—was he planning to stomp all over the prefects and drag Snape's reputation through the mud while he was at it?
Only Burke—the seventh-year male prefect—and Snape himself understood what Tom was actually doing.
"…Very well," Snape said, taking a slow breath. "If you want to test yourself against the upper years, then so be it. But no rest in between. Phyllis, you're up first."
The fifth-year girl prefect stepped forward, looking furious. Tom's attitude had clearly angered her.
But Tom believed in equality—he wasn't about to go easy on someone just because she was a girl. The moment Snape gave the signal, he struck—without a word—casting two silent spells back-to-back.
Phyllis had barely begun chanting her Shield Charm when the first hex slammed into her.
Her wand flew from her hand.
She hit the floor, out cold.
Pure gender equality. Isn't this what the feminists wanted all along?
"Next," Tom said calmly.
The remaining prefects were fuming.
"I'll handle this!"
Enrique Flint—another fifth-year prefect—didn't even wait for Snape to call his name. He leapt into the ring on his own. His brother was Marcus Flint, the Slytherin Quidditch captain.
Too bad Marcus missed the show—he was serving detention with McGonagall for repeatedly copying homework.
Enrique Flint had clearly learned from the last two matches. As soon as the duel began, he conjured a huge wooden door as a shield. Then, using nearby furniture, he transfigured multiple animals to both harass Tom and serve as meat shields.
Snape's expression finally softened a little.
'Yay! Finally, someone using their head.'
Flint had a real talent for Transfiguration—he was even part of McGonagall's exclusive Transfiguration Club.
Every Hogwarts professor had their own club where they taught select students advanced material not covered in regular classes. It was a tradition.
And right now, Flint's animal transfigurations were clean and sharp—better than what most sixth- or seventh-years could pull off.
Tom didn't instantly end the match. His interest was clearly piqued. His eyes lit up.
"Incendio Maxima!"
Flames exploded out of the fireplace. The temperature in the common room shot up. With a graceful wave of his wand, Tom reshaped the fire into three enormous flaming serpents.
Elemental bodies and massive size made them unstoppable.
The snakes rampaged across the battlefield, torching Flint's animal creations back into furniture—then into ash.
"…Magical Shaping," Snape muttered under his breath, nearly choking on the words.
It was a technique far more advanced than regular transfiguration—something only taught on the N.E.W.T. exams.
How did Tom know this?
How the hell did he learn to do this?!
While Snape was questioning everything he knew about magical education, Flint's makeshift door-shield cracked and burned to ash. The fire serpents slithered toward him, hissing.
Flint gave a helpless laugh and lowered his wand.
"I surrender."
Next up was the sixth-year girl prefect. She coped even worse—spamming Shield Charms in desperation but casting too slowly. Tom blasted through her defenses in seconds.
By now, the younger Slytherins were stunned speechless.
Tom had fought four prefects—two fifth-years, two sixth-years—and destroyed all of them.
And he was still standing there like it was nothing. Calm. Composed. Not even breathing hard.
"Damn it, Riddle—aren't you tired or something?" one student thought dazedly.
Among the students watching, Daphne Greengrass's eyes were sparkling. If there weren't so many people around, she probably would've cheered out loud.
Some of the older girls were even thinking about marrying Tom.
With looks like that and talent like this, he was bound to grow into a total idol. Why not get him early?
"I forfeit."
Everyone turned toward the voice.
It was Yorkshire Carrow—the seventh-year female prefect.
She offered a charming smile and winked at Tom.
"I'm no match for Riddle. No point embarrassing myself. Burke's much stronger than me anyway—better to save your energy for him."
All eyes shifted to Burke.
"..."
Burke inhaled slowly, then stepped forward from the crowd.
He gave Snape a respectful nod… then turned to face Tom.
.
.
.