For the first time since arriving at Hogwarts, Tom felt his brain struggling to keep up with Andros's.
"Wasn't the matter with Snape over already? Why does this guy still want payback?"
It almost seemed like his righteous teacher had an even shorter fuse than he did.
Andros chuckled at Tom's baffled look.
"Don't misunderstand, Tom. I'm not a petty man."
He leaned forward, grin sharp. "Snape has something I need. No… something you need."
Tom blinked. Then realization dawned. "Potion ingredients?"
"Exactly."
---
Andros's Philosophy of Battle
Andros nodded, eyes flashing. "Tell me, Tom, do you know how wizards fought in my time?"
Tom tilted his head. "The same as now, surely. Cast spells. If you're cunning—poison, ambush, assassination, sneak attacks, gang fights…"
Andros's eyelid twitched. "Most of what you just said is… true. But don't say it aloud again."
He sighed, then straightened, voice steady. "Yes, magic is a wizard's greatest weapon. But beyond that…"
The warrior flexed his arms in a dramatic pose, muscles swelling.
"The body. Never underestimate the power of flesh and blood!"
His tone turned grandiose: "Big muscles. Passionate fighting!"
Tom stared.
Andros carried on proudly. "Dodging curses, striking faster than your foe, crushing them in close quarters—all of it requires a strong body. In my day, many wizards fell beneath my fists. Even men called 'great' by their peers—academic weaklings, hopeless in melee. One punch, and they were finished."
Tom rubbed his temple. "So… fist magic?"
"Exactly!" Andros puffed out his chest. "I have an entire training regimen, complete with potions to boost your physique. I planned to teach you once you had money, but after seeing Snape's stockpile… the schedule moves up."
Tom muttered darkly: "Turns out my poverty is what's holding me back."
---
Priceless Ingredients
Andros began listing recipes. Tom listened, jaw tightening.
Heart of a fire dragon: eight Galleons an ounce. Not even fresh.
Dragon's blood grass: fifteen Galleons per plant. Needs eight.
Sphinx claw eyeball: rarer than dragon parts, protected species, practically impossible to buy legally. Knockturn Alley might have it—but no guarantees.
Tom whistled low.
"This stuff is outrageous."
Andros smirked. "And most of it sits in Snape's private collection."
---
Tom's Agreement
Tom's lips curled into a grin. "Done."
"Damn Snape. If a teacher truly cares about his students' progress, shouldn't he… sponsor us a little?"
He recalled the office layout clearly: shelves stuffed with jars, no magical wards on the cabinet locks. Snape, too confident in himself, had grown lax.
"If we find the right moment, slipping in won't be difficult," Tom mused.
But caution glimmered in his eyes. "Still, this is Snape and Dumbledore's castle. Their eyes are everywhere. Better to plan carefully."
---
The Return of the Three
Tom was about to ask Andros for concealment magic when the dormitory door creaked open.
The three Slytherins entered—Zabini, Rosier, and Nott.
They glanced around. Empty.
"Riddle's not here!"
Zabini smirked. "Must've been punished. Probably still rotting in detention."
Rosier snorted. "Detention? Hah. Maybe expelled!"
Nott bobbed his head eagerly. "Lawless on his first day—he deserves it!"
The three burst into raucous laughter.
At that exact moment, Tom smiled in the study space and let his consciousness slip back into the real world.
---
The Silent Spell
The laughter died instantly.
One by one, the three bullies floated upward as if grabbed by invisible hands. Their arms snapped behind their backs, knees buckling until they crashed down to the floor—forced into a kneeling position.
Gasps choked their throats.
The shimmer of Tom's Disillusionment faded, revealing him standing calmly in the middle of the dormitory.
Their blood ran cold.
"Oh, no…" Zabini croaked. "He's… here?!"
Rosier's voice broke. "Didn't Snape—didn't he punish you?!"
Tom ignored them. He was focused on something else: the sensation of the spell.
Strong will. Surging emotion.
He had used his wand, yes, but no incantation. A perfectly silent spell.
Andros's words echoed in his mind: will and emotion were the core. Balance them, and magic flowed freely.
Tom smiled faintly. "So this is what he meant."
---
A Taste of Power
He flicked his wand. The three boys flew back, slammed into the wall, and collapsed in a heap. Tom frowned.
"Tsk. Still clumsy. I meant to hang you up on the wall."
He stepped forward, each pace deliberate.
Zabini's eyes bulged in terror. "Y-you, don't come closer!"
But Tom's wand had already twisted into a whip, gleaming darkly in the candlelight.
---
Judgment
Tom tilted his head.
"Didn't we agree yesterday? You're free to seek revenge. But you must also accept the cost of failure."
He flicked the whip.
"Running to the teacher was clever. Unfortunately for you, Professor Snape decided it was only… minor friction."
The three froze. Minor friction?!
Snape had been incandescent with rage that morning. How could it have turned into "minor friction" by evening?
Nott broke first, voice cracking. "Riddle, I was wrong! Please—don't hit me!"
Tom's smile sharpened. "Of course not."
For a second, hope flickered in their eyes.
Then he added: "None of you are escaping today. Each of you… will get your guaranteed ten-draw combo."
---