Dumbledore had kindly prepared a glass of honey water for Snape, but Snape barely took a sip before setting the cup down with a grim expression.
"You’re sure this isn’t some trick from the Dark Lord? Like a magical resurrection, body possession, or something equally disturbing?"
Dumbledore chuckled, unable to hold back his laughter. "Severus, I never realized you had such a sharp sense of humor. You should try cracking jokes like that more often—it might just improve your reputation with the other staff."
Snape’s scowl deepened. If he wasn’t certain he’d lose, he’d have shown the old man exactly what kind of fury the Half-Blood Prince could unleash.
"With wizards like you two, nothing would surprise me," Snape snapped coldly.
Dumbledore just shook his head with a sigh. "Severus, you underestimate yourself—and overestimate both me and Voldemort."
"Yes, he’s certainly developed some disturbing and dangerous magic. But Hogwarts isn’t so easily fooled. The founders designed this school to reject the same individual trying to enter twice under different identities."
Snape’s eyes narrowed as the realization dawned.
As a Head of House, he knew how Hogwarts magically sought out potential students across Britain. If this ’Tom Riddle’ were the same one from before, there’s no way he’d have been allowed to enroll again under the radar.
"Still, keep an eye on that boy," Dumbledore advised. "I didn’t expect him to end up in Slytherin, and I imagine your house’s environment might stir up some issues."
"Survival of the fittest," Snape replied without a hint of empathy. "Even as Head of House, I don’t interfere with student affairs more than necessary. That’s the unspoken rule of Slytherin—it’s what keeps the house strong."
Slytherin, after all, valued hierarchy and power more than any other house. It was a closer reflection of the real world. Even if he had the power to intervene, Snape had little interest in wasting his energy on someone he viewed as insignificant.
With Harry Potter arriving this year, Quirrell’s personality shift, and that familiar aura lingering around... Tom hardly made the priority list.
"No, Severus, I think you’ve misunderstood me," Dumbledore corrected gently. "I’m not saying Riddle might get into trouble. I’m saying the other Slytherins might."
"This boy isn’t Tom—but they’re alike in many ways. He’s extremely gifted in magic. And thanks to his background, he’s learned to protect himself through force. If things do escalate... let’s just hope he holds back."
To be fair, Dumbledore wasn’t wrong.
Not even the first day—technically, the night before classes began—Tom had already started "educating" his new roommates.
After the feast, the Slytherin students filed back to their common room. There were twelve first-year boys, neatly divided into groups of four.
Malfoy shared a dorm with his two ever-present flunkies, along with a boy named Monet Selwyn.
Tom’s room? Blaise Zabini, Nott, and Rosier.
And the moment they stepped into the dorm, Zabini didn’t even try to hide his disdain.
"Ugh. Just my luck, stuck in the same room as a mudblood wizard. Hey, Riddle! Go make my bed. Use the sheets I brought—those school ones are trash."
"And grab mine too!" Nott added with a smirk. "And fetch me some water. Chop chop."
Rosier and Nott burst into laughter as they joined in the bullying.
Tom let out a quiet sigh.
Honestly, he expected this the moment he was sorted into Slytherin. Just didn’t think it would start this soon.
He hadn’t planned for it—but that only meant he could trust his instincts.
With a flick, Tom drew his wand and turned around.
An invisible shockwave erupted between the three boys, slamming them against the wall.
Before they could even recover, Tom’s wand flicked toward the overturned pen cup—three quills shot out and twisted mid-air into ropes, binding the trio tightly.
Then with a smooth swish, his wand extended and softened—turning into a whip.
Zabini let out a scream as the lash struck his back. Goosebumps broke out all over his body. The other two didn’t escape either—Tom gave them equal "attention."
For a while, the dorm looked less like a bedroom and more like a twisted game of human spinning tops.
Tom finally stopped after getting bored.
"I thought Slytherins were supposed to be cunning, ambitious, and smart. What kind of idiots are you?" he said coldly. "You tried to bully someone without even checking who they were first. Did you really think I’d just take it?"
Tom: "Purebloods... huh. Cute."
"WAAAH! I’m telling my mum! You’re getting expelled!"
"Put me down, Riddle! Let me go!"
"I’m sorry! I’m sorry! Please don’t hit me again!"
At the end of the day, they were still eleven-year-olds. All that "pureblood supremacy" nonsense had been spoon-fed to them by their parents. They didn’t actually understand it.
But pain? Pain speaks every language.
Tom gave them each another "guaranteed ten rounds" of discipline.
Soon enough, the three of them had quieted down considerably.
He released the bindings, and the three—Zabini, Rosier, and Nott—immediately dropped to their knees before Tom.
"From now on," Tom said, his voice calm but firm, "I make the rules in this dorm. Anyone who breaks them gets the whip. Or—" his lips curled into a smirk, "—I’ll strip you and hang you at the castle gates. Your choice."
He let his gaze drift lazily across them.
"Rosier. Nott. You’re from the prestigious Sacred Twenty-Eight, right? Imagine how your families would react if I actually went through with it."
"And you, Zabini—you kept bragging about your mother during dinner. You really want her finding out how badly you embarrassed yourself on your first night?"
The three boys shivered and nodded frantically.
He was definitely worse than the Dark Lord!
Tom tucked away his wand, finally relaxing.
"Don’t say I didn’t give you a chance," he said breezily. "We’re Slytherins. Winners take all. If any of you can beat me—by any means—you’re free to take revenge a thousand times over."
"But if you lose... you’ll pay the price. Got it?"
If the Sorting Hat had known how quickly Tom embraced the Slytherin way, it would’ve bragged about its decision for the rest of the month.
Zabini and the others shouted in unison, terrified they’d get another round if they hesitated.
They buried their hatred deep inside.
"One day," they thought. "One day we’ll get our revenge."